Читать книгу Secret Courtship - Grace Green, Grace Green - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

“NICK...?”

“Mmm?” Nicholas Diamond looked up from his desk as his sister, tying the belt of her maternity dressing-gown around her bulky waist, came into his study. “Good lord, Sally—” he glanced at his watch “—I thought you went to bed ages ago. It’s after midnight, honey—should you be—?”

“I was in bed. I woke up a few minutes ago and had to go to the bathroom...” Sally Peterson paused, nibbling her lower lip worriedly, and Nick raised his eyebrows.

“Not edgy, are you, without James? But that’s why I suggested you come and stay here while he’s away! I know what a Nervous Nellie you are—”

“I think someone has broken in next door.”

“At Sweet Briar?” Nick frowned. “Who on earth would want to break in there? Surely there’d be nothing worth stealing in that old cottage.”

“Nevertheless, when I passed by my bedroom window the moon slipped out from behind the clouds for just a moment, and when I looked into the back garden I could have sworn the patio doors were open. Wide open.”

“Probably a trick of the light.” Nick glanced at the work on his desk. He really had to get these figures worked out before the meeting with his lawyer in the morning. “Don’t you think you should just go back to bed and-?”

“Nicholas, if—as you suggest—there’s nothing worth stealing there, won’t the burglar decide to try somewhere else?” She stared at him meaningfully. Like here, was the implication.

With a resigned sigh, Nicholas pushed back his chair. “Okay. James has left you in my care, so I’ll go and scout around.” He glowered at her teasingly. “But if I’m not back in half an hour, phone 911.”

“Thanks, Nicky.”

“Now, you scoot off to bed. The babes asleep?”

“Mmm, sound. Lucky, aren’t they, to be too young to worry about burglars and break-ins and murders and—?”

Nicholas touched a finger to her lips. “Enough,” he said softly. “This house, as you well know, has a very sophisticated alarm system. I’m going to investigate only to put your mind at rest.” He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her from the room. “Off you go to bed now, and stop worrying. I’ve got everything under control.”

Good Lord, Nick thought a few minutes later, Sally was right.

Stealthily he moved across Sweet Briar’s back patio toward the cottage’s French doors—which were, indeed, open. Just as he got there, however, a cloud floated over the moon, plunging him into darkness. Cursing under his breath, he glided through the doorway, straining to pick up any sounds, but the only noises came from outside—the rustle of the breeze in the bushes, the hum of traffic from the highway below, the distant bark of a dog.

So intent was he in his listening that he stepped forward too carelessly, and his foot caught against a soft, bulky object on the floor. With a startled exclamation he pitched forward, to sprawl over a heavy, upholstered piece of furniture.. In all probability, he decided, a couch. The sound had jerked from his throat before he could stifle it, and as it echoed in the night-hush he grimaced.

At that moment the moon slid from behind the cloud, and as he straightened he saw, on the couch, hiding beneath an afghan, the figure of a youth. Sally’s burglar. He must, Nick surmised, have heard him coming and darted for cover... And the object he, Nick, had tripped over in the doorway was probably the bag used for the booty.

Thieving little punk!

“Get up!” Nick’s snarled command reverberated back from the walls of the room, and as it did the figure jerked spasmodically, a white face appeared above the blanket, and a pair of dark eyes gleamed up at him in fright.

Laura had thought, when she’d heard the harsh voice, that she must be dreaming. But as her eyes flew open, and she flinched back from the huge figure looming threateningly over her, she smelled the scents of summer dust, firewood and lavender, and knew that she wasn’t dreaming after all.

She was at Sweet Briar. She had lain down on the sofa and must have fallen into a deep sleep—a sleep that had lasted for hours. She could see moonlight filtering in through the windows, silvering the walls and furniture... and outlining the wide-shouldered frame of the man poised over her, his back to the door, his face shadowed.

“Get up!” The stranger barked out the command again. “And watch how you move, you thieving little lowlife... I pack a mean punch!”

