Ungentlemanly Behaviour. Margaret Mayo

both finished their starter that Hallam spoke again. ‘Do you live with your mother?’ he asked, an agreeable, conversational tone to his voice now, as though the whole unfortunate episode had never taken place.

      ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head, at the same time breathing a sigh of relief. ‘My mother has a new boyfriend; they’re very much in love. And as I didn’t want to spoil their pleasure in each other I bought myself a house.’

      An eyebrow rose. ‘No doubt out of the profits you make due to idiots like my son,’ he remarked, a sudden bitter edge to his tone.

      ‘Someone has to do the job,’ she retorted, realising wearily that they would never see eye to eye. ‘I can’t understand you, Hallam Lane; why do you insist on making insulting remarks all the time?’

      He gave an ironic twist to his lips. ‘It’s an amusing pastime.’

      ‘Meaning you’ll never take me seriously.’ Abby’s eyes flashed her displeasure. She always took umbrage when people were insulting about her chosen profession—and even more so with this detestable man!

      ‘Meaning,’ he said, ‘that I would never even have given you the opportunity of taking Greg’s case if he hadn’t pleaded with me so eloquently.’ He looked at her, as if trying to see her through his son’s eyes. ‘Goodness knows why.’

      ‘Because he knows I’m good with young people his age,’ she replied tartly.

      His lips curled. ‘Yes, I understand you’ve made quite a reputation for yourself. I have barrister friends who say that your groundwork is so thorough that you’re a pleasure to work with. Why don’t you have a boyfriend?’

      His mercurial change of subject momentarily threw her and Abby looked at him with a frown before saying, ‘As I told you once before, my private life is just that—private. It is none of your business.’

      ‘Are you content to live the life of a nun?’

      Even though she was deliberately staring out of the window Abby knew that Hallam was watching her closely and intently. To her dismay every nerve-end tingled. He had this alarming ability to arouse her just by looking at her, making her more aware of her own body than she had ever been before.

      ‘You have no idea what sort of life I lead,’ she told him sharply.

      ‘So there is a boyfriend?’ he insisted.

      Abby could not lie and she shook her head. ‘As a matter of fact, no, there isn’t.’

      ‘Does the job get in the way?’

      She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Are men scared of you? Does being a legal eagle put them off?’

      ‘Of course not,’ she answered firmly, her eyes shooting sparks of indignation.

      ‘When was the last time you dated?’ He was sitting well back in his chair now, his head on one side as he deliberately studied her.

      Abby felt a curl of desire in the pit of her stomach and stifled it instantly. ‘Lord, what is this?’ she cried, her tone more aggressive than she’d intended. ‘The third degree? Of what possible interest can it be to you?’

      He smiled. ‘Let’s say you intrigue me. I’ve never met a woman so uninterested in the opposite sex. Or is it, perhaps, all a sham?’ he asked quietly. ‘A veneer to go with the image of professional businesswoman?’

      After a pause, when it became clear she was not going to answer his question, he went on, ‘You did respond to me rather—easily the other day. I gained the impression that if I were to—’

      His words were interrupted when his housekeeper returned with their main course, but the instant she left the room he continued, ‘That if I were to make any further advances I wouldn’t be exactly rebuffed.’

      ‘Then you’re deeply mistaken.’ Fury made her raise her voice, and she hoped desperately that it was all presumption on his part, that he had not guessed what sensations crept through her body every time she looked at him.

      Sliced breast of chicken, cooked in another one of Emily Renfrew’s wonderful sauces wafted its mouthwatering smell beneath Abby’s nostrils and she helped herself to vegetables from the dishes which matched the rest of the china, glad of something to do to take her attention away from Hallam Lane.

      ‘Aren’t we supposed to be discussing your son?’ she asked in a deliberate attempt to change the subject.

      He did not answer. Instead he asked a question of his own. ‘Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are the most incredible green? So unusual. They change according to your mood. When you’re angry they’re as deep as a storm-tossed sea, but they’re as light as the palest emerald when you’re…’

      He let his voice tail off, a knowing little smile playing about his lips.

      Abby was appalled that he could read her so easily. ‘You’re despicable!’ Her eyes flashed at him and she wondered what colour they were at that moment. She had no idea that they ever changed.

      ‘I’m merely stating facts.’ Amusement insisted on lurking at the corners of his mouth. ‘Eat your food before it gets cold.’

      Abby discovered that she had suddenly lost her appetite. Nevertheless she cut off a piece of chicken and put it into her mouth. Although it was undoubtedly tender it tasted like cardboard and when Hallam watched her every move she felt like throwing the whole contents of her plate into his face. In fact the thought gave her so much pleasure that she stifled a giggle, though she could not quite stop a smile forming on her lips.

      ‘What’s so funny?’ he enquired as he also speared a portion of chicken.

      ‘Private thoughts,’ answered Abby, still smiling.

      ‘I’ll give you a penny for them.’

      ‘You might not like what you hear.’

      ‘Try me.’

      She was sorely tempted—not to tell him but to carry the thought out. She could just imagine his reaction. She had done it to her brother once, when his tormenting had got the better of her. He hadn’t been amused but it had been distinctly worth it just to see the shock on his face. However, discretion had to be the better part of valour here. She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’