Читать книгу Tall, Dark & Gorgeous: To Marry McKenzie - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 8

HER father…!

Daniel Simon was Darcy’s father, and not the lover Logan had assumed him to be.

Apparently he had announced his intention to Darcy of marrying Margaret Fraser…

This was news to Logan, although he had an idea this could have been what Fergus had been intending to talk to him about earlier.

‘I realise you must find my attitude—selfish.’ Darcy began talking self-consciously. ‘I just—My mother only died just over a year ago,’ she explained in a sad voice. ‘They were married for twenty-eight years. Twenty-eight years! We were such a happy family, too. I just don’t see how my father can possibly believe himself in love with someone else after so short a time.’ She looked across at Logan pleadingly.

Her father.

Every time Darcy said that, Logan gave an inward wince about what he had believed to be her relationship with the chef. It was his own fault for making such an assumption, of course, although, to be fair to himself, Darcy had never told him her surname—and he hadn’t asked her for it, either—or addressed Daniel Simon as her father, or called him ‘Dad’!

Although, looking back, Logan could see she had never really stated they had any other sort of relationship, either; he had drawn his own conclusions about that. Completely erroneously, as it turned out!

The problem was, how did he now tell Darcy—?

‘I think I had better go,’ she said suddenly, her gaze not meeting his as he looked across at her. ‘I really have taken up enough of your time.’

‘Darcy!’ He moved to grasp her arm as she would have turned away, turning her slowly back to face him.

‘I know I’m being selfish!’ Those deep grey eyes were swimming with tears. ‘I just—I can’t even begin to think of that woman as my stepmother!’ she cried emotionally.

Logan pulled her gently into his arms, cradling her against his chest as the tears fell hotly down her cheeks.

He seemed to be making a habit of this! Not that he was complaining, exactly, he just didn’t like to see Darcy upset like this. Although, as far as his equilibrium went, it was probably preferable to her smiling at him.

Once again, in the taxi earlier, her smile had almost been his undoing. There was just something about Darcy’s smile that took his breath away…

Which was incredible in itself. She was right when she said she wasn’t in Margaret Fraser’s league when it came to looks. It was like comparing an exotic bird to a garden robin: the actress was flamboyant, completely unmissable, whereas Darcy—unless she smiled!—would be all too easy to overlook in a crowd. Although Logan had no doubts which woman he—and apparently his inner senses too!—preferred.

‘I know it’s not much consolation at the moment, Darcy—’ Logan stroked her back as the tears began to cease ‘—but I very much doubt that Margaret Fraser will ever be your stepmother!’

Darcy straightened, wiping away the tears. ‘My father is adamant that she will.’

Logan shook his head with distaste. ‘And I’m just as sure that she won’t.’

Grey eyes widened, eyes that were slightly red from crying. ‘But how can you be?’ Darcy swallowed hard.

He looked serious. ‘Believe me, Darcy, I—’ He broke off as the intercom buzzed beside the lift.

After the way the evening had been cut short at the restaurant earlier, his visitor was likely to be Fergus—and his cousin was the last person he wanted to see at the moment. Well…probably not the last person, he conceded; Margaret Fraser had to take that honour!

‘Shouldn’t you answer that?’ Darcy prompted as the buzzer sounded a second time, self-consciously wiping away all trace of her recent tears.

‘I should,’ he acknowledged reluctantly—because it was the last thing he wanted to do.

He needed time, and space, to talk to Darcy, to explain. But with Fergus waiting downstairs, now certainly wasn’t that time. Except Fergus, if allowed up here while Darcy was still here, was sure to say something he shouldn’t…!

‘Darcy, will you have lunch with me tomorrow?’ he found himself asking quickly.

She gave him a considering look. ‘What for?’

His brows rose impatiently. ‘Because I want to have lunch with you!’

‘Why?’

‘Good grief, woman, just say yes or no!’ he barked, annoyed at her delay.

‘If you’re only inviting me because you feel sorry for me—’ she began slowly.

‘I don’t feel sorry for you,’ he bit out tersely. At least…not yet. If Margaret Fraser ever did become her stepmother, then he might have reason to change his mind! ‘I just need to talk to you, okay?’ he stated firmly, knowing Fergus would be becoming fed up as he waited downstairs, having no doubt that Parker would already have told his cousin that he was at home!

She gave a half-smile. ‘Okay.’

‘Good,’ he said with relief. ‘Now I’m going to take you downstairs, put you into a taxi, and I would advise you to go to bed when you get home and have a good night’s sleep. As your mother told you, this won’t look so black tomorrow.’ Especially as Logan intended finding out exactly what was going on and doing something about this situation himself!

