Threat from the Past

Diana Hamilton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

THERE was something wrong. Very wrong. Something she wasn’t being told, she was sure of it. Selina changed down and turned the Volvo on to the narrow lane that led towards Lower Otterley Hall, mindful of the brittle crust of ice beneath the tyres, her golden gaze clouded under strong, arching eyebrows.

But what? She flipped down the sun visor, shading out the low, slanting rays of the pale afternoon sun as they shimmered through the bare branches of trees and hedgerows, spangled now with ice as pure as crystal. She sensed undercurrents and she didn’t usually imagine things. She was far too level-headed to worry about anything until it actually leapt up and hit her between the eyes.

So why the decidedly uneasy and definitely uncharacteristic sensation of looming disaster? Selina shook her head unconsciously, setting the riotous mane of tawny, gold-streaked hair flying around her face. It wasn’t the current recession which was hitting the King’s Ransom chain of boutiques as hard as every other high street business in the land, that was for sure. They had ridden the last and they would come out of this one, too.

True, her buying budget had been slashed, but all that had achieved had been to provide her with the sort of challenge she thrived on. She had only just returned from a two-week buying trip to the Continent, picking up fine leather accessories, summer silks and cottons at knock-down prices. Haggling was the name of the game when times were tough, she assured herself, her wide mouth quirking upwards in a wicked grin. And if the suppliers wanted to keep the goodwill of the ultra-successful, entirely family-owned King’s Ransom chain then they had to bend a little, cut profits as the family itself was having to do in order to safeguard jobs and keep shops open and cleverly stocked for when boom-time came again, as it surely would.

As always, when the oddly pitched lichen-covered roofs, the tall, intricate chimneys and the mellow stone walls of the Hall came in view Selina’s normally prosaic heart performed a lilt of sheer delight. Swinging the sturdy car on to the long, tree-lined drive, she suffered a sudden, stabbing remembrance of the day when she had first come here to live. Ten years old, her features too bold for her pale little face, her unruly hair tamed into a single thick pigtail, she had been bewildered, battered by the grief of losing both her parents in a motorway pile-up, the cruel waste of which could still leave her shaking with anger even now, sixteen years later.

Her mother’s much older sister, Aunt Vanessa, Selina’s only remaining blood relative, had offered to take care of her, but it had been her aunt’s husband, Uncle Martin, who had given her the affection and patient attention her grieving young heart had so desperately needed. Her cousin, Dominic, a year older than herself, had openly resented her presence. An only child, a precious child, he hadn’t been prepared to share his parents with anyone. Which was probably why, Selina thought wryly, his doting mother had been especially careful to impress on him that he came first in everything.

Vanessa, astute businesswoman that she was, brilliant hostess and calculating socialite, had a blind spot where Dominic was concerned. The fact no longer troubled Selina—she knew her own worth—but it did, and always would, quietly amaze her.

And it had been this house itself, Lower Otterley Hall, that had helped her come to terms with her awful loss. Her uncle and aunt had recently moved in at that time, and Selina had never visited the place before. Bought at the time when the chain of boutiques had been expanding, the house had been far less opulent than it was now. But the young Selina had seen beyond the neglect to the enchanting home it could and had become, packed with so much character that it made the mock-Georgian house in Watford which they had recently sold, and where Selina had visited with her parents, look like a cardboard doll’s house.

The gradual and careful restoration had fascinated the young Selina and the choosing of suitable period furniture from auctions around the country had been the one thing to bring her and her aunt closer. But it had been Martin King’s patience, his gentle, caring support—even more than her increasingly passionate devotion to the beautiful old house—which had helped her come to terms with the loss of her parents and emerge into the well-balanced, confident young woman she was today.

As she garaged the Volvo next to Dominic’s snarly red Porsche she sat for long moments softly drumming her gloved fingers against the steering-wheel, wondering if her uneasy premonitions had anything to do with Martin’s health.

But surely not. He had a heart condition, diagnosed a couple of years ago, but he was in the care of one of the most prominent cardiologists in the country and, following his advice, was readying himself for retirement, grooming Dominic to take over his position as financial director for the King’s Ransom chain.

No— Her restless fingers reached for her handbag as she let herself out of the car and collected her luggage from the boot. Everything was under control as far as Martin’s health was concerned; he was taking things much more easily and, in fact, for the past six months Dominic had taken his place in the company. Even his birthday celebration tonight, which was responsible for Selina’s dash from Heathrow instead of doing as she normally would at the conclusion of a buying trip—staying in town overnight and spending the next day at head office—was to be low-key, just the family for a quiet dinner and not the usual glittering thrash Vanessa organised so well.

So there was nothing to worry over, was there? she questioned herself severely as she cut across the cobbled courtyard at the side of the house and headed for the main door, her stride long and purposeful, the hems of her white trench coat brushing her leather-booted ankles.

And any lingering forebodings were quickly dispelled as she entered the huge, softly lighted hall and the familiar welcome of the old house wrapped her in security. The cast-iron woodburner set into the massive stone hearth radiated a comforting warmth, enticing the maximum scent from the bowls of white hyacinths clustered on every available table-top and window-sill.

Dropping her case at her feet, Selina’s wide mouth curved into a slow smile as she felt herself relax, truly relax, and Meg, her aunt’s housekeeper, walking through from the kitchen regions, called out, ‘I thought I heard you arrive. Good trip?’

‘Great, thanks.’ Selina’s smile broadened into the breathtaking grin that, quite apart from her tall, lissomly feminine body, her striking features and untameable riot of tawny hair, had the power to stop the male of the species in their tracks. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Out. Except for Dominic and he’s shut up in the study with orders not to be disturbed.’ Meg’s bony shoulders rose in a throw-away shrug. ‘Dinner’s at eight, as usual. You haven’t forgotten it’s your uncle’s birthday?’

‘What do you think?’ Selina was used to Meg’s need to organise everyone and everything around her and, as she shrugged out of her trench coat and smoothed the lapels of the rich brown fine wool suit she was wearing, she did some organising on her own account. ‘Be a love and bring a tray of tea to my room, would you, please? I need to shower and crash out for a couple of hours if I’m to be fit company for anyone this evening. Oh—’ She paused, halfway up the wide oak staircase, her suitcase in one hand, her coat hooked over her arm. ‘If Dominic surfaces, tell him I want to talk to him, would you?’ He would be able to set her mind at rest as to the state of the business and then she could finally rid herself of the last remnants of the niggling unease which had begun to infect her three days ago. And then, her voice studiedly casual, she added, ‘Everything been all right here?’

‘I’d have told you if it hadn’t been,’ Meg answered impatiently and then, relenting because it wasn’t like Selina to attempt subterfuge, she always led straight from the shoulder, Meg replied to the underlying question more softly, ‘Your uncle’s fine. Even without you to keep a strict eye on him he hasn’t been overdoing things.’ Noting the way the faint trace of anxiety lifted from those long-lidded golden eyes, the housekeeper turned to go and make that tea, passing the information over her shoulder, ‘He’s gone with your aunt to put in an order at the garden centre—for that enclosed rose garden they’ve been talking about all winter.’

Feeling inexplicably lighter, Selina went quickly up the remaining stairs. Stupid of her to harbour neurotic anxieties. So unlike her. And she wasn’t going to pander to them a moment longer. She wouldn’t even bother to ask Dominic if everything was running smoothly as far as the business was concerned. If anything had gone badly wrong he would have contacted her. Or Vanessa would.

So she had a shower, taken quickly, Meg’s tea followed by an hour relaxing on her bed before wrapping the carved jade chess pieces she’d found in Rome, knowing as soon as she’d set eyes on them that they’d make a perfect birthday gift for Martin.

