That Would Be a Fairy Tale - By Amanda Grange Page 0,32

His head angled; her own tilted in response. And then his mouth brushed hers.

His touch was so light it was almost non-existent, and it left her wanting more. She swayed towards him, even as a part of her mind, that tiniest part that had not yet fully succumbed to his magnetism, saw one of the gardeners, through the window, just coming into view.

But she paid the gardener no heed. She was too bound up in the moment to care about anything else; and whilst her tiniest remaining shred of sanity told her she must step back, and do it quickly, her body refused to listen.

His lips were tantalising, barely kissing her, and yet they were stirring things inside her she had never experienced before . . .

And then the gardener began to whistle.

Drawing on her last ounce of self control she stepped back, putting a hand’s breadth between them before the gardener could see anything untoward.

Once removed from the heady sensations produced by his mouth pressing so agonisingly lightly against her own, the full horror of the situation began to dawn on her. But whether she was horrified because he had kissed her, or because they had almost been seen by the gardener, she did not know.

Hastily taking the notebook Mr Evington held out to her, she bid him a garbled farewell, and walked with as much dignity as she could muster out of the room.

Once outside, with a closed door between her and her enigmatic employer, her thoughts began to clear. In the barn he had almost kissed her. In the study he had done so.

One thing was now certain, she thought as she hurried through the hall and out of the front door. If she wanted to retain her sanity she must never, ever let him touch her again.

The arrival of Mr Evington’s London guests caused quite a stir in the village. Such a large party of fashionable people had not been seen in Little Oakleigh for quite some time.

Cicely was relieved that Mr Evington had given her the week off. There would be a lot of cheerful and harmless gossip in the village, occasioned by the arrival of Mr Evington’s house guests, and knowing how the villagers liked to visit each other on a daily basis when anything exciting happened in Little Oakleigh, Cicely was relieved she would not be away from home. At such a time, her prolonged absences would have been noticed and would have been bound to cause comment.

‘Such clothes!’ said Mrs Murgatroyd as she popped in just before lunch. ‘No, I won’t stay, thank you, I have too much to do, but I had to look in and let you know the news. Three Daimlers have arrived so far, carrying the most elegant people imaginable. Their hats! Feathers and ribbons and goodness knows what! Cicely, you have never seen anything like it. In fact, Little Oakleigh has never seen anything like it. I am beginning to think it is a good thing that Mr Evington moved into the village after all.’ Her face suddenly took on a stricken look. ‘Oh, Cicely, my dear, I’m so sorry. How thoughtless of me. Of course, I don’t mean it’s a good thing he moved into the Manor. Any other good size house would have done. But he has brought a breath of fresh air with him. And now that he has recognised he has duties to the village, I think we may make an Oakleighan of him yet.’

She hurried away, ostensibly to visit the butcher’s, but in reality to tell Mrs Sealyham that three Daimlers had arrived.

Her pulses stirred by talk of the visitors, Cicely found it even more difficult than usual to concentrate on her chores, particularly as a procession of cars drove past the Lodge on their way up the drive to the Manor. But the lunch had to be made, and after that the washing had to be done.

She went into the kitchen, where a smiling Tom was wiping his hands on his trousers.

‘Is Gibson back from the shops yet?’ she asked him.

‘Not yet. But he won’t be long,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve had a look at the range for you,’ he said, standing aside so that Cicely could see the blaze he had lit there. ‘Not giving enough hot water, Mr Gibson said, so I’ve banked it up good and proper.’

‘Oh, good,’ said Cicely, hearing the fire roar. ‘It is such a blessing you know what to do with the range. I am