LITMIR.BIZ

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grief, woman, just say yes or no!’ he barked, annoyed at her delay.

      ‘If you’re only inviting me because you feel sorry for me—’ she began slowly.

      ‘I don’t feel sorry for you,’ he bit out tersely. At least…not yet. If Margaret Fraser ever did become her stepmother, then he might have reason to change his mind! ‘I just need to talk to you, okay?’ he stated firmly, knowing Fergus would be becoming fed up as he waited downstairs, having no doubt that Parker would already have told his cousin that he was at home!

      She gave a half-smile. ‘Okay.’

      ‘Good,’ he said with relief. ‘Now I’m going to take you downstairs, put you into a taxi, and I would advise you to go to bed when you get home and have a good night’s sleep. As your mother told you, this won’t look so black tomorrow.’ Especially as Logan intended finding out exactly what was going on and doing something about this situation himself!

      Darcy accompanied him into the lift. ‘It certainly couldn’t look any worse,’ she surmised.

      Oh, it could, as Logan knew only too well, but not if it was handled correctly. And he intended to see that it was!

      Fergus levelled a look of cold criticism at Logan, for keeping him waiting, as Logan stepped out of the lift with Darcy at his side.

      ‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ Logan told him as Fergus would have spoken, vaguely noting that Fergus did have the parcel from the restaurant with him. He could sort that out with Darcy tomorrow. ‘I’m just going to put Darcy into a taxi.’ He strode out of the building, Darcy held firmly at his side, before his cousin had a chance to make any sort of reply.

      Darcy turned to him before getting into the back of the taxi. ‘You really have been very kind,’ she said almost shyly.

      It wasn’t a characteristic too many people would apply to him, Logan thought wryly, but if that was how Darcy saw him, he wasn’t about to argue with her!

      ‘Lunch tomorrow,’ he reminded her economically. ‘Twelve-thirty. At Romaine’s. It’s—’

      ‘I know where it is,’ she assured him, reaching out to touch his arm. ‘And thank you once again.’

      Logan stood and watched the taxi until it disappeared around the corner at the end of the road, his thoughtful expression turning to one of hard determination as he turned to walk back into his apartment building.

      ‘Nice-looking girl,’ Fergus remarked as he followed the glowering Logan into the lift.

      Logan gave him a cold look. ‘She’s Daniel Simon’s daughter,’ he rasped. ‘But then you already knew that, didn’t you?’ he added accusingly as the two men stepped into his apartment, Logan striding straight over to the drinks tray to replenish his glass, taking a grateful sip before pouring another glassful for Fergus.

      ‘Thanks.’ Fergus took the glass. ‘Yes,’ he sighed, bending his long length into one of the armchairs. ‘I already knew that. This, apparently, is yours.’ He held up the parcel.

      ‘Thanks.’ Logan took it and put it on the side without further comment. Fergus didn’t have to know everything!

      His cousin sipped the whisky. ‘I know we were practically brought up on this stuff, but I’m not sure we should be drinking it at the moment; neither of us has eaten much this evening!’

      ‘Come on.’ Logan came to a decision. ‘I’ll cook us both an omelette—and then you can bring me up to date with exactly what is going on!’

      It only took a few minutes to prepare the omelettes and a salad to go with them, the two men shortly seated at the breakfast bar; Logan had lived on his own a long time now, was more than capable of feeding himself. And anyone else who happened to be here. On this occasion, it happened to be Fergus.

      Except it didn’t really just happen to be Fergus…

      He gave his cousin a sideways glance. ‘Am I right in supposing that your recent visit to Grandfather was because my mother is about to announce her engagement to restaurateur and chef, Daniel Simon?’

      His mother.

      Margaret Fraser.

      Although it was hard to believe—he chose not to believe it himself most of the time!—the actress Margaret Fraser was his mother. She was also Fergus’s Aunt Meg.

      With that cascade of dark hair, beautiful unlined face, youthfully slender body, Logan knew his mother didn’t look much older than himself. But she was, undeniably, his mother. He knew—because he had lived with the unpalatable fact long enough!

      He had been dumbstruck earlier when Darcy had announced her father’s intention of marrying the beautiful actress. He and his mother had never been particularly close, but in the past his mother had at least told him—warned him?—when she’d intended either marrying or becoming engaged to someone. This time Logan had been taken completely unawares. Although he knew Darcy, innocent of the true facts, had misunderstood his silence. He intended explaining everything tomorrow when they met for lunch.

      ‘It was,’ Fergus confirmed with another sigh. ‘Apparently she told him of her plans when she visited him at the weekend.’

      ‘And, because the two of us have always been close, you were chosen to break the news to me,’ Logan guessed.

      His cousin shrugged. ‘Ordinarily Aunt Meg would have told you herself. But in this case there seems to be a—complication.’

      ‘Darcy,’ Logan confirmed knowingly.

      ‘Darcy,’ Fergus confirmed flatly. ‘Apparently she isn’t too keen on Aunt Meg marrying into the family.’

      ‘I wouldn’t be too keen on having her marry into my family, either!’ Logan exclaimed.

      Fergus turned to give him a considering look. ‘You know I’ve never tried to interfere in your relationship with Aunt Meg—’

      ‘Then don’t start now,’ Logan warned him softly.

      ‘I have no intention of doing so,’ his cousin assured him calmly.

      Logan gave him a sceptical glance. ‘No?’

      ‘