Her bedroom was peaceful, right at the back of the house, so tucked away that she might have been alone in the building. Drowsily, she registered a faint chilliness, and wondered whether to dress. Lounging around in a light silk wrap wasn’t a good idea, despite the central heating. Filigree patterns of ice were already beginning to form on the outside of the windows as the short winter day darkened to a close.

About to slide her feet to the floor, she automatically reached for the phone on her bedside table as it began to ring out, pushing her rumpled hair away from her face with the back of one hand as she said drowsily, ‘Selina Roth, can I help you?’

The tiny snatch of silence from the other end had her wrinkling her brows, becoming more alert, but her wide mouth curved softly as a deeply pitched male voice imparted, ‘May I speak to Martin King, please?’

Just a few innocuous words, but oh, what a sexy voice! Thick dark velvet laid over gravel. A voice to conjure dreams of the far-from-innocent variety! Aware of the strange frisson that feathered her spine, she took herself in hand and answered, a shade too huskily for her liking, ‘I’m afraid he’s not here at the moment; can I help you?’ A very peculiar reluctance to end the conversation, to go in search of Martin, had her adding, ‘I could take a message. Who is calling?’ Her uncle might not have returned. As far as she knew, he hadn’t, she excused her silly behaviour. Tucked away in her room, right at the far end of the wing at the rear of the house, she had no way of knowing, had she? And again the short and inexplicable silence before that devastating voice sent shivers chasing each other down her spine again.

‘Adam Tudor. Tell Martin I’ll be dropping in around nine this evening, would you? I won’t keep him long. Tell him it’s important. Got that?’

‘Yes, of course. We’ll expect you at nine.’ Heavens, what had come over her? Her own voice seemed to be vying with his in the sexiness stakes! As the line went dead she stared at the instrument in confusion before giving her head a tiny shake and replacing the receiver.

She really should have made the effort to put him off, she muttered inside her head as she pushed her feet into her slippers. Sorry, she could have said, but Martin can’t possibly see you tonight. She could have asked for his number and told him that her uncle would contact him some time. Tonight they would be holding a private, family celebration. Martin might not want a stranger muscling in, even for only a few minutes.

But he wouldn’t be a stranger to Martin, would he? Or not entirely. Adam Tudor had added no explanations as to who he was, which meant that he was known to Martin. And she hadn’t even thought of fobbing him off and, always honest with herself, she knew why. Pulling a disgusted face at her own silliness, she hurried along the quiet corridor towards the main block of the house. She had been curious, she admitted to herself. She wanted to see if the man matched his voice! And the joke would be against her when Adam Tudor turned up in the flesh and revealed himself as being short and fat and definitely ugly!

The suite of rooms her aunt and uncle occupied at the head of the main staircase was empty. Selina checked her watch. Gone five-thirty.

They must have got really involved down at the garden centre, which wasn’t entirely surprising since Vanessa had been caught up in her plans for the rose garden for months, infecting Martin with her enthusiasm.

Since her uncle had been warned to take things easily, the dressing-room off the master bedroom had been converted into a book-lined sitting-room where he could sit and relax, indulge his passion for reading, listening to taped plainsong or sharing a glass of sherry with his wife, talking over the events of the day.

Tearing a sheet of paper from the pad on the eighteenth-century rosewood desk, she wrote quickly, the words penned in her distinctive hand, ‘Adam Tudor is arriving at nine. He says it’s important he sees you’, the words standing out starkly against the white background.

She left the note where her uncle couldn’t fail to see it when he came in here to relax for a while before changing for his celebratory dinner, then made her way back to her own room.

Stifling a yawn, she slid beneath the comforting warmth of the duvet and curled herself into a ball. She wouldn’t sleep. Merely relax and recoup her energies after the last frantically busy two weeks, the flight home and the subsequent drive back here to the Sussex-Hampshire border.

Her mind drifting, she heard again that brief conversational exchange with Adam Tudor and her mouth curved in an unconscious smile. It would almost be a pity to meet the man—his physical appearance couldn’t possibly match that fantastically attractive voice! Seeing him in the flesh was bound to be a huge let-down. And, come to think of it, his name seemed strangely familiar. As if she had heard it before... Some time... Somewhere...

* * *

‘Selina. Wake up, Selina.’ Meg’s voice penetrated dimly into her consciousness and, as a gentle hand shook her shoulder, Selina opened one eye and then the other, fixing first on the housekeeper’s gaunt features and then on the bedside clock which told her it was seven already.

‘Oh, hell!’ she muttered blearily. ‘I didn’t mean to sleep.’ Struggling up against the pillows, she propped herself on her elbows and Meg said, her voice sounding strained,

‘You were tired out. Anyone could see that. Even Dominic said not to wake you.’

‘Dominic? What’s he got to do with anything?’ When had her cousin ever shown any concern for her well-being? If she dropped dead from exhaustion he wouldn’t blink an eyelid.

Snapping wide awake now, the knowledge that something was horribly wrong hit her like a blow to the chest, and her voice was thick as she demanded, ‘What’s happened? Tell me, Meg!’

Her worst fears, the fears that had been wriggling namelessly at the back of her mind for days, now suddenly took on the hatefulness of reality as the housekeeper sat heavily on the side of the bed and, passing a hand tiredly over her eyes, said, ‘It’s your uncle.’ Then, glancing sideways to meet the shock-darkened golden eyes, huge now in a face that was suddenly drained of all colour, she added quickly, ‘But he’ll be all right. Dr Hill said it was a very mild attack, nothing to worry about in itself—but a warning.’

‘But how? When?’ Selina demanded sharply, out of bed now, pulling fresh underwear from a drawer, jeans in fine needlecord, a lighter shade of cinnamon than the cashmere V-necked sweater, dressing hurriedly in the first things to come to hand. ‘Where is he now?’

‘Hospital. Private room,’ Meg told her, frowning, getting to her feet and taking a firm, no-nonsense grip on Selina’s shoulders, forcing her down on to the carved blanket chest at the foot of the elegant half-tester bed.

Halfway into her sweater and caught off-balance, Selina sat heavily, wrestled the garment into place and caught Meg’s compassionate eyes.

‘Panicking won’t help your uncle. Catch your breath while I explain what happened.’

Closing her eyes just briefly, Selina recognised the wisdom in what Meg said. Her heart was beating like a drum, her breathing too rapid, too shallow. Taking a long, deep breath she opened her eyes again and instructed quietly, ‘So tell me.’

‘They’d just got back from the garden centre, about a quarter to six, when Dr Hill arrived with a birthday gift for your uncle. A bottle of his favourite port, it was.’ Meg sat beside Selina, taking one of the slim, long-fingered hands between her bony ones. ‘They were joking about the doctor choosing to bring port so that he could share it while they were playing chess next week. So your uncle invited him up to his sitting-room to join him in a glass of sherry, and the four of them went up—Dominic had come out of the study when he heard them all talking—and, apparently, that was when your uncle collapsed.’

‘Thank God Bob Hill was there,’ Selina said thickly and Meg nodded quickly, assuring her,

‘He was able to do what was necessary and he and Dominic between them got him into his car. Your aunt went with them to the hospital and Dominic followed in his own car. He phoned just before I woke you to say your uncle was stable, that it had been a minor attack. But he’s going to have to stay in for a few days—for recuperation and tests.’

‘Why wasn’t I told? Someone should have woken me,’ Selina accused. She was emerging from the initial shock now and couldn’t believe that she had been left to sleep, oblivious to all that had been going on.

