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Extreme Provocation
Sarah Holland


Opposites attract! From the moment Randal Marlborough and Lucy Winslow met, they were on a collision course! Randal made it clear that he found her attractive and, even though he represented danger, Lucy wasn't immune to the passion he aroused within her. But even with extreme provocation, she had no intention of getting involved with him.What she wanted, Lucy persuaded herself, was safety and comfort - and Randal was neither safe nor comfortable to be with. Then Lucy's life suddenly fell apart and she found the only person she could turn to was Randal. And his solution to her problems was simple - she could marry him!







Extreme Provocation

Sarah Holland






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#udce47680-fe48-5b27-bc29-d63d8edcfc52)

CHAPTER TWO (#u677e36be-1d2b-50a7-b5fa-50d5f33df9ae)

CHAPTER THREE (#uab4dd386-7736-5764-be62-e93ff9ac48ab)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


LUCY stepped out of the taxi into the warm night air. Looking up at Marlborough’s, the exclusive London casino, she shivered, drawing her white lace shawl closer around her bare shoulders.

There was nothing else for it. She had to go into this imposing place and get her father. He had already spent most of her grandfather’s fortune since inheriting it. If Lucy couldn’t stop him, he would gamble himself into bankruptcy and ruin.

Marlborough’s was a private gambling club for the very rich. A doorman in smart livery demanded her name and proof of her identity.

‘Lucy Winslow,’ she said haughtily, handing him her passport. ‘My father is Gerald Winslow.’

He tilted his cap and motioned for the doors to be opened.

She swept in, head held high. Luxury surrounded her in the cream-gold foyer with its high ceiling and crystal chandeliers. Gazing around, she felt suddenly very young and nave, not sure where to go. Where were the gaming rooms? What did one do?

Suddenly she sensed someone watching her. With a start, she looked up, green eyes huge.

A man stood on the luxurious stairs, one hand on a gold banister. He was very tall with broad shoulders and long legs. He wore a black suit, impeccably cut, a dark red silk tie and a tight black waistcoat.

‘Feeling lost?’ he asked, and his voice was excitingly smoky.

Her pulses leapt. ‘No. I was looking for someone.’

The man walked coolly down the stairs. ‘Anyone in particular?’

‘My father,’ she said, staring at his face as he stepped into the light, seeing the jagged scar on his hard-boned cheek, the cynical blue eyes and the firm, ruthless mouth.

‘What’s his name?’ A frown drew black brows together.

‘Gerald Winslow,’ she said, lifting her blonde head with pride.

‘I know him,’ he said slowly. ‘Come with me.’ He opened the door with one very powerful hand. She noticed dark hairs on the back of that hand, white cuffs at his wrist, and the glimpse of a black Rolex watch.

Stepping into the casino, Lucy was dazzled by the expensive gleam of low-lighting on roulette tables, blackjack tables, pontoon and punto banco and the glitter of silver chips, gold chips, scarlet chips, all clattering down polished chutes.

The door swung shut as the dark stranger stepped in beside her. ‘This way...’ His strong hand moved to the small of her back, propelling her across the luxurious, imposing gaming rooms.

Heads lifted as they passed. Women eyed the stranger admiringly, one sultry brunette even licking her red lips as she watched him stride with cool arrogance past her, his face expressionless.

He led her to a set of doors and opened one. Lucy looked into the baccarat room and saw her father. ‘Oh! There he is!’ She moved forwards.

‘You can’t go in.’ The man blocked her path.

Lucy’s green eyes sparkled up at him. ‘But I can see him. He’s the one in the—’

‘I know which one he is,’ he drawled coolly, ‘but I’m not letting you in. Not in that dress.’ The blue eyes moved to her body with ruthless sexual appraisal, stripping her of the cream silk evening gown that skimmed her full breasts and tiny waist and rounded hips. ‘You’d cause a riot,’ he murmured insolently.

Hot colour flooded her face. ‘You’re impertinent,’ she said tautly. ‘Mr...?’

He smiled slowly and did not reply.

Lucy’s mouth tightened. ‘I came here to see my father, and I must insist you let me through.’

‘You can see him when he’s finished playing.’ He closed the door and took her bare arm in a cool hand, propelling her away from the room.

Lucy tried to pull away from him. ‘What do you think you’re doing? Let me go at once!’

‘I’ll leave word with the floor manager,’ he drawled coolly, continuing to stride across the luxurious casino with her. ‘He’ll send your father to me when the game is over.’ He looked down with narrowed eyes, adding, ‘Don’t cause a scene.’

‘I’m not,’ she said tensely. ‘But I don’t know you and I don’t like the way you’re ordering me around.’

‘No need for alarm,’ he said flatly. ‘You’re perfectly safe.’

She gave an angry laugh. ‘If I’m perfectly safe, why are you trying to take me somewhere?’

‘Because I can see you’re not used to casino life,’ he said coolly, and halted, looking down at her with those unnerving blue eyes. ‘I thought you’d prefer a cup of coffee in a quiet room.’

Hesitating, her eyes darted over his tough face. ‘What sort of quiet room?’

‘My office,’ he said.

Lucy studied him for a moment, the idea appealing to her. She felt out of her depth in this sophisticated atmosphere. However exclusive, there was an edge to the scent of money that was excitingly sinful.

‘You work here?’ she asked at length.

A smile touched the sardonic mouth. ‘Oh, yes...’ His long-fingered hand pressured her with the merest touch. ‘This way...’

With misgivings, Lucy allowed him to lead her behind the tables. One or two of the men in dark suits who worked behind the tables tried to approach the man. He waved a strong hand of dismissal at them, his face and eyes hard as he strode past with Lucy.

She wondered who he was. He had an air of power and authority. His clothes were impeccably cut. He was obviously very rich. Her eyes scanned his tough face in a sidelong glance. Was he the manager?

‘In here,’ he said, unlocking a large cream door with a round gold handle and ushering her in.

Lucy moved inside, her pale silvery hair brushing faintly against the man’s powerful chest. The door closed with a cool click. Lucy spun, watching him warily through her long fair lashes. Now that she was alone with him in this quiet, civilised room, he seemed even more dangerous.

‘Coffee, then?’ he asked, strolling coolly towards her.

‘Thank you, that would be nice.’

He smiled, and moved to the mahogany desk which, she noticed with surprise, was a French antique. It had exquisite carved legs, the wood rich and deeply polished.

‘Two coffees in my office,’ he said into the telephone, then punched out another number. ‘Send Winslow to me when he’s finished playing. Yes...my office.’ He replaced the receiver. His blue eyes flashed to her face. ‘Sit down,’ he said softly, gesturing to a long, deep red couch behind her.

Lucy sank down on to it. As she crossed her long slim legs with a swish of silk, his eyes moved assessingly over them. He was unsmiling.

He watched her for a moment, then strolled coolly to the front of the desk and perched on it, his black jacket falling back, exposing the lean power of his body beneath the black waistcoat.

‘So you’re Gerald Winslow’s daughter?’

‘Yes.’ Lucy watched him through her lashes.

‘Are you his only daughter?’ His tone was cool, conversational, belying the danger in those ruthless blue eyes as they moved slowly over her, undressing her.

‘His only child,’ she said, equally conversational, although her pulses were leaping with awareness. ‘My mother died when I was four. My father never remarried.’

A frown touched his brow. ‘He brought you up alone?’

‘Not really.’ She laughed lightly. ‘There was my grandfather, too.’

