Pagan Enchantment. Кэрол Мортимер

lunch and you can tell me about yourself.’

      ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she dismissed.

      ‘Nevertheless, I want to hear it.’ He stood up to pull back her chair for her, towering over her as they walked side by side into the dining-room, the walls lined with mirrors, the ceiling very ornate. Meredith had never been here before, and she found it all beautifully elegant.

      For the next fifteen minutes she gave him a résumé of what she had been doing since she left school four years ago, hardly noticing the food that was quietly and efficiently placed in front of her, only knowing that it was delicious.

      ‘And your family?’ he prompted.

      She frowned. ‘Is that necessary?’

      She couldn’t see what her family history had to do with giving her a part in a film, but after the indifference she had treated him with the night before she was willing to do anything to please him. Well, not quite anything, she thought ruefully.

      ‘Something funny?’ He quirked one dark brow, perfectly relaxed with his surroundings, taking the efficiency of the service for granted, the perfection of the food.

      And also the female attention coming his way. And there was plenty of that! Young and old alike seemed to feel his magnetism, the aura of sensuality that Merry was becoming more and more aware of with each sip of wine.

      ‘Not really,’ she smiled. ‘It was really good of you to agree to meet me here. You must have thought me very audacious yesterday.’

      ‘Possibly,’ he replied enigmatically, dismissively. ‘You were going to tell me about your family.’

      She looked at him over the rim of her glass. ‘What would you like to know?’

      He sat forward, his expression intent. ‘Everything.’

      ‘What an invitation!’ she laughed huskily. ‘I’m sure you don’t mean “everything”?’

      ‘My dear Miss Charles,’ he drawled with barely concealed impatience, ‘I never do, or say, anything I don’t mean.’

      ‘How clever of you!’ her sarcasm was barely veiled.

      ‘Yes,’ he agreed tersely.

      ‘Don’t you know that it’s fatal to invite an actor or actress to talk about his or herself? I could go on for hours,’ she warned lightly.

      ‘I’m willing to take the risk,’ he taunted, the blue eyes deeply mocking.

      ‘All right,’ Merry sighed. ‘I’ve lived a very normal life, with very normal parents.’

      He scowled at her, the black brows dark over his eyes. ‘That was hardly hours,’ he snapped.

      ‘I can’t help that,’ she shrugged. ‘That’s been my life so far. I’ve lived a very uneventful life. In fact,’ she added softly, ‘the most exciting thing to happen to me so far is meeting you.’ Her eyes were widely innocent.

      His mouth twisted with scepticism. ‘I don’t need flattery, Miss Charles,’ he rasped. ‘Especially the insincere kind.’

      She flushed at the way he had seen straight through her. So much for her acting! He was right, her flattery was insincere. Something about this man warned her to beware, that he was dangerous. Maybe it was the way he kept staring at her, those deep blue eyes totally unnerving, making her wish he had kept the tinted glasses on. Whatever the reason for her nervousness, she knew that here was a man she could never relax with, and her guard was well and truly up—although she had nothing to hide.

      ‘Do you still live with your parents?’ he asked now.

      She shook her head. ‘My father lives in Bedfordshire. I have to live in London for my work.’

      ‘And your mother?’

      A flicker of pain crossed her face. ‘She died, two years ago,’ she revealed huskily.

      Gideon Steele nodded. ‘I didn’t think there’d been any mistake. The moment I saw you today, without the wig and that atrocious make-up, I knew Harrington hadn’t been wrong about you. But I had to be sure.’

      ‘Sure of what?’ Merry frowned, suddenly tense. ‘And who is Harrington?’

      ‘That isn’t important for now,’ he dismissed impatiently. ‘What is important is that Anthea sees you straight away.’

      ‘Who is Anthea? Your casting director?’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Anthea is—–’ he broke off with a frown. ‘Why did you think I wanted to meet you today?’ he asked slowly.

      ‘Well, everyone knows you’re in town looking for people for your next film, and—–’

      ‘You thought I was going to cast you?’ he finished incredulously.

      She flushed resentfully. ‘Why else would you want to see me?’

      ‘Because of your mother,’ he rasped. ‘Good God, girl, you could be a brilliant actress for all I know, but I certainly wouldn’t have been able to tell from Anderson’s play.’

      ‘That isn’t the only thing I’ve been in,’ she defended heatedly, her disappointment acute. He wasn’t going to offer her a part after all. ‘And what does my mother have to do with you? I told you, she’s dead.’ Her voice shook with emotion.

      ‘You told me Sarah Charles is dead—–’

      ‘That is my mother. And how did you know her name?’ Her voice was sharp with suspicion. ‘I didn’t tell you.’

      ‘I already knew it. I also know your father’s name is Malcolm, that you were born on April the fourteenth twenty years ago, that you had a boy-friend called David—–’

      ‘How do you know all that?’ she gasped, her glass landing heavily on the table, unconcerned with the curious glances now coming their way. ‘Why did you need to know that? You had no right going into my background!’

      ‘I had every right,’ he told her abruptly. ‘You see, I’m your stepbrother. Your mother is married to my father.’

      Merry paled. ‘My mother is dead,’ she said weakly. ‘I just told you that.’

      He gave her an impatient look. ‘I meant your real mother—–’

      ‘Real mother?’ she echoed shrilly, her eyes huge in her pale face. ‘I don’t know what you mean!’

      ‘Perhaps we should get out of here and go somewhere where we can talk more privately?’ he suggested abruptly, signalling the waiter for their bill.

      Merry’s movements were jerky as she picked up her handbag. ‘We have nothing more to say to each other.’

      ‘Meredith—–’

      ‘Take your hands off me!’ She wrenched away from him. ‘You got me here under the pretence of offering me a part in your film—–’

      ‘I didn’t,’ he sighed. ‘You surmised that all on your own.’

      ‘What else was I supposed to think?’ Her eyes flashed deeply green. ‘I had no idea you had some sort of dossier on me!’

      ‘Meredith, you have to listen,’ his expression was intent, the jaw rigid. ‘Anthea wants to see you.’

      ‘Who is Anthea?’ she cried her bewilderment, wondering if this man were deranged.

      ‘Your mother.’

      ‘My mother’s name was Sarah—Sarah Charles!’ she told him heatedly.

      He gave an angry sigh. ‘You aren’t helping matters by this ridiculous refusal to admit the truth. You may have thought of Sarah Charles as your mother, and I’m sure she was a very good one, but that doesn’t change