Читать книгу Seduced By The Enemy - Kathryn Ross, Kathryn Ross - Страница 7

HELENA couldn’t sleep that night. Thoughts of Tate Ainsley and worries about her father whirled incessantly in her mind. As soon as the first rays of sunlight slanted through her bedroom window she got up and went downstairs to make herself an early-morning cup of tea.

She was moving silently across the hallway when a sound from her father’s study stopped her in midtrack. Surely her father wasn’t working at this hour? With a frown she went to investigate.

Lawrence Beaumont was seated behind his desk, wading his way through a pile of paperwork.

‘Pop, you’re supposed to be taking things easy!’ she said with dismay.

‘Good morning.’ He looked up and smiled at her, completely undeterred. ‘I am taking things easy. You know the old adage—“early to bed, early to rise”…?’

Lawrence had retired to his study soon after dinner last night, and it had been midnight when she had heard him coming up to bed. However, she refrained from saying so. Instead she erred on the side of diplomacy and said, ‘You’re working too hard.’

‘And you’ve been talking to Vivian.’

She had been talking to Vivian last night. Her stepmother was extremely concerned that Lawrence wouldn’t slow down.

‘Who has been talking to your doctor.’

‘Lot of nonsense.’ Lawrence waved his hand scornfully.

Helena came further into the room, closing the door behind her. She was wearing a tennis skirt and a short white T-shirt. ‘You and Viv having a game this morning?’ Lawrence asked conversationally. Helena knew it was his attempt to change the subject.

She nodded. ‘In about half an hour—before the sun gets too hot.’ She looked at him more pointedly. ‘It was going to be an early-morning ride, but Vivian tells me you’ve sold the horses.’

Lawrence looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Yes, well…Tate made me a good offer.’

Helena very much doubted that. She sighed and sank down in the chair opposite to him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Pop? All the times I have phoned, and you’ve never said a word.’

Lawrence looked at her blankly.

‘Your financial problems.’ Helena’s voice was gentle now. ‘You should have told me. I can help.’

‘Everything is under control,’ Lawrence muttered quickly ‘No need for you to worry. No need at all.’

‘But, Pop, Paul says—’

‘Has Paul been filling your head with nonsense?’ Lawrence’s tone grew suddenly angry, and his face started to redden.

Conscious of his health, Helena tried to defuse the situation and calm him down. ‘He just suggested that you had a few problems, that’s all.’

‘Knowing Paul, I’m sure he didn’t stop there.’ Her father leaned across the desk. ‘I hope you haven’t repeated anything he has said? It would break Vivian’s heart to hear the scurrilous comments that boy has made.’

‘No, of course not.’ Helena shook her head. She had no intention of upsetting Vivian—she knew how much the woman loved her brother. She had, however, tried to ask her stepmother about the financial difficulties they were in, but it had soon become clear that Vivian didn’t know anything about the business.

‘Look, Pop.’ She dropped her voice to a reasonable tone. ‘Paul just said you were having a few difficulties, and I thought that I could go through your books and help you out. After all, I am—’

‘Thanks for the offer, Helena, but everything is under control.’

‘But I can—’

‘Helena, I don’t want to hear another word.’ Lawrence’s tone was ominous. He leaned back in his chair and glanced at his watch. ‘Tate is sending his secretary over this morning anyway. So I’ve got all the help I need.’

Apprehension darted through her at those words. Why was Tate going to that trouble? Was his secretary his spy in the camp? ‘I suppose Tate will be coming over as well?’ she asked carefully, then couldn’t help adding, ‘You never used to trust him.’

‘That was before I really knew him.’ Lawrence met her eyes firmly. ‘Tate Ainsley is a fine man.’

Unless she could prove otherwise, there was nothing more to be said. Helena stared at her father, feeling helpless and frustrated. There were a million things she would have liked to say at that juncture, but she didn’t dare for fear of raising his blood pressure. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to let her help him. He was just so damned stubborn.

But what could she do? She couldn’t let Tate Ainsley win—she couldn’t just stand by and watch him ruin everything her father had worked so hard for.

‘What time are you expecting him?’ she asked coolly. Her choice was clear. She couldn’t risk upsetting her father…but Tate was an entirely different matter.

