Mistress On Loan. Sara Craven

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СКАЧАТЬ could give me a little leeway here, while I contact my fiancé.’

      ‘I’m afraid not, Miss Lander. You see, we’ve been notified that no further deposits will be made. Did Mr Mendoza not warn you of his intentions?’

      ‘No more deposits?’ Her lips felt numb. ‘But that’s impossible.’

      ‘I fear not.’ He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. ‘I have some other bad news which I must pass on to you. I have just learned that Mr Mendoza is no longer the owner of Wildhurst Grange. That he has sold it to a property development company.’

      There was a strange buzzing in Adrien’s ears. The room seemed to be swimming round her.

      She said hoarsely, ‘No—it’s not true. It can’t be. He—he wouldn’t do that. Not without telling me—discussing it…’

      ‘I’m afraid it is perfectly true. I have the head of the company in my office now, and…Miss Lander—where are you going?’

      The metal handle slipped in her damp grip, but she wrenched the door open and ran out.

      The door to the manager’s office had been left slightly ajar. She pushed it wide and went in, knowing what she was going to see. Fearing it…

      A man was standing by the window. He was tall, and dressed in beautifully cut black Italian trousers and a matching rollneck sweater in fine wool. The long overcoat had been discarded, and was lying across a chair. His dark blond hair, expertly layered, reached the collar of his sweater. His face was lean, with a beak of a nose and strongly marked mouth and chin. The eyes that met hers across the room were as grey as a northern sea, and about as warm.

      And at the edge of one cheekbone there was a small triangular scar.

      Adrien recognised that scar, because she’d put it there. She’d been just nine years old, and she had been cold, hungry, and hysterical. Because he’d deliberately left her on a flimsy platform in a tall tree for hours. To punish her. To make her think that she’d be left there for ever. That she’d die there.

      So she’d picked up a stone, and flung it at him. He’d gasped and thrown back his head, but it had hit him, and she had seen a small trickle of blood on his face and been glad, because she’d hated him. She’d wanted to hurt him.

      He’d looked at her then with those cold grey eyes just as he was looking at her now. With contempt and a kind of icy arrogance. And without pity.

      She’d been frightened then, and she was frightened now. Too scared to speak or to run. Although she was no longer a child. Or an eighteen-year-old whose birthday had been ruined by theft and betrayal.

      All these years she’d blotted him out of her memory, even though the legacy of those traumatic days was still with her. Haunting her each time she had to climb a ladder or stand on a chair, and found herself assailed by nausea and giddiness. Piercing her when she opened her jewellery drawer and saw the empty velvet box which had once held the garnet pendant.

      But she’d managed to convince herself that she would never see him again. That she could bury the past.

      And that he would have done the same.

      But she was wrong, because here he was.

      And once again she was stranded and terrified, with no means of escape.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘IT’S been a long time, Adrien.’ His voice had deepened, but she would have recognised that husky timbre anywhere.

      She would not—not—allow herself to go to pieces in front of him. Not again. Not for a third time.

      Instead she lifted her chin defiantly. ‘My God.’ She kept her tone just this side of insolence. ‘It’s the Haddon boy.’

      ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not any longer. I’ve become the Haddon man. A distinction I advise you to observe.’

      ‘A threat,’ she said. ‘But then you were always good at them.’

      ‘And an accusation,’ he said. ‘For which you had a positive genius. Even when you were in pigtails. And later.’ The grey eyes made a leisurely and nerve-jangling inspection of her. ‘You haven’t changed a great deal—over the intervening years.’

      Her throat tightened. ‘I’m afraid I can’t say the same for you. I would never have known you.’

      He laughed softly. ‘Are you quite sure about that, Adie? Wasn’t there just a glimmer of recognition this morning when you were staring down at me from your ivory tower?’

      His use of her childhood name grated. As did the confirmation of her earlier suspicion that he’d known she was there.

      She said shortly, ‘You were the last person in the world I ever expected to see again. And you didn’t hang around to introduce yourself.’

      ‘No,’ he said. ‘I had business elsewhere. And besides, I knew we’d be meeting again very soon. I didn’t want to anticipate such a pleasurable moment. The first, I hope, of so many more to come,’ he added silkily.

      She bit her lip. ‘So—what are you doing here? Why have you come back? I don’t understand…’

      ‘You’re not required to.’ His smile chafed her nerve-endings. ‘Perhaps I just wanted to surprise you.’

      He looked past her as Mr Davidson peered anxiously into the room.

      ‘Is everything all right, Mr Haddon?’

      ‘Everything’s fine, thanks.’ The sudden switch to power and charm made Adrien reel inwardly. ‘Could you give us five minutes? Miss Lander and I would like to renew our old acquaintance.’

      ‘Yes—yes—of course.’ Mr Davidson began to back out of the room.

      She wanted to cry out, Don’t go. Don’t leave me with him. But she couldn’t allow herself to betray such weakness.

      Instead, she stood in silence and watched the door close. Shutting her in with him. Her enemy.

      ‘How very deferential of him,’ she threw into the sudden silence. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t call you sir.’

      ‘He probably will—given time. I’m about to become a very important customer at this bank.’

      ‘Does he know you were the housekeeper’s son?’ She cringed inwardly at the crudity of the query. Despised herself for voicing it too. Because she’d liked Mrs Haddon, who’d always been warm and kind to her on Adrien’s visits to the Grange with her father.

      She had a sudden memory of the well-scrubbed kitchen table, being allowed to scrape the remains of the cake mixture from the bowl. And being given fresh-baked cookies, with her initial picked out in chocolate chips.

      ‘I’ve no idea.’ His voice was calm. ‘But it would make no difference. Because money talks—and it has a louder voice than your outdated notions of snobbery.’

      Faint colour rose in her face, but she stood her ground. СКАЧАТЬ