Passionate Possession

‘I think I’ll go and see if Verity wants a hand in the kitchen,’ she told Don huskily.

She had seen Niall Cameron start to move. It was ridiculous to imagine that he was intending to seek her out…absurd for her to feel that she must escape, especially when she was going to be seated with him at dinner, but for once her physical reactions were outside her mental control.

‘Verity has Mary to help her,’ Don was telling her, obviously puzzled, but Lucy ignored him, heading for the kitchen, where she found Verity instructing Mary Lewis. Mary was a widow and lived alone. As she had once told Lucy, she enjoyed helping out at dinner parties and functions because it allowed her to add to her income without tying her down too much. Lucy smiled at her as she entered the kitchen.

Verity, as always, looked immaculate, her nails lacquered, her silk dress free of any kind of crease.

‘Mm…watercress soup,’ Lucy enthused as she saw their first course.

‘Yes, and salmon to follow.’ Verity made a face. ‘Rather dull, really, but Don loves it. I don’t think I’ve got any veggies. I didn’t check with Niall Cameron, although he doesn’t look…’

‘No, definitely a blood-red-meat man,’ Lucy agreed sardonically.

Verity gave her a confused look. ‘I thought you hadn’t met him yet.’

Lucy sighed. Much as she liked Verity, she had to admit that they weren’t always on the same wavelength.

‘Shall I help?’ she offered, but Verity immediately shook her head.

‘No, no. Everything’s under control.’ She turned to Mary. ‘You’ll bring the soup through in five minutes, won’t you, Mary?’ she checked as she shooed Lucy out of the kitchen and then followed her, saying, ‘Where’s Don? I want him to get everyone into the dining-room.’

As she took her seat Lucy was amused to note the tiny silver apples holding name-place cards. Trust Verity.

She was just about to sit down when she heard someone saying, ‘Allow me.’

It had to be Niall Cameron, of course. She tensed as he pulled out the chair for her, and then turned to thank him.

He was taller close to than she had expected. Six feet plus. He was also extremely broad-shouldered, more so than she would have imagined, and, although his suit fitted him perfectly, she had an uneasy feeling that the body beneath it was somehow very primitive and male. It was an odd feeling for her to have. She didn’t normally entertain any kind of thoughts about men’s bodies, primitive or otherwise.

‘I don’t think we’ve met.’

His voice was deep, its tone measured and polite, but certainly not effusive. He was being courteous, but not making any kind of attempt to impress her.

‘No, not yet…not officially,’ she agreed. ‘I’m Lucy Howard.’

‘Yes.’

He didn’t smile at her, and a tiny trickle of nervous awareness touched her skin. It seemed that her prejudices against him were matched, if not surpassed, by his against her. Certainly there was no warmth in his eyes when he looked at her. Rather the opposite. He was openly studying her, assessing her, and not in the way that she was used to being assessed by the male sex.

‘I…I work for Don,’ she added quickly, and then wondered why on earth she had felt it necessary to add that explanation…that apology almost.

‘Yes,’ he agreed again.

They were both sitting down now. Mary was serving the soup and, since the man seated on her left was busily engaged in conversation with the woman to his left, Lucy had no option but at least make some attempt to converse with Niall Cameron.

‘You’re a newcomer to the area,’ she began.

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Unlike you. Your family are very well known locally. Large landowners.’

Lucy put down her spoon. Was she imagining it, or had that really been antagonism in his voice? And what an extraordinary thing for him to say. It was well over fifty years since her family had last owned land.

‘Er—yes…once…’ she began, but was interrupted as the man to her left turned towards her and began talking to her.

Verity, as always, had produced an excellent meal, but Lucy was conscious that she did not do it justice. She could not understand why Niall Cameron was having such an extraordinary effect on her or why he was making her feel so nervous…so anxious.

She knew that he didn’t like her, but she didn’t like him, and so that was no reason for the tiny darting sensation of panic she could feel building in her stomach, spoiling her enjoyment of her meal.

