that was taped to her forehead, she forced a smile. ‘Obviously I’ve felt better. But it’s only a small gash and tomorrow I’ll be up and about again, no worries. You’ll see.’
‘Over my dead body.’ Adrian’s expression was darkly foreboding. Her eyes widening in surprise, Liadan’s heart skittered.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean only an idiot would consider getting up and carrying on as normal after an accident. You need at least a day to recover, if not two. And you’re to tell me right away if you have any dizziness or sickness, is that clear?’
Wishing he wouldn’t look quite so formidable, Liadan felt herself slump resignedly back against the pillows. All of a sudden she was deathly tired. ‘I’ll see how I feel in the morning,’ she said quietly.
Studying her pale complexion along with the soft, bruising smudges beneath her startlingly blue eyes, Adrian reached out his hand and lifted a curling lock of her red-gold hair. Staring at it, twining it round his fingers, its silken texture stirring something deep within his soul, he frowned, his concentrated dark gaze not moving from the sight of it. It had been shocking when he’d seen the blood staining that beautiful hair. For a moment he really hadn’t known where he was, as all the harshly buried pain he’d carried around with him in the years following Nicole’s brutal death had seemed suddenly to surface and threaten to batter him—like volcanic rocks spewing down a mountainside towards him. Thank God he’d come quickly to his senses and got Liadan to the hospital as rapidly as he had. He’d never have been able to forgive himself if he hadn’t come to her aid in time.
‘Head wounds can be very serious—even if they don’t appear so at the time,’ he said out loud.
He was far away from her in another place, Liadan realised, his mind clearly dwelling on some past situation that she was excluded from. Whatever it was, it haunted him. Haunted him to his very bones. One day when she was brave enough, perhaps she would dare to ask him about it? But not now, when the memory was clearly paining him anew, and especially not when her heart was pumping so hard she almost couldn’t breathe…
‘I’ll be…I’ll be careful,’ she promised, her lips trembling a little.
‘I’ve called out the chap who owns the local garage to come and get your car out of the ditch. I’m just waiting to hear back from him. As soon as he locates it I’ll drive out to talk with him. Will you be all right if I’m gone a little while? I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be just fine.’
‘You’re not to get out of bed or move so much as a muscle.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Good.’ Seemingly satisfied, Adrian abruptly released the impossibly soft coil of hair still brushing against his fingers and strode across the room to the door.
‘It’s very good of you to do all this. I mean, seeing to my car and taking me to the hospital and everything. I’m very grateful.’
‘Don’t be.’ With a flash of barbed humour, Adrian shrugged carelessly. ‘I’m only protecting my investment.’
Crushed, Liadan shut her eyes, warding off the hurt that ached right down to her fingertips.
She was making soup for their lunch. She’d had to swear by all that was holy to Adrian that she wouldn’t overdo it, but he had finally relented and let her come downstairs. All the ingredients she needed were laid out carefully on the scrubbed pine table. Chopped-up celery stalks filled a blue ceramic bowl next to a dish of roughly sliced carrots and next to that was a smaller dish of finely diced onion and garlic. Having spent years helping in the kitchen of her parents’ hotel, Liadan favoured an ordered approach to her cooking. Once all her ingredients were prepared and on display, then she could get down to the fun part of creating appetising meals. Now as she stood at the stove stirring a large pan of simmering stock she breathed in the fragrant cooking smells and tried not to concentrate on the dull, aching throb in her forehead.
Adrian had warned her not to get carried away. A sandwich and a cup of coffee would suffice for lunch, he’d told her as his dark serious gaze had swept broodingly across her features. But Liadan surmised the man needed to get a bit more creative, at least as far as his lunchtime routine went. And there was nothing better than hot, home-made soup on a bright, cold winter’s day like today.
‘Anybody home?’
Liadan turned at the voice, and her gaze collided dazedly with a smiling Steven Ferrers. He strolled into the big country kitchen with his usual bad-boy stride, his too-intrusive glance flicking up and down her sweater-and-jeans-clad figure, making it obvious that he liked what he saw. Liadan’s hackles rose immediately, just as Izzy’s did when unfamiliar visitors came into the house.
‘What are you doing in here? How did you get in?’
She hadn’t seen him since that unpleasant encounter in the garden and she was seriously bothered by the fact that he didn’t seem to have paid any attention to what she’d said to him then about keeping away from her.
‘That’s a nice greeting, I must say! Front door was open, for your information. Our Mr Jacobs has gone for a walk and left it ajar. I only dropped by to see how you were. Dad told me you drove your car into a ditch last night and his lordship had to take you to hospital. You’ve hurt your head. I’m sorry to see that, Liadan.’
Unsure how to handle Steven’s professed concern about her welfare and slightly discomfited by the fact that Adrian wasn’t present in the house, Liadan wasn’t about to let her guard down just yet.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m perfectly fine, actually.’
‘I won’t argue with that, sweetheart. You’re easily the best thing in this whole godforsaken place!’
‘Look.’ Exasperation getting the better of her, Liadan folded her arms across her chest and sighed. ‘I really must get on. I’ve got work to do and I’m sure you have, too.’
‘Seen the papers this morning?’
Before Liadan could answer one way or the other, Steven drew a folded-up newspaper from one of the deep patch pockets on his duffel coat and slapped it on the table in front of her.
‘Look on page two and cast your eyes over what our infamous Mr Jacobs has been up to!’
When Liadan deliberately made no move towards the offending tabloid newspaper and instead stared frostily at Steven, he leant forward and opened the pages himself for her to examine. Reluctantly Liadan’s gaze fell on the grainy black and white picture of Adrian, clearly taken in his days as a war correspondent. He was standing in some kind of desert landscape and he wore light-coloured trousers with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows. Even though he must have been reporting from some dangerous and grim terrain, he looked much less careworn and younger than he did today—as if he could easily deal with whatever trials life threw his way and still have reserves left over.
Her stomach clenched tight as though there were suddenly a giant-sized knot inside it. Next to the picture of Adrian there was another more glamorous snapshot of a beautiful brunette with exotic slanting eyes and pouting lips. Petra Collins. The headline screamed, HOLLYWOOD ACTRESS CLAIMS WRITER LOVER DEMANDED ABORTION. Casting her eye further down the page, Liadan briefly read, ‘Well-known author Alexander Jacobsen—previously