Laura cringed as he made a sweeping gesture in her direction, but even as the breath caught in her throat she realized that he wasn’t going to hit her. All he meant to do was snatch up the crocheted blanket half covering her... which he proceeded to do before flinging it away to the floor. The movement swiveled him sideways for just a second, and during that fleeting second his profile was painted ink-black against the silver light from the moon...

And, during that fleeting second, the sight of him, and the sound of his harsh voice echoing in her ears, came together in Laura’s mind with the firm, undeniable click of computerized facts meshing into place.

This man was no stranger.

Slowly she uncurled herself from the fetal position she’d adopted while she slept. What Nicholas Diamond was doing here she wasn’t sure, but it seemed as if the man was quite mad. He thought she was the intruder, not he; and he was in no mood to listen to her explanations.

The sooner she got out of his way the better.

At that moment a cloud floated across the moon, and the room became instantly as black as pitch. Rolling off the sofa, she moved furtively, with her breath sucked into her throat, toward the French doors. If she could get outside, she could hide in the garden till-A rough hand grasped her arm, making her gasp. “Trying to get away?” The voice rasped in her ears mockingly. “Too bad you didn’t eat your carrots when you were a boy—you’d be better able to see in the dark!”

Laura resisted the urge to try to tug her arm free, knowing full well that his grip was inescapable. “Look, you—” her voice was breathless but cold “—I don’t know who you think I am, or what you think I’m doing here, but my name is Laura Grant and this cottage belongs to me. Now, if it’s not asking too much, would you please let me go?” She noticed with grim pleasure that his grasp had slackened at her words, and she jerked her arm free. “And get out of my house!”

For a moment that seemed to stretch forever there was silence in the room, punctuated only by Laura’s rough, erratic breathing. Finally, when she’d thought the man was never going to respond to her words, he said, in a voice that was husky and edged with self-deprecatory humor, “Miss Grant, please accept my apologies. I thought that—”

“I’m not the least interested in your apologies,” she snapped, “and I am even less interested in your thoughts. All I want is for you to leave, and to keep out of my way so I need never set eyes on you again. Do you think,” she added sarcastically, “that you could possibly arrange that?”

“If you really are the new owner of Sweet Briar, then I’m afraid that’s something I can’t promise to arrange.”

“And why not?” she demanded icily.

“Because,” he replied, “I am your next door neighbor. And you and I shall probably be seeing a great deal of each other in the future ... whether you like it or not.”

She heard him walking toward the French doors, and then she heard a scuffling sound, and realized that he must be pushing her backpack into the room. A second later she heard the sharp click as he pushed the French doors into place, and then, as the cloud slid past the moon and once again the garden was painted in silver, she saw him walk by the windows, his hands rammed into the pockets of his jeans.

And she also saw, with a flare of anger and resentment, that his lips were slanted in a smile.

Amazingly, she slept again after he’d left.

She hadn’t expected to. The encounter had left her trembling with frustration, and she had curled up on the couch again—promising herself that she’d get up and make some coffee once she’d stopped shaking—and next thing she knew, sunshine was tickling her eyelids, inviting her to waken up. When she looked at her watch, she saw that it was nine o’clock.

She stretched and yawned... and her stomach gave a plaintive rumble. Getting up, she scooped her backpack from the carpet and made for the bathroom.

She gave herself a cursory wash, deciding to have a shower later, after she had done some preliminary cleaning. In the meantime, after brushing it, she fashioned her hair in a ponytail and tethered it with a leather thong.

About to turn away, she stopped to examine her reflection in the fly-spotted mirror above the sink. Lord, what a wan, unattractive creature she was. Not only was her long brown hair limp, it had no highlights; her skin, though flawless and clear, as it had been all her life, was pale, and drawn too tightly across her neat, straight nose and high cheekbones. Even her lips were pale. And as for her eyes... She shook her head; her eyes-blue as the Nordic sky under which her maternal ancestors had been born—were dulled and flat, mirroring the soul they windowed.