‘Ah, yes...’ The blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Sir Charles. I remember him. He came here once, with your father. An impressive man. Sharp with cards, too.’ He smiled with lazy amusement. ‘Made mincemeat of my dealers, if I remember rightly, and walked off with over ten thousand pounds in cash.’

Lucy’s green eyes shone with pride and regret. ‘He was very clever. We all miss him very much.’

He studied her for a moment, then said, ‘And what of you, Miss...?’

‘Winslow,’ she said, green eyes teasing him through her lashes.

‘I wanted your Christian name,’ he murmured, a dark look in his eyes.

‘Lucy,’ she supplied, lifting her chin.

He smiled, said softly, ‘Lucy...’ and then his blue eyes were moving over her body with sexual appraisal, lingering on her full breasts, bare beneath the revealing cream silk gown. ‘It suits you. Especially in that dress. Did you know there were several very famous kings’ courtesans called Lucy?’

Hot colour swept slowly up her throat and then her face. She felt suddenly afraid of him, her body pulsing with alarmed excitement.

As if he sensed her fear, he veiled his eyes and smiled. ‘And what do you do with yourself all day, Lucy? Are you still at school?’

‘No,’ she said tensely, lifting her blonde brows haughtily. ‘I’m twenty-three, as a matter of fact, and I have a job.’

The hard mouth crooked. ‘Do you?’

‘Yes.’ She felt flustered and under threat. ‘I work at a nursery in Kensington. I look after three-year-olds before they go to prep school.’

‘And how long have you—?’ He broke off as there was a knock at the door. Getting up from the desk, he strode coolly to open it, ushering in a sophisticated brunette in casino evening gown, who placed a tray on the desk, then exited.

When they were alone again, he poured coffee from the silver pot. She watched him through her lashes, aware of the scent of his aftershave as he leant close to her, putting the cups down slowly, then moving back to stand over her, hands sliding into trouser pockets as he watched her with those cynical eyes.

Lucy shifted, unnerved by his gaze.

Suddenly, he sat down beside her, one powerful arm sliding along the couch behind her pale head.

‘I wonder if my father’s ready yet...’ Lucy said, shaken.

‘I doubt it,’ he murmured, his eyes fixed on her mouth. ‘He tends to play till dawn.’

‘I can’t stay here that long...’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said softly, ‘he’ll come along when he’s ready.’ His hand moved slowly, picking up a strand of her blonde hair. ‘Is it natural? It’s quite the most extraordinary colour.’

‘I think I ought to—’ she began huskily, trying to get up.

He moved swiftly, surely, his left hand on her bare shoulder as he pushed her gently back against the couch, his dark head looming suddenly over her.

‘Not just yet,’ he said, watching her through black lashes, and gave a slow, rather deadly smile. ‘After all...you don’t even know my name.’

She studied him warily, her pulses thudding. ‘And what is your name?’

‘Randal,’ he said, and his strong hand moved slowly to her naked throat.

Panic erupted in her veins. ‘Let me go...’

‘I’m afraid I can’t, my dear,’ he said thickly, suddenly very dangerous indeed as his dark head lowered. ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you, and I can assure you you’re not leaving this office until I do...’

His dark head seemed to obliterate the light as it lowered, and she felt hypnotised, staring as her heart banged louder and louder until that ruthless mouth closed over hers.

The hot rush of excitement made her gasp, struggling, and that seemed to inflame him.

Suddenly, his mouth was parting hers with hungry demand, and Lucy moaned in hoarse disbelief, her mouth opening helplessly beneath his. But still she struggled, her hands hitting his powerful shoulders, her body wriggling as she tried to push him away.

Her puny fight inflamed him further. A rough sound of pleasure came from the back of his throat. He was pushing her back against the cushions, his mouth a hot onslaught of commanding power, and as his strong hands began to move over her body she gave a hoarse cry of alarmed excitement.

Her hands slapped and scratched at his face and neck. She was fighting in earnest now, a wildcat unleashed in his powerful arms, and then her nails caught his hard jaw with a livid scratch.

‘You little cat!’ he laughed thickly, jerking his head back from her, but his face was darkly flushed and his blue eyes glittering.

Lucy almost fell off the couch, heart pounding as she grabbed her bag and ran to the door, wrenching it open. He watched her from the couch, his blue eyes narrowed, blood on his hard jaw. He did not attempt to follow her, but there was a hard smile on his mouth, and Lucy was terrified he might.

Running across the casino, she attracted startled looks. She didn’t care. Nor did she care that she had left her white shawl in Randal’s office. She stumbled out of the casino into the warm night air in time to see a taxi discharging passengers on the steps.

‘Astor Square!’ she gasped out to the driver as she leapt in and slammed the door. ‘Hurry.’

The wheels spun, the taxi pulled away, and as it swung around the corner away from Marlborough’s she knew she was safe, though her hands were shaking.

Anger flooded her as she remembered the insolent way he had looked at her, and the ruthless way he had simply taken that kiss from her against her will.

How dared he do that! He had lured her into that office, pretending to be friendly, with the express purpose of kissing her! She could see it all now, from the moment he saw her to the moment he took her into his office, right down to the moment he sank down on the sofa beside her, smiling at her sardonically and looking at her mouth.

Fury sparkled in her green eyes. If she ever saw that man again, she’d slap his hard, handsome face until it stung.

As for her father...a sigh broke from her lips. There was nothing she could do to stop him gambling tonight. He probably wouldn’t be home until the early hours of the morning, and how much money would he have lost by then?

Angrily, she thought of Randal preventing her from going into the baccarat room. If he had allowed her entry, she could have been with her father now, in this taxi, driving safely home. The selfishness of the man made her even more furious. No doubt he had more money than he knew what to do with. Certainly, he wouldn’t understand Lucy’s desperation to save her father from bankruptcy.

The taxi dropped her in Astor Square and she went inside, accustomed to the elegant silence of the house. Although she lay awake until three, she did not hear her father come home, drunk, at dawn.

Next day, she went to work as usual at the kindergarten in the leafy little residential street in Kensington. The children were in high spirits, and she was covered in paint at the end of the day, and needed to wash her face and arms vigorously.

She walked home in the late-afternoon sunlight. Astor Square was one of the more secluded squares in Kensington, with a pretty little green enclosed by railings, and rows of small detached Georgian houses around it. Her family had once owned the whole of one side of it.

Sir Charles Winslow, her grandfather, had been knighted by the Queen for his contribution to British architecture. Before he died, he had invested all his money in property, buying half of this square to safeguard the money he left to his only son, Gerald.

But since his death, ten years ago, the family fortunes had dwindled to almost nothing. Her father had wanted cash to spend, not investments to retain. House after house had been sold off. Now, they only retained number one, the first house on the square, and Lucy knew her father had taken out a mortgage on it last year.

When she got in, she found her father already drinking.

He was a tall, debonair man in his early fifties with pale blonde hair, silvering at the temples. ‘Hello, darling.’ he said with lazy charm when he saw her enter the elegant drawing-room. ‘Edward and I are just having pre-dinner cocktails. Care to join us?’

Lucy’s green eyes flicked with love to Edward’s face. ‘You shouldn’t encourage him.’

Edward gave a wry shrug. ‘He’d do it with or without my permission. You know that, Lucy.’

Gerald frowned. ‘I say. Don’t talk about a chap as though he wasn’t here!’

They all laughed.

Edward moved towards Lucy, his pale blue eyes tracing her face with affection. ‘You look radiant. Good day with the children?’

