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What else indeed? Annie thought snidely, her huge brown eyes unwillingly drawn, watching Luke's easy, economical movements as he moved to where she and Norman stood. He wouldn't be here because of any family bond. One only had to look at that hard-boned face, those sardonic eyes, to know the man was a loner. Not for him the safety of the herd. He wouldn't have a sentimental bone in his lean, rangy body. No, he had somehow heard of Monk's Hall and he wouldn't have wasted his time coming down for the auction if he didn't intend walking away as the new owner.
'Unless it was to meet your future wife.' It was said with a cutting edge to the slightly husky voice, and Annie's eyes batted wide open as he bent his head, his intention clear, then her lashes fluttered closed at the shock of painful awareness as he touched his lips to hers.
That touch was light, the sensual movement of his teasing mouth sparking a chemistry that transformed her flesh to liquid fire, making her bones weak.
He hadn't said, 'Pleased to meet you at last,' or 'Welcome to the family,' or anything else that would have superficially excused that kiss. He'd just closed his mouth over hers, tasting her, his skin, his flesh, speaking to hers.
'You'll come to the wedding?' Norman asked tightly, as if the little scene hadn't amused him. And it hadn't amused Annie, either, not one bit. She felt shattered, almost besmirched, oddly out of control for the first time since she was seventeen years old. No way could she pass the incident off with her usual poise, say something like 'Happy to know you, cousin-to-be.'
She wanted to rub her hands over her mouth, to wipe away the memory of his vile touch, but she couldn't do that because it might hurt Norman and that was something she never wanted to do. He was kind and good and very dear to her.
'And when is the wedding?' Luke was asking her, his eyes hard and probing. Norman might not have existed.
She said thickly, 'We haven't decided yet, but soon,' and wondered why she'd made that qualification, because they'd tentatively set the date for next spring..
Turning quickly as the door opened, she hurried to help Joan with the laden tray, relieved by the distraction. But her hands shook as she poured tea while Joan passed sandwiches, and that was because Luke Derringer was there, disrupting the normal peace with vibrations that charged the air with ultra-potent electricity.
Distractedly, she glanced at Joan who had now taken her customary place behind the big silver teapot. She looked calm, as placid as ever, and Norman was now his usual affable self, talking to Luke, catching up on the news of their far-flung relatives.
So she was the only person to be affected by the highly charged atmosphere, the strangely electrifying presence of Luke Derringer. And when she heard Norman say, 'If you're staying around until the auction we can put you up here,' she could have screamed. She didn't know why she didn't want him near her, she only knew she didn't.
Helping Joan to make up the bed in the guest-room, Annie tried to pull herself together. She didn't understand what was happening to her. One look from Luke Derringer's eyes was enough to take her breath away.
Joan, plumping pillows, said, 'What a dish that man is! He's the sort you don't expect to see this side of a film screen. I bet he's lost count of the broken hearts he's left in his wake.'
'If you say so,' Annie replied woodenly, her heart picking up speed. She had been trying to rationalise her reaction to Luke, to tell herself that it was solely due to his interest in Monk's Hall. But Joan's words had pointed her thoughts in another direction entirely, a direction that alarmed her.
Luke Derringer was a dangerously attractive man, and this was the first time in seven years that she had recognised the dangerous sexual attraction in a man.
For a moment she stood in shocked stillness, tall and slender, her radiant hair turned to a nimbus of gold in the rays of the late afternoon sun which slanted through the windows. The danger she had sensed in Luke was now explained, understood.
Unconsciously, she squared her shoulders. She could cope with that, couldn't she? She hadn't spent her formative years with a mother who went through husbands and lovers like a child goes through ice-creams on a hot day for nothing!
Her mother, a talented and beautiful actress, only came alive when a new man crossed her horizon. 'Falling in love,' she called it, but Annie had another, less romantic name for it and had learned to have a wary distrust for that particular kind of passion. It quickly burned itself out.
'Of course, you've got a husband lined up, so you could hardly admit to noticing that Luke has enough sex appeal to blow your socks off,' Joan commented tartly, and, watching the older woman sweep out of the room Annie wondered, not for the first time, if Joan's touchiness owed its existence to jealousy.
Joan had worked for Norman for longer than Annie had, and when she had been accepted for the research assistant-cum-secretary job Norman had said, 'We're a team here, Joan and I, and I know you're going to fit in with us. Welcome to the family!'
Sighing, Annie followed Joan out of the room. She was sorry if the other woman had been secretly in love with their boss for years, had harboured thoughts of becoming the second Mrs Welling. But there was nothing to be done about it, and she had more important things to think of right now. Now was as good a time as any to tackle Norman again about Monk's Hall.
At least Luke was out of the way. After he'd accepted the offer of a room—with indecent haste, Annie had thought—he had informed them easily, 'I have to go back to town—people to see. I shouldn't be late.'
And that, for Annie, had seemed to sum him up: laid-back and cool, doing his own thing—but charmingly. And no doubt the people he wanted to see were the agents handling the sale of Monk's Hall. For a moment she had been tempted to phone Chris Howard, but common sense had prevailed. Monk's Hall would go to the highest bidder.
As was usual at this time of day Norman was relaxing with a pre-dinner sherry in the comfortable, traditionally furnished living-room, an erudite tome in his hands. She could pinpoint his exact activity at any given time of the day, she thought fondly. His predictability didn't bore her; it made her feel safe, and she was astute enough to recognise that this was a direct result of a childhood where she hadn't known from one week to another where she would be, or from one day to the next what her mother's mood would be—gay, tempestuous, or near suicidal—depending, as ever, on the state of her love life!
Norman lay aside his book, his pleasant features lighting up as she walked quickly over the rose-patterned carpet and perched on the arm of the chintz-covered chair he was using.
'Sherry, darling?' He made to rise, but she checked him with a slim, detaining hand on his arm.
'Later, perhaps. I'd like to talk.' And I'd like to creep on your lap and be cuddled, like a child. The thought came from nowhere, surprising her.
Their relationship wasn't physical, it was based on mutual respect and liking, on their logical desire for a secure and settled home life. Norman had a low sex drive, but that didn't really worry Annie. Surely the more stable feelings, such as respect and warm affection, were safer than the wild passion that produced the unthinking behaviour her mother had always indulged in?
'It's about Monk's Hall, isn't it?' He had finished his sherry, and he put his glass down on a side-table as Annie smiled at him, her eyes wry.
'Am I so easy to read?'
