Wild Justice

by Joanna Mansell

  Wild Justice

  By

  Joanna Mansell

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  'If you've brought me here to try and convince me that my father's a—well, a crook, it's just not going to work, I'm afraid.'

  Jared's gaze suddenly glittered. 'But that isn't why I brought you here at all,' he told her silkily. He paused, as if relishing the situation, enjoying a few moments of triumph after a long, long wait.

  'What—' Cassandra swallowed hard. 'What do you mean?'

  'Do you know what hurts people most of all?' Jared said. 'It's losing someone—or something—that you love or deeply value. Because of your father, I lost my company. It seemed only fair to me that he should lose something in return—even if it's only temporary. So I began to look at the possibilities. His wife? But he never remarried after your mother died. Which left his daughter. His only child, whom he's spoilt and doted on since the day she was born. Cassandra Gregory—who's now here, in my house.' A look of perverse satisfaction crossed his face. 'And who'll stay here until I decide to let her leave.'

  Books you will enjoy

  by

  JOANNA MANSELL

  MIRACLE MAN

  Lacey was quite happy with the safe, sexless relationship she had with her boss, Marcus Caradin of Caradin Tours. Then he asked her to go on a business trip with him to India and Nepal, and suddenly it wasn't safe any more…

  ILLUSION OF PARADISE

  Jay Challoner never gave interviews to journalists, and Charlie had to resort to slightly devious methods to spend time with him. Her plans nearly went astray when Jay had to rush off to Ecuador—the only answer was to go there too…

  LORD AND MASTER

  With the reputation of her employment agency at stake, Alice set off for Rossmore Hall determined to create a good impression. However, her problems regarding Lord Rossmore were very different from the ones she had been anticipating…

  THE THIRD KISS

  Rescued by Max Lansdelle from the top of a cliff in a deserted Egyptian valley, Bethan blackmailed him into letting her stay with him at his camp—only to discover that Max was not the cool customer she'd thought he was…

  First published in Great Britain 1988

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  © Joanna Mansell 1988

  Australian copyright 1988

  Philippine copyright 1988

  This edition 1988

  ISBN 0 263 76161 4

  CHAPTER ONE

  Cassandra flicked through the swatches of material, picked out the exact shade of blue that she wanted, and then tossed the others to one side. She should have felt satisfied that she had found the right colour so easily. Instead, though, she merely felt rather bored.

  She tapped her fingers on the desk, impatient with herself. What the hell was wrong with her? It was just eighteen months since she had started up her interior design business. Surely she couldn't be getting tired of it already?

  Perhaps the trouble was that it had all been so much easier than she had expected. Oh, she had worked hard—especially during those first few months, when she had worked all day and half the night, snatching a couple of hours' sleep whenever she could. Then satisfied clients had begun to recommend friends, and after that things had just snowballed until she had as much work as she could handle. That almost instant success had come as something of a surprise. She had known she had a good eye for colour, and an instinctive ability to recognise good style and design, instantly rejecting anything that was simply gimmicky or downright tacky. More than that, though, it turned out she had an even more important talent. After talking to a client for just a short while, she would then come up with a scheme that perfectly fitted their personality. She always knew if they wanted frills and flounces, something stylish, or even something starkly modern.

  Something, though, the fun—the challenge —seemed to have suddenly gone out of it. She was tired of picking curtains and carpets, paper and paint, furniture and fittings for people who were too busy—or too lazy!—to do it themselves. Just yesterday, surprising even herself, she had turned down a commission to oversee the redecoration of a large and prestigious country house. In fact, she had turned down several commissions during the last couple of weeks. At the moment, she had very little work lined up for the immediate future.

  Perhaps she needed a holiday, she decided. She hadn't had a break since she had started up the business, so it was hardly surprising she felt tired and stale. A few days lazing around somewhere warm and sunny would probably bring back her appetite for work.

  The phone suddenly rang, and she automatically reached out to pick it up. Then she stopped herself. It would almost certainly be someone offering her more work. Perhaps she should just ignore it.

  Yet the phone kept ringing with a peculiarly insistent tone, until in the end she snatched it up out of pure irritation, the noise grating on her nerves.

  'Yes?' she snapped, more sharply than she had intended.

  'Miss Cassandra Gregory?' The voice was very definitely male, the tone cool and even.

  'This is Miss Gregory,' she confirmed, for some reason being deliberately formal.

  'Good. I was hoping to get hold of you in person. Do you happen to be free at the moment? If you are, I'd like to come round and see you.'

  Right now, Cassandra didn't want to see anyone. 'I'm afraid I've business appointments for the rest of the day,' she lied smoothly. 'I can't possibly fit anyone else in.'

  'Surely you have a lunch hour?' the caller persisted, in that same cool tone.

  'Of course I do.'

  'Then perhaps you'd be willing to give up a quarter of an hour of it, in order to discuss a commission?'