‘Lovely,’ she nodded. ‘Come into the kitchen and talk to me while I prepare dinner.’

They went into the kitchen, a bright sunlit room backing on to a small square of garden. Lucy waited until the door was shut, then flung herself into Edward’s arms.

‘Darling!’ She kissed his neck, breathed in the familiar scent of his skin. ‘If only you lived here, you could help me stop him. I’m so worried...’

‘My darling.’ He stroked her hair with long fingers. ‘I know. So am I. But I just can’t stop him spending. I keep telling him he’s hurtling towards bankruptcy, but he won’t listen.’

‘He’s been rich all his life,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘He thinks it’ll never run out.’

‘I’ve explained it all a thousand times to him.’ Edward gave a harsh sigh. ‘But it’s no good, Lucy. It’s as though he wants to destroy himself, and take the family down with him.’

Edward Blair was tall and thin with pale hair and pale skin and a very pale mouth. His father had been Sir Charles’s accountant. Edward had naturally taken up the position when his father died. The Winslow family and the Blair family had had a close tie.

Edward was so close to her that he was almost family. She had always known she was in love with him—and that they would one day marry. So had Edward. It was just a matter now of buying a ring and naming the day.

‘Edward, I went to the casino last night,’ Lucy told him now, ‘to try and stop him gambling, but—’

‘You went to the casino!’ He was shocked. ‘My God, Lucy! You shouldn’t have done that. Not alone...’

‘Why not?’ she protested, flushing deeply at the memory of that man’s passionate kiss and the danger he had made her feel. ‘I’m twenty-three and perfectly capable of walking into a casino.’

‘Yes, but you’re very sheltered, Lucy. Not the kind of young woman who should be going into casinos late at night on her own.’ Edward frowned with concern. ‘You’ve spent your adult life working with children, for God’s sake.’

She smiled. ‘And looking after you and my father.’

‘Well, all right,’ he grinned, touching her face affectionately with one slim hand. ‘Looking after me and your father.’

‘And that is, after all, what I plan to do for the rest of my life,’ she pointed out with a teasing smile.

‘Yes,’ he said softly, ‘but don’t go into that damned casino again. It just isn’t suitable, my darling, and I won’t allow it.’ He bent his head to kiss her. The warmth of his mouth was sweet, familiar, and she smiled as she received his kiss, her body relaxed as he held her waist tenderly.

Suddenly she remembered the pulsing excitement of that man’s kiss last night and her heartbeat started to race dangerously. Eyes darkening, she moved abruptly away, ending the kiss.

‘If only we were married,’ she said suddenly, a hand at her temple. ‘Darling, can’t it be soon?’

‘It’s so difficult, Lucy,’ he said with deep regret. ‘To even think of marrying yet could be disastrous.’

‘But if we were married, you could live here instead of at that poky little flat,’ she protested, ‘and do something about Daddy. I sometimes feel as though I’m drowning in all this worry—’

Edward groaned, pulling her back into his arms. ‘You shouldn’t have to worry about things like bankruptcy and ruin,’ he smiled teasingly at her. ‘All you should worry about is darning my socks and cooking dinner for me and your father.’

Lucy clung to him, arms wound round his neck. ‘It’s all I want to do, Edward. Just to look after you and my father forever—’

‘Then get on with the dinner,’ he teased, kissing her, and then released her, opening the kitchen door. ‘I’ll be in the drawing-room with your father.’

As she prepared the dinner she listened to her favourite piece of jazz, the piano a smoky lilt against the lazy drawl of the singer. If only life could be this simple, she thought, green eyes clouding. Just relaxing, with no financial worries.

Sighing, she remembered how safe and secure her childhood had been. Sir Charles had been alive then, and his had been the strong hand that guided her life. If only she could return to that haven...but her father was at the wheel now, and guiding their ship on to the rocks.

The whole house felt under constant threat. She had no idea about raising money. What on earth did one do? Sell furniture? The paintings and jewellery that had not been sold so far would raise some money, but not enough. She only earned a small amount from the kindergarten. Enough to buy household necessities and food. But nowhere near enough to pay off a mortgage or even debts.

On Saturday morning she went shopping as usual, while her father slept off his hangover. It was a lovely day, the sun high in a clear blue sky.

As she walked towards the shopping precinct, a long white sports car slid around the corner and purred to a standstill just in front of her. The door opened and a very tall man stepped out of it, impeccably dressed, turning to face her with a cool smile.

Lucy gasped as she saw the blue eyes and the scar.

‘Serendipity,’ Randal drawled. ‘I was just on my way to see you. I came to return this.’ He handed her the white silk shawl. ‘You left it in my office the other night.’

Flushing angrily, she snatched the shawl from him. ‘Thank you,’ she said tightly, and tried to move past him.

He blocked her path. ‘I thought you might come back for it in person.’

‘Why on earth should you think that?’ Lucy’s green eyes sparkled with anger. ‘After your behaviour, the only reason I would have considered returning would have been to slap your face.’

‘I take it the idea didn’t prove irresistible?’

‘No,’ she said tightly, ‘but it will if you don’t get out of my way!’

He laughed, blue eyes moving over her with blatant insolence. ‘You are passionate, aren’t you? I’ve never met such a spitfire. How quickly that cool little face turns to fury.’

‘I scratch, too.’ she said, loathing him intensely. ‘Remember?’

‘How could I forget?’ He turned his dark head, the scratch a faint red line along his tough jaw. ‘Every time I look in the mirror, I think of you and your angry little face. I’d like to make you that angry again, Miss Winslow. In fact, I’d like to make you angrier still...’

Staring, she felt her pulses throbbing with sudden wild arousal, and her gaze seemed riveted to his hard mouth as she remembered that kiss and the violence of the response he had aroused in her.

‘Have dinner with me tonight,’ he said softly, watching her.

‘No!’ she snapped.

‘Tomorrow night?’

‘Never,’ she said fiercely, and stormed past him.

He fell into step beside her, hands thrust in the pockets of his obviously expensive grey suit.

‘You’re annoying me,’ Lucy said, refusing to look at him.

‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘I enjoy seeing you lose your cool.’

‘I could call a policeman, you know,’ she said, quickening her step.

‘He wouldn’t have the same effect.’

Her mouth tightened. They were walking briskly on to the cobbles of the precinct. Shoppers streamed all around them. She was very aware of Randal’s hard masculinity, that lazy, mocking smile and the black windblown hair. Several women shot him interested glances.

‘Will you please stop following me?’ Lucy said tightly.

‘You’d be disappointed if I did,’ he drawled.

‘Let’s put that to the test,’ she said flatly, glaring at him through her lashes. ‘Walk away in any direction, and see how long it takes for me to start wailing with disappointment.’

He laughed, then his eyes narrowed shrewdly and he drawled, ‘You came to the casino to try and stop your father gambling, didn’t you?’

The sudden change of conversation threw her. Shock flared in her green eyes. She didn’t reply, but her step faltered, she bent her head and felt her face run with hot colour.

‘He was in the casino every night this week,’ Randal said lightly, watching her bent head with calculation.

‘He enjoys gambling,’ she said coolly, lifting her head to signify her indifference, which of course she did not truly feel. But she didn’t want him to know how worried she was by her father’s drinking and gambling.

‘But you don’t?’

She shrugged lightly. ‘It’s hardly my sort of thing.’

‘A pity,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘I hoped you’d turn up again. Don’t tell me I frightened you off forever?’

