His Wedding-Night Heir (3 page)

last.

There were a lot of people present, most of them clustered

around the tables where the scale model was set up, and the

remainder hovering near the lavish buffet.

Waiters were going round with trays of champagne and heavy

platters loaded with canape's, presumably all with the

compliments of Eastern Crest. How to win friends and influ-

ence people, Cally thought cynically as she stood with Kit and

Tracy, wondering whom they should approach.

But in the end the decision was made for them when they

found themselves caught in a pincer movement by Ford on

Hartley and his younger brother Neville, their faces flushed

and inimical as they strode across the room.

'I wasn't aware anyone had asked you here.' Gordon addressed

Kit, ignoring the two girls completely. 'I'd like you to leave—

now.'

Kit held up three invitation cards. 'Someone clearly has a

different idea,' he returned coolly. "I thought we should see

what we're up against.'

'You're up against nothing,' Neville chimed in. 'You've already

lost, so what's the point in coming here, making fools of

yourselves? Our mother may have looked on you all as an act

of charily, but we don't.'

'All the same.' Kit was undeterred. 'We'd like to have a look at

the proposed development, and maybe speak to who-ever's in

charge at Eastern Crest.'

Cally found herself admiring his calmness. His refusal to be

rattled. He had 'We shall not be moved' written all over him,

in spite of the hostility he was faced with.

Goodness, she thought, if Leila had come she'd have bitten

someone in the leg by now.

'Then you're really out of luck.' Gordon was speaking again,

his tone curt, pushing his weight forward threatening ly. 'Be-

cause the chairman himself is hosting tonight's presentation,

and he plays in the big league. Get out now, before you

become a laughing stock or he has you removed.'

The brothers' raised voices were attracting attention, Cally

realised, with embarrassment. Curious glances from all over

the room were coming their way, and even some of the crowd

round the model were turning their heads to look

She realised that she wasn't just uncomfortable, she'd actually

begun to tremble inside. Even begun to be afraid in some

obscure but compelling way.

We shouldn't be here, she thought, swallowing. We may have

invitations, but there'll be an official guest list some where,

and we're still gatecrashers.

She touched Kit's sleeve. 'Listen,' she began, 'maybe we

should...'

But the sentence was never completed. Because she was sud-

denly aware that a hush had fallen. That someone was making

his way across the room towards them between groups of

people that obediently fell back at his approach.

A tall man, she saw, with a thin tanned face under fashionably

disheveled hair, dark as a raven's wing. A face marked by

high cheekbones, a nose and chin almost arrogant in their

strength, a mouth tough and unsmiling. And really

unforgettable.

The muscularity of his broad-shouldered, lean-hipped body

was emphasised by the elegance of his designer suit as he

strode towards them with powerful, determine d grace,

purpose in his every line.

He was someone, she realised, the breath catching in her

throat, that she knew. Whose reappearance in her life she "d

been dreading for over a year. And who was here now, almost

within touching distance, when there was no time to run or

place to go.

All she could do was stand her ground and pray to whatever

unseen deity protected fugitives.

But as his eyes, grey and deep as a winter ocean, met hers,

Cally felt the measure of his glance in the marrow of he r

bones, and knew dial her escape had only been an illusion all

along.

'Good evening.' The cool, crisp voice was like ice on her skin.

'Is there some problem?'

A game, Cally thought numbly. He was playing a game, with

rules that he'd invented. But no one knew it but hers elf.

'A few troublemakers have got in, Sir Nicholas,' Neville

Hartley said swiftly. 'But we're dealing with them. So if you'd

like to go back to your guests...'

'Presently,' the newcomer said quietly. He looked at Kit. 'May

I know who you are?'

Kit cleared his throat. 'I'm Christopher Matlock, and I run the

Children's Centre, and the Residents' Association d own at

Gunners Wharf. We face eviction because of your develop-

ment, but I'm still hoping some compromise can be reached,

and that you might spare me some time to discuss the matter.'

'Ah, yes.' The other man nodded. 'This has been mentioned to

me.' He turned to Tracy, whose face had been bleached with

nerves ever since their arrival. 'And this is?' His smile held a

swift charm that softened the hardness of his f

'Tracy—

Tracy Andrews,' Kit said quickly, seeing that she was beyond

speech. 'One of the residents.' He turned to Cally. 'And this is

my administrative assistant.'

'Oh, but we need no introduction,' the new arrival said with

cold mockery. 'Do we, Caroline, my love?'

Before she could move he took one long step towards her,

capturing her chin in his long fingers. He bent his head, and

for a brief, hideous second Cally felt the sear of his mouth on

hers.

He straightened, his lips twisting. 'They say absence makes

the heart grow fonder. I wonder if that’s true. Because you

don't seem very pleased to see me."

'Cally?' Kit was staring at her, lips parted in shock. 'You know

this man?’

'Yes.' She forced her lips to move to make the necessary

sounds. 'His name is Nicholas Tempest."

'I'm the chairman of Eastern Crest’ His smile did not reach his

eyes. The gaze that held hers was a challenge, and warning.

'Now, tell him the rest, darling." And from some far terrible

distance, she heard herself say with a kind of empty

helplessness, 'He's my husband.'

There was a moment when she thought she might faint. When

she would have welcomed the temporary surcease to this

intolerable moment that unconsciousness would provide.

But she wasn't that lucky.

