Seduced By The Enemy. Kathryn Ross

that her priorities reasserted themselves. What manner of business was Tate here to discuss anyway? Her mouth set in a grim line as reluctantly she knocked on her father’s study door.

      ‘Ah, Tate!’ Her father stood up immediately the other man entered, his face wreathed in smiles. ‘Nice to see you—and you, Antonia.’

      Helena stepped in and closed the door behind her firmly. Invited or not, she intended to stay and hear exactly what was going on.

      ‘I didn’t think I would need you today, Antonia, but…’ Lawrence swept a hand ruefully towards the other desk at the far side of the room, which had an in-tray stacked high with correspondence. ‘As you can see, it was a forlorn hope.’

      ‘Don’t worry, Mr Beaumont. I’ll make short work of it,’ Antonia assured him as she stepped across to take her seat.

      ‘Meanwhile—’ Tate tapped the folder that he was carrying ‘—I’d like to discuss those business proposals we spoke of last week.’

      ‘Wonderful.’ Lawrence sat back down behind his own desk and waved Tate towards the chair opposite. ‘Helena, be a dear and get us all some coffee, will you?’ he said, glancing briefly at his daughter. ‘Mary has gone into Bridgetown for some shopping.’

      Helena’s face fell. She wanted to hear the nature of the business Tate had come to discuss, not make coffee.

      Tate looked across at her, and his mouth slanted in a lop-sided grin as he took in the angry gleam in her eyes. ‘Black with no sugar, thanks, Helena.’

      Helena would have liked to tell him to get his own damned coffee, but courtesy and respect for her father forbade such a thing. With a dry nod, she turned to leave. She really had no other alternative.

      Never had a pot of coffee been made so quickly. Helena fairly ran around the large kitchen, throwing everything on a tray. She returned to the study a few minutes later and entered the room without knocking on the door.

      She was just in time to hear Tate requesting her father’s signature on some document that he had placed before him. Horror welled up inside Helena as she watched her father calmly pick up his pen to comply without question.

      Helena put the tray down on the desk with rather more force than she had intended, and the china cups and saucers rattled noisily in the silence. She had to say something—she couldn’t just watch while her father signed a document that might be another dreadful mistake.

      ‘Shouldn’t you have professional advice before you sign anything, Pop?’ she said, quietly but firmly.

      Lawrence looked up, his pen poised over the paper, an expression of annoyance clear on his lined face. ‘I think I’m capable of making my own decisions, Helena,’ he said swiftly.

      It was galling to be spoken to so curtly. She had, after all, been specially trained to advise businesses in difficulty.

      ‘I rather thought I could be of help to you in here,’ she said with gentle emphasis.

      ‘I’ve told you, Helena, I’ve got all the help I need’ Lawrence smiled at her, totally ignoring the pleading look in his daughter’s eyes. ‘You go off and enjoy yourself.’

      Conscious of Tate watching her, she forced herself to smile. ‘Very well,’ she acceded reluctantly. ‘I’ll see you later.’

      She was quite literally fuming when she walked out of the room. How could her father be so blind as to trust Tate Ainsley with such implicit faith? And what were the documents that he was signing? All sorts of dreadful possibilities flew through her mind. Her father could be signing away Beaumont House, for all she knew.

      She wandered through to the kitchen to tidy the mess she had made whilst making the coffee. It was probably best to keep busy, she thought as she wiped over the counters and put things away. Best not to think about what mistakes her father might be making.

      For a brief moment she considered having a quiet word with Antonia. Perhaps she would shed some light on what was transpiring? As soon as the thought crossed her mind she dismissed it. Antonia worked for Tate, and if past history was anything to go by the woman adored him. There was no way she would get anything out of that woman…except maybe some gossip about Debby and Cass.

      Helena stopped what she was doing and leaned against the kitchen counter. Was it true that Deborah was thinking of marrying David Cass? The question returned with sudden force to haunt her.

      Debby had once been like a sister to Helena. For a moment thoughts of their friendship filled her mind. They had supported each other through the ups and downs of growing up, had always been firm friends…until Cass.

      ‘May the best girl win,’ Deborah had once said laughingly, when they had both admitted to being wildly attracted to him. And then, when Cass had asked Helena out, she had shrugged and said laughingly, ‘Well, luck was on your side this time.’

      The words echoed hollowly inside Helena, evoking memories that she wanted so much to forget. She had dated Cass for five months. Five months of being wined and dined, and still she hadn’t known the real man beneath the urbane smile.

      ‘Helena?’ Tate’s velvet deep voice cut into the painful intensity of her thoughts, bringing her abruptly back to the present with a start. She turned sharply, and as she did so her arm caught the sugar bowl on the countertop, making it fall with a resounding smash onto the stone floor.

      ‘Bit like the price of sugar,’ Tate noted wryly as he came across to help her tidy up the mess. ‘Plummeting all the time.’

      Helena’s hands trembled as she tried to pull herself sharply together. It was horrifying that just the thought of Cass could do this to her. Her nerves were stretched, her heart pounding. She just prayed that Tate wouldn’t notice how agitated she was.

      She frowned across at him. What was he doing in here anyway? she wondered. Presumably he had finished his shadowy business dealings with her father for one morning…Perhaps he now thought that he could try and sweet-talk her before he left, try and dampen down any suspicions she might have about him?

      She bit down on the softness of her lips. Well, the man was in for a rude awakening if he thought he could twist her around his little finger, she told herself heatedly. She knew his type, and she was well able to stand up to him.

      ‘I can manage to pick up the pieces, thank you,’ she told him tightly as he crouched down beside her. ‘It’s something I’m quite good at—which is probably just as well, seeing as I will be doing a lot of it around here once the dust has settled.’ Her voice was sarcastically dry as she got in the dig that she would probably have to pick her father’s finances off the floor once Tate had finished with him.

      ‘I gather your father hasn’t been too accommodating about opening his accounts for you,’ Tate said nonchalantly.

      She glared up at him. He had come to gloat, she thought furiously. ‘Whatever gives you that idea?’ She ground the words out furiously. She certainly wasn’t about to admit any such thing to him.

      ‘It seemed pretty obvious.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t take it too personally, Helena. Your father means well— it’s just an old-fashioned quirk of his that he feels women—’

      ‘I don’t need you to tell me about my own father,’ she cut across him, her voice rising with her increasing fury. Lord, this was the final humiliation. The man was robbing them blind, and he knew damn well that she was virtually powerless to do anything because her father was too damned stubborn to let her help. He was laughing at them…it was infuriating, it was maddening.

      She had to grit her teeth to keep from saying something that she might deeply regret. ‘There are a lot of things you don’t realise about me, Tate Ainsley,’ she told him tightly. ‘And one of them is that I can handle my father.’

      ‘I’m sure you can.’ Tate’s voice was suddenly serious. ‘But just a word of caution, Helena. Lawrence is not a well man. His blood pressure is very high, and the doctors have told him