Helena didn’t linger after her tennis match with Vivian. She headed straight around the side of the house, intending to shower and change and be back in her father’s office before Tate arrived. She came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Tate’s car parked on the drive.

He was standing on the front steps, deep in conversation with a young woman who was dressed very stylishly in a buttercup-yellow suit, her long blonde hair arranged fashionably around a perfectly made-up face. Helena recognised the girl immediately.

Antonia Summers had been in her class at school. She hadn’t been a very popular girl, and Helena remembered vaguely that she had been an incredibly jealous type. Of course, that had been a long time ago, and the girl had probably changed a lot since then. Helena also remembered that Antonia had once had an almighty crush on Tate.

They both looked over towards her as she moved forward. ‘Good morning, Helena.’ Tate’s eyes swept over her, encompassing her short white skirt and the cropped T-shirt with one sweep of his eyes.

Helena cursed the fact that she was so scantily clad. She hadn’t even done her hair this morning; it was scraped back out of the way in a ponytail.

‘I think you know Antonia, my secretary, don’t you?’ he continued smoothly.

So the girl was now working for Tate…what a small old world, Helena thought drily. She smiled politely and said hello.

‘Been playing tennis?’ Tate asked nonchalantly.

Helena nodded. It took all her inner strength just to be civil to this man. ‘I was going to go riding,’ she muttered with rancour, ‘except that Pop has given away the horses.’

‘I’ve bought them,’ Tate corrected her with equanimity. ‘But don’t worry, they are being very well looked after.’

Helena was about to make a sarcastic reply to that but she was interrupted by Antonia.

‘I just can’t believe you are home,’ she interceded with a smile. ‘Does Deborah know?’

For a moment Helena’s heart missed a beat at this mention of the girl who had once been her closest friend. There had been a time shortly after Helena had left Barbados when she hadn’t been able to think about Debby without feeling tearful.

‘Probably.’ With difficulty Helena kept her voice steady. ‘You know how news travels out here. Everyone knows everything almost before it happens’

‘Well, I saw her only last week, and she didn’t mention you,’ Antonia continued blithely. ‘She’s still seeing David Cass, you know. There were rumours a while ago that they might get married.’

‘Really?’ Helena tried to put a brisk indifference into her voice, but it was very hard when she could feel a cold hand stealing around her heart, squeezing it unmercifully hard.

She couldn’t believe that Debby would consider marrying Cass—the thought was repellent to her. For a second her composure slipped, and there was a fleeting look of anguish on her gentle features.

She glanced back at Tate. He was watching her with a look of deep contemplation in his blue eyes. Had he noticed her consternation? The notion that he had made her tilt her head up in a defiant gesture. She was damned if she was going to let anyone see how hurt she was over Debby Johnstone and Cass. That particular nightmare was over, she told herself forcefully.

‘Well, I hate to interrupt this girls’ reunion,’ Tate drawled laconically, ‘but might I suggest that we go inside? I have a few business matters I want to discuss with your father, Helena, before I leave.’

For a second Helena was so relieved that the subject had been turned away from Cass that she didn’t even care why Tate was here. It was only as she turned to lead the way into the house that her priorities reasserted themselves. What manner of business was Tate here to discuss anyway? Her mouth set in a grim line as reluctantly she knocked on her father’s study door.

‘Ah, Tate!’ Her father stood up immediately the other man entered, his face wreathed in smiles. ‘Nice to see you—and you, Antonia.’

Helena stepped in and closed the door behind her firmly. Invited or not, she intended to stay and hear exactly what was going on.

‘I didn’t think I would need you today, Antonia, but…’ Lawrence swept a hand ruefully towards the other desk at the far side of the room, which had an in-tray stacked high with correspondence. ‘As you can see, it was a forlorn hope.’

‘Don’t worry, Mr Beaumont. I’ll make short work of it,’ Antonia assured him as she stepped across to take her seat.

‘Meanwhile—’ Tate tapped the folder that he was carrying ‘—I’d like to discuss those business proposals we spoke of last week.’

‘Wonderful.’ Lawrence sat back down behind his own desk and waved Tate towards the chair opposite. ‘Helena, be a dear and get us all some coffee, will you?’ he said, glancing briefly at his daughter. ‘Mary has gone into Bridgetown for some shopping.’

Helena’s face fell. She wanted to hear the nature of the business Tate had come to discuss, not make coffee.

