Knight To The Rescue. Miranda Lee

      ‘Shall we say, I have no need to unless I want to? And I haven’t been wanting to this year.’

      ‘Goodness,’ she exclaimed, totally intrigued by him now. ‘Were you born rich?’

      ‘Not at all.’ Elliot proceeded over to his built-in bar. ‘What do you fancy? Gin? Vodka? A glass of white wine?’

      ‘Oh—er—yes, white wine.’

      He turned and extracted a bottle of Riesling from a wall fridge, opening it like a man who’d had a lot of practice. Pouring a glass each, he carried them over to the sofa.

      Fascinated, her eyes followed his every move. He was so unconsciously graceful, yet so...masculine.

      ‘The truth is,’ he said as he handed over her glass and sat down in front of the crackling fire, ‘I was once married to a rich woman.’

      Shock sent her wine glass trembling, and wide eyes flashing to his. ‘You mean you married a woman for her money?’

      His self-irritation was obvious by the expression on his face. ‘No, of course not. Please don’t think that. I was merely explaining where a lot of my money came from. Moira died, you see. Late last year. Viral pneumonia,’ he finished tersely before she could ask.

      Audrey was taken aback that a person could die of pneumonia in the modern-day world of antibiotics. And said so.

      ‘My wife suffered from multiple sclerosis for some time,’ he elaborated reluctantly, ‘and had developed an aversion to doctors. I was away from home when she came down with what she thought was flu. Friends tell me she refused to call in a doctor. When I arrived home she was very ill. I raced her to hospital but she died within hours.’

      ‘Oh, how awful for you, Elliot,’ Audrey murmured.

      He looked uncomfortable with her sympathy, his fingers tightening around his glass. ‘Yes,’ he said gruffly. ‘Yes, it was.’

      For her part, Audrey could not get out of her mind how devastating such a situation must have been. To have one’s wife, or husband, snatched away so...unexpectedly young. But then, sudden death was always devastating. Nothing could ever prepare you for the gaping hole left in one’s life when a loved one was wrenched away abruptly.

      Audrey knew she was going to cry if she kept thinking on that subject. With an enormous strength of will, she pulled herself together, straightening her shoulders and taking a steadying breath. Only then did she notice Elliot was watching her very closely, a thoughtful expression on his face. Quite quickly she lifted her drink and took a sip, feeling embarrassed by his intense scrutiny.

      ‘You...didn’t have any children?’ she asked.

      The muscles in his jaw clenched down tightly. ‘No. Moira couldn’t have any. Can we change the subject?’ he demanded brusquely.

      ‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She felt guilty for having been so insensitive. Clearly he had loved this Moira very much. And was missing her terribly. Audrey fell awkwardly silent.

      ‘Tell me about Russell,’ he said at last.

      A shudder went through her. ‘Do I have to?’

      ‘I think it might be a good idea,’ he stated matter-of-factly. ‘Perhaps I can give you a different perspective on the man, show him up for what he is. Someone not worthy of any heartache.’

      ‘Believe me, I can see that already.’

      ‘What about your father?’

      She frowned. ‘My father?’

      ‘Did he know you were going out with this Russell fellow?’

      Her chest tightened. ‘Yes.’

      ‘And he approved?’

      She shrugged in an effort to ease her instant inner tension. ‘He seemed pleased a man was taking some interest in me at last. My father is one of those men who thinks women are nothing if not married. He considers me prime spinster material,’ she finished with a bitter laugh.

      ‘That’s rubbish on all counts! Women don’t have to marry early these days. Or at all, for that matter. Either way, you’re only a spring chicken.’

      ‘I’m twenty-one next week.’

      His laughter was dry. ‘Positively ancient.’

      ‘It is if you look the way I do. Lavinia always says that with money even the plainest girls can look good when they’re young, but after a certain age it’s downhill all the way.’

      Audrey was startled by the look of sheer fury that flashed into his eyes.

      ‘And who,’ he ground out, ‘is Lavinia?’

      ‘My stepmother.’

      ‘Your stepmother...’ One of his dark brows lifted in a sardonic fashion. ‘And your stepmother told you you were plain?’

      Audrey saw what he was thinking now. That Lavinia was the hackneyed wicked witch of a stepmother. ‘No, no, Lavinia wouldn’t be that cruel. She’s very nice to me. She tries awfully hard to help me with my hair and my clothes. But I’m a lost cause. Nothing seems to suit me.’

      All the while she was talking, Audrey could see Elliot was not convinced.

      ‘And how old is this stepmother of yours?’ he probed, eyes unreadable as they flicked over her. ‘The one who helps you with your hair and clothes.’

      ‘She’s in her late thirties. But she looks younger. She’s very beautiful, and very confident in herself.’

      An envious sigh escaped Audrey’s lips before she could prevent it. But she did so wish sometimes that she could look even half as gorgeous as Lavinia could.

      ‘I don’t know where you got the idea you weren’t attractive, Audrey,’ Elliot pronounced.

      An angry resentment flared within her. ‘Please don’t keep flattering me, Elliot. It’s not necessary. I know what I am and I know what I look like.’

      Suddenly there was no stopping the tears that had threatened all afternoon. They came with a rush, flooding her eyes, spilling down over her pale cheeks. Appalled at herself, she tried to choke back the sounds, to smother them by putting her wine glass down and dropping her face into her hands. And she succeeded. But her shoulders still shook uncontrollably, and she had no idea how heart-wrenching the sight of her was, huddled there, crying silent bitter despairing tears.

      ‘Audrey, don’t,’ Elliot groaned, and, putting his own glass down, gathered her into his arms. Quite automatically, her arms went round his securely solid chest to hug him with a desperate tightness.

      When one of his hands lifted to stroke her hair, Audrey’s response took her by surprise. Despite her distress, she thrilled to his touch and when he whispered sweet words of comfort she quivered with secret delight.

      ‘You are nice-looking, Audrey. I haven’t been flattering you...’

      How did it happen, that moment when he tipped her tear-stained face up and bent his mouth to hers? Audrey froze for a second, but his lips were soft, soothing. Instruments of sweetness and sympathy. She sighed into them, her own parting, her arms creeping up to slide around his neck.

      It was then that the kiss changed, that Elliot’s mouth abruptly turned hard and demanding, his hands tightening around her. He forced her lips widely apart and his tongue drove deep.

      A quiver of shock ran through Audrey’s body and she began to struggle against him, her hands beating at his chest in a wildly flowering panic.

      When he finally reefed backwards, her big brown eyes lanced his with shock and confusion.

      He shook his head, his face filling with self-disgust. ‘Oh, God...I’m sorry, Audrey. Terribly sorry.’ His shrug was as weary and frustrated as his voice. ‘I got carried away.’