‘I did suggest alerting you,’ Meg told her. ‘But Dominic said not to worry you. You’d had a gruelling trip and were probably asleep and, in any case, there was nothing useful you could do.’

Except be with him, offer her support to Vanessa who must have been out of her mind with anxiety, Selina thought with silent bitterness, knowing that the truth of the matter hinged on the fact of Dominic’s unalterable resentment of her presence in their lives at all. But Meg was saying, ‘It all happened so quickly and when they’d all gone there didn’t seem any point in worrying you before I got hard news from the hospital.’

‘I’m going there now,’ Selina stated, crossing the room to retrieve her boots from the bottom of the cupboard where she’d stowed them earlier. She had to see Martin and Vanessa for herself, get the reassurance she needed that her uncle’s attack had, in truth, been minor, let Vanessa know that she, Selina, was ready to offer all the emotional support she needed.

The boots pulled on, she dragged her trench coat from its hanger and reached for her shoulder-bag and was halfway to the door when Dominic walked through, the courtesy of a knock seeming not to have occurred to him.

‘How is he now?’ Selina and Meg both spoke together and Dominic directed his reply to the housekeeper, his slanting eyes refusing to meet Selina’s anxious gaze.

‘His condition’s stable, as I told you when I phoned, and his consultant will be with him now. He’s even grumbling about missing his birthday celebrations.’ He gave Meg a thin smile. ‘Mother’s decided to stay overnight—not that it’s necessary, but she insists. Would you pack a bag? You’ll know the sort of thing she’ll need.’

‘Of course.’ Meg hurried out without a backward glance and Selina stated,

‘I’ll take it when I drive over. There’s no need for you to make the journey again tonight.’

‘How awfully considerate,’ Dominic drawled, his grey eyes cold. ‘After all, the hospital’s all of twelve miles away,’ he added sarcastically, moving to stand in front of her as she made for the door. ‘I think everyone would prefer it if you stayed here.’

‘Is that so,’ Selina snapped back, her chin up, already searching in her bag for her car keys. It would give Dominic immense satisfaction to allow his parents to think that she hadn’t bothered to stir herself to visit her uncle.

He was very immature in a lot of ways. He wanted his parents to himself, he needed to believe that he was the centre of this particular universe and hated the idea that Selina might take anything away from him. He deeply resented the bond his cousin shared with his father and wasn’t adult enough to understand that the affection between them took nothing away from himself.

He had his back to the door now, his narrow face vindictive as he barred her exit, his tone spiteful as he parried, ‘Yes, that is so! You’ve already caused too much trouble. One look at you would remind him of what caused the attack in the first place, and heaven only knows what could happen then.’

‘Trouble?’ She picked out the damning word, the hot colour of annoyance draining from her skin, leaving it ashen, her eyes puzzled. ‘What the hell are you saying? What am I supposed to have done?’

Years ago, when they’d been growing up together, Dominic had always tried to pin the blame on his cousin for any childish misdemeanour. It had made his day if he’d been able to put her in the wrong in the eyes of his parents or friends. She had learned not to care, to simply shrug the accusations aside, knowing his lies were rarely, if ever believed.

And now he seemed to be reverting to type, but this was very different. This wasn’t an annoying trifle—a broken ornament or window-pane, a few coins missing from his mother’s purse. This was serious. She would never willingly cause trouble for the people who had taken her in and given her every care.

‘What have I done?’ she repeated harshly, and he answered petulantly,

‘That note you left him. Within moments of reading it he collapsed.’

‘Oh—come on!’ Selina almost sagged with relief. She’d been racking her brains to try to discover what on earth she could have done to upset Martin so badly. ‘It was an innocuous phone message, I merely passed it on. If you’d picked up the phone first, you’d have done the same. It had to be a coincidence.’

‘Like hell it was!’ he sneered, glaring at her down the length of his nose. ‘If I’d spoken to Tudor first I’d have threatened him with the law before I let him anywhere near my family. And I wouldn’t have let Father know he’d had the nerve to phone. You don’t tell a sick man that his enemy is about to knock on his front door!’

‘Enemy?’ She was aware that she was repeating almost everything he said, but could do nothing about it. Dom wasn’t making any sense. Martin didn’t have an enemy in the world, surely? She’d never heard of Adam Tudor before this evening... Or had she? She shook her head to clear it, her strong brows clenched perplexedly, and her cousin told her,

‘Exactly. The man’s a creep. Always on the look-out for hand-outs. He’d do my father down as soon as look at him—ask Mother, if you don’t believe me.’

Selina bit down on her lower lip. She did believe him. His words had the unmistakable ring of veracity. And she said miserably, ‘I didn’t know. If Martin has an enemy I should have been warned. How could I have known if I was never told?’

‘Sure.’ Dominic levered himself away from the door, obviously thinking better of the accusatory stance he had taken and, in an unprecedented gesture of solidarity, draped an arm around her shoulders. ‘I shouldn’t have blamed you, but I was upset. Adam Tudor’s existence isn’t something we talk about. So—’ he took the car keys from her unresisting fingers and pushed them back into her bag ‘—in the circumstances, it would be best if you stayed here, wouldn’t it? Give Father the chance to get over the shock of that message before you visit, hmm? Tomorrow should be OK. And when Tudor does show up you can give him a piece of your mind. You can be pretty formidable when roused! But if you’re going to have to do that you’ll need a few facts—needless to say, you must promise they won’t go any further.’ He gave her a tired smile, gave her shoulder a final squeeze. ‘As I said, the man’s an importuning creep, and if he could see Father—all of us—in the bankruptcy courts he’d do it. Not that he’ll get that opportunity, of course, I’ll see to that.’

‘But why?’ Selina’s golden eyes mirrored her perplexion. How could someone as straightforward and gentle as Martin have made such an enemy?

And Dominic’s mouth twisted down in a vicious sneer as he told her, ‘Because he’s a bastard. My father’s bastard, to be precise.’

* * *

It was almost nine. Outside the wind was rising, buffeting the house, roaring through the bare branches of the trees. It was going to be a wild night.

And the wildness within Selina’s loyal heart rose to meet it, only to be subdued by an icy determination to treat Adam Tudor with the disdainful contempt he deserved.

After Dominic had left with the things Vanessa needed she had phoned the hospital and spoken to her aunt, apologising for not being around when she’d been needed, asking after Martin, promising to visit tomorrow.

‘It happened so quickly, there was nothing you could have done,’ Vanessa assured her. ‘Your uncle knows that, and he’ll look forward to seeing you tomorrow.’

‘Dominic explained,’ Selina said quickly on a fresh wave of a guilt which, even though she knew it to be misplaced, she couldn’t entirely get rid of. ‘I’m so sorry. I would never have passed that message on if I’d known the details—who the man really is.’

‘Of course not.’ Vanessa’s voice was tight and Selina guessed how painful the subject must be for her. ‘It’s not something we bring into everyday conversation. I take it you’re staying there to show him the door if he actually has the gall to turn up?’

‘Exactly.’ Selina’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the receiver, and her aunt said heavily,

‘Don’t blame yourself. You weren’t to know. I honestly thought we’d seen the back of the greedy wretch all those years ago. And be careful,’ she warned. ‘He could turn nasty. Have Meg around to back you up if he does put in an appearance.’

Which was something Selina had no intention of doing. The fewer people dragged into the affair, the better, and she was quite capable of handling the creep on her own. And Vanessa’s reaction had borne out everything Dominic had told her. Every word he had said before he’d left had been burned into her brain.

