Bought for Revenge, Bedded for Pleasure. Emma Darcy

the same breed as the highly civilised, born-to-wealth bachelors her mother kept pushing at her and Jane; more a dark, dangerous animal, primed to pounce.

      A little shiver ran down her spine.

      Fear or excitement?

      She wasn’t sure.

      Would he speak to her when they moved down to stand behind the hearse? She wanted him to. She wanted a connection with him. Though that was an unlikely outcome, given the circumstances.

      Obviously he had conceded to his father’s wish to keep the family separated during his lifetime, and although that time was now gone, Jack Maguire had no reason to care about the feelings of people who’d never shown any caring for his. Writing him a letter to say he wasn’t welcome at his own father’s funeral must have been like a red rag to a bull.

      “Please have the decency to leave,” her mother hissed at him.

      “I think the more decent thing is for me to be here, Lady Ellen,” he coolly replied.

      “You don’t belong with us.” Spoken more vehemently as the funeral attendants moved beyond close earshot.

      “True. But today belongs to my father,” he retorted pointedly. “Not you and your daughters.”

      “We had more of him than you did,” she shot back in a flare of temper.

      Sally caught a glimpse of icy contempt on his face as he replied, “Well, I hope you stored up a treasure-house of memories, because that’s all the treasure you’re going to get.”

      “What do you mean by that?”

      He disdained an answer, moving forward to begin descending the steps to the sidewalk.

      Her mother hastily followed, grabbing his arm to command his attention. “What do you mean by that?” she repeated, the urgency in her voice revealing deep concern over his last comment.

      Sally didn’t understand it. Didn’t he simply mean that his father was beyond supplying any more memories?

      He looked down at the hand clutching him, then directly at his antagonist, raising a sardonic eyebrow. “Do you need my support, Lady Ellen?”

      “I do not!” she snapped, instantly removing her hold, tossing her head back and marching on down the steps to the sidewalk.

      Jack Maguire strolled after her, not caring about her taking the lead. As she and Jane followed, Sally couldn’t help thinking the TV cameras would use this bit of footage for a provocative piece on the widow and the son. And her mother would be furious about that, too, though it was her own fault for losing the control she’d demanded of her daughters.

      The four of them stood on the sidewalk together as the coffin was loaded into the hearse and the many floral tributes were arranged around it.

      “I will not have you riding in the mourning car with us,” her mother warned the man who wouldn’t go away at her command.

      “I have no intention of mourning with you, Lady Ellen. I really don’t care for your company,” he stated dryly, then turned his gaze to Sally, the riveting blue eyes intent on capturing and holding her attention.

      Her pulse-rate instantly zoomed. It was impossible to look away. Besides which, she didn’t want to. He was such a fascinating man, challenging, dangerous, and so good-looking her stomach was all aflutter, registering a strong sexual interest in him, which wasn’t sensible at all but well and truly activated nevertheless.

      “I must say mourning becomes you, Sally,” he said with an ironic twist. “I’ve never seen any woman look quite so beautiful at a funeral.”

      Heat surged through her again. No one had ever called her beautiful, and for him to do it…though more likely it was a sly hit at her mother whose beauty invariably did draw comment. For one of her daughters to be viewed as outshining her…yes, he wanted to put her mother down, every way he could.

      She could have said she’d never seen any man look quite so handsome—it was the truth—but her mother would have killed her. So she remained silent, her eyes fastened helplessly on his, scarlet cheeks flagging her physical response to the compliment, despite the obvious motive behind it.

      “This isn’t the time or the place for us to get reacquainted,” he went on, addressing her, focussing on her, ignoring her mother. “Perhaps after the meeting at the solicitor’s office tomorrow.”

      “You’ll…be…there?”

      Sally barely got the words out as her mind tumbled over the startling news that he would be at the reading of the will, and the fact that the solicitor had insisted they come to his office suddenly took on a very ominous meaning. As did Jack’s comment to her mother about memories being the only treasure she’d be left with. Had her father handed everything over to his son?

      “I will most certainly be there.” The confirmation was delivered with a cruel little smile, which stayed on his mouth as his glittering blue gaze swept around all three of them. “Until then, ladies.”

      He walked away.

      No, he strode away.

      Like a conqueror who’d succeeded in laying waste the enemy, leaving carnage behind him.

      The funeral director moved in to usher them to the car for the mourning family. The back door of the hearse had been closed. It was time to go to the cemetery.

      Would he be there when they arrived?

      Sally didn’t think so.

      Jack Maguire had done what he’d come to do… making his presence felt as a force to be reckoned with and leaving them squirming over what might happen in the solicitor’s office tomorrow.

      One weight had just been added to the lighter side of the scales.

      CHAPTER TWO

      ALL the way to the solicitor’s office, Sally’s mind had been hopelessly torn, her family’s needs warring against the natural justice in Jack Maguire’s right to be his father’s heir.

      Her mother, of course, had been railing against the black-sheep son’s right to get anything, almost convincing herself that yesterday’s scene at the funeral had just been a brazen front, a vengeful slap in the face for denying him a place with the family. There was too much evidence of something very different, Sally thought, but she’d held her tongue, careful not to feed the rage being vented, reducing her sister to a trembling mouse.

      “What will we do if he gets it all?” Jane had asked her fearfully when they’d finally escaped their mother’s tirade.

      “I don’t think that will happen,” Sally had answered soothingly.

      “But what if it does?”

      She’d sighed. “Well, let’s face it, Jane. We’ve been very lucky to have had it good all these years. If our luck runs out, we’ll just have to take charge of our own lives instead of being looked after.”

      Her sister had shaken her head hopelessly. “I’m not strong like you, Sally.”

      True. Jane had spent her whole life trying to please, seeking approval, happy when she got it, crushed when she didn’t. She simply wasn’t geared to standing on her own two feet. The training, discipline and determination required to compete successfully on the showjumping circuit had put a lot of steel in Sally’s backbone. She knew she wouldn’t crumble under adversity. Unfortunately, wishing she could give Jane some of her own steel was futile. Her sister’s nature was too different… sweet, gentle and, more often than not, exasperatingly weak.

      “Don’t worry, Jane. We’ve been sisters all these years. I won’t abandon you, no matter what,” she’d said, and then had to mop up a flood of grateful tears.

      Abandonment had run through all of Jane’s nightmares. Sally had often wondered if it was a common fear of adopted children. She had