A Woman Accused

‘Dead as the dodo bird.’

Her eyes swept the hard, stony face before her. ‘How can you talk that way? Don’t you have any feelings?’

‘Why should I? Nobody will mourn the bastard.’

Ria’s face swam before her. ‘Somebody will,’ Olivia said softly, and she bent her head and put her hands to her eyes.

Edward Archer gave a muffled oath. ‘If I live to be a thousand, I’ll never understand what makes a woman cry!’ His arms went around her, drawing her into a hard, unyielding embrace.

The shock drove the colour back into her face. Olivia slapped her hands against his chest.

‘Let go of me!’

‘I suppose a Victorian swoon comes next,’ he said grimly as he stalked to the door.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I—’

He threw the door open and stepped into the hall. Dulcie’s startled gasp was sharp as a gunshot.

‘Miss Harris isn’t feeling well,’ Edward said tightly. ‘Where can she lie down?’

‘Olivia? Olivia, what’s he done to you? Do you want me to call the police now? Or an ambulance? Do you need an ambulance? Oh, Olivia...’

‘I’m fine, Dulcie. Dammit, Mr Archer—’

‘I asked you a question, girl!’ Edward’s voice was harsh. ‘Where can Miss Harris lie down?’

Dulcie pointed a trembling finger. ‘Upstairs,’ she said. ‘Olivia, shall I—?’

But he had already moved past Dulcie, shouldering her aside as he half carried Olivia up the narrow staircase that led to her flat.

‘Would you please let go of me?’ she demanded. ‘You’re making a fool of yourself, Mr Archer. I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. Do you hear me?’

He ignored her protests, shouldered open the door, and stepped into her living-room.

‘Where is your bedroom?’ he demanded.

Not the bedroom. The last place she wanted this man was in her bedroom. Olivia’s head might still be spinning, but she hadn’t lost the power to think straight.

‘The sofa’s fine,’ she said quickly.

He crossed the tiny room in a few strides and deposited her on the velvet-covered Empire sofa, then stood back and stared down at her, his face grim.

‘Where do you keep your brandy?’

‘Look, I don’t need brandy.’

‘Where is it?’

She threw up her hands. ‘I don’t have any.’

‘Cognac, then. Whiskey. Where is it?’

‘There’s nothing in the house.’

‘Hell, woman, you must have something on hand. What did Wright drink when he visited you?’

Her eyes fixed on his. There was absolutely no expression on his face, but the contempt in his voice was like a slap.

‘He didn’t,’ she said coldly.

‘Didn’t drink?’ One dark brow angled upwards. ‘That’s hard to believe. Old Charlie liked his liquor—almost as much as he liked his women.’

‘He didn’t visit me. And I resent you—’

‘Don’t give me that. He was in and out of this place.’

Olivia folded her arms across her chest. ‘He visited the shop,’ she said, even more coldly. ‘Never my flat—not that it’s any of your business.’

Edward’s lips drew back from his teeth. ‘Yeah. Right. Why would he, when he’d set up that nice little love nest for you over on Sutton Place?’

‘What?’

‘Come on, sweetheart, don’t push your luck. You put on a pretty good act, I’ll grant you that. But the show’s over.’ He strode across the room and into the efficiency kitchen. She could hear cabinet doors slamming and the tinkle of glass. ‘Here,’ he said, coming back to her with a glass of something red in his outstretched hand. ‘Drink it down.’

‘What is it?’ Olivia’s nose wrinkled as he pushed the glass under her nose. ‘Ugh,’ she said, ‘I don’t want that. It’s—’

‘It’s cheap wine,’ he said. ‘Not Wright’s taste at all, but it’ll do the job. Go on, drink it.’

‘It’s cooking wine. And I told you, I don’t need—’

‘Drink,’ he growled. His eyes flashed at her. ‘Or must I hold your nose and pour it in?’

She stared at him, her eyes locking with his. Lord, how she despised this man! He would do it, she was certain, he’d hold her still and feed the noxious stuff into her unless she did as he demanded. He was strong. And intimidating. And very sure of himself, and she didn’t want to take him on again, not now. All she wanted right this minute was to get Edward Archer out of her home so she could contact Ria and comfort her.

She reached out, snatched the glass from him and tossed down the bitter liquid. Her shoulders lifted, her throat convulsed, and she coughed explosively.

‘There,’ she gasped, ‘are you satisfied now?’

He said nothing for a long moment, only watched her with that same empty expression on his face, his eyes hooded and unreadable. A little shudder went through her as she thought how he seemed to fill, even overwhelm, her small living-room.

He reached out and took the glass from her fingers. ‘Hell, it’s not every day you learn your benefactor’s dead.’

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. ‘Charles Wright was a good man,’ she said.

‘Especially to you, sweetheart.’ His teeth glinted in a quick grin. ‘Hey, I can understand getting hysterical when you’ve suffered such a terrible loss.’

‘I hate to spoil this moment of drama for you, Mr Archer,’ she said coldly, ‘but I was not hysterical.’