I love them. I particularly love watching them down here, coming across the fields.’
He twitched one of the curtains aside. ‘Where did you park your car? I didn’t see it when I drove in.’
‘Under the biggest oak tree,’ Audrey said. ‘I didn’t want it to be easy to see in case the press followed me.’
‘Did you see anyone following you?’
‘No, but there were recent tyre tracks on the driveway—I thought they were Mum and Harlan’s.’
‘The caretaker’s, perhaps?’
Audrey lifted her eyebrows. ‘Does this place look like it’s been taken care of recently?’
‘Good point.’
Another flash of lightning split the sky, closely followed by a boom of thunder and then the unmistakable sound of a tree crashing down and limbs and branches splintering on metal.
‘Which tree did you say you parked under?’ Lucien asked.
Audrey’s stomach lurched like a limousine on loose gravel. ‘No. No. No. Noooooo!’
LUCIEN HAD TO stop Audrey from dashing outside to check out the state of her car by restraining her with a firm hand on her forearm. ‘No. Don’t go out there. It’s too dangerous. There are still limbs and branches coming down.’
‘But I have to see how much damage there is,’ she said, wide-eyed.
‘Wait until the storm passes. There could be power lines down or anything out there.’
She pulled at her lower lip with her teeth, her expression so woebegone it made something in his chest shift. He suddenly realised he was still holding her by the arm and removed his hand, surreptitiously opening and closing his fingers to stop the tingling sensation.
He usually avoided touching her.
He avoided her—period.
From the moment he’d met her at his father’s first wedding to her mother he’d been keen to keep his distance. Audrey had only been eighteen and a young eighteen at that. Her crush on him had been mildly flattering but unwelcome. He’d shut her down with a stern lecture and hoped she would ignore him on the rare occasions their paths crossed.
He’d felt enormous relief when his father had divorced her mother because he hadn’t cared for Sibella’s influence on his father. But then three years later they’d remarried and his path intersected with Audrey’s again. Then twenty-one and not looking much less like the innocent schoolgirl she’d been three years before, she’d made another advance on him at their parents’ second wedding. He’d cut her down with a look and hoped she’d finally get the message...even though a small part of him had been tempted to indulge in a little flirtation with her. He had wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted to hold her luscious body against his and let nature do the rest. Sure he had. He had been damn close to doing it too. Way too close. Dangerously close.
But he’d ruthlessly shut down that part of himself because the last thing he wanted was to get involved with Audrey Merrington. Not just because of who her mother was but because Audrey was the cutesy homespun type who wanted the husband, the house, the hearth, the hound and the happy-ever-after.
He wasn’t against marriage but he had in mind a certain type of marriage to a certain type of woman some time in the future. In the distant future. He would never marry for passion the way his father did. He would never marry for any other reason than convenience and companionship. And he would always be in control of his emotions.
Audrey rubbed at her arm as if she too was removing the sensation of his touch. ‘I suppose you’re going to give me a lecture about the stupidity of parking my car under an old tree. But the storm had barely started when I arrived.’
‘It’s an easy mistake to make,’ Lucien said.
‘Not for someone as perfect as you.’ She followed up the comment with a scowl.
He was the last person who would describe himself as perfect. If he was so damn perfect then what the hell was he doing glancing at her mouth all the time? But something about Audrey’s mouth had always tempted his gaze. It was soft and full and shaped in a perfect Cupid’s bow.
He wondered how many men had enjoyed those soft, ripe lips. He wondered how many lovers she’d shared her body with and if that innocent Bambi-eyed thing she had going on was just a front. She wasn’t traffic-stoppingly beautiful like her mother but she was pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way. Her figure was curvy rather than slim and she had an old-fashioned air about her that was in stark contrast to her mother’s out-there-and-up-for-anything personality.
‘Once the storm has passed I’ll check the damage to your car,’ Lucien said. ‘But for now I think we’d better formulate a plan. When was the last time you spoke to your mother?’
‘Not for a week or more.’ Her tone had a wounded quality—disappointment wrapped around each word as if her relationship with her mother wasn’t all that it could be. ‘She left the invitation and a note at my flat. I found them when I got home from work yesterday. I got the feeling she was coming here with your dad from her note when she mentioned the daffodils. I’m not sure why she didn’t text me instead. I’ve texted her since but I’ve heard nothing back and it looks like my messages haven’t been read.’
Frustration snapped at his nerves, taut with tension. What if his father had already married Sibella? What if there was a repeat of the last two divorces with the salacious scandal played out in the press for weeks on end? He had to put a stop to it. He had to. ‘They could be anywhere by now.’
‘When did you last speak to your father?’
‘About two months ago.’
Audrey’s smooth brow wrinkled. ‘You don’t keep in more regular contact?’
Lucien’s top lip curled before he could stop it. ‘He’s never quite got used to the idea of having a son.’
A look of empathy passed over her features. ‘He had you when he was very young, didn’t he?’
‘Eighteen,’ Lucien said. ‘I didn’t meet him until I was ten years old. My mother thought it was safer to keep me away from him given his hard-partying lifestyle.’
Not as if that had changed much over the years, which was another good reason to keep his father from remarrying Audrey’s mother. They encouraged each other’s bad habits. His dad would never beat the battle of the booze with Sibella by his side. The battle became a binge with a drinking buddy when Sibella was around. She had no idea of the notion of drinking in moderation. Nothing Sibella Merrington did was in moderation.
‘At least you finally met him,’ Audrey said, looking away.
‘You haven’t met yours?’
‘No. Even my mum doesn’t know who it is.’
Why did that not surprise him? ‘Does it bother
