stunned her slightly and made her less able to cope with what followed. A searching, not particularly deep kiss to which she didn’t respond particularly yet which didn’t exactly repel. It was really strange, she reflected afterwards. It was as if her body had gone languid and her mind was suspended above her, recording and storing the event, monitoring her own reactions but, above all, searching for his.
And when he lifted his head at last she blinked once then stared into his eyes, with her heart in her mouth suddenly at what she might see.
What she did see was the way he narrowed his eyes immediately, and then the little laughter-lines beside them creased. ‘Well, Lucy,’ he said wryly, ‘you have got that down to a fine art, haven’t you?’
She licked her lips and said huskily, ‘What do you mean?’
His hands slid down her back to her waist and he lifted her off her feet and moved her away, and steadied her but didn’t take his hands away. ‘The art of kissing and giving nothing away at the same time.’
A tinge of pink came to her cheeks and a pulse beat at the base of her throat, a pulse of anger as it happened. ‘If that’s not exactly what you did, I’ll eat my hat,’ she retorted, and removed herself from his grasp but sat down almost immediately.
‘Then why are you so cross?’ He leant against the corner of the table and folded his arms.
‘Perhaps I’m tired of having it continually pointed out to me what a femme fatale I am.’ She picked up the lid of the sugar bowl and replaced it not gently. ‘And if that was a warning of the deluded sort you were issuing yesterday—’
‘It was a warning to behave yourself this weekend, Lucy.’
‘Listen, Justin!’ Her eyes were a deeper, decidedly stormy blue now.
‘No, you listen to me, Lucy.’ He unfolded his arms and pinned one of her wrists to the table as her hand wandered towards the sugar bowl again, and he lifted her chin in his other one, also not gently as she resisted stubbornly. And his eyes were a cold, hard grey as he said, ‘You can fight me all you like in private, but not in public, because if you do, I’ll retaliate, believe me, in a way you wouldn’t like at all, and in a way that will make your little war look like child’s play. Do we understand each other?’
It was Mrs Milton who broke into Lucy’s reverie. Mrs Milton came in daily and Lucy was still sitting at the kitchen table where Justin had left her, staring into space, as she arrived.
‘Morning, Miss Lucy,’ she said brightly and placed a parcel on the table. ‘There’s those sheets that needed mending.’
‘Oh!’ Lucy jumped. ‘Oh, thank you, Mrs Milton—sorry, I was miles away. How are you?’
‘Fine, love. Miles away where?’ Mrs Milton poured herself a cup of coffee.
Lucy grimaced. ‘Are you doing anything this weekend? You and your sister?’
‘No. Got a party on?’
‘Yes, and I want it to be—something special, Mrs Milton. Hang on, I’ll get a pen and paper.’
Whether by design or not, Justin stayed out of her way over those next three busy days, although they did meet for breakfast on the Wednesday morning.
‘You have a dirty mark on your chin, Lucy,’ her husband said after a more formal greeting had got him a cool look and a barely audible murmur in reply.
This time she responded with a raised eyebrow and a shrug, causing him to narrow his eyes and appear to drop the subject. But as they passed each other later, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and put his forefinger on the ‘mark’ on her chin.
‘Did I do that?’
She merely nodded.
He took his finger away and inspected the faint blue bruise. He also let his gaze wander over her mouth, innocent of any lipstick yet rose-pink and finely chiselled, the smooth lucent skin of her cheeks, the deep pansy blue of her eyes with their sweeping lashes, darker than her hair, and the escaping tendrils of wheat gold curling on her forehead. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you bruised so easily.’
‘I don’t bruise so easily. Perhaps you don’t know your own strength. Or perhaps you do.’
‘What I haven’t known,’ he said with a twist of his lips, ‘is anyone quite as stubborn as you. I suppose you’ve now added the fact that I’m a callous brute to your list of my sins.’
‘Some of your threats left me in no doubt of it at all even before this,’ she murmured coldly. ‘May I go now? I have a lot to do.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘It’s all under control.’
‘Do you need any assistance? From me,’ he said gravely.
Her look spoke volumes. ‘All you have to do is be here, Justin.’
‘I still haven’t told you who’s coming—apart from Sasha.’
Lucy shrugged. ‘I rang Sasha myself and got it all from her. She was a mine of information, in fact. Two couples, although one unmarried couple who will nevertheless share a bedroom—’
‘Unlike some married couples I know. I wonder if it’s a new trend? Go on,’ he said politely.
‘Yes, well,’ Lucy said evenly, ‘Sasha also told me that although it’s not strictly a business weekend, they will be inspecting some yearlings at Riverbend on their way here and might be interested in buying them at the upcoming yearling sales in Sydney—she said that very significantly, Justin. In other words—don’t rock the boat, Lucy, if you can help it! And, she also gave me some helpful suggestions which—’
‘You will go out of your way to ignore,’ Justin said amusedly.
‘Indeed I will.’ Lucy’s eyes flashed briefly, recalling Sasha’s helpful advice which had included the maxim that keeping things simple might be a good idea. ‘How you put up with her I’ve no idea!’
‘I’ve told you, she’s very good at her job.’
‘She’s certainly got a superiority complex. Is that why you two get along so well?’ she asked innocently, and went on impatiently, ‘Besides, being good at your job doesn’t mean you have to be treated as a friend, necessarily.’
‘Well Sasha is both actually, Lucy. And since I moved to Dalkeith, so that you might remain in your ancestral home,’ he said and held her eyes in a suddenly cool look, ‘she is more up to date on matters relating to the stud and this crop of yearlings than I am. So she will be here in what you might call an unofficial business capacity.’ He paused then added with that same cool look. ‘Don’t upset Sasha, Lucy. She may rub you up the wrong way but she has a brain like a computer when it comes to horses, and extremely good judgement.’
‘As a matter of fact I believe you, Justin. I’ve even thought she has a certain horsey look about her—nothing less than a chestnut thoroughbred with wonderful lines,
