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Nik’s attention had drifted to her hair because it seemed to have grown more abundant overnight like some Victorian-era maiden. He suddenly found himself right back where he was last night. Wanting her.
He cleared his throat. ‘My grandfather tells me you take tours of the house.’
She stood a little straighter. ‘The third Thursday of every month, we have school groups in. Only in the west wing.’
‘You bring people into my house?’
‘I don’t think your grandfather considers the house yours,’ she said, her fan of lashes flickering nervously. ‘Really the house belongs to everyone in Edbury in a manner of speaking. There has been a manor house on this spot since the time of the Normans—’
‘Fascinating.’
‘It is fascinating!’ She firmed her mouth. ‘Your grandfather understands we’re only caretakers of a place like this. That’s why he agreed to open up the estate again to the public.’
Nik tried not to notice how her blouse hugged her breasts or her skirt flared over those rounded hips. ‘I am more interested in discovering exactly why my property is being treated like a theme park.’
Sybella’s heart sank. If this was his attitude there was no win for her here.
Only she noticed his gaze was roaming a little too far south of her face again and she could feel her body responding, the warmth rising up into her cheeks, the backs of her knees tingling.
‘I’m not a theme park either,’ she said flatly.
To her surprise a streak of colour rose over his high, flat cheekbones.
‘And no one is treating Edbury Hall that way,’ she hastened on, wanting to put the sexual awareness behind them where it belonged. ‘It’s more of an educational facility.’
He folded his arms. ‘Who is paying your salary?’
‘No one. Everyone volunteers.’
‘Right.’
‘No one’s ever been paid at Edbury. All takings are funnelled back into other projects in the area.’
His gaze zeroed in on her. ‘You’re not an employee?’
She shook her head.
‘Good, that makes this less ambiguous.’
‘What do you mean “ambiguous”? What’s ambiguous?’ Sybella didn’t like the sound of that.
He looked up at the lintel above her head and over the local stone that walled her house.
‘You’re also my tenant,’ he spelt out, cool gaze dropping to hers once more. ‘The lease on the Hall includes these weavers’ cottages.’
‘Yes,’ she said feeling hunted, ‘and I’ve never missed a rental payment.’
‘Nobody said you had. But just as a hypothetical example, how would you like it if I turned this row into a tourist attraction on the weekends?’
‘They are a tourist attraction.’
‘Prostit?’
‘People come from all over the world to photograph our cottages. Several film crews have been on site in this street in the past four years.’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘I’m beginning to think you know nothing of Edbury at all.’
‘You’d be right. I own the Hall for tax purposes.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I’m required to own a certain amount of property in the UK for tax reasons.’
She stared at him as if he’d announced he’d stolen the Crown Jewels and was currently storing them in the Kremlin.
‘You must be joking? You’ve caused all this upset in the village because you want to cheat on your tax?’ Her voice had risen exponentially.
Nik shifted on his size fifteens. ‘I do not engage in illegal activities, Mrs Parminter, and I would be careful about what you say to me.’
She looked taken aback and retreated a little into the safety of her doorway.
Nik expelled a deep breath. He did not bully women, but every conversation with this girl turned into a confrontation.
‘I’m not interested in your financial dealings, Mr Voronov,’ she said, looking persecuted, ‘any more than I enjoy being doorstepped at nine o’clock in the morning. Say what you’ve got to say and go.’
He looked her up and down, which she clearly didn’t like.
‘I’ve said it.’
‘Good.’
