Passionate Retribution. KIM LAWRENCE

she was sure. Was that Luke’s idea of kindness? His next words firmly contradicted this concept and made her catch her breath.

      ‘If you find a healthy admiration of a good cleavage sordid, maybe that’s why lover boy has looked elsewhere,’ he suggested unsympathetically.

      She felt torn between a strong desire to collapse into tears of pain, and violent outrage at the heartless comment. The brilliant blue regard was as cold and indifferent as ice; pride made her face him without a quiver in her voice, and a sense of self-preservation kept her hands firmly at her sides. The pleasure of striking him would be diluted by the fact that he would undoubtedly retaliate in kind; she’d tried that in the dim and distant past and some things never changed.

      ‘My sex life is none of your business.’

      ‘Just as well—I have such a lamentably low boredom threshold,’ he said silkily.

      ‘You’re enjoying this,’ she accused, her voice shaking. ‘I have just…’

      ‘Found out your boyfriend prefers the big sister,’ he provided helpfully as she took several deep breaths. He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Why worry? You heard her about to make the supreme sacrifice on the altar of sisterly love.’ He made a noise of disgust. ‘I thought I was going to throw up. All you have to do is keep quiet.’

      ‘You think I would?’ she gasped incredulously.

      He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Actually, I thought you would have waded in and thrown the odd left hook. You do have a very tactile temperament, Emmy,’ he recalled reflectively.

      Luke had an odd expression on his face that she couldn’t decipher, but then, he was fairly expert at not revealing what he was thinking; he’d honed the craft over the years until he could easily blanket his emotions under a bland smile or a rock-like impassivity that could be infuriating. But then, it was usually intended to be just that…

      Something about the way he said ’tactile’ made a shiver run down her spine: his rough velvet voice managed to make the word sound oddly voluptuous.

      ‘These days I actually think things out before reacting,’ she replied huskily. This was all some extra amusement as far as he was concerned, a chance to see a Stapely suffer a little. Luke had never made any effort to hide his contempt for the entire family, and she couldn’t suppose she was an exception.

      ‘Pity, I always found your spontaneity abrasively refreshing. Possibly your Gavin has been encouraging all these latent and unattractive aspects of your character. An awful thought offers itself, infant; you could be turning into your mother.’

      She listened impassively to his soft drawl. It occurred to her that it was bizarre that he was the one she’d called back in a moment of supreme crisis. It couldn’t even be considered clutching at straws because, with Luke, a person could never be sure whether he’d hold you under or pull you out—his motivation remained a mystery even though she’d known him all her life. A sure sign of mental instability, she told herself with self-dension, actively to seek his company. Shouldn’t she have flung herself in maternal arms? Actually she never had done; there was always the possibility that she might have messed Mummy’s dress or mussed her hair. As for announcing that she was about to call off the engagement…Emily gave a laugh at the idea. Her mother would consider such an idea, for whatever reason, the height of insanity. What would people think…?

      ‘What’s so funny?’

      Emily almost told him; he’d have appreciated the joke. Appearances must be maintained at all costs! But when she thought about it, it wasn’t really funny.

      ‘Life’s irony?’ she suggested, throwing her arms wide expansively. ‘Well, at least it’s all made your effort worthwhile. Think of the chaos when I announce a wedding will not take place!’

      Luke sat down on a fallen tree and she realised for the first time that her flight had taken her as far as the riverbank; the house was a glitter of lights through the trees. ‘You aren’t even going to fight for him, then?’

      ‘Fight?’ she echoed. ‘He wants my sister,’ she reminded him in a choked voice. The reminder of this fact made her stomach churn; all the familiar landmarks of her life seemed to have disappeared, and the landscape seemed unfamiliar and frightening. Have I been blind? she asked herself. The anger, directed partly at herself, sent her adrenalin into overdrive. She began to pace restlessly over the damp grass. The lies, the deceit…What had been the truth? Had he ever cared for her?

      She wrung her hands in anguish, her fingers growing bone-white as the action cut off her blood supply. ‘It must be a mistake,’ she muttered, half to herself, no conviction in her voice, just a sense of desperation. I spend weeks coming to the most momentous decision in my life…That makes my judgement—what? Disastrous hardly seemed sufficient, she thought bitterly.

      ‘Come off it, Emily, there has been nothing inadvertent going on here. Your Gavin knew exactly what he was doing—and Charlotte, despite the tears and sickly remorse, did too. They knew they were wrong but they did it anyway,’ he reminded her brutally.

      ‘Considering my earlier defence of Gavin, you must be feeling pretty smug,’ she, replied. The fury that sought an outlet was in her face as she turned on her heel and glared at him accusingly. ‘Anyone would think I’d expect deceit by now—God knows I’m surrounded by it every day of the week. My parents’ marriage is purely window-dressing…’ Her marriage was going to be different, she…Wrong tense, she mentally corrected herself.

      ‘Believe it or not, when I spoke earlier I wasn’t expecting such a dramatic revelation,’ he returned drily. ’the question is, what are you going to do? Are you going to fight for him, Emmy?’ he persisted.

      Her eyes focused on his face, surprised by his question and the unusual tone in his voice. ‘I don’t want him.’

      ‘You love him?’

      ‘Don’t be absurd—I was about to marry him!’

      ‘Not the same thing; people marry for lots of reasons.’

      He brushed a stray leaf from the dark fabric of his trousers, and watched her from beneath his thick lashes, the only concession in his features to anything not abrasively masculine.

      ‘Charlotte loves him,’ she said in a choked voice.

      ‘At least you can allow the full wrath of Charlie to fall on her head; you, sweetheart, are in the clear. You are the injured party and Charlotte is the bad guy… You do realise she won’t be able to survive the guilty bliss at the expense of her sister’s? the martyrish instinct is too deeply ingrained.’

      She frowned at his sneering tone but realised the truth in his words. She felt a certain savage satisfaction. ‘Good!’

      ‘Who says charity begins at home?’ he remarked drily.

      ‘Am I supposed to make a present of him, giftwrapped? I’m the injured party here,’ she reminded him, her eyes flashing.

      ‘And I’m sure you’ll be universally sympathised with once the sordid details get out. Sweet revenge on big sister, and it’s not even as if you love him, is it?’

      His words were like a slap in the face; they ricocheted around the small clearing. ‘How dare you——?’ she began.

      ‘Save the schoolmarm tone for those who are intimidated by it, infant,’ he advised softly. ‘Your sister just filched your property and the boyfriend just trampled all over your pride, and it hurts like hell; but you’re not reacting like a girl whose heart is broken, so don’t expect any sympathy from me.’

      He was the most insensitive, wantonly cruel man on the face of the earth, she decided. ‘I must say I find it amusing to hear you speak about love as if you’re the expert. Thirty-two and unmarried might make some people draw conclusions,’ she suggested outrageously.

      Luke took this slur on his manhood unblinkingly. ‘I could see over the potted palms,’ he said softly,