is one of Mills & Boon’s most popular and bestselling novelists. Her writing was an instant success with readers worldwide. Since her first book, Bittersweet Passion, was published in 1987, she has gone from strength to strength and now has over ninety titles, which have sold more than thirty-five million copies, to her name.

In this special collection, we offer readers a chance to revisit favourite books or enjoy that rare treasure—a book by a favourite writer—they may have missed. In every case, seduction and passion with a gorgeous, irresistible man are guaranteed!

LYNNE GRAHAM was born in Northern Ireland and has been a keen Mills & Boon® reader since her teens. She is very happily married, with an understanding husband who has learned to cook since she started to write! Her five children keep her on her toes. She has a very large dog, which knocks everything over, a very small terrier, which barks a lot, and two cats. When time allows, Lynne is a keen gardener.

Bittersweet Passion
Lynne Graham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Endpages

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘GOOD God!’ Steve whispered irreverently. ‘Dane’s actually come.’

A perceptible flutter of interest spread through the gathered mourners at Adam Fletcher’s graveside. Several pairs of eyes wearing expressions ranging from curiosity to outright disapproval watched the approach of the prodigal as he strode across the cemetery. The lugubrious vicar cleared his throat and glanced enquiringly at the slender girl by his side.

‘I think we’d better wait,’ she agreed quietly.

On her other side Carter Fletcher’s thin face set into angry lines. ‘How did he find out?’ he muttered.

Claire’s cheekbones washed with pink, since she had been the one to see that Dane was informed. As his tall, carelessly dressed figure drew level she lowered her eyes.

When Dane’s mother, Adam’s only daughter, had married not only a foreigner but a man who had made his fortune in casinos, nightclubs and what were euphemistically termed girlie magazines, Adam Fletcher had struck her name from the family Bible. Shortly after her death, however, he had chosen to acknowledge Dane’s existence by inviting him up to Ranbury Hall for the weekend. Not that Dane, by then having reached twenty-one, had shown himself properly grateful for such belated attention. Already rich beyond avarice, Dane had come out of curiosity alone, and unlike the rest of Adam’s family, he had never toadied.

‘Man that is born of woman …’ The sepulchral voice intoned.

Claire swallowed hard. Not a single soul present truly mourned her grandfather’s death. An eccentric, miserly and reclusive old man, he had been no more polite or pleasant to his neighbours than he had been to his own immediate family.

Claire’s father had been Adam’s youngest and least successful son. Her parents had led a somewhat gipsyish existence because her father had rarely stuck in one job for long. She had been four when they had adopted her, and her memory of the six years she had had with them was a warm cocoon to retire inside whenever she was low. Money had been in short supply but there had been love. Their sudden death in a car crash had cut unimaginably deep, and her life at Ranbury Hall afterwards had been achingly familiar. Before her adoption she had been in a variety of foster homes and institutions. There, too, there had often been coldness and disinterest, a sense of not belonging to anything or anybody, and that buried insecurity had been fanned to a flame from the moment she arrived at Ranbury to make her home with Adam Fletcher.

‘The law may say you’re my granddaughter but we both know you’re not,’ he had growled resentfully. ‘You were adopted. You’re no kin of mine but I can’t have it said I let you go into an institution. I expect you’ll be able to make yourself useful about the house. You’re not a pretty child, either. I dare say you’ll still be here when I’m doddering and needing a nurse.’

In the chilly breeze gusting across the exposed graveyard, she shivered beneath her thin navy raincoat. Adam had been correct in his forecast. She was twenty-three now and, apart from a few years in a boarding school outside Leeds, she had been no further than Ranbury and its overgrown acres in the Yorkshire Dales. But a year ago, a year that was now etched into her soul as a timeless, agonising period of unhappiness, she could have gone to the man she loved, had not Adam’s illness made it impossible for her to leave.

In staying she had done what everyone estimated to be her duty, and four days ago Adam had passed away in his sleep. There was no longer any reason for her to remain at Ranbury. Max had waited patiently for over a year for her to join him in London. Soon she would have a new life, a new beginning with someone who wanted her for herself … someone who cared about her as a person with feelings and needs of her own. That had to be a first in Claire’s experience.

Her grandfather had found her an unwelcome responsibility until he saw how useful a quiet, hard-working girl could be around a large, understaffed house and what savings could be made through that same girl’s painstaking efforts to budget. And, of late, she’d been much cheaper than a private nurse. A nurse wouldn’t have stood Adam’s sharp, vindictive tongue, the barrage of constant, nagging complaints that had made Claire’s days unendurable. All the compassion in the world could prove insufficient when life became one long, unremitting toil ruled by the whims of a cold, tyrannical old man.

It’s over now, a little voice soothed inside her brain. Tiredly she lifted her auburn head again, ashamed of such unforgiving thoughts. After all, she was free now to make her own choices and her choice was quite naturally to be reunited with Max. Thankfully no one could prevent that now.

‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust …’ Carter’s arm curved firmly to her waist and she stiffened in taut rejection of his familiarity.

Opposite, her gaze collided unexpectedly with Dane’s chillingly beautiful, bright blue eyes and the tinge of amusement in the faint tilt of his mouth. Reddening, she looked away again. At least she could absolve Dane of paying his respects only out of a desire to see what his grandfather had left him. Dane was much wealthier than ever the Fletchers had been and he hailed from a very different world.

The depth of his tan emphasised the amount of time he spent abroad and the tight-fitting black cords and designer-cut leather jerkin he sported were not, she imagined, the mark of disrespect Carter’s face so clearly said they were, but more likely to be a sign that Dane had flown back in a hurry and probably from the States to attend the funeral. Even so, she had never seen him in a suit. Raised in California, even though he now based the headquarters of the Visconti business interests in London, Dane was a great deal less hidebound and conventional than his cousins.

‘Miss Fletcher.’ The vicar was shaking her hand first because she alone of the assembled group had lived with the departed.

‘Claire.’ Dane’s hand engulfed hers firmly. ‘My condolences. Was it sudden?’

Her witch-hazel eyes widened behind her tortoiseshell spectacles. ‘No, he was ill for a long time,’ she murmured. ‘It was a release for him to die.’

‘You shouldn’t have said that,’ Carter sniped, pressing her back on to the gravel path. ‘It sounded disrespectful.’ Then, ‘Dane had no business coming here.’

‘I’m glad he came,’ she countered. ‘I always thought Grandfather had a soft spot for him, even though he’d never have admitted it.’

‘Nonsense, Claire.’ Carter made a minute adjustment to his tie as they headed towards the cars waiting beyond the wall. ‘Far be it from me to boast, but I was always the favourite.’

Lord, what a petty little man he was! Arriving too late to make the funeral arrangements, he had none the less managed to question each and every one of them. When Steve, her other cousin, ignored his parents’ car and climbed in behind Carter, she smiled relief. Still a student, Steve had done little but regale her with descriptions of his fiancée and apologise for his few visits of recent. But then, who could say Ranbury Hall was inviting? she reflected wryly. Her grandfather had not expended a penny on the rambling property during the past fifty years. The amount of comfort available there was marginal.

‘Look at the car Dane’s travelling in!’ Steve nearly broke his neck peering out at the long, opulent limousine with its tinted windows, which was parked at the end of the church lane. ‘My mother must be going green with envy!’

Carter delivered him a scornful glance. ‘Did Celia inform Dane of Adam’s death?’ he demanded, Celia being Carter’s aunt and Steve’s mother.

Claire chewed her lip uneasily. ‘No, that was me, Carter.’

He looked at her in astonishment ‘You?’ he parroted.

‘He had a right to be told,’ she stated levelly, though her cheeks were pale. ‘I contacted his secretary in London. She didn’t tell me where he was. Actually, at the time I didn’t think she paid much heed to my message. I had enough trouble just getting to speak to her.’

Steve laughed, understanding. ‘I doubt if Dane ever felt the need to name-drop grandfather’s existence.’

Carter was still staring at her, flushed by angry incredulity. ‘You should have discussed it with me first. Dane hasn’t been up here in years.’

‘Three years,’ Claire inserted. ‘And you know Grandfather told him not to come again. He was very rude to him on that last visit.’

