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He took the turn off for the ring road and Claudia sat up straighter, her eyes scouring the streets for a hint of where he was taking her.
“You are wasting your life.” His mouth was a grim line in his face. “You do nothing with your days except shop and waste money and find new ways to get yourself into the paper. Every week there’s another story, another party, a different lover, a new scandal.” He spat the last word like an indictment and then shook his head gravely. “Your father would be ashamed.”
She sucked in a breath and looked out the window once more, her neck long and swan like as she tried to hide the way his condemnation had wounded her – even when she knew that he wasn’t accurate on all counts. “I don’t think you have any idea what he would have felt,” she said after a moment, when she was certain she could speak without her emotions showing in her voice.
His laugh was a sharp rejection. “Your father was my closest friend.” His fingers gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles glowed white. “He was a brilliant man who worked every day of his life. I think it’s safe to say he would find your attitude as disappointing as I do.”
Tears filled Claudia’s eyes and she blinked furiously to clear them. It didn’t work. She dipped her head forward so that her chestnut hair shielded her from his view, should he decide to look her way.
“Artie’s just a friend.”
Stavros grunted. “I told you, I don’t care. It is not this one incident that has me concerned. It is all of it. I thought you would outgrow this vapid, heiress-at-large image you’ve cultivated for yourself. At eighteen, you showed all the signs of what you were to become, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt because it is normal for most teenagers to go through a phase of irresponsibility. And now, here we are. At twenty-one, you are every bit as bad. You are becoming a joke.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “How dare you?” She demanded fiercely. “You can’t just turn up at my door and speak to me like this…”
“On the contrary. I should have done it years ago. I cannot help but feel a share of blame in this. I am your guardian, your care fell to me. It was my job to make sure you grew into a woman your father would be proud of.” He turned to face her, and his expression showed not a hint of softening, even though he must have seen the paleness of her cheeks and the moistness of her eyes. “I have failed.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” she said, and turned away.
“I know what you’ve shown me,” he said dangerously, and when he reached down to change gears, his hand brushed her thigh, so that she jolted in her seat against her will.
“What you’ve shown the world. I know what I see in the papers. What I read online.”
“Oh, and you go googling me, do you?” She rolled her eyes. “Looking for scandals with which to hit me over the head?”
“I certainly do not have to look very hard.”
Claudia’s cheeks flushed. She was in the paper often, it was true. But most of that was to raise the profile of the charities she supported, the causes to which she belonged. The latest scandal was, admittedly, unfortunate. But the press had got the wrong idea completely and she’d decided, along with Artie and Marianne, not to waste energy feeding the rumour mill by launching denials.
“But you’re still looking? Waiting for me to fail?”
“I’m afraid to say it is somewhat inevitable.”
Her sharp intake of breath had him looking towards her once more.
“You do not like to be told the truth, but you should get used to it. You’re going to be hearing a lot more of it over the next fortnight.”
“Oh, yeah? And why is that?”
“Because,” his face was serious, his expression completely devoid of pleasure as he turned back to the road. “You are coming to stay at Barnwell.”
She spun around to face him, her hair whipping against her cheek. “What? Could you repeat that? For a second I thought you said…”
“You heard correctly,” he interrupted, the words darkly menacing.
“No way. It’s almost Christmas,” she said stubbornly. “I have a million things planned. I can’t just walk away from my life and stay in the countryside.”
He tossed her a sardonic look. “You will do it.”
“No.” She crossed her arms and the leather jacket made a squeaking noise of adjustment. “And you can’t make me.”
His laugh was a short, raspy denouncement. “Don’t challenge me, agape mou. You will not enjoy the experience.”
“Is that a threat?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders and she caught a hint of his masculine fragrance. It was so uniquely ‘Stavros’ that her stomach tugged with the awareness she thought she’d long ago outgrown.
“It is simply an observation,” he corrected. “I have had many opponents. None of them happy about it.”