‘Mother’s told me a lot about him, but I only saw him once. I must have been about seven at the time. He came to the house—we were living in Watford in those days—and even then, as a kid, I knew he was a threat. Big, black-haired, wild-looking. The aggression was the first thing I picked up. He demanded to see Father. Said he wanted to tell him he had a place at university. And I remember Mother saying that Father was out, telling him that now his slut of a mother was dead there would be no more money. He was eighteen, she said, old enough and big enough to earn his own living like everyone else, and if he couldn’t afford to take his place at university then that was tough, but hardly his father’s concern. She told him to go. And he did.

‘It was years later when Mother told me the full story—how Tudor and his promiscuous mother had tried to drain us dry, how Father had paid a thousand times over for a youthful indiscretion. How he’d been led astray by an older, much more experienced woman. And Father, being the man he is, took her word when she said the child she was carrying was his. Though not even he could bring himself to marry a slut like that, but he supported them both very generously to the end of her life, which must have been just before he came to the house that time, griping because the hand-outs had stopped.’

So Selina was ready for him. The way he had used her, an unknowing pawn, to get to Martin, made her angry enough to kill. The blame for her uncle’s attack was his, and his alone. And for that he would have to pay.

He was probably short of money and had decided to try to force Martin to make a handsome payment in return for his silence about their true relationship. Well, he’d be in for one hell of a shock! Mention of bringing in the police would be the least of her threats!

Every nerve working on overdrive, she picked up the sound of the front doorbell and, just for a moment, the supple length of her body as she paced the fine Persian carpet went quite rigid. He was here.

She’d warned Meg to expect a visitor, asking her to bring him directly to the sitting-room. And now Selina braced herself, forcing herself to walk calmly over to one of the tapestry-covered, high-backed armchairs which flanked the huge stone hearth.

Seating herself, she turned her face to the crackling fire and then deliberately took a magazine from the low table at her side, opening it on her lap as she heard Meg’s unhurried footsteps cross the huge hall.

When Dominic had recalled that importuning visit they hadn’t been living here. When the creep saw the quality of this house and its environs he would probably double his demands! Her ears aching with the strain of listening for his approach, she disgusted herself by remembering how she’d warmed to his voice, how her body had quickened at its sensual quality—how she’d lain in bed fantasising about the man, wondering if his looks could possibly measure up to the way he sounded.

Hastily, she thrust the unwelcome memory aside and composed her striking features into a mask of icy hauteur. Whatever he looked like, Adam Tudor would get what was coming to him!

And then he was actually in the room with her and, totally oblivious of Meg’s formal, ‘Adam Tudor to see you, Miss Selina,’ her breath shook in her lungs.

He was everything his voice had promised, and more. No sign of the down-at-heel, surly weakling she had begun to half expect. No sign at all.

He was six feet plus of male perfection, packaged in a custom made dark lovat suit that could only have come from Savile Row, the white shirt obviously Italian craftsmanship at its best, as were the dark leather shoes.

She made herself stand, forcing the tremor out of her long, long legs, made herself meet the darkly fringed, incredibly green eyes, noting the slashing lines, the harshly crafted structure of his devastingly handsome face, the wide mouth that she instinctively knew could be as cruel as it was sensually fascinating.

Swallowing thickly, she ignored his outstretched hand, the greeting murmured in that unbelievably seductive voice, and tilted her chin a fraction higher.

Dominic had been wrong when he’d described this man as a creep. He couldn’t creep if his life depended on it. That much about him was authoritatively stamped in every line of his face, on every inch of his wide-shouldered, narrow-hipped body. He was a man firmly at the centre of his own universe, who expected to get what he wanted and went ahead and took it.

The fight to get him to back out of Martin’s life, once and for all, might be harder than she had anticipated. But it was a fight she was determined to win.

Fixing him with the blazing scorn of her glittering golden eyes, Selina tossed back the riot of tawny, gold-streaked hair that she had spent all her life unsuccessfully trying to tame, and told him, ‘I don’t know what you came for. But, whatever it was, you are going to leave without it. Right now. And for your sake, Mr Tudor, I hope you understand.’

CHAPTER TWO

SILENCE. A silence so thick, so intense, that for a moment Selina thought the world had stopped.

Then the shaded green glitter of Adam Tudor’s eyes stroked her from head to toe, swept slowly up again, lingering on every taut detail of her body, making her cringe inside at this blatant sexual appraisal. But she endured it. Stoically endured this insult, refusing to betray by the merest flicker of anger or disgust that she was aware of what he was doing and so tacitly admit to a compliance of sorts.

The gleam of his gaze rested on the wide, soft curves of her mouth now and she fought to control the betraying shudder of her heated body. Horrifyingly, she felt the muscles at the pit of her stomach tighten as if struggling to contain the flare of flame-hot excitement within, felt her warm breasts peak against the soft covering of cashmere, felt as if his long-fingered hands had followed the path of his caressing eyes...

‘Incredible.’ The single word hung sultrily on the still, apple-wood-scented air, and she moistened her lips, saw the way his own softened into shocking sensuality as his eyes followed the involuntary gesture, and fought to find the strength to defeat the bastard.

He moved further into the graceful room, his very presence an invasion, but she held her ground. He had to be shown that she wouldn’t back away and his single utterance had to refer to her earlier statement, and she reinforced tightly, ‘Incredible that you’ve been shown the door? You’d better believe it. You’re not welcome. There’s nothing for you here.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that.’ The deep, sexy voice, enriched by just a hint of amusement, enfolded her, compounding the unwelcome frisson of awareness that invaded her body as his eyes lingered once again on her mouth.

He was thirty-seven years old and, for the past twenty of them had obviously been fully aware of his effect on women, she reminded herself caustically. And, just as obviously, would have no hesitation about playing on the susceptibilities of the female sex when it suited him.

Well, she wasn’t an empty-headed bimbo and was taking his loaded comments at face value. And when he told her, ‘But I came to see Martin, initially, that is,’ she was able to inform him coolly,

‘He’s not here. I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.’

‘I wouldn’t class meeting such a delectable virago as a waste of time.’ He had the audacity to grin at her, moving closer so that she could actually feel his body heat, could judge the space that separated them down to the last quivering centimetre, and she had to grit her teeth and force herself to stand her ground as he cupped her chin in one warm, dry hand, green eyes gleaming down into seething gold as he asked softly, ‘Now I wonder why the lady’s so uptight?’

He was using his blatant sex appeal to walk right over her and it was just too much! She despised him, doubly so, for that. And she jerked her head away, out of his hateful dominion, setting her glorious hair flying around her head and her eyes impaled him with the bitter strength of her enraged emotions as she spat out, ‘I would have thought that you, of all people, would know the answer to that!’ But she had promised herself she wouldn’t lose her temper and she tacked on, allowing an edge of ice to rim her voice, ‘As I’ve told you, my uncle’s not here. Please leave.’

‘I can wait.’ The infuriating, slight shrug of those wide shoulders beneath that expensive suiting flicked her on the raw, doubly so as he strode calmly over to one of the armchairs and sat down, his long legs stretched out in front of the blaze from the fire. The time had come for a little plain talking. She wouldn’t mince her words, but she wouldn’t lose her temper, either.

Following him, she planted herself firmly in front of him and said, on a controlled intake of air, ‘Martin won’t be back tonight. Probably not for days.’ And that much was the truth. But no way was she going to tell him why. If he knew where he was he’d be out of here like a shot, making his demands over a hospital bed!

‘Where is he?’ For the first time she began to see the man he really was. The teasing eyes were now as cold and still as glacial lakes, the formidable features unreadable, a mantle of power cloaking the superb male body with tensile strength. Whatever he wanted, whatever he had come for, it wouldn’t be peanuts.

