happened.
It was all very puzzling, and her brow furrowed as she attempted to pierce beyond that thick curtain that had so effectively screened her past.
'I shouldn't worry about it,' Mr Oates said hastily. 'What I wanted to tell you was that it would be better if you kept out of his way.'
Teresa's brows rose at this bald statement. There was no need to ask the question, it was in her eyes.
'Er—you're a very pretty girl, Teresa,' he said lamely, 'and Carl Elton and your uncle have never got on—never have, and never will.' At her indignant glance, he carried on hastily, 'Now you're a sensible girl, and there's no sense in starting things up again that are better left. I want you to promise me to make yourself scarce each time he comes here, and on no account be alone with him. If Michael and I aren't around when he calls, dodge out the back way—and if he phones, just hand the call over to either me or Michael.'
An extremely bewildered Teresa left his office a short while later to resume her work, but she found it impossible to keep her mind on the job. By all appearances, this Carl Elton had somehow made
contact with her; not only that, but must have shown signs of more than a passing interest in her, so much so that her uncle must have been worried about it.
It was also obvious that the man had a reputation as a lady-killer—which was odd, she mused. He didn't look the type, too haughty for one thing. Perhaps he led a Jekyll-and-Hyde existence? On this thought she grinned, and remembering Mr Oates' instructions to keep out of his way, her smile grew wider. Really, they were being rather over-protective, weren't they? As if she couldn't handle the situation. She'd met wolves before now, hadn't she?
Suddenly her brow furrowed. Now how did she know that?
CHAPTER FIVE
THE following day, Teresa met Carl Elton again. It was not a chance meeting, for he had come to the office to see her, but she didn't realise that at first. When the door opened and he strolled in she sat for a moment or so in indecision, for Mr Oates and Michael were out of town that morning and were not expected back until the afternoon.
She could, of course, have done precisely what Mr Oates had suggested she did, made some excuse and left the office, but it would have been the coward's way out, and was too ridiculous for words; besides, she was not unnaturally curious, and wanted to find out just what had taken place between herself and this man.
Her clear gaze met his as she said, `I'm afraid Mr Oates is out, so is his son. They'll be back after lunch, though, if you'd care to come back.'
He stood gazing at her for a moment or so before he answered, and she saw his firm lips take on a sardonic twist as he said, 'There's no need to overdo the polite act. I got the message from Oates.'
His gaze left hers, and he stared down at a catalogue she had been copying out for the next auction. 'Are there any Herefords there?' he asked conversationally.
Teresa started; she was still trying to make out what he meant by 'the message'. Really, you'd think
he would show some sympathy instead of treating the matter as of no account! Well, one thing was clear, she told herself with relief, there couldn't have been much between them. Mr Oates must have been taking precautions against the possibility of Carl Elton's trying to flirt with her.
Feeling as if a great load had been lifted off her shoulders, she ran her eye down the list. 'Lot Seventeen,' she said brightly. 'Will you be able to bid, or shall I tell Mr Oates to put your bid in?' She looked up expectantly at him.
'Teresa?' he said softly, and the next moment had pulled her into his arms.
An extremely alarmed Teresa tore herself away from him. Mr Oates had not been all that far out after all, had he? she thought wildly as she headed for the back door, but Carl Elton was there before her, blocking her exit.
She backed slowly away from him, her eyes wide. She wished she could understand why
It was all very puzzling, and her brow furrowed as she attempted to pierce beyond that thick curtain that had so effectively screened her past.
'I shouldn't worry about it,' Mr Oates said hastily. 'What I wanted to tell you was that it would be better if you kept out of his way.'
Teresa's brows rose at this bald statement. There was no need to ask the question, it was in her eyes.
'Er—you're a very pretty girl, Teresa,' he said lamely, 'and Carl Elton and your uncle have never got on—never have, and never will.' At her indignant glance, he carried on hastily, 'Now you're a sensible girl, and there's no sense in starting things up again that are better left. I want you to promise me to make yourself scarce each time he comes here, and on no account be alone with him. If Michael and I aren't around when he calls, dodge out the back way—and if he phones, just hand the call over to either me or Michael.'
An extremely bewildered Teresa left his office a short while later to resume her work, but she found it impossible to keep her mind on the job. By all appearances, this Carl Elton had somehow made
contact with her; not only that, but must have shown signs of more than a passing interest in her, so much so that her uncle must have been worried about it.
It was also obvious that the man had a reputation as a lady-killer—which was odd, she mused. He didn't look the type, too haughty for one thing. Perhaps he led a Jekyll-and-Hyde existence? On this thought she grinned, and remembering Mr Oates' instructions to keep out of his way, her smile grew wider. Really, they were being rather over-protective, weren't they? As if she couldn't handle the situation. She'd met wolves before now, hadn't she?
Suddenly her brow furrowed. Now how did she know that?
CHAPTER FIVE
THE following day, Teresa met Carl Elton again. It was not a chance meeting, for he had come to the office to see her, but she didn't realise that at first. When the door opened and he strolled in she sat for a moment or so in indecision, for Mr Oates and Michael were out of town that morning and were not expected back until the afternoon.
She could, of course, have done precisely what Mr Oates had suggested she did, made some excuse and left the office, but it would have been the coward's way out, and was too ridiculous for words; besides, she was not unnaturally curious, and wanted to find out just what had taken place between herself and this man.
Her clear gaze met his as she said, `I'm afraid Mr Oates is out, so is his son. They'll be back after lunch, though, if you'd care to come back.'
He stood gazing at her for a moment or so before he answered, and she saw his firm lips take on a sardonic twist as he said, 'There's no need to overdo the polite act. I got the message from Oates.'
His gaze left hers, and he stared down at a catalogue she had been copying out for the next auction. 'Are there any Herefords there?' he asked conversationally.
Teresa started; she was still trying to make out what he meant by 'the message'. Really, you'd think
he would show some sympathy instead of treating the matter as of no account! Well, one thing was clear, she told herself with relief, there couldn't have been much between them. Mr Oates must have been taking precautions against the possibility of Carl Elton's trying to flirt with her.
Feeling as if a great load had been lifted off her shoulders, she ran her eye down the list. 'Lot Seventeen,' she said brightly. 'Will you be able to bid, or shall I tell Mr Oates to put your bid in?' She looked up expectantly at him.
'Teresa?' he said softly, and the next moment had pulled her into his arms.
An extremely alarmed Teresa tore herself away from him. Mr Oates had not been all that far out after all, had he? she thought wildly as she headed for the back door, but Carl Elton was there before her, blocking her exit.
She backed slowly away from him, her eyes wide. She wished she could understand why
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