“Work comes before pleasure.” About the Author Title Page Dedication CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE Copyright

“Work comes before pleasure.”

Nick continued, “And when a man runs his own business, that leaves very little time for anything else.”

“But there should be balance in a person’s life,” Laura said in a quiet voice.

“Balance. Isn’t that just a rewrite of the old saying—all work and no play makes Nick a dull boy? So, Laura Grant, you think I’m a dull boy?”

He was laughing at her!

“I don’t know you well enough to say, Mr. Diamond. You certainly don’t look dull.”

“But tell me, Miss Grant...do you have balance in your life?”

Grace Green was born in Scotland and is a former teacher. In 1967 she and her marine engineer husband, John, emigrated to Canada, where they raised their four children. Empty nesters now, they are happily settled in west Vancouver in a house overlooking the ocean. Grace enjoys walking the sea wall, gardening, getting together with other writers...and watching her characters come to life, because she knows that, once they do, they will take over and write her stories for her.

Grace Green has written for the Harlequin Presents series, but now concentrates on Harlequin Romance... bringing you deeply emotional stories with vibrant characters.

Secret Courtship
Grace Green

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Charles and Elizabeth Brennen

CHAPTER ONE

“THEIR decision, I’m afraid, is final.”

Nicholas Diamond scowled, and dragged a longfingered hand through the black curly hair that had once been the bane of his teenage years. Bad enough that this was a Monday morning, he decided irritably, without having to hear news that screwed up the plans for his next housing project.

He was standing with his back to a wall of windows in the Farr, Ricci, Gregg law offices, on the penthouse floor of Vancouver’s newest high-rise tower. The suite overlooked the yacht-studded waters of English Bay, and on this April forenoon a breeze created choppy waves, and made sails billow like laundered white sheets on a line.

Nick had no interest in the view. Eyes stormy, he glared at his lawyer who—from a swivel seat behind the office’s massive teak desk—had just imparted the news responsible for the sudden rise in Nick’s blood pressure.

“So—” Nick’s tone was grim “—the council has decided not to give the Juniper Ridge access road the goahead.”

“It’s a blow,” was the calm response, “but not, after all, a totally unexpected one. When you bought the forest acreage, with development in mind, an access road up the eastern slope of the ridge was only a rumor—and on the basis of that rumor you took a gamble—”

“A gamble, dammit, I was sure I’d win. But since I’ve lost, that leaves me only one other route into the area. The route through—”

“Charity Brown’s lot? Through Sweet Briar? Well, we could try again... But you do remember that when the estate lawyer finally located the relative who’d inherited the cottage, the young woman was adamant she wouldn’t sell.”

“She’ll sell...when the price is right. The girl’s not only selfish, she totally ignored her great-aunt even when the woman was on her deathbed—I’d lay odds she’s greedy too. She’ll put Sweet Briar on the market when she’s good and ready. She’ll sell on her terms ... and I doubt she’ll bother to come west to look at the property before she does.”

Nick rammed his hands frustratedly into his pockets, setting his Porsche keys ajingle. “At any rate, now that the council has made its decision, I can’t afford to sit around twiddling my thumbs. Get in touch with the estate lawyer again. Right away.” He started toward the door. “Tell him I want to buy.”

“How high do you want me to go?”

Nick paused. “As high as you have to.” His voice was harsh. “I need that land and I mean to have it. Without it, the Diamond Forest Project is dead.”

“There must be some mistake.” Laura Grant frowned as she stared through the cab window at the scene unfolding ahead. “I asked you to take me to Juniper Avenue.”

“This is it, miss.” The cabbie flicked on his turn signal and, slowing down, swung the taxi onto a wide paved road leading off to their right.

No, she thought bewilderedly, it can’t be...

But as they turned the corner she caught sight of the streetsign-Juniper Avenue—and knew the taxi driver hadn’t been mistaken after all. She struggled to control her feelings of shock and wrenching disappointment; she was finally here, where through the past few unhappy years she had yearned to be—but the place she’d dreamed about had changed beyond recognition.

“Stop!” Her voice trembled. “Please.”

The driver slammed the vehicle to a shuddering halt by the side of the road.

Laura leaned forward in her seat, letting her stunned gaze jerk in fits and starts over the colossal, sterilelooking houses squatting like hideous sightless monsters on the gentle slopes of Juniper Ridge.

“You want to walk the rest of the way, miss?”

Laura made a distracted gesture. “Just a sec.” The cab had stopped several yards ahead of a large notice; now she twisted round in her seat so she could read the scarlet lettering on the white-painted board:

Diamond Way—Greater Vancouver’s finest estate

Final phase starting soon

Dear Lord...

Laura put her hand to her throat in a vain attempt to ease the spasm of pain that had tightened it.

“Miss...?”

Brushing a hand across her eyes, she bent to gather up her backpack. “Yes.” Her voice was husky. “I’ll walk.”

The cabbie clicked off the meter.

Pushing open her door, Laura stepped out onto the sidewalk. As she did the warm May breeze brought the tang of the ocean to her from the inlet below; dizzied by a sudden surge of memories, she grasped the door tightly for a moment, before shutting it and rounding the bonnet to the driver’s side.

“It’s been thirteen years, you said, since last you visited Juniper Ridge?” The man narrowed his eyes against the afternoon sun as he leaned out of his window and looked up at her. “It’s no wonder you didn’t recognize the area. Most of the old cottages gone-bulldozed to make way for mansions for the rich and famous.

“Crying shame, all those trees slashed to the ground-hundreds of years old, most of ’em, and irreplaceable. Nick Diamond built this lot... And from what I hear, the man’s as hard as his name. Lost his soul, that one has, in his chase after the almighty dollar. And, judging by that sign, he’s not finished yet.”

Nick Diamond. As hard as his name.

Laura felt her heart clench, as if trying to protect itself from the sharp facets of the cold, glittering gem. She despised the man, though she had never met him—had never even heard of him till a moment ago. She knew his kind only too well—money and power were their driving force, and nothing and nobody else mattered...

After all, hadn’t she been married for more than three years to someone just like him?

With an effort she blanked her mind of the ugly images that tried—as they still so often did—to form there. Tugging out her wallet, she gave the driver a couple of bills. “Thanks,” she said. “Keep the change.”

As the cab reversed, and took off in a whirl of dust, Laura hitched her heavy backpack over one shoulder and, after standing for a long moment, her thoughts in turmoil, made her way slowly along Juniper Avenue.

Her eyes were bleak as she examined the showy pastelcolored houses situated on either side of the road. They were palatial edifices, most of them having four- or fivecar garages, and all of them overpowering the lots on which they stood. There was little greenery—the gardens consisting only of stamp-sized lawns and a few low, exotic shrubs, with the remaining area taken up by fancy brick paths, elegant patios, ornate fountains and Olympic-size swimming pools. A plethora of BMWs, Mercedes-Benzes and Jaguars graced the architecturally designed driveways.

Not a soul was in sight. Laura could see no children playing in the gardens, no couples strolling with dogs, no young mothers hanging out diapers-in fact, she could see no clotheslines. They were probably prohibited, she decided with a cynical twist of her lips. The avenue was quiet, deserted...

Just like a street in a ghost town.

And hardly a tree to be seen.

Childhood memories could never be relied on entirely, and Laura’s father had left her with his aunt Charity for only one summer, but still that holiday had left her with cherished recollections of fairytale cottages set amid towering. evergreens.

At least she knew that her great-aunt’s property would not have changed. The estate lawyer had assured her of that when they had talked on the phone regarding her legacy.

“Sweet Briar Cottage has never been modernized, and, as Miss Brown was in hospital for the last months of her life, you’ll find the property sadly neglected.”

When he’d earlier apprised her of the death of her only remaining relative, Laura had felt a sharp pang of regret.

“I didn’t know she was in hospital,” she’d told him quietly, “because we had lost touch. She and my father fell out many years ago and I was forbidden to correspond with her. Then, after I got married, my husband—” She’d broken off abruptly.

