Читать книгу The Aristocrat and the Single Mum - Michelle Douglas - Страница 8

CHAPTER ONE

KATE reached the last item in the file, closed her eyes, closed the file and counted to ten. Then she opened her eyes, opened the file and started again. The bell above the door jangled, telling her someone had entered the office, but she didn’t move from her crouch in front of the filing cabinet. In fact, it was hard to move at all with all the boxes piled around her.

‘Hello?’

At any other time a voice like that would’ve had her swinging around in curiosity…and anticipation. The voice was deep and masculine, with an intriguing British burr. A lot of tourists with a lot of different accents passed through this part of the world and Kate loved accents. She’d once meant to travel to some of those faraway places and immerse herself in different cultures, different languages. But that was before she’d fallen pregnant with Jesse. This particular accent, though, was her all-time favourite and could turn her insides to mush in the space of a heartbeat.

‘I won’t be a moment,’ she called.

Half hidden by the desk, her customer probably couldn’t see her. And although she usually made it a point to deal with prospective customers first, she took a deep breath and carefully examined the file again, lifting out and checking each document before moving to the next one.

Darn it. It wasn’t there. Where had she put it? The accountant had wanted it last week. She’d promised to get it to him today. She slapped the side of the filing cabinet as if it were its fault. She glanced around at all the boxes and groaned.

‘Is something wrong?’

She couldn’t resist that accent any longer. ‘I’m sorry.’ She turned. ‘I…’

She blinked. Air squeezed out of her lungs. Oh, dear Lord, who cared about finding receipts for boat repairs when a man like this stood in her office?

She tried to catch her breath, but it flitted in and out of her lungs with more speed than grace, evading her every attempt to harness it. She thought she ought to stand, but the longer she stared at him the more the world tilted to one side and, as she had no desire to fall flat on her face at his feet, she decided she’d better stay right where she was. Very carefully, she lowered her knees to the ground so she knelt rather than crouched. More stability—that was what she needed. And breakfast. She absolutely, positively shouldn’t have skipped breakfast. Low blood sugar and all that.

She tried to hold back a sigh, but her mystery man had such a beautiful face to go with the beautiful British accent—not to mention a superb body—and it had been a long time since she’d beheld such a perfect example of masculine beauty that she had no hope of containing it. It came out on one long low breath. His too-short hair, as far as she could tell, was his single flaw. But it gleamed rich and dark in the half-light of her office and she could imagine its crispness against her palms with more clarity than sense.

She shook herself. ‘Hello.’ Her voice came out normal. She had no idea how. She even managed a smile.

‘Hello,’ he said again in that to-die-for accent, but he said it slowly, as if making a discovery. Then he smiled. Firm, sensual lips. Cheek creases.

The world abruptly stopped tilting and something slammed into her stomach with the impact of a missile. It felt wrong and right—both at the same time. It didn’t make sense.

The man’s eyes widened, his lips pursed for a brief moment, and she wondered if he’d felt the impact too.

Another sigh welled up inside her. And yearning. She expelled the sigh on one hard breath, but could do nothing with the yearning. She forced herself to her feet. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’

She glanced at the clock on the wall behind him—eleven a.m. The day was yet young. She had plenty of time to find receipts for boat repairs and visit her accountant. She had all the time in the world.

‘Is everything all right?’

Just in time she stopped herself from saying, It is now, because that was crazy talk. Fanciful.

She was a single mother with a child. She didn’t do fanciful.

Not any more.

Her tourist had dark eyes that crinkled at the corners. They were nice eyes and they looked at her with concern. ‘I’m sorry. Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit distracted.’ By him. But she didn’t want him to know that.

She blew a strand of hair out of her face and ordered herself to stop ogling the poor man, decided she’d buried herself in her work for far too long and that she’d better start getting out a bit more. ‘I’m just having one of those mornings, you know?’

‘Yep.’ He gave one hard nod. ‘Know exactly what you mean. Today, I can absolutely relate to that.’

Their gazes met and a surge of fellow feeling passed between them. In the dim light of her office she couldn’t work out if his eyes were brown or dark grey. She’d need to be closer to tell for sure, but they were clear and direct and she found herself liking them.

