By Marriage Divided
Lindsay Armstrong
Angus Keir, a self-made millionaire, considers Domenica to be a social butterfly. Her privileged background is in direct contrast to his own. But their fortunes are reversed when he saves her family from bankruptcy. And this tough Australian makes it clear that Domenica is in his debt!Keir seems determined to keep Domenica at his side, and gradually he discovers the passion behind her cool, sophisticated exterior.But they're worlds apart - surely marriage between them is out of the question?
Harlequin Presents
is delighted to congratulate
Australian author
Lindsay Armstrong
on her 50
novel:
By Marriage Divided
Dear Reader,
Welcome to my fiftieth romance novel.
It all started with a book titled Spitfire, and since then I’ve had the best of both worlds. I’ve been able to combine a love of the genre with a career.
Looking back over fifty heroes and heroines, and their love stories, I’m still amazed at how real they are to me. And every time I finish a book I feel a sense of loss that I have to let them go. I do hope you enjoy Domenica and Angus Keir in By Marriage Divided as much as I enjoyed creating them—from the seed of an idea, then having them come alive for me and developing very definite personalities of their own!
And to all my readers, thank you so much. Without you, I couldn’t have done it.
Lindsay Armstrong
By Marriage Divided
Lindsay Armstrong
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
THE property was called Lidcombe Peace, two hundred acres on the Razorback Range only about an hour’s drive south of Sydney city towards the Southern Highlands.
The house, built on a hilltop with stunning views, had been designed with wide, stone-flagged verandas at ground level all around, cream walls and a shingled roof. On this perfect blue and gold summer day, it drowsed stylishly in the sunlight.
The girl standing on the veranda waiting for him was also stylish and looked to Angus Keir as if she belonged to this beautifully established and prestigious property, which, of course, she did—or had. For she was, he guessed, Domenica Harris, whose parents had built the present house although the property had been in the family for a lot longer.
Daughter of noted academic and historian, Walter Harris, and his well-connected wife Barbara, Domenica had had a privileged upbringing and been to all the right schools, his research of the family had turned up. And the only reason she was waiting for Angus Keir, who had clawed his way from beyond the black stump so to speak, to hand over the keys of the property to him, was because on her father’s recent death the Harris family fortunes had been discovered to be in turmoil, necessitating the sale of Lidcombe Peace.
So he had fully expected to be greeted by a daughter nursing a sense of grievance, not by a girl as serene-looking and lovely as this, he thought wryly as he got out of his car and approached the veranda; lovelier, indeed, than just about any girl he’d seen.
She was tall and dark-haired with pale, smooth skin, a beautifully defined jaw line with just the hint of a dimple in her chin. She also had deep blue eyes with impossibly long lashes and her thick hair was parted one side and ran in a river of rough silk to below her shoulders.
She carried a straw hat and a manila folder in her hand and wore a three-quarter length, button-through dress in some soft camellia-pink fabric. But the softness of what he didn’t know was voile highlighted instead of hid a near-perfect figure and sensationally long, thoroughbred legs. Her flat kid shoes matched the dress exactly.
And for a moment Angus Keir found himself meditating upon the shape of her breasts and the satiny softness of that smooth skin in secret places upon her delectable body.
Then she walked towards him and held out her hand. ‘Mr Keir? I’m Domenica Harris. How do you do? I was going to send my solicitor to perform this little rite, then I thought I ought to do it myself. Welcome to Lidcombe Peace and may you spend many happy years here!’
Angus Keir narrowed his eyes slightly. All this had been said in a cultured, musical voice and he’d expected no less. But there’d been no trace of grievance or even regret, and he wondered why the lack of it, in some mysterious way, niggled him.
‘How do you do, Miss Harris?’ he responded and shook her hand, finding her clasp firm, brief and businesslike. ‘It’s very kind of you to take the trouble. I hope this is not too painful for you.’
Domenica Harris studied him thoughtfully. Via a real estate agent, she and this man had conducted something close to a war over the exchange of Lidcombe Peace. And it had only been the fact that she’d had to sell some part of the family estate, and sell it quickly or see her mother face bankruptcy, that had finally induced her to accept his offer, which was a lot less than what she’d been asking, although still not an insignificant sum.
Accordingly, she’d tagged this Angus Keir in her mind as a tough customer, and pictured him as a lot older. But he was in his mid-thirties at the most, she judged, tall, with thick dark hair cut short and wearing an expertly tailored light grey suit with a midnight-blue shirt and navy tie. He also possessed the kind of stature that would make him stand out in a crowd, that broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped kind of man who moved with a sort of powerful ease.
But perhaps the most stunning feature about him was a pair of smoky-grey eyes set in a narrow, clever face. Eyes that missed nothing, she suspected, and not the least her own figure.
She said coolly, at last, ‘I guess I’m a realist, Mr Keir. Something had to go and this property was an expensive kind of holiday home we can no longer afford. My father, who inherited it from his mother, was the one who really loved it but he’s no longer with us.’
‘I wondered about the name?’ Angus Keir murmured.
Domenica smiled. ‘My grandmother was a Lidcombe and her favourite rose was the Peace rose.’ She waved a hand towards the rose bushes planted all around the veranda with bees humming through them. ‘They’re all Peace. We always maintained her preference in roses although this house was built after her death.’
‘They’re lovely,’ he commented. ‘I shall endeavour to do the same. So you won’t miss being able to spend your holidays here or having a retreat so close to the city?’
Domenica inserted a brass key into the heavy wooden double front door and swung it open. ‘A bit,’ she confessed, ‘but I’m actually so busy at the moment, holidays are not on the agenda.’ She smiled ruefully.
‘As in?’ Angus queried.
She glanced at him, then preceded him into the foyer. ‘I design children’s clothes. I have my own label and it’s finally taken off! I have more orders than I know what to do with and I’m thinking of branching out into women’s sportswear.’
Angus Keir discovered that he was surprised. A lovely social-butterfly type was what he’d assumed she was and it occurred to him that perhaps he should have instigated some more research into Domenica herself as well as her famous family.
He said as he stepped over the threshold, ‘Forgive me, but I did wonder why I was dealing with you rather than your mother, Miss Harris, in whose name this property is, or was, registered?’
Domenica laid her hat down on a lovely mahogany drum table with a leather inlaid top. ‘Both my mother and my sister Christabel are wonderful people, Mr Keir, but not exactly business orientated. Neither was Dad.’ She looked briefly sad, then smiled wryly. ‘I don’t know where I inherited a few down-to-earth, practical genes from, but they’re happy to leave it all to me—I have her power of attorney. Now, I have an inventory here,’ she continued, suddenly brisk and practical right on cue. ‘I believe you have a copy?’ She glanced at him out of those amazing blue eyes.
‘I do.’ He drew some folded sheets of paper from the inner pocket of his jacket.
‘And, as you know, while most of the contents of the house were included in the sale, you did agree that we could keep some personal treasures.’
‘Yes.’ He inclined his head.
‘Well, I think we should check the inventory of what was to remain together now, then we can both sign it so there can be no disagreements later.’