She hadn’t wanted to tell this stranger what the situation had been between Jason and her; she hadn’t wanted him or anyone else here to know her wretched secrets.

After a pause, the lawyer had coughed discreetly before saying, “Your best plan, Miss Grant—financially, that is-would be to put the cottage up for sale. That it is in a state of disrepair matters not a jot—it’s the lot, not the building itself, that’s of value. Whoever buys the place will bulldoze it and build. The location is prime.”

Well, the location might be prime, Laura reflected now, but there was no way she was going to sell. What the lawyer hadn’t known was that the timing of her great-aunt Charity’s legacy couldn’t have been better. She, Laura, not only wanted the cottage, she needed it.

She was going to make it her permanent home ...

The truck came out of nowhere-or rather from around the corner. One minute the wide street was empty, and the next the huge vehicle was in front of her, bearing down fast and loud, like some terrifying orange and green protagonist from the pages of a Stephen King novel.

For a second Laura froze, and then, as the squeal of brakes screamed in her ears, she lunged frantically toward the sidewalk at her right. She lost her balance as she landed, and, tripping on the edge of the curb, sprawled out face-down on the ground, her backpack swinging forward, as she landed, to hit her a resounding whack on the head.

It took her several seconds to get her wind back, and by the time she had struggled to a sitting position the truck had screeched to a halt. She heard the driver’s door open and slam shut again, heard the sound of heavybooted purposeful steps coming toward her... And then a man’s voice, hoarse with anger, attacked her.

“What the devil were you doing in the middle of the road? Were you trying to kill yourself?”

Laura knew she had been in the wrong, and had been prepared to apologize, but the anger in the stranger’s voice had brought back memories—memories of another such voice, raised in anger—and she squashed her apology as ruthlessly as if it had been some nasty insect.

Ignoring the pain in her knees, she scrambled to her feet, gathering up her backpack and swinging it over her shoulder... But when she tossed her ponytail back from her face and looked up at the truck driver for the first time, she felt something inside her reel back selfprotectively.

The man was too much—everything about him was too much. He was too dark, too tall, too attractive—and far, far too sexy. Dark, dangerous-looking... and dusty. Very dusty. And sweaty. And needing a shave. Badly.

Laura took in a deep rasping breath that was intended to steady her... but it didn’t steady her in the least. The stranger positively radiated raw male power, and she just knew, by the arrogant self-confidence of his stancelegs astride, booted feet apart, fists rammed onto lean hips—that when he walked it would be with a subtle twist of that lithe body and those lean hips that would send out a sexual invitation of the most irresistible kind.

His clothes, she noted in a swift glance, were exactly what she would have expected a man like him to wear—a heavy-duty khaki shirt, soiled and sweat-stained, and faded jeans that rode low on his hips and were kept from drifting indecently lower by a leather belt with an ovalshaped silver buckle...

Laura swallowed hard, and raised her eyes to direct her quick appraisal in a safer direction.

Black hair—luxuriant and curly. Skin—swarthy, and tanned to a deep nut-brown. Features—ruggedly hacked and aggressive. A bold nose, a wide slash of cheekbone and a grim jaw—the last as uncompromisingly set as his wide shoulders. Beads of sweat trickled down his brow, creating paths on the dust-caked skin, and sweat glistened around his mouth too—a wide mouth, with full, sensual lips that were made for kissing ... Though kissing was, Laura had no doubt at all, the very last thing on this man’s mind at the moment.

Her all-encompassing scrutiny of him ended in a sharp stab of irritation; he was wearing metal-rimmed mirrored sunglasses, and showed no signs of removing them. Didn’t he know it was rude to keep sunglasses on when talking to someone?

“Don’t you think—” she glared at the tinted lenses, trying to penetrate them but seeing only the reflection of her own slight figure, taut and hostile “—that you were perhaps going just a little too fast?”

She hadn’t realized how stifling hot the afternoon had become; now, as she stared challengingly up at the stranger, she felt a ribbon of moisture slide down her back, under her white T-shirt, teasing every bone of her spine till stopped by the waistband of her jeans.

She wriggled uncomfortably, but had to admit that it wasn’t only the perspiration that was making her wriggle; it was this man. The air crackled with his sexuality— and her nerve-endings flickered out excited little “message received” responses. Grimly she deleted them. So what if the man was devastatingly attractive? Jason had been devastatingly attractive, hadn’t he? And just look where that had led her...

“Lady.” The truck driver’s voice, harsh with exasperation, grated into her scattered thoughts. “The road is for wheeled vehicles; the sidewalk is for pedestrians. Had I been driving my truck along the sidewalk, I could understand your ridiculous attitude...”

It was becoming more difficult by the moment to keep her mind on what he was saying. He had moved closer as he spoke, and the air was suddenly chokingly thick with the musky smell of sweat—sweat generated by hours of labor under a cruel sun. Like whiskey matured for ten years in the cask, it had an indefinable extra something—something earthy, erotic and disturbing—something that was as powerful as a punch to the solar plexus.

Laura almost hunched over with a gasp as it hit her, and only with a great effort did she manage to control herself. Her violent reaction to him, she decided, with some agitation, was due to his being different from the kind of men she was used to—rawer, tougher, sexier. That was all it was...

She drew herself to her full height of five feet one. “It would have been simpler,” she said with a scathing look, “if you had just stopped and come back here with a gracious apology.” Tilting her chin haughtily, she sidestepped him and marched with stiff steps toward his truck. “As it is, I intend to report you to the owner of your company, whoever he—”

She came to an abrupt halt as she stared up at the name emblazoned on the vehicle’s dusty cab. “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” She breathed out the words wearily, and without any attempt to hide her disgust.

Diamond Ace Holdings

Nicholas Diamond-Budding Contractor

Satisfaction guaranteed

As a rule, jet lag didn’t bother her. But now, suddenly, she felt the five-hour flight from Toronto begin to have its effect. Her legs began to tremble, her mouth to feel parched. She had come so far—looking for peace, looking for a place to heal her wounds—and she was at last within a stone’s throw of Sweet Briar. The only thing standing in her way was this bad-tempered, bad-mannered—

“Forget it!” She spun round again and looked up into his scowling dust-caked face. “A man like Nicholas Diamond is certainly not going to care if one of his workers is guilty of reckless driving.” She saw the driver’s strongly-marked black eyebrows shoot up, as if she’d startled him, saw him open his mouth as if to reply. But she didn’t give him a chance.

“In fact,” she went on in a withering tone, “knowing what I do of the man, he’d probably give you a bonus if he found out you were in such an all-fired hurry to get the job done.” Before stepping past him, she made sure she would have the last word. “I’ll be watching out for you, and if I ever see you driving so carelessly again, I’ll call the police. Goodbye, Mr-”

She silently uttered a vexed “Damn!” Her speech had sounded great, but it had tailed off at the end. It had had to tail off because, of course, she didn’t know the man’s name.

“Diamond,” he offered, on a soft breath. And, as she watched, his face—that tanned and sweaty and dust-caked face—twisted in a smile that sent a chill of apprehension shivering through her. “Nicholas Diamond.” He reached up and removed his sunglasses, and his eyes were winter-gray and hard as steel. “My friends ... and they are legion... call me Nick.”

Laura watched, her own lips parted in a shocked gasp, as, with tension in every line of his bearing, the man wheeled away from her and strode back to the truck. His khaki shirt pulled against the muscles of his shoulders as he went, his jeans clove besottedly to his tight buttocks and long powerful legs and his black hair gleamed with the brightness of summer sunshine on dark water. The gears clashed as he set the truck in motion, and even at that distance Laura heard him utter a harsh and heartfelt oath.

She stood there, the smell of the exhaust fumes thick in her nostrils, crowding out the heady, erotic man-scent that had so disturbed her just moments ago. And she stayed like that, without moving, her heart thumping with slow, ponderous bumps against her ribs, long after the sound of the engine had faded away into the hush of the afternoon.

