Keeping Luke's Secret. Кэрол Мортимер

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СКАЧАТЬ again once she reached the warm brightness of her cream and yellow kitchen.

      What was Luke Richmond doing here?

      As if she really needed to ask!

      Obviously his mother had told him of her decision to offer Leonie the chance to write her biography—and Luke was here to see that Leonie turned down that offer. That alone was enough to make her want to accept it!

      Which, in her opinion, was a totally childish reaction. She was twenty-nine years old, with a doctorate in History, was a well-respected university lecturer, and, even if she did say so herself, her biography on her grandfather the previous year had been well received.

      But, then, that was the real problem for Luke Richmond, wasn’t it?

      ‘Here we are.’ She put the laden coffee tray on the table a few minutes later, dismissively registering the fact that he seemed to have risked one of the cane chairs—and that so far the ‘thing’ hadn’t collapsed on him! ‘Cream and sugar?’ she offered politely once the coffee was poured into the cups.

      ‘Neither, thanks.’ Luke Richmond accepted the cup she offered him.

      She should have already known that this man would be completely uncompromising, even when it came to how he drank his coffee!

      She added a liberal amount of cream and sugar to her own coffee before sitting down in the chair opposite his; she was one of those people lucky enough to be able to eat and drink anything without putting on weight.

      ‘So, Mr Richmond,’ she murmured after taking a sip of her own coffee, ‘what can I do for you?’

      ‘Well, you can call me Luke, for a start,’ he bit out tersely. ‘“Mr Richmond” makes me sound like Methuselah!’

      It also kept him on a formal level—which was exactly where Leonie wanted to keep him!

      His gaze was narrowed as he looked round the room. ‘This is rather nice,’ he finally murmured admiringly. ‘Who was your interior designer?’

      ‘Leonora Winston,’ she answered with a derisive twist of her lips. ‘Interior designer’, indeed!—was this man on the same planet as her? As if she could afford an interior designer!

      But then, Luke had been born to a mother who was one of the highest-paid actresses in the world, must have lived with her in Hollywood for most of his childhood, and the house Leonie had visited in Hampshire yesterday, although extremely comfortable and beautifully decorated, was more like a mansion than a family home…

      Luke looked at her with glacial green eyes. ‘It wasn’t my intention to be insulting,’ he rasped.

      ‘I know that,’ Leonie sighed, putting down her empty coffee-cup. ‘And no insult was taken. It must be difficult for you to understand—well, just difficult,’ she amended awkwardly as she realised she was the one being insulting now.

      ‘I can assure you I haven’t always lived with a silver spoon in my mouth,’ Luke said.

      ‘No?’ Leonie prompted interestedly.

      ‘No,’ he confirmed dryly, adding nothing further to the statement.

      Deliberately so, Leonie was sure, intriguing her in spite of herself…

      ‘Mr Richmond—’

      ‘I thought we had agreed on Luke—Leonie,’ he added pointedly.

      She drew in a sharp breath. ‘All right—Luke.’ She nodded impatiently. ‘Did you just come here to comment on my decor and drink coffee, or are you going to tell me the reason why you’re here?’ she prompted agitatedly.

      Luke looked at her consideringly, somehow managing to look relaxed and comfortable despite the fragility of the chair he sat in. Leonie found herself shifting uncomfortably under the full impact of that piercing gaze.

      ’Does intimidation usually work?’ she finally snapped irritably.

      ‘“Intimidation”?’ he repeated slowly, seeming to savour the word before giving a shake of his head. ‘I’m merely looking at you, Leonie.’

      It was the way he was looking at her that was so unnerving—just like a professor she had once worked with who had liked to study antiquities minutely under a microscope!

      ‘You’re a very beautiful woman.’

      Now he had unnerved her! What did the way she looked—or didn’t look—have to do with anything?

      ‘Mr Richmond—’

      ‘Ah-ah—Luke,’ he corrected lightly, hard amusement in those pale eyes now.

      Leonie stood up impatiently, glaring down at him. ‘Would you stop playing games with me and just get to the point?’ she bit out angrily.

      This sort of word-game might work with impressionable—and no doubt ambitious!—actresses, but it left Leonie cold. She was much more used to being treated with a certain amount of awe by her students, respect from her colleagues, and warm affection from her family; this man gave every impression of a cat playing with a mouse. And she was the mouse!

      He was still looking at her consideringly. ‘Why do you play down your looks?’ he prompted curiously.

      She gasped. ‘I—’

      ‘Your hair, for instance,’ he continued just as if Leonie hadn’t spoken. ‘It’s the most glorious colour, would look wonderful cascading down your back, and yet you choose to cut it so short it’s almost boyish.’ His gaze was narrowed on her thoughtfully. ‘You also have absolutely flawless skin. As for those eyes…!’ He shook his head. ‘A little make-up to enhance those looks and—’

      ‘When you have quite finished, Mr Richmond!’ Leonie cut in indignantly, colour high in those ‘flawless’ cheeks. ‘I’m a university lecturer, not some bimbo you—’ She broke off as she saw what she already knew to be a tell-tale narrowing of his eyes, breathing in deeply to quell her own anger. ‘I prefer to look exactly what I am, Luke,’ she said more calmly. ‘Which is a historian.’

      ‘Like your grandfather.’ He nodded, sitting forward. ‘What are you trying to prove, Leonie?’ The words were launched at her with the speed of a whiplash.

      Leonie grew suddenly still, the colour fading from her cheeks, her chin high as she looked at him challengingly. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she murmured warily. How had he guessed? How?

      Luke looked at her wordlessly for several long moments, and then he grinned.

      A grin that owed very little to humour, and much more to a rather large feline who had just spotted his prey—Leonie!

      ‘You really mustn’t mind me, Leonie.’ Luke relaxed back in the chair with a suddenness that made the cane creak. ‘My mother, along with most of the fashionable set in Hollywood thirty years ago, sent her child to all sorts of therapists in an effort to ensure that I wouldn’t grow up with any sort of—hang-ups about who I was.’ His mouth was twisted derisively. ‘In the end I became almost as practised as they were in pushing the right buttons to elicit a reaction.’ СКАЧАТЬ