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Tycoon's Choice: Kept by the Tycoon / Taken by the Tycoon / The Tycoon's Proposal
Kathryn Ross
Lee Wilkinson
Leigh Michaels
After-Hours loving…Kept by the Tycoon Lee Wilkinson Madeline Knight has been swept off her feet by millionaire businessman Rafe Lombard. Yet the dangerously attractive tycoon has dark secrets that set Madeleine running. Rafe wants her back – close by his side…Taken by the Tycoon Kathryn RossNicole’s relationship with her handsome boss is not just a nine-to-five affair. She and Luke work hard and play hard; but by his rules: no complications, just perfect passion. Until Nicole wants more than Luke promised to give…The Tycoon’s Proposal Leigh MichaelsLissa’s stuck without a job or a home. So when a two-week live-in job is offered to her, she snaps it up. What she doesn’t realise is that she’ll be working for Kurt – the man who broke her heart years before. Can Lissa forgive, forget and accept this tycoon’s new proposal…?


He’s always been driven by the need to succeed,so can he surrender to love?
Tycoon’s Choice
Three sizzling, sparkling romances from three
beloved Mills & Boon authors!
In July 2010 Mills & Boon bring you fourclassic collections, each featuring three favouriteromances by our bestselling authors
THE PRINCES’ BRIDES
by Sandra Marton
The Italian Prince’s Pregnant Bride
The Greek Prince’s Chosen Wife
The Spanish Prince’s Virgin Bride
TYCOON’S CHOICE
Kept by the Tycoon by Lee Wilkinson
Taken by the Tycoon by Kathryn Ross
The Tycoon’s Proposal by Leigh Michaels
THE MILLIONAIRE’S CLUB: JACOB, LOGAN & MARC
Black-Tie Seduction by Cindy Gerard
Less-Than-Innocent Invitation by Shirley Rogers
Strictly Confidential Attraction by Brenda Jackson
SAYING ‘YES!’ TO THE BOSS
Having Her Boss’s Baby by Susan Mallery
Business or Pleasure? by Julie Hogan
Business Affairs by Shirley Rogers

Tycoon’s Choice
Lee Wilkinson
Kathryn Ross
Leigh Michaels



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

Kept By The Tycoon
By

Lee Wilkinson
Lee Wilkinson lives with her husband in a three hundred-year old stone cottage in a Derbyshire village, which most winters gets cut off by snow. They both enjoy travelling and recently, joining forces with their daughter and son-in-law, spent a year going round the world ‘on a shoestring’ while their son looked after Kelly, their much loved German shepherd dog. Her hobbies are reading and gardening, and holding impromptu barbecues for her long-suffering family and friends.

Chapter One
THE physiotherapy room at Mayfair’s exclusive Grizedale Clinic was quiet and peaceful, the only sound the muted background roar of London’s traffic. A deep-pile carpet covered the floor, a vase of crimson roses scented the air and a black leather couch was spread with a spotless sheet ready for its next occupant.
At the open window muslin curtains lifted in the slight breeze, allowing light to enter but keeping the lingering summer-in-the-city heat at bay.
Wearing a silky, charcoal-grey suit and an ivory blouse, her long, naturally blonde hair taken up in a coil, Madeleine was sitting at the desk, updating her previous patient’s file, when there was a tap, and the door opened.
Neat in her blue uniform, dark curls secured in the nape of her neck by a gilt clip, Eve came in with some notes.
Eve Collins, along with her brother Noel, had been Madeleine’s friend since their nursery-school days.
It had been Eve who had mentioned this post at the clinic. ‘If you’re interested, Maddy, the woman who usually fills it has taken maternity leave, which means it will only be temporary.
‘But I promise you the surroundings are pleasant, and the money’s good, so this might be just what you need to tide you over until you’ve built up a clientele of patients…
‘That is, if you don’t mind working four evenings a week throughout the summer months…’
‘I don’t mind at all,’ Madeleine had said gratefully, ‘and I’d be glad of both the money and the experience.’
‘I’ll mention your name to Mrs Bond, who deals with personnel.’
On being offered the post, Madeleine had started work immediately. It meant she could no longer see her mother in the evenings, but she had reorganised her daytime routine to fit in visits to the nursing home between her private patients.
Smiling at her friend, Eve put the notes she was carrying on the desk and, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement, hurried into speech. ‘Your last patient for tonight is a new one, a Rafe Lombard…’
Then dropping her voice to a whisper, ‘And boy, is he gorgeous! A real hunk, with all the charm of a young Sasha Distel! Tall, dark and handsome may be an overworked phrase, but there’s no other way to describe him.’
Madeleine sighed and raised her eyes to heaven. ‘The last time you told me someone was gorgeous he turned out to have pimples and dandruff.’
‘Scoff if you must, but this time you’ll have to admit I’m not exaggerating. All the female staff are in a tizzy, married and single alike.
‘When he smiled at Thelma, who you must admit is a bit of a man-hater, she went weak at the knees and dropped all the papers she was carrying.’
‘Well, you’d better send this gorgeous hunk in,’ Madeleine said drily. ‘Otherwise I won’t have time to take a look at him.’
A moment or so later the latch clicked, and, pushing aside the notes she had just scanned through, Madeleine glanced up.
The man who entered the room carried with him an air of power, of self-reliance and quiet authority.
As she looked at this ruggedly handsome, perfect stranger, everything stopped—her breathing, her heart, the blood in her veins…even the world ceased to spin on its axis.
It was as if she’d always known him. As if she had just been marking time, waiting for him to appear. Waiting for him to fill the void she had been only too aware of, even while she was married to Colin.
Rather than rushing into speech, as many of her patients did, he stood quite still, his forest-green eyes fixed on her face.
Dragging air into her lungs, she struggled to pull herself together. Though it seemed an eternity, it could only have been a few seconds before she succeeded in regaining at least some outward semblance of composure.
His effect on her had been pure and immediate and total, and she knew instinctively that she must stay cool and aloof, or be lost.
For perhaps the first time she understood fully why every tutor on the physiotherapy courses—apart from Colin—had found it necessary to warn their pupils not to allow themselves to get emotionally involved with any of their patients.
And, when it came to the crunch, how useless that warning was.
Drawing another deep, steadying breath, she rose to her feet and, daring her knees to tremble, advanced to meet him, holding out her hand. ‘Mr Lombard, I’m Madeleine Knight…’
He took her hand in a firm grip and smiled, he looked deep into her eyes and nearly stopped her heart for a second time.
Her breathing impeded, her throat desert dry, she began, ‘I understand you’ve suffered a possible whiplash injury. When did it happen?’
‘Earlier this evening.’
His voice, low-pitched and slightly husky, shivered along her nerve ends.
Those clear green eyes lingering on her face, he added, ‘Since then I’ve had some discomfort. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, but I was advised to see a physiotherapist just in case there was any muscle damage.’
In spite of all her efforts her voice wasn’t quite steady as she asked, ‘How did it happen?’
‘I was taking my racing car round a private circuit when the steering went.’ Drily, he added, ‘Straw bales can seem remarkably solid at speed.’
He was still watching her and that steady appraisal threw her far more than any of her previous male patients’ attempts at flirtation.
‘If you could strip to the waist and get up on the couch so I can check it out, please?’ She tried to sound cool and professional, in control.
While Madeleine kept her eyes fixed firmly on his notes he took off his jacket and shirt and draped them over a chair, before hitching himself up to sit on the couch.
Only when he was settled did she look up.
His back was straight and muscular, the line of his spine elegant, as the broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist and narrow hips. His clear, tanned skin carried the glow of health and gleamed like oiled silk, making her want to touch it.
Even the back of his well-shaped head was attractive and sexy, the short dark hair curling a little into the nape of his neck.
Taking a deep breath, she went over to him and, concentrating fiercely on her professional task, with firm but gentle hands began her examination.
Though he must have been well aware of his effect on women, he made no suggestive remarks, nor did he try to chat her up. Instead he sat quietly, obediently raising his arms and flexing his muscles when asked to.
As soon as she had finished the examination, she said briskly, ‘Right, Mr Lombard…’ and moved away to a safer distance.
As he swung his feet to the floor she confirmed, ‘Though there’s some obvious stiffness in the neck and shoulder muscles, luckily there’s no evidence of any real damage. In a few days, if all goes well, you should be back to normal.’
‘That’s great.’ He smiled at her, his smile a white slash across his tanned face.
She watched as his lean cheeks creased, and a fan of fine laughter lines appeared at the corners of those fascinating almond-shaped eyes. Eyes that tilted up at the outer corners. Eyes that would have made even the most ordinary face appear extraordinary. And his face was far from ordinary…
Dragging her gaze away with an effort, and trying to ignore the way his smile had sent her pulses racing madly, she went on, ‘Rest is all it needs until after the weekend. Then I suggest you have a further check just to be on the safe side.’
Looking directly into the clear aquamarine eyes of this cool, fascinating woman, who seemed totally unaware of her own beauty, he asked, ‘So when shall I see you again?’
His intent gaze and the question, phrased as it was, shook her rigid.
But seeing him again, even in a professional capacity, would be far too dangerous. It would be courting disaster.
The clinic’s policy was that a strict protocol should be observed between staff and clients, and, faced with soaring costs at the nursing home, she couldn’t afford to lose this job.
‘Perhaps you’d like to come in again on Monday or Tuesday morning?’
He shook his head. ‘Evening would suit me better.’
Biting her bottom lip, she made a pretence of studying her appointments before she suggested evenly, ‘In that case, suppose you make it Monday evening at the same time?’
Mrs Deering, the plump, middle-aged and happily married part-timer who worked weekends and Monday evenings, could hopefully help him without any threat to her peace of mind or her position.
‘That suits me fine.’
‘Then I’ll say goodnight, Mr Lombard.’
‘Au revoir, Miss Knight. Many thanks.’ He strode to the door and made his way out.
Some element of vitality went with him, and she was left feeling, life goes that way.
With a hollow emptiness in the pit of her stomach she sank down at her desk and, with the image of his dark, attractive face filling her mind, started to update his notes.
The notes finished, she was sitting there gazing into space when the door opened and Eve came back in. ‘I wondered if you were still here…Almost everyone else has gone.’
With nothing to look forward to but a solitary supper, there had been no incentive for Madeleine to hurry home.
‘So what did you think of Rafe Lombard?’
‘He was every bit as gorgeous as you said,’ Madeleine answered as lightly as possible.
Eve looked gratified. ‘And there’s more…’
‘More?’
‘According to Joanne, who always seems to know these things, he inherited Charn Industries from Christopher Charn, his godfather…Which must make him a multimillionaire, and a prime catch.
‘Though so far apparently he’s managed to elude the hook and stay a bachelor. Which is a challenge in itself. A challenge I wouldn’t mind taking up if I got half a chance. After all, a multimillionaire must be worth the risk of getting fired.
‘Ah, well,’ Eve sighed as she continued, ‘I suppose I mustn’t let myself dream. He’s hardly likely to be interested in the likes of me. With those kinds of looks and that amount of charisma, Rafe Lombard must have women queuing up to throw themselves at his feet.’
No doubt Eve was right, Madeleine sighed, and pushed all thoughts of Rafe Lombard firmly to the back of her mind.
‘Finished with these?’ At the other girl’s nod, Eve gathered up the notes and headed for the door. ‘Well, I’m off. I’ve a date with Dave. See you Tuesday. Don’t spend all weekend at the nursing home. Try to get out a bit.’
‘I’ll try.’
Since her mother had suffered severe head injuries in the gas explosion that had wrecked their rented house, she had spent most of her free time by the sick woman’s bedside.
Sitting hour after hour with the corpse-like figure, talking or reading to her, not knowing how much, if anything, her mother understood, had taken a heavy toll on Madeleine.
As had the death of Madeleine’s husband, Colin, in the same tragic accident. An accident she could only blame herself for.
As the weeks turned into months, finding she was no longer any fun, most of her friends had drifted away, and only Eve and Noel had stuck by her wholeheartedly.
Eve, in her usual cheerful, down-to-earth way, had provided an emotional crutch, while Noel had been there for her in a practical capacity.
First he had helped her find somewhere to live, then he had taken her out, chivvied her to eat and done his utmost to raise her spirits while she tried to pick up the pieces of her shattered life.
As a shoulder to cry on, Noel was the first to admit that he was useless. But when she had needed someone to make her laugh, to forget for a short time at least that she needed a shoulder to cry on, he had been ideal.
When he’d gone to work abroad, troubleshooting for an oil company, she had missed him. Missed his unstinting support, his irreverent tongue, his spiky sense of humour and laid-back attitude.
Missed having a man in her life.
Since she had been on her own several men had tried to get on more than friendly terms with her. But, well aware that, in the circumstances, the odds were stacked against any new relationship succeeding, she had steered clear.
After being alone so long it was time to move on, she knew, yet no one had attracted her enough to act as the catalyst to make her want to take the chance.
Until today. And that attraction, fierce though it was, was futile.
Becoming aware that time was slipping past, she closed the window and collected her shoulder-bag before letting herself out through a side-door and heading for the main gates.
On rainy days she caught the bus back to her Knightsbridge flat, but during the dry, settled spell of weather that had lasted for almost a week now, she had enjoyed walking home.
Tonight, however, having reached the imposing gates and turned west along Grizedale Street, she felt oddly weary and dispirited, in no mood for the thirty-minute walk.
She had just drawn level with a midnight-blue limousine that was parked by the kerb, when its rear door opened and a tall, dark-haired figure climbed out.
Dazzled by the low evening sun, she took a moment to realise that the man blocking her way was Rafe Lombard.
Surprise stopped her in her tracks, and as she shielded her eyes to look up at him he said easily, ‘I thought if I hung around a while I might catch you. Have dinner with me?’
He was tall, dwarfing her with his height. If they were standing closer her head would rest on his broad chest.
Confused by the thought, she found herself stammering, ‘N-no, thank you.’
‘Perhaps it was stupid to spring it on you like this, but now I’ve admitted I’m an idiot,’ he laughed, ‘won’t you reconsider and go out with me?’
With a flash of humour, she said, ‘What? Go out with a self-confessed idiot?’
He gave her an appreciative grin. ‘Think of the entertainment value.’
She shook her head. ‘I can bear to give it up.’
‘Surely not!’ he mocked gently.
‘Afraid so.’
‘Go on. I promise I don’t bite.’
Madeleine lowered her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t.’
Putting his head on one side, he asked, ‘Why not?’
His face was so full of charm that it took her breath away and turned her very bones to water.
Her voice sounding impeded, she said, ‘It’s against the clinic’s policy for staff and clients to get familiar or meet on a social basis.’
He grimaced at the prim phrasing. ‘If we do get familiar I promise not to breathe a word to a soul.’
‘I’m not dressed for eating out.’
‘You look absolutely fine to me.’ He grinned.
Before she could make any further protest, she found herself drawn towards the car and urged into the back seat.
He slid in beside her, and she went hot all over when his muscular thigh pressed against hers as he reached to fasten first her seat belt and then his own.
Sensing that heated confusion, and warning himself not to rush things, he moved away to leave a little space between them.
With a silent sigh of relief, she glanced at him.
He met her gaze directly. The sun slanting in showed that her long-lashed aquamarine eyes had in their depths a sprinkle of gold dust, and her flawless skin a peach-like down.
His fingers itched to stroke it.
Controlling the urge, he asked lightly, ‘Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?’
Wits scattered, knowing she shouldn’t be here at all, she shook her head. ‘No, I—’
Touching a button, he instructed the chauffeur, ‘Just drive around for a while, Michael.’
As the limousine pulled smoothly away from the kerb, feeling rather as though she’d been hijacked, Madeleine began weakly, ‘What made you…?’
‘Chance my arm?’ Rafe suggested when she hesitated. ‘Sheer determination. If I’d been sure of seeing you again, I might not have rushed things. But when I made a few tactful enquiries I discovered that you wouldn’t be here Monday evening…
‘Which could have meant one of two things: either I was just another patient you didn’t mind if you never saw again…or else someone you could be interested in and felt, because of the clinic’s policy, you should steer clear of. I rather hoped it was the latter…’
Trying to control the surge of excitement that ran through her, she bit her lip.
Though his phrasing had been reasonably cautious, there was an air of confidence about him that suggested he felt fairly sure it was the latter.
And the way she had allowed herself to be shepherded into the car without protest must have reinforced that assumption.
‘It opens up such possibilities…’ He smiled at her. ‘And I’m only too pleased you’re free to explore those possibilities…’
The sexual chemistry between them was like an electrical force she could sense through every pore in her skin.
But recalling what Eve had said about women throwing themselves at his feet, and disinclined to let him believe that she might be one of them, she tried to appear cool and unmoved.
Judging by his face, her strategy hadn’t worked.
In an effort to take the wind out of his sails she looked him in the eye and asked, ‘What makes you so sure I’m free?’
Apparently unruffled, he answered, ‘Well, for one thing, you’re not wearing a ring—’
‘That’s nothing to go by these days.’
‘True. That’s why I waylaid your colleague.’
‘Which colleague?’
‘The pretty, dark-haired girl who first took my details. I happened to see her leaving the clinic and spoke to her. Eve, isn’t it? I gather she’s a good friend of yours.’
Without a blush, he added, ‘I managed to coax quite a bit of information out of her.’
An edge to her voice, Madeleine asked, ‘What kind of information?’
‘I needed to know if you were married or in a steady relationship. When I asked her, she told me you’d lost your husband and been alone for quite a while now. I couldn’t imagine a beautiful woman like you being on your own, but she seemed fairly sure there was no man in your life at the moment.’
When Madeleine merely looked at him, he added, ‘Which means you have no commitments, no one waiting at home for you?’
‘No.’ As though he was willing her, she found herself unable to lie.
‘Then I’d like to think that having dinner with me is marginally more appealing than eating alone?’ he said quizzically.
When she made no immediate response, he urged, ‘Please say it is, for the sake of my fragile ego.’
She smiled in spite of herself, a smile that brought her beauty to life and set those tiny gold flecks in her eyes dancing.
As he stared, entranced, she said a shade tartly, ‘I have the distinct feeling that your ego is robust enough,’ then, throwing caution to the winds, added, ‘But yes, it is. Marginally.’
He laughed. ‘A woman with spirit, I see…So where would you like to go?’
His mouth was beautiful, she thought, at once controlled and sensitive, the lower lip a little fuller than the upper. It was a mouth that tied knots in her stomach.
Somehow she managed, ‘I really don’t mind. Anywhere you choose.’
That was the first hurdle cleared, Rafe thought triumphantly as he instructed the chauffeur, ‘The Xanadu, please, Michael.’
Knowing he shouldn’t touch her—yet—but desperate to do so, he took her hand and, his thumb stroking across her palm, went on softly, ‘I think you’ll agree that it’s the perfect setting for a romantic evening.’
She shivered.
Things were moving fast. Too fast.
Knowing she needed to apply the brakes, she withdrew her hand and, gathering herself, stared resolutely out of the car window.
But she was still breathing unevenly when they drove through tall ornamental gates and drew up outside the celebrated Mayfair restaurant.
Once a private house, the Xanadu was built in the style of a Spanish hacienda, and stood in its own discreetly floodlit gardens. Mature trees and shrubs provided a pleasant backdrop to smooth green lawns, and flowering shrubs climbed the stuccoed walls.
When the middle-aged chauffeur got out to open the door, Rafe told him, ‘Don’t bother hanging around, Michael. Get off home to the wife.’
His look grateful, the man said, ‘Thank you, sir. Goodnight sir, madam…’
Rafe opened the thick smoked-glass door with an easy courtesy that she soon came to know was part of his nature.
Inside the foyer, his jacket was whisked away and they were greeted by the proprietor. ‘Good evening, Mr Lombard…madam…How nice to see you. Your usual table?’
His usual table…Did he make a habit of bringing his women here? Madeleine wondered.
‘Please, Henri.’
The maître d’ appeared to show them through a series of archways to a secluded corner table in the stylish, white-walled restaurant.
Long windows looking onto the gardens were open wide, letting in warm evening air fragrant with the scent of roses and honeysuckle. A few bright stars were appearing, and a thin, silvery disc of moon floated in the blue sky.
As he’d said, it was the perfect setting for a romantic evening.
Watching her glance round, and instantly on her wavelength, he queried, ‘Yes?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed with a smile.
While they sipped an aperitif she tried to concentrate on the menu, but, try as she might, she couldn’t prevent herself looking at him, and whenever he wasn’t watching her her eyes were drawn to his face.
He wasn’t merely good-looking. With a cleft chin, a mouth that was at once ascetic and sensual, a strong nose, high cheekbones, brilliant, thickly lashed green eyes and dark, curved brows, he was intriguing, riveting.
But it was more than his looks. Much more. There was something about the man himself. Something she couldn’t quite put a name to, but something that fulfilled a need in her. It felt right to be with him, as if she had always known him, as if they belonged together.
While they ate an excellent meal he kept the conversation light and general, moving from topic to topic, finding out what interested her, seeking her opinion on the subjects that did.
In spite of her awareness of him, the heated attraction that lay just beneath the surface, she found herself responding with an ease that, when she thought about it later, surprised her.
It wasn’t until they reached the coffee stage that he deliberately moved into more dangerous territory.
Needing to know, and recalling the levelness of her gaze even when she was flustered, he went for the direct approach. ‘Tell me about your husband.’
Every nerve in her body tightening, she said, ‘There’s not much to tell.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Colin. Colin Formby.’
‘You kept your maiden name?’ he queried.
‘Yes. It was what my family wanted,’ she said quietly, taking a sip of her drink.
He raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘You were an only child?’
‘Yes,’ Madeleine answered.
Rafe paused, leaning back in his chair. ‘What field was your husband in?’
‘Physiotherapy.’
‘When did the pair of you meet?’
‘At university.’ Madeleine lowered her gaze, focusing on anything but Rafe’s probing gaze.
‘You were students together?’
‘No. I was in my final year. Colin was a tutor.’
Rafe was intrigued. ‘So he was older than you?’
‘Eighteen years.’
‘A big gap.’
‘Yes,’ she said shortly. Madeleine had always thought that the age gap, big as it was, wouldn’t have mattered if she had truly loved him.
Rafe could sense her growing discomfort, but having got this far, he decided to press on. ‘How long were the two of you married?’
‘Six months.’
‘Not long.’
‘No,’ Madeleine almost whispered.
Rafe paused, knowing his questions were difficult for her. ‘How did he die?’
‘He was killed in an explosion.’
Quelling the urge to ask any further questions, Rafe commented, ‘Tough.’
Madeleine raised her eyes to his. ‘Yes, it was.’
There was sadness there and some other emotion Rafe couldn’t put a name to. But it wasn’t the utter desolation, the inconsolable grief, of someone who had lost all they held dear. Of that he was sure.
He breathed an inward sigh of relief. The absence of a man in her life had made him fear that she was still in love with her dead husband, but the vibes he was picking up convinced him he was wrong.
Which must make his chances of succeeding, a great deal easier, he thought.
Refilling her coffee-cup, he changed the subject smoothly. ‘What does Madeleine Knight do in her spare time? Are you a secret television addict?’
Relaxing again, she laughed and shook her head. ‘No, I much prefer a book.’
‘Ah, a woman after my own heart! Have you read Matthew Colt’s Funny Business…?’
‘Oh, yes…I loved the part where Joe tries to steal his exwife’s poodle…’
For a little while they talked about the book, laughing over the bits that had amused them the most, before Madeleine remarked, ‘I read somewhere that it’s going to be turned into a play.’
‘So I understand. Should be worth seeing…Do you like the theatre?’
‘Love it.’
‘Have you had a chance to see the new West End play everyone’s talking about?’
‘Beloved Impresario?’ She shook her head and, unwilling to admit she couldn’t really afford to go to the theatre these days, said, ‘I imagine tickets are like gold dust.’
‘I’m sure I could get hold of a couple, if you’d like to see it?’ he asked casually.
Her heart starting to hammer against her ribs, she bit back the urge to accept. She was being foolish in the extreme just having dinner with him. No doubt all he wanted was a brief fling.
But while many women might have jumped at the chance, that kind of thing wasn’t her style.
Plus, it could cost her her job.
Her expression tight, controlled, she refused with formal politeness. ‘I don’t think so, thank you.’
He was having none of it. Green eyes looked into aquamarine. ‘You mean you don’t want to see it? Or you don’t want to see it with me?’
Feeling as though she’d been set down in the middle of a minefield, she found herself wishing the evening were over. Wishing she could escape.
And he knew it.
Lifting her chin, she answered as steadily as possible, ‘I don’t have much spare time, so I don’t want to commit myself.’
He had known from the start that getting anywhere with this woman wouldn’t be easy. Now he realized that it was going to be a great deal harder than he had anticipated.
But he had wanted her on sight, wanted her with a passionate hunger that had surprised and shaken him. And no matter what it took, he vowed, he intended to have her.
But it would be a mistake to come on too strong.
With a graceful movement of his hand he conceded defeat and, his expression bland, steered the conversation into less perilous channels.
Feeling relieved, she followed his lead.
Watching her, he noted that relief and wondered why she was so wary, so reluctant to get involved.
Still, the night was young. There was time to change her mood.
His charming nature soon set her at her ease once more, and by the time they finally rose to leave she could have stayed there all night.
And he knew that too.
Watching her face, soft and dreamy now, he felt a strange tenderness mingling with satisfaction as he escorted her outside.
Moonlit air caressed her skin like velvet, and the stars were so close she felt she only had to stretch out a hand to pluck one from the sky.
The taxi Rafe had ordered was waiting for them, and his hand a warm weight in the middle of her spine, he ushered her towards it.
When they were settled in the back, he said, ‘I understand from Miss Collins that you live in Knightsbridge. Where exactly?’
She gave him the address of her flat and, sliding open the glass panel, he relayed it to the driver.
As they reached the gates and joined the late-night stream of traffic, he looked deep into her eyes. His look was so intent and searching it made her heart beat faster and her breath grow short.
While she stared back at him as though mesmerised, he took her heart-shaped face between his palms and, bending his dark head, touched his mouth to hers.
His kiss, light and fleeting though it was, seemed to melt every bone in her body and filled her with an almost uncontrollable longing.
Drawing back, he said quizzically, ‘There now, that’s what you’ve been fearing all night, but it didn’t hurt a bit, did it?’
When she just looked at him with big, dazed eyes, he said, ‘So shall I do it again?’
Somehow she found her voice and lied jerkily, ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
‘OK,’ he said, and kissed her again. This time there was nothing light or fleeting about it.
When, without conscious volition, her lips parted beneath the light pressure of his, he deepened the kiss until her head was reeling and her very soul had lost its way.
He could feel her trembling and, sensing that she was his for the taking, he suggested softly, ‘My apartment is quite close to here. Will you come up for a nightcap?’
Somehow she found her voice and objected huskily, ‘It’s late. I should get to bed.’
‘Exactly what I had in mind…’ he murmured.
She didn’t dare look at him.
‘With so much chemistry between us…’ He let the sentence tail off.
But then he didn’t need to say any more. Sex with him would be good, she knew that instinctively. Better than good. Mind-blowing.
Heat running through her, she said, ‘I’ve never gone in for one-night stands,’ and was uncomfortably aware that she sounded stuffy and old-fashioned.
Raising a dark brow, he asked, ‘Who said anything about a one-night stand? I have the distinct feeling that having you in my arms for a million and one nights wouldn’t be enough.’
Struggling to close her mind to the seduction in his voice and words, she looked down at her lap. For once in her life she was sorely tempted to do what Eve was always telling her to do, and live a little.
But the guilt that had been her albatross now became her saviour, reminding her that she couldn’t afford—either financially or emotionally—to get involved with this man.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she said, ‘I don’t want to go to bed with you. I’d like to go home, please.’