Angus Keir looked her over unsmilingly and the nature of the mysterious niggle he’d experienced earlier suddenly came clear to him. He would like to have some power over this cool, serene and utterly gorgeous girl, some hold, even if it was only that she bitterly regretted having to part with a home he now owned. Why? he wondered. So he could lure her back to it? As an excuse to get to know her? Yes, he concluded, and his eyebrows rose in some surprise at the thought.
Then he realized that Domenica was looking at him curiously, but only because of the lengthening pause between them, and the irony of not making much of an impact on this girl at all when she’d done the opposite to him amused him inwardly but activated a resolve to change things…
‘I think that’s a very good idea, Miss Harris,’ he said. ‘And if you have second thoughts about anything you’d really like to keep, please let me know. I’d be happy to accommodate you.’
This time Domenica’s eyebrows rose, in sheer surprise. ‘That’s very kind of you but I don’t think there’s anything,’ she said slowly, as if she was not quite sure whether to believe him.
‘Should we start in here, then?’ he suggested.
It took them over an hour, and, although he’d inspected the house before and although houses didn’t mean that much to him, Angus Keir felt a sense of triumph to think that this lovely home with its use of timber and slate, the design that made the best use of natural light and the wonderful views, was his—even denuded of some of the Harris family treasures.
There was also an air about it of a home, not as if it should grace the glossy pages of an interior design magazine, not matched or co-ordinated within an inch of its life, but comfortable and gracious. Although, he conceded to himself, there would be one thing lacking.
And almost as if reading his thoughts, Domenica said, ‘I gather you’re not married, Mr Keir?’
‘You gather right, Miss Harris, but how could you tell?’
They were in the living room, looking out over the roses towards Sydney. Domenica glanced at him. They were standing almost shoulder to shoulder and, although she was five feet ten, even if she were wearing heels he would be taller than she was, she judged. And his physique and height at this close proximity plus the lines of his face—good-looking but with the hint in the uncompromising set of his mouth and the worldliness of those smoky-grey eyes of a self-assured man who got his own way frequently—did something strange to the pit of her stomach, she found.
He was also tanned where she was not, and it was impossible not to sense that he was extremely fit, and not only from the honed lines of his body but the way he moved. Then there was the masculine scent of crisply laundered cotton, tailored fabric and just plain man about him that was a little heady and, oddly, something rather touching about a small, star-shaped scar at the end of his left eyebrow.
A very fine example of a man in his prime, she thought, but with a slight sense of unease. She remembered, belatedly, what he’d said.
‘Uh—’ she wrenched her mind from the purely physical ‘—if I were a wife whose husband had just bought a house, any house, you couldn’t have kept me away,’ she said with a quizzical little smile, then shrugged. ‘On the other hand, it could be easier without a wife who may have wanted to change the house and imprint her personality on it—which could have cost you some more money.’
‘I don’t think, assuming I had a wife, I would let her change anything about Lidcombe Peace, Miss Harris.’
Domenica’s eyebrows rose. ‘Really?’
One word but uttered with such hauteur, Angus Keir reflected, he should feel instantly demolished. ‘Really,’ he agreed smoothly, however, and added, ‘I like it very much the way it is, you see.’
‘Oh.’ Domenica looked around and he could see her doing battle with pride in Lidcombe Peace and the kind of man who would not allow a wife to express her individuality. ‘Well—’ she faced him again with a fleeting expression in her eyes, this time of ‘It’s nothing to do with me anyway’ and held out her hand ‘…I’m sure you’d like to explore a bit more on your own, so I’ll get going. The other keys are on the hook in the pantry.’
He didn’t take her hand but said, ‘Would you have lunch with me, Miss Harris? I noticed a restaurant a few miles back that looked rather pleasant. And I wasn’t proposing to stay here any longer.’
She hesitated and frowned. ‘That’s very kind of you but—um—no, I should be getting back to work.’ She looked at her watch and then said with a fleeting grin, ‘Thanks, but I definitely should be making tracks!’
‘You don’t eat lunch?’ he queried.
‘Yes, I do, but on the run, if you know what I mean.’ Domenica stopped rather abruptly.
‘How about dinner this evening, then?’ he suggested.
She was silent, desperately trying to think of an excuse and, of course, every second she delayed made it obvious she had none.
‘Unless you eat all your meals on the run, Miss Harris?’ he drawled.
Domenica flinched inwardly at the underlying sarcasm of his question. She also asked herself why she was so unwilling to see more of this man without even giving it much thought, and realized it was an instinctive reaction to a subtle process that had been going on between them from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other. Certainly, for his part, an assessment of her that was not only physical but as if her mental processes were on test too had taken place—then again, she hadn’t been immune from making assessments either.
But it still came as something of a surprise to her that she should have been drawn into the process. Because she’d been prepared to dislike him thoroughly and with good reason, considering the war they’d waged over the sale of Lidcombe Peace? Only to discover herself speculating on his physique but, not only that, responding to the things he’d said as they’d moved about the house, things that had indicated a sense of humour as well as a man who might be interesting to know intellectually…
Or had it been a lot simpler? she reflected. That there was a magnetism about Angus Keir that could be summed up in three words—sheer sex appeal. It was impossible not to be impressed by his body, by his hands, by an aura of refined strength, as well as touched by the lurking feeling that, when you added it all up, it made you feel particularly womanly.
She blinked surprisedly at this choice of words that had sprung to mind and didn’t sound like her at all, and decided it was all the more reason to escape Angus Keir as soon as possible.
She said, ‘No, I don’t eat all my meals on the run, Mr Keir, but the thing is, although I told you I was a realist, it hasn’t been that easy to hand Lidcombe Peace over to you, or to anyone, for that matter, and I think it would be better to make a clean cut now.’ Which had an element of truth in it, she mused.
But the expression that crept into those smoky-grey eyes as he looked down at her meditatively was both insolent and sceptical, causing Domenica to feel suddenly unsure of herself. Because he’d read exactly how ‘womanly’—just hate that term now, she decided with gritted teeth—he’d made her feel, and knew all too well that she was disseminating for the most part?
Damn him, she thought. Who does he think he is? The Sheik of Araby? Only to close her eyes in further frustration as she wondered where these outlandish or coy expressions were coming from, and to fall back on her mother’s tried and tested defence for all situations that she felt were beneath her—pride.
She tilted her chin, looked at him with extreme composure and said coolly, ‘So, goodbye, Mr Keir. I don’t think there’ll be any need for our paths to cross again. My solicitor can deal with any problems you may have.’ And she picked up her hat and stalked out.
Nor did she give any indication as she strode to her car of the mixture of annoyance yet skin-prickling awareness of him watching her that possessed her until she was in the car, turning the key. And only then did she give some rein to her emotions—because nothing happened.
‘Start, damn you!’ she ordered it, and tried again. But it didn’t and she only just restrained herself from pounding the steering wheel with her palms.
While Angus Keir, standing on the veranda with his hands shoved into his pockets, grinned satanically and started to walk towards the car as Domenica Harris got out and slammed the door with a lot less savoir-faire than she’d previously exhibited.
