Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation

by Michelle Conder

  ‘Can I fix you a drink?’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, not sure that was the sanest idea either.

  ‘I know you’re not fond of Scotch, but my father has an excellent sherry.’

  ‘Sure,’ she parroted, ordering her brain to come online. Her body quickened as he walked slowly towards her, and she straightened the pawns on their squares to avoid having him see how pathetic she was.

  ‘You start,’ he offered.

  Lily tilted her head. ‘Is that because you’re so sure you can win?’

  He smiled a wolfish grin. ‘Visitor’s rules.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘But, yes, I’m sure I can win.’ He flopped into a chair and chuckled at her sharp look.

  He had no idea.

  She regarded him with a poker face. ‘Is that a challenge, Lord Garrett?’

  ‘It certainly is, Miss Wild.’

  ‘Then prepare to be defeated.’ She smiled, knowing that she was actually a pretty good chess-player. It was one of the things she liked to do while sitting around waiting for scenes to be set up on location.

  She leaned forward, her ponytail swinging over one shoulder, and rested her hands on her knees, concentrating on the chess instead of on him. Given his overriding confidence she guessed he’d be a master player—and she’d need all her wits about her.

  ‘You’re good,’ Tristan complimented her an hour later, as she chewed on her lip and considered her next move.

  So far he had countered every one of her attacks and she was fast running out of manoeuvres.

  ‘Did you enjoy your swim this morning?’ he asked, leaning back in his chair, his long legs sprawled out on either side of the low table.

  His question made her glance at him sharply. ‘How do you know I went swimming this morning?’

  ‘I saw you.’

  ‘But you weren’t there.’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  Something heavy curled between them and Lily cleared her throat. ‘So why didn’t you swim?’

  ‘It’s your move.’

  Lily looked down at the board. Had he really been at the pool? And if so why hadn’t he joined her? Mulling it over, she carefully moved her bishop across the board—and then watched as Tristan immediately confiscated it with his marauding rook.

  ‘Oh!’ Lily looked up to see a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘Not fair! You were trying to distract me!’

  ‘It worked.’

  ‘That’s cheating.’

  ‘Not really. I did turn up for a swim.’ His voice was low, deep, and an unexpected burst of warmth stole through her.

  ‘Then I repeat: Why didn’t you have one?’ She lifted her chin challengingly, sure that he was just playing with her.

  ‘Because I didn’t trust myself to join you,’ he said dulcetly.

  Was he flirting with her?

  Lily’s heart raced and she quickly averted her eyes, not sure she wanted an answer. Her stomach fluttered alarmingly and she looked at the chessboard without really seeing it.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me why?’ he murmured.

  Lily looked up and, seeing the competitive glint in his eyes, realised what he was doing. ‘No,’ she said a little crossly, ‘because you’re only trying to put me off my game.’ And she wasn’t going to be disappointed by that.

  He laughed softly and the deep sound trickled through her like melted chocolate.

  They played for a short time more, and finally Lily threw up her hands when he cornered her king.

  ‘Okay, you win.’ She smiled, not totally surprised at the outcome. After the swimming comment she’d lost all concentration.

  She wondered if now wouldn’t be a good time to go to bed. A cosy ambience seemed to have descended, and with the crackling fire behind them it would be all too easy to forget that he was here, with her, under duress.

  Tristan tried to ignore the heat in his groin as his eyes automatically dropped to that lethal smile of hers, before sliding lower to the tempting swell of her pert breasts beneath the loose T-shirt. Did the woman even own a bra?

  Oh yeah, he remembered. A pink one…He felt his body grow even harder at the image of her standing before him in matching delicate lace underwear. He loved the thought of her in matching underwear—not that she was wearing any at the moment…

  He got up to top up his drink and give his hands something to do.

  He’d been avoiding her all week, only seeing her at mealtimes, where she’d been so coolly remote they’d barely spoken to each other.

  But he’d seen her. Watched her take long walks in the park, listened to her musical laugh as she’d helped Jamie choose which roses would be cut for the house in preparation for Jordana’s wedding in two days’ time.

  Before, he’d been honest about not trusting himself to join her in the pool that morning, but he could see she hadn’t believed him. Which was probably just as well.

  Because distance had not done a damn thing to dampen the need he had to touch her, or just to be with her—which in some ways was scarier than the other.

  Emotions he’d never had any trouble keeping at bay threatened to take him by the bit and make him forget all his good intentions to avoid relationships of any sort. She was dangerous, he knew it, but he couldn’t deny he was drawn to her flame. Some primal desire was overriding his superficial instincts to keep away.

  And now, against his better judgement, he returned to her side, holding the decanter of sherry in his hand. ‘Here, let me pour you another drink.’

  ‘No, I should…go to bed.’

  The words hung between them but he ignored her hesitancy until she raised her near-empty glass.

  ‘One more won’t hurt.’

  He replaced the stopper and sat the decanter beside his chair. He wasn’t sure what he was doing; he only knew he didn’t want her to go yet.

  ‘Mmmm, this is nice,’ she murmured, sipping at her glass.

