“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five,” she answered.

He looked grave. “Old enough to know better, then. Darcy, I realize this can’t be easy for you, but what are you doing still staying around Daniel Simon if he’s told you he’s going to marry someone else?”

She blinked her confusion. “But he isn’t married to her yet….”

Logan gave a groan. “Darcy, you’re an attractive young lady yourself—oh, Darcy…” Logan lowered his head, and his mouth claimed hers.

It was the last thing, the very last thing, Darcy had been expecting. But then it came to a sudden end, Logan wrenching his mouth from hers.

“I’m sorry, Darcy. I didn’t mean to do that. I brought you here, and instead I almost ended up making love to you. I just—the man is old enough to be your father, for goodness’ sake!”

“What man?” Darcy frowned her puzzlement.

“Daniel Simon.”

“I don’t seem to have explained, Logan. Daniel Simon is my father.”

Three cousins of Scottish descent…they’re male, millionaires and they’re marriageable!

Meet Logan, Fergus and Brice, three tall, dark, handsome men about town. They’ve made their millions in London, England, but their hearts belong to the heather-clad hills of their Grandfather McDonald’s Scottish estate. Logan, Fergus and Brice are all very intriguing characters. Logan likes his life exactly as it is, and is determined not to change—even for a woman…until scatty, emotional Darcy turns his neatly ordered world upside down! Fergus is clever, witty, laid-back and determined to view things in his own particular way…until the adorably petite Chloe begs him to change his mind—she’s willing to pay any price to get him to agree! Finally, there’s Brice; tough, resolute and determined, he’s accountable to no one…until blue-eyed beauty Sabina makes him think again!

Logan, Fergus and Brice are about to give up their keenly fought-for bachelor status for three wonderful women—laugh, cry and read all about their trials and tribulations in their pursuit of love.

To Marry McKenzie
Carole Mortimer

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

CRASH!

‘Damn!’

Logan looked up from the letters he was signing, his expression one of puzzlement as he heard first the crash of what sounded like glass, quickly followed by the expletive.

What—?

Crash!

‘Double damn!’

Logan’s expression turned to one of bemusement as he put down his pen to stand up, moving in the direction from which the sound of breaking glass was coming: the boardroom that adjoined his vast office.

He and a couple of business associates had lunched in there earlier, discussing contracts while they ate; Logan had found this to be a good way of doing business. The table was still partially set for the meal, he now discovered, but the room itself was empty.

‘Damn and blast it,’ a disembodied voice muttered impatiently. ‘That’s two glasses I’ll have to replace now. I—ouch!’ The last was obviously a cry of pain.

Logan was even more intrigued now, walking slowly around the long mahogany table, to find himself peering down at the top of a head of bright red hair. Ah, the puzzle was solved: this was the girl—woman?—who had served their lunch to them, an employee of Chef Simon. Logan hadn’t taken too much notice of her during the meal, having been intent on his business discussions, but he did remember the occasional glimpse of that gleaming red hair as she’d moved quietly round the table.

The girl straightened, frowning down at her left hand, where a considerable amount of blood had appeared at the end of one of her fingers.

‘Did you cut yourself?’

Whatever reaction Logan had expected to his sympathetic query, it was not to have the girl jump almost six inches in the air in her nervousness, knocking over one of the water glasses as she did so!

Logan managed to reach out and catch the glass before it rolled off the table—to join the two he could see now were already shattered on the shiny wood-tiled floor.

‘No point in your having to buy three replacements instead of two,’ he murmured dryly as he righted the glass on the table. ‘Is it a bad cut?’ He reached out with the intention of looking at the girl’s hand.

Only to have that hand snatched out of his grasp as it was hidden behind her back. The girl looked up at him with stricken grey eyes. ‘I’m so sorry if I’ve disturbed you, Mr McKenzie,’ she gasped. ‘I was just clearing away, and—and—I broke the glasses.’ She looked down at the shattered pieces. ‘And—and—’ Whatever she had been about to say was lost as she suddenly dissolved into floods of tears.

Logan recoiled from this display of emotion, frowning darkly. ‘Hey, it’s only a couple of glasses. I’m sure Chef Simon isn’t that much of an ogre that you have to cry about it.’

The outside catering company of Chef Simon had been taking care of the occasional business lunches Logan had in his boardroom for over a year now, and Logan had always found the other man reasonable to deal with. Although he hadn’t seen this young girl before, so perhaps she was new, and feared losing her job because of those breakages…?

‘You could always tell Chef Simon that I broke them,’ he attempted to cajole; weeping women were not his forte!

Well…not when they were weeping because they were worried or upset, he acknowledged ruefully as he remembered that last meeting with Gloria a couple of weeks ago. The frown deepened on his brow as he recalled the tears she had cried, tears of anger and frustration because he had told her their year-long relationship was over. She had even thrown a vase of flowers at him when he’d refused to change his mind, Logan remembered with distaste.

‘Oh, I couldn’t do that,’ the girl instantly refused. ‘Then he would put it on your bill, and that wouldn’t be fair at all.’ She shook her head.

Fair… It wasn’t a word Logan heard too often, either in business or his personal life. Besides, the cost of a couple of glasses would hardly bankrupt his multimillion-pound, multifaceted company…

The girl reached up to wipe away the tears staining her face, inadvertently smearing blood over her cheeks instead. ‘Oh, damn,’ she muttered frustratedly as she realised what she had done, searching unsuccessfully in the pockets of her trousers for a tissue.

‘You like that word, don’t you?’ Logan murmured, his head tilted as he looked at her properly for the first time.

She was a tiny little thing, barely reaching up to his shoulders, black trousers and a cream blouse emphasising the slenderness of her body, that shoulder-length bright red hair framing a face that, at first glance, seemed to be covered in freckles. On second glance, he saw the freckles only covered her cheeks and nose; her grey eyes were framed by thick dark lashes, her mouth wide, although unsmiling at the moment, her chin pointed determinedly.

Not exactly—

Where had that smile come from? Logan wondered dazedly as he found himself instantly reassessing the opinion he had just formed of this girl’s looks being unremarkable. When she smiled, as she was doing now, those grey eyes became darkly luminous, dimples appeared in the slightly rounded cheeks, her teeth shone white and even in a softly alluring mouth.

Logan stared at her uncomprehendingly; he felt as if he had just had all the breath knocked out of his body!

‘It’s better than a lot of the alternatives,’ she acknowledged. ‘And, while I appreciate your offer concerning the glasses…’ the girl continued to smile, appearing to have no idea of the effect she had just had on him ‘…as you said, it’s not worth getting upset about,’ she dismissed with a shrug.

‘Then whatever were you crying about?’ Logan rasped, angry with himself—and her!—for his unprecedented reaction just now.

The smile faded—and so did Logan’s confusion. He shook his head. The girl was plain, for goodness’ sake; just a load of freckles and smoky grey eyes!

‘Well?’ he snapped impatiently.

She was looking up at him reproachfully with those wide grey eyes now. ‘I—I—I’ve cut myself!’ She held up the damaged finger.

Logan scowled down at it. ‘It appears to have stopped bleeding.’ Which it had. ‘And it doesn’t look too serious.’ Which it didn’t.

And, he decided irritably, he had already wasted enough of his afternoon on this situation—whatever it might be!

‘I’ll have my secretary bring through a plaster,’ he bit out abruptly. ‘In the meantime, I would suggest you give that finger a wash. And your face,’ he added with an impatient glance at her bloodstained cheek.

