Determined Lady

‘Then kindly tell him I am here.’ Saira impressed even herself with her manner. It was actually quite alien for her to behave like this, but this man really rubbed her up the wrong way. She would get nowhere if she kowtowed; she had to be strong.

He was here now, walking towards the door, wearing a navy suit with a white silk shirt and a maroon spotted tie. ‘What are you doing here this early?’ His eyes were cool and hard and Saira resented the two steps up into the house which gave him an even bigger advantage.

She stretched herself up to her full height. ‘I told you I would be back.’

‘But not this soon; I wasn’t expecting you today.’ A frown of annoyance creased his brow.

‘Well, I’m here, and I have my proof,’ she told him haughtily. ‘May I come in?’

‘I was actually on my way out,’ he announced, a touch of arrogance in his tone now. He was clearly not used to having his plans thrown into disarray—or was it hotheaded women on his doorstep who annoyed him?

‘It won’t take long,’ said Saira, and ascended the steps before he could say another word, standing as close to him as she dared, silently demanding that he let her in, feeling the pungent smell of his aftershave assail her nostrils.

Very reluctantly he stood back for her to enter. ‘I hope not.’ There was extreme irritation in his voice.

‘Not as far as I’m concerned,’ she replied, smiling boldly.

It was not to the library he led her this morning, but a sunny breakfast room at the back of the house, the remains of his meal still sitting on the table. He saw Saira cast an inquisitive eye over it. ‘Is this more to your liking? Is this lived in enough for you?’ he asked sardonically.

Saira nodded. ‘It’s better. I take it you’re not married, Mr Brent?’ The question popped out without any warning and she would have liked to retract it but it was too late. In any case she wanted to know. She was curious about this man who was claiming her property.

‘As a matter of fact, no,’ he answered, looking surprised by her sudden question.

‘And you live in this huge house by yourself?’

‘For the moment, yes, but why the questions?’ he asked with a frown. ‘I thought you were here to discuss Honeysuckle Cottage.’

‘Yes, I am,’ she returned sharply, annoyed by her own digression. His marital status was of no importance whatsoever. She delved into her bag. ‘I have here the letter from Mr Kirby, my aunt’s solicitor. Please read it.’

His fingers brushed hers as he took the single sheet of paper and Saira jerked away, unable to make up her mind whether his touch was deliberate or accidental. Whatever, it had a profound effect on her, almost as though she had been burnt. It was an astonishing feeling.

And if the touch had been deliberate, what did it mean? Had he realised that he was up against a tough woman, someone who would not easily relinquish her hold on the cottage, and thought he would appeal to the feminine side of her? Or was she letting her imagination run riot?

Saira squashed the traitorous thoughts immediately, watching Jarrett Brent as he read Mr Kirby’s letter, shocked beyond belief when he thrust it dismissively back into her hand.

‘This doesn’t mean a thing,’ he said harshly.

‘What do you mean, it doesn’t mean a thing?’ cried Saira, unable to accept that he was dismissing it out of hand. ‘Of course it means something; it means the cottage is mine!’ She was really uptight now; she had been so sure that this was indisputable proof.

‘And how can that be when I say I own it?’ Profound blue eyes held her trapped like a deer in a car’s headlights.

‘Prove it,’ she said furiously.

There was a sudden gleam in his eyes and his lips curved into their usual contemptuous smile.

Saira fumed. He was so damn sure of himself. Could he possibly be right? Maybe she ought to have spoken to Mr Kirby first, brought him with her perhaps? She was too impetuous for her own good. She had the feeling that she was getting deeper and deeper into this thing instead of being somewhere near solving it.

‘I can’t at this moment, I’m afraid.’ His eyes pierced hers with an intensity that was intended to put her down, his tone in no way apologetic.

‘I bet you can’t,’ she snapped, prepared to wager her last penny that he just didn’t want to admit that he was in the wrong. Either that or he was playing some game with her, though for the life of her she could not think why.

‘But I’ve no doubt I’ll come across the relevant documents,’ he added.

‘I’m sure you will—when it suits you.’ Saira’s tone dripped sarcasm. ‘And meantime I’m left in a state of limbo. That is not satisfactory, Mr Brent.’

His lips quirked, as though he was enjoying her high dudgeon. ‘It is the best I can offer.’

‘And how long do you intend to keep me waiting?’ Saira felt an electric tension crackling between them. Lord, she hated this man; was there ever anyone more disagreeable? Why was he acting like this? What was he hoping to gain?

‘Is there any rush, Miss Carlton?’ Cool eyes never wavered; they pierced her with an intentness that was extremely disconcerting. She had never felt more at a disadvantage.

But her chin was high as she answered. ‘As far as I’m concerned, there is. I’d like to settle this matter as soon as possible. I don’t like being kept dangling like a fish on a hook.’ He was probably expecting her to complain about the lack of amenities in the cottage, but she was damned if she would. There was no way she was going to let this man get the better of her.

He smiled suddenly, surprisingly, a wide smile that softened the harsh lines on his face. ‘A very beautiful fish.’ But his narrowed eyes were unreadable. ‘I’ll do my best, that’s all I can say.’

Saira dismissed his flattery out of hand. ‘This doesn’t mean a thing to you, does it?’ she flared. ‘You don’t understand or care that to me it is very important. A cottage is a cottage as far as you’re concerned, bricks and mortar with no sentimental value. You’ll do whatever you want without a thought that it was my aunt’s home for most of her life, tended lovingly, and then left to me so that I could give it the same thoughtful care.’

‘As I said before, your aunt never mentioned you,’ he reminded her.

Saira lifted her shoulders. ‘That doesn’t mean a thing. There was no reason for her to. And it’s my aunt’s property we’re discussing, not my aunt or my relationship with her.

‘My property,’ he amended, and the smile was gone as swiftly as it had appeared.

‘If you bought it, then you some way swindled her out of it,’ she cried recklessly. ‘I shall get to the bottom of this, Mr Brent, you can be sure. I shall expect proof from you tomorrow; I want you to bring the deeds to me and show me that the cottage is really yours, and if I don’t get proof then I shall go and see Mr Kirby.’

‘You’re a hell of a fiery lady, Miss Carlton.’ There was once more grudging admiration in his voice.

‘I guess I have to be with someone like you,’ she riposted. There was no way she could meekly accept his word. She was fighting as much for Aunt Lizzie’s sake as her own.

‘Someone like me?’ he pondered, an eyebrow quirking. ‘I’d be interested to hear exactly what you do think of me.’

‘Oh, I don’t think you would,’ retorted Saira with a half-laugh. ‘It wouldn’t be fit language for a lady.’

‘That bad, huh?’

‘That bad,’ she agreed. ‘You’re the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.’

‘And all because your aunt sold me the cottage?’ Brows rose, blue eyes challenged and Saira felt a strong, deliberate, sexual challenge as well. It was nothing she could put her finger on, it was just there, hanging in the air between them.

Nor could she deny it. Her heart hammered and she licked suddenly dry lips; her heart went boom and her skin grew warm. ‘All because you say Aunt Lizzie sold it,’ she retorted. ‘Personally, I do not believe you, and the fact that you haven’t produced any proof is surely evidence enough? What reason would you have for holding back on it?’

‘I never do anything without a reason, Miss Carlton.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘But you’re not going to tell me what it is? You’re playing some sort of game that only you understand?’

‘You could be right,’ he answered easily.

‘Of course I’m damn well right,’ she snapped. ‘Lord, you take some understanding. It’s no wonder you’ve never married; no woman would ever put up with you.’