How she wished that things were different. For Flo to be more reasonable. For her father to be here.

Ah, what did it help to wish for the impossible?

Her father wasn’t coming back.

And she was spending the weekend with the man who had caused his death. A man who’d asked her to be his wife.

What a traitor she’d become.

Eight

Everything was packed and ready to take to Fairwinds. There was some baking that with Flo’s help Miranda had prepared in advance, a selection of herbs and spices that she never traveled without-and extras that she intended to gift to the family-as well as a plethora of laborsaving devices and utensils.

Unfortunately it had been raining since they’d opened presents, making it impossible for her to stack it all outside, and now Callum was due to collect her.

Deciding she had to get moving, regardless of the weather, she kissed her mother goodbye and moved to hug Adrian.

He pecked her on the cheek. “I’ll give you a hand with all your junk.” Picking up her overnight bag, he held the front door open for her. “I’ll make a second trip for the bigger boxes.”

Miranda smiled her thanks up to him. “What would I do without you?” she said teasingly, then realized it was true-she loved her brother, would do whatever she could to protect him.

Outside the rain had eased off. Droplets dripped from the eaves, while the wind whistled through the bare branches of the lone potted silver birch.

“Look after Mum,” she told her brother on the step.

Adrian set down her bag. “I will.”

He was back in a jiffy with her boxes and stacked them at the bottom of the steps beside her luggage. “It’s going to snow again,” he said, studying the sky.

“Maybe.” Miranda squinted at the heavy clouds overhead. “Remember how we used to make snowmen in winter? With an old pair of Dad’s gumboots? Once we borrowed Mum’s pink scarf and she was so cross.”

Adrian chuckled beside her. “Remember the time you pulled my carrot nose out and gave it to Troubadour? We had such a snowball fight after that.”

“You stole the horse’s carrot. And anyway, you started it. You put a handful of snow down my shirt.” Miranda grimaced. “You hooligan.”

“And you clobbered me with your riding crop, so I hit you back.”

“And then Dad came and gave you a lecture about how boys should behave with honor always.” A lump thickened her throat. “I’d forgotten about that. We were a right royal pair of brats sometimes.”

Adrian stopped laughing. “Miranda-”

His eyes were full of turbulence, and her heart sank. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry to have to add this to everything, sis.”

Oh, no. What had her talk of honor provoked? “What? What’s happened now?”

Adrian flinched.

She tried to temper her impatience. “Callum will be here any minute. Tell me.”

“The panel beater who fixed the car-”

“What did he do wrong?” That was the last thing they needed. Had the car been shoddily repaired. Or worse?

“Nothing-he fixed it. The car’s been back at work for days-otherwise it would’ve been missed.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“He’s threatening to tell my supervisor I borrowed the car without permission unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless I pay him more money.”

She stared at her brother aghast. “This man’s blackmailing you?”

“He says if I pay him, he’ll stay quiet.”

“You’re actually considering paying this lowlife hush money?”

Adrian shrugged. “I don’t exactly have a choice.”

“And where exactly-” she said with emphasis “-is the money going to come from? Please tell me you’re not going to rob a bank-that would hardly be honorable.”

He recoiled at her sarcasm, then shot her a quick look. “I thought-”

Miranda shook her head and said grimly, “No, you can unthink that idea right now. I’m not giving you the money. Not even as a loan. If you pay him once, it will never end.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Adrian had gone pale beneath his freckles.

“Report him to the police. But first come clean to Callum about what you did-it’s hardly as bad as extortion.”

Adrian looked horrified. “I can’t.”

“You must.” At the glimpse of ghostly gray in her peripheral vision she added flatly, “He’s here. Why don’t you talk to him now?”

The sight of Callum’s Daimler pulling up at the curb caused Adrian to blanch further. “Please, sis, I’m begging you-don’t tell him.”

“He should know.”

His eyes darted around. “Not now. Not yet. I need time to think about what I’m going to say-and I really should be going to work.”

His eyes pleaded with her.

After a moment, Miranda caved in. “Okay, but you must tell him-otherwise you’ll leave me no choice but to do it myself.”

She shuddered at the thought of it.