‘It’s the starter motor,’ he said a few minutes later. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t had trouble with it before.’
Domenica, still raging inwardly, paused and thought a bit as she fanned herself with her hat. ‘Now you mention it, it has been sounding a bit strange lately. Can you fix it?’
Angus took his time about replying because he was laughing inwardly, this time at her lady-of-the-manor manner, and because he knew that, while he might be able to fix it temporarily, he had no intention of doing so. ‘I’m afraid not. But I’d be happy to give you a lift into town, Miss Harris.’ He wiped his hands on his handkerchief and closed the bonnet. ‘The only thing is, I’m starving.’
Domenica regarded him frustratedly.
‘I could also tow the car down to the local garage where you could make arrangements for it to be repaired and returned to you,’ he added.
She glanced at his vehicle, a large, powerful, latest model Range Rover undoubtedly capable of towing her rather shabby hatchback sedan, and said through her teeth, ‘Don’t rely on fate always working in your favour, Mr Keir!’
‘Certainly not,’ he responded. ‘But I’m sure you’ll feel better after a civilized lunch rather than eating on the run, Miss Harris.’
The restaurant had a garden area with tables set beneath a pergola bearing the weight of a grapevine laden with dark, bloomy fruit. It offered delicious shade on what was now a very hot summer’s day, and that was where they ate. There were birds singing in the hedge that screened the road, cicadas shrilling in the grass and yellow cotton cloths on the tables. They also shared a small carafe of the house wine, which Angus had ordered without consulting her.
But, both the wine and the delicious, home-made steak and kidney pie she’d ordered did put her in a better mood. It even made her feel that she’d been rather churlish, and she set out to make amends, although in the most general way. She followed his lead on several topics of conversation ranging from sport, to books, to politics, then found herself, without quite knowing how it had happened, telling him about her business.
‘They’re girls’ clothes,’ she said, ‘and marketed under the “Primrose” label. I cater for girls from four to twelve, which is about the upper limit for most girls to enjoy lovely, frothy, feminine creations.’
He raised a dark eyebrow.
She grinned. ‘From then onwards they go through a grunge stage or trying to look as adult as possible,’ she explained.
‘How did you work that out? Market research?’
‘No. Memories of my childhood and just looking about.’
‘So how did you start? With an old sewing machine in the garage?’
‘Hardly.’ She grimaced and paused as their gazes clashed and she saw a flicker of something that could have been caustic in his grey eyes, although she had no idea why.
She frowned faintly but he didn’t explain so she went on, ‘After university, where I studied design and marketing, I teamed up with a friend who is a much better seamstress than I am. And, after an assessment of where there might be a gap in the market, we hired a studio and a few more sewers and went into production. I do the designing, marketing and handle the business aspects, she handles the actual making of the clothes.’
‘Sounds very professional,’ he murmured. ‘How did you come up with the capital to start it?’
‘My Lidcombe grandmother left me a small inheritance but I also applied for and got a bank loan. That’s been paid off, though, I’ve recouped my initial investment and we’re making a steady, although at this stage not exactly spectacular, profit. Since I recently persuaded two major department stores to stock our clothes, which gives us a much higher profile now, and even although we’ll need to expand, I expect our profits to rise quite considerably.’
‘You sound as if you’ve got two feet on the commercial ground, Miss Harris,’ he commented.
‘Thank you.’ But Domenica sighed suddenly. ‘I just wish…’ She broke off and sipped her wine.
‘I’d like to know,’ Angus said. ‘As someone who started off with one eccentric truck way outback, and built it into a transport empire, I applaud your enterprise and common sense.’
But Domenica frowned and forgot what she’d been going to say as something else struck her. ‘Keir…not that Keir—Keir Conway Transport?’
He merely nodded, although with a tinge of rueful amusement.
‘Heaven’s above, why didn’t I connect you with that Keir?’ she asked more of herself than him, then focused on him sharply. ‘If I’d known that, I would have held out for not a penny less than—’ she named a figure ‘—for Lidcombe Peace.’
‘I’m all for knowing as much about the opposition as possible, Miss Harris,’ Angus Keir said, ‘but it wouldn’t have done you any good. I paid what I considered to be a realistic price for Lidcombe Peace.’
She regarded him broodingly. ‘I had a feeling this wasn’t a good idea.’
‘Having lunch with me?’ he queried with his mouth quirking.
‘Precisely,’ she agreed.
‘May I offer you a piece of advice?’ He was still looking amused. ‘Don’t regret what’s done and can’t be changed—that’s good personal advice as well as for business, by the way. And Lidcombe Peace was in a price bracket that could have seen you wait for years to get your price.’
Domenica pushed her plate away, and shrugged eventually. ‘I suppose so. And I didn’t have much choice. Oh, well, Mr Keir,’ she added in her mother’s tone of voice, ‘thank you so much for lunch but I really need to—’
‘Domenica, don’t go all upper crust and la-di-da on me,’ he interrupted wryly.
She stared at him. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I’m sure you do and, anyway, I’ve ordered coffee.’
She closed her mouth, then opened it to say, ‘If you’re implying that I’m—’
‘Trying to put me firmly in my place? Taking refuge behind a plummy accent and a certain turn of phrase designed to keep the peasants in their place; retreat to your coterie of privilege, et cetera,’ he drawled, ‘yes. You may not realize it, but it’s not only that. You look down your nose and those beautiful blue eyes contrive to look through me as if I don’t exist.’
She gasped.
‘Moreover,’ he continued leisurely, ‘I know exactly what kind of a tangle your mother’s financial affairs are in, and that the sale of Lidcombe Peace, while removing the immediate threat of bankruptcy, will not solve all her problems.’
She stared at him, struck dumb.
‘I know, for example, that there’s a mortgage on your mother’s principal place of residence that was raised to cover some disastrous investments your father made, so that the profit from the sale of Lidcombe Peace will mostly be swallowed up in repaying that mortgage and all the outstanding interest.’
‘How…how…?’ Domenica stopped in the act of saying, How dare you? and rephrased stiffly. ‘I don’t know how you know all this but if you think it makes me like you any better, you’re mistaken! I—’ She stopped exasperatedly as their plates were removed by the waitress and a plunger pot of aromatic coffee was put down.
‘It may not matter a whole lot whether we like each other,’ he said and poured two cups of coffee.
Domenica’s fingers hovered over a little dish of finely dusted pale pastel Turkish Delight that had come with the coffee. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He didn’t answer. But his smoky-grey gaze travelled from her glorious dark hair to the smooth pale skin of her throat and the outline of her figure to her waist beneath the camellia voile. She had very fine, narrow hands, he observed, and on the little finger of the hand still poised above the dish of Turkish Delight she wore a rather unusual plaited gold ring. Then his gaze drifted back to her mouth and he contemplated it silently.
Domenica dropped her hand to her lap sweetless and suppressed a tremor that was composed of both outrage and awareness. Because she knew exactly what Angus Keir meant and, while she’d contrived to ignore it until now, one all-encompassing glance from him had spelt it out. ‘Liking’ one another was not what it was about between them.