She put a hand up self-consciously to her cheek. ‘I said I’m sorry for disturbing you.’ She frowned, looking on the verge of tears once again.

She could have no idea how—momentarily!—she had disturbed him!

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Darcy,’ she said miserably.

‘Well, Miss Darcy—’

‘Darcy is my first name,’ she corrected, even as she sniffed inelegantly.

Oh, no, she was going to cry again! And wasn’t Darcy a boy’s name…?

‘Your father wanted a son, hmm?’ Logan murmured mockingly.

Those grey eyes flashed angrily. ‘What he wanted, and what he got, are two entirely different things,’ she clipped.

‘It usually is where women are concerned,’ Logan drawled derisively.

Darcy looked up at him beneath those long, dark lashes. ‘Are you married, Mr McKenzie?’

Logan’s surprised brows shot up beneath the dark hair that fell lightly over his brow. What did his married state have to do with anything?

‘As it happens—no,’ he answered slowly.

She nodded—as if she had already guessed as much. ‘Women, I’ve invariably found, often respond in character to the men they are involved with. For example—’

‘Darcy, I believe you were here to serve a meal and then depart, not to psychoanalyse the client!’ Logan cut in scathingly, his jaw tightly clenched.

Until a few minutes ago he had been quietly pleased with his day; lunch had been a success, contracts were being drawn up even as he spoke to this young lady, and he had been looking forward to having dinner this evening with a beautiful blonde he had met at a dinner party on Saturday. That sense of well-being had now been lost in an increasing desire to strangle this young woman!

Darcy looked slightly flustered. ‘I’m so sorry. I—It’s just—I—I’m really not myself today!’ she choked before burying her face in her hands as the tears began to fall once more.

Logan shook his head dazedly, once again feeling totally out of his depth in the face of the renewed tears. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ he muttered before reaching out and taking her into his arms.

She felt so tiny as he cradled her against the hardness of his chest, that red hair feeling like silk against his fingers as he absently caressed it, her shoulder-blades so fragile to his touch she was like a little bird—

What on earth was he doing? This was the waitress who had come to serve lunch, for heaven’s sake! More to the point, anyone could walk in on them and completely misconstrue the situation!

He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Er—Darcy…?’

Her only answer to his tentative query was to bury her face even further into his shirt-front, the dampness of the material clinging to his chest now.

Logan felt totally out of his depth, beginning to wish that someone would come in and interrupt them—whatever construction was put on his actions!

‘Here,’ he prompted gruffly, handing her the snowy white handkerchief from his breast pocket, relieved when she moved away from him slightly to give her nose a good blow.

No wonder not too many women cried in his presence, he decided ruefully, if Darcy’s unattractive appearance was anything to go by—she looked like a startled fawn: all eyes and blotchy cheeks!

‘I really am so sorry,’ she said miserably. ‘It’s just that I had some—rather disturbing news, earlier, before coming out. I don’t usually cry all over perfect strangers, I can assure you.’ She gave a watery smile.

Logan gave the ghost of a smile in return. ‘That’s okay—I’m far from perfect!’ he attempted to tease, wondering exactly what sort of news this young woman could have received to reduce her to this state. ‘Is it anything I can help you with?’ he heard himself offer—and then frowned at this uncharacteristic interest in a stranger’s—perfect or otherwise!—predicament.

Having originated from a large, Scottish-based family—consisting of his aged grandfather, his mother, a couple of aunts and numerous cousins—Logan usually found it all too easy to distance himself from the upsets that seemed to constantly plague his family. If he didn’t he would spend most of his time caught up in one intrigue or another, and he preferred a much quieter life than that. Which was why he spent the majority of his time at his London apartment!

Why he should be showing this interest in the problems of a complete stranger he had no idea—especially one who had cried all over him and left bloodstains on his shirt!

Darcy’s smile was slightly bitter. ‘I doubt it.’ She shook her head. ‘But thank you for asking.’

He felt irritated because she wouldn’t tell him what was bothering her! What on earth was wrong with him?

‘A problem shared is a problem halved, so they say,’ he encouraged cajolingly.

‘I doubt you would be interested.’ She shook her head again, beginning to look decidedly embarrassed now.

‘Try me,’ Logan prompted huskily.

Darcy shrugged again. ‘It’s just that— No, I really can’t,’ she decided firmly. ‘Da—Chef Simon,’ she corrected awkwardly, ‘wouldn’t appreciate it if he knew I had been discussing his personal life with one of his customers,’ she admitted.

Chef Simon? Daniel Simon…? For surely this young woman had been going to call the renowned chef by his first name? And if her tears were anything to go by, it was a liberty that implied a much more intimate relationship between them than just that of employer and employee.

Daniel Simon and this girl, Darcy?

Logan couldn’t hide his surprise. This girl looked no older than her early twenties at most, whereas from what Logan knew of Daniel Simon he was a man in his early fifties. Spring and Autumn. Not that it was an unusual arrangement, Logan acknowledged, he had just never thought of the other man in that particular light. In fact, he couldn’t say he had given a single thought to Daniel Simon’s private life!

As he didn’t want to think about it now, either! ‘You’re probably right.’ Logan nodded tersely. ‘I’ll send Karen through with the plaster,’ he added dismissively before turning to leave.

‘Mr McKenzie…?’

He turned reluctantly. ‘Yes, Darcy?’ he replied warily.

‘Thank you,’ she told him huskily, smiling at him for the second time today.

Once again causing that numbing jolt in his chest!

The quicker he got out of here, Logan decided grimly, the better! ‘You’re welcome,’ he bit out harshly, making good his escape to the adjoining office this time.

Escape? he questioned himself once he was seated back behind his desk. From the woman Darcy? Ridiculous. He had just had enough of a woman’s tears for one day—especially as she had probably completely ruined his silk shirt with those tears and the blood from her cut finger!

What must Logan McKenzie think of her? Darcy groaned inwardly.

She had tried so hard to keep her worrying thoughts at bay this morning, concentrating on serving lunch to the client and his guests. But she just hadn’t been able to control her chaotic thoughts once she’d started to clear away, and dropping the two glasses had seemed like the final straw on a day when she’d already felt as if the bottom were dropping out of her world.

But even so, she really shouldn’t have cried all over Logan McKenzie’s pristine white silk shirt. She very much doubted he would be able to remove those bloodstains!

She still had his sodden handkerchief, she realised as she looked down with dismay at the screwed-up item in her hand. Not that she could have given it back to him in this condition; she would have to launder it first and send it back to him. Not that she thought Logan McKenzie would miss one white handkerchief; it was just a matter of principle.

She—

‘Here we are,’ announced a bright female voice as Karen Hill, Logan McKenzie’s private secretary, came into the room, laden down with disinfectant cream and plasters. ‘Logan says you’ve had an accident.’ She looked at Darcy enquiringly.

Logan—Darcy was sure—thought she was one big accident! She cringed with embarrassment now as she remembered the way she had sobbed all over the poor man.

‘It’s nothing,’ she dismissed. ‘Just a plaster will be fine,’ she accepted lightly, the cut no longer bleeding, although it stung slightly.

But not as much as remembering her complete breakdown in front of Logan McKenzie a few minutes ago! The sooner she got away from here, the better.

‘Thanks.’ She accepted the offered plaster. ‘Er—do you have any idea of Logan’s—Mr McKenzie’s,’ she corrected awkwardly, ‘shirt size?’

Karen’s blonde brows shot up in obvious surprise. ‘Logan’s shirt size…?’ she repeated speculatively.