Her day suddenly started to look up. ‘How can I help you?’ She pulled the reservation book towards her.

He smiled again and her knees gave a funny little wobble. She’d bet she looked a wreck. She resisted the urge to pat down her hair and straighten her shirt.

He didn’t look a wreck. He looked impeccable in a charcoal-grey suit. Italian, she’d bet. Actually, she wouldn’t know an Italian suit if it leapt up and bit her on the nose. It could be Bond Street for all she knew.

She knew shoes though, and those shoes were definitely Italian leather.

‘I actually want to speak to your employer, Kate Petherbridge.’

Kate blinked.

‘I was here at nine o’clock this morning.’ He pointed to the glass door, which had the office hours printed across it. The previous owner’s office hours. Kate hadn’t got around to having them changed yet. ‘Nobody showed up, which at the time I thought pretty unprofessional.’

She’d moved into this office two days ago. She’d figured they’d need the extra room at home now. But there was still so much to do. Her shoulders started to sag. He smiled again. Her knees gave another funny wobble. Outside, a magpie started to warble.

‘But if you’re having one of those kinds of days then—’ he shrugged ‘—it can’t be helped.’

He glanced down at the items spread across her desk—the contents of her bag drying out after their dunking in the bay. Without warning, the strap had given way when she’d raced the passenger list down to Archie. It was her best shoulder bag too. Only quick reflexes had saved the bag, contents and all, from sinking to the bottom to lie cradled against the oyster-encrusted rocks metres below. They seemed a paltry treasure—two bank cards, her driver’s licence and medical card, a diary-cum-address book, the little paper money she’d had on her, a tab of aspirin that for some reason she hadn’t thrown away, and a couple of soggy photographs. The one of Danny and Felice before they’d set off on their honeymoon was completely ruined.

‘My bag fell in the bay.’

It was a completely ludicrous statement—self-evident—but the man opposite didn’t laugh. He nodded as if he understood.

‘That was right after I’d buried Moby—the goldfish.’ That had not been a good start to the day. It was why she’d taken her favourite shoulder bag—to try and cheer herself up.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you.’

He lifted one hand. ‘For what it’s worth, I hit a kangaroo in my hire car this morning.’

Even as she winced at the picture his words created, Kate decided then and there that their joint dispiriting tales of woe made this man a good omen. ‘How fast were you travelling?’

‘Eighty kilometres an hour.’

She winced again. Kangaroos didn’t survive eighty-kilometre-per-hour collisions.

He suddenly shook himself. He leaned forward and offered his hand. ‘I’m Simon Morton-Blake.’

Kate placed her hand inside his immediately. His long fingers curled around hers and he squeezed briefly. She squeezed back. They both smiled. His hair gleamed richer, darker. Reluctantly, or so it seemed to Kate, their hands parted company again. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m—’

The smile slid off her face. ‘What did you say your name was?’

‘Morton-Blake. Simon.’

What?

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why? Do you recognise it?’

Of course she recognised it, but Felice hadn’t mentioned anything about family.

‘The full title is Simon Morton-Blake, the seventh Lord of Holm—’ his lips twisted in self-derision ‘—but I don’t expect you’ve heard of that.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘You’re a lord? Like…a real lord?’

‘I am. Are you impressed?’

He raised an eyebrow and she wasn’t sure who he was sending up—her or himself.

‘It doesn’t seem to hold much cachet in Australia,’ he commented.

‘No, I don’t suppose it does, but…’ she peered up at him ‘…do you, like, have your own castle?’ She could imagine him living in a castle. She could imagine him in a kilt.

Don’t be ridiculous! He’s English, not Scottish.

Still…she’d give a lot to see him in a kilt.

‘The estate does have a fifteenth-century manor house and quite a few sheep, but no castle, I’m afraid. Not even the ruins of a castle.’ He gave a mock grimace. ‘Have I fallen in your estimation?’

