The Rich Man's Mistress. Cathy Williams

you going to answer me?’ She pulled off the woollen hat and her long blonde hair spilled over the arm of the sofa like a sheet of cream silk.

      ‘Let’s get one thing straight. You’re in my house and I’ll ask the questions. Got it?’

      Miranda stared at him open-mouthed.

      ‘When I’m finished asking the questions and I’m satisfied with the answers, you can go and have a bath and get into some of my clothes.’

      His arrogance hit her like a sledgehammer and left her speechless.

      ‘First of all, tell me just how you happened to be skiing here. Have you any idea how dangerous the vertical slopes to this place are?’

      ‘I—I got caught in an avalanche…’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘Where…what?’

      ‘Where was this avalanche?’

      ‘Near our Val d’Isère resort, as it happens. I…had a bit of an argument with my boyfriend…and…I went skiing to take my mind off things which was when the avalanche happened. Not a very big one but big enough to throw me off course…’

      ‘Bloody irresponsible woman,’ he muttered scathingly.

      Miranda ignored the interruption. If she had been in possession of her limbs, she would have stormed out of his damned cabin even if the alternative had meant a night on a slope. Unfortunately the option was not available and she bit back her anger.

      ‘Before I could get my bearings, I found myself stuck in a blizzard and, after a while, I didn’t have a clue where I was. I—I saw a clump of trees and decided that I’d be better off there if the worse happened and I had to spend the night outside. I was so desperate to get there that I didn’t see where I was going and I fell over a protruding stump of tree and sprained my ankle. I then saw the light from your cabin and hobbled over.’

      ‘So no one knows where you are.’

      Miranda didn’t like the sound of that. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him nervously. It occurred to her suddenly that he could be anyone. It was a little technicality that had been overlooked in her relief at being rescued from the driving snow and the prospect of hypothermia.

      And he was not someone she could fight off should she need to. She was tall, standing a good five feet ten in stockinged feet, but she would put him at least three or four inches taller than her and there was a muscled strength to him that would add power to his height.

      She had a sinking feeling when she met his blue eyes that he could read every wayward thought flitting through her brain.

      ‘So…’ Miranda cleared her throat ‘…have I answered all your questions satisfactorily?’

      ‘Oh, I haven’t asked the most important one yet…’ He smiled slowly and linked his fingers on his lap, stretching out his long legs in front of him.

      ‘And what’s that?’

      ‘Your name…’

      Miranda gritted her teeth in frustration. He had obviously seen the apprehension on her face and had decided to have a little fun at her expense, allowing just sufficient hint of a threat behind his silences to send her nerves skittering.

      ‘Miranda. Miranda Nash.’

      ‘Nash…’ He tilted his dark head to one side and Miranda nodded vigorously.

      ‘That’s right. You may have heard of my father. Lord Geoffery Nash.’ Her voice implied that whilst it might very well be true that no one knew her whereabouts, then it was also true that, should anything happen to her, there would be serious consequences to be paid.

      ‘Lord Geoffrey Nash no less…’

      ‘You’ve heard of him, then?’

      ‘Is that what I said…?’ He gave a low, amused laugh which for some reason annoyed her.

      ‘Is there a phone here I could use?’

      ‘The land lines are all dead.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders and continued to look at her, though this time with speculation. ‘Thanks to this blizzard. And I don’t expect them to be up and running for some time yet. The weather forecasts weren’t too good for the next couple of weeks ahead.’

      ‘Next couple of weeks ahead?’ Where, she wondered, appalled, did that leave her?

      ‘Fortunately, I have a cellphone.’ He raised his eyebrows expressively and Miranda scowled at him.

      ‘May I borrow it? Please?’ she added when he made no effort to move. ‘I want to call my dad to let him know that I’m safe and to tell him to get in touch with Freddie and the rest of my friends who might be worried…’

      ‘Why, of course.’ He gave a mock bow which further set her teeth on edge, and produced a fist-sized cellular phone which he handed to her with a flourish.

      Miranda rapidly tapped in her father’s direct office number and after a few seconds was connected to him, smiling as she listened to his frantic overreaction to her situation, which she played down as much as she possibly could. She and her father were members of the mutual adoration society. He doted on her and she adored him. Which was why she guiltily omitted to mention the cause of her predicament, namely an argument with Freddie, whom her father contemptuously referred to as a foolish fop with more money than brains.

      ‘And who is this man you’re staying with at the moment?’ he rasped down the end of the telephone and Miranda put her hand over the receiver to ask for a name.

      ‘Hand me the phone.’ He walked over to her and extended his hand and after a few seconds of internal debate, she let him have it, resenting the way he spoke in a low voice with his back to her, even having the nerve to head out of the sitting room so that all chance of eavesdropping was squashed.

      What could he have to talk to her father about? For so long? She impatiently waited for him to return and, when he did, she snatched the phone off him to say goodbye to her father, then she rested the mobile on the table next to her.

      ‘What were you talking to Dad about?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘And what’s your name? Why couldn’t you just tell me?’

      ‘Fond of asking questions, aren’t you?’ He threw another log on the fire and turned to look at her. ‘I thought it wise to reassure your father that you weren’t going to come to any harm here. My name, by the way, is Luke Decroix.’

      ‘And how did you manage to reassure him?’ Miranda asked tartly. ‘Did you tell him what a nice, charming, inoffensive gentleman you are?’

      ‘Oh, I think he gathered that from my voice. I also told him that you would call him every day just to fill him in on how you were. The fact is, I’m stuck with you at least until this blizzard has eased off a bit…’

      ‘You’re stuck with me?’

      ‘That’s right.’ He gave her a long, measured look. ‘I mean, you arrive in a heap on my doorstep and, face it, there’s not much you’re going to be able to do for yourself for a few days, is there? Not with that ankle of yours?’

      ‘I don’t intend to let you take care of me, so you needn’t worry.’

      ‘Oh, is that right…? Well, you won’t be able to shovel snow and chop logs, will you?’

      ‘You know I can’t.’

      ‘What about cleaning…?’

      Miranda looked around her—for the first time since she had arrived at the cabin. Downstairs comprised the sitting room, which was quite big with low bookshelves fronting the open fireplace and several battered chairs in addition to the sofa. Through one open door she could glimpse a kitchen and there were a couple of other rooms at the back as well. Wooden stairs led up to a galleried landing which overlooked the downstairs, and