‘No ruder than he ever was to anyone else.’ Carter let down his sanctimonious front to stab, ‘To attend his funeral now is the height of bad taste and, if Dane’s expecting to find any profit for himself out of the reading of the will, he’ll soon find his mistake.’

Her distaste threatened to choke her. Aside of the last couple of months when it had been clear that Adam Fletcher was on his deathbed, Carter had been a very infrequent visitor here. Once he had reached that realisation he had visited regularly, showing a calculation Claire had despised. It had not been lost on her, either, that her grandfather had belatedly reached the conclusion that Carter would make her an excellent husband. Stolid and careful in his ways, and equally penny-pinching, Carter had managed to impress Adam deeply.

She was glad when the car glided through the tall, rusty gates and came to a halt on the weedy gravel fronting the granite bareness of the Hall. Hard winters had scarred the paintwork, neglect had done the rest and on a prematurely dark, wintry afternoon, the Hall proffered a gloomy welcome.

Seeing Mr Coverdale’s stately old Rover already parked, she hastened from the car. ‘I’ll see that some tea is served first. It’s bitterly cold.’

In her opinion the will would contain no surprises. The estate would be divided equally between all of them. For what reason other than that belief would Carter have asked her to marry him a mere week ago? As she passed the hall mirror her own colourless and drab exterior mocked her.

She had not grown up pretty. Those teenage fantasies had died years ago. She was short-sighted, undersized and, at any gathering, likely to be the one offering the refreshments around. Carter was too grasping to have proposed without the conviction that she would bring with her a sizeable dowry.

Money! A bitter smile crossed her small face. She glanced at threadbare curtains and worn carpets, furniture that had never been anything other than cheap and functional even in its day. There was no heating. The hot water supply was unreliable and the kitchens prehistoric. Precious little enjoyment her grandfather had taken from his money!

A year ago Claire had been naïvely happy. Max Walker, the trainee estate manager at Ranbury, had asked her to marry him. Her shyness and reserve briefly forgotten, she had flown straight to her grandfather to tell him. Adam had sacked Max and, before she could pack her bags and follow, Adam had not only informed her that he had cancer but that if she disobeyed him he would dispense with the elderly servants still in his employ. The threat of unhousing Maisie and Sam Morley, who lived in a tumbledown cottage on the edge of the estate had horrified her. Nor had it been necessary.

Duty was a yoke that Claire had never shirked and she had done everything possible to ease her grandfather’s last months alive. She had also sought to persuade him to make some small provision in his will for the old couple who, as housekeeper and gardener, had worked for him throughout his life. But since he had considered them the Social Service’s responsibility to house and keep, she had small hope that his attitude would have softened.

Hanging her coat, she hurried into the kitchen. Maisie took one look at her tense, wan face and abandoning the tea trolley enveloped Claire in a warm, reassuring hug. ‘It’s done now and everything will come all right,’ the old lady promised kindly. ‘And don’t you let anyone bully you into thinking otherwise.’

Claire blinked back tears. She had been dry-eyed all day. But Maisie’s rough affection touched her to the heart, for the old housekeeper had to be concerned about her own future. She was in her seventies, with an ailing and not very mobile husband, and accommodation that was tied to her job. She had much more to worry about.

‘Yes, everything’s going to be fine.’ There was a calm quality to Claire’s voice as she pulled herself firmly together. Adam was bound to have left her enough money to ensure that the Morleys’ remaining years were comfortable ones. The family had always talked as if he was loaded. A pension, she planned absently, and that little house—such as it was—signed over to them. It might even be possible to have the cottage refurbished.

Some of her tension drained away as she thought daringly of her own plans. In the heat of a long ago summer’s day, Max had shyly confided that his dearest ambition was to have a farm of his own. Since neither of them had had any money, it had seemed just a dream. But now Claire wondered dizzily just how much a small piece of land and a modest house could cost. They’d be able to get married immediately instead of waiting—Max was still without a job. He wouldn’t need one if he had land of his own to work. Things might be tight but that was nothing she wasn’t used to … and they’d be together as two people in love ought to be together. Not subsisting on a diet of unsatisfactory letters to keep their relationship alive. Poor Max, he found letters such a labour. She still treasured each and every one of his missives, though they mainly catalogued his daily doings and his frustration with inactivity.

‘Claire!’ Carter snapped. ‘Mr Coverdale’s waiting.’

Her eyes gleamed with annoyance as Maisie guiltily returned to making the tea.

‘She’s only the housekeeper. I wish you’d remember that,’ Carter complained as she followed him. ‘You’re much too familiar with her.’

Prevented by the presence of others from an angry and unashamed rebuttal, she contented herself with the reflection that Carter’s snobbery scarcely mattered now. It would be a relief, not a hardship for Maisie to retire. Apart from Claire, none of the Fletchers had ever cherished the smallest warmth towards her. If there was anything the family respected apart from the great god Money, it was the dividing line between family and hired help. Claire had always straddled the borderline between. Oh, she was a Fletcher now when Carter considered her worthy of a marriage proposal, but for long years she had just been Adam’s unwanted ward who helped around the house. Carter must think she had an incredibly short memory!

Her grandfather’s solicitor, a small man in his late fifties, came forward to greet her, apologising for his unavoidable absence from the funeral. Steve and his parents, James and Celia were already standing close to the miserable fire flickering in the large drawing-room grate. Carter’s older sister, Sandra, who had kept house for him since the death of their parents, was already seated. Dane strolled in last, and she remembered abruptly that he hated tea and sped past him to head for the kitchen again.

Although Adam had raved in his moments of religious fervour about Dane’s notorious reputation and jet-set life-style, Claire could dimly recall occasions during her unhappy childhood here when Dane had been carelessly kind to her. Indeed, when she had been sixteen she had developed a quite hopeless crush on Dane who, to her adolescent eyes, represented every woman’s fantasy. She was rather glad he hadn’t noticed it. Not that she had flaunted her feelings. Her wayward emotions had made her more tongue-tied and self-conscious than ever and in any case, she had nurtured no fantasies on wish-fulfilment.

Dane was one of the Beautiful People, fěted in the gossip columns and the subject of many a risqué kiss’n’tell story by discarded exes, recountals in Sunday newspapers that Claire had once been avidly glued to. Even then the mere concept of Dane even registering that she was female had amused her.

‘Where are you bolting off to now?’ His lazy enquiry was accompanied by a restraining hand on her sleeve. ‘Go and sit down. You look exhausted.’

And could have done without being told so. She stole a rueful glance up at his strikingly handsome features, the silvery-blond hair luxuriantly curving over his collar in such effective contrast to the winged ebony brows and spiky lashes he had inherited from his Italian father. It was an arrogant face, his strength of character underwritten by his superb bone structure. The long, narrow-bridged perfection of his nose lent decided hauteur to his features, and cynicism and sensuality combined in the hard, chiselled line of his mouth. He was quite breathtakingly good-looking. Little wonder that he went through women like a fox in a hen-yard, she allowed grudgingly.

‘I’ll be back in a moment.’ Circumspectly she dragged her eyes from him. What did he see? Poor, bullied, plain spinster cousin Claire? He would be surprised how much purpose seethed beneath her composed exterior. Even more surprised perhaps to learn there was a man in her life.

‘Coffee for Dane, Maisie!’ she called into the kitchen.

‘Claire!’ Carter erupted afresh, somewhere in her wake.

She hastened back, rather flushed and harassed, to take a seat in one of the hard, overstuffed armchairs. Mr Coverdale was unfurling papers from his briefcase. ‘Firstly—’ he cast a rather wary glance round the room ‘—there are people present who do not benefit from Mr Fletcher’s last will and testament.’

‘We’re all family,’ Carter said loftily. ‘Please continue.’

The older man sighed. ‘Mr Fletcher had for some time intended that Miss Claire Fletcher be the sole beneficiary of his estate, but a year ago he made alterations to his will. I did seek to reason with him about the terms he included, but to no avail, and I feel it my duty to inform you, Miss Fletcher, that …’

‘The sole beneficiary? The sole beneficiary?’ Celia was repeating furiously.

An expression of rich enjoyment crossed Dane’s faintly bored features and he lowered himself down gracefully into a chair near the window, his air one of strong anticipation.