She sighed wistfully as she tucked the tail of her beige shirt into the waistband of her jeans. Where had she gone, that vivacious teenager who had been whirled into a “fairytale” marriage by one of Toronto’s most eligible bachelors? Was she lost forever? Or was she still there-somewhere?

She paused, her hand on the doorhandle, as an odd thought flew into her head. She had decided, after Jason’s death, that she would revert to her maiden name—Laura Grant. Why, then, last night, had it been on the tip of her tongue to tell Nicholas Diamond that her name was Mrs Thorne? Was it because she’d felt she had needed protection from him, and had thought she’d be safe if he believed her to be married? But safe from what?

Oh, it was too early in the day to be puzzling about such abstract problems! Pulling open the bathroom door, she made her way to the kitchen.

It was a small, cozy room, with white walls, green linoleum, birch-veneered cupboards and ancient avocado appliances. The window faced east, toward the forest, and Laura could see the sun peeping over the jagged silhouette of the treetops. The sky was cloudless, and a pale gray-blue. Later in the day she would walk among the trees—the first, she hoped, of many, many such walks.

A coffee-maker stood on the formica countertop, and, after rinsing it out, Laura opened the package of freshly ground coffee-beans she’d brought with her. Within minutes the air was scented by the aroma of the filtering brew.

As it dripped into the pot Laura took a small loaf from her backpack, and moments later the smell of toasting bread was added to the fragrance of the coffee. Humming under her breath, she energetically wiped off the surface of the table, the countertop and one of the chairs. By the time she had cleaned them to her satisfaction her breakfast was ready, but she had just sat down, and was savoring her first sip of coffee, when she heard the doorbell chime.

She blinked. Who on earth could be coming to call? No one but Nicholas Diamond and Marvin Twigg, the estate lawyer who now handled her affairs, knew she had moved in.

Putting her mug down on the table, she got up and walked through to the hall. The front door was oak, with a window at eye-level-a window veiled with a lace curtain.

Through the curtain she could see that the person outside was a striking brunette, with strong, attractive features and curly black hair tumbling to her shoulders.

Laura unlocked the door and pulled it slightly open, and as she peeped around the edge she saw immediately that the stranger was pregnant. Very pregnant. Her maternity dress billowed out around her like a vast scarlet tent.

“Yes?” Laura’s voice was wary.

The woman’s gray eyes were friendly, her smile pleasant but rueful. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Sally Peterson from next door. I’ve ... come to apologize about last night.”

Laura shifted her weight to the other foot, and waited for the woman to go on.

“You see,” Sally explained, “what happened was all my fault. I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I saw your patio doors were open I thought someone had broken in, so I asked Nick to go over and have a look.” She grimaced. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”

This pleasant, friendly woman lived with Nicholas Diamond? Their surnames were different, so they weren’t married... Or maybe they were. It wasn’t uncommon for a woman, nowadays, to cling to her maiden name instead of assuming the surname of the man she had married. And she was expecting a child. His child, of course. She couldn’t imagine a man like Nick Diamond tolerating any other kind of situation. But the woman seemed so nice; why on earth would she have let herself get involved with a tyrant such as—?

“He’s my brother. My twin, actually. Nicky, I mean.”

She was his sister, not his wife. Laura was taken aback by the odd little quiver that trembled through her heart as the other woman imparted the piece of information. What on earth did it matter to her if Nicholas Diamond was married or not? And just because this woman wasn’t married to him, it didn’t mean that some other woman wasn’t ...

Good Lord, her mind was driveling on as if it assumed she had some interest in the man! Perhaps she was still suffering from jet lag; that could be the only explanation.

She realized, suddenly, that the woman was staring at her, waiting. Waiting for what? Had she spoken?

“Er ... sorry,” Laura murmured. “Did you ...?”

“If you’ve just moved in, you’re probably going to be busy cleaning this morning, but ... in the afternoon, would you like to come next door for awhile? Nick has a pool, and we could have a swim, or just have a coffee and chat.”

