A Husband's Price. Diana Hamilton

but practicalities had to come before pride. She had the future welfare of her father and her child to consider. She needed to get the best deal she could out of this man and continued rudeness wouldn’t do anything to help in that respect.

      She stirred her sugarless black coffee slowly, gathering patience. ‘Perhaps,’ she granted, then took a heartening sip of the hot and excellent brew. He was not to be fobbed off with that, however. His intent, unblinking expression told her that much.

      ‘You probably saw him around at odd times during the summer you worked here.’ She refused to elevate the couple of months he was at Farthings Hall higher than that, give it more importance. ‘Tony was my father’s accountant. He came around fairly regularly.’

      ‘That fair-haired guy who always seemed to be hanging around your stepmother.’ His mouth curled derisively and his voice was bitter. Because Helen had shown the young and sexy part-time gardener off the premises, preferring the more experienced attentions of her so-called distant cousin?

      Had he seen what she and her father had signally failed to recognise—the ongoing affair between those two? She felt her face go red. The idea was hurtful and somehow very degrading.

      ‘He has to be twenty years your senior.’ His eyes were cold, as if he despised everything about her.

      Claudia corrected him hotly, ‘Twelve, actually. Not that it mattered. He was kind.’

      Whatever else Tony had been, or hadn’t been, he had always shown her kindness. It was ironic, really, that she hadn’t discovered how cruelly he’d treated her until after his death.

      ‘How nice for you.’ Adam showed his teeth. As an attempted smile it wouldn’t rate one out of ten, and his subsequent, ‘So when did you marry your well-healed, ageing Lothario?’ made her grind her teeth.

      ‘October. Exactly six years ago. Satisfied?’ He hadn’t picked up on her earlier use of the past tense and she frowned, wondering, just for a moment, why she didn’t come right out with it and tell him Tony was dead. And knew the answer: because she couldn’t afford to have him know too much about her situation. ‘Maybe now we can change the subject and talk about why we are here at all.’

      ‘Gladly.’ He drained his coffee cup. ‘How old is Rosie?’

      Her blue eyes clouded with anger. Why the heck couldn’t he leave it? ‘What my daughter’s age has to do with the sale of Farthings Hall escapes me.’ She bunched up her napkin and dropped it on her largely untouched salad, gathered her handbag and swept to her feet. ‘I can only imagine you have no intention whatsoever of making an offer, that you brought me here with the sole objective of causing me as much aggravation as possible because, six years ago, I had the temerity to dump you!’

      Claudia stalked out, leaving him to settle the bill, and she was waiting impatiently by the Jaguar when he finally strolled out after what seemed to her to be an inordinate length of time.

      ‘I liked the outraged dignity act.’ He was actually smiling for the first time that day. Claudia looked quickly away. That smile of his had always been lethal and nothing had changed in that respect except he used it a lot less often. Round her, at least.

      ‘I hate wasting time, Mr Weston.’ She glanced at her wristwatch. They should be back at Farthings Hall in time for her to collect Rosie from the village primary school. She prayed that he wouldn’t hang around. There wasn’t going to be a deal. This morning had been a painful waste of time.

      ‘So, Mrs Favel, do I.’ He opened the passenger door. ‘Though I wouldn’t agree our time has been wasted—even though more questions have been raised than answered.’ He ushered her into the passenger seat and closed the door. While he walked round to the driver’s side she wondered what he was talking about and decided she definitely didn’t want to know.

      One thing she was sure of was the unlikelihood of him making any offer for her home on behalf of his company. That, she reasoned, would have been ruled out of the question the moment he’d realised who she was. He probably still felt bitter about the way he’d been ordered off the property six years ago when he’d been just the hired help.

      He wouldn’t be inclined to do her any favours. She breathed out raggedly, shifting in her seat as the powerful car tucked neatly into the side of the narrow lane on a particularly tight bend.

      ‘Relax,’ he said coolly. ‘I’ll have our surveyor go over your property. One day next week, perhaps. Our formal offer will depend on his report.’

      Claudia did as she was told. She relaxed. Well, as much as she could, given the company she was keeping. He hadn’t written off the possibility of a sale, so she could keep the harmful truth from her father for another few days—until she was forced to tell him everything by the imminent arrival of the surveyor. Every day he got a little stronger, so the longer she could keep the dreadful news from him, the better.

      A few more minutes and they would be back at the Hall. After Adam dropped her off he’d drive away, she consoled herself, and she would never have to see him again because all further business could be handled through their solicitors. And she could begin again the process of forgetting how very much she had once loved him, and how very much she had hated him for the first few years, and—

      ‘That is Rosie?’

      The car had swept up the gravelled driveway and she hadn’t noticed. His query brought her out of her bitter ruminations. Her daughter was careering down the flight of stone steps from the open main entrance door, dressed in cotton dungarees, her soft black hair flying around her face, Amy red-faced and puffing in hot pursuit.

      Adam braked, the action controlled and smooth, and Claudia practically fell out of the door, reaching out and catching her squealing and giggling offspring and lifting her protectively into her arms.

      ‘Mummeee! Amy said to watch for the car—I saw you come!’ That wide, heart-stopping smile lit up the gorgeous little face, the wide, smoke-grey eyes. ‘The roof of the school fell down,’ she exaggerated wildly. ‘The whole school nearly fell down!’

      ‘Just the ceiling in the cloakroom, and only part of it at that,’ Amy explained breathlessly. ‘But Miss Possinger phoned at lunchtime to say could one of us collect her because all the children were being sent home early. They’re getting the plasterers in to fix it this evening.’

      Claudia unwound her daughter’s arms from their stranglehold around her neck, her poor heart pounding. ‘Run along in with Amy, darling. I won’t be a moment.’ She wouldn’t have been that long even if, in her haste to stop her exuberant little girl hurtling off down the drive, she hadn’t left her handbag behind in the car. ‘Then I’ll get changed and maybe we’ll take a picnic down to the cove.’

      She didn’t want her daughter around Adam Weston for one split second longer than necessary and she cursed the fates that had made it necessary at all, and held her breath as, the promise of a picnic as bait, Rosie slid to the ground, took Amy’s hand and trotted willingly back to the house.

      Everything was OK. Claudia let out a relieved sigh of pent-up breath, then broke out in a cold sweat and felt the ground tilt beneath her feet as Adam said, his voice very cold, very precise, ‘That child is mine.’