Darcy accompanied him into the lift. ‘It certainly couldn’t look any worse,’ she surmised.

Oh, it could, as Logan knew only too well, but not if it was handled correctly. And he intended to see that it was!

Fergus levelled a look of cold criticism at Logan, for keeping him waiting, as Logan stepped out of the lift with Darcy at his side.

‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ Logan told him as Fergus would have spoken, vaguely noting that Fergus did have the parcel from the restaurant with him. He could sort that out with Darcy tomorrow. ‘I’m just going to put Darcy into a taxi.’ He strode out of the building, Darcy held firmly at his side, before his cousin had a chance to make any sort of reply.

Darcy turned to him before getting into the back of the taxi. ‘You really have been very kind,’ she said almost shyly.

It wasn’t a characteristic too many people would apply to him, Logan thought wryly, but if that was how Darcy saw him, he wasn’t about to argue with her!

‘Lunch tomorrow,’ he reminded her economically. ‘Twelve-thirty. At Romaine’s. It’s—’

‘I know where it is,’ she assured him, reaching out to touch his arm. ‘And thank you once again.’

Logan stood and watched the taxi until it disappeared around the corner at the end of the road, his thoughtful expression turning to one of hard determination as he turned to walk back into his apartment building.

‘Nice-looking girl,’ Fergus remarked as he followed the glowering Logan into the lift.

Logan gave him a cold look. ‘She’s Daniel Simon’s daughter,’ he rasped. ‘But then you already knew that, didn’t you?’ he added accusingly as the two men stepped into his apartment, Logan striding straight over to the drinks tray to replenish his glass, taking a grateful sip before pouring another glassful for Fergus.

‘Thanks.’ Fergus took the glass. ‘Yes,’ he sighed, bending his long length into one of the armchairs. ‘I already knew that. This, apparently, is yours.’ He held up the parcel.

‘Thanks.’ Logan took it and put it on the side without further comment. Fergus didn’t have to know everything!

His cousin sipped the whisky. ‘I know we were practically brought up on this stuff, but I’m not sure we should be drinking it at the moment; neither of us has eaten much this evening!’

‘Come on.’ Logan came to a decision. ‘I’ll cook us both an omelette—and then you can bring me up to date with exactly what is going on!’

It only took a few minutes to prepare the omelettes and a salad to go with them, the two men shortly seated at the breakfast bar; Logan had lived on his own a long time now, was more than capable of feeding himself. And anyone else who happened to be here. On this occasion, it happened to be Fergus.

Except it didn’t really just happen to be Fergus…

He gave his cousin a sideways glance. ‘Am I right in supposing that your recent visit to Grandfather was because my mother is about to announce her engagement to restaurateur and chef, Daniel Simon?’

His mother.

Margaret Fraser.

Although it was hard to believe—he chose not to believe it himself most of the time!—the actress Margaret Fraser was his mother. She was also Fergus’s Aunt Meg.

With that cascade of dark hair, beautiful unlined face, youthfully slender body, Logan knew his mother didn’t look much older than himself. But she was, undeniably, his mother. He knew—because he had lived with the unpalatable fact long enough!

He had been dumbstruck earlier when Darcy had announced her father’s intention of marrying the beautiful actress. He and his mother had never been particularly close, but in the past his mother had at least told him—warned him?—when she’d intended either marrying or becoming engaged to someone. This time Logan had been taken completely unawares. Although he knew Darcy, innocent of the true facts, had misunderstood his silence. He intended explaining everything tomorrow when they met for lunch.

‘It was,’ Fergus confirmed with another sigh. ‘Apparently she told him of her plans when she visited him at the weekend.’

‘And, because the two of us have always been close, you were chosen to break the news to me,’ Logan guessed.

His cousin shrugged. ‘Ordinarily Aunt Meg would have told you herself. But in this case there seems to be a—complication.’

‘Darcy,’ Logan confirmed knowingly.

‘Darcy,’ Fergus confirmed flatly. ‘Apparently she isn’t too keen on Aunt Meg marrying into the family.’

‘I wouldn’t be too keen on having her marry into my family, either!’ Logan exclaimed.

Fergus turned to give him a considering look. ‘You know I’ve never tried to interfere in your relationship with Aunt Meg—’

‘Then don’t start now,’ Logan warned him softly.

‘I have no intention of doing so,’ his cousin assured him calmly.

