The Unexpected Husband. Lindsay Armstrong

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ she may be in love with you, she can’t be sure that you are with her. If you were, then I’m sure she’d abandon all this nonsense.’

      ‘I’m speechless,’ Joe Jordan remarked with considerable feeling.

      ‘Would you like to tell me exactly what you do feel for Daisy?’ Lydia suggested.

      ‘No! That is,’ he corrected himself irritably and ironically, ‘I have no intention of marrying her. I have to be honest. Or anyone at the moment,’ he said moodily. ‘But—look, this has been a light-hearted—I couldn’t even call it an affair. She was the one who…dammit!’ He glared at Lydia.

      ‘Well, now you know why. But you must have liked her? Or do you pop into bed with every woman who indicates they’re willing?’ She eyed him innocently.

      He swore, seriously this time.

      Lydia waited, looking absolutely unruffled.

      He gritted his teeth. ‘I like her. She’s fun to be with, she’s extremely decorative, but…’ He groped for the right words, then sighed savagely.

      ‘You don’t miss her when she’s not there?’

      He narrowed his eyes. ‘Is that a true test? You sound as if you…know what you’re talking about.’

      ‘I got married when I was twenty,’ Lydia said quietly. ‘We had a year together before he was drowned in a boating accident. That’s how it happened for me. He was always on my mind. Tucked into the background at times, yes, but always there.’

      Joe Jordan swallowed visibly and looked discomforted.

      Lydia went on before he could formulate any words. ‘Please don’t feel you need to apologise for anything you may have implied. Nor did I tell you to make you uncomfortable—’

      ‘Then why?’ he interrupted. ‘And how come you use your maiden name?’

      Lydia stood up. ‘My husband’s name was also Kelso, although we were not related at all. It was one of those strange coincidences because it’s not very common. As to why I told you—it was to establish my credibility, I guess. This is not sour grapes, and I do have some experience in these matters.’

      ‘So what do you suggest I do?’ He lay back and eyed her narrowly.

      ‘I’ll leave that up to you, Mr Jordan. But if you do what I think you intend to—let her down lightly, please.’

      ‘I gather you’ll be there to pick up any pieces?’

      Lydia hesitated briefly. ‘I’m just about to start a position on a cattle station. It’s only temporary—I’m filling in for a friend while he takes leave—so, no. However, my father and my aunt are in residence at present. Now, my father,’ she said, with a faint smile touching her mouth, ‘may not be quite as civilised as I’ve been should Daisy be inconsolable.’

      Joe Jordan stood up with disbelief written in every line of his face. ‘Is that a threat?’

      ‘Oh, I don’t think he’d do you any bodily harm. But he might come and harangue you, that kind of thing.’

      ‘I don’t believe this!’ He thumped his fist on the desk, then doubled up in pain clutching his shoulder.

      Lydia blinked, then moved around the desk with her boyish stride. ‘Can I help?’

      ‘No, you can’t! I’m a human being. Why would I need a bloody vet?’

      Of course it was surprise, he figured out, that had allowed him to be overpowered by a woman. Mind you, he told himself, she was quite strong, even unusually strong, because he’d ended up back in his chair with her long, capable hands massaging and gently manipulating his neck and shoulder in a way that brought him almost instant relief.

      ‘How did it happen?’ she asked conversationally.

      He sighed. ‘I was playing tennis and pulled a muscle. Just takes time, so they say. How…you did tell me you were a vet, didn’t you?’ he enquired bitterly.

      Lydia laughed down into his upturned face. ‘Animals also have muscles, tendons and nerves. I specialise in horses and I’ve done quite a lot of work with racehorses and polo ponies; they often pull muscles. There. What you need is regular physiotherapy, probably.’

      She moved round to stand in front of him and held out her hand.

      Joe Jordan didn’t take it immediately for the very good reason that he was suddenly struck by the insane desire to see this girl without her clothes. To unbutton her mannish jacket and watch the pinstriped trousers sink to the floor, to find out how her figure was curved and how she could be strong yet so slim, to watch that fascinating stride…

      ‘Goodbye, Mr Jordan,’ she said gravely. ‘I feel we understand each other quite well, don’t you?’

      If you can understand going from one sister to the other. If you have any idea how enigmatic you appear, Lydia Kelso. If you can understand that you’ve successfully made me feel like a piece of horseflesh… He bit his lip on all that was hovering on the tip of his tongue and said instead, ‘I guess so. Goodbye, Miss Kelso. You have magic hands, by the way.’

      ‘So I’m told. Oh!’

      He followed her dark blue gaze to see it resting on his sketchpad. ‘Ah, I apologise,’ he murmured. ‘I do these things without thinking sometimes.’

      But Lydia was laughing down at the cartoon of herself, immensely tall and obviously haranguing a diminutive, seated Joe Jordan in short pants, whose feet didn’t even touch the ground. ‘It’s so good,’ she said, still chuckling appreciatively.

      ‘It’s not meant to make you laugh,’ he replied with dignity.

      ‘Then I must have an odd sense of humour! May I have it?’ She paused, then added blithely, ‘I can use it to warn myself against being too dictatorial and overpowering, even bossy.’

      ‘You don’t believe that for one moment, do you?’ he countered.

      She laughed again. ‘How could you tell?’

      He paused. ‘I just have the feeling you…’ He hesitated, and wondered what use it was to ponder any further about Daisy Kelso’s surprising sister. ‘Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, I guess.’ But as he stood up he was curiously relieved to discover he was an inch taller than she was.

      ‘No. It doesn’t,’ she agreed, with an oddly significant little glance.

      He shook her hand, then tore the drawing off the pad and gave it to her.

      ‘I’ll get it framed—don’t bother to come down; I’ll let myself out,’ she murmured, with a look of delicious mischief in her eyes now. And she went round the desk, slung her navy bag on her shoulder and strode out.

      She was still chuckling as she walked along the street in Balmain where Joe Jordan had his townhouse. It was a lovely afternoon and, since its revival in the 1960s, Balmain was a pleasant spot.

      One of Sydney’s oldest suburbs, on a peninsula into the СКАЧАТЬ