‘You’d frighten anybody,’ she said, throwing him a haughty look.

‘Would I, now?’ he murmured, watching her with a wicked smile.

Her heart skipped a beat. She didn’t like the way he’d said that. Desperate to get rid of him, she turned, then walked quickly into a department store. Randal followed her. Scent assailed them from the brightly lit counters.

‘Shopping for make-up?’ he drawled beside her. ‘You don’t need it. You have a beautiful face and perfect skin.’

‘How poetic,’ she said sarcastically.

‘When I first saw you, I noticed you weren’t wearing make-up. It seemed incongruous in the casino. But you don’t need it with those eyes, do you? They’re like green fire—’

‘I do wish you’d go away,’ she snapped.

‘I can’t help myself,’ he drawled, smiling sardonically. ‘You fascinate me.’

‘Well, you don’t have the same effect on me.’ She stopped by a perfume counter, turning to glare at him. ‘Or hasn’t that occurred to you?’

He looked down at her, unsmiling. ‘Oh, yes. But it doesn’t deter me.’

‘Perhaps a kick in the shins would work better?’

‘You really are a tempestuous little creature, aren’t you?’ he murmured. ‘It’s funny. I’ve always had two types of women. Can never decide which I prefer.’ He looked her up and down slowly, drawling, ‘Virginal blondes or tempestuous whores.’

She caught her breath at his insolence.

‘I always dreamed of meeting a woman who was both,’ he said softly. ‘And I did the night you walked into the casino. You’re an exciting combination of madonna and whore. I’m afraid I can’t be stopped. I must have you.’

For a long moment, she just stood there, breathless and afraid, staring up into his ruthless face. What he had said was unacceptable. She was so shocked that she couldn’t summon the anger to slap his insolent face because she simply had never been spoken to like this in her life, and the worst part was—she believed he meant every word he said.

‘Let me buy this scent for you,’ he drawled suddenly, picking up an expensive test bottle. ‘It’s my favourite. I’m sure it will suit you.’

Raising the bottle, he softly pushed a swath of her blonde hair back, his long cool fingers touching her naked throat, hearing her catch her breath as excitement shivered through her.

‘I must find your pulse, my dear,’ he murmured, and slid his long fingers down until they encountered the hot throbbing beneath her white skin. ‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘Unmistakable—’

‘Take your hands off me,’ she whispered, rooted to the spot, almost hypnotised by him.

He just smiled, and then she felt the cool spray of scent on her throat. It felt so intimate, so erotic. ‘I’ll have to find all your pulses,’ he said under his breath, unsmiling. ‘One by one. The heat brings out the scent. Did you know that?’ His hands slid to her wrists, lifted them both. He studied the blue veins, feeling the rapid thud at his touch. He sprayed each wrist. His blue eyes flicked to meet hers compellingly. ‘When you’re my mistress,’ he said softly, ‘I shall put scent on your body every night.’ His dark head bent closer to her. ‘At your throat...your ankles—’

Lucy broke away from him in a sudden fury. ‘How dare you say such things to me? How dare you?’ She was so angry she was shaking from head to foot, her pulses throbbing wildly. ‘If you don’t leave me alone, I shall scream, and then a store detective will come over and—’

‘Let me buy you this perfume,’ he cut in, unconcerned by her threat.

‘No!’ she snapped, rage in her green eyes. ‘I loathe it! It will always remind me of you!’

‘In that case,’ he drawled, ‘I shall buy you a very large bottle of it. You must keep it in your bedroom. Put it on before you go to bed. Then you’ll always think of me as you undress.’

‘Oh!’ Anger burning her cheeks scarlet, Lucy turned on her heel and stormed away from him, unable to fight him verbally, aware that her only defence was just to walk away. She expected him to follow her.

Incredibly, he did not. As she stormed out of the department store, the scent clinging to her, she was still shaking with rage. How dared he do that to her in a public place! Touch her throat like that, spray this beastly scent on her pulses. As for telling her point-blank that he wanted her to become his mistress...!

She wished she had slapped his face. Unfortunately, her horror of public scenes was too great. Still, she thought as she shopped alone for the next hour, he had obviously got the message in the end, because he didn’t show up again, and she was glad of that.

When she got home, her father was up, drinking black coffee and relaxing in the drawing-room in an armchair, his white shirt open at the neck and his grey trousers expensive.

‘Morning, darling,’ he said lightly as she came in. ‘Have you been out shopping?’

‘We needed some food for the weekend.’ She bent to kiss his unshaven jaw, the pale stubble rough against her soft skin. ‘I got some essentials, and something special for dinner tonight.’

‘You are a sweetie.’ He smiled lovingly at her. ‘By the way—a package came for you. It’s over there, on the coffee-table.’

Lucy glanced at the antique table, frowning. ‘For me?’ She picked up the square gift-wrapped box, tensing as she saw the bold black handwriting on it.

‘A boy delivered it,’ said her father. ‘About an hour ago.’

Opening the package, she saw the gold writing embossed on white and trembled with rage as the large box of French perfume was exposed. How dared he! How dared he!

‘Something wrong?’ Her father was watching her face.

With an effort, she controlled herself. ‘No...nothing at all.’ She gave him a tight smile. ‘I’ll just go and make myself some lunch.’

Going upstairs, she stormed into her bedroom, through to the connecting bathroom, and ripped open the box, unscrewed the vast bottle of scent and poured it all down the sink.

Waves of delicious scent engulfed her. Expensive, sexy, classy, fresh...it permeated the bathroom, drifted inexorably into the bedroom, clung to the cream carpet, the floor-length beige curtains, the cream-gold bed...

For the rest of the day, her bedroom was an emporium of scent.

And Randal’s arrogant, mocking smile filled her mind every time she set foot into her room. By nightfall, the whole of the upstairs of the house reminded her of those moments this afternoon and the dreadful, wicked, shamefully exciting things he had said.

It was enough to make her scream...




CHAPTER TWO


THE next day, Lucy was polishing the drawing-room when she saw the long white sports car pull up outside the house. Pulses leaping with fury, she froze, staring. It was eleven o’clock, a sunny day, and her father was still asleep. If she didn’t answer the door to Randal, he would wake her father, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want him to know that this dangerous man had taken such a fancy to her and was in hot pursuit. He didn’t even know she had visited the casino that night. What would he say if he found out what had happened? She had asked Edward to keep silent on the subject. They had dined together last night, as always on a Saturday night, and he had gone home at midnight, aware that her father was once more at Marlborough’s casino. But Edward could do no more to stop her father than Lucy herself could. He had told her he would go to the casino at some point himself to try to prevent her father from gambling. But so far, he hadn’t done anything. Lucy was afraid to go there again, and the reason for her fear was currently getting out of that long white sports car, flashing dangerous blue eyes to the house.

Randal walked with that lazy arrogance to the door. He looked casually wealthy in black trousers and a black cashmere V-neck sweater. His black hair was pushed back from his hard forehead, his blue eyes hooded by those heavy eyelids.

Lucy moved away to the hall, light footsteps taking her to the front door before he could knock or ring or make any sound that might wake her father.

Wrenching open the door, she looked angrily into his face. ‘What are you doing here?’

He smiled mockingly. ‘I came to see you. What else?’

‘Well, I don’t want to see you. Haven’t you got the message yet?’

‘But you’ve answered the door.’ Black brows arched coolly.

Lucy’s face flushed a delicate pink. ‘I didn’t want you hammering on the door and attracting attention. This is a quiet residential square. The neighbours notice everything that happens.’

