The Mistress Scandal

KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in rural Anglesey. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing! It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons, and the various stray animals which have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!

Recent titles by the same author:

MAID FOR MONTERO (At His Service) THE PETRELLI HEIR SANTIAGO’S COMMAND GIANNI’S PRIDE

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Mistress Scandal

Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘GO ON, spit it out.’

‘What?’ Greg produced an expression of injured innocence from habit rather than a belief it would have any effect on his half-brother, who had an unnerving ability to read him like a book.

He knew too that the languid air—half-closed eyes, long legs crossed at the ankle thrust out before him as he slumped in a deeply padded leather chair—was a blind. Those penetrating dark eyes lightened by disturbing amber flecks were shrewdly, probably cynically, analysing his every gesture. With a rush of honesty he grudgingly conceded that the cynicism was possibly justified; he might have let Gabe down a few times in the past—but that was a long time ago …

‘The recruitment’s going really well. I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘I am. We’re ahead of schedule. But let’s put your brilliance at public relations to one side for the moment, Greg. Spare me the injured dignity and tell me why you’ve developed a nervous tic.’

‘What?’ Scanning his handsome face anxiously in a conveniently placed mirror, Greg caught the reflection of his half-brother’s sardonic smile. ‘Very funny.’ With a deep sigh he dropped down into a chair. ‘There’s this girl.’

‘You’re amazingly predictable, Greg.’ Gabriel MacAllister saw his brother flush and softened the cutting edge of his tone. ‘I hope you haven’t done anything too stupid. The last thing we want is to upset the natives. You know how much knee-jerk opposition there was to the planning permission originally.’

Stupid …? He had no doubt on a scale of one to ten which number Gabe would select. Anyone but Gabe might have softened up a bit if he’d mentioned how desperately in love he was, but he knew better than to appeal to his brother’s softer side—Gabriel MacAllister was as hard as tungsten steel, and right now he was waiting for a reply.

‘She’s pregnant.’ He waited, a sulkily defiant expression momentarily spoiling his open-faced good looks, for his brother’s response. ‘Well, say something!’ he burst out, when all Gabe did was rub the toe of his shinily polished shoe in a thoughtful circle on the carpet. ‘Call me an idiot—hell!’

‘I won’t waste my breath stating the obvious,’ Gabriel responded, in a soft voice his younger brother found infinitely worse than any screaming histrionics. ‘You’d better tell me the whole story.’

He listened carefully, repressing his irritation when the younger man lapsed into the rambling sections which miraculously absolved him from all blame, until Greg had finished.

‘Eighteen. You did say she was eighteen?’

‘She’s very mature.’

It afforded Gabriel small comfort to see his idiot sibling could still blush guiltily.

‘Will you come with me when I tell Mum and Dad?’ Sophie pleaded, absently eating the peas her sister was shelling. ‘You’ll be able to calm things down if they start yelling.’

Alice gave a wry snort; she didn’t share her sister’s confidence. A gap of ten years separated her from Sophie, who was in their parents’ eyes perfect in every way. If Sophie hadn’t been so genuinely sweet-tempered her indulged upbringing might have turned her into a spoilt brat. But there was nothing brat-like about her sister; she was impulsive, certainly, but that was part of her charm.

‘If?’ One darkly feathered eyebrow rose to a quizzical angle.

‘You’re supposed to be making me feel better, Alice.’

The resentful glare was wasted on Alice, who shifted the angle of her garden chair so that she had a better view of her two-year-old son, who was ignoring the numerous brightly coloured toys in the sandpit in favour of his shoes, which he was filling with sand. His golden sun-kissed little face was a serious mask of concentration. She knew she was prejudiced, but Alice didn’t think there had ever been a child born as beautiful as Will.

She got up and placed the discarded sunhat back on his head. ‘I give up,’ she sighed as William removed it equally firmly, giving her a cherubic smile as he did so. Though a remarkably even-tempered child, Will was already displaying a stubborn streak a mile wide.