Tate looked across at her, and his mouth slanted in a lop-sided grin as he took in the angry gleam in her eyes. ‘Black with no sugar, thanks, Helena.’

Helena would have liked to tell him to get his own damned coffee, but courtesy and respect for her father forbade such a thing. With a dry nod, she turned to leave. She really had no other alternative.

Never had a pot of coffee been made so quickly. Helena fairly ran around the large kitchen, throwing everything on a tray. She returned to the study a few minutes later and entered the room without knocking on the door.

She was just in time to hear Tate requesting her father’s signature on some document that he had placed before him. Horror welled up inside Helena as she watched her father calmly pick up his pen to comply without question.

Helena put the tray down on the desk with rather more force than she had intended, and the china cups and saucers rattled noisily in the silence. She had to say something—she couldn’t just watch while her father signed a document that might be another dreadful mistake.

‘Shouldn’t you have professional advice before you sign anything, Pop?’ she said, quietly but firmly.

Lawrence looked up, his pen poised over the paper, an expression of annoyance clear on his lined face. ‘I think I’m capable of making my own decisions, Helena,’ he said swiftly.

It was galling to be spoken to so curtly. She had, after all, been specially trained to advise businesses in difficulty.

‘I rather thought I could be of help to you in here,’ she said with gentle emphasis.

‘I’ve told you, Helena, I’ve got all the help I need’ Lawrence smiled at her, totally ignoring the pleading look in his daughter’s eyes. ‘You go off and enjoy yourself.’

Conscious of Tate watching her, she forced herself to smile. ‘Very well,’ she acceded reluctantly. ‘I’ll see you later.’

She was quite literally fuming when she walked out of the room. How could her father be so blind as to trust Tate Ainsley with such implicit faith? And what were the documents that he was signing? All sorts of dreadful possibilities flew through her mind. Her father could be signing away Beaumont House, for all she knew.

She wandered through to the kitchen to tidy the mess she had made whilst making the coffee. It was probably best to keep busy, she thought as she wiped over the counters and put things away. Best not to think about what mistakes her father might be making.

For a brief moment she considered having a quiet word with Antonia. Perhaps she would shed some light on what was transpiring? As soon as the thought crossed her mind she dismissed it. Antonia worked for Tate, and if past history was anything to go by the woman adored him. There was no way she would get anything out of that woman…except maybe some gossip about Debby and Cass.

Helena stopped what she was doing and leaned against the kitchen counter. Was it true that Deborah was thinking of marrying David Cass? The question returned with sudden force to haunt her.

Debby had once been like a sister to Helena. For a moment thoughts of their friendship filled her mind. They had supported each other through the ups and downs of growing up, had always been firm friends…until Cass.

‘May the best girl win,’ Deborah had once said laughingly, when they had both admitted to being wildly attracted to him. And then, when Cass had asked Helena out, she had shrugged and said laughingly, ‘Well, luck was on your side this time.’

The words echoed hollowly inside Helena, evoking memories that she wanted so much to forget. She had dated Cass for five months. Five months of being wined and dined, and still she hadn’t known the real man beneath the urbane smile.

‘Helena?’ Tate’s velvet deep voice cut into the painful intensity of her thoughts, bringing her abruptly back to the present with a start. She turned sharply, and as she did so her arm caught the sugar bowl on the countertop, making it fall with a resounding smash onto the stone floor.

‘Bit like the price of sugar,’ Tate noted wryly as he came across to help her tidy up the mess. ‘Plummeting all the time.’

Helena’s hands trembled as she tried to pull herself sharply together. It was horrifying that just the thought of Cass could do this to her. Her nerves were stretched, her heart pounding. She just prayed that Tate wouldn’t notice how agitated she was.

She frowned across at him. What was he doing in here anyway? she wondered. Presumably he had finished his shadowy business dealings with her father for one morning…Perhaps he now thought that he could try and sweet-talk her before he left, try and dampen down any suspicions she might have about him?

She bit down on the softness of her lips. Well, the man was in for a rude awakening if he thought he could twist her around his little finger, she told herself heatedly. She knew his type, and she was well able to stand up to him.

‘I can manage to pick up the pieces, thank you,’ she told him tightly as he crouched down beside her. ‘It’s something I’m quite good at—which is probably just as well, seeing as I will be doing a lot of it around here once the dust has settled.’ Her voice was sarcastically dry as she got in the dig that she would probably have to pick her father’s finances off the floor once Tate had finished with him.

