she was not going to be influenced by such anti-female tactics. And anyway, Jaime was not anti-women, not trying to prove some superior male psychology. It was her he despised. She had seen that plainly enough in his eyes. But why?
Warily she followed him into the cool tiled hall. The shutters had been closed to keep out the strong heat of the sun and, momentarily blinded, she missed her step and grabbed instinctively at his arm.
Beneath his shirt sleeve his muscle were hard and rigid, his flesh warm and dry. Her fingertips seemed acutely sensitive all of a sudden, relaying to her his abhorrence of her touch. Even so, he courteously helped her regain her balance.
Perhaps it was the way she looked that he didn’t like, Shelley pondered as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Perhaps… Abruptly she curtailed her thoughts. What did it matter why he didn’t like her? She had come here for one purpose, and that was to discover the father she had never known she had. Her inheritance from him, whatever it might be, was of secondary and very little importance. She had no assets in the sense that her stepbrother would consider such matters, but she had a well-paid job and had supported herself virtually from the moment she went to Oxford. She liked and felt proud of her financial independence, and whatever her father left would be cherished because he had been the donor, because he had after all cared about her and loved her, rather than for its monetary value.
Several doors gave off the hallway. As he showed her into one of them, Jaime explained that the main part of the house was built round an open courtyard and that most of the rooms overlooked this cool oasis.
‘Through the years more rooms and smaller courtyards have been built on to suit the family’s needs. In Portugal it is the custom for several generations to share a home. This house passed to me from my father when I attained my majority, but naturally my mother and sister make their home with me.’
‘And my father…’
There was a small pause and then he said coolly,
‘He too lived here sometimes, although he had preferred his own house, which is on the coast.’
The note of restraint in his voice made Shelley frown. ‘This house…’
‘I appreciate how anxious you are to discover your father’s financial standing, Miss Howard,’ Jaime broke in harshly, making it plain that although he had given her permission to use his first name he preferred to maintain a cool distance between them by not using hers. ‘But these matters are best discussed with the advogado in Lisbon. I have arranged that he will call here tomorrow to discuss with you all the matters appertaining your father’s will—and now, if you will excuse me, I will get one of the maids to show you to your room. She will bring you some refreshment. We dine earlier here than in Spain, normally about eight in the evening. Again, Luisa will tell you.’
Already he was turning away from her, and incredibly, Shelley realised he intended to walk out and leave her.
Anger battled with trepidation. It was galling to discover how little she wanted to be left alone in this alien environment, no matter how attractive it might be, and no matter how unwelcoming her host.
‘Your mother and sister…’
‘They are out shopping at the moment, but will return in time for dinner.’
He saw her face and smiled cruelly. ‘What is wrong? Surely you cannot have expected to be greeted with a fatted calf? I must say that I admire your…courage, Miss Howard. It is not every child who would only condescend to visit the home of its father in such a blatant quest for financial gain. When I think of his attempts to contact you…his grief…’ He swallowed hard, and over and above her shock at his obvious misconception of her motives, once again Shelley had the impression of intense anger being held tautly in control. ‘No, you are not welcome in my home,’ he continued, ‘and nor shall I pretend that you are. For the love and respect I had for your father I am willing to see that his wishes are carried out. My mother is not here to greet you because she is still suffering desperately from her loss. Your father was the most important person in her life. Why didn’t you come before…while he was still alive? Or was it your inheritance that drew you here and not the man?’
He threw the question at her harshly, but she was too shocked to formulate an answer. Turning on his heel, he left the room abruptly.
Standing in the shadows, Shelley shivered. So now she knew the reason for his contempt. He thought… She took a deep, steadying breath, wondering if she could call him back and tell him the truth, but somehow it seemed to be too much effort. Incredibly, she felt as weak and shaky as though she had just gone through an intense physical and emotional ordeal. She felt almost bruised both inwardly and outwardly.
She would have given anything to drive away from the quinta and never return, but she owed it to her father’s memory to stay. Seen from her stepbrother’s viewpoint, perhaps he and his family had good reason to think the way they did, but surely they might have given her the benefit of the doubt; might have waited, and not pre-judged. The stubborn pride she had inherited from her grandmother urged her to leave now and ignore her father’s bequest, but she had come too far, gone through too much to leave now without accomplishing her mission.
She had come to Portugal with a purpose, and that purpose was to learn about the father that she had not known she had until recently; she was not going to allow her arrogant, judgemental stepbrother or his family to stop her. They could think what they liked of her, but she intended to make it clear to them that it wasn’t avarice that had brought her to their home, unless a desire to learn about the man who had been her father could be classified as a form of greed.
So silently that she almost made her jump, a young girl came into the room.
‘I am Luisa,’ she informed Shelley with a charming accent. ‘I show you to your room, sim… Yes?’
‘Yes, please.’
BY accident rather than design, Shelley didn’t make it to the dinner table at eight o’clock. Instead, it was gone ten when she finally surfaced from a deep but unrestful sleep. The brief span of time it took for her to recognise her surroundings was accompanied by a downward lurch of her stomach and a sense of growing despondency.
She had come to Portugal with such high hopes, and foolishly romantic ones, she realised now, ruthlessly exposing to her own self-criticism the folly of her ridiculous longings for a family of her own—the sort of family that comprised brothers and sisters, aunts, uncles and cousins, the sort of family she had heard colleagues bemoan times without number, the sort of family, she had told herself staunchly when her grandmother died, that she did not need.
Dreams took a long time to die, she recognised emptily, but last night hers finally had. She was not welcome here in Portugal. Even once the misconceptions surrounding her reasons for coming to Portugal were sorted out, she would still not be welcome. Her pride demanded that she didn’t leave the quinta until she had made it plain to Jaime exactly why she had come, but her pride also demanded that no matter what apology he might make, no matter how he might seek to make amends for misjudging her, she would hold him at a distance.
He wasn’t what she had wanted in a stepbrother anyway. It was impossible for her to ever envisage him in a brotherly role. That overwhelming aura of sexual magnetism of his would always be something she was far too much aware of. She shivered a little, goosebumps forming on her flesh as she remembered the contemptuous
