Trust in Tomorrow
Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHELSEA kept her head down against the driving rain, the suitcase she carried heavy in her hand, the cab driver having dropped her off a few buildings short of the one she wanted, despite the fact that she had shown him the slip of paper she had with Lucas’s address written on it. And the fare had been exorbitant too, considering she had had to drag her own case in and out of the cab.

Not that she would have minded these few minutes respite from the rush and bustle of the last couple of days, if only it hadn’t been raining. This trip to London had been unplanned, a last-minute thought of Jace’s, and now that she was actually here and able to think a little more clearly herself she didn’t think it was such a good idea. She hadn’t seen Lucas McAdams for the last seven years, not since she was twelve years old, and she had no idea what he was going to make of her visit now. Jace had assured her it would be all right, and in Los Angeles it had seemed that it would be. Now that she was actually in London she wasn’t so sure; Lucas may not even remember the small, silver-haired child whose huge blue eyes had once followed his every move. It had been an embarrassing time in Chelsea’s life, one she would rather forget, although at least she could be confident Lucas had been unaware of her hero-worship; the only thing Lucas had been interested in seven years ago had been advancing himself up the legal ladder as quickly and as far as possible. And at twenty-seven his romantic interest had leant towards the sophisticated, usually patting Chelsea affectionately on the head before going out with one of those women when she visited his family with her parents.

A lot had happened in the intervening years, the move to California for Chelsea with her parents, their divorce six months ago, staying with her mother while continuing to see her father on a regular basis, the death of Lucas’s own parents, while his young sister Camilla also moved to America to advance her modelling career. Camilla had remained a close friend to them all, had also encouraged this visit to Lucas, both she and Jace anxious to get Chelsea away from Los Angeles before the publicity broke out, sure that she would be well out of it with Lucas in London.

Well she was here now, and if Jace had sent the cable as he had said he would, then Lucas would be expecting her. She could always go on to a hotel later if it wasn’t convenient with him for her to stay.

In her preoccupation with her troubled thoughts, her head bowed against the wind and rain, she didn’t see the man getting out of the cab as she stepped sideways to avoid a puddle of water on the sidewalk, the suede boots she wore not the type she should get wet, the movement bringing her straight into the man’s path, the force with which they collided coming as a complete shock to her, knocking all the breath from her body as she lost her balance, falling down on her bottom with a sickening jolt!

‘Why didn’t you look where you’re going?’ growled an unpleasantly harsh voice.

Chelsea gasped as she was verbally attacked instead of given the concern she had been expecting. This man was as much to blame for the collision as she was! ‘Help me up, would you, please?’ she requested coldly, holding out her hand, aware that the seat of her denims was very wet, and her dignity was far from intact, as the people passing by stared at them curiously.

A lean hand came out to meet hers, and she was pulled effortlessly to her feet. ‘Thank you,’ she muttered as she brushed herself down with little effect, her denims damply creased, the thick sheepskin jacket she wore to keep out the brisk English November winds also damp. Her hair was secured under a thick woollen hat the same navy blue as her eyes, although the hat, too, was a little soggy from her walk in the rain.

She looked up at the man with a rueful shrug, at once struck by the handsome hauteur of his face, so tall that he dwarfed even her five-foot six frame. He was leanly built, seeming to be wearing a dark suit beneath the tailored overcoat. But it was his face her gaze returned to as if magnetised, dark brown hair styled over well-shaped ears, dark brown eyes looking down at her with a scowl, showing he wasn’t nearly so impressed with her own appearance. His nose was long and straight, his mouth a stern line, harsh lines beside his nose and mouth, as if he had little to smile about in his life.

Chelsea couldn’t help thinking that such a handsome man had no right to be so rude! ‘I’m sorry,’ she said automatically, although she knew the collision hadn’t just been her fault.

The man nodded tersely, offering no words of apology himself as he turned abruptly to the right and entered the building there, a black overnight bag in his hand.

Chelsea picked up her own case with a frustrated glare in his direction, walking on several feet more before realising she, too, should have entered that apartment building. She only hoped that the rude man didn’t turn out to be a friend of Lucas’s; it would be a bad beginning.

The man was standing waiting for the descent of the elevator when she struggled through the entrance door with her case, sparing her only a cursory glance as not a hint of recognition entered the dark brown eyes. He had literally knocked her flying seconds before, and he had already dismissed her from his mind!

They stepped into the lift together, the only two occupants, the man pressing the button for the eighth floor before turning to her with polite query, his hand still poised next to the floor buttons.

‘Eight suits me fine,’ she murmured in a husky voice.

His haughtiness seemed to increase as he looked down his nose at her. ‘Floor eight happens to be the penthouse apartments,’ he told her in a harshly cold voice.

‘Oh,’ she nodded interestedly.

‘It’s private,’ he added pointedly.

‘Really?’ she was determined to be polite, although this man’s condescending manner was certainly pushing her to the limits of that politeness. What did it matter to him that she was going up to the eighth floor; he certainly didn’t look as if he worked for the security! Maybe he was just one of those interfering neighbours who liked to know who everyone was and what they were doing here. Well, Lucas could be the one to tell him about her, if he chose to do so.

‘Yes,’ the word was bit out precisely, the man’s manner more icy than ever.

‘Nice,’ she said appreciatively for the want of something better to say, wondering what this man expected of her. It was certainly an exclusive-looking building, she could tell that at a glance, but despite her casual appearance she was accustomed to a certain amount of luxury at home herself; no one could look their best after a ten-hour flight. Although looking at this man perhaps he would, he gave the impression—and she was sure it was a true one—that he always looked immaculate whatever the occasion, even the rain that had so dampened her hat had only slightly darkened his already dark hair.

The elevator had stopped on the eighth floor by this time, and with one finger pressed firmly on the ‘Door Open’ button the man made no move to get out. ‘I believe you have the wrong floor,’ he told her abruptly.

‘I’m sure I don’t,’ she said equally as certainly, not needing to consult the piece of paper in her pocket to know this was where Lucas lived; she had looked at it enough during the flight.

The man’s mouth twisted disdainfully. ‘Let me put it another way——’

‘I wish you would,’ she sighed with weary impatience. ‘I’m in a hurry.’

His mouth firmed now, his eyes coldly assessing. ‘I’m not interested,’ he stated icily.

‘Sorry?’ she frowned her puzzlement.

He sighed. ‘This ploy may have worked with other men but I am not in the market for helping you find your air fare home. That was to be the routine, wasn’t it?’ he scorned.

‘What routine?’ Chelsea demanded impatiently. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t need an air fare. I only just got here.’

‘And you are just about to leave again,’ he told her with grim determination.

‘I don’t think so.’ She shook her head.

‘I do,’ he nodded. ‘You see, I was on to you the moment you entered the building.’

‘On to me?’ she repeated, her brain a little slow after her flight. ‘Maybe you would care to explain that remark?’

