The Unexpected Mistress

The huskiness of his voice took her by surprise. It contrasted oddly with the intensity of his manner. There was a determined set to his jaw and the arch of his sensual mouth had flattened into a firm line.

‘You can live anywhere. I can’t—’ she began.

‘You must have friends who’d take you in,’ he purred.

‘I couldn’t impose!’

‘You don’t have a choice.’

She felt close to tears of anger and frustration.

‘You don’t understand! I have to stay!’ she insisted frantically.

‘Why?’

‘Because…’ She went scarlet.

‘Yes?’ he prompted.

She stared at him, unwilling to expose her fear. But she saw no other way out.

Her eyes blazed with loathing. ‘If you really want to know, I’m scared of going anywhere else!’ she cried shakily.

He raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Then it’s time you did.’

She gasped. So much for compassion. But Cassian would never know what it was to be uncertain and shy, or to be uncomfortable in unfamiliar surroundings. Her pulses pounded as her heart rate accelerated.

‘There’s more,’ she said, her lips dry with fear.

‘Yes?’

She swallowed. This was deeply personal. Normally, wild horses wouldn’t have dragged this out of her, but Cassian had to realise what this house meant to her.

‘My…’ She felt a fool. He was looking at her with cold hard eyes and she was having to expose her innermost secrets. For Adam, she told herself. And found the strength. Her eyes blazed blue and bright into his. ‘My mother lived here,’ she began tightly. ‘So?’

She drew in a sharp breath of irritation. This wasn’t going to get her anywhere. But…he’d adored his own mother. Wouldn’t he understand?

‘Cassian,’ she grated. ‘Is your mother still alive?’

He looked puzzled. ‘Yes. Why?’

Thank heaven. Maybe she had a chance. ‘You still see her, speak to her?’

‘She’s remarried. She lives in France, but yes, I see her. And I speak to her each week. What are you getting at?’ he asked curiously.

She offered up a small prayer to the Fates. ‘Imagine not knowing anything about her. Not even how she looked. Think what it would have been like, not to know that she’s beautiful, a gifted artist, and full of life and fire!’ Her eyes glowed feverishly with desperate passion.

‘I don’t see the—’

‘Well, that’s how it is for me!’ she cried shakily. ‘No one will speak of my mother and all trace of her was removed the day she left.’ Her voice broke and she took a moment to steady herself. ‘I wouldn’t know anything at all about her if it wasn’t for Mr Walker—’

‘Who?’ he exclaimed sharply.

‘He’s someone in the village. A lonely old man with a vile temper but he can’t walk far so I do his weekly shopping. He gives me a list and money for what he needs. I lug his shopping back, he complains about half of it and we both feel better.’

Her eyes went dreamy for a moment. Out of the blue, Mr Walker had once said that her mother was lovely. In his opinion, he’d said, Diana had been wasted on boring George Morris.

‘What did he say about her?’ Cassian asked warily.

She was surprised he was interested, but she smiled, remembering. ‘That she was passionate about life.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes. He said she was kind and very beautiful.’ Laura sighed. ‘Since I’m nothing like that, I think he was probably winding me up. When I asked him for more information he refused to say anything else.’

‘I see,’ he clipped, dark brows meeting hard together.

‘The point is that this house means more to me than just bricks and mortar and general sentimentality.’ Desperate now, she felt herself leaning forwards, punching out her words. ‘Thrushton Hall is all I have of my mother!’ she jerked out miserably.

‘Surely you must know about your mother—!’

‘No! I don’t!’ Wouldn’t he listen to her? Hadn’t he heard? ‘I don’t know what she looked like, how or why she left me, nothing!’

She was aware of Cassian’s stunned expression and took heart. He would see her plight and take pity on her.

‘Cassian, other than the house, I have nothing else to remember her by, not one single item she ever possessed. Everything has vanished. The only actual trace of her is me!’

She steadied her voice, aware that it had been shaking so strongly with emotion that she’d been almost incoherent.

‘I don’t believe this!’ he muttered.

‘It’s true!’ she cried desperately. ‘I’ve had to rely on my imagination! I’ve visualised her in this house, doing everyday things. That is where she must have stood to wash up, to cook,’ she cried, pointing with a fierce jab of her finger. ‘She must have sat at that very table to eat, to drink cups of tea. She would have stood at that window and gazed at the view of the soaring fells, just as I do. I can imagine her here and think of her going about her daily life. If—if I leave Thrushton,’ she stumbled, ‘I would have to leave behind those fragile half-memories of my mother. I’d have nothing at all left of her—and the little that I have is infinitely precious to me!’ she sobbed.

She saw Cassian’s jaw tighten and waited seemingly for an eternity before he answered.

‘You must make enquiries about her,’ he muttered, his tone flat and toneless.

Laura stared at him helplessly. How could she do that?

‘I can’t,’ she retorted miserably.

‘Afraid?’ he probed, his eyes unusually watchful.

‘Yes, if you must know!’ she retorted with a baleful glare.

‘Laura, you need to know—’

‘I can’t,’ she cried helplessly. ‘She’s probably started a new life somewhere and I could ruin it by turning up on her doorstep. I couldn’t do that to her. If it was all right for us to meet, she would have come to see me. I can’t take the initiative, can I?’