Chapter Two
MADELINE braced herself, expecting him to be angry, to try and persuade her to change her mind, but, showing no signs of temper or disappointment, Rafe said evenly, ‘Very well. If that’s what you want.’
Relieved that he’d accepted her decision, that she’d won so easily, she made an effort to relax her taut muscles.
The relief turned out to be premature, as he returned to the attack.
‘Have lunch with me tomorrow?’ Before she could answer, he swept on, ‘According to the forecast, it’s going to be another lovely day. We could go for a drive, and picnic in an idyllic spot I know.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t.’
‘You’re not working tomorrow, are you?’ he questioned.
‘No. But I’ve a lot to do.’ In a rush, she added, ‘Saturday mornings I clean the flat, and then I do some shopping.’
She always bought a selection of small gifts for her mother, before catching the two-thirty bus to the nursing home.
He raised dark brows. ‘Surely housework and shopping can wait? While this good weather holds, having a drive in the country and a picnic would be a lot more fun.’
Thinking of what had happened to her mother and Colin, and feeling the black taste of guilt in her mouth, she said sharply, ‘There’s a lot more to life than just having fun.’
Then, seeing the shadow that had fallen across his face, and regretting lashing out, she touched his sleeve. ‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t very gracious of me.’
‘No.’ He covered her hand with his. ‘But you don’t have to be gracious with me. I’d much prefer honesty…’
She was surprised. None of the men she’d known had particularly valued honesty.
‘Tell me why the idea of having a little fun upset you so much,’ he pursued.
It wasn’t something she could tell him.
It wasn’t something she could bring herself to tell anyone. Not even Eve and Noel.
Pulling her hand free, she said jerkily, ‘It isn’t the idea of having fun…It’s just that…’ The words tailed off.
‘You really can’t stand the sight of me?’
She should have said yes, and be done with it. Instead, she said, ‘No, it’s nothing like that.’
‘So what is it?’
‘I—I don’t have time for commitments…’
‘I wasn’t asking you to sign your life over to me,’ he said mildly, ‘merely to spend a few fleeting hours in my company. If you’re busy Saturday morning, let’s make it the afternoon.’
‘I’m not free Saturday afternoon. I have to be out by two-thirty.’
‘What time will you be home?’
Naturally truthful, she admitted, ‘About six.’
‘Then have dinner with me.’
Before she could think of an excuse, they were turning into Danetree Court, an old-fashioned block in a tree-lined square.
As they drew up outside her ground-floor flat, fumbling in her bag for her key, she said quickly, ‘Don’t bother to get out.’
Ignoring her injunction, Rafe asked the driver to wait and accompanied her across the pavement. In the amber glow from the street lamp he unlocked the door and handed her back the key.
‘Thank you.’ Dropping it into her bag, she slipped inside and turned to face him.
He was standing so close that she could feel the warmth of his body and his breath stirring her hair.
She glanced up.
His mouth was only inches away. Just the thought of it touching hers again sent shivers down her spine and brought her out in goose-pimples.
She backed a step. ‘And thank you for a very nice evening. I’ve had a lovely time.’
‘I’m pleased you’ve enjoyed it.’ Then, as though it was all settled, ‘I thought we’d go to Annabel’s tomorrow evening
She hesitated, knowing full well she should stop this thing in its tracks but wanting desperately to see him again.
Looking into her face, seeing her waver, he added firmly, ‘I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.’
Though common sense told her she was being a fool, she agreed, ‘All right.’
When he lifted a quizzical brow at her lack of enthusiasm, her voice unsteady, she added, ‘I’ll look forward to it…Well, goodnight.’
He tilted his head to one side, a gesture she was coming to know. ‘Rafe?’
‘Rafe,’ she echoed obediently. It was the first time she had used his name.
‘Goodnight, Madeleine. Sleep well.’
‘Goodnight,’ she said again.
He didn’t turn away as she had expected. Instead he stood quite motionless, watching her.
She knew she should step back and close the door, but, fascinated by the unnerving stillness that generated so much sexual tension, she was still rooted to the spot when he bent and kissed her.
This time his mouth was not only sweet, but also familiar. His arms went around her, and he drew her close. His kiss was firm and masterful and when he sought to deepen it her lips parted as though there was no help for it.
The last obstacle removed, his mouth began to move against hers in a sizzling kiss that melted her last defences as easily as a blowtorch melted butter.
He tasted like ambrosia. Her stomach clenched and her heart began to race wildly, while desire dried her throat and ran like red-hot lava through her bloodstream.
She was no longer capable of thinking straight when, a few seconds later, he freed her mouth and, his voice husky, murmured, ‘You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t wait to feel your naked body against mine, to make love to you…’
Looking up into his shadowy face, she knew she ought to send him away. But she couldn’t.
‘Is that what you want?’ he murmured.
She nodded silently and, her breathing shallow and ragged, waited impatiently while he went to pay off the taxi.
He came back and, taking her chin in his hand, lifted her face and began to kiss her again, kisses sweeter than wine, as he eased them inside and closed the door.
In the gloom, he continued to kiss her while he removed the clasp that held her hair. She heard his little murmur of satisfaction as the silky mass tumbled around her shoulders and he ran his fingers through it.
Then his hands slipped to the warmth of her nape and began to travel over her, tracing her shoulders, her ribcage, her slender waist, the flare of her hips and the curve of her firm buttocks.
‘I’ve never met a women I wanted so much,’ he murmured against her lips.
His touch was all she had ever hoped for or needed, and above his softly spoken words she could hear his heart beating. Or was it her own?
Caught up in a whirl of sensual delight, on a flight to the stars, she was hearing things, tasting things, feeling things that she had never heard or tasted or felt before.
While he continued to kiss her he unbuttoned her blouse and, unhooking the fastening of her bra, slipped one hand inside. Her breast fitted neatly into his palm. Enjoying the warm weight of it, he brushed his thumb over the velvety nipple and felt it firm beneath his touch. Shudders of pleasure running through her, she gasped deep in her throat. Hearing that muffled sound and interpreting it correctly, he bent his head to take the other nipple in his mouth and suckle until her whole body was on fire with longing.
When she could stand no more she pushed him away and, taking his hand, urged him towards the bedroom.
As the door closed behind them, the small voice of reason warned her that she was acting completely out of character. Acting like a fool.
But, having jumped into the deep end, she was in over her head and unwilling to be saved. Brushing reason aside, she moved to close the slatted window blind and shut out the night.
Turning to him, she saw the gleam of his eyes in the semidarkness before he switched on the bedside lamp, flooding that part of the room in amber light.
On the dressing table close by was a framed snapshot of a smiling, fair-haired man.
Reaching out, Rafe picked it up and, his voice a little wary, asked, ‘Is this your husband?’
She answered distractedly, ‘Oh, no, that’s Noel. He’s out in the Middle East. In the oil fields.’
‘An ex-lover?’
‘A friend.’
Rafe replaced the photograph with care, and turned to gaze at her.
She had expected him to skip over the preliminaries and hurry her into bed, but with no suggestion of haste he said softly, ‘I want to look at you. Take off your clothes for me.’
As though under a spell, she began to take off her suit and blouse. But modesty once ingrained was hard to dislodge, and, aware as she was of his appreciative gaze, the lick of flame in his eyes, her cheeks were hot as she stripped off her panties.
When she straightened and stood before him naked, he made a half-smothered sound deep in his throat, a very male sound, and without taking his eyes off her for an instant began to divest himself of his own shoes and clothing.
As she watched him discard his dark silk boxer shorts, it was her turn to smother the gasp that rose in her throat. Too turned on to move, she swallowed hard, her stomach tightening with anticipation.
‘Come here,’ he said.
When she obeyed, he lifted her onto the bed and stretched out beside her. Then, propping himself on one elbow, he leaned over her and, his hand fondling her breast, he said softly, ‘You’re exquisite. The loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.’
Colin had been an unexciting lover, with a low sex drive and little skill. Not only had he preferred to make love in the dark, but also he had never told her she was beautiful, nor had he caressed her in that way.
Rather, he had avoided touching her, as though he found the idea of enjoying sex something to be slightly ashamed of.
Rafe obviously had no such inhibitions.
Inhaling the fragrance of her skin, he murmured, ‘You smell as fresh and delightful as apple blossom,’ before his mouth began to roam over her.
She shivered deliciously as his unshaven jaw rasped against the smooth skin of her flat stomach.
When he had kissed and tasted every inch of her golden flesh, his mouth returned to pleasure her breasts while his fingers found the nest of pale, silky curls and began to explore further. Shivering, she gave herself up to the sensations those skilful fingers were engendering.
It wasn’t long, however, before the exquisite torment grew too much to bear and she writhed under the lash of pleasure while desire rode her, digging in its spurs so that she began to make little whimpering sounds deep in her throat.
He paused, then, drawing her back against him, spoonfashion, he eased her hips towards him before returning his hands to her breasts.
Just at first he was careful, as though gauging her reaction. Then he began to thrust more strongly, building a tension that spiralled and grew until the sensations, almost too great to be borne, peaked, and stars exploded inside her head.
Hearing her little gasping cries with pleasure, he held her there, drawing out the moment, until he too was caught up in the surging excitement.
For a while they lay together quietly while their heart rates and breathing returned to normal. Then he drew away, and, turning her to face him, gathered her close and kissed her tenderly.
Knowing she’d been married, he had been somewhat thrown, partly by her obvious shyness, and partly by her instinctive reaction to their lovemaking. Her obvious pleasure had been followed by what he could have sworn was gratitude. Frowning, he wondered if her husband had been clumsy and lacking skill, or simply uncaring.
Seeing that frown, she asked a shade anxiously, ‘I hope you weren’t disappointed?’
‘Anything but,’ he assured her.
Then, picking up her very real concern, he kissed her and, leaning his forehead against hers, told her with soft emphasis, ‘You’re very special, and I’m immensely flattered that you let me into your bed.’
Feeling her relax, with a little sigh of relief he settled her head on his shoulder. She felt limp as arag doll. The power and intensity of his lovemaking had left her exhausted, totally drained, yet at the same time full of bliss, brimming with rapture.
Never for a moment had she imagined love could be like this—and yes, it was love—never imagined that this strength of feeling could take root and blossom so quickly. It wasn’t just the result of sexual deprivation, nor was it simply the chemistry between them. This was different. This was more. Much more.
They seemed to meet on every level, physical, mental and emotional. And as she slid into sleep she found herself thinking that if she searched the world over she would never find a man who was more right for her.

