The Revenge Affair Page 8

  ‘How old do you think I am?’

  ‘Is this another guessing game?’ She sighed at his steady stare. ‘Fourteen,’ she said, adding a year to her best estimate for the sake of his young male ego.

  ‘Fifteen,’ he corrected gloomily.

  ‘Oh…well, what I said actually still goes,’ she consoled him. ‘My mother thought the Bible was the only book worth reading. Novels were a big no-no in our house.’

  His thin face took on an expression of sheer horror. ‘You weren’t allowed to read any fiction at all?’

  She shrugged. ‘Not at home. I used to keep a stash in my locker at school, though.’

  ‘But that’s censorship! You should have told her that she couldn’t violate your rights like that,’ he said, showing he was a true child of the modern age. ‘I’m allowed to read anything I like.’

  ‘Lucky you. I guess your mother must be a real liberal, huh?’

  ‘I don’t know. Clare lives in America. My parents divorced when I was born, and I stayed with Dad.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why?’

  She was taken aback. ‘Well…I’m sorry because you didn’t have your mother there when you were a baby,’ she said, stepping gingerly.

  ‘Why? Don’t you think that men can single-parent as well as women?’

  Regan rolled her eyes. She had a feeling that this gangly youth might well best her in a debate. A question seemed to be his favourite form of reply.

  ‘Look, I really have to go.’ She couldn’t believe she had stood here chatting when Adam might already be back on the prowl. She had to find out what he was doing here and whether it was going to be possible to avoid him. If he was just a visitor maybe she could keep out of the way long enough for him to think he had made a mistake…

  ‘Sir Frank and Mrs Harriman are probably wondering where I am.’ She hesitated, looking around.

  ‘The house is back that way.’ He pulled his hand from his pocket and pointed over her left shoulder.

  ‘Thanks.’ She still hesitated.

  ‘If you turn right when you get to the bark track behind that tree big fern you’ll come out of the bush by the front flower garden,’ he added.

  She gave him a sharp look, but his thin face was telling her nothing. If he was willing to help her, he surely couldn’t be in league with Adam.

  ‘OK—thanks again. Bye…’

  ‘See you around,’ came the laconic reply.

  She paused, looking over her shoulder. ‘Will you?’

  ‘Probably.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m Ryan.’

  She wondered what test she’d passed that he was willing to honour her with the information so far stubbornly withheld. ‘I’m Regan. I’m here to help Mrs Harriman organise her granddaughter’s wedding.’

  Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t respond and she offered him a cheerful wave and went on her way.

  She discovered that her trust in him was justified, and five minutes later she was politely greeting Hazel Harriman in the drawing room at the front of the house and apologising for the state of her hands.

  ‘You look as if you’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards, lass!’ Sir Frank said, when she’d explained that she had strayed off the path amongst the trees and tripped over some creepers.

  ‘Trust you to be blunt to the point of rudeness, Frank,’ said the tall, thin, elegantly dressed woman on the Victorian sofa. Her strapped right ankle was propped on a footstool and a lightweight fibreglass cast covered her left arm from the base of her fingers to her elbow. A single crutch was propped against the arm of the sofa and an open Brides magazine lay on the polished mahogany occasional table beside her knee, along with the remains of her afternoon tea.

  She turned a coolly gracious smile up to Regan, her dark brown eyes compassionate for her obvious embarrassment.

  ‘Take no notice, my dear. I designed these grounds specifically to tempt people to explore rather than just to stand and stare.’ She tilted her beautifully coiffured ash-blonde head. ‘Won’t you sit down? I’ll ask Mrs Beatson to bring you a refreshing cool drink or cup of tea.’

  ‘Tea, please,’ elected Sir Frank. ‘And scones. With cream and some of that homemade kiwi fruit jam of yours.’

  His sister-in-law gave him a quelling look. ‘Plain tea and biscuits is all you’ll get from Alice,’ she said firmly. ‘The doctor sent her your diet sheet.’