He surveyed her with amused insolence. ‘Nothing to do with your father sleeping off last night’s hangover, then?’

Lucy’s colour deepened. ‘I don’t know what you mean!’

‘He was in the casino until dawn,’ Randal said coolly, his face unsmiling. ‘He ordered a magnum of champagne. I doubt he’ll surface much before lunchtime.’

‘Gossip?’ she queried, dislike in her green eyes.

He laughed under his breath. ‘That’s right. Aren’t you going to ask me in? I’d love a cup of coffee.’

‘No, I’m not going to ask you in,’ she said tightly, and began to close the door.

‘Want me to start hammering on the door?’ he drawled, preventing her from shutting it with one strong hand.

Her eyes warred with his. Angrily, she felt she had no option but to let him in. ‘Very well,’ she said angrily. ‘I’ll let you come in. But one false move and I’ll scream the house down.’ Holding the door back for him, she felt her pulses leap as he moved inside.

He dominated the hallway, his presence like electricity. He was so tall—at least six feet four—and those shoulders were intensely broad, his body rippling with lean muscle.

Lucy looked up at him through her lashes. ‘We’ll go in the kitchen. Please keep your voice down...’

He followed her coolly along the hall. Lucy was so aware of him behind her that her pulses were leaping like fire by the time they reached the kitchen.

As they entered the sunlit pine kitchen, she turned and found him right behind her, very close, his muscled chest at eye-level, the tanned flesh visible where the V of his sweater ended, and a sprinkling of black hairs curling there.

Her eyes flashed to meet his. Their gazes collided with violent impact. She felt breathless suddenly, her heart thudding with alarm. Why does he affect me like this? she thought in panic.

‘I’ll get you that coffee...’ she said, her voice oddly husky, and turned away from him, going to the side and switching on the kettle.

He moved behind her, and she felt his breath on her neck as he bent his dark head, long fingers pushing her blonde hair softly back to expose the naked nape of her neck.

‘You’re not wearing that perfume,’ he said softly, and his mouth kissed her throat.

Angrily, she turned. ‘Keep your hands to yourself!’

‘Why aren’t you wearing it? I went to a great deal of trouble to have it delivered here for you.’

‘I couldn’t stand the smell of it,’ she said deliberately. ‘It reminded me of you.’

‘What did you do? Pour it down a sink?’

Her face flamed. ‘Yes!’

He laughed. ‘Well, that rebounded on you, didn’t it? The whole house smells of it.’

‘It’ll go away eventually,’ she snapped. ‘Just like you.’

‘But I won’t,’ he said under his breath, moving towards her. ‘I won’t go away until I’ve got what I want.’

She backed, found herself cornered, heart thudding as she stared up at him in sudden wild panic. ‘But what is it? What do you want from me?’

His blue eyes moved to her mouth, then her full breasts as they rose and fell beneath the pale blue silk dress she wore, and they were both suddenly aware of the swift erection of her nipples as excitement shot through her under that powerful gaze.

‘I want to make love to you,’ he said softly.

It was suddenly impossible to breathe. Lucy stared at him, her body tense. As those blue eyes flickered back up to meet hers she felt her heartbeat rocket.

‘Well!’ She was almost speechless. ‘If you think that I...’ The words seemed to stumble over each other. ‘That I would dream...think of...even consider...’

He was smiling sardonically, his strong hands moving to her waist as he took that last, deadly step towards her.

‘Don’t...!’ she gasped out.

His hard thighs pressed inexorably against hers. He had her completely cornered now, her heart drumming as she clutched his powerful arms with nerveless fingers.

‘Have dinner with me tonight,’ he drawled. ‘Or I’ll kiss you until your legs give way.’

‘I’ll scream!’ she whispered, appalled to realise that she was almost hypnotised by him.

‘Then scream,’ he mocked, and bent his dark head, very slowly, giving her time to scream her head off, but she couldn’t move or speak as that hard mouth came closer, her pulses drumming feverishly as she waited for that kiss.

His mouth closed over hers at last, and she shook as his lips parted hers, a terrifying sweetness invading her body as she felt her mouth open beneath his and accept the hot exploration of his kiss. Pleasure was flooding her, her eyes closing and her hands curling on his broad shoulders, loving the feel of those firm muscles beneath her fingers. The kiss was slow, sensual and unbearably exciting, making her want more, her pulses clamouring as she suddenly felt an urge to touch his strong throat and push her fingers slowly through his dark hair.

With a smothered gasp of self-loathing, she struggled out of that hot embrace, but his arms tightened around her and his kiss deepened, his mouth forcing her to accept the growing passion of the kiss. She started to hit out at him, giving hoarse gasps of angry excitement as she felt that hard male body in every nerve-ending, and, most of all, felt the press of his manhood against her.

Suddenly, she was terrified. Her voice shakily pleaded for release. ‘Please...’ Her mouth was against his, her body trembling. ‘Please let me go...Randal...’ She felt humiliated, intolerably excited, confused...

He released her with reluctance, his mouth lifting from hers as though he could not bear to stop kissing her. He looked down at her flushed, fevered little face, saw the green eyes enormous with panic, the pulse beating hotly at her throat.

Lucy struggled away from him, backing across the kitchen.

‘Do I get a dinner date?’ he asked thickly.

‘No,’ Lucy said at once, and then, on a sudden inspiration, ‘If my boyfriend catches you here, he’ll kill you.’

‘Boyfriend?’ he said sharply, frowning, then as though to himself, ‘Of course...’ The black lashes flickered. There was a little silence as his mouth hardened. ‘Who is he? How long have you been seeing him?’ His eyes darted down. ‘It can’t be serious because you’re not wearing a ring.’ His eyes shot back to her face. ‘Are you in love with him? No, you can’t be or—’

‘I have no intention of discussing my personal life with you,’ she snapped heatedly, keeping her distance. ‘Now kindly leave.’

‘Are you in love with him?’

Her mouth tightened. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’

Randal laughed. ‘Never. At least—not when I want something.’

‘You can’t have everything you want.’ She lifted her chin, eyes defiant. ‘Life isn’t like that.’

‘Perhaps not for other men,’ he drawled arrogantly, ‘but I can assure you it is for me. I always get what I want. There’s always a way. Didn’t you know that?’

‘Not with me,’ she said flatly. ‘You’ll never find a way to get—’

‘I only have to find your Achilles heel,’ he murmured, smiling. ‘And I think I already have—don’t you?’

She flushed, pointing suddenly to the door. ‘Get out of here!’

He laughed, eyes mocking. ‘That gesture would be more effective if you hadn’t kissed me back so passionately just now.’

Fury shot through her. She abandoned her stance. ‘I didn’t kiss you back. I was cornered and forced into it.’

‘You could have screamed,’ he drawled, laughing at her. ‘But you presumably wanted it as much as I did. What’s the matter—doesn’t your boyfriend know how to kiss?’

‘How dare you?’ she said, trembling with rage. ‘He’s ten times the man you are.’

‘But he hasn’t made love to you yet.’

‘He’s not like that,’ she said heatedly. ‘He wouldn’t dream of—’

Randal laughed with such open mockery that she couldn’t continue.

‘I’m not discussing him with you,’ Lucy blazed, hating him violently. ‘Now please just accept that I don’t want anything to do with you—and leave.’

He smiled lazily, hands thrust into black trouser pockets. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that. I want you far too much.’ He moved suddenly, striding towards her with coolly lethal sex appeal and making her back away, her heart in her mouth.

