Newlyweds of Convenience Read online

  Something else to put down to tiredness and the strangeness of living in a ruined castle, Mallory decided firmly. No wonder she was imagining things in this bizarre place.

  ‘Here,’ said Torr, handing Mallory a glass.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, eyeing the golden liquid in surprise.

  ‘Whisky. This is the best malt there is,’ he added as he sat back down in his chair, ‘so don’t chuck it back. I just thought we should toast our first day at Kincaillie.’

  Mallory’s smile was a little twisted, but she lifted her glass. ‘Here’s to living with our choices,’ she said in a dry voice, and then Torr did something totally unexpected.

  He smiled.

  ‘To living with it,’ he echoed, and toasted her in return.

  Thrown by the suddenness of his smile, Mallory took a bigger sip of whisky than she’d intended, and promptly started coughing and spluttering as the liquid burned her throat.

  ‘I told you not to gulp it,’ Torr admonished her.

  ‘Sorry,’ she croaked.

  Eyes watering, she stared into the fire. Better that he thought her a reckless drinker than guessed just why she had gulped his precious whisky. Who would have thought that a simple stretch of the lips, a mere curve of the mouth, could be quite so startling?

  She supposed it was because she was so unused to seeing Torr smile. There was something daunting about his usual expression, so forbiddingly unreadable, that when he had smiled just now it had been like looking at a stranger. His eyes had gleamed and his cheeks had creased, revealing strong white teeth and warming his expression in a way that left her feeling really quite…strange.

  Mallory took another sip of whisky. She could feel it sliding down her throat, its warmth spreading out from her stomach. That would explain the peculiar tingle underneath her skin, anyway, and the way her cheeks felt as if they were burning.

  She slid a sidelong glance from under her lashes at Torr on the other side of the fire. He was watching the flames too, legs stretched comfortably out in front of him and one hand loosely clasping his glass on the arm of the chair. He looked quite relaxed, Mallory thought enviously, as if it were perfectly normal to be sitting here in this draughty old kitchen while the entire castle crumbled about his ears.

  Outside, the wind was picking up again, but here in the kitchen the only sounds were the spit and crackle of the burning logs and Charlie’s sighs of contentment from the hearthrug as he hogged the best of the fire.

  ‘Are you serious about doing most of the restoration work on your own?’ Mallory broke the silence abruptly, jerking Torr out of his abstraction, and he glanced across at her.

  ‘I won’t be on my own now,’ he pointed out. ‘You’re going to help me.’

  ‘Only for a year,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Torr resumed his study of the fire. ‘Well, a year is a long time. We can make a good start.’

  ‘What will you do when you finish? If you ever do, of course! Sell it?’

  He shook his head. ‘The estate is entailed, so I couldn’t sell it if I wanted to. No, I’m going to make Kincaillie the best and most exclusive hotel in Scotland.’

  ‘A hotel?’ Mallory couldn’t help laughing. ‘You’ve got to be joking! Who on earth would pay to come here?’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ said Torr, a slight edge to his voice. ‘You may not appreciate peace and quiet and stunning scenery, but I can assure you that lots of people do. Kincaillie will be the place for those who want to get away from it all. There’ll be no gimmicks, no deals, just style and exceptional comfort, superb food and impeccable service in a wonderful setting. Oh, yes, people will come-and the more exclusive we make it, the more they’ll pay,’ he added confidently.

  He cocked an eyebrow at Mallory. ‘So, you see, I’ll need your talent for interior design eventually.’

  Mallory thought of the damp, dismal rooms she had seen that afternoon. It was hard to imagine ever getting to the decorating stage, but what a challenge it would be! In spite of herself, she felt a flicker of interest.

  She sipped her whisky thoughtfully. ‘You’d need proper building plans,’ she warned.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’m going to see an architect in Inverness next week. She’s worked on a number of innovative restoration projects, and comes highly recommended, so I’ve asked her to do a preliminary design. She’s been here to do a survey, and I want to go and see her initial ideas.’

  ‘Can I come?’ asked Mallory, brightening at the prospect of a trip away from Kincaillie.

  He looked surprised. ‘I didn’t think you’d be that interested.’

  ‘I’m interested in the idea of a town,’ she said, ‘and I certainly don’t want to be left here on my own!’

  ‘Of course you can come, if you want, but you may have to get used to the idea of staying on your own sometimes,’ he warned. ‘We can’t spend the whole year without ever having a night apart. Anyone would think we were married,’ he finished dryly.

  Mallory sat up straighter in her chair. ‘You don’t really expect me to spend the night here on my own, do you?’

  ‘You’d have Charlie for company,’ said Torr.

  ‘In case it’s escaped your notice, Charlie’s just a dog!’

  ‘He’d be protection against any intruders-not that you’re likely to get any round here.’

  ‘It’s not intruders I’m worried about,’ said Mallory, a tart edge to her voice. ‘At least a burglar would be some human company!’

  ‘You’re not telling me that you really believe in ghosts, are you?’ Torr said with a touch of exasperation. ‘I thought you were just being silly last night.’