Sweet Briar was exactly as Laura remembered it.

Oh, the garden was sadly overgrown, the white front door and the windowframes cried out for a coat of paint, and when she opened the picket gate one of the hinges, eaten out by rust, swung loose with a sound like a sigh.

But as she walked slowly up the uneven brick path she could almost hear Great-Aunt Charity’s voice calling out to her as it had during the days of that hot, long-ago summer.

“Hurry, darling child. I made us some ice-cream, and it’s melting in the dish! Put that skipping rope down, and go wash your hands—I’ll be out back, under the apple tree ... waiting for you.”

Charity Brown had never married, but she had been a teacher for forty-five years before she’d retired, and she’d known children. She’d liked them... and they’d liked her.

Laura had loved her.

Now, as she drank in the sight of the stuccoed cottage with its weathered shake roof, she felt a growing and very deep sense of coming home. And, as she paused to inhale the perfume drifting from a bushy yellow plant, Laura felt the tension that had been with her so long begin to slacken—though the confrontation with Nicholas Diamond had, she admitted ruefully, jarred her more than a little. Especially his parting shot.

When he’d told her who he was, when he’d looked at her the way he had—so snide, so superior, so downright nasty!—she had desperately wanted to say something that would take him down a peg or three. She grimaced as she walked on. It had been unfortunate, meeting him today, but with a bit of luck she’d never bump into him again. And, though he had ruined Juniper Ridge, Sweet Briar itself was still rooted where it had always been. Only...

She halted, frowning. Though her great-aunt’s picket fence still separated her front drive from the one next door to the west, the low hedge that had divided the back gardens had been replaced by a high wall of the same creamy stone as the mansion towering beyond it. Laura raised her eyes ... and felt them widen in dismay; the second story of the monster house had huge windows-and they all looked down into Sweet Briar’s backyard.

Swiveling, Laura glanced to the east, and breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw that the forest she remembered was still intact; no looming edifice stood there, with its windows impinging on her privacy. Spruce and hemlock, fir and pine stood straight and tall, flourishing in the mild Pacific air.

Thank heavens for that. Though the new housing complex covered almost every inch of the mountain slope around her, on this one side, at least, there still remained virgin forest-thirty acres of it, if she remembered rightly. She would be able to wander in that quiet green sanctuary, as she had so often yearned to do...

Coming to Sweet Briar Cottage was the one thing that had kept her going since Jason’s death, and today was a day she had looked forward to with a feeling that had been akin to desperation. A day of new beginnings. But so much had changed. And if the forest had been gone...

But it wasn’t. So she would still have it ... and the cottage. Everything else—all the changes—she would try to ignore.

Just as she had ignored the estate lawyer’s repeated requests to have her look at the many offers he’d had on the property since her great-aunt’s death.

“I don’t want to sell,” Laura had declared, over and over and over again. “Not now, not ever.”

“But I’ve been approached by a client who is willing to pay you ten times what the place is worth!” The lawyer’s tone had indicated that he’d thought she was out of her mind. “If you agree to sell, you’ll be able to use the money to buy a very impressive house in the best area of the city!”

I already own a very impressive house in the best area of Toronto, she’d almost said. But she hadn’t. She had just repeated, firmly, that she had made up her mind.

Now, as she turned the key in the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside, she felt her heartbeats accelerate in anticipation.

The first thing she noticed was that the interior of the cottage was still as bright as she had remembered itbright and inviting, because at the end of the lobby leading to the rear of the simple house was the drawing-room, with its wall of windows overlooking the back garden.

The second thing Laura noticed was the smell—not a damp smell, as she might have expected, but a dry one, edged with the fragrance of cedar logs, pine cones and lavender. A nostalgic scent...and one that made her want to sneeze.

The first thing she must do, she decided as she moved along the lobby, was open some windows.

But as she paused in the open doorway of the living-room she felt memories come rushing back with such force that her legs threatened to give way under her. Stumbling to the nearest sofa, she sank down on the overstuffed cushions and looked around her, with tears burning her eyes. It was just as beautiful... just as perfect ... as she had remembered.

Mellow sunshine slanted through open venetian blinds, painting the room’s uneven whitewashed walls with slats of butter-gold. Dust danced and hovered in the air, and lay thick on every surface, though Laura barely saw it, or the dried leaves that had fallen from a dead plant onto the Indian rug. What she saw were the chintzcovered sofas and armchairs, the antique lamps with their pink bead-fringed shades, the silver-framed photographs, the crammed walnut bookcases, the windowseat with its cabbage rose cushions...

And beyond, outside, the garden...

Pushing herself to her feet again, Laura crossed to the French doors, and, after a struggle with the lock, managed to open them. Dropping her backpack, she stepped out onto the brick patio and, raising her face to the sun, drew in breath after breath of the richly scented, salt-laden air.

This was why she had come back—for this peace, this isolation, this close communion with nature. If any place on earth could heal her, it was this one.

Eyes still blurred, she gazed around the garden, with the eglantine hedge at the bottom—the sweet briar from which the cottage had got its name—the burbling creek behind it, and the sloping lawn with its beds of flowers. The azaleas were just beginning to bloom, as was the clematis climbing over the weathered trellis by the patio...

And weeds, Laura noticed, flourished everywhere. She would begin tackling them tomorrow, if the weather stayed nice. Wet days would be for working indoors, sunny days would be devoted to the garden. She hugged her arms around herself with a feeling of joyful anticipation—and noticed, with vague surprise, how thin she had become.

She would start looking after herself, she promised. Surely her appetite would begin to pick up, and she would start eating regularly again, start exercising again.

The very notion seemed to charge her with energy. She moved around the house, her steps suddenly so light she was almost dancing, and as she touched one familiar object after another she found herself smiling through her tears. It was so good, so very good to be here.

But a few minutes later, as she threw herself down on one of the sofas, she noticed that the surge of energy had burned itself out, leaving her utterly drained. Kicking off her sandals, she tucked her legs under her, and, reaching for the crocheted afghan draped over the back of the couch, she pulled it loosely over herself.

She wouldn’t sleep, she knew that—she was far too excited. But she’d rest awhile, and then she’d get up, take some food from her backpack and have a snack.

In the meantime ...

CHAPTER TWO

“NICK...?”

“Mmm?” Nicholas Diamond looked up from his desk as his sister, tying the belt of her maternity dressing-gown around her bulky waist, came into his study. “Good lord, Sally—” he glanced at his watch “—I thought you went to bed ages ago. It’s after midnight, honey—should you be—?”

“I was in bed. I woke up a few minutes ago and had to go to the bathroom...” Sally Peterson paused, nibbling her lower lip worriedly, and Nick raised his eyebrows.

“Not edgy, are you, without James? But that’s why I suggested you come and stay here while he’s away! I know what a Nervous Nellie you are—”

“I think someone has broken in next door.”

“At Sweet Briar?” Nick frowned. “Who on earth would want to break in there? Surely there’d be nothing worth stealing in that old cottage.”

“Nevertheless, when I passed by my bedroom window the moon slipped out from behind the clouds for just a moment, and when I looked into the back garden I could have sworn the patio doors were open. Wide open.”

“Probably a trick of the light.” Nick glanced at the work on his desk. He really had to get these figures worked out before the meeting with his lawyer in the morning. “Don’t you think you should just go back to bed and-?”

“Nicholas, if—as you suggest—there’s nothing worth stealing there, won’t the burglar decide to try somewhere else?” She stared at him meaningfully. Like here, was the implication.

With a resigned sigh, Nicholas pushed back his chair. “Okay. James has left you in my care, so I’ll go and scout around.” He glowered at her teasingly. “But if I’m not back in half an hour, phone 911.”

“Thanks, Nicky.”

“Now, you scoot off to bed. The babes asleep?”

“Mmm, sound. Lucky, aren’t they, to be too young to worry about burglars and break-ins and murders and—?”

