raged, but let it go. ‘You’re a Forsyth, Francey,’ he reminded her gravely. ‘It’s to be expected you’ll receive a substantial fortune in your grandfather’s will. It’s not as though there isn’t plenty to go around. He was a billionaire many times over.’
‘A huge responsibility!’ There was a weight of feeling in her voice. ‘Too much money is a curse. Men who build up great fortunes make it extremely difficult for their heirs.’
She was thinking of her uncle Charles. So was Bryn. ‘I think there’s an old proverb, either Chinese or Persian, that says: “The larger a man’s roof, the more snow it collects.” Charles, God help him, has had a bad time of it. I can almost feel sorry for him. Frank treated him very unkindly from his earliest days. Charles never could measure up to his father’s standards of perfection.’
‘Such destructive behaviour,’ Francesca sighed, thinking that at least her uncle treated Carina, his only child, like a princess.
‘I agree. It was your father who inherited the brains and refused point-blank to toe the line. It took a lot of guts to do that. Charles has worked very hard, but sadly for him he doesn’t have what it takes to be the man at the top. Charles is just valued for his name.’
Unfortunately that was true. ‘Our name engenders a lot of hostility.’ She had felt that hostility herself. ‘It’s not all envy. The Macallan name, on the other hand, is greatly admired. Sir Theo was revered.’
‘A great philanthropist,’ Bryn said quietly, immensely proud of his grandfather.
‘And a great man. He had no black cloud hanging over him. I’ve never fully understood what my grandfather did to your family after Sir Theo died. No one speaks of it.’
‘And I’m not going to speak of it now, Francey,’ he said, severity back on him. ‘It’s a bad day for it anyway.’
‘I know. I know,’ she apologised. ‘But you haven’t put it behind you?’
‘Far from it.’ He suddenly turned his smooth dark head, so elegantly shaped. ‘You could be the enemy.’
She looked out of the window at the desert landscape that had come so wondrously alive. ‘You know I’m not.’ She loved him without limit. Always would.
He laughed briefly. ‘You’re certainly not typical of the Forsyths.’ She was the improbable angel in their midst.
Her next words were hard for her to say. ‘You hate us?’ It was very possible. She knew Lady Macallan had despised her grandfather with a passion. There had to be a story there.
A shadow moved across his handsome face. ‘I can’t hate you, Francey. How could you even think it?’
She sighed. ‘Besides, how could you hate me when you own half my soul?’ She spoke with intensity. But then, wasn’t that the way it always felt when she was with Bryn? The heightened perceptions, every nerve ending wired?
‘Do you believe it?’ He turned his dark head again to meet her eyes.
‘I wouldn’t be here without you, Bryn,’ she said, on a soft expelled breath. ‘I like to think we’re… friends.’
‘Well, we are,’ he replied, somewhat sardonically. ‘I want you to promise me something, Francey.’
Something in his tone alarmed her. ‘If I can,’ she answered warily.
‘You must,’ he clipped out, abruptly steering away from a red-glowing boulder that crouched like some mythical animal in the jungle of green gilt-tipped grasses. ‘If you’re worried or unsure about something, or if you need someone to talk to, I want you to contact me. Will you do that?’ There was a note of urgency in his voice.
‘I promise.’
He shot her a brilliant glance that affected her powerfully. ‘You mean that?’
‘Absolutely. I never break a promise. A promise is like a vow.’
‘So let’s shake on it.’ He hit the brake and brought the vehicle to a stop in the shade of a stand of bauhinias, the branches lavishly decorated with flowers of purest white and lime-green. ‘Give me your hand.’
On the instant her heart began fluttering wildly, as if a small bird was trapped in her chest. She was crazily off guard. She only hoped her face wasn’t betraying the turmoil within her. ‘Okay,’ she managed at last. She gave him her hand. Skin on skin. She had to fight hard to compose herself. Beneath her reserved façade she went in trepidation of Bryn Macallan and his power over her. So much so she feared to be alone with him, even though she spent countless hours wishing she were.
But how did one stop longing for what one so desperately longed for?
Bryn’s hand was gripping hers—not gently, but tightly. It was as though he wanted her to understand what her promise might mean in the days ahead.
To Francesca the intimacy was breathtaking. The heat in her blood wrapped her body like a shawl. Her limbs were melting, as though her body might collapse like a concertina. For glittering moments she accepted her deepest longings and desires. She was irrevocably in love with Bryn Macallan. She couldn’t remember a time she hadn’t been. It was the most important thing in her life. She was off her head, really. And it was so humiliating. Carina was the woman in Bryn’s life. She had to clamp down on the torment.
‘Where will it finally end, Francey?’ Bryn was asking quietly, not relinquishing her hand as she’d thought he would. ‘You know I mean to take over Titan?’
He waited in silence for her response. ‘I’m aware of your burning ambitions, Bryn,’ she said. ‘I know you want to put things right. I don’t know your secrets, and you won’t tell me, but I do know you would probably have the numbers to oust Uncle Charles.’
‘Without a doubt!’ Not the slightest flare of arrogance, just plain fact, though the muscles along his jaw clenched.
‘Grandfather’s dearest wish was for you and Carina to marry.’ She turned to look him squarely in the face. ‘To unite the two dynasties.’
‘I’m well aware of that,’ he answered, his tone suggesting her grandfather’s dearest wish didn’t come into it.
Or so she interpreted it. Was she wrong? ‘And it will happen?’
If for whatever reason the longed-for alliance didn’t eventuate, he knew Carina would become his enemy. He laughed, but there was little humour in it. ‘Why don’t you leave all that to me, Francey? My main concern at the moment is you.’
Heat started up in her veins. ‘Me?’ She was unable to find another word.
‘Yes, you. Don’t sound so surprised. I don’t see much of you. Certainly not as much as I’d like,’ Bryn continued as she remained silent. He firmed up his hold on her trembling hand, then—shockingly—raised it to his lips.
‘“Thus with a kiss I die.”’ he quoted lightly, but Francesca’s heart flipped in her breast.
It was easy to identify Romeo’s final line. What was Bryn thinking, saying that? It