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ she lied, her mouth lifting in a small, utterly insincere and worthless smile as she sank with unconscious elegance into the chair opposite the one he had taken.

‘I don’t believe you.’ His voice was a quiet, cool statement of fact and her eyes glinted at him across the dividing space. She didn’t care what he believed and felt a reckless excitement welling deep inside her because playing games with this devil could be dangerous.

‘Suit yourself. But you’re going to have a long, long wait.’

‘Again, you’re lying,’ he stated with smooth contempt, his words accompanied by the slightest lift of power-packed shoulders. ‘Did you pass my message on? Stress the importance of my seeing him tonight?’

‘Yes.’ The word was a bitter condemnation of the effect of having done just that, but he continued smoothly, as if not noticing her abrupt change of tone,

‘Then I simply refuse to believe that he could calmly absent himself without seeing me.’

‘No? How nice to have such self-assurance,’ Selina taunted with cool malice, seething inside at the man’s monumental arrogance.

Dominic had said that this creature was Martin’s enemy, Vanessa had reinforced that information. And she herself was beginning to understand exactly why they should have received the news of his imminent arrival in the way they had, as if an unexploded bomb had been secreted on their premises. Adam Tudor wasn’t the down-at-heel, whining opportunist Dominic had led her to expect. She could have dealt with that. The reality was something else.

A layer of ice inched down her spine as she forced herself to meet his level, thoughtful stare head-on, her golden eyes, long-lidded and slumbrous, giving no hint of her razor-sharp mind as she asked, almost idly, ‘How much were you expecting Martin to shell out?’ From the suavely elegant look of him, the clothes he wore, he was used to nothing but the very best. Whatever he had in mind it wouldn’t be small change.

‘I see Dominic and Vanessa have been getting at you.’ His beautiful mouth curved humourlessly but there were disconcerting lights in those slightly hooded green eyes that made Selina’s breath catch in her throat. She turned her head quickly, looking into the fire, her pure, disdainful profile brushed by the warm glow, revealing the entrancing imperfection of a too short, curling upper lip, the full pout of the generous, made-to-be-kissed mouth. And he continued in that rough velvet voice, as if the question he posed was purely academic, ‘I take it your cousin and aunt have also been unexpectedly called away from home?’

How unexpectedly he would never know, not if she could help it. And she despised herself for the way his voice, his looks, his sheer male animal magnetism could make something move deep inside her. This man was her uncle’s enemy, for heaven’s sake! Merely learning of his intention to visit had been enough to give the elderly man a heart attack! So why did her wretched body react as if this was the one man she had spent her life waiting for when her brain informed her that he was poison?

Her throat was too tight with a disgusting amalgam of sexual awareness and self-hatred to facilitate a verbal response to his question, so she merely nodded, unable to prevent the sideways slant of anguished eyes as they sought his own.

‘Then I’m left with no option but to deal with you. Not that that will be any hardship, believe me.’ The smoky sexuality of his voice made her heart punch beneath her breastbone, and her hand flew up, as if to steady that wayward organ, and she saw his sultry eyes follow the betraying gesture and went hot all over, her flesh burning.

Belatedly, she hauled herself together and clipped out, ‘Fine.’ He was all too aware of his masculine potency, of its devastating effect, well used to using it very deliberately when it suited him. And if he thought she’d be a push-over simply because of her gender then that gave her the advantage, didn’t it? He would expect her to bend beneath the onslaught of his undoubted attractions, to move to his side of the fence, dragged there by the strength of the magnetic forcefield that surrounded him. He wasn’t to know that she would fight for Martin’s well-being with every last weapon at her command.

And he was at it again, using that spurious, facile charm as he told her softly, ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you. All of it—interesting.’

Which was a blatant lie. Her job within the company wasn’t that high-profile; she did it to the best of her considerable ability but, as yet, it hadn’t earned her space in the glossies! And when did a man, such a potently masculine one at that, interest himself in the stocking of women’s boutiques? And information about her wouldn’t have come from his father, from the family. They couldn’t bear to mention his name, much less take him into their confidence.

Clutching at the relief that came from catching him in an outright lie, she was able to consolidate her position of antagonist. Ignoring his lying statement for the flannel it was, she enquired coolly, her eyes watching his impressive features for any sign that might reveal the devious workings of his mind, ‘So what is it you want?’ and immediately regretted the unfortunate choice of words because his eyes made that silent and very intimate appraisal of her body again while his mouth curved in a slow smile that battered her senses, making her wonder how she would feel if those lips were ever to cover her own. And he didn’t give her time to recover her equilibrium, to force the disgust for the type of man he was to smother the growing disgust she felt for herself before he was translating his silent appraisal into words.

‘Dinner with you tomorrow night.’

‘You must be mad!’ The words came out on a jerk of heated breath, colour rushing over her face, staying there as he rose smoothly to his feet, looking down on her, his eyes held in seeming fascination on the hectic pulse-beat at the base of her throat.

‘Mad, to want to get to know a beautiful woman a great deal better?’ He shook his dark head in a parody of amazement, devils glinting out of his eyes. ‘Even if she is a hell-cat.’ He turned the full force of his mega-watt smile on her. ‘But maybe that’s a major part of the fascination?’

She ignored all that for the rubbish it was and repeated stonily, ‘Just what was so important about your need to see Martin? Tell me that, and I’ll tell you you can’t have whatever it is you think you need, and then you can go away.’ And never come back, she tacked on in her mind, schooling her features to stony blankness.

And he laughed at her, he actually put back his head and roared his amusement and, if she could, she would have killed him for that alone. But what came next was worse, so much worse that she was left bereft of speech as he calmly walked out of the room after delivering, ‘I’ve already told you. I want to see more of you. Much more.’ The lilt in his wicked eyes underlined the ambiguity of that remark and his voice was a rich caress as he told her, ‘Dine with me tomorrow night, for starters. Be ready at eight. And if you’re thinking of making yourself unavailable then I suggest you winkle Dominic out from wherever he’s skulking and ask him if he knows of any reason why you should refuse to meet my demands exactly.’

* * *

‘What was he getting at, Dom?’ Selina shuddered as an icy blast of winter wind gusted across the hospital car park. She pulled up the collar of her coat, her troubled eyes holding her cousin’s. ‘Why should I see him tonight? Why should I do a single damn thing he suggests?’

Dominic shrugged, his eyes evasive, and, although she had repeated the gist of the conversation she’d had with Adam Tudor the previous night, right down to his parting directive, she sensed her cousin was holding something back, something that was giving him private nightmares.

‘Are you sure he didn’t give a hint about what he wanted, why he had to see Father?’

Dominic looked almost haunted, Selina thought on an inner shudder. But who could blame him? The trauma of Martin’s sudden attack, seeing him lying in that lonely hospital bed, surrounded by wires and machines, his face grey and gaunt, had upset her more than she could say. Even the threat that was Adam Tudor had taken second place in her consciousness, so no wonder Dominic looked haunted, seemingly unable to offer any help.

But Adam Tudor would have to be dealt with, somehow, and she would be the one to do it because she owed it to her family, she reminded herself, shivering again beneath the renewed onslaught of the bitter wind. She thrust her cold hands deeper into her coat pockets and shook her head, telling him rawly, ‘No, nothing. I did ask but he didn’t say.’ Her golden eyes darkened, a frown drawing her strong brows together. ‘Just that rather threatening invitation to dinner, and the suggestion that I should ask you if you knew of any reason why I shouldn’t do exactly as he said. I’ve no intention of going, of course. The proverbial wild horses wouldn’t drag me.’

