The Determined Husband. Lee Wilkinson

go out—his only excursions had been afternoon drives in the car—and he’d refused to invite anyone to the apartment.

      His thirty-third birthday, which fell on the following Saturday, would have gone unmarked. But bolstered by the good news, and encouraged by Cheryl, whose suggestion it was, he’d started to make plans for a weekend party at Pine Cove, his house in the Hamptons.

      ‘How many people were you thinking of inviting?’ Cheryl had asked.

      ‘Perhaps twenty or so to stay at the house—though we’ll need to warn Mrs Simpson—and some of the neighbours for the Saturday evening…’

      ‘Right. Roberto and I are having a break at Fiddler’s Cottage, so you can leave all the arrangements to me. I’ll talk to Mrs Simpson, phone or fax the invitations, and arrange for the caterers. We’ll need plenty of champagne. I think news like this calls for a celebration!’

      As for Sera, the doctors’ verdict had been like some precious gift. She had been secretly terrified that Martin might never walk again, and her relief was so great that she had broken down and wept for joy.

      The rather less than joyous reaction that had followed later had been a purely personal one. With the promise of an almost complete recovery, their wedding day had suddenly loomed so much closer.

      Martin was already talking about early October as a possibility, and she felt as though a silken noose was tightening around her neck.

      Sometimes, when she had temporarily escaped like this, Sera toyed with the idea of never going back.

      But, of course, it wasn’t really an option.

      Apart from her board and lodging, her job as Martin’s PA was an unpaid one. As though afraid she would leave him if she were independent, he never gave her any cash.

      When, one day, she had pointed out quietly that there were certain small things she needed to buy, he’d said, ‘Buy anything you want, and charge it,’ which had effectively prevented her from buying anything but absolute necessities.

      The mere fact that she had nowhere to go, and no money, wouldn’t have deterred her, but feeling morally bound to stay, she was as much a prisoner as if she’d been kept in chains…

      The solitary jogger had long since disappeared and there wasn’t a soul in sight as, still busy with her thoughts, she reached the stand of trees and the side track she usually took.

      As she rounded the corner, as though he had been lying in wait for her, a man’s tall dark figure suddenly appeared directly in her path. The sheer unexpectedness brought a startled cry to her lips.

      ‘It’s all right,’ he reassured her quickly, ‘there’s no need to be scared.’

      That voice, low-pitched and with a suggestion of huskiness, was one she would have recognized anywhere, a voice she would have left her grave for; that lean, darkly handsome face, was one she had loved and would love until the day she died.

      Fright was replaced by shock so great that a wave of dizziness assailed her. Her brain robbed of blood and her legs of strength, she thought for a moment that she was going to faint.

      Apparently he thought so too, because strong hands shot out and gripped her upper arms, steadying and supporting her.

      ‘Keir!’ He was the same, yet not the same. A little leaner perhaps, but the same virile physique was there, the same powerful structure of chest and shoulder.

      His hard face was the same, the firm jaw, the strong nose and high cheekbones, the cleft chin, yet beside that chiselled mouth were lines of pain and disillusionment.

      His impact was the same, the same intense sexuality that had once caused Sera to respond with such ardent abandonment, but now that sexuality was leashed, guarded.

      Looking into those dark blue eyes with their thick sooty lashes, she whispered dazedly, ‘What are you doing here?’

      Indicating his black track suit and sweat band, he asked laconically, ‘What does it look as if I’m doing?’

      He’d jogged in the past, she knew. Was that what had subconsciously given her the idea for her early morning outings?

      ‘B-but I thought you were living in England now,’ she stammered.

      ‘I decided it was high time I came back to see what was happening on the New York scene.’ Then with no change of tone, ‘So how is Rothwell?’

      Wondering if he’d heard about the accident, she managed, ‘Martin is doing well.’

      ‘I heard Anglo American Finance made even bigger profits over this last year,’ Keir remarked sardonically.

      Reaching for her left hand, he studied the magnificent half-hoop of diamonds she wore. ‘No wedding ring yet?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Why not? Rothwell was mad about you.’

      ‘He still is,’ she replied flatly.

      ‘Then, why the delay? You were all set to marry him last summer.’ When she said nothing, he added caustically, ‘He must be worth a tidy few millions by now, which should make you very happy.’

      Stiffly, she said, ‘I really don’t know what you’re getting at.’

      ‘Oh, come on!’

      ‘It doesn’t matter to me how many millions he has.’

      ‘There, now! And I thought it mattered very much.’

      ‘Well, you were wrong.’ Then helplessly she said, ‘I can’t understand what makes you think such a thing.’

      ‘Forgive me if I point out that it didn’t take you long to ditch me when someone with plenty of money came along.’

      ‘I did nothing of the kind,’ she denied angrily, and wondered how he could possibly blame her for the break-up. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t care about money.’

      ‘Despite that assurance I can’t help but believe things might have been different if I’d had any to spend on you.’

      Gritting her teeth, she made to brush past him and walk on.

      Keir turned and kept pace with her. ‘I guess we just met at the wrong moment. When I moved into that apartment Downtown, falling in love was the last thing on my mind…’

      No matter what he said now, she knew he had never loved her.

      ‘I simply couldn’t afford to fall in love. I had neither the time nor the money to spare. But fate plays funny tricks.’

      Looking straight ahead, she kept walking.

      Glancing at her pale, set face, he went on, ‘I’d certainly never expected to bump into the woman of my dreams in a run-down apartment house…’

      Sera’s stride faltered as memories rushed in to swamp her…

      Brand-new to the States, she had been living in a single room on the top floor of an old Brownstone in Lower Manhattan, when one warm evening in late spring they had bumped into one another.

      Literally.

      Head bent and deep in thought, she had been making her way up the stairs, a brown paper carrier full of shopping clutched to her chest. At the same time a man had been coming down the next steep, uncarpeted flight of steps two at a time.

      They reached the landing at the same instant, and a glancing blow from his shoulder made her drop her shopping and stagger back.

      With great presence of mind he flung his arms around her to save her falling backwards, while various cartons and packages and a selection of fruit rolled and bounced gleefully down the steps.

      Sera was five feet seven, but the man holding her was a good six feet and wide-shouldered. His beautiful, thickly lashed eyes were dark blue, his hair black, and with a tendency to curl.

      He