Mistresses: Bound with Gold / Bought with Emeralds
Page 18
Joshua’s response was a slight touch of colour on his hard cheekbones, but he was too smug at the serendipitous outcome and too intrigued by the puzzle to be truly embarrassed by his error—the supremely arrogant assumption that had prompted him to reveal his deepest emotions.
‘If he was responding to my private Internet address then he would have presumed so, too. I don’t know what’s on there at the moment because I don’t check my personal messages every day. Ryan’s always on my back about—’
He broke off and backed out of her arms. ‘Excuse me a minute!’ He was a lot longer than a minute, but when he had finally hung up the phone and came back to her after his low-voiced conversation his eyes were glowing with dangerous amusement.
‘My son’s doing. It seems that Ryan suffers from a God complex.’ His ruefulness was an irresistible temptation.
‘I can’t imagine where he got that from!’ murmured Regan
He quelled her with the lift of an eyebrow. ‘Apparently he cracked the password on my e-mail account some time back and decided to use it to set us up.’
‘But—how could he know about—? Or that we called each other Adam and Eve?’ she gulped.
He ran a hand through his hair and slanted her a look that was charmingly abashed. ‘I had drink or three too many that night I lost my temper…after I found out you’d skipped out on me again,’ he confessed. ‘I got a little rowdy—and drunkenly maudlin, according to Ryan—in my lecture to him on the evils of doe-eyed women who lead men around by the uh—certain parts of their male anatomy. He says I mentioned that Derek Clarke had arranged for us to meet…and I also mentioned that we had jokingly appropriated our middle names…’
‘You mentioned an awful lot to an impressionable fifteen-year-old-boy,’ Regan said ominously.
‘Yes, well…’ Joshua shed his chagrin in a little spurt of paternal pride. ‘I suppose his super-intelligence filled in most of the gaps and the rest just took a little research—for example, your full name is bound to be on the database at Harriman Developments, and as you well know my son doesn’t see privacy laws as a barrier to his investigations. Give him a computer, a modem and enough time, and Ryan could well rule the world.’
‘But why?’ Regan said, not wanting to think that Ryan had intended for her to be hurt and humiliated by his father. ‘He knew that we parted on terrible terms.’
Joshua sighed. ‘That was why. He thought it was his fault, and that, with Carolyn out of the picture, if he could just get us together, propinquity would do the rest—although he had a rather more basic term for it…’
Regan put her hands over her still warm cheeks. ‘He must think I’m an awful tramp.’
He took pity on her mortification and took her back in his arms to kiss the tip of her pink nose. ‘I think he thinks you’re a very sexy woman whom his father is crazy about. He said to tell you, by the way, that he never broke his promise to you—what he did was not “dumb and misguided”—it was extremely clever; it was keeping the hard copy evidence that did him in!’
‘Still, what if you hadn’t wanted to see me?’ she worried.
His voice was warm with disbelief. ‘Darling, the boy watched me skewer you with a knife and then listened to me prose on about you for hours while I ploughed my way through half a bottle of Scotch. I assure you, he was in no doubt as to what I was going to do when I got my hands on you again.’
‘Throttle me?’
His hands tightened around her waist as his mouth came down on hers. ‘Never let you go.’
‘Oh…’ Bliss was a warm mouth and a strong pair of arms.
‘So, does that mean you’re willing to accept my son?’ he murmured against her throat.
‘I’ve already accepted he’s your son,’ she replied, confused.
‘No, I mean…as your own. I think all the children of one family should call the same person Mother.’ He lifted his head as she stiffened in his encircling arms. ‘Did you think I wasn’t going to ask the woman I love to marry me? Especially one as elusive as you—what kind of idiot do you take me for?’
Her small face was incandescent with joy. ‘I think you’re a pure genius. I guess that’s why I love you.’
It was the first time she had said it out loud, but instead of the expected romantic response, Joshua raised a challenging eyebrow. ‘Prove it.’
