their inheritance,’ she told him, her light brown eyes owlishly earnest behind the little round spectacles. ‘When Sebastian’s lawyers wrote to tell me about the shares and bonds, I wrote back and said I didn’t want them, that I’d sign a waiver of claim so they could be returned to the estate—’
His crack of cynical laughter cut her off.
‘Sure, why bother with the petty change when you’ve already got your hot little hands on the main prize, right?’ he growled, abruptly dropping his arm from the back of the couch and planting his hands on the arm of the couch, on either side of her head.
‘I—I don’t know what you mean,’ she said warily, excruciatingly aware of his thumb-tips brushing the straining cords of her neck and the metal zip of his open jacket sawing at the soft wool over her breasts as the heavy sides enfolded her like black leather wings.
‘No? Apart from all the hard cash you gouged out of him while he was alive, under the terms of the Jordan family trust, as my father’s legal wife at the time of his death you’ve inherited his position as trustee of a multi-million-dollar investment fund! I notice you’re not of fering to waive that family privilege!’
She bit her pale lower lip. ‘That’s only a nominal title—the trust is still going to be run by the three professional trustees, exactly as it was when Sebastian was alive. And if you’re familiar with the deed then you must know that as a named trustee I have no legal access to any of that money.’
‘Not for yourself personally, I agree,’ he said silkily, ‘but any child conceived during your marriage to Sebastian would be a blank cheque in your hands...’
‘No...! Never!’
Her appalled cry of rejection was followed by a short, electric silence.
Jennifer felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck and a metallic taste flood her tongue. How could he have found out? she thought hysterically. Sebastian had assured her that his exclusive London clinic guaranteed total confidentiality and that his staff were well trained in protecting the anonymity of both donor and recipient. Ethics had obliged him to hand over her case to one of his senior colleagues, and Sebastian’s rapidly failing health had meant he rarely visited the clinic himself, but he had promised to sequester her case-notes amongst his own inactive files as an extra precaution.
Of course, those staunch ethics of his—which had been so vital to her trust—had in the end turned out to be tainted by self-interest. Maybe he had been unforgiveably lax in other ways, too... Or maybe Raphael was just making guesses based more on his cynical certainty that Jennifer was a greedy bimbo out for everything she could get than any real hard evidence.
Her hands instinctively crept to protect her flat abdomen.
Rafe’s eyes flickered down as he registered the movement and returned to hers, gleaming with yellow fire.
‘Scruples, Jennifer? From a woman who married a dying old man for his money?’
He was making it all sound so sordid, when in fact it had been an eminently practical arrangement on both sides.
‘It wasn’t like that—’
‘You’re not trying to claim it was love?’ The word was uttered with a deep contempt that seemed to sum up Raphael Jordan’s views on relationships in general, and Jennifer in particular.
She flushed and tried to cling to her fast-dwindling courage. She recognised his interrogation technique. He was harrying her in ever-decreasing circles, slipping under her defences to nip painfully at his target and then retreating to prowl around another topic before darting in for another bite.
Somewhere in the background she heard Susie carol out a goodbye, and the front door bang, and a little of her tension eased. At least now if there was a messy scene there would be no witnesses.
She would have liked to fling Raphael’s cynicism back in his teeth with a passionate declaration of emotion, but instead chose the dignity of the literal truth. ‘I liked Sebastian from the time I first met him. I had a lot of respect for him—’
She broke off, for that respect had taken a severe beating the day he died...
‘And I’ll bet you liked him a whole lot more when you discovered he had inoperable cancer, hmm?’ said Rafe crudely. ‘He told you about it, didn’t he? When he was staying here?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘So—out of pure altruism, of course—you instantly agreed to abandon your home and business and travel back to England with Sebastian as his—now how did he introduce you to the family?—ah, that’s right, his “nurse-companion”...the one with a murky past and no credentials!’
A sunburst of anger overrode Jennifer’s guilt. She still vividly remembered the humiliation she had suffered at the hands of three of Sebastian’s bickering ex-wives and his numerous, spoiled, grown-up stepchildren when they realised that an Antipodean nobody was threatening their future access to the Jordan gravy-train.
Only Raphael, Sebastian’s eldest son and sole natural child, had remained aloof from the outpourings of spite which followed. Never having allowed his father to bankroll his lifestyle, he was immune to the bribes and rewards by which Sebastian had manipulated his greedy brood of dependents-by-marriage. Although Rafe had bluntly disapproved of his father’s precipitous marriage to a woman thirty-six years his junior, in keeping with his own history of rebellious independence he had not disputed Sebastian’s right to make a bloody fool of himself.
‘I did train as a nurse—I just never got to complete the practical part of the course for my formal qualification,’ she flared now.
‘Yes, well, you were obviously better qualified as a companion than a nurse, because lo and behold, only a month after you land in England you’re married to your patient—and three weeks after that your very wealthy new husband, whose heart was never a contributor to his health problems, has a heart attack in his own bed and is dead within days. And what does his doting bride do to mourn his passing? She skips out on the funeral, leaving only a post office box on the other side of the world as a forwarding address...’
Jennifer gasped. ‘If you’re trying to imply that I had anything at all to do with Sebastian having heart failure—!’
‘Oh, no, I’ve read the autopsy report and spoken to his doctors...I have to absolve you of murder,’ he conceded, with what she thought was insulting reluctance.
‘Kind of you!’ she snapped recklessly.
He raised silky eyebrows. ‘It does happen: energetic, lusty young wife entices her elderly, ailing husband to prove that he’s still a man...’
Her tawny eyes flashed up at him, her fingers itching to slap his face, but before she could act out the impulse his eyelids drooped and he purred, ‘Only we both know how unlikely that scenario is...since my father’s cancer treatments had made him impotent well before he ever left on that round-the-world trip. Your marriage was never actually consummated, was it, Jennifer—?’
Her fingers curled into her palms. ‘You have no right to—’
‘I saw his medical records after he died... I know that claim of paternity you got him to sign isn’t worth the paper it’s written on!’
‘I don’t know