The same thought was in her mind when she stirred and surfaced slowly, her body relaxed and satisfied, a quiet happiness singing through her.
She was in love, truly in love, for the very first time. It was a big risk, letting herself fall so hard and so fast for a man she had only just met.
But she couldn’t say she hadn’t known what she was doing. Well aware that she was vulnerable, well aware that she was teetering on the brink of falling for him, well aware that making love with him could easily push her over, she had walked into it with her eyes wide open.
And it had been wonderful beyond words. She had never felt so utterly content. Not even her guilt over Colin could spoil things, or alter the way she felt about Rafe.
Sighing, she stretched out a hand to touch him, but she was alone. Jolted wide awake, she opened her eyes to find he was standing by the bed fully dressed, a cup of tea in his hand.
‘I’m sorry to wake you, but I thought it best if I left early.’
He set the cup on the bedside cabinet and smiled down at her. The blind was still closed, but even in the half-light his thickly lashed green eyes were brilliant, and with his hair a little rumpled, a dark stubble adorning his jaw, he looked irresistibly virile and attractive.
Her heart doing strange things, she pushed herself into a sitting position.
‘What I’d really like to do,’ he went on, ‘is stay and make love to you until such a time as the sight of a strange man leaving your flat wouldn’t raise a single eyebrow…’
Just his words made her go hot all over and sent a surge of desire running through her.
‘But bearing in mind what you said about having a lot to do, I’m restraining the urge…’
Disappointment pricked sharp as a thorn.
‘I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.’
He stooped and kissed her, a lingering kiss, as if he couldn’t bear to leave her. She was on the verge of begging him to stay when he straightened and strode to the door.
An instant later he was gone.
For a moment or two she felt empty and lost—bereft—as if the whole thing had been nothing but a wonderful dream. But the cup of tea sitting by her elbow was tangible proof, not only that he was no dream, but also that he’d cared enough to think about her. Gladness returning, she reached for the cup and took a sip. Only the day to get through and she would be seeing him again.
Excitement and anticipation buoying her up, the morning passed quite quickly, and even her afternoon visit to the nursing home didn’t seem quite so fraught as usual. For the first time in what seemed an age, happiness was crowding out guilt. Or at least masking it.
By a quarter past seven that evening, showered, dressed and lightly made-up, Madeleine was ready and waiting. Standing by the window, she watched as a silver Porsche drew up by the kerb promptly at seven-thirty, and Rafe jumped out. He looked breathtakingly handsome in well-cut evening clothes, and she wondered if she was underdressed for Annabel’s.
Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she let him ring the bell before picking up her evening purse and going to open the door.
He smiled at her. ‘Ready?’
Madeleine nodded. ‘Will I do?’ she asked a shade anxiously.
His glance swept over her from head to toe.
She was wearing a simple black dress that clung lovingly to her slender curves and set off her flawless, pale gold skin. Her blonde hair was taken up in a gleaming coil that served to emphasise her pure bone structure, and in her neat lobes were small gold hoops.
A light in his eyes, he said, ‘You look stunning,’ and bent his dark head to kiss her.
Her heart leapt in her breast, and she knew he held everything she was, everything she hoped for, in the palm of his hand.
It was a beautiful evening, warm and still, and she could smell roses in the heart of town as she was escorted to the car.
When she was settled, he slid in beside her and started the engine. As they left the square behind them and joined the evening queue of traffic, he queried lightly, ‘Missed me?’
The true answer was yes, but she said primly, ‘I haven’t had time.’
‘So what have you been doing all day?’
‘Nothing very exciting. I spent most of the morning cleaning and shopping.’
‘But you went out in the afternoon? Anywhere nice?’
Flustered by the question, she said, ‘No, not particularly.’ She had meant to sound casual, but it came out as defensive, and she bit her lip.
Intrigued by her tone, he wondered what she was hiding. Deciding not to push it—he’d find out when he knew her better—he changed tack.
‘What made you decide to become a physiotherapist?’
She relaxed, glad to chat about her work. ‘You might call it following in my father’s footsteps. Physiotherapy was his chosen profession, and it was widely acknowledged that he had healing hands. When I was a child he became prominent in his field, and so much in demand that he turned into a workaholic.’
‘So you didn’t see much of him?’ Rafe questioned.
‘No.’ There was a remembered hint of sadness. ‘When he wasn’t at his consulting rooms in Baker Street, he was often in the States giving lecture tours.’
‘Why the States? Any particular reason?’
‘My father’s American by birth. He was brought up and had done his early training in Boston.’
‘So you’re half American? Any relatives over there?’ he asked.
‘Just an aunt and uncle we used to visit. They were always delighted to see us.’ Madeleine smiled as she reminisced.
Rafe asked no further questions, and they lapsed into silence until the Porsche drew up outside the famous basement entrance in Berkeley Square.
When he had helped her out, he handed the keys to the doorman and they made their way down the steps and in through a door at the bottom.
‘Good evening, Mr Lombard. Nice to see you.’ Clearly well-known, Rafe was welcomed inside.
As he signed in he was greeted by a couple who looked inclined to attach themselves, until he said with smooth politeness, ‘Well, if you’ll excuse us?’ and led Madeleine away.
When they were out of earshot, he added, ‘Jo and Tom are very nice, but I wanted you all to myself tonight.’
She flushed with pleasure.
There was a mere handful of people in the bar, even fewer in the restaurant, and the dance floor was empty, its dark mirrors reflecting nothing.
‘It doesn’t get busy until later, so we’ll have plenty of time to dine in comfort and then we can dance later.’
Just the thought of being held in his arms made her temperature rise even more.
When they were settled at a table and had been given menus, he asked, ‘Is there anything in particular you fancy?’
Wanting only to watch his face in the candlelight, she shook her head. ‘You order for me.’
The order given, they were sipping an aperitif when he reached across the table and, taking her slim but strong hand, examined it.
‘You said your father had healing hands. Have you?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ she said honestly. ‘Nor have I my father’s sheer dedication.’
‘So you’re not a committed career woman?’ He glanced up and met her gaze.
‘Not really. I could be just as happy being a wife and mother.’
‘At the risk of sounding chauvinistic, I find that highly commendable in this materialistic age. Most of the women I’ve met have been career-orientated. Being ‘just’ a wife and mother comes a very poor second to their independence. No wonder so many men feel threatened…’
His white smile flashed suddenly. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want a brainless, compliant woman, no matter how beautiful she was, nor would I want a clinging vine…’
‘What would you want?’ She laughed.
‘An intelligent, independently minded woman who was capable of standing beside me as my equal. Yet a woman who would be willing to put her home and family before her career.’
Had he stayed single because he couldn’t find the right kind of woman? she wondered. Or was that just an excuse so he could go on playing the field?
As though he knew exactly what she was thinking, he added, ‘Someone with all those qualities isn’t easy to find. That’s one of the reasons I haven’t been in a hurry to marry.’
‘Then you intend to?’ The instant the words were out she wished them unsaid, and the warm colour rose in her cheeks.
A hint of amusement in his voice, he said, ‘Oh yes, I fully intend to…’
To Madeleine’s relief the arrival of the first course provided a welcome diversion, and during the rest of what proved to be a very enjoyable meal Rafe kept the conversation light and general.
They had reached the coffee stage before he returned to more personal matters, by asking, ‘Do you enjoy your work at the clinic?’
‘Yes. Though of course it’s just a temporary post, and part-time.’
‘You have private patients as well?’
‘Some. But by the time this job ends I’m hoping to have more,’ Madeleine said, taking a sip of her coffee.
‘Do you treat children?’ Rafe asked.
‘Oh, yes. At the moment I’m visiting a young boy who injured his knee playing football. Why do you ask?’
‘My sister, Diane, and her husband, Stuart, have a problem. A couple of months ago their ten-year-old daughter, Katie, was quite badly injured when she fell from her horse. Since leaving hospital Katie has been treated at home, but it seems she’s grown to dislike her present physiotherapist and has refused to have any further treatment. Would you be willing to take a look at her?’
A little flustered, Madeleine agreed, ‘Of course. If you think I’ll be able to help.’
‘If Katie takes to you, and I can’t imagine she won’t, you could be the answer to all our prayers…More coffee?’
‘I don’t think so, thank you.’
Rafe smiled a dazzling smile and asked. ‘Then would you like to dance?’
The club had started to fill up, and there were several couples already on the floor.
Madeleine’s eyes lit up. ‘Yes, I’d love to.’
Even in her own ears her words sounded eager and breathless, and as he took her hand and led her onto the floor she wondered where the old cool and composed Madeleine had gone.
Though it was a long time since she had been on a dance floor, she had always enjoyed dancing. But this was something special.
He was a good dancer, light on his feet and with a purely masculine grace. As he held her to his heart, his cheek against her hair, they moved round the floor as though made for each other.
For Madeleine the rest of the evening passed in a kind of dream as, without speaking, just enjoying the music and the closeness, they danced every dance.
When the floor started to get crowded, Rafe murmured in her ear, ‘About ready to go?’
She nodded, a little shiver of excitement running down her spine. She hadn’t allowed herself to think any further than dining and dancing at Annabel’s, but now the evening was over and the night lay ahead.
When she was settled in the Porsche, he turned to look directly into her eyes. ‘I shared your bed last night. Will you come to Denver Court tonight and share mine?’
A betraying catch in her voice, she agreed lightly, ‘That seems only fair.’
As they drew up outside the imposing tower-block complex and he helped her out, one of the night security staff came hurrying over.
‘Evening, Mr Lombard…Anything I can do for you?’
‘Could you put the car away, please, Jim?’ A folded note changed hands.
His arm around her waist, Rafe escorted Madeleine into the building and across the pale marble-floored foyer to the lift.
On the top floor they stepped out into a wide, luxuriously carpeted area with a white and gold decor and extravagant arrangements of fresh flowers.
When he let them into his apartment and flicked on the lights, she saw that he occupied one of the corner penthouse suites. From the spacious and attractive L-shaped living room, French windows led onto a walled patio and garden.
She gasped as she looked around her, taking in the luxurious surroundings. Rafe smiled and bent to touch his lips to the warmth of her nape, before asking, ‘Would you like a nightcap?’
Shivering a little at the caress, and impatient for the pleasures to come, she shook her head.
Taking her hand in his, he led her through to a large en suite bedroom with pale walls and a thundercloud-blue carpet and curtains.
Opening a connecting door into a similar room decorated in ivory tones, he suggested, ‘If you’d like to use the guestroom facilities you’ll find everything there you need.’
In the well-appointed bathroom there was indeed everything a guest could want, including slippers and a white towelling robe.
She found herself wondering how often he brought his women back here.
It was an uncomfortable thought, and she pushed it hastily away. This might only be another brief and casual affair as far as he was concerned, but for her it was special, a once-in-a-lifetime love affair, no matter how short a time it lasted.
When she had cleaned her teeth and showered, she brushed out her long, silky hair and, a little shy, put on the towelling robe before making her way back to Rafe’s room.
He was just emerging from his bathroom, stark naked apart from a towel slung round his neck that he was using onehanded to rub his dark hair.
As she hesitated in the doorway, tossing aside the towel, he held out both hands. ‘Come here.’
Loving that touch of arrogance, she went to him, and was rewarded with a lingering kiss.
He had shaved, and she could smell the fresh, spicy scent of his cologne. Eyes still closed, she put up a hand and stroked his smooth cheek.
‘Mmm…’ she murmured.
Nuzzling his face against her throat, he said, ‘I intend to kiss every inch of you, and bristles can play havoc with delicate skin.’
Untying the belt of her robe, he slid his hands inside and, like a blind man reading Braille, ran his fingers over her slender body, savouring the purely tactile pleasure.
It was strangely erotic, and by the time his hands returned to her breasts she was quivering all over. When his thumbs brushed lightly across the sensitive nipples, she gasped.
As he continued to tease, soon aroused to fever-pitch, she pressed her hips against his.
But, refusing to be hurried, he said, ‘We’ve got all night. Plenty of time to take things slow and easy, to ravish you, in the best sense of the word.’
She wondered how he could be so patient, so willing to wait for his own pleasure.
As though reading her mind, he said softly, ‘Your body responds so delightfully to my every touch, it makes the pleasure mutual.’
He put his mouth to her breast and laved the nipple with his tongue. ‘You like that, don’t you?’
She shuddered, and, holding his dark head between her hands, breathed, ‘Yes, but I don’t think I can stand much more…’
‘Oh, I think you can.’
When he finally lifted her onto the bed and stretched out beside her, she was almost mindless, poised on the brink.
He stoked a caressing hand down her slender figure and, finding the warm, silky skin of her inner thighs, used a single long finger to tip her over. Her whole body bucked convulsively, and she lay quivering and helpless until the exquisite sensations began to die away.
She felt a little triste. She had wanted to make love with him, to share the experience, to know he was feeling the same delight and joy she was feeling.
When she opened dazed eyes, he was watching her.
Smiling at her, as though he understood perfectly, he said, ‘It’s all right,’ and with those skilful hands he proceeded to reawaken the desire she had thought sated.
Then slowly, very slowly, as though to draw every last ounce of pleasure out of it, he made love to her, building up a molten core of heat, a spiralling tension, until the tension snapped and sent them both rocketing into space.
She drifted back to earth to find his dark head was lying on her breast and his hand holding hers. It was one of the sweetest sensations she had ever felt.
Her heart overflowing with love and gratitude she lay quietly enjoying their closeness until he moved away and, turning onto his back, gathered her against him and settled her head on his shoulder.

Chapter Three
AFTER a night OF love-making, it was almost ten o’clock when Madeleine woke. She was alone in the big bed, but just as that fact registered the door opened and Rafe came in carrying a tray.
His dark hair was still damp from the shower, and he was wearing a short, navy-blue silk robe. ‘Good morning.’ He smiled lazily as she pushed herself upright. ‘I thought we’d be decadent and have breakfast in bed.’
He put the tray on the bedside table and, leaning over to kiss her, remarked wickedly, ‘After the night we’ve just spent, I don’t know how you can look so beautiful and fresh.’
‘I’m happy,’ she said simply. She had never thought she would say those words again.
He smiled at her. ‘Happiness suits you.’
As he sat on the bed and fed her toast and scrambled eggs and coffee, his voice casual, Rafe suggested, ‘Tell me some more about yourself.’
Instantly uneasy, she said, ‘There’s not a great deal to tell.’
Sensing that unease, and wondering what was causing it, he decided to go slowly. ‘Do your parents still live in London?’
‘They got divorced when I was twelve.’
‘Presumably it was your father’s dedication to work that caused the break-up.’
‘Yes. Though my mother loved him passionately, eventually she got fed up with him never being there for us.’ Madeleine turned her head away from him.
‘Was it an amicable parting?’
‘As amicable as these things ever can be.’
Rafe probed further, ‘But you must have missed him?’
‘Yes, I did, and I don’t think my mother ever really got over it.’ She felt her eyes begin to water, but she smiled as she looked up at Rafe.
‘She didn’t marry again?’
‘No. I believe she still loves him. Certainly there was never anyone else.’
‘Do you still see him?’
Madeleine shook her head. ‘Some time after the divorce he remarried and went to live in Los Angeles. We haven’t had any contact for years.’
Then, wanting to escape from the spotlight, she said quickly, ‘Now it’s your turn to tell me something about yourself.’
His face straight, he replied, ‘There’s not a great deal to tell.’ He laughed and kissed her, before beginning, ‘I lost my father when I was twelve. A year after he died, my mother married again. Her new husband was an ex-army officer.’
‘Did you all get on as a family?’
‘Diane, who’s seven years older than me, was away at university, so that left just the three of us, and unfortunately my stepfather and I didn’t get along. I resented him taking my father’s place and showed it, which, with hindsight, must have made life extremely difficult for my mother. My stepfather was a strict disciplinarian and after he’d whacked me a couple of times for what he termed insolence, I began to seriously hate his guts.’ Rafe paused for a moment before continuing.
‘Things went from bad to worse, and the whacks changed to beatings. On the final occasion, when he began to lay into me with his belt, my mother tried to intervene. He pushed her out of the way so roughly that she stumbled and fell. I saw red and went for him. I wasn’t quite fourteen at the time.’
Her aquamarine eyes full of concern, Madeleine asked, ‘What happened?’
Matter-of-factly, he said, ‘I managed to split his lip before ending up in Casualty.’
As she winced he added, ‘I think he may have been genuinely sorry afterwards. But it was patently obvious that things couldn’t go on like that, so I was hastily packed off to live with my godparents.’
Madeleine reached out to touch his arm. ‘Were you very upset?’
‘For a time I was very bitter,’ he admitted. ‘Though my godparents were amazing.’
‘Had they any children of their own?’
‘One daughter, Fiona. But they had always hoped for a son, and were only too delighted to have me.’
‘Fiona wasn’t jealous at all?’
His face softened. ‘Oh, no. We got to be very close. In fact for a while she hero-worshipped me. She was nearly three years younger than me, and I always called her my kid sister.’
‘So it was a good move?’
‘Oh, yes. The whole family treated me exactly like their own, and I was very happy with them until I went up to Oxford. My godfather died eighteen months ago and it was like losing a father…
‘But that’s enough doom and gloom—let’s talk about something else. What shall we do for the rest of the day? Would you like to—’
‘I can’t,’ she broke in desperately. On Sundays she always had lunch at the nursing home, and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening there. ‘I mean, I’m already going out.’
When she made no effort to elaborate, he asked, ‘What time do you need to start?’
‘In about an hour.’
‘Then as soon as you’ve showered and dressed, I’ll take you home.’ Though his voice was even, she knew he was vexed by her reticence, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her mother. He was sure to ask questions that, burdened with guilt, she didn’t want to answer.
His profile cool and aloof, he drove through the Sunday streets in silence. She longed to break that silence, but could think of nothing to say.
When he drew up outside her flat and, still without speaking, helped her out, she felt a sudden panic in case this was the end.
What would she do if he simply drove away?
As though to keep her guessing, he unlocked her door and handed her back the key, before asking, ‘Are you free tomorrow evening?’
‘Yes,’ she said eagerly.
‘Then if you like, I’ll take you to see Katie and her parents. I’ve already mentioned your name to them.’
‘There’s just one thing…’ Madeleine began a shade awkwardly.
Reading her hesitation, he said, ‘You prefer to keep your private and professional lives separate?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘That’s fine by me. All they know up to now is that you’re the physiotherapist who checked me out, and we can keep it that way. I’ll pick you up at six-thirty, and afterwards we can have dinner.’

Madeleine liked Rafe’s sister and brother-in-law on sight. Over drinks on the sunny terrace of their Surrey home she learnt that Diane, with her brother’s seal-dark hair and green eyes, was a lawyer, and Stuart, a pleasant, easy-going man, worked as an architect.
They both doted on their only daughter and were over the moon when Katie took an immediate liking to Madeleine, and agreed to have further treatment.
The liking was mutual. Madeleine instantly lost her heart to the quiet, sensitive child, with her long dark hair, her big brown eyes and shy smile.

Over the next few weeks, with regular treatments, Katie’s condition improved enormously, and a strong bond developed between her and Madeleine.
Rafe was delighted for everyone’s sake, but he stayed well out of things and, though his and Madeleine’s relationship grew and blossomed, it was never mentioned.
They spent as much time with one another as possible, dancing, dining, talking, simply being together.
Several times, while the good weather held, he barbecued for them on his patio. Afterwards, safe from prying eyes, they made sweet, delectable love in the sun.
As the days and weeks passed and Madeleine got to know him better, her happiness increased. Apart from his physical attributes and his prowess as a lover, he proved to be eventempered and generous, an intelligent, stimulating companion, always sensitive to her needs.
She knew that never in her lifetime would she find another man who suited her so well, and, eternally grateful, she said many a prayer of thanks to the goddess of destiny for the miracle that had brought him into her life.
Only her visits to the nursing home cast a shadow. Rafe said nothing openly, but she knew he was ruffled by her unexplained absences. Even a little jealous of whom she might be meeting.
Each time she tried to tell him the truth guilt made the words stick in her throat, and she chickened out. But one of these days, she promised herself, she would find the courage to tell him everything.
In the meantime, though she still spent most of Sunday at the nursing home, she had changed her Saturday visit to the morning—struggling with the shopping and housework when she could—to leave the afternoon free.
That Saturday afternoon they had something very special planned. Jonathan Cass was one of her favourite artists, and Rafe had accepted an invitation to a one-day private showing of Cass’s new, and so far unseen, works.
He had arranged to pick her up at twelve-thirty so they could have lunch together before going on to the Piccadilly gallery, and she left the nursing home earlier than usual to make certain she was home in good time.
She was only just back when the phone rang.
Sounding tense, unlike himself, Rafe said, ‘Some urgent business has cropped up. Would you mind very much if I picked you up after lunch?’
‘Of course not.’
Sounding relieved, he said, ‘Then I’ll see you about two.’
It had been a damp, grey morning, and by two o’clock it was pelting down with rain.
Rafe was always on time—she had never known him to be late—and as the hands of the clock moved with maddening slowness—two-fifteen, two-thirty, a quarter to three—and he failed to arrive, she began to get anxious and jumpy.
As she stood staring blindly out into the wet, windswept square, watching the raindrops run down the windowpane like tears, she saw the ghost of his face blurry in the glass and felt a queer foreboding.
Oh, dear God, suppose something had happened to him? The panicky thought made her heart begin to race uncomfortably fast.
Don’t be a fool, she chided herself. Of course nothing had happened to him. No doubt he’d just been held up. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he phoned? It would have only taken a moment to reassure her.
After waiting until three-thirty without hearing from him she called his mobile, only to find it was switched off. In desperation she tried his flat at Denver Court, but it rang hollow and empty, until the answering machine picked up her call.
By the time five o’clock arrived, convinced that her worst fears had been realised, she was a mass of jangling nerves. She was wondering agitatedly whom she could contact, when she saw his car pull up outside. The rush of relief was so great that it made her feel giddy and light-headed.
He had his own key by now, and she stood, her knees trembling so much they would hardly support her, while he crossed the streaming pavement and let himself in. She wanted to run to him, but she could neither move nor speak.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get here any sooner.’ As he spoke he took off his coat and hung it up.
When he turned she noticed some angry-looking marks on his face, as though a cat had raked its claws down his cheek.
‘What have you done to your face?’
‘It’s just a scratch,’ he said dismissively.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she remarked, ‘I wondered what had happened to you.’
‘I was unavoidably detained.’
She waited for some kind of explanation, but he said nothing further.
After so much anxiety, his casual dismissal of the subject caught her on the raw.
Seeing her mouth tighten, he said, ‘We can still go to the gallery this evening.’
‘It’s not that,’ she assured him stiffly. ‘I was worried to death about you. I just wish you’d given me a ring.’
‘I’m afraid my mobile went on the blink.’
The obvious excuse did nothing to help matters.
‘Forgive me?’ Seeing her set face, he smiled. ‘Oh, dear, obviously not.’
His eyes fixed on her mouth, he bent his head to kiss her.
She moved back a step.
He sighed. ‘And here I’ve been, waiting all day to kiss you. Waiting all day just to touch you, to take you to bed and make love to you.’
Angry with him for his cavalier attitude, she looked at him stonily.
‘In that case, I’ll have to resort to a spot of friendly persuasion.’
Catching the lapels of her jacket, he pulled her towards him. Then, one hand beneath her chin, he lifted her face to meet his kiss.
It wasn’t until his lips touched hers that she realised just how urgent was her need to have him kiss her. Just how much she needed to be reassured that he was really here, to be with her.
But, unwilling to let him know it, she tried her utmost to hide how she felt. Though she badly wanted to, she refused to put her arms round his neck, refused to melt against him as she normally did.
Even so, they were standing so close she could feel the warmth of his body, the ripple of his muscles, the firmness of his flesh.
His hand slid up and down her spine in a restless movement that told her he didn’t like restraining himself, but was doing it anyway while he waited for some sign that he was forgiven.
After a time, when none was forthcoming, he lifted his mouth enough to murmur huskily, ‘Are you persuaded yet?’
Her anger having drained away, she answered, ‘Not yet; keep trying.’
His lips curved into a smile before his arms closed around her and he kissed her again.
Unable to resist him any longer, she reached up slowly, her fingertips tenderly tracing the scratches, before her palm cupped the hard planes of his cheek.
She heard his indrawn breath before he covered her hand with his own and, carrying it to his lips, kissed the palm.
Her whole being melted with love for him, and she wondered, how on earth had she managed to live before she met him?
When she tugged her hand free he frowned, a frown that changed to a glint of satisfaction as her fingers began to undo his shirt buttons.
It was only later that she realised she ought to have pressed him for an explanation first, but how could she, when so many times she had failed to give him one?
His need urgent, he swept her up in his arms and carried her through to the bedroom. When he had swiftly undressed her and lifted her onto the bed, he stripped off his own clothes.
Though she had seen him naked many times, she caught her breath yet again. He was a magnificent male animal, and she was his chosen mate. It was as wonderfully simple, as down to earth, as that.
Mostly he was a slow, skilful lover who took his time and enjoyed pleasuring her, building up the intensity until often she was gasping and writhing, hardly able to bear all the exquisite sensations he was engendering.
But now he wasted no time on foreplay, and trembling enough to rouse him even more, she accepted his weight eagerly.
She could hear his quickened breathing, feel the thump of his heart, and knowing she had caused it gave her pleasure.
Briefly she was pliant beneath him, waiting. Then she was taut as a drawn bow string as he drove hard and fast, carrying them both to a shattering climax.
She experienced a complete losing of self, then a gradual gathering back as they lay in an erotic tangle of limbs, both breathing as if they’d just run a race.
After a while he lifted himself away and, leaning over her, brushed a loose tendril of silky blonde hair away from her flushed cheek.
‘All right?’ His expression held a mixture of concern and tenderness.
‘Of course,’ she assured him. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’
‘Well, I wasn’t very gentle.’
His words made her think, made her suddenly appreciate that normally he was careful with her. But something—that brief touch of discord perhaps?—had thrown him off balance.
‘You don’t have to treat me like porcelain,’ she told him a shade tartly. ‘I won’t break.’
Suddenly he was laughing. ‘Are you trying to tell me you prefer it hard and fast to slow and easy? Well, well, well…’
‘I’m not trying to tell you anything of the kind. I like…’ She broke off and, feeling her colour rise, tried to wriggle free.
Putting an arm either side of her, he said silkily, ‘Do go on. It’s about time you opened up and told me. What do you like? I’m always willing to oblige.’
He was in a strange mood, she thought, and accused, ‘You’re trying to embarrass me.’
‘Succeeding too, if the way you’re blushing is anything to go by,’ he said arrogantly.
Pushing herself up, she made another, more determined, attempt to escape.
He foiled her by the simple expedient of pulling her elbows from beneath her.
‘Don’t be shy. Tell me.’
‘Rafe, please…’
‘That’s my intention as soon as I know what pleases you the most…’
When she remained silent, he sighed. ‘Oh, well, if you’re determined not to tell me, I’ll just have to experiment and make my own judgement…’
‘Not now.’ She tried once more to sit up.
Pushing her gently back, he said, ‘Now.’
Secure in the knowledge that all hunger was sated, she said, ‘You’ll be wasting your time.’
‘I don’t think so.’
She quivered like a plucked string under his hands as he effortlessly re-aroused her desire. Soon she was spinning in some crazy world of sublime sensations while his every touch, his seeking mouth and tongue added more…
When finally she lay limp and emotionally drained, he gathered her close and kissed her. ‘Sleep now.’
After a short time she awoke refreshed to find he was up and dressed.
‘If we have a quick meal at the Xanadu we’ve still got time to go to the gallery.’
‘We don’t have to go.’
‘I know you want to.’ Bending down to kiss her, he added, ‘And I don’t want you to miss out on anything that gives you pleasure.’
As she showered and dressed, she thought—as she’d thought before and was to think many times in the coming weeks—how lucky she was to have Rafe. With a quiet but radiant happiness, she found herself daring to anticipate the day when he would tell her he loved her and ask her to be his wife.