‘If you kiss me again, I’ll—’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said softly. ‘I won’t kiss you again. Not just yet.’ His hand touched her chin, cool fingers making her pulses race. ‘I can hear your father moving about upstairs. I don’t want to run into him. And you don’t want me to, either—do you, Lucy?’

She flushed, jerking her chin from his grasp. ‘I just want you to go. That’s all.’

‘The more you run,’ he said softly, ‘the harder I’ll chase.’

Breathless, she stared into the powerful face. ‘Why?’ she asked in sudden overwhelming panic.

‘Because I’m that kind of man,’ he drawled sardonically, smiling with amusement at her fear. ‘A hunter. A predator. I enjoy the excitement of the chase, and you’re the most exciting prey that’s ever caught my fancy.’

As she shivered, he turned coolly from her, a smile on his hard, mocking face, and left the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind him, his footsteps moving with panther-like grace to the front door.

Lucy was trembling as she sank into a chair at the kitchen table, the morning sunlight streaming over her through the windows, and heard the front door close behind him.

What on earth was she to do?

Edward arrived at three for Sunday lunch. Her father had been up for two hours, and was flicking idly through the Sunday newspapers in the drawing-room. Lucy had prepared most of the lunch and was just waiting for it all to be ready. The potatoes were roasting in the oven along with the lamb and the onions. Various saucepans filled with vegetables were bubbling on the hobs.

‘Mmm!’ Edward strolled over to the stove. ‘Smells delicious! How long till it’s ready?’

‘Fifteen minutes.’ She glanced at her watch, poked the carrots with a fork. ‘You didn’t go to the casino last night, did you?’

He grimaced. ‘It was so late when I left—’

‘Daddy was at the casino till dawn, drinking champagne.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Edward—somebody’s got to do something. We must be running out of money. Surely you can—?’

‘I’ll go to the casino tonight,’ Edward cut in smoothly. ‘I promise.’

‘Thank you.’ She touched his thin shoulder gratefully. ‘You see, I’m sure if one of us actually turned up there, he’d realise how serious our worries are.’

Edward raised blond brows. ‘Don’t bank on it, darling. Your father already knows. Turning up at the casino may have no effect at all.’

She felt so frustrated that she put her hands to her temples. ‘What will we do when the money runs out—?’

‘We’ll get married.’ Edward slid his hands on to her waist, smiling. ‘And I’ll give you all the security you need.’

Lucy went into his arms with a sigh. As he kissed her, she compared his soft, gentle mouth with the fierce excitement of Randal’s kiss, and she felt suddenly angry.

She pulled Edward’s head closer and tried to deepen the kiss, instil some urgent passion into it.

Edward jerked his head away, frowning. ‘Lucy...!’

Humiliated, rejected, she stepped away from him, her face running with scarlet colour.

‘Darling.’ He sounded exasperated, running a hand through his blond hair. ‘It’s hardly the time or place...’

‘Edward.’ She lifted her head suddenly, emotions boiling to the surface after his rejection, her voice hoarse as she asked a question that suddenly demanded an answer. ‘Do you love me?’

He stared, even more appalled. ‘What a question! Of course I love you!’

‘Then why don’t you want to marry me until my father’s ruined himself?’ she demanded. ‘Why are you waiting for that ear-splitting crash? Why won’t you do something, Edward? Why do I constantly feel as though we’re all just sitting in an aeroplane that’s running out of fuel?’ She moved towards him suddenly, green eyes blazing with anxiety. ‘We’re going to crash at any minute and nobody’s doing anything!’ Her hands curled on his lapels. ‘Nobody’s doing anything—’

‘For God’s sake, Lucy!’ he whispered tightly. ‘He’ll hear you!’

She shook, closing her eyes, drawing an unsteady breath. ‘Edward, I’m so frantic with worry.’ Her eyes opened again, staring at him. ‘I’ve known you all my life. You’re the only person I can trust, rely on, turn to...but you’re not doing anything, Edward—you’re just waiting for the disaster that we can all see coming.’

‘I’m trying to prevent it, Lucy,’ he said flatly, and there was a sharp edge to his voice that she rarely heard, a cutting edge as though accusing her of something. ‘I’m as worried as you are. More, if anything. But having you badgering me about it won’t help.’

She looked away, flushing. ‘I don’t mean to nag—’

‘But that’s just what you’re doing,’ he said, eyes angry. ‘Nagging at me and accusing me of doing nothing when I’m bending over backwards to try and stop this.’

‘I’m sorry, Edward, I...’ Guilt ran through her. ‘I just feel so helpless...’

‘Well, that’s not surprising,’ he said flatly. ‘You are helpless.’

She looked up at that, astonished and hurt.

‘You don’t earn much money.’ Edward counted her faults on long pale fingers. ‘You’re not qualified for anything more demanding than looking after three-year-old kids. You know nothing about finance or investment and you’re hopeless at maths.’ He raised his hands. ‘What possible use are you to anybody?’

Silent, she just stood there staring at him as his words sank in. She felt as though he’d cut her off at the ankles.

Edward smiled and bent his head to kiss her cheek. ‘You just stick with what you’re good at, darling. You’re far more help to your father and me when you’re cooking our meals and keeping the house tidy.’

She did not dare reply in case she slapped his face. And the knowledge that she wanted to slap him shocked her even more than the insults implicit in what he had said.

‘You serve the dinner, darling.’ Edward smiled, pleased by her silence. ‘I’ll go and have a drink with your father in the dining-room...’

As the door closed behind him, Lucy was struggling to suppress the anger rising in her. He had never spoken to her like that before. Never. How dared he...anger burned at the back of her eyes...how dared he...?

Suddenly, she put her hands to her hot face in self-recrimination. Edward’s right, she told herself again and again, but still that anger rose in her like a dark demon, and in the end all she could do to stop it bursting out was busy herself carving the lamb.

After lunch, Edward and her father fell asleep in the drawing-room. Lucy washed up. It took over half an hour. By the time she had finished, she was feeling an uncharacteristic burst of fury. Putting her head round the drawing-room door, she heard them both snoring. Edward was asleep in an armchair, a newspaper open beside him. Her father was asleep on the sofa, his mouth slack.

Quietly closing the door, she escaped upstairs. Her bedroom was filled with that damned scent. Prickling angrily, she opened a window, but it didn’t help much. All she could think of was Randal: his hard insolent face, the ruthless mouth and the mocking blue eyes.

She remembered him spraying the scent on the pulse that had throbbed at her throat. She remembered the intimate eroticism of the act, and the way he had promised he would scent her wrists and ankles.

Lying down on her bed, she thought she was furious, but she wasn’t...she was aroused. Her eyes closed and she remembered his hard body against hers, his hot mouth taking possession...

I hate him! she thought fiercely, sitting bolt upright on the bed. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him...! As for his boast that he always got what he wanted—he was in for a surprise. He could pursue her as much as he wanted—he would never catch this prey.

Three days later, her father got in at dawn and left a joyful, drunken note for her propped on the kitchen table.

‘Guess what! We’ve been invited to the Mallory Ball!’

Lucy read the note with a frown as she made herself breakfast at eight. The Mallory Ball? The name rang a faint bell, but she couldn’t place it, so she shrugged and went to work without giving it another thought.

When she got home that evening, she found Edward and her father drinking champagne in the drawing-room and laughing loudly while Carmina Burana crashed in fatalistic drama from the stereo.