Logan gave him a sceptical glance. ‘No?’

‘No,’ Fergus confirmed lightly, sipping the white wine Logan had opened to accompany their snack meal. ‘Firstly, because there’s no point; your feelings on that issue are your own business. Secondly,’ he continued as Logan would have spoken, ‘because I believe there is something of much more urgency for us to discuss.’

Logan raised dark brows. ‘Such as?’

‘Such as how you’re going to break it to Darcy that you’re Margaret Fraser’s son? Without her hating your guts when you’ve finished, I mean,’ Fergus added.

He had been wondering the same thing himself!

‘I am right in surmising Darcy doesn’t have a clue about that, aren’t I?’ Fergus mused.

‘Maybe if you hadn’t arrived here so precipitously—’

‘Don’t try and blame this situation on me.’ Fergus held up defensive hands.

Fergus was right; Logan knew that he was. He should have told Darcy the truth the moment she’d mentioned Margaret Fraser. But, if he had, he also knew that Darcy would have looked at him with the same dislike she had looked at his mother. And that wasn’t something he wanted from Darcy. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from her, but it certainly wasn’t for her to lump him in with the same antipathy she felt towards his mother.

He had less than twenty-four hours to think of a way of telling Darcy the truth—without the end result being, as Fergus had pointed out only too graphically, her hating his guts!

She was late.

She knew she was late. Almost fifteen minutes, to be exact. With any luck Logan would have tired of waiting for her to arrive and already have left! After the morning she had had, she didn’t feel up to this meeting, too!

She had taken Logan’s advice the evening before, going to bed shortly after getting in, amazingly falling asleep too, not even waking when her father had returned home at his usual one o’clock in the morning. She had been exhausted, of course, from all the emotional trauma of the last few days.

Not that she’d felt any better when she’d woken at nine o’clock this morning, knowing by the sound of the radio downstairs that her father had already been up. Margaret Fraser was sure to have told him of her own parting shot as she’d left the restaurant the evening before.

She had been right about that; her father was absolutely furious that Darcy had caused a scene in the restaurant of all places. Her reply, that scenes were what Margaret Fraser enjoyed the most, had not gone down too well, and the argument that had followed had been far from pretty. With the end result that Darcy had told her father exactly what he could do with his holiday job, and that she would be looking for a flat of her own later today.

Darcy still cringed when she thought of that argument; until the last couple of days she could never remember being at odds with her father about anything. As far as she was concerned, it was all Margaret Fraser’s fault!

But it was partly because of that argument with her father that she had been late changing into her figurefitting navy-blue dress in readiness for joining Logan for lunch. Partly…

Logan hadn’t left the restaurant!

She could easily see him as she entered the room, sitting at a window table. Very much as he had done last night. Except a lot had happened since she’d spoken to him at Chef Simon yesterday evening!

Logan was looking as arrogantly handsome as ever in a grey suit, and—unless she was mistaken—the white silk shirt she had sent to him yesterday…

He stood up as she was shown to the table, Darcy noting several female heads turning in their direction as he did so. No doubt those women had been wondering—as she had last night—who would be joining this attractive man for lunch; she doubted any of them had expected him to be interested in a mousy little thing like her!

Ordinarily they would be right…

‘Darcy!’ Logan greeted warmly now, indicating for the wine waiter to pour her some of the white wine he had obviously ordered while he’d waited for her to arrive. ‘Unless you have to work this afternoon?’ He quirked dark brows across the table at Darcy.

‘I am, at the moment, what I believe is known in acting circles as “resting”,’ Darcy answered brittlely.

Logan gave her a sharp look. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said dismissively.

‘Neither does my father,’ she scorned. ‘But I have a feeling, when he marries Margaret Fraser, that he will very quickly find out!’

‘Shouldn’t that be if he marries her?’ Logan replied hardly.

‘Not according to my father,’ Darcy muttered with remembered bitterness.

‘Presumably, by your earlier remark, you’re no longer working for him?’ Logan queried.

‘We’ve decided that a parting of the ways—in all areas of our lives—is probably for the best. Nice shirt,’ she added dryly, looking at the snowy white garment.

‘Damn the shirt,’ Logan came back. ‘No, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,’ he continued a little less fiercely. ‘It’s a beautiful shirt. And I don’t think I ever thanked you for it,’ he admitted awkwardly.

Perhaps he wasn’t a man who was used to accepting presents. Probably more used to giving them, Darcy decided.

‘You’re welcome.’ She nodded. ‘What made you change your mind about keeping it?’ she enquired as she picked up the menu and began looking down the food on offer.

