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Abby looked at him cool and hard. ‘The answer’s easy: I’m following in my father’s footsteps.’ When her parent had had a sudden and fatal heart attack a few years ago it had devastated her, her mother also, and they had consoled each other as best they could. Now her mother had a new boyfriend and she had her career and a place of her own. She was quite content.
‘And you’re happy without a man in your life?’ There was a deliberate lift to his brows. ‘Or is there someone? You see, I know so little about you.’
‘My private life’s private, and that’s the way I’d like it to stay,’ retorted Abby sharply. She had no intention of discussing her personal life with this man. ‘I’m here to find out about your son, not for you to find out about me,’ she told him. ‘How long is he likely to be?’
Hallam Lane swallowed a further drop of whisky, savouring the smooth golden liquid to the full, before saying with what seemed like deliberate vagueness, ‘I really have no idea.’
‘No idea?’ she countered, green eyes feverishly bright. ‘This really is most irregular, Mr Lane. Is he upstairs? Can’t you give him a call? I—’
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible,’ he cut in quietly, his black eyes suddenly locked into hers, the suspicion of a smile curling his lips. ‘Greg is not at home.’ There was a certain amount of satisfaction in his voice.
Abby looked at him sharply and suspiciously. ‘You didn’t tell him about our appointment, did you? You deliberately let me come here, knowing that your son would be out.’ Anger, fierce and swift, flooded her and she cursed herself for being so foolish. She should have known that she could not trust him.
Hallam Lane lifted his broad shoulders in acknowledgement, not in the least disconcerted. ‘I can answer your questions myself.’
‘You know exactly what happened on the night in question?’ she asked, chin lifted, eyes blazing. Lord, what an idiot she had been.
‘I know what my son told me.’
‘Which need not necessarily be the whole truth,’ she pointed out coolly.
Hallam Lane frowned. ‘Why would he lie?’
‘I’m not saying he’s lied,’ she retorted, ‘but he could have quite easily held something back. Your son respects you, Mr Lane; I don’t know whether you realise that. He wouldn’t want to hurt you more than necessary.’
She recalled her younger brother—now married and living in the USA—getting into trouble on several occasions, but he’d never told his father every single detail, for the simple reason that he had not wanted to upset his father unduly—or incur further wrath!
Hallam shook his head, as though denying that this could be the case. ‘I don’t believe for one moment that my son would be so foolish.’ And with an abrupt change of subject he added, ‘I think it’s time we ate.’
Abby stiffened, her finely shaped brows drawing together into a disbelieving frown.
‘I did invite you for dinner,’ he reminded her drily, a faint quirk to his lips.
‘And I distinctly remember refusing,’ she riposted. ‘And since Greg is not at home then I see no point in staying.’ She headed towards the door.
His voice stopped her. ‘It’s all ready; it would be uncivil of you to waste good food. And—there’s always the chance that Greg will be back before we’ve finished,’ he added softly.
He must have known that this would persuade her. She heaved a sigh and finally turned, to discover uneasily that he had moved away from the fireplace and was only a pace behind her. She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘I guess I am hungry,’ she said reluctantly—actually she had eaten nothing since breakfast. ‘But the instant we’ve finished—if Greg isn’t here—I shall go.’
He smiled and, taking her elbow, led her out of the room. At his touch her stomach tied itself into knots, every pulse raced, and Abby wished that she had not been so quick to agree.
If Hallam Lane did not approve of her as his son’s solicitor then why did he bother to entertain her? She wished she knew what thoughts were going through his mind, and she wished to goodness that she had spoken to Greg himself when he’d visited her office, so that this mix-up would not have happened.
The dining-room was next door, still overlooking the fine grounds. The rosewood table was laid with a cream damask cloth and cream napkins with a wine-coloured embroidered border. The candles were of the same deep red, as was the central single rose. There were two place settings only! Abby was furious. ‘You had this arranged all along,’ she declared, her voice shrill with accusation.
‘What pretty girl doesn’t like to be wined and dined?’ he asked, a look of smug satisfaction on his handsome face—a look that told her everything was going according to plan—his plan!
She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘It looks set for a seduction scene to me, Mr Lane, and I can assure you I want no part of it. I refuse to sit here and eat with you and pretend that we like each other.’