Nicholas touched a finger to her lips. “Enough,” he said softly. “This house, as you well know, has a very sophisticated alarm system. I’m going to investigate only to put your mind at rest.” He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her from the room. “Off you go to bed now, and stop worrying. I’ve got everything under control.”

Good Lord, Nick thought a few minutes later, Sally was right.

Stealthily he moved across Sweet Briar’s back patio toward the cottage’s French doors—which were, indeed, open. Just as he got there, however, a cloud floated over the moon, plunging him into darkness. Cursing under his breath, he glided through the doorway, straining to pick up any sounds, but the only noises came from outside—the rustle of the breeze in the bushes, the hum of traffic from the highway below, the distant bark of a dog.

So intent was he in his listening that he stepped forward too carelessly, and his foot caught against a soft, bulky object on the floor. With a startled exclamation he pitched forward, to sprawl over a heavy, upholstered piece of furniture.. In all probability, he decided, a couch. The sound had jerked from his throat before he could stifle it, and as it echoed in the night-hush he grimaced.

At that moment the moon slid from behind the cloud, and as he straightened he saw, on the couch, hiding beneath an afghan, the figure of a youth. Sally’s burglar. He must, Nick surmised, have heard him coming and darted for cover... And the object he, Nick, had tripped over in the doorway was probably the bag used for the booty.

Thieving little punk!

“Get up!” Nick’s snarled command reverberated back from the walls of the room, and as it did the figure jerked spasmodically, a white face appeared above the blanket, and a pair of dark eyes gleamed up at him in fright.

Laura had thought, when she’d heard the harsh voice, that she must be dreaming. But as her eyes flew open, and she flinched back from the huge figure looming threateningly over her, she smelled the scents of summer dust, firewood and lavender, and knew that she wasn’t dreaming after all.

She was at Sweet Briar. She had lain down on the sofa and must have fallen into a deep sleep—a sleep that had lasted for hours. She could see moonlight filtering in through the windows, silvering the walls and furniture... and outlining the wide-shouldered frame of the man poised over her, his back to the door, his face shadowed.

“Get up!” The stranger barked out the command again. “And watch how you move, you thieving little lowlife... I pack a mean punch!”

Laura cringed as he made a sweeping gesture in her direction, but even as the breath caught in her throat she realized that he wasn’t going to hit her. All he meant to do was snatch up the crocheted blanket half covering her... which he proceeded to do before flinging it away to the floor. The movement swiveled him sideways for just a second, and during that fleeting second his profile was painted ink-black against the silver light from the moon...

And, during that fleeting second, the sight of him, and the sound of his harsh voice echoing in her ears, came together in Laura’s mind with the firm, undeniable click of computerized facts meshing into place.

This man was no stranger.

Slowly she uncurled herself from the fetal position she’d adopted while she slept. What Nicholas Diamond was doing here she wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if the man was quite mad. He thought she was the intruder, not he; and he was in no mood to listen to her explanations.

The sooner she got out of his way the better.

At that moment a cloud floated across the moon, and the room became instantly as black as pitch. Rolling off the sofa, she moved furtively, with her breath sucked into her throat, toward the French doors. If she could get outside, she could hide in the garden till-A rough hand grasped her arm, making her gasp. “Trying to get away?” The voice rasped in her ears mockingly. “Too bad you didn’t eat your carrots when you were a boy—you’d be better able to see in the dark!”

Laura resisted the urge to try to tug her arm free, knowing full well that his grip was inescapable. “Look, you—” her voice was breathless but cold “—I don’t know who you think I am, or what you think I’m doing here, but my name is Laura Grant and this cottage belongs to me. Now, if it’s not asking too much, would you please let me go?” She noticed with grim pleasure that his grasp had slackened at her words, and she jerked her arm free. “And get out of my house!”

For a moment that seemed to stretch forever there was silence in the room, punctuated only by Laura’s rough, erratic breathing. Finally, when she’d thought the man was never going to respond to her words, he said, in a voice that was husky and edged with self-deprecatory humor, “Miss Grant, please accept my apologies. I thought that—”

“I’m not the least interested in your apologies,” she snapped, “and I am even less interested in your thoughts. All I want is for you to leave, and to keep out of my way so I need never set eyes on you again. Do you think,” she added sarcastically, “that you could possibly arrange that?”

“If you really are the new owner of Sweet Briar, then I’m afraid that’s something I can’t promise to arrange.”

“And why not?” she demanded icily.

“Because,” he replied, “I am your next door neighbor. And you and I shall probably be seeing a great deal of each other in the future ... whether you like it or not.”

She heard him walking toward the French doors, and then she heard a scuffling sound, and realized that he must be pushing her backpack into the room. A second later she heard the sharp click as he pushed the French doors into place, and then, as the cloud slid past the moon and once again the garden was painted in silver, she saw him walk by the windows, his hands rammed into the pockets of his jeans.

And she also saw, with a flare of anger and resentment, that his lips were slanted in a smile.

Amazingly, she slept again after he’d left.

She hadn’t expected to. The encounter had left her trembling with frustration, and she had curled up on the couch again—promising herself that she’d get up and make some coffee once she’d stopped shaking—and next thing she knew, sunshine was tickling her eyelids, inviting her to waken up. When she looked at her watch, she saw that it was nine o’clock.

She stretched and yawned... and her stomach gave a plaintive rumble. Getting up, she scooped her backpack from the carpet and made for the bathroom.

She gave herself a cursory wash, deciding to have a shower later, after she had done some preliminary cleaning. In the meantime, after brushing it, she fashioned her hair in a ponytail and tethered it with a leather thong.

About to turn away, she stopped to examine her reflection in the fly-spotted mirror above the sink. Lord, what a wan, unattractive creature she was. Not only was her long brown hair limp, it had no highlights; her skin, though flawless and clear, as it had been all her life, was pale, and drawn too tightly across her neat, straight nose and high cheekbones. Even her lips were pale. And as for her eyes... She shook her head; her eyes-blue as the Nordic sky under which her maternal ancestors had been born—were dulled and flat, mirroring the soul they windowed.

She sighed wistfully as she tucked the tail of her beige shirt into the waistband of her jeans. Where had she gone, that vivacious teenager who had been whirled into a “fairytale” marriage by one of Toronto’s most eligible bachelors? Was she lost forever? Or was she still there-somewhere?

She paused, her hand on the doorhandle, as an odd thought flew into her head. She had decided, after Jason’s death, that she would revert to her maiden name—Laura Grant. Why, then, last night, had it been on the tip of her tongue to tell Nicholas Diamond that her name was Mrs Thorne? Was it because she’d felt she had needed protection from him, and had thought she’d be safe if he believed her to be married? But safe from what?

Oh, it was too early in the day to be puzzling about such abstract problems! Pulling open the bathroom door, she made her way to the kitchen.

It was a small, cozy room, with white walls, green linoleum, birch-veneered cupboards and ancient avocado appliances. The window faced east, toward the forest, and Laura could see the sun peeping over the jagged silhouette of the treetops. The sky was cloudless, and a pale gray-blue. Later in the day she would walk among the trees—the first, she hoped, of many, many such walks.

A coffee-maker stood on the formica countertop, and, after rinsing it out, Laura opened the package of freshly ground coffee-beans she’d brought with her. Within minutes the air was scented by the aroma of the filtering brew.

As it dripped into the pot Laura took a small loaf from her backpack, and moments later the smell of toasting bread was added to the fragrance of the coffee. Humming under her breath, she energetically wiped off the surface of the table, the countertop and one of the chairs. By the time she had cleaned them to her satisfaction her breakfast was ready, but she had just sat down, and was savoring her first sip of coffee, when she heard the doorbell chime.

She blinked. Who on earth could be coming to call? No one but Nicholas Diamond and Marvin Twigg, the estate lawyer who now handled her affairs, knew she had moved in.

Putting her mug down on the table, she got up and walked through to the hall. The front door was oak, with a window at eye-level-a window veiled with a lace curtain.

Through the curtain she could see that the person outside was a striking brunette, with strong, attractive features and curly black hair tumbling to her shoulders.