‘I gather your father hasn’t been too accommodating about opening his accounts for you,’ Tate said nonchalantly.

She glared up at him. He had come to gloat, she thought furiously. ‘Whatever gives you that idea?’ She ground the words out furiously. She certainly wasn’t about to admit any such thing to him.

‘It seemed pretty obvious.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t take it too personally, Helena. Your father means well— it’s just an old-fashioned quirk of his that he feels women—’

‘I don’t need you to tell me about my own father,’ she cut across him, her voice rising with her increasing fury. Lord, this was the final humiliation. The man was robbing them blind, and he knew damn well that she was virtually powerless to do anything because her father was too damned stubborn to let her help. He was laughing at them…it was infuriating, it was maddening.

She had to grit her teeth to keep from saying something that she might deeply regret. ‘There are a lot of things you don’t realise about me, Tate Ainsley,’ she told him tightly. ‘And one of them is that I can handle my father.’

‘I’m sure you can.’ Tate’s voice was suddenly serious. ‘But just a word of caution, Helena. Lawrence is not a well man. His blood pressure is very high, and the doctors have told him to avoid stress—’

‘Thank you for your concern, Tate.’ He obviously thought he could scare her into backing away from the situation. Well, he could think again. Her eyes met his with determination. ‘I’m not going to upset my father…I’m going to help him.’

‘As long as you understand the situation,’ Tate said smoothly.

Oh, she understood, all right. She understood that Tate Ainsley was a scheming, dishonest rat.

Her hands trembled violently now, rage mixing with anxiety as she gathered up the broken crockery with swift disregard for the sharpness of the pieces.

The next moment she had cut her wrist on a jagged bit of crockery as she leaned across it. Bright red blood spilled onto the sugar, and she groaned in annoyance at such a stupid accident.

‘Obviously you’re not as good at picking up the pieces as you thought,’ Tate grated sardonically.

She glared at him, her eyes bright with dislike.

‘Here.’ Before she could pull away or say anything he grabbed hold of her hand and led her over to the sink, to plunge her wrist under some running water.

The sensation of the cool water running over the cut was soothing, but Tate’s hold on her arm was anything but reassuring. His closeness was totally unnerving.

‘I’m fine now, thank you,’ she said briskly, annoyed with herself for being so clumsy and so stupid. ‘You can let go of me.’

‘I think you need a plaster.’ Tate completely ignored her words. ‘Does Mary keep a first-aid kit in here?’

‘There used to be a box in the far cupboard,’ she said with a shrug.

He released her and went to investigate. ‘Looks like some things don’t change,’ he said as he came back with some plasters and antiseptic. ‘Mary always was the organised type. I could do with her at the castle.’

‘I suppose you could. You seem to be intent on taking just about everything else here.’ The bitter accusation spilled out before she could even think about it.

One dark eyebrow lifted at that statement, but he didn’t look ruffled by it. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said calmly. ‘I have Lawrence’s horses, some of his land…’ He let his voice trail off, and his eyes slid over Helena with cool contemplation, from her long bare legs to the malachite colour of her eyes. ‘But forget Mary,’ he drawled huskily, ‘I think I’d prefer someone with longer legs…someone who looks good in a tennis skirt.’

The sheer audacity of that statement took her breath away. Her cheeks flared with furious colour. The man had nerve, she had to grant him that. Not only was he admitting to taking the Beaumont estate to pieces, bit by broken bit, but he was making a joke of it by luridly intimating that he would like to take her as well…

‘I like seeing you speechless.’ Tate grinned as he caught hold of her arm and took it out from under the water. ‘I shouldn’t enjoy it quite as much as I do, but I have to say there’s just something about the way your skin flushes up, and your sexy lips pout, and your eyes glimmer such a beautiful shade of dark green that makes it incredible fun to wind you up.’ As he was speaking he placed some cotton wool soaked with antiseptic firmly over the wound on her wrist.

She gasped, but it was more from the effrontery of his words than the stinging antiseptic.

‘You have a barefaced nerve, Tate Ainsley,’ she muttered between clenched teeth as he put even more antiseptic on her arm, so that it throbbed violently. ‘And let me tell you that I wouldn’t be interested in you if you were the only man left in Barbados.’