‘Certainly,’ he bit out tautly. ‘It was a wet night—a very wet night,’ he added derisively. ‘And you obviously need somewhere to stay tonight,’ he looked pointedly at her suitcase. ‘And I was unfortunate enough to be the one to bump into you.’

‘At least you admit that now!’

‘I admit nothing,’ he ground out. ‘We simply walked into each other, what I said just now was a matter of speech. But the moment you walked on after our collision, stopped, thought for a minute, and then turned back and came into the building after me was when I realised what you were doing.’

And she had thought he had entered the building without giving her a second glance, now it appeared he had been aware of her every movement. ‘What was I doing?’ she prompted, still puzzled by this conversation.

‘Deciding I was a suitable candidate for you to spend the night with——’

‘What?’ she gasped disbelievingly, staring up at him as if he had gone insane, the rest of the conversation now falling into place. ‘Now you listen here——’

‘No, you listen,’ he told her in a controlled voice, the brown eyes cold. ‘You’re too damned young to be up to tricks like this one——’

“‘Tricks” being the operative word,’ she scorned angrily. ‘That’s what you thought you were going to be, didn’t you, my “trick” for the night?’

His expression softened a little at her vehemence, although not much. ‘I’m sure that you wouldn’t have thought of it in that way——’

‘Don’t you believe it, buster,’ Chelsea snapped, her eyes flashing darkly. ‘What you’re talking about is soliciting, and they’re called hookers where I come from too!’

His expression became chilling. ‘If you want to be basic——’

‘Oh, let’s be basic,’ she derided furiously. ‘You can tell me what my next move should be!’ she challenged.

He shrugged broad shoulders, not at all disconcerted by her angry aggression. ‘You watch which apartment I go into, leave it an appropriate amount of time, then knock on my door pretending you have the wrong address for the friend you were supposed to spend the night with, and that you would like to use the telephone. The telephone number conveniently turns out to be a false one too, and I’m supposed to offer to let you spend the night with me.’

‘For a price!’

‘Not necessarily, I’ve heard that picking pockets after the event is quite popular nowadays,’ he commented calmly, looking at her with cool disdain.

‘I don’t know what sort of company you’ve been keeping,’ she scorned. ‘But I don’t go through any man’s pockets before or after the event. But you’re right about one thing …’

‘Yes?’ he prompted arrogantly.

‘I am here to visit a friend,’ she nodded. ‘And I doubt he would be at all amused by the wrong assumption you’ve just made about me!’

‘You’re saying you weren’t looking for a bed for the night?’ he derided mockingly.

‘I’m saying I already have one!’

The brown eyes narrowed at her vehemence. ‘This friend, what’s his name?’

‘I——’

‘I think I should warn you, I know all the tenants on this floor,’ he cut in softly.

‘You would,’ she shot him a resentful glance. ‘But when I tell Lucas what you——’

‘Lucas?’ he echoed sharply, suddenly tense. ‘You mean Lucas McAdams?’

‘Yes,’ she confirmed happily, glad to see how disconcerted he was by this disclosure.

‘Where did you get that name from?’ he demanded to know, his fingers biting into her arm as he tightly clasped it. ‘Tell me!’

Chelsea tried to shake off his grasp, and failed. ‘It happens to be the name of the friend I’m visiting. Now would you let go of my arm!’ She tried to pry his fingers loose.

They wouldn’t be moved, seeming to tighten if anything.

‘Who told you he lived here?’ he demanded briskly. ‘There are no names listed downstairs, and the caretaker is too discreet to reveal the names of any of the tenants.’

‘I told you——’

‘That Lucas McAdams is a friend of yours,’ his mouth twisted. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘And I don’t give a damn what you believe!’ Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, the last two days the worst of her life, this horrific scene with a complete stranger forcing her to breaking point. ‘I am here to see him, and he is expecting me. If you would just——’

‘I believe I would know if I were expecting a young American guest,’ he cut in with calm deliberation.

Chelsea’s eyes widened with disbelief as the full implication of his words hit her. This man, this harshly suspicious man, couldn’t possibly be Lucas McAdams! She remembered him as being youthfully handsome, rather serious, but not a man with a harsh hardness that repulsed as much as it attracted. But seven years ago she had been only twelve, still a child, with a crush on an older man, a man who had seemed almost god-like to her. At nineteen she could see that the ambition that had always been such a driving force in his life in the past, that had taken him to the top of his profession, had also taken all the youth and happiness from him and left only the harsh shell of a man. No wonder she hadn’t recognised him; there seemed to be little of the old, exuberant Lucas left, just an automaton without a heart or soul.

‘I thought that piece of information might surprise you,’ he derided disdainfully.

‘It did,’ she nodded dully. ‘You’re nothing at all like I remember you.’

Impatience flared in the dark brown eyes. ‘I think it’s time to stop this game——’

‘So do I,’ she sighed wearily. ‘You couldn’t have got my father’s message.’

‘Don’t you think——’ he broke off, the arrogance replaced with confusion, then uncertainty, the hand that had been tightly gripping her arm moving slowly up to remove the woollen hat from her head. The long silver-blonde hair cascaded from its confinement to fall almost to her waist in gentle waves from the centre parting, giving her face an elfin appearance, her wide eyes framed by dark lashes, her nose short and pert, her mouth wide and full-lipped, her chin pointed. ‘Chelsea …?’ Lucas spoke slowly, almost disbelievingly. ‘Chelsea Stevens?’

‘Yes,’ she confirmed huskily, wishing they would get out of this elevator so that she could sit down, before she fell down.

Lucas seemed to become aware of their surroundings at the same time, making an impatient noise in his throat before guiding her over to one of the four doors leading off the long hallway, unlocking it quickly, glancing at the mail that lay on the table just inside the spaciously furnished apartment.

‘You didn’t get Jace’s cable,’ she repeated as she, too, saw the amount of letters lying there; there must be at least several days of mail.

‘Obviously not,’ he bit out dismissively, putting down his overnight case in the hallway. ‘But now that you’re here you can tell me what was in it.’ His eyes narrowed as he looked across the room at her. ‘Are you in trouble?’

‘Pregnant, you mean?’ She was passed being shocked by his suspicions about her.

‘Yes,’ he nodded.

‘You know, at any other time I would find all this amusing,’ she gave a wan smile, putting a hand up to her temple. ‘But at this precise moment in time I don’t think I could find anything funny.’

‘Tell me,’ he instructed abruptly.

‘Do you mind if I take my coat off first?’ The heat in the apartment was making her feel dizzy.

‘Go ahead,’ he invited, his eyes narrowed.

Chelsea shrugged out of the sheepskin jacket, feeling warm for the first time in days, too warm considering she was only wearing a thin black sweater under the jacket, Lucas taking the jacket from her as she looked around for somewhere to put it. ‘Thanks,’ she murmured gratefully, sitting down in one of the black leather armchairs without being invited to do so, her legs feeling too weak to support her any longer.

