Marrying The Enemy!. Elizabeth Power

It wasn’t a very positive response from Alex. She didn’t want to go anywhere where York was likely to be—and that included the house—although she wasn’t sure how she could avoid it if she was to find what she had come for. But, grateful for a flicker of warmth from one member of the Masterton family, she added, ‘Thanks. I hope so too.’

      York’s expression was unfathomable, so that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he watched the two older women walking away. But, on finding herself disconcertingly alone with him again, Alex’s chin came up and, despite her pumping heart, she breathed, ‘You can’t intimidate me, York.’

      ‘Can’t I?’ The firm, thrusting lines of his jaw harshened as he gave her his full attention again. ‘Maybe not,’ he conceded. ‘But if you think you can just walk in here and stake a claim on my uncle’s generosity without my doing anything to stop you, you’ve got another think coming!’

      His determination unnerved her. Nevertheless, in spite of it she managed to smile.

      ‘That should be interesting.’ Whatever Page Masterton had left his granddaughter, she wasn’t likely to be making any claim to it. Even so, she couldn’t help taunting,

      ‘And I thought you were rich enough, York.’ From the things she’d read about him it seemed he’d made millionaire status ten times over! ‘What ever could he have left me that could possibly make any difference to you?’

      The grass crunched under his highly polished black shoes as he followed her down onto the path towards the church. ‘We’re going to require concrete evidence from you as to exactly who you are before we even begin to think about discussing that.’

      Alex drew in a breath, colour rising in her cheeks. ‘I don’t have to prove anything to you!’

      His eyes were astute, missing nothing. ‘Spare me the indignation, lady,’ he advised. ‘It’s going to take more than that to convince me…Alex. And my uncle’s solicitors are going to need more than just a sultry smile and that sexy New Zealand accent before they agree to grant you the half-share of the house.’

      ‘Half the house? Is that what he left…?’ Me, she had been going to finish with, but stopped herself short. She had no right to it. Nor did she want it-any of the Masterton money.

      ‘Over my dead body,’ he whispered, the venom in him causing a slick of fear to infiltrate her blood.

      Hadn’t she learned from everything she had read about him—from his hard-nosed business acumen down to the hidden forces of his personality—how tough he was? Hadn’t Shirley warned her? Why, then, had she imagined she could come here like this?

      ‘If I’d been Page I would have disinherited you entirely.’

      ‘But he didn’t.’ Unexpectedly, something stirred in Alex—something she banked down before it could manifest itself into anything more concrete as she uttered, ‘And you resent that like hell, don’t you?’

      The hard glitter in his eyes confirmed it, but it was resentment born solely out of his contempt for Shirley and whoever he thought she was, she was surprised to find herself acknowledging, rather than any sort of greed on his part.

      ‘Wouldn’t you,’ he returned, ‘if you’d seen a man virtually destroy himself because of the total disregard by his only daughter, and when her avaricious, alleged little offspring turns up to get her hands on the only thing Shirley didn’t already bleed him of—his money?’

      She doubted if Page Masterton had ever cared enough about his daughter to suffer any sort of emotional trauma over her desertion, but all she said was, ‘“Alleged”, York?’ From beneath her lashes she slanted him a glance that was both challenging and watchful. ‘Are you still insinuating I’m not who I say I am?’

      They had come to a standstill on the path. Beneath the bare trees York’s face was criss-crossed by shadows.

      ‘Are you?’ he demanded, his eyes narrowing with cold calculation.

      Alex’s breathing stilled beneath the stylish cut of her coat. How Shirley’s intimidated little daughter would have savoured seeing him in such a state of ambivalence—so undecided—ten years ago!

      She laughed, the sound easy on the cold, clear air. ‘You really don’t know, do you? And that’s what’s really bugging you, isn’t it, York? The fact that you aren’t really sure. Just for once you aren’t completely in control and you can’t stand it, can you…cousin dear? Well, you’ll just have to accept my word for it, won’t you?’ she finished, with bitter irony twisting her mouth.

      His smile was slick, without warmth, cold as the day. ‘Accept the word of anyone who calls herself Shirley’s daughter? Hah! That’s laughable in itself! But whatever you are—freeloading little tramp or total charlatan—I’m warning you now, I’m a very dangerous man to cross. Make one false move—just one mistake—and I’ll…’

      ‘You’ll do what?’ she retaliated, undeterred by his threatening tone. ‘Clap me in irons?’

      His eyes mocked her response, her whole defiant stance. ‘Is that how you like to play? Bound and begging for mercy? Not quite the little innocent who came to my bedroom expecting chaste kisses.’

      A heated flush stole into the translucent sheen of her cheeks. Oh, stupid, stupid fool! What was she letting herself get into? Why had she imagined she could come here without inviting a whole heap of trouble? Yet—from another life, it seemed—reluctantly she was aware of how his body would feel beneath her hands, of the hard, burning arousal of his kisses. Because Alexia had known. But that Alexia was dead. And all she had to do was play the part until her purpose here was accomplished…

      ‘Unlike you,’ she said softly, refusing to be swayed by the power of his sexuality, ‘I’ve always been rather particular with whom I play.’

      He chuckled at that. Perhaps he didn’t mind being reminded that he had once been photographed with an actress who’d later become mixed up in a pretty hairraising scandal. ‘An unfortunate liaison,’ he said dismissively.

      ‘Very,’ she said pointedly, although she knew that his integrity had emerged unscathed.

      ‘Nevertheless, until I’m satisfied as to exactly who you are, you’ll be coming back to Moorlands with me where I can keep an eye on you for however long it takes.’

      For however long what took? Proving her false identity? Was that what he was hoping for?

      ‘I’m doing no such thing! I’ve got a very adequate hotel room in town, thanks!’ she snapped, deciding that staying under the same roof with this man could lead her into nothing but trouble. ‘Naturally I’ll want to—’ she started, but he cut in, his expression inexorable, his mouth grim.

      ‘You’ll do exactly as I say.’

      She wanted to argue against it, but that overriding determination in him—that tyrannical streak that she knew very well was characteristic of the Masterton men—was too strong. It was the reason why Shirley had left home, why she had struggled for an existence on her own with only her child after Page had prevented her marriage, why she’d been dragged down into the unfortunate lifestyle that had led to her overdose. Accidental, the coroner had said, brought about by a lethal blend of booze and barbiturates.

      Something speared through Alex—something cutting and deep. Oh, to find some skeleton in the impeccable Masterton cupboard! Particularly in the high and mighty, unimpeachable York’s!

      But refusing to do as he said, insisting on staying at the hotel, wouldn’t help her in trying to convince him that she was his cousin, nor to find those letters which, suddenly, had become the most important things in her life. And so, feigning sweetness, with a totally false smile, she uttered, ‘As you put it so hospitably, how can I refuse?’

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