Knight in Black Velvet. HELEN BROOKS

I still remember enough for this circumstance.’ He gave a small smile, but it was a real smile this time, and for a second his face was illuminated as though someone had turned on a light, and then he was kneeling at her feet as he lifted her foot into his hand, the black velvet dinner-jacket making the situation seem even more unreal. A doctor who wasn’t a doctor living in a house that was beyond most people’s wildest dreams—She gasped as a shaft of pain cut into her thoughts.

      ‘It is painful, yes?’ Francisco raised his face as he spoke and then she was looking down on him again, his bent head with its shock of tight curly black hair giving her the strangest feeling in the pit of her stomach. And there was the feel of his warm flesh as he gently moulded and kneaded her foot. It was...unsettling. ‘I do not think you have any broken bones.’ He rose as he spoke after gently placing her foot back on the couch. ‘But what you do have is probably more painful than a break. I think the ligaments and tendons have been badly torn and the swelling is very severe. I would suggest you ask your hotel receptionist to make arrangements for X-rays to be taken at the local hospital to be on the safe side, of course, but possibly two or three weeks of rest will return the foot to new. Now, you wish to telephone your hotel?’

      ‘No, no, thank you, it’s all right.’ She had spoken too quickly and saw the small frown of puzzlement between his eyes with a feeling of alarm. ‘If someone could just take me back I’ll be fine... really. You must leave now; you’re already late and—’

      ‘A drink?’ He cut into her stumbling speech abruptly as his eyes flashed over her face. For a spine-chilling moment she had the feeling he could read her mind and then shrugged the ridiculous notion away. She was imagining things and she was normally so level-headed. What was the matter with her? ‘Brandy is good for the nerves, or maybe you would prefer a glass of wine or a soft drink?’ Francisco continued quietly. ‘And I will give you something for the pain.’

      ‘Please, you just go, I’ve delayed you enough already...’ Her voice stumbled to a halt as he searched her features with another long, considering glance before turning to pull the long bell-cord at one side of the magnificent ornate fireplace.

      When Alfonso entered seconds later Francisco spoke to him in rapid Spanish before extracting a bottle from the black bag and handing Lorne two small white tablets. ‘Alfonso is bringing you a glass of iced water.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She looked up at him with a small smile but the hard face eyed her coldly without a glimmer of warmth.

      ‘And then I suggest you and I have a chat, Miss Wilson.’

      ‘Lorne.’ She didn’t try a smile this time; she had the feeling nothing would penetrate that icy mind. ‘The name is Lorne.’

      ‘As you wish.’ He inclined his head before walking over to the huge cocktail cabinet on the far side of the room and pouring what looked like brandy into a cut-crystal goblet. ‘Will you join me?’

      ‘No, thank you.’ Alfonso returned at that moment with the water and she thanked him with a warm smile before turning back to Francisco. ‘This will be fine.’ As she swallowed the tiny tablets under the hard black gaze her eyes wandered round the luxurious room, which was furnished exquisitely in varying shades of silver and grey with small occasional tables in dark polished wood to offset the pale carpet. People actually lived like this, she thought disbelievingly. The wealth contained in this room alone would keep her for the rest of her life!

      ‘Now, Lorne.’ The sound of her name on his lips brought her head snapping round to meet his gaze. ‘I am going to ask you some questions and I want truthful answers. Is that understood?’ His voice was cool and tight.

      She stared at him without answering. She had always disliked authoritative people, whether male or female, but he took the word to another dimension! Just who did he think he was anyway? He might be king-pin in this little corner of the world but if he thought he could bully her he was very much mistaken! Her chin lifted slightly with her thoughts.

      ‘Your name is Lorne Wilson and you are twenty-two years of age?’ She nodded slowly. ‘Where are you staying and who are you travelling with?’

      ‘Look, Mr de Vega, I’m very grateful for your assistance this evening but could we just leave it at that?’ she asked quietly, keeping all irritation out of her voice. ‘I’m a grown woman and quite capable of taking care of myself. In fact—’

      ‘It looked like it.’ Now his voice was biting. ‘Do you not realise what a narrow escape you had, girl? You are such a tiny little thing, you would not have stood a chance against those men if things had got difficult.’

      ‘Well, it didn’t come to that, did it?’ she said flatly. ‘And I repeat, I am very grateful to you for appearing at the right time but I would like to go back now, please.’

      ‘Back where?’ His eyes had narrowed and she suddenly felt he knew... he knew she had nowhere to stay. ‘Exactly where, Lorne?’ She stared at him dumbly as her mind raced, trying to come up with a plausible answer. ‘I am not an idiot so please stop attempting to treat me like one.’ He downed his drink in one swallow and walked over to the cabinet, pouring another good measure into his glass before turning to face her again. ‘You are one of these student people, is that it?’ The beautifully modulated voice was scathing. ‘Thumbing a lift here and there, living recklessly—’

      ‘I have not been thumbing lifts,’ she said indignantly. ‘I told you, I had my bike.’

      ‘Ah, yes, the bicycle.’ He walked over and knelt down beside her so that his dark face was a breath away. ‘But you have the bicycle no longer, do you, so how do you intend to manage, especially with that ankle? You have nowhere to stay tonight, do you? Answer me.’

      ‘No.’ The word had been forced out against her volition; there was something in those black eyes that was mesmerising. He relaxed then, sinking back on his heels as he eyed her coldly, shaking his head a little as he rose.

      ‘And you are by yourself.’ It was a statement and she didn’t bother to confirm what he knew. ‘I cannot believe this.’ He stood looking down at her as she lay on the couch, his long, muscled legs slightly apart and his hands on his hips. ‘Don’t you realise how vulnerable you are? You look about sixteen, all hair and eyes, and you seem intent on displaying as much of that... attractive body as you can. I really do not believe—’

      ‘It’s not my fault my skirt got caught in the bike chain,’ she said weakly. When he had knelt down so close the smell of him had been intoxicating and her senses were still coping with the shock of it. She didn’t like him, in fact he was one of the coldest, rudest people she had ever met in her entire life, but whatever he was he was all male.

      ‘Your skirt?’ He waved his hand irritably. ‘What has your skirt got to do with anything?’

      ‘Everything!’ Suddenly it was all too much. Sancho’s desertion, Janie’s betrayal, the shock and terror of the preceding hours and the pain in her ankle culminated in a break in the dam that she had been holding in for weeks. She didn’t recognise the wailing noise was coming from her at first but as the tears coursed down her face and her last scrap of control went with them she knew she was making a terrible fool of herself, but suddenly she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything any more. She was tired of being brave, tired of coping on her own, tired of trying to keep going, just altogether, totally, absolutely tired.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ‘HERE.’ The big white hankerchief was thrust under Lorne’s nose at the same time as she became aware that Francisco had sat down beside her, pulling her head on to the broad expanse of his chest as his other hand stroked her hair comfortingly. ‘Whatever it is it cannot be as bad as all that, little one.’ The unexpected kindness made her worse and it was some considerable time later before she had composed herself enough to raise a tear-drenched face from its soft resting place.

      ‘I’ve ruined your jacket.’ She looked aghast at the wet velvet streaked with dirt from her fall on the road, but Francisco smiled slowly, his dark face enigmatic.