8 Magnificent Millionaires. Cathy WilliamsЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Hearing the front doors slam, Liadan paused in the task of removing her make-up. She glanced down at the slim gold wrist-watch she’d taken off and left on the edge of the sink, and saw that it was just after midnight. Didn’t the man believe in rest? Biting her lip and telling herself she must be some kind of masochist, she put down the cotton-wool pad she’d started to use and went back into the bedroom. She didn’t really know what she intended or whether she was actually going to make matters worse, but she pulled her short sheepskin jacket from the wardrobe, quickly stuck her stockinged feet into black leather loafers and hurried downstairs to the ground floor.

      Bathed in moonlight, the gardens were an ethereal, magical place. As Liadan adjusted her gaze to the moonlit paths her heart raced a little as she searched for Adrian. She knew that the gardens were full of secret little places to make oneself scarce, and she realised she had a task on her hands if she was to find him. But find him she would. After his pleasant-looking editor had left, the atmosphere in the house had been as if somebody had just died. The weight of the gloom that had descended was making Liadan feel jumpy and miserable.

      She might be determined to weather the storm, but how was she supposed to work when Adrian could hardly bring himself to speak to her with a civil tongue? Was he angry because he believed she might have some expectations where he was concerned? Especially now because they’d made love? Her sigh making a little cloud of her breath in the chill night air, Liadan shivered and turned up the warm collar of her jacket to ward off the cold.

      ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing out here alone?’

      ‘Don’t do that! You almost gave me a heart attack!’

      Her blue eyes huge, almost luminous in the moonlight, Liadan stumbled backwards in shock as Adrian came up beside her. Grabbing her arm tightly, he pulled her hard against his chest without thinking—his reaction automatic and unequivocal. Staring down into her startled face, he laughed harshly.

      ‘You should take better care where you wander. This garden is full of ghosts that only come out at night.’

      Liadan believed him. Feeling his grip on her arm tighten with no indication that he intended releasing her any time soon, she nervously wet the seam of her lips with her tongue and tried to smile to show she wasn’t scared. Not of him or the supposed ghosts that haunted his garden.

      ‘I’m not scared of ghosts,’ she answered softly, a lock of red-gold hair drifting across her forehead.

      ‘Not even from your past?’ His warm breath fanning her cheeks, Adrian’s gaze narrowed darkly. He seemed to be searching for answers, but what answers could Liadan give him that would appease the voracious hunger in his eyes?

      ‘Perhaps I’ve made peace with my past? Maybe that’s what we all need to try to do so that we can move on.’

      ‘Easy for you to say. You’re twenty-seven years old and your face and your body are like places on maps hardly visited by life at all. Wait until you lose someone you love and you can’t bear the loss.’ His voice growing huskier, he suddenly released her and stepped away.

      Feeling deathly cold, Liadan hugged her arms across her chest and tried desperately to find the words—any words—to ease his pain. He looked wretched. Wretched and haunted, and she longed for him to find some peace.

      ‘I came across the newspaper you had in your office the other day when I was in there. I saw that Petra Collins had retracted everything she said about—about your affair. So you see? You’re not the bad man you like to try and pretend to be.’

      Adrian’s scowl was derogatory. ‘Don’t be fooled by appearances. I rang Petra and threatened her with a lawsuit if she didn’t retract her statement.’ That was what he’d been intending to do, anyway, but two minutes into the conversation he’d quickly realised that the once-vivacious actress had plenty of problems on her plate to be going on with. Adrian certainly wasn’t going to add to them with threats of any kind. She’d simply decided to retract her slander all by herself, apparently.

      ‘Why are you so determined to paint yourself in the blackest light possible?’ Liadan asked in frustration.

      ‘Did you read what else was in that report?’ Looking edgy and ready to break something, Adrian jerked his head disparagingly.

      ‘Yes.’ Her voice was a mere whisper floating on the breeze, her throat all but seized with tension. ‘I read that you lost the woman you loved in a terrible accident.’

      ‘Is that what you call the murder of an innocent woman? It was no accident, goddammit!’ His anger bounced off the air around him, hitting the walls of the house and echoing back to them. His lean, good-looking face was contorted with rage. ‘It was a terrorist bomb planted deliberately to cause maximum damage at one of the busiest times of the day! We’d had warnings that something might go off. We’d had warnings and we ignored them. I ignored them.’

      ‘You can’t go on blaming yourself for what happened. You were with a news team, weren’t you? They must have made up their own minds about whether it was a good idea to go ahead with your assignment, surely?’

      Her quiet, reasonable voice should have soothed him. But instead all it did was press every explosive button inside him that could be pressed. Adrian saw red. ‘I thought I was indestructible. A golden boy. I was riding on the crest of my so-called brilliant career and I got carried away with the idea of my complete infallibility, my invulerability towards danger. I persuaded a young woman who I loved with all my heart that it was safe to go ahead into the embassy. Only moments before it happened she was laughing…laughing.’ He turned away from Liadan to hide the pain that shone starkly from his eyes.

      ‘It wasn’t your fault, please will you listen? How long must you go on blaming yourself? If anyone is to blame surely it’s the cold-blooded killers who planted such a terrible device? Adrian…do you think that your—your Nicole would want you to spend the rest of your life so racked with pain that you can’t enjoy a single moment of happiness ever again?’

      Clearly wrestling with the impact of her words, Adrian turned slowly back to face her.

      ‘Go to bed, Liadan. It’s been a long, trying day and you must be tired.’

      ‘Don’t dismiss me so easily!’ Now it was her turn to be angry. He was shutting her out again. Shutting her out as surely as if a wall were being deliberately constructed, brick by brick, between them. If he was left alone, soon it would be too high for her to climb and she might never be able to reach him again. The knowledge terrified her. ‘You veer between treating me like some silly little schoolgirl with cotton wool for brains, or some foolish airhead who somehow drifts through life without a care in the world and without ever being touched by pain or sorrow or sadness! That’s a mighty dangerous assumption from a supposedly intelligent man. Even a two-year-old feels pain, Adrian—whether it’s actual, physical pain or the pain of rejection from a mother or a loved one. Without a doubt that leaves scars. So please don’t write me off as though I had no right to empathise with your sorrow. I do. If I could turn back the clock and bring Nicole back for you, I would! Do you hear me? I would!’ Her voice broke then, and tears, hot and relentless, momentarily blinded her.

      He’s still in love with a ghost, Liadan thought chillingly. And he’ll never love me like I love him…Unable to stay, she turned and ran back up the path towards the house.