Laura unlocked the door and pulled it slightly open, and as she peeped around the edge she saw immediately that the stranger was pregnant. Very pregnant. Her maternity dress billowed out around her like a vast scarlet tent.

“Yes?” Laura’s voice was wary.

The woman’s gray eyes were friendly, her smile pleasant but rueful. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Sally Peterson from next door. I’ve ... come to apologize about last night.”

Laura shifted her weight to the other foot, and waited for the woman to go on.

“You see,” Sally explained, “what happened was all my fault. I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I saw your patio doors were open I thought someone had broken in, so I asked Nick to go over and have a look.” She grimaced. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”

This pleasant, friendly woman lived with Nicholas Diamond? Their surnames were different, so they weren’t married... Or maybe they were. It wasn’t uncommon for a woman, nowadays, to cling to her maiden name instead of assuming the surname of the man she had married. And she was expecting a child. His child, of course. She couldn’t imagine a man like Nick Diamond tolerating any other kind of situation. But the woman seemed so nice; why on earth would she have let herself get involved with a tyrant such as—?

“He’s my brother. My twin, actually. Nicky, I mean.”

She was his sister, not his wife. Laura was taken aback by the odd little quiver that trembled through her heart as the other woman imparted the piece of information. What on earth did it matter to her if Nicholas Diamond was married or not? And just because this woman wasn’t married to him, it didn’t mean that some other woman wasn’t ...

Good Lord, her mind was driveling on as if it assumed she had some interest in the man! Perhaps she was still suffering from jet lag; that could be the only explanation.

She realized, suddenly, that the woman was staring at her, waiting. Waiting for what? Had she spoken?

“Er ... sorry,” Laura murmured. “Did you ...?”

“If you’ve just moved in, you’re probably going to be busy cleaning this morning, but ... in the afternoon, would you like to come next door for awhile? Nick has a pool, and we could have a swim, or just have a coffee and chat.”

Laura had thought it would be easy to slip into her new home-easy to keep to herself, easy to avoid getting involved with neighbors. She had reckoned without meeting such a friendly, open person as this Sally Peterson.

“Thanks, but i...er...have to go out this afternoon.”

“Some other time, then.” Sally’s smile was cheery. “Give me a call when you’re free—the number’s in the book. Nick’s number, that is. I’m not getting around much—my baby’s due in three weeks—so I’d really appreciate some company. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” She turned to go, and then swiveled back. “I almost forgot—” she held out a paper bag “—these are for you. Some blueberry muffins—they’re still warm from the oven.”

After a brief hesitation, Laura took the bag. “Thanks,” she said, and for the first time managed a smile. “Thanks very much.” And, with that, she withdrew into the cottage again, and locked the door.

When Laura had flown to Vancouver, she had left behind-in the triple garage of her Toronto suburban house—her cream Volvo, Jason’s scarlet Ferrari and the antique silver Rolls that had been kept for attending special functions. She could have had one of those vehicles delivered to her at Sweet Briar, but she wanted to get back to basics—wanted a simple home and a simple way of life... And, for the moment anyway, that included a simple mode of transportation.

Curled up on the windowseat in the living-room just before noon, Laura stared out at the back garden. She had spent the morning scouring the kitchen, until every surface, every corner was gleaming. Now, nibbling the last crumbs of one of Sally’s muffins, she thought about the things she needed to buy when she went shopping.

First on the list was a bicycle.

Notebook on her lap, she tapped her pencil against her teeth, remembering that on the way to Juniper Ridge in the cab she had noticed a village at the foot of the hill; perhaps she would find a cycle shop there. She started to scribble out her list, starting with the bike and adding enough items of food to keep her going for several days.

When she’d finished, she stretched lazily and smiled. Before she went shopping—before she even showered and changed—there was something she was going to do... somewhere she was going to go. A treat she’d promised herself, as a reward for her morning of hard work.

Standing up, she stuffed her list in the pocket of her jeans before taking her empty plate to the kitchen.

Then, anticipation sparkling up inside her like a sunburst of champagne bubbles, she made for the front door.

KEEP OUT

TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED

Laura stared disbelievingly at the sign nailed to the narrow gate at the forest entrance. Who on earth had put it there? And how long had it been there? When she’d spent that summer at Sweet Briar, there had certainly been no such sign. The forest had been there for everyone to enjoy.

Disappointment surged through her like sour bile. Everything, she decided bitterly, had changed. First, the old cottages had been razed to the ground; secondly, the back garden at Sweet Briar was no longer private; and now the forest was forbidden to her. Fighting a sudden welling of tears, she slumped against the gatepost.

At least the cottage itself remained unchanged. And for that she was profoundly thankful. But, instead of its being in its original jewel-like setting, it was as if the small house was the last survivor in a now unfamiliar world. She felt as though she was the last survivor in an unfamiliar world ...

“Excuse me!”

She hadn’t heard anyone approaching from the forest path. Now, as she jerked away from the post, she became aware of a man just a step away, waiting to get by. The man—for just a second she hadn’t recognized him, and then her heartbeats thundered with the intensity of galloping hooves on sun-baked turf—was Nicholas Diamond.

He was wearing an icy-gray shirt with the sleeves loosely rolled back over his forearms, a striped light gray and navy tie and a pair of navy suit trousers that snugly followed the contours of his thighs and narrowed to a pair of highly polished shoes... And over his shoulder, slung by a thumb, was his suit jacket—that he was carrying it that way was, she noticed bleakly, the only casual thing about him. Had he been wearing the jacket, he would have looked as if he’d stepped straight from the cover of a fat and glossy business magazine.

She realized that his original detached expression had given way to a frown.

“Aren’t you the young woman who was walking in the middle of the road yesterday?” Censure edged his tone. He opened the gate as he spoke, walked through and clicked it shut behind him, his critical gaze never leaving her.

“Aren’t you the roadhog who almost ran me over?” she retorted acidly. He had recognized her from their first encounter, but he obviously hadn’t connected her with the woman he’d tangled with during the night.

“Why are you hanging around?” The question had a hard edge. Still without taking his gaze from her, he jerked his head toward the sign. “This area is out of bounds,” he went on, but before he could say more, Laura broke in scornfully.

“I can see that! And whoever put up that sign should have his head examined. The forest belongs to everyone, and as long as people respect it then they should be allowed to wander through it at will.” She glared up at him. “Though that doesn’t seem to stop you! Are you one of these people who go through life disobeying rules just for the sheer hell of it?”

The breeze caught the scent from his body and brought it to her like an unwanted gift—a gift she had no way of refusing. It wasn’t the raw male scent she’d been subjected to the day before—that pheromone-laden scent which had called to some deep and dark and primal part of her—it was a clean, sophisticated fragrance, with musk and sandalwood undertones—one that teased her in a different but equally tantalizing and disturbing way. To her dismay, as she waited for him to respond to her challenging words, she felt her mouth become dry.

When finally he spoke it was in exactly the same tone as he’d used the day before, when he’d told her his name, and with exactly the same icy expression in his eyes.

“The forest,” he said, “belongs to me.”

Dry throat suddenly forgotten, Laura stood speechless. But only for a moment. When he started to move past her, his jacket brushing her arm as he did, she wrenched herself back from him with a snapped, “And you keep it all to yourself? Don’t you think that’s a bit...selfish?”

He wheeled round and fixed her with a glittering gaze. “Selfish? No,” he said bluntly, “I don’t think so.” His gaze narrowed as it flickered over her. “Tell me—do you have a job?”

No, she didn’t have a job... But looking for one was going to be her first priority once she’d got settled in at Sweet Briar—not that she was about to let this man be privy to any of her plans! Haughtily she tilted her chin. “For the life of me,” she retorted, “I can’t see what business that is of yours!”

“So you think I’m selfish?” His laugh was grim. “Lady, what I think is selfish is people like you who believe the world owes them a living. If you had a job, instead of just hanging around, some day you might be able to buy yourself a bit of land. When that day comes you can decide what you want to do with it, and who you will allow to walk on it. In the meantime, don’t expect to freeload on those of us who have earned what they possess.”