Mistake, Darcy, she admonished herself. If she intended replacing Logan McKenzie’s ruined silk shirt she would just have to find another way of finding out what size to purchase.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she told the other woman brightly, avoiding Karen’s questioning gaze as she put the plaster on her finger. ‘I’ll just finish clearing away here and be on my way,’ she added.

‘Fine,’ the other woman answered distractedly, obviously still puzzled by Darcy’s earlier question.

Well, she would have to remain puzzled, Darcy decided irritably; she had already embarrassed herself enough for one day!

Once on her own she cleared away in double-quick fashion, stacking everything into the baskets she had brought up with her, even the broken glass was swept up and wrapped in newspaper for her to take away with her.

It was just her luck to find Logan McKenzie waiting for the ascending lift when she struggled down the corridor with the two laden baskets!

He turned to glance at her, doing a double take as he obviously recognised her, a frown instantly darkening his brow.

Not surprising really, Darcy acknowledged with an inward wince; the poor man was probably wondering whether it would be safe to get into the lift with her, or if there was a chance it would break down the moment the doors closed behind the two of them!

‘Hello,’ she greeted inanely.

‘Darcy.’ He nodded tersely, glancing impatiently at the lights indicating the slow ascent of the lift.

Couldn’t wait to get away from her, Darcy realised self-derisively, knowing he would probably make a point of asking Daniel Simon for her not to wait on one of his business lunches ever again! Well, he needn’t worry on that score; she was only here today because they were short-staffed.

The restaurant, Chef Simon, opened in London by Daniel Simon five years ago, had become such a success that the customers often asked him if he was able to cater for dinner and luncheon parties in their own homes. The outside catering company of Chef Simon was a direct result of those requests. With numerous pre-bookings, already six months ahead in some cases, this secondary business was obviously doing very nicely, thank you!

Unfortunately several of the staff were off with flu at the moment, which was the reason Darcy had been roped in to help today. After the last disastrous half-hour, she wished she could have claimed a previous engagement!

‘Here, let me.’ An impatient Logan McKenzie reached out and relieved her of one of the heavy baskets.

Darcy blinked her surprise, having been taken unawares, lost in thought as she was. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured dazedly. ‘But there’s really no need,’ she added awkwardly, moving to take the basket back out of his grasp.

Something he obviously had no intention of letting her do as his long, tapered fingers tightened about the wicker handle. ‘Leave it,’ he snapped impatiently as the lift finally arrived, standing back to allow her to enter first.

Darcy looked at him beneath lowered lashes as he pressed the lift button for the ground floor. Aged about thirty-five, he was incredibly good-looking—in an arrogantly austere way, she decided slowly. His short dark hair was straight and silky, blue eyes the colour of the clear Mediterranean Sea, his nose slightly long, sculptured mouth unsmiling now, although Darcy had witnessed several charming smiles during the serving of lunch, his chin squarely firm. Tall and ruggedly muscular, he looked as if he would be more at home on a farm, than in an office wearing tailored suits and silk shirts.

Silk shirts…she remembered with an inward groan, the marks of her crying earlier clearly showing on the now-dried material. She really doubted that the traces of blood on the white silk would come off during dry-cleaning, either.

Darcy was relieved when the lift reached the ground floor, having found the silence between them uncomfortable, to say the least. ‘Thanks.’ She reached to take the basket from him, making no effort to follow him out of the lift.

Logan McKenzie stood in the doorway to stop the doors closing behind him, frowning again. ‘Where are you going?’

‘To the basement,’ she told him lightly. ‘I have the van parked down there.’

‘In that case…’ He stepped back into the lift, the doors instantly closing behind him as he pressed the button marked ‘basement’.

‘There’s really no need,’ she told him once again, completely flustered at having the owner of this world-renowned company helping her in this way.

‘There’s every need,’ he rasped grimly. ‘A little thing like you shouldn’t be carrying these heavy baskets. And correct me if I’m mistaken, but was there only you dealing with the preparation and serving of lunch today?’ Logan continued firmly, completely ignoring the fact that she had been about to protest at being called a ‘little thing’, blue eyes narrowed questioningly.

‘Yes.’ Darcy shifted the heavy basket to her other hand. ‘We’re short-staffed today, you see and—’

‘No, I don’t see,’ Logan interrupted shortly, stepping out into the darkened basement that acted as a car park for the office staff of McKenzie Industries. ‘Short-staffed or not, you shouldn’t have been expected to deal with it all alone. A fact I will be passing on to Daniel Simon at the earliest opportunity,’ he added grimly.

‘Oh, don’t do that!’ Darcy turned from loading the van to protest, two wings of embarrassed colour in her cheeks. ‘I managed just fine. You had no complaints about lunch, did you?’ she pressed determinedly as Logan McKenzie still looked grim.

‘No…’ he answered slowly.

‘Then there’s no problem, is there?’ she assured him brightly.

He looked at her consideringly. ‘You know, Darcy,’ he began slowly, ‘you might find Daniel Simon less of a—bully, if you weren’t so eager to please.’

Darcy looked up at him, but the subdued lighting in the car park made it impossible to read his expression clearly. Which was a pity—because she had no idea what he was talking about!

‘It was only a lunch,’ she responded, ready to leave now, the van loaded, the keys in her hand.

‘I wasn’t particularly alluding to lunch,’ he rasped.

Then what was he talking about? Admittedly, she could have handled the latter part of this booking with a bit more detachment—in fact, a lot more!—but there really had been nothing wrong with the lunch this man and his guests had been served before her tearful outburst.

Logan McKenzie scowled at her slightly bewildered expression. ‘I’m merely offering you some advice from a male point of view, Darcy,’ he replied. ‘It’s up to you whether or not you choose to take it,’ he ended abruptly, obviously impatient to be gone now.

‘I— Thank you,’ Darcy mumbled, having no idea what advice she had just been given!

It wasn’t a question of being eager to please where Daniel Simon was concerned; she hadn’t really been given too much of an opportunity to do anything else where this lunch today was concerned. She was upset, yes, in fact she was more than upset, but it would have been churlish to refuse to help out when they were short-staffed. Business was business, after all, she acknowledged slightly bitterly.

Logan McKenzie nodded tersely before turning quickly on his heel and striding back to the still-waiting lift, stepping inside, his expression still grim as the doors closed.

What a strange man, Darcy decided as she got into the van and drove out of the car park. Kind one minute, impatient the next, then offering fatherly advice—although anyone less like a father-figure, she couldn’t imagine!

Oh, well, she decided lightly as she drove confidently through the early-afternoon London traffic. Logan McKenzie was the least of her problems at the moment. A frown marred the creaminess of her brow as she thought of what was her biggest problem.

Daniel Simon. Chef Simon.

And the fact that this morning he had calmly informed her that he intended marrying a woman he had only met for the first time three weeks ago!

CHAPTER TWO

‘THIS has just been delivered for you,’ Logan’s secretary informed him, before placing a large square parcel on top of his desk, his name and the office address clearly printed in black ink on the brown wrapping paper.

Logan looked up with a frown, his thoughts still on the contract he had been studying; the legalese in these things became more complicated by the day. His legal team could obviously deal with it, but he would have liked his cousin Fergus’s opinion too before anything was signed.

But his cousin’s housekeeper had informed Logan that Fergus had gone to Scotland, to the home of their shared maternal grandfather. No doubt Hugh McDonald had a good reason for appropriating the services of the family lawyer, but, at this precise moment, Logan had little patience for those reasons!

