LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

the coolness of the bedclothes.

      She wasn’t even sure how she came to be back at the hotel at all; she vaguely remembered the comfort of the limousine Charles had arranged to be at her disposal during her stay in Paris, but nothing of her journey through the streets still crowded with people in the outdoor cafés and restaurants, and she certainly didn’t remember entering the hotel itself and coming up to her suite.

      Because of Reece Falcon…

      She had been preparing herself for weeks for their first meeting. But when she had thought about it—and she had thought about it, often!—the meeting had always been by her own design, not sprung on her out of the blue as it had been earlier tonight.

      It had shaken her much more than she could ever have imagined!

      It had nothing to do with the way Reece Falcon looked—although God knew that was ominous enough. No, it had been the first sound of his voice again after all these years. She could have been blindfolded and would still have known the sound of that voice anywhere, was never likely to forget how the man had sounded who had forced her father to take his own life.

      Because she wasn’t just Divine. Wasn’t just Diana Lamb, either. Her real name was Divinia Lambeth. Daughter of Howard Lambeth, a man Reece Falcon had taken delight in ruining.

      She got restlessly out of the bed, giving up all idea of even trying to sleep, her cream silk nightshirt flowing smoothly over her body to mid-thigh, her legs long and golden beneath its length as she padded over to the window, gazing out over the beauty that was Paris by moonlight.

      Not that she actually saw any of that, her thoughts too deep inside her as she cursed herself for not handling the meeting earlier this evening with Reece Falcon more calmly than she had. She had thought she could cope with it, had encouraged her friendship with Reece Falcon’s son because she had believed that—and she had been reduced to a quivering wreck after only a single meeting with the man she had grown up hating with a vehemence she knew often bordered on obsession.

      Not content with forcing her father into taking his own life rather than facing the public scandal her father knew would follow after revelations were made about his business affairs—although that had been more than enough reason for the young Divinia to hate him!—Reece Falcon was also responsible for destroying anything that might have been left after the loss of her father.

      Everything they had had needed to be sold in an effort to pay off her father’s creditors, and once Reece Falcon had claimed the family home as his own there hadn’t been that much left to sell! But Divinia’s life had changed irrevocably after her father’s death, the indulgent childhood she had known wiped out in a single act. Her only consolation in all that had been that Janette had lost her extravagant lifestyle too. After what Divinia had heard during her father’s conversation with Reece Falcon concerning her stepmother, she had felt the woman didn’t deserve to have anything from her father anyway; she might have only been nine years old then, but she certainly hadn’t been too young to realise that her stepmother had betrayed her father in some way. And with the passing of the years, her own maturity, she had been able to guess in what way Janette had been persuaded to betray her husband. The young Divinia had despised her beautiful stepmother almost as much as she hated Reece Falcon!

      Which had been unfortunate, considering Janette had been made her sole guardian. And at nine Divinia hadn’t been left with any choice but to do as Janette decided she should. But Janette had only been twenty-five herself at the death of her husband, and had certainly had no intention of being hampered with a nine-year-old stepdaughter now that she was on her own and there was no money for a nanny. Somehow Janette had managed to salvage enough money from the chaos to send Divinia back to her private school; it would have been kinder if she hadn’t.

      Everyone at the school, including Divinia’s own friends, was aware of the way her father had died and the reason for it, and while a few of her really close friends had remained loyal a lot more chose to shun her; it had almost been as if her father’s failure might rub off on them and taint them too. The following eight years of her school life had been miserable ones for her, and there was little respite from its overpowering presence in her life, as most of her school holidays were spent there too. Was it any wonder when she finally managed to escape from the place that she changed her name to Diana Lamb and tried to stamp out the misery of those years by severing all the ties she had with the people involved with them?

      Janette had remarried within six months of Diana’s father’s death, to an Italian businessman who didn’t give a damn about the scandal surrounding her first husband; he just wanted a beautiful woman—and there was no doubting Janette was still that, with her shoulder-length ash-blonde hair and deep blue eyes—that he could display socially on his arm when needed, and leave to her own devices when he found other diversions to amuse him. This arrangement suited Janette perfectly; her main loves in life were herself and the indulgences Marco’s money could now buy her.

      Whatever had been between Janette and Reece Falcon at the time of Diana’s father’s death seemed to have ended with Howard Lambeth’s death, and Diana had been glad—glad: why should Janette find happiness with her father’s murderer?

      After Janette felt secure in her second marriage she had relented slightly in her attitude towards Diana, and allowed her to join them in their Italian home for several weeks of her school holidays throughout the year. Diana still despised her beautiful stepmother, but any time she spent away from the school had to be a bonus, and Marco was nice. Like a lot of Italian men, he liked children.

      Unfortunately, however, Diana hadn’t remained a child…

      Her thoughts veered sharply away from that second distressing time in her young life. Reece Falcon. It was all his fault. All of it. If he hadn’t pushed her father to the desperation of taking his own life, none of those things would have happened to her.

      Which was why, since meeting Chris, she now wanted Reece Falcon to suffer the same pain she had.

      Having now met the man himself, she knew that was going to be far from easy.

      But she had to do it. Had to!

      ‘All right, Puddle.’ She chuckled softly at the antics of her cat, climbing up one of the legs of the yellow and pink leggings she wore in an effort to reach the bowl of food she was preparing for him. ‘Lunch is served!’ She put him out of his mewling misery by putting the bowl down on the cool tiled floor of her kitchen, watching indulgently as he launched himself into the bowl as if he hadn’t been fed for a month.

      Which was far from the truth. She had only been away for a week, and Roger, the man who lived in the flat across the hallway, and who looked after the cat while she was away, always told her Puddle ate enough for ten cats. Puddle, a pure black cat, with an elusively absent tail, always reacted the same to her going away: he seemed to sense when she was going and stopped eating for several days before she went, then gorged himself in her absence, and then ate everything in sight once she was back—including little nips out of her legs, just to let her know he didn’t approve of her having gone away in the first place!

      It was uncanny how the cat always knew she was going, even if she deliberately delayed packing until the very last moment. But after two years of being subjected to Puddle’s unique form of protest Diana had decided it had to be the Celt in him that knew; he was one of those rare things nowadays—a truly Manx cat, totally bereft of a tail. He was also clever, intuitive, and didn’t suffer fools gladly. He was the only companion Diana wanted in the large flat she had bought and decorated in her own particular style.

      All the floors in the two-bedroomed flat, one of which she had made into a studio for the painting she did as a hobby, were either tiled or wood-panelled, with brightly coloured scatter-rugs thrown at random over their surfaces; the furniture, what there was of it, was all white, as were the walls. As Diana walked through from the kitchen with a mug of coffee, leaving Puddle to finish his brunch, she was like a bright splash of colour in the otherwise austere surroundings, wearing a bright yellow T-shirt over the garish multi-coloured leggings.

      She dropped down on to one of the white bean-bags that lay about the room,

Скачать книгу