Again, to her horror, Laura felt tears begin to prick the back of her eyes, and as they did the fight began to drain out of her. It was crazy, the way she and this man rubbed each other the wrong way. If he did, indeed, own this forest acreage, then legally he was perfectly entitled to keep it to himself. And, though she hadn’t wanted to become involved with her neighbors, the last thing she’d expected was to become engaged in open hostility with any of them. It would be awkward, she conceded, to be at war with this man, when they lived next door to each other.

She opened her mouth to explain who she was, to make an effort to smooth the dangerous tension jerking back and forth like live cables between them, but the sound of an approaching car and the blare of a horn distracted her attention. The noise came from behind her, and when she turned round it was to see a sleek powder-blue Jaguar pull in at the side of the road about twenty feet away.

A tall, leggy female emerged, her hair—ash-blond and straight-glistening like a sheet of pale water around her shoulders, her slender figure immaculate in a powder-blue sheath dress that flattered every feminine curve. Her glance barely flickered over Laura, as, with a tinkle of silver bracelets, she raised an arm and waved to Nicholas.

“Are you ready, Nick?” Her voice was soft, and had a built-in huskiness that would, Laura mused tautly, appeal to men of all ages; it was a voice that would be hard to resist.

Nicholas Diamond showed no signs of wanting to resist it.

“Be right there, Melody,” he called in an easy tone.

But before he moved away his eyes slewed down to meet Laura’s for one fleeting moment. “Remember what I said,” he warned grimly. “The forest is off limits.”

Then he was gone, striding away toward the powder-blue Jag as if he’d already forgotten her existence.

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER her altercation with Nick Diamond, Laura showered and changed and then walked down to the village, where she bought a sturdy second-hand bicycle. Before going home, she crossed to the supermarket, where she purchased enough groceries to last her a week.

It was fortunate that she had, because the following morning she woke to the sound of heavy rain ... rain that showed no signs of letting up in the near future.

Depressing though the bad weather was, it had its advantages. Laura couldn’t go out, so she set herself to spring-cleaning the cottage and to sorting out Charity’s clothes, and other items, for disposal ... shedding more than one tear in the process.

It took her six days to complete the work, and during that time it rained solidly. But when she woke on the seventh day she discovered that the rain had spattered itself to a stop through the night; when she stumbled to the bedroom window, it was to look out on a dazzlingly bright scene.

In her cream cotton robe and slippers, she wandered, yawning, through to the living-room, where she flung open the French doors and stepped out onto the patio.

Birdsong greeted her, and air so sweetly fresh that she drew in great lungfuls as she looked at the raindrops sparkling like jewels on every leaf. Raising her face to the sun, eyes closed, she stretched her arms high, as far as her fingers could reach. The belt of her robe slipped open, and the sun stroked her bare legs, and the swell of her breasts above the ribboned yoke of her nightie. It felt good—it felt free!—to stand there like that, and though her muscles ached it was a pleasant ache—a reminder of a job well done.

She was about to retie her robe and go inside again when she had a feeling someone was watching her. She jerked her head up to glance at the house next door...and froze.

Nick Diamond must have been passing an uncurtained window upstairs as she’d stepped outside, because she could see him standing there now—at least, she could see the upper half of his body. That body might be half-naked, or it might—her cheeks became warm-be totally naked; the lower frame of the window cut him off at the waist. What she could see of him was disturbingly male—wide, tanned shoulders and muscular arms, and a deep chest clouded with crisp black hair.

Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes locked, and she felt her pulse quiver as, for a time-stopping moment, she saw a flicker of sexual awareness in his gray gaze. It was only for a moment, because even as she felt an answering tingle run through her body his expression changed. He looked, all of a sudden, as if someone had struck him a blow on the head from behind.

He had, Laura realized, finally recognized that the female he’d almost run over with his truck, the female he’d also forbidden to trespass in his forest and the female with whom he’d tangled in the dark-shadowed living-room at Sweet Briar were one and the very same.

But, before she could move, before she could tilt her chin haughtily and stomp back inside, he raised one hand in a mocking salute, and, moving away, disappeared from view.

Resentment poured through her like burning acid as she absorbed the hard reality of the situation: there was nothing she could do to prevent Nick Diamond from staring down on her, at any time, from his window.

She remembered how, during her visit to Sweet Briar that long-ago summer when she was ten years old, Great-Aunt Charity had often flung off her blouse after a weeding session, and had collapsed in a deckchair with a glass of lemonade to sunbathe in her bra and her baggy old shorts while Laura played under the lawn sprinkler in her swimsuit.

How had the elderly woman reacted, Laura now wondered, when the cottage next door had been bulldozed to the ground and Nick Diamond had erected a house so tall that he could look down into her yard? Had she been horrified? Or had she, with the confidence of her years, continued to sunbathe in her—?

Splash!

Laura compressed her lips into a tight line as she heard, from the other side of the wall, the unmistakable sound of a body hitting water—a man’s body, she surmised irritably, a whipcord-lean and hair-roughened body, a darkly tanned and glorious body, slicing with tautmuscled perfection into the deep end of a luxurious swimming pool.

The sun was shining more brightly with every passing moment, but to Laura it might as well have been floundering behind a bank of thunder-purpled clouds. Her morning was already. ruined—as every morning would be when it had to be spent in such close proximity to Nicholas Diamond.

It wasn’t until later, after she’d showered and dressed, that she decided there was only one course to follow if she hoped to enjoy living at Sweet Briar. She had to ignore her next door neighbor. She had to wipe the man from her mind. She had to pretend he didn’t exist. If she couldn’t do that, then her every moment would be unbearable. She’d be constantly wondering if he was peering down on her—watching her as she gardened, watching as she hung out her washing, watching as she lay reading in the shade of the apple tree.

And she would ignore him.

She had intended to garden today...and she would garden today. If Nick Diamond had nothing better to do with his time than watch her, then she should feel sorry for him.

As she sat down at the kitchen table to eat breakfast she propped one of Charity’s gardening books against the cornflakes package, and while she ate she immersed herself in the chapter entitled, “Roses—the Pruning of”.

Half an hour later, she went out to the shed in search of a pair of secateurs. She found some right away, in excellent condition. Charity Brown must have been a conscientious gardener, she mused; the blades were oiled and sharp.

It was with a spring in her step that she approached the first rose bed, and it was with a smile on her lips that she tentatively snipped off the first dead branch.

She made good headway, and soon gained confidence in herself, and after lunch she went back out to prune the last of the rose bushes, situated in a plot running under the wall separating Sweet Briar from the house next door.

During the morning she’d heard sounds from the other side of the wall—Sally’s low voice, accompanied by the lighter voices of children. It hadn’t taken Laura long to deduce that there were two of them—little boys, Matthew and Michael—who sounded as if they were quite small.

They must have been put down for a nap after lunch, because in the afternoon she heard no signs of life from next door...not till around two o’clock. As she was pruning the second to last rose bush voices came floating over the wall again—this time those of Sally and her brother.

At first the two chatted desultorily about someone called James, who seemed to be Sally’s husband and who had gone to the Kootenays on business. Laura tried to ignore the voices, even wondered if she should cough to let the two know that she was there, but in the end decided that if she were to do that every time they were in their garden and she was in hers it would be ridiculous. Instead she speeded up her pruning, and had almost finished when she heard Sally speak in response to a muffled comment by Nick.

“Yes, it’s strange, isn’t it, how things turned out? Before I married James, Melody and I spent so much time together... and now you see more of her than I do! And she’s good for you, Nick—you complement each other. She calms you down when you get stressed through overwork... as you so often do...”

Laura tried to block her ears to their conversation, and managed for a while, but as she began pruning the last straggly branches Nick’s voice, loud and clear, came floating to her reluctant ears.