He laid down the gold pen he had been using to mark his way down the pages, running one of his hands over the tiredness of his brow. Yesterday evening, spent with the blonde from Saturday night, had not been the success he had hoped it would be.

In fact, after only half an hour spent alone in the beautiful Andrea’s company, he had already discovered that she giggled like a schoolgirl, talked incessantly, mostly about her modelling career, ate almost nothing, because of her figure—whatever that might mean!—and drank even less, for the same reason.

The evening had dragged on interminably for Logan, and he had breathed a sigh of relief when he’d finally been able to drop Andrea off at her apartment shortly before midnight. Without asking to see her again!

‘What is it?’ he prompted Karen now, glancing uninterestedly at the parcel she had put on his desk.

‘I have no idea,’ his competent secretary told him truthfully. ‘I haven’t opened it; it’s marked “Private and Personal”,’ she pointed out, with a speculative rise of blonde brows.

Logan’s mouth twisted wryly as he surveyed the paper-wrapped parcel. ‘Have you checked it isn’t a bomb? Or worse,’ he drawled dryly, Gloria’s shouted threats of ‘you’ll regret this’ still ringing in his ears even after the passing of over two weeks.

Karen grinned, well aware, Logan was sure, that the telephone calls from Miss Granger had ceased two weeks ago. And was obviously totally unsympathetic to Logan’s discomfort. Although that wasn’t so surprising, Logan accepted ruefully; Karen had worked for him for almost ten years now, had seen several Glorias come and go in his life—and knew that he had remained unaffected by any of them.

‘It was hand-delivered by a very reputable courier company,’ she assured him teasingly.

He grimaced. ‘That’s no guarantee!’

Karen laughed softly. ‘Go on, Logan, live dangerously for once, and open it.’

He frowned slightly at that ‘for once’ Karen had tacked onto her teasing statement. Perhaps his life did seem rather predictable to someone outside looking in, but that was the way he liked it. The way he deliberately organised it. Basically because he could remember far too many upsets and emotional scenes when he was a child to tolerate them in his own adult life…

He eyed the parcel once again before picking it up and turning it over; no return address written on the back. ‘Did the courier say who the parcel was from?’ He frowned. It wasn’t a very heavy parcel; in fact it felt so light it didn’t seem as if there was anything inside the box…

‘Nope,’ Karen answered with a grimace. ‘But if you really think it might be a bomb, do you want me to get Gerard to take it down to the basement and—?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Logan assured her dryly. ‘To both suggestions,’ he added.

‘Well, aren’t you going to open it?’ Karen prompted after several more long seconds had passed.

Logan sat back in his chair, the box still held in his hand as he looked across at her with narrowed blue eyes. ‘I bet you were one of those little girls who crept down in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve and opened all her presents before anyone else had even thought of waking up!’ he taunted softly.

‘And I bet you were one of those infuriating little boys who opened each present slowly, barely ripping the paper, playing with each new toy before moving on to the next parcel!’ Karen obviously felt stung into snapping back.

Logan gave an inclination of his head, smiling slightly. ‘It seems we would both win our bets,’ he said softly. ‘You know, Karen, you aren’t painting a very impulsive picture of me, either in the past or now!’

An embarrassed flush darkened her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, Logan.’ She shook her head. ‘I realise it’s your parcel—’

‘And I’m going to open it. Right now.’ He grinned across at her. ‘I was only teasing you, Karen,’ he told her, even as he methodically unwrapped the brown paper from the parcel, opening up the box beneath to fold back the tissue paper. ‘What the—?’ He stared uncomprehendingly at the white handkerchief and white silk shirt that lay in the box.

Karen, looking over his shoulder at the contents, whistled softly between her teeth. ‘So that’s why she wanted to know your shirt size…’ she mused.

Logan glanced up at her sharply. ‘Who wanted to know?’ he rasped.

But he already knew! The white silk shirt, well…with this particular label, that could have been an expensively extravagant present from any woman. But not the laundered white handkerchief. That could only have come from one woman—Darcy!

A quick glance before he folded back the tissue paper and put the lid back on the box showed him there was no accompanying letter inside. But there didn’t need to be one; he was in no doubt whatsoever who had sent him these things. While he accepted that the handkerchief was his, and it was very kind of Darcy to launder it and return it to him, he had no intention of accepting the replacement white silk shirt. The girl was a waitress for goodness’ sake, and he knew exactly how much a silk shirt of that particular label would have cost her.

His expression was grim as he glanced at his wrist-watch: two-thirty. The restaurant would still be open. He glanced up at Karen. ‘Could you get me the Chef Simon restaurant on the telephone, please?’ he requested tautly.

‘Of course.’ Karen nodded, moving towards the door. She paused as she opened it. ‘Be gentle with her, hmm?’ she encouraged. ‘She seemed terribly sweet, and—’

‘Just get me the number, Karen,’ Logan bit out impatiently. The last thing he needed was for his secretary to think Darcy had some sort of crush on him, and to react accordingly.

He knew exactly what this replacement shirt was about, and it had nothing to do with having a crush on him, but was more likely to be because the silly woman had a crush on Daniel Simon, and didn’t want to risk losing her job working for him!

He snatched up the receiver as Karen buzzed through to him.

‘Good afternoon. Chef Simon. How may I help you?’ chanted the cheerful voice on the other end of the line.

Logan tightly gripped the receiver; he was angry at Darcy’s actions, but there was no point in losing his temper with someone else over it! ‘I would like to speak to Darcy, please,’ he answered smoothly, realising that he hadn’t even bothered to learn the girl’s surname.

‘Darcy?’ came back the puzzled reply. ‘I’m not sure if we have a customer in by that name, sir, but I’ll check for you. If you—’

‘She isn’t a customer, she works there,’ he cut in, his resolve to remain polite rapidly evaporating.

‘I’m not sure… Just a moment, sir.’ The receiver was put down, although Logan could hear a murmur of voices in the background.

Logan drummed his fingers impatiently on his desktop as he waited, a glance at the box containing the silk shirt only succeeding in firing his feelings of annoyance.

‘Sorry about that, sir,’ the cheerful voice came back on the other end of the line. ‘It seems that Darcy will be at the restaurant this evening.’

‘At what time?’ he rasped.

‘We usually arrive about seven o’clock—’

‘Book me a table for eight o’clock,’ Logan interrupted shortly. ‘McKenzie. For one,’ he added grimly.

‘Certainly, sir. Shall I tell Darcy—?’

‘No!’ Logan interrupted harshly. ‘I—I would like to surprise her,’ he bit out through gritted teeth. Surprise wasn’t all he would like to do to Darcy!

‘Certainly, sir,’ the woman accepted. ‘That’s a table for this evening, for one, in the name of McKenzie,’ she confirmed. ‘We look forward to seeing you then,’ she added brightly before ringing off.

Logan sat back in his chair, his expression set in grim lines. He very much doubted Darcy would share that sentiment if she were aware he was to be at the restaurant this evening—not when his greatest urge was to wring her slender neck for her!

This evening already promised to be a sight more interesting than yesterday’s had turned out to be!

In fact, as he showered and dressed at his apartment later that evening in preparation of leaving for the restaurant, he actually found himself humming tunelessly to himself as he tied his bow-tie.

Because he was going to see Darcy again? he questioned himself incredulously.