Everyone else was now pleasantly relaxed and mellow. Perhaps she should have drunk her wine after all, Lucy thought grimly. She certainly couldn’t remember the last time she had felt as on edge as this. Normally she was quite comfortable socially. Even when she had gone to France on business, she had not experienced this degree of tension and anxiety.

Now, with the plates cleared away and the conversation general as people enjoyed their coffee, Verity called down the table to her.

‘Have you managed to do anything about the cottage yet, Lucy?’ And then before Lucy could reply she was explaining for Niall Cameron’s benefit, ‘Poor Lucy is in the most wretched situation. She recently inherited a property from a cousin, a pretty little cottage, really, and in the most glorious setting, but it’s tenanted by this appalling old man.’

Verity always liked to embroider her stories, Lucy reflected wryly as she mentally compared Verity’s almost lyrical description of the cottage with its reality.

‘And he’s behaving dreadfully, isn’t he, Lucy? Demanding that she makes all sorts of alterations, threatening to take her to court. Of course, the rent he pays is next to nothing. He shouldn’t be living there at all, really. He ought to be in a home. From what Lucy’s seen, it’s obvious that he isn’t fit to live alone, and if he would only move out Lucy could—’

‘Sell the cottage and its land to some speculative builder,’ Niall Cameron interposed grimly.

Lucy stared at him, and even Verity looked a little perplexed. One or two of the others were listening now as well, obviously as aware as Lucy was herself of the dislike and the condemnation in Niall Cameron’s voice.

‘Oh, Lucy wouldn’t do anything like that,’ Verity told him, obviously shocked. ‘She just wants to—’

‘To what?’ Niall demanded. ‘To bully a frail old man of almost eighty into leaving his home so that she can sell it and make a nice profit?’

Verity was gaping at him now.

‘Oh, but you don’t understand,’ she began helplessly. ‘Eric Barnes is the most obnoxious man, and poor Lucy—’

‘Oh, but I do understand,’ Niall told her softly. ‘You see, that obnoxious old man, as you call him, just happens to be my uncle.’

He turned to Lucy, who was staring at him in shock, and told her grimly, ‘I am beginning to see now why he is so afraid of you. I warn you, Miss Howard, there are laws to prevent people like you from defaming people, just as there are laws, very strong laws, to force landlords to fulfil their obligations towards their tenants. But then I’m sure, as a landlord you are perfectly well aware of those laws, hence your determination to remove my uncle from his home.’

Lucy could say nothing. She was too stunned; too appalled. She glanced uncertainly round the table. Verity looked unhappy and upset, and Lucy could see on the faces of the others the interest and speculation Niall Cameron’s comments had caused.

It was no secret, of course, that she had inherited the cottage, nor indeed was the state it was in, but, just as she had barely recognised the cottage from Verity’s description, so she had hardly been able to recognise herself or her motives in Niall Cameron’s denunciation of her.

Eric Barnes…afraid of her? She remembered how he had treated her, her eyes blank with disbelief as she turned her head to look at her accuser.

‘There seems to have been some misunderstanding,’ she told him as calmly as she could. She was not going to argue, to verbally brawl with him here in public, abusing Verity’s hospitality, but his accusations could not be allowed to stand.

‘I’m glad you understand that,’ he told her, deliberately misunderstanding her. ‘You might believe that your family’s position locally entitles you to behave as you wish, but I do not intend to stand by and see my uncle bullied and threatened, just so that you can make a nice fat profit on his home.’

A nice fat profit. Had he seen the cottage? Did he have any idea of what it would cost to make it habitable? Did he really expect her or anyone else who knew his uncle to believe the picture he was drawing of Eric Barnes?

She stood up awkwardly, her face white with temper and strain. Turning to Verity, she said fiercely, ‘Verity, I am sorry about this. I think I’d better leave.’ How dare he do this to her? How dare he ruin Verity’s dinner party like this? How dare he try to blacken her reputation? For the first time in her adult life she realised that she was in the grip of an almost uncontrollable surge of temper. Had it been there she could have willingly picked up her soup bowl and tipped the contents over him. She was bitterly, furiously, savagely angry in a way that was totally outside her experience of her own emotions.

And she had to get away now before she gave way to those feelings.