“...unrealistic expectations about marriage. Let’s face it, what you and James have is rare—the exception that proves the rule. I’m not expecting that kind of marriage—I intend that it will be more like a business arrangement—”

“A business arrangement?”

“Mmm. Everything cut and dried beforehand, so there’ll be no unpleasant surprises for either of us. I intend for the two of us to agree on certain conditions, to set them out in a detailed legal contract, and then we’ll both sign on the dotted line. When we have children, we shall, of course, have to write out a second contract—”

“How many children?”

“Two. A boy and a girl.”

Sally chuckled. “You really do have everything planned, don’t you?” There was the sound of chair-legs scraping on brick. “I tell you, Nick, life isn’t that simple.” She said something else, which Laura didn’t hear, and they both laughed, then Sally said, “This heat’s getting to me. I’m going indoors for. a while.”

Laura heard footsteps crossing the patio, and then Nick’s voice, faintly. “I’m going out in ten minutes I have to go downtown. I want to know if there’s been any headway in the...” The footsteps and the voices faded away.

Laura’s breath came out in a rush, and it was only then that she realized she’d been holding it. She straightened, grimacing as she wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. Eavesdropping—that was what she’d been doing.

Despite her twinges of guilt, though, she couldn’t help feeling glad she had heard what she had. It displayed Nick Diamond in an even more unflattering light than before, and confirmed her negative opinion of him. The man was not human ... he was little more than a machine. Whoever it was he planned to marry—Melody, the powder-blue blonde, of whom Sally approved?—whoever she was, someone should warn her...

Laura pushed all thoughts of Nick Diamond from her head as she finished her pruning; whatever he did, whomever he married, it was, thank the Lord, no concern of hers.

She was in her bedroom, getting ready to go down to the village for groceries, when she heard the sound of Nick’s Porsche backing out of the driveway next door and onto the street.

Firmly squashing an impulse to cross to the window to make sure he had gone, Laura continued brushing her hair, frowning at the long mousy strands. She really should have her hair cut and frosted, she mused. It looked so much prettier that way—the way it had looked when she was a teenager, the way it had looked when she’d met Jason.

Her eyes became shadowed. Jason. After they’d been married he had told her he hated it that way, and had insisted she let it revert to its natural color. She sighed. He had really done a number on her—and she had been too intimidated to fight back. Within weeks of their wedding day he’d changed her—had changed her image, her appearance.

He had tossed out her fashionable designer pants and pretty silk blouses, her perky summer shorts and tube tops, her favorite rings and earrings and bracelets ... and had made her replace the clothes with garments she’d detested—in dull shades and nondescript styles that had drawn the color from her cheeks and the sparkle from her eyes and had down-played her attractively curved figure. He had also prohibited her from wearing any jewelry other than her wedding and engagement rings. She had felt like a butterfly crushed brutally back into its chrysalis.

She had thought Jason had acted the way he had because he’d been twelve years older than she was, and had found her taste immature, but the reasons had been deeper and uglier than that. He had been jealously possessive—though it had taken Laura a long time to realize it.

Putting down her hairbrush, she shook her head as her glance skimmed over her reflection. She was still wearing clothes Jason had bought for her during their marriage—a shapeless beige blouse and a pair of drab and equally unflattering shorts.

Some day, she told herself, she would go on a shopping trip; some day, also, she would make an appointment at a beauty salon and get her hair done—but she had been dowdy for so long it was going to take an effort to break out of the chrysalis in which she’d been imprisoned. The day would come, though, when she’d feel up to it, when she’d feel strong enough to ignore the images of Jason—the cold and contemptuous and disapproving images that still lingered in her mind...

And that day, she sensed, feeling a little lurch of excitement, might come quite soon!

She was walking her bike down to the end of the drive when she saw Sally hurrying out to the sidewalk.

When Laura said, “Hi, there!” the other woman turned with a rueful grimace.

“I wanted to catch Nick but he’s gone! Drat—I I phoned the video store down in the village to see if they had a copy of The Seventh Secret. They said they had one left and they’d keep it for me—hut only till three-thirty—and I wanted to ask Nick to pick it up as he passed on his way to the lawyer’s office.” She brushed a curl back from her brow. “Ah, well, I guess I’ll have to phone and cancel—”

“I’m on my way to the village. I’ll pick it up for you, if you like.”

“Would you?” Sally’s face brightened. “Oh, that’s s sweet of you! Hang on a sec till I get my purse—”

“That’s okay—you can pay me later.”

“Come to the back door, would you, when you get home? The front doorbell’s awfully loud—wakes up the boys.”

“Right.” With a push of her foot, Laura was away, and moments later made a left turn from Juniper Avenue to the road leading down to the village.

Sally seemed so nice, she mused as she freewheeled down the hill with the sea breeze riffling through her hair. How on earth could such a likeable person have come from the same parents as someone as hateful as Nicholas Diamond?

It was an absolute mystery to her!

When she got back, she went into the cottage to put away her groceries before taking the video round to Sally’s.

The other woman must have heard the side gate clicking, because by the time Laura rounded the corner to the back garden Sally was opening the screen door that led out to the pool area. She was carrying a tray with a jug of iced lemonade and glasses.

“Lovely—you’re back!” Sally crossed to an umbrellaed table. “Come and have some lemonade.”

She took the video from Laura, and her smile was so appealing that Laura found herself smiling in return. “Thanks.” The blue waters of the pool sparkled as if scattered with dancing silver sequins. “I’d love a cool drink.”

“Make yourself at home—” Sally waved toward a lounger “—and excuse me a sec. Oh... your money’s on the tray...” Sally took the video inside, and Laura was tucking the bills into the pocket of her blouse when the other woman returned.

“I won’t sit on a lounger,” Sally said as she gave Laura a glass of lemonade, “because I’m afraid I might never be able to heave my great bulk up again.” With a laugh, she lowered herself awkwardly onto a straight-backed vinyl-strapped chair.

“What a beautiful pool,” Laura murmured. It was, but she couldn’t help comparing its formal setting with the charming English country garden Charity had created next door. Where Nick had interlocking brick, Charity had lawn; where Nick had mosaic tiles, Charity had fruit trees; where Nick had stiff rows of color co-ordinated annuals, Charity had a wonderful medley of old-fashioned perennials.

Absently, Laura slid her hand across her nape and lifted her perspiration-damp hair; even under the shade of the umbrella, the heat was intense.

“I can see you’re as hot as I am! Why don’t you pop home for your swimsuit and we can go for a dip?”

“I don’t have one.” The words slipped out before Laura could stop them. She dug her teeth into her lower lip. That had been careless ...

“You don’t have one?” Sally’s tone was surprised.

As casually as she could, Laura sipped from her glass before laying it down on the table. “My swimsuit wore out, and I’ve just never got around to replacing it.”

“Well, do get yourself a bikini next time you’re shopping, then we can cool off together!”

Laura cast around for the right words to extricate herself from the situation. She never wore a swimsuit now—and never would. Though the ugly scars on her back were no longer raw, they were still there ... and would be forever. She controlled a faint shudder as she pictured them.

“Thanks, Sally, but ... I’m not a swimmer—I’ve... er ... never really been a water person.” In her distress, she snatched at the lie, hoping it would put an end to the conversation.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Sally said. “But if you change your mind—”

“Hi, there.”

Laura felt her body become rigid as Nick’s lazy drawl sounded from right behind her. She hadn’t heard his car arrive; hadn’t heard him open the screen door and come out of the house. Bracing herself, she half turned to face him.

“Nick,” Sally said, “you’re back early!”

“The meeting had to be canceled at the last minute.” He had crossed to stand beside Sally, but as he responded to her comment his gaze was fixed on Laura.

“Too bad you had to go all that way downtown on such a hot afternoon.” Sally turned in her chair and gestured toward Laura. “You two have met, of course...”

“Yes.” Nick’s gray eyes held Laura’s steadily. “We’ve met.”