Liking one another had nothing to do with wondering about a man on a physical level, which, heaven help her, had plagued her again while she’d watched him discard his jacket to hook her car up to a towline he’d produced from his vehicle. It hadn’t been a great physical exertion for him, but enough to make her conscious of the long lines of his back and the sleek, powerful muscles beneath the midnight-blue cotton of his shirt.
And at the garage she’d stood silent and feeling oddly helpless as he’d made arrangements with the local mechanic with the kind of authority, not only of a man as opposed to a woman who knew nothing about starter motors anyway, but the kind of man who almost had the mechanic bowing and scraping.
Then, for some reason, his wrists and hands had specifically plagued her during their lunch. He’d taken off his jacket again and, beneath the cuffs of his shirt, his wrists were powerful and sprinkled with black hairs, but his hands were long and well-shaped and he wore a plain watch on a brown leather band. Strong, but nice hands, she’d caught herself thinking a couple of times.
But she now had to put it all into context, she realized, and find a way to make him believe that ‘liking’ a man was important, for her anyway.
She compressed her lips and decided to opt for honesty and forthrightness and didn’t give a damn how she sounded. ‘I don’t go in for that kind of thing, Mr Keir.’
‘Mutual attraction and admiration?’ he suggested lazily.
She paused, then shot him a telling little look. ‘Not with people I do business with, no. And not with people I don’t happen to like. But most of all, not with people—’
‘Men—shouldn’t we be specific?’ he put in blandly.
She shrugged. ‘All right, men, then, who I don’t know from a bar of soap!’
‘That’s commendable,’ he remarked. ‘I even applaud you, Miss Harris. But I’m not suggesting we leap into bed, only that we get to know each other.’
Domenica felt the surge of colour rising up her throat but she ignored it to say coolly, ‘Thank you, but no, and, while you may not be suggesting we leap into bed, it is how you’ve been looking at me. And I find that—unacceptable.’
He laughed, but with genuine amusement that caused his eyes to dance in a way that was rather breathtaking. ‘I’d be surprised if most men don’t look at you that way, Domenica.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘On the contrary, Mr Keir, most men are a bit more…mannered.’
His lips twisted. ‘Oh, well, if nothing else, at least you know where you stand with me, Domenica. Incidentally, I believe your mother owns another property, a warehouse in Blacktown?’
‘Yes.’ Domenica blinked as she tried to make the adjustment. ‘It’s leased to a catering and party hire company. So?’
‘Sell it,’ he said.
She did a double take. ‘Why? At least the rent provides some steady income!’
‘You may not realize it,’ he broke in, ‘but you’re sitting on a small gold-mine there. A new road proposal resuming land nearby has given several companies around you the headache of having to put their expansion plans on hold, or move entirely to another industrial estate, a costly exercise. But don’t sell it for a penny under this figure.’ He drew a black pen from his shirt pocket and wrote a figure on the back of the bill that had come with the coffee.
Domenica stared at the figure, swallowed, and, raising wide eyes to his, said huskily, ‘You’re joking! I know the valuation—’
He stopped her by gesturing a little impatiently. ‘Things change. It’s an established estate with good facilities and the new road will make it better and even more accessible. And you’ll be in the position of being able to play several potential buyers off against each other. Believe me.’
‘How…how do you know all this?’ she asked after a long pause.
He smiled slightly. ‘I do my homework.’
‘You…you wouldn’t be in the market for some extra space in this estate, by any chance?’
‘No, Domenica, I wouldn’t. Do you think I’d be advising you to ask this for it—’ he tapped the bill ‘—if I were?’
They stared at each other, she tensely, he rather mockingly. Until she said a little awkwardly, ‘I just can’t imagine why you would…just because you wanted Lidcombe Peace…investigate us so thoroughly.’
He didn’t answer immediately. Then he shrugged. ‘It had some bearing on what I’d get Lidcombe Peace for.’
‘You said you—’ her voice quivered ‘—you paid what you thought was a realistic price.’
‘Yes. Taking everything into consideration.’
Her awkwardness changed to contempt. He could see it in her eyes and the way her beautiful mouth set severely. And he knew what to expect before she said it. ‘That’s despicable, Mr Keir. I assume you mean taking into consideration that I was fairly desperate!’
He shrugged. ‘Life can be a bit of a jungle, Miss Harris. But if you take my advice on the warehouse, and if you invest some of the profits as I would be prepared to advise you, your mother should be well provided for, for the rest of her life. She may even be able to continue to live in the manner to which she’s accustomed.’
Domenica breathed deeply and fought a tide of emotion, an unusual, for her, desire to scream and shout at this man—but what if he was right? she wondered suddenly.
Her mother was one of those people you loved, especially as a daughter—excepting on those days when you wondered why; days when she was impossibly impractical, when she was being a raving snob as if she still queened it over society and had her parents’ great wealth to fall back on, when she was unbelievably extravagant. But the thing was, it was impossible to see Barbara Harris unhappy. It was a bit like closing down the sun…
She said slowly, ‘I might just take you up on that, Mr Keir. Unless you have a certain kind of repayment in mind?’ Her blue gaze was steady, and satirical.
‘Your body for my financial expertise?’ he hazarded gravely.
‘I can’t imagine why else you would do it,’ she said levelly.
‘You could be right.’
Domenica put her cup down and stood up, only a hair’s breadth from slapping his face.
But Angus Keir remained seated, with his eyes laughing at her. Just as she was about to swing on her heel, though, he stood up and said, ‘To clarify things, Domenica, no, I wouldn’t expect that kind of payment. But I would like to get to know you, that would certainly be a way of going about it, and you just might enjoy getting to know me. What would happen from there on—who knows?’ He shrugged into his jacket and picked up the bill. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Your car has been delivered, Dom.’
Domenica looked up from her drawing-board. It was seven o’clock the same evening. She and her partner, Natalie White, were working late although their other staff had left and it was Natalie who was standing beside her dangling a set of car keys.
Domenica looked at the keys then at Natalie, dazedly. ‘But it can’t be. They said it could take at least a day or two to get the part.’
‘Nevertheless…’ Natalie grinned ‘…it has just been delivered by a driver wearing a Keir Conway overall who told me to tell you that, on instructions from the boss, he rushed the part down himself, supervised its installation and drove the car back. He also said that, while you should have no more immediate problems with it, it’s probably about time you gave some thought to acquiring a new vehicle. Oh, and the bill has been settled, compliments of the boss, too.’
Domenica looked around the colourful chaos of the studio with its big half-moon windows, and said something unprintable not quite beneath her breath.
‘Darling,’ Natalie murmured, ‘I know you explained briefly about this Angus Keir and what you hold against the man, but are you sure you’re not spurning a knight in shining armour? When a country garage tells you it could take at least a day or two to track down a part, in my experience and certainly for a car that’s not in its first flush of youth, they’re actually talking in terms of weeks!’
