Whisper Of Scandal

“Will you think over my offer?” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN Copyright

“Will you think over my offer?”

Sabrina hesitated. Everything inside her screamed yes, but rational thought threw in a note of caution and reality. “I... Oh, Marc.”

He stared down at her. “Just forget the other man in your life.” There was a grim note to his voice now.

“If only it were that simple,” she said sadly.

KATHRYN ROSS

was born in Zambia, Africa, where her parents happened to live at that time. Educated in Ireland and England, she now lives in a village near Blackpool, Lancashire. Kathryn is a professional beauty therapist, but writing is her first love. As a child she wrote adventure stories, and at thirteen was editor of her school magazine. Happily, ten writing years later, Designed With Love was accepted by Harlequin. A romantic Sagittarian, she loves traveling to exotic locations.

Whisper Of Scandal

Kathryn Ross

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘WE SHOULDN’T really be doing this,’ Sabrina told Garth nervously.

‘Why ever not?’ He leaned across and poured her some more wine. ‘I think that bringing you out for dinner was a lovely idea.’

‘Yes, but, Garth, we have got to be sensible.’ Her eyes flickered over the intimate booths lit by candlelight, searching for any face that she might recognise. This was one of London’s most expensive restaurants and it was a well-known haunt of many famous people... including MPs like Garth Fraiser. It was not the type of place to have a secret meeting. ‘I’m sure you don’t usually bring your ex-secretaries to places like this.’

‘Well, you are not the usual kind of secretary,’ Garth answered with a smile.

Bright blue eyes swung back on to his attractive face. Despite his advancing years Garth Fraiser was still a good-looking man. His strawberry-blond hair was thick and vital, the deep lines on his face emphasising his strong, stubborn character.

‘Exactly.’ She said the word quietly but with meaning. ‘And we don’t want to start people talking.’

‘I’m sorry, Sabrina... I don’t want to place you in an awkward position.’ He sighed and leaned back in his chair. ‘You’ve been through so much recently... what with the death of your mother and... everything. It’s just that we need to talk; I have so much to explain to you.’

For a moment her blue eyes clouded with sadness. ‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘But it’s you I’m worried about. What would your wife say if she knew that you were out having dinner with me?’

He smiled. ‘She would think it was business. Anyway, Nadine is in Paris visiting Marc. She won’t be back until tomorrow.’

‘Are you going to tell her?’ Sabrina’s beautiful face was etched with strain as she waited for his answer.

‘I don’t think I could face it.’ Garth shrugged helplessly. ‘I do care about you, Sabrina. I know you must find that hard to believe. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. The main one being that I should have told Nadine years ago.’ He raked a hand through his hair in agitation. ‘Look, come back to work for me, Brina, and we’ll work things out. I miss you.’

‘Thank you, Garth.’ She swallowed down a sudden lump of emotion in her throat. ‘I miss you too.’ She did miss him; she also missed the cut and thrust of political life at the Palace of Westminster. ‘But having me as your secretary could cause you problems.’ She forced herself to be practical. ‘Politics is your life and, as you have said yourself, people expect you to be whiter than white. If word got out about me it could bring you down...it could certainly go against your moving to Brussels next year.’

He sighed. ‘I certainly don’t want to risk ruining my . political career. This job as Euro MP next year means a hell of a lot to me.’

She nodded. ‘You’ve worked very hard for the posting.’

‘I suppose I have...’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘So has Nadine. She has always been wonderfully supportive.’

Sabrina nodded her head. She had met Garth’s wife on a few occasions. Nadine was French, extremely beautiful and very intelligent. People liked and respected her and she was certainly an asset to Garth’s career. ‘But she is not stupid, Garth. It’s only a matter of time before she notices something is amiss. I don’t want to pressurise you, but I think you should either tell her or cut me out of your life altogether.’

Although she said the words firmly, there was a tremor inside her body. She hated the thought of losing Garth out of her life... especially now, in the light of what she had found out. She wanted to get to know him better, to talk things through... to deepen their relationship.

‘Surely you don’t mean that?’ He frowned and for a moment his face turned pale as he reached across the table to catch her hand.

