as spurious as his smile.
‘Am I what?’ she asked politely, returning her fragile cup to its saucer. She gave him an enquiring look. ‘I fear you have me at a disadvantage, Mr—er—Lynch.’
Oliver Lynch’s thin lips parted. ‘I doubt that, ma’am,’ he countered, with equal formality. ‘The kid accused you of being frustrated. I wondered if you agreed.’
‘Did you?’ Fliss’s breath escaped with a rush. She didn’t believe it for a moment. ‘I don’t really think you expect me to answer that question.’ She glanced along the terrace and saw Robert’s mother watching them with undisguised hostility, and inwardly groaned. ‘Um—is this your first visit to England?’
‘No.’
He was non-committal, curiously pale eyes—wolf’s eyes, she decided imaginatively—assessing her appearance intently. Was he only trying to embarrass her? Or was he bored by their company, and eager for diversion? Whatever the prognosis, she wished he’d chosen someone else to practise on.
‘You’re an American,’ she observed now, striving for a neutral topic. ‘But you live in Hong Kong. Do you have business interests there, too?’
‘You could say that,’ he responded carelessly, and she immediately felt as if she was being unpardonably inquisitive. But, heavens, what was she supposed to say to a man who was so obviously out of her realm of experience? She had never considered herself particularly good at small talk, and his kind of verbal baiting left her feeling gauche.
‘Do you live in Sutton Magna, Miss Hayton?’ he asked after a moment, and Fliss was relieved he hadn’t made some other mocking comment. ‘Mandy says you’re going to marry Robert,’ he added, with a slight edge to his voice. ‘Is that right?’
Mandy ?
It took Fliss a second to realise he was talking about Mrs Hastings. She had never heard Amanda Hastings referred to as ‘Mandy’ before. ‘Um—yes,’ she answered hurriedly. ‘To both your questions. My father is the local clergyman. Maybe you and—your friend would like to visit the church while you’re here. It’s a Norman church, and parts of it date back to the twelfth century.’
‘I’m not a tourist, Miss Hayton.’ Oliver Lynch’s tone was vaguely hostile now, and Fliss wondered what she had said to annoy him. She had only been trying to make conversation. There was no need for him to be rude.
But her innate good manners wouldn’t allow her to put him in his place as she should, so ‘I’m sorry,’ she said courteously. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you were.’
Oliver Lynch’s eyes darkened, a curious phenomenon that caused the pupils to dilate and almost obscure the pale irises. ‘Forget it,’ he said, his low voice harsh and impatient. ‘I’m an ignorant bastard. I guess I’m not used to mixing in polite company.’
Now what was she supposed to make of that? Fliss’s tongue moved rather nervously over her upper lip. She wasn’t sure how to answer him, and she wished Robert’s mother would stop scowling at her and come to her rescue.
‘Er—let me get you some more tea, Mr Lynch,’ she ventured, relieved at the inspiration. ‘It really is a hot afternoon, and I’m sure you must be thirsty.’
‘I am,’ he agreed, his pupils resuming their normal size, and a humorous grin lifting the corners of his mouth. ‘But——’ he laid a hand on her bare arm as she would have got to her feet ‘—not for tea! If there’s a beer lying around here, I’ll take it. But not more of the lukewarm—stuff—I was offered earlier.’
Fliss jerked her arm back as if he’d burned her. And indeed, the sensation his hand had induced on her flesh was not unlike that description. His fingers, lean and hard and cool, had left an indelible imprint. So much so that, for a moment, she had hardly been aware of what he was saying.
Instead, she found herself wondering how it would feel to have his hands on her body; and not just her limbs, which were already melting at the thought. But on her waist; her hips; her breasts. She caught her breath. The idea that he might also touch her intimately was a fascinating prospect, and it took Robert’s voice to arouse her from the dangerous spiral of her thoughts.
‘I see you’ve introduced yourself to my fiancée, Lynch. What have you been saying to make her look so guilty?’
The American rose in one lithe easy movement, in no way daunted by the faint edge of animosity in the Englishman’s tone. ‘Oh—we were discussing the relative merits of tea, among other things,’ he replied, not altogether untruthfully. ‘As a stranger in your country, I’m not accustomed to the—customs.’
Robert seemed to realise there was something rather ambiguous about this statement, but short of asking what he meant outright there was little he could say. ‘Well, I hope Fliss has satisfied your curiosity,’ he remarked tightly. ‘Naturally, we’ll all do what we can to make your stay as pleasant as possible.’
Oliver Lynch’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, but there was genuine warmth in his voice as he replied, ‘Your fiancée has been most charming. I hope you appreciate her.’
‘Oh, I do.’ Even if Fliss had not been thinking of getting to her feet at that moment, she felt sure the possessive hand Robert placed about her arm would have achieved it. There was anger now, as well as proprietorial ownership, in the way he drew her up beside him, sliding his arm about her waist, as if to underline his claim. ‘Fliss is my one weakness,’ he said, though there was little leniency in his voice. ‘She can wrap me round her finger any time she likes.’ And, bending his head towards her, he bestowed a prolonged kiss on her startled mouth.
If Fliss hadn’t been embarrassed before, she was now, with Oliver Lynch’s pale eyes observing their every move. If it weren’t so fanciful she’d have said he knew what she was thinking. Though not what she’d thought before, please God, she prayed with some conviction.
‘You’re a very lucky man,’ Lynch remarked now, into the vacuum that Fliss felt was as visible as it was heard. If Robert had intended to disconcert the other man, he was going to be sadly disappointed. Oliver Lynch was only amused by her fiancé’s behaviour. Amused at, and slightly contemptuous of, his attempt to display possession.
‘BUT why do we have to have separate rooms?’ asked Rose Chen impatiently. ‘It’s not as if we have to keep our relationship a secret or anything. I know you’ve always insisted on keeping your own apartment in Hong Kong, but surely this is different? We are travelling together.’
‘I’ve told you: I need my own space,’ said Oliver shortly, growing tired of the argument they had been having since they booked into the hotel.
They were staying at the Moathouse in Market Risborough, which was the nearest town to Sutton Magna. The night before, Rose had stayed with her father’s agent in Fulham, and Oliver had occupied a room in a small hotel off Piccadilly.
Rose heaved a deep breath now. ‘Have I done something wrong?’ she demanded. ‘I thought our first meeting with the Hastingses went off rather well. At least they aren’t openly hostile. It was a brilliant idea of yours to make the first move so informal. They could hardly throw us out without
