King Of Swords. Sara Craven

misted herself with fragrance before turning resolutely to the door and making her way downstairs.

      It was still quite early, and the special guests who had been invited to dinner before the party proper began had not begun to arrive yet, so Julia expected to have the drawing-room to herself for a while.

      But to her horror, Alex Constantis was there before her, standing on the hearthrug, staring up at the enormous portrait of the Regency Julia Kendrick which hung above the fireplace. Twentieth-century Julia had never cared for this constant reminder of how her family had acquired Ambermere. She had always been vaguely embarrassed by the pride of place given to a woman who had shamelessly betrayed her husband, and behaved like a tart with Prinny. And she loathed the lighthearted family tradition of drinking a toast to the first Julia as a climax to the Midsummer party. But perhaps, in the circumstances, that particular ritual could be forgone this year.

      She hesitated in the doorway, wondering whether she could steal away before he saw her, but the wretched man must have had eyes in the back of his head, because without turning, he said, ‘Come in, thespinis, and tell me about your ancestress.’

      Julia came forward with deep unwillingness, strongly tempted to repudiate all knowledge of the flame-haired beauty in her shockingly fashionable transparent draperies.

      But before she could speak, he added drily, ‘And do not try to deny the relationship. The family resemblance is there—and the colour of the hair.’ He turned and looked at her fully, the glittering dark gaze sliding with unabashed interest over the untrammelled cling of the midnight dress. ‘And the fact that you both wear so little,’ he ended silkily.

      In spite of herself, Julia felt dull colour rise in her face. The cut of the dress demanded a minimum of underwear, but it infuriated her that this stranger—this interloper, should be so immediately aware of the fact—and be graceless enough to refer to it.

      At the same time she was forced to acknowledge that his voice was attractive—low-pitched and resonant, with barely a trace of an accent. Not, she thought, what she would have expected from someone of his background.

      She said coolly, ‘As you’re a stranger to Britain, Mr Constantis, perhaps I should warn you that sexist remarks are no longer welcomed here.’

      ‘Sexist?’ Alex Constantis repeated the word as if it were utterly new to him, then shrugged. ‘Yet we are still born male and female, thespinis. The human race does not yet allow for neuters. Nor will it continue for much longer unless a man is able to tell a woman that he finds her desirable.’

      To her fury, Julia felt her flush deepen. Did this person actually mean … No, of course he didn’t. He was simply getting his own back by deliberately setting out to embarrass her.

      She said crisply, ‘You were asking about the portrait, I believe. She was the wife of the first baronet, and her name was Julia.’

      ‘You were named for her?’

      ‘Yes.’ Julia forbore to add ‘unfortunately’, knowing it would involve her in explanations which she didn’t wish to give. Alex Constantis’s grin was far too insolent already.

      He glanced back at the portrait. ‘She is very beautiful. To possess such loveliness would be a rare acquisition.’

      Again Julia had the uneasy feeling that his remark was a loaded one, intended to needle her. At this rate, she thought crossly, I’ll be spending the entire evening blushing like a schoolgirl!

      She forced her voice to remain level. ‘I’m afraid the portrait isn’t for sale, Mr Constantis. You’re buying a house, not a family history.’

      He said softly, ‘The past does not concern me, thespinis—only the present—and the future. And it is not altogether certain that I shall buy Ambermere.’

      Julia groaned inwardly. Aloud, she said stiffly, ‘If you’re having second thoughts because of anything I’ve said or done, then I’m sorry.’

      ‘Are you?’ He spoke in the same reflective tone, but Julia felt an inexplicable shiver run down her spine—as if he’d threatened her in some way.

      Oh, I’m being ridiculous, she thought with exasperation.

      She tried to speak lightly. ‘Perhaps we’d better declare a truce. May I offer you a drink?’

      ‘Thank you. Do you have Bourbon?’

      ‘Of course. It’s what my father drinks.’ Julia moved to the side table where the decanters stood, and poured a measure into a glass, angrily aware that her hands were shaking.

      ‘Come on, Jools,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Get it together.’

      To add to her self-consciousness, she felt certain Alex Constantis had spotted her nervousness, and was amused by it, although his expression when she handed him the glass was enigmatic.

      ‘You are not joining me?’ he asked, and Julia shook her head.

      ‘It’s going to be a long evening,’ she excused herself, with a bright smile which only touched her lips.

      ‘Then—yiassou.’ He raised his glass to her, then drank.

      Julia began to wish she had in fact poured herself a drink as well. It would have given her something to fidget with—to concentrate on—anything rather than just having to stand here, the object of his undivided attention.

      ‘So, tell me more about your namesake,’ he said, after a pause. ‘She was the mistress of the Prince of Wales—isn’t that right?’

      Julia’s lips tightened. ‘You seem perfectly well informed already.’

      ‘There is a small bookshop opposite my hotel in the village. I bought a local guide book, and such a story was mentioned.’

      She shrugged. ‘Then what more is there to tell?’

      ‘Her husband—this first baronet. What kind of a man was he?’

      ‘He was one of the Prince’s circle,’ Julia said reluctantly. ‘Though not a close friend. He was a gambler.’

      ‘So that is where the tendency comes from,’ Alex Constantis said meditatively. ‘Was he also as unlucky as your father?’

      Julia shot him a look of indignant surprise, annoyed at the implied criticism in his words. ‘I don’t think I want to discuss that with you.’

      ‘Yet it has a certain relevance.’ The dark eyes were hooded. ‘If your father had been luckier in his wagers—in his speculation, then your family home would not be for sale to the highest bidder—and we would not be here together now.’

      She said tautly, ‘Please don’t remind me.’

      He laughed. ‘The truce did not last long, thespinis. But no matter. My instinct tells me that to war with you might be more interesting than to make peace.’

      ‘And your instinct, of course, is never wrong.’ Julia was heavily sarcastic.

      ‘Where women are concerned—rarely.’ He was still smiling. ‘Another sexist remark!’

      Julia bit her lip. ‘Could we change the subject, please?’

      ‘Certainly.’ He drank some more Bourbon. ‘Shall we talk about the weather, or shall I tell you how beautiful you look in that dress, and how much I would give to see you without it?’

      Shame and anger welled up inside her, as if she had indeed been stripped naked in front of him. If she had had a drink in her hand, she would have thrown it straight into his mocking, arrogant face, she thought savagely. She wanted to hit out, to beat at him with her fists, but she knew, somehow, that such a gesture would only amuse him.

      My God, she thought. He’s demanding a full pound of flesh in return for my having called him a peasant!

      From somewhere she managed to conjure up a light laugh. ‘Would you give me Ambermere,