Her eyes clouded and she shook her head. ‘No... no, of course I don’t. I was just trying to be sensible.’

‘I can’t tell Nadine, Brina. I——’

A dark shadow fell over the table, startling them out of their engrossing conversation.

‘And just what is it that you can’t tell Nadine?’ a deep voice enquired in crisp tones.

Sabrina had to tip her head back to look up at the man who was staring down at them. Her hand left Garth’s with guilty haste as her eyes locked with a burning dark gaze.

‘Marc, this is a surprise!’ Garth rose quickly to his feet, for once looking completely disconcerted. ‘Is Nadine with you?’

‘No. Mother is still in France.’

‘I see.’ Garth smiled and seemed to regain his composure on hearing that his wife was not about to appear beside them. ‘I’m dining with my secretary, Miss Sabrina Harrington.’ He waved a hand towards her and the man turned his gaze down on her again. ‘This is my stepson Marc Kingsley.’

Sabrina’s one overriding thought as she looked up at him was that Marc Kingsley was far, far too good-looking.

Dark hair and eyes and a tanned skin made him look more French than English, but his weren’t the conventional good looks. There was something hard and forceful about that face that stared down at her. For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of surprise in the intense black eyes as they lingered on her long strawberry-blonde hair and heart-shaped face. The way he looked at her was so openly arrogant that it made her flush uncomfortably.

‘Miss Harrington.’ He acknowledged her with a brief nod of his head before turning back to Garth. ‘I called at the house and your housekeeper told me that I might find you here.’

Garth nodded. ‘Yes, I left the number in case Nadine phoned.’ He indicated the spare seat next to them. ‘Won’t you join us, Marc?’

‘For a few minutes.’ With a brief glance at his gold wristwatch he sat down directly facing Sabrina. ‘I just wanted to tell you that Mother has changed her plans and won’t be coming back until after the weekend. She decided to fly down to Nice for a couple of days to see her sister.’

‘Oh...’ Garth frowned. ‘There is nothing wrong, is there?’

‘No, no. Just a spur-of-the-moment whim,’ Marc assured him swiftly.

‘Well, I’m glad you told me. I was going to ring her at your home in Paris tonight. I would have been concerned if there had been no answer.’

‘Well, as usual she is staying at the Sheldon in Nice. Why don’t you ring her now, Garth? I’m sure she will be having an early night tonight. She left Paris early this morning but, knowing my mother, she will have been into every boutique in Nice by now.’

‘Yes, and probably bought them out.’ Garth grinned and turned his attention to Sabrina. ‘Will you excuse me for a moment while I go and ring my wife?’ he asked with his usual gentle courtesy.

Before she had time to open her mouth, however, Marc Kingsley was answering for her. ‘Of course she will—I’m sure that Miss Harrington wouldn’t dream of standing in the way of true love.’ Although his voice was light, the eyes that met hers across the table were deep and somehow disturbing in their intensity.

Why did she feel that answering that statement could be decidedly dangerous? It was merely a light-hearted jesting comment...wasn’t it?

Garth obviously thought that it was, because he was smiling down at her as he got to his feet. ‘I won’t be long; don’t let my stepson charm you too much while I’m away.’

Sabrina for some reason felt a little embarrassed by that comment. She gave Marc a polite smile that was a trifle nervous.

He didn’t return the gesture, just continued to look across at her with unfathomable eyes.

‘So, Miss Harrington, is this a working dinner or a more pleasurable interlude?’ he asked in a low tone.

Was it her imagination or was there a cutting edge in his voice? She toyed with the glass in front of her with long nervous fingers. Although Garth had introduced her as his secretary, in point of fact she no longer worked for him. She contemplated telling Marc Kingsley that, then changed her mind. It would be far safer just to go along with what Garth had said. ‘Just a working dinner,’ she said lightly.

‘Really?’ There it was again, an almost sarcastic edge in the velvety deep voice. Candlelight flickered over the strong, handsome features without lending any softness to the harsh, remote countenance. ‘How long have you been working for my stepfather, Miss Harrington?’

She hesitated. ‘About a year.’ She felt as if she was being interrogated, and shifted restlessly in her chair.