‘I’m not asking that you like me, Sommers.’ There was a sudden crisp edge to his tone. ‘I simply believe that it would be to our mutual advantage to spend a little time discussing my son.’ A minute ago he had said he wanted to talk about her! ‘That’s an excuse and you know it,’ she cried, her eyes flashing her hostility, and she turned to head out of the room.
Hallam Lane’s fingers closed about her arm. ‘You’re not running out on me now,’ he growled, twisting her round to face him.
‘If you think that you can force me into staying you’re making a big mistake,’ Abby gritted, struggling in vain to free herself. ‘I should have known you had an ulterior motive.’
‘No, I haven’t,’ he told her firmly. ‘And I have no intention of forcing you.’ His black eyes met and held her luminous green ones. ‘But there are certain events relating to my son’s earlier years that I think are distinctly relevant to the trouble he’s in now. I’d like to tell you about them.’
Again Abby was left with no choice. But why the devil couldn’t he have told her all this in the office instead of using it as an excuse to entertain her in his own home? She eyed him warily, making it perfectly clear that she did not approve. ‘Very well,’ she said with a great show of reluctance.
‘Good.’ He let go her arm with a satisfied smile. ‘Let me take your jacket.’
Unhappily Abby allowed him to slide it from her shoulders. She would have preferred to take it off herself but he had already made the move and she was compelled to endure the proximity of his hard-muscled body.
It shouldn’t have disturbed her—she ought not to have allowed it to—but somehow it sent a tremor down her spine. And when he held out a chair for her his hands touched her shoulders; it was just a light brush, but nevertheless a further uneasy quiver ran through her.
Was this an omen of what was to come? Had she made a dangerous mistake? Ought she to get out now before anything further happened to upset her peace of mind?
CHAPTER THREE
FACING the window, Abby had an excellent view of the garden, but Hallam himself sat with his back to it, throwing his face into shadow. It put her at a definite disadvantage, she decided; it would have been much better if they had both sat sideways on to the window. Had he done it deliberately?
She looked beyond him. ‘You have a nice garden, Mr Lane.’ Mundane words, but she needed to say something—anything—to dispel her inner tension. She could accept that maybe he did want to talk about Greg but there had to be something more. Otherwise why the candles and the exquisite china? Why go to all this trouble?
It could be that he was trying to find out exactly what sort of a person she was. Perhaps he thought she expected this wine-and-roses treatment. Perhaps he thought all women expected it.
She recalled her unfortunate response to his kiss that first time he’d come to her office—could she have given him the wrong impression? Had he thought then that she was any man’s for the taking? It was definitely a disquieting thought.
When she looked back at Hallam he was watching her, a faint, cynical smile playing about his lips. Abby had the troubled feeling that he was aware of every thought passing through her mind.
‘Yes, I’m extremely pleased with the way the grounds have developed,’ he said. ‘They’re very different from when I first moved in, far less austere. We can take a walk afterwards if you like and I’ll show you some of the changes I’ve had made.’
‘I don’t think so,’ answered Abby coolly. ‘I won’t be here that long—unless, of course, Greg returns, though somehow I don’t think he will. I think you’ve arranged this whole evening deliberately, though why I cannot imagine.’
A brow lifted but before he could make any response a woman’s voice said, ‘Are you ready for dinner now, Mr Lane?’
Abby gave a start of surprise. The door was behind her and she had not heard any footsteps.
‘As ready as we’ll ever be, Emily,’ he answered pleasantly.
The woman came further into the room. ‘You’re Neville Sommers’ daughter, aren’t you?’ she asked, peering at Abby closely. ‘I thought it was you the other day but I couldn’t be sure.’ She was a thin, neat woman with short grey hair and a cheerful expression.
‘That’s right. Did you know him?’ asked Abby.
‘He looked after my late husband’s affairs,’ confessed the woman. ‘You’re very much like him, do you know that? There’s no mistaking that you’re father and daughter. I was sorry to hear he had passed away; he was very good to me.’
Abby gave a wistful smile, pleased to hear this woman’s kind words. ‘I miss him a lot.’
‘And now you’ve stepped into his shoes,’ said Emily briskly. ‘Good for you, Miss Sommers. If you’re anything like your father young Greg couldn’t have chosen anyone better.’