She laughed, and kicked off her shoes, and raced him into the bedroom. As she wrestled him playfully onto the bed he murmured, ‘The last time I entertained Eve in here, she was too proud to accept anything from me. I hope this time will be different.’
‘“Pride comes before a fall,”’ quoted Regan.
He smiled. ‘Don’t I know it!’ He traced her kiss-swollen mouth with a gentle finger. ‘So…is your pride willing to be flexible for me tonight?’
‘Have you still got that gorgeous tennis bracelet?’ she teased.
His eyes glinted. ‘You’re not really allergic to gold, are you?’ And when she shook her head he pulled out the bedside drawer and began dragging out boxes and shaking them open over her prone body—bracelets, necklaces, lockets, bangles, brooches falling in an extravagant rain over her black dress.
‘Josh!’ She sifted them through her fingers with a laughing protest.
‘Not enough?’ He produced more, until she was heaped with splendour and helpless with giggles.
‘I bought them all because you don’t have any jewellery and I wasn’t sure what you’d like best,’ he said with perfect seriousness. ‘I want to give you everything, you see,’ he said roughly. ‘Me—life, love, babies galore…everything that it’s in my power to give you.’ Then he took out one last item, a folded piece of creased tissue paper, and carefully unwrapped it, and she sat up, shedding the expensive baubles, to look at the thin, old-gold band plainly set with a straight row of three extremely modest diamonds.
‘It was my mother’s engagement ring, and her mother’s before her,’ he said. ‘Dad kept it for me after Mum died so I could give it in turn to my wife. But Clare thought it was too old-fashioned and the diamonds too small. And I never even considered showing it to Carolyn. For the last fifteen years, although I didn’t know it, I’ve been keeping it for you…’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Regan shakily, imagining all the emotion invested in the cherished reminder of loves past.
He slid it on her slender finger. ‘I knew it would suit you…’
‘Small, plain and simple?’ she taunted his ruthless pride.
‘Dainty, rare and precious.’ He tumbled her back on the bed and carelessly brushed away his lavish offerings in order to get down to the serious business of loving.
‘Do you know, I think that you and I together have helped prove an old saying?’ he said, lifting the hand bearing his ring to his lips.
‘What’s that?’ she murmured dreamily as he bent his head to give her the most treasured gift of all.
‘That revenge is deliciously, irresistibly sweet…’
The Frenchman’s Mistress
Kathryn Ross
Kathryn Ross was born in Zambia, where her parents happened to live at that time. Educated in Ireland and England, she now lives in a village near Blackpool, Lancashire. Kathryn is a professional beauty therapist, but writing is her first love. As a child she wrote adventure stories and at thirteen was editor of her school magazine. Happily, ten writing years later, Designed With Love was accepted by Mills & Boon. A romantic Sagittarian, she loves travelling to exotic locations.
Look for Kathryn Ross’s brilliant new Modern™ Romance Italian Marriage: In Name Only. Available now from Mills & Boon!
Chapter One
WHEN Caitlin had told people that she was leaving England to start a new life in Provence it had sounded glamorous and exciting. Now, as she peered out through rain that seemed to be slanting in diagonal sheets across the windscreen of her car reality started to set in. Was this it: her dream villa, her escape route from everything that had been wrong in her life?
&nbs
p; In her imagination the villa had been cradled in the lush green warmth of the French countryside, painted deep ochre to blend with the surroundings, green shutters closed to protect the perfectly proportioned rooms from the full glare of the Mediterranean sun. But the reality looked nothing like her dreams. Perhaps once it had been a quaint cottage, but now it looked sad and neglected and frankly rather bleak.
Maybe she had taken a wrong turning and this was not really her house? She picked up the maps, checking the route she had taken, and then glanced again at the papers she had been given at the solicitor’s office. The directions had been fairly straightforward; she didn’t think she had made a mistake, and there didn’t seem to be another building for miles around.