Domenica started to say something but Natalie went on, ‘And considering that your hatchback doubles as our delivery vehicle, considering—’ she gestured around ‘—how much stock we have to deliver at the moment and the cost of hiring a vehicle—’
‘Stop,’ Domenica broke in but chuckling. ‘You’re right! It still doesn’t make me enjoy being beholden to the man!’
Natalie, a five-feet-two bubbly blonde, perched on the corner of a cutting table and studied Domenica thoughtfully. ‘I would say this Angus Keir is well and truly smitten, Dom. Is that such a bad thing? Sounds as if he’s rolling in dough.’ She shrugged and eyed her friend and partner shrewdly. ‘What exactly did happen between you two?’
Domenica frowned, because her encounter with Angus Keir had started to take on a surreal quality. They’d said little on the drive back to Sydney, and she’d recovered her composure sufficiently to thank him both for the lift and lunch, although with a cool little glint in her eyes as if to warn him off. But either he’d heeded it or he’d needed no warning off, because he’d responded in kind, and left it at that. All the same, she’d had the feeling she was amusing him and that would not be that—as she now knew.
But even with this reminder—she took her keys from Natalie and stared at them—the whole encounter seemed more like a dream than reality, except for the fact that it had been difficult to concentrate all afternoon because even a dreamlike recollection of events had made her feel restless and edgy.
She sighed suddenly. ‘I don’t really know, Nat. But for some reason he—makes me nervous.’
She was to repeat that sentiment later in the evening, at home with her mother and sister Christabel.
At twenty-two, three years younger than Domenica, Christabel still lived at home with Barbara Harris at Rose Bay in a house overlooking the harbour.
Close to the shopping delights of Double Bay and because she’d lived there for the past twenty years, Barbara Harris had mentioned several times that she’d die rather than be parted from her Rose Bay home although it was far too big for just her and Christabel.
She’d also tried to make Domenica feel guilty about moving out to a flat of her own several years previously and had tried desperately to persuade her to come home after Walter’s death. But Domenica knew that it had been a wise move to stay put because she and her mother were at their best with each other when they each had their own space. Although she often spent the night or the weekend with them and would do so tonight.
Whereas Christabel, who had always been quiet and studious and looked set to follow in their father’s footsteps, was able to shut herself off from Barbara’s more difficult moods. Still at university pursuing an MA in History, she was also working part-time as a research assistant for a writer, and, Domenica thought affectionately of her sister who was also dark but short, thin and amazingly unsophisticated, she often lived in a world of her own.
Tonight, though, as they ate a late meal together it was Christy who said, ‘If he’s right and he can give good investment advice, it could be the end of all our problems.’
Domenica grimaced. She’d just passed on the salient points of her encounter with Angus Keir, which had not included the personal, and contrived to strike her mother dumb.
It didn’t last long. Barbara reached for her wineglass and said in a wobbly voice, ‘This is amazing. This is sensational! I’m saved! Unless—’ she looked at her elder daughter piercingly ‘—there’s something you haven’t told us!’
‘Not really,’ Domenica sidestepped. ‘I just, well, don’t know if we can trust the man, for one thing. For another he did tailor his offer for Lidcombe Peace to suit our rather desperate circumstances and I find that…’ She shrugged.
‘But if this is true, it’s more than made up for it, Domenica. Who is he, by the way?’ Barbara asked.
Domenica told them his name.
Barbara looked blank but said all the same, ‘I think I’ll invite him to dinner. He must have some good reason for wanting to help out and—’
‘No—uh—Mum, just hang on a minute,’ Domenica broke in. ‘Let me check him out first before we plunge into wining and dining him. I’d also like to check out the Blacktown scenario for myself. Please?’
‘Well…’ Barbara looked undecided and Christy suddenly tapped the table with her fingers.
They both turned to her. ‘It’s got to be the same one,’ she said, frowning. ‘Angus Keir, you said his name was, but does he own Keir Conway Transport?’
‘That’s him,’ Domenica agreed a shade darkly. ‘Do you know him?’
‘No, but I’ve been researching him for Bob’s next book tentatively titled New Money. Which he’s made a mint of, Angus Keir.’
‘Oh. A self-made man,’ Barbara said disappointedly and got up to make coffee.
Domenica and Christy exchanged glances, although Domenica was actually feeling relieved, because nothing could dampen their mother’s enthusiasm more than ‘new money’. But she couldn’t resist asking Christy for more details.
Her sister shrugged. ‘He was born and raised on a sheep station way out west. Apparently his mother deserted both he and his father, who was employed on the station as a boundary rider and wanted no other life. But Angus broke the mould. Exceptionally bright at what schooling he did grab, he—’
‘Started with one eccentric old truck and turned it into a transport empire,’ Domenica finished for her.
Christy raised an eyebrow.
‘He told me that bit.’ Domenica propped her chin on her hands. ‘Is there more?’
‘He’s branched out a bit, he’s expanded his business overseas,’ Christy said thoughtfully. ‘In fact, I would say that Angus Keir knew exactly what he was talking about in regard to the Blacktown property and could probably make Mum a small fortune with the proceeds. But you obviously didn’t like him, did you, Dom?’
Domenica looked into her sister’s dark, intelligent eyes. ‘I…don’t know why but he made me feel…nervous.’
Christy considered. ‘On the other hand, to know that Mum was happy, settled and back in what she considers her rightful milieu would be such a weight off our minds, wouldn’t it?’
Domenica glanced towards the kitchen doorway through which she could hear their mother musically exhorting the percolator to perk. ‘Yes, Christy,’ she said, ‘it would. But, please, just head her away from any plans to socialize with him until I, well, work a few things out.’
‘OK,’ Christy agreed. ‘If she mentions him again I’ll tell her he was a boundary rider’s son who didn’t get to finish high school.’
They smiled ruefully at each other, then Domenica said slowly, ‘Not that you would know it—he looks and sounds anything but! Although—’ her mind roamed back ‘—perhaps he does have a slight chip on his shoulder. Do I often sound upper crust and la-di-da?’ she asked.
Christy laughed. ‘Darling Dom, in fact you’re light years from being it, but there are times when you can look down your nose just like Mum!’
Three weeks passed, during which Domenica forwarded a cheque to Angus Keir for the repairs to her car and investigated the Blacktown scenario. The cheque came back to her torn up but with no note.
This annoyed her considerably but she decided not to pursue the matter. And, quite irrationally, it annoyed her even more to discover that his summing up of the Blacktown estate had been quite accurate. Through another real estate agent, she found out that the warehouse was, indeed, suddenly a much more valuable property.
She tried to persuade herself that this would have become apparent to her anyway, through offers made for it, but she couldn’t persuade herself that she’d have known how much to ask for it.
Then her mother rang one afternoon to tell her that she’d invited a few friends round for a cocktail party early that evening and would she please come.
‘Why such late notice?’ Domenica asked down the phone, with her mind elsewhere.
‘You know me, darling, I’m so scatterbrained, I was quite sure I’d told you about it, then I thought I better check, just in case! I was right.’
‘Who’s coming?’
Her mother ran through a list of names, and added that she was dressing up.