Then, one golden evening in late September, a woman arrived at the clinic asking to speak to Madeleine on a matter of some urgency.
Presuming it was business, she agreed, and when a tall, good-looking brunette was shown in, she held out her hand with a friendly smile. ‘Hello…I’m Madeleine Knight.’
The expression in her dark eyes unmistakably hostile, the newcomer, beautifully dressed and thin to the point of gauntness, ignored the proffered hand. ‘And I’m Fiona Charn, Rafe’s fiancée…’
Sitting down in the visitor’s chair, she crossed slim, silkclad legs. ‘To put it bluntly, I gather that while I’ve been away this last time, he’s been bedding you…’
Watching the hot colour pour into Madeleine’s cheeks, Fiona added, ‘But I’m wearing his ring.’ She flashed a large, square-cut emerald.
Somehow Madeleine gathered herself enough to say jerkily, ‘I had no idea he had a fiancée.’
‘Oh, I don’t blame you in particular. Rafe’s always been a red-blooded man, and if it hadn’t been you it would have been some other woman. He’s extremely attractive to the opposite sex. Women throw themselves at him, so in a way one can’t wonder that he takes advantage…
‘But now I’m home it has to stop. Rafe’s mine.’
Her voice sounding thin and tight, Madeleine said, ‘If he’s that kind of man I’m surprised you still want him.’
‘Oh, I want him all right, so if you were thinking of suggesting that I set him free, forget it…For one thing he doesn’t want out, and for another, we have a bargain…’
‘A bargain?’ Madeleine echoed.
‘When it became clear that I was to be an only child, Daddy was bitterly disappointed. He held the old-fashioned belief that no mere woman could be expected to run a business empire successfully. Then Rafe came to live with us, and it was like a dream come true. The son he’d always wanted.
‘Daddy was a wealthy man, but most of his money was tied up in the business and, to give him his due, he was concerned about my future.’ Fiona paused, tossing her silken hair over her shoulder.
‘After his first heart attack, he talked things over with Rafe and agreed to leave Charn Industries to him lock, stock and barrel if he would marry me and take care of me…’
Yes, Madeleine remembered being told that Rafe had inherited the Charn empire from his godfather.
‘Rafe and I had been lovers for some time, so he was quite happy to make it legal. We’d have been married by now and there wouldn’t have been a problem if I hadn’t been diagnosed with a rare blood disorder. I’ve had to spend long periods in a private clinic undergoing treatment, which meant Rafe was left alone, and, as I say, he’s a red-blooded man who needs a woman. Any woman.’
Her voice brittle, Fiona went on, ‘Then I discovered I was pregnant, which made this last treatment more prolonged and complicated, and in the end I lost the baby…’
Shocked and horrified to think that she and Rafe had been lovers while his fiancée went through such an ordeal, Madeleine stood rooted to the spot, staring at her.
‘But now I’m back home for good, and we’ll be getting married fairly soon. I don’t intend to let him stray, so I suggest you find yourself another man, preferably one that doesn’t belong to some other woman.’
Getting to her feet, Fiona stalked out without a backward glance, leaving Madeleine devastated, shattered, her insides fractured into tiny pieces like a car’s windscreen smashed with a hammer.

She was still standing staring blindly into space when Eve came in carrying the next patient’s notes. ‘Dear God!’ she exclaimed, after a glance at her friend’s face. ‘You’re as white as a sheet. What on earth’s wrong?’
Madeleine focused with difficulty, and her voice impeded, said, ‘Fiona Charn, the woman who just went out, is Rafe’s fiancée.’
‘What?’
‘She’s Rafe’s fiancée,’ Madeleine repeated.
Seeing her sway, and afraid she was going to faint, Eve pushed her into a chair.
‘You’re sure? You haven’t got the wrong end of the stick or anything?’
‘She was wearing his ring.’
‘No! It can’t be right; he loves you…I felt sure he did.’ Eve was angry and indignant on her behalf. ‘But if he’s that kind of man, perhaps you’re better off without him…’
She gave her friend a quick hug and, seeing the blankness of shock still on Madeleine’s face, said, ‘Look, why don’t you go home? I’ll tell Mrs Bond you’re ill and get someone to fill in for you.’
‘No…I’ll be all right. I’d rather keep working. Just give me a few minutes.’

When Madeleine went home that evening, Eve insisted on going with her. ‘Noel might well be out, and I don’t think you should be alone,’ she said soberly.
But Noel, who was just back from the Middle East and currently sleeping on Madeleine’s bed-settee, was at home.
When he heard the news he was sympathetic, even angrier than his sister, and a great deal more vocal. ‘I’d like to break the bastard’s neck,’ was one of his more restrained comments.
But as Madeleine pointed out bleakly, though Rafe had treated the woman who was to be his future wife with a callous disregard that was unforgivable, he had told her no lies. Promised her nothing.
He had never said he was free, never said he loved her or asked for her love. She had given it freely, and foolishly perhaps, presumed he was free, presumed he cared about her.
She couldn’t have been more wrong. But perhaps, after what had happened to Colin and her mother, she didn’t deserve to be happy. Perhaps it was poetic justice that Rafe hadn’t loved her, any more than she had loved Colin…Perhaps this was what she deserved…
‘Don’t make excuses for him,’ Noel broke into her thoughts. ‘He’s just been using you…I take it you won’t be joining him in Paris?’
‘No!’ she said determinedly.
Rafe was in the French capital on business, and he had made all the arrangements for Madeleine to join him for a long weekend. It was a romantic trip she had been greatly looking forward to—staying on the Champs-Elysées, dining on the Bateaux Mouches, walking hand in hand down the Rue de Rivoli…
But now everything had changed.
‘When he gets back,’ Noel went on, ‘face up to the swine and tell him what you think of him.’
‘I can’t,’ she whispered.
How could she let Rafe see how heartbroken she was, how utterly devastated? It would be humiliating, mortifying. Somehow she had to walk away with at least her selfrespect intact.
Guessing what was in her mind, Eve approved her decision. ‘It might be best to let him think you don’t care, that it doesn’t mean a thing to you. At least that way you won’t be just another scalp dangling from his belt…’
‘So how are you going to get out of this Paris trip without letting him suspect the truth?’ Noel asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Madeleine said helplessly.
After the three of them had talked it over for a while, Eve exclaimed, ‘I’ve got it! Send the brute a ‘Dear John’ email. Tell him you’ve met someone new and you’re finishing with him.’
‘I don’t think that would work,’ Madeleine demurred. ‘He’s only been in Paris two days—there hasn’t been time for me to have met anyone else.’
‘In that case make it someone you already know,’ Eve said thoughtfully.
Madeleine shrugged. ‘But I don’t know anyone I could begin to pretend was a new lover…’
‘What about me?’ Noel asked. When Madeleine stared at him blankly, he said, ‘Don’t look at me like that, or you’ll seriously damage my ego. Aren’t I tanned and handsome, personable enough to play the part of your lover?’
‘Of course, but—’
‘Then all you have to do is tell the lowdown skunk that I’m the man you really care about. Go on to say that I’ve been away working, and now I’m back he’s redundant, so to speak. That would do the trick, don’t you think?’
‘It might,’ Madeleine admitted. ‘He once saw a snapshot of you and wanted to know who it was. When I told him, he asked if you were an ex-lover. I said no, a friend.’
‘That’s fine, then. You wouldn’t have been likely to admit to your current lover that I was more than just a friend, would you?
‘Right…’ He produced his laptop. ‘Get cracking, and make it offhand enough to trample his masculine pride in the dust. That way you’ll never have to set eyes on him again.’
After some input from both Eve and Noel, the short email read:
Noel has returned from the Middle East sooner than
I’d expected, so I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you in Paris after all.
Sorry it’s a bit last-minute, but I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone else to take my place.
Thanks for all the good times.
Madeleine.
‘That should do the trick,’ Noel approved.
Eve agreed, and the email was duly sent.
It wasn’t until after supper, when Eve had gone home and Noel was settled on the bed-settee, that the full realisation of what she’d done struck her, and she gave way to the bitter unhappiness that crowded in.
Climbing into bed, she buried her face in the pillow and cried until she had no more tears left, before falling into an exhausted sleep.
Next morning when she awoke, Noel was already up, and as she tidied the bedding away and folded the settee she could hear the shower running.
Still in her night things, she was making coffee when he strolled into the kitchen with a towel knotted around his lean hips.
‘Mmm…smells good.’
Madeleine had just turned to hand him a mug when she saw a car pull up outside and a familiar figure jump out.
Filled as she was with a sudden panic, her hand trembled so much that a lot of the coffee slopped over.
‘Steady there.’ Noel took the mug from her.
White to the lips, she whispered, ‘Oh, dear God, it’s Rafe. I don’t want to see him. I can’t bear it.’
‘So don’t answer the door.’ Noel shrugged.
‘He has a key,’ she admitted miserably. Then in desperation, ‘What am I going to do?’
‘I’ll soon send him packing…No, better still…Come on, kiddo, let’s give the cheating swine an Oscar-winning performance.’
Grabbing her hand, Noel hurried her into the bedroom, coming to a halt in line with the open door.
‘Put your arms round my neck and close your eyes,’ he instructed. Dropping the towel, he pulled her close and began to kiss her just as the front door opened and Rafe walked in.
Noel broke the kiss, and they both looked towards the man standing there as though the sky had fallen in on him.
Shock, and a kind of raw disbelief, showed in his face, closely followed by anger. Then the shock and anger iced over and with a razor-sharp edge to his voice he said, ‘So this is Noel…I can quite see why you didn’t want to come to Paris…’
Tossing the key he was holding onto the coffee-table, he added, ‘We’ll meet again, Madeleine, one day. Mark my words…’ and, turning on his heel, walked out.
‘That’s put paid to the swine,’ Noel remarked with satisfaction, and, using one hand to cover Madeleine’s eyes, stooped to grab the towel.
‘Now, then, if you promise to keep your eyes shut while I make myself decent, I’ll allow you to pour me another mug of coffee…’
Though she kept them shut, there was no real need to—they were blinded by tears…

Chapter Four
AS THOUGH the fates had conspired against her, the bitter end to the affair coincided with a further blow. After slipping into a deep coma, her mother died three days later at the age of just forty-four.
At the funeral Madeleine was dry-eyed, too frozen for tears. Blaming herself for her mother’s death, as she had blamed herself for her husband’s, she felt leaden, desolate, weighed down by grief and guilt.
Eve and Noel were the only other mourners. Madeleine’s aunt and uncle wrote to offer their condolences, and to apologise for not being there.
The letter ended, ‘If you feel like getting right away come and visit with us, do, and stay for as long as you want to.’
The suggestion seemed like a lifeline.
Her job at the clinic was almost over, and Noel, on summer leave, and with nowhere to live, professed himself happy to flat-sit for her.
With Eve’s encouragement, Madeleine notified her private patients, and accepted her aunt and uncle’s invitation to visit them in Boston.
Her only regret was leaving Katie, who, on hearing the news, threw her thin arms around Madeleine’s waist and, her big brown eyes overflowing with tears, cried, ‘I don’t want you to go.’
‘But you’re almost better now. If you keep on doing your exercises you don’t really need me any longer.’
‘I do, I do,’ the child wailed.
‘I promise I’ll come and visit you as soon as I get back, and then you’ll be able to show me how well you’re managing.’
Tears still running down her cheeks, Katie sniffed dolefully. ‘How long will you be gone?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Madeleine told her. ‘A few weeks…A month maybe.’
‘I’ll miss you, the little girl said, brushing away her tears.’
‘Tell you what—suppose I write to you?’
‘Can I write back?’
‘I’ll expect you to. Now, give me a smile, and don’t forget to do those exercises.’ Madeleine smiled, an ache in her heart as she said goodbye to the little girl who reminded her so much of Rafe.
‘I won’t.’

When Madeleine arrived in Boston, her aunt and uncle, who had a big house on the edge of the Common, welcomed her with open arms and, seeing how shattered she looked, did their utmost to cheer her up.
For their sakes she tried to appear cheerful, but her mother’s death had left her desolate, and she missed Rafe with a raw, ragged, savage pain that made her feel as if she’d been mauled and left for dead.
She had intended to stay in Boston for a month at the most, but, unable to regain her grip, and giving in to her aunt and uncle’s urging, the visit lengthened to five weeks.
After six weeks had gone by, feeling unable to accept their generous hospitality any longer, she declared her intention of returning to England.
‘Do you want to go home?’ her aunt asked.
‘No,’ Madeleine admitted—suppose she ran into Rafe, or saw the announcement of his wedding in the papers?—‘but I must get back to work.’
‘You’re not just worrying about money, are you? We’re not exactly poor, and I’m sure—’
‘You’re very kind, and I appreciate it. But I do want to start work again as soon as possible.’
Agreeing that that might be for the best, her uncle offered her a position in the physical-therapy unit of the Wansdon Heights Fitness Center, which he owned.
After some thought, she accepted. If she stayed safely in Boston, surely sooner or later she would forget about Rafe?
Either that or she was afraid she would grieve for the rest of her life.
Her aunt and uncle were delighted that she was staying and, when she announced her intention of finding a small apartment to rent, urged her to live with them.
‘We love having you here, and we’ve five spare bedrooms. We can turn the biggest into what you Brits call a bedsit.’
She thanked them sincerely but, needing to be independent, insisted on paying a fair rent and keeping herself.
Unable to change her mind, they agreed.
A phone call to London settled that when Noel went back to the Middle East he would hand in the keys to her flat, and Eve would store her relatively few possessions.
That part was easy. The letter to Katie, who was looking forward to having her back, was much harder to write.
The answer came by return. Her parents, apparently to soften the blow, were buying the child a computer for her birthday, and after extracting a promise that Madeleine would keep in touch by email Katie seemed reasonably cheerful.

The fitness centre was extremely busy, and in an effort to put the past behind her and give herself less time to brood Madeleine chose to work long hours, finding it rewarding and, after a time, therapeutic.
The bleakness of disillusionment, mingled with the longing for what might have been had Rafe proved to be the man of principle she had thought him, began to fade but still never truly left her thoughts. By the time Alan Bannerman joined the staff, she was over the worst. Or so she told herself.
Somehow—perhaps it was his mild manner, his charming diffidence—he got through to her, and when they had been colleagues for some six weeks she accepted a date. Apleasant, undemanding companion, he proved to be an antidote to loneliness.
When they had known each other for three months he asked her to marry him. Thinking him placid and unemotional, she was surprised by how ardently he pressed her. Unable to give him an immediate answer, she asked for time to think it over. She was relieved when he agreed to wait a week, and they arranged to have dinner the following Saturday evening.