‘The fact that you had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to get it for me,’ he said quietly.

‘I see.’

‘Darcy—’

‘Have you tried the lasagne here?’ She looked over the top of the menu at him. ‘I believe it’s supposed to be delicious.’

‘Darcy, I’m trying to talk to you,’ Logan said wearily.

She raised auburn brows. ‘I thought you invited me out to lunch?’

‘I did,’ he returned sharply. ‘Because we need to talk.’

‘And not eat,’ she replied understandingly, closing her menu and putting it down on the table-top. ‘Talk away,’ she invited.

Logan paused. ‘You seem different today somehow,’ he said eventually.

‘Do I?’ she returned in that same brittle voice. ‘Perhaps we should put that down to the fact that I’m a little—upset, that my father and I are no longer even speaking to each other because of his decision to marry a woman I can’t even begin to like!’

Her voice broke slightly over the last. To her inner annoyance. She was rather tired of appearing immature and emotional in front of this man. In fact, she was more than tired of it!

‘It will all sort itself out, Darcy,’ Logan told her gently, reaching out to put his hand over one of hers.

She looked across at him with cool grey eyes. ‘You seem very sure of that?’

‘I am.’

‘How can you be?’

His hand squeezed hers slightly. ‘Because I—’

‘May I take your order now, sir? Madam?’ The waiter stood expectantly beside their table.

‘No, you—’ Logan broke off his angry retort, drawing in a deep, controlling breath, before turning to Darcy. ‘Are you ready to order?’

She smiled up at the waiter to make up for Logan’s previous terseness. ‘Lasagne and a green salad, please,’ she ordered—but wasn’t absolutely sure she would be around long enough to eat it!

‘I’ll have the same,’ Logan announced.

‘Would you like any water with your meal—?’

‘No, we wouldn’t,’ Logan interrupted the man gratingly, glaring up at him with icy blue eyes.

‘Thank you.’ Darcy smiled up at the young man again, receiving a grateful grin in return before he left in the direction of the kitchen.

Logan removed his hand abruptly from covering hers. ‘I realise that until a few hours ago you were a waitress yourself,’ he said harshly. ‘But do you have to be so friendly with the staff?’

Hurt flared in her eyes at the unwarranted rebuke, making them appear almost silver. ‘Good manners cost you nothing, Logan,’ she returned briskly. ‘Besides, why should I ruin his day, just because mine isn’t turning out to be so brilliant?’

‘Thanks,’ Logan said sarcastically.

Darcy sighed. Why was she even bothering to go through with this? Because she was still angry? Or because she wanted to see just how far Logan was willing to go in this charade? The latter, probably, she acknowledged heavily. But this whole situation was grating on her already frayed emotions.

‘Logan, exactly what is it you want from me?’ she demanded suddenly, giving up all pretence now of this being a pleasant lunch together. Not that it had ever been that in the first place—on either side!

Logan looked startled by the question, eyeing her warily. ‘What do you mean?’

She pursed her lips, her expression scathing. ‘Stop treating me like an idiot, Logan,’ she bit out disgustedly. ‘I mean, what do you, Margaret Fraser’s son, want from me?’ she challenged, her eyes gleaming silver once again.

She hadn’t been able to believe it this morning when, in the heat of their argument, her father had told her exactly who and what Logan McKenzie was, demanding to know what the two of them were plotting together.

At the time, she had even been too numbed by her father’s revelation to defend herself properly against those accusations…

Logan McKenzie was the son of that—that woman?

Incredible as it seemed to her, it appeared that was exactly what he was. The actress looked barely in her thirties herself, and yet she had a son aged in his mid-thirties. And her son was Logan McKenzie…

Darcy had thought him so understanding yesterday evening. Hey, she had even thanked him for being so kind to her!

He had kissed her too. Worse, she had kissed him back…!

But she now realised Logan had had his own reasons for being so nice to her, and those reasons involved his mother!

She felt so stupid now when she thought of all she had said to him, all the things she had confided in him.

But most of all, she was angry. Furiously so. Which was the reason she had decided to continue with the arrangement of meeting Logan for lunch today; she wanted the pleasure of telling him to his face exactly what she thought of him!

‘Well?’ she challenged again at his continued silence, her expression mutinous.

He drew in a ragged breath. ‘I’m not sure I know what to say…’ he finally admitted.

