‘It was a man, wasn’t it?’ he cut in forcefully. ‘Silken underwear——’ He held up one of the lacy bras Jane favoured, that minute scrap of expensive lace looking even smaller in his callused hand. ‘Bought to please a lover. Or by him,’ Raff added hardly.
In truth, each and every article of her clothing had been paid for by a man, but she had chosen the underwear to please herself, no one else, loving the silken feel of it against her skin.
She shook her head. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Don’t I?’ he rasped, throwing the bra down disgustedly on top of her other clean clothing. ‘Believe me, I know more than you think,’ he told her heavily. ‘But before this goes any further I think I should tell you I’m not on the lookout for an expensive mistress. Or one of any other kind, come to that,’ he added insultingly.
His behaviour took her breath away, angry colour darkening her cheeks. ‘If I were on the lookout for a rich lover, you can be sure you wouldn’t even be a consideration!’
Really, the man didn’t even know her, and yet he could make accusations like that!
‘Then we understand each other,’ he nodded with satisfaction.
‘Completely,’ she snapped resentfully.
‘Good,’ he said smugly. ‘Now that we’re agreed on what neither of us want, we can get around to discussing what I do want.’
‘Sorry?’ Jane shook her head, still feeling slightly muzzy. It must be those tablets she had taken the night before. Maybe she was imagining this whole conversation? It was too outrageous to be real!
‘Can you type?’ He sat down in the bedroom chair, uncaring that he crushed her clothes in doing so.
Jane frowned, having difficulty keeping up with the conversation now. ‘Type?’ she repeated dazedly.
‘Yes.’ His mouth twisted. ‘You know, place your fingers on the keys of a typewriter and make words appear on——’
‘I’m well aware of what typing is,’ she snapped. ‘I just don’t see what it has to do with me?’
Raff looked at her consideringly. ‘At a guess, I would say right now you’re homeless and jobless——’
‘That’s a hell of an assumption to make,’ Jane bit out resentfully. God, was she so transparent? Possibly, to this man, with his probing eyes and cynicism. Although he certainly wasn’t a hundred per cent right about her! Just enough to have unnerved her, she admitted.
She still had no idea where she was, and although Mrs Howard had seemed respectable enough that was really little comfort right now.
Raff arched dark brows. ‘But a correct one?’
‘Who are you, Raff Quinlan?’ Her head was back challengingly.
He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘Rafferty Quinlan. Thirty-seven. Divorced.’ The last was added bitterly. ‘In charge of the running of an estate that is slowly bleeding itself—and me—dry!’
It was the very briefest of r$eAsum$eAs, and yet Jane was able to glean a lot from it. His marriage, whether it had initially been a happy one or not, had ended badly, which might account for some of his behaviour towards her. But not all of it!
‘ ‘‘In charge of running an estate’’?’ she repeated slowly.
He nodded abruptly. ‘I can’t exactly claim to own it when it’s mortgaged up to the hilt,’ he rasped. ‘My father had little interest in the place for years before he and my mother were killed in a plane crash five years ago, and he had let things deteriorate badly. My darling wife decided she didn’t want to be stuck out in the middle of Hampshire struggling to make a living, let alone enjoying herself, and took what little there was left as a divorce settlement. I’ve only managed to keep Mrs Howard because she’s run the house since before I was born, and considers it more her home than I do!’
Jane didn’t believe that; she sensed a fierce pride in Raff in the estate he called his home.
And at least she knew where she was now! Not that she was too familiar with Hampshire, but she felt a little more reassured now that she was at least approximately aware of her whereabouts.
Raff’s wife couldn’t have loved him if she could have walked out on him for such a reason. And it would probably explain part of his resentment towards the type of woman he had decided she had to be.
But it didn’t explain his conversation of a few minutes ago.
‘What does all this have to do with whether or not I can type?’ She frowned.
His mouth twisted. ‘Well, as it seems for the moment I’m responsible for you …’
‘You most certainly are not!’ she protested indignantly. ‘I’m responsible for myself,’ she told him firmly.
At least, she was trying to be.
Her bank account stood at nil and, for all that she tried to deny it to this man, she was homeless into the bargain; she hadn’t even thought to bring any of her jewellery—that she could have sold and lived off the money for a while—away with her when she’d left.
‘You aren’t doing a very good job of it,’ Raff drily echoed at least some of her sentiments.
‘I’m doing the best that I can!’ To her chagrin she heard her voice break with emotion.
Raff looked at her closely, obviously having heard that emotion too. ‘We all do that, little one,’ he told her softly. ‘It just isn’t always enough.’
No, she acknowledged sadly, it wasn’t always enough …
She didn’t even want to think about Jordan sitting waiting for her to crawl back and tell him he had been right about her not being able to survive on her own.
She blinked back the tears. ‘I’ll make your problems one less by leaving here as soon as I’ve ordered a taxi.’ She didn’t think Jordan would mind paying the fare; it would be worth it to him to have been proved correct!
‘To go where?’ Raff’s eyes were narrowed. ‘Back to him?’
Her cheeks were flushed. ‘I told you——’
‘Surely working for me, once you’ve ceased being a walking bruise, of course—even I’m not that much of a taskmaster that I would expect you to work while you’re still in pain …!’ he derided what he had guessed had been her opinion of him ‘… has to be better than returning to a man you obviously have no desire to go back to!’ he said exasperatedly.
‘What do you know about how I—work?’ Jane repeated slowly as all of his words sank in. ‘What sort of work are you talking about?’ she asked suspiciously.
His mouth twitched. ‘Well, I’ve asked you if you can type—so I obviously want you to start cooking for me!’ He shook his head. ‘What sort of work do you think I mean?’ he scorned.
