A Lost Love. Carole Mortimer

aware of it, his expression mocking as she hastily refolded the letter and thrust both it and the envelope into her clutch-bag. ‘And what is your decision going to be?’ he drawled. ‘It would seem the future of Charlwood Industries rests in your hands.’

      Brooke looked at him as coolly as ever, having been hurt too much by this man already ever to be intimidated by him again—or ever to fall again for the magnetic charm she knew he could display when it suited him to. And it had suited him before only for as long as it took him to marry her; after that she had just become another Charlwood convenience, there to be used when needed. God, no wonder she had grown to fear him!

      But none of her thoughts showed in her clear blue eyes as she met his gaze, her expression thoughtful. ‘And the cottage?’ she mocked.

      He shrugged broad shoulders beneath the tailored dark suit. ‘Is yours with my compliments.’

      She glanced over pointedly to where Rosemary and Patrick were now arguing with each other, a much more common occurrence than their agreement, she remembered. ‘They don't seem to feel the same way,’ she slowly taunted, enjoying this moment of power. ‘Could that be because if I take the cottage you become head of Charlwood Industries?’

      ‘I've always been the head of Charlwood Industries,’ he said hardly. ‘And I doubt even Patrick would welcome a complete stranger into the company as a shareholder.’

      She didn't even stiffen at his insulting tone; she had learnt to school both her reactions and features as the latter had been slowly changed. ‘But you don't mind inviting one to share your home?’ she lightly mocked.

      ‘The cottage is hardly my home,’ he derided.

      ‘But the Charlwood estate is,’ she pointed out with coy sweetness.

      ‘If my being here bothers you I can always arrange to live at one of our other houses,’ he dismissed.

      ‘I think perhaps,’ she softly taunted, ‘my being at the cottage would bother you rather than the other way around.’

      Hard grey eyes raked over her with slow disdain. ‘Believe me, Miss Adamson, where you choose to live is completely immaterial to me.’

      ‘Really?’ Dark blonde brows rose. ‘In that case, I'd better give all this very serious thought. As you don't seem to care one way or the other——’

      ‘I didn't say that, Miss Adamson,’ he bit out, evidence that he wasn't quite as controlled as he appeared, although his eyes were glacial, his mouth the forbidding line she remembered so well. ‘I would, of course, prefer the Charlwood shares to remain in the family.’

      In that case she could decide on either of the conditions in the will, because if she did take the shares they would simply revert to Robert on her death. But she already knew that she was going to live in the cottage, could hardly contain her relief and elation at the thought of still being able to catch the occasional glimpse of the son who had been taken from her when he was only six months old. He had been a beautiful baby, and had grown up into a lovely little boy, but his babyhood had been robbed from her by the man standing at her side. She would never hear Robert call her ‘Mummy’ either, and all because this man had ruled her fate by his moral judgments on her, deciding she was unfit to be the mother of his child. She was no more unfit to be his mother than Rafe was to be his father!

      ‘I understand that,’ she told him coldly.

      ‘But you still need time to think about your decision?’ he rasped.

      ‘Yes,’ Brooke nodded, knowing it was time to cut short this private conversation with this potentially dangerous man. ‘And now if you don't mind, I would like to leave.’ She raised her voice enough to encompass the rest of the people in the room, her gaze remaining unflinching in the face of the hostility that surrounded her.

      ‘You'll contact me when you've made your decision, Miss Adamson,’ the lawyer asked politely; he was the only one who wasn't antagonistic, although he did seemed slightly puzzled by it all.

      ‘Of course.’ She moved to shake his hand, nodding coolly to the married couple before turning to leave.

      ‘I'll walk you to the door.’ Rafe fell into step beside her.

      She gave a cool nod of acceptance and moved with graceful elegance at his side.

      ‘I've spent some time with my son, Miss Adamson,’ he suddenly drawled, ‘so I'll now repeat my dinner invitation to you.’

      She turned to look at him as they reached the door. ‘And I'll repeat my refusal,’ she said without emotion. ‘No, thank you.’

      His gaze was rapier-sharp as it raked over the beautiful perfection of her face. ‘Besides the fact that you disapprove of the way I'm bringing up my son,’ he drawled, ‘what else have I done to make you dislike me?’

      She arched shaped brows. ‘Isn't that enough?’ she asked disdainfully.

      His mouth twisted, his confidence now wavering for a moment. ‘Do you come from a broken home yourself?’

      ‘Both my parents are dead, yes.’

      ‘Ah.’

      Brooke drew in a deep breath at his patronising tone. ‘They died when I was a child, I never really knew them. I just believe that any parent should bring up their child themselves if they're able to, and not leave it to servants.’ She could see that this time she had got beneath the coolness of his guard, his mouth tightening ominously at her rebuke.

      ‘Someone should have mentioned that fact to my wife,’ he bit out contemptuously.

      She forced herself not to react as bitterly to that derogatory remark as she was tempted to do. She had suffered too much to get this far, she wasn't going to lose all that for the satisfaction of wiping the arrogance off Rafe's face for just a few minutes—that was as long as it would take him to recover from the fact that his wife wasn't dead after all, and to have her thrown out of his home as quickly as possible. No, even that satisfaction wasn't worth giving up the chance to be with her son.

      She met his contempt with some of her own. ‘I believe I said if they are able to, Mr Charlwood,’ she drawled dismissively.

      ‘Meaning?’ His voice had lowered threateningly.

      ‘Meaning your wife wasn't given the chance to bring up her child. You brought in a nanny from the day your son was brought home from the hospital, engaged a nurserymaid to help her out with his care. I wouldn't say that left a lot of time for your wife to be involved in bringing him up, would you? Except perhaps for an hour or so before dinner?’ Her voice was heavily laced with sarcasm.

      ‘You would seem to know a lot about my marriage, Miss Adamson,’ Rafe grated.

      She didn't just know about it, she had lived it! From the moment Robert had been placed in her arms after his birth she had loved him, but Rafe had insisted she couldn't take care of him herself, that it would tire her too much. After that she hadn't seen enough of Robert for him even to become familiar of her as his mother, the army of servants Rafe employed for his son's care making it obvious that he believed her incapable of looking after him properly. And then he had wondered why she became bored and dissatisfied with her life at Charlwood!

      ‘As you once mentioned, Mr Charlwood, your separation was much—publicised,’ she derided. ‘I believe at the time we were allowed to hear your wife's side of the marriage too.’

      ‘A side with which you obviously sympathise,’ he bit out.

      She straightened her slender shoulders. ‘Any woman would feel compassion for another woman who was so callously denied her child.’

      ‘Callously, Miss Adamson?’ he repeated savagely, his nostrils flaring angrily, his eyes like chips of ice as he looked down at her. ‘You don't know the first thing about my marriage.’

      ‘Perhaps not,’ she agreed lightly. ‘Maybe you would care to enlighten me some time?’