Caitlin peered out at the dilapidated building again. Daylight was beginning to fade, before it went dark she was going to have to get out and investigate. Or she could turn her car around and head for the nearest village and book into a hotel. For a moment the thought of a hot shower, fine French food and cool cotton sheets was very tempting. She had set off driving from London at four-thirty this morning; it was now almost seven in the evening and she was exhausted. But she had come this far and, as tired as she was, she would not be able to rest easily until she knew for certain if this was Villa Mirabelle…her inheritance.
She switched off the car engine and the silence was filled with the rhythmic sound of rain hitting the roof so heavily it sounded like a distant roll of thunder. The world outside was lost in a dark watery haze as the windscreen wipers stopped. Caitlin pulled up the hood of her raincoat and, taking the front door key she had been given and a torch from the glove compartment of the car, she took a deep breath and stepped out of the vehicle.
Her feet sank straight into the sodden, muddy ground making her progress towards the front door a bit like paddling through thick, syrupy treacle and her jeans beneath the blue raincoat were instantly soaked and splattered with mud. There were two steps up to the front door and she almost fell up them as the raindrops blurred her vision. In case she had the wrong place, she knocked on the wooden door and waited to hear any movement from within, but was aware of nothing except the drumming of the rain against her waterproof coat.
With slightly shaking hands she tried her key in the enormous lock. It slipped in easily but wouldn’t turn. She almost laughed aloud in relief, but before taking it out tried again, this time turning it in the opposite direction. With a sinking heart she felt the soft click of the lock opening and knew then without a shadow of doubt that she had the right place.
Disappointment prickled inside her for just a second and then she quickly brushed it away as she reminded herself how kind it had been of Murdo to leave her the cottage. She would be forever grateful to him, especially as the bequest had come at a time in her life when she had most needed it. And it had been totally unexpected. It wasn’t even as if she was related to him, she had merely been his nurse. There was no reason why he should have left her a single penny, let alone a property in France with all its land.
She pushed the door open and shone her torch into the thick blackness inside. The yellow beam of light played over what looked like a lot of white sheets and it took her a moment to realise that they were dustsheets over furniture. She stepped inside out of the rain and the floorboards creaked in protest as if no one had dared to step on them for a long time. There was a light switch next to the door and she flicked it on but wasn’t surprised when nothing happened. The electricity was probably turned off…that was if the place still had electricity. Leaving the door open she stepped further into the room. It smelt vaguely of lavender mixed with the damp earth smell of somewhere that hadn’t been aired for a long time.
On a sideboard there were a few silver-framed photographs of people Caitlin didn’t recognise. They made her realise how little she knew about her former employer. He hadn’t been a man given to revealing intimate insights of his life, indeed she had only known about his land in France because from time to time he had been visited by his ex next-door neighbour, a tall dark Frenchman called Ray Pascal.
As she ran a curious eye over the photographs she suddenly picked out the familiar face of Ray amongst all the strangers. She lifted the photo and blew the dust from it.
It was obviously his wedding photograph. There was a beautiful woman by his side in a long white dress; she had dark hair and laughing eyes. Caitlin guessed it had been taken about fifteen years ago because Ray looked as if he was in his early twenties. He had been good-looking back then, she thought as she studied the photograph intently, but he had matured into a formidably handsome man—if a somewhat disagreeable one. Her eyes flicked again to the woman he had married; apparently she had died in a car crash and Ray had never got over losing her.
She had only met Ray a few times but on each occasion there had been an underlying tension between them that had unnerved her completely. She wasn’t used to men looking at her with such disapproval. In fairness she supposed they had got off to a bad start. The first day she had opened the door to him she had been wearing a pair of minuscule shorts and a T-shirt and he had looked at her with a raised eyebrow when she had casually told him she was Murdo’s nurse.
‘Aren’t you a little scantily clad for work?’ he had inquired dryly.