‘I wouldn’t worry, Ally, he won’t burn. He really is dark. He certainly takes after Oliver, not you.’

Alice twitched the peak of her baseball cap firmly over her lightly freckled nose and remained silent on the subject of her son’s complexion. She found herself recalling their honeymoon, when Oliver had ignored her advice and overindulged in the Caribbean sun on the very first day. He’d been literally untouchable for the rest of their stay.

She rejoined her sister. ‘I don’t think I’ll be doing you any favours to raise false hopes. Be realistic, Sophie. There’s going to be tears and yelling—and we’re talking about the optimistic scenario here.’

She watched her sister’s soft lips quiver, and with a sigh she placed a comforting hand on the young woman’s shoulder. The most serious trauma in her lovely sister’s life so far had been wearing braces; it wasn’t what she’d have termed an adequate preparation for her present situation.

‘You know how proud they are of you, Soph, their brilliant baby daughter off to Oxford … And you walk in and announce you’re going to have a baby. How do you expect them to react? They still fret about you catching a bus alone. Have you thought this thing through?’ she asked worriedly.

‘Are you saying I should get rid of it?’ Sophie pulled away angrily and glared accusingly at her sister. ‘How would you have liked it if anyone had suggested you get rid of Will?’ She saw her sister flinch. ‘You were a single parent too … Oliver was dead—’ She broke off and bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, that was …’

‘True,’ her sister put in levelly. ‘Which means I know how hard it is to bring up a child alone. At night when Will has a temperature—which is probably a simple cold but might not be—don’t you think I long to have someone else there to share …?’ Breathing deeply, Alice bit back the emotional words that suddenly threatened to spill out.

Sophie’s expression of stunned amazement almost made her smile.

‘I thought … You always seem to cope so well, Ally,’ she said, staring at her sister wonderingly.

‘I cope, but that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes wish there was someone else there to share some of the decisions,’ Alice admitted truthfully. She didn’t want to be responsible for any false notions her sister might have about the difficulties involved in being a single parent. ‘And at least Oliver left me reasonably well provided for financially. And I wasn’t suggesting anything … that’s your decision.’

Sophie looked into her sister’s deep blue eyes and saw sympathy, love and a total lack of judgement. ‘I know,’ she confessed with a watery grin.

‘And will you be bringing up the baby alone …?’ Alice fished delicately.

‘Oh, Greg wants to make an honest woman of me.’

‘Marriage?’ Her neutral tone hid her own grave misgivings. Sophie was so young, and marriage was such a drastic step. ‘You don’t look over the moon,’ she observed shrewdly.

‘Oh, that wasn’t his initial response. Originally he wanted me to … you know.’ Two pink spots appeared on her pale cheeks as her eyes slid from Alice’s. ‘I guess that’s why I was bit sensitive,’ she confessed huskily. ‘He says he loves me …’

Alice could hear the obvious doubt in her sister’s wobbly tone. ‘And do you love him?’

‘I thought I did. I ended up comforting him. I thought he was … I don’t know, strong …’

‘Slick’ was the word that more readily sprang to Alice’s mind. But then, she reminded herself, I’m not eighteen any longer, and Sophie isn’t the only one to have been won over by Greg’s charm offensive.

Even the most stubborn critics of the siting of a software factory on the outskirts of their picturesque market town had been won over by his smooth persuasiveness and carefully stage-managed and conspicuous community involvement.

Alice, on the other hand, had been won over to the scheme by the number of skilled well-paid jobs advertised locally, and the innovative building that would house the high-tech workforce amidst charmingly landscaped grounds.

‘He seemed so sure of himself—of everything!’ Sophie looked so bewildered that Alice’s heart ached. ‘Now he’s more concerned about what his precious brother will say than how I’m feeling!’ Sophie shook her head. ‘I must sound really stupid.’ She gave a shaky laugh and ran a hand through her smooth shoulder-length blonde hair. ‘I suppose I want what you and Oliver had; he was so perfect. You were perfect together.’

Sophie saw the naked anguish that flickered across her sister’s face and bit the tongue responsible for causing that pain.