Hardly, he admitted ruefully—not unless you counted—

He turned as the telephone on the bedside table began to ring. It was already seven-thirty, and if he was going to make the restaurant for eight o’clock he should be leaving in the next few minutes. But instead of the caller ringing off when he didn’t answer, the telephone just kept on ringing. Persistent, or what?

Logan grabbed up the receiver. ‘Yes?’ he rasped his impatience.

‘And a good evening to you too, cuz,’ Fergus returned.

‘Where are you?’ Logan demanded. ‘I have some contracts I need you to look at. You’re never around when I—’

‘Logan, as you are well aware, I am no longer a full-time lawyer. I only continue to act for the family as a favour to all of you,’ Fergus cut in smoothly. ‘Grandfather needed me in Scotland to discuss a few things with me. But I’m back in London now, so—’

‘What sort of things?’ Logan questioned warily; his grandfather had a habit of changing his will every month or so, depending on who was in favour at the time. Not that this bothered Logan on a personal level; he was wealthy enough not to be concerned with the McDonald millions. But his mother, as one of old Hugh’s three daughters, was likely to be furious if she was cut out of the will yet again. Which meant Logan was sure to get dragged into the situation!

‘That’s what I rang to talk to you about,’ Fergus answered evenly.

‘I’m just on my way out, Fergus,’ Logan told his cousin after a glance at his wrist-watch. ‘Can’t it wait until tomorrow?’

‘It can,’ Fergus answered slowly.

‘But…?’ Logan heard that hesitation in the other man’s voice. It was that will again!

‘But, I really would rather talk to you tonight.’ His cousin confirmed there had been a hesitation.

‘Okay, Fergus,’ Logan sighed wearily, sure this had to be about his grandfather’s will. ‘I have a table booked at the Chef Simon restaurant for eight o’clock. Meet me there.’ He was sure there would be no problem setting the table for two instead of one.

‘The Chef Simon?’ Fergus echoed sharply. ‘But—’

‘Do you have a problem with that?’ Logan prompted, unsure whether or not his cousin was involved with anyone at the moment.

The three cousins, Fergus, Brice, and Logan, had been known as the Three Horrors by their family during their growing-up years in Scotland; the Three Macs when they had all gone off to Oxford University together at eighteen; now, in their mid-thirties, all of them having remained unmarried, they had become known in social circles as the Elusive Three.

But the fact that none of them had married did not preclude female involvement in Fergus’s life…

‘No, no problem,’ Fergus answered thoughtfully. ‘In fact, it’s probably a good idea. A very good idea.’ He was obviously warming to the suggestion. ‘I have to change first, but I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’

Logan slowly replaced his own receiver, frowning deeply. It would be good to see Fergus on a social level; it happened all too infrequently nowadays. Although in the circumstances, it was also a little inconvenient, he realised belatedly…

Never mind, with any luck he would have a few minutes before Fergus arrived to deal with the situation concerning Darcy and the silk shirt.

His mouth tightened grimly as he thought of the meeting ahead. Time for Darcy’s surprise!

‘The man on table eleven would like to have a word with you, Darcy,’ a slightly breathless Katy informed her as she brought some dirty starter plates into the kitchen for washing.

Darcy looked up from what she was doing. ‘Me?’ She frowned. ‘Are you sure he meant me?’

‘Darcy. That’s what he said.’ Katy shrugged, picking up two plates of prawns nestling in an avocado nest before bustling back out into the main restaurant with them.

Darcy felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. A customer asking to speak to Darcy. She didn’t like the sound of that. Not one little bit!

‘Better go and see what he wants,’ Daniel Simon advised dryly, busy making a sauce for a steak he also had cooking.

Darcy gave him a scathing glance even as she took off her apron and smoothed the black skirt down over her hips, her cream blouse tucked in neatly at her slender waist. ‘Keep the customers happy at all costs, is that it?’ she returned with barely veiled sarcasm.

He shrugged. ‘Well… I draw the line at you selling your body for profit, but other than that…yes!’ he answered teasingly.

Darcy’s scowl deepened. ‘Very funny!’ she retorted. ‘Can you manage without me for a few minutes?’

He smiled across at her, blue eyes crinkling with humour. ‘I think I can cope,’ he drawled. ‘And, Darcy…’ he called softly as she turned abruptly on her heel and flounced over to the doors that led into the restaurant.

She turned at the door. ‘Yes?’ she replied tautly, chin raised defiantly.

Things had been very strained between them since his announcement yesterday morning, mainly on Darcy’s side, she had to admit. But she didn’t intend letting him off the hook with a few teasing remarks. Not this time.

‘Smile,’ Daniel Simon advised ruefully. ‘The customers prefer it!’

She only just managed to hold back her biting retort to that particular remark, instead shooting him another scathing glance before going out the swing doors that led directly into the restaurant.

Her footsteps became halting as she instantly recognised the man seated at table eleven. Logan McKenzie!

She had half guessed, because of the parcel she had sent him earlier today, and from the request to speak to ‘Darcy’, that it might be him—after all, he didn’t know her surname. But actually to see him sitting there, looking ruggedly attractive in his black dinner suit and snowy white evening shirt, briefly took her breath away.

Pull yourself together, Darcy, she instructed herself firmly. He might be one of the handsomest men she had ever set eyes on, but she probably wasn’t in the minority in that opinion. Besides, she doubted he had come here just to see her. In fact, as she saw the table he sat at was set for two, she was sure he hadn’t!

He was looking out the window as she approached, obviously waiting for his dinner guest to join him. Good; that meant their own conversation could be kept to a minimum.

‘Mr McKenzie,’ she greeted huskily as she stood beside his table.

He turned sharply at the sound of her voice, those blue eyes narrowed as he looked up at her. ‘Darcy,’ he greeted smoothly, standing up. ‘Join me for a few minutes.’ He indicated the chair opposite his at the table. ‘Unless you would prefer the embarrassment of my handing back your gift in full view of everyone?’ He looked pointedly around the already crowded restaurant, his brows raised mockingly as he glanced down at the box that rested out of general view against the leg of his chair.

Darcy sat. Abruptly. Inelegantly. Oh, not because of his threat to embarrass her. It was the latter part of his statement that stunned her. ‘Return it?’ she confirmed.

‘Return it,’ he repeated harshly. ‘Just what did you think—? I don’t like your hair pulled back like that.’ He broke off to frown across at her critically. ‘It dulls that bright copper colour to a muddy brown,’ he opined disapprovingly.

Darcy gave a ghost of a smile. ‘That bright copper colour was the bane of my life as I was growing up. I was called Carrots at school,’ she explained at his quizzical expression.

‘Kids can be the cruellest creatures in the world,’ he agreed. ‘I’m sure the male population, at least, has been more appreciative of the colour since you reached adulthood.’

Not that she had noticed!

‘Maybe,’ she conceded dully. ‘Mr McKenzie—’

‘Logan,’ he corrected sternly. ‘You can hardly be so formal with a man you’re on intimate enough terms with to present with an expensive silk shirt. In the right size, too,’ he observed harshly.

Darcy moistened dry lips. ‘I had a little help with that,’ she admitted huskily, having looked at her father and assessed that he and Logan were about the same physical build. The size of shirt had been easy after that. It had been finding the right shop to buy the shirt that had proved more difficult.

Logan’s gaze was cold. ‘I’m not going to ask from where. Or who!’ he rasped.

Darcy gave him an uncomprehending look. ‘If the shirt is the right size,’ she began slowly, ‘and it’s obviously the right colour, then I don’t understand why you want to return it…?’