No man had any right to be so attractive. With the collar of his crisp white shirt open and the knot of his tie tugged loose, with his board-flat stomach accentuated by an expensive-looking leather belt and his long, powerful legs outlined by narrow-fitting trousers, he was so magnificently male that Laura felt her blood hum wildly in response. She gripped her glass and fought an almost overpowering impulse to press its cold surface to her heated cheeks.

What was he thinking as he stared at her so unblinkingly? How dull, bland and unattractive? How mousy, pale and boring? She had no way of knowing; his eyes were shuttered, his thoughts concealed as if behind a cold gray wall. She saw him place his fingertips lightly on Sally’s shoulders.

“Honey,” he said, “I heard the boys moving around.”

“Oh, they’re awake. Thanks, Nick.” She reached up a hand and he helped her to her feet. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured, straightening, “once I get Matt and Mike into their swimsuits—they’ll want to go in the pool. It’s such a pity,” she called back over her shoulder as she crossed the patio to the house, “that Laura’s afraid of the water. We could have had an impromptu pool party!”

The moment Sally had closed the screen door behind her Laura felt panic tense her nerves even further. Why didn’t the man move? Why didn’t he either sit down, or go away? She couldn’t bear it when he stood like that, towering over her, like some hostile, threatening giantcouldn’ t bear the silence stretching between them...

“So—” Nick’s voice was neutral “—you’re Charity Brown’s great-niece.” He remained where he was, standing over her, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets as he spoke.

“That’s right.” Forcing herself to appear calm, Laura sipped from her glass, and relished the cooling feel of the lemonade in her throat. “She was my father’s aunt.”

He moved his hands slightly, and she heard the jingle of keys. “You came here as a child, I gather.”

“You gather?” Laura raised her eyebrows.

He shrugged. “Let me put that another way. I know you came here as a child. Charity Brown told me you stayed with her for one whole summer.”

“Yes,” she said, “I did. When I was ten.”

“And you didn’t keep in touch with her afterward?”

Laura heard a warning bell go off in her mind. Had there been a trace of disapproval, even criticism in his tone? “I wasn’t allowed to keep in touch,” she said coolly. “When my father came to pick me up at the end of August, he and his aunt quarreled. Harsh things were said—on both sides. My father was an unforgiving man. From that time on he sent back his aunt’s letters unopened, and I was forbidden to write to her.”

“He was a drummer, I believe, with a popular band?”

How much had Charity Brown told this man? Laura felt a twinge of annoyance and resentment that he knew what he did about her. “A very popular band,” she said in cool tones. “He traveled all over North America... And after my mother died, when I was six, he took me with him.”

“Not very good for your schooling, I imagine, being on the road constantly.”

There it was again, that undertone of criticism...only this time it was more pronounced. “My father was a very clever man—” she put her glass down “—and he taught me himself, with the help of correspondence courses.”

“So you’re an educated woman, Miss Grant—” his voice was silky “—and one well able to make her own decisions. So tell me, as a matter of interest, are you still so much under your father’s influence that you continue to obey him without question?”

“My father died when I was eighteen,” Laura said, looking up at him angrily. “Just what are you getting at?”

His eyes glittered down at her. “And how old are you now?”

“I’m twenty-three, but—”

“What I’m getting at, Miss Grant, is this. I can understand a child, even a teenager, obeying her father’s orders unquestioningly. But did you develop no mind of your own during those growing years? I’m curious to know why you never tried to make contact with Miss Brown once you became an adult. She led me to believe that the relationship forged between the two of you that summer was a strong and emotional one... and one that meant a great deal to her.”

“It meant a great deal to me too.” Laura spoke defiantly, yet her voice shook. “But that’s none of your—”

“It meant so much that you couldn’t find time to come and visit her? You never wrote, you never phoned, you never came to see her. Not even when she was in hospital dying. Yet, when she passes away and leaves you her home, you manage to leave your busy little life and come flying out here... when it’s too late?” His last words came out in a hard voice, and with added emphasis on each word.

Laura felt her throat muscles tighten, and she started to push herself up from her seat. She didn’t have to sit here, subject herself to this inquisition. But as she straightened his hand came flying out toward her, and with a strangled “No!” she fell back into her seat, cowering against the cushions, her heart thumping against her ribs.

But even as she huddled there, her body trembling, she heard an exclamation hiss from him, and as she flicked an apprehensive glance through her lashes, she saw a look of astonishment on his face.

“It was just a bug!” he exclaimed, his tone bewildered. “It was making for your eyes—didn’t you see it? You didn’t think—?”

Oh, God, she thought despairingly. What a fool she must seem ...

“Surely you didn’t think I was going to hit you?”

She tried to still the trembling in her body, but without success. During her marriage, after Jason had shouted at her during one of his jealous rages, she had trembled for hours, uncontrollably. Now she clenched her fists till she felt her nails cut deeply into her palms.

“Of course not.” The words, by some miracle, came out convincingly as she forced herself to meet his gaze, and from somewhere deep inside her she gathered enough strength to unflex her fists and grip the arms of the chair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—” she pushed herself to her feet again “—I have to go. I just dropped by with a video movie for Sally-please thank her for me, for the lemonade.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away from him, toward the side gate. Her knees threatened to buckle under her, but with every ounce of determination she possessed she willed them to hold up, and they did.

As she pulled open the gate she thought he said something, but she let the gate swing shut behind her and it clicked loudly, drowning out any words that followed her.

By the time she reached her own front door she could feel the pricking of tears, and fiercely she blinked them away. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t give in to the horrid memories tearing at her.

She drew in a ragged breath as she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. That poor man—her lips twisted in a bleak smile-how astonished he had looked when she’d flinched away from his upraised hand. Was he still wondering why she’d reacted that way, or would he have already forgotten about it—forgotten about her?

She pushed herself from the door and made her way to the living-room, where the afternoon sun beamed in on the faded old chintzes and mellowed woods. Wearily she stood at the patio doors, staring out through a haze of tears. How she longed to go out and wander round the garden, to draw strength from its quiet beauty. But she couldn’t.

Nick Diamond might go upstairs, might look down from one of his windows and see her. She had decided earlier that she would ignore him; now she knew such a thing was impossible.

CHAPTER FOUR

NEXT day, the bad weather had returned, and Laura began the daunting task of cataloguing Charity’s vast collection of books. She didn’t stop for lunch, just munching on a small plate of cheese and crackers as she worked, and at around five o’clock she decided to break for dinner.

She was on her way to the kitchen when she heard the doorbell ring, and she changed direction. On opening the door, she saw, to her astonishment, standing on the top step, a small boy huddled under a hooded yellow slicker. His black hair tumbled down over his brow, his face was pinched and his tear-filled gray eyes were filled with panic.

With an exclamation of dismay, Laura crouched down so she was at his level. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s—?”

“I’m Matt,” he burst out. “It’s my mom. She fell down in the kitchen, and she told me to come next door and get you. If you were home.”

Laura swept the child inside. Cold raindrops fell from his slicker, chilling the warm skin at her wrists. “Sally?”

He shuddered, and, clamping his lips together, nodded, as if speech was no longer an option for him.

Laura squelched her own feelings of panic. Grabbing her waterproof jacket from the hallstand, she threw it over her shoulders and ushered the little boy outside. Snatching up his hand, she ran with him along her own driveway and then up the one next door. Blown by the wind, they skimmed together up the steps leading to the ornate front entrance.

“It’s not locked,” Matt gasped.

As they entered the spacious hall the wind tore the doorbandle from Laura’s grasp, and the door banged shut.

Matt tugged Laura’s sleeve. “This way...”

“Is that you, Matt? Did you get Laura?” Sally’s voice came from the back of the house. Laura allowed the child to run ahead of her. “Was she home—? Oh, Laura, thank God...”

Laura uttered a sharp exclamation as she saw Sally’s bulky figure lying awkwardly on the marble floor. Dressed in a green top and white pants, she was sprawled out on her side, and behind her on the floor, with his arms looped around his mother’s neck, was Matt’s brother, sobbing.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.