‘Why’s that?’ he asked with lazy indifference. ‘Don’t I come up to Cass’s high standards?’

She ignored that remark, and the unpleasant feeling it stirred up. ‘Because you are a conceited, arrogant type and—’

‘I think your father feels I might be good for you.’ He cut across her, unperturbed.

‘Yes, well…in my opinion my father doesn’t seem to be thinking very clearly when it comes to you.’

He slanted a wry glance down at her. ‘Interesting comment. Care to enlarge on it?’

‘Well, for one I didn’t like the way Pop just signed that document of yours without so much as reading over it,’ she said quickly. ‘That’s just a recipe for disaster.’

‘Your father knew what was in that document,’ Tate said simply as he took out a plaster and stuck it very firmly over her skin.

‘Even so, he could have read it again,’ she said firmly.

‘Perhaps Lawrence just trusts me?’ Tate lifted one eyebrow enquiringly. ‘Which seems to be more than can be said of his daughter.’

She carefully avoided answering that. She would have to be very sure of her facts before she could accuse him outright. Instead she went on briskly, ‘It’s nothing personal, Tate, but as a financial adviser I have seen people come to grief by signing things they either don’t read or don’t understand.’

‘Well, Lawrence is neither illiterate or stupid,’ Tate said drily.

Was he justifying himself? Helena wondered in that instant. Was he saying that if Lawrence lost out in these deals it was just his own fault?

‘Neither were the people I’m referring to,’ she told him crossly. ‘Just trusting.’

‘Well, you have no need to worry about Lawrence.’ Tate’s voice was dismissive and offhand. ‘He’s my sister’s husband—I’m hardly going to rip him off.’

‘I’m afraid avarice is no respecter of family ties…especially the delicate ties of marriage.’

For a moment he stared at her, a strange expression on the lean, handsome features, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that she had just gone too far. ‘If you’re trying to insinuate—’

‘I’m not trying to insinuate anything,’ she cut across him hastily, a trickle of apprehension curling down her spine at the note of warning in his voice. Tate was not the type of person you threw wild accusations at—she realised that very clearly. She was going to have to tread very warily with him. ‘I’m just concerned that my father has relaxed his high standards m his business dealings. Paul says he has made a lot of mistakes lately.’

‘I’m afraid Paul is a bit of a lame dog where helping your father is concerned,’ Tate said, his manner scathing.

‘I beg your pardon?’ She spluttered the words indignantly. How dared he speak about her brother in those terms?

‘You heard.’ Tate wasn’t even slightly bothered by the look of burning resentment on her face. ‘How’s the wrist now?’ he continued casually. ‘Does it feel better?’

‘No, I do not feel better.’ She deliberately misunderstood him. ‘In fact, I feel downright distressed that you could talk like that about my brother.’

‘It’s easy, believe me.’ He pulled out a kitchen chair for her with a rapid movement that made her jump. ‘And if you’re feeling so overcome with distress perhaps you had better sit down while I clear away this mess of yours.’ He turned his attention to the rest of the broken china on the floor. ‘I daren’t leave you to it—you might amputate your arm.’

‘Ha ha!’ She rasped the words abrasively.

She made no attempt to sit down, but stood watching him with a feeling of helplessness. Something about Tate was totally unnerving: he made her feel at a loss as to what to do with herself, never mind what to say to him.

He worked efficiently, clearing up the sugar and carefully wrapping the broken pieces of crockery before depositing them in the bin.

Her eyes darted to the table, where he had placed the orange-coloured file that he had brought with him. Presumably her father had signed whatever it was he had wanted him to sign. So why hadn’t Tate left for his next meeting instead of wasting his time in here? Her lips twisted in annoyance. There was an ulterior motive, of course. A man like Tate Ainsley didn’t do anything unless there was something in it for him.

‘Have you finished your business with my father?’ she asked him crisply.

‘Until tomorrow.’ He turned and caught the look of annoyance and anxiety in the bright gleam of her green eyes and he sighed.

‘Look, what I said about Paul…’ His lips twisted drolly. ‘It’s nothing personal. In fact, I quite like Paul. It’s just that I think he needs pulling firmly into line as far as your father and his business are concerned.’

