noticed because his gaze had dropped, fastened there, right there, his lids heavy, thick dark lashes veiling his expression.
So she had begun again, gabbling now. ‘I wondered if you have everything you need? The caravan hasn’t been used in ages, not since—’
‘It’s fine. That nice housekeeper of yours—Amy?—supplied me with a bundle of bed- and bathroom linen, food supplies—and the place is clean, sweet as a nut.’
He had loped down the steps, pulling the van door to behind him. Claudia had swallowed a huge lump of disappointment. She’d hoped he’d invite her inside to see for herself. But what he had said was even better, more than she’d hoped for. ‘I’m told there’s a path through the valley leading down to a cove. I fancied a swim. Coming?’
Was she ever! She’d gone back to the house to get her swimming costume and met him back at the caravan. And it had been lovely, that walk. They’d talked a lot; well, he had, mostly. She’d asked him questions about himself but he’d skirted them, telling her to talk about herself, but she hadn’t been able to; there hadn’t been much to say. So it had ended up with him asking questions, making comments.
“This is a fantastic place. Magical. How does it make you feel, knowing it will all be yours one day? Not yet, of course, but some time in the future. Will you keep it on? Does the responsibility worry you? Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown—and all that.’
They’d been sitting in the soft golden sand by then, the sun dipping down towards the sea. He hadn’t seemed to need an answer; he could almost have been talking to himself. He’d leaned forward, softly tracing the outline of her mouth with the tip of a forefinger. ‘You are very lovely.’
And after that everything else had been simple. He’d gone out of his way to confirm his deductions that the land, the house, the business would all be hers in the fullness of time, and had gone ahead and trapped her with the honey-sweet bait of great sex and her own foolish notions of undying romantic love...
Claudia blinked, shaking her head, annoyed with herself, pushing the unwanted memories away. She couldn’t remember now what had made her think back to all of that. Adam. Betrayal. Loss.
She pulled herself together and swiftly left the room, heading down the stairs for the library. She’d asked Amy to bring Mr Hallam there when he arrived at eleven-thirty. Then bring coffee through.
She glanced at her watch and groaned. Eleven thirty-five. He might already be here. Unforgivable of her to have gone off into that backward-looking trance, wasting time.
‘He’s arrived!’ Amy appeared at the foot of the stairs, her voice low and urgent. ‘I put him in the library and said you wouldn’t be a minute. I was on my way to warn you.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry to be late.’ Claudia gave Amy a reassuring smile. She should have been there to greet the man, of course, but she was only late by a few minutes, not long enough to warrant Amy’s obvious anxiety.
‘Wait.’ Amy caught her arm before she could hurry through. ‘You don’t understand. It’s not a Mr Hallam, like you said. It’s—’
‘Remember me?’
The library door now stood open, framing the impressive, immaculately suited figure of Adam Weston.
‘Because I remember you.’ He moved forward, eyes fixed on Claudia’s speechless lips, then they lifted to clash with hers. ‘How could I possibly forget?’
He smiled, a sensual movement of that wickedly crafted mouth. It was sexier than ever. But his eyes didn’t smile; didn’t come near it. ‘Might I ask you to bring us some coffee, Amy?’ he asked the stunned-seeming housekeeper. ‘Mrs Favel and I have a great deal to talk through.’
CHAPTER TWO
SILENCE. Shock clamped Claudia into a small, dark, very tight corn. Clamped her in so tightly she could barely breathe, let alone speak.
How dared he show his face here? Oh, how dared he?
Then the thick silence eased just a little, slowly nudged away by the inevitable impingement of ordinary, everyday sounds. The sonorous, echoey ticking of the longcase clock; the stutter and grumble of machinery from directly outside as Bill, the new groundsman, tried to start the ride-on mower; Amy’s voice—the sound of the words she spoke as they fell on the still air, but not the sense of them—and the sound of the housekeeper’s feet on the polished wood floor blocks as she walked away; the thump of her own, wild heartbeats.
He’d changed, and yet he hadn’t. That was the first coherent thought she had. Though how a thought could be coherent and contradictory was a total mystery.
At thirty, Adam Weston was a spectacularly attractive man. The once over-long, soft black hair was expertly cut and those pagan-god features were tougher now, more forceful than they’d been six years ago. That superbly fit body was clothed in a silky dark grey suit, crafted by a master tailor, instead of the scruffy cut-offs and washed-out T-shirts that had been his habitual wear during that long, hot summer when she had loved him so.
A man with those looks, that kind of honed physique, would always land on his feet, especially if he still possessed that laid-back, lazy charm, the charm that had had her swooning at his feet from that first unforgettable smile.
Obviously, he’d finally married an heiress. Well, bully for him! she thought cynically, wondering if he’d come here to gloat because he’d done very well, thank you, for himself and she was practically bankrupt.
‘What do you want, Adam?’ Her voice was tight, quaky, like an old woman’s. And she knew she didn’t look anything like the lushly curvaceous, fresh-faced and dewy-eyed eighteen-year-old he’d sweet-talked into his bed all those years ago. She didn’t need that look of distaste he was giving her to tell her that, while he’d been able to bring himself to the point of actually making love to her six years ago, he found her a total turn-off now.
Claudia lifted her chin and told herself she didn’t care, in either event. ‘I’m expecting someone. Can you see yourself out?’
She knew she sounded like a snob of the first water, the lady of the manor ordering the boot boy out of her rarefied presence, and saw his eyes narrow and harden. Those smoky grey eyes that didn’t smile any more.
‘You’re expecting me, Mrs Favel.’ His voice was clipped. Hard. As hard as his eyes. ‘The Hallam Group,’ he reminded her, as if, Claudia thought resentfully, he thought she was completely stupid.
But hadn’t he always thought that? That she had rampaging hormones where other people had brains. That she’d be a pushover, blindly and ecstatically rushing into marriage with a drifter who was only interested in getting his hands on her assets, which, in those days, had been considerable.
Within a few short weeks he’d had her besotted, head over heels in love and so eager to accept his proposal of marriage she’d practically fallen over herself. And the only thing that had stopped her dragging him down the aisle had been the evidence of her own eyes...
Adam walking out of Helen’s bedroom, his face tight and furious. He’d been so furious he hadn’t seen her at the top of the service stairs, her arms full of freshly laundered bed-linen.
Helen.