Kate laughed. Even though his name was Morton-Blake and he had to be some kind of relative of Felice’s. Even though Felice hadn’t mentioned anything about family, let alone family as distinguished as the seventh Lord of Holm.

He must be a distant cousin or something. Perhaps Felice had sent him a postcard extolling the beauties of Port Stephens—and it had many—and how much fun she was having working for Kate’s dolphin tour business.

But why hadn’t she mentioned him? Why had Felice let Danny and Kate think she had no family at all?

‘And you are?’

Kate snapped back to attention. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She drew in a breath, tried to smile. ‘I’m Kate Petherbridge.’

His face darkened and his eyebrows drew down low over his eyes as he placed his hands on her desk and leaned across it towards her. His eyes weren’t brown but a dark smoky-grey.

‘Then perhaps you can tell me where the hell my sister is?’

Very slowly, Kate sat. ‘Sister?’ Her mouth went dry. ‘Felice is your sister?’

‘Yes!’ he shouted. ‘And I want to know if she’s okay.’

She sensed the concern behind his anger. ‘Of course she is.’ She made her voice crisp and businesslike, wanting to allay his worry as quickly as she could. ‘Felice is perfectly fine and dandy.’

He closed his eyes, dragged a hand down his face and fell into the seat opposite. ‘Thank God for that.’

His lovely broad shoulders went suddenly slack and it was only then that Kate realised how tightly he’d held himself. She frowned. She knew what it was like to worry about a younger sibling.

‘I didn’t know Felice had family.’ In fact, Felice had led them to believe she was alone in the world. If Simon was a lord, what on earth did that make Felice?

And, more importantly, did Danny know?

Simon’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. ‘So that’s the game she’s playing, is it? Nevertheless, I am her brother. Are you doubting my verisimilitude?’

Kate wanted to close her eyes and wallow in that accent. She wanted to ask him to say that word again so she could watch the way his lips shaped it. She forced her spine to straighten instead. ‘Do you have any proof?’

He leaned towards her again. ‘You really don’t believe me?’

She didn’t know if he was angry or intrigued. ‘I don’t take risks with my staff’s safety, Mr Morton-Blake.’ Former staff’s safety, she amended silently. Felice wasn’t staff any more. She was family. ‘I don’t know you from Adam and I only have your word that you’re who you say you are. For all I know, you could be stalking Felice.’

He sat back and folded his arms. ‘And what if I am? What would you do?’

‘I have a black belt in judo.’ Which was the truth. ‘And a spear gun in my desk drawer.’ Which wasn’t. ‘I wouldn’t try anything if I were you.’

Her desk drawer!

She clapped a hand to her head. Then she flung the drawer open. There it sat. Right on top—the file containing all the receipts her accountant had demanded from her—receipts that would save her from being fined by the Taxation Department. She didn’t remember putting it there, but she pulled it out and kissed it all the same.

Simon had pulled back as if he expected her to draw a gun. Now his lips twitched at the corners, hinting at those cheek creases. ‘My day just got a whole lot better,’ she confided.

‘I’m glad.’

He actually sounded as if he meant it. He pulled a wallet from his inside jacket pocket and flicked through it. It gave her a chance to study him. If he lived here in Port Stephens she’d bet the sun would bleach the tips of his hair. Simon Morton-Blake might be a lord but he didn’t look as if he spent the majority of his time indoors behind a desk. If he lived around here she had a feeling he’d spend more of his time in the sun than out of it. Not that he was tanned, of course. England was only just emerging from winter. But he had a rugged outdoor aura that she recognised because she had it too.

And he had mentioned something about sheep.

He held a card out to her. ‘My international driver’s licence.’

His name—Simon Morton-Blake—stared back at her in official black and white type.

‘And a photograph of me with my sister.’

Kate took it. Felice, Simon and another couple—older—all stared out from it with a formal reserve Kate found difficult to associate with Felice. She couldn’t see anything of Felice in Simon’s face, but she could see both Simon and Felice in the older couple—their parents?

‘Our mother and father,’ he said, as if she’d asked the question out loud. ‘And no, they are no longer living.’

At least Felice hadn’t lied about that.