  He leaned back and studied her. She looked beautiful, with her hair in a messy ponytail, no make-up and her legs tucked up under her. The space between them crackled like the logs in the fireplace and he knew from the high colour on her cheeks that she felt it too. At this moment she had never seemed more beautiful to him. Or more nervous. He wondered whether she would bolt if he described the scene playing out in his mind.

  ‘I’ve noticed you going for walks every day,’ he said, in an attempt to distract himself.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Lily’s enthusiasm lit up her face. ‘It’s such a beautiful space here. You’re so lucky to have it.’

  ‘What do you like about it?’ he asked, curious despite himself.

  ‘It’s rejuvenating, peaceful—and so quiet. And I love that your family has left the forest untouched.’

  All the things he loved!

  ‘They used to hunt there, that’s why.’

  ‘Oh, don’t spoil it.’ Her mouth made a moue of disappointment and he laughed.

  ‘Never fear, Bambi is safe from this generation of Garretts.’

  She smiled and the almost shy look she cast from under her lashes caught him in the solar plexus.

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘That’s only because I’m not here all that often,’ he teased.

  ‘I don’t believe you. And you’re spoiling it again,’ she scolded, picking up on the falseness behind his words.

  ‘Come over by the fire?’ he murmured, mentally rolling his eyes at the stupidity of that suggestion.

  But she did, and he poked at the fire while she found a comfortable position on the Persian rug.

  ‘What was it like growing up in your world?’ she asked, watching him carefully as he sat down opposite her, his drink dangled over one knee.

  Tristan didn’t like talking about himself as a general rule, but he’d invited her to sit by the fire and couldn’t very well ignore her question.

  ‘Privileged. Boring at times. Not that much different from any other life, I expect, apart from the opportunities that come with the title—although
that also comes with a duty of care.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He glanced at her, and then back at the fire. ‘I take the view that being born into the nobility is about being a custodian of history. All this is grand and awe-inspiring, but it’s not mine and it never will be. I’m fortunate enough to look after it, yes, but this house is a part of something much bigger and it belongs to everyone, really.’

  ‘Is that why you open your home to the public?’

  ‘Partly. People are naturally curious about the country’s history, and my ancestors have accumulated a lot of important artefacts that deserve to be viewed by more than just a privileged few. Especially if those privileged few don’t understand the importance of what they have.’

  ‘Do you mean people who don’t care about their heritage?’

  Her softly voiced question brought his attention back to her, and he wondered at the looseness of his tongue and the need he suddenly felt to unburden himself of the weight of the less salubrious aspects of his history. He suspected, given Lily’s dislike of the press, that she wouldn’t run off and disclose his secrets—and really they weren’t all that secret anyway.

  ‘My grandfather was a heavy drinker and gambler, and he ran the property into quite a severe state of disrepair. My father had to work two jobs for a while to try and rebuild it, and while he was off working my mother thought a good little money-earner might be to sell off some of my father’s most prized heirlooms.’ He couldn’t stop the note of bitterness from creeping into his voice.

  ‘Oh, how terrible!’ Lily cried. ‘She must have been so unhappy to try and reach out that way.’

  Tristan cut her a hard glance. ‘Reach out?’

  ‘Yes. My mother did terrible things to get my father’s attention, and—’

  ‘My mother wasn’t trying to get my father’s attention,’ he bit out. ‘She was trying to get more money to fund her lifestyle.’

  Something she’d talked about endlessly.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Lily touched his arm and then drew her hand back when he looked at her sharply. ‘And was your father able to recover them? The heirlooms?’

  ‘No.’ His tone was brittle even to his own ears. ‘But I did.’

  Lily paused and then said softly. ‘You don’t like her very much, do you?’

  Tristan put another log on the fire and ran an agitated hand through his hair, realising too late that he’d said too much. How should he respond to that? Tell her that he would probably have forgiven his mother anything if she’d shown him a modicum of genuine affection as he’d been growing up? But she had, hadn’t she? Sometimes.

  ‘My mother wasn’t the most maternal creature in the world, and as I matured I lost a lot of respect for her.’ He spied the bound folio next to the stone hearth and realised it was the play Lily had been carrying around with her. ‘What are you reading?’ he asked, reaching for it.

  Lily made a scoffing noise. ‘Not a very subtle conversation change, My Lord. And not a very good one either. It’s a play about my parents.’

  ‘The one that slimeball reporter asked you about?’

  She shifted uncomfortably and he wondered about that.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But you don’t want to do it?’

  ‘No.’

  He watched the way the firelight warmed her angelic features and wondered what was behind her reticence to do the play. ‘Tell me about your life,’ he surprised them both by saying.

  She shook her head. ‘Quid pro quo, you mean.’

  ‘Why do you call yourself Lily instead of Honey?’ he queried, warming to the new topic but sensing her cool at the same time.

  For a minute he didn’t think she was going to answer and then she threw him one of those enigmatic smiles that told him she was avoiding something. ‘My stepfather thought it would be a good idea for me to change it. You know—reinvent myself. Make a fresh start.’ She laughed, as if it was funny, but the lightness in her tone was undermined by the sudden tautness of her shoulders.

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Seven.’

  ‘Seven!’

