As the power lines come down, the night heats up.

Storm Damage

© 2014 Lorna McKenzie

So the Devereau lawyers expect Poppy Winters to quietly vacate the beloved Dorset cottage in which she was born? Not bloody likely. Poppy’s family tree is as firmly planted in Cranford Hall soil as any blue-blooded Devereau, and she will not be moved.

The injured man who crashes into her living room, accompanied by a howling winter storm, shakes her composure to the core. Especially when a power outage forces them to keep each other warm till morning.

But with the dawn comes a shocking realization: he has no memory of the previous night, but he remembers his name. Guy Devereau, the new owner of Cranford Hall. And he’s got a woman—Nerissa—claiming to be his fiancée.

Yet as winter’s chill settles in, Guy slowly and not-so-subtly disturbs her life in every wicked way—her knitwear business, her body, her soul…and her heart.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Storm Damage:

Whatever Esther’s misgivings, they hadn’t prevented her seating Guy next to Poppy. Guy leaned towards her over the melon cocktail.

“You don’t fool me, Poppy Winters. There’s a core of steel under that delicate exterior.”

“Wh-what? Look, if you’re going to sit there and insult me all evening, I suggest we change places right now. I’ll say it’s draughty here…”

“You’ll do no such thing. I might get landed with Jezebel!”

“She’s only a vicar’s daughter,” said Poppy coyly, her eyes sparkling wickedly.

“Yes, and there are several endings to that little quip! Most of which could well be appropriate.”

Poppy gave a little chuckle.

“No private jokes now,” Vicar Desmond admonished.

“I suppose after spending a night under the same roof, they’ve got a lot to talk about!” declared Annabel with a pout, her dark eyes casting daggers in Poppy’s direction.

“I’m hoping she’ll tell me about it,” Guy replied, giving Annabel a devastating smile which banished her peevish expression.

“You poor man, losing your memory like that,” put in Madge. “If there’s anything we can do, we’re always there to help.”

“I’ll remember that.”

The conversation turned to the damage done by the storm, the roofs to be repaired, the livestock that had needed rehousing till animal sheds could be repaired. Good tales were told, fine wines consumed, and, after a short period when the men were left to themselves, paying token homage to tradition, they regrouped in the drawing room.

“I’d like a word, Poppy,” Robin whispered, taking her elbow and leading her to a corner beside wall-to-ceiling bookshelves.

“Take your pick—there must be millions here.”

“I’m being serious, wretched girl,” he laughed despite himself. “Look, I’m not entirely happy about that knock our new friend has suffered. I’m arranging an X-ray for him tomorrow, but it might help restore his memory if you were to tell him exactly what happened while you were with him.” Poppy fought back her horror at the very thought. “It might jog his memory and help him fill in the blanks.”

“I’m not spending a minute longer in that man’s company than I have to!” she told him heatedly.

“Oh, come on, love. Mother told me the way of things, but I’m sure something can be worked out about the cottage. Have a little charity, eh?”

“I don’t feel charitable towards Guy Devereau!”

“Taking my name in vain, Poppy?”

She swung round, embarrassed.

“You shouldn’t go sneaking up on people!”

“Why don’t you go and do your host bit with Annabel, Robin?” Guy suggested, restraining a smile.

“Thanks, pal. I hoped you’d draw off some of the fire.”

“I’m burning up,” Guy laughed.

“I guess I’ll have to lend you Poppy, then.” He winked at her as he sauntered off.

“Are you and he an item?” asked Guy.

“No, we’re not!” she snapped. “As I’ve already said.”

“Good, then you won’t mind Esther’s suggestion that you drive me home. She was kind enough to pick me up, but we can hardly expect her to turn out again when we’re such close neighbours, can we?”

It was the last thing Poppy wanted, but she could hardly refuse. She could try, though.

“Of course not, but I’m leaving now.”

“That’s fine by me—I feel extraordinarily tired.” They were soon in the hall taking their leave.

“Don’t forget: supper with us on Saturday,” Annabel reminded Guy. “I can drive over and pick you up.”

“How awfully kind,” he replied. “But you won’t have to bother—I’ve arranged for a hired car to be delivered in the morning.”

“You’ll come too, won’t you, Poppy?” enquired Madge, causing Annabel to scowl.

“I’d love to,” Poppy replied sweetly.

“I’ll pick you up—hardly worth getting your car out,” said Guy, which brought further killing looks from Annabel.

“Please don’t bother,” she felt bound to say.

“I insist,” he replied, urging her towards the door.

“How well do you know the Hall?” he asked as they headed past her cottage and up the lane to his new home.

“Pretty well—my parents both worked there, and they weren’t the kind to leave me to my own devices during the holidays.”

“Home from home, eh?”

She stopped her Mini at the base of some steps leading to an ancient oak door flanked by lichen-covered stone portals.

“I wouldn’t say that, but I know my way around.”

“Like to advise me on a colour scheme for the drawing room? You have an artist’s eye, and I’m afraid my tastes run a little to the colonial.”

She was surprised and delighted by the invitation: she had often viewed those dingy, duck-egg-blue walls and faded brown velvet curtains with distaste, longing to wave a magic wand and create a light and tasteful background for the beautiful mahogany pieces in the room. He watched her face light up with pleasure at the prospect of realizing her dream, but then her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“What’s the catch?” she demanded.

“My dear Poppy.” His tone was conciliatory, but her nerves tingled with alarm when he lifted a finger and stroked it down her smooth cheek, ensnaring a strand of hair and pulling it free. “Why are you always so suspicious? No catch, I promise.”

“No bailiffs?”

“Not without following the letter of the law,” he smiled. “I’m no Rachmann—wicked landlord type, in case you didn’t know,” he explained.

“I’ll think about it—I am trying to run a business, you know, and this is usually the busiest time of year.”

Though sales in her local outlets were disappointingly low this year.

“So—delegate! Train someone.”

That thought had already occurred to her, before the recent falloff.

“Don’t try and run my life for me!” she snapped.

“I wouldn’t expect you to slap on the paint or whatever yourself—just supervise the workforce, once the basic plan has been decided.”

She just couldn’t resist it.

“All right—it’s a deal.”

“Excellent—nine o’clock Monday morning all right?”

“Fine,” she agreed with a quick nonplussed shake of the head. “Can I have my hair back now?”

His answer was to wind it tighter. “Are you coming in for coffee?”

“No, I’m not.” Heaven knew what that might lead to, though she had a rough idea!

“How about one of those mind-blowing kisses, then?”

“Stop it, Guy,” she protested weakly as his head came closer.

His lips touched hers, warm and firm. She was determined to resist, but as his lips stroked hers, her control started to snap, and she closed her eyes. His lips pressed briefly against hers, lifted away, and she was free. Her eyes snapped open to find him smiling at her with satisfaction.

“You’re detestable, Guy Devereau, do you know that?” she declared, but without much conviction.

He laughed properly then. “I love you, too, Poppy Winters.”

He let himself out and closed the door smartly. She revved away, not staying long enough to see how Guy Devereau started up the steps and then paused halfway to stare back with a puzzled frown before continuing into the house.