Page 9 of Reasons Of the Heart

'That's all?'

'You weren't the prime topic of conversation, Ross,' she said crushingly. 'We did talk about more interesting things, like the weather, and the price of fish.' He raised his eyebrows and for some reason she thought that he was amused rather than annoyed by her put-down, though his face was deadpan.

'Are you going to stay at the hotel?' Neville asked. 'They do a very nice meal these days.'

'Oh no, I'll be staying here,' Fran said, driven by a reckless impulse to find out what was under that deadpan mask. The impulse was rewarded handsomely.

'The hell you are!' Ross growled as he shot to his feet. 'I have a tenancy agreement, as you bloody well know. Surely you two discussed that!'

'Language, language,' Fran tut-tutted with an irritat­ing smile. 'Tenancy, yes, but not sole tenancy. That wasn't specified.' It was her turn to be smug. My, he was steaming! How lucky that she had read over the agreement so carefully, looking for non-existent loop­holes. 'As of las

t night I'm afraid that you have gained yourself a co-tenant. Me.' Three surprised faces and a furious one egged her on. 'You wouldn't turn out the grandchild of such a dear friend, would you, Ross? Es­pecially in such sad circumstances? How would such callousness look to a judge? Sole relative, weak and helpless from a serious illness, and instead of com­passion you threaten her with a gun, molest her and then throw her out into the cold...'

'You're about as weak and helpless as a piranha!' Ross snarled. 'What about your pristine reputation, Princess? Aren't you afraid of besmirching it by cohabiting with a commoner?'

His sneer was a mistake. Up until then, Francesca had merely been trying to annoy him, but at his use of the hated nickname her humour took a sharp turn for the worse. If her reputation was pristine among their listeners she would be very much surprised, considering how much effort he had put into besmirching it himself thirteen years ago. She stood up and returned him glare for glare. If he was going to fight dirty, so was she!

'Since I slept here last night, I'm afraid the damage is already done,' she pointed out acidly. 'If I'm going to acquire a reputation, I'd rather it was for something a little more flattering than a cheap one-night stand.'

They stood, bristling, scowl to scowl until Jason broke the tension with a laugh. 'Hey, you two, break it up! I don't think you'll have to worry too much about local gossip. People will only have to take one look at you together and they'll know there's nothing going on. I swear you look like a couple of gunfighters squaring off at the OK corral!' He looked at his watch and pulled a wide-eyed Tess up from her seat. 'Much as we'd like to stick around for the draw, we're due at Neville's sister's for lunch. Nev?'

'Huh?' The other man had been studying the protag­onists and made his decision. 'Oh, sure. Look, Fran, since you are staying, how about that dinner? How about tonight?'

'You don't waste any time, do you?' Fran turned to meet the balm of Neville's soothing admiration. 'But yes, I'd love to,' she added hurriedly, sensing Ross's im­potent anger behind her and thinking that he couldn't very well murder her if she had a date with a policeman to keep. Besides, it would be a good opportunity to find out a bit more about Ross, and forearm herself against further nasty surprises.

'Nice to meet you, Francesca,' said Tess as they left, and she seemed to mean it.

'Thanks for returning the pick-up, Jason,' said Ross impatiently, obviously eager for them to be gone so that he could rip into Francesca.

'Oh, I was also supposed to pass on a message from Mum. She wants to see you at Sunday lunch, without fail. And, hey, Francesca, if you're still here why don't you come, too? Mum loves company.'

'Jason—' Ross's protest came through clenched teeth and his brother's mischievous expression intensified.

'No sour grapes, now, Ross. You said you and Fran­cesca were going to settle it all amicably.' He grinned at the flash of lightning in the stormy grey eyes and the frustrated resignation in the blue. 'And you know Mum, she's certain to want to meet the girl her son is living with!'

CHAPTER THREE

She wasn't running away, Fran told herself, as she nego­tiated her city-slick shoes over the slippery, weed-covered rocks leading around the point, hitching up her skirt to jump the small gaps. It was just a strategic retreat. Before she moved out of sight she looked back over her shoulder and saw the distant figure on the deck of the cabin. Ross had been furious and she was nervously aware that in baiting him she had rather painted herself into a corner. How was she to get out of it without looking like more of a fool than she did already?

The sea, modest in its demands on the beach, was more aggressive against the rocks, throwing up small swells that broke and spattered her lightly with spray. It was further than she had thought around to the next bay and she was panting as she rounded yet another curve to yet another tiny inlet. And stopped dead.

There, sitting on a small rock, his arms folded, was the very man she had been fleeing from. And he wasn't even breathing hard!

Francesca wobbled indignantly on her rocky perch. 'How did you get here?'

'I know a short-cut,' he said, and she scowled at this subtle reminder that he knew more about her inherit­ance than she did. He met her glare with a lift of thick brown brows and stood, holding up his hand to help her down on to the sand.

'You're limping,' she noticed automatically from his few steps. 'Maybe you're getting too old to take short­cuts.'

She had thought he would laugh it off with a taunt in reply, he was obviously such a prime specimen of manhood, but instead he gave her a look of such dislike that she recoiled and slipped on the hard, wet surface. As she teetered he reached up and grabbed a fistful of her tailored skirt, jerking her forward into his arms. Angry at his ability to unbalance her both physically and mentally, she pushed at him.

'Let me go, damn you! I want to go back.'

'We can never go back, Francesca,' he said, giving her words a deeper meaning, but he let her go. 'Is it really just the money, Princess? Or is it specifically me that you object to sharing with?'

He had hit the nail on the head, driving it clean through the fleeting satisfaction she had felt that he was now doubting that she had acted from purely mercenary instincts.

'I... Why did he say he would leave it to you?' She struggled to whip up her anger in the face of his cool control. 'Grandpa always believed in the work ethic. Re­wards have to be earned with sweated labour. He be­lieved quite literally in the parable of the talents. I... why you?' She wanted him to justify himself, to give her a reason she could logically understand.

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