‘I see.’ He met her eyes directly. ‘And where do you work now?’

The blunt question made Sabrina’s nerves flutter. ‘Now?’ She looked at him with wide blue eyes, her brain seizing up with panic.

‘Now that you no longer work for Garth,’ he said easily.

Their eyes met and held. He had known all along that she was no longer Garth’s secretary!

He smiled, showing even white teeth. ‘My mother let it slip that Garth was looking for a new secretary and that you were very hard to replace.’

‘Oh... I see.’ She struggled to gather her thoughts together. She felt for one moment like a frightened little mouse trapped in a corner by a large cat. ‘Well, I haven’t got another job yet.’ She kept her voice cool with a great effort of will. ‘So I still do a bit of work for Garth at home...just odd bits of typing really.’

‘I see,’ he drawled with a smile. ‘Lucky Garth. I wish I had someone like you. Someone I could call on for the odd bit of typing.’

There was something about the almost sardonic note of his voice that sent shivers of alarm racing through her. Was he casting some kind of nasty suspicion on her relationship with Garth?

She looked across at him with a frown, and he smiled. It was a pleasant enough smile. Maybe she was just paranoid, she told herself crisply. She felt uncomfortable dining here with Garth and because of that she was reading things into this man’s words—things that probably didn’t exist.

‘I am very highly qualified and there are some things that Garth likes me to take care of personally for him,’ she emphasised crisply. ‘Just until he gets a new permanent secretary.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that you have all the necessary qualifications.’ For a brief second his eyes moved away from her creamy complexion and down the slender column of her neck to where the top buttons of her jade silk blouse were undone.

‘And you are very easy on the eye...a definite bonus,’ he drawled lazily.

She could feel her sensitive skin prickling with the heat of embarrassment. She didn’t know what to say to that.

He smiled, his gaze moving over the peach glow on her high cheekbones to lock with her eyes. ‘Yes, very beautiful... sensuously so.’ The dark eyes moved to the softness of her mouth, a feature that she had always considered a little too full for her liking. ‘On the whole, Sabrina Harrington, I would say that you are one dangerous package.’

The air between them was charged with tension and some strange emotion that Sabrina could not define. She tried to steady her erratic breathing so that she could make some kind of a reply to his outrageous comments, but with those dark eyes boring into her she found it impossible.

Garth’s return caught her by surprise but seemingly not Marc, for he turned with an easy smile towards his stepfather as he took his seat beside him. ‘Well, did you manage to get through to Mother?’

‘Yes, I did.’ There was a heaviness in Garth’s voice that brought Sabrina’s attention winging sharply back towards him. His skin had a grey tinge to it, and the lines around his eyes were more deeply etched.

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked in sudden concern.

‘Yes, I’m just feeling a little tired. If you are finished, Brina, I think I would like to leave.’

‘Yes, of course.’ In her agitation she didn’t notice that he had slipped into using his pet name for her, something they had agreed not to do. In public they had agreed to keep things strictly formal. She bent to pick up her handbag, anxious to get away from the intimidating stranger opposite and find out the real reason why Garth was suddenly looking so ill.

‘Seeing that you are tired, Garth, why don’t I run your secretary home for you?’

The casually proffered suggestion had Sabrina straightening very quickly, a refusal forming on her lips. She would rather take a taxi than ride with Marc Kingsley. He made her feel so on edge it was untrue.

‘Would you mind, Marc? I would be very grateful,’ Garth got in ahead of her, however.

‘Not at all; it will be my pleasure.’ Dark eyes gleamed as he noticed that she was not exactly overjoyed by the situation. ‘Stay where you are and I will go and ask the doorman to bring the cars around for us. Have you got your keys?’

As soon as Marc had moved away from them Sabrina leaned across towards Garth. ‘What on earth is the matter?’ she asked nervously.

‘Nothing, sweetheart.’ His voice strove to reassure her but the worried light refused to die away from her eyes. He sighed. ‘Nadine and I just had a slight argument. It was nothing much but I hate to upset her like that.’

‘What was it all about?’

He hesitated for a moment. ‘She wants me to fly out to Nice tomorrow and spend the weekend there with her. I told her I couldn’t come.’

