He looked back at the house. Huge, empty... ‘Are you going to be all right on your own?’
She gave him a warning look and he held up his hands. ‘Sorry...’
‘No... I shouldn’t be so defensive.’ Then, as he made a reluctant move, ‘Actually, there is one thing.’
‘Yes?’
Tash had felt the exact moment that Darius had wanted to move. For a blissful few minutes he’d been still, utterly relaxed and his kiss had been so tender that tears had once again threatened to overwhelm her.
After such an emotional exchange most men would have said anything but that shuttered ‘yes’ was warning enough, if she’d needed it, not to get too deeply involved with Darius Hadley. He wasn’t a keeper and no one could protect her from that kind of pain.
‘If I find any diaries, can I borrow them?’
‘Diaries?’
‘I imagine there are diaries, letters?’ she prompted. ‘Something interesting must have happened in three and a half centuries. You’ve got a ballroom, so presumably there were country balls? The occasional drama over a little inappropriate flirting? Maybe a duel?’ she added, just to get a response.
‘I have no idea,’ he said stiffly, all his defences back up.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Darius, lighten up,’ she said crossly. ‘If there had been any scandal to be dug up, the newspapers would have been all over it when that blasted ad became a news item.’
It didn’t mean there wasn’t a family skeleton rattling around in the cupboard because it was obvious that something wasn’t right. He’d changed the subject faster than greased lightning when she’d asked him about his parents.
She lifted an eyebrow, inviting him to come clean, but even yesterday, with a bulge in his pants that had to have hurt, he’d been unreadable, hiding whatever he was thinking, feeling. What had it taken to build that mask?
What would it take, she wondered, to shatter it?
No, no, no...
‘A house that grand, that old, must have hosted some interesting people over the centuries?’ she persisted. It was all very well to casually toss out the words ‘social media’, but posting pictures of the house on Facebook and flinging ‘buy this’ Tweets around like confetti wasn’t going to do the job.
‘Not interesting in your sense of the word. The Hadleys were riding, shooting, fishing country squires with no pretensions to high society.’
‘More Jane Austen than Georgette Heyer,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I don’t suppose she ever came to tea? Jane Austen,’ she added. Much as she loved Georgette Heyer’s books, a visit from her wouldn’t arouse the same kind of interest. ‘I need a way in, something to grab the attention, create interest, start a buzz going.’
‘Why don’t you make up a story?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Most family history is based on Chinese whispers—expanded and decorated with every retelling. Our story is that James Hadley was given the estate by Charles II for services rendered during his exile. How much more likely is it that he bought it cheap for a quick sale from one of Cromwell’s confederates who, come the Restoration, decided the climate in the New World might be better for his health?’