She handed him back the licence and the photograph, wondering at how easily he could read her face. ‘I’m sorry.’

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t glance back down at the photograph. He didn’t even shrug.

With both parents dead… ‘Do you have any other siblings?’

‘No.’

That made Felice his only close relative. It went some way to explaining his concern.

‘May I call you Simon?’

He smiled again. The grey of his eyes lightened. ‘Please.’

Even though she was sitting, her knees still wobbled. ‘Simon, why were you worried about Felice?’

‘I haven’t heard from her in over two months.’ He raked a hand back over his hair. ‘And her mobile isn’t working.’

‘It took a dunk in the bay,’ Kate said carefully. ‘Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.’ She shrugged, trying to appear casual, but her mind raced. Why hadn’t Felice contacted him? Why hadn’t Felice told him about her marriage to Danny?

And what on earth was Kate supposed to do about it?

Not that Danny and Felice had told anyone about their marriage yet. They’d only told Kate because they’d wanted time off. She could understand them wanting to hug their secret close to their chests for a bit and enjoy a honeymoon idyll, but surely Felice could’ve found the time to let her only brother know?

‘If…if you knew Felice was working for me, why didn’t you give me a call or email me?’ She could’ve allayed his worry and put his mind at rest in an instant.

He lifted his chin. His eyes glittered. ‘I want to see Felice in the flesh. I want to see for myself that she’s okay and not in any trouble.’

In trouble? Felice was twenty-two. Old enough to make her own decisions. Old enough to make her own mistakes. Old enough to look after herself.

‘She’s not in any kind of trouble.’

He ignored that. ‘When can I see her?’

Kate’s office suddenly shrank. Perhaps it was all that bristling over-protectiveness emanating from the seventh Lord of Holm that had the walls closing in on her, making him loom larger in her field of vision, making her notice the shape of his lean lips. Lips pressed tightly together, but it didn’t stop her from imagining those lips on hers and…

Fresh air and food, that was what she needed, and the warmth of the sun on her shoulders. ‘C’mon.’ She rose and started for the door.

Simon followed her, watching closely as she locked the door behind them. ‘Are you going to take me to her?’ he asked, staring at her as if he couldn’t believe it would be that easy.

‘I’m taking you for coffee.’ Of course it wasn’t that easy.

‘I don’t want coffee!’

Up this close, he smelt like wood shavings and cooler climes. She held her breath and reminded herself about the warmth of the sun—it’d help melt any ridiculous fantasies. ‘But I do.’

He glared at her for a moment, then he visibly shook himself, his eyes cleared and he smiled. ‘And you don’t know me from Adam.’

She couldn’t believe how quickly he could change from indignant prickliness to this…this melt a girl with his yumminess. She couldn’t help but smile back. ‘That’s right.’

The problem was, she felt as if she did know him—a whole lot better than any Adam she’d ever met. Which was nonsense…and dangerous. It should frighten her off, but it didn’t.

Kate’s office was located in a small arcade. She led Simon down the tunnel of shop fronts to the bright February sunlight pouring in at one end, then turned right into Kelly’s café.

‘Flat white, cappuccino, latte…espresso?’ she asked.

‘Whatever.’

His voice drifted to her, slow and bemused. She glanced around and found him staring out at the view. She suppressed a grin. On a day like this, with the sun sparkling off the water in a thousand different points of light and the white hulls of the yachts at anchor in the marina gleaming, the sand golden and the sky blue, the bay looked spectacular. Couple it with the sounds of holidaymakers and the squawking of seagulls, the smell of salt and coconut oil, and most people were lost.

The seventh Lord of Holm was definitely lost.

‘Would you like something to eat? A muffin?’ Her stomach rumbled its approval. She hadn’t had time for breakfast this morning, and Kelly’s triplechoc muffins were to die for.

‘No, thank you.’ He didn’t glance away from the view.

She wasn’t eating if he wasn’t. With her luck, she’d end up with chocolate muffin all over her face and that so wasn’t the look she was after.

‘Two flat whites, please,’ she said to the waiting Kelly. ‘In mugs.’

