‘It doesn’t seem to hold much cachet in Australia,’ he commented.
‘No, I don’t suppose it does, but…’ she peered up at him ‘…do you, like, have your own castle?’ She could imagine him living in a castle. She could imagine him in a kilt.
Don’t be ridiculous! He’s English, not Scottish.
Still…she’d give a lot to see him in a kilt.
‘The estate does have a fifteenth-century manor house and quite a few sheep, but no castle, I’m afraid. Not even the ruins of a castle.’ He gave a mock grimace. ‘Have I fallen in your estimation?’
Kate laughed. Even though his name was Morton-Blake and he had to be some kind of relative of Felice’s. Even though Felice hadn’t mentioned anything about family, let alone family as distinguished as the seventh Lord of Holm.
He must be a distant cousin or something. Perhaps Felice had sent him a postcard extolling the beauties of Port Stephens—and it had many—and how much fun she was having working for Kate’s dolphin tour business.
But why hadn’t she mentioned him? Why had Felice let Danny and Kate think she had no family at all?
‘And you are?’
Kate snapped back to attention. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She drew in a breath, tried to smile. ‘I’m Kate Petherbridge.’
His face darkened and his eyebrows drew down low over his eyes as he placed his hands on her desk and leaned across it towards her. His eyes weren’t brown but a dark smoky-grey.
‘Then perhaps you can tell me where the hell my sister is?’
Very slowly, Kate sat. ‘Sister?’ Her mouth went dry. ‘Felice is your sister?’
‘Yes!’ he shouted. ‘And I want to know if she’s okay.’
She sensed the concern behind his anger. ‘Of course she is.’ She made her voice crisp and businesslike, wanting to allay his worry as quickly as she could. ‘Felice is perfectly fine and dandy.’
He closed his eyes, dragged a hand down his face and fell into the seat opposite. ‘Thank God for that.’
His lovely broad shoulders went suddenly slack and it was only then that Kate realised how tightly he’d held himself. She frowned. She knew what it was like to worry about a younger sibling.
‘I didn’t know Felice had family.’ In fact, Felice had led them to believe she was alone in the world. If Simon was a lord, what on earth did that make Felice?
And, more importantly, did Danny know?
Simon’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. ‘So that’s the game she’s playing, is it? Nevertheless, I am her brother. Are you doubting my verisimilitude?’
Kate wanted to close her eyes and wallow in that accent. She wanted to ask him to say that word again so she could watch the way his lips shaped it. She forced her spine to straighten instead. ‘Do you have any proof?’
He leaned towards her again. ‘You really don’t believe me?’
She didn’t know if he was angry or intrigued. ‘I don’t take risks with my staff’s safety, Mr Morton-Blake.’ Former staff’s safety, she amended silently. Felice wasn’t staff any more. She was family. ‘I don’t know you from Adam and I only have your word that you’re who you say you are. For all I know, you could be stalking Felice.’
He sat back and folded his arms. ‘And what if I am? What would you do?’
‘I have a black belt in judo.’ Which was the truth. ‘And a spear gun in my desk drawer.’ Which wasn’t. ‘I wouldn’t try anything if I were you.’
Her desk drawer!
She clapped a hand to her head. Then she flung the drawer open. There it sat. Right on top—the file containing all the receipts her accountant had demanded from her—receipts that would save her from being fined by the Taxation Department. She didn’t remember putting it there, but she pulled it out and kissed it all the same.
Simon had pulled back as if he expected her to draw a gun. Now his lips twitched at the corners, hinting at those cheek creases. ‘My day just got a whole lot better,’ she confided.
‘I’m glad.’
He actually sounded as if he meant it. He pulled a wallet from his inside jacket pocket and flicked through it. It gave her a chance to study him. If he lived here in Port Stephens she’d bet the sun would bleach the tips of his hair. Simon Morton-Blake might be a lord but he didn’t look as if he spent the majority of his time indoors behind a desk. If he lived around here she had a feeling he’d spend more of his time in the sun than out of it. Not that he was tanned, of course. England was only just emerging from winter. But he had a rugged outdoor aura that she recognised because she had it too.
And he had mentioned something about sheep.
He held a card out to her. ‘My international driver’s licence.’
His name—Simon Morton-Blake—stared back at her in official black and white type.
‘And a photograph of me with my sister.’
Kate took it. Felice, Simon and another couple—older—all stared out from it with a formal reserve Kate found difficult to associate with Felice. She couldn’t see anything of Felice in Simon’s face, but she could see both Simon and Felice in the older couple—their parents?
‘Our mother and father,’ he said, as if she’d asked the question out loud. ‘And no, they are no longer living.’
At least Felice hadn’t lied about that.
She handed him back the licence and the photograph, wondering at how easily he could read her face. ‘I’m sorry.’
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t glance back down at the photograph. He didn’t even shrug.
With both parents dead… ‘Do you have any other siblings?’
‘No.’
That made Felice his only close relative. It went some way to explaining his concern.
‘May I call you Simon?’
He smiled again. The grey of his eyes lightened. ‘Please.’
Even though she was sitting, her knees still wobbled. ‘Simon, why were you worried about Felice?’
‘I haven’t heard from her in over two months.’ He raked a hand back over his hair. ‘And her mobile isn’t working.’
‘It took a dunk in the bay,’ Kate said carefully. ‘Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.’ She shrugged, trying to appear casual, but her mind raced. Why hadn’t Felice contacted him? Why hadn’t Felice told him about her marriage to Danny?
And what on earth was Kate supposed to do about it?
Not
