and I would like you to come to lunch tomorrow. Could you manage that?’ Ruth raised finely shaped brows, still an attractive and energetic woman despite being sixty years of age. ‘There’ll just be the four of us,’ she added encouragingly.
‘Four of us?’ Lori echoed softly.
‘You, Claude and I—and of course, Luke,’ Ruth added coyly.
If the last was supposed to be an incentive it had the opposite effect. ‘I’m sorry,’ Lori shook her head, ‘I have to visit my aunt.’
A look of irritation crossed Ruth’s perfectly made up face. ‘Couldn’t you do that some other time?’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’ Her Aunt Jessie, Great-Aunt Jessie, would never forgive her if she missed one of her visits. The old lady had put herself into a nursing home two years ago, treating the place more like a hotel than anything else. In fact, Lori often thought her aunt ran the old people’s home instead of the Matron!
‘Damn!’ Ruth frowned. ‘Luke is only with us for the weekend, then he’s moving into his flat. Couldn’t you come for tea instead?’ she asked hopefully.
Once again Lori shook her head, glad she had a real excuse for refusing—if she hadn’t Ruth would soon have worn her down. And she never, ever, wanted to see Luke Randell again; she hated him for the bitter memories he had evoked.
‘I always spend the whole day with my aunt,’ she said truthfully.
‘Oh well, I don’t suppose it can be helped,’ Ruth murmured disappointedly. ‘I did so want you to meet Luke.’
‘I’ve already met him,’ Lori said coldly.
‘I meant away from the rush and bustle of the wedding. He’s been in America for several years, and he seems to have lost contact with a lot of his friends. Of course, we’ve been friends of the family since Luke was a child. But I thought perhaps you—well, if you can’t make it, you can’t.’ She stood up resignedly. ‘Do come back and join the party, Lori.’
‘In a moment,’ she nodded. ‘I just want to repair my make-up.’
Ruth smiled. ‘You don’t have much to worry about, you always look lovely. When you get to my age it becomes more than a repair job, it’s a total remake!’
Lori joined in the laughter, but her own humour faded as soon as the door closed behind the other woman. She had a suspicion, more than a suspicion, that Luke Randell had made the request for her to be invited to the Hammonds’. She was friendly with the other couple, enjoyed talking to Ruth when she came to the office to visit her husband, but she had never been invited to their home before.
So Luke Randell had been in America the last few years. Probably reflecting in his father’s undoubted glory, she thought bitterly.
Bitterness. It was something that she had tried to forget, especially after she had fallen in love with Nigel. After he had walked out of her life she had pulled herself together enough to move from the flat she had been renting, to get herself a new job as soon as possible. And she had tried not to let bitterness rule her life for a second time.
And now Luke Randell had suddenly appeared in her life, bringing back all the destructive memories, destroying the self-confidence she had built up over the years.
Well, she wouldn’t let him destroy her! She was Lori Parker, not Lorraine Chisholm, was a very competent and trusted personal secretary to an important London lawyer, and no human reminder from the past was going to ruin that for her.
She would make her excuses to leave the wedding reception as soon as possible, and after that she would never have to see Luke Randell again.
‘I thought you were going to hide in there all night, little kitten!’
She spun round to confront Luke Randell, finding him leaning against the wall, a suitable distance away, although obviously waiting for her. He pushed easily away from his lounging position, and Lori viewed him with new eyes as he walked confidently towards her.
On the surface he bore little resemblance to the man she remembered his father to be. His hair was black where his father’s had been silver; he was taller than his father too, his body not tending towards flabbiness as the other man’s had, his features vaguely similar, although much more strongly defined in the son, the ruthlessness not hidden behind a smooth charm in the younger man as it had been by his father’s benign, often sympathetic, expression. That hidden ruthlessness had been turned on her father with vicious cruelty once Jacob P. Randell had him off his guard, twisting his words until even he didn’t know what he was saying. It had been like watching a snake strike at an unsuspecting mouse, and her father’s final agony had been the taking of his own life. His imminent conviction had been obvious, thanks to Jacob P. Randell.
The day after her father’s death, away from prying eyes, Lori and her mother had read the letter her father had left for them. He had still claimed his innocence, although having already spent several months in a prison cell, he knew he couldn’t stand the years that stretched ahead of him in the same way. He preferred to die rather than live in that degradation.
‘Kitten?’ Luke prompted, standing in front of her now, his eyes narrowed on her pale face.
Lori looked up at him, pulling herself back from the past, and Luke Randell’s face swam back into focus. ‘I wasn’t hiding, Mr Randell,’ ice dripped from her voice. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me …’
‘No.’
She blinked up at him. ‘No?’
‘No.’ His hand was firm on her arm, and he frowned deeply as she snatched away from him. He folded his arms across his chest. ‘You’ve been running away from me all day,’ he drawled, ‘and up until now I’ve been letting you. I’ve finally caught up with you—and I’m not letting you get away. Why did you turn down Ruth’s invitation for lunch tomorrow?’
Her mouth tightened, and she looked round for Jonathan so that she could take advantage of his earlier offer of a lift home. ‘I already have an engagement for tomorrow,’ she told Luke Randall absently, unable to see Jonathan anywhere.
‘Break it,’ Luke instructed.
She looked at him scornfully. ‘I don’t do things like that, Mr Randall. My word is my bond. It’s a family trait,’ she added vehemently.
‘Very commendable,’ he drawled. ‘But I would like to see my future bride tomorrow. Maybe we could discuss the wedding?’
She gave him a pitying glance. ‘I think you’ve had too much champagne, Mr Randell.’
‘Luke,’ he encouraged softly. ‘And when I decided to marry you I hadn’t had any champagne.’
‘When you decided, Mr Randell?’ she deliberately used the formality. ‘I thought it was supposed to be a joint decision?’
‘It is,’ he shrugged, his shoulders broad, the muscles ripping across his chest. ‘You’re just a little longer making your mind up than I am.’
‘We only met today,’ she scorned disbelievingly, wondering that even Jacob P. Randell’s son should have so much arrogance.
‘That’s
