The Seduction Trap by Sara Wood

cautiously. For a split second his brown eyes flickered with a hint of annoyance, as if he felt offended that she should question his integrity. And then he resumed his expression of benign goodwill.
    Mr Cherub himself, she thought, reminding herself to be wary. This man wanted the cottages-something her mother had explicitly warned her about. If she didn’t keep on her toes she’d find her sentimental nature surfacing, and she’d be striking a deal with him over the breakfast table.
    Tessa tightened her resolve. He was working on her for his own ends. That made her angry. She’d let him play all his cards, ooze his practised charm, and then she’d coolly turn him down. That would please her mother.
    Calmly she tilted her head on one side and said sweetly, ‘Tell me your plans. I’m fascinated.’
    Was that a sardonic smile or just her imagination working overtime? Whatever the reason for the curve to his sensual mouth, he leaned forward confidingly.
    ‘Obviously I have a duty to the village, Tessa. There are people who might envy the fact that I own so much land and property. But with that power comes one hell of a responsibility. I have to maintain the church, the market hall, the very fabric of the village. Each roof, every gutter, window-frame and chimney is my concern.’
    ‘It’s quite a load on your shoulders,’ she said, shaken by his fervour. ‘Do you mind? Doesn’t the responsibility prevent you from doing other, more exciting things?’
    ‘Being right here at this moment is incredibly exciting,’ he said softly, gazing directly into her eyes. The hidden core of his passion reached her-a raw and consuming passion which would ensure he carried through his plans. She quailed a little at the intensity of it and wondered if he’d meant her to see how powerfully he was driven to succeed, how deep his feelings were for his village. After all, he’d been absent for nearly half of his lifetime and must have dreamed of returning for years.
    ‘Tessa,’ he said with quiet urgency, trapping her hand beneath his, ‘let me tell you this: I mean to stamp my mark here so strongly that it’s never forgotten.’
    Not literally here, she hoped, nervously looking down at their hands. She was aware of her pulses leaping strongly beneath his fingers where they circled her wrist. The pressure of his grip increased, causing an erratic fluttering which he must surely feel.
    ‘Don’t spoil Turaine,’ she urged jerkily. The slow progress of his smile held her fascinated gaze. ‘Turaine? That will be an easy conversion, compared with some I’m planning,’ he said drily, smiling at some secret thought of his own.
    ‘What other conversions are you involved in, then?’ she asked, puzzled.
    ‘Conversions of the mind,’ he said enigmatically. ‘Oh. Planning consent, you mean,’ she said, knowing how red tape could hamper the progress of restoration. He smiled, but didn’t comment. ‘As far as Turaine is concerned, don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of changing something unique. You don’t tamper with real beauty. You leave it alone, let it breathe, feed it. ..’ He sighed with pleasure. ‘I love beautiful things. Don’t you?’
    ‘To a point. It depends on how thin the paint is on top and what’s underneath. Sometimes there’s something rotten there.’
    She was thinking of the beautiful David.
    ‘You’re right. You have to look deeper, search for signs ...
    agitate the surface a little and observe what happens.’ He lifted her hand with his and allowed her fingers to trail down her own face. It felt like satin. It also felt alarmingly hot. ‘I’m talking about real beauty. Take Turaine, for instance-’
    ‘Yes, let’s,’ she croaked, failing to sound brisk and castigating herself for that fact. Why did he have to keep touching her?
    ‘Well, it’s the people who make it what it is,’ he said quietly, playing with her fingers with such concentration that her heart leapt every time she looked at his