‘Chelsea?’ Lucas prompted impatiently, throwing the jacket down on another chair with his own, the three-piece suit he wore a charcoal grey colour, tailored to his magnificent physique, the waistcoat taut against his flat stomach, his shirt snowy white against his darker skin.

She took all this in about him without really being aware that she was doing so, her mind as numb as her emotions. How could she tell this man, this complete stranger, her reason for being here?

Lucas seemed to guess at her dilemma. ‘Is it Jace?’ His voice had gentled a little.

She shook her head. Jace was always the same, a handsome rogue of a man who succeeded in charming millions of viewers to his chat-show every week, one of the highest paid and well-liked men in television. No, Jace was indestructible.

‘Gloria, then?’ Lucas prompted again.

Her mother, an older more sophisticated version of herself, the silver-blonde hair kept in a shorter feathered style, faint lines about her blue eyes and vividly painted mouth disputing the mistake people often made of them being sisters. Gloria wasn’t as strong and forceful as Jace, possessed a fragility of character and body.

‘She’s dead,’ Chelsea stated flatly.

Lucas looked taken aback, almost disbelieving, as if he suspected her of lying.

And why shouldn’t he, women of thirty-nine didn’t just die, especially ones as beautiful as her mother had been. ‘It’s true,’ she told him without emotion, her pale face pinched with sorrow now, dark shadows of pain in her eyes.

‘Is that why Jace sent you here?’ Lucas probed.

‘Yes. He—I—The publicity. He didn’t want me involved in that.’ She moistened lips that suddenly seemed devoid of all feeling, having trouble articulating. ‘He said he would contact you,’ she repeated faintly.

‘Maybe he did,’ Lucas nodded grimly. ‘I’ve been unreachable the last few days.’

She had guessed that from the overnight bag and the amount of mail waiting for him. ‘Did you go anywhere nice?’ she asked numbly.

‘Chelsea——’

‘Sorry,’ she grimaced, the heat of the room suddenly overwhelming her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmured vaguely just before she fainted.

She had no idea how much time had passed before she awoke to the feel of a hand gently tapping against her cheek, fighting back the blackness to find Lucas bending over her as she now lay full-length on the leather sofa, Lucas obviously having carried her here. He sat back as her eyes flickered open completely, a mask of polite concern making everything but his eyes seem emotionless, a depth of feeling in the brown eyes that he couldn’t control or hide.

‘I really am sorry.’ She pushed her hair back from her face as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. ‘I’ve never fainted before.’

‘Your——’ He broke off, his mouth firming in self-condemnation.

‘My mother never died before,’ Chelsea finished dryly. ‘No, as far as I know I only had the one.’

‘Chelsea!’

His anger had little effect on her, too much having happened to her the last few days for anything to have much effect, aware only that her mother was dead.

‘I’ve made some coffee.’ Lucas stood up to pour two cupfuls from the pot that stood on the silver tray on the low table in front of the sofa.

‘Was I out that long?’ Chelsea frowned.

‘Long enough,’ he nodded abruptly. ‘Cream and sugar?’

‘Milk if you have it, no sugar,’ she told him in a preoccupied voice, barely aware of his leaving the room to come back with the jug of milk, although her shocked senses did register that the strong brew had sugar in despite her request. She grimaced. ‘I said——’

‘I heard you,’ he confirmed shortly, lowering his long length into the chair opposite her. ‘I think you need the glucose. When did you last have anything to eat?’ His eyes were narrowed disapprovingly.

She knew she was pale, she had been since Saturday. ‘Certainly not today,’ she frowned in concentration. ‘And not yesterday either.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t remember when I last ate,’ she gave up even thinking about it, her head beginning to pound with the effort.

‘Jace should have made sure that you did,’ came the censorious reply.

Her mouth tightened. ‘I think he may have had other things on his mind.’

Lucas didn’t even blink an eyelid at the rebuke, his gaze steady. ‘When did your mother die?’

She gulped down some of the coffee, not even noticing as it burnt her throat. ‘Two days ago—no, it would be three now,’ she belatedly remembered the time difference. ‘We buried her this—yesterday, morning.’

‘Had she been ill?’ he probed. ‘Your father didn’t let me know——’

‘How could he, if you’ve been unavailable?’ she pointed out logically, guessing from the way he had avoided meeting her gaze earlier when he told her he had been away, that he had been with a woman. ‘Jace couldn’t have let you know, anyway,’ she added dully. ‘It was very sudden. The doctor diagnosed heart-failure.’

‘At only thirty-nine?’

‘It can happen at any age,’ she shrugged. ‘And she was never strong. Jace said there was nothing they could do.’

‘I’ve never got used to the way you call your father Jace,’ he shook his head.

‘Why not, it’s his name.’ She had never seen anything strange about calling the handsome giant of a man who was her father by his first name; she had been doing it ever since she could remember. A young American on holiday in London he had met and married her mother in a matter of months, and she had entered the happy world of their marriage after only eighteen months together, both she and her mother moving back to America with Jace permanently when she was twelve years old. It seemed to have been the beginning of the decay of a previously happy marriage. ‘What did you call your father?’ she asked Lucas now to shake off the memory of past unhappiness.

‘Sir, mostly,’ he answered derisively, something like humour in the dark brown eyes, although it quickly faded. ‘Look, I’d like to check on my post,’ he frowned. ‘Help yourself to more coffee; I shouldn’t be long.’

Chelsea made no effort to stop him striding from the room, needing the next few minutes alone to gather her shaken senses together. She had thought he would have received Jace’s cable, hadn’t envisaged having to tell him of her mother’s death herself. She had withstood the shock of finding her mother unconscious in her bedroom, hours spent at the hospital with Jace before a doctor finally came out to tell them her mother was dead, the friends and well-wishers calling at the house to pay their respects, the funeral, and then finally Jace bundling her on the first available plane to England, little dreaming that the man he had sent her to wouldn’t be here to receive her. The last few minutes of explaining things to Lucas had shaken her badly.

She hadn’t even wanted to come here, had been too numb to protest her feelings when Jace had insisted she made herself scarce for when the news of her mother’s death hit the media. But she wasn’t numb now, and the thought of Lucas McAdams having her here on sufference, because of a friendship that, as far as she knew, hadn’t been nurtured for the last seven years, filled her with dismay.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

She turned guiltily, in the act of picking up her suitcase in preparation to leave, finding Lucas watching her from the doorway of the room he had disappeared into minutes earlier. ‘I thought I’d go back to the airport,’ she told him truthfully. ‘And get the next flight home.’

His expression was darkly forbidding as he came back into the lounge. ‘When you know Jace wants you to stay here?’

Her eyes widened. ‘He did contact you?’

‘Yes,’ Lucas nodded, adding nothing to the confirmation.

‘What did he say?’ she prompted impatiently.

‘Only what you’ve already told me,’ he dismissed. ‘He’s going to telephone me once you’ve arrived. But he’s already told me enough for me to realise this will be the best place for you for the next few weeks, at least,’ he added grimly.

‘I could have handled the publicity if Jace had given me the chance!’