When Saturday morning came and Madeleine still hadn’t been able to make up her mind, she decided to phone Eve and ask her opinion.
Listening to the familiar voice answer laconically, ‘Hello?’ she felt a surge of homesickness.
‘Hi, it’s me.’
‘Maddy! It’s great to hear from you!’ Eve exclaimed. ‘How are things?’
‘I’ve got something of a problem.’
‘Hang on a minute while I switch off the telly…Right, fire away.’
When Madeleine had told her, Eve exclaimed, ‘A man who’s not only nice-looking but also decent and dependable wants to marry you and you call that a problem?
‘Even though the love of my life finally moved in with me six weeks ago, I can’t get him to make any sort of commitment, let alone offer to marry me…’ Eve moaned. Then quickly added, ‘Don’t worry, I’m sympathetic really. It must be tough when it’s something as important as marriage and you can’t make up your mind!’
Madeleine laughed. ‘Be serious for a second, Eve; this is important.’
‘What’s he like in bed?’
‘I don’t know,’ Madeleine admitted.
‘So you’ve been keeping him at arm’s length? I can’t say I blame you. Once bitten, twice shy…Though if you do decide to marry him, it might not be a bad idea to find out what kind of lover he is before you actually say “I will”…’
‘That’s the problem, Eve,’ Madeleine sighed, ‘I’m fond of him, but there’s no passion.’ Then, striving to be fair, ‘At least on my side.’
‘I thought not. Otherwise you wouldn’t still be hesitating. It’s Rafe, isn’t it? You’re still in love with him.’
‘No!’ Realising her denial had been too vehement, Madeleine added more moderately, ‘No, I’m not still in love with him.’
‘But you’ve never really got over him,’ Eve concluded.
‘It has nothing to do with Rafe.’
Eve grunted her disbelief. ‘I think it has everything to do with Rafe.’
‘As far as he’s concerned it’s over and done with. All in the past. Truly.’ Madeleine tried to make her voice sound as persuasive as possible.
‘Well, I’ll believe you, thousands wouldn’t. So what do you want me to say?’
‘I just want a truthful opinion. Whether or not you think I should go ahead and marry Alan.’
‘If you need to ask my opinion, you don’t love him enough and you shouldn’t be marrying him.’
Put like that it was blindingly simple.
‘Thank you,’ Madeleine said gratefully.
‘Don’t thank me until you’ve made up your mind.’
‘It’s made up.’ Madeleine smiled, relief flooding her voice.
‘Atta girl! Is it yes or no?’
‘It’s no. You’re quite right. If I needed to ask your opinion, then I don’t love him enough. It wouldn’t be fair to marry him. We’re having dinner together tonight; I’ll tell him then.’
‘What will you do when you’ve told him? I mean, if you work together it could make things difficult.’
Madeleine paused, trying to decide what to do. ‘I think, for his sake, I’ll have to give in my notice and find another post.’
‘I agree. Leave him alone so he can gather up the pieces and get on with his life.’
Madeleine gasped at Eve’s bluntness.
‘Look on it as being cruel to be kind,’ Eve said briskly. ‘You’ll be doing him no favours by hanging around. Now, how do you feel?’
‘I’m not sure. Relieved…a bit sad…restless…unsettled…and just hearing your voice has made me feel dreadfully homesick.’
‘You’ve been there for over a year, Maddy. Why don’t you come home?’
All at once, Madeleine very much wanted to. But if she did she would be in the same city as Rafe and run a risk, however small, of seeing him.
And that she couldn’t bear.
Just the thought made her skin chill with panic and the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise.
Picking up Madeleine’s unspoken fear, Eve brought it into the open. ‘Unless you’re afraid of running into Rafe?’
‘Well, I…’
‘London’s a big place, Maddy, and it’s not as if you normally move in the same social circles.’
‘That’s true.’ Then, saying aloud something she had only thought about, ‘He’ll no doubt be married to Fiona by now.’
‘I guess so. I haven’t noticed any mention of it in the papers, but then I don’t often get to read the society columns. So how about it? Are you coming home?’
‘I’d like to, but…’ Madeleine hesitated as the practicalities of the situation struck her. She hadn’t managed to save a great deal, and by the time she had paid her airfare she would have very little money left.
‘If I come home I won’t have a job.’ She voiced one of the most serious considerations.
‘Presumably you won’t have one there when you’ve left Wansdon Heights, and there are plenty of openings in England for a good physiotherapist.’
‘I’d have nowhere to live.’ Madeleine sighed.
‘Come to me until you find somewhere.’
‘You’ve only got one bedroom.’
‘Well, I’ve a fold-away put-you-up, and I’ve recently bought a bed-settee, like you used to have, for the lounge.’
Momentarily tempted, then suddenly remembering, Madeleine said hastily, ‘I couldn’t possibly. What about Dave? He wouldn’t want another woman cluttering up the place, even for a short time.’
‘He wouldn’t dare raise any objections. I’d kick him out if he did.’ Eve laughed.
‘Please, Eve,’ Madeleine cried anxiously, ‘don’t fall out with him on my account.’
‘Hey there, I’m only joking. Where’s your sense of humour gone?’
‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m just depressed.’
‘Then it’s high time you pulled yourself together and came back home. You’ve only been marking time in the States. Why don’t you really put the past behind you and start living again?’
After a moment, Madeleine said slowly, ‘I might just do that,’ and started to mean it.
‘Honest?’ Eve queried.
‘Honest.’
‘With regard to a job, you could always treat patients privately. Visit them in their own homes, or even take a live-in position, until you find the right kind of opening and accommodation.
‘Tell you what, I’m working tomorrow morning, filling in for Tracy. I can check the list of clients who want home-visits and see what new enquiries are coming in. I’ll let you know if there’s anything that seems suitable…Now, before you go, there’s someone here who would like a word with you. Just at the moment he’s sleeping on my bed-settee while he looks for a flat.’
‘Hi, beautiful!’ said a familiar voice.
‘Noel!’ Madeleine cried, her gladness evident.
‘What’s my favourite girl been doing?’
‘Behaving like an idiot.’
‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ he joked.
‘It’s great to hear your voice.’
‘I thought you’d be pleased. Hurry back, sugar. Seeing me in the flesh is bound to give you an even bigger thrill.’
Laughing, she said, ‘I didn’t know you were home.’
‘I’m back for good, ready to settle down to a nine-to-five job behind a desk.’
Madeleine didn’t believe him for a second. ‘You’re joking, of course.’
‘Yes and no. I’m going to give it a try, anyway.’
‘Any special reason?’ she pried.
‘You mean, is there a woman involved? Yes. Her name’s Zoe. She’s five feet three, with a figure like a dream, short dark hair, and eyes the colour of chocolate. Added to that, she’s clever, good-natured and loyal, and she thinks I’m the bee’s knees,’ he added smugly.
‘Well, she would, wouldn’t she? You always did have a good sales pitch. Just take care she doesn’t discover too many faults,’ Madeleine giggled.
‘Faults?’ He sounded affronted. ‘I don’t have any faults—like most men, I’m perfect.’
‘Of course you are. Sorry.’
‘I should think so. However, just in case she hasn’t realised all my finer qualities, it wouldn’t do any harm to have you on hand to sing my praises…’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, if you can’t think of anything better, you could always tell her how shy and sweet and utterly wonderful I am. If necessary I’ll pay you.’
‘You want me to lie to her for money?’
He groaned. ‘Where are your friends when you need them? Still, I’ll forgive you if you come back as soon as possible.’
‘I intend to.’ Whether or not Eve found anything suitable, Madeleine now knew for certain that she was going home.
‘Any chance of making it back for Christmas?’
‘I seriously doubt it.’
‘There’s a cold snap on the way and good odds on it being a white one this year. Remember how, as kids, we used to wish for a white Christmas?’
‘I remember,’ Madeleine answered wistfully.
‘Well, the long-range weather forecast has been for snow nationwide, the mistletoe is up and my lips are pursed ready.’
Madeleine laughed. ‘Even with such an incentive, I’m afraid I can’t see myself making it until the New Year. But I’ll get things moving as fast as possible.’
‘You do that. Bye, now. See you soon.’
With a sigh, Madeleine replaced the receiver.
The fact that she was going home would be a blow to her aunt and uncle, and she hated the thought of telling them almost as much as she hated the thought of telling Alan. But it had to be done.
In the event, telling Alan proved to be an even worse ordeal than she had anticipated. Displaying an unexpected streak of tenacity, he hung on like a terrier, refusing to accept her decision, trying to change her mind.
By the time the uncomfortable meal was over, Madeleine felt totally shattered.
Pleading a headache, which was the truth, she opted for an early night and, fearing a continuation of the pressure, refused his offer to take her home and waved for a cab.
It was obvious that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer and, knowing that for both their sakes it would be best to make a quick, clean break, she decided to leave Boston as soon as she could. But as it was only a few days to Christmas, she realized it might prove impossible to get a flight until after the holiday.
As soon as she got back to her bedsit, she called Logan Airport.
Her luck was in.
Due to a last-minute cancellation, there was a seat available on a flight leaving the following evening. Though it was in first class, and she couldn’t really afford the extra, she booked it on her credit card.
That done, she breathed a sigh of relief.
When she reached London, she would have just about enough money to enable her to stay in one of the cheaper hotels for a few nights.
How well she managed after that would depend on how soon she could get back to work. If Eve came up with anything suitable…
Thinking of her friend, she reached for the phone. It would be the early hours of the morning in England, so she couldn’t tell Eve what she’d done, but she could leave a message.
Having tapped in the familiar number, she waited for the answering machine to cut in, then said, ‘Eve, it’s Maddy. I’ve managed to get a seat on a flight leaving Boston tomorrow night. I’ll ring tomorrow afternoon, when you’re home from work, and give you the details. Bye for now.’
Then, her head throbbing dully, she emailed Katie to tell her the news, before putting on her nightdress and going through to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
She had been sleeping badly lately, but, now she had come to a decision and taken the first positive step towards going home, she should be able to sleep better, she told herself bracingly as she climbed into bed.
For months she had tried not to think about Rafe, but, as though the decision to go back to London had opened the floodgates of memory, she found herself doing just that.
She could see in her mind’s eye how his thick, sooty lashes brushed his hard cheeks when he looked down…how his clear green eyes could go silvery with laughter, or dark and smoky with desire…how the creases in his lean cheeks—too male to be called dimples—deepened when he smiled.
She remembered how generous and caring he had been. How willing to give and take, to compromise. Remembered too how masterful and resourceful he could be when he thought it necessary. She had been at the Mayfair clinic one Friday evening when, returning early from what she knew had been a tiring business trip, he’d phoned to suggest that they had dinner together.
Having agreed to work later than usual, and unwilling to keep him hanging about, she had said no, and arranged to meet him the next day for lunch. She had then spent the rest of the evening regretting her decision, and wishing she’d said yes.
When she had left for home, he was waiting for her.
Leaning nonchalantly against his Porsche, wearing casual clothes and, though the sun had gone down, sunglasses, he had straightened at her approach and moved purposefully to bar her way.
Her heart had leapt and gladness fizzed through her like champagne.
‘What are you doing here?’ As he took her arm and drew her towards the car, she added lightly, ‘And why the shades?’
‘This is an abduction, doll,’ he said in the accent of an American film gangster.
‘Good gracious! Didn’t I ought to scream?’
‘If I was following the script, I should say menacingly, “Not if you know what’s good for you”.’
‘Oh.’
‘On the other hand, it would give me an excuse to kiss you,’ he drawled laconically.
Lifting her face, she asked demurely, ‘Do you need an excuse?’
‘An invitation’s better. Not that I really need either.’ Bending his dark head, he kissed her with a hungry passion that showed how much he’d missed her.
Then, as though his lips couldn’t bring themselves to part from hers, he murmured between soft, baby kisses, ‘I can’t wait to make love to you. I’ve thought about nothing else while I’ve been away.
‘This afternoon, in Paris, I brought an important boardmeeting to an early close because I couldn’t concentrate. I kept imagining I was undressing you, touching you, feeling your response…I couldn’t wait to get back, to make it all happen…’
A little breathlessly, she asked, ‘So what are we doing standing here?’
‘That’s a good question.’
He hurried her into the car and, sliding in beside her, started the engine.
When they turned down an unfamiliar road, she queried, ‘Where are we going?’
Sounding happy and carefree, he told her, ‘To a little inn called the Woolpack. It’s right off the beaten track and no one will care if we stay in bed for the entire weekend.’
‘Oh, but I…’
He glanced at her sharply. ‘I hope you’re not going to tell me you have other commitments?’
Judging from his tone, if she said yes it would precipitate a showdown, and she wasn’t prepared.
Brushing guilt aside, she decided that just for once she could miss her usual weekend visits to the nursing home.
Never easy at telling lies, she swallowed and said, ‘I was going to say I haven’t got a toothbrush or any clean undies.’
She felt him relax.
‘That’s all been taken care of,’ he told her. ‘I paid a visit to your flat and picked up what I thought you might need.’
Giving her a wicked sidelong glance, he added, ‘I didn’t bother to pack a nightie.’
The carefree mood was back, and with a little sigh, she rested her head lightly against his arm for a moment. ‘I’ve missed you.’
He gave her knee a brief squeeze. ‘Next time I have to go to Paris I’d like you with me.’
By the time they arrived at the Woolpack, a blue dusk was spreading gauzy veils over the countryside and bats were flittering about.
The lamplit inn, a lopsided, half-timbered black and white building with overhanging eaves and tall, crooked chimneys, looked as if it belonged in some Charles Dickens novel.
They were greeted by a plump and smiling landlady who showed them up to a small room under the eaves with a tiny en suite bathroom and black oak floorboards that creaked at every step.
The ceiling sloped steeply, and the low casement windows were thrown open to the balmy night air. A high, old-fashioned double bed, with a goose-feather mattress and sheets that smelled of lavender, took up most of the space.
A tray with a bottle of champagne and a plate of hors d’oeuvres was waiting by the bedside.
When they had thanked the landlady she wished them a cheerful, ‘Goodnight,’ and bustled away.
Rafe dropped their bags on a low chest and helped Madeleine out of her light jacket, before shedding his own. Then, glancing at the tray, he queried, ‘Hungry?’
‘Yes. But not for food.’
He gave a low growl and, sweeping her into his arms, carried her over to the bed.
Even though his need was every bit as urgent as hers, he didn’t hurry as he stripped off first her clothes and then his own and joined her.
Her arms went round his neck while his hands shaped and moulded her, clasping her hips to pull her firmly against his lower body, before making love to her with an unleashed passion that sent her up in flames.
When the heated rapture settled into a contented glow they lay in bed, kissing occasionally and feeding each other delicacies between sips of champagne.
It was lovely and romantic, and Madeleine had never been happier.
Afterwards, as though they couldn’t get enough of one another, they had made love again, and again, and, reliving that night, all the pleasure and warmth, she found herself trapped in a sensual haze.
Only when the haze cleared and she realised she was alone was the warmth replaced by such bleak desolation that she felt like crying.
Though what good would crying do? It was over. All in the past. She must forget Rafe. Forget the way he had made her feel. Forget the happiness he had brought her. Dismiss him from her thoughts and not look back.
But that was easier said than done.

After a restless night spent tossing and turning, she woke next morning heavy-eyed and unrefreshed, still feeling cold inside.
Jumping out of bed, she headed for the bathroom. But, while a hot shower heated her skin, it failed to cure that inner chill of loss.
When her aunt and uncle returned from church and asked her to join them for lunch, she broke the news that she had refused Alan’s proposal and was returning to England.
Though they were sorry to lose her, they accepted her decision without attempting to change her mind…Grateful to them both, she kissed them and thanked them sincerely for all they’d done.
Then, after writing and posting a short, difficult letter to Alan, she tidied her room and packed her few belongings.
Her cases zipped and ready, she made herself a pot of tea and was just reaching for the phone to call Eve, when it rang, making her jump.
Wondering if it might be Alan, she answered cautiously, ‘Hello?’
‘Maddy?’
‘Eve! I was just going to ring you. I presume you got the message I left?’
‘Yes, I did. Now, that’s what I call getting a move-on. How did Alan react when you told him you couldn’t marry him? You have told him, I presume?’
‘Yes, I told him last night. He refused to take no for an answer.’ Madeleine sighed.
‘In that case you’re doing the right thing. You need to get out of there as quickly as possible for both your sakes. How did your aunt and uncle take it?’
‘Better than I’d expected. They’re disappointed, of course, but they didn’t try to put pressure on me.’
‘Thank the lord for small mercies. Now for my news. As soon as I got to the clinic I checked through the requests for physiotherapy. There was nothing that seemed up your street. Quite disappointing really.
‘Then just before I was due to go home I had a phone call from a Mrs Rampling, who desperately needs help. Her husband had a stroke some three months ago, and at the same time fractured his hip. She’s worried that he’s making very little progress. It seems he’s a difficult man who hates hospitals and clinics, but he’s agreed to have a physiotherapist treat him at home.
‘She told me that what she really needs is someone who would be willing to live in for as long as it takes to give him a better quality of life.’
‘Where do the Ramplings live?’
‘I gather that at the moment they’re living in Kent, in a big house near the village of Hethersage.
‘Apart from the fact that Mr Rampling can be ‘uncooperative’, I must say that it sounds like a good bet. The salary she mentioned is generous in the extreme, and you’d have your own self-contained accommodation. Interested?’
Without hesitation, Madeleine said, ‘Very.’
‘Then perhaps you should give her a ring? If you can find a pen and paper, here’s the number…’
When Madeleine rang the number Eve had given her, a woman’s pleasant voice repeated the number, then added, ‘Harriet Rampling speaking.’
‘Mrs Rampling, it’s Madeleine Knight.’
‘Oh, Miss Knight…How good of you to ring me so promptly. I gather from Miss Collins that you’re still in the States?’
‘That’s right.’
‘If the salary I suggested is acceptable, would you be willing to come to us on your return? For a trial period at least?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ Madeleine answered eagerly.
‘Oh, that is good news!’
‘I understand you live in Kent, near Hethersage?’
‘Yes, we’ve been living there since my husband came out of hospital. Normally we live in London, but we’re having our house at Regent’s Park extensively altered, to make life easier for George. Until it’s finished, which looks like being several more weeks, our son suggested we stay with him at Hethersage Hall.
‘It is a good-sized place and we have our own ground-floor accommodation. There’s also a comfortable self-contained flat we hoped might be suitable for you. It’s not huge, but it does have a reasonable living room, a bedroom, a kitchen and an outside stairway which gives some degree of privacy.’
Then a shade anxiously, ‘I think you’ll like it.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ Madeleine concluded.
She heard a distinct sigh of relief before Mrs Rampling went on, ‘You can either eat with us or do your own thing, whichever suits you. I gather you’re returning to England quite soon?’
‘I’m leaving Boston tonight. I should be arriving in London tomorrow morning.’
‘Do you have any immediate plans? Anyone you want to spend Christmas with before you come to us?’
While Madeleine knew that Eve would make her welcome, she also knew there was very little room in the small flat. And now Dave had moved in, and Noel was sleeping there, it would be quite impossible.
Added to that, Eve and Dave and Noel and Zoe made a foursome. She would be the odd one out. It wasn’t a situation she fancied. ‘No, not really.’
‘You have no family?’
‘No. My mother died just over a year ago, and my father’s in California. I shall probably book into a hotel until after the holiday.’
‘Perhaps you want to stay in London…?’
‘Not particularly,’ Madeleine added.
‘Then wouldn’t it make more sense to come straight to the hall?’
Tempted, Madeleine hesitated. The thought of spending the holiday alone in a hotel wasn’t particularly appealing, and, now that she’d splurged on a first-class ticket, money was even tighter than she had anticipated.
‘Well, I…I wouldn’t want to intrude on your family over Christmas.’
‘My dear, of course you wouldn’t be intruding…Though, as a matter of fact, George and I are flying up to Scotland first thing tomorrow morning. We’re staying with our son and daughter over Christmas and the New Year.’ Her excitement evident, she added, ‘They have a brand-new baby boy, and both George and I are looking forward immensely to seeing our latest grandson.’
Then, getting back to practicalities, ‘Our being away from the hall will give you breathing space, and also a good chance to settle into your flat. What do you say?’
It would be ideal in some ways, Madeleine thought, though it would leave her with Mrs Rampling’s other son and his family. Unless they too were going away?
But even if they weren’t, she needn’t feel she was intruding. The flat was self-contained, so she could keep herself to herself.
‘In that case I’ll be happy to, if you’re sure that arrangement suits you, and your son won’t mind?’
‘Quite sure. That’s all settled, then.
‘Mary Boyce, the housekeeper, will have everything ready for you, and if you can tell me your flight number and what time you’re due to land, we’ll send Jack, Mary’s husband, to pick you up.’
‘Thank you.’ Madeleine gave her the information.
Sounding warm and friendly, Mrs Rampling added, ‘Do make yourself at home. Though it will be January before we actually meet, I’m looking forward to it. Have a good flight.’
‘Goodbye, and thank you again.’
Relieved and excited, Madeleine quickly called Eve to give her the good news and thank her.
‘What are friends for?’ she asked. Then, with more than a hint of uncertainty, ‘But are you sure you want to give this a shot? After all, you don’t really know what you’ll be letting yourself in for.’
‘Hey, everything’s arranged. Don’t try and talk me out of it now. It’s much too late.’
Then curiously, ‘You seemed to be all in favour earlier. Why have you changed your mind?’
‘At the time I was quite convinced it was in your best interests, but now I…I can’t help having second thoughts.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will be fine.’
Still sounding anxious, unlike herself, Eve said, ‘I just hope everything turns out all right. But if it doesn’t work, you can always come to us, you know. We’ll manage somehow.’
‘Thanks,’ Madeleine said gratefully.
‘Now, don’t forget, if you’re not happy with the situation, let me know straight away.’