‘I think you should,’ Dominic told her quickly, and her long-lidded eyes narrowed astutely.

‘Why?’

‘To find out what he’s really after, of course. What else?’ His face looked white and pinched, and no wonder, Selina thought with sudden sympathy. He would be as worried about his father as anyone, and this desolate car park, the raw grey January skies, the unpleasant subject of their conversation was enough to make anyone look as if the miseries of the world were pressing down on his shoulders.

She suggested gently, ‘He’s after something. I agree with you there. And we have to discover what it is and keep him away from Martin. But it would be better if we presented a united front. You and I could face him together tonight. He said he’d be at the house at eight.’

‘That’s impossible.’ He looked as if she’d asked him to roll down the street in a barrel. Taking his car keys from his pocket, he tossed them from one hand to the other and told her huffily, as if she were a particularly dense child, ‘Now we know Father’s in no immediate danger I have to get back to head office. Somebody has to run the company. I’ll be staying in town until the weekend, unless Father’s condition deteriorates, of course,’ he qualified impatiently.

And something of her disbelief that he should leave her to deal with his half-brother must have shown on her face because he reminded her coldly, ‘You deal with the creep. I think you owe my parents that much, don’t you?’ and walked quickly away towards the red Porsche.

Selina gritted her teeth and pushed the wind-tumbled mane of her hair away from her face with the back of a leather-gloved hand. She didn’t need reminding of how much she owed her aunt and uncle—her uncle especially. And she would tackle Adam Tudor on her own, if she had to, but she just knew having Dominic at her side would have made it easier and wasn’t convinced by his sudden need to rush off back to head office.

In the circumstances, everything would have ticked over quite smoothly in his absence. There were plenty of staff perfectly capable of running the day-to-day business of the boutique chain for another twenty-four hours at the very least. It was almost as if he was afraid of facing his half-brother, listening to his demands and ruling them out of court.

And almost as if she was afraid of facing Adam Tudor again on her own, a cool inner voice mocked spitefully. As if she was afraid of that palpably cataclysmic masculine appeal. Afraid of the way she might react to it.

Which was, of course, absolute nonsense, she assured herself roundly, squaring her shoulders and marching over to where her Volvo was parked, the heels of her leather boots clicking decisively on the tarmac surface. She wasn’t a silly teenager to be taken in by a handsome face and a superb male body, or the type of voice that could charm the inmates of a harem out in droves!

* * *

Quite why she had informed Meg that she would be entertaining a guest this evening Selina was not altogether sure. That she would feel safer, keeping that unwanted dinner appointment here, on her home ground, conjured up the opposite—fear. But she had already assured herself that she wasn’t afraid of him, hadn’t she? And when the housekeeper’s thin face had registered surprise that Selina should be entertaining at all, at a time like this, she had announced coolly, ‘It’s business. And make the meal simple; there’s no need to try to impress.’

And so it was. Unpleasant business, at that, she reminded herself as she gave up the attempt to tame her abundant hair into a sober knot and allowed it to tumble all over her shoulders. And business that was best conducted on her own ground.

Although she had deliberately dressed down, making no concessions to her femininity, the dark navy fine wool dress she had chosen to wear seemed to flatter her greyhound slenderness, subtly emphasising the sensuality of the curves she had intended it to disguise. Strange. A frown caught the soft skin between her brows. She had never before noticed what the understated, very simple style of the dress did to her figure before, or how the deep, almost sombre colour made her hair look like living flame.

But it was too late to change. It was almost eight and pride wouldn’t allow her to keep him waiting. If he was left to kick his heels in the drawing-room he would believe, in his conceit, that she was taking her time over making herself look her best for him.

As she reached the head of the stairs she heard the chime of the doorbell and her heart leapt into her mouth. Meg was already crossing the echoing space of the softly lit hall to admit him. Selina had never felt so alone in her life but she was determined not to let it show as she descended the stairs, her head held high, her eyes carefully fixed just above his left shoulder as he crossed the portal, her voice devoid of expression as she instructed, before he could get a word in, ‘Take Mr Tudor’s coat, Meg, and we’ll eat in half an hour.’ There were a few flakes of snow on the shoulders of the soft sheepskin. Her eyes followed Meg as she carried the garment to the carved oak hanging cupboard tucked away beside the main door. And she used those small signs of the inclement weather as an excuse as she said, still not looking at him directly, ‘We’ll keep that dinner appointment here. The weather’s too foul to think of going out,’ and cursed herself for needing an excuse at all, for allowing him to deduce that she did.

And her skin crawled with embarrassed humiliation as he drawled smokily, a smile in his voice, ‘Relax. The idea’s fine by me. When I need my arm twisting before I’ll dine alone with a beautiful woman I’ll know it’s time I was pushing up daisies.’

So he, the prime egotist, believed she’d decided to entertain him here in order to be quite alone with him! His conceit was beyond bearing!

She turned quickly, hiding the way her face ran with colour, and stalked ahead to the drawing-room. But by the time she’d gone through, noted that Meg had banked the fire up, drawn the long burgundy-red velvet curtains against the wild black night outside she had herself well in hand. And her eyes met his with cool mockery as she put him straight, facing him confidently as she told him, ‘Don’t flatter yourself. What I have to say to you can be better said without an audience. Besides, I couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to go anywhere with you. Sherry?’

And she saw his eyes darken and narrow, his mouth tighten as a spurt of anger made his impressive frame go rigid. So her calculated rudeness had flicked him on the raw and, just for a moment, she exulted in her hitherto unsuspected power to hurt him.

But the unworthy emotion didn’t last long because something else took its place, something dark and tormented which sprang into shocking life, spreading its tortuous, poisoned talons into every vein, every nerve-ending, making her soul shake as he said through his teeth, every word tight with menace, ‘My God, you’re asking for it.’ Two furious paces brought him to her side and, shaken by the hot glitter of anger in his eyes, she turned her back on him, slim fingers sliding over the cool, carved glass of the sherry decanter. But his hands went to her shoulders, his grip impressive as he swung her round to face him again, his mouth a slashing stroke of derision as he told her, ‘There are more ways than one of taming a hell-cat,’ and proved it, bending his head to hers, his lips hard and punishing as they covered hers.

Her head jerked back beneath the ferocity of his kiss but her body was imprisoned in the iron cage of his arms and every last inch of her went up in flame beneath the pressuring contact of his ruthless masculine frame. And it was like nothing she had ever experienced before and as his tongue penetrated the soft inner moistness of her mouth her brain switched off on sudden burn-out and her senses took over, adding to the torment of sweet ravishment as she kissed him back, her body all boneless grace, and pliant, melting into his as his mouth gentled, still hungry, but different, intoxicatingly different.

She was having to cling on to him to maintain her balance and her hands had found their way beneath his jacket, and the feel of his body heat through the crisp cotton shirt he was wearing was intensely disturbing—

So disturbing that when he at last lifted his head from hers she was breathing in shallow, rapid gasps, her heart fluttering beneath her breastbone, her eyes hazed with the effects of what he had done to her senses, barely registering the smouldering quality of his thickly lashed, shadowed green gaze as his own eyes drifted from her parted, swollen lips to the crazy pulse-beat where it fluttered at the base of her throat and down, down to the twin, tumescent peaks of her breasts as they thrust their erotic invitation against the soft wool of her dress.

And slowly his fingers followed the lazy drift of his eyes and her senses leapt in tumultuous, untameable excitement as the pads of his long clever fingers scorched fire down the length of her throat, slipping beneath the V of her neckline to draw soft, slow circles around one thrusting nipple, laying waste her powers of reason, ravishing her senses until she no longer knew where she was. Or cared.

