than she did. “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said. “I don’t climb into cars with strange men.”
A flicker of what might have been a smile twitched the corners of his mouth before he wrestled it back into its former severe line. “You haven’t known me long enough to label me ‘strange,’ Miss Talbot.”
“It’s ‘Ms.,’” she said. “And regardless of whatever label you care to hang around your neck, I’m not getting into a car with you. I’ll wait until Mr. Preston gets here.”
“Hugo isn’t coming.”
She’d been afraid of that. “Why not?”
“Because I persuaded him to stay at home.”
“And he always does as you tell him, does he?”
“Not as often as he should,” Sebastian Caine said bitterly. “If he did, you wouldn’t be here now and I wouldn’t be wasting my time carrying on this inane conversation. Let go of the damned luggage cart, for pity’s sake! I’m not about to abscond with it—or you, come to that. But I would like to load up and be out of here before the rush hour gets any worse.”
He’d referred to Hugo by his first name without any prompting from her. He’d known who she was. He wore a look of unimpeachable propriety. His clothes, his watch, even his haircut were expensive, and he no more resembled a kidnapper than she did a call girl. But appearances could be deceiving, as she’d learned to her considerable cost. “I’m not going anywhere with you until I’ve verified your identity with my father,” she said.
He stiffened and a grimace of aversion rolled over his face, as if her referring to Hugo as her father was an affront to decent society. Lips compressed in annoyance, he produced a cell phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, punched in a two-digit code and thrust the instrument at her. “Be my guest.”
She accepted it warily, still not entirely sure she ought to trust him. But a glance at the illuminated screen showed Hugo’s name and number.
“Will you for pity’s sake hit Send and get on with it,” Sebastian Caine snapped, noting her reluctance. “It’s a phone, not a bomb. It won’t explode in your hand.”
Hugo answered on the third ring. “I’m so glad you called, Lily,” he said. “There’s been a slight change in plan—an old back injury’s flared up to give me grief, so my stepson Sebastian’s meeting your flight and driving you up here. He’s about six foot three, dark haired, good-looking so the women tell me, and hard to miss even in a crowd.”
Add rude, arrogant and condescending, and the description would be complete, Lily thought. “We’ve met,” she said, glaring at Sebastian Caine and itching to wipe the smug expression off his face. “He’s standing in front of me, even as we speak.” Not to mention practically stealing the air I breathe!
“Excellent! Ask him if we should hold dinner for you.”
She did so, and could have been forgiven for thinking, from the way Sebastian commandeered the phone and hunched one shoulder away from her, that his answer conveyed information pertinent to national security. His voice carried loud and clear, though, as he said, “Hugo? Better not wait dinner for us. This afternoon’s meeting ran late and I’ve got one more call to make before I head back.”
Whatever Hugo replied had Sebastian casting her another of his disapproving looks. “I suppose so, if you like that sort of thing,” he eventually said, “but I can’t say I see any startling family resemblance. She could be anybody from anywhere.”
He made it sound as if she were something unwholesome he’d scraped off the sidewalk! If it weren’t that she had no more sense of direction than a drunken field mouse, she’d have dearly loved to rent her own car and tell him to stick his offer to drive her where it would lodge most uncomfortably. Instead she swallowed her pride and allowed him to hustle her and her baggage out to the parking area.
Practically sprinting to keep up with him as he plowed his way to where he’d left his car, she asked, “How long will it take to drive to Stentonbridge?”
“Normally around three hours. Today, because of the weather and delays, more like four or five.”
To say he sounded ticked off gave grim new meaning to the word understatement. “I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced on my account. I’d have been just as happy to take a train or bus.”
“None run from here to Stentonbridge and even if one did, Hugo wouldn’t hear of it.” His voice took on a derisive edge. “You’re the long-lost daughter returning to the fold, and he wants you welcomed in style.”
“It’s rather obvious you don’t share his enthusiasm.”
He spared her a brief, dismissive glance. “Why should I? Even if you’re who you claim you are—”
“There’s no even if about it,” she said. “I have documented proof.”
“Which has yet to be verified as authentic.” He swung the luggage cart to a halt behind a sports car as long, dark and sleekly handsome as its owner, popped open the trunk and started piling her bags inside. “You want any of this stuff in the front with you?”
“No.”
“Then since the door’s unlocked, climb in and get settled. I’m in a hurry.”
“Well, silly me!” she said sweetly. “Here I thought you were merely in training for a decathlon!”
He raised one winged brow and cast her a look that might have turned a more prudent woman to stone. “Don’t push your luck, Ms. Talbot. You’ve already tried my patience to the limit.”
“And how have I done that, Sebastian?”
His pinched nostrils told her exactly what he thought of such untoward familiarity. “You’re here, aren’t you?” he said. “Isn’t that enough?”
“But I’m not here to see you. In fact, crushing though it might be for you to hear this, I didn’t even know of your existence until ten minutes ago.”
“You raise an interesting question nonetheless,” he said, slamming closed the trunk and ushering her into the passenger seat with more haste than gallantry before sliding his rangy frame behind the steering wheel. “Why, after all this time, do you want to see Hugo?”
“He’s my father. What better reason is there?”
“But why now? If you’re telling the truth, he’s been your father all your life.”
“I didn’t know that until recently.”
“Precisely my point, Ms. Talbot. You’ve managed without him for the better part of twenty-six years. You’re well past the point where you need a guardian. There’s no emotional tie between you. So what’s the real reason you’re suddenly sniffing around?”
He made her sound like an ill-bred bloodhound. “It’s highly personal and not something I choose to share with a total stranger.”
“There are no secrets between Hugo and me.”
“Apparently there are,”
