Tiger, Tiger - Robyn Donald

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or specifications and is convinced no mere woman can either.’

      ‘How did you deal with that?’

      ‘I have this trick.’ She could feel some of her irritation fading as she spoke. ‘I pick up a nail and a hammer, put the nail into the wood and slam it in with one blow of the hammer. For some reason the fact that I can drive a nail straight and true and right in to its head persuades most men that I know what I’m talking about.’

      He laughed. ‘How long did you have to practise?’

      ‘A week,’ she said, straight-faced.

      ‘There’s nothing like a dramatic gesture to get the picture across. What happened this afternoon?’

      ‘Ah, this afternoon I discussed costs with a possible client who thought he’d be able to get a mansion at cottage prices. He also thought that I’d be prepared to sleep with him for the honour of being his architect. He’s no longer a possible client.’

      Oh, stupid, stupid! Why had she told him?

      Keane said something under his breath that made her flinch before demanding with harsh distinctness, ‘Who is he?’

      Lecia shrugged, her gaze never leaving the hard-hewn contours of his face as she said evenly, ‘It doesn’t—’

      Very quietly he repeated, ‘Who is he?’

      Lecia’s throat closed. She stared into eyes as cold and piercing as ice spears, saw his mouth set into a thin, straight line, and the tiny pulse that flicked against his jawbone.

      ‘Don’t try to be brotherly.’ Her voice sounded strained and unnaturally steady. ‘I’m not your sister and I can look after myself.’

      ‘Does it happen often?’ His tone was cool, almost impersonal, but she needed only to look at the stark, arrogant line of his jaw to know that he was still dangerously furious.

      ‘Not often,’ she said, ‘but it does happen. And not only to me—lots of women in business and professional life have to deal with harassment.’

      ‘I want to know who he is.’

      She met the fierce glint in his eyes just as fiercely. ‘I’m not going to tell you.’

      And she saw the leash of his will rein in the killing fury, watched it die down until his face reflected nothing but a flinty, unyielding detachment.

      ‘Very well.’ He took her arm and led her around the corner towards the narrow parking lot for guests’ cars. ‘Come on, we’d better be on our way or Aunt Sophie will think I’ve forgotten.’

      Lecia had to remind herself to breathe. Although she’d sensed that uncompromising temper right from the start, she hadn’t understood just how formidable he could be. And yet, in spite of it, just to be with him caused a white-hot anticipation mixed with pleasure of such intensity that she’d already relegated the frustrations of the day to limbo.

      And that’s how it started last time, she reminded herself grimly as he put her into the front of his large, opulent car. Anthony made you laugh and scrambled your brain until you couldn’t think straight.

      Just remember how you dealt with that!

      CHAPTER THREE

      SOPHIE WARBURTON was tall, elegant and aristocratic, with the same blue eyes as her great-nephew and the nose, cleft chin and cheekbones Lecia shared with them both. She looked at least twenty years younger than her age.

      ‘Good heavens!’ she exclaimed after one comprehensive glance at Lecia. ‘Oh, yes, you are definitely one of us!’

      She was charming, thanking Lecia for the house, showing her around it with pride, and insisting Keane drink a glass of her favourite whisky with her when Lecia decided in favour of sherry.

      Only then did she say, ‘My dear, since Keane told me about you yesterday I’ve had a quick look through the records and there’s no sign of any link across the Tasman. The logical assumption, of course, is that somebody’s illegitimate child is the connection, but I can’t see when it could have happened.’

      ‘Neither can I,’ Lecia said. ‘I don’t know much about my father’s family, but my mother has told me that as far back as anyone can remember they’ve only ever had one child a generation, and from photographs I know they all looked like each other. And like Keane,’ she said, adding with a half-smile, ‘except that they were all bald. Even my father had lost most of his hair when he died.’

      ‘Whereas all of the Pagets have excellent heads of hair,’ Aunt Sophie said, nodding.

      A teasing smile softened Keane’s hard mouth. Hastily Lecia said, ‘I assume the pattern goes right back to when the first one emigrated.’

      Keane’s aunt laughed. ‘In genealogy it never pays to assume,’ she said. ‘Our ancestors were a formidable and upright lot, but they committed all the sins we do and they lied a lot more about some of them. It’s quite possible that a Paget might have paid a visit to Australia—or a Spring to New Zealand—and been reckless. We’re going to have to track down all the documentation and read it with an astute and sceptical mind. And then see if there’s anything to be picked up between the lines.’

      Clearly the idea filled her with the zeal of a true enthusiast. Lecia exchanged an involuntary glance with Keane, noting the amusement and affection in his eyes.

      Oh, hell, she thought despairingly. It was much easier to keep behind her defences when he was being aloof and detached.

      ‘Of course,’ Mrs Warburton pursued, ‘it could well have been back in England.’

      Lecia nodded. ‘Although—woutd the genes predominate through all those generations?’

      ‘They’re good, strong genes,’ the older woman said, smiling as she looked from Lecia’s face to her great-nephew’s and then back again. ‘What do you know about your forebears?’

      Acutely conscious of Keane’s speculative, intent regard, Lecia told her what small amount of family history she’d heard, ending, ‘I think I can find out more from my mother, although she doesn’t know a lot about my father’s family.’

      ‘My dear, would you mind? Shall I write to her?’

      ‘No,’ Lecia said, making a spur-of-the-moment decision, ‘I’ll ask her.’

      An eager, vital smile, the expression of a woman with a mission, lit up Mrs Warburton’s face. ‘How exciting to discover a fresh branch of the family! And such a talented one! My dear, you must call me Aunt Sophie.’

      Lecia flushed, aware that by accepting the compliment she was making it more and more difficult to keep a sufficient distance between her and Keane. ‘Thank you,’ she said without looking his way, ‘I’d like that.’

      She had cousins and uncles on her mother’s side, and a big, extended family belonging to her stepfather, but the knowledge that she might have relatives from the Spring line filled a vacuum she’d never acknowledged until then.

      Aunt Sophie entertained them for another half-hour before Keane got to his feet and said, ‘We have to go, I’m afraid.’

      His great-aunt smiled up at him, her expression making it clear that she loved him dearly.

      ‘Thank you for bringing Lecia,’ she said. ‘I now see whole new fields of endeavour opening out in front of me. I can’t wait!’

      In the car, Keane asked casually, ‘Have you had dinner?’

      ‘I’m not hungry,’ Lecia lied.

      His mouth tightened as he put the vehicle in gear and directed it down the drive. ‘Coward,’ he said. ‘You can come and watch me eat mine.’

      ‘No, thank you, I have...’ Her voice trailed away. She was not good at lying, and he didn’t believe her anyway. Her

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