‘You don’t understand!’ His expression became grimmer than ever. ‘Darcy, you cannot go around presenting perfect strangers with pure silk shirts,’ he ground out between clenched teeth.

She grinned at that, realising as she did so that it was the first time she had found anything to really smile about for some time.

Logan eyed her suspiciously. ‘And just what is so funny?’ he grated.

‘The fact that you have already informed me that you aren’t a perfect stranger!’ she reminded, her eyes glowing luminously grey.

‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ Logan exclaimed, shaking his head.

She raised puzzled brows. ‘Do what?’

‘Smile.’ He looked at her darkly.

It seemed she couldn’t win this evening; Daniel Simon told her to smile, because the customers preferred it. But this customer certainly didn’t!

Darcy had no idea why Logan should prefer her not to smile—and wasn’t sure she wanted to know, either! ‘Chef Simon likes us to be polite and friendly with the customers,’ she explained frigidly.

Logan studied her. ‘And do you always take into account what Chef Simon likes?’

In truth, she was so angry with him at the moment, she really didn’t care what he did or didn’t like!

But Logan McKenzie had been kind to her yesterday, more than kind, and she owed him a debt of gratitude for the way he had helped her—as well as a new white silk shirt!

‘For instance, do you think he would like the fact that you spent what must have amounted to a week’s wages on buying a shirt for a man you’ve only just met?’ Logan persisted, the softness of his voice doing nothing to hide his obvious anger.

She blinked. She hadn’t thought about the buying of the shirt in that context at all—and now that she did, it still made no difference to the fact that she had ruined this man’s shirt, and, as such, had to replace it. Even if it had cost what amounted to a waitress’s weekly wages!

Logan sighed heavily. ‘What I’m trying to say, and obviously failing to do so, is that I had no intention of telling Daniel Simon what happened between us yesterday—’

‘Nothing happened between the two of us yesterday!’ Darcy gasped incredulously, eyes wide. That cuddle had been purely platonic, and she dared him to claim otherwise.

‘I meant the fact that your behaviour was a little less than professional—’

‘It most certainly was not!’ she protested, sitting bolt upright in her chair now, her expression indignant.

‘Darcy, will you stop being so obtuse?’ Logan came back. ‘I’m trying to reassure you that I have no intention of telling your boss that you were upset and crying yesterday. In which case, you had no reason to buy me the shirt. Am I making myself clear now?’ he asked her frustratedly.

‘As a bell,’ Darcy answered. ‘You think I bought you the shirt in an effort to persuade you not to tell my boss that I was crying all over one of his private clients yesterday. Is that right?’ she mused softly—dangerously…!

‘Exactly.’ Logan looked relieved that he had finally got through to her.

The arrogance. The damned arrogance—

‘Sorry I’m late, Logan.’ The man’s voice was slightly breathless as he approached the table. ‘I had trouble finding a taxi,’ he explained as he reached them.

Darcy had glanced up as soon as she’d heard the newcomer speak. She had thought Logan was waiting for a woman to join him, but she had obviously been mistaken. The man who now stood beside their table was most definitely male, tall and dark, physically muscular in his black evening suit and snowy white shirt. Apart from the fact that his eyes were dark coffee-brown, and his dark hair was much longer than Logan’s, the two men were enough alike to almost be twins.

Those dark coffee-brown eyes narrowed now as he realised Logan wasn’t alone, that speculative gaze moving over her assessingly—and clearly coming to the conclusion that, in the black skirt and cream blouse, her hair tied back primly, with no make-up, she wasn’t Logan’s usual type at all!

That was because she wasn’t with Logan!

‘I suppose it should have occurred to me that you weren’t here alone, Logan,’ the newcomer drawled derisively.

‘Oh, but he is.’ Darcy stood up quickly. ‘At least, he was until you arrived,’ she informed the coffee-coloured-eyed man smoothly. ‘Now if you two gentlemen will excuse me,’ she said politely, ‘I’ll get back to the kitchen.’ Where I obviously belong, she could have added, but didn’t.

‘Darcy!’ Logan had stood up too, his hand moving with rapier speed to grasp her arm. ‘We haven’t finished our conversation,’ he told her as she glanced back at him.

‘Oh, I think we have.’ Her voice was slightly tinged with bitterness, her gaze cold as she looked pointedly at his hold on her arm. ‘You’re attracting attention,’ she warned him evenly, glancing over to where several of the other diners were staring across at them curiously now, as well as Katy and another of the waitresses serving this evening.

‘I don’t give a monkey’s what I’m doing,’ he rasped harshly, not sparing those people so much as a return glance. ‘I have not finished talking to you—’

‘Would you like me to leave, Logan?’ the other man put in carefully. ‘We can do this some other time.’

‘Shut up, Fergus,’ Logan snapped, his eyes locked with Darcy’s. ‘I—’

‘Darcy?’ the man, Fergus, suddenly echoed sharply. ‘Did you say Darcy?’ A sharp look in Darcy’s direction accompanied his words.

The look Logan shot him was enough to wither a flower in full bloom, Darcy decided; the effect on the other man was barely negligible, just a slight raising of dark brows.

‘I asked you to stay out of this, Fergus,’ Logan grated between gritted teeth. ‘Would you just sit down at the table and I’ll be back in a moment?’ Without waiting to see if the other man complied with his instructions he pulled Darcy off to one side of the room, placing them behind a tall potted plant.

She glanced at the patchy green camouflage before looking up at Logan. ‘Why don’t you just take the shirt? Then we can both forget about the incident,’ she pressed as he would have protested once again.

Logan drew in a hissing breath. ‘Maybe because I don’t want to for—’

‘Everything okay, Darcy?’ Chef Simon himself was suddenly standing beside them, his glance moving quizzically over them both. ‘Katy seemed to think there was some sort of problem?’ he elaborated with light enquiry, his eyes mild as they rested on the other man.

Great. Just great. After two days of feeling absolutely furious with this man, Logan McKenzie came along and put her in a position where she was the one put on the defensive! Which was the last place where she wanted to be at the moment!

‘No problem,’ Darcy was the one to answer tightly. ‘Mr McKenzie was just about to sit down and enjoy his meal. Weren’t you?’ she added pointedly, giving him a glaring look.

‘McKenzie?’ Chef Simon echoed abruptly, his gaze sharp on the younger man now. ‘Logan McKenzie?’ he prompted softly.

‘And if I am?’ Logan challenged.

Darcy, for one, had had enough of this. The situation had been ridiculous enough before, now it was becoming farcical, with the two men eyeing each other like contestants in a boxing match, apparently deliberating on who would be the one to strike the first blow!

She sighed heavily. ‘Logan, will you just go back to your table and get on with your meal?’ Her expression pleaded with him to comply with her request. ‘We can talk about…that other situation, some other time,’ she concluded soothingly as his eyes narrowed. ‘If you really think we must.’

‘Come and look at the menu, Logan!’ The man Fergus had strolled over to join them too now. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!’ he added with persuasive cheerfulness.

Logan looked ready to argue the point, but a glance at Darcy’s rigidly set features seemed to be enough to make him relent slightly, although he still eyed Chef Simon belligerently, even as he answered Fergus. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he agreed slowly. ‘After all, this is a restaurant,’ he couldn’t resist saying sardonically.

‘One of the best,’ Chef Simon answered almost as coolly. ‘If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen; Darcy and I have some food to prepare.’ He took a firm grasp of Darcy’s arm and almost frogmarched her back into the kitchen, barely waiting for the doors to swing shut behind them before grasping her other arm just as tightly and turning her to face him, effectively holding her immobile in front of him. ‘Now perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me what you think you’re doing, getting into cosy little corners with a man like Logan McKenzie?’ he demanded forcefully, his teasing mood of earlier having completely disappeared.

