Passionate Possession. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.
herself. That showed the kind of man he was, didn’t it? Not a man who believed in sharing, obviously.
She wondered briefly what the woman was like. Confident of herself and him, evidently; certainly confident enough to leave him for so many months while she was in New York.
She amused herself by building a mental picture of her. She would be tall and elegant, blonde, perhaps, with patrician features. Certainly not a pouty bimbo type. He would want a woman who could match him in style and looks, a woman who dressed as elegantly and expensively as he did himself; a woman who would look equally as at home in the sophisticated cities of the world as she would standing beside that immaculately polished Discovery, her hair just slightly touched by the breeze, a couple of gun dogs at her side…chocolate-brown ones, of course. An unkind smile touched Lucy’s mouth. She was being bitchy and probably very unfair, she told herself, but she just couldn’t help it; there was something about the man, something about the way he had looked at her…virtually as though she had been an interloper, which had grated on her.
Was that how she felt, secretly? Did she feel she was an outsider…that she was alone? A tiny tremulous sensation fluttered inside her.
Of course not. Now she was being silly. She had good friends…close friends…and, if she didn’t get a move on, one of those friends was going to be extremely irritated with her, she reminded herself.
Verity hated people being late. Surprisingly, perhaps, she was an excellent cook, and if nothing else Lucy knew that she would enjoy her dinner.
There were several other cars in the drive when Lucy arrived, including the Discovery. It was, Lucy was amused to note, not quite as immaculate as it had been when she had first seen it. There were distinct signs of mud-splashes on its shiny paintwork, and in the light from the powerful security lights around the house she could see how that same mud was clinging to the vehicle’s tyres.
She wondered mischievously if his highly polished shoes had suffered the same fate. From what she remembered, the farm’s cobbled yard was every bit as dirty as the lane.
Once that farm had been owned by her family, and let to tenants, but that had been before she was born.
She realised when Don let her in that she was the last to arrive. The others were gathered in the drawing-room, exchanging chit-chat over their pre-dinner drinks.
Don, knowing that she didn’t drink, immediately poured her a glass of mineral water.
She had seen Niall Cameron the moment she had walked into the room. He was standing by the fireplace and was deep in conversation with Bill Broughton, a local builder. His wife was also with them, gazing very attentively at Niall Cameron. Bill had been a widower for eight years when he had married Amanda. She was fifteen years younger than him, thirty-five to his fifty, which must have made her around the same age as Niall Cameron, Lucy guessed.
She didn’t know why, because she certainly wasn’t staring at them, but for some reason something must have alerted Niall Cameron to her observation, because he turned his head and then moved so that he had an unobstructed view of her.
Did he recognise her? Had he really seen her in her car, or was he simply trying to place her? Her heart was beating a little bit too fast. She was suddenly sharply conscious of the sounds all around her, people’s voices, the chink of glasses, hyper-sensitively aware, hyper-conscious that Niall Cameron was watching her.
‘I think I’ll go and see if Verity wants a hand in the kitchen,’ she told Don huskily.
She had seen Niall Cameron start to move. It was ridiculous to imagine that he was intending to seek her out…absurd for her to feel that she must escape, especially when she was going to be seated with him at dinner, but for once her physical reactions were outside her mental control.
‘Verity has Mary to help her,’ Don was telling her, obviously puzzled, but Lucy ignored him, heading for the kitchen, where she found Verity instructing Mary Lewis. Mary was a widow and lived alone. As she had once told Lucy, she enjoyed helping out at dinner parties and functions because it allowed her to add to her income without tying her down too much. Lucy smiled at her as she entered the kitchen.
Verity, as always, looked immaculate, her nails lacquered, her silk dress free of any kind of crease.
‘Mm…watercress soup,’ Lucy enthused as she saw their first course.
‘Yes, and salmon to follow.’ Verity made a face. ‘Rather dull, really, but Don loves it. I don’t think I’ve got any veggies. I didn’t check with Niall Cameron, although he doesn’t look…’
‘No, definitely a blood-red-meat man,’ Lucy agreed sardonically.
Verity gave her a confused look. ‘I thought you hadn’t met him yet.’
Lucy sighed. Much as she liked Verity, she had to admit that they weren’t always on the same wavelength.
‘Shall I help?’ she offered, but Verity immediately shook her head.
‘No, no. Everything’s under control.’ She turned to Mary. ‘You’ll bring the soup through in five minutes, won’t you, Mary?’ she checked as she shooed Lucy out of the kitchen and then followed her, saying, ‘Where’s Don? I want him to get everyone into the dining-room.’
As she took her seat Lucy was amused to note the tiny silver apples holding name-place cards. Trust Verity.
She was just about to sit down when she heard someone saying, ‘Allow me.’
It had to be Niall Cameron, of course. She tensed as he pulled out the chair for her, and then turned to thank him.
He was taller close to than she had expected. Six feet plus. He was also extremely broad-shouldered, more so than she would have imagined, and, although his suit fitted him perfectly, she had an uneasy feeling that the body beneath it was somehow very primitive and male. It was an odd feeling for her to have. She didn’t normally entertain any kind of thoughts about men’s bodies, primitive or otherwise.
‘I don’t think we’ve met.’
His voice was deep, its tone measured and polite, but certainly not effusive. He was being courteous, but not making any kind of attempt to impress her.
‘No, not yet…not officially,’ she agreed. ‘I’m Lucy Howard.’
‘Yes.’
He didn’t smile at her, and a tiny trickle of nervous awareness touched her skin. It seemed that her prejudices against him were matched, if not surpassed, by his against her. Certainly there was no warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. Rather the opposite. He was openly studying her, assessing her, and not in the way that she was used to being assessed by the male sex.
‘I…I work for Don,’ she added quickly, and then wondered why on earth she had felt it necessary to add that explanation…that apology almost.
‘Yes,’ he agreed again.
They were both sitting down now. Mary was serving the soup and, since the man seated on her left was busily engaged in conversation with the woman to his left, Lucy had no option but at least make some attempt to converse with Niall Cameron.
‘You’re a newcomer to the area,’ she began.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Unlike you. Your family are very well known locally. Large landowners.’
Lucy put down her spoon. Was she imagining it, or had that really been antagonism in his voice? And what an extraordinary thing for him to say. It was well over fifty years since her family had last owned land.
‘Er—yes…once…’ she began, but was interrupted as the man to her left turned towards her and began talking to her.
Verity, as always, had produced an excellent meal, but Lucy was conscious that she did not do it justice. She could not understand why Niall Cameron was having such an extraordinary effect on her or why he was making her feel so nervous…so anxious.
She