‘That it is very unlikely that you could combat those terms in court,’ Mr Coverdale completed.

‘She’s getting everything?’ Celia ranted, still not over the first statement, her plump face a blotchy pink.

Carter curled his lip over his aunt’s annoyance. ‘And who more deserving, Celia? Claire was a very dutiful granddaughter. I’m sure no one could argue that anyone else was more entitled. If you listen, however, you will realise that Grandfather didn’t make the bequest without qualification.’

Under the loud backlash of family comment, Claire had paled. A year ago the will had been changed. Her romance with Max had shaken her grandfather up more than he had admitted. She wasn’t disapppointed. In fact, she was grateful not to have received the entire estate. She could hardly feel it was her due. As long as there was still enough for the Morleys, she told herself squarely, and mentally crossed her fingers.

‘Unfortunately Mr Fletcher’s affairs are in quite a tangle and I don’t yet have adequate valuations on the investments my client made out in South Africa. He mortgaged this house to do so. However, I can tell you that—’ the solicitor advanced, affecting not to hear the gasps of surprise ‘—the money does rest in those investments and I imagine that the amount will be a considerable one. Now I shall read the will, if I may.’

Taken aback by the news that the Hall was mortgaged, Claire resolutely attempted to avoid Carter’s meaningful smile in her direction. He seemed expectant, excited almost, as though the contents of the will were already known to him.

‘… being of sound mind do bequeath my estate in its entirety to my granddaughter, Claire, on the condition that she marries one of my grandsons, such choice being an obvious one … He did insist on writing this himself,’ Mr Coverdale murmured uncomfortably, as if the unearthly silence that had fallen and Claire’s shocked stillness had penetrated even his bland good humour. ‘You see, he believed it would take a man to run his business affairs, Miss Fletcher, but Mr Carter Fletcher assured me that you were only holding off from a formal announcement out of respect for you grandfather’s demise. Or am I premature in mentioning the matter?’

Shattered by Carter’s unforgivable machinations to line his own pockets, Claire was incapable of speech.

‘Congratulations.’ Sandra kissed her cheek with newly discovered cousinly affection. ‘It’s by far the fairest arrangement.’

Claire’s teeth sank into the soft underside of her lower lip and she tasted blood. ‘It’s iniquitious … humiliating …’ Her stifled voice wasted away.

‘Claire, you’re overwrought.’ A heavy hand came down to pat her shoulder.

Instinctively she flinched from Carter’s proprietorial hold, too disgusted even to look at him. Well, his visits to their grandfather had certainly paid good dividends! ‘What happens if I don’t marry Carter?’ she asked.

The solicitor looked distinctly uneasy. ‘The will doesn’t specify which of your male cousins,’ he added as if he believed this might be of some help to her.

‘I’m engaged!’ Steve burst out abruptly.

Dane gave up the ghost and laughed with unholy amusement.

Celia rounded on him like a tigress. ‘It’s all very well for you to laugh,’ she snapped. ‘The money means nothing to you!’

Dane dealt her a sardonic smile. ‘Was that your Roller or someone else’s I saw at the cemetery? Good God, none of you are broke except Claire,’ he breathed contemptuously.

‘I shall continue now,’ Mr Coverdale cut in hurriedly before hostilities escalated afresh. ‘There is a small bequest and … an alternative. To my grandson Dane, I bequeath my Bible.’ A pindropping silence fell. ‘To James and Celia, nothing because …’ He hesitated fatally.

‘Nothing?’ Celia screeched incredulously. ‘Because of what?’

The solicitor breathed in like a man girding his loins. ‘Because during my lifetime I on several occasions advanced certain monies to my son James, which he did not repay although I did remind him of the debts …’

‘Come, James.’ Celia arose majestically. ‘Steven! We’re not staying here any longer.’

‘And in the event of my granddaughter Claire pursuing that relationship which I did not approve of and no marriage taking place with my grandson, my estate, is to be sold and the proceeds given to the Temperance Society.’

‘Who shall I serve first?’ Maisie asked as she noisily wheeled in the tea trolley.

Carter cleared his throat. ‘What relationship, Claire?’

She got up quickly. ‘I believe that’s my business, Carter. Please excuse me for a moment, Mr Coverdale,’ she murmured and followed her aunt and uncle’s sweeping departure to the hall.

Steve clasped her hand, his boyish face wreathed with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …’ he began awkwardly.

‘I didn’t take offence.’ She forced a smile because she liked him. Clearly Celia’s behaviour had mortified him. How often had Adam embarrassed her in front of others? Once too often today, she thought, going down the steps to speak to her aunt and uncle.

‘Oh, it’s not your fault,’ Celia was saying petulantly to her hen-pecked husband. ‘I hated him. He was a miserable, cantankerous old goat and I don’t care if he was your father, James! I never had a polite word from him.’

‘Won’t you stay to dinner?’ Claire pressed unhappily.

Celia spun on her diminutive niece. ‘You have to be joking,’ she said cuttingly. ‘I wish you joy with Carter. He’s an Adam in the making!’

Her uncle squeezed her hand apologetically. ‘She doesn’t mean it, you know. Carter’s a fine young man.’

She watched them depart and then found Mr Coverdale already hovering in the hall behind her. ‘I had finished, Miss Fletcher. If you have any queries, please don’t hesitate to call.’

‘He left nothing for the staff here?’ In her anxiety she double-checked.

‘Unfortunately not. I’m afraid my client was not of a benevolent disposition,’ he said heavily.

What an understatement! Still in shock, Claire glanced into the drawing-room where Carter and Sandra were in close confab. Dane was nowhere to be seen. She suspected him of taking refuge in the library. Striving to calm herself down, Claire went into the kitchen. But what on earth was she going to do?

Her grandfather had removed her from school at sixteen. She had no training for any career. She hadn’t even got to sit her O-levels. Maisie was sitting tiredly by the kitchen table. Claire looked away again, a terrible bitterness consuming her as she tasted the full portent of her grandfather’s selfishness. She did not have a penny of her own to give the Morleys. Would ceding them that pitiful cottage for the remainder of their lives have been such a sacrifice? How mightily self-satisfied he must have been after penning that will to explode upon all of them but Carter.

She dragged out the vegetable basket and piled potatoes into the sink. It was after five. She might as well start dinner early.

‘Here. I got it from my car.’ A liqueur glass landed on the edge of the draining board. Dane gave her a mocking smile. ‘You need a drink more than you need a cup of half-cold tea. Are you all set to celebrate your nuptials with Carter?’

His amusement struck her as cruel. Yes, in a sense Celia had spoken truly. Dane didn’t have a clue what it felt like to be a charity case or to be humiliated as she had been by that will. Her grandfather had literally proffered a bribe to Carter to marry her.

‘No.’

He lounged with indolent grace back against the old wooden cupboards. ‘Then you’re going to pursue the unsuitable relationship?’ he guessed. ‘You surprise me. I never thought you had the guts to rebel.’

Her cheeks flamed. ‘You’re very frank.’

He shrugged indifferently. ‘I came to tell you I’d give you a lift down to London if you want one, and I’ll fix you up with somewhere to stay,’ he offered casually. ‘Knowing Adam, you haven’t even got the price of your next meal.’

She lifted the potato peeler and resisted an urge to dig it into his lean, muscular ribcage. If only it were that easy. Her hopes had been dashed to smithereens. She had foolishly dared to dream and by doing so had tripled her own disappointment. When was she going to learn? The thought train verged too close to self-pity and she killed it stone dead. There would be no farm for Max, no home that she could finally call her own. Thanks to Adam, Max was on the dole queue, sacked without a reference because he had dared to offer her marriage and that hadn’t fitted in with Adam’s plans.

How could she go to Max now, penniless, with only a few shabby clothes to her name? What prospect did she even have of supporting herself? She had no qualifications, no marketable talent outside the domestic sphere. She would be a millstone round Max’s neck.

Yet for so long she had dreamt of making Max’s dream come true and sharing that dream with him. Rigid with self-discipline, totally unaware of Dane’s sharply assessing scrutiny, she noticed Maisie quietly tidying up in the pantry, and her selfish absorption in her own predicament left a nasty taste in her mouth. At least she had health and youth on her side. The Morleys had only the expectancy that a lifetime of service would lead to an easier old age. And now even that was to be denied them

Carter’s peevish voice sprung her from her depressing introspection. ‘What are you drinking, Claire?’

