she was oddly convinced that it wasn’t so. If he’d been a poor man he would still have had those assets and, with them, he wouldn’t have remained a poor man for long.
Arriving at the study door, after a momentary hesitation, she tapped and walked in.
It was a pleasant book-lined room with a rich burgundy carpet and matching velvet curtains. An Adam fireplace and an ornate plaster ceiling with flowers and cherubs added to its beauty.
The lighting was low and intimate and a log fire blazed cheerfully in the grate. A small table and a couple of soft leather armchairs had been placed in front of the fire.
Richard, who had been standing by the hearth, advanced to meet her. He looked coolly elegant and just the sight of him made her heart lurch wildly.
He too had made time to shower and change. Instead of the business suit and tie he’d been wearing, he was dressed in smart casuals. His thick dark hair was brushed back from his high forehead and his jaw was clean-shaven.
‘So there you are. Come and make yourself at home.’
A hand at her waist—just that impersonal touch made her go all of a dither—he ushered her to the nearest chair.
Trying to look cool and composed, she sank into it.
His glance taking in the touch of make-up, he smiled at her and said teasingly, ‘My, now you look all of eighteen.’
That white smile, with its unstudied charm, rocked her afresh and made her feel as though her very bones were as pliable as warm candle wax.
‘I’d just started to wonder if you knew which was the study,’ he went on, ‘or if you were wandering around, lost.’
‘No, I knew. Mrs Baxter told me.’ She was aware that she sounded more than a little breathless.
Indicating a drinks trolley, he queried, ‘What’s it to be?’
Bearing in mind that she’d had nothing to eat since breakfast, she plumped for orange juice.
While he added crushed ice to the glass and poured the freshly squeezed juice, she watched him from beneath long lashes.
In dark well-cut trousers and a black polo-neck sweater, he looked even more handsome and attractive and, in spite of all her efforts, her heart began to pick up speed.
He glanced up and, unwilling to be caught staring, she looked hastily away.
A moment or two later he was by her side. Handing her a tall, narrow, frosted glass, he said, ‘Here you are.’
While she sipped, he leaned against the mantel, a whisky and soda in his hand, firelight flickering on his face, and studied her appraisingly.
He would have expected the sort of life she’d been leading to have left its mark, but at close quarters she looked clear-eyed and healthy and altogether too untouched to be the kind of woman he knew her to be.
He’d known from the start that she was blonde and blue-eyed, had even seen photographs of her, which had convinced him that she was attractive.
But the first time he had seen her in the flesh coming out of De Vere’s office he had realised that the photographs didn’t do her justice.
She was beautiful.
Now, taking in the long-lashed blue-violet eyes that slanted slightly upwards at the outer corners, the lovely silky hair the colour of corn-syrup—and natural too, he’d bet—winged brows and high cheekbones, the straight nose and the mouth that his own suddenly felt the urge to kiss, he revised his earlier opinion.
She was more than merely beautiful.
Much more.
She was bewitching, haunting, a fascinating contradiction. Despite that passionate mouth, she had an air of innocence, of vulnerability that, however false, had got under his skin the instant he saw her. And that could be dangerous.
He shrugged off the thought.
Being attracted to her was all very well so long as he kept in mind what his goal was and didn’t allow that attraction to affect his judgement.
Over the past few weeks he had considered several courses of action. But, thinking it would be easier to judge when he knew her better, he had been waiting to decide exactly how to play it, which would be his best option.
In the end, however, things had moved so fast that he’d had no time for a leisurely appraisal.
Still, most of his plans were in place, even his final contingency plan. Which, because of the time element, he was now going to have to go with.
If he could bring it off.
There was no if about it. He had to bring it off.
But, having seen her at close quarters, he knew that taking her to bed would be no hardship. In fact the mere prospect made his blood quicken.
Of course, if he could get her emotionally involved, make her fall in love with him, it would ease his task enormously.
Experience told him that she was already attracted to him, though oddly enough she wasn’t giving out the kind of overt signals he would have expected from a woman like her.
He knew from the reports he’d received that she was, to put it mildly, a child of her times and, despite her air of naivety, he found it almost impossible to believe that she had any scruples or inhibitions.
But, as time was short and he was unwilling to take any chances, it would do no harm to make certain that if she had, they were well and truly banished…
Tina glanced up and, thrown by the expression of almost savage intensity and purpose on his face, asked jerkily, ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Wrong? Of course not.’
His voice sounded quite normal and the expression that had startled her was gone as if it had never been. Realising it must have been a trick of the firelight, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Straightening, he asked easily, ‘Another drink?’
‘Please.’
Taking her glass and moving over to the drinks table, he said, ‘I suggest this time you try it with a secret ingredient.’
Curiously, she asked, ‘What is the secret ingredient?’
He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘I have to confess that it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Merely a dash of Cointreau.’
She laughed and took a sip of the drink he handed her. As he stood looking down at her, she saw for the first time that his eyes weren’t simply brown, as she’d thought, but a dark green flecked with gold. Handsome tawny eyes, with long heavy lids and thick curly lashes.
As she gazed up at him, he took the glass from her hand and set in down on the low table. Then, stooping unhurriedly and as if—rather than obeying a sudden impulse—he knew exactly what he was doing and could take all the time in the world to do it, he kissed
