The Rich Man's Blackmailed Mistress. Robyn Donald

feeling absurdly conspicuous, her feet were killing her.

      One black brow lifted, but all Kain said was, ‘I’ll stay until she returns.’

      ‘There’s no need,’ she stated.

      He smiled down at her. Deep within Sable something shattered into a million pieces, each one piercing her with excitement. Shocked, she managed a pale smile in return, then looked away, hugely grateful to see Maire on her way back to them.

      Once she’d reached them Kain said, ‘Why don’t you both come and watch the race with me on the lawn?’

      Bristling, Sable thought it wasn’t so much a request as an order.

      Her companion, however, beamed at him. ‘I’m surprised you’re not watching from the Presidential Club.’

      He shrugged. ‘We can go there if you want to, but I thought you’d want every chance to show off that pretty dress. There won’t be any television cameras in the Club area.’

      His gaze drifted down the dress, setting off alarms in every cell in Sable’s body. Not that there was anything sensuous about that inspection; she’d been the target of lustful looks often enough to recognise its complete lack of desire.

      Yet she felt harried, hunted, the object of some careful plan. Telling herself not to be so stupid, she accompanied them.

      Once on the lawn, Sable understood Maire’s rapid agreement. Everywhere she looked she met glances—some covert, some very open, but all intent on Kain Gerard and the two women he was escorting.

      Although he nodded at people he knew, he didn’t stop. When a waiter appeared he suggested, ‘Champagne for you both?’

      Maire accepted, but Sable said, ‘No, thank you.’

      ‘It’s hot. You’ll need something to cool you down,’ he said, and gave the waiter an order for two glasses of champagne and one of the Cup special.

      When Sable opened her mouth to tell him she didn’t want anything alcoholic his lips curved again, and her heart flipped in her chest.

      That smile was dangerous—and he knew its effect on women. He knew too much, she thought in rare confusion as her knees demanded she find a place to sit down.

      He was too much—too much everything. Height always drew attention, but it wasn’t just his height or his dominant features and a mouth hinting at vast expertise that turned her bones to water. Kain exuded an aura of compelling power that was both a reassurance and a threat.

      ‘It’s non-alcoholic,’ he told her as the waiter returned with two flutes of champagne and a tall glass containing a concoction that looked deliciously refreshing. ‘Peach and strawberry fizz.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, irritated to discover it tasted as good as it looked.

      Someone came up and greeted Maire, who excused herself to engage in animated conversation. Niggled by uncomfortable tension, Sable looked down at the track as the horses started to file out to the starting gate.

      ‘Which is yours?’ she asked to fill in the silence.

      ‘Number thirteen—the black,’ he said, and pointed him out.

      Another splendid beast, she thought ironically, so fit its muscles were almost bursting through the sleek midnight hide. ‘Why are you so sure he’ll win?’

      ‘He’s at his peak now, and he has the best form. There’s always the chance of a mishap, of course, but he should lead them home.’

      He did, to wild cheers that proclaimed he was a favourite with the crowd as well as the punters. In spite of herself Sable was caught up in the moment, clapping excitedly and turning to Kain when it was over, her face alight. ‘He’s fantastic, isn’t he? He just blitzed them! Where’s he racing next?’

      Her heart gave an unexpected lurch when he looked down at her, and the joyful tumult seemed to die away into silence.

      She tried to lower her lashes, to look away, but that enigmatic grey gaze locked her into some kind of stasis.

      Before he could answer he was enveloped by a mob of laughing, chattering friends as well as journalists with photographers in tow.

      Intensely relieved, Sable stood back a little, envying him the formidable assurance with which he accepted handshakes from the men and kisses from a variety of women. She felt oddly alone, disconnected from the brightly dressed crowd and the laughter; the sun seemed brassy and uncomfortable, the crowd noise too loud, too shrill.

      So? she thought, sipping some more of her drink. In every way that matters you’ve been alone all your life. And you gave up wallowing in self-pity the day you left Hawkes Bay for Auckland.

      But it was just as well she wasn’t likely to see much more of Kain Gerard.

      Without looking at her he reached out and snagged her hand, drawing her to him as he said, ‘Come with me. I’m going to congratulate the jockey and the trainer.’

      Sable tugged uselessly. She said in a low, angry voice, ‘I’m supposed to be showing off this dress.’

      ‘If you’re with Kain, you’re going to be in every photograph,’ Maire said brightly. ‘Away you go.’

      Sable’s indignant glare clashed with coolly amused grey eyes. After a moment’s hesitation she gave in, allowing herself to be escorted through the press of people until the flash from a camera startled her into flinching.

      Kain’s hand cupped her elbow more firmly. ‘Throw them a smile,’ he advised with an edge of cynicism in his deep voice. ‘That’s all you have to do—look elegant and confident. You can do that.’

      Keeping her eyes fixed on the activity in the Birdcage, she forced a smile as she tossed off a reply. ‘I’ll have you know I have to suffer to get this elegant! These shoes are killers on the grass.’ Shoe porn, Maire had called the grey sandals with their vertigo-inducing heels.

      He glanced down. Something flickered in his hard eyes, but his voice was bland when he said, ‘From a spectator’s viewpoint, the sight of your feet in them is definitely worth the pain.’

      Why did it seem this conversation was being conducted on two levels—one with words, the other with the subtle shift of tone and emphasis and the silent language of movement and gesture?

      To her relief someone caught his attention and he turned away from her. Reluctantly Sable had to admire the way he dealt with the journalists and photographers—his charm not hiding an uncompromising authority.

      Eventually he left her to lead the horse around the enclosure in a lap of honour. Sable watched them stride out with matching masculine grace, the sun striking blue highlights from the horse’s glossy hide and from Kain’s head.

      ‘Two of a kind.’ Half-envious, half-humorous, the trainer echoed her thoughts from beside her.

      Sable took in a deep breath, calling on her surface gloss of sophistication. Until then she’d been stumbling along like any green girl, but now, with Kain’s presence removed, she could regroup her forces.

      ‘Does the horse have grey eyes?’ she enquired, smiling to show she was joking.

      He gave a snort of laughter. ‘No, but he’s a tough beast, and when he makes up his mind it’s damned hard to change it. And he’s honest; once he’s committed, he throws his heart into every race.’

      ‘What more could you want in a horse? Or a man?’ she returned lightly. ‘Isn’t it a glorious day?’

      Kain and the horse headed back as the trainer smiled at her. ‘One of the best,’ he agreed, stepping out to take the reins from Kain’s lean hand.

      Kain said, ‘Right, let’s go.’

      They started to leave, only to have a photographer call, ‘One more, Kain.’

      He