Dane expelled his breath. ‘Oh, put the lid on it, Carter. You were always a dead bore. You don’t need to labour the point the way you do,’ he drawled.

Ignoring Carter, Claire glanced hopefully at Dane. ‘You’ll stay to dinner?’ she urged. ‘It won’t be anything special, of course, but …’

‘Shall I send my chauffeur out for some steak?’ Dane interposed calmly. ‘We could all do with a decent meal. I’ll go and tell him.’

Carter’s mouth worked convulsively as Dane breezed past him. ‘Who does he think he is?’ he finally managed.

‘He was being practical,’ she countered with unwitting defensiveness. ‘He knows what the housekeeping budget is like here and I assume he’s hungry.’

‘I wasn’t talking about Dane’s appetite!’ he parried shortly.

Claire continued doggedly to peel potatoes. ‘I didn’t suppose you were, Carter, but I really don’t have anything else to discuss with you,’ she stressed coldly.

Impervious to hints, he murmured with an air of self-restraint. ‘I’ll speak to you later.’

Claire managed to smile at Maisie. ‘I think it’s time you went home. You must be exhausted. I can manage fine.’

Alone then, she pictured a life sentence of Carter and abandoned the picture with a shiver. The assiduous toadying with which he had paved his every visit here to Adam had made her stomach heave. Now resentment hurtled fiercely through her in addition. The will doesn’t specify which of your cousins. The solicitor’s deadpan aside produced a humourless smile on her mouth. As if she was ready to barter herself to anyone for money! Unless it wasn’t a real marriage … the insidious thought crept in. In an illuminating flash she saw the possibility of solving all her problems in one fell swoop.

Maisie and Sam would be secure. She could be with Max without being a burden. No, it was a fantastic notion, born out of sheer despair, and there was only one possible candidate. Dane. He was Adam’s grandson, too. But Dane would think she was crazy. The idea of even approaching him on such a mission plunged her sharply back to cold reality.

She flushed guiltily when he reappeared to dump a carrier bag on the table. ‘I like beef Stroganoff,’ he informed her, oblivious to her blushes as he departed again.

Dane always spoke with the assurance and habit of command. Even in his normal garb of jeans, the aura of power and unspoken expectations clung to him. But then from birth Dane had had everything he wanted. He was bound to be pretty selfish and spoilt by the fashion in which women pursued him. Her weary mouth down-curved. Who the heck did he think was going to toil over a hot stove to make his wretched meal? But why should he think? Used as he was to servants, it would not occur to Dane that he was creating hassle she could well do without.

The atmosphere round the table in the icy cold dining-room was tense. Dane ate with unblemished appetite. Carter, who looked upon anything remotely different in the food line as suspicious, poked his food round his plate, and Sandra was too busy trying to flirt with Dane to notice what she was eating.

‘Is it OK if I stay tonight?’ Dane enquired lazily. ‘I’m jet-lagged and I don’t feel like another journey.’

Claire nodded politely. ‘That’s fine.’

Another two beds to make up, unless he expected his chauffeur to sleep in the car! She trailed worn, thin sheets from the airing cupboard and trekked into the bedrooms. The rooms were so cold her breath was fogging in the air, and she went downstairs again to fill hot-water bottles that would take the chill off the rarely used beds. Then she lit a fire in Dane’s room. He was sure to be finding it colder than anyone else.

By the time she had done all that and embarked on the dishes, she was practically asleep standing up. When Carter came in and demanded to know where Maisie was, she nearly screamed at him. Slowly she counted to ten. ‘It’s late, Carter. I sent her home hours ago.’

‘Leave those, then. It’s time we talked.’

Setting the last dish to drain, she dried her hands. ‘Sorry, I’m going up to bed. It’s been a very long day.’

His mouth narrowed in exasperation. ‘For everybody, Claire,’ he rebuked condescendingly.

A fuse blew, Claire planted her hands on her hips. ‘Has it been? Were any of the rest of you involved in making beds, cleaning this wretched house or making meals? Has one of you so much as lifted a finger? Sandra and you arrived two days ago, and neither of you have done a single thing,’ she condemned. ‘Who do you think has been doing it? The fairies? The past week has been one long, relentless slog for me. I haven’t been sitting around sipping tea. I’ve been serving it. I wouldn’t marry you either, Carter, not if you went down on your bended knees and begged. I’m sorry your little plan has failed at the last ditch,’ she lied in a shaking voice. ‘Goodnight, Carter.’

She swept past his turkey-red face and mounted the stairs, hearing his shocked murmurings to his sister in the hall below. Well, she wasn’t ashamed of herself! Whatever the future held for her, she wasn’t going to be used by anyone again!

She recalled the social worker who had ferried her up here thirteen years ago. ‘You’re a very lucky little girl,’ that lady had said innocently. ‘You still have a family and you’re going to live in a lovely big house. I expect you’ll have lots of fun there.’ And Claire could still remember the coldness of the non-existent welcome mat, the lady’s uneasy, almost guilty departure.

On the surface, the passage of time had changed very little. However, she was a grown woman now, not a frightened, dependent child and if she didn’t fight, no one else would do the fighting for her, Automatically she readied herself for bed.

‘You’ll be taken care of. I’ve seen to that,’ Adam had pronounced piously weeks ago.

Taken care of? By what right had he chosen to reach out from beyond the grave to demand that she marry a man who didn’t even have the saving grace of respecting her? And she owed Carter nothing. Neither he nor his sister had even tried to ease the burden of nursing their grandfather. But oh, yes! they all had time to attend the funeral and none of them had the smallest interest in what happened to the Morleys. For the first time she appreciated that Maisie and Sam’s future was dependent on what she herself chose to do and the lunatic idea that had occurred to her earlier suddenly didn’t seem quite so fantastic any more.

Her hands shook with suppressed rage as she buttoned her robe. After all these years was she to let the Morleys go from this house penniless? Things might have been different had she been allowed to train as a secretary … or something. She could have helped them financially then. Instead, she had spent the past seven years being nothing more than a glorified servant. God knows, there weren’t even jobs out there for qualified people—what hope did she have? And Max? Being fired hadn’t helped his prospects. He’d done nothing to deserve such treatment. Neither had Maisie and Sam. Adam owed all of them more than that. If she married Dane, the terms of the will would be fulfilled. It would cost him nothing, yet it would mean so much to everyone else concerned.

What harm would it do just to mention the idea to him? You’re a coward. She glowered at herself myopically in the mirror. You could at least try. So what if he laughs? When are you likely to see him again?

Buoyed by a courage that was three-quarters desperation, she left her room and crept down the corridor to knock on Dane’s door. His quiet answer encouraged her in.

To her dismay he was already in bed, lying back against the pillows like a rather gorgeous sleek and tawny tiger, replete, the covers dipping dangerously low on his flat stomach. A curling mass of dark hair covered a triangular V on his muscular chest and then tapered down to an intriguing silky furrow below his waist. Framed against the white sheets, his golden skin was all the more noticeable. The interior of her mouth ran dry and she hastily averted her eyes.

He smiled. ‘I was just about to put out the light. Tell me, did everyone else qualify for a fire?’

Claire blushed and glanced at the fire she had kindled earlier. ‘No, but since you’re just back from abroad I thought you might feel the cold more. I need to speak to you … could you put something on?’ she asked hesitantly.

He laughed. ‘Don’t be such a prude, Claire. I don’t have pyjamas, and I distinctly recall you spending half the night with me when you had toothache years ago. It didn’t bother you then.’

‘I was eleven.’ Her breath was snarling up in her throat and she could feel her courage fleeing her second by second, so although she hadn’t planned it that way, she just hurled it at him.’ Dane … will you marry me?’

CHAPTER TWO

IF she had ever desired to see Dane the unshockable shocked, she saw it now. Sapphire-blue eyes arrowed over her incredulously. ‘Christ, you’re not still hung up on me, are you?’

Her small hands dug into the pockets of her dressing-gown. How conceited could a man get? So he had noticed. She supposed she ought to be thanking her lucky stars that he hadn’t felt the need to crush her with his cruel sarcasm back then.