Darcy stared up at him, not altogether sure how she should answer that particular question…

CHAPTER THREE

‘HERE, have a look at a menu,’ Fergus advised his cousin as he thrust one pointedly into Logan’s hands. ‘And for heaven’s sake, sit down,’ he instructed, already seated at the table himself. ‘Then you can tell me exactly what is going on!’

Logan resumed his own seat, aware that several of the waitresses were still watching him curiously. Well, let them; he was more interested in knowing what sort of conversation was taking place in the kitchen between Darcy and her aged lover!

Because he was sure now that was what the other couple were; there was a familiarity between the two that was unmistakable, and a protectiveness emanating from Daniel Simon that Logan couldn’t mistake as being anything other than a proprietorial claim.

He had to admit, he had been temporarily stunned by the realisation a few minutes ago, which was the reason Fergus had had to actually instruct him to sit down! He had thought Darcy’s infatuation to be a one-sided thing, a crush on an older man, but now he realised there was much more to it than that.

And he didn’t like it!

Which also shook him. He’d only met Darcy yesterday but even so, he felt a certain protectiveness towards her himself. The reasons for which he did not want to probe too deeply!

‘I mistakenly believed you were on top of this situation when you told me you were coming to Chef Simon this evening—’

Logan became aware that Fergus was talking to him. ‘What did you say?’ he asked tersely, his thoughts, if nothing else, still across the room in the kitchen.

Fergus sighed impatiently, putting down the menu. ‘Let’s have some drinks,’ he advised as the wine waiter hovered near their table, obviously waiting to take some sort of order from them. ‘I feel in need of one!’ he added before turning to the young man and ordering a bottle of Chablis.

Logan pulled his divided thoughts back together, aware that he had no idea what Fergus had been saying to him a few minutes ago. Fergus’s rapier-sharp brain was such that inattentiveness around him was not a good idea. During his earlier years as a practising lawyer, the prosecution had lost a lot of cases when coming up against Fergus’s defence, for that very reason!

Besides, there didn’t seem to be any shouting coming from the kitchen, and Darcy hadn’t stormed out, so he could only assume the lovers were kissing and making up. Distasteful as that idea might be to him!

‘You were saying…?’ he prompted Fergus smoothly, once their wine had been poured and their food order taken; Logan thought he had ordered a fish starter and a steak main course, but he couldn’t be sure!

Dark brown eyes studied him over the top of the glass as Fergus slowly sipped his wine. ‘Exactly what are you doing here, Logan?’ he finally asked thoughtfully.

‘At the moment I’m drinking wine.’ He held up his glass. ‘And shortly, I hope, I shall be eating a meal. Isn’t that what one usually does when one comes to a restaurant?’ he parried dryly.

‘Very funny.’ Fergus smiled without humour. ‘Might I ask exactly what is your interest in Darcy?’ Brown eyes narrowed speculatively.

‘You might ask,’ Logan gave an abrupt inclination of his head.

‘Well?’ Fergus pushed further.

Logan took his time answering, sipping his wine appreciatively, all the time his gaze remaining locked with his cousin’s. ‘What makes you think there is one?’ he finally answered evasively.

Fergus’s mouth twisted. ‘She was sitting at the table with you when I arrived, the two of you were obviously deep in conversation about something.’ He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘I don’t think that is the behaviour of complete strangers.’

‘Or even perfect ones,’ Logan returned dryly, lifting up a dismissive hand as Fergus seemed about to snap a reply at what he perceived as Logan’s facetiousness.

Maybe it was, but the remark had reminded him too much of his conversations with Darcy for him not to have made that connection…

‘She works for the outside catering company of Chef Simon,’ he answered his cousin economically. ‘We met yesterday when she catered for a luncheon at my office.’

‘That’s all there is to it?’ Fergus pressed.

‘Yes, that’s all there is to it!’ Logan echoed impatiently. ‘But even if it weren’t—since when have you been my keeper, Fergus?’ he charged.

Fergus seemed about to bite out a reply himself, but then thought better of it, drawing in a controlling breath instead. ‘When did you last see Aunt Meg? Your mother,’ he added softly.

Logan’s mouth quirked. ‘I know who she is, Fergus,’ he replied caustically.

‘Well?’

He sighed. ‘Fergus, I am not someone standing in the witness box suffering your own particular brand of cross-questioning!’

‘I don’t do that for a living any more, Logan, and you know it,’ his cousin dismissed.

‘Then you’re giving a good impression of it,’ Logan barked.

‘I can assure you, I have my reasons for asking,’ Fergus returned calmly. ‘Have you seen anything of Aunt Meg during the last three weeks or so?’

Logan shifted impatiently. ‘My mother is in her mid-fifties, and I am in my mid-thirties; neither of us feels the need to report back to the other on a regular basis!’

‘Logan, I’m not criticising your actions as regards your mother—’

‘I should hope not,’ he rasped, eyes narrowed. ‘Because if you were I would feel compelled to ask when you last saw Aunt Cate. Your own mother,’ he added pointedly.

Fergus was prevented from answering immediately as the waitress arrived with their starters.

The fish Logan thought he had ordered turned out to be Chef Simon’s pâté!

He was losing it, he decided, if he couldn’t even remember what food he had ordered. And all because of a young girl who reminded him of one of the deer on his grandfather’s estate; extremely nervy, they had glossy red coats and huge limpid eyes, too.

‘Do you want to get to the point, Fergus?’ he asked his cousin more amiably after tasting the pâté and finding it was delicious.

‘The point is, you haven’t spoken to your mother recently?’ Fergus also seemed more relaxed after tasting the deep-fried Brie that was his own starter.

Logan shrugged. ‘Not for several weeks, no,’ he confirmed.

‘Then your being here this evening is just a coincidence?’ His cousin grimaced.

‘I’ve already said so, haven’t—? What do you mean, coincidence?’ Logan said. ‘What does my mother have to do with Chef Simon?’ He felt sure he wasn’t going to like the answer to that particular question!

Fergus drew in a deep breath. ‘Well, as you know, I’ve been to see Grandfather— Oh, no!’ he groaned, glancing towards the door. ‘That’s all we need!’

Logan had turned too, aware that something momentous seemed to be taking place at the entrance to the restaurant. A short silence amongst the other diners was quickly replaced by the babble of excited voices as they easily recognised the woman who had just swept into the room.

The actress, Margaret Fraser.

At the very same moment, Logan easily recognised the woman who had just entered the restaurant, and also became aware of Darcy finally bursting out of the kitchen—perhaps he had been premature in his assumption the couple in the kitchen were kissing and making up…? Her eyes were glittering with unshed tears, her face was fiery-red—whether from anger or those unshed tears, he wasn’t sure.

Darcy glanced to neither left nor right as she strode purposefully towards the doorway, although she stopped in her tracks as she too recognised the woman standing there looking so regally beautiful.

‘You!’ Darcy burst out with audible disgust, grey eyes definitely gleaming with anger now. ‘Well, I hope you’re satisfied,’ she continued. ‘You have what you want; he’s all yours!’ And with that she continued on her relentless way out of the restaurant, the door slamming behind her.

Logan turned dazedly to Fergus. ‘What on earth—?’

‘Go after Darcy, Logan,’ his cousin told him economically.

