Secrets Of The Outback. Margaret WayЧитать онлайн книгу.
Jewel stared back for a few moments, her cheeks burning. “God, you’re offensive.”
“I just keep thinking about what you’re trying to do,” he countered quietly.
“What? Join the Copeland family?” She spoke crisply. “Come on, give me a clue. Instead of looking down your arrogant nose at me. Why don’t you share your suspicions? That would be a good start. Obviously, your thoughts differ appreciably from mine.”
He wondered how much longer she’d be able to keep up the act, drawn and repelled at the same time. Then he said what he had never intended. Judgment clouded by a beautiful woman? “I’m prepared to talk over a quick drink.”
She blinked hard and looked away. “Otherwise, say goodbye to my career, my reputation?”
“That’s a take-it-or-leave-it offer,” he answered.
EVERYONE LOOKED AT THEM when they walked into the quiet elegance of the Caxton’s lounge. There were a few male guests mixed in with the women. All were seated in comfortable leather armchairs ranged around circular tables, nursing drinks and talking in a relaxed fashion. Most of them Jewel knew. She smiled, waved and nodded her way across the room with its attractive contemporary carpet, while most of the eyes widened and the smiles grew.
“It’s Jewel—and just see who she’s with!”
What they couldn’t know was that she wasn’t enjoying it. She felt like a fictional character, aware of the little eddies of excitement that ran through the room. Keefe Connellan knew quite a few people, too, because he lifted his hand, that beautiful white smile flashing.
No sooner were they seated at a quiet table for two overlooking the small rear garden than a waiter appeared, bending over deferentially. “Good evening, Mr. Connellan. Miss Bishop.”
Jewel nodded, doing her best to smile. “Good evening, Archie.”
“That’s it—Archie.” Connellan took a long look at the waiter. “You worked at the Polo Club for a while?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the Queensland. You get around, Archie.”
Archie nodded, grinning delightedly. “I like a change. Could I take your order, sir?”
Keefe Connellan looked at the quietly seething Jewel, with her golden hair. “No one drinks much anymore. Not when they’re going on to an evening appointment,” he said, a little sarcastically.
“A martini,” she said. “A very, very dry martini. One olive.”
“Fabulous!” Connellan said. “I’ll join you.”
“When can we stop all this?” Jewel asked, after Archie had gone, his expression conveying his absolute fascination at seeing them together. “I think we’ve moved beyond the conspiracy theory.”
“All right.” He leaned forward, stared into her deeply blue, black-lashed eyes, aware that every man in the room was staring at her. Why not? Physically she was an inspiration. It was her character that worried him. “One doesn’t have to be a super-sleuth to realize you’re somehow related to Lady Copeland. Either that or you’ve had plastic surgery.”
She forcibly shut down her mounting panic. “What do you think?”
“I can’t even see the tiniest wrinkle. You have beautiful skin. This, of course, we already know.”
Despite the mocking banter, Jewel felt chilled. “I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about. I know of no connection. I’ve lived my life a thousand miles from her. I’ve already told you that. It would save a lot of time if you answered my questions honestly instead of shrouding everything in mystery.”
“You didn’t happen to discuss all this with your mother?” he asked, eyes piercing. “I’m prepared to believe she didn’t tell you until very recently.”
“Tell me what? That I was snatched from the cradle? There was a mix-up at the hospital?” She looked highly skeptical. “That I’m someone’s love child?”
“Hadn’t you already suspected it?” he asked quietly.
Jewel felt the pain attack her temples. “I’m going to get up and go now. What you’re saying is impossible. Unforgivable, really.”
“Please don’t.” He reached out, putting his hand over hers, an action she knew would be totally misinterpreted by everyone watching them. “God only knows what people here would make of it,” he murmured.
Her cheeks were flushed, and not only with anger. “I don’t understand any of this. I only met Lady Copeland today.”
“And it was a wonderful performance,” he informed her, releasing her hand. “She took to you immediately. It must give you hope.”
Jewel turned her head to gaze out the window. Outside in the small Italianate courtyard, a fountain was playing peacefully. No peace inside. “You’ve allowed yourself to see some kind of conspiracy where there is none. My appearance and the fact that I met Lady Copeland are nothing more than coincidences.”
Little brackets appeared at the sides of his mouth. At another time she would have found them sexy. Not now. “I don’t think you’re going to get many people to accept that,” he said. “Feature by feature, the similarity is extraordinary. Skinner had to be blind not to notice it right from the start.”
“Why should he?” Jewel met his eyes. “He wasn’t expecting any such thing. Lady Copeland must be well into her seventies. I know she still looks wonderful, but one would have to know us both very well for the resemblance to register.”
“Exactly,” he said, his voice dry. “Hasn’t it ever worried you that you resembled no one in your family?”
Jewel attempted to speak; for a moment she couldn’t. Why should she tell him her most private confusions? “I could be the very image of my father, for all you know,” she said angrily although she still had enough control to keep her voice down. “And this has something to do with my father, doesn’t it?”
“It has everything to do with your father,” he answered, grim-faced.
“And who is my father?” She was beginning to feel dizzy. “Come on, say it. There has to be some justification for this torture.”
“I can’t believe you don’t know. You’re a very clever woman. Fact-finding is part of your daily life. You’ve seen many photographs of Lady Copeland—who hasn’t? She’s always inhabited the world of glamour and power. Not only that, she’s always been a beauty with a needle-sharp brain.”
“No ornament like her granddaughter?” Jewel was stung into asking. Everyone knew that Amelia Copeland, the heiress, had claimed immunity from daily toil.
“I’m sure you made it your business to check out Amelia, as well.” His eyes were black as jet.
“Are you sure she is Lady Copeland’s granddaughter?” Jewel asked facetiously, raising her brows. “She doesn’t resemble her in the least. Not in coloring or bone structure. Perhaps I’m the real granddaughter and your girlfriend’s an impostor?” It was a deliberate thrust, and he didn’t like it.
“Even if you were Lady Copeland’s granddaughter, Eugenie, it wouldn’t get you far.”
“Really? I thought it would transport me overnight to the family home,” she retorted.
“Perhaps that’s what I mean,” he said. “The Copeland household is a dysfunctional one, to say the least.”
“Perhaps you yourself create some of that tension,” she accused him, herself on the attack.
“The fact that Travis Copeland and I are often at loggerheads has nothing to do with you. As you seem destined to find out. It’s no secret. For almost fifty years, Lady Copeland has carried