Читать книгу To Marry Mcallister - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 9

BRICE cursed himself, for what had to be the hundredth time in a week, for the way he had behaved with Sabina last Tuesday.

He had already seen the fear and apprehension in her eyes at their first meeting, had realised she was inwardly like a startled fawn getting ready for flight, and yet some devil had driven him on to try and get a reaction from her, to taunt and mock her in an effort to get behind the cool façade she liked to present to the world at large.

But all he had succeeded in doing was totally alienating her.

Oh, it hadn’t resulted in her refusing to take his calls this time. She had taken all four of them—she had simply come up with a legitimate excuse for every suggestion he’d come up with for a second sitting!

And what had she left him with? She could spare him one hour this morning, but it would have to be at home. Probably with the quietly watchful Richard in attendance!

As he was only at the sketching stage, Brice hadn’t been able to come up with a good reason why he shouldn’t be the one to go to her home. But that didn’t mean he liked it…

Although he had to admit a few minutes later, when he was shown into the sitting-room where Sabina waited—alone—that she was much more relaxed in her own surroundings. In fact, she was the epitome of the gracious hostess, smiling at him politely as she offered him tea or coffee. Both of which he refused.

She looked the part too, in a cream silk blouse and pencil-slim black skirt, the latter finishing just above her knee, her hair gathered up in a neat chignon at the back of her head. Altogether, she looked nothing like the woman Brice wanted to capture on canvas!

‘Practising for domesticity?’ he drawled mockingly.

He had been determined to be totally professional today, to put Sabina at her ease. But somehow he couldn’t help himself; this new Sabina brought back that devil inside him even more strongly than the other one. She was playing a part, adopting a role—and Brice didn’t doubt for a moment that it was for his benefit. Only confirming for him that he really had struck a sensitive nerve with his behaviour the previous week!

She smiled across at him coolly. ‘You were right last week, Brice—being rude does seem to come naturally to you.’

Which was his cue to apologise. But he couldn’t do that, either. Something about this woman made him want to grip her by the shoulders and shake her, to see her laugh, or cry, to show some impulsive emotion. Which would probably result in him being thrown out of here on his ear!

He shrugged. ‘Merely being observant,’ he dismissed lightly. ‘I’m sorry, but your hair has to come down, at least,’ he added frowningly, having settled himself down in a chair with his notepad and pencil.

She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I’m going out to lunch immediately after this, and I won’t have time to redo my hair,’ she refused.

Brice bit back his irritation; she really was only giving him the hour! ‘You look as if you’re about to meet your bank manager,’ he rasped insultingly.

Sabina’s gaze didn’t waver from his for a moment, although there was, he thought, the briefest flare of anger in those deep blue depths.

‘My mother, actually,’ she drawled coolly.

Brice raised dark brows. ‘Her daughter is the most famous model in the world—and she likes you to look like this?’ He couldn’t hide his incredulity. And so much for his arrogance in assuming she had dressed in this way as a barrier against him!

Sabina bristled resentfully. ‘What’s wrong with the way I look?’

It would be easier—and quicker—to say what was right with it. Nothing! Oh, she looked elegant enough, but that hairstyle and those clothes took away all her personality. She certainly had none of the provocative beauty of the model Sabina at this moment.

‘My mother has lived in Scotland since my father died, so I only see her a couple of times a year,’ she told him defensively. ‘She’s rather—conventional, in her outlook,’ Sabina continued abruptly when he still didn’t reply.

Brice’s gaze narrowed. ‘In what way?’

Sabina shrugged. ‘She and my father were very career-minded, both teachers of history at university level. I don’t think they ever intended having children, but accidents happen.’ Sabina grimaced. ‘They were rather older than most parents when I was born, my mother forty-one, my father forty-six. Although I think my father coped with parenthood rather better than my mother did,’ she said frowningly. ‘But then, I suppose he didn’t have to put his own career on hold for five years, until I was old enough to go to school,’ she added fairly.

Considering this was the most Sabina had ever spoken to him, Brice could only think she had to be as nervous of this second sitting as he was.

‘You must have been rather a shock to them,’ Brice said ruefully.

In more ways than one. Suddenly being presented with a very young baby must have been shock enough, but how on earth had her aged parents coped with Sabina’s unmistakable beauty? She must have looked like an angel when she was a little girl.

‘Yes,’ she acknowledged wistfully. ‘It was a strange childhood,’ she admitted abruptly.

Probably a very lonely one too, Brice realised frowningly. Something he found difficult to contemplate. He had grown up in a young, fun-loving family, and when he hadn’t been with his parents he had been in Scotland, with his grandfather, and his two cousins, Logan and Fergus. He had never particularly thought about it before, but his own childhood couldn’t have been more perfect.

‘Which one of your parents do you take after?’ he probed interestedly, going carefully so as not to break the spell; he had a feeling that Sabina rarely spoke of her parents and her childhood, and that to draw her attention to it now would only result in her clamming up again.

Sabina gave the ghost of a smile. ‘My father.’ That smile faded almost as soon as it appeared. ‘He died five years ago,’ she added flatly.

And her mother had lived in Scotland since that time.

‘I’m sorry.’ And he was. Even from the little she had said, it was obvious Sabina had been much closer to her father than her mother.

And perhaps that closeness to her father, and his death five years ago, explained the reason for her engagement now to a man so much her senior?

Sabina shrugged. ‘He had been ill with cancer for some time; it was a welcome release for him.’ She spoke unemotionally. ‘But I’ve always regretted that he wasn’t there to see me get my own degree in history. Oh, yes, Brice—’ she smiled at his obviously surprised expression ‘—I went to university. I haven’t always been a full-time model,’ she added derisively, for his derogatory remarks about her chosen career the previous week.

And her derision was well deserved, Brice acknowledged inwardly. He had been scathing and rude about her career, without really knowing anything about this woman; no wonder she looked on him as an inconvenient intrusion!

Sabina’s humour faded, her expression becoming noncommittal once again. ‘My mother—obviously—is a great believer in further education for women, believes women should have as many choices in life as they can possibly achieve.’ Her mouth twisted ruefully. ‘I don’t think she’s too impressed with the fact that, for the moment, I’ve chosen modelling.’

‘But it is obviously by choice.’ Brice shrugged, frowning suddenly. ‘And if your mother is so conventional in her outlook, what does she make of your living here with Richard so openly?’

He hadn’t even finished saying the words before knowing he had just made a terrible mistake. And the truth of the matter was, he wasn’t interested in how Sabina’s mother felt about her living arrangements; he wanted to know the answer to this particular question himself.

Because he found the idea of Sabina sharing Richard Latham’s house, Richard Latham’s bed, completely unacceptable.

Sabina had stood up abruptly as soon as he’d asked the question, blue eyes blazing angrily across the room at him now. ‘You’re being extremely personal, Mr McAllister!’ she snapped, two bright spots of angry colour in her cheeks.

And her anger, Brice realised, wasn’t all directed towards him; she had also realised, having been drawn into an unguarded conversation about her parents, that she had actually left herself open to Brice’s overfamiliarity. And she was obviously furious with herself because of it.

Brice remained seated. ‘Talking of Richard…where is your fiancé today?’ he enquired mildly; he really had expected the other man to be here today. If only to keep an eye on one of his ‘priceless possessions’!