  ‘No, I don’t believe in ghosts. It’s everything else that makes me nervous. I’m a city girl. I hate the isolation. The silence. I can’t tell you how much I long for the sound of a siren, or of someone’s door banging, or the neighbours shouting! And those mountains give me the creeps.’ She shuddered, thinking about the hills looming above them. ‘They’re so bleak and so big…Don’t they make you feel trapped?’

  ‘No,’ said Torr. ‘I feel trapped in a city. The hills and the sea make me feel free.’

  ‘It doesn’t look as if we’ve got much in common, does it?’ Mallory said with a painful smile.

  Torr looked down at the glass he was clasping loosely between his hands. ‘No,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘It doesn’t.’

  They finished their whisky in silence.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  T ORR wanted to begin drawing up detailed specifications for the restoration work the next morning. He told Mallory that he was planning to work his way methodically from room to room, an exercise that was clearly going to take some time.

  ‘Do you want to come with me?’ he asked her. ‘It would give you an idea of what needs to be done over the next year.’

  ‘Since I’ll clearly be living here for that year, I think I would rather finish cleaning these rooms first,’ said Mallory. ‘We may as well make ourselves as comfortable as possible before we start on the rest of the castle.’

  ‘OK.’ Torr’s shrug was indifferent. ‘I’ll see you for lunch.’

  Mallory was glad to be left on her own. She hadn’t slept well. She had been so tired by the time they went to bed that she had expected to fall asleep instantly, but, again, it hadn’t worked out like that. She had been too aware of Torr beside her in a bed that seemed to have shrunk in size since the night before.

  It was ridiculous, Mallory told herself crossly as she set off with Charlie into the brisk morning. She and Torr had cleared the air. They had come to an agreement about their marriage with no possibility of misunderstandings.

  She had even wondered if it might be possible for them to become friends. It seemed sensible to try. The year to come would be a lot easier if they were able to get along together. Mallory was very conscious that she hadn’t made the effort to get to know Torr before, but that would change, she vowed. Now that she knew she wasn’t trapped fo
r a lifetime, she was quite prepared to look for the best in him.

  Already he seemed more approachable. He had changed since he came to Kincaillie, Mallory thought. He was never going to be a golden laughing charmer like Steve, but he had shown that he was capable of being thoughtful and even kind, and for the first time she had realised that a certain dry humour underlaid some of his dour remarks.

  She still didn’t understand why Torr had married her in the first place. True, he had done a lot of entertaining in Ellsborough, and she had been a stylish hostess for him. Mallory could even see that she had been good for his image in lots of ways. But surely a man like Torr could have found a more willing wife to make life comfortable for him?

  Of course he had said that he couldn’t be bothered with emotions, and a more loving wife would probably have expected rather more romance than he had been prepared to offer, or even pretend, but surely Torr must be regretting now that he had ended up with someone quite so incompatible?

  Not that he was the kind of man who would admit that he had made a mistake. The more Mallory thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Torr must be secretly relieved at the prospect of ending their marriage amicably in a year’s time, with face saved on both sides. It would certainly explain how easily she had been able to persuade him to let her go. He couldn’t really want her any more than she wanted him.

  So there was absolutely no reason for her to feel awkward about going to bed that night. No reason to lie, twitchy and self-conscious, when Torr wished her goodnight in a neutral voice, turned on his side and fell asleep.

  Mallory was left to listen resentfully to him breathing. It wasn’t fair that he could fall asleep so easily when she couldn’t relax. That dip in the wretched mattress meant that she had to cling tenaciously to her side of the bed to stop rolling against him, but it was bitterly cold still, and the warmth of his body was dangerously inviting. She couldn’t snuggle into him, though. Somehow it seemed more uncomfortable now that there was the possibility that they might be friends than when she had been certain that she disliked him.

  Torr was lying with his back to her, but she could tell from his slow, steady breathing that he was asleep. At least, she thought he was. Resolve wavering, Mallory listened harder, but his breathing was slow and steady. He was definitely asleep, she told herself. He wouldn’t notice if she froze on the edge of the bed or if she moved a bit nearer.

  Decision made, Mallory inched closer to his warm bulk. The mattress sagged, and the old bedsprings creaked rustily when she moved, and she held her breath, but Torr didn’t stir.

  Snuggling into his back with relief, she pulled the duvet tight around her so that she was cocooned in warmth, and then, because she didn’t know what else to do with it, she put her arm over him and rested her hand on his chest. She could feel it rising and falling beneath her palm. He had washed his hair in the bath, and it smelt clean and fresh and vaguely lemony. She could smell soap on his skin, too, overlaid with a faint hint of woodsmoke from the fire.

  Torn between the luxury of feeling warm and her disquieting awareness of Torr’s nearness, Mallory spent another night drifting in and out of sleep. Every time she surfaced she was aware with a tiny shock that she was still pressed against him, but a sleepy part of her brain would remind her that it was only because she was cold, so that was all right.

  Once, though, she woke with a start when he stirred and turned over. She had to quickly turn too, or she would have ended up face to face with him. The next moment she froze as Torr pulled her back into the shelter of his body and kissed her shoulder, just where it curved into her throat, mumbling something unintelligible.

