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in between all these riveting conversations you appear to have with him?’

      Corinna stared at him furiously, bereft of speech. It wasn’t fair, she thought, Antonio Silver should be middle-aged, he should be overweight and dull. She would have been able to cope with overweight and dull.

      ‘It’s late,’ she said tightly. ‘I’m going to bed.’ She turned on her heel but she hadn’t made it to the door when he was in front of her, barring her exit. She hadn’t even heard him move. Businessman? she thought sourly. This man was a businessman? Terrorist more likely.

      ‘You’re not going anywhere until I’m through with you.’

      ‘Until you’re through with me?’ she asked, glaring up at him. Her long hair was in its habitual plait. It had swung over her shoulder and lay on her breast like a silver rope. ‘Until you’re through with me? Just who do you think you are?’

      ‘Someone you should be afraid of, someone who isn’t about to be taken in by those big eyes and reassuring bedside manner which, I suspect, you’ve been laying on thick ever since you set foot into this house! You’ve already shown me the roar behind that carefully nurtured mousy façade. God knows, I’m surprised you don’t play havoc with his blood-pressure.’

      Their eyes clashed and she was the first to look away. Very hurriedly. Up this close she could almost breathe in his masculinity. It seemed to go straight to her head like incense, making her feel giddy and unstable on her feet.

      ‘Not as much as you will,’ she muttered, and he leaned towards her, as if trying to ascertain what she had said. She found herself tempted to step backwards.

      ‘What was that?’

      ‘I said that I’d better show you to your room if you intend to spend the night here.’

      ‘Now whatever gave you the idea that I intended spending the night here?’

      ‘Your bag?’ she said in the tone of someone talking to a complete idiot, and she was pleased to find that there wasn’t a hint of a tremor in her voice, even though her hands were trembling. ‘The fact that it’s gone midnight and you’d be hard pressed to find anywhere else to stay?’

      He didn’t appear in the least put out by her tone, though.

      ‘Oh, you’re on the wrong tack,’ he said with a cool smile, and she brightened.

      ‘You mean you won’t be staying here?’ That would please Benjamin no end, she thought, because if his son was going to be under the same roof, then who knew what sort of problems would arise? He would never stand for it, she knew. He would collapse on the spot, or else have Edna throw him out on his ear. She eyed Antonio sceptically. No, perhaps not. Even ferocious Edna had her limits.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ he said casually, killing her short-lived optimism. ‘But not for one night. I’m here for an indefinite length of time.’

      ‘An indefinite length of time?’ she repeated, dismayed, and he smiled slowly at her discomfiture.

      ‘I can see you find the prospect appealing.’

      Appealing? Corinna thought faintly. Was the prospect of death by slow torture appealing? Was a charging bull appealing?

      ‘But you haven’t brought enough luggage,’ she said faintly.

      ‘There are two cases in the car,’ he said, and she could see that he was deriving cruel amusement at her expense. ‘And before you launch into another speech on the definition of your duties, I don’t expect you to carry them up to the bedroom for me. We wouldn’t want you to sully your fair hands with such a menial task, would we?’

      ‘But why?’ she asked, ignoring the sneer with effort. ‘Why have you suddenly decided to come to England and moreover stay under the same roof as your father?’

      ‘Two reasons, my dear Miss Steadman. The first is because one of my companies is opening a subsidiary over here, not terribly far away from Deanbridge House, in fact, in Guildford.’

      ‘And the second?’

      ‘The second,’ he said softly, there was open threat in his voice, ‘is so that I can keep an eye on you. We wouldn’t want you to start getting ideas beyond your station, now, would we?’

       CHAPTER TWO

      CORINNA had no idea how she managed to get to sleep. By the time her head had hit the pillow, she had been positively shaking with anger. She couldn’t remember ever having been so riled by anyone in her life before. Her wonderful self-control, which she was convinced would stand her in good stead despite having deserted her initially, remained conspicuous by its absence, and she could have screamed in frustration as she lay down under the quilt and tried to court sleep. It was a long time coming, though. Her head was too full of images of Antonio Silver.

      The following morning she got up and all those images which had seared her mind the previous night rushed back to her in sickening detail.

      It was not a great way to start the day. For the past few months, after she had become accustomed to living in Deanbridge House, she had awakened slowly and contentedly, never failing to be charmed by the mintgreen luxury of the bedroom with its heavy drapes cascading to the floor, the exquisite pieces of furniture, the cool softness of the beige-coloured carpet underfoot.

      This morning she found herself not giving a moment’s thought to her surroundings and she made herself slow down. This man, she decided, was not going to get under her skin again. He had managed that the night before because he had caught her unawares, when she was tired and vulnerable and unable to defend herself, but today he would find himself facing an altogether different cup of tea.

      She took her time dressing, brushing her long hair carefully and knotting it behind her head in a chignon, by far the most practical hairstyle for her. She never wore a nurse’s uniform, having been informed by Benjamin on day one that he wouldn’t tolerate her clumping around in heavy shoes and a starchy white frock, but she always made sure that she dressed smartly. Never trousers and never shorts, despite the fact that it was quite hot at the moment. She had a good supply of sober, unfussy skirts and blouses and she extracted an oatmeal skirt from the wardrobe and a crisp, beige short-sleeved shirt, then looked at her reflection in the mirror.

      Nothing, she acknowledged realistically, to write home about. She supposed she wasn’t bad-looking in an average sort of way, but for the first time since she had started working for Benjamin she realised that her wardrobe didn’t do a great deal for her. With her fair complexion she needed to wear things that were dramatic, that put colour in her cheeks, instead of a selection of background outfits that made her appear drained.

      How was it that she was only now noticing this trait? Mousy. That was what he had called her. Had she cultivated this drabness as a subconscious reaction to her mother? It seemed likely, and she felt an unexpected anger that circumstances could mould a person so completely. Her parents’ divorce had been a background tune playing in the back of her mind for as long as she could remember. Too long.

      On the spur of the moment she added a touch of blusher to her cheeks and then frowned impatiently at herself.

      Would Benjamin have been notified of Antonio’s presence? she wondered, as she walked briskly down the corridor towards his bedroom. She had deliberately taken her time this morning because she didn’t want to appear over-keen to find out, but she was dying of curiosity.

      As soon as she entered the bedroom she was aware that he had already heard the bad news. The curtains had not been drawn back, and that was usually the first thing he did in the morning, and the room was in darkness. He was lying on the bed and she approached him tentatively.

      ‘Good morning, Benjamin,’ she said brightly, moving to pull the curtains, and he said in a woebegone voice,

      ‘Why bother? I won’t be getting

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