told you to be nice. You weren’t nice. You were bossy and…stuffy.’
He scowled some more. Then he slumped back in his chair, defeat outlined in the shape of his shoulders. ‘Where is she? I’m not leaving Australia until I at least clap eyes on her.’
‘Oh, right,’ Kate mocked gently. ‘Are you trying to tell me you’ll be happy to see her in the distance, see that she’s all in one piece and then leave again? I don’t think so. You’re itching to haul her over the coals for some imagined misdemeanour. For heaven’s sake, she’s twenty-two years old. Old enough to make her own decisions. Old enough to lead her own life.’
‘You don’t know her.’ He drained his coffee in one gulp.
‘I beg to differ. She’s just spent the last three months living in my house, working for my business.’
His brows drew down low over his eyes. The corners of his mouth tightened. ‘You don’t know her like I do.’
‘I’ll grant you that. But you’ve got to stop treating her like she’s twelve years old or you’ll turn around one day and find out she really has done something stupid.’
His head swung up. ‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know.’ She lifted a hand and tried to pluck an example from the air. ‘Like getting in with some hard and fast party crowd and taking recreational drugs or something. Just so she can prove to you she’s all grown up.’
Panic raced across his face. She rushed to reassure him. ‘Not that she has, you understand. I’ve never seen Felice take anything stronger than a glass of Chardonnay.’
He slumped back.
‘But if you don’t back off you could drive her to something awful and then, when she really needs you, she may not feel able to come to you.’
He dragged a hand down his face. ‘The voice of experience speaketh?’ he finally intoned. ‘She said we made a good pair, didn’t she?’
‘Accused, more like.’ Kate traced a finger around the rim of her coffee mug, gathered up coffee froth and popped it in her mouth. Simon’s eyes narrowed as he watched her and she hastily pulled the finger away and clutched it in her lap. ‘My father died eight years ago when I was twenty. My brother Danny was only fifteen.’
‘Your mother?’
‘She left when I was six.’
‘So, basically, you raised your brother.’
It didn’t sound like a question so she didn’t bother answering it. ‘Danny and I have had our moments, but he’s only five years younger than me. It has probably been easier for me to accept that he’s grown up and capable of making his own decisions.’
‘Plus he’s male. Men can look after themselves.’
‘That’s a particularly sexist view of the world.’
He shrugged, then leaned forward. ‘Do you know how much Felice is worth? How much she’ll inherit when she turns twenty-five?’
He named a sum that had her choking, ‘What?’
He sat back and glared. ‘So you can see why I’m concerned she doesn’t do something stupid.’
‘Like?’
His mouth grew grim. ‘There’s a lot of men out there who’d like to get hold of her fortune. I won’t let her marry a fortune hunter.’
And then it all made crystal-clear sense to Kate—why Felice hadn’t told them about her family, her fortune. She’d wanted them to love her for herself. Kate suddenly wanted to cry. She hoped Felice realised that they did love her for herself.
Something else struck her with equal force. When Simon heard about Felice’s marriage to Danny, he would not share their—or her—joy.
He may well go ballistic.
He may well say unforgivable things.
Kate wanted to drop her head to the table and groan, but Simon was watching her with that direct grey gaze, so she couldn’t.
‘Where is she?’
The question didn’t surprise her. She lifted her mug and drank the last of her coffee. This time she didn’t taste it either. ‘I don’t know.’ She set the mug back on the table.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘That can’t be helped. I guess it’s even fair enough, because even if I did know where she’s staying, I wouldn’t tell you.’
His mouth turned grim then. His nostrils flared. ‘So that’s that then, is it?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ A sigh of regret stole through her. ‘I’m sorry, Simon, but Felice is of age and, I believe, capable of making her own decisions.’
He folded his arms and scowled.
Kate had liked the charming stranger with the to-die-for accent, empathised with the worried big brother with the clear grey eyes…but this scowling, thwarted man made her shift in her seat and wish herself elsewhere. She wondered what face he showed most often to Felice?
She recalled the panic in Felice’s voice and found her answer.
And then it hit her—the scowling and the glaring; it was just a foil for his fear. It was obvious he’d spent the last few months worried sick about his sister. Instead of telling Felice he loved her and was glad she was okay, he’d lashed out at her as if…
As if he expected rejection.
What on earth had happened between them?
‘What now?’ he demanded. ‘What the hell is she doing, anyway?’
She’d bet more people bowed and scraped to His Lordship than stood up to him. She wanted to tell him to stop acting like a spoilt child, only when she looked at him there was nothing of the child in the sensual firmness of his lips, or the broad, lean strokes of his body.
‘She’s seeing some of the world, back-packing like she always intended. She’ll be home in a fortnight.’
‘Home?’ He pounced on the word. ‘Her home is in England!’
Oh, dear. ‘Back, then. She’ll be back in a fortnight.’
Kate’s back started to tighten and ache—like it always did when she felt torn. She loved Felice and had given her word. Yet it didn’t stop her from feeling an enormous surge of empathy for this man sitting opposite her. She knew what it was like to fret over a sibling. She knew what it was like to worry about a child.
And Simon’s expression told her he still thought of Felice as a child.
His expression also told her he needed to loosen up.
‘What am I supposed to do in the