Laura had thought it would be easy to slip into her new home-easy to keep to herself, easy to avoid getting involved with neighbors. She had reckoned without meeting such a friendly, open person as this Sally Peterson.

“Thanks, but i...er...have to go out this afternoon.”

“Some other time, then.” Sally’s smile was cheery. “Give me a call when you’re free—the number’s in the book. Nick’s number, that is. I’m not getting around much—my baby’s due in three weeks—so I’d really appreciate some company. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” She turned to go, and then swiveled back. “I almost forgot—” she held out a paper bag “—these are for you. Some blueberry muffins—they’re still warm from the oven.”

After a brief hesitation, Laura took the bag. “Thanks,” she said, and for the first time managed a smile. “Thanks very much.” And, with that, she withdrew into the cottage again, and locked the door.

When Laura had flown to Vancouver, she had left behind-in the triple garage of her Toronto suburban house—her cream Volvo, Jason’s scarlet Ferrari and the antique silver Rolls that had been kept for attending special functions. She could have had one of those vehicles delivered to her at Sweet Briar, but she wanted to get back to basics—wanted a simple home and a simple way of life... And, for the moment anyway, that included a simple mode of transportation.

Curled up on the windowseat in the living-room just before noon, Laura stared out at the back garden. She had spent the morning scouring the kitchen, until every surface, every corner was gleaming. Now, nibbling the last crumbs of one of Sally’s muffins, she thought about the things she needed to buy when she went shopping.

First on the list was a bicycle.

Notebook on her lap, she tapped her pencil against her teeth, remembering that on the way to Juniper Ridge in the cab she had noticed a village at the foot of the hill; perhaps she would find a cycle shop there. She started to scribble out her list, starting with the bike and adding enough items of food to keep her going for several days.

When she’d finished, she stretched lazily and smiled. Before she went shopping—before she even showered and changed—there was something she was going to do... somewhere she was going to go. A treat she’d promised herself, as a reward for her morning of hard work.

Standing up, she stuffed her list in the pocket of her jeans before taking her empty plate to the kitchen.

Then, anticipation sparkling up inside her like a sunburst of champagne bubbles, she made for the front door.

KEEP OUT

TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED

Laura stared disbelievingly at the sign nailed to the narrow gate at the forest entrance. Who on earth had put it there? And how long had it been there? When she’d spent that summer at Sweet Briar, there had certainly been no such sign. The forest had been there for everyone to enjoy.

Disappointment surged through her like sour bile. Everything, she decided bitterly, had changed. First, the old cottages had been razed to the ground; secondly, the back garden at Sweet Briar was no longer private; and now the forest was forbidden to her. Fighting a sudden welling of tears, she slumped against the gatepost.

At least the cottage itself remained unchanged. And for that she was profoundly thankful. But, instead of its being in its original jewel-like setting, it was as if the small house was the last survivor in a now unfamiliar world. She felt as though she was the last survivor in an unfamiliar world ...

“Excuse me!”

She hadn’t heard anyone approaching from the forest path. Now, as she jerked away from the post, she became aware of a man just a step away, waiting to get by. The man—for just a second she hadn’t recognized him, and then her heartbeats thundered with the intensity of galloping hooves on sun-baked turf—was Nicholas Diamond.

He was wearing an icy-gray shirt with the sleeves loosely rolled back over his forearms, a striped light gray and navy tie and a pair of navy suit trousers that snugly followed the contours of his thighs and narrowed to a pair of highly polished shoes... And over his shoulder, slung by a thumb, was his suit jacket—that he was carrying it that way was, she noticed bleakly, the only casual thing about him. Had he been wearing the jacket, he would have looked as if he’d stepped straight from the cover of a fat and glossy business magazine.

She realized that his original detached expression had given way to a frown.

“Aren’t you the young woman who was walking in the middle of the road yesterday?” Censure edged his tone. He opened the gate as he spoke, walked through and clicked it shut behind him, his critical gaze never leaving her.