‘Darling!’ her father laughed when he saw her. ‘You shall go to the Ball!’

Lucy slid her jacket off, frowning. ‘Yes, what is all this about?’

‘The Mallory Ball, darling!’ Her father turned the stereo down, smiling. ‘Only the most important event in the social calendar. My word, I’m surprised you’re not over the moon. Most young women your age would jump at the chance to go.’

‘But what is it?’ she persisted, sighing.

‘It’s a glittering affair,’ her father said, ‘held annually at Mallory Hall in Kent.’

‘Look it up in Tatler,’ Edward commented drily.

‘Who invited you?’ Lucy asked, impressed.

‘That’s the most exciting part.’ Her father was beaming. ‘Marlborough himself.’

‘Marlborough?’ Her eyes widened with dismay. ‘The casino...?’

‘The owner of the casino.’ Gerald Winslow nodded. ‘He also owns Mallory Hall—my God, he’s one of the richest men in England. And he obviously likes me, or he wouldn’t have invited me to his home.’

‘He’s a powerful man,’ Edward said, smiling at Lucy. ‘Owns a string of racehorses, several banks, and of course the casino. It’s a real accolade for your father to be invited to this Ball, Lucy.’

‘But it’s not just me,’ Gerald Winslow said proudly. ‘The invitation was delivered personally to me by Marlborough himself, and it includes my family.’

‘Shame I can’t go,’ Edward complained. ‘Couldn’t you pass me off as your son?’

‘I wish I could,’ Gerald sighed. ‘But I don’t dare. If he found out—well, I might destroy this sudden friendliness that’s sprung up.’

‘You’re right.’ Edward shrugged. ‘Take Lucy. I’ll be happy just to hear about it.’

‘I shall buy you a new dress for the occasion, Lucy.’ Gerald beamed at his daughter. ‘Something superb...a fairy-tale creation...’

‘No,’ she said at once, paling. ‘I have plenty of dresses good enough to wear.’

‘We’ll go to Harrods—’

‘We can’t afford it,’ she said, horrified. ‘Daddy, I don’t even want to go to this wretched ball and—’

‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ her father said flatly. ‘You must make a good impression on Marlborough. Edward—talk some sense into the girl.’

‘All right.’ Edward laughed, moving towards Lucy, taking her arm and leading her into the kitchen.

‘You shouldn’t encourage him like that,’ Lucy said as he closed the kitchen door behind them. ‘Making friends with the owner of that casino is just disastrous. Surely you can see—?’

‘It’s not disastrous,’ said Edward under his breath, pale blue eyes fierce and his tone a warning note. ‘It’s the best thing that could have happened, and you mustn’t interfere, Lucy.’

She stared at him, her lips parted. ‘But—’

‘No buts,’ he said flatly. ‘Don’t do anything to jeopardise this friendship with Marlborough. I can’t begin to tell you how vital this is. The invitation to Mallory Hall is a life-saver.’

‘But how can it be when—?’ she wailed.

‘Just do it, Lucy,’ he cut in angrily. ‘Go to the ball, wear something fantastic, and make a good impression on the man.’ He turned, opening the door, casting a brief, irritated look back at her. ‘And get the dinner on, will you? I’m starving.’

Lucy suddenly wanted to throw something at his back as the door closed. Fury rose in her like fire. How could he speak to her like that? After everything she’d said about how worried she was, how frightened about her father’s increasing gambling and drinking...to encourage him to go to this party.

Still, he had sounded earnest. Was it true that this friendship with Marlborough was the best thing that could have happened? And if so—why? It just didn’t make sense.

The day of the ball dawned. Lucy changed into the fairy-tale dress her father had bought her, and shuddered at the thought of how much it had cost.

Made of ivory satin, it was off-the-shoulder, flouncing to a boned waist and flowing over hoops to the floor. She looked like a fairy princess in it, her blonde hair piled in loose curls on her head, the Winslow pearls that had been her mother’s gleaming at ears and throat.

They drove to Kent in her father’s Bentley. Lucy felt deeply disturbed by the whole affair, aware that her finery could vanish at any moment, just as this expensive car could, and the house, stolen by bankruptcy and ruin... If only her father would stop.

The gates of Mallory Hall were impressive white stone. A guard waved them through, an Alsatian straining at the leash, barking. The drive was long, winding, tree-lined. Lights suddenly loomed ahead, and the Hall came in sight, glittering rows of luxury cars parked outside it, the vast white Georgian mansion breathtakingly beautiful, worth millions, and looking every inch the home of a powerful man as it towered in strong masculine dignity against that moonlit night.

After parking, they walked along the gravel drive to the white stone steps. A butler greeted them, his face impassive. Jazz music floated from the lofty ballroom as he led them to it. Voices and laughter echoed in the palatial room.

‘Mr Gerald Winslow,’ intoned the butler, reading the invitation, ‘and his daughter, Lucy.’

A very tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair swung to look at them, and Lucy gasped in horror, staring into that hard face, the insolent blue eyes, that scar jagged on his tanned cheek.

What was he doing here?

Suddenly, she realised that he must have received an invitation, too. Obviously, as he did work for Marlborough. He was striding towards them now with a mocking smile on his ruthless mouth, wearing an impeccably cut black evening suit.

‘Glad you could make it, Winslow,’ he drawled.

‘Delighted, Marlborough.’ Her father smiled, one hand moving to encompass a white-faced, appalled Lucy. ‘May I introduce my daughter, Lucy? Lucy, darling—this is Mr Randal Marlborough.’

Randal was taking her hand in a powerful grip, mockery in his eyes, and as she stared into his handsome face she thought, oh, my God...he’s Randal Marlborough...

‘Charming,’ Randal drawled, eyes sliding with cynical inspection over her body. ‘Quite charming.’

Angrily, she flushed, deeply aware of her bare shoulders, the exposure of her breasts, the creamy swell highlighted by the exquisite décolletage of the dress, satin ribbons and lace surrounding her breasts and bare arms.

‘Must say,’ her father was beaming, ‘this is an exceptional house. It’s a listed building, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Randal smiled sardonically. ‘But my equerry could tell you more about it than I. He really knows the history of the place. Let me introduce you...’ He turned, eyes narrowing as he beckoned a well-dressed man across the room. ‘Jamieson—this is Mr Winslow. He wants to hear about the house.’ He took Lucy’s arm, adding coolly, ‘I’ll get your daughter some champagne.’

Before she could protest, he was leading her across the vast ballroom, his face dismissive as he gave cool, polite nods to the people who clamoured for his attention, striding past them, his strong hand on Lucy’s arm.

‘What do you think you’re doing!’ she protested angrily as they reached the far side of the ballroom.

‘Chasing my prey,’ he said softly, and pushed open a door, hustling her into a lofty corridor of polished gold oak.




CHAPTER THREE


‘WHY didn’t you tell me who you were?’ Lucy demanded. ‘I thought you were the casino manager or even a croupier. It never occurred to me that you were Randal Marlborough.’

‘Would it have made a difference to your response if I had told you?’

‘No!’ she said haughtily. ‘I would still have found you the most loathsome man I’ve ever met.’

‘Good,’ he drawled. ‘I’d hate to think you were only interested in my money.’

‘I’m not interested in you at all!’

He laughed, eyes deliberately mocking.

‘Why do you laugh at me continually?’ she snapped. ‘Do you think I don’t mean what I say?’

