A Woman Accused

A Woman Accused
Sandra Marton

Olivia Harris was desperate! She needed money… and fast. Trouble was, the only person she could turn to for help was the last man who could offer it. Edward Archer wanted the truth behind Olivia's relationship with his stepfather, but she was determined to keep her secrets!So when Edward started taking over Olivia's life, she was worried. Instead of hating Edward, she began to like him all too much… but how could she? She was a woman accused and Edward had set himself up as prosecutor, judge and jury… and Olivia's only defense was love!

A Woman Accused

Sandra Marton

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE (#ubb63b3fa-b21d-5d93-b1b6-f7561456500b)

CHAPTER TWO (#uf0047709-c376-502b-8f16-fd68d7e9e45a)

CHAPTER THREE (#u3597a2ca-2b99-5722-903c-f77917eb60ed)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE

OLIVIA was running late. There was nothing unusual about that, but with summer gone and autumn on the way it seemed that everyone who’d ever given a passing thought to redecorating a living-room or a flat had suddenly decided now was the time and had come racing into Interiors by Pierre, bearing swatches of fabric or chips of paint that just had to be matched, and would it be too much to have the job done yesterday?

It made for awfully good business, Pierre said in his high-pitched voice. But it had played havoc with Olivia’s schedule. Now she was late for her lunch with Ria.

And it wasn’t just any lunch, she thought ruefully as she hurried along Fifth Avenue. It was their annual birthday lunch, and Olivia had sworn on everything that was holy that she wouldn’t be late.

Well, she had done her best. It was just that it hadn’t been quite good enough. Not that Ria would be surprised.

‘We both know you’re going to be late, Livvie,’ she’d said, tossing her thick mane of dark hair. ‘That old goat works you like a slave, even though he knows you’re the only reason he has so many customers. Honestly, Livvie, it’s time you went into business for yourself.’

Olivia smiled a little as she remembered those words. She did work hard at Interiors by Pierre, but then that, along with the talent Monsieur Pierre was so loath to admit she possessed, was why she’d gone from shop girl to design assistant in three years. As for opening her own shop—you couldn’t borrow enough money to do it right without assets to pledge as collateral.

‘But if you had collateral you wouldn’t need a loan,’ Ria had said, and they’d both laughed.

It was ridiculous, but it was reality. Olivia hadn’t really expected her friend to understand. Ria had been born into a world of privilege and wealth; her idea of hard work was her noon-to-six, three-day-a-week stretch at a trendy avant-garde art gallery—which was why it was always easy for her to be on time for lunch.

‘You won’t want to be late this time,’ she’d said with a giggle, almost as if she were still ten instead of about to turn twenty-six. ‘Just wait until you see your birthday present!’

Olivia’s senses had gone on alert as she thought of the silk scarf she’d bought for Ria.

‘Remember what we agreed?’ she’d said warningly. ‘No more expensive gifts. That watch you gave me last time was gorgeous, but—’

‘You’re so silly, Livvie. What’s the point of having money if I can’t spend it on the people I love?’

It had been a sticking point between them for years, Olivia trying to make Ria see that she couldn’t possibly match her oldest friend’s extravagance and Ria explaining that her gifts were meant to bring pleasure, and each encounter ended the same way.

‘You don’t like it?’ Ria would say, her eyes clouded, and by the time Olivia had finished assuring her that it wasn’t that at all it was always too late. ‘Good,’ Ria would declare happily. ‘Then enjoy, darling!’

Olivia sighed as she hurried towards the restaurant. Ria had teased her about this year’s gift.

‘It’s right up your alley,’ she’d said. ‘It’s practical. Pragmatic. Why, it’s downright sensible. You just get to Luigi’s on time and see if you don’t agree.’

Now, as Olivia glanced down at the expensive diamond and gold watch encircling her slender wrist—Ria’s gift of last year and one she rarely wore—she made a face. She wasn’t going to get there on time, that was certain. She was already a quarter of an hour late. Of course, she thought hopefully, the watch might not be keeping time properly. She hadn’t worn it in months, it was far too expensive to wear every day, and besides it was just a little flashy for her tastes...

Who was she kidding? A watch like this would rather die than be inaccurate. She was definitely late, and who knew how much further it was to Luigi’s?

‘It’s this darling little place just off Fifty at Fifth-sixth,’ Ria had said, but Ria’s ability to judge distances hadn’t noticeably improved any in the fifteen years they’d known each other. ‘Just off Fifth’ could mean anything from around the corner to Sutton Place—although, Olivia thought, suppressing a grin, Ria wouldn’t very likely pick a bit of real estate as far removed as that. Luigi’s would be located somewhere along this golden stretch of New York pavement, tucked between the bustle of Fifth Avenue and the quiet grandeur of Park. Its décor would be handsome, the food luscious, the wine list intimidating—and perhaps this time, Olivia thought with a twinge of guilt, she and Ria would have more to say to each other than the last. They’d known each other forever. Surely they still had things in common, now that they’d put away their toys.

Ah! Olivia’s pace quickened, her high heels tapping lightly against the pavement. There it was! A discreet black sign, just in the middle of the block, with the restaurant’s name inscribed in gold script. She’d arrived, and only twenty minutes past the appointed hour.

A uniformed doorman appeared from out of nowhere; he held open the brass-studded door, bowing grandly as if she were royalty.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, fighting back the urge to put a nervous hand to her glossy, dark brown hair. It was probably wind-tossed, the shoulder-length, almost untameable curls even wilder-looking than usual, she thought irritably, annoyed not at her hair nor the unctuously smiling doorman but at herself for still feeling such a sudden twinge of nerves at the thought of stepping inside a place that was so obviously a haven for those born to the good life.

What on earth had brought that on? It was a long time since anyone had teased her about not belonging, longer still since she’d given a damn. Her chin lifted. Besides, in the emerald-green silk suit she’d designed and made she’d look as good as any woman in this posh little café.

And it was posh, she thought as she stepped inside. The tiny entry foyer was done in black and white marble, with the scheme repeated in the dining-room that opened beyond, all of it heightened by accents of burgundy and pink. The room was dim and intimate, with a mirrored bar to the right and deep banquettes beyond. Music played softly in the background, and the air bore just the faintest hint of good wine and perfume.

She glanced at her watch again as she waited for the head waiter. Perhaps Ria was already seated. Olivia stepped forward a bit, just into the bar, and peered into the main room. Was that a dark head at a table off to the side? She stood on tiptoe, then took another step forward...

The man stepped back from the bar at just that instant. Olivia had time only to register the grey wool jacket, the flash of a highball glass in a masculine hand, and then a sudden rush of cold liquid splashed across her silk dress and down her skirt.

She cried out, almost in unison with a deep voice that muttered something far more explicit, and when she looked up she was staring first at a splattered dark silk tie, then at a face as cold and aggressively masculine as any she’d ever seen.

‘Dammit, woman, why don’t you look where you’re going?’

Olivia’s mouth dropped open. ‘Me? You’re the one who—’

‘Just look at this mess.’ He pulled a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and rubbed at the spots on his tie. ‘You’ve ruined my tie.’

She stared at him while she brushed at the fine silk of her jacket. It was wrecked, she thought unhappily, absolutely wrecked. What was a tie when compared to a suit?