  ‘I think I may have ended up with some tree sap on my skirt as well,’ said Regan, declining to besmirch any of the antique cream and white striped armchairs. Her nerves were on full alert as she tried to pay full attention to her hostess while also keeping one wary eye on the door for Adam, half expecting him to burst in and denounce her for a wanton harlot. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I changed first…’

  ‘Of course, and you might like a shower after your hot drive, too. Why don’t I get Alice to show you to your room? Although you’ll forgive us if the bed isn’t made up yet, since we weren’t expecting any more guests today.’ She slanted a look at her brother-in-law which made him scowl sheepishly.

  ‘I’m sorry. I quite understand, Mrs Harriman. I don’t want to be a burden—I can make up the bed myself if someone shows me where the linen cupboard is,’ said Regan. Whatever discussion had gone on between them before she’d arrived, it was evident that Sir Frank’s steamroller generosity had paid off, but that Hazel Harriman was gracefully making him aware of her displeasure.

  The smile in the soft brown eyes shifted from one of politeness to genuine warmth. ‘Now I’m the one embarrassing you, Regan—forgive me, but I couldn’t resist that little dig at Frank. You don’t have to feel awkward—I know exactly what he’s like. This idea of his was probably sprung on you with much the same lack of notice as he gave me. He calls my side of the family bossy, but he really takes the cake!’

  ‘Cake, huh!’ Sir Frank rumbled. ‘Tea and biscuits is all I get around here!’

  ‘And please do call me Hazel,’ the other woman went on, as if he hadn’t spoken, ‘because we want to be comfortable with each other if we’re going to be working side by side for the next few weeks. Much as I hate to admit it, I do need someone to help—I’m left-handed and I have endless letters and lists still to deal with. And Carolyn is in such a mental tizzy that she can’t seem to concentrate on anything at the moment…’

  One of the tight knots of tension loosened in Regan’s chest at the rueful admission of relief. At least now, on top of her other worries, she needn’t fear that she was leeching off a reluctant hostess.

  ‘Now, why don’t you go upstairs with Alice and settle in?’ Hazel ordered briskly. ‘And later she can show you around the house, so you can get your bearings. We can leave our little get-to-know-you chat until later. Meanwhile, I suppose I should see how the meal will stretch to two extra…I think Alice told me she was doing a stuffed salmon…’

  Oh, God, was she going to have to face Adam across a formal table?

  ‘You said you weren’t expecting any more guests?’ Regan blurted. ‘Does that mean you have some staying here already?’

  She held her breath until Hazel shook her head, her soft-set curls shimmering. ‘Not staying, no—except for Carolyn, of course, and she often flits back to Auckland to stay overnight at her flat. No, by “guests” I meant that Carolyn’s having a little impromptu party here later this evening for some of our local friends. It’ll be a nice, informal introduction for you.

  ‘And we do have plenty of visitors popping in and out during the course of the day. Joshua’s staying down at Palm Court, and he regularly drops by to see Carolyn, and there’s Christopher, of course—that’s Joshua’s brother.’

  Thinking about it later in her room Regan, pondered the uneasy look that Hazel had exchanged with Sir Frank when she’d mentioned Christopher Wade and then hurriedly changed the subject—thwarting any further casual enquiry about male visitors. Was the fianceés brother considered some kind of problem? Could he be her Adam?

&nbs
p; If so, she didn’t run into him when the stoic Alice Beatson finally winkled her out of her room for a nerve-wracking tour of the house. The room in which she had seen him proved to be a blessedly empty library, and dinner turned out to be a straightforward foursome with the Harrimans. Carolyn, whom she’d never met before, seemed perfectly pleasant when introduced, but rather disconcertingly edgy when she learned the purpose for Regan’s visit. Beneath the superficial gloss of sophistication often provided by inherited wealth she seemed rather young for her twenty-two years, and Regan had misgivings about the wilful curve to her lovely mouth and the highly-strung quality to her darting conversation. She had a beautiful figure and long, natural blonde hair which she kept twitching over her shoulder, and there was a hectic glitter in her golden-brown eyes as she bubbled excitedly about Joshua, whom she called her Darling Jay, and the people Regan was likely to meet later that night.

