in?’
Logan shook his head. ‘Not right now. I think I should show—Mrs Derby where she and her son are going to sleep.’
‘That’s your son?’ Lisette asked Charlotte thoughtfully. ‘You must have been very young when he was born.’
Charlotte could do without questions like that. Equally, she could do without Logan showing her where she was going to sleep. ‘I—if there’s anything you would like me to do now—–’ she began hastily, only to be silenced by the look Logan cast in her direction.
‘Well—–’ Lisette started, but Logan broke in flatly: ‘Not tonight, Lisette. Mrs Derby’s had a long day. I think something to eat, a bath, and an early night is indicated, don’t you?’
Lisette shrugged, half sulkily, looking very like Philippe had done earlier. ‘What shall I give her to eat?’
‘I had Carlos take the liberty of providing Mrs Derby and her son with a ready-made meal earlier in the day,’ Logan stated evenly. ‘Relax, Lisette. Everything’s been taken care of.’
‘Except Philippe.’
‘What about Philippe?’
‘Have you forgotten the pin?’
‘No, I haven’t forgotten,’ Logan told her tolerantly. ‘The pin will make its reappearance, don’t worry. Just keep your eyes open for the next couple of days.’
Lisette pursed her lips and turned back to Charlotte, clearly not altogether suited by his proposal. ‘You’d better give Isabelle to me before she ruins your dress completely,’ she said, half sullenly.
‘It will wash,’ Charlotte reassured her, handing the child over with faint regret, and Lisette uttered an angry imprecation as Isabelle began to protest noisily.
‘Everything around here has to,’ she stated shortly, and marched back up the steps and into the bungalow, leaving Charlotte to face Logan alone.
He seemed rather preoccupied just then, his eyes intent on the two boys splashing in the shallows along the shoreline. Looking at him unobserved, Charlotte felt something uncurl and expand inside her, something that sent the blood more thickly along her veins and probed without sensitivity at her inflamed emotions. He was still the only man she had ever known to exude that aura of raw masculinity, and whether it was in a lounge suit or the revealing jeans he was presently wearing, the way he moved aroused feelings she had long forgotten. Had they really once been that close to one another? she asked herself incredulously. Had she lain beside him and ached for his possession, run her fingers over the smooth brown skin of his body and exulted in the trembling passion he had found impossible to control in her arms? Moisture prickled all along her spine, even though the air was much cooler now as the sun sank lower. Oh God, she thought wretchedly, it was more than eleven years ago. She must not think of that now!
Then Logan turned and encountered her eyes upon him, and his expression banished all traces of tremulous emotion. ‘Come with me!’ he commanded harshly, and she followed him obediently down the dusty slope to where a second bungalow was situated in the shade of a clump of gnarled coconut palms.
Shallow steps led up to a verandah, which ran right round the house and would no doubt give access to the beach from the other side, but Logan threw open the door leading into the living room, and Charlotte had, perforce, to follow him inside. He stood in the middle of the sparsely furnished room, with its chintzy upholstery and rug-strewn floor, a darkly malevolent accuser, and when the fugitive wind slammed the door behind her, she knew that the moment of truth had come.
‘Well, Charlotte,’ he said coldly, and she had to steel herself not to show her fear of him. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘Yes.’ The word came out squeakily higher than was normal, and she cleared her throat nervously.
‘You’ve changed,’ he went on critically. ‘You used not to be so sophisticated.’
‘I’m older, Logan,’ she answered, achieving a coolness she was far from feeling. ‘You—you’ve changed, too.’
‘Have I?’ His lips curled. ‘You married Derby.’ It was almost an accusation.
‘Yes.’ Again the single word stuck in her throat.
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ Charlotte stared at him lamely, reduced in a moment to trepidation again.
‘Yes, why?’ Logan demanded grimly. ‘A simple enough question, I should have thought.’
He would have thought … Charlotte’s teeth clattered together. If he only knew! But he mustn’t—he shouldn’t. She licked her dry lips. ‘Why do two people usually marry?’ she ventured faintly, and was shocked by the reaction this evoked.
‘Don’t pretend to me that you married Derby because there was any trace of emotion between you?’ he snarled savagely, coming close to her so that his breath was a searing draught of air against her forehead. She was a tall girl, five feet seven in her stockinged feet, but Logan had always towered over her. He did so now, the hard muscles of his legs almost brushing her skirt. ‘I was there, remember,’ he added. ‘I know how you regarded him, and it wasn’t in that way!’
‘Cir—circumstances—can alter cases,’ she began, but his angry imprecation silenced her.
‘Sure they can,’ he agreed contemptuously. ‘Particularly if the circumstances are governed by those pretty little pieces of paper with green backs!’
Charlotte gasped indignantly. ‘Are—are you implying that I—I married Matthew for his money?’
Logan’s lips twisted. ‘No, I’m not implying it, Charlotte. I’m stating it! What a pity the old man found out too soon and changed his will!’
Charlotte’s reaction was swift and instinctive. If she had stopped to consider what she was about to do, she might never have done it. But she didn’t think. Her hand moved almost of its own volition, connecting with Logan’s cheek with stinging accuracy.
For a moment he stared at her, his hand raised almost disbelievingly to the injury. And then he reacted as she had done, ruthlessly delivering a painful slap to the side of her face.
‘Mum!’
The door to the bungalow had opened without their becoming aware of it, and now Robert stood motionless in the doorway, staring at them through dazed, accusing eyes.
At once Logan turned aside from Charlotte, raking back his hair much as Robert himself might have done, confronting the boy with evident regret.
‘I’m sorry you had to see that, son,’ he said wearily, and her heart plunged at his casual use of the word that to him had no meaning. He glanced round at Charlotte, but she avoided his gaze, her eyes watering from the blow on her cheek. ‘Your mother and I—well, we had some unfinished business—–’
Charlotte had thought Robert’s immobility was due to fear or apprehension, but now she realised how wrong she had been. He was pale, it was true, but with anger, not alarm. Gathering his forces, he charged at the man who had so abused his mother, kicking and punching