Abby glanced at Hallam Lane out of the corner of her eye. His lips were pursed disapprovingly. ‘Food, Emily,’ he said peremptorily. ‘I’m starving.’
The woman immediately scuttled away and he looked at Abby curiously. ‘I wasn’t aware that Mrs Renfrew knew your father.’
‘Does it make any difference?’ she asked, sitting back in her chair and looking at him directly. ‘Or is the issue still that you don’t like to think I could be good at my job, especially as good as my father?’
‘I know you’re good,’ he told her surprisingly, a quirk to his eyebrow as he spoke, ‘or I would never have let Greg have his wish.’
‘Meaning you’ve checked me out?’ she asked sharply. It did not surprise her. Nothing this man did would ever surprise her.
His housekeeper chose that moment to return and he remained silent for a moment as the woman placed in front of them a delicious-looking fillet of Dover sole in a creamy white sauce with prawns.
‘I’d have been a fool not to make a check,’ he said once they were alone.
The smell of the food was profoundly appetising and Abby’s empty stomach gave a loud rumble. She quickly took a mouthful and found the fish every bit as delicate and tasty as it looked.
‘And yet you still don’t want me defending your son,’ she protested once she had emptied her mouth. Abby could not understand him. Hallam Lane was without a doubt the most enigmatic man she had ever met.
‘I would have preferred a man.’ Dark eyes looked challengingly into hers.
Abby flashed him a quick, indignant glance, wishing she could see him more clearly. Although the evening sun was not shining directly through the window the sky was extremely bright and his face very much in shadow. ‘Is it women in general you don’t approve of,’ she asked, jabbing unnecessarily hard at her fish, ‘or just women in what you see as men’s jobs?’
He smiled slowly. ‘Oh, I like women all right.’ And his eyes dropped from her face to her breasts. His perusal, as always, was long and deliberate and induced a warmth in her skin that she could have done without. Abby wondered whether there was a hint here of what he had in mind for later, what he had perhaps had in mind all along—though she had been too dense to see it!
What a fool she was not to have heeded her earlier misgivings and left while she’d had the chance. She knew nothing about this man, had no idea what he was like—except that he was lethally attractive and equally dangerous. In fact he was the most threatening man she had ever met in her whole life.
Despite her misgivings Abby kept a tight hold on her emotions, letting none of her fears show. ‘Do I presume from that that you have a lady-friend, Mr Lane?’
He dragged his eyes back to her face with a seeming effort. ‘Hallam, please. And no, as a matter of fact there is no one special.’
‘Why is that?’
His lips twisted with sudden bitterness. ‘Let’s say I tried it once.’
‘Ah, your wife—she did this to you?’ Abby knew she was out of order but the words spilled from her lips without conscious thought, and she was appalled to find herself adding, ‘Actually, I don’t blame her for leaving you; you’re the most arrogant man I’ve ever met. No woman in her right mind would—’
‘My wife is dead,’ he cut in icily, stopping in an instant her angry flow of words.
Abby wished the floor would open and swallow her up. Hot colour flooded her cheeks and her whole body grew uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know.’ Why on earth had she made the assumption that they were separated, that he was a divorced man and not a widower? Why hadn’t Greg told her? Lord, how insensitive she had been. ‘I really do apologise; I had no idea that—’
Again he interrupted. ‘Let’s drop the subject, shall we?’ His eyes were ablaze with a light she could not read and for a few uneasy minutes silence reigned.
It was not until they had both finished their starter that Hallam spoke again. ‘Do you live with your mother?’ he asked, an agreeable, conversational tone to his voice now, as though the whole unfortunate episode had never taken place.
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head, at the same time breathing a sigh of relief. ‘My mother has a new boyfriend; they’re very much in love. And as I didn’t want to spoil their pleasure in each other I bought myself a house.’
An eyebrow rose. ‘No doubt out of the profits you make due to idiots like my son,’ he remarked, a sudden bitter edge to his tone.
‘Someone has to do the job,’ she retorted, realising wearily that they would never see eye to eye. ‘I can’t understand you, Hallam Lane; why do you insist on making insulting remarks all the time?’
He gave an ironic twist to his lips. ‘It’s an amusing pastime.’