  Cassandra glared at the receiver. Couldn't the man take a hint? She didn't want to see him!

  'I'm sorry, but it's out of the question,' she told him. 'Perhaps you could get in touch at some other time, when I'm less busy.'

  Before he had a chance to reply, she quickly put down the receiver. With luck, he wouldn't ring back and that would be the last she would hear from him.

  Then she gave a small grimace. If she carried on like this, it wouldn't matter if he rang back or not. Her business would have folded! It was permissible to be firm with prospective clients—some of them even liked it, especially the ones who could never make up their own minds about anything and wanted someone else to take all the decisions. Downright rudeness was definitely out, though. If she did this sort of thing too often, word would soon get around and then all those nice lucrative commissions would simply dry up.

  She made herself some coffee, and then went through the swatches of blue material again. She knew perfectly well that she had picked the right shade the first time, and that she was really only killing time, but she couldn't seem to find the enthusiasm for anything else.

  Glancing at her watch, she was amazed to find that it was only just gone ten o'clock. She felt as if she had already been there for hours. What was she going to do, to fill the rest of the day?

  Get on with some work, she told herself sternly. But there wasn't very much to do, since she had taken on so few commissions lately. There were a few odds and ends from old jobs to be dealt with, and she still hadn't chosen the curtains for Lady Stockwell's new bedroom, but she already knew the colour she wanted. And she was tired of looking at material.

  The outer door of her office suddenly banged, making her jump. Her part-time secretary wouldn't be in until this afternoon, which meant there was no one to deal with whoever had just com
e in. Cassandra sighed. She supposed she would have to see them herself. She was just getting to her feet when the door to her own office opened. The man who appeared in the doorway didn't knock. He didn't even wait to be invited in. Instead, he strode into the centre of her office and then stood there, looking down at her.

  Cassandra's gaze flicked over him, absorbing a flood of first impressions. Dark hair—very dark. It probably looked black in some lights. And, in startling contrast, very light eyes. Green? Pale blue? she wondered. But they didn't seem to have any colour in them at all. Instead, they glittered with a quicksilver quality which she found more than a little unnerving. Rather hurriedly, her gaze slid down from his face and studied his clothes. Nothing to worry about there, she decided. He was dressed very conventionally, in a dark suit, with a light grey shirt and tie. With his oddly colourless eyes, the overall effect should have been rather dull. Yet no one was ever going to accuse this man of being any such thing, she realised with an unexpected tightening of her nerve-ends. He hadn't said a single word yet, but she already felt half flattened by his presence.

  More than that, though, he gave the impression of being—well, uncivilised, she realised with a further rush of unease. It was as if the expensive clothes, the gleaming, well-cut hair, the polite expression on his face, were all a facade, a deliberately adopted disguise.

  Cassandra shook her head with a sudden rush of impatience. Boredom was making her fanciful! This man was just a prospective client, that was all. And one that she wanted to get rid of as quickly as possible. She wasn't in the mood for work today.

  He seemed to be studying her with equal intentness. 'Miss Cassandra Gregory?' he said at last.

  With a sense of shock, she realised that she recognised that cool tone.

  'You're the man who telephoned earlier,' she said at once, a hint of trepidation colouring her voice.

  'Yes, I am,' he agreed. 'I believe we were—cut off.'

  Was that a mocking undertone in his voice? she wondered edgily. He must know that she had put the phone down on him.

  'Since we seemed to be having problems communicating with each other, I thought it would be easier if I came round in person,' he went on smoothly.

  Cassandra only just managed to stop herself from scowling. In other words, he was determined to talk to her, and this was one way of making sure she couldn't refuse him!

  'I'm very busy,' she said pointedly.

  That quicksilver gaze slid over her near-empty desk.

  'I can see that you are,' he agreed, and Cassandra glared at him. Was he mocking her again? It was impossible to tell; his expression was completely bland now. Not even a mind-reader could have worked out what was going on inside this man's head.

  She sat up straight, and tried to look very businesslike as she glanced at her watch. 'Perhaps I can spare you five minutes, Mr—?'

  'Sinclair,' he said, after just a moment's hesitation. 'Jared Sinclair.'

  He watched her very carefully as he told her his name. Cassandra wondered why. Was she supposed to recognise it? Was the man famous, or something? Well, if he was, she certainly hadn't heard of him. The name meant nothing to her.

  'Why did you want to see me, Mr Sinclair?' she asked, keeping her voice carefully polite.

  Without waiting for an invitation, he slid himself into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. He should have been less intimidating now that he was sitting down, but for some reason Cassandra didn't feel any more relaxed. There was something about this man that just didn't add up. The way he looked didn't match the other signals she was getting from him. It was like being in a room with a wild animal that, for some secret reason of its own, was pretending to be perfectly tame.

  'I have a house that I'm thinking of completely modernising and redecorating,' he told her, after another of those brief but disconcerting silences. 'I've been given your name as being one of the best in your field.'