‘Still, you’ve got Will, and he looks more like Oliver every day.’

‘So everyone keeps saying,’ Alice responded, her eyes fixed on her son who was, unless her memory was playing tricks, the spitting image of his father, from his thick dark wavy hair to his gorgeous velvety eyes.

‘You will come? For moral support, I mean?’

‘Of course I will,’ Alice agreed, knowing full well that the task of calming and comforting their distraught, adoring parents over the next few weeks would inevitably fall to her.

The phone call came out of the blue.

‘Mrs Lynn?’

There had been a pause where she ought to have identified herself. The caller repeated himself, and this time just a tinge of impatience coloured that deep, vibrant voice.

Alice gave herself a sharp mental shake. The similarity was uncanny, but the phone had a way of distorting voices.

‘This is Alice Lynn,’ she confirmed, her voice calm, her palms sweaty.

‘I’m Gabriel MacAllister … Greg’s brother …’

‘I know who you are, Mr MacAllister.’ What I don’t know, she wanted to say, is why you’re calling me.

‘We should talk.’

‘Why?’

There was a pause, as though her blunt response had taken him by surprise. ‘Do you think your sister should marry my brother?’ He sounded as though he was discussing the price of shares. Alice’s every instinct recoiled from such a cold-blooded attitude. It was none of her business, or his, and she should have told him so.

‘No.’ Alice heard herself reply with gut certainty.

‘Interesting.’

In what way? she wondered.

‘I’m staying at the Grange.’

The last time she’d been there had been to celebrate their anniversary. Oliver had had too much to drink and he’d confessed…. Alice felt the beginnings of a headache.

‘Would you like to meet me here for lunch?’

‘I can’t … my son …’ She knew she sounded vague and wishy-washy, the sort of person who fell in with other people’s wishes, and she didn’t like it. Her stomach was still churning just because his throaty drawl had triggered a carefully buried memory …

‘Fine, I’ll come to you.’

‘You don’t know where I live,’ she began as the worrying impression she was being manipulated intensified.

‘Oh, but I do, Mrs Lynn.’

The words carried the slight but definite suggestion that that wasn’t all he knew about her. Putting the phone down, Alice felt dazed.

All she knew about Gabriel MacAllister—other than the usual success-story stuff everyone knew—was what Sophie had gleaned from Greg, who had, to Alice’s mind, an unhealthy reverence bordering on fear for his brother. Put all the information together and the picture which emerged was of a sinister control freak.

Did you give an omnipotent tyrant afternoon tea? she pondered, able to summon a wry grin. He’d probably turn up his nose at her supermarket teabags.

‘And I doubt he’s really into Marmite fingers, Will,’ she told her son, wiping the sticky black goo off his face and chubby fingers before she lifted him out of his highchair. ‘Nap time for you, young man.’

She could hear Will’s spasmodic sleepy baby babble through the nursery alarm as she retrieved the scattered toys from the kitchen floor and placed them in a toy box. It was a task she performed numerous times each day, and as her hands went into autopilot her mind raced.

What was Gabriel MacAllister up to? Despite the fact she thought Greg was the last person in the world Sophie should marry, she felt a deep sense of indignation that he possibly shared her view! Was he protecting the MacAllister millions from grasping schoolgirls? she wondered, glancing at her reflection in the mirror as she straightened.

Her face was lightly flushed from a combination of the mild exertion and temper. She looked with lack of interest at her features. It was only on the rarest occasions since Oliver’s death and Will’s birth that she looked upon herself as a woman—she was just Will’s mum these days.

Once she’d thought she was quite attractive, and she’d known that the combination of a slim, curvaceous body and pretty—some said beautiful—features attracted a lot of admiring attention.

She glanced down at the faded tee-shirt and old jeans she wore and decided there was little possibility that her visitor would think she was going out of her way to impress him. Take sex out of your life and it cut down on the complications considerably, she decided approvingly.