‘Meaning you’ll never take me seriously.’ Abby’s eyes flashed her displeasure. She always took umbrage when people were insulting about her chosen profession—and even more so with this detestable man!
‘Meaning,’ he said, ‘that I would never even have given you the opportunity of taking Greg’s case if he hadn’t pleaded with me so eloquently.’ He looked at her, as if trying to see her through his son’s eyes. ‘Goodness knows why.’
‘Because he knows I’m good with young people his age,’ she replied tartly.
His lips curled. ‘Yes, I understand you’ve made quite a reputation for yourself. I have barrister friends who say that your groundwork is so thorough that you’re a pleasure to work with. Why don’t you have a boyfriend?’
His mercurial change of subject momentarily threw her and Abby looked at him with a frown before saying, ‘As I told you once before, my private life is just that—private. It is none of your business.’
‘Are you content to live the life of a nun?’
Even though she was deliberately staring out of the window Abby knew that Hallam was watching her closely and intently. To her dismay every nerve-end tingled. He had this alarming ability to arouse her just by looking at her, making her more aware of her own body than she had ever been before.
‘You have no idea what sort of life I lead,’ she told him sharply.
‘So there is a boyfriend?’ he insisted.
Abby could not lie and she shook her head. ‘As a matter of fact, no, there isn’t.’
‘Does the job get in the way?’
She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Are men scared of you? Does being a legal eagle put them off?’
‘Of course not,’ she answered firmly, her eyes shooting sparks of indignation.
‘When was the last time you dated?’ He was sitting well back in his chair now, his head on one side as he deliberately studied her.
Abby felt a curl of desire in the pit of her stomach and stifled it instantly. ‘Lord, what is this?’ she cried, her tone more aggressive than she’d intended. ‘The third degree? Of what possible interest can it be to you?’
He smiled. ‘Let’s say you intrigue me. I’ve never met a woman so uninterested in the opposite sex. Or is it, perhaps, all a sham?’ he asked quietly. ‘A veneer to go with the image of professional businesswoman?’
After a pause, when it became clear she was not going to answer his question, he went on, ‘You did respond to me rather—easily the other day. I gained the impression that if I were to—’
His words were interrupted when his housekeeper returned with their main course, but the instant she left the room he continued, ‘That if I were to make any further advances I wouldn’t be exactly rebuffed.’
‘Then you’re deeply mistaken.’ Fury made her raise her voice, and she hoped desperately that it was all presumption on his part, that he had not guessed what sensations crept through her body every time she looked at him.
Sliced breast of chicken, cooked in another one of Emily Renfrew’s wonderful sauces wafted its mouthwatering smell beneath Abby’s nostrils and she helped herself to vegetables from the dishes which matched the rest of the china, glad of something to do to take her attention away from Hallam Lane.
‘Aren’t we supposed to be discussing your son?’ she asked in a deliberate attempt to change the subject.
He did not answer. Instead he asked a question of his own. ‘Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are the most incredible green? So unusual. They change according to your mood. When you’re angry they’re as deep as a storm-tossed sea, but they’re as light as the palest emerald when you’re…’
He let his voice tail off, a knowing little smile playing about his lips.
Abby was appalled that he could read her so easily. ‘You’re despicable!’ Her eyes flashed at him and she wondered what colour they were at that moment. She had no idea that they ever changed.
‘I’m merely stating facts.’ Amusement insisted on lurking at the corners of his mouth. ‘Eat your food before it gets cold.’
Abby discovered that she had suddenly lost her appetite. Nevertheless she cut off a piece of chicken and put it into her mouth. Although it was undoubtedly tender it tasted like cardboard and when Hallam watched her every move she felt like throwing the whole contents of her plate into his face. In fact the thought gave her so much pleasure that she stifled a giggle, though she could not quite stop a smile forming on her lips.
‘What’s so funny?’ he enquired as he also speared a portion of chicken.
‘Private thoughts,’ answered Abby, still smiling.
‘I’ll give you a penny for them.’
‘You might not like what you hear.’
‘Try me.’
She was sorely tempted—not to tell him but to carry the thought out. She could just imagine his reaction. She had done it to her brother once, when his tormenting had got the better of her. He hadn’t been amused but it had been distinctly worth it just to see the shock on his face. However, discretion had to be the better part of valour here. She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
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