Ruthless Tycoon, Innocent Wife. HELEN BROOKSЧитать онлайн книгу.
drinks and they were settled with a menu in their hands, Marianne forced herself to raise her gaze as casually as though it wasn’t taking all of her will-power and meet Rafe’s eyes as she said, ‘I understand you’ve bought the Haywards’ place for your father. It’s a beautiful old cottage, isn’t it, and the garden is wonderful. I’m sure he’ll love it.’
‘I hope so.’ It was flat, the tone contrary to the words. He swallowed some wine before he said, ‘Personally, I think it is a mistake, this desire to come back to a country he left some four decades ago. All his friends and colleagues are in the States, that’s where his life is.’
‘What about his heart?’ She hadn’t meant to say it; the words had popped out of their own volition.
‘His heart?’ The blue eyes had iced over still more.
‘Maybe his heart has never really left the area he was born in.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I could understand that, to be honest. I live and work in London, as you know, but I’ve always known I’d come back here one day to put down roots. Cornwall…well, it gets in the blood somehow. It can hold a person. But of course you would know your father far better than me,’ she added hastily, sensing she was treading on thin ice.
‘Quite.’
Oh, he definitely wasn’t amused. She took in the tight line of his jaw and, as he cut the conversation by looking down at his menu, she noticed he had thick lashes for a man. Long and silky and curly—the sort of lashes a woman would kill for. His open-necked grey shirt showed the beginning of soft black chest hair and his broad shoulders accentuated the flagrant masculinity she had noticed the day of the funeral. She felt a little thrill in the pit of her stomach and hastily averted her eyes but for a moment the small neat words on the menu swam mistily.
Get a grip. She sat perfectly still for some moments, willing her racing heart to slow down. As her pulse gradually returned to normal she took a few discreet calming breaths.
Crystal, obviously sensing the tense atmosphere, dived in with the stock English fallback comment about the weather. ‘Lovely for June, isn’t it?’ she said brightly. ‘It was awful this time last year, one storm after another.’
Marianne raised her head in time to see Rafe’s mouth twitch as he continued to keep his eyes on the menu. It annoyed her. He knew exactly how his attitude was affecting everyone, she thought irritably, and he didn’t care. Possibly because he considered he was holding all the cards. Which he was, of course. Nevertheless… Expressionlessly, she said, ‘Why haven’t you bought Seacrest purely for yourself, Mr Steed? Or for your father, for that matter?’ It was a question that had been burning in her mind since Tom had first told her about the proposal. She hadn’t meant to put it so baldly originally but Rafe Steed had got under her skin.
Blue eyes met chocolate-brown and Marianne didn’t try to hide the dislike she felt for this overbearing individual in her face. She felt Crystal squirm at her side and felt a moment’s contrition. Crystal would be devastated if Rafe pulled out of this merger.
‘I have a home in the States,’ he said coolly after he had allowed one or two seconds to tick by. ‘And Seacrest is too large an establishment for my father. The Haywards’ place is much more suitable. But I think he will enjoy seeing it renovated and turned into a first-class exclusive hotel.’
Marianne’s eyes narrowed. There had been something in his tone she couldn’t put her finger on but which sent alarm bells ringing. ‘As a project, you mean?’ she said, a sudden tightness in her chest.
He gave her a hard look. ‘What else?’
What else, indeed? Feeling as though she were wading through treacle and oblivious to the anxious glances the other two at the table were exchanging, she said, ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr Steed, but I felt there was something more to it than that when you just spoke.’
He settled back in his seat a fraction and the male face went blank, but she had seen the momentary surprise when she had pressed the challenge. Surprise and something else. She had been right; there was more to it than he had admitted thus far. Like a bolt of lightning, Marianne knew she had to get to the bottom of this. ‘Am I right?’ she asked directly.
He stared at her. It took all of her strength not to let her eyes fall away but she was determined not to be the one to look away first.
Tom began to say something into the taut silence which had fallen but in the next instant Rafe was on his feet, glancing at the other two as he said, ‘I think Miss Carr and I need to talk privately for a few minutes. If you’ll excuse us? We won’t be long.’
‘Annie?’ Tom glanced at her, his face concerned.
‘It’s all right, Uncle Tom.’ She had risen to her feet and now she smiled at the solicitor and Crystal. ‘Order for us if the waitress returns, would you? I’ll have the butter bean bruschetta with toasted wholegrain bread followed by the tarragon chicken with green beans and new potatoes.’ She didn’t think she’d be able to eat a thing but she was blowed if she was going to let Rafe Steed know that.
She glanced at him, waiting for him to express his choice, and for a second she thought she caught a glimpse of something which could have been admiration in the blue gaze. It was gone in an instant as he turned to Tom. ‘The same.’
She didn’t want him touching her again and so she quickly retraced her steps to the lounge bar. There she stopped long enough to glance over her shoulder and say, ‘I suggest we go through to the garden. It’s more private there,’ before continuing on.
Once in the grounds of the inn she realised the tables and chairs scattered about the big lawn were full, which she hadn’t expected. Normally, apart from the six weeks in July and August when the schoolchildren were on their summer vacation and even more holiday-makers flooded into the area, there was always a table or two to be had outside.
‘My car’s in the car park.’
Now Rafe did take her arm again; too late Marianne realised she should have been content with talking in the crowded lounge bar. The last thing she wanted was to sit in his car with him. Far too cosy.
As he led her out of the little side gate and into the large drystone-walled car park, Marianne was attacked by a number of conflicting emotions. His height and breadth made her feel very feminine, almost fragile, and it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. He smelled nice. Not so much the scent of aftershave but more the faint perfume of a lime or lemon soap on clean male skin—or perhaps it was aftershave? She didn’t know but it was attractive. The set of his face told her she had been right in her suspicions that there was more to this than met the eye; furthermore, she wouldn’t like what she was about to hear, and apprehension curled in her stomach. The sun was hot on her face and, as they reached a low silver sports car crouching in the far corner of the car park and he opened the passenger door, the smell of leather hit her nostrils.
Once she was seated he shut the door and walked round the bonnet of the car, sliding into the driver’s seat as he said, ‘I’m aware you have just lost your parents suddenly, which has been a great shock. If you would rather we had this conversation some other time that’s fine.’
‘Because I won’t like what you say to me, Mr Steed?’ Marianne asked steadily, refusing to be intimidated.
‘Exactly.’ He turned to face her, one arm along the back of her seat. ‘And what I have to say doesn’t alter the current proposal so it really isn’t necessary to voice it.’
‘I disagree.’ Marianne folded her arms, wishing they weren’t alone like this. ‘I noticed at the funeral you had to force yourself to be civil to me and just now, when you mentioned Seacrest, there was something…’ She swallowed hard. ‘Perhaps you’d like to explain exactly how you feel?’
‘Very well.’
It was said in a tone of you asked for this and Marianne’s stomach turned over. Since she was a child she had always disliked confrontation but if and when it came she had invariably met it head-on.
‘You