“As soon as you get back,” he promised, giving her a sick smile. “I don’t want to spend Christmas in jail while you try to arrange bail.”

“It won’t come to that.” At least she hoped not. But she still shivered as Callum got out of the car and came round to greet her.

Her brother acknowledged Callum with none of his usual confidence and quickly sidled away, saying, “Drive carefully, and have a merry Christmas both of you.”

Despite the fact that there had been heavy snows a few days earlier, the roads were clear and they were making good time.

Callum glanced over at the woman beside him.

Apart from a few monosyllabic answers, Miranda hadn’t spoken much in the past three hours. After trying to engage her in conversation a couple of times, he’d shrugged and flooded the car with music, negating the need for conversation.

Right now she was scribbling in a notebook, a frown of concentration wrinkling her brow.

“Don’t worry, everything will go like clockwork.”

“I’m not worried.” But the way she gnawed the end of her pencil refuted the statement. And so did the closed, withdrawn expression that had been etched on her face since he’d collected her earlier.

“Try to relax, my family won’t bite.”

“If you say so.”

Callum fell silent.

She must be nervous. That would explain her behavior. They’d spoken several times over the past few days. At first she’d made panicked calls to him about logistics, but each time they’d spoken, she’d sounded more and more like the Miranda he knew. Smart. Confident. Totally together. After consultation with his brothers, and with his parents’ housekeeper, he’d approved all the menus she’d produced-and given her carte blanche to buy whatever she needed.

With the housekeeper’s help, Miranda had decided to employ three women from the local village to help with the birthday party, and to hire the majority of the crockery and cutlery needed from a firm in Ambleside. Much of the produce would come from local suppliers, too, which she’d already organized.

As late as last night, there’d been no problem. So why was she so withdrawn and tense now?

Or was he imagining problems where none existed? Callum shrugged his concern off. It could be that Miranda simply wasn’t a morning person-he’d teased her about that before. Or maybe she needed sustenance.

So fifteen minutes later he pulled off the M6 and headed for an inn set well back from the main road.

She looked up with surprise as he turned into the car park. “Where are we?”

He gestured to a large sign in front of the inn. “The Rose and Thorn.”

She groaned. “That much is evident-I can see the sign.”

His mouth twitched as he sensed her rolling her eyes.

Switching off the motor, he unclipped his seat belt. “I often break the journey here. They serve a good breakfast.” He went round to her side and opened her door. “If you don’t want breakfast, my mother swears by their cream teas.”

She hesitated.

“Come on.” Miranda was shivering as the cold air drifted into the warmth of the Daimler. “There’s a warm fire inside,” he coaxed as she drew her red scarf more tightly around her neck and emerged from the car in a flurry of denim and a bright red woolen coat.

Inside the dining room, the low wooden beams and a fire in the hearth gave the inn a welcoming ambience. Once a plump, smiling woman had taken their orders, Callum watched Miranda’s gaze settle on a large Christmas tree in the corner. Her shoulders sagged imperceptibly.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

Miranda shook her head.

“Don’t fob me off.” He waited, but she still said nothing, though shadows lingered in her eyes. “This is me, Callum. When have you ever not been able to tell me exactly what you think?”

She gestured to the Christmas tree. “This will be the first time I haven’t been with my family for Christmas.” She slanted him a glance from under long, dark lashes and the expression in her melting eyes caught at something deep in his chest. “Nothing you can do about that.”

He exhaled in relief. “That’s all?”

“All? What do you mean ‘all’?” The fire was back in her eyes. “No one is as important to me as Mum and Adrian. Since Dad died we’ve always roasted a Cornish hen-a turkey is too big for the three of us-and prepared all the trimmings. And this year I won’t be there.”

Callum cursed silently as he filled in the unspoken blanks. There probably hadn’t been sufficient money for a turkey after her father’s death. Remorse tugged at him that Miranda would be missing out on precious time with her family because of him.

Because he was prepared to go to any lengths to get her back in his bed.

God, he’d been selfish. If she ever learned how he’d manipulated her, she would be furious. So she had better never learn the truth.

The egg and bacon pie they’d both ordered from the special-of-the-day board arrived, distracting them both for a few minutes.