Seduced By The Enemy. Kathryn Ross

crisply. ‘I’m well aware that the sugar trade has declined.’

      ‘Then you know that there have been big changes on estates like Beaumont,’ he pointed out calmly.

      ‘I know my father has diversified—he did that a long time ago.’ She looked at him sharply. Was he making excuses? Was he trying to tell her that her father’s problems were down to the economic climate, not to mishandling? He was cool, she had to give him that. Just what game was Tate Ainsley playing? she wondered cautiously.

      ‘Up until now he has done very well from his investments,’ she continued succinctly. ‘I sincerely hope that he hasn’t changed his business tactics.’ She couldn’t resist the dig. She knew damn well that her father had changed his tactics to suit Tate…with disastrous consequences. Let him try and explain himself out of that.

      Tate merely laughed. ‘There speaks a true banker. “Play it safe” being the banking war cry. Let me tell you that remaining static in this economic climate is like trying to tread water in a hurricane. You have to move boldly forward with the times if you want success.’

      Green eyes collided directly with his deep blue gaze. She didn’t care for his mocking tone. ‘Bold’ was a word that seemed to sit well on Tate Ainsley’s shoulders. She was willing to bet that he took some very unorthodox risks in business. ‘You can only move boldly forward if you have the means and the safety nets in place to do so,’ she told him pointedly.

      He smiled at that. ‘Well, you would say that. I rest my case—you’re a member of the “play it safe” brigade.’

      ‘And what way do you play, Tate?’ she asked directly, an edge of incrimination in her tone.

      ‘Have dinner with me tomorrow night and we can discuss strategy if you like,’ he offered casually, completely unruffled by her tone.

      The invitation caught her off balance, as did the gleam of taunting mirth in his deep eyes. Was he deliberately baiting her? she wondered with annoyance, because he seemed to be enjoying putting her on the spot.

      ‘I don’t think there would be much point in us discussing business strategy,’ she told him calmly. ‘Comparing your ideas and mine would be like comparing a fox’s idea of how to survive the winter with a squirrel’s.’

      He laughed at that. It was a genuine, warm sound in the sweetly fragrant air. ‘I take it I’m the fox?’

      ‘What do you think?’ She grated drily, meeting his blue eyes with a look that told him most definitely that he was.

      Yet underneath her stiff, instinctive antagonism to his approaches in business she had to admit in that instant to finding something very appealing about the roguish gleam m Tate Ainsley’s eye…The idea was fleeting and ludicrous, and she instantly dismissed it with severe anger. What was the matter with her? she wondered furiously. Hadn’t she learnt her lesson where men like Tate Ainsley were concerned?

      She was extremely relieved when Tate pulled the car to a halt outside the house, putting an end to their conversation. As soon as the car engine stopped, the front door of the house opened and her father came out onto the wooden veranda, closely followed by Vivian. Hurriedly Helena reached for the doorhandle and stepped out to run towards him.

      ‘Helena, thank heavens you are home.’ Lawrence Beaumont came down the steps, and she was embraced in strong arms and held tightly.

      She closed her eyes and clung to him. ‘It’s good to be home, Pop. I can’t tell you how good.’

      It was a few moments before she had gathered her emotions together enough to pull away and look at her father calmly. He didn’t seem any different. A little tired, perhaps, and there was a drawn look about his face that hadn’t been there before.

      Lawrence was now in his early sixties, but he still had a rugged attractiveness. His sandy-blond hair was still thick, and his body powerfully built.

      ‘You’ve hardly changed.’ Helena smiled through a glimmer of tears.

      ‘Well, that’s more than we can say about you,’ Vivian put in as she came down to join them.

      Helena turned with a smile and reached to kiss her stepmother.

      ‘You look fabulous,’ Vivian said truthfully as they broke apart.

      ‘So do you.’ Helena’s eyes moved wistfully over the other woman. Vivian was wearing a speedwellblue summer dress that emphasised her superb figure. Her skin was pale and she had smouldering red lips and dark eyes. Her hair was a soft, natural blonde.

      Vivian was just thirty-three years of age—it was six years since she had given up her modelling career to marry Helena’s father, but her looks certainly hadn’t diminished. If anything she was more beautiful now than she had been before.

      ‘Thanks for collecting Helena.’ Lawrence went to give Tate a hand with her luggage, but he waved him away.

      ‘I can manage,’ he said, smiling. ‘Your daughter travels light.’

      ‘I hope that’s not an indication of how long you’ll be staying?’ Lawrence asked, turning anxious eyes onto Helena.

      ‘Give me a chance to unpack before I start talking about leaving,’ Helena prevaricated with a smile.

      Her father nodded, and together they moved into the house.

      Overhead fans made a soft whirring sound and sent a delicious waft of air over Helena’s heated skin as she stepped into the wide hallway. The doors through to the lounge were open, and her eyes moved over the soft gold furnishings with delight. Everything was exactly as it had been when she had left.

      The house was furnished almost exclusively with antiques, and stepping through the doorway was like stepping back in time to the colonial era. The floors were polished wood, and they creaked underfoot like a ship’s galley. Crystal lights made a soft tinkling sound in the gentle breeze from the fans.

      ‘Leave Helena’s luggage by the staircase, Tate,’ Lawrence said briskly as he moved into the lounge. ‘Come through and join us for a drink of champagne.’

      ‘Champagne?’ Helena watched as her father marched to where an ice-bucket and glasses had been left ready and waiting for them. Champagne hardly fitted in with the picture her brother had painted of financial troubles.

      ‘Tate very kindly brought it over earlier, ready for your homecoming.’

      ‘I see.’ Helena didn’t really see at all. Why on earth should Tate bring champagne over to welcome her home?

      She glanced across and met his deep blue gaze. He was watching her, a strange, almost hooded expression in his eyes. Whatever his reasons, Helena thought in that instant, she doubted they had anything to do with generosity.

      She watched as her father poured out five sparkling glasses of the frothy liquid. ‘Is Paul joining us?’ she asked hopefully.

      There was a moment’s awkward silence. ‘I’ve told your brother not to come here until he gets a civil tongue in his head,’ Lawrence said in a gruff tone

      Helena’s heart sank. The argument between Paul and her father had obviously been even worse than she had thought. She had hoped that they might have patched things up for her homecoming.

      ‘The other glass is for Mary,’ Vivian put in swiftly. ‘She’s been so excited about your return; she’s been dashing around all day, fussing and flapping to make everything perfect.’

      ‘She’s done everything bar kill the fatted calf,’ Tate added, a hint of dry amusement in his tone.

      Was that a dig implying that she was the errant stray daughter, finally back to the fold? Helena glanced over at him, wondering again at his motivations.

      ‘Ah, here’s Mary now,’ Vivian said with a smile as the door swung open and a plump black woman came rushing into the room.

      ‘Oh, Miss Helena, you’re home!’