Strange Adventure. Sara Craven

the satirical note in his voice. ‘It’s a pity, for example, that I don’t share Mr—er—Fairclough’s interest in hunting matters. Perhaps that might make me more acceptable to you as a companion.’

      Oh God, what a mess she was making of it all! Lacey put down her knife and fork, feeling she would choke if she took another mouthful. She realised her father was watching them, a slight anxious frown wrinkling his forehead, and she felt a pang of self-recrimination as she realised the stress he was undergoing and the importance that the success of this weekend had assumed his mind. Somehow she must make an effort to do and be what he wanted, and to win over this unsmiling man who was totally outside her admittedly limited experience.

      Frantically she searched her memory for some of the scraps of worldly wisdom that the girls at the convent had let drop when they were recounting the details of their latest conquests. Hadn’t someone said it was sexy to look straight into a man’s eyes as you smiled at him? Deliberately she caught and held his gaze, allowing her eyes to widen endlessly while her mouth curved slowly into warmth and charm.

      ‘Horses aren’t my sole preoccupation,’ she protested with a little shrug.

      For a moment as he returned her look unwaveringly, she thought painfully that she had failed, then he smiled too—a cynical twist of her lips, but a smile—and lifted his glass to her in a toast to which she was forced to respond.

      ‘My last doubt is removed,’ he said musingly.

      ‘Doubt?’ Lacey looked at him from under her lashes, a favourite trick of Vanessa’s.

      ‘That you and I will eventually find a topic that will arouse the—interest of us both.’

      A little quiver of uncertainty jangled the nerve-endings along her spine and curled around the nape of her neck. Almost involuntarily she lifted her hand to rub her neck, and remembered too late the revealing nature of her dress. She hurriedly folded her hands in her lap again, stealing a glance at Troy Andreakis, but his attention seemed to be centred on his wine glass.

      ‘Is this your first visit to Kings Winston, Mr Andreakis?’ Surely that was a safe subject.

      ‘No, I was here last autumn, but only for a day or two. I am glad to have a chance of a longer visit so that I can see something of the surrounding countryside.’

      Lacey’s heart sank. It seemed that his visit might not be confined to simply a weekend after all.

      ‘I’m surprised at your interest. I didn’t picture you as a nature-lover,’ she said more tartly than she had intended.

      His mouth curled slightly again. ‘Because I rejected your flowers? On the contrary, I can appreciate beauty as well as any man. However’—the dark eyes swept over her again—‘as I said, I prefer it in its natural state.’ Her eyes met his, frankly indignant, and he laughed softly. ‘What a creature of contrasts you are, pethi mou—from gamine to femme fatale in the course of an hour or so. What is real about you, I wonder, and what is an illusion?’

      She was thankful that the arrival of the sweet course diverted his attention momentarily and gave her a chance to regain her equilibrium. So much for Michelle’s efforts to transform her, she thought wretchedly. The scheme had been doomed to failure from the start. She simply did not have the poise and confidence to hoodwink a man like Troy Andreakis. She was staring miserably at the untouched portion of Crème Chantilly on her plate when she realised he was speaking to her again.

      ‘I think you owe me something for spilling water all over my bedroom and then running away,’ he said. ‘I’m willing to settle for a tour of the local beauty spots in your company tomorrow—unless you object and prefer to buy my silence in some other way.’

      ‘I don’t object,’ she said rather woodenly. ‘It—it will be delightful.’

      There was a disturbing pause while he looked at her again with that faint, cynical amusement.

      ‘You know,’ he said softly, ‘you have almost convinced me that it will be.’

      She was thankful that her family still adhered to the old custom of leaving the men to enjoy brandy and cigars while the women drank coffee in the drawing room. She was kept busy handing round cups and when everyone was served found herself a seat beside Fran Trevor, who was looking like a vivacious robin in her long cherry-coloured dress.

      ‘Hello, love,’ she exclaimed as Lacey sat down. ‘What a gorgeous dress! Is that what comes of having a French stepmother? I envy you, if so. Mother took one look at me in this and started muttering direly about modesty vests—whatever they are.’

      Lacey sighed. ‘I think my sympathies are with your mother,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘I feel an absolute fool.’

      Fran looked at her shrewdly. ‘Well, I assure you, you don’t look one. And that terrifying Mr Andreakis obviously didn’t think so. I’m glad he’s your guest, and not ours. I wouldn’t have a clue what to say to him. Does he ride, by the way?’

      ‘I don’t think so. He—he said he wasn’t interested in hunting, at any rate.’

      Fran shrugged. ‘Ah well, you can’t have everything. Are you going to come and exercise Starlight for me tomorrow? I’m going to be tied up with these people from the Bull.’

      Lacey gave a little groan. ‘Oh Fran, I wish I could, but I’m committed to going for a drive with Mr Andreakis.’

      Fran whistled humorously. ‘I should be so committed! Honestly, love, you are the limit. Pursued by millionaires and still you look glum!’

      Lacey wanted to tell her that the pursuit was actually being conducted from the opposite quarter, but she had to remain silent. She had learned long ago not to chatter indiscreetly about Vernon–Carey matters. Instead she shrugged carelessly.

      ‘I’m his host’s daughter. I suppose he feels he has to be polite.’

      ‘Hmm.’ Fran eyed her. ‘I wonder if he’d be as “polite” if you had a squint and legs like tree-trunks. Besides, people like Andreakis don’t have to bother with things like politeness. They deal in power, and that’s what matters in their world.’

      And in mine, Lacey thought rebelliously.

      She walked over to replace a cup on the tray, and encountered a taut glance from Michelle. ‘Eh bien?’

      Lacey gave a slight shrug. ‘I’ve done as I was told. I suppose it’s too much to hope that I can be given my freedom for the rest of the evening.’

      Michelle’s eyes snapped. ‘Are you quite mad?’ she questioned glacially. ‘What would our guests think if you were to disappear in the middle of the evening? Besides, I have already been asked if you will play for us later. Everyone will be most disappointed if you refuse.’

      Lacey bent her head defeatedly. At least if she was at the piano, it would release her from close attendance on Troy Andreakis.

      ‘Very well,’ she agreed listlessly. ‘Is it all right if I go to my room for some aspirin? I have a slight headache.’

      ‘Certainement. You are by no means a prisoner. Please do not dramatise the situation.’ Michelle gave her a final, inimical look before turning to smile graciously at Mrs Taylor who was approaching them.

      Lacey was glad to escape from the stuffiness of the drawing room. Michelle, who loathed the British climate, invariably had the central heating turned full on in the winter months and tonight was no exception. She was walking rather wearily across the hall when she heard the sound of chairs being moved and a crescendo of voices as the dining room door was opened. Lacey picked up her long skirt and fled up the stairs. She had no wish to be caught loitering in the hall—by anyone, she thought crossly as she safely gained the upper landing.

      It was with a real sense of refuge that she reached her bedroom. Her fingers had just closed on the handle of her bedroom door when the voice she least wanted to hear spoke lazily just behind her.

      ‘Running