Hot Blood. CHARLOTTE LAMB

never mentioned him before,’ Liam said slowly, watching her. ‘How long have you known him?’

      She gave him a quick, evasive glance and shrugged. ‘Oh, not long.’

      Her mind raced feverishly—what was going on? Why was Liam so angry? Why all these hostile questions? She had known him most of her life, just as she had her husband. Kit’s world was a small one; the people in it rarely altered year by year, day by day, and she liked it like that. She was comfortable with herself and her world.

      Yet Liam was still mysterious to her, his re sponses and emotions as indecipherable as some ancient script scratched on a primitive artefact. You could sometimes make out a line here or there, but the meaning of the whole defeated you. In fact she was sure that he did not want her to know too much about him; sometimes she even thought that he was afraid of her getting too close. But why?

      Paddy and Fred came back and began setting out the furniture they had just carried into the hall. Paddy set to work, energetically giving a plainly decorated eighteenth-century country linen chest a final polish to make it shine under the strong lights of the hall. Fred checked that each item was marked with the price, to forestall arguments with customers, and made sure that the more expensive pieces were placed well to the back of the stall for safety’s sake. You often got light-fingered customers looking for small, portable objects to walk off with while your attention was distracted by someone else. You had to have your wits about you, working in an antiques market.

      ‘Paddy, look after the stall; we’re going for a cup of coffee,’ Liam said brusquely, grabbing Kit’s arm as she opened her mouth to argue.

      A moment later he was pulling her towards the exit and out into the watery gleam of March sunlight. Across the street from the village school stood the Blue Lion, a solidly built gabled pub from the eighteenth century.

      This was where all the antiques dealers and their customers gathered for a traditional English breakfast on these cold mornings. The back room of the pub where the landlady cooked bacon and egg and made crisp golden toast and hot, strong coffee or tea was as crowded as usual. There were no free tables.

      ‘We’ll take our coffee outside, Mrs Evans,’ Liam told the landlady, who handed him two brimming mugs.

      ‘Sit in the snug, dear,’ she said, glancing quickly from one to the other of them. ‘Too cold to go outside.’

      ‘Thanks,’ he said, smiling down at her, and she went pink with pleasure.

      Flirt! thought Kit bitterly, watching him turn on the charm that could make her own head spin on her shoulders.

      The snug bar was a small, red-plush-upholstered room with a counter shining with highly polished brass. Liam put down the mugs of coffee on a black marble-topped table and sat on one of the red plush seats, stretching out his long legs as Kit sank down next to him.

      ‘Why have we come over here?’ she asked.

      ‘To talk without witnesses.’ He turned towards her, his profile hard. ‘Let’s have the truth, shall we? Are you dating Joe Ingram to stick a knife in me?’

      She drew a long, shaky breath. ‘What are you talking about?’

      His voice was angry. ‘You know damned well what I’m talking about! A few days ago you asked me to marry you and I was honest enough to tell you that I never wanted to get married again. I thought you were adult enough to take the truth, but I guess women never are.’

      Face burning, she angrily said, ‘I did not ask you to marry me! All I said was were we going to get married some time or did you intend to go on for ever the way we’ve been for the past year?’

      His mouth twisted cynically. ‘Don’t play games with words, Kit. You asked me if I was going to marry you, and I had to tell you no. That was when the wall went up and you suddenly started looking at me as if you hated me.’

      Face distant, she said, ‘I was frank with you too, Liam. I’m sick of living alone; I want someone else there, someone to share things with, someone to come home to every day.’

      ‘Was that the only reason you slept with me—to get me to marry you?’

      She bristled, glaring at him. ‘Don’t be so insulting! I thought we had a real relationship; I thought you cared about me.’

      ‘I do! That has nothing to do with getting married—’ He broke off, staring at nothing, his brow corrugated, then muttered, ‘Look, Kit, I gave you my reasons the other day. I asked you not to take my answer personally—’

      Incredulously she interrupted, ‘How else can I take it, for heaven’s sake? You want me to sleep with you but you don’t love me enough to marry me. I take that very personally.’

      His voice rough, he said, ‘I never wanted to hurt you, Kit. That’s the last thing I want to do. Please believe that. This isn’t about you, it’s about me. I prefer to live alone; I don’t want to live with anyone, not ever again.’

      ‘Weren’t you happy with Claudia?’

      She had never once asked him about his dead wife or their relationship; she had realised early on that Liam did not want to talk about any of that. She had felt a door close in her face every time she’d mentioned Claudia.

      Now there was a long silence, then Liam said tersely, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t discuss her with you of all people.’

      She flinched at his tone—it was like a slap in the face. It pushed her away, denied her the right to ask him questions. This was why she felt so uneasy about their relationship. There were areas of his life that he would not talk about, and while he locked her out of his most private thoughts how could she really understand him, or feel she really knew him? What sort of man hid himself from someone he had known most of his life?

      ‘What do you mean…me of all people?’ she asked in pain.

      He sighed, rubbing a hand across his temples as if he had a headache. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Kit—isn’t it obvious?’

      ‘I’ve talked to you about Hugh; I don’t keep secrets from you.’

      ‘Hugh’s alive. Claudia is dead. It wouldn’t be fair to her.’