‘He wanted to spare you any unnecessary pain.’

‘I’m sure he didn’t tell you all that in a cable,’ she derided defensively.

‘You’re right, he didn’t,’ Lucas bit out curtly. ‘I know him well enough to be certain he would want to protect you at all costs.’

Chelsea was sure he was right, but she didn’t know how he could make such a claim about a man he hadn’t seen for so many years. ‘Jace may have changed since you last saw him——’

‘He hasn’t.’

‘Seven years is a long time.’

‘I last met Jace in Los Angeles two weeks ago,’ Lucas told her flatly.

Her brows rose as she couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘I didn’t know that …’

Lucas shrugged. ‘You live with your mother, so how could you possibly be aware of all your father’s friends?’

Mainly because Jace had told her about most of them, although the remark Lucas had made about her living with her mother was what cast the shadow over her face. She had lived with her mother, she had no idea where she lived now, although it seemed that for the moment it was here, with this darkly handsome man who was a complete stranger to her!

‘You’re right,’ she acknowledged dully. ‘But that friendship doesn’t extend to me, and I would rather go back home.’

‘You’re wrong, Chelsea.’ He shook his head, a hint of gentleness to the forbidding mouth. ‘Even if I didn’t at first remember you as the silver-haired angel who dogged my footsteps seven years ago I do remember you now, and I insist that you stay here.’

And she doubted many people resisted when this man insisted, and she was too weary to do so herself right now. ‘You thought I was a hooker,’ she reminded softly.

A dull red hue darkened his face beneath the prominent cheekbones. ‘I’m sorry about that——’

‘I’m not,’ She shook her head, smiling wanly at his puzzled frown. ‘Once I’m a little less tired, a little less numb, I’d like to think there’s something we can sit down and laugh about together.’

Lucas looked as if he would rather forget about the whole incident than laugh about it, concentrating on the first thing she had said. ‘The spare room is already made up, if you would like to go and lie down for a while?’

‘You’re sure I’m not going to inconvenience you?’ she still hesitated.

‘I’m sure,’ he nodded.

‘I meant with—a special friend, or someone,’ she lamely tried to explain what she had meant; Lucas didn’t come across as the sort of man that had girlfriends, although she was sure he had spent the past weekend with the current woman in his life. She vaguely wondered how serious the relationship was.

His mouth tightened disapprovingly. ‘With no one,’ he bit out. ‘I’ll show you your bedroom.’

Chelsea followed him with a slight grimace on her face; obviously she had touched on a delicate subject as far as this man was concerned. Maybe he just didn’t like having to admit to the more basic urges and feelings that plagued the lives of other mortals!

Making rash judgments about her host wasn’t going to make her stay here any easier! For all she knew Lucas could be very warm and loving to the woman he favoured with his attentions—She was doing it again! And she was too tired at the moment to make rational judgments about anything, especially this man; Jace had sent her here, so he must trust and like the other man. So would she.

‘Camilla chose the decor in this room herself,’ Lucas told her as he showed her into what was obviously his guest room, the pale lemon and brown colour scheme restful as well as being comfortably feminine; there was nothing Chelsea disliked more than a lot of frills and lace in a bedroom, having been pretty much a tomboy until she left school last year, still preferring to wear denims and tops when she wasn’t at work. ‘As my only female guest to date,’ Lucas added pointedly.

She doubted that any female guest he had, other than family, would sleep in a separate bedroom to him anyway; he was much too old and experienced to settle for a platonic relationship. ‘Camilla always did have good taste.’ She ignored his last remark, although her normally effervescent nature wouldn’t usually have let it go unchallenged. ‘It’s a lovely room.’

He nodded abruptly, putting her suitcase down on top of one of the single beds, uncaring of its dampness on the lemon coverlet. ‘I hope you’ll be comfortable. You have your own bathroom through here.’ He opened a connecting door, the decor in there similar to the bedroom. ‘Dinner will be in half an hour, if you would like something on a tray …?’ he raised dark brows.

She shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry. But I can cook you something, if you like?’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ he dismissed arrogantly.

‘I’d enjoy doing it.’

‘I can get my own meals when necessary, although I have a housekeeper who usually leaves my evening meal for me. She’ll be back at work from seven-thirty in the morning, and she doesn’t leave until four. She’s had the weekend off in my own absence,’ he explained.

She should have known he didn’t keep this huge apartment spotlessly clean himself; he hardly came over as the domesticated type. ‘I can help her out, if that’s okay?’

‘Mrs Harvey would probably leave if you tried. And as she’s been with me the last five years I wouldn’t thank you for that,’ he warned.

She could well imagine. ‘I just thought that as well as being helpful it would give me something to do.’ She shrugged. ‘But if you say no …’

‘I say no,’ his mouth twisted. ‘Good domestic help is hard to come by nowadays.’

He wasn’t being patronising, merely stating a fact. Nevertheless, Chelsea wondered if the awesome-sounding Mrs Harvey viewed herself as ‘domestic help’. She knew that their own maid, Clare, would have been most insulted by the title. Her face shadowed. Poor Clare, she had been as devastated by Gloria’s death as everyone else; the elderly woman would probably never recover from the shock.

Lucas frowned as he watched the expressions flickering across her candid face. ‘I’m not so sure you don’t need food more than rest.’

And from the sound of it he personally intended seeing that she got it! But even the thought of food still made her feel ill, although she wasn’t sure she had the strength to fight this formidable man right now. She was saved the trouble of finding the energy to try as the telephone began ringing somewhere in the apartment.

‘I’ll go and answer that,’ he said somewhat impatiently.

‘I’ll probably have fallen asleep by the time you’ve finished with the call,’ she told him hastily, in no mood to have food forced on her.

‘Chelsea, I——’ He broke off irritably as the telephone continued to ring shrilly, seeming to become more and more insistent the more he tried to ignore it. ‘I’ll have to go,’ he strode to the door. ‘If you need anything——’

‘I’ll find you,’ she nodded.

Lucas gave her a hesitant look before leaving the room to answer the telephone, the melodious sound of his voice muffled through the apartment walls.

Chelsea sat down heavily on the single bed next to her now that she was alone, the weight of her mother’s death forcing her down, both mentally and physically. She would never, ever, forget finding her beautiful mother lying so peacefully in her bed she seemed to be only sleeping, her silver-gold hair spread out across her pillow as if brushed there, the blue of the silky nightgown she wore a perfect match for the eyes beneath the long, fanned-out lashes, her make-up perfect, her mouth seeming to be curved into a smile, almost a secretive smile, as if something pleased her even as she lay there.

But that serene beauty had been disturbed from the moment Chelsea had contacted the emergency services. Her mother had no longer looked peaceful or beautiful as they tried to revive life where it had decided it no longer wished to be.

