seated at a large and beautiful maple desk in the den, dealing with the household accounts. There was an open chequebook in front of her and a sheaf of bills. It was eight-thirty, the children were in bed asleep, Mendelssohn was playing on the state-of-the-art sound system—and she hadn’t heard Brett come home.
She pushed a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles up on top of her head and regarded him severely. He had a glass of whisky in one hand and was pulling off his tie with the other. ‘You were supposed to be home for dinner.’
‘Sorry,’ he murmured. ‘I got held up.’
‘You don’t have to apologise to me. Your children are another matter, however. You promised to watch The Wiggles with them.’
‘Damn, I forgot.’ Brett Harcourt raked his hand through his dark brown hair. ‘Don’t they put out videos? I could watch a Wiggles video with them.’
‘This was a special concert—televised live.’
‘So I’m well and truly in the sin bin?’
‘I would say so. And you could find yourself in the sin bin with your liver if you make a habit of dining on Scotch.’
Brett Harcourt had hazel eyes that could be extremely enigmatic at times, much to Nicola’s chagrin. They could also be coolly insolent and worldly—another thorn in her flesh. But there were times—and she often wondered if she didn’t find this the most infuriating—when they laughed at her, although he maintained a perfectly straight face. Such as now.
He said gravely, ‘This is my first and last one for the day. It’s been a hell of a day and I got my secretary to order some dinner for me. Have you taken up good works, Nicola?’
She blinked at him. He sat down on the corner of the desk and let that hazel gaze drift over her. She’d changed into a large white T-shirt printed with gold and silver shells, and a pair of yellow leggings. Her hair was twisted up and secured by a big plastic grip. Her feet were bare. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘You sound as if you’re trying to reform me. You even sounded wifely, which is something you avoid at all costs, you must admit.’
The slightest tinge of pink ran beneath the smooth skin of her cheeks, but she said coolly, ‘With good reason, Brett. I’m a wife in name only, aren’t I?’
‘How often have you reminded me of that, I wonder?’ he murmured, this time smiling openly.
‘As often as I try to remind you that you’re a husband in name only, and that you needn’t think you can run my life,’ she responded evenly.
‘I didn’t think I did that.’
Nicola stared at him and tried to mask her impatience, which never worked with Brett.
‘Well, do I?’ he asked reasonably. ‘Tell me about any of your activities I’ve ever put a stop to. Tell me that you don’t come and go as you please, arrange your days as you please—’
‘But if I suddenly decided I wanted to go to...Tibet, that would be a different matter, wouldn’t it?’ she returned tautly.
‘Decidedly,’ he agreed lazily. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea at all.’
She stared at him frustratedly. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘I know we agreed—after you got yourself virtually kidnapped by a man who was a notorious womaniser—that this would be a safer way to go, Nicola.’
‘I was only nineteen,’ she said through pale lips.
‘You’re only twenty now—all right—’ he shrugged as she opened her mouth to protest ‘—almost twenty-one. But I can’t help wondering whether you’ve acquired the wisdom you so noticeably lacked then.’ His eyes mocked her. ‘Wild talk of Tibet doesn’t seem to go hand in hand with maturity. And that brings me to something else—what were you doing at Lifeline today?’
Nicola gasped. ‘How...? He didn’t!’
‘I felt sure there would be a “he” involved,’ her husband said dryly.
She jumped up. ‘Having a man around is one thing you can’t accuse me of, Brett! Since...since it happened—and I had no idea he was going to lure me away under false pretences and all the rest—’ she shuddered with disgust ‘—I haven’t had anything to do with men! You make it sound as if I go around inviting their attention.’
Brett Harcourt raised a wry eyebrow. ‘You don’t have to, Nicola. They attach themselves. So. What’s with Lifeline? And why were you looking so very pensive?’
‘If you’ve been having me followed, Brett...’ she said through her teeth.
‘You’ll...?’ he queried before she could go on.
The desire to make another wild statement gripped her, but she fought it, causing his lips to twist as he watched her with interest.
‘Were you?’ she ground out at last.
‘No. I merely happened to be stopped at that particular traffic light as you came out. Now, if you have decided to add good works to your music—’ he indicated the beautiful harp that stood in the corner of the den ‘—your flying lessons, your desire to speak Indonesian and your pottery, I’m all for it—but...’ He paused. ‘Something tells me it’s not so.’
Nicola took a deep breath. ‘I do play that harp, I do speak Indonesian, I love pottery and I enjoy flying—are you trying to belittle me for any specific reason?’ she asked with a quizzically raised eyebrow.
He shrugged, smiled slightly and ignored the question. ‘I’m not disputing that. In fact, I’ll go further and say that you’re highly intelligent as well as artistic, and your flying instructor reckons you’re a natural. It still doesn’t explain Lifeline.’
Nicola paced around the room and darkly contemplated the fact that it was impossible to hide most things from Brett—it always had been. Which made it rather surprising to think that she’d been able to hide the most important thing of all from him.
She paused beside the harp and ran her fingers gently across the strings in a glissando, to make a golden bell of sound, then stilled it with her palm and turned to look at him.
He was still sitting on the corner of the desk, idly running his tie through his fingers—quite a colourful tie, with red, navy and jade diamonds on it etched in a bone colour that matched his shirt.
But even sitting he was obviously a tall man, who happened to be twelve years her senior with a mind that was razor-sharp. He also had aquiline features, an impressive build and, although he wasn’t precisely handsome, once you got to know him you couldn’t help but be aware that he had a rare charm when he chose.
And when he didn’t choose there was the aura of a powerful intellect combined with a strong physique that gave notice of a man who got his own way frequently.
All in all an irresistible combination, and not only to me, she thought gloomily. To most women—and, even although they’ve been divorced for four years, still to Marietta, she suspected...
‘Nicola?’
