flickered in his eyes, at himself—and her. ‘Perhaps I was mistaken,’ he rasped. ‘You don’t appear to be the sort of woman a man would easily forget.’
‘I certainly hope not,’ she drawled huskily.
It was a most unnerving feeling having someone watch her so closely as she ate, and yet she knew, without acknowledging it, that Quinn Taylor watched her constantly during lunch.
Just as Mary watched him. The poor girl helped serve the meal in a complete daze, even dropping the spoon on the floor when Quinn Taylor turned to thank her for taking his empty soup bowl away. The accident cost Mary a quelling glance from Petersham, making her especially careful throughout the rest of the meal.
She really was star-struck, poor girl, gazing after Quinn Taylor adoringly as they finally left the dining-room to have coffee in the drawing-room.
‘Brandy, gentlemen?’ her grandfather offered, not bothering himself when the other two men declined. ‘Any problems, Quinn,’ he told the other man effusively as he sat down to light himself one of the cigars he so enjoyed and which Elizabeth was always warning him were no good for him, ‘and I want you to come straight to me.’ He puffed on his cigar. ‘I’d be glad to help in any way that I can.’
She could instantly tell that her grandfather didn’t just like the man’s music, he liked the man too. When her grandfather decided he liked some one he would do anything he could to make things easier for them, but woe betide anyone he took a dislike to!
Quinn smiled his lazily charming smile, seeming to be giving her a respite from his constant attention. ‘Everything seems to be running smoothly, thanks, Gerald.’ The two men had quickly come to a first-name basis. ‘Although perhaps there is something Miss Farnham could help me with.’ The two of them hadn’t reached the same easy familiarity!
She stiffened, her gaze cool. ‘Yes?’
‘The perfume you’re wearing,’ he said softly. ‘Perhaps you could give me the name of it before I leave,’ he explained as her brows rose questioningly. ‘I’d like to buy someone some like it as a present.’
‘Of course,’ she agreed distantly, wondering how many ‘someones’ he intended buying the expensive perfume for. Since his divorce several years ago he had gained the reputation of escorting some of the most beautiful women in the entertainment business. ‘I’ll write the name down for you before you leave,’ she drawled.
He gave an inclination of his head. ‘I’d be grateful.’
Elizabeth broke the intimacy of his gaze by turning towards her grandfather. ‘Perhaps Mr Taylor would like to go over to the west lawn now and see how the work there is progressing,’ she suggested lightly. ‘I’m sure he must be anxious to see what arrangements have been made.’
‘He’s barely had time to drink his coffee, child,’ her grandfather looked at her in surprise.
She blushed. ‘I only—–’
‘Your granddaughter is right, Gerald,’ Quinn Taylor’s drawling voice came to her rescue. ‘I only have a couple of days’ rehearsal before the concert.’ He stood up, stretching lazily. ‘I don’t feel much like working after that delicious lunch you just gave us,’ he acknowledged ruefully. ‘Maybe I can return the hospitality some time, tomorrow, perhaps?’ He was looking at Elizabeth as he made the suggestion. After angering her grandfather by more or less suggesting it was time for the singer and his manager to leave, she prudently held her tongue about bluntly refusing Quinn Taylor’s invitation. But she certainly had no intention of spending any more time in his company than she had to, she didn’t like the way he kept staring at her.
To her relief it was Bruce Simons who came to her rescue, pointing out to the singer that the schedule was a little tight for tomorrow.
Blue eyes gleamed as Quinn Taylor seemed to know of her relief at the reprieve. ‘Maybe we can make it dinner,’ he murmured slowly. ‘Could I contact you both about it tomorrow?’ he asked her grandfather.
He might contact them, but by the time he did she would make sure she had a legitimate excuse—one that would satisfy her grandfather!—for not attending. Quinn Taylor made her feel uncomfortable, and she wasn’t about to expose herself to any more of his company than she had to.
‘It’s been a delight to meet you, Miss Farnham.’ He took her hand lightly in his as they stood outside. ‘I’m sure I will remember who it is you remind me of,’ he added softly, once again giving her that searching look.
‘Let’s hope that when you do remember, it is a pleasant memory,’ she drawled mockingly.
He smiled, his teeth white and even against his bronzed skin. ‘I’m sure it must be,’ he said huskily.
Elizabeth politely but firmly extricated her hand from within his grasp, knowing by the way his fingers tightened momentarily that he didn’t want to release her. She clasped her hands together in front of her. ‘We mustn’t keep you from your rehearsal any longer,’ she said pointedly.
‘No,’ he acknowledged ruefully, strolling around to the driver’s side of the car with long easy movements. ‘I’ll see you both again soon.’
It sounded more like a threat than a politely made parting comment. But she knew her grandfather would want to accept this man’s invitation, whereas she didn’t believe it was necessary for them to meet again, for dinner tomorrow or anything else, now that they had politely done their duty.
They stood at the top of the steps watching the car as it disappeared in the direction of the west lawn, her grandfather’s arm about her shoulders as they went back into the house.
‘You weren’t very polite to him, darling,’ her grandfather finally reproved, as she had known he would.
‘His approach wasn’t very original,’ she derided. ‘That “you remind me of someone” routine must be years old,’ she dismissed scathingly.
‘It used to work when I was a young man,’ he frowned. ‘OK, point taken,’ he smiled as she gave him a pointed look. ‘But it didn’t seem like an approach to me.’
‘Perhaps not,’ she shrugged. ‘But I didn’t like the way he kept staring at me through lunch.’
Her grandfather smiled again. ‘He did seem rather taken with you, didn’t he?’
‘There’s no need to sound so smug,’ Elizabeth snapped. ‘Quinn Taylor is certainly not my type!’
‘Because he sings for a living?’ her grandfather frowned. ‘Darling, the man is an artist, not some hack who can’t pitch a note!’
Elizabeth knew exactly who Quinn Taylor was, and what he was. The Lise Morrison part of her would never forget that he had taken to his bed the girlfriend of a man who had called him friend.
Or that he had once broken her heart.
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