Bluebell Castle - Sarah Bennett

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already told you I’m not doing that stupid bloody show!’ Will yelled, but he was shouting at himself as Chris had already hung up. ‘Shit!’ he banged his hands in frustration on the steering wheel, startling himself when the horn blared loudly. The driver of the hatchback in front flicked him a rude hand gesture, assuming Will was honking at him. Bloody hell. Raising his hand in apology, Will was grateful when the sat nav directed him to turn off at the next junction. This day couldn’t possibly get any worse …

       Chapter 3

      Phillipa Cornwall hadn’t seemed that bothered about the plans for the roof terrace. They’d barely spent five minutes discussing her concerns with the design before she’d left him alone up there to fetch them both a drink. She’d returned with a pot of very strong Turkish coffee and two tiny cups, only to disappear shortly afterwards with a promise she’d be back. He was starting to feel like she was jerking his chain, that this whole thing was some kind of power play. When you were as famous as she was, perhaps it became second nature to assume everyone was at your beck and call. Whatever the reason, he was starting to resent her for wasting his time about something that could’ve been addressed via a couple of swapped emails.

      He was about ready to gather his things and make his excuses when her familiar, breathy voice came from behind him. ‘If you’re finished with those designs, there’s something else I’d like your assistance with.’

      Jaw dropping was something he’d previously assumed was an acting exaggeration, and not something real people did until the moment he turned in his seat and saw her. Closing his eyes at the same time as he shut his gaping mouth, Will hoped perhaps he was hallucinating after the second very strong coffee he’d recently finished on a still empty stomach. He cracked open a lid and was once more greeted with the sight of his client posing against the doorway leading from the roof terrace back into the house. He might have been able to dismiss the flirty pose she’d adopted-hands clasping the frame behind her, back arched, one knee softly bent-if it wasn’t for the fact the stylish navy dress she’d been wearing when she’d greeted him at the door not half an hour previously was now pooled at her feet, leaving her clad in nothing more than a tiny, sheer black nightgown thing. Nope, not the coffee.

      Clamping his mouth tight against a litany of swear words that would earn Anna a full body massage at her dream spa weekend, Will urged his addled brain to think. When he was finally sure he could speak without cursing, he opened his lips. The sound he made was somewhere between a grunt and a sigh, the kind of noise he’d only ever heard a cartoon character make and he quickly shut his mouth again.

      ‘I didn’t think you’d be shy, William,’ Phillipa stretched his name into a purr, which he supposed she thought was sexy, but only made him want to take a flying leap over the low parapet running around the edge of the roof terrace.

      Not knowing what else to do, Will decided his only cause of action was to ignore it and try and stick to business. He bent to retrieve the sketchpad which had slipped from his fingers the moment she’d reappeared. ‘I … I think I might have found a solution to the issue for the zen space. We can turn the angle of the pool by forty-five degrees, so the water runs from east to west. You’ll be able to align your exercise mat in the same direction then, which I think was one of the main problems?’ He offered her the sketchpad, making sure to keep his eyes fixed above her chin.

      With a quirk of her lips, Phillipa took the pad from him and turned into the house. He almost sighed with relief, thinking he’d found a way to navigate free of the nightmare, until she paused to cast a knowing look over one shoulder. ‘It’s too bright outside to see this properly, come in and show me what you want to do.’

      There was no mistaking the message behind those words, and as Will watched her slink inside with an exaggerated sway of her hips, he wondered how the hell he was going to extricate himself from this mess. It wasn’t the first time a client had made a pass at him, though he had to hand Phillipa the prize for the most blatant seduction attempt to date.

      Will blamed it on the ridiculous ‘bad boy of gardening’ image Chris had created for him. Eager, naïve, and somewhat blinded by his first taste of the spotlight, Will had allowed himself to be persuaded to play the part. It worked for chefs, after all, his manager had argued, so why not for a gardener? Embarrassing crap like this was the downside he hadn’t banked upon when agreeing to it. Taking a deep breath, he followed in Phillipa’s wake. If she persisted, he’d have to put her straight.

      Somehow.

      The contrast between the bright sunshine outside and the much darker interior left him disorientated for a moment. Pausing to let his eyes adjust, Will felt his heart sink as he saw the double doors leading to the master bedroom had been flung wide. Tony Cornwall had pointed it out on Will’s previous visit, saying how as soon as he’d seen the fabulous views he’d refitted what had originally been staff quarters into a luxury suite. The door had remained closed so Will hadn’t seen inside.

      Right now, he wished he still hadn’t. Perching on the edge of an enormous bed, Phillipa tossed his sketchpad down and patted a spot on the quilt next to her. Will didn’t know what the term was for something larger than a super king, but this vast expanse of crisp white bedding could probably accommodate half a dozen people with room to spare. Even if she was sitting at the far edge of the bed, it will still be too close for comfort. The hounds of hell couldn’t drag him over the threshold. ‘Mrs Cornwall …’

      ‘Call me Pippa. All my very good friends call me Pippa.’ She patted the bed once more.

      Keeping his feet firmly in place, Will crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Mrs Cornwall.’ He didn’t like the way her confident smile wavered into an expression of confusion when he stressed her formal title once more, but it couldn’t be helped. ‘The sketches are pretty self-explanatory. Why don’t you talk them over with your husband?’ Subtle, Will. ‘You can let my assistant know in due course.’

      She seemed to crumple in upon herself, as though each word was sucking the confidence and vivacity out of her. How come doing the right and honourable thing could make him feel so awful? He checked his watch-not that he cared what the time was, he just needed an excuse to look away. ‘I really should be going …’

      ‘Are you sure you can’t stay?’ She sounded less seductive and more desperate now, and although he felt sorry for her, he couldn’t help a tinge of anger that she’d been the cause of her own embarrassment.

      Fumbling for what else to say, he was saved by the bell-literally-when his phone starting ringing. He snatched it from his pocket, barely giving the unknown number a glance before he answered it. Even a marketing call would be a welcome reprieve. ‘Will Talbot.’

      ‘Mr Talbot? Iggy Ludworth, here. I’d like to discuss a job with you, if you’re not busy.’

      He didn’t recognise the rather odd name, nor the forthright tones of the woman. His diary was blocked solid for the foreseeable future, and one half of Britain’s golden couple was currently attempting to seduce him so no, he wasn’t busy at all. Turning away from the scene before him, he lowered his voice in the hope Phillipa Cornwall wouldn’t overhear him. ‘It’s not a great time, if I’m honest. Why don’t you call my office and we can set up an appointment?’

      ‘I’ve already spoken to your assistant; she was the one who gave me your number. Told me to give you a call straightaway, but perhaps I misunderstood her. I’ve sent through a few sample photographs as she suggested, but I’m under a bit of a time crunch so if you’re too busy I’d rather you came out and said it straight.’

      She had the clipped accents of a member of the upper class, and her forthright manner made him feel a bit like a stroppy teenager being scolded by a teacher. Patience already on a knife’s edge, he was on the verge of telling her what she could do with her time crunch when a thought occurred to him. Why had Anna passed his private number on instead of dealing with it the way she did all the other enquiries that came into the business? Intrigued, he swallowed his snap of temper and

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