A Marrying Man?. Lindsay Armstrong

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      He flicked her an ironic little look. ‘What do you see, Georgia?’

      ‘Nothing,’ she said politely. ‘It was a figure of speech.’

      ‘Then allow me to enlighten you. They’ve called for a crane to unblock the highway. It should take a couple of hours at the most. We’ll wait here in the meantime.’

      

      Fifteen minutes later, Georgia was standing in the middle of a motel bedroom in Guyra. William Brady was on the phone.

      She looked across the room at him expectantly as he put it down.

      ‘There’s a slight improvement—he’s still critical but stable.’

      ‘I’m glad,’ she said quietly, ‘but don’t forget I was prepared to go the long way round.’ She glanced around the neat, very basic but painfully clean little room.

      William Brady surveyed her expressionlessly for a long moment then he said drily, ‘All the same, why do I get the feeling you’ve put a jinx on this trip, Georgia?’

      She stared at him, then sank down wearily onto the double bed. ‘That’s ridiculous. All right! I was being bitchy just now, but I resent being treated like a child—and, in case you feel I didn’t appreciate how brave you were, I did. But I can’t control the weather, air traffic controllers or colliding semi-trailers. And I am here, after all.’

      ‘In person but not in willing spirit,’ he murmured, still surveying her. ‘And that means we need to talk some more, I think.’

      ‘What about? There’s nothing to talk about!’ she protested angrily. ‘Aren’t you even a little tired after your Herculean effort out there?’

      Their gazes clashed and she bit her lip and coloured because it seemed she couldn’t help but compound her bitchiness at the moment, and she didn’t like herself particularly for it…‘Oh, hell,’ she said abruptly. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but you do ask for it sometimes. What do you want to talk about, Will? Why don’t we make it ‘“shoes—and ships—and sealing wax—and cabbages and kings” for a change? I might just be able to bear that.’

      The faintest glint of amusement lit his eyes briefly, but he said gravely, ‘Why don’t you get comfortable—or at least get your back comfortable? Would you like a cup of tea?’

      She sighed heavily, then, with a defeated gesture, because her back really was sore, pulled off her boots, piled the pillows up behind her and swung her legs onto the bed. ‘Go ahead and talk, Will, go ahead,’ she invited tiredly.

      But he made the tea first. And not until she was sipping it gratefully did he say, ‘Neil was a bit of a Samuel Pepys—did you know?’

      ‘No, but I didn’t know a lot about Neil. So he kept a diary? Bully for him.’

      ‘Yes, although in a thoroughly disorganised, typically Neil manner, and like that other gentleman, not so much to record his appointments but to express his odd, impromptu thoughts.’

      ‘Well?’ Georgia drank some more tea.

      ‘Two of his more recent entries were particularly interesting in light of what you revealed this morning. The first one read, “Got disturbed by Harvey Wainwright, of all people. Is the guy for real?” And the other…’ He paused and his hazel gaze captured hers in a way Georgia was unable to resist. ‘The other read, “There’s some mystery to do with David Harper…” And three heavily scored exclamation marks followed.’

      Georgia blinked and her mouth fell open. ‘Go on…’

      ‘I can’t. The entry ended there. Would that be the same David who was on your mind when you woke up this morning?’

      ‘But…but to my knowledge Neil didn’t know Harvey! And I don’t think Harvey would have wanted to know him—he likes his art all framed and preferably old, so he can rely on other people’s judgement, and he prefers to ignore any vaguely bohemian effort that may have gone into it.’

      William Brady smiled unamusedly. ‘It’s not Harvey I’m worried about. On the other hand, David Harper is not…unknown to a lot of people—including me.’

      ‘Look,’ Georgia said tightly, ‘this is as much of a mystery to me as it is to you. In fact I’m beginning to feel as if I’ve been framed somehow!’

      ‘Why don’t you tell me about David Harper—?’

      ‘It has absolutely nothing to do with you,’ she flashed back. ‘Why should I?’ But she stopped and ground her teeth as she saw him register the unspoken admission that there was something to tell. Then she said coldly, ‘You can go to hell, Mr Brady.’

      William Brady didn’t reply, but he didn’t look greatly disturbed either. In fact it infuriated her to find that not only was he a dangerously attractive man but also, she was beginning to think, a dangerously clever one too, who could toy with her when he chose and then indicate that there was an unbridgeable gap between them—as if they existed on different planes not only physically but morally and mentally as well…

      As if I am all the things he thinks I am, she thought. How does he do it? And suddenly it was too much for her.

      She leapt off the bed, stifled a groan of pain and snapped, ‘I’ve had enough! Hand over my car keys, Mr Shakespeare; I’m going home.’

      ‘Georgia.’ William Brady stood up. ‘You—’

      ‘No! I’m not saying any more, I’m going, and if you don’t let me I’ll call the police. You’ve done nothing but insult me, and play on my finer feelings in between times, and I’m sick to death of it. Hand them over, Will!’

      But he didn’t do that at all. He stared down at her flashing eyes and working mouth, her imperiously held out hand, and then, before she could believe what was happening to her, pulled her into his arms and lowered his head to kiss her.

      ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, twisting her head away valiantly.

      ‘You could call it an experiment,’ he murmured, and added, ‘Don’t fight me, Georgia.’

      Of course she did, but all to no avail. He simply resisted, and then something further snapped within her, as if to say, All right, if you won’t let me go, you asked for it. And she said through her teeth, ‘Well, kiss me, then, Will, if you’re so jolly well set on it, and see if I give a damn! Let’s just get it over and done with.’

      He laughed softly down at her. ‘That’s my Georgia. I thought you might see it that way.’

      What she was quite unprepared for was the way he did it, which was to say that he didn’t even commence until she’d stopped breathing heavily from her exertions.

      He held her cornflower gaze captive for a while and she wondered warily what was to come, and began to regret her heat-of-the-moment gesture. At the same time she became aware of other things: the faint scar running to his temple, how tall he was and how wide his shoulders were, the warmth of his body on hers, the sudden urge she had to touch her fingertips to the little lines beside his mouth then slide them down his СКАЧАТЬ