LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘Hello, Luke,’ Perdita said, her tone remote and rigidly controlled.

      ‘Perdita.’ Deep and textured to the edge of roughness, he had the kind of voice that could stroke indolently through a woman’s defences. However, there was no note of lazy sensuality in it now. Like hers, it was totally lacking in expression, as invulnerable as the compellingly hewn bone-structure of his face, as devoid of emotion as the icy, crystalline eyes. ‘Come in.’

      Comprehension hit her like a blow as soon as she stepped through the door. The house was empty.

      The mixture of fear and anticipation that had boosted her for the last five months drained away, leaving her limp with sour reaction, but unsurprised. After all, she hadn’t expected it to be easy. Long lashes veiled her eyes, giving her a sultry, enigmatic look.

      ‘The office, I think,’ he said, standing back so that she could precede him down the passage and into an expansive room where the latest in computer technology blended in odd harmony with kauri bookshelves and the rich colours, muted by time, of a Persian carpet.

      Just inside the door Perdita stopped, regarding the man in front of her with relentless eyes. ‘Where are they?’ she said with sudden, betraying anxiety.

      ‘Would you like a drink?’ he asked, walking across to a cabinet. Instead of the careful gait of most big men he moved with an economical, animal grace that was peculiarly his.

      ‘No, thank you. Where are they?’ In spite of herself her voice trembled.

      ‘Sit down.’

      She lowered herself into the wing chair, the last traces of nervousness replaced by a resentment that heated her skin and eyes. Although she expected him to loom over her, try to intimidate her with height and the blunt threat of his male strength and power, he too sat down, his pale eyes fixed on her face in a scrutiny that was controlled and ironic.

      ‘I’ve seen your photograph hundreds of times,’ he remarked, an undernote of sarcasm permeating the words, ‘and imagined that it was all done with make-up, but I was wrong. You are exquisitely beautiful.’

      ‘My looks are not important,’ she said, her voice held level by willpower. He was trying to make her angry— and succeeding only too well. But a fit of temper would compromise her self-command, and he’d take advantage of any weakness. She met his gaze with her own. ‘Where are the children?’

      His hands were clasped on the desk in the traditional attitude of power. ‘Did you really believe they’d be here?’ he asked deliberately. ‘You must think I’m extraordinarily trusting.’

      ‘It seems that I’m the trusting one.’ As she spoke she got to her feet and headed for the door.

      ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

      ‘Where does it look as though I’m going? I’m leaving,’ she said, relieved that she could sound so unemotional. ‘I don’t want to socialise. The only reason I’m here was to see the children.’

      ‘Come back and sit down,’ he ordered.

      Shoulders stiff, she turned reluctantly. ‘Why?’

      ‘Because we need to talk.’ When she didn’t move he leaned back in the chair, narrowed eyes holding hers. ‘Common sense should tell you that I’m not going to let you just burst into their life.’

      He was right. They did need to talk. She nodded slowly, and walked to the chair, sitting down with a guarded expression that gave, she hoped, nothing away.

      ‘First of all,’ he said without inflection, ‘why did you suddenly decide after all this time that you want to meet them?’

      ‘It was no sudden decision.’ She hid a swift flare of anger with precisely chosen words. Did he think she’d come back on a whim? ‘I’ve always wanted to know how they are, but until a few months ago I couldn’t find out who had adopted them.’ She smiled humourlessly, repressing memories of the outrage she had experienced then, the pain and the strange, weakening exultation. ‘Now that I know, I want to see them.’

      ‘If you can convince me that you won’t upset them,’ he said collectedly, ‘then you may see them.’

      Her green glance mocked him. ‘Really? You’ll excuse the faint note of disbelief, I’m sure. Somehow I got the distinct impression that you’d have been more than happy if your children’s birth mother had never turned up. You certainly covered your tracks well. In spite of the new laws, it’s taken me five years to find out who adopted my daughters. You have a lot of power, Luke.’

      ‘And I’ll use it,’ he said with a soft menace that dragged the hairs on her skin upright in a primitive, involuntary reaction, ‘to stop anyone from hurting my children.’

      ‘I don’t want to hurt them.’ If she wanted to hurt anyone it was him. ‘I just need to see that they’re happy.’

      Dark brows snapped together. ‘Why shouldn’t they be happy?’ he demanded. ‘They’re loved and cared for.’

      ‘I need to be sure of that.’ She closed her eyes for a second. ‘They are my daughters as well as yours. I didn’t abandon them, you know. I’d have kept them if I could.’

      He didn’t move, didn’t react in any way, yet somehow she sensed that her frank plea had struck home. She leaned forward. ‘It doesn’t have to be here,’ she said quietly. ‘We could meet somewhere in a park. I just want to talk to them. I won’t tell them who I am.’

      ‘And if you think they’re unhappy?’ he asked with disbelieving curtness. ‘What will you do then?’

      ‘I don’t know. But—I’m not unreasonable, Luke. You’re their father, you’ve had them since they were a week old, and I’m not going to interfere unless I think the situation warrants it.’ An aching smile curved her wide, lush mouth. ‘I don’t expect it to. I just want to see them.’

      He said heavily, ‘I suppose your private detective told you that Natalie is dead.’

      Perdita’s lashes quivered. ‘Yes.’

      She knew how much Luke had loved his wife, knew that her death must have been shattering to them all. As it had been to her.

      In the older woman, her mother’s cousin, the young, emotionally neglected Perdita had found the love and consideration she had never been able to elicit from her own mother. Luke’s wife had loved her and valued her, and because Natalie was gracious and charming and affectionate, Perdita had responded with a child’s unquestioning gratitude. At eleven, newly come to Pigeon Hill, she had been struck up by Natalie’s conviction that life was perfectible—it merely needed work—and vowed to grow up as much like Natalie as she could. It still struck her as an excellent ambition, although she had long given up believing that she could ever resemble her cousin. Such people were born, not made.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said now, her voice uneven in spite of her attempt to steady it. ‘Oh, Luke, I am so sorry.’

      He looked at her. ‘I really believe you are,’ he said harshly.

      ‘Of course I am! I loved her.’ Perdita swallowed, but nervous tension had her well and truly in its grip. Tears pearled through her fingers as she pressed them to her eyes, slid down her hands. She sniffed, and groped in her bag.

      ‘Here,’ Luke said, his voice strained.

      A soft handkerchief was thrust into her hand. Turning away from him she blew her nose and swallowed hard. She couldn’t afford to give in to her emotions, it made her too vulnerable.

      Wiping her eyes, she said thickly, ‘How did the girls take it?’

      ‘As you’d expect.’ He spoke with barely caged impatience. “They were shattered, but they’ve come through it fairly well. However, there’s been enough turmoil in their lives. I don’t want them upset again.’

      ‘All

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