‘And I think that is none of your damned business,’ she said, with a tense angry note in her voice. She knew Paul and her father had argued over Tate, and she strongly suspected that Tate had inflamed the situation, turned Lawrence’s mind in his favour.

‘Probably not.’ He shrugged, totally insouciant. ‘But I only give advice when asked.’

‘Meaning that Pop asked your advice about Paul?’

‘Yes, he did, as a matter of fact.’

She was incredulous. This was getting absurd. Her own father asking someone like Tate Ainsley for advice on how he should deal with his son!

‘Look, Helena.’ He came to stand next to her. ‘I realise you are concerned about your father, about Paul. But everything will sort itself out, I’m sure of it.’

‘Well, that’s very reassuring.’ Her voice was filled with sarcasm. ‘You appear to be an absolute authority on my family—in fact, you seem to know more about them than I do.’

‘Well, that’s hardly surprising,’ he answered coolly. ‘You did take yourself off for five years.’

She flinched as if he had struck her, her eyes widening with hurt. He made it sound as if she had abandoned them. It had torn her apart to leave her home, her family. Every day in London she had thought about them, missed them. But she had been too afraid to return…it had taken a crisis to get her back.

‘I didn’t want to leave Barbados.’ She spoke the words impulsively, without thinking. ‘It certainly wasn’t the easy option.’

‘So why did you go?’

She met the deep blue of his eyes and came back to earth with a sharp jolt.

‘A broken heart?’ He ventured the words gently.

‘No!’ Her answer was sharp, perhaps too sharp. ‘Look—’ she made a deliberate attempt to calm her voice to a moderate tone ‘—I don’t want to discuss personal issues with you. What I would like to ask is what kind of business are you conducting with my father?’ She angled her chin up firmly as she held his gaze.

‘I hate to remind you, Helena, but your father appears to think that his business doesn’t concern you.’

It took every grain of strength to contain her rage at those words. ‘Well, I think anything that concerns my father concerns me.’

‘Obviously that is a point you will have to take up with Lawrence.’ Tate shrugged. ‘It would hardly be ethical for me to discuss his business behind his back.’

‘Cut the dramatics, Tate.’ She ground the words unevenly. ‘You’re talking to his daughter, not a rival business person.’

‘Ah…but, as you so succinctly pointed out, avarice is no respecter of family ties.’

Having her own words quoted back to her was the final insult. Helena could feel her skin turning from pale ivory to vivid scarlet as she reached boiling point.

‘Your sister may have married into my family, Tate Ainsley, but as far as I’m concerned you are still an outsider,’ she told him with brittle fury. ‘And I care about my father too deeply to let all his affairs rest in the hands of a relative stranger.’

One dark eyebrow lifted slightly. ‘You mean you want to get to know me better?’ he drawled laconically. ‘If you hadn’t just told me that I was the last man on Barbados that you would be interested in, I’d think you were fishing for a date.’

The laughing gleam in his eye filled her with a desire to hit him hard across that handsome, infuriating face.

‘That’s all right with me.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ll just forget all that you’ve said and start again, shall we?’

‘I don’t know what the hell you are advocating, but I certainly don’t want to go out with you on a date,’ she told him in no uncertain terms, her green eyes flashing fire at him. ‘I want to talk to you about—’

‘Fine…dinner tonight, then.’ Tate glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got to dash, Helena, I’ve got an important meeting.’

‘I haven’t finished,’ Helena grated furiously as she watched him stroll over and collect the file from the table.

‘It will have to wait until this evening, I’m afraid.’ He sounded anything but afraid; he sounded totally, arrogantly sure of himself.

At that moment the kitchen door opened behind them, and much to Helena’s annoyance her father came in.

‘Ah, Tate, I’m glad you haven’t gone,’ he said cheerfully, his bright eyes moving from Helena’s flushed features towards the other man’s face. ‘There was one last point I forgot to clear with you.’

‘OK, Lawrence,’ Tate drawled easily. ‘I was just arranging what time I should pick your daughter up for dinner tonight.’

‘Dinner, eh?’ Lawrence’s face lit up. ‘Well, that is good news.’

Helena cringed, her skin burning with a rage that was almost feverish.

‘Eight o’clock, Helena?’ Tate watched her, his expression challenging and amused.

She didn’t answer. It was just unbelievable that she could have allowed Tate to manoeuvre her into such a corner.