Second Chance with the Millionaire

by Penny Jordan

  All in all she was extremely glad when he stood up and said that he had to leave.

  ‘I have to go into Winchester to see the solicitors; apparently there’s still a few loose ends to tie up.’

  His smile when he left was for Fanny, not her, and it amazed her to realise how much that hurt.

  CHAPTER THREE

  FOR the rest of the week Lucy took care to avoid going anywhere near the main house and was rewarded by seeing nothing of Saul.

  Tara had seen him, though, and the little girl appeared to have developed a rather unlikely case of hero-worship for him. George Martin had not been the sort of man to cherish his daughters and the feeling of desolation that bloomed inside her whenever Tara peppered her conversation with ‘Saul said…’ was an extremely disturbing one. Surely she couldn’t be jealous? And if so, what of? The fact that Tara seemed to be transferring some of her dependence from her to Saul? Or the fact that Tara had found the solid male refuge a tiny part of herself had always secretly yearned for and been denied? It was impossible to give herself an answer.

  Saul had been living at the house for five days when Fanny announced that she was spending the day in Winchester.

  Lucy looked at her over her coffee cup. Both children had finished breakfast and were outside playing.

  ‘Do you want to take my car?’

  Fanny shook her head. ‘No, it’s all right. Saul’s taking me.’

  Slowly Lucy lowered her coffee cup, keeping her attention on it. As far as she was aware, Saul had not been down to the Dower House since that first visit, which must mean that Fanny had gone to see him. But without mentioning it to her?

  Silly to feel hurt and yet she did. She and Fanny had always got on well together despite their very different temperaments, and never in a thousand years could she imagine Fanny deliberately deceiving her.

  ‘I wanted to talk to him about the children’s trusts.’

  Numbly Lucy realised how defensive her stepmother sounded.

  ‘After all, Saul is the head of the family now, Lucy.’

  The head of the family? What on earth was Fanny implying? Lucy knew how muddle-headed she could be, but surely she could not possibly believe that Saul owed them that sort of responsibility?

  ‘He was very kind and understanding,’ Fanny added. ‘And he’s taking me to see Mr Patterson, so that he can explain everything to me.’

  ‘But Fanny, he already has.’

  Philip Patterson, the family solicitor, had visited them on several occasions, just before and then after George Martin’s death to explain at length the ramifications of his will and the trust he had set up for Oliver and Tara.

  ‘Yes, but he spoke to you, not me,’ Fanny said stubbornly.

  Lucy frowned. ‘But Fanny, you were there with me…’

  Across the table Fanny shrugged petulantly.

  ‘Well yes. But I was so upset about your father. I couldn’t take any of it in.’

  There was a small silence while Lucy tried to assimilate her feeling of alienation and then Fanny said defiantly, ‘I know you don’t like Saul, Lucy, and that you resent him taking your father’s place, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us have to share your feelings.’

  The unfairness of the criticism really hurt. So much so that for one awful moment she almost thought she might burst into tears. It was the unexpected direction from which the blow came rather than its weight, she told herself as she struggled to suppress the bleak desolation enveloping her. And Fanny was wrong; she did not dislike Saul.

  ‘Luckily Saul’s aware of how you feel about him. He told me he found you very anti when he came over that summer. I explained to him that it was quite natural really… what with you being aware that you couldn’t inherit and that he would. It was bound to make you resent him.’

  Lucy opened her mouth and closed it quickly, swallowing back the hot words of denial springing to her lips. She was angry, more angry than she could remember being for a long time. How dare Fanny make such careless assumptions about her feelings and actions, and even worse how dare she pass them on to Saul as though they were fact! It seemed to be a long time before she had control of herself sufficiently to say calmly,

  ‘You’re quite wrong, Fanny. I neither resent nor dislike Saul.’ She wanted to explain to her stepmother her guilt over the past, but it was impossible to find the words, especially now when her anger still formed a hard lump in her throat.

  An hour later, when Saul arrived, Lucy learned that the children were also included in the outing.

  She didn’t go downstairs, unable to trust her own reactions if she were to come face to face with him now. One thing was clear though. She could not allow this ridiculous belief that she resented him for inheriting the house to stand. When she felt calmer she would have to go and see him and explain the truth. She had been horrified by Fanny’s careless revelation of what had been said, and the pride which had held her back from making an open apology for her foolishness all those years ago, when she realised he was not prepared to meet her equally openly, would have to be sacrificed to the truth. She was not going to allow him to go on thinking that she was stupid and small-minded enough to resent him owning the Manor.

  From her own bedroom she heard the children racing about, doors slamming and then the expensive purr of Saul’s car as he drove away.

  Standing by her bedroom window, watching the car disappearing down the drive, she was once again swept by acute desolation. Could it possibly be a delayed reaction to her father’s death? At the time she had been almost too busy to weep. And then there had been the shock of discovering that Oliver…

  If anyone should resent Saul, it ought to be Oliver, but then in reality why should he? Her father had left Oliver more than well provided for, whereas Saul’s inheritance was more of a burden than an asset.