And later she would never be able to say with honesty where the black magic of his sexual onslaught would have led her if the door hadn’t opened to Meg’s, ‘I’m carrying dinner through now, Miss Selina.’

Utter disorientation held her where she was and she was thankful for the way he turned to face the door, effectively screening her from the housekeeper’s view as her fingers fumbled in an agonised, uncoordinated hurry to straighten her clothing. And when he stepped casually to one side she caught Meg’s straight stare and felt the colour of her overheated cheeks turn to a crimson conflagration, and she mumbled something, she had no idea what, and was too busy trying to cut through the heavy swaths of her utterly shameful and unprecedented sexual arousal with a brain that seemed to have been drugged out of orbit to make any sense of Meg’s dour, ‘Snow’s coming down like you wouldn’t believe. I thought I should warn you.’

‘Thank you.’ It was Adam Tudor who effectively took over, normalising a situation which had all the hallmarks of a nightmare, Selina thought distractedly as he added, ‘We’ll be right on through.’ And one of his hands cupped her elbow lightly, the gentle pressure of his fingers easing her forward as she tried to marshal her mental powers and push his unforgivable, disgraceful behaviour right to the back of her mind.

And, almost, she achieved it because as Meg disappeared she dug her heels in, wrenched her arm from his grasp and, not daring to look at him, not caring to be reminded of—of anything she spat out, ‘That was totally uncalled for. Don’t ever, ever touch me again!’

Jerking her chin up, she stalked out of the room, the height of her spindly heels making her hips sway. Knowing he was following, just a whisper away, did nothing for her blood-pressure and when she paused outside the dining-room door, and turned, her soft body brushed against the hardness of his and her breath jerked in her lungs and solidified painfully when he told her with arrogant ease, ‘Don’t spit, little cat. You’ve just had a sample of the methods I’ll use to tame that temper. So sheath those claws and purr for me because, believe me, you ain’t seen nothing yet!’

CHAPTER THREE

THANKFULLY, Meg appeared at that moment, wheeling a heated trolley along the passage, but Selina gave him one look of seething, burning hatred before leading the way into the dining-room. She had been right to be afraid of being alone with this devil in human guise; the first encounter with the burning brand of his mouth had been enough to make her lose all control. But there would be no second encounter; she would make absolutely sure of that!

Seating herself, her nostrils flared with a tiny surge of anger. She’d told Meg not to go to any trouble but she’d gone ahead and pulled out all the stops. Despite the adequate central heating a huge fire burned companionably in the grate, the overhead spots doused to leave a couple of rich-shaded table lamps to shed soft intimacy over the panelled room, and pure white candles lent extra grace to the fine Irish linen, old silver and exquisite crystal set before them.

If Meg had deliberately set out to impress Martin’s wealth and standing on the stranger then she couldn’t have done better. It was just a pity that the last person that should be impressed was Adam Grab-What’s-On-Offer Tudor!

‘The beef Wellington and the greens are on the trolley,’ the housekeeper informed her sniffily, handing out the steaming bowls of walnut soup. ‘Trifle, cheeseboard and fruit on the sideboard. I’ll bring coffee later.’ Sighing gustily, she stumped out of the room, leaving a positive miasma of disapproval behind. Selina smothered a sigh of her own.

Meg could have served cottage pie and fresh fruit in the more informal breakfast-room, which had been the kind of fare Selina had had in mind when she’d told her not to go to any trouble. But she’d perversely put in as much effort as she could, making a martyr of herself to stamp home her disapproval of the fact that Selina was entertaining at all as firmly as she could.

But Meg’s long-endured vagaries were pushed to the back of Selina’s mind because she could feel that intense, wicked green gaze on her—it prickled right through her skin. But she didn’t look up from her soup.

After that degrading scene back in the drawing-room she would have demanded he leave, had ached to do so, but she still had to discover why he had wanted to see Martin in the first place. Raising her head at last because no problem went away if you went on ignoring it, she met his eyes across the table and found a tone of cool enquiry.

‘Suppose you tell me why you’re here.’ And wished in a moment of childish panic that she didn’t feel so deserted. She couldn’t blame Vanessa for wanting to stay with Martin until she was properly satisfied he was on the mend, but Dominic needn’t have fled back to London in such a bone-breaking hurry...

‘But you know why I’m here.’ The smoky voice was velvet-soft, the green eyes glinting with triumph. ‘I wanted to get to know you better, and so far I’ve enjoyed the progress we’ve made.’ He had finished his soup and was pouring Martin’s prized and classic burgundy into Waterford glasses, and Selina stopped pushing the croutons around her bowl and laid down her spoon.

‘What did you want Martin to do for you?’ she asked tightly, ignoring his unforgivable reference to the way he’d kissed her, the way she’d allowed it, actually encouraged it.

‘It’s not a question of what he can do for me, rather of what I can do for him.’ He was still smiling softly, his voice gentle, as if they were discussing something pleasant and normal and not something devious and sinister, something that had given Martin a heart attack. And the insouciant devil was moving around, collecting the soup plates and reaching for the beef and vegetables, the hot plates from the trolley. As if he owned the place, as if he had rights. And Selina, provoked beyond caution, snorted,

‘Do you really think I’m crazy enough to believe that?’ She would have liked to punch the facts home, call the monster’s bluff, let him know that the thought of a visit from him had put an elderly man into hospital. But she couldn’t allow herself that luxury. She had to prevent him from finding out where Martin was, prevent him from turning up at the sick man’s bedside.

So she contented herself with staring at him from furious yellow eyes, her arms crossed over her chest, and the fury changed to resentment as, taking over, he calmly carved slices of meat, added a generous portion of vegetables and handed her the heaped plate. Which she ignored.

And then, settling down to his own meal, he asked levelly enough, ‘So what have you been told about me?’ He speared a piece of tender, pastry-enclosed beef with his fork and sipped Martin’s best burgundy with evident appreciation. ‘From your reception of me, I take it Vanessa’s been getting at you, giving her distorted version of my character. And I don’t suppose Dominic had any hesitation over putting his oar in the water, either.’

A dark eyebrow rose with half-contemptuous amusement and she scornfully gave him full marks for trying, for taking the game right into her court, and told him frankly, ‘I was told that you are Martin’s son. That Martin supported you both until your mother died. By which time you were eighteen and able to fend for yourself.’ She pushed her untouched food away and picked up her wine glass, hoping the alcohol would calm her stretched nerves. ‘The general opinion is, I believe, that you would have liked to receive Martin’s financial support indefinitely.’

She hoped she had put that delicately enough. She had no wish to pussy-foot around, because from what Dominic had told her, and from her own knowledge of the effect his intended visit had had on her uncle, he deserved all he got. But she had already had one extremely graphic demonstration of his reactions to the way she had deliberately angered him before and wasn’t angling for a repeat performance.

‘I see.’ He laid down his cutlery and gave her an unreadable look. ‘And did either of them mention my mother—apart from the fact that she’d died?’

Selina quickly buried her nose in her glass. Dominic had. But again, to reveal she’d been told that Adam Tudor’s mother—and why, dammit, did that name seem oddly familiar?—had been promiscuous, had taken advantage of a much younger man’s inexperience, had tried, throughout the rest of her life to bleed him dry, and how her son, after her death, had tried to do the same, had come looking for charity, would definitely bring his own special brand of retribution down on her head.