And it had all been her fault. If she hadn’t decided to go bowling straight from work instead of going home as she had planned to do her mother might still be alive now, she might have been able to get the help soon enough to be of some good to her mother. It hadn’t seemed so strange when she received no reply at home when she called to tell her mother of her delay; since the two of them had lived alone they had lived pretty independent lives, both of them busy with new careers. She had simply assumed her mother had gone out to an early supper, her job as a realtor often keeping her late with prospective clients. She hadn’t dreamt, hadn’t guessed, the real reason her mother had been unable to come to the telephone. To come home and find her like that had shaken Chelsea to the core. She doubted she would ever get over not being there when her mother needed her the most. She knew with certainty that the guilt would always be with her.

CHAPTER TWO

THE shower she had taken had refreshed her a little, and although she still didn’t feel like eating, the thought of another cup of coffee—her staple diet of the last few days—seemed like a good idea.

She could still hear Lucas on the telephone as she stepped out into the hallway, it hadn’t seemed worth the bother of dressing again so soon after undressing. Besides, the black towelling robe she wore was adequate clothing for the brief time she needed to leave her room.

‘—you know I’ve enjoyed the last few days,’ Lucas was saying impatiently as she tried to pass through the lounge unnoticed. ‘All right, a very enjoyable time,’ he added huskily after a brief pause. ‘But I’ve already explained to you, several times, that I can’t possibly go out and leave Chelsea alone tonight.’

She had come to an abrupt halt at the sound of her name, blatantly listening to the rest of the conversation. If Lucas thought he had to baby-sit her he was mistaken!

‘God, Jennifer, you’re a mature woman of thirty-two, what attraction do you think a nineteen-year-old girl would hold for me?’ he answered the woman on the telephone exasperatedly.

Chelsea knew half-a-dozen men of his age, a couple of work colleagues, and some friends of her father, who definitely didn’t think of her as a girl!

Lucas seemed to become aware of her indignation emanating across the room at that moment, turning from his sightless gazing out of the window, his mouth tightening disapprovingly as he took in her appearance, her damp hair, the black robe, her bare legs and feet. ‘I’ll call you back, Jennifer,’ he spoke woodenly into the mouthpiece, his gaze still locked icily on Chelsea. ‘No, I’m not being difficult,’ he sighed as the woman obviously objected. ‘I’ll just have to call you back.’ He put down the receiver without waiting for a reply.

Chelsea braced her shoulders as if ready for battle as she and Lucas faced each other across the room. ‘I was just on my way to the kitchen to get some coffee,’ she told him defensively.

Lucas shrugged. ‘Feel free to help yourself to anything you want while you’re staying here,’ he invited.

He was waiting for something else, and they both knew it. ‘You don’t have to alter your plans because of me,’ she said huskily. ‘If you intended going out tonight then please do so, I’m just going to fall into bed and go to sleep anyway.’

He shook his head. ‘My plans to see Jennifer were not definite ones.’

‘But you’ve just spent the last few days with her, haven’t you?’ Chelsea frowned at his casual dismissal of the other woman.

His mouth tightened. ‘Chelsea——’

‘Sorry.’ She held her hands up in apology. ‘Please forget I said that, it’s really none of my business. But she does sound like a good friend, and I certainly don’t need the company.’

The brown eyes narrowed in surprise. ‘Are you dismissing me?’

She flushed. ‘No, I—Yes, perhaps I am,’ she conceded ruefully. ‘Although I didn’t mean to. But when I asked if I would be making things awkward for you by staying here you said no,’ she reminded softly.

‘And you aren’t. Jennifer has been a friend of mine for some time, but she has no claims on me, as I have none on her. I certainly don’t have to justify my actions to her, or to anyone else,’ he stated arrogantly.

She was sure he didn’t either. Although the fact that the woman Jennifer had been a ‘friend’ for some time looked as if she didn’t normally mind that. ‘I’d really rather you kept your dinner date,’ she told him huskily. ‘I’m not going to be any company at all, feeling as tired as I do.’

He seemed to hesitate, finally shrugging agreement. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

‘I know I am.’ She nodded, relieved that she hadn’t had to try too hard to persuade him to go out. The last thing she needed was this complete stranger hovering over her.

He nodded. ‘I’ll leave the telephone number on the pad where I can be reached if you should need me.’

‘I’m not a child, Lucas,’ she told him stiffly.

His cold gaze raked over her from head to foot. ‘I can see that,’ he grated. ‘But you have had a severe shock, and——’

‘And I’m not likely to run around the apartment shrieking hysterically,’ she taunted. ‘The doctor gave me some pills,’ she sighed. ‘Maybe I’ll take a couple.’

Lucas frowned. ‘What sort of pills?’

She shrugged. ‘Just something to relax me.’

‘Tranquilisers?’ his frown deepened.

‘I guess,’ she nodded, wondering what all the fuss was about now.

‘I don’t like the idea of leaving you here under the influence of drugs.’

Angry colour flamed in her cheeks. ‘So now I’m a drug addict?’ she demanded in an exasperated voice. ‘First I’m a hooker, and now I’m a drug-addict!’

Lucas’s mouth tightened. ‘I wasn’t——’

‘Two prescribed pills do not make me an addict!’ Her voice rose shrilly as she finally began to crack under the strain. ‘I just need something to relax me a little. God, my mother only died three days ago!’

‘I know, Chelsea. I know.’ He walked over to clasp her shoulders, looking down at her with sympathetic eyes. ‘But I think a brandy might have the same effect.’

‘Aren’t you frightened I might become an alcoholic?’ she asked tautly.

His face darkened. ‘Chelsea——’

‘I just want to go to sleep, can’t you understand that?’ Tears blinded her as she looked up at him. ‘I need to sleep. That way I don’t have to remember,’ her voice broke.

Lucas’s hands tightened painfully on her shoulders before he pulled her firmly into his arms, cradling her body against the firmness of his. ‘I’m sorry.’ He stroked her silvery hair. ‘I think this has all been more of a shock to me than I realised.’

She bent her head back to look at him. ‘You?’ she frowned, blinking back the tears, unable to see this man as anything but completely controlled.

‘I cared for your mother too,’ he bit out tautly.

Her mouth twisted. ‘Don’t tell me you were seeing her secretly, too?’

Lucas released her abruptly, stepping back. ‘None of my visits to Jace were made in secret. And I hadn’t seen your mother for several years, to answer your question. Although that doesn’t mean I can’t feel saddened by her death.’

It was a verbal rebuke, and yet Chelsea couldn’t apologise for what she had said. It wasn’t like Jace not to tell her things, and he hadn’t mentioned Lucas McAdams since they left England seven years ago.

She nodded abruptly. ‘I’ll just get my coffee and go back to my room.’

‘Chelsea …’

Her face was expressionless as she looked at him. ‘Yes?’

Whatever he had been about to say he changed his mind, his mouth firming into a thin line as his gaze raked over her mercilessly. ‘If we’re going to be living in close proximity for some time then I suggest we establish a few ground rules,’ he told her tautly.

She stiffened expectantly. ‘Yes?’

‘In the first place I would suggest that we respect each other’s privacy.’