  The sunny morning had turned dull, and by lunch time it had started to rain. Lucy spent the afternoon in the comfortable sitting-room-cum-study which she had made her own terrain, sewing labels on to Oliver’s new school clothes.

  At half past four she heard the car, and although her body tensed, vibrating as though someone had touched a nerve, she made no move to get up.

  The study door opened and she composed her face into a calm smile as she turned her head to the door.

  But it was not Fanny and the children who came in, it was Saul. Her face felt as though it was caked in ice and about to crack, a violent tremor shuddering through her muscles.

  Saul paused for a moment in the doorway, and her heart thudded as though suddenly struck a giant blow.

  ‘I startled you. I’m sorry. Fanny asked me to call in on my way home to tell you that she and the children won’t be back until after dinner. They ran into an old friend of your father’s in Winchester, Colonel Bishop, and he invited them back to dine with him.’

  ‘Thank you… I…’

  Her tongue felt stiff, her lips unable to form the words. Thank God he had merely thought her startled. If he knew the truth… The truth? What was the truth? That something about this tall cool-eyed man touched her in a way so totally outside all her previous experience that part of her ached to repudiate him, even while another part longed desperately to be admitted to the most intimate circle of his life.

  At twenty-five Lucy considered herself too old and too sensible for the folly of falling in love—that was an adolescent’s game. So what was it that affected her so strongly about this man? Guilt alone did not explain away how she felt about him.

  ‘Very domesticated.’

  He was looking at the labels and the neat pile of garments she had already finished.

  ‘For Oliver.’ She was only half aware of what she was saying, too caught up in the need to absorb every minute detail of him, torn between a desire to prolong this moment of intimacy, and a frightened urge to end it.

  ‘He starts his new school in September.’

  ‘Yes.’ He frowned. ‘Your father’s been extremely generous to his stepson, mor
e so than to Tara or to you.’

  ‘My father was rather old-fashioned. He held the view that boys need a good education and girls do not.’ She risked a small smile at him and was relieved to see that he had stopped frowning.

  ‘I owe you an apology.’

  It was abruptly said, his face turning away from her so that she could read nothing in his eyes.

  ‘I hadn’t realised until today what a burden your father had put on you.’

  Her heart leapt. Had Fanny told him about Oliver?’

  His next words made it clear that she had not.

  ‘Philip Patterson tells me that you’re more or less wholly responsible for Oliver and Tara.’

  ‘My father appointed me as their guardian along with Fanny,’ Lucy agreed. ‘I think he was worried that Fanny would not be able to cope alone—emotionally rather than financially.’

  ‘So he burdened you with the responsibility for two young children plus your stepmother. Didn’t either he or Fanny stop to think that you might want a life of your own? That you might marry… have your own children?’

  ‘He did what he thought was best—for everyone,’ Lucy told him quietly. ‘Fanny…’

  ‘Fanny is a clinging vine.’

  He turned to look at her, and unbelievably he smiled.

  The effect on her was dizzying… electrifying. She felt as though she were suspended in space… flying almost. She put down her sewing and stood up.

  ‘Fanny told me this morning that she… that you possibly believe that I resent the fact that you have inherited the Manor.’ She looked down at her own interlinked fingers, searching for the courage to go on. His smile had died and when she looked into his eyes they were not encouraging.

  When he made no effort to help her she released her breath in a faintly helpless way and stumbled on. ‘I want you to know that that isn’t the case, Saul. I’ve always known that you would inherit and never resented it. In fact Neville probably…’ She broke off, biting her lip, not wanting to use her other cousin as an excuse for her own behaviour. ‘I feel your inheritance is probably more of a burden to you than an asset.’ She looked directly at him now, forcing herself to meet and hold the cold grey of his eyes.

  ‘I see… and it’s because you don’t resent me that you’ve been studiously avoiding me ever since I arrived, is that it?’

  His voice was quite calm, but so underlined with cynicism that she was engulfed by despair. This was not how she had anticipated tendering her apology and explanation.

  ‘Even Oliver and Tara seemed to think I was some sort of intruder… and they didn’t get that from Fanny.’

  ‘No, they got it from my father.’

  The words were out before she could stop herself, and she bit down on her lip once again, angry with herself for being betrayed into that admission.

  ‘OK, so you don’t resent me. Fine.’

  For some reason he seemed angry, thin lines carving cynically from his nose to his mouth. He turned, and she knew instinctively that he was about to go. Despairingly she reached out and touched his arm, and then withdrew in shock as she felt the warmth of his skin and the hardness of his bone beneath the covering of his casual shirt.

  He looked at her, still frowning, watching her. Tension made her mouth dry, her tongue circling her lips defensively, watched by the narrowed gaze of those grey eyes. He was waiting, but she knew he would not wait for ever.

  ‘Saul I owe you an apology as well.’ She took a deep breath trying to steady her jumpy nerves. He hadn’t moved, but she was conscious of a difference in his stillness, a waiting quality that increased the tension already in the air.