‘Naturally not,’ she fielded stiltedly, wishing she had not gone too far to retreat. ‘I’m in a fix or I wouldn’t ask you. I’m not talking about a proper marriage, for goodness’ sake. I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that! I only need a licence to satisfy grandfather’s will.’

Dane pulled himself semi-upright in the bed and fixed his unsettling gaze on her tiny figure in the homespun dressing-gown, her slippered feet showing beneath the hem. ‘Underneath, you’re a real Fletcher, aren’t you? Anything for money,’ he derided. ‘I just never figured you would have the colossal impertinence to even consider me! Stick to Carter.’

A tide of painful heat scorched her skin. But she could not leave him with the false impression he had. ‘The Morleys will be in a terrible situation if there’s no money …’

Dane surveyed her grimly. ‘And who the hell are they?’

She thrust up her chin. ‘Grandfather’s two survivng servants. Sam is the gardener. He’s not very well at the moment. Maisie’s the housekeeper. They’re both in their seventies. No, it’s not funny, Dane.’ Her husky voice abruptly developed steel. ‘They live in a cottage over at the Meadowfield. It’s a hovel. Grandfather never did a single thing for them. If I don’t marry someone, no one else is likely to help them.’

‘You’re breaking my heart,’ he jibed softly. ‘Couldn’t you think up something more convincing than that?’

Valiantly she tamped down her anger. ‘It’s true, but apart from them … well … I’m in love …’

‘With me?’ he grated shortly. ‘Go back to bed, Claire.’

‘Damn you!’ For the second time in the day, Claire lost her temper. ‘There’d be something quite peculiar about me if I’d carried a teenage crush this long without encouragement! I’m in love with Max and he wants to marry me and I want to marry him,’ she recited with relish. ‘But I can’t go to Max without a penny, Dane. It’s not fair. I can’t even get a decent job. And if you want to know, well I do resent the way I was taken from school before I even sat my exams. It left me fitted for nothing. One tiny sacrifice from you would settle all my problems.’ Her voice had sunk down to a less forceful hiss as she ran out of steam.

Dane’s appraisal was close to fascinated. His mobile mouth twitched. ‘One tiny sacrifice?’ he queried.

‘Nobody outside the family would need to know,’ she protested tightly. ‘And I doubt if you have any deep-seated hang-ups about divorce.’

‘I’m hanging on your every word,’ he encouraged silkily. ‘I never expected to be so diverted at Ranbury. It’s been a truly amazing day.’

Claire interlinked her fingers tautly. ‘It would be the perfect solution for everyone. The money could be divided up between all of us and then no one could be offended.’

‘If you think Carter would thank you for a quarter when he’s expecting the whole, you’re a fool. And yes, you can absolve me of circumventing the will to get a share.’

His contempt was a new experience for Claire, but she kept going. ‘I have thought about that, and sometimes it’s a matter of what’s really right rather than paying dues to principles one can’t afford …’

He swore half under his breath. ‘Yes, you have thought about this.’

She flushed miserably. ‘It’s not any less ethical than Grandfather trying to force me into marriage with Carter, and it’s certainly wrong that he made no provision for Maisie and Sam. But I quite see that since you don’t get any profit out of it, it doesn’t appeal.’

‘Now that was below the belt,’ he murmured.

Claire bit her lip. ‘Perhaps, but I’m getting a little tired of being patronised, Dane.’

A winged ebony brow lifted with icy hauteur. ‘Really?’

‘Really!’ She was trembling now. ‘You think this is so damned amusing and so pathetically pushing of me, and you know very well I’m not like that. I wouldn’t have mentioned it if there was any other choice! But you don’t care what happens to those old people because they’re not your responsibility, and you’re acting insulted because I’m not the least pretty. I suppose it would have been less insulting if I had been,’ she muttered tearfully. ‘But I’d face anything before I had to face life with Carter, and I won’t do it, which proves that wretched money isn’t that important to me!’

She whirled out of the room before she could let her tongue make a bigger fool of herself. Why had she done it! Dane required neither the money nor the hassle, and if he had ever put himself out for anybody she had yet to hear of it. For all his scathing comments on Carter, she would not be surprised to discover that at the back of his mind Dane considered him a very fair match for her.

To give him his due, Carter had made no mention of love. He was not that big a liar. ‘We get on well and we have tastes in common,’ he had assumed in a rallying tone. ‘And I don’t need to tell you how pleased it would make Grandfather. But I see I’ve surprised you and I’m sure you want some time to think over the idea of marrying.’ He had dealt her a smug, conceited smile. ‘I expect you imagined you’d be staying single.’

She wondered bitterly if she might have considered such a loveless union had she not, through Max, realised how much more was available to her. Her desire for children might have tempted her. She saw again how devastated Dane had been, the insolent way his mouth had curled when she talked of loving Max, and she so wished Max had been here in the flesh to silence Carter. Had he been, she wouldn’t have had to stupidly ask Dane for help. Dane didn’t give a damn about things that didn’t affect his comfort. She wiped her damp eyes crossly, deeply regretting the dignity she had abandoned with Dane.

‘Claire … wake up!’ A firm hand was shaking her shoulder and her eyes flew open with a start, blinking at the light shining from the bedside lamp.

It was Dane standing over her, a sweater and a pair of jeans now covering him. ‘What time is it?’ she mumbled.

‘Three, and I’ve been thinking it over.’ He delivered her a searching glance as she sat up, pushing her copper hair off her brow, her drowsy eyes embarrassed and semi-veiled. ‘I guess you do feel pretty desperate, so I can understand why you suggested it.’

Three? Claire suppressed a groan, dredged as she had been from a deep sleep. Dane was smoothing over the unpleasantness and about to unleash, she suspected, all the reasons against such a preposterous arrangement.

‘For some reason, it doesn’t seem to have occurred to you that I might have someone in my life who would make a marriage—discreet or otherwise—impossible.’

Her astonishment was unconcealed. ‘Have you?’

A very faint bar of colour accentuated his hard cheekbones. ‘No, as it happens. That doesn’t seem to surprise you,’ he noted drily.

Helplessly she smiled. ‘You’re not the marrying kind.’

‘No,’ he agreed, a mocking slant to his beautiful mouth, a night’s dark stubble increasing his raw sex appeal. ‘I enjoy my freedom and I intend to keep it that way. Tell me about Max.’

‘Is that necessary? It’s private … I mean …’ she stammered under his amused scrutiny.

‘What does he do?’

‘He went to agricultural college. He’s twenty-five, and came up here to work with Roy Baxter as a trainee.’

‘So what happened to him?’

Claire linked her hands loosely. ‘Grandfather sacked him once I told him that we wanted to get married. Max is in London now and he’s still out of work,’ she breathed bitterly.

‘And you want to bestow all your worldly goods on a guy who didn’t even have the interest to take you with him?’ Dane derided unfeelingly.

‘That’s unfair. Max knows I had no choice and he wouldn’t have asked me when he had nowhere to take me,’ she argued vehemently. ‘For goodness’ sake be practical, Dane. Max lives with his family.’

His lashes screened his eyes to a mere glimmer of midnight-blue. ‘And maybe he didn’t want you without the blessing of yours.’

Her breath rattled in her throat. My God, what a cruel cynic Dane was! ‘That’s a horrible thing to say. Max didn’t even know Grandfather was a rich man,’ she protested. ‘He could hardly have guessed, the way we live up here!’

‘Adam’s wealth is widely talked about locally and he was a legend of eccentricity.’ Dane viewed her furious face and sighed. ‘OK, I’ll make you a deal.’

Her forehead furrowed. ‘A deal?’

He came down lithely on the edge of the mattress and stretched out his long legs. ‘What do you propose to do after the ceremony?’

She took in his implication with a fast-beating heart. ‘Move in with Max,’ she confided shyly.

Dane treated her to a cold smile. ‘You’ve certainly grown up. I’ll do it, however, but on one condition.’

‘What?’ she prompted apprehensively.

