very kind.’
‘And so he should be.’ He kept hold of her hand to take her across the room. ‘Come and meet Caroline.’
‘Where’s Fiona?’
‘Haven’t the foggiest,’ he returned carelessly. ‘Out partying with some other guy, at a guess.’
When they joined the others Adam barely had time to make introductions before the man with Caroline moved in on Lowri with practiced expertise.
‘I’m Guy Seton, Caroline’s brother,’ he announced, and took Lowri by the hand. ‘Afraid I’m a gate-crasher. The delightful Mrs Clare assures me she doesn’t mind.’
Lowri gazed into a pair of narrow, hot dark eyes under hair almost as fair as the sexy Caroline’s, and felt an odd pang of apprehension. Guy Seton exuded such restless energy that he made her feel uneasy.
Rupert, who obviously did object to the gatecrasher, smiled warmly at Lowri. ‘So there you are, little cousin,’ he said, with emphasis on the relationship. ‘Having a good time?’
‘Too busy handing round food for that,’ said Sarah, and flapped a hand at Lowri. ‘Leave all that now. Brenda will help with supper.’
To her annoyance Lowri found herself neatly separated from the rest by Guy Seton. Adam, who had momentarily deserted Caroline for a delighted redhead on the far side of the room, spared a disapproving frown for Guy’s manoeuvre, Lowri noted wistfully, as the latter hurried her through the open French windows on to the terrace outside. The slim, restless man perched on the stone balustrade, one leg swinging as he patted the place beside him.
‘Come. Tell me your life story, little Welsh cousin. Was your father a fan of matchstick men—is that how you got your name?’
Lowri perched uneasily beside him, not at all happy about finding a constricting arm round her waist. ‘No. Mine’s spelt with a final “i”—Welsh for Laura, nothing to do with Lowry the artist. And my life-story isn’t interesting in the slightest.’
‘You interest me a bloody sight more than the so-called literati in there.’ His arm tightened. ‘What’s a nice little Welsh maiden like you doing in the big city, Lowri with an “i”?’
She sat rigid in his clasp, disliking the innuendo he managed to inject into the word ‘maiden’. ‘I work for Rupert.’
‘Lucky Rupert.’
Lowri shifted uncomfortably, but Guy Seton held her fast. ‘Don’t be frightened, poppet,’ he said, chuckling. ‘I shan’t eat you.’
‘Which reminds me—there’s a perfectly good supper waiting inside,’ she said firmly, and disengaged herself. ‘Shall we go and sample some of it?’
Guy Seton possessed a thick skin, she found, quite impervious to her unsubtle hints that his monopoly of her company wasn’t welcome. He stuck to her side like glue, and short of causing a scene there was nothing she could do about it. Something about his hectic, almost feverish attentions filled her with unease. Lowri had no illusions about her looks. She was more rounded than she would have liked for her lack of inches, and regarded her large, dark eyes as her only redeeming feature. Besides, she had good reason to distrust a sudden rush of attention like Guy Seton’s, wary of men who came at the gallop after only one glance. And by staying so close all the time Guy was destroying her hopes of a chat with Adam at some stage. Not, she noted, depressed, that there was much chance of that. Adam had now returned his attentions to the sultry Caroline, who was smouldering up at him in a way which made it obvious she wanted him to round off the evening in her bed.
‘Are you a friend of Adam’s?’ she asked Guy, her eyes on the absorbed couple across the room.
‘Not a friend, precisely,’ said Guy. His mouth thinned as he followed her gaze. ‘I was in school with him. He’s Caroline’s “friend”. She’s crazy about him. Women flock round Hawkridge in droves. Can’t think why. He’s no oil painting.’
‘No,’ agreed Lowri. ‘He’s not.’ But he’s twice as attractive as you, Guy Seton, she added silently, because he’s got warmth. You’re a cold fish, I think, for all the burning glances and febrile charm.
‘Caro’s so blatantly panting to share Hawkridge’s bed I’m amazed she insisted I came with them tonight. But I’m glad I did.’ Guy gave her a smile of confident intimacy. ‘Instead of playing gooseberry to those two, I can take you home instead.’
Lowri’s answering smile was frosty. ‘No need. I live here.’
‘Hell.’ He scowled. ‘That’s a blow.’ He eyed her up and down, his eyes undressing her. ‘Rupert Clare’s bloody lucky, having two gorgeous women at his disposal under the same roof.’
Enough was enough. Lowri glared at him. ‘I’m very fond of Rupert, but I live in the coach house to be precise, not under his roof. Nor am I at anyone’s disposal.’ She thrust her empty glass in his hand. ‘Goodnight, Mr Seton.’ And without another word she hurried through the hall to the kitchen and slammed the door shut behind her.
‘What’s up?’ Brenda looked up from loading the dishwasher in surprise. ‘Someone ruffle your feathers out there?’
‘Someone certainly did,’ said Lowri, seething. ‘Any coffee going, Brenda? I’ll give you a hand to clear away.’
‘Coming up, love,’ said Brenda, filling the kettle. ‘Won’t say no to a bit of help. Terry’s coming for me in half an hour—mustn’t keep him waiting.’
‘Terry?’ said Lowri, laughing. ‘What happened to Wayne?’
Brenda winked, thrusting a hand through her spiky blonde hair. ‘What he doesn’t know about he won’t grieve over, eh?’
A few minutes later Lowri stole along the pergola lining the path which led to the coach house. She gained her little sanctum with a sigh, partly of relief for eluding the disturbing Mr Seton, but mostly of regret for having so little opportunity to talk to Adam. Which was stupid, she told herself as she hung up the black dress. Any time he’d had to spare from Caroline had been spent on the redhead with the cleavage. She cleaned off her make-up irritably, rubbed some moisturiser into her olive skin, gave her lengthening hair a good brush and got into a nightshirt and the vividly embroidered black silk kimona her father and Holly had given her for Christmas, by which time she felt ominously wide awake. She slid into bed and reached for a well-thumbed copy of Northanger Abbey. Jane Austen’s dry wit rarely failed to soothe, and with a sigh Lowri banked up her pillows, settled herself comfortably and put thoughts of Adam and the annoying Mr Seton firmly from her as she settled down to read.
She was halfway through the first chapter when a knock on the outer door brought Lowri bolt upright. She sprang off the bed, startled, and went out through the office, certain it must be Sarah or Rupert with some emergency. She unlocked the door then screeched in fright as Guy Seton pushed her back inside the office, slammed the door shut and stood with his back to it, a wild look about him which scared her rigid.
‘Now, now, Lowri,’ he said menacingly. ‘This isn’t at all friendly, is it? I need some comfort, some tender loving care, sweetheart.’
‘Well, you won’t get it from me!’ she snapped. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’
‘Why