‘All right, thanks, Mum, but I’m so busy, I might be a bit late. See you!’ Domenica put the phone down and shook her head. A couple of hours later, she remembered the party and had to shower and change on the run because she was already late.
Damn, she thought as she wriggled into her favourite black dress and did a contortionist act to zip herself up. It was short and fitted, with narrow shoestring straps that crossed over her back, and she embellished it with a single strand of pearls, another bequest from her Lidcombe grandmother. Deciding she didn’t have time to fight with tights and it was too hot for them anyway, she slipped her feet into a pair of closed-toed black patent sandals with little heels, and applied some lipstick and eye shadow.
But she hated rushing, she hated being late although she was not a great fan of her mother’s cocktail parties, so it wasn’t in the best of moods that she let herself into the Rose Bay house, convinced she looked less than her best and feeling quite breathless.
Nor did it improve her mood at all to discover that she’d been right about Angus Keir—he did stand out from a crowd because he was the first person she noticed amongst the throng in her mother’s living room.
CHAPTER TWO
DOMENICA stopped dead and looked around wildly, catching Christy’s eye in the process. She delicately pointed towards Angus Keir but all Christy could do in return was shrug helplessly in a way that told Domenica she’d also been caught off guard.
And as she looked back in Angus Keir’s direction it was to see that he had turned, and, from the mocking look in his eyes as they rested on her, had probably witnessed the little mime between sisters.
Then Barbara was surging towards Domenica, slim, petite and chic in a beautiful blue chiffon cocktail dress spangled with gold swirls that was also brand-new. Not only that, her mother’s hair was cut differently and exquisitely styled, her make-up was perfect and her nails freshly manicured, leaving her elder daughter in no doubt that she’d spent hours in a beauty parlour some time today.
But Barbara Harris was obviously happy and excited and as always, managing to infect everyone with her special brand of joie de vivre. It was a laughing, light-hearted throng in the room. And even Domenica, who had a very good idea of how much her mother would have splurged one way and another, felt her ire diminishing, although she would have loved to be able to hold on to it as Barbara kissed her and whispered that she was not to be cross because Angus Keir was quite delightful!
Then she took Domenica’s hand and towed her across the room to Angus’s side, saying gaily, ‘Here she is at last, Mr Keir! I knew she wouldn’t let me down. Stay put, Dom, I’ll get you some champers.’
Domenica took a deep breath and rubbed her nose to make sure it behaved itself. ‘Hi.’ She contrived to smile whimsically. ‘How are you? This is a bit of a surprise.’
‘So I gathered but I’m very well, thank you, Domenica,’ he returned, looking down at her quizzically. ‘Would I be right in assuming you warned your mother off me?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact you would,’ she answered ruefully, although still managing to project good humour and taking the glass her mother put into her hand. ‘But if I’d known you were here, I would have worn high heels.’ She took a sip of champagne and wondered what had possessed her to say this.
Because Angus Keir allowed his grey gaze to wander down her figure in the short black dress to her shoes, then he let it drift upwards again, to linger on the bare skin of her shoulders and the curve of her breasts beneath the fine black material before he looked into her eyes wryly. ‘Why?’
‘Dom always has trouble finding men tall enough for her, Mr Keir,’ Barbara explained. ‘I expect that’s what she means, don’t you, dear?’
‘I do!’ Domenica confirmed, feeling like a clown but unable to help herself. ‘Thank you very much for paying for my car, by the way, but I wish you hadn’t.’
‘What’s this?’ Barbara pricked up her ears but was fortunately waylaid by a couple who had to leave early.
And she moved away leaving Angus and her daughter in a pool of silence. He was wearing a dark suit this evening with a white shirt and a plain maroon tie. And there was something about him that made Domenica feel suddenly tongue-tied and oddly helpless, and very much reminded of the three uncomfortable weeks that had passed since she’d last seen him. Because while she mightn’t have seen him, she’d been unable to rid her mind of him.
So she stared down at the glass in her hand stupidly until he said quietly, ‘You look sensational.’
She raised her eyes to his in some confusion and put a hand to her head. ‘I was sure I looked a mess! It was such a rush I hardly had time to brush my hair.’
A faint smile touched his mouth. ‘I guess it’s the kind of hair that would look gorgeous in any circumstances.’ His gaze rested on the glory of her dark hair, then he focused on her eyes. ‘Even straight out of bed.’
‘It is…’ she cleared her throat ‘…easy hair, probably because it’s thick and has a mind of its own.’ Then she closed her eyes briefly at the inference of what he’d said, and added barely audibly, ‘Don’t.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Speculate?’
She nodded, concentrating on her glass again.
‘I’ve been unable to stop myself from speculating about us for three weeks, Domenica.’
Her lashes lifted and their gazes locked. And her mother’s lovely lounge at Rose Bay and all the party-goers in it receded even further as they exchanged a long, straight, telling look. Telling because she couldn’t cut the contact much as she might have wished to and, for whatever reason, neither did he. It was also an unspoken admission that, at that moment, there might as well have been just the two of them in the room.
Because all her senses were receiving signals, she thought dazedly. It wasn’t only visual, it was much more. It was as if a slow tide of recognition was running through her that told her she enjoyed crossing swords with this man. She enjoyed pitting her intelligence against his, she would enjoy worsting him in a verbal fight, but she would also, she knew, enjoy going to bed with him.
And demonstrating, heaven help her, she thought, that she was more than a match for his sheer, utterly sexy masculinity that no conservative charcoal suit and plain maroon tie could hide.
But just as the colour began to flow into her cheeks at these wild, wanton thoughts that were not particularly like her, Christy came to her aid.
‘Excuse me,’ she said politely.
Domenica wrenched her gaze from Angus Keir but not before she had the curious satisfaction of seeing him move his shoulders almost restlessly at the interruption.
Then she was introducing Christy to him only to be told they’d already met, and finding herself taking several deep breaths in an effort to compose herself.
‘I believe Mum contacted you out of the blue?’ Christy said to him in her direct manner.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘She said that, much as she loved both her daughters, she was finding their instincts for caution a little hard to take and she’d be only too happy to have my advice.’
Domenica and Christy exchanged frustrated glances, and once again it was Christy who came to the rescue. ‘I guess this all came as a bit of a surprise and that’s why we thought we oughtn’t to rush into anything, Mr Keir.’
‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘I quite understand.’ But the glint in his grey eyes that Domenica was on the receiving end of said something else—it was unmistakably satirical.
She drained her champagne to stop herself from making any hot and unwise utterances, and replied evenly, ‘You were right about Blacktown, Mr Keir, that much I have established, and we’re very grateful for it. Whether we—’
‘Darlings!’ Barbara interrupted, coming back into their midst. ‘I hope you’re not talking business? I don’t think it’s the right time or place. Perhaps we could set aside an evening later this week. Would you care to come to dinner on Friday, Angus?’ She gazed at him appealingly.
‘I would have loved to but unfortunately I’ll be in Perth. The following Friday would be fine, however. Thank you.’
Barbara looked gratified but Domenica compressed her lips as he shot her the most wickedly amused glance this time.