Darcy bridled. ‘An apology might not be amiss! What on earth you hoped to achieve by not telling me the truth from the beginning, I have no idea, but I can assure you that whatever it was you have failed miserably; nothing you could do or say would ever convince me to accept your mother marrying my father!’

She was breathing hard in her agitation, more angry with Logan McKenzie now than she was with her father. At least her father had been honest with her.

Logan frowned darkly. ‘Let me assure you, Darcy,’ he began, ‘I am no more enamoured by the idea of the two of them marrying than you are. Until you told me about their plans, I had no idea it was even a possibility!’

She didn’t believe him. He had to be fighting his mother’s corner. Besides, if what he claimed were really the case, once he’d become aware of the engagement, aware of her own aversion to the relationship, he had had plenty of opportunity to tell her the truth about his own relationship to Margaret Fraser. If he had wanted to. Which he obviously hadn’t.

Although, she did remember he had assured her that he didn’t believe any marriage between the older couple would ever take place…

‘My father, a mere restaurant owner, isn’t good enough for your mother, is that it?’ she retorted as the idea suddenly occurred to her, remembering that painting on the wall in Logan’s apartment of the castle that was the Scottish family home. The home where Margaret Fraser had probably been brought up.

Logan waved the waiter away impatiently as the young man would have brought their meals to the table. ‘Darcy—’

‘That is it, isn’t it?’ she accused incredulously as the idea began to take hold. ‘Exactly who do you think you are? More to the point, who do you think your mother is? Because from where I’m standing, she’s nothing more than a—’

‘Darcy!’ Logan’s voice was icily cold now, his expression glacial. ‘There’s nothing you could say about my mother that I haven’t already said or thought of her myself. But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to sit quietly by while someone else is rude and insulting about her!’

Darcy glared at him. ‘In that case, you must spend most of your life getting into fights or arguing with people; I haven’t met a single person yet with a nice thing to say about your mother!’

Logan’s mouth twisted. ‘Except your father, of course.’

‘He’s just besotted,’ she defended. ‘Knocked off his feet by the glamour that surrounds her.’ She shook her head. ‘I just hope he comes to his senses before he does something stupid—like marrying her!’

‘Oh, he will,’ Logan said grimly.

Darcy’s eyes gleamed angrily. ‘Because you intend seeing that he does,’ she guessed. ‘I don’t know which one of you I despise more—you or your mother!’

Logan’s throat moved convulsively. Whether from anger or some other emotion, Darcy couldn’t tell. And she didn’t particularly care, either.

‘I’ve had enough of this.’ She threw her unused napkin on the table before bending down to pick up her bag. ‘Enjoy your meal, Logan—both portions of it!’ She stood up to leave.

Logan’s hand snaked out and grasped her painfully around the wrist as she would have walked away, looking up at her with darkened blue eyes. ‘Darcy, I’m on your side—’

‘I don’t have a side, Logan,’ she assured him contemptuously. ‘Thanks to you and your mother, I don’t even have a home any more, either!’ Her voice broke slightly as she realised the truth of her words.

She mustn’t cry. She would not give Logan the satisfaction of seeing her cry again. As far as she was concerned she never wanted to set eyes on Logan, or his mother, ever again!

‘Let me go, Logan,’ she ordered coldly, looking down to where his fingers encircled the slenderness of her wrist.

‘And if I don’t?’ he challenged softly.

Her eyes returned slowly to the harsh arrogance of his face, her chin rising defiantly. ‘Then I’ll be forced to kick you in the shin,’ she told him with determination.

Darcy watched as some of the harshness left his face, to be replaced by what looked to her suspiciously like amusement. No doubt at what he considered to be the childishness of her claim, she realised.

It was the spur Darcy needed to carry out her threat, lifting her leg back before kicking forward with all the impotent rage that burned inside her, the pointed toe of her shoe making painful contact with Logan’s shin bone.

She knew it was painful—because of the way Logan cried out in surprise at the agony shooting up his leg!

But it had the desired effect; he let go of her wrist, to move his hand instinctively to his hurting shin.

‘Goodbye, Logan,’ Darcy told him with a pert smile of satisfaction, before turning on her heel and walking out through the restaurant, totally unconcerned with the curious looks that were being directed towards her, the confrontation not having passed unnoticed. Which wasn’t surprising, when Logan had actually yelled out his pain!

Her feelings of defiant satisfaction lasted until she got outside. They even lasted while she flagged down a taxi and got inside. It was only when the driver asked her where she wanted to go that her feelings of self-satisfied anger deflated.

Because, as of this morning, when she had told her father she was moving out of their home, she had nowhere to go…