‘I control Adam’s estate.’ He interpreted her blank stare. ‘I’m not prepared to stand by and let you gaily dispose of the money as soon as you get it. Adam clearly wanted that money to be yours, and I wouldn’t agree to you making any big decisions on what you do with it too quickly,’ he assserted. ‘You’ll surely be the first to admit that you have no experience of handling large sums of money. At least, they’ll be large to you but I seriously doubt he was one quarter as wealthy as this family imagines. He couldn’t have been if he mortgaged this house.’

His suggestion both off-balanced and irritated her. Somehow she had expected less chauvinism from Dane. But she trusted him implicitly. The matter seemed scarcely important when he was desirous of protecting her interests and simultaneously granting her the escape route she sought. ‘You’ll marry me?’ she gasped in sudden delight.

He sprang up again, a rueful smile fleeting across his lips like a shadow. ‘As you said, it may not be of profit to me but it’s not costing me anything either. And after all these years in this God-forsaken house, I think you deserve the right to do as you wish with your future. Setting aside such highflown ideals, I can’t wait to see Carter’s face.’

‘Oh, don’t!’ Gripped by discomfiture, she shuddered.

‘Wise up, Claire. Carter’s just being greedy, or aren’t you aware that Adam set him up in that engineering firm of his? They all had their dues while the old man was alive,’ he completed cynically. That was news to her but she said nothing. She was not a Fletcher by birth. For her to walk away with the bulk of the inheritance would still be wrong in her own opinion.

Dane swung round on his passage to the door. ‘I think we’ll head to Paris to tie the knot.’

‘P … Paris?’ she echoed.

‘More discreet. Hell, have you a passport?’ he asked doubtfully.

‘Yes … Max and I … well, we did hope to go on holiday …’ she muttered.

‘Until Adam stuck a spanner in the works. What’s Max like in looks?’

She gazed at him in forgivable surprise and then smiled reflectively. ‘He’s not very tall, but then neither am I. He’s got dark hair and dark eyes and a beard,’ she reeled off. ‘Why?’

‘I was curious to see what it took for you to go to such extreme lengths,’ he flicked carelessly before he departed.

Claire sank back against the pillows, rather dizzied by her success. Dane had agreed. Dammit, Dane had agreed! How on earth had she managed such a feat? Doubt crept in then, bringing her down to earth with a wallop. She hadn’t considered how Max might feel about her marrying Dane. Earlier, she hadn’t believed she had a ghost of a chance of Dane agreeing. It had been a matter of plunging into her one option and then coming down to face harsh facts again. Only now it was different. Dane was ready to help her.

Good Lord, where had her wits been? Max could conceivably be furious about such a scheme. How did Max feel about divorce? She would be a divorcee. The minute she arrived in London, she would go and see him, and they would discuss it all together. Dane wouldn’t lose any sleep if she had to back down … but could she back down?

If she went ahead they would have a home together just as they had always planned. In that home all the love and warmth she had been denied here would flourish. If she didn’t marry Dane, there would be no wedding, no future home. Max wouldn’t take on a wife he needed to support in his current situation. No … no! Everything in her retreated from the bleakness of such an uncertain and depressing future, and reinforced her belief that she had made the right decision for both of them. Max would understand that sometimes one just had to reach out and grab happiness in case a second chance never came.

Carter came looking for her when she was setting the breakfast table the next morning. ‘You can’t be marrying Dane!’ he thundered from the door.

So Dane had already spoken to him. Colour feathered in her cheeks. ‘I never gave you any reason to believe I would marry you,’ she answered.

Grandfather must be worth a great deal more than I ever realised!’ he replied nastily.

‘You’re a bad loser, Carter.’ Dane had entered silently. He looked neither aggressive nor amused, just cool as was his wont, and the momentary belief that he had come to defend her shrivelled.

Carter flung him a furious glance. ‘You think you’re so damned clever, Dane! You see no reason why Claire shouldn’t walk in and steal what she has no entitlement to. She’s not one of us!’ he blazed with uncustomary fervour, his mouth a pinched white line.

A sable brow lifted. ‘At this moment I’d say that was in her favour. And she didn’t walk in, Carter. Claire’s been in this family over eighteen years and Adam’s desire to secure her future hardly indicates that he didn’t consider her family,’ he quipped.

Claire wished he would stop acting as if she was helpless and gave him a rueful look before saying, ‘I intend to make sure the money is divided up equally, Carter, and …’

‘I wouldn’t depend on that,’ Dane interrupted smoothly.

‘I was doing you a favour asking you to marry me!’ Carter was in the grip of an uncontrollable rage. ‘God only knows what’s in your background! I shouldn’t be surprised if you’ve laid a trap for Dane.’

‘Dane!’ Claire snapped in sudden dismay, recognising that flare of anger in Dane’s brilliant blue eyes and hastily stepping between the two men. ‘Just leave it, please. And let’s all have breakfast in peace.’

Carter slammed out of the room loudly enough to let her know what he thought of that suggestion.

‘I don’t know what the hell you got in the way for!’ Dane breathed. ‘That …’

‘That was precisely why I got in the way,’ she murmured unhappily. ‘There have been quite enough family divisions created over the past twenty-four hours.’

Neither Sandra nor Carter appeared for breakfast. Dane was deep in the newspaper when she got up to clear the table.

‘Can you be ready to leave by ten?’ he drawled casually.

She spun round. ‘Ten?’

‘I have a fairly busy itinerary, Claire, and you can’t have that much to pack,’ he replied impatiently. ‘I’ll phone Coverdale and tell him what’s happening. There’s no point in you staying up here any longer and we need to make arrangements. Aside of that, you could do with a shopping trip.’

The scornful glance which he spared her worn shirt-waister was revealing. For the barest of seconds she hated Dane. He pitied her. That’s why he was doing this: he felt sorry for her. Claire in her outdated, dowdy clothing with her unemployed boyfriend and her sob story. Very kitchen-sinky to someone like Dane with his glamorous looks and jet-setting background. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she said stiffly.

He had already moved on to something else, she realised with his next remark. ‘You are still sure Max feels the same way as he did last year?’

Infuriated, her spine notched up another quarter inch. ‘Of course I am. Max writes to me every week without fail and I don’t know what you’re worried about, I’m not likely to cling. I’m completely capable of looking after myself.’

‘Sure you are,’ Dane agreed with tongue-in-cheek mockery.

Carter’s recriminations had been ugly, she reflected on her way upstairs. He had had little excuse for complaint when she was merely escaping the net he had cast for her. But Carter had been taken by surprise. He could never have expected this development. She wasn’t even entirely sure that she herself could accept that Dane had stepped in to save matters.

Her bedroom was drab and dismal like the house. Packing her few possessions took less than half an hour. Her jewellery box contained only three items. A signet ring she had long since outgrown, a locket with a broken chain and a bracelet—all gold and all gifts from Dane. Truth to tell, no one but Dane had ever given her the pretty feminine things that girls long for in their teens. The rest of the family had rarely bothered to acknowledge her existence. Was it any wonder he felt sorry for her? And perhaps there had been a sense of fellowship, too. She hadn’t fitted at Ranbury any better than he had, but she had conformed out of necessity.

Collecting her coat from the cloakroom, she left her cases at the foot of the stairs and went to find Maisie. She ought to be in by now. Maisie listened anxiously to Claire’s not very clear explanation, but her frown disappeared when she grasped that Claire was leaving with Dane. ‘You’ll be well looked after, then.’

Claire breathed in. ‘Maisie, I’m going to marry Dane and then …’ but she never got any further. The old lady’s faded eyes were suddenly suspiciously bright and she gave her a silent, vastly informative hug. Claire couldn’t bring herself to erase that delighted smile on Maisie’s face by adding the truth.

‘Oh dear!’ Maisie dabbed apologetically at her eyes, shaking her grey head. ‘He always kept an eye out for you, that young man. Even when you were little. You’ll be all right with Mr Dane. I can’t tell you how much happier I feel at the idea of you with a husband and a family and a home all of your own where you’ll be appreciated. He’s a very lucky man.’

Claire swallowed the lump in her throat. To listen to Maisie, she was a fit match for the highest in the land. ‘I’ll write,’ she promised. ‘And you’re not to worry about anything, do you hear me?’