‘I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me later this evening, though, Domenica?’ he continued. ‘We could discuss Blacktown further in the meantime.’
‘I’m so sorry—’ she spoke without any plan, the words just seemed to come of their own accord ‘—but I’m otherwise engaged this evening.’
‘Oh, what a pity,’ Barbara said. ‘Well, let’s circulate, shall we? Angus, can I introduce you to one of my oldest friends?’ And she took him away leaving Domenica staring at his retreating back, and her sister Christabel staring at her.
‘So,’ Christy said, ‘that’s the problem!’
Domenica blinked at her. ‘What?’
Christy smiled gently. ‘Dom, the air literally sizzles between you two. When I came up, you might as well have been on another planet.’
Domenica’s lips parted incredulously, then she took hold to say a little grimly, ‘Chris, the man rubs me up the wrong way and now Mum is calling him Angus and he’s calling her Barbara!’
‘I think I know why he rubs you up the wrong way.’
Domenica gazed at her sister. ‘You do?’
‘Uh-huh. He’s not your type of man. You generally go for—’ Christy gestured ‘—more…more diffident men.’
‘I—do?’
Christy smiled a little wryly. ‘You must admit you like to be in control of yourself, Dom. You always have. That’s why you and Mum clash sometimes, it’s why you’ve had the single-mindedness to make a success of Primrose, it’s why you sometimes come across as a bit high and mighty. But, so far as your love life goes, I don’t think it’s been such a good policy for you.’
Domenica reached dazedly for another glass of champagne from a nearby table and regarded her little sister rather as an owl awoken in the middle of the day might. ‘And I thought you lived in a world of your own, Christy,’ she marvelled. ‘How long have you been cherishing these sentiments about me?’
This time Christy grinned impishly. ‘A few years,’ she confessed. ‘But I wouldn’t have said anything if I hadn’t seen you and Angus Keir striking sparks off each other and I’m only saying it now because I don’t think it’s ever happened to you before and—’ she broke off and grimaced warily ‘—well, you could regret it if you don’t go for it—I think you deserve to live a bit.’
‘So does he—think that,’ Domenica commented a bit grimly.
‘There you go, then. It has been tough and you have been such a rock since Dad died.’
‘No, Christy, there I do not go. If it had come up any other way—’ Domenica shrugged ‘—who knows? But in these circumstances, it’s a bit like being held to ransom.’
‘Oh, well. But he is rather gorgeous.’
Christy’s sentiments stayed with Domenica for the next half-hour, causing her to be a little preoccupied. Then something happened that put a different complexion on things. She’d managed to avoid Angus, although it could be seen that he was quite at ease and generating a lot of interest amongst her mother’s circle of friends.
But she happened to be standing next to him, although half turned away and talking to someone else, when Barbara’s clear tones and perfect diction made themselves heard in a slight lull.
‘Keir and, no, I’d never heard of the name either—new money, of course,’ she was explaining to someone, ‘but you really wouldn’t be able to tell he’s a self-made man.’
The whole party missed a beat but only for a nanosecond, then it continued to flow but in that second Domenica caught sight, out of the corner of her eye, of Angus’s fingers tightening around the stem of his glass, then deliberately relaxing. In the next second, she made a surprising decision.
She turned fully to him and, cutting across the conversation, said, ‘I’ve changed my mind. I will have dinner with you, if you’re still of the same mind. The only problem is—’ she smiled at him charmingly ‘—I’m starving so the sooner we go, the better.’
His eyes narrowed and he paused, as if debating something, then he said formally, ‘It would be my pleasure, Miss Harris.’
It wasn’t until they were in his Range Rover, driving away from her mother’s house, that they spoke directly to each other again.
‘What about your previous engagement, Domenica?’
She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I actually said I was otherwise engaged. Which was true. I was planning to do my washing and ironing but there’s always tomorrow for that.’
‘Believe me,’ he said dryly, ‘you didn’t have to give up a date with your washing and ironing on account of your mother’s unguarded tongue.’
‘Well, I thought I did, Angus.’ She used his first name for the first time. ‘I may look…stuck-up—’ she raised her eyebrows ‘—but I’m not really and I thought it was unforgivable—what she said.’
He made no further comment until they were seated in a restaurant of his choice that was renowned for its food. But not only the food was exceptional, the ambience was superb. Each table occupied its own wood-panelled alcove with burgundy banquettes that you sank into against the lovely grain of real leather, while your feet sank into a thick-pile watermelon-pink carpet.
There were wall sconces dispensing soft light and candles on the tables. The napery was white damask, the cutlery heavy silver, the glasses crystal and between their alcove and the next stood a tall porcelain vase filled with arum lilies and lilies of the valley that were delicately scenting the air.
It was, Domenica knew, one of the most expensive restaurants in town. Also the hardest to get into without booking way in advance. Which caused her to wonder if Angus Keir had been that sure of her or whether, because of his wealth and frequent patronage, he was always welcome.
Then he looked at her thoughtfully across the candle. ‘Did you really have your washing and ironing on your mind when you knocked me back the first time?’
Domenica had ordered mineral water and closed her hands around the frosted glass. ‘To be honest, no. I…’ She hesitated then shrugged. ‘There are times when you make me nervous.’
‘And what do you think I should do about that?’
‘Don’t rush me, Mr Keir,’ she advised, then bit her lip. ‘Look, all I’m trying to do is make amends for my mother.’
‘Domenica—’ a little glint of amusement lit his eyes ‘—believe me, I’m not that thin-skinned. It really doesn’t bother me to be thought of as “self-made” or new money.’
She frowned. ‘I think it would bother me. And whether you like to admit it or not, I think there was an instinctive reaction.’
His lips twisted. ‘You think right,’ he confessed, ‘but it was very fleeting.’
‘I also,’ she ploughed on, ‘well, some of the things you’ve said to me plus my sister’s assurance that I can be a lot like my mother, or at least unwittingly look and sound like her, have made me feel uncomfortable and as if I was bunging on “side”. I really didn’t mean to.’
He sat back. ‘Thank you for all this—’ he looked at her gravely ‘—but if you’re picturing me as having an enormous chip on my shoulder about old money and new money, rightly or wrongly, I don’t. I’m thirty-six,’ he added wryly. ‘I’ve come a long way from the back of Tibooburra—so, yes, sometimes the odd little pinprick touches a nerve, but for the rest I couldn’t give a damn. Take me or leave me in other words, but you don’t have to go on apologizing.’
Their entrée was served at this point.
Domenica had chosen calamari and it was delicious. She ate most of it while she thought out a response. ‘What if I still decide—’ she wiped her fingers, ‘to—er—leave you, as you put it?’ she queried.
‘Do you mean what would I think of you?’
‘Mmm.’ She touched her napkin to her lips.
‘I think I’d put it down to a truer kind of elitism than your mother is capable of,’ he said.
Her eyes widened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘That you must think you’re too good for me, Domenica, to want to completely ignore the kind of simultaneous attraction we felt from the moment we laid eyes on each other.’