‘Why ever not?’ She frowned at him. ‘It’s Saturday tomorrow and you told me yourself that you have nothing very much on.’

‘Yes, I have, Brina. I wanted to see you tomorrow...we have so much to discuss.’

‘No, Garth.’ Sabrina’s voice was adamant. ‘You must put your wife first——’

‘I’m not prepared to argue about this,’ Garth cut across her. ‘I’m spending tomorrow with you and there is an end to it. I thought that we could drive into the country——’

‘No,’ she interrupted his plans firmly.

‘Good, that’s settled, then,’ Garth continued smoothly as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ll pick you up at ten.’ He rose to his feet and smiled down at her.

‘You are incorrigible,’ she said on a note of dry humour.

‘But you love me anyway?’ He winked down at her.

‘You know I do,’ she answered huskily.

For a moment his eyes lingered on her. “Thank you, Brina. You don’t know how happy that makes me.’ He hesitated and seemed about to say more, then glanced over as his stepson started to walk back across the restaurant towards them. ‘Brina, do me a favour, will you?’ he asked quickly.

‘If it is within my power, you know I will.’

‘Don’t let anything slip to Marc about us. I’d hate Nadine to find out like that.’

‘You know I wouldn’t say anything,’ she reassured him quickly.

Garth nodded. ‘Marc is a very shrewd man. Also a very charming one. Just be careful, Brina.’

‘Well, I’m not easily charmed.’ Sabrina smiled. ‘Now, will you go to Nice tomorrow and see your wife?’

He shook his head. ‘I will be seeing you tomorrow. Ten o’clock sharp.’ He moved away then before she had time to argue the point further.

She watched him go with a mixture of impatience and affection. He had to be the most pigheaded, stubborn man that she had ever come across. He had probably accepted Marc’s offer to run her home just so that she didn’t get the chance to try and change his mind.

She watched him stop and talk with his stepson on the way out of the door. She had always thought that Garth was a powerfully built man, yet next to Marc Kingsley’s lean, broad-shouldered frame he looked almost small.

For a moment she racked her brain to remember any information that Garth had given her on his stepson.

He was a successful man, a wealthy industrialist who spent most of his time in Paris but also had a home in Surrey. She knew that his mother Nadine was French and that his father had been English. They were the only facts that she could call to mind. With a sigh she got to her feet and went over to join them. Somehow she had the feeling that she needed to know much more about Marc Kingsley in order to step very warily around him.

Did he have to watch her like that? she wondered angrily as she moved nearer to them. His eyes were raking over her slim figure in the pencil-straight skirt and jade blouse as if he were assessing how much she would fetch on the open market.

‘Ready?’ he asked abruptly as she reached his side.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It was very strange, but this man seemed capable of stirring up her temper without even saying anything. Just one look from those eyes seemed to increase her temperature rapidly.

The darkness outside was a relief. It was a few minutes’ respite from Marc Kingsley’s probing eyes, a few minutes to compose herself. A bright red Porsche drew up beside them and the car-park attendant got out and handed Marc the keys.

Her eyes ran disdainfully over the sleek lines of the red Porsche. Nothing subdued for Mr Kingsley, she thought wryly. His taste in women was probably the same as his taste in cars. He would like them flashy and elegant.

He surprised her by opening the passenger door for her before going around to the other side. At least the man had some manners.

She frowned. What on earth was the matter with her? It wasn’t like her to be so aggressive, especially towards a perfect stranger. The man was doing her a favour by taking her home and here she was tearing him to shreds. In fact ever since he had first looked down at her she had been on the defensive—it was most unlike her.

She watched him as he secured his seatbelt and then started the powerful engine. His face was lit for a moment by the street-light as he turned towards her. It looked all planes and angles in the half-light, emphasising just how ruggedly attractive he was. For a crazy second her heart seemed to dip downwards and thud like a sledgehammer against her chest.

‘Aren’t you going to put on your seatbelt?’ he enquired lazily.

‘Oh... yes.’ For some reason her fingers felt like thumbs as she struggled awkwardly with the belt.