‘Bless you, child. Sam and I were more worried for you,’ Maisie confided, blinking back tears. ‘But it’s right that you should be married, so I shouldn’t be acting up like this. Now, away with you.’

Claire was unaffectedly wiping her eyes when she joined Dane in the hall.

‘You’re very fond of each other,’ Dame remarked without any hint of Carter’s disapproval of such a bond.

Claire sniffed. ‘Yes, and I expect she’s feeling terribly hurt that she can’t be at the wedding but … well …’ Reflecting that it wasn’t going to be a real wedding as such, she subsided into awkward silence and she didn’t speak again until they were tucked in the luxurious rear seat of the limousine. Then she asked prosaically, ‘Where will I be staying in London?’

‘I’ll put you up in a hotel until we get everything sorted out.’

‘Oh.’

‘If I took you back to my apartment you’d be slightly de trop,’ he extended drily. ‘I know you. You’d feel awkward.’

He had someone living with him, or at the very least a regular overnight guest, she translated, and nodded, trying to be as cool as he was about it. ‘I’ll pay you back,’ she said and glanced at him. ‘I mean, you do know I can’t settle any bills myself?’

‘I doubt if you’ll break the bank,’ he soothed with a lazy grin.

The car ferried them only as far as Teeside where they caught an inter-city flight to London. It was Claire’s first flight and, to her amusment, Dane seemed shaken by such deprivation. They were collected at Gatwick by another car which dropped them off at the Dorchester. After lunch in a lofty-ceilinged restaurant, she trailed in Dane’s wake to the reception desk, feeling murderously underdressed in her serviceable raincoat.

‘A … suite …?’ she whispered on the threshold as Dane tipped the porter. ‘A room would have done, Dane.’

A long finger flicked her cheekbone, his unsettling eyes softened. ‘Enjoy yourself, Claire. Hannah has made some appointments for you over the next couple of days. She should be over within the hour.’

‘Hannah?’

‘My social secretary. You’ll like her. She’s a nice lady, and Claire—’ Dane shut the door and wandered deeper into the room ‘—don’t worry about the money, and don’t talk about paying me back,’ he warned. ‘You’re family, and it’s a treat.’

‘Treats are for children,’ she argued, scarlet-faced.

His eyes cooled. ‘Don’t make yourself a problem,’ he advised. ‘If I have to take you to Paris and marry you, you’re not going to be dressed like an Oxfam reject. Now that’s blunt. But that’s the way it is.’

Claire all but cringed in front of him. The aching grittiness of tears washed her hurt eyes. He was even ashamed to be seen in public with her, used as he was to beautiful, perfectly groomed women.

Firm fingers tipped up her chin. ‘Do you think I’m blaming you? Adam didn’t give you enough money to feed the household, never mind spend anything on yourself. And if you don’t have a clue how to make the best of yourself, that’s not your fault when you had no other females around to advise you,’ he stressed. ‘But on the other hand, what sort of pride is it that says you have to stay this way when you don’t need to any more?’

She tugged away from him, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. She reminded herself stoically that Dane was doing her a favour he didn’t have to do in marrying her. Pride goeth before a fall, she intoned to herself.

‘I dare say you’re used to other sorts of women.’ It still slipped out.

He emitted a rueful laugh. ‘Don’t you want to be attractive? You could be, you know. Minus those ugly spectacles and that hideous screwed-up hairstyle, you’ve got definite possibilities.’

Her teeth set. ‘Am I supposed to say thank you?’

‘For God’s sake, Claire, do you think I care what you do?’ He back-tracked ungenerously as he strode back to the door. ‘Send Hannah away if you like. Sit here and feel sorry for yourself. But if you’re a woman you’ll forget that misplaced pride of yours and realise that this is a big opportunity.’

Dear God, what an arrogant, pitiless bastard Dane could be! Her fingers twisted together and then settled on the rear of the upholstered chair where her knuckles showed white. It was not within her power to tell Dane to go to hell. Dane being Dane, he might well do just that. ‘Max is quite happy with me as I am,’ she retorted.

Half-way out of the door he paused, a disturbing smile on his lips. ‘You might want something more than Max once you get some confidence,’ he ventured cynically before the door flipped shut.

So Dane was no more impressed by Max than her grandfather had been. Loyal fury filled Claire. Just because Max didn’t come from a monied background! She hadn’t bargained on the possibility of Dane’s interference. But what trouble could he cause? It was extremely foolish of her to let his comments get under her skin. Just why had she been so agonisingly hurt by his blunt appraisal of her physical lack of attraction? By his standards she was bound to be a Plain Jane, and his opinion shouldn’t matter to her. Surely she had more on her mind than her appearance?

In a few hours she would be with Max after all. Unfortunately he wasn’t on the phone, but it would be a lovely surprise for him, she reflected with greater cheer.

Hannah proved to be a tall, lanky woman with shrewd grey eyes. ‘If you’ll just collect your coat, Miss Fletcher, I’ll take you to the opticians.’

‘Claire, please,’ she corrected. ‘Where else has Dane planned for me to visit?’

Hannah smiled. If she was conscious of the edge in Claire’s voice she ignored it. ‘It’s a little late to go shopping, but I booked you into a beauty salon. That’s a tight enough schedule before dinner.’

‘Where does Dane live?’ she asked as Hannah ushered her into yet another chauffeur-driven car.

‘He has several residences. In London he uses the penthouse on top of the Visconti building. He has a country house in Kent too, but he rarely has time to spend there. There’s a flat in Paris, one in Rome and then there’s his father’s house on Long Island,’ she enumerated.

‘He must travel a lot,’ Claire remarked limply.

Hannah laughed. ‘Dane’s a workaholic when he’s involved in a new project like his current one on Jamaica. It’s a shame the press are still so all-fired keen to dub him with a playboy image. He left that life behind a long time ago.’

His world seemed so glamorous! It also seemed unreal to her and she was still childishly punch-drunk at stepping in and out of limousines as if there were taxis. ‘What sort of project is he involved in?’

‘Resort developments. Of course, Visconti Holdings is an umbrella for many other companies in a variety of lines. Dane’s a strong believer in diversification.’

Sun, sea and sand and beautiful, sophisticated ladies abounded at resorts. It figured. No backdrop fitted him better. It was hard to picture Dane behind a desk, slogging away at office work on a gloomy day. ‘I don’t know much about Dane’s life down here,’ she said frankly.

‘He seems very fond of you.’ Hannah was sizing her up openly. ‘Not very many can claim that distinction with Dane. He doesn’t give his trust easily. Then, too many people have tried to take him for a ride because he’s such a wealthy man. Still, nobody’s succeeded in my time,’ she asserted with definable pride.

Dane fond of her? With the same casual fondness one gave a pet dog … possibly. In three long years she had only received Christmas cards from Dane and of course presents in the form of cheques that had left her feeling rather uncomfortable. However, he had known what her life was like at Ranbury and she had had much more pleasure out of a few pounds that she could spend on the small necessities of life. Dane gave very easily. She suspected it had salved his conscience about never even lifting the phone to ask how she was. And why should he do that? She hadn’t been a child any more when he had stopped visiting.

The optician recommended contact lenses, and from there Hannah swept her off to an elegant beauty salon. ‘Enjoy yourself,’ she urged. ‘And Dane suggested I book you in for a make-up tuition. Don’t forget to pick up a full range of their cosmetics … I think this is a marvellous wedding present, don’t you?’

‘W … Wedding present?’ More cowed than enthusiastic, Claire dragged her wide eyes back from the unbelievably svelte beauty who appeared to be a mere receptionist.

‘Shouldn’t I have mentioned it? Is it a secret?’ Hannah looked very apologetic. ‘Dane let drop that you were getting married.’

‘Yes.’ Claire reddened. ‘It’s all a wedding present.’

Before anything more could be said, she was carried off to the wash-basins, her spectacles banished to her handbag. The maestro who embarked on her long, red-gold hair made faces of disapproval, lifting up strands here and there that she had chopped personally. In all, he generally exasperated her. ‘I only want it trimmed,’ she said loftily.

‘I do not trim, I style,’ he retaliated, and someone giggled nearby. Mortified, she shut up and watched morosely as great hunks of hair hit the floor. The make-up session was worse. Tickled and pummelled, she lay there marvelling that anyone could enjoy such an event. At the end of it all she peered myopically at the blur in the mirror and then fumbled down into her handbag for her specs to withdraw them in dismay. Someone must have put a foot on her bag. The lenses were smashed.