  ‘I was a bit traumatised at the time—wouldn’t speak to anyone for six months after my parents died. Plus my parents weren’t the most conventional creatures, so it was a good idea, really.’

  ‘Jordana said you were named after your mother?’

  ‘Sort of. She was Swedish and her name was Hanna—Hanny. When she moved to England her accent made it sound like she was saying honey—so everyone called her that. I guess my parents liked the name. Which was why it was such a good idea when Frank suggested I change it. It set me free to become my own person.’ She stopped, more colour highlighting her cheeks.

  Tristan didn’t agree. He knew of Frank Murphy. His office had handled a complaint against the man some years back, and he had a reputation for being an egotistical schmuck.

  Tristan knew the story about how Hanny Forsberg had married him in a whirlwind romance and then returned to her one true love a week later. Only to die in said lover’s arms that very night. Tristan couldn’t imagine Frank Murphy taking her defection well, and wondered if he had taken his anger out on Lily.

  ‘I’m not sure that would have been his only motivation,’ he commented darkly, swilling the last of his Scotch and placing his empty glass behind him.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean Frank Murphy is a self-interested swine who would have been looking out for his own interests before yours.’

  ‘Frank’s not like that,’ she defended.

  ‘Come on, Lily. Frank Murphy is a user. Everyone knows that. And the accolades he got from taking in Hanny’s orphan were huge.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Tristan hadn’t missed the flash of pain in her eyes before she shifted position and moved closer to the fire, her hands outstretched towards the leaping flames. He wondered what was going through her mind and then shook his head.

  ‘I’ve upset you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t mean to imply that Frank didn’t care for you. I’m sure he did.’

  ‘No. He didn’t. Not really.’

  ‘Lily, it’s a big responsibility to look after a child that’s not your own. I’m sure—’

  ‘There was no one else.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Nobody else wanted me.’ She shrugged as if they were discussing nothing more important than the weather. ‘When my parents died I had nowhere to go. I would have become a ward of the state if he hadn’t stepped in.’

  ‘What about your grandparents?’

  ‘Johnny’s had died and my mother’s were old, and they’d disowned her after her first Page Three spread.’

  ‘But Johnny had a brother, I recall.’

  ‘Unfortunately he used to get more wasted than Johnny and looking after a seven-year-old was not high on his list of things to accomplish.’

  ‘Your mother—’

  ‘There was no one, okay? It’s no big deal. I think I’ll go to bed.’

  ‘Wait!’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘You’re upset,’ he said gently.

  Lily shivered as if a draught of cold air had caught her unawares, and for a minute she seemed lost.

  ‘Did you know I found them?’ She held her hands out to the fire again, as if seeking comfort. ‘The police kept it quiet, to preserve my “delicate psychological state”, but I found my parents’ bodies. It was Sunday morning and they were supposed to make me blueberry pancakes and take me to the park. Johnny had promised it would be a family day. Instead I woke up and found my mother lying on the sofa with vomit pooled in her hair and my father slumped on the floor at her feet. It was like some sort of Greek tragedy. If my mother could have looked down on the scene she might have enjoyed the irony of finally having my father in such a supplicating pose.’

  Lily gave a half laugh and for a minute he thought she had finished speaking, but then she continued.

  ‘At firs
t I tried to wake them, but even then I knew.’ She shook her head at the pointlessness of such a gesture. ‘There’s something about the utter stillness of a dead body that even a small child can understand. I knew—I knew even though I didn’t know what was wrong—I knew I would never see them again.’

  She stared into the fire for a long moment and Tristan thought it was lucky her parents weren’t here right now or he’d kill them all over again. Then Lily gave an exaggerated shiver and smiled brightly at him.

  ‘Gosh, I haven’t thought of that for years.’

  Something of the anxiety he felt must have shown in his face because she turned back to the fire and sipped at the sherry she had barely touched. She was obviously upset and embarrassed, and Tristan felt heaviness lodge in his chest. He’d had no idea she’d suffered such a huge trauma at such a young age.

  As if sensing his overwhelming need to comfort her she shot him a quelling look he’d seen before, but his mind couldn’t place.

  ‘I’m fine now,’ she dismissed, but Tristan could see it was an effort for her to force her wide, shining eyes to his. ‘Completely over it.’

  No, she wasn’t. Any fool could see that, and he didn’t like that she was trying to make light of it with him. ‘No, you’re not. I think you hide behind your parents’ controversial personas—the controversial persona you’ve also cultivated with the press. Almost as if you use your past as a shield so people don’t get to see the real you.’

  Lily stiffened, shock etched on her features, and then Tristan remembered where he’d seen that haughty look before. Right after they’d had sex that first time.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  LILY stared at Tristan and willed the ground to open up and devour one of them. She’d been having such a nice time and now he’d gone and ruined it.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she whispered, placing her glass carefully on the hearth and willing the lump in her throat to subside. She stared at the inlaid stonework around the fireplace and realised she was about to cry. Cry! She never cried, and she wasn’t about to start in Tristan’s presence.

  ‘Lily…’

  Lily quickly scrambled to her feet, holding her hands out in front of her as Tristan made to do the same. ‘I’m…’