  A good percentage of them were male, and as Regan ventured down later to join the party she was deeply fatalistic, determined that whatever happened she would brazen things out. Now that she had calmed down she had reasoned that a confrontation with Adam might be highly embarrassing but it wasn’t the end of the world. Plenty of women had to endure the social awkwardness of running into inconvenient ex-lovers. And Adam was a sophisticated man, unlikely to want a public fuss any more than she did.

  The ‘little’ impromptu party had the house bulging at the seams already, and after Hazel had introduced her without incident to several bunches of friendly, relaxed people Regan felt confident enough to grab a glass of non-alcoholic punch and wing it on her own. In her black flip skirt and plain white silk camisole she knew she looked more subdued than most of the younger women present, and that suited her perfectly.

  ‘Hi, sweetie—you’re definitely a new face around here.’ As she moved away from the punch bowl she was accosted by a handsome, dark-haired young man with a cocky smile and to-die-for blue eyes who fell into step beside her. ‘Now, you can’t be a friend of Caro’s or we would have met before—are you part of the local gentry?’

  ‘I’m Regan Frances. I’m a house-guest here.’ That was the unfussy label Hazel had used in her introductions.

  ‘Are you indeed? Lucky thing! My name is Chris.’

  She stopped by the French doors to the glass conservatory. ‘Christopher Wade?’

  He leaned his hand on the doorframe above her head and raised his eyebrows in a wicked leer. ‘Ah, I see my fame has preceded me. What have you heard? How brilliant I am? How witty and good-looking? It’s all true, I tell you!’

  She laughed. ‘I can see that.’

  ‘A woman of exquisite discernment.’ He grinned, and for the next few minutes elicited a string of giggles with his nonsense.

  Regan was so busy enjoying the performance that she wasn’t aware of her danger until a masculine arm suddenly shot into her line of vision, holding out another full glass of beverage.

  ‘You appear to have run out of punch, Mrs Frances—why don’t you take mine? It seems my brother is too intent on flirting to do his duty as a gentleman.’

  Regan stared, not at the glass in the manicured hand, but at the stud securing the French cuff of the dazzling white sleeve—a solid gold cufflink inset with New Zealand jade. Her gaze slowly travelled up the length of the white arm to collide with a pair of murderous steel-grey eyes.

  ‘Y-your brother?’ she stuttered, not noticing the young man had stiffened at her side.

  He knew her name. He must have asked about her. The cat was well and truly out of the bag.

  His smile was lethally unamused. Her eyes shifted to Carolyn, clinging to his other elbow, and to the huge diamond flashing on her finger. Shock punched her in the stomach as her brain clicked back into gear and worked through all the clues she’d stupidly missed.

  Owns a corporation—therefore must be quite a bit older than Carolyn; well-respected in financial circles—meaning millionaire; corporate-apartment-type rich; ‘Darling Jay…’

  Jay…JA…Joshua Adam.

  Joshua Adam Wade.

  Oh, God—she had slept with her employer’s grandniece’s fiancé! The passionate fantasy lover who had told her he despised people who cheated on their partners was the very man whose wedding she was here to help arrange!

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘HOW long have you been engaged?’ Regan croaked, sipping on her fresh glass of punch.

  ‘Nearly two months,’ preened Carolyn, looking adoringly up at the man at her side. In a pink taffeta shift overlaid with a black satin and lace Empire-line dress she looked the perfect accessory to her fiance’s monochrome white shirt and black trousers. As a woman who had never had to work—and probably never would—she had plenty of time to devote to her appearance. ‘We got engaged in the second week of February, didn’t we, Jay Darling? Up here—on St Valentine’s Day!’

  Regan choked, spluttering liquid back into her glass. That was only two days after her own encounter with ‘Adam’!

  ‘Sorry, a piece of fruit pulp must have gone down the wrong way,’ she said, as Chris gave her a light tap on the back.

  At least Joshua hadn’t been engaged when he had ‘engaged’ himself to be entertained by one of Derek’s ‘friends’!

  But he hadn’t just decided he wanted to get married and hunted out a wife within the space of two days. And if he had already been involved with Carolyn why hadn’t he looked to her to satisfy his libido instead of seeking casual sex with a stranger…or did he come from that chauvinistic school which divided the whole of womankind into only two types: those you slept with and those you married?

