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Why the hell was her heart beating so damn fast from just touching him? Surely that wasn’t normal? And why the hell was he standing there, staring at her with those swimmable blue-green eyes?

‘Um, it’s that desk,’ she said, pointing across the study and trying to act like her pulse hadn’t suddenly rocketed.

‘You mean the only desk in the room?’ Duncan said, the slightest smirk twisting the corners of his lips.

‘Yes, that’s the one,’ she said.

Aware that her cheeks were now fluorescent, Bex turned around and busied herself with a pile of paper she had already sorted. Yet even with her back to him, she could feel Duncan’s eyes boring into her. She could sense that slanted smirk on one side of his face too, and it was sending her stomach into a full Cirque du Soleil routine.

It was just because she had been told to steer clear, she told herself. That was the reason she was feeling like this. And it would pass soon enough. She just had to get to know him more. Most of the men she thought were attractive suddenly became less so when she got to know them. That would happen with Duncan too. She was sure of it.

As she finally put down the stack of already sorted paper, Duncan got to work on the desk. After a few minutes of fiddling, he spoke again.

‘Got one,’ he said. ‘And it looks like these might actually be useful to you,’ he added, holding out yet another stack of leather-bound ledgers.

‘I knew there would be stuff in there I needed,’ Bex said, careful not to touch Duncan’s hand this time as she took the pile from him.

Despite her desire to leave all the accounts until after the physical sorting had been done, Bex couldn’t help flipping through the top ledger. Her eyes lit up. Unlike most of the paperwork she had looked through before, these were surprisingly organised. Blue, black and red ink only, all within the columns, clearly labelled and not the slightest hint of purple anywhere. She was actually feeling rather happy – until she noticed the date on the top. Her jaw dropped.

‘These are from fifty years ago?’ she exclaimed. ‘I can’t possibly have to look at the accounts from fifty years ago!’

She wanted to cry. She was going to have to speak to Nigel about this. This was not a one-person job. An entire team had been called in to settle smaller tasks. What he was asking of her was ridiculous, and she was about to say as much to Duncan when he spoke again.

‘Oh wow,’ he said.

‘What is it? Because if you tell me it’s a hundred-year-old ledger, then that’s it. I’m walking.’

He let out a dry chuckle, but his eyes remained on the items in his hand.

‘No, it’s not that. I just opened the top drawer and it’s mostly old photos and cards,’ he said, pulling out a few faded images. ‘But this one… My grandad used to have a photo just like this in the house, though I didn’t find it until after he’d died. It was locked away in a drawer, a little like this.’

He held it out to her.

It was of two young men and a woman standing between them. From the hint of scenery in the background, it was probably taken somewhere in the grounds, with a view of the loch in the distance. It was the type of photo where you could feel the joy radiating from the paper. All three of them were laughing, with heads thrown back and grins so wide their eyes were creased to almost nothing.

Bex squinted. ‘Is that your grandad?’ she asked, pointing to the man on the left. Even with the difference in clothes and the angle he stood at, there was a vague resemblance between the man and Duncan, that came mostly from the height.

‘Aye, that’s my grandad,’ Duncan said. ‘And that’s Fergus.’

‘Fergus? As in this Fergus? Grumpy old Laird Fergus?’

Duncan laughed.

‘That’s the one.’

Bex could hardly believe it. Fergus had once been as dashing as people claimed. In the photo, he wore a flat cap perched jauntily, his wax jacket was clean, and one of his hands was casually in his pocket. With his smile wide and carefree, Bex could barely recognise him.

‘So your grandad and Fergus were friends,’ Bex said, continuing to study the photograph.

‘Apparently, they were very close growing up,’ Duncan said. ‘Grandad was the groundskeeper here until the day he died, but by that time, he and Fergus hadn’t been speaking for years.’

‘What? Why? What happened?’ Bex said. This insight into the laird’s past was substantially more intriguing than all the work that awaited her.

But rather than replying immediately, Duncan let out a long sigh.

‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘But something did.’

‘Yet your grandad carried on working here? For Fergus? Living in the lodge?’