Colour heightened her cheeks at the rebuke. ‘And secondly?’ she prompted abruptly.

‘Secondly, I would appreciate your wearing a little more than you have on now outside the privacy of your bedroom,’ he bit out harshly.

The colour deepened in her cheeks, making her look very young. ‘I’m perfectly respectable,’ she defended.

‘I didn’t say you weren’t,’ he dismissed. ‘And you are far from the first woman I’ve seen partially, or indeed fully, unclothed. I just happen to think it would make things a little more—acceptable.’

‘To whom?’

‘To anyone who cares to be interested,’ he came back irritably.

She was too tired to remind him that only minutes ago he had claimed that he didn’t have to justify his actions to anyone; it was his apartment, he had the right to make any rules about their living together that he cared to. ‘I can accept that,’ she shrugged, sure this man was too ‘proper’ to leave his own bedroom without sufficient clothing, even when he was alone here. It seemed incredible that he was the man she had found so exciting in her pre-teen years; he now appeared too staid and respectable for such an interest, despite his good looks.

‘Good,’ he bit out. ‘Then I suggest you get your coffee and go to bed.’

She hadn’t been spoken to in this condescending manner since she was a child—if then! Her parents had always treated her like a person in her own right, even to the extent of fully examining her feelings on the subject before they decided to get a divorce. Lucas treated her as if she didn’t have a brain of her own.

Nevertheless, she made no demur, too tired and worn at this moment to argue her maturity. When the shock of her mother’s death receded a little it would be a different matter!

Lucas had gone from the lounge when she returned from the kitchen, and she could only assume he had gone to his own room to prepare for his date with Jennifer. She couldn’t help wondering about the other woman. A mature woman of thirty-two, Lucas had called her on the telephone. Was that all he wanted in his arms, maturity? Chelsea didn’t doubt Jennifer would be beautiful, and that she would also be sophisticated enough to conduct an affair with Lucas, because the relationship was obviously a physical one. But would she be nice, warm, or would she possess that remoteness that made Lucas so alien to those about him, made him seem removed? Probably the two of them would never meet, although Jennifer sounded as if she would like to see her.

‘I forgot to give you the brandy——’ Lucas broke off awkwardly as he entered her bedroom without knocking, his mouth tightening disapprovingly as her unbelted robe showed she wore nothing beneath it. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said abruptly. ‘I had no idea … I thought you would be in bed,’ he rasped, his jaw rigid.

‘I just cleaned my teeth.’ She handled the situation so much more calmly than he, retying the belt on her robe with hands that shook only slightly. And that wasn’t just because for a moment, a very brief moment, she had seen acknowledgment of her as a woman in the dark brown depths of his eyes; his own appearance was much more devastating. The black evening suit and snowy white shirt made him appear taller and broader than ever, and so handsome he took her breath away.

‘I see,’ he harshly acknowledged her statement. ‘I forgot to give you the brandy.’ He held up a glass with about an inch measure in it. ‘This should help you sleep.’

Her eyes widened. ‘That much should knock me out!’ she derided. ‘Believe it or not, I rarely, if ever, touch alcohol.’

His expression darkened. ‘Chelsea——’

‘Thank you for the brandy,’ she hastily interrupted the reprimand she had invited by her mockery. ‘I’ll drink it in a moment.’

‘You haven’t taken the tablets yet?’

Her mouth tightened; did he think she was completely stupid! ‘No.’

‘Good,’ he nodded curtly, holding out the glass to her with a long, lean hand.

Chelsea took it with unsteady fingers, feeling angered by this further display of arrogant authority, wishing Jace had never sent her here, although understanding the reason that he had. But that didn’t make Lucas’s behaviour any easier to bear. ‘Thanks,’ she told him abruptly. ‘And I think perhaps we ought to establish another ground rule.’ Her head was back defiantly, ‘I won’t walk into your bedroom without first knocking if you won’t walk into mine.’

A dark hue coloured his lean cheeks. ‘I wasn’t thinking when I did that, it won’t happen again.’

She instantly felt contrite for being rude when he had offered her his hospitality. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sighed. ‘It seems Jace has put us both in an awkward position by imposing on you in this way.’

‘When you’re family it isn’t an imposition,’ he replied in a preoccupied voice.

‘Family …?’ she frowned. ‘I would hardly say your friendship with Jace makes me that.’

Lucas straightened, nothing preoccupied about him now. ‘I’ve known you almost from the moment you were born, I feel like your uncle,’ he dismissed abruptly.

‘Feeling like one and actually being one are two different things,’ she snapped, chagrined that he still continued to treat her like a child. He had a shock coming to him when she was feeling more like herself; she didn’t always wear the casually youthful clothing she had arrived in, could be sophisticated herself when she needed to be, or wanted to be. And Lucas’s attitude was making her want to be more and more.

Lucas’s expression was guarded as he looked at her. ‘Nevertheless, that’s what I feel like,’ he insisted coldly. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right while I’m out?’ he abruptly closed the subject.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she nodded.

‘I won’t be too late,’ he told her as he walked to the door, the gold cufflinks gleaming brightly at his wrists as his hand came up to open it.

‘Don’t hurry back on my account,’ she shrugged.

‘I won’t,’ he snapped.

Chelsea sighed as he took offence at her words. ‘Lucas …’

‘Yes?’ his eyes were narrowed.

‘I—I—Oh God!’ Her control finally crumpled, her legs giving out weakly beneath her as she fell to the carpeted floor, her face buried in her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks.

She tried to resist the strong arms that pulled her to her feet, but Lucas was remorseless in his intent, holding her tightly against the hardness of his chest as deep shudders wracked her body as she continued to cry. She cried until she had no more tears left to cry, loud agonised sobs as the pain of losing her mother ripped through her. And as she cried Lucas just continued to hold her, not saying a single word, just supporting her in his strong arms.

‘I’m sorry,’ she gulped at last, raising her head to see with dismay the huge damp patch she had made on his jacket and shirt, the black bow-tie at his throat looking slightly limp too. ‘Oh God, look what I’ve done,’ she groaned, brushing down the damp material.

‘Leave it,’ Lucas instructed curtly.

‘But I’ve messed up your——’

‘I said leave it, Chelsea.’ He grasped her arms, holding her in front of him. ‘Do you think I care about being slightly damp?’

A wan smile twisted her mouth. ‘A lot damp,’ she corrected.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he dismissed. ‘I have other suits.’

‘That isn’t the point——’

‘I agree,’ he bit out tightly. ‘It isn’t.’ He held her gaze with steady intensity.

Her cheeks coloured with embarrassment as she avoided that gaze. To have emotionally broken down in the presence of a man she no longer knew seemed to her the height of embarrassment, to be verbally made aware of it, no matter how well intentioned, was unacceptable to her at this moment. ‘I’ve kept you long enough,’ she dismissed flatly.

Lucas looked at her searchingly for several long minutes before nodding abruptly. ‘I’ll leave you to rest. Mrs Harvey will be here at seven-thirty in the morning; she’ll get your breakfast for you whenever you care to get up. Take your time, there’s no rush.’