  Cassandra was aware of an unexpected sense of disappointment. So, he was just another client, after all. Someone who wanted her to choose colour schemes and styles, because he didn't have the time himself—or simply couldn't be bothered.

  'I'm not sure that I can take on any more commissions at the moment—' she began.

  'I think that you might enjoy this one,' interrupted Jared Sinclair smoothly. 'I've recently inherited a property in Scotland, and since I don't intend to live there permanently myself, I've been considering the possibility of letting it out as a holiday home. It would require a lot of work to be done on it first, though, to get it into an acceptable condition. If I go ahead with this plan, I intend to aim at the American tourist market, which means everything will have to be brought up to a very high standard.'

  Despite her firm intention not to get involved with any work for this man, Cassandra couldn't quite suppress a flicker of interest.

  'Where exactly is this house? And what type of house is it? What kind of condition is it in?'

  'It's in a rather remote part of the Highlands,' Jared Sinclair answered. 'Most of the house is quite old, although various alterations have been made to it over the years. It's perfectly habitable as it stands at the moment, but it certainly couldn't be advertised as first-class accommodation. It needs a professional touch to bring it up to the standard that would be required to attract American tourists.'

  'Why aim at the American market?' she asked curiously.

  'Because I believe it's the kind of thing which would attract them. An ancient house situated in a romantic setting—' He gave a faint smile, 'I think they'd find it irresistible—don't you?'

  She had to admit he could be right. A lot of Americans had Scottish roots, and they could well be attracted by the idea of a holiday in the land of their forefathers. All the same, did she want to get involved in this sort of project?

  She was surprised to find that she was actually contemplating taking it on. Just minutes ago, she had been absolutely certain that she didn't want to get involved with it. This would be a break from the usual routine, though, and the endless succession of elegant bedrooms and stylish drawing-rooms. It might even be fun.

  Jared Sinclair was watching her face very closely, as if following her train of thought. He seemed a fraction more relaxed now, as if pleased that she was rather intrigued by this commission he was offering her.

  'I'd need to know a lot more about it before I make a final decision,' she told him in a brisk tone.

  'Of course,' he agreed instantly. 'As a matter of fact, I'm flying back to Scotland today. Why don't you come with me and take a look at the house? Then you can decide if you can cope with all the work that will be involved.'

  Had it been deliberate, that note of challenge in his voice? she wondered. There had been a subtle insinuation that the job might be too big for her, that she might not be up to it. Cassandra didn't like that. She didn't need that sort of pressure, especially from someone who could already make her skin bristle by just walking into the room.

  'I can't possibly come today,' she replied firmly. 'Perhaps I can fit it in one day next week—'

  'It has to be today,' he interrupted calmly. 'Other-wise the whole thing's off.'

  Cassandra blinked. Was he being serious? Apparently he was, because his own gaze remained perfectly steady.

  'I do have other commitments,' she told him rather sharply.

  His gaze swept over her almost empty desk. 'Do you? I had the impression that you were in the middle of a rather slack period. I don't see any reason why you can't give this job top priority.'

  'Why are you in such a hurry?'

  'It's already mid-autumn,' he reminded her. 'I want to get the bulk of the work done before winter sets in. Once the weather gets too severe, it'll be impossible to carry on with the work, and I want the house ready for letting out by early next spring. It'll only pay for itself if I can find tenants for the whole of the holiday season.'

  That seemed to make sense. So, all she had to do now was to decide whether she wanted to take on t
his unexpected commission.

  With some surprise, she realised that the only thing that was actually stopping her was the thought of having to work with Jared Sinclair. And she didn't know why he was having this effect on her. There was nothing about him to which she could actually object. He had been polite, reasonable, and had answered all her questions promptly and courteously. Even those strange eyes of his were now fixed on her with a bland openness, as if trying to convince her that there was nothing about him to make her nervous or afraid.

  But the trouble was, he wasn't succeeding. Deep inside her, she was aware of a sense of uncertainty, an uncharacteristic edginess. She had never met any man before who could make her feel quite like that, and she didn't like it. It made her want to face up to those disquieting sensations and conquer them. And how else could she do that except by accepting the commission this man was offering her?

  'You could be back in your office by this time tomorrow,' Jared Sinclair told her persuasively. 'It shouldn't take you long to decide whether this job is within your scope.'

  There it was again, she thought with some exasperation. That silent challenge, goading her into proving she was up to this major task he was setting her.

  'I'm still not sure—' she began, rather stiffly.

  'I had the impression that you were a very decisive person, Miss Gregory,' he said gently. 'Why are you finding it so hard to make up your mind about this particular job?'

  Damn it, it was almost as if he knew the sort of effect he was having on her, she thought furiously. She lifted her head and flicked back a strand of her pale gold hair.

  'In these times, a young woman would have to be either very naive or very stupid to go racing off into the middle of nowhere with a man she's only just met,' she stated coldly. 'And I'm neither of those things.'