‘But—’

‘For once in your life, will you just do what you’re asked without argument, Logan?’ Fergus told him sternly, standing up. ‘While you do that, I’ll try and deal with the situation here,’ he offered grimly, looking pointedly across the room to where Margaret Fraser was continuing her entrance into the room.

Although the older woman had obviously been initially shaken by Darcy’s verbal attack, she had quickly recovered her equilibrium, smiling graciously at the other diners as she strolled confidently through the restaurant, the three friends she had arrived with trailing behind her.

Of the two prospects, that of following Darcy, or coming face to face with the volatile actress, Logan had to admit he preferred going after Darcy; he would just also prefer to have a clue what was going on before he did so!

‘Logan—darling!’

He cringed as, having finally spotted him standing at the back of the restaurant, Margaret Fraser swept across the room to envelop him in one of her theatrical greetings, her perfume overwhelming as she kissed him on both cheeks.

‘And Fergus, too,’ she recognised warmly, bestowing a similar greeting on him.

Logan watched her dispassionately as she kissed Fergus. Delicately tiny, her shoulder-length hair gleaming like ebony, her hourglass figure shown to perfection in a little black dress—that Logan knew would have cost a small fortune!—the beauty of her face completely unlined, deep blue eyes fringed by thick dark lashes.

There was no doubt that Margaret Fraser was a stunningly beautiful woman. Or, that she was the last person Logan wished to see here this evening!

‘Darcy, Logan,’ Fergus reminded him, once he’d surfaced from the actress’s embrace.

Margaret Fraser gave them both a quizzical frown. ‘Darcy…?’ she echoed lightly.

Logan’s mouth twisted. ‘The young woman who insulted you as you came in,’ he reminded her dryly.

‘Oh, that Darcy.’ She nodded vaguely.

‘Will you just go, Logan?’ Fergus urged in measured tones.

Gladly, Logan decided, nodding dismissively before striding out of the restaurant in search of Darcy.

It didn’t take him too long; she hadn’t gone very far. She was leaning against the wall outside, her slender body convulsed by desolate sobs.

After her earlier outburst, Logan had no doubt that Margaret Fraser was somehow involved in the desolation of those tears…!

The question was—how?

How could he? How could he! And with that awful woman too.

Oh, there was no doubting Margaret Fraser was beautiful enough. But the woman had been married twice already, had announced engagements to other men as many times. How could he even be thinking of marrying—?

‘Darcy…?’

She froze at the sound of Logan’s voice behind her. She had been so upset when she’d stormed out of the restaurant that she hadn’t even noticed him. She doubted the same could be said for her own dramatic exit!

She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks before turning to face him. ‘Mr McKenzie,’ she greeted shakily, unable to meet that piercingly probing gaze.

His mouth quirked humourlessly. ‘This doesn’t seem to be your night, does it?’ he sympathised.

He could have no idea! She had thought the disagreement with him in the restaurant was bad enough, but the conversation in the kitchen that had followed had been even worse. And, then, to come face to face with that woman as she’d stormed out—!

‘Here,’ Logan encouraged gently, holding out a snowy white handkerchief to her.

She gave a watery smile. ‘I’ve only just returned the last one you lent me,’ she reminded self-derisively, making no effort to take the handkerchief.

‘Which I’ve just left in the restaurant,’ Logan realised. ‘Never mind, my cousin will probably return it to me later,’ he mused.

So the other man had been his cousin, Darcy noted, which obviously accounted for that strong resemblance between them.

‘Take it, Darcy.’ Logan continued to hold the handkerchief out to her. ‘Your mascara has run,’ he observed.

Darcy took the handkerchief with muttered thanks, mopping self-consciously at her eyes—before she remembered that she wasn’t wearing mascara, that she hadn’t worn any make-up this evening; the heat in the kitchen tended to make it cake! ‘Very funny,’ she replied, her smile rueful.

‘That’s better.’ Logan nodded his approval of her half-smile. ‘I’m sure—whatever it is—that it can’t be that bad…?’ He bent his head to smile back at her teasingly.

Darcy’s own humour faded. ‘Worse!’ she said with feeling, giving an involuntary shiver. ‘You can have no idea.’ She shook her head, her expression bleak.

Logan tilted his head, dark brows raised questioningly. ‘Want to talk about it?’

Did she? In one way, definitely no! In another way…it might be quite nice to share this with someone. But was Logan McKenzie, a man she hardly knew, the right someone…?

Probably not, she acknowledged. But if she didn’t talk to someone about this soon, she was going to burst! Besides, she had no intention of returning to the restaurant this evening…

She gave a heavy sigh, coming to a decision. ‘Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?’

‘Darcy! This is so sudden.’ Logan pretended to reel from the suggestion.

‘I said coffee, Logan—er—Mr McKenzie—’ She broke off, blushing at her own familiarity with a man who was, after all, a customer of Chef Simon. Although, in the circumstances, the formality of ‘Mr McKenzie’ did seem slightly ridiculous!

‘Logan will do,’ he assured her, obviously of the same opinion.

She nodded, her cheeks still feeling hot. ‘And I was suggesting we go to a coffee bar, not my home!’ she explained defensively.

‘Aren’t I a little overdressed for a coffee bar?’ Logan looked down at his dinner clothes.

Of course he was, Darcy realised belatedly. But going to her home really was out of the question. After the heated accusations that had been made in the kitchen earlier, the last thing she needed was for Daniel Simon to return home and find her there with Logan McKenzie!

‘We could always go to my apartment,’ Logan suggested, his gaze narrowed, seeming to have read some of the indecision on her face. If not the reason for it!

Go to his apartment…! ‘I’m sure you can’t really be interested in hearing all this,’ she burst out. ‘I think it might be better if I just went home and—and slept on the whole thing. My mother always told me that things never look so black in the morning,’ she went on with forced brightness, knowing this particular situation was going to get worse, not better.

‘And my nanny always told me that a problem shared is a problem halved,’ Logan came back dryly.

His nanny, not his mother, Darcy noted. But, then, he obviously came from a wealthy background, the sort where the children were cared for by a nanny. Nevertheless, it was very sad if, as it seemed, Logan had had a closer relationship with his nanny than with his own mother. Darcy’s own childhood had been spent being cosseted and loved by a mother who had always been there for her. She had been dead just over a year now, and Darcy still missed her deeply.

‘Maybe,’ she conceded huskily. ‘But my mother also warned me about the danger of going to the home of a man I don’t really know.’

‘My nanny warned me of the same thing where women are concerned,’ Logan drawled, taking a firm hold of her arm, at the same time hailing a passing taxi. ‘But I’ll risk it if you will!’

For the second time in their acquaintance—despite the fact that she was deeply upset, and that she could see no solution to ending this particular misery—Darcy laughed.

Logan froze in the act of helping her into the back of the waiting taxi. ‘I thought I asked you not to do that,’ he ground out, his jaw clenched.

Darcy blinked up at him dazedly, shaking her head. ‘I don’t understand—’

‘Never mind,’ Logan replied tersely, climbing into the back of the taxi to sit beside her before leaning forward and giving the driver his address.

He really was a complete stranger to her, Darcy decided during the drive to his apartment, Logan gloweringly silent beside her, one glance at his grimly set features enough to stop any attempt at conversation on her part, either.

What if her mother’s warning turned out to be a correct one? What if—?

‘Do I look like a man who has to drag young innocents off to his apartment in order to seduce them?’ Logan suddenly rasped, turning to look at her with cold blue eyes.

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