‘I don’t want to be any trouble.’

‘You won’t be,’ he assured her arrogantly. ‘Camilla stays with me for weeks at a time when she’s working in London.’

‘It isn’t the same,’ Chelsea mumbled, wishing he could see and understand that. Or maybe he did, and just ignored the fact. And she didn’t have the strength to pursue it after her bout of crying, just wanting to fall into bed.

Lucas seemed to guess her plight, going to the door. ‘If you need me during the night I’m just across the hall from here. Don’t hesitate,’ he added sternly. ‘You won’t be disturbing me, I’m a very light sleeper,’ he told her before he left.

And after already crying all over him once tonight she had no intention of disturbing his sleep, not for any reason. She had coped with her grief in her own way so far, and she didn’t intend to change that.

Which made the fact that she had broken down in front of Lucas in the way she had all the more surprising. She hadn’t cried once since the nightmare began, not when she found her mother, and not when they told her she was dead either. She couldn’t think what had prompted her to collapse in front of Lucas of all people; he wasn’t exactly an emotional man himself. Whatever the reason for her breakdown she didn’t intend letting it happen again.

The harsh November rain was still falling against the window when she woke the next morning, completely disorientated until she remembered she was in Lucas’s apartment, in his spare bedroom. And with that realisation came the renewed pain of her mother’s death.

She had drunk the brandy Lucas gave her the night before, had miraculously fallen asleep almost immediately she got into bed. The clock on the bedside table told her it was nine-thirty; she had almost slept the clock round!

Lucas had no doubt already left for the plush office Camilla had told her he had somewhere in town, and the invaluable Mrs Harvey would be in the apartment. Chelsea fleetingly wondered what he had told his housekeeper about her, the truth would be preferable as far as she was concerned. Although what little she had learnt about Lucas the evening before she doubted he felt he had to explain his actions, or those of his guests, to a mere employee.

It wasn’t until she threw back the bedclothes to go through to the bathroom that she gasped her dismay. She was wearing a black silk pyjama jacket that hadn’t been there when she fell into bed the evening before! And it could only belong to one person, Lucas! It was much too big for her slender frame, hung precariously off one shoulder, the sleeves turned back to accommodate her shorter arms, the length of it reaching almost down to her knees. And it smelt vaguely of the elusive aftershave Lucas had worn the evening before.

She had been sleepwalking in the nude!

There could be no other explanation for her to wake up in Lucas’s pyjama jacket. She had often walked in her sleep when she was a child, but much less so now that she was older, and it hadn’t really mattered that she did when there was just her mother and herself at home.

That the trauma of the last few days had brought on one of the rare occasions when it happened she had no doubt. And she blushed with embarrassment at the thought of Lucas having to cover her nakedness with his own pyjama jacket before guiding her back to bed. Whatever must he think of her! More to the point, how was she supposed to face him again after this? He might, as he said, have seen plenty of other women unclothed, but the circumstances of him seeing her made her writhe with embarrassment.

And uninvited came the question, had he liked what he had unwittingly seen?

It was a provocative thought, and one that she regretted as soon as it came into her mind. It put their relationship on too personal a level, and it was going to be difficult enough to maintain the tenuous link they had now without any added complications, such as her possibly rekindling the attraction she had once felt for him.

Nevertheless, the colour in her cheeks refused to recede as she showered and dressed, and she could only hope that Lucas had indeed left for the day; she had no idea what sort of hours lawyers kept in England.

A glance out of her bedroom window showed her that the central heating in the apartment was deceiving, that it was still very cold and wet, so she put on fitted blue trousers and a designer blouse in a beautiful rust colour. The wealth and publicity of her father’s career may have helped to destroy her parents’ marriage, it had also given Chelsea a taste for beautiful clothing that had always been indulged. She had been limited as to the amount of clothing she could bring with her on this trip, had had little inclination for packing, but at home she had a wardrobe full of designer-label clothing. A spoilt brat, she thought with a grimace. Oh well, she was what she was.

Her long hair was still slightly damp from her shower, but she knew from experience that the silvery fine hair would soon dry; its long silver length made a startling contrast to the rust colour of her blouse. Her eyes were still shadowed by grief, but at least the sleep seemed to have given her back some of her usual confidence, the ability to cope, and she knew that during the weeks and months that were to follow she would need every ounce of that confidence.

She made her bed before leaving her room, the door to Lucas’s bedroom firmly closed, the lounge empty, the only sounds to be heard coming from the kitchen. Bracing her thin shoulders in expectation Chelsea entered the room.

A middle-aged woman looked up from the vegetables she was peeling to put into the huge roasting pot on the table in front of her, the woman’s expression becoming as wary as Chelsea’s own.

‘Good morning,’ Chelsea greeted lightly.

‘Miss Stevens,’ the woman acknowledged abruptly.

‘Chelsea, please,’ she returned smoothly.

‘Miss Chelsea,’ the woman nodded abruptly, tall and thin, her short curled hair a very light brown colour, beginning to grey at her temples.

‘No, I meant——’

‘Can I get you some breakfast now?’ Mrs Harvey turned to wipe her hands on the towel, a pristine white pinafore covering her severely styled blue dress. ‘Mr McAdams had his meal some time ago.’

There was no rebuke in the words for her own tardiness, just a statement of fact. ‘Lucas is here?’ she asked half in anticipation, half in dread, the memory of that sensuous black silk against her flesh, and its reason for being there, still too new for her to be able to look forward to seeing him again.

The housekeeper shook her head. ‘He always leaves at precisely eight-fifteen,’ her voice was flat as she stated her employee’s movements.

Chelsea mentally concluded that Lucas lived his life in altogether too precise a manner, that the last seven years had made him cold and unemotional. Or perhaps a woman had brought about the change. Maybe he had once been very badly hurt and now preferred to live his life in this stiffly rigid pattern that allowed no room for a woman to hurt him; Jennifer didn’t sound as if she had penetrated his emotions, just his need for sexual fulfilment. Somehow Chelsea couldn’t even imagine Lucas with ruffled hair and a flushed face of satiation after the throes of lovemaking. Probably even that was an automotive reflex to him!

‘I’ll just have a slice of toast and some coffee,’ Chelsea answered Mrs Harvey as she realised she was still looking at her expectantly.

She nodded. ‘If you would like to go through to the dining-room I’ll bring it through to you.’

‘Oh I didn’t mean for you to get it——’

‘It’s what I’m here for,’ the woman insisted, her light blue eyes wide with indignation.

Chelsea shook her head. ‘You’re here to take care of Lucas, not any unexpected guests that suddenly appear,’ she smiled so that the woman shouldn’t once more take offence.

‘I’m perfectly capable of getting breakfast for two people instead of one,’ Mrs Harvey snapped as she prepared the coffee perculator.