“Aren’t you the roadhog who almost ran me over?” she retorted acidly. He had recognized her from their first encounter, but he obviously hadn’t connected her with the woman he’d tangled with during the night.

“Why are you hanging around?” The question had a hard edge. Still without taking his gaze from her, he jerked his head toward the sign. “This area is out of bounds,” he went on, but before he could say more, Laura broke in scornfully.

“I can see that! And whoever put up that sign should have his head examined. The forest belongs to everyone, and as long as people respect it then they should be allowed to wander through it at will.” She glared up at him. “Though that doesn’t seem to stop you! Are you one of these people who go through life disobeying rules just for the sheer hell of it?”

The breeze caught the scent from his body and brought it to her like an unwanted gift—a gift she had no way of refusing. It wasn’t the raw male scent she’d been subjected to the day before—that pheromone-laden scent which had called to some deep and dark and primal part of her—it was a clean, sophisticated fragrance, with musk and sandalwood undertones—one that teased her in a different but equally tantalizing and disturbing way. To her dismay, as she waited for him to respond to her challenging words, she felt her mouth become dry.

When finally he spoke it was in exactly the same tone as he’d used the day before, when he’d told her his name, and with exactly the same icy expression in his eyes.

“The forest,” he said, “belongs to me.”

Dry throat suddenly forgotten, Laura stood speechless. But only for a moment. When he started to move past her, his jacket brushing her arm as he did, she wrenched herself back from him with a snapped, “And you keep it all to yourself? Don’t you think that’s a bit...selfish?”

He wheeled round and fixed her with a glittering gaze. “Selfish? No,” he said bluntly, “I don’t think so.” His gaze narrowed as it flickered over her. “Tell me—do you have a job?”

No, she didn’t have a job... But looking for one was going to be her first priority once she’d got settled in at Sweet Briar—not that she was about to let this man be privy to any of her plans! Haughtily she tilted her chin. “For the life of me,” she retorted, “I can’t see what business that is of yours!”

“So you think I’m selfish?” His laugh was grim. “Lady, what I think is selfish is people like you who believe the world owes them a living. If you had a job, instead of just hanging around, some day you might be able to buy yourself a bit of land. When that day comes you can decide what you want to do with it, and who you will allow to walk on it. In the meantime, don’t expect to freeload on those of us who have earned what they possess.”

Again, to her horror, Laura felt tears begin to prick the back of her eyes, and as they did the fight began to drain out of her. It was crazy, the way she and this man rubbed each other the wrong way. If he did, indeed, own this forest acreage, then legally he was perfectly entitled to keep it to himself. And, though she hadn’t wanted to become involved with her neighbors, the last thing she’d expected was to become engaged in open hostility with any of them. It would be awkward, she conceded, to be at war with this man, when they lived next door to each other.

She opened her mouth to explain who she was, to make an effort to smooth the dangerous tension jerking back and forth like live cables between them, but the sound of an approaching car and the blare of a horn distracted her attention. The noise came from behind her, and when she turned round it was to see a sleek powder-blue Jaguar pull in at the side of the road about twenty feet away.

A tall, leggy female emerged, her hair—ash-blond and straight-glistening like a sheet of pale water around her shoulders, her slender figure immaculate in a powder-blue sheath dress that flattered every feminine curve. Her glance barely flickered over Laura, as, with a tinkle of silver bracelets, she raised an arm and waved to Nicholas.

“Are you ready, Nick?” Her voice was soft, and had a built-in huskiness that would, Laura mused tautly, appeal to men of all ages; it was a voice that would be hard to resist.

Nicholas Diamond showed no signs of wanting to resist it.

“Be right there, Melody,” he called in an easy tone.

But before he moved away his eyes slewed down to meet Laura’s for one fleeting moment. “Remember what I said,” he warned grimly. “The forest is off limits.”

Then he was gone, striding away toward the powder-blue Jag as if he’d already forgotten her existence.