‘Well?’ the female artiste prompted.

‘Marvellous,’ Claire said quickly, running wary fingers through her shorn hair. At the hotel she could let herself down by sticking her nose into the mirror.

Out at reception Hannah enthused, ‘My goodness, you look fabulous, Claire. Dane was right …’

Claire gave her full marks for that flattering stunned tone she had managed to inject into her voice and remained unimpressed. Hannah was kind. She wouldn’t even have put it past Dane to instruct his secretary to say something like that.

Unfortunately it was much too late to think of calling on Max when she got back to the hotel. Sighing, she wandered into the bathroom to study her new image. The sleek, chin-length bob with the fly-away fringe gleamed with attractive coppery highlights, shaping an unusual triangular face that seemed all eyes and mouth and no longer quite hers. Wasn’t it incredible what could be done with make-up? She marvelled as she stared at her beautiful face, the huge witch-green eyes flecked with gold and the new sultry cast of her generous mouth easily written off by her critical, unappreciative gaze.

Dinner was wheeled in on a fancy cart. After she had eaten she donned a floral nightgown and curled up on the sofa to watch TV. It was barely nine and she was extremely tired. Falling asleep was simply a matter of closing her aching eyes.

‘Breakfast … lord, you look like a panda!’ a familiar voice mocked and she surfaced in time for Dane to pull her up against the plumped up pillows and plant a tray on her lap.

CHAPTER THREE

HER lips parted company in a soundless gasp. She glanced down at her faded and unutterably respectable nightie and the comfortable bed she now lay in. Dane was already opening the curtains. ‘Do you realise you left your key in the door last night?’ he demanded. ‘I came round to take you out somewhere and there it was. An open invitation to any passer-by.’

‘Did you put me to bed?’ she snapped in strong chagrin.

Dane drew back into her line of vision, his amused smile no longer blurred. ‘Is it my fault you’re a heavy sleeper? You didn’t even stir. Go on, eat your breakfast. I bumped into the waitress on the threshold,’ he explained. ‘Hannah will be here in an hour.’

‘Don’t talk to me as if I’m a child,’ she implored.

He studied her from the foot of the bed. ‘With that mascara and shadow still smeared over you like warpaint, you don’t look a day above eighteen. Why did you let them cut off so much of your hair?’

Her hand brushed the tousled strands anxiously. ‘I like it. Don’t you?’

He grinned at the guileless question. ‘It’s fine, but it makes you look very different. Maybe Max won’t like it.’ His vibrant eyes narrowed, an odd, questioning inflection in his final sentence. ‘Have you contacted him yet?’

‘No, he’s not on the phone,’ she replied, then hesitated, reluctant to discuss Max with so critical an audience. ‘Where were you going to take me last night?’

His bright gaze was lingering on her soft mouth, an odd tension humming in the air that made her feel uncomfortable. He shrugged, breaking the spell and swinging back to the door. ‘I hadn’t decided. Maybe I’ll see you later.’

As always, he looked devastating. No matter how often she saw him his impact assaulted her feminine senses afresh, and yet she was at ease with the sensation. It was an old familiar one. ‘Dane?’

His argent head turned.

‘Thanks,’ she said.

‘It’s no big deal, Claire.’ He sounded rather curt, as if something had annoyed him.

She couldn’t think what and was rather hurt by the brevity of his stay. But he’d only come to check up on her. He’d probably been relieved, too, to find her asleep last night. Taking her out for an entire evening would have been an enormous sacrifice. Still, she understood why he had come up with the idea. Sometimes Dane was quite transparent. His conscience was a little uneasy about sticking her into a hotel alone. She would very likely have felt a dreadful nuisance being trotted out dutifully, the way one organised entertainment for a child. So it was silly to suffer a twinge of disappointment over what she might have missed.

Resolutely she thrust Dane from mind. Tonight she was bound to see Max. Her thoughts centred on him with something akin to relief. Why did it seem so long since the summer before last when Max had begun work at Ranbury? Perhaps because so much had happened since then.

She had grown accustomed to Max’s cheerful greetings when she was out on her daily walks. Their relationship might never have got any closer had not Max literally cannoned into her one day coming out of a village shop.

Spluttering apologies, he had stooped to pick up the basket she had dropped, and before he had straightened again he had invited her out to lunch in a friendly, casual style that had failed to ignite her usual shy discomfiture. She had found him easy to relax with. Away from family and friends he had been lonely. Frustrated by Roy Baxter’s contempt for ‘new-fangled ideas’, he had been eager for a good listener. Her feelings had deepened the more time she spent in his company. He had freely admitted that he was keen to settle down and marry, an attitude she had considered refreshing when it seemed so many men were only interested in uncommitted relationships. Nor had he laughed or looked superior when she had finally confided that he was really her first real boyfriend.

Falling in love had been so very easy. They had seemed to match perfectly, neither of them particularly outgoing and both of them slightly shy. She had been so happy when he had proposed, but that mood hadn’t lasted beyond her harrowing interview with Adam.

‘Thinks he’s on to a good thing, does he?’ he had condemned unpleasantly. ‘Well, he’ll soon find his mistake.’

The next morning Max had been gone. In his first letter he had explained that he hadn’t wanted to create another scene by coming up to the house before he left. Being fired must have been a most humiliating experience for him. He was not someone to cope easily with stress or hostility. She had always seen that softness in his character and didn’t think it made him any less of a man, though Maisie had been disappointed in him. ‘He should have taken you with him,’ she had said, innocent of Adam’s blackmailing tactics. Claire smiled. Max wasn’t the dramatic type. He’d had nothing to take her to. Still, if he’d asked she might have felt less abandoned at the time. She felt remorseful then for the carping thought that Max had put up a poor fight for her. He wasn’t a slayer of dragons as Dane was, and he’d never pretended to be.

Hannah arrived punctually and suggested they visit Harrods first. Claire kept her own counsel when they entered the vast department store. A large, expensive wardrobe would be of scant use to her as Max’s wife and, as she had every intention of repaying Dane, she very carefully inspected price tags, drawing back in dismay from much of what Hannah admired.

‘But you’d look lovely in this,’ Hannah persisted, displaying a fine, crěpe de Chine dress in an elegant black, white and jade print. ‘It’s the latest fashion, Claire, and you have a lovely figure. It’s a sin not to show it off at your age.’

An assistant joined the fray and Claire was persuaded. It would do for the wedding, she told herself. In no time it seemed that she had also agreed to a new coat, a rather stylish jacket and a flying suit that appealed to her new sense of what was fashionable. Hannah continued to remind her that Dane was expecting her to renew her entire wardrobe, and Claire selected some jeans and sweaters, a couple of washable silk shirts as well as an array of new underwear

‘You’ll need one evening outfit,’ Hannah insisted.

Claire allowed her companion to urge her into a strappy, electric-blue sheath dress, which of course had to have shoes and an evening purse to match. Then she firmly pronounced herself satisfied.

‘What’s your wedding dress like?’ Hannah pressed cheerfully over lunch in a quiet, exclusive restaurant. ‘And dare I ask about your future husband, too?’ She smiled. ‘You’re as secretive about him as some ladies are about their age. I gather he’s not in business. You didn’t seem interested in evening wear.’

Under Hannah’s warm, inquisitive gaze, she blushed. ‘It’s to be a very quiet wedding because of my grandfather’s recent death,’ she said hurriedly, for she hated to lie. ‘And I’ll wear an ordinary dress, not a gown … She was fumbling to think of something bland to say about her future husband when a slim, dark-haired man in a tailored grey suit stopped by their table.

‘You have to be Claire.’ He extended a well kept hand and gave Hannah a teasing grin. ‘What harm can I do, Hannah?’

‘Claire, this is Monsieur le Freneau,’ Hannah said reluctantly.

‘You see, I met Dane in the Dorchester and, since it’s hardly his normal haunt, stopped to ask what he was doing there,’ he proffered. ‘You can only be his cousin. Strange, Dane left me with the impression that you were an adolescent in pigtails.’

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