she said icily. “The Wainwrights, who are they when it’s all said and done? Billionaires? So what? That’s not class, breeding, tradition. This nation is barely over two hundred years old. You’re parvenus. Your English ancestor, Wainwright, only arrived in this country in the early eighteen hundreds, the flicker of an eyelid. Your family does not impress me.”
“Evidently.” He was somewhat taken aback by her remarks, yet amused. “So tell me about your illustrious family?” he challenged. “European aristocracy, were they? Counts and countesses a dime a dozen? Or haven’t I given you sufficient time to get a really good story together? Maybe you’re a fantasist? Where do you come from exactly? Is Erickson even your real name?”
“Maybe I change it,” she said, sounding all of a sudden very foreign.
“Quite possible. My great-aunt Rowena thinks you have a slight Hungarian accent. She was married to a top British diplomat for many years. She knows Europe. She knows accents.”
Her eyes blazed emerald. “Well, well, well! I can’t find any other words.”
“Surely it’s not difficult for you to tell us something of your background? I’m ready to listen.”
She stood up. “So sorry, David, but I’m not ready to talk. Especially to you. You’re very arrogant for so young a man.”
He too rose to his feet, making her look small by comparison. “Beside you I’m an amateur,” he said cuttingly.
Colour stained her high cheekbones. “You do not know the correct way to treat me.”
“Or address you either. Should it be Contessa?” There was hard challenge in his strikingly handsome face.
“Who knows what might have been?” she said, then broke off abruptly, as if she had already volunteered too much. Her head tilted into a listening attitude. “That’s Marcus now,” she said thankfully, beginning to walk away from him. “I would not like him to find us arguing. Marcus is a very lonely man. He may think he’s in love with me because I have green eyes. His Lucy had green eyes. I’ve no need to tell you that. Marcus loves you like his own son.”
“So that gives me rights and obligations, doesn’t it?” he answered tautly, tiring of her play-acting. “Lucy did have beautiful green eyes, but Lucy looked nothing like you. She didn’t act like you either. She was a sweet, gentle woman, which by and large you aren’t. What is it you’re after?”
She turned to look at him with icy reserve. “I’m sorry, David. It seems to me that’s none of your business. Now I must go and greet Marcus. You may not believe it, but I too want him to be happy.”
He waited, resisting the urge to go to the window to witness the quality of the greeting. Moments later Marcus came into the living room, a spring in his step. He was looking better than he had looked for ages. There was colour in his skin, a brightness in his eyes. Marcus is a good man, he thought with a lunge of the heart. He deserves another chance at happiness. Only he wasn’t going to stand by and allow a young woman who rebuffed any attempt to invade her privacy to damage their close loving relationship. What did she have to hide anyway? Ultimately her background would have to come out.
“David, I’m so glad you called in.” Marcus bounded forward to seize his nephew’s hand.
“I’ve missed seeing you,” David responded. “Sonya has been looking after me.”
“Wonderful. Wonderful!” Marcus enthused, drawing Sonya forward, his kind, distinguished face alight with pleasure. “I do so want you two to get to know each other better.”
There was an unintended warning in that. He knew beyond doubt he had to forbid himself all and any erotic thoughts of Sonya Erickson. He couldn’t possibly be the one to break his uncle’s heart. On the other hand Ms Erickson, with all her barriers in place, would have to open up about her past.
Twenty minutes later Holt left. He had accepted one drink, Scotch over ice. He was driving and he was a guest at a dinner party that night. His emotions were in turmoil. He hadn’t planned on any of this, but there was no avoiding the bitter truth now. Despite his very real concerns, he had become powerfully attracted to Sonya Erickson, if that was her real name. For the first time in his ordered life, he was losing his footing. No comfort to be drawn from that. The worst aspect was he knew he wouldn’t give a damn who or what she was if she was the woman he wanted. She was in fact the only woman who had ever made such an impact on him. A different order altogether from his usual girlfriends. And there was Marcus looking better than he had looked in years. Marcus wanting he and Sonya to be friends.
God, what a mess!
If Sonya Erickson were truly in love with Marcus he would have to accept their marrying, whatever his private misgivings. But the beautiful Sonya, though obviously fond of Marcus—who could not be?—was not in love with him. Why was he so sure? Disturbing to know he could take her off Marcus whether she wanted it or not. Mutual attraction was very hard to hide. She was as attracted to him as he was to her. It hadn’t crept up on them. In one of those sad ironies of life the attraction had been immediate. Neither had chosen the time. Now it was starting to take a heavy toll. Better they had never met. For an enigmatic young woman who presented herself as emotionally detached, what had drawn her to Marcus?
Apart from the money? said his cynical inner voice.
What had caused her to let down her guard? Marcus’s essential goodness, his kindness, his courtly manner. More importantly Marcus would never pry. She had told him that herself. Did she want above anything a secure place in the world? Marcus could give her that. Did she fear being swept off her feet by some driving passion that could upset all her plans? She definitely had issues. Not a whole lot of trust in people. He’d already concluded it all had to do with her past life. Did a great need to be safe drive her? He was fast reaching the conclusion she was on the run from something. Someone? How would that impact on Marcus’s plans?
There were too many question marks hanging over Ms Erickson’s head. One thing was very clear. She was an extremely fast worker. She could be the second Mrs Marcus Wainwright if she so wanted. One heard of May/December marriages all the time. But in just about every case, the man was rich. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. He needed to talk to Rowena.
When he arrived at his apartment he rang Rowena to say he would be coming to Sunday lunch. Rowena always kept a marvellous table. More importantly, he and Rowena could keep an eye on proceedings and later confer.
“All right if I bring Paula?” he asked. “I know you’re not fussed on her.”
“Protection, dearest, is that it?”
He grimaced to himself. “I don’t want to be seen to be using Paula. She’d actually love to be invited.”
“Doesn’t answer the question, dear.”
“Marcus is madly in love with her, Rowena,” he said firmly. “I was at the house this afternoon. Sonya was there, putting flowers all around the place.”
“I bet they looked wonderful,” Rowena’s cultured voice fluted down the phone.
“She does have the genius touch. Did you know about this recent development?”
“Matter of fact I did. Sonia had some marvellous bromeliad stems for me. Wonderful