  But, no—looking at the golden-blonde’s flushed cheeks, and the way she was leaning her breasts into Joshua’s side, her eyes avidly darting between the two males, Regan got the strong impression that in spite of her dewy, debutante looks Carolyn was no innocent virgin. And, anyway—Joshua was surely too intelligent to subscribe to such an outrageous double standard!

  When she dared look at his face she found that he was staring down at her with a blistering contempt that caught her on the raw. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, proudly rejecting his disdain. Did he think she had come here expecting to run into him? Her eyes were violet pools of reflective scorn as she glared back at him. As a betrayed wife herself, she hated that he had forced her into a position where she felt like the iniquitous ‘other woman’.

  ‘OK now?’ asked Chris, solicitously rubbing her rigid spine.

  Joshua’s nostrils flared at the sight of his brother’s petting hand.

  ‘Do you usually allow yourself to be pawed by men you’ve only just met, Mrs Frances?’ he drawled, his joking smile undercut by the venomous tone which suggested that she was in the habit of allowing liberties a great deal more obscene.

  Regan’s drink trembled in her hand, and even Carolyn stopped preening long enough to look startled at his smiling ferocity.

  Chris bristled, his hand dropping to clench by his side, as if he was contemplating planting it in Joshua’s cynical face. ‘Her name is Regan.’

  ‘I know what she calls herself.’ The drawl was even more mocking. ‘Mrs Frances and I are old acquaintances.’

  Now old enemies, it seemed! Regan compressed her lips, bewildered by the depth of his anger.

  ‘That’s right,’ she agreed, smiling with sweet falsity, ‘but in spite of what he seems to want you to infer, Chris, as an “old acquaintance” Mr Wade knows full well that I’m not currently married—my husband died nearly a year ago.’

  She was guiltily aware that it wasn’t the first time today she had used her status as a widow to invite the pity she had previously always shunned.

  Only one other person recognised the ploy. ‘Ten months, actually, if my memory serves me correctly,’ said Joshua. He looked her slowly up and down. ‘From your outfit I take it that you’re still not sure whether you’re half in mourning or half out of it…’

  Carolyn gave a high-pitched nervous giggle as Regan struggled no
t to throw her drink in his insulting face. His eyes glittered, and she knew he almost wanted her to do it. Didn’t he care that his thinly veiled hostility was bound to raise questions about their former relationship?

  ‘God, when did you become such an insensitive bastard!’ Chris swore, his arm curving protectively around Regan’s waist. ‘I’d have thought you, of all people, would know better than to taunt anyone about the tragedy in their life.’ He turned to Regan and fired out rapidly in a low voice, ‘Maybe you should know that my parents—Joshua’s father and stepmother—died in an arson attack on our house when Josh was seventeen. He got badly hurt saving my twin sisters and me, and then had to give up the career he’d planned to fight for custody of us kids, against our father’s scavenging relatives and business partners who wanted to plunder our inheritance. I guess he feels that all that gives him the monopoly on suffering, so that he can sneer at those who can’t match him for sheer angst—’

  ‘I haven’t asked you to apologise for me,’ grated Joshua. ‘Or speculate on my motives. You don’t have to dredge up every last detail of my personal history—’

  ‘I wasn’t apologising—you can damned well do that for yourself,’ Chris shot back, raking back a lock of dark-brown hair that had fallen over his forehead. ‘I was just letting you see what it feels like to have someone violate your privacy in public. It’s about time someone gave you a taste of your own medicine.’

  Regan sensed unknown cross-currents and realised that while she might have been the catalyst for this confrontation she wasn’t the sole cause.

  A muscle flickered in Joshua’s hard jaw. ‘Back off, Chris.’

  ‘Or what? You’ll cut off my allowance? I’m not a little boy any more, to be bribed into living my life the way you think I should. I’m ten years older than you were when you took over our father’s company. I’m a qualified doctor now, pal, and I earn my own damned living.’

  A doctor? Somehow Regan hadn’t pictured the cocky young man in his designer white suit as anything but a frivolous playboy.