‘So, are you coming in?’

Gabe stopped opposite Wavecrest. In the streetlight, raindrops glistened on his face and the hopeful look in his eyes was too much for Sam. She wanted to go with him – but what would Zennor think?

‘A nightcap?’ he asked. ‘Whatever you decide, can you make it quick before we both get washed away?’ He smiled and a jot of desire shot through her. She hadn’t felt anything like it in such a long time and it was impossible to resist even though there were still so many questions she wanted answers to. Even though she might not find them, no matter what happened next.

She decided. ‘Just a quick one, then.’

They ran the short distance towards the house, Gabe unlocked the gate and they crunched over gravel. The moon peeked out, lighting up the gothic tower.

‘Dracula’s castle …’ she murmured, recognising the tingle of foreboding and excitement she felt at having decided to go back with him.

‘What?’ Gabe turned from unlocking the studded wooden front door.

‘Nothing.’

He pushed it open and stood back so she could go ahead of him. She had a wobble, momentarily, crossing that threshold. Walking into Clifftop House was walking into the unknown, but she was doing it anyway.

Chapter Thirty-One

Sam gawped at the entrance hall of Clifftop House. A statement staircase with a polished banister led up to the first floor. The walls were oak panelled with elaborate cornices and even a stained glass window at one end. The room had obviously been meant to impress when it was built in Victorian times, and by the current owner, who’d spared no expense in restoring it.

‘Wow.’

‘Yeah. That’s what I thought when the agent showed me in. I never dreamed I might live here one day. Even for a little while.’ Gabe pointed to her wellies. ‘Are you going to take your coat off or stand there making a puddle on that nice carpet?’

She glanced down at the water soaking into the exotic rug, but Gabe was smiling.

‘Drat. I’m sorry.’ She shed her dripping mac and Gabe collected it. ‘I’ll leave my wellies here.’

She took them off while he hung up her coat in a room off to the side. When he returned, he was wearing a thin grey jumper that showed off his torso beneath. She didn’t think he had anything else under it and guessed he must have thrown it on after jumping out of bed, just as she had. She suddenly remembered her own outfit and groaned. She was wearing silky sweat pant bottoms and a matching top.

‘You’ll have to excuse my pyjamas. I didn’t have time to change.’ And hadn’t thought she’d need to, of course …

She couldn’t miss his glance at her outfit. ‘None of us did. Um … you are a bit damp. Would you … um … like a dry top?’