‘It amuses me to see you lose your temper. You’re ice-blonde and fine-boned—a cool, classy young woman with aristocratic hauteur...’ His eyes mocked her. ‘When you’re angry you turn into a ravishing green-eyed cat. I find it very exciting to provoke you.’

Her cheeks burned angrily. ‘If I didn’t find you so detestable, you wouldn’t be able to provoke me.’

‘No other man does?’

‘No!’ she flung at him, lifting her head.

‘How very interesting,’ he said softly, and Lucy felt her flush deepen, confused suddenly as she stared at him. He slowly let his blue eyes drift insolently over her naked shoulders. ‘That dress is quite superb. I’d love to take it off.’

Fury blazed through her veins. ‘You really are the most insolent man I’ve ever met!’

‘Quite superb,’ he said again, softly, and stroked the satin bodice with a long finger, adding lazily, ‘I wonder your father could afford it.’

‘What makes you think my father can’t afford to buy me a new dress?’ she demanded in a thickly choked voice, her green eyes blazing with angry pride and a tinge of fear.

‘I merely meant that the dress is exquisite. I imagine it cost a king’s ransom.’

She flushed, aware that she had almost betrayed her father’s financial situation. ‘I—I see...’

His cool hand took her chin, forced her head up. ‘What did you think I meant?’

She paused, then lifted haughty blonde brows. ‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing at all?’ he drawled mockingly, and a gleam in his eyes made her confidence waver, suddenly wary again as she felt a distinct stab of fear. Did he know her father was poised on the edge of bankruptcy?

‘Where did you get that scar?’ Lucy asked rudely, aware that it would end the conversation about her father and money.

‘I wondered when you’d get around to asking me that.’ He took her wrist, and opened a door. ‘Come in here and I’ll tell you.’ With a tug on her hand, he had her inside the room and was closing the door, leaning his back against it.

Lucy backed away from him, green eyes wary. Glancing around the room, she saw they were alone. The room was a very big study in masculine colours of red and dark brown with a desk, Regency chairs and a long, deep, brown leather couch.

He pointed to the wall above the Georgian fireplace. ‘That’s my father. He didn’t give me this scar, but it always reminds me of him.’

Turning, she saw an oil painting of a man. He was very handsome with black hair and penetrating blue eyes. He had a tough mouth and was dressed in an expensive black suit.

‘Sir Henry Mallory,’ Randal drawled beside her. ‘I like to keep his portrait here. I look at it and smile because I’m master of Mallory now, and I like that.’

She turned to him, frowning. ‘Didn’t you get on with him?’

‘I’m illegitimate. We only met a few times.’

Lucy was silent, her eyes watchful.

‘Don’t look so shocked, my dear,’ Randal drawled. ‘I’m not confiding in you. It’s an open secret. I’m surprised you didn’t already know.’

‘I had no idea...’ she murmured, glancing back at the man in the painting. He looked very like his father. That strong face, the arrogance and obvious powerful personality.

‘I bought Mallory three years ago when he died,’ Randal told her. ‘The newspapers made quite a fairy-tale of it. Prodigal son and all that. I’ve never made a secret of my illegitimacy. If anything, I advertise it. It gives me a dangerous edge—just as this scar does.’ He smiled lazily. ‘I’m a great believer in using every natural gift as a bonus.’

Lucy looked up at him through her lashes. ‘How did you get the scar?’

‘At school. Someone made a remark about my parentage. A fight broke out. I fell through a plate glass window.’

‘What school did you go to?’ she asked, fascinated by his life.

‘A hard one,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘And you?’

‘A convent,’ she said simply.

‘Did you, by God?’ He was staring at her mouth, her bare shoulders, the full breasts which rose and fell at the creamy satin dcollatage of her dress.

‘My grandfather sent me,’ she told him, struggling not to respond to that hot blue gaze. ‘And left provision in his will for me to stay until I was eighteen.’

‘An astute man, your grandfather,’ Randal said with a cool frown. ‘He certainly knew what his son was made of.’

Lucy stiffened, green eyes flashing to his face. ‘What do you mean by that?’

He smiled slowly. ‘Nothing. And I’m tired of familial discussion. Time I stole that kiss...’ His strong hands slid to her naked shoulders, pulling her towards him.

‘No!’ she gasped as her pulses leapt in wild response. ‘Let me go!’

He laughed as she struggled, dominating her easily. ‘Are you going to scratch me again?’

‘Yes!’ she snapped, hands flailing.

‘You didn’t scratch me the last time I kissed you.’ He caught her wrists in strong hands, eyes mocking.

‘I was too busy loathing and despising you!’

‘Passionately?’ he mocked, and his hands pulled her hard against his powerful male body.

She felt him in every inch of her, her breath coming faster and her heart pounding as he pressed her against him; and those rigid thighs, that hard-muscled chest, did terrible things to her.

There was an electric silence while he watched her unsmilingly. Then his dark head bent, and that hard mouth claimed hers, compelling a response. The powerful kiss made her moan softly as her mouth opened beneath his. The hot onslaught was irresistible, her heart drumming loudly as she found herself kissing him back, clinging to him, her slender body swaying in his arms.

Suddenly, he lifted her, his mouth still burning hotly over hers as he carried her to the long, dark brown couch, placing her on it gently, lying her on her back while he continued to kiss her deeply, and as her hands slid in shaking protest to his hard chest she felt his heart beating very fast, and that heavy excited thud made her own pulses clamour. She wound her arms around his strong neck, her mouth open passionately beneath his as he ravaged her senses with his kiss.

The door opened. They broke apart with reluctance, both staring towards the door. A woman in her fifties watched them. She had a Rubenesque quality: her body ripe and inviting, her red hair fading to gold-silver, her clothes elegantly sensual.

‘Excuse me...’ she murmured, closing the door.

‘No, don’t go, Mama,’ Randal drawled thickly. ‘I want you to meet Lucy.’

‘I hardly think this is the time or place, Randal,’ his mother said, lifting haughty brows. ‘Miss Winslow is obviously at a disadvantage.’

‘Then she will sink or swim,’ said Randal, and got to his feet. ‘Perhaps a glass of brandy will help her.’ He strode coolly to the drinks cabinet a few feet away.

Lucy sat up, blushing furiously. She felt humiliated and dishevelled. Randal offered no help, and she loathed him for that. She got to her feet, lifting her blonde head and surveying his mother with as much cool dignity as she could muster under the circumstances.

‘How do you do, Mrs Marlborough,’ she said, head held high.

A smile touched his mother’s mouth. ‘How do you do, Lucy. Please call me Edwina.’ Flicking green eyes to her son, she murmured, ‘I don’t think she needs that brandy.’

Randal smiled and said nothing, pouring the brandy regardless.

‘You have a beautiful home,’ Lucy said politely.

‘Thank you.’ Edwina glanced around the room. ‘But the credit must go to Randal. He’s stamped his personality quite firmly on Mallory.’

Lucy glanced quickly at the dark, exciting figure Randal was as he stood at the drinks cabinet. ‘It’s a very luxurious home.’

Edwina smiled. ‘My son has a passion for luxury. His childhood, of course. They say deprivation is the mother of ambition.’

‘You make me sound like Oliver Twist, Mama,’ drawled Randal, strolling coolly back to them with a brandy, which he handed to Lucy.

‘Hardly Oliver Twist, darling,’ his mother said flatly. ‘He didn’t have women falling at his feet left, right and centre.’ She looked at Lucy. ‘Randal has a lethal effect on women. I do hope you’re not going to join the ranks of the broken-hearted. He’s left quite a wake.’




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