Chapter Five
AFTER a technical fault that made the big jet almost two hours late getting airborne, the flight was smooth and uneventful.
Madeleine could never sleep on planes, and after so many disturbed nights she was feeling shattered by the time they landed.
The formalities over, she changed her dollars into pounds and, bearing in mind the warnings she had received, slipped half the money into her handbag and the other half into her flight bag.
Both bags on her shoulder, she was heading for the exit when a uniformed chauffeur approached her and queried, ‘Miss Knight?’
Wondering how he had managed to pick her out of such a crowd, she answered, ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Mrs Rampling asked me to meet you.’
‘I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long.’
‘That’s all right, miss,’ he said politely. ‘When I discovered the flight was running late I used the time to get some breakfast. Now, if you’ll come with me, miss, the car’s waiting outside.’
She willingly surrendered the unwieldy baggage trolley and followed his short, thick-set figure out to a sleek grey limousine.
It was a bitterly cold, curiously still day, with a sky that gleamed grey and pearly, as iridescent as the inside of a mussel shell.
After the warmth of the terminal, Madeleine found herself starting to shiver in the bleak air. But with a speed and efficiency she could only admire she was installed in the luxurious car, and her luggage stowed away.
The comfortable seats were covered in soft fawn leather and it was pleasantly warm. Almost before they were clear of the airport, lack of sleep catching up on her, her eyelids began to droop and she slipped into a doze.
When she surfaced they were travelling along a quiet country road with skeletal trees on one side and an old lichencovered wall on the other.
Stifling a yawn, she sat up straighter and looked around her just as they reached a stone-built gatehouse with tall, barley-sugar chimneys and mullioned windows.
As they turned towards the entrance, a pair of black ornamental gates slid aside at their approach and closed behind them.
Rolling parkland stretched away on either side as they followed a serpentine drive that ran between high, mossy banks.
Hethersage Hall, hidden from sight until they had rounded the final bend, was wrapped snugly in a fold in the hills. It was a homely, rambling place, not at all stiff and starchy as its name suggested.
The walls were mellow stone, the roofs a natural slate. Half a dozen gables peaked and sloped at various odd angles, yet the whole thing had a charming symmetry. There were diamond-leaded windows and an oak front door that was metal-studded and silvery with age.
When the car drew to a halt on the cobbled apron and the chauffeur helped Madeleine out, the door was opened wide and a small, plump woman with curly grey hair appeared, smiling a greeting.
‘Miss Knight…I’m Mary Boyce, the housekeeper…Do come in out of the cold…’
Returning her smile, Madeleine followed her into a large wood-panelled hall with polished oak floorboards and dark antique furniture that glowed with the patina of age.
The huge fireplace was full of pine logs, and above the stone mantel there were green spruce boughs and spectacular swags of ivy and scarlet-berried holly. A bunch of mistletoe hung from a fine old chandelier, and a tall, beautifully decorated Christmas tree filled one corner.
Cheerful and garrulous, Mrs Boyce went on, ‘You must be weary. Goodness knows jet lag’s bad enough, but when there’s a long delay on top of that…!
‘Mr and Mrs Rampling send their sincere apologies that they weren’t able to greet you in person. They’ve gone to Scotland to spend the holiday with their son and daughter and their family.’
‘Yes, Mrs Rampling did explain.’
‘Well, now, if you’d like to come through to the living room…’
The living room was white-walled and spacious, with oak beams and casement windows that looked over a pleasant garden.
It was furnished with an eclectic mix of old and new—some beautiful antiques, a modern suite upholstered in soft natural leather, an Oriental carpet that made Madeleine catch her breath, and several paintings by Jonathan Cass. The sight of which gave her a pang. Rafe had owned several of Cass’s snow scenes.
When she was ensconced in a deep armchair in front of a blazing log fire, Mrs Boyce said, ‘I’ll get you something to eat while Jack takes your luggage up.’
Feeling too tired to eat, Madeleine said, ‘Thanks, but I’m not at all hungry. Though a cup of tea would be lovely.’
‘Then a cup of tea it is.’
By the time she came back with a tray of tea and homemade cake, made even more soporific by the warmth of the fire, Madeleine was having a serious struggle to stay awake.
Watching her stifle a yawn, Mrs Boyce put the tray down on a small oval table and, proceeding to pour the tea, said sympathetically, ‘You must be more than ready to get some sleep.’
‘I am tired,’ Madeleine admitted.
‘Well, as soon as you’ve finished your tea you can get your head down.’ Adding, ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes to show you round the flat,’ the housekeeper bustled away.
Madeleine was just finishing her second cup of tea when Mrs Boyce returned and queried, ‘If you’re ready?’ Then, in concern, ‘I’m not rushing you, am I?’
‘No, not at all, I’m quite ready.’
As she followed the housekeeper across the hall and up a graceful curving staircase with a griffin head as its newel post, she looked around her.
It was a beautiful old house, she thought, utterly charming and unpretentious, with its simple white walls and black beams, its polished oak floorboards and linenfold panelling.
At the top of the stairs Mrs Boyce turned left down a short, wide corridor, and opened a door at the end.
‘Here we are.’
The living room was warm and cosy with an old, gently faded rose-pink carpet, matching curtains and a comfortablelooking suite. On the mantel was a small chiming clock.
Though there was discreet central heating, a log fire burnt in a delightful little fireplace with a tiled surround and an elaborately carved fender. To one side, a basket was filled with pine logs and cones that gave off an aromatic scent.
‘What a lovely room!’ Madeleine exclaimed.
Mrs Boyce looked worried. ‘There’s just one thing; I discovered earlier that the phone up here isn’t working. I really don’t know what’s wrong with it.
‘Of course, you could always use one of the downstairs phones.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Madeleine assured her. ‘I have a mobile.’
Looking pleased that the problem had been solved so easily, the housekeeper led the way into a pretty, feminine bedroom with an en suite bathroom.
Having turned back the duvet on the double bed, she indicated the cases which had been placed on an oak linen chest next to a cheval-glass. ‘If you want any help with your unpacking, I’m sure Annie will give you a hand…
‘And this is the kitchen…’
Madeleine glanced around the well-equipped kitchen, which was bright and airy, with a natural pine table and chairs, primrose tiles and muslin curtains at the casement windows.
‘I hope it meets with your approval?’
‘It certainly does,’ Madeleine assured her. ‘The whole flat is really lovely.’
The housekeeper beamed. ‘Mrs Rampling will be pleased. She was anxious that you should like it.
‘Now, you’ll find plenty of food in the fridge and cupboards,’ she opened the relevant doors to prove it, ‘but if there’s anything else you want, Annie will no doubt be shopping in the morning. She’s taking over the household duties until after the Christmas holiday.
‘There, now,’ she said as, the short tour over, they went back to the living room, ‘I’ll leave you to get some sleep.’
At the door she turned. ‘Oh, I almost forgot; as it’s your first night here, the master is hoping you’ll join him for an evening meal…’
There had been no mention made of either a wife or a family, Madeleine realised, though presumably there was a Mrs Rampling junior.
She was just about to ask, when the housekeeper added, ‘Pre-dinner drinks are served at seven in the study, which is directly across the hall from the bottom of the stairs.’
A second later she had closed the door behind her and departed.
Though the invitation to dinner had been carefully phrased, it held an underlying hint of command that for some reason Madeleine found vaguely disturbing.
She was a free agent, Mrs Rampling had made that clear, and if ‘the master’ had any ideas to the contrary…Well, he wasn’t employing her, she reminded herself, and, if the worst came to the worst, she could always leave.
Irritated with herself, she sighed. She’d only just got here. Why was she thinking of leaving before she’d even met the man?
It wasn’t like her.
Deciding that it was simply because she was so tired, she pushed her irritability aside and glanced around the living room once more.
On the far wall, a door with irregular panels of old glass gave access to an outside stone stairway guarded by a wrought-iron rail.
The doors to the bedroom and kitchen were plain oak, while the door to the main part of the house was handsomely carved. As she admired it she noticed there was no key in the ornate lock, and felt a faint stirring of unease.
Be sensible, she scolded herself; as the flat was part of the house, there should be no need to lock the door. Yet still that slight feeling of unease persisted, refusing to be banished.
A closer inspection showed that, though the door leading to the stone stairway was securely locked and bolted, neither it, nor any of the internal doors, boasted a key. Not even the bathroom.
But if the lack of keys became a problem she could always talk to Mrs Boyce about it, she decided as she went through to the bedroom.
Much too weary to do all her unpacking, she dug out a change of clothing for the evening, her night things, her sponge bag, her cosmetic purse and her alarm clock.
As she stripped off her clothes and donned her nightdress she saw with delight that it had started to snow, big flakes that drifted down like feathers from an angel’s wing.
From being a child, she had always loved snow, and for a short time she watched the magical sight before closing the curtains.
To make certain she didn’t sleep too long, she set the alarm for six-thirty, then climbed thankfully into bed.
Madeleine had been asleep for some time when she began to dream. She heard a noise in the outer room, the faint click of a latch as a door was opened and closed quietly. That was followed by the stealthy brush of footsteps crossing a carpet, and in the way that dreamers did she knew that something menacing was standing just outside her bedroom door.
She got out of bed, but couldn’t bring herself to open the door and confront whoever or whatever stood there. Instead, she went through a door on the far wall and found herself in a dark, narrow corridor. Almost immediately she heard the footsteps behind her and fear clutched at her heart…
She began to run blindly, down endless pitch-black corridors, the thing at her heels getting closer…gaining on her…She could hear whatever it was breathing now…
Abruptly the corridor came to a dead end. She was feeling frantically for a door, or some other way out, when a cold hand reached out of the darkness to touch her…
With a half-stifled scream she woke up, shuddering and panting, her heart thudding against her ribcage.
As consciousness kicked in the nightmare faded, and just briefly she was disorientated until she remembered where she was.
Reaching for the light switch, she flooded the room with light, blinking a little as her eyes adjusted to the brightness.
A glance at the clock showed it was just turned six. Thankfully she realised that there was ample time to shower and change before she had to go down to dinner.
She would have much preferred to stay in the flat and have a snack in front of the living-room fire rather than dining with the family, but as she would be living in their house it would make sense to start off on the right foot.
In spite of the abrupt awakening she felt rested and refreshed, and, turning off the alarm, she stretched luxuriously before climbing out of bed and heading for the bathroom.
Through the frosted glass she could make out that everywhere was covered with a white blanket and it was still snowing heavily. It looked as though Noel had been right when he’d forecast a white Christmas.
By half-past six she was showered and dressed in a simple dinner dress in a silky grey material, her make-up in place and her blonde hair taken up into a gleaming coil.
Intending to make a quick phone call to Eve, she went through to the living room, which was still comfortably warm though the fire had burnt out, and looked around for her handbag.
Her flight bag was there but not her handbag. Where on earth had she put it?
A brief search revealed no sign of it. Neither did a more thorough one.
She could almost have sworn that she’d brought both bags up, but she’d been so dazed with tiredness, she couldn’t be absolutely sure.
Had she left it in the car?
No, she thought with certainty, she could definitely remember having the two bags with her in the living room. She had put them down between the side of the chair and the coffee-table, so she must have only picked up her flight bag and left her handbag behind.
But there was plenty of time to fetch it and still have a word with Eve before dinner.
Everywhere was still and silent, not a soul in sight, as she descended the stairs. Through the diamond-leaded panes of the landing window she could see that the snow was coming down even faster and a rising wind was whipping it along.
As she crossed the hall she paused for a moment to admire the Christmas tree with its gleaming star on top and all its candlelights glowing. For anyone to have gone to so much trouble, there must be children in the house.
Unwilling to burst in on the family unexpectedly, when she reached the living room she knocked.
There was no answer, and she opened the door to find that the room was deserted. Crossing to the chair she’d sat in earlier that day, she bent to pick up her bag.
It was no longer there.
For a moment she was nonplussed.
But of course the housekeeper must have found it and, unwilling to disturb her, taken charge of it.
Oh, well, she thought philosophically, she could always ring Eve after dinner.
When she reached the study she found that too was deserted. It was a comfortable, homely room. Built-in bookcases flanked the fireplace, and in the corner a grandfather clock ticked sonorously. Next to it, an octagonal table held a phone and a silver-framed photograph of a gentle-faced woman with greying hair.
Several standard lamps cast pools of golden light, and a log fire blazed and crackled on the wide stone hearth. Below the mantel were bright garlands of holly and mistletoe and ivy.
On the far left, through a partly open door, Madeleine glimpsed an adjoining office with an imposing desk that held a computer and an array of state-of-the-art equipment.
She glanced at the clock and, finding it was still only ten minutes to seven, sat down in one of the deep leather armchairs drawn up to the fire.
As she gazed into the flames, her thoughts went back to an old pub near Rye that Rafe had taken her to more than a year ago. It had been a chilly September day and they had lunched in front of a blazing fire.
She could see his face with the firelight flickering on it. Visualise the tiny crescent-shaped scar at the corner of his mouth, the way he tilted his head, the quick, sidelong smile, the tough male beauty that never failed to make her heart beat faster…
Though she hadn’t heard anyone come in, some instinct made her lift her head and look up.
A tall, dark-haired man stood only a couple of feet away, his eyes fixed on her face.
Shock hit her in the chest like a clenched fist.
But it couldn’t be Rafe. It couldn’t.
Convinced she was seeing things, she squeezed her eyes shut.
When she opened them again he was still standing there, his green eyes cool, his face shuttered, silently watching her.
Her heart began to pound like a trip-hammer, her head went dizzy and the blood roared in her ears, while darkness swooped, threatening to engulf her and drag her down into the depths.
Somehow she fought against it and won.
But still she could neither move nor speak, and for what seemed an age she simply sat and gaped at him.
Wearing charcoal-grey trousers and a fine black sweater that pulled taut across his wide shoulders, he looked both disturbing and dangerous.
He was the first to break the silence. ‘You’re even lovelier than I remember.’ His tone was as cool and biting as his gaze, so that the remark sounded more like condemnation than a compliment.
‘Why are you here?’ Her voice shook so badly that the words were barely intelligible.
He smiled thinly. ‘This is my house.’
She made a movement of denial. ‘Mrs Rampling said her son owned Hethersage Hall.’
‘I’m Harriet’s son. Or, rather, her godson.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Madeleine said jerkily. ‘I thought your godparents were called Charn…’
‘Yes, they were. However, when Harriet had been a widow for almost two years, she met and married George Rampling, a middle-aged widower with three grown-up children and a couple of grandchildren…’
But Madeleine was no longer listening. Her thoughts skittering about like mad things, she realised that, as Rafe and Fiona must be married by now, this was Fiona’s house.
Oh, dear God. She might walk in at any minute! Panicstricken at the thought, Madeleine jumped to her feet. She must get away.
She had only taken a couple of steps when Rafe’s fingers closed around her wrist like a steel manacle.
‘Don’t rush off.’
‘Please let me go…’ For a moment or two she tried to pull free.
When, finding it was useless, she stopped he loosened his grip a little and, leading her back to the chair, pressed her into it.
‘I want to leave,’ she whispered.
He shook his head. ‘Harriet was so pleased you were coming, so you really must stay. Otherwise I’ll get the blame for driving you away.’
‘What about your wife?’ Madeleine blurted out.
He raised dark brows.
‘She won’t want me here.’
‘What makes you think that?’ he asked interestedly.
For a moment she almost admitted the truth, then better sense prevailed and she began carefully, ‘As Mrs Rampling isn’t here and your wife is—’
Once again he shook his head. ‘She isn’t.’
For a moment all Madeleine could feel was relief that Fiona wouldn’t walk in and find her there.
‘But I’m neglecting my duties as a host,’ Rafe went on smoothly. ‘What can I get you to drink?’
‘I don’t want anything to drink, thank you.’ Then, more firmly, ‘I’ve no intention of staying. I’m going back to London. Now.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t ask Jack to turn out again on a night like this.’
‘I’ll phone for a taxi.’
‘And do you think you’ll get one?’
‘Surely the conditions can’t be that bad?’ she protested hoarsely.
‘When I came home some time ago it was all I could do to get up the drive, and it’s been blowing a blizzard ever since.’
She lifted her chin. ‘If necessary I’ll walk down to the main road and wait for it there.’
‘Do you know how long the drive is?’
‘No,’ she admitted.
He smiled mirthlessly. ‘I thought not. It’s the best part of a mile, and because it’s in a dip the snow is collecting there. And even if you could struggle to the end of the drive, in weather like this I doubt if they’ve managed to keep even the main road open. In any event, you haven’t a hope in hell of getting a taxi, so you may as well sit down and relax.’
‘I’d prefer to go back up to the flat.’ She got to her feet and started for the door on trembling legs.
Rafe easily reached it first and stood with his back to the panels, barring her way. ‘And I’d much prefer you to stay here.’
She wanted desperately to push past him, but he looked so tall and dark and menacing that she hadn’t the nerve to try.
When she hesitated, he added silkily, ‘I’ve been looking forward to having a talk with you.’
‘Then you already knew it was me your godmother had engaged?’
‘Oh, yes. When Harriet mentioned your name I was able to tell her I knew you, that you’d been Katie’s physiotherapist. She could hardly believe her luck.
‘I would have been at the airport to meet you, but I didn’t want you to change your mind about coming to Hethersage.’
Firmly, she said, ‘Well, I’ve no intention of staying. If I can’t go tonight, I’ll leave first thing in the morning.’
He smiled a little. ‘We’ll see, shall we? In the meanwhile, suppose we sit down and talk?’
‘We’ve nothing to talk about.’
‘That’s just where you’re wrong.’ Cupping her elbow, he led her back to the chair and waited for her to sit before moving to the drinks trolley.
Just briefly, Madeleine debated making a run for it, but common sense told her she would be wasting her time. He would catch her before she even reached the flat, and if she did manage to get there first she wouldn’t be able to lock him out.
Turning to look at her, he queried, ‘So what’s it to be?’
‘I’ve already told you I don’t want a drink.’
Ignoring her churlishness, he filled a glass with a pale Amontillado and offered it to her, his green eyes daring her to refuse.
Weakly, she took it.
Pouring himself a whisky, he sat down opposite and regarded her. He looked eminently satisfied, she decided resentfully, Wellaware that he was the master of the situation. Wellaware that she knew it.
From being a life-saver, she thought bleakly, this offer of a job had turned into a nightmare. Sipping the unwanted sherry, she stared into the flames, trying to sort out the confusion in her mind. Surely being offered a post in Rafe’s house was too much of a coincidence?
Yet it couldn’t have been planned…Or could it?
But if it had been planned, why? What could Rafe possibly hope to gain?
The answer was, he had nothing to gain and everything to lose if Fiona found out.
But still the suspicion was there, and Madeleine wondered, had Rafe, for whatever reason, put his godmother up to it? Had George Rampling really any need for a physiotherapist, or had the whole thing been an elaborate hoax?
Though how could they possibly have known she was coming back to England? It had been such a last-minute decision that no one other than Eve and Noel had known.
Except Katie.
She had emailed the child late on Saturday night, so it would have been the following morning before she read it, and later on that same day Mrs Rampling had contacted Grizedale Clinic…
But how had she known to do that? How could she have known…?
‘Penny for your thoughts.’ Rafe’s voice sounded amused, a little mocking.
Madeleine looked up slowly and met those gleaming eyes. ‘Does Mr Rampling really need physiotherapy, or was the whole thing just a pack of lies?’
‘No, everything that Harriet told you was true. She’s been on the lookout for a live-in physiotherapist for weeks now.’
‘So are you saying that my being here is nothing but a coincidence?’
Rafe raised an eyebrow mockingly. ‘Would you believe that?’
‘No,’ she replied sternly.
He smiled briefly. ‘I wouldn’t have expected you to. As a matter of fact it was carefully planned.’
Fear sidled up to her and took her hand. With a sickening feeling that she’d walked into some kind of a trap, she felt her mouth go dry and the blood in her veins turn to ice.
Putting the sherry glass on the table with shaking fingers, she crossed her arms and rubbed her palms up and down her bare arms as though she was cold.
The last time they had met, he’d said, ‘One day we’ll meet again…’ That was all. He hadn’t said what he would do when they did meet, but there had been an underlying threat in the quietly spoken words, a hint of menace, that even now made her shiver at the memory.
Making an effort to fight off the panic, she told herself stoutly that she was just being silly. What could he possibly do to her?
But there was a hardness about him, a barely leashed anger, that made her afraid.
Unsteadily, she demanded, ‘How did you know I was coming home?’
‘How do you think?’
‘Katie?’
‘Got it in one. Knowing I was—shall we say?—interested, Diane has been keeping me up-to-date on what was happening in Boston. When she got your email, Katie was so excited she couldn’t wait to tell her mother.’ The ice clinked in his whisky glass as he took a sip.
‘That still doesn’t explain how you found out enough to be able to trick me into coming here. How you knew I was looking for a live-in post. Only Eve…’ She stopped speaking abruptly.
Remembering their last conversation, her friend’s strange volte-face, her obvious uneasiness, the way she had admitted to having second thoughts, Madeleine asked sharply, ‘When did you talk to Eve?’
‘When Diane told me you were coming home I wanted to know exactly what your plans were, and I felt sure Eve would know. I finally managed to contact her at the clinic, and after some initial resistance on her part we had quite a long talk. She told me what she was trying to do for you, and I mentioned I might be able to help.
‘All I had to do was suggest to Harriet that she rang the clinic’s physiotherapy department and talked to a Miss Collins—which she was only too pleased to do.’
So as well as using his godmother, he had used Eve…But what had he said to her to get her to talk to him? And why hadn’t Eve told her?
As if she’d spoken the thought aloud, he said, ‘In the end it was easier than I’d anticipated. I didn’t even need to ask Eve not to say anything. It was she who suggested that it would be better if you didn’t know I was involved until we’d had a chance to talk. I think she was afraid you might change your mind about coming back…’
There was a tap at the door, and the housekeeper put her head round to say, ‘Dinner’s all ready when you are.’
‘Thank you, Mary, we’ll serve ourselves. You can leave anything else that needs to be done until Annie gets here.’
‘Thanks…I’ll say goodnight, then.’
‘Goodnight.’
As the latch clicked, realising belatedly that she should have used the opportunity to escape, Madeleine jumped to her feet and started for the door, crying, ‘Mrs Boyce—’
An arm snaked round her waist and a cool hand covered her mouth.
Pulling her back against him, Rafe put his lips to the side of her neck and murmured softly, ‘That’s not on, my sweet. I don’t want Mary involved.’
Trembling, shaken to the core by the caress that was no caress, she stood quite still.
As soon as he released her, she rounded on him. ‘And I don’t want to be kept here against my will.’
Then, helplessly, ‘I can’t understand what you’re hoping to gain, why you went to so much trouble to get me here.’
He took a stray tendril of blonde hair that had escaped and tugged it gently, making her flinch away. ‘It was no trouble. In fact the whole thing worked incredibly smoothly.’
She gritted her teeth. ‘Why—?’
‘We’ll talk about it after dinner.’
‘I don’t want any dinner.’
His green, lazy-river eyes heavy-lidded and sensual, he said, ‘Well, if you really don’t want to eat, I can think of something a great deal more exciting to do…’
Wondering frantically if he meant what she thought he meant, she stared up at him.
Softly, he went on, ‘So it will suit me fine if you decide against eating.’
He held out both hands. ‘Shall we go upstairs?’