Instead she heard Nick drawl, 'Will someone fetch a chair for

my wife? She's had a shock.'

It was exactly the challenge she needed. I am not—not —

going to fall apart, she told herself, her body stiffening. At

least not now.

She made her tone crisp. 'Thank you, but I'm perfectly all

right.'

She turned to Kit, who was looking poleaxed, while Tracy

was standing with her mouth open and her eyes out on s talks.

'But please get Tracy a drink,' she added. 'She really needs

one.' She look a deep breath. 'I think it's best if I leave’

'Not yet, darling.' Nick's voice was silky, but the fingers that

closed on her wrist felt like iron. 'After all, you went to the

trouble of seeking me out tonight. So why don't you say what

you came to say?'

Cally bit her lip. It was her left hand that he'd imprisoned. The

hand that had once, for a few hours, worn his ring but was

now bare—a fact, she could tell, that wasn't lost on him.

She wanted to pull free, but feared an undignified struggle

which she might lose. She said brusquely, 'Kit's our

spokesman. Perhaps he could make an appointment to see you

tomorrow.'

'Unfortunately I shall be leaving after breakfast.' He paused.

'But I could spare you all some time later, when tonight's

presentation is over.'

'But we're going out for a meal.' The champagne she was

sipping seemed lo have loosened Tracy's tongue. 'An Italian

meal. My neighbour's looking after the baby,' she added

beaming.

'Then why don't I join you?' Nick suggested, smoothly and

unanswerably. 'You can put forward your point of view’

Tracy stared at him. 'But I was going to have lasagne.'

'Then of course you shall.' He was smiling again, using that

charm of his like a weapon. Controlling the tense silence that

had descended. 'While you tell me all about Gunners Terrace.'

'It was an idea of our late mother's,' Gordon Hartley butted in,

almost desperately. 'Sadly, she died while the scheme was in

its infancy, so most of the houses are still untouched. They're

dangerous and insanitary, and they should b e pulled down.'

In spite of her mental and emotional turmoil Cally managed to

give him a steady look. 'That isn't altogether true, and you

know it. Half the terrace has been completed, and work has

started on the others.'

'But we won't talk about it here and now,' Nick cut in de-

cisively. He'd released Cally's wrist, but the pressure of his

fingers seemed to linger like a bruise. 'I still have things lo do,

so we'll have lo postpone the discussion.'

'There's really nothing to talk about. Sir Nicholas,' Neville

Hartley blustered. 'I think we've made the position quite clear

already.'

'One side of it, certainly,' Nick agreed. He looked at Kit.

'What's the name of the restaurant you're using?"

'The Toscana,' Kit muttered awkwardly. 'In the High Street.'

Nick looked at his watch. "Then I'll meet you there in an

hour's time.' He paused. 'All of you," he added softly, hi s

gaze resting briefly on Cally. 'I hope that's clearly understood.'

Another swift, hard smile and he was gone, and the crowd

seemed to close round him.

There was a taut silence, and Cally could see the Hartley

brothers exchanging wary glances.

She could understand their problem, she thought wryly.

Young Lady Tempest, wife of Eastern Crest's dynamic man,

would have been an honoured guest, overwhelmed with

obsequious attention. Nick Tempest's clearly estranged wife

was a horse of a different colour, and they weren't sure quite

how to deal with her.

To be civil to someone who'd encouraged Genevieve Hartley

in her reckless foolishness and battled with them openly after

her death would be analhema, but neither could they throw

her bodily into the street with her companions, a s they

obviously wished.

After all, Gunners Terrace was supposed to be down and out,

just waiting for the bulldozers to arrive. Now the residents had

an unsuspected ace up their sleeve, and for the moment the

Hartteys didn't have a strategy to deal with it.

In the end Neville Hartley said thickly, 'You haven't heard the

last of this.' And they stalked furiously away.

'Perhaps that should be our line,' Cally called after them, her

voice inimical.

Then suddenly the tension went out of her, and she was

gasping as if she'd been winded.

Kit was staring at her as if she was a stranger. 'I can't believe

this,' he said. 'You are married— to him? It can't be true.'

'It's perfectly true.' Her voice was raw. 'But not for much

longer, I assure you. Once I've been separated from hi m—

from Nick—for two years, divorce should be easy.'

'Is that how he sees it?' Kit asked sombrely.

'What do you mean?'

'You were the surprised one just now,' he said. 'If you ask me,

your husband knew you were going to be here tonight, and he

was waiting for you.'

'He's very dishy,' Tracy said on a note of envy. 'I wouldn't

mind him waiting for me.'

Cally gave a taut smile. 'Well, at the restaurant you can have

him all to yourself. I've had enough surprises for one day, and

I'm going home.'

'But you can't," Kit said, dismayed. 'You heard him. He's

willing to listen to what we have to say—something we hardly

dared hope for. But it has to be all of us or it'll be no dice.

Cally, you can't walk away—not when we actually have a

chance to put our case.'

She looked down at the floor. 'I think I'd be more likely to

damage your cause than help it.'

I should have listened lo that dream the other night, she

thought. Accepted it as a warning and gone while the going

was good. But I was too complacent. I let myself think that

he'd have stopped searching by now— if he'd ever begun.

Unless, of course, this is all one sick coincidence. But

somehow I don't think so.

'If you're not with us, I don't think we'll have a cause,' Kit told

her grimly. 'You can't give up on it all now. Besides, what