So she held her tongue but it appeared he could see directly inside her head because his face closed up, his eyes narrowing to slits as he repeated, ‘I see,’ forcing the words through his teeth.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her mouth tense, she got to her feet. The polite form of words was so patently untrue that she felt like a fool for saying them. And she added quickly, ‘You must see that in coming here you’re wasting your time, upsetting the family.’ That was as near as she could get to the truth, without letting him know what he had done to Martin, and her eyes went cold. She had only one thing on her mind now—to get rid of him, once and for all.

But Adam had other ideas. He stayed exactly where he was but his eyes followed her tall, swaying figure as she walked to the door, and the heavenly voice was cutting as he told her, ‘Have you stopped to ask yourself why Vanessa and Dominic painted me black? And don’t pretend they didn’t. Your reception of me alone pointed to that. And did you wonder why the whole damn lot of them seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth?’ Then, as sanguinely as a prowling cat, he was on his feet, his mouth barely moving as he commanded, ‘Come back here. I haven’t finished with you yet, not by a long way.’

She flicked her eyes to his and then quickly away again as her heart tightened and shifted inside her. There was a dark magic in the way he looked and moved and spoke, something indefinable that reached right out to her. And she didn’t want it to be that way so she fixed her eyes on a point somewhere just above his left shoulder as she took two concessionary paces back into the room and said as coldly as she knew how, ‘You’re magnifying your own importance.’ Her small chin lifted as, against every self-preserving instinct, her eyes were drawn to his wicked green gaze. And although she felt the heat of betraying colour cover her creamy skin she refused to look away, to back down in front of this opportunistic devil. ‘My aunt and uncle are away from home and Dominic’s tied up in London on the firm’s business.’

‘Oh, I just bet he is!’ Adam drawled, his mouth curling cynically. ‘I don’t give a damn about him or Vanessa. But it’s vitally important I see my father.’

Selina stared at him. What kind of fool did he think she was? And she drawled right back at him, ‘Vitally important to whom? Or to what? Your bank balance, most likely! The type of clothes you wear, for a start, don’t come off the bargain rail in a chain-store basement.’

The way he looked at her sent a stab of apprehension through her stomach but he did no more than shrug very slightly before he told her, ‘If that’s what you want to believe, go ahead.’

And strangely, despite what she’d been told about him, the hard facts that all added up to his utter detriment, she didn’t want to believe it. But charm, allied to his fantastic looks, was part of his stock-in-trade, and she wasn’t going to fall for it, was she? Besides, if what he wanted of Martin was above-board, then there would be nothing to stop him telling her what it was.

‘Tell me why it’s so vitally important that you see him, and if I agree I’ll tell you how to contact him.’ Her voice had emerged rustily as she’d issued the challenge, and she knew by the frantic flutter of her heartbeats that she actually wanted to hear that what he had to say to her uncle was innocent of the threat both Dominic and Vanessa had implied.

She dragged in a breath, the tip of her tongue nervously moistening her parched lips, and felt the quick hot stab of something nameless as she watched his half-hooded eyes lazily follow that give-away movement.

His soft smile was tinged with regret but the wicked green glints in his eyes cancelled out the spurious remorse as he told her, ‘I’m afraid it’s between me and Martin,’ and the disappointment was keen, sharp as a knife just for one moment before she thrust it out of existence, because all along she had known—hadn’t she just?—how rotten he was. Dominic had called him his father’s enemy and never again would she even begin to question that.

‘Then we’ve reached an impasse. And I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr Tudor.’ No way was she about to tell this devious swine how to contact Martin, where he was. She would defend the beloved elderly man any way she could. He had been warned to avoid stress and anxiety and Adam Tudor meant just that—stress and anxiety in its most undiluted form!

‘Why so formal, Selina? We’re capable of being on very friendly terms indeed—I think we’ve proved that much, to our mutual satisfaction, don’t you?’ He had started to move towards her and the look in his memorable eyes made his intentions quite plain. He was about to do something she wouldn’t like. Or rather, she corrected herself with panicky honesty, something she might like too damn much!

‘I’ll hurry Meg along with the coffee. You might as well have a cup before you leave.’ The words came out on a husky rush and she left the room with more haste than dignity. Then, overcoming the impulse to lean back against the smooth wood of the door, to get herself back together and give herself time to work out just how to ask Meg to stay glued to her side after she’d brought in that coffee, instruct her not to leave her until that devil was safely out of the house, she strode rapidly down the corridor to the kitchen.

But maybe enlisting Meg’s help wasn’t such a good idea, Selina decided as the housekeeper said stiffly, ‘Finished that lot already?’ meaning the minor banquet she’d martyred herself preparing and of which Selina herself had hardly tasted a mouthful.

‘We’re ready for coffee; I’ll take it through.’ She could ask Adam Tudor to leave the premises all by herself, she told herself staunchly. She didn’t have to panic when he looked as if kissing her again was the only thing on his mind. For pity’s sake, she had deflected many an amorous male in the past without calling in the troops, and to ask for Meg’s support would call for explanations she had no intention of making. Far better to say nothing and endure the older woman’s huffy mood.

‘You do that.’ Meg banged a few saucepans around. ‘And I’ll go and make up a bed in one of the guest rooms for your man friend. Whether he uses it or not is up to you. But I dare say it will look better if I go through the motions.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Selina put the filter-coffee jug down on a tray with a crash. Meg was what was politely known as a ‘character’ and had ruled the family with a heavy hand and sharp tongue for many years, everyone putting up with her moods, ignoring them because they knew she would die for any one of them if she had to. But this was carrying the sharp-tongued-old-retainer bit much too far and Selina growled, ‘If you’re implying what I think you’re—’

‘If the cap fits.’ Meg’s long nose was high in the air. ‘It’s not seemly—entertaining men friends when your poor uncle’s fighting for his life and your aunt’s worried half to death and Dominic’s working all hours to keep things going.’

‘And I’m taking the heaven-sent opportunity to indulge in a bit of sneaky bacchanalia!’ Selina supplied sarcastically, fuming at the housekeeper’s exaggeration, her gross distortion of the facts. ‘It’s business. I told you.’

And Meg pushed her chin in the air, her mouth turning down as she snorted, ‘I’m not that daft. And I’ve got eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ Meaning she’d taken in that torrid embrace, and, that being so, Selina could find nothing to say in her own defence because she had reacted shamefully to his kisses and Meg had walked in on them just as she’d been about to go completely over the top!

Trying to forget the slow burn of colour that crept over her skin, she informed Meg crossly, ‘There is no question of Mr Tudor staying the night. He will be leaving just as soon as he’s had coffee.’ She added cream and sugar to the tray, her hands shaking with temper. One day someone would have to remind Meg of who paid her wages!

‘Well, if he doesn’t sleep here I don’t know where he will sleep,’ Meg grumbled, beginning to back down, as she always did, if she sensed she’d gone too far. ‘I did tell you about the snow. He could have got out then. Not now. Look for yourself.’

Selina stared at the housekeeper in appalled disbelief, her feet seemingly rooted to the kitchen floor, and, giving her a withering look, Meg clicked her tongue impatiently and marched to one of the windows, dragging back the curtains. ‘Well?’

No need to say a thing. What could she say when the outside security lights danced back from drifts and heaps of glittering whiteness, mockingly magnifying the swirling, sticky flakes that were still pouring out of the cold night sky?

‘I’ll put him in the oak room,’ Meg said grimly. ‘That should cool his ardour.’

If that remark had been meant to shake Selina out of her trance-like stillness, it failed. Something akin to shock kept her where she was, and speechless. The immense disquiet filling her right now had more to do with her insane reaction to him as a man than the very real knowledge of how bitterly angry both Dom and Vanessa would be when they found out that Martin’s son and enemy had been offered refuge for the night. Suddenly she began to shiver.