Satan's Contract. SUSANNE MCCARTHY

she wasn’t going to let him ruin her ride, she vowed decisively. Turning off the lane into the fields, she gave Fury his head, urging him into a full gallop. The weather had been glorious for the past few weeks, and the ground was firm—just the way he liked it. The countryside was green and open, rolling farmland with hedges that were perfect for the magnificent horse to jump. Only a few sheep and cattle were there to take any notice, and they didn’t care what she did.

      She stayed out for over an hour; it was just what she needed to ease the lingering sadness in her heart and help her face Gramps’s funeral. She rubbed Fury down, and then let him out into the paddock again, where he could romp around with Lady for the rest of the day. Then she strode briskly up to the house—she had plenty of time to have a bath and get dressed before they would have to set off for the funeral.

      But as she passed the open french windows that led into what had once been Gramps’s study but had been taken over in recent years by her father, the sound of her father’s raised voice caught her attention.

      ‘No will?’ Major Sir Charles Edmund St John Corbett, Bt, was glaring indignantly at Mr Gibbons, the elderly local solicitor whom Gramps had always preferred to any “fancy city suit.” ‘Don’t be preposterous. He must have made a will.’

      Pippa paused, having no compunction about eavesdropping on her father. The solicitor was shaking his head. ‘I’m very much regret, Sir Charles, that he didn’t. I assure you that I did my utmost to persuade him—while he could still be considered to be of sound mind, of course—but he would only fob me off. To be on the safe side, I have checked with the Probate Registry, in case he may have employed the services of another solicitor for the purpose—though I have no idea why he should. But there is no trace of any will. I’m afraid it appears that your stepfather died intestate.’

      ‘The damned old fool!’ the major exploded. ‘Trust him to leave everything in such an awkward mess. Did it out of spite, I’ll bet! Well, so what happens now, eh? I suppose it’s all going to take much longer than it needed to sort it all out—which will make a nice bit of extra work for you. It doesn’t all go to the Crown, does it?’ he added with a forced jocularity, realising that he had perhaps allowed his natural irritation at this most unfortunate situation to lead him to appear unduly grasping.

      ‘No...’ The solicitor hesitated, clearing his throat with evident embarrassment. ‘The estate will be disposed of according to the rules of intestacy,’ he went on carefully. ‘The order of distribution is laid down in statute, in quite precise terms.’

      As Pippa drew closer, intrigued, she suddenly noticed a familiar pair of tan cowboy boots, negligently crossed at the ankle, protruding from the armchair behind the curtain. How had he managed to force his way into this discussion? She was surprised her father had even admitted him into the house. Holding back so that he wouldn’t see her, she listened carefully to what was being said.

      ‘You see, where there is no surviving spouse, the estate passes to the children,’ Mr Gibbons was expounding solemnly. ‘As would apply in this case—’

      ‘Yes? Well?’ demanded Sir Charles impatiently.

      ‘You see...I’m afraid that, in this context, the word “children” is not taken to include stepchildren, unless there has been a formal order of adoption. But it does include illegitimate children—’

      ‘What?’ Sir Charles exploded. ‘But that’s ridiculous! I never heard anything so outrageous in all my life!’

      Pippa’s eyes widened as she swiftly put two and two together. So that was who the mysterious stranger was—no wonder she had thought he bore a striking resemblance to Gramps! Well, whoever would have thought it of the old man? Had his wife known about it? It served her right if she had! It was probably her spiteful temper that had driven him into the arms of another woman in the first place.

      Sir Charles had turned furiously on the man in the armchair. ‘If you think you’re getting one stick of this place, you’ve got another think coming,’ he blustered, dangerously red in the face. ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’

      ‘You really think it’ll be necessary to go as far as that?’ That mocking voice was implaccably cool. ‘I thought these matters were usually settled in Chancery, but I bow to your superior knowledge of English law.’

      Pippa stifled a giggle, but her father was on a very short fuse. ‘Oh, yes—very funny,’ he growled. ‘But you’ll be laughing on the other side of your face before I’ve finished with you. You wait till you try to stake your claim. You’ll have to prove in open court that you’re the old man’s by-blow—and that might not be as easy as you think.’

      ‘My father acknowledged me from the moment I was born,’ came the icy response. ‘He registered my birth himself—it says so on my birth certificate. He gave me his name.’

      ‘You think that means anything?’ Sir Charles raged, forgetting every consideration of decency in his spluttering anger. ‘He wouldn’t have been the first man to have been made a fool of by some scheming little tramp—’

      He got no further; his voice was choked off as the stranger moved swiftly from his chair, and gripped the front of his shirt in one iron fist. ‘I could knock you through the wall for that,’ he stated, his voice quiet with menace. ‘But it’s my wall now, and I don’t want to damage it. And if you don’t want me to damage you, I suggest you pack up what legally belongs to you as soon as possible, and get out of my house.’

      Pippa started forward in horror. She was appalled by what her father had said—but she couldn’t let this much younger, much stronger man actually strangle him! But he had already let him go, brushing off his hands in a gesture of pure contempt.

      ‘Mr Gibbons—I’m sorry,’ he apologised, underlining the insult to her father by his meticulous politeness to the solicitor. ‘I think I’d better get out of here before I do something permanent.’

      Pippa barely had enough time to step back out of the way as he strode through the open french window, almost colliding with her. He stalled briefly, casting her just one look of cold dislike, and then stalked away, leaving the air behind him crackling with the tension of his last warning.

      Sir Charles had collapsed into a chair, mopping his face with a handkerchief. ‘I’ll contest this,’ he vowed, still raging. ‘There must be something we can do. Surely no court of law would uphold a situation like this?’

      ‘I’m afraid any challenge would be difficult to sustain,’ the solicitor advised in arid tones. ‘Under the terms of the relevant act, there is no intention for the court to reform the dispositions of statute unless it can be established that the applicant is in need of reasonable financial provision, and even then the amount would be only such as is deemed sufficient to meet everyday living expenses...’

      ‘Yes, yes—spare me all that legalistic clap-trap. Well, he needn’t think it’s going to be as easy as that. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. We’ll see what my solicitor in London has to say about the matter.’

      Mr Gibbons bridled, plainly affronted. ‘I can assure you, Sir Charles, that I—’

      There was a nervous little tap on the door, and it opened tentatively to admit a lady in her middle years who, in spite of the severity of her very correct black twin-set, still managed to look fluffy and pretty. Her fair, curly hair was untidy, as usual, and the flush of pink in her cheeks betrayed the fact that Helena, Lady Corbett had already been making inroads on the gin and tonic, though it was not yet mid-morning.

      ‘May I...? I just wondered if... Oh, Mr Gibbons, you’re still here?’ she twittered. ‘I heard raised voices, and I—’

      ‘He’s gone,’ growled Sir Charles to his wife. ‘Come on in. You might as well know the worst. He gets it all.’

      ‘All?’ Lady Corbett put her hand to her mouth, going slightly pale. ‘You mean...he didn’t leave you anything?’

      ‘He didn’t