‘Here, let me do it.’ He leaned across and took it from her hands with a brisk impatient movement. Inadvertently his fingers brushed against the silk of her blouse as he pulled it across her, the soft touch sending a million sensory nerve-endings throbbing into life.

‘There.’ The belt slotted firmly into place and he was swinging the car out into the stream of traffic, the large hands looking strong and capable on the wheel.

Sabrina swallowed hard and looked away from him out through the window. She felt confused and angry with herself. She was twenty-five years of age and had been out with plenty of men in the past, but none of them had made her body respond the way it had done just now from a mere casual contact. Marc Kingsley was having a very strange effect on her. She was undeniably attracted to him, just as every woman who ever came into contact with him would probably be. But there was something else. He inflamed her senses. Angered her, excited her, frightened her. She couldn’t understand how a total stranger could arouse such emotions.

She tried to switch her thoughts away from him as they drove down busy roads through the heart of London. It was a magical city at night, she thought idly, with all the beautiful buildings illuminated by a warm orange glow against the velvet darkness of the sky.

Marc was pulling up outside her apartment in Kensington before she realised that he had driven her straight to her door without having to ask where she lived.

She turned to him with a frown. ‘How did you know my address?’

‘Garth told me before he left.’

‘Oh, I see.’

Marc turned off the engine and the sudden silence seemed heavy and oppressive. The only sound that filled Sabrina’s ears was the wild thud of her heartbeats.

‘Well, thank you for the lift home,’ she said a trifle breathlessly, reaching for the door-handle.

‘Aren’t you going to invite me in for coffee?’ he asked silkily.

She hesitated, taken back by the request. ‘Well, I...yes—yes, of course.’ Hell, she was babbling like a teenager. What on earth was wrong with her?

He stood behind her as she opened her front door and she was annoyed to find that her hand shook as she tried to get the key in the lock.

‘Do you need some help?’

His drily amused voice flustered her even more.

‘No, thank you.’ Thankfully the door swung open and Sabrina led the way into the elegant hallway.

The apartment was very large and decorated in a stylishly modern way. Crystal lights illuminated warm peach walls and highlighted the thick beige carpet that ran through each room.

‘Nice apartment,’ Marc remarked as his eyes moved over the lounge with its large cream leather suite and the modern pictures that lent vibrant splashes of colour to the room. ‘Working for Garth must pay well.’

Sabrina’s eyebrow lifted at such a remark. Really, who did the man think he was? It was none of his business where her money came from.

She decided not to answer such a remark but instead waved him towards the settee. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’ll just put the kettle on.’

Instead of going into the lounge, however, he followed her into the kitchen.

She flicked a disgruntled glance at him as he leaned nonchalantly against the marble worktops to watch her fill the kettle.

‘The view’s better in here,’ he drawled lazily as he caught her eye, and then his gaze moved slowly from her neat ankles up over her long legs and curving body.

She felt her body heat start to rise at that look, and she turned away impatiently to open the cupboards and get out some china cups and saucers. Why did he keep looking at her like that?

‘So why did you give up working for my stepfather, Sabrina?’ he asked casually.

Her fingers slipped on the bone-china cup she had been reaching for and she watched in horror as it fell with a crashing sound on to the tiled floor. ‘Damn!’ Her dismayed voice sounded loud in the silence.

He bent to help her pick up the pieces. ‘Shame,’ he murmured as he turned the end of the cup over. ‘Royal Doulton as well—a very expensive piece.’

She glared at him. ‘What are you anyway, a tax inspector?’ she asked stiffly. ‘You’ve done nothing but make references to how expensive things are.’

He looked at her with raised eyebrows. ‘Have I? I’m sorry... things of beauty just fascinate me.’ As he spoke his eyes moved over her face searchingly.

She bit down heavily on her lower lip and her blue eyes clouded with tears. ‘No...I’m sorry.’ She got up quickly and went to wrap the slivers of china in paper before putting them in the bin. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It’s just... well, that tea service had sentimental memories. It was my mother’s.’ She didn’t turn to face him as she spoke—she was desperately trying to collect her emotions. It was so silly to be upset about something as small as a teacup, but it had brought thoughts of her mother vividly to her mind.