If Will hadn’t fallen asleep she might have let the doorbell ring, just to emphasise how unimpressed she was by the royal visitation. But she made do with adopting an expression of cool indifference before letting her visitor in.

The world had gone completely mad—or perhaps she had! Fingers pressed to her pounding temples, she shook her head from side to side in denial.

Alice wasn’t even aware she’d been walking steadily backwards until her head made jarring contact with the opposite wall. Her knees folded and she found herself sliding down the wall until she was sitting, knees drawn up to her chest, staring upwards dizzily. The doorway was empty; perhaps she’d been hallucinating.

‘You’re going to pass out if you keep hyperventilating,’ a deep voice observed objectively.

Cancel hallucination! He was kneeling right there beside her. God, he even smelled the same. Shockingly her stomach muscles spasmed hotly in excitement as she registered the light, expensive cologne with musky male undertones.

‘It’s my house and I’ll faint if I want to,’ she snarled.

‘And do you?’

Actually, unconsciousness had a lot to recommend it right now!

‘I never faint,’ she told him emphatically.

Although she had once almost lost consciousness from the sheer unadulterated bliss of being made love to. Did he remember …? Her wide eyes collided with his stunningly sensual dark orbs, spectacular eyes that her mother would have coyly termed ‘bedroom eyes’ … He did.

‘I suppose it’s too late to pretend I’ve never met you before?’ she croaked.

She tried to match her ironic words with a smile, but her facial muscles wouldn’t co-operate. The omnipotent tyrant was wearing a beautifully cut lightweight suit; he looked spectacular. She developed a deep interest in his handmade leather shoes. It was the safest place to look until she regained control of herself.

‘I’ve never actually had a woman fall literally at my feet before.’ The nostrils of his chiselled nose flared as his dark glance moved slowly over her slim jean-clad figure.

The way Alice recalled it that had been about the only thing she’d not done last time. Heat crawled over her skin and her chest felt impossibly tight as she recalled the texture of his dark olive-toned skin slick with sweat.

‘I know I look a complete idiot; there’s no need to dwell on the subject.’ Businesslike, she tucked her jaw-length brown hair behind her ears and, back pressed to the wall, levered herself upright in one supple sinewy motion. ‘You took me by surprise,’ she added defensively.

Gabriel—how strange after three years to be able to put a name to the face, not to mention the body. He automatically extended a steadying hand which she pointedly ignored.

She had thought perhaps delayed shock had exaggerated the memories of that night. No man really had a physical presence that could reach out across a room and turn your stomach inside out. She’d been wrong. It wasn’t just that he was physically just about the most impressive male she’d ever seen, it was more than that—much more. The ‘more’ was in the innately elegant way he moved, the dark intelligence lurking in his deepset eyes and the bone-deep aura of confidence.

She’d sometimes wondered what would happen if their paths crossed again. Would he recognise her? Would she wonder what it was about him that had made her behave so crazily? Now there’s a prime example of wishful thinking! Why is this happening to me?

Superficially he was very like Oliver; that was what had first made her stare that night. But it wasn’t the fleeting similarity to her dead husband that had made her carry on … and on …

Oliver had been nearly six-five too, and broad across the shoulders. But the only exercise Oliver had had the time or inclination for in the last few years of his life had been the occasional round of golf. That combined with the fact he had rarely been without a glass in his hand outside working hours had softened and thickened him around the middle.

There was nothing remotely soft about Gabriel MacAllister, then or now! His belly was washboard-flat and his hips were sleekly lean. Alice raised both hands to her cheeks; they felt inordinately hot.

‘Did you know?’ she asked with terse suspicion.

‘Dark, devious plot time?’ Gabriel suggested with a raspy scornful laugh that made her flush. ‘You mean have I spent the last three years trying to track down the woman who slipped into my bed and slipped out of it just as casually?’ A nerve jumped spasmodically in one lean cheek. ‘If it hadn’t been for the scratches I might even have thought you were a dream.’ The erotic, soul-stealing variety.