Now, at that point she probably should have explained that in fact it was her day off and she wouldn’t have been there except for an urgent phone call from Murdo telling her that he needed her. Worried about him, she had rushed straight over only to find Murdo looking better than he had in ages, sitting in the lounge, telling her that there was someone coming whom he wanted her to meet.
Consequently she hadn’t been in a very good mood when she had opened that door to Ray and the note of censure in his tone had been the last straw. ‘What I wear for work is between my employer and me…’ she had retorted coolly, and then with a toss of her long dark hair she had marched past him out of the door. ‘He’s in the lounge.’ She had thrown the words casually back over her shoulder. ‘And tell him never to ring me like that again.’
Murdo had been infuriating sometimes, she reflected wryly as she put the photo down. For some reason during the brief period of Ray’s visit last summer he had got it into his head that she and Ray would make a good couple. It had been a crazy notion, not only because they didn’t even like each other, but because Caitlin was with David—had in fact been living with David for three years.
After a couple of weeks of heavy innuendos Murdo had finally come out and asked her directly if she was attracted to Ray. She remembered she had blushed wildly when she had told him that she most definitely was not. Even now she didn’t know why that question had made her so hot and bothered. Murdo had found her reaction amusing. He hadn’t been a man given much to laughter, at least not in the two years Caitlin had known him, but he had laughed that day, a rich, warm chuckle that had even made her grin.
‘I’m in love with David,’ she reminded him when he continued to laugh.
‘If you say so.’ Murdo grinned.
‘Yes I do say so, we’re engaged to be married.’ She waved her diamond ring in front of his eyes.
‘You’ve been wearing that since you first worked for me,’ Murdo said dismissively. ‘And you’ve only just set a wedding date.’
She frowned. ‘I know Ray is very good-looking, Murdo, but then so does he. He is arrogant and not my type at all.’ Murdo’s deep blue eyes twinkled in amusementand she thought maybe it was because she was protesting too much; then she realised that they were not alone. Ray was standing behind her in the doorway of the bedroom. If ever Caitlin wished the ground would open up and swallow her it was that day.
She attempted to apologise to him later, good manners forbidding her to just leave it. So she caught him when his visit with Murdo was over and he was heading for the front door.
‘I’m really sorry about…before…you know…’ She had tried not to be intimidated by the steady way his dark eyes held hers. ‘Murdo was winding me u
p and…well…I shouldn’t have risen to the bait.’
‘You don’t need to apologise,’ he said and in contrast to her he sounded completely self-assured. His lips twisted in a half smile that was slightly mocking. ‘The fact is, you’re not my type either.’
Then he turned, leaving her wishing she hadn’t bothered to apologise.
‘Why didn’t you warn me he was behind me?’ she asked Murdo crossly a little later.
He grinned, not at all repentant. ‘I don’t have many pleasures left in this life but one of them is very definitely watching the sparks that fly between you and Ray.’ Then the smile faded and suddenly he grew tired of the game and became cantankerous. ‘I haven’t taken my medicine yet…You know how I hate being even five minutes late with it…’
Murdo hadn’t been the easiest of patients she reflected now, but she was going to miss him. There had been something almost endearing about him even at his most crotchety.
‘Your house is a bit of a mess, Murdo.’ She spoke aloud as she looked around, her voice sounding strange in the enclosed space. ‘But I appreciate the thought nevertheless.’
‘You know that talking to yourself is the first sign of madness.’
The voice from behind her was so unexpected that she jumped violently and spun around, her torch unsteadily wavering over the white sheets, her heart thundering against her breast.
A man stood silhouetted against the open door and for a crazy second she thought it was Murdo returning from the grave to answer her. But the outline in the doorway was that of a more powerfully built man, he was taller, the shoulders broader.
‘I wondered when you’d turn up.’ His French accent was dryly amused, not at all ghostly, and suddenly very familiar.