The housekeeper had taken offence despite all her efforts, and with a shrug of resignation Chelsea pulled out one of the chairs at the kitchen table and sat down. ‘I’d rather sit in here and eat if you don’t mind?’ Once again she gave a friendly smile.

The woman looked surprised. ‘I’m sure you would be more comfortable in the dining-room.’

Chelsea shook her head. ‘This is just fine,’ she insisted, envisaging nothing more dismal than sitting alone in that huge dining-room, where everything was tidily in its place, with not a speck of dust anywhere. At least here in the kitchen the apartment looked lived in, an orderly clutter on the work units as Mrs Harvey prepared the food for the evening meal.

The housekeeper shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want.’ But she didn’t look very comfortable with the idea of a guest sitting in her kitchen to eat toast and drink coffee.

Chelsea sipped the coffee greedily, the brandy Lucas had insisted she drink the evening before leaving her mouth feeling like sandpaper, even after cleaning her teeth twice. But Lucas had been right about its effect on her; she had slept soundly. At least, she had thought she had! The hot colour returned to her cheeks as she thought of the black pyjama jacket that lay across her bedroom chair.

‘Lucas said you’ve worked for him for five years,’ she burst into speech with the first thing that came into her mind, not wanting to dwell on the memory of last night.

‘Yes.’ The other woman had returned to her preparation of dinner after giving Chelsea her breakfast.

‘That’s a long time,’ she added conversationally.

‘Yes.’

‘I imagine Lucas is nice to work for.’ She tried once again to draw the other woman into conversation.

‘He’s a very thoughtful employer,’ Mrs Harvey confirmed abruptly.

Because he didn’t want to lose his ‘domestic help’? She couldn’t believe Lucas was as unfeeling about people as he liked to appear to be. ‘I imagine so,’ she answered in a preoccupied voice. ‘Will he be home for lunch?’

The housekeeper frowned at the suggestion. ‘He doesn’t usually—But perhaps with you here?’ she added uncertainly.

Chelsea shook her head, her hair moving silkily against her slender back. ‘I’m sure Lucas won’t alter his routine for me.’ She stood up to pour herself some more coffee, receiving a disapproving look for her action. ‘Our maid at home doesn’t usually mind my getting my own coffee,’ she excused lamely.

‘I imagine a lot of things are done differently in America.’ Mrs Harvey stiffly passed her the jug of milk.

The middle-aged woman somehow made it sound as if she suspected all sorts of decadence occurred in the other country. ‘I imagine they are,’ Chelsea smiled, having felt the same nervousness herself about an alien country seven years ago when her parents had decided to make the move to her father’s homeland. As it had turned out she loved it over there. ‘So you don’t think Lucas will be home for lunch?’ she persisted.

‘I can’t say for certain,’ Mrs Harvey frowned. ‘He doesn’t inform me of his every move.’

‘I think I’ll risk it and go out anyway,’ Chelsea decided.

‘Oh, I don’t think he expected you to leave the flat today,’ the housekeeper said worriedly. ‘His last instruction was that I was to see that your day here was comfortable.’ The woman looked concerned that she may already have disobeyed that instruction.

And Chelsea was well aware of the reason Lucas had made it; he didn’t want her to possibly see a newspaper. She had been aware of the absence of all such literature both in the lounge and here, and yet she was sure Lucas was one of those men who read several newspapers as he ate his breakfast. The story of her mother’s death would be front-page news in America once the information leaked out, and she didn’t doubt it would be the same over here. Being protective was one thing, it was the reason she had let Jace send her here after all, but she didn’t intend becoming a self-inflicted prisoner in Lucas’s apartment; she would go insane in a matter of hours, needed to get out, to have breathing space.

‘And it has been,’ she assured the other woman warmly. ‘I just need some air.’

‘But——’

‘Don’t worry about me, Mrs Harvey,’ she deliberately interrupted the other woman. ‘It may have been some time, but I used to live here.’

Light blue eyes widened in surprise at this information. ‘You did?’

‘Yes,’ Chelsea laughed softly. ‘I was born here. Have I lost my accent so completely?’

Mrs Harvey’s expression softened a little. ‘Well, no, I suppose not, not now I think about it. But Mr McAdams said an American guest…’

‘I suppose I am now,’ she shrugged. ‘But when I lived here seven years ago I knew London quite well.’

‘We’re slow-moving over here; you’ll find it hasn’t changed much!’

‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ Chelsea smiled.

The frown returned to the older woman’s brow. ‘I’m sure Mr McAdams would rather you stayed here today, in fact I’m sure he assumed that you would.’

‘Don’t worry.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll tell Lucas it was all my own idea.’

‘That isn’t the point——’

‘The point is, Mrs Harvey,’ cool determination entered her voice, ‘that if I don’t soon get out of here I shall go quietly insane!’

Compassion entered the light blue eyes. ‘Maybe you should just rest today,’ her voice had softened noticeably. ‘You must be very tired.’

And suddenly Chelsea knew that the housekeeper was well aware of the reason for her visit. No doubt Lucas had asked the other woman to keep a friendly eye on her. And she just wished everyone would stop treating her like a child who couldn’t accept the truth!

‘I’m fully rested,’ she stated stubbornly. ‘And now I intend going out.’ She turned and left the room, sure that the housekeeper would instantly telephone Lucas. But she would already have left by the time he was able to stop her.

The black silk pyjama jacket caught her gaze as she pulled on her thick sheepskin coat, frowning as she debated whether or not she should return it to Lucas’s room or leave it here. She didn’t doubt that despite having made the bed and tidied the bedroom that Mrs Harvey would come in later and clean in here. And Lucas’s pyjama jacket in her room looked very suggestive, too suggestive to just leave there.

She picked up the sensuous-feeling garment and crossed the hall to Lucas’s room, entering quietly, the decor in here as she had imagined it would be, stark and masculine in brown and white, not warm and inviting as the room Camilla had decorated was.

There was little in this room to actually say it was occupied, just a leather jewellery box on the dressing-table and a picture of Camilla next to it, several paperbacks on the bedside table; with no sign of the bottom part of the black pyjamas! The double bed with its brown quilt was already made, the adjoining bathroom that could be seen through the open door was meticulously clean and tidy. Her own untidyness was likely to drive Lucas to drink in a week!

A week? How long was she going to be here? No time had been set for her visit, but she didn’t intend imposing on Lucas for too long.

She blushed guiltily as she turned to find Mrs Harvey watching her from the doorway. ‘I—er—I came to return this,’ she indicated the jacket she had left on the chair, her blush deepening as she realised how that must sound. ‘Lucas lent it to me when I realised that in my haste I had forgotten to pack a nightgown,’ she excused lamely, not wanting to have to admit the real reason she had been in possession of half Lucas’s pyjama set, although she knew the explanation she was giving now was even more damning than the truth, giving the impression of an intimacy that just wasn’t there.

Blue eyes were sceptical, although Mrs Harvey didn’t dispute or question the explanation. ‘I’ve just spoken to Mr McAdams, and he is coming home to lunch after all, so he would like you to be here.’

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