  Every cell in her body jumped in shock at the touch of his mouth on her skin, and Mallory inhaled sharply, but Torr was still sound asleep. There was no embarrassed apology, no hasty pulling away. Instead he wrapped his arm closer around her, holding her tight against him, and buried his face in her hair with a slumbering sigh.

  So.

  Mallory lay very still. Now what? She could disentangle herself and push him away, but that might wake him up, and that really would be awkward. It was obvious that he had just reached for her out of instinct. He probably thought that she was somebody else-another woman he was used to sharing his bed with.

  Who?

  The question jolted Mallory out of her slumber. Still held close into the curve of his body, she lay turning it over in her mind. Who exactly was Torr expecting to find lying next to him in bed?

  His ex-wife? It seemed unlikely. Torr had been divorced for ten years, and from the little he had said she had gathered that the marriage hadn’t been a matter of grand passion on either side.

  So it must be someone who’d been in his life more recently. They had lived such separate lives since they were married that Torr could easily have been having a passionate affair without her having any idea, Mallory realised. But if he was in love with someone else, why marry her?

  It could only mean that the other woman wasn’t free, she decided. Perhaps she was married, or she might have ended the relationship for reasons of her own. For the first time Mallory wondered whether Torr too knew the pain of rejection. Could it be that beneath that unyielding exterior he also knew how it felt to have his heart broken?

  The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. It would explain why he smiled so rarely, and why he had decided on a loveless marriage. Inheriting Kincaillie could have been just the impetus he needed to try and break free of painful memories.

  Hadn’t he said as much when he’d told her that they were going to Scotland? Mallory remembered. It will be a fresh start for both of us, he had said. God knows, we both need it.

  She had been so wrapped up in her own misery over Steve that it had never occurred to her that Torr might be suffering too. Lying tucked into his side, craving his warmth, Mallory felt ashamed of herself. She had never used to be so self-absorbed. Wretchedness had made her boring and selfish, and it was time she stopped.

  If Torr was unhappy, that would certainly explain why he had chosen to throw himself into the enormous task of restoring Kincaillie-such an unlikely project for a man as hardheaded and realistic as he was. Instead of wallowing in his misery, the way she had done, he had obviously chosen to set himself such a difficult goal that he simply wouldn’t have time to think about what he was missing, just as she had decided to do earlier that day.

  Without being aware of it, Mallory started to relax. Knowing that she might not be the only one hurting made things easier somehow. Torr might understand more than she thought, and if he was finding it hard to let go of a dream he had lost…well, she was the last person to blame him for that. Perhaps, after all, they had more in common than she had thought.

  Torr’s breath stirred her hair, and his arm was heavy over her, pinning her against him and effectively making it impossible for her to move without waking, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Mallory decided to forget about moving away. If they were going to keep sleeping on this mattress, she would just have to get used to it.

  She would have to get used to a lot of things over the next year, so she might as well make a start.

  The restless night took its toll the next morning. Mallory woke feeling jaded. She found herself watching Torr more closely, wondering if she was right in her assumptions, but as usual he gave nothing away. If he did have a broken heart, he was hiding it pretty well-certainly a lot better than she had done. And, in spite of everything she had told herself about how much easier it would be if she and Torr were friends, what she remembered most about the night was the feel of his mouth on her shoulder.

  Mallory shivered slightly at the memory. She wasn’t quite sure how that had felt, but it certainly wasn’t like being friends.

  So she was relieved when she came back from walking Charlie to discover that the kitchen was empty. Torr had tidied up and disappeared to his survey.

  Having wrinkled her nose at the state of it when she was getting dressed that morning, Mal
lory decided to tackle the bedroom first. She found a pair of rubber gloves, pushed up the sleeves of her fleece and pulled the bed into the centre of the room with a determined expression. If she was going to do this, she would do it properly.

  When Torr came to find her a few hours later she was on her knees, wiping down the skirting board with a damp cloth. It was always so cold when she was dressing and undressing that she hadn’t wasted time inspecting the room properly, and when she did, she was horrified that she had actually spent two nights in it.

  She had spent the morning brushing down spiders’ webs, sweeping under the bed and vacuuming every inch of the floor. She had emptied out the musty wardrobe, and removed the old newspapers that lined the drawers in the chest. Most of them were dated 1976, and, judging by the accumulated dust and dirt, Mallory wouldn’t have been at all surprised to discover that was the last time the room had been cleaned at all.

  Now the furniture had been wiped and polished, the window was clean, and she was just about to wash the floor. It was dirty work, and she had soon removed her fleece, so her T-shirt was looking distinctly grubby.

  Torr paused in the doorway. ‘I’ve put the kettle on. Do you want some lunch?’

  ‘That sounds great.’ Mallory sat back on her heels and wiped the hair from her forehead with the back of her arm, unaware that she was leaving a dusty smear. ‘I’ve just finished.’

  Looking around the room, Torr’s gaze came back to rest on her face, and one corner of his mouth quirked. The silky dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, but stray strands were sticking to her forehead and there were smudges of dirt on her nose and cheeks. She was almost unrecognisable from the stylish and immaculate interior designer he had first met.