  ‘One that’s over twelve years overdue,’ she continued shakily. ‘That summer when you came here I behaved appallingly, and I want you to know I’ve always regretted it. I hoped when you came this time we’d be able to make a fresh start…’ She risked a faint grimace. ‘Even that you might have forgotten how unkind I was. I’m afraid that summer was something of a traumatic one for me. I’d just lost my mother… and in those days I was too green to see through Neville. Not that I’m trying to shift the blame to him. I knew the way he was behaving was wrong. But I had a mammoth crush on him then and… Well, suffice it to say, since then I’ve learned exactly what he is—and isn’t—and I’ve always regretted how I behaved; not because I knew you would inherit the Manor, I’d have regretted my behaviour whoever it was directed towards, but knowing that you, too, had endured emotional and family problems that year made it much worse.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say any of this to me when I arrived?’ His voice was low and completely without any expression.

  ‘I wanted to although I must admit I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. That you’d want to forget the past as much as I did and have a fresh start. Then when I realised you hadn’t forgotten—or forgiven—I thought that if you had time to get to know me first my apology might have more worth… more reality.’

  For a moment it seemed to her that he was simply going to turn away and leave her without a word and the pain that exploded inside her was almost unendurable, far more intense than something caused by a mere blow to the pride.

  He turned away, lashes veiling his eyes, and she wondered what was going on inside his head, if he was weighing her words and finding them wanting; and then he was turning back to her, his mouth curling in a faint smile as he said easily,

  ‘It was a bad summer for me. I knew my folks were on the point of divorce, and to be sent away to England, not knowing what my future might be and not able to do a single thing about it, made me angry. I guess both of us were operating under the same handicap and having Neville around didn’t make things any easier.’

  ‘No.’

  Unsaid was the knowledge that without Neville’s interference they might have found a way through their mutual distrust of one another, but Lucy was not going to tell him about her realisation of what her maternal cousin was right now.

  ‘So I’m forgiven?’

  The words trembled from her lips, her voice soft and unfamiliarly hesitant.

  Saul smiled and leaned towards her, curling strong fingers round her wrists.

  ‘When you look at me like that how can I say no?’

  She hadn’t completely lost all hold on reality, retaining enough sanity to say drily, ‘Very easily I imagine, when I remember what a little beast I was.’

  ‘Mmm… you certainly made it plain that you didn’t want me around.’ He laughed then, his eyes warming. ‘It dealt quite a blow to my adolescent male pride to be so obviously cold-shouldered—something which Neville thoroughly enjoyed, as I remember.’

  He saw her expression and his mouth curled in amused mockery. ‘What’s wrong? Didn’t it ever occur to you that a boy of sixteen is quite capable of being hurt by the so obvious rejection of a girl of twelve?’

  ‘I was only just twelve and you were almost seventeen,’ Lucy reminded him huskily.

  ‘And almost seventeen was quite definitely old enough to realise and appreciate the charms of a girl soon to be a woman.’ He looked at her and laughed again. ‘Didn’t you realise later when you looked back how much of our mutual antagonism could be put down to mutual attraction, even if emotional rather than physical?’

  Had she? Was that why Saul aroused such a powerful reaction in her now? With a small shock she realised he had said ‘mutual attraction’. Did that mean…?

  She looked at him and he said softly, ‘Since we’ve now made our peace with one another we should perhaps seal it in the time honoured way.’

  Almost as though he had known she would pull away from him and been prepared for it, his fingers tightened round her wrists refusing to let her go, and then with his eyes looking directly into hers he said lightly, ‘Without the seal the peace treaty could be rendered null and void.’

  And then he slowly uncurled his fingers from her wrists and let his hands hang free.

  Without being aware of it she moved, swaying slightly towards him, taking that
one step that would bring her close enough to his body to be aware of its strength and power. His eyes smiled into hers, teasingly, intoxicatingly, making her feel as giddy as an eighteen-year-old. And then his head bent towards her, his fingers sliding into the hair at her nape, gently angling her head so that her mouth was at exactly the right angle to meet his.

  There was nothing forceful or demanding in the warm contact of his lips against her own; nothing at all in their almost fraternal pressure to make the world explode inside her in a blinding whirl of colours and sensations, but somehow it did.

  As he kissed her she had automatically closed her eyes, but as he lifted his mouth from hers, the sensation of deprivation was so intense that her eyes flew open.

  For what felt like a lifetime but was probably only a second he looked into them, and then both hands cupped her face, one thumb softly probing the moist fullness of her lips.

  She responded instinctively, her head tilting back as she let him draw her even closer to his body so that she could feel the measured thud of his heartbeat against her skin.

  Her eyes opened and watched the agonisingly slow descent of his head before her eyelids grew too heavy and fluttered closed. This time there was nothing fraternal in the touch of his mouth against her own.

  Instinctively and willingly she met its demands, giving herself to the heady thrill of desire he aroused within her with a trust that would normally have appalled her. It was almost as though she possessed some instinct that overrode caution to tell her that with this man she would always be safe no matter what heights he urged her to scale.

  When he released her she told herself she was not imagining it was with reluctance, and certainly there was a glitter in the darkness of his eyes that suggested he was as affected by their kiss as she was herself.

  But now that he had set her free and her body was no longer being intoxicated by the heat of his, she reminded herself that she would be foolish to read too much into a mere kiss, and so as she stepped back from him she said as lightly as she could,