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'Bertie was well liked, and which one of them would refuse a dying man's last wish? As Harold said, the girl is exquisitely beautiful, tiny—like a rare Dresden china doll—but young and hardly a match for an aggressively virile male like Gifford.
'His taste in the past was for large, bosomy ladies more his own age. Remember the Christmas dinner two years ago and Justin's redhead partner? Harold told me they were taking bets on whether her boobs would stay covered through to the sweet course.'
'Oh, really, Sara!' Mary exclaimed. 'That's a bit much, and in any case Justin was not dating Zoe at the time. He was a free agent.'
Zoe cringed behind the curtain, her face flaming; she could not believe what the Blacket woman was saying. Didn't want to.
'Believe me or not, Mary, but I wouldn't mind being a fly on the wall when the will is read. Bertie befriended Justin Gifford when he was a teenager and his father died—apparently they were old friends. I'll bet Gifford gets at least half the old boy's estate, if not more. Hardly fair on Zoe, his only living relative.'
'Surely it's not important? They are married—everything they have is divided equally anyway.'
Zoe heard Mary Master reply. The woman's voice was fading—they were obviously leaving the room—but Zoe could not move; she was frozen in shock.
'Exactly my point.' Sara Blacket's piercing voice echoed in the room as she closed the door. 'Gifford is a very ambitious man and by doing what the old man wanted and marrying the American girl he has made doubly sure of getting control of virtually everything. I can't see young Zoe being involved in finance at all- she's the arty type.'
Zoe stared at the heart she had drawn on the glass; the mist was fading, the shape disappearing—a bad omen! Don't be stupid! she told herself, and quickly raised her hand and rubbed the window clean. But she could not clean the doubt in her mind away so easily. Could it be true? Had Uncle Bertie insisted that Justin marry her? No, of course not, her common sense told her. Justin loved her, didn't he?
She slid off the seat and stood up. She was overreacting. Sara Blacket was a nosy, overbearing old gossip whose husband, as the most senior in chambers, had wanted to be head himself. Justin had told her as much. Obviously it was pure sour grapes on Sara's part.
'Zoe? Zoe?' Justin's voice broke into her uncomfortable thoughts, and, smoothing the plain black jersey shift down over her hips, she moved towards the door. It was flung open and Justin walked in, his dark eyes full of concern.
'Ah! There you are. I saw Mary and Sara leave. I take it you didn't get the peace you were looking for,' he said lightly, casually slipping an arm around her shoulders. 'Judge Master is waiting in the study, darling. It's time to say goodbye to the guests, and then the will will be read. Are you up to it or would your rather wait? There's no hurry.'
'Why? Because you know what's in it?' The curt words had left her mouth before she could stop them. . .
'No. No, I don't.' Justin turned her around to face him, his arms encircling her waist, holding her loosely, his dark eyes scrutinising her pale face. 'I was thinking of you; you look tired. It's been a long day.'
Held in his arms, conscious of his warmth and the tender care in his expression, Zoe hated herself for doubting him for a minute, but she could not control her wayward tongue. She loved Justin, and she needed his reassurance.
'You do love me, Justin?' she asked softly, her eyes catching his, a pleading light in their sapphire depths.
'Of course I do, silly girl; I married you, didn't I?' And his dark head lowered, blocking out the light as his mouth moved over hers in an achingly tender kiss.
She moved closer into his embrace and curved her slender arms around his neck; she felt his arms tighten and she opened her mouth, inviting the kiss to deepen. She sighed into his mouth, their breath mingling there, tongues entwining; she ran her fingers through his thick black hair, her heart pounding. Justin loved her; he was her husband, her love, her life.
Justin slightly parted his long legs, one strong hand curving down over her bottom and urging her between his muscular thighs. She curved into the hot, hard warmth of his body, her breasts flattened against his ribcage, her nipples tingling with the contact then hardening as his other hand swept up to cup possessively over one high, firm breast through the soft wool of her dress.
He broke the kiss long enough to nuzzle her throat, his mouth covering the madly beating pulse in her neck then trailing back to her softly parted lips; a low moan escaped her just as his mouth found hers once more.
As always she trembled, melting against him, her blood pounding" through her veins, but suddenly he was easing her away. 'Justin,' she murmured.
'Easy, Zoe. Now is not the time.'
She raised passion-hazed eyes to his rugged face; she recognised the dark blush of desire staining his taut features at the same time as she saw the familiar iron control reassert itself in the black depths of his eyes.
'You're right, as usual,' she agreed, and was swept into a gentle hug, his large hand stroking the back of her head as he pressed her to his broad chest, easing the sexual tension surrounding them into something more manageable.
'Come on, Zoe; the quicker we say goodbye to the guests, the sooner we can get this day over with.'
He was right, but sometimes, just sometimes, Zoe wished that he would get swept away by passion. But the great Justin Gifford, renowned for his cool, lethal voice, his absolute control of any jury, never, ever lost control.
Now, where had that unkind thought come from? Zoe mused as she saw the guests depart. Justin was British and restraint was an accepted characteristic of the people, and she should know! On first arriving here, a typical American teenager, she had found it difficult to adjust to the more formal way of life.
Half an hour later she followed Justin into the study and sat down beside him on the black hide sofa. Mrs Crumpet, the housekeeper, Jud, her husband—also the gardener—and John Smith, the chauffeur, plus the two daily women, stood around in a rather embarrassed silence as Judge Master sat down in the chair behind Uncle Bertie's desk.
It soon became apparent that Bertie hadn't changed his will in years. All the staff were left generous amounts of money and there were pensions for Mr and Mrs Crumpet and the chauffeur. His law books were to go to Justin and the remainder of the estate was left to Zoe, with the proviso that Justin be her guardian until she was twenty-five.
'You—my guardian.' She smiled at Justin. 'It sounds slightly kinky as we're already married.'
