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‘I am a lawyer. And you aren’t in any position to accuse me of messing with the truth.’
Touché.
Kaitlin quickened her pace slightly as they exited the marquee and stepped into the late-afternoon sunshine that bathed the lush green landscaped lawns with dappled light. Other guests stood in small groups as Kaitlin led the way along the gravelled path, lined with lush green manicured hedges, towards a bench she judged to be secluded, but not so isolated as to give anyone reason to gossip.
Once seated, she turned towards him, keeping her smile in place for the benefit of onlookers. ‘So, why are you here, Daniel?’
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS A good question. Why was he here? Sitting in the splendour of Derwent Manor’s famed landscaped gardens. Nearby camellias provided vivid splashes of pink, and their bench overlooked the breathtaking glory of the rhododendron garden for which the Manor was famed.
But in truth the surroundings didn’t matter; right now all that mattered was the woman next to him on the wooden bench in the sunshine. The woman he’d known as ‘Lynette’. The woman whose true identity had turned out to be Lady Kaitlin Derwent.
Anger battled an unwanted stab of desire as he absorbed her sheer beauty.
Titian hair of a near-indescribable shade—tints of auburn interwoven with shades of reddish-gold—cascaded in loose waves to meet creamy bare shoulders that had his fingers tingling. Her dark green eyes met his gaze in a mixture of defiance, vulnerability and hope.
‘Well?’ she repeated. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Because I wanted to check for myself whether Lady Kaitlin Derwent and “Lynette” were one and the same.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘I saw a recent picture of you and Prince Frederick.’
Glaring up at him from the glossy cover of a celebrity magazine, the image had caught his eye at an airport lounge just weeks ago. About to look away something elusive had nagged at him: the set of Lady Kaitlin’s head, the angle of her cheekbones...a willow-the-wisp of recognition.
‘And you recognised me from that?’
‘Not at first.’
At first he’d thought nothing of it. But some instinct had made him purchase his very first gossip rag and study the photograph further. One business flight later he’d known he must be losing the plot—big-time—but the conviction that Lady Kaitlin Derwent and his ‘Lynette’ were one and the same wouldn’t quit. The more he’d researched Lady Kaitlin the more sure he’d become, preposterous though the idea was, that he’d found ‘Lynette’.
‘Until today I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure.’
Her hands twisted together on her lap. Then, as if aware of the gesture, she loosed the grip. ‘You could just have called me. This is a disaster—now you’ve made contact with my family...we have an association.’ Horror etched her classical features. ‘What if we end up meeting again?’
‘Then so be it. I wanted to see you face to face—make sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are “Lynette”. Without calling first and giving you a chance to lie. Again.’
Forcing himself to lean back, Daniel kept his anger in check.
‘Plus, it’s hard to call someone who didn’t leave a number, didn’t even give their real name, and who vanished without so much as a goodbye.’
‘You knew it was one night only.’
A night of freedom.
‘Yes, but I didn’t know your “one night of freedom” was an aristocrat slumming it with the hoi-polloi.’ Anger at her deception, wrath at his own stupidity in falling for her show, fuelled his words. ‘Is that the new trend—to lose your vir—?’
Her poise broke and a laser of ire flashed in her eyes. ‘Stop right there. How dare you? That is not what it was. That night was—’
Breaking off, she pressed her lips together and for a moment vulnerability lit those emerald-green eyes and momentarily sideswiped his anger.
‘Was what?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I know it was shabby to leave like that, but I had no choice. In case you woke up and realised who I really was. Or someone might have recognised me...seen us together.’
Sheesh.