‘Settling into your office, hon?’

‘It’s a mess.’ She fished around in her pocket for change. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever find anything ever again.’

‘And when she does,’ Simon said, snapping back around to the counter and holding out a twenty-dollar note to Kelly before Kate could free her hand from her pocket, ‘she kisses it in gratitude.’ He winked. ‘That kind of behaviour can have a strange effect on a guy. She needs to be more careful.’

Kelly laughed. So did Kate—in complete and utter surprise. Not to mention delight. ‘If I’d known the sun would have such a beneficial effect on your mood I’d have dragged you out here ten minutes ago.’ But then she had visions of kissing Simon with a whole lot more fervour than she’d kissed her missing file of receipts and she started burning up from the inside out.

‘Kelly,’ she said hastily, ‘this is Felice’s brother, Simon.’

‘Nice to meet any family of Felice’s.’ Kelly stared at him in open curiosity. ‘Felice was the hit of the summer.’ Then she winked at Kate. ‘You going to put him to work on your boat?’

Kate cocked her head to one side and pretended to consider it. ‘He’s got arms that look like they could hold a boat steady.’

‘He’s got arms that look like they could hold a whole lot more than that, hon.’

Simon laughed.

Kate’s imagination supplied her with more images than she knew what to do with. Heat blazed through her and she couldn’t think of a single comeback.

Kelly took pity on her. ‘Go and find yourselves a table. I’ll bring the coffees out when they’re ready.’

‘Thanks, Kelly.’

Kate chose a table outside in the shade with a magnificent view of the bay, but it didn’t cool the heat circling through her. She tried to remember the last time she’d been on a date.

She had to remind herself that this wasn’t a date.

Back to business. ‘Are you and Felice close?’

His smile disappeared. ‘Of course we are.’

Kate noticed his telling hesitation, the pause before the rough ‘Of course’.

His spine stiffened. ‘We’re family.’

She took in the expression on his face. Her chest expanded and her back tightened. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

His face closed up. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

She tried a different tack. ‘No offence, but I know for a fact that Felice is twenty-two. You don’t exactly look…’ She trailed off with what she hoped was delicate tact.

A glimmer of a smile appeared in the grey eyes. ‘I’m ten years older than Felice.’

Kelly set their coffees in front of them. ‘Thank you,’ Kate murmured, and although she sensed Simon was immersed in thoughts of Felice, he still roused himself to send Kelly a smile of thanks that put a spring in the other woman’s step.

It was a nice thing to do.

She had a feeling that, beneath all his bristling worry and concern, Simon Morton-Blake was a nice man.

‘Ten years is a pretty big age gap between siblings,’ she observed.

‘It is,’ he agreed.

He took a sip of his coffee. Frown lines marred the perfection of his face. He took a second sip and Kate wondered if he even tasted it. Kelly did the best coffee on the bay, but it looked as if great coffee was wasted on the seventh Lord of Holm today.

‘Felice has always been too reckless and irresponsible.’ He glanced up and speared her with his clear grey gaze. ‘What did Kelly mean when she said Felice was the hit of the summer?’

‘That she was popular, fun. That everyone liked her.’

His mouth grew grim. ‘That’s what I was afraid of.’

She wanted to ask why, but she bit her tongue. Beneath the table she selected Felice’s number on her mobile, then brought the phone to her ear. Simon’s eyes narrowed in on the phone in the space of a heartbeat. ‘She was neither reckless nor irresponsible working for me.’ Kate crossed her legs and waited for Felice to answer. ‘In fact, she was a great worker.’

He nearly dropped his coffee. ‘Felice?’

‘Hey, it’s me,’ Kate said when Felice answered.

‘Hey, what’s up?’

‘Sorry to call when—’ she shot a glance at Simon ‘—you’re holidaying, but you’ll never guess who has shown up. I have the seventh Lord of Holm sitting across from me as we speak.’

Dead silence greeted her pronouncement. It did nothing to allay her unease. ‘Felice?’

‘Simon? Simon is there?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘What have you told him?’