Chapter Six
HER normally low, well-modulated voice shrill, she cried, ‘No, I don’t want you to touch me. I couldn’t bear it.’
‘The choice is yours.’ He smiled. Seeing her expression change, he sighed. ‘I gather eating’s preferable.’
‘Anything would be preferable,’ she said primly.
‘Sassy, eh?’ Taking her chin, he tilted her face up to his.
Every nerve ending in her body jerked, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out.
Watching what little colour she had drain away, he remarked silkily, ‘I’m beginning to think you’re scared of me.’
‘Well, you’re wrong,’ she retorted.
‘You mean you’re not?’
‘No, I’m not,’ she lied. ‘I just can’t bear you to touch me.’
‘So you said. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to it…’
The faint hum and beep of a fax machine cut through his words.
‘If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I’ll make sure that’s nothing important.’ He disappeared into the office.
Her legs feeling too weak to support her, she sank down in the nearest chair. As she did so her eyes lit on the phone on the nearby table. Eve had said, ‘Now, don’t forget, if you’re not happy with the situation, let me know straight away.’
If she could put Eve in the picture, it would seem like a lifeline. With a nervous glance towards the office, she hurried across and picked up the receiver.
She was just tapping in the number when a lean, tanned hand reached over her shoulder and depressed the receiver rest. As she caught her breath, he took the receiver from her hand and replaced it.
‘Dear me,’ he said mildly. ‘It seems I can’t take my eyes off you.’
Turning to face him in the confined space, she said as steadily as possible, ‘I promised to ring Eve…’
He studied her face, and she tingled under the scrutiny of those green eyes. ‘There’ll be time for that later.’
‘I’d prefer to do it now,’ she insisted.
‘Our meal will be spoiling…’ He reached out a lazy hand and stroked a fingertip down her cheek. Her body trapped between his and the table, she stood perfectly still, afraid to move.
‘Unless you’ve changed your mind about eating?’ he queried.
‘No, I haven’t changed my mind,’ she said thickly.
He sighed. ‘A pity, but still…’
One hand cupping her bare elbow, he led her to the white-walled, black-beamed dining room, where a candlelit refectory table was set for two.
Several huge logs blazed cheerfully in a Crusader grate, and over the mantel were more garlands of holly and ivy and mistletoe threaded through with gleaming scarlet ribbon.
A thick sheepskin rug lay in front of the stone hearth, and a couch was drawn up before the blaze. Waiting on the coffee-table was a tray with cups and saucers, cream and sugar.
When Madeleine was seated at the table Rafe turned to a massive sideboard, where on a hotplate a glass jug of coffee was bubbling away next to an array of silver dishes.
Removing the covers, he began to fill two plates with roast chicken and vegetables. Then, setting one of them in front of her, he sat down opposite, poured the Chablis and waited pointedly until she picked up her fork and began to eat.
His remark about her having to get used to his touch had sounded very much like a threat and, afraid to ask, she wondered nervously just what he’d meant by it.
‘Worried that you’ll end up in my bed?’ His voice was laced with intent.
Glancing up, she answered with spirit, ‘Not when you have a wife.’
‘I don’t have a wife.’
Wits scattered, she stammered, ‘Y-you said your wife wasn’t here.’
‘Well, as I haven’t got one, she wouldn’t be, would she?’ he countered reasonably.
‘You’re not married?’ She could hardly believe it.
‘No, I’m not married,’ he said patiently.
‘But I thought…’
‘What did you think?’
For a second or two she floundered, then, gathering herself, said, ‘That with a house like this you’d be married and starting a family.’
‘It isn’t mandatory,’ he responded drily.
‘Neither is ending up in your bed.’
He saluted her spirit. ‘But you will.’
‘Is that misplaced confidence, or merely conceit?’
‘Try fate.’ He laughed.
Teeth clenched on her bottom lip, she returned her attention to her plate.
Rafe said nothing further, and for a while only the sound of the wind roaring in the chimney and the mellow tick-tock of the casement clock in the corner broke the silence.
While she made a pretence of eating, Madeleine’s thoughts tumbled about like ringside clowns. Why wasn’t he married after more than a year? Fiona had made it sound as if the wedding was practically a fait accompli.
Was he still hedging? Trying to wriggle out of the bargain? Meanwhile taking what amusement he could get on the side?
Her lip curled. Well, he wasn’t going to use her again. She was wiser now. Not so vulnerable.
Or was she?
Though she took care not to look up, she was aware that his eyes seldom left her face. That steady regard was nerve-racking; it made her feel like some specimen on the end of a cruel pin.
The main course over, he removed the plates and helped her to a generous portion of apple pie and a piece of white Stilton.
So he’d remembered that she preferred cheese to cream with her apple pie, she thought as she glanced up unwarily, and met those brilliant, heavily lashed eyes. Twin candle flames were reflected in the black pupils, and, fascinated, mesmerised, she found herself unable to look away.
After what seemed an age, he broke the spell by saying conversationally, ‘So tell me what’s been happening since I last saw you.’
‘I thought you were being kept informed,’ she responded tartly.
Unruffled, he said, ‘There are some important things I still don’t know for sure. For example, why you ran away to Boston in the first place…’
Well, if he didn’t know, she had no intention of telling him.
‘I presumed it was because of Noel, that the pair of you had split when he discovered how you’d been two-timing him…’
He was a fine one to talk about two-timing, she thought bitterly.
When she said nothing, Rafe pursued, ‘You certainly fooled me with that pretend shyness, that butter-wouldn’t-melt routine.
‘Though I should have realised by the way you disappeared at regular intervals with no explanation that you weren’t the sweet innocent you pretended to be, nevertheless it came as quite a shock to discover just what kind of woman you were…’
Yes, she could still visualise his expression. He wasn’t used to having the tables turned on him.
‘So how many other men have you managed to fascinate and delude since then?’ Rafe’s question brought her back to the present with a bump.
When she looked at him mutely, he said, ‘I know of at least one who wanted to marry you. Alan, I believe his name was.’
It must have been Eve who had told him, she realised. When she had mentioned Alan in her emails to Katie, it had been simply as a colleague.
‘Did he get angry when he realised you’d been stringing him along? Is that why you came home?’ His voice was full of resentment.
‘I’m not in the habit of stringing men along,’ she said stiffly.
‘If you weren’t stringing him along, why didn’t you marry him?’ he asked.
Madeleine’s eyes dropped from his gaze. ‘I didn’t love him enough.’
‘Not counting your husband, have you ever truly loved any man?’
A bitter, cold, gritty feeling in the centre of her chest brought such pain that Madeleine felt tears sting her eyes, and was forced to bend her head while she blinked them away.
He laughed mirthlessly. ‘No, I thought not.’
‘Well, you’re wrong,’ she flared, then, terrified he might have guessed, added with perfect truth, ‘I’ve always loved Noel.’
‘Clearly not enough, or you wouldn’t have been happy to cheat on him…No, I’m afraid I don’t seriously believe you’ve ever cared a jot about any man. Though there must have been plenty of men who loved you. Different men, but they were all drawn into the same old game, danced to the same old tune.’ He moved to stand closer to her. ‘But now those games are over, and, for the foreseeable future at least, I’ll be the one calling the tune.’
‘I—I don’t know what you mean,’ she stammered.
His little smile was like a breath of cold air on the back of her neck. ‘I mean that everything has gone according to plan and you’re here with me. Now all I have to do is keep you with me.’
‘I might be stuck here for tonight because of the snow—which incidentally I don’t believe even you could have arranged—’
With a wry grin, he said, ‘I have to admit that the snow was fortuitous.’
‘But I shall certainly be leaving first thing in the morning.’ She tried to sound confident.
‘I shouldn’t bet on it.’
Going to the window, he drew aside the heavy red velvet curtains. Through the diamond-leaded panes she could see that thick snow, whipped along by a fierce wind, was swirling past.
‘The previous owner admitted that during a bad winter this area, and the hall, can be snowed up for days at a time,’ he added.
While her skin crawled with apprehension, she made a determined effort to put the situation on a more prosaic footing. ‘Wouldn’t you find being snowed up very inconvenient?’
‘Just at the moment I find it the exact opposite,’ he answered smoothly.
She ignored that, and, taking a deep breath, ploughed on determinedly. ‘What made you decide to move to the country?’
‘I was tired of living in town. I’d always intended to move to a rural area when the right house came on the market…’
Madeleine was surprised; she had always thought of Rafe as a sophisticated city man. But then she had been wrong about so many things.
‘As soon as I saw this place I knew it was what I’d been waiting for.’
‘So you gave up your flat at Denver Court?’
‘No, I still have it. It comes in handy for the odd night or weekend I want to spend in town.’
Relaxing a little, and determined to lighten the mood, she asked, ‘Don’t you find commuting a pain?’
‘Not really. These days I work from home a good deal of the time. When I need to go into London I use a small chopper I pilot myself.’
‘I didn’t know you had a pilot’s licence.’
He swished the curtain to, then suddenly he was by her side, looming over her. ‘There are a lot of things you don’t know about me. A lot you still have to learn.’ A brittleness to his voice, he went on, ‘For instance, I don’t like being made a fool of by any woman, especially one I imagined loved me…’
The tension suddenly tightening like a hempen noose around her throat, she gazed up at him with wide, greeny-blue eyes. ‘That’s why I inveigled you here.’
That answered the first of her questions, but not the second. ‘I can’t imagine what you hope to gain,’ she burst out agitatedly.
‘Can’t you?’
Watching her bite her lip, he glanced in the direction of the thick sheepskin rug. ‘Shall we move in front of the fire and—?’
Flinching away, she cried hoarsely, ‘No!’
He raised a dark, mocking brow. ‘Anyone would think I was about to strip you naked and have my wicked way with you.’
When, her heart pounding against her ribs, she said nothing, he added softly, ‘But that comes later…’
‘If you lay a finger on me, I’ll scream.’
He clicked his tongue. ‘How melodramatic. Unfortunately, there’s no one to hear you.’
‘There’s Mrs Boyce and her husband.’
‘They’ve retired for the night…And, as their accommodation is several hundred yards away, above the old stable block, you’d have to scream very loudly indeed.’
She swallowed, her throat tight and dry. ‘There must be other servants…’
‘What staff I have live in modern bungalows on the estate. I’m afraid we’re quite alone, so screaming would be useless.
‘In any case, it’s unnecessary at the moment. I was only going to suggest that we had our coffee in front of the fire.’
Feeling a little foolish, and realising vexedly that that was what he’d intended, she crossed to the hearth and sat down on the big leather couch while he collected the glass coffee jug from the hotplate.
Surely this was just some cat-and-mouse game he was playing in order to frighten her? she thought distractedly. And if it was, all she needed to do was keep calm and refuse to be frightened.
Which was easier said than done.
And if it wasn’t?
No, she couldn’t let herself think that way. There was only tonight to get through.
Only?
Then tomorrow morning she would find some way of leaving, she promised herself, even if she had to abandon her cases and walk…
‘Planning your escape?’
She jumped, and as her colour started to rise he laughed. ‘I’ve hit the nail on the head if that blush is anything to go by.’
How could he walk in and out of her mind like that? she wondered agitatedly as she accepted the cup of coffee he handed her.
He sat down beside her and, as though answering her question, went on, ‘You have a very expressive face. Just then you looked fiercely determined…
‘But I remember when you used to look eager and expectant, full of anticipation, hungry with desire and passion. Then afterwards, soft and dreamy, sated with love…’
‘Stop it!’ she cried.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Does the remembrance make you uncomfortable? As you profess to have loved Noel, do you regret two-timing him?’
‘I regret ever meeting you,’ she cried.
‘Life’s full of regrets. When we were in bed together, did you ever think of him? Regret that he wasn’t the one holding you, making love to you?’
‘Many times,’ she flashed and, seeing the way his mouth tightened, realised with a feeling of triumph that she’d scored a hit, even if it was only his pride that was hurt.
‘Was Alan a good lover?’
Rattled by the unexpected question, she answered sharply, ‘That’s nothing to do with you.’
‘How many other men have you had apart from him?’
‘How many other women have you had apart from—?’ About to say ‘Fiona’, she brought herself up short.
‘Apart from…?’ He raised an eyebrow at her.
When she said nothing, he suggested, ‘You? Well, I—’
She shook her head violently. ‘I don’t want to know. I really don’t care.’
In truth, the idea of him making love to another woman still had the power to hurt. But his question had smacked far too much of the pot calling the kettle black.
Slowly, he said, ‘I can’t say I’ve lived like a monk, Madeleine, but neither am I any Casanova. One woman in my life is enough…’
You could have fooled me, she thought bleakly.
‘But not just any woman will do. In fact my bed’s been empty for quite a while…’
If that was the truth, where was Fiona? Unless she was once again in some clinic?
‘The only thing I’ve had to warm it has been the dream of having you there…’
Though she knew now how faithless he was, her heart seemed to turn over in her breast.
Unable to stand any more, she put her coffee-cup down so that it rattled in the saucer and jumped to her feet. ‘I’m going up to the flat.’
‘Not just yet.’ He caught her wrist and, before she could brace herself, pulled her onto his lap and held her there, both hands encircling her waist.
After a moment’s useless struggle she sat stiff and straight, her head turned away.
‘Relax,’ he said, looking at the pure curve of her cheek. ‘At one time you used to enjoy sitting on my lap in front of the fire…Especially if I—’
‘Well, now I’d hate it!’ she flashed.
‘If I weren’t a perfect gentleman I might move my hands a few inches higher and see whether or not that’s the truth.’
Alarm made her heart race with suffocating speed. Her voice hoarse, she said, ‘You’d be wasting your time. As far as you’re concerned, I’m immune.’
‘I’m not sure I believe you. Your heart’s already beating faster, which, as you swore you weren’t afraid of me, suggests that you want me.’
‘I don’t want you. I don’t love you.’
‘You didn’t love me then, but you’re a very passionate woman and your body always responded to mine without reservations.’
As she made to shake her head, he said, ‘Don’t bother to deny it. There are certain signs that couldn’t be faked. It’s something I’m sure of, and I don’t believe that’s altered. I could easily make you want me…give you a lot of pleasure…’
Boldly, she rejoined, ‘My body possibly…but not my mind…and you once told me that a lot of sexual pleasure is generated in the mind…
‘Now I’d like to go to bed.’
‘Exactly where I want you.’ Taking the pins from her hair, so that it tumbled round her shoulders in a pale cloud, he added softly, ‘It’s high time you made some reparation.’
Jolted, she asked through stiff lips, ‘What is there to make reparation for?’
‘No man likes to be made a fool of, to be taken for a ride then shrugged off—’
‘I didn’t—’ she began.
‘Oh, come! When your long-term lover returned to England you couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. I have to say it rankled…Now I expect you to make up for it…’
So he was out for revenge, out to satisfy his wounded pride.
Her voice choked, she said, ‘I don’t want to go to bed with you. I won’t go to bed with you.’ Then in desperation, ‘You can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to do.’
‘I’ve no intention of using force. It won’t be necessary.’ He sounded so sure of himself.
Shudders running through her, she begged, ‘Oh, please, Rafe, don’t do this to me. I want to sleep in my own bed…alone…’
When he released her, hardly daring to believe she’d won, Madeleine struggled to her feet.
Rising at the same time, he put a light hand at her waist. ‘I’ll see you up.’
Very conscious of his hand in the small of her back, she was partway across the hall when he stopped her, and said quizzically, ‘I’m afraid I can’t bring myself to kiss Mary, and it’s a shame to waste it.’
As he turned her into his arms and tilted her chin, she caught sight of the mistletoe hanging over them. A second later everything was wiped from her mind as his mouth covered hers.
Though his kiss was light to begin with, it had a devastating effect on her, and, shaken to the very core, she parted her lips beneath his the way a flower opened to the sun.
He made a sound almost like a groan and, running his fingers into her hair, deepened the kiss, taking his own sweet time, until her head was spinning.
There was nothing in the world but this man, his lips, his arms, the warmth and strength of his body, the memories of how it had been, and what he’d once meant to her.
When he finally freed her mouth, blind and dizzy, she swayed and clung to him.
He steadied her, then, lifting her high in his arms, carried her up the stairs. It was like something that was happening in a dream, something she was experiencing, yet not quite real.
When he set her down and flicked on the light she saw that she was in a strange room, a masculine room with a dark blue and white decor, a central chandelier and a king-sized four-poster bed with a blue and silver canopy.
‘You told me you wanted to sleep alone in your own bed. If you still want that, you’re free to go.’
Her whole body crying out for him, she could feel the heat running through her, the passionate hunger, the overwhelming need.
She knew with blinding clarity that she was still in love with him, and no matter that he didn’t love her, no matter that he just wanted to use her, he was the only man she would ever love. She was forever tied to him.
‘Do you still want that?’ he repeated.
No!
She wasn’t sure whether she’d spoken the word aloud, or whether he’d read her surrender, but, his eyes never leaving her face, he began to strip off his clothes.
Her throat dry, her heart beating fast, she stood wide-eyed and defenceless, as if bewitched, and watched him.
He discarded his shoes and socks before taking off and tossing aside the black sweater. Then slowly he unfastened the belt of his trousers, dealt with the clip and zip, slid them down over lean hips and stepped out of them. A moment later his dark silk boxer shorts followed.
Naked, he sat on the edge of the bed and said, as he’d once said before, but this time it was a command, ‘Take off your clothes for me.’
With trembling fingers, she began to strip off her things—shoes, stockings, dress and slip. When she reached behind her to unfasten her bra he got to his feet and, gripping her hands, trapped them there. Then he smiled into her eyes, and bent his head to put his mouth to her breast.
Through the delicate lace of the low-cut cups she could feel the heat and dampness, and her nipples firmed, needing more, aching for the exquisite sensations his mouth and tongue could bestow.
She tried to free her hands, but he wouldn’t allow it. Instead he traced the upper curve of her breast with his tongue, coming tantalisingly close, but carrying on to the valley between and the other breast without giving her what she craved.
Then, holding both her wrists with one hand, he used the thumb of his free hand to stimulate without satisfying, while his mouth worked its way up to the warm hollow at the base of her throat and lingered there sensually.
Then suddenly she was free and he was back on the bed, watching her with green eyes that had gone dark and smoky.
She tossed aside the bra and slid the matching panties down over slender hips.
‘Come here,’ he ordered softly.
When she went to him he turned her round and pulled her down between his spread knees. Then, sliding his hands beneath her arms, he began to fondle her small, well-shaped breasts.
She could feel the roughness of his legs against her thighs and his firm flesh pressing urgently against the base of her spine. Even so, he seemed to be in no hurry, but to enjoy pleasuring her.
In the cheval-glass opposite she could see the pair of them reflected, the blonde head and the almost black, his tanned, muscular body in sharp male contrast to her pale, very womanly curves.
See what he was doing to her. How, his lean fingers dark against the creamy skin of her breasts, he was alternately stroking and teasing the dusky-pink nipples, pinching and tugging slightly, rolling each of them between a thumb and forefinger.
In some indefinable way the erotic sight added to the sensations, making them more intense.
Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it a moment longer he slid one hand between her thighs, and with long, probing fingers drew all the exquisite sensations into a glorious whole.
When she jerked and began to shudder helplessly he put an arm around her and, drawing her back, held her more firmly against him. It was like holding a lit sparkler, all fire and light.
She was still quivering, still breathing fast when, his hands at her waist, he lifted her to her feet. ‘Now let’s see what you’ve learnt.’
Startled, she turned to look at him.
His green eyes mocking, he said, ‘The days when women were expected to lie down and think of England are well and truly over. In these modern times women are men’s sexual equals, so now it’s your turn to make love to me.’
Stretching out indolently on his back, his hands clasped behind his head, he waited.
While her heart hammered against her breastbone, she dragged air into her lungs and, her hands unsteady, pushed back the long strands of blonde hair that were clinging damply to her cheeks.
‘In the past you’ve always made a pretence of being a little shy and innocent,’ he added caustically. ‘Now you don’t have to pretend any longer, so let’s see what you know or what you’ve learnt since then.’
Her eyes filled with unspoken anguish and she bent her head and looked down, the overhead light casting the shadow of her long lashes onto her cheeks.
That look punched a hole in his heart.
He reached out and, taking her hand, squeezed it gently. A consoling gesture she remembered from the past. A gesture that now seemed to be merely mocking.
Snatching her hand away, she said raggedly, ‘Very well, if that’s what you want.’

When she awoke it was almost ten-thirty, and she was alone in the bed. While her body felt sleek and satisfied, her mind was a jumble of thoughts and mixed feelings.
After her somewhat clumsy attempt to make love to him, mortified by her own inexperience, she had been turning away when he stopped her.
‘Let me go.’ She tried to break free. ‘I’m going back to the flat to spend the night.’
‘I don’t think so. It’s too late.’
Suddenly he rolled and, reversing their positions, trapped her body beneath his. His weight sparked off a heated rush of desire that made her quiver.
Feeling that betraying movement, he put his mouth to her breast and felt her hips jerk in response.
As he recognised that her need was almost as great as his own, his lovemaking was hard and fast and intense, focused simply on the twin goals of pleasure and release.
Caught up in the dark glory of it, her breath ragged, she let go of the hurt and anger and abandoned herself.
This was real. This was enough.
Only it wasn’t.
Despite the explosion of ecstasy, despite the bodily bliss, there was so much missing—the caring, the warmth, the commitment.
She started to cry, and the tears simply wouldn’t stop.
He gathered her up and cradled her to him.
When she was all cried out, he kissed her wet cheeks and, holding her in the crook of his arm, settled her head on his shoulder.
Totally drained, emotionally exhausted, she slept almost at once.

In the early hours of the morning, still tangled in the gossamer threads of a lovely dream of a summer picnic she and Rafe had once shared, she reached out and touched him.
He stirred and turned his head, so that his face pressed into the curve of her neck.
Warm and sleepy, she snuggled against him and felt his immediate response, the hard hammer-blows of his heart as his arms closed round her. Then in the darkness his lips had found hers, and he was kissing her with a passion that once more set her alight.
They had kissed and caressed and made love a second time with an undiminished hunger, before falling asleep again in each other’s arms.
Recalling the piercing beauty of their lovemaking, she felt her eyes fill with tears. She wept then for a lot of things. For past mistakes that couldn’t be altered, for still loving him in spite of everything, but most of all for giving in and going to bed with him.
If she had been strong enough to hold out against him he wouldn’t have forced her, she was sure of that. It was her own need for him that had been her downfall, that had wiped out this last year as if it had never been and left her once more in his thrall.
Despairingly she asked herself, how was it possible to go on loving a man who, once he’d had his revenge, for that was what it amounted to, wouldn’t give her a second thought?
Even so, and though she despised herself, she knew that she might be tempted to stay and give him what he wanted from her, if only Fiona didn’t exist…
But the other woman did exist and presumably she still loved Rafe in spite of everything. Still hoped to marry him.
Poor Fiona.
How was it possible for two women to go on loving a man who was basically rotten?
Three women, if she counted Harriet Rampling.
Out of the blue and for the first time, Madeleine found herself wondering about the relationship between Rafe and his godmother.
How was it that, after he had treated her daughter so shabbily, and apparently reneged on the bargain he had made with her husband, Harriet Rampling and her godson were still so close that she would choose to live in his house?
It didn’t seem to make any sense.