Instead of firing up—perhaps the food and the soothing perfection of the restaurant were having a beneficial effect, she theorized to herself—she sat back and looked around until the next course arrived.
Nor did he attempt to enlarge on his statement or elicit a response but he was completely at ease, she could see, as he lounged back against the leather, watching her.
She’d ordered a fillet steak but she only stared at it for a long moment after it arrived. Then she raised her eyes to Angus Keir. ‘How do you know there isn’t a man in my life? Wouldn’t that be reason enough to ignore you?’
‘Certainly,’ he conceded. ‘Although it would be a bit of a worry to feel like that about someone else if you had a serious man in your life, don’t you think?’
She looked at him darkly.
It didn’t make any impression because he continued smoothly, ‘But there is no man in your life, Domenica.’
‘How do you know that—for heaven’s sake? Don’t tell me your homework extended to spying on my personal life!’ she protested.
‘Your mother was happy to fill me in without me even asking, as it happens. We had quite a long conversation. I know that Christy is bookish and a lot like her father. I know there have been other men in your life but none too serious. Your mother attributes it to the fact that you have a mind of your own over and above what might be good for a girl.’
Domenica attacked her steak rather savagely.
‘You don’t agree with that assessment?’ he asked.
‘From someone who has a mind of her own over and above what might be good for anyone, no!’
‘I take it you and your mother clash at times?’
‘Yes. Don’t tell me you and your mother didn’t have the odd disagreement—’ She stopped abruptly and closed her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, I just wasn’t thinking.’
‘It appears you’ve been doing some homework, Domenica,’ he said with a faint undercurrent of sarcasm.
She coloured faintly. ‘I didn’t set out to do it. Christy is a research assistant to a writer who’s doing a book on “new money”. You’re to be in it.’
‘Ah. What else did she dig up about me?’
Domenica shrugged. ‘That you were extremely bright. Have you…’ she paused ‘…never found your mother?’
‘Yes, but only after her death.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said with genuine compassion.
‘She did abandon me.’
Domenica scanned his expression but he displayed no emotion. ‘All the same, she may have had her reasons.’
‘I’m sure she did. My father was a hard man although a lot harder after she left. But, anyway, let’s concentrate on your mother. Would you like a glass of this excellent wine, by the way?’
Domenica studied the bottle of red that had come with their main course, and chuckled softly. ‘Do I look as if I need it? On account of my mother? Perhaps I do, thank you.’
He poured the wine and they ate in silence for a while.
Then Domenica said slowly, ‘There are times when she drives me mad. She knows as well as I do that she’s not out of the woods financially yet, but I’d hate to think what today cost her. A new dress, French champagne, et cetera. But if you could see her working with disabled children—she’s very musical and she arranges concerts for them—if you could have seen her devotion to my father and if you knew how she worries about Christy and me—more me,’ she said ruefully, ‘you would have to admire and love her. I—’
‘It’s OK. I get the picture,’ he said, not quite smiling. ‘You two would go to the ends of the earth for each other but in close confines things can get a little hair-raising.’
Domenica picked up her glass, sat back and felt herself relaxing. ‘Yes.’
‘Well,’ he murmured, ‘now we’ve sorted that out perhaps we could talk about us?’
She eyed him over the rim of her glass. ‘What would you like to say?’
‘Would you come dancing with me after dinner?’
She opened her mouth but he broke in humorously, ‘No, don’t say the first thing that springs to mind, Miss Harris, which no doubt would be a refusal. At least give it a little thought.’
This was an accurate enough assessment of what she’d been about to do to cause her to curse herself inwardly for being so transparent but, not only that, to wonder whether she was being stuck-up again. But dancing with a man was not the same thing as having dinner with him, and surely you were entitled to refuse without being considered a snob?
‘I…’ She stopped awkwardly. ‘Where?’
‘Here. They open a disco at eleven o’clock.’
She looked at her watch and was amazed to discover it was nearly eleven now. ‘All right,’ she said abruptly. ‘It’s good exercise if nothing else. And I’ll have…’ She broke off frustratedly.
‘Completely atoned for your mother?’ he suggested.
She shrugged but was unprepared for the way his eyes danced and his teeth gleamed as he said, ‘I’ll try not to make it a too degrading experience for you, Domenica.’
‘I didn’t mean that—I—’
‘Of course not,’ he interposed seriously. ‘Especially when you’re pulling out all stops to prove to me you don’t consider yourself above me in any way.’
She set her teeth. Then she put her head to one side and regarded him coolly. ‘I just hope you’re a good dancer, Mr Keir.’
‘We shall see, Miss Harris,’ he replied formally, but his smoky-grey eyes were still laughing at her.
At eleven o’clock a set of wooden doors was rolled apart to reveal an Aladdin’s cave.
Domenica blinked because she’d eaten at this restaurant before but never been to the disco. So the grotto-like interior with its pinprick, jewel-bright swinging lights and polished floor came as something of a surprise. Then the music started, more as background music at first, and she and Angus finished their coffee leisurely.
It wasn’t until there were several other couples on the floor that he raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Should we get it over and done with?’
A little glint in her blue eyes told him she resented, possibly irrationally, his implication that she was about to perform a penance, but she murmured, ‘By all means.’
Ten minutes later, she knew without doubt that she’d thrown down the wrong gauntlet. Angus Keir was a very good dancer. So good, it was impossible, especially if you loved dancing yourself, to be stiff, and unresponsive in his arms. Not that she’d planned to be stiff, precisely. But she certainly hadn’t planned on throwing aside all caution and giving herself over to the music—and to him. Yet the two were inseparable. And it occurred to her that, if she wanted to continue to hold herself aloof from him and the attraction between them, she’d made a tactical error.
On the other hand, all her senses were stirring as they moved together with their bodies touching. She felt light, slim and shapely in his arms—his hands on her waist seemed to emphasize its slenderness and her skin felt like velvet beneath his fingers. And the contact with his hard, honed body did strange things to her breathing and caused tremors of delicious anticipation to run through her.
Nor did the sensuous rhythm they were dancing to help matters. It stirred her blood and it came naturally to move with a fluid grace that was both provocative and a celebration of her lithe, tall figure in the revealing little black dress that emphasized the pale, smooth glossiness of her skin. But most of all, even above the sureness of the way he led her and how they moved together in complete unity, the way he watched her was the most worrying.
Because it told her that the provocation she was unable to help herself offering was being noted and could be held against her at some time in the future. But those smoky-grey eyes also blazed a trail almost as tangible as if his fingers or lips were exploring the satiny skin of her throat, the valley between her breasts and elsewhere.
Then the disco changed beat and, with a sheer effort of will, she grasped the opportunity to release herself from the mesmerizing power of Angus Keir and the music. ‘I…think I’d like to sit down.’
He didn’t release her immediately and she stood in the circle of his arms for a long moment, wondering if she was mad, because it felt so good, to want to rationalize this powerful force between them.
It was the sudden glint of irony in his eyes that told her she should but, not only that, she should take all possible precautions against falling under the spell of a man she barely knew who was also wielding another kind of power over her—her mother’s future.
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