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His eyes narrowed. ‘Did Walker tell you?’
She shook her head. ‘He didn’t break any confidentiality clause, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Then how did you find out?’
‘I guessed it was you. Who else could it have been?’
He met her gaze. ‘My actions were intended to be anony
mous.’
‘But you must have known I would try to find out.’
‘Your powers of detection weren’t my primary concern at the time, Marnie,’ he said drily.
She flushed. ‘No, of course not.’
He stared at her, eyebrows raised. ‘So?’
‘I came here to...to thank you. And to ask...’ She swallowed before the words came tumbling out in a rush. ‘To ask why you did it.’
The sigh Leon had been holding back left his lips at last because here came the infernal conundrum. Why had he done it? He had admired Marnie’s passionate defence of her sister and her total belief in her innocence, that was for sure. The matter had been none of his business and she had told him to stay out of it, yet he despised unfairness and knew how situations could be weighted against you because of prejudice, or because you didn’t have enough money to fight your corner.
But his interjection had been motivated by factors other than sympathy and the ability to help, and one of those had been a deep and lingering frustration. Had he subconsciously envisaged this very scenario, that she would come to him like this? Yes, he had. Of course he had. Initially, he’d thought that out of sight would be out of mind and he would quickly forget the feisty little blonde. It had been both irritating and perplexing to discover that hadn’t been the case at all, and that he’d been thinking about her far more than was necessary. In fact, he’d been thinking about her a lot.
Maybe it was because Marnie Porter had given him a glimpse into a different kind of world—the kind he wasn’t familiar with. One where the odds were stacked up against you if you happened to be poor. His own upbringing had been far from perfect but it had always been affluent. He’d always had the best that money could buy. And yet that made no difference. Money didn’t make you happy.
His mouth hardened.
Wasn’t he the living proof of that?
He watched as she readjusted the strap of her shoulder bag and thought how uncomfortable she looked in her ‘smart’ clothes. Yet, ironically, the badly cut jacket and skirt somehow managed to tantalise him. Was it because they hinted at the delicious flesh he knew lay beneath, rather than clinging to her voluptuous frame and announcing it to the world? Had bedding a virgin turned him into a latter-day prude? he wondered wryly.
‘I did it because of what you told me,’ he explained slowly. ‘Your anger at your sister’s imprisonment was very...affecting. As was your belief in her innocence. I don’t like injustice and I was in a position to do something about it. So I did.’
‘Just like that?’ she said faintly.
He shrugged. ‘Walker is a top-class lawyer who has done some brilliant work over the years. I had him take a look at your sister’s case and he concurred that she was likely to be given a custodial sentence. So I asked if he would investigate further and he agreed. He went to see her in jail, believed in her innocence and then took her on as his client. You know the rest.’
She fixed that grey gaze on him, fierce and unwavering. ‘Even though I’d explicitly said I didn’t want to be beholden to you?’
‘But you aren’t,’ he objected. ‘Not in any way. If the money I paid to employ Walker is really bugging you, you can walk straight out of here, speak to one of my assistants and arrange to pay back the fees. Take as long as you like—a lifetime if you wish—I don’t care. But we both know that would be a futile gesture because I don’t need the money. I already have more than I know what to do with.’
‘Then maybe you should try giving some away to charity!’ she challenged.
‘I already do.’
‘And I suppose you consider me and my sister to be your latest charity?’
‘Now there’s a thought. What would we call it, I wonder?’ he mused. ‘The Proud Porter Charity?’
She pursed her lips in what looked like a disapproving gesture but a brief giggle escaped from them nonetheless, and Leon felt an unexpected flicker of achievement—as if he had done something remarkable by coaxing a smile from her. As if a man would have to work very hard to amuse this little hairdresser—and since he had never had to put in much effort for a woman before, the novelty value of that was also appealing. And didn’t her smile kick-start his imagination? Didn’t the soft curve of her lips plant a very graphic picture in his mind about on which particular part of his anatomy he’d like to feel them?
‘Anyway,’ she said, shifting a little awkwardly on a pair of extremely unflattering shoes. ‘I’ve said thank you and I’m sure Pansy would echo that.’
‘Shall we go and have a drink to toast her freedom?’
She regarded him suspiciously. ‘When?’