‘I tried to get on with my life … Alice.’ His voice was a low, mocking drawl. ‘Such a nice, sweet, innocent little name for a nice, sweet, innocent little housewife.’ He looked at her bare left hand where it lay curled tightly around her right forearm. ‘Still no ring, I see. Tell me, does your husband know about your little escapades?’

The image flashed into her mind of the ugly expression on Oliver’s face when she’d flung her ring at him across the candlelit dining room.

‘Escapade in the singular.’ She hugged her arm even tighter over her breasts but felt no responding surge of security. She’d not noticed that night how uncompromisingly hard his angular jawline was.

Was he asking her to believe that a ring would have protected her from his advances that night? Highly sexed men like Gabriel, used to getting their own way, were not, in her opinion, big respecters of social convention. He’d got what he wanted, so why was he complaining? She’d got something too, to remind her permanently of that night.

Perhaps I ought to have let him think he was one amongst many? Better a trollop than a silly, weak-willed woman … or does a one-night stand qualify a woman for trollop status these days, irrespective of the extenuating circumstances?

‘I was the only one?’ Gabriel didn’t bother to hide his derisive disbelief. ‘I’m flattered.’

‘Don’t be. You were convenient.’

She hadn’t intended her crisp words to be interpreted as a blow for liberated womanhood, but from the brief flash of hot anger which briefly illuminated his bronze-flecked eyes he didn’t like her response one little bit.

‘You’re very frank, Alice.’

‘Don’t call me that …’

‘Why not? It’s your name.’

‘I don’t like the way you say it.’ It was like a finger skimming the downy surface of her skin, or maybe a tongue. Her thoughts skittered to a dead stop and dark damp patches appeared down her back where her tee-shirt was adhering to her hot sticky skin. Be sensible. Don’t think skin, tongues or anything remotely similar around this man.

‘Is that why you’re shaking? You were shaking the last time …’

‘My car had been stranded in a snowdrift for two hours on that occasion,’ she reminded him huskily. What’s your excuse now, Alice? Unwillingly she met the derision in his dark, compelling gaze. A shiver slid like ice all the way down her shock-stiffened spine—no man had a right to be that good-looking!

The emergency services had taken her and several other unfortunate travellers to a hotel. People forced together by adversity often shared a unique sense of camaraderie which broke down the usual reserves, and that had been the case that night. The plush foyer had been loud with voices of folk sharing stories and whisky, which the hotel bar had been liberally dispensing.

Alice had felt an odd sense of detachment as she’d stood there with an untouched glass in her hand. Nobody there could have been aware that her numbness extended far beyond her icy fingertips. She’d felt as though her soul had been surgically excised—she’d been empty.

Inevitably it would hurt at some point, but she had wanted to delay that inevitable moment for as long as possible. She’d had no idea where she was, and she hadn’t been interested enough to ask. She’d just got into her car after the funeral and started to drive. In her right mind she’d have curtailed her journey when the weather had gone from bad to impossible. That evening she’d recklessly driven on, even when the conditions had become a total white-out.

The dark stranger’s appraisal had been frankly sensual, even a little contemptuous, but for some reason this hadn’t angered or even flustered Alice. The strange sense of recognition, she had told herself later, must have had something to do with the uncanny resemblance. But the closer he’d come the less he’d looked like Oliver, and the stronger the aura of arrogance and power had become.

‘You were trapped in the snow …?’

His deep voice held an unusual rasp that sent a sharp electrical jolt all the way down to her toes. She opened her mouth and gave a soundless gasp. How had she known he would sound like that?

Alice ignored the opening he’d left for her name. ‘Yes.’

‘For how long?’

Her slender shoulders lifted in the dark fake-fur-trimmed coat she’d thrown on over her simple black dress. She fingered the single string of pearls around her throat.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied honestly.

‘You’re not drinking?’

She shook her head and the barrette that secured her long silky brown tresses came adrift. The rich warm cloud reached all the way to her slender waist.

‘I am.’

The throaty confession surprised her. He didn’t look or sound drunk, she decided, but there was a certain wild, reckless gleam in his eyes. There were other things there too …