Chapter Seven
MADELINE was drying her cheeks with the back of her hand when the bedroom door opened and Rafe came in carrying a tray of coffee.
He was wearing stone-coloured trousers and a fine olivegreen sweater with a loose, sleeveless jerkin. His thick dark hair, a shade longer than was fashionable and trying to curl, was brushed back from a high forehead.
Needing to be in control, she sat upright and, pulling the duvet up to cover her nakedness, trapped it under her arms.
His eyes on her tear-stained face, he put the tray on the cabinet and, sitting down on the edge of the bed, reached out a hand to tilt her chin. ‘Regrets?’
‘It’s too late for regrets.’ In spite of all her efforts her voice shook betrayingly.
He freed a strand of hair caught in her earring, curled it round his finger and tucked it behind her ear, before cupping her cheek.
There was tenderness in his eyes, in his touch, and, feeling an uncontrollable wave of love, she turned her face into his palm.
The breath hissed through his teeth and then he was holding her close, his mouth muffled in her hair. ‘I think it’s about time we were—’
The trill of a phone cut through his words.
He drew back and, taking the mobile from his jerkin pocket, walked across to the window, saying over his shoulder, ‘Don’t let your coffee get cold.’
There were two cups on the tray, and, as she turned to pick up the coffee-pot and fill them, she heard him say a businesslike, ‘Lombard.’
A second later his voice changed to a softer, more caring tone. ‘Hello, sweetheart, how are you…?’
Fiona, Madeleine realised, and something inside her shrivelled up.
‘That’s good…Yes…yes, that’s right. No, I’m afraid we’re snowed up, you wouldn’t get here by road today. Probably not tomorrow, either…’
Her heart starting to race, Madeleine wondered if perhaps the other woman was in some clinic, and wanting to come home for Christmas?
‘Yes, that would be fine,’ Rafe agreed. ‘I’ll make the arrangements. As a matter of fact it will fit in very nicely with my other plans…’
If Fiona was intent on coming here, somehow she had to get away. The panicky thought was going through her mind when he added, ‘I’ll ring you back in a little while…Yes, yes, I will…Bye.’
He dropped the phone back into his pocket and returned to sit on the bed, making the mattress depress beneath his weight.
She was taken completely by surprise when he asked casually, ‘How do you feel about a trip to London?’
‘A trip to London?’ she echoed blankly.
‘I thought we might have lunch at the Denaught.’
‘Lunch at the Denaught…But I—I thought…’ She stammered to a halt.
‘That I meant to keep you a virtual prisoner?’
Annoyed by his amusement, she demanded, ‘Wasn’t that what you intended me to think?’
Taking a sip of his coffee, which he liked black and sugarless, he admitted blandly, ‘I did mention keeping you with me. But I was hoping to rely on persuasion rather than actual physical confinement.’
Wondering what kind of game he was playing, why he’d suggested having lunch out, she said, ‘Didn’t you just say we were snowed up?’
‘To all intents and purposes we are. But we have a small snowblower that Jack can use to keep the helicopter pad clear. Ever been in a chopper?’
‘No.’
‘Fancy the idea?’
The true answer was no. She was afraid of heights and didn’t much care for flying in any form. But it would be a chance to leave the house. A chance, once they were at the Denaught, to escape. If she excused herself to go to the powder room, hopefully she could get a taxi and be away before he missed her.
Trying to keep the excitement out of her voice, she readjusted the duvet and said, ‘Yes, that would be very nice.’
‘Of course, I’ll want your word that you won’t try to run. That you’ll stick with the role of the physiotherapist Harriet hired.’
Try as she might she was unable to meet his eyes and, with a hark back to childhood, the hand hidden beneath the duvet had the first and middle fingers crossed as, after the briefest hesitation, she agreed, ‘Very well.’
‘Good. Then while you shower and dress I’ll have a word with Jack and get everything organised.’
The second the door had closed behind him, she jumped out of bed, pulled on her clothes and hurried along the corridor to her flat.
As soon as she had dried herself and dressed she put on her make-up and coiled her hair, leaving the same small gold hoops in her ears that she’d worn the previous night.
She couldn’t wait to get away. It would mean leaving her cases, but once she was safely in London she could arrange to have them picked up. In the meantime, Eve would lend her whatever she needed.
Dressed in a cream blouse and a fine wool suit the colour of molasses, she pulled on a pair of matching suede boots and crept downstairs.
As soon as she’d found Mrs Boyce and retrieved her handbag, she would go back to the flat and phone Eve.
There was no sign of the housekeeper, and, having peered into several rooms, including the kitchen, she was returning to the hall when Rafe appeared wearing a hip-length leather jacket.
‘Lost?’ he queried.
‘I was looking for Mrs Boyce.’ Instinctively she spoke the truth.
‘Mary’s off until after Christmas. Annie will be filling in for her, when she gets here.’
‘Oh…’ Madeleine said. But, thinking back, she could vaguely remember Mrs Boyce mentioning it.
‘Were you wanting the housekeeper for any particular reason?’ he asked.
Doing her best to sound casual, she explained, ‘Last night I couldn’t find my handbag. I thought I must have left it in the living room, but when I went to look it wasn’t there. I presume Mrs Boyce must have found it and put it somewhere safe.’
‘Well, if that’s all it is, there’s no problem.’
‘But I need my purse and—’
He smiled lazily. ‘Don’t worry, I promise I’ll buy lunch. Now, about ready to start?’
There was money in her flight bag, and she would need money for a taxi. Her mind working overtime, she said, ‘Not quite…I’d better fetch a coat,’ and fled back upstairs.
It was a moment’s work to unpack her cream coat, and her flight bag was where she’d left it. Knowing how useful its contents would be, she hesitated, sorely tempted to take it.
But the last thing she wanted to do was alert Rafe. Giving up the idea, she unzipped it and felt for the money she’d slipped into the inner pocket alongside her passport and other papers.
The pocket was empty.
It must be the one on the other side.
That too was empty.
Feeling as though she’d been kicked in the solar plexus, she made a more thorough search.
Everything else was there, but her money, her passport and other travel documents were gone.
Suddenly it all added up.
There were money and papers missing, a phone that wasn’t working, no keys in the doors, a handbag that had mysteriously disappeared…
Realising that the whole thing had been carefully planned, she clenched her teeth.
‘Got a problem?’
Looking up, she found Rafe was standing in the doorway, watching her.
Her voice tight with barely controlled anger, she began with the least important. ‘The phone up here isn’t working…’
‘So Mary said,’ he agreed blandly.
‘There are no keys to the doors, and, before you try to fob me off with excuses, I know they’ve been purposely removed…’
Those lazy green eyes regarded her calmly. ‘Then presumably you know why?’
‘Oh, yes, I know why. To prevent me locking myself in, and to enable you to come in and out whenever it suits you—which you’ve no right to do…!’
‘It is my house,’ he pointed out when she paused to draw breath.
‘It might be your house, but that doesn’t give you the right to walk in and take my belongings…’ she said breathlessly.
When he simply stood there and watched her, her voice shaking, she accused, ‘You came in while I was asleep—’ recalling the dream that the slight noise he must have made had triggered off, she shuddered, before going on ‘—and you stole my handbag and the money and papers from my flight bag. Don’t bother to deny it.’
‘I wasn’t going to deny it,’ he said mildly. ‘Though stole is hardly the correct word. I’m merely keeping them safe until I’m satisfied you don’t intend to do anything silly.’
‘How dare you?’ she cried hoarsely. ‘You’ve no right to treat me like this—’
‘Perhaps we could leave the recriminations until later? The chopper’s warming up ready and Jack will be standing around waiting for us.’
Then, with a glance at her mutinous face, ‘Unless you’ve changed your mind about going? If you have, we could always stay at home.’
She had opened her mouth to say that she had no intention of going anywhere with him, when she hesitated. There would be no chance of escaping if they stayed here. Better to put on a reasonably amicable front and go with him. Then at the first opportunity she would slip away. Either Eve or Noel would pay her taxi fare…
‘Well?’
‘I haven’t changed my mind.’
Picking up her coat, he helped her into it. ‘Then let’s go.’
Outside it was a perfect winter’s day, with a cloudless sky as blue as lapis lazuli. Though the sun shone brightly, the air was glacial, and frost sparkled like glitter on a Christmas card.
Snow covered everything in a thick white counterpane, filling in hollows, redefining the landscape, piling on sills and ledges, burying shrubs and plants, clothing bare branches and weighing down the green arms of the pine.
The apron outside the front door had been partially cleared and, harnessed to what appeared to be a child’s sleigh, a small, sturdy pony waited placidly.
‘Courtesy of the previous owner, who was going to live in Australia,’ Rafe explained as he helped Madeleine into the sleigh and fitted himself in beside her.
Pressed as they were, hip to hip and thigh to thigh, there was just enough room for the two of them.
‘It belonged to his children…Cosy, wouldn’t you say?’
Robbed of breath by such close contact, Madeleine said nothing.
‘We do have a snowmobile,’ he went on, ‘but there’s something wrong with the engine and Jack is having to work on it.’
Finding her voice, she asked, ‘How far is it to the helicopter pad?’
‘Only a few hundred yards. But considering the conditions, I thought this mode of transport might be preferable to walking, and Jack says Hercules can do with some exercise.’
He made a clicking noise with his tongue, and apparently eager to live up to his name, Hercules set off with a will.
Though the sleigh ran easily enough, the pony’s short legs sank into the snow alarmingly until they got under the lee of a wall bordering the path to the flat, raised ground where the helicopter pad and hangar were situated.
Looking for all the world like a plastic bubble, the helicopter was waiting, its door open, its rotor blades turning gently.
Jack came to meet them and take charge of the sleigh while Rafe, a hand at her waist, escorted her across to the small silver machine.
After a momentary hesitation, she ducked her head and climbed in.
Rafe closed the door and, a moment later, swung in beside her. Then, having fastened both their seat belts, he put on the headset and turned his attention to the controls.
The engine note rose to a whine and a second or so later, the downdraught from the rotor blades whipping up the surrounding powdery snow, they lifted off into the blue, blue sky.
As they levelled out Rafe glanced sideways at her, noting her absolute stillness, the slim hands clasped into fists, the way her eyes were fixed blindly on the control panel.
‘OK?’ he asked above the engine noise.
She nodded without moving her gaze.
Reaching out, he took the nearest hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
She gave him a small, wavering smile.
‘That’s my girl.’
After a minute or so she took a deep breath and forced herself to look down. She was rewarded by a truly fantastic view. A winter wonderland of glistening snow, a montage of fields and hedgerows and silver filigree trees.
Fascinated, she began to pick out small dwellings and isolated farms, streams and roads, and clearly, on the smooth white snow, the tracks of animals.
Then in no time at all, it seemed, the countryside gave way to town and they were coming in to land on the Denaught’s clearly marked helicopter pad.
With its high grey stone walls, its towers and turrets and battlements, the place looked more like a castle than a hotel, Madeleine thought.
On the same wavelength, as he so often was, Rafe raised his voice to tell her, ‘Long before it became one of London’s top hotels, the Denaught was a fortified country house belonging to Sir Ian Bolton.
‘After the Bolton family died out, the place stood empty for a time until some property developer realised its potential.’
When they touched down and the rotor blades slowed, he removed his headset and, unfastening their seat belts, queried, ‘So how do you feel about your first helicopter flight?’
She surprised herself by saying, ‘I enjoyed it. I hadn’t expected to, as I’m terrified of heights.’
‘It’s somewhat different from standing on the edge of a precipice.’
‘I pictured it as being just as terrifying.’ She laughed.
‘But still you came.’ His voice was dry.
She hoped he hadn’t guessed what she had in mind. It would make getting away all the more difficult, if he had.
But if the worst came to the worst, she would refuse point blank to go back with him. And if he tried to force her she would kick up a fuss, she decided as he came round to help her out.
The Denaught appeared to be very busy, and she was greatly cheered to see a red-coated doorman dealing with a steady trickle of taxis arriving at, and leaving, the main entrance.
There was much less snow here, a mere carpet compared to the thick covering they’d left behind them, which made walking easy even in fashion boots.
‘Better make the most of it,’ Rafe said, when she remarked on the fact. ‘If the forecast is right, we’ve more heavy snow coming overnight, with blizzards in our neck of the woods…’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Lombard…madam…’ A youngish, round-faced man in a smart navy-blue uniform appeared from nowhere. ‘Lovely day.’
‘It is indeed,’ Rafe answered.
‘If you and the lady want to go straight in, I’ll take care of things.’
‘Thanks, Steve.’
‘You seem to be well-known here,’ she remarked, as they made their way across the concreted area and through a side-entrance.
‘Yes, it’s a place I often use. Apart from the fact that they have an excellent chef, the helicopter pad is extremely useful, and I keep a car here,’ he added nonchalantly.
As they reached the foyer, with its crackling log fire and seasonal decorations, a grey-haired, distinguished-looking man wearing a cream carnation in his buttonhole, bore down on them.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Lombard…’
‘Afternoon, Charles. This is Miss Knight.’
‘Miss Knight…’ Obviously one of the old school, the manager made her a courteous little bow.
‘I must apologise for giving you so little notice, at a peak time,’ Rafe said.
Charles waved away the apology. ‘It’s always a pleasure to have you here, Mr Lombard.’
As their coats were borne away by one of his minions, he added, ‘Your usual table’s ready, and your guest has arrived.’
Rafe nodded. ‘Thanks.’
‘The young lady’s waiting for you in the private lounge.’ He indicated a door to the right.
Madeleine’s thoughts began to race as, a hand beneath her elbow, Rafe escorted her across the foyer towards the lounge.
Remembering his previous phone conversation, she felt hollow inside.
As Fiona couldn’t get to the hall, had he suggested that they meet here?
But if he had, why had he included her? Unless he’d decided that she was safer under his eye than left to her own devices.
After all, he had no idea that she and Fiona had ever met, no idea that she knew about the bargain he had made with his godfather.
And she was hardly likely to tell the other woman how he’d tricked her into going to the hall. So perhaps he was hoping to present her simply in the role of physiotherapist?
The role he had asked her to play.
Another thought struck her. Did he mean to take Fiona back in the helicopter? Though how did he intend to extract ‘reparation’ from her with his fiancée on the scene…?
Well, whatever his intentions, if it was Fiona waiting in there, he had a nasty shock coming.
But if it was Fiona, she’d rather tell him the truth now than have to face the other woman.
At the door to the lounge, her insides churning, she dug her toes in and asked jerkily, ‘Who is it that’s waiting?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘I’d like to know.’
Shaking his head, he said decidedly, ‘That would spoil the surprise,’ and, opening the door, propelled her inside.
She was aware of a log fire burning in what seemed to be a deserted room, before a small figure came hurtling towards her. Almost knocked off balance, she found herself being hugged with a warmth and enthusiasm that went straight to her heart.
‘Katie!’ she exclaimed, half laughing, half crying. ‘How you’ve grown. You’re getting really tall. You almost come up to my chin.’
‘You haven’t changed at all,’ Katie declared. ‘You’re just as beautiful as ever.’ She turned to Rafe and gave him a hug. ‘Thank you for bringing her, Uncle Rafe.’
Then, taking Madeleine’s hand, she went on happily, ‘I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve missed you. Aren’t you pleased to be home?’
Glancing up, Madeleine met Rafe’s ironic gaze. Dragging her eyes away, she said, ‘Of course I am.’
‘School’s broken up for Christmas, so when Mum told me you were staying at the hall so you could treat Uncle George, I asked if I could come and see you. But Uncle Rafe said you were all snowed up…’
So it had been Katie Rafe had been talking to when he used the endearment sweetheart, not Fiona.
‘Did you enjoy flying in the helicopter?’ Katie asked eagerly.
‘Yes, I quite liked it.’
‘I thought you would,’ the child said proudly. ‘That’s why I asked Uncle Rafe if he could bring you to see me.’
So though he must have known he was running a risk, known that she might refuse to go back with him, he’d brought her to please Katie.
‘He didn’t tell me,’ Madeleine said.
‘I asked him not to say anything because I wanted to surprise you.’
‘Well, you certainly did that.’ She squeezed the child’s hand. Then, puzzled, asked, ‘But surely you didn’t come alone?’
‘No, Helga, the au pair, brought me. She’ll be coming back for me at two o’clock…’
Which meant she would have to delay her escape, Madeleine realised. There was no way she could disappear while Katie was still here.
‘Mum is at work,’ the child went on. ‘She’s going to join us as soon as she can get away. But she said to start eating without her, just in case she can’t make it for lunch.
‘I’m hungry already. I was too excited to eat much breakfast. Are you hungry, Maddy?’
Still feeling churned up, Madeleine lied, ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Well, if my two favourite girls are hungry—’ Rafe put an arm around each of them ‘—let’s go and eat.’
Katie fairly danced along, her dark, glossy plait swinging. ‘While we have lunch I can tell you all about Bertrand…’
When, seated by one of the long windows in the pleasant dining room, they had finished ordering, Madeleine asked, ‘Who’s Bertrand?’
‘He’s the Labrador that Uncle Rafe is giving me for Christmas. Though I’m fine again now, Mum and Dad don’t want me to ride any more until I’m grown up, so they agreed I could have a dog. Bertrand’s about six months old and I’m getting him tomorrow, because the sanctuary doesn’t open on Christmas Day.
‘I decided to call him Bertrand because that’s Uncle Rafe’s middle name…’
‘Is it really?’ Madeleine laughed. ‘I didn’t know that.’
Rafe grimaced. ‘Not a lot of people do.’
Then to Katie, ‘Do you have to tell all my most shameful secrets? And come to that, how do you know?’
The little girl giggled. ‘Mum told me. But she thinks Bertrand is rather grand for a puppy, so I’ll probably call him Bertie for short.’ She turned her attention back to Madeleine. ‘He was rescued when his previous owner left him shut in the basement of a derelict house,’ she explained. ‘He’d almost starved to death before he was found. But he’s very friendly and he still likes people.
‘He’s from the Mill House Animal Sanctuary. Uncle Rafe gives them lots of money to help the animals…’
While they waited for the meal to be served, and between courses, Katie chatted away non-stop.
Madeleine smiled and listened and marvelled that a child she had regarded as quiet and a little shy could be so talkative.
Catching her eye, Rafe said with a wry smile, ‘As a rule Katie doesn’t say much, but when she gets excited she could talk for England.’
They had almost finished their coffee before Diane herself came hurrying in, wearing a businesslike grey suit and carrying a black shoulder-bag-cum-briefcase. Her cheeks were flushed and she sounded more than a shade breathless as she said, ‘Hi there.’
‘You’re very late, Mum,’ Katie pointed out.
‘Yes, I know, darling, and I’m sorry. I began to think I wasn’t going to make it at all. I was trapped into having lunch with a client.’
She gave her brother, who had risen at her approach, a peck on the cheek and, stooping to hug Madeleine, said with obvious sincerity, ‘It’s good to have you back.’
‘I expect you can do with some coffee?’ Rafe asked.
‘You’re a mind-reader.’ Dropping into the chair he’d pulled out for her, Diane smoothed a hand over the dark hair that fell straight and gleaming to her shoulders, and grumbled, ‘Sometimes I wonder why I keep on working.’
He smiled. ‘You know perfectly well that you love your work. If you didn’t have it, you’d be lost.’
‘That’s true. I just don’t want to be a mirror image of Mother.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think you need to worry on that score.’
‘But you wouldn’t want your wife to have a career,’ Diane noted.
‘I’d prefer her not to. Unless it would make her seriously unhappy to give it up. If that was the case, I’d have to withdraw my opposition…’ He sat back confidently.
They chatted for a minute or so until the fresh coffee had arrived and been poured, before Katie reminded him, ‘Uncle Rafe, you promised you’d show me the inside of your helicopter some time and let me sit in the pilot’s seat…’
‘Well, I will, sweetheart.’
‘Can’t you do it now?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s only a quarter to two.’
As Rafe hesitated, Diane said, ‘Go if you want to. Maddy and I can catch up on some gossip.’
‘Oh, please, Uncle Rafe.’ Katie was already on her feet and tugging at his arm.
He cast his eyes heavenwards. ‘I should have more sense than promise these things.’
‘Go on,’ Diane urged, ‘you know you want to.’ Then to Madeleine, ‘Men always enjoy showing off their toys.’
‘Femaled into it,’ he said with mock-resignation. ‘Come on, then, Poppet. We’ll pick up your coat on the way out.’
‘It’s Helga’s yoga class this afternoon,’ Diane reminded her daughter, ‘so if you see her come while you’re out there, you’d better go straight home with her. Daddy should be there by the time you get back.’
‘All right…Bye, then, Mum.’
‘Bye, darling. I won’t be late tonight.’
‘That’s good. Bye, Maddy. Come and see us soon—then you’ll be able to meet Bertie. I think you’ll like him.’ Katie ran back and put her arms round Maddy.
‘I’m sure I will,’ Madeleine agreed, and hugged the slight figure.
‘Come on, then, Uncle Rafe…’ She took his hand.
Over the child’s head his eyes met Madeleine’s, an unmistakable warning in their cool green depths, as he said lightly, ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes or so. Don’t go anywhere.’
As the tall, broad-shouldered man and the slender dark-haired child turned away, they heard Katie coax, ‘If I’m very careful, will you let me try on the earphones, Uncle Rafe?’
He smiled down at her. ‘I dare say.’
‘Oh, goodie!’
While the pair made their way to the door, Diane sipped her coffee and looked after them fondly. ‘I’ll be pleased when Rafe settles down and has a family of his own…’
Madeleine felt her heart constrict as if an iron band had tightened round it as Diane added, ‘He’ll make a really good father. He’s great with Katie, and she fairly dotes on him.’ Then a shade diffidently, ‘I hadn’t realised how things were—between you and Rafe, I mean—until he told me…’
Madeleine found herself wondering exactly how much he’d told his sister, and where Fiona fitted into all this. It didn’t sound as if Diane knew about the bargain Rafe had struck with his godfather…Or if she did, she certainly didn’t seem to be blaming him for not keeping it.
‘He hasn’t been happy while you’ve been away,’ Diane went on. ‘But now you’re back, thank the lord, and I’m only too delighted that things finally look like they’re working out…’
Not knowing what to say, Madeleine stayed silent.
‘Poor Rafe…In some ways he’s had a raw deal…’
Seeing the sceptical look on Madeleine’s face, she hurried to defend her brother. ‘Oh, yes, I know he appears to be the man who has everything, but so far, through no fault of his own, he’s lost out in ways that have really mattered to him.
‘Though he was never deprived of material possessions, he didn’t have a very happy childhood. In fact it’s a miracle he didn’t grow up warped…’
Recalling the story he’d told her about his stepfather, Madeleine began, ‘You mean…?’
‘I mean he could so easily have ended up weak, psychologically damaged. But thank the lord he’s turned out to be one of the strongest, most stable people I know.
‘The only thing I’ve ever known to really throw him off balance was when you went to the States…’ She glanced up at Madeleine and then went on, ‘But to get back to the point. Our mother wasn’t a home-maker. She never wanted children. She was a career woman through and through, and well over thirty when she married Dad. Even then she only agreed to a wedding because I was on the way.
‘Children bored her, and she couldn’t wait to get me off her hands so she could be free. Unfortunately for her, there was still Rafe to come.
‘She believed she was in the menopause, and by the time she found she was pregnant again, it was too late to do anything about it. No child asks to be born, yet, as though he was to blame, she always resented him.
‘Dad and I did our best, but he needed a mother’s love, and the more he tried to get close to her, the more she pushed him away. He was much too young to understand why…’
Madeleine’s heart bled for the poor, bewildered child who’d been so cruelly rejected. But after the way he’d treated Fiona he didn’t deserve her pity, she reminded herself.
‘Then when he was twelve and I was nineteen our father died, and six months later, to our surprise, Mother remarried. Unlike Dad, who was a kind man and wouldn’t have hurt a fly, her new husband was a brute and a bully. It’s not surprising that Rafe came to hate him…
‘To cut a long story short, when Rafe was barely fourteen, for his own safety, he was sent to live with his godparents.’
Her face clouded.
‘It’s true that they welcomed him with open arms, but even there he had his share of problems…’
Madeleine was taken aback. When Rafe had talked about his godparents, he’d made no mention of any problems. Rather he’d emphasised how well they’d treated him.
As if pushing aside unpleasant memories, Diane made a dismissive gesture and went on, ‘Though at that time the Charns could well afford it, he was anxious not to be a financial burden. He wanted to be independent, to be able to fund his own schooling.
‘As though in answer to a prayer, when our paternal aunt died she left us a small legacy in her will. I used my half to further my career, while Rafe, with his godfather’s help and approval, put his into stocks and shares.
‘When it comes to finance, my brother has the Midas touch. Everything he invested in turned to gold, and by the time he went to university he had the independence he craved.
‘He could have cut free then from the Charn household, but he didn’t,’ Diane said proudly. ‘He continued to call their house home, continued to treat them as if they were his own parents. And when Christopher ran into trouble, Rafe stood by him through thick and thin…’
Well, he would do if he was expecting to inherit Charn Industries, Madeleine thought cynically. But once again there had been no mention of Fiona.
She was about to jump in with both feet and ask where the other woman was, when Diane exclaimed, ‘Oh, lord, aren’t I rabbiting on? But I wanted you to know, to understand, that Rafe isn’t—’
‘Isn’t what?’ Rafe asked.
Both women jumped.
‘Oh, you’re back,’ Diane said. And, obviously flustered to be caught talking about him, hurried on, ‘Did Katie enjoy the helicopter?’
He grinned. ‘Enormously. She’s quite determined to get a pilot’s licence as soon as she’s old enough.’
‘I take it she’s gone?’
‘Yes. Helga was running a few minutes late, otherwise she would have stopped for a word.’
Diane picked up her shoulder-bag. ‘Speaking of being late, I’ll have to get a move-on myself. Thanks for the coffee.’ She turned back to her brother. ‘We’ll be at home all over Christmas. Stuart’s mum and dad are coming to stay with us, so you must bring Madeleine for a meal as soon as you can make it.’

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