Felice’s shriek nearly deafened her. She wondered if Simon could hear it from the other side of the table. He moved as if he might try and take the phone from her. Kate shifted so he couldn’t. ‘Nothing. Why?’

‘You don’t understand!’

‘Obviously not.’

Simon stared at her as if he couldn’t believe she had his little sister on the other end of the line. He stared at her as if he wanted to hug her. As if he wanted to kiss her in gratitude like she’d kissed that folder. All because she’d rung his little sister. Had he thought she’d leave him to stew in all that worry and concern he’d done his best to hide but couldn’t?

‘He will ruin everything!’

For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that.

‘Please, please, please, Kate. Promise me you won’t tell him where I am.’

‘I can hardly do that when I don’t precisely know where you are myself.’

‘You can’t tell him I’ve married Danny!’

Kate bit her lip. Simon narrowed in on the action and Kate recognised the flare of desire that burst to life in his eyes. She did her best to un-bite it, but it was too late. Blood started fizzing through her veins and her mind filled with images in instant response.

Oh, stop it! He was a tourist. She didn’t mess with tourists. She shook herself and forced her mind to focus on her conversation with Felice.

‘Kate, promise me you won’t tell him I’m married.’

Oh, dear. ‘I…er…was hoping you’d do that.’ She didn’t want to be the one to tell Simon his sister had eloped. Amazingly, her voice was steady. Unlike her pulse.

‘I will. I swear I will. I’ll tell him I’m married just as soon as we get back.’

In a fortnight!

‘I can just see him.’ Scorn dripped from Felice’s voice. ‘He’ll be sitting there with a frown creasing up his forehead, his chin jutting out, and he’ll be drumming his fingers, just waiting for me to prove that I’ve done something stupid.’

Her description was so spot on that Kate had to voice her growing fear. ‘Have you?’

‘See?’ Felice shrieked her outrage. ‘He’s got to you already.’

Kate didn’t need to see Felice to know exactly how she’d just thrown her arm in the air or how she’d turned away only to swing back again. She put on her best employer’s voice. Her boss’s voice. ‘Just answer the question, Felice.’

‘God! You make a good pair, you know that?’

Kate shot Simon a grin. He didn’t smile back. Kate pointed to the phone. ‘She just said we make a good pair.’

He grinned at that.

‘He really is just right there, isn’t he?’ Felice said.

‘Yep.’

‘I haven’t made a mistake, Kate.’

The panic left Felice’s voice. Kate blinked, averting her gaze from Simon and his body, with all its intriguing distractions and temptations.

‘I love Danny.’ Felice’s sincerity rang out in the quietness of her tone, and in the simplicity of her claim. ‘Marrying Danny is the one good thing I’ve managed to do with my life.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Kate nodded although she knew Felice couldn’t see her. ‘But will you at least do one thing for me? Will you speak to Simon and tell him you’re fine?’

‘I don’t want to speak to him.’

Kate had never heard that stubborn note in Felice’s voice before. ‘Please?’ She held her breath.

‘He’ll make me hang up on him,’ Felice warned.

She let out her breath. ‘Nevertheless…’

‘Will you promise to call me back when he’s not watching over you like a guard dog?’

It was another apt description.

‘Please, Kate?’

She bit back a sigh. ‘Deal,’ she said. Then she handed the phone across to Simon. ‘Be nice,’ she ordered.

He held it to his ear. ‘Felice? Thank God! Are you all right?’ He listened for a moment and his brow darkened. ‘What the hell are you playing at? I’ve—’

He broke off and held the phone away from his ear. Kate wanted to tell him he wasn’t doing a very good job at being nice.

He slammed the phone back to his ear. ‘I’ve been out of my wits with worry!’ His teeth clenched for a moment. ‘Out with it, then,’ he ordered, unclenching said teeth. ‘What kind of trouble have you managed to get yourself into this time?’

In fact, he was doing a really bad job of being nice. She had a sudden flash of empathy for Felice. Felice, who was so full of life and laughter…and love.

‘What do you mean, it’s none of my business? I—’

Kate took a sip of her coffee and watched him. He had that over-protective big brother thing down pat. She wondered if she’d ever smothered Danny like that.

There was only five years’ difference between her and Danny, though. There was ten years between Simon and Felice. Ten years. That was a lot.

‘Then why the hell haven’t you called?’

She set her coffee back down at that. Good question.

‘You could’ve at least had the common decency—’

His free hand—the one not holding the phone—curved into a fist. ‘Of course it’s my business. I—’

The fist started to bounce on the table. ‘That’s rubbish and you know it. I—’

He broke off to stare at the phone. He shook it, then put it back to his ear. ‘Hello?’ Then he turned to Kate. ‘She hung up on me.’

‘Of course she did.’ Kate reached across and plucked her mobile from his fingers. ‘I don’t blame her.’

He scowled. ‘You don’t—’

‘I told you to be nice. You weren’t nice. You were bossy and…stuffy.’

He scowled some more. Then he slumped back in his chair, defeat outlined in the shape of his shoulders. ‘Where is she? I’m not leaving Australia until I at least clap eyes on her.’

‘Oh, right,’ Kate mocked gently. ‘Are you trying to tell me you’ll be happy to see her in the distance, see that she’s all in one piece and then leave again? I don’t think so. You’re itching to haul her over the coals for some imagined misdemeanour. For heaven’s sake, she’s twenty-two years old. Old enough to make her own decisions. Old enough to lead her own life.’

‘You don’t know her.’ He drained his coffee in one gulp.

‘I beg to differ. She’s just spent the last three months living in my house, working for my business.’

His brows drew down low over his eyes. The corners of his mouth tightened. ‘You don’t know her like I do.’

‘I’ll grant you that. But you’ve got to stop treating her like she’s twelve years old or you’ll turn around one day and find out she really has done something stupid.’

His head swung up. ‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know.’ She lifted a hand and tried to pluck an example from the air. ‘Like getting in with some hard and fast party crowd and taking recreational drugs or something. Just so she can prove to you she’s all grown up.’

Panic raced across his face. She rushed to reassure him. ‘Not that she has, you understand. I’ve never seen Felice take anything stronger than a glass of Chardonnay.’

He slumped back.

‘But if you don’t back off you could drive her to something awful and then, when she really needs you, she may not feel able to come to you.’

He dragged a hand down his face. ‘The voice of experience speaketh?’ he finally intoned. ‘She said we made a good pair, didn’t she?’

‘Accused, more like.’ Kate traced a finger around the rim of her coffee mug, gathered up coffee froth and popped it in her mouth. Simon’s eyes narrowed as he watched her and she hastily pulled the finger away and clutched it in her lap. ‘My father died eight years ago when I was twenty. My brother Danny was only fifteen.’

‘Your mother?’

‘She left when I was six.’

‘So, basically, you raised your brother.’

It didn’t sound like a question so she didn’t bother answering it. ‘Danny and I have had our moments, but he’s only five years younger than me. It has probably been easier for me to accept that he’s grown up and capable of making his own decisions.’

‘Plus he’s male. Men can look after themselves.’

‘That’s a particularly sexist view of the world.’

He shrugged, then leaned forward. ‘Do you know how much Felice is worth? How much she’ll inherit when she turns twenty-five?’

He named a sum that had her choking, ‘What?’

He sat back and glared. ‘So you can see why I’m concerned she doesn’t do something stupid.’

‘Like?’

His mouth grew grim. ‘There’s a lot of men out there who’d like to get hold of her fortune. I won’t let her marry a fortune hunter.’

And then it all made crystal-clear sense to Kate—why Felice hadn’t told them about her family, her fortune. She’d wanted them to love her for herself. Kate suddenly wanted to cry. She hoped Felice realised that they did love her for herself.

Something else struck her with equal force. When Simon heard about Felice’s marriage to Danny, he would not share their—or her—joy.

He may well go ballistic.

He may well say unforgivable things.

Kate wanted to drop her head to the table and groan, but Simon was watching her with that direct grey gaze, so she couldn’t.

‘Where is she?’

The question didn’t surprise her. She lifted her mug and drank the last of her coffee. This time she didn’t taste it either. ‘I don’t know.’ She set the mug back on the table.

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘That can’t be helped. I guess it’s even fair enough, because even if I did know where she’s staying, I wouldn’t tell you.’

His mouth turned grim then. His nostrils flared. ‘So that’s that then, is it?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ A sigh of regret stole through her. ‘I’m sorry, Simon, but Felice is of age and, I believe, capable of making her own decisions.’

He folded his arms and scowled.

Kate had liked the charming stranger with the to-die-for accent, empathised with the worried big brother with the clear grey eyes…but this scowling, thwarted man made her shift in her seat and wish herself elsewhere. She wondered what face he showed most often to Felice?

She recalled the panic in Felice’s voice and found her answer.

And then it hit her—the scowling and the glaring; it was just a foil for his fear. It was obvious he’d spent the last few months worried sick about his sister. Instead of telling Felice he loved her and was glad she was okay, he’d lashed out at her as if…

As if he expected rejection.

What on earth had happened between them?

‘What now?’ he demanded. ‘What the hell is she doing, anyway?’

She’d bet more people bowed and scraped to His Lordship than stood up to him. She wanted to tell him to stop acting like a spoilt child, only when she looked at him there was nothing of the child in the sensual firmness of his lips, or the broad, lean strokes of his body.

‘She’s seeing some of the world, back-packing like she always intended. She’ll be home in a fortnight.’

‘Home?’ He pounced on the word. ‘Her home is in England!’

Oh, dear. ‘Back, then. She’ll be back in a fortnight.’

Kate’s back started to tighten and ache—like it always did when she felt torn. She loved Felice and had given her word. Yet it didn’t stop her from feeling an enormous surge of empathy for this man sitting opposite her. She knew what it was like to fret over a sibling. She knew what it was like to worry about a child.

And Simon’s expression told her he still thought of Felice as a child.

His expression also told her he needed to loosen up.

‘What am I supposed to do in the meantime?’ he demanded.

‘You could return home to England,’ she offered. ‘I promise to make sure Felice calls you when she gets back.’

He shook his head once decisively. ‘I’m not leaving till I see her.’

Good. Instinct told her he should stay if he wanted to mend his relationship with Felice.

‘Well, then.’ She gestured to the view. ‘You’re in the centre of a tourist Mecca, my Lord.’ He was in Nelson’s Bay, one of the main towns of Port Stephens—three hours north of Sydney and, in Kate’s opinion, one of the prettiest places on earth. ‘If you’re intent on staying, have a holiday.’

‘I don’t have time for a holiday!’

She took in the tight set of his shoulders. ‘Why not?’ She might not be a doctor, she wasn’t a nurse, but she had a first aid certificate and she could tell a holiday was precisely what he needed.

‘I have an estate to run. I—’

‘Is that more important than hanging around here and waiting for Felice?’

‘No.’

Right answer. And he hadn’t even hesitated. It made her lips curve into a grin. He blinked. His eyes narrowed, but she ignored his suspicion. ‘Have you forgotten how to have fun? I bet all you do is work and sleep.’

And worry about Felice. She’d met men like this before. Men like her father, who thought they’d find relief in work. Hard work had helped her father up to a point. If only he’d put as much effort into winning back Kate’s mother—the love of his life. Maybe then he’d have been happy.

‘I—’

‘You need to loosen up, Simon. You need to stop and smell the roses. Do you have rose gardens on your estate? I bet you do. Roses aren’t our specialty here in Nelson’s Bay, but salt is. And coconut oil.’

He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. ‘You want me to stop and smell the…coconut oil?’

‘Absolutely. Everyone should stop and smell the coconut oil.’

He kept staring at her as if she’d just confirmed her craziness. Perhaps she had, but she couldn’t help it—she wanted to make Simon laugh and forget his troubles like she did when Jesse came home from school glum, with the weight of the world pressing down on his seven-year-old shoulders.

‘C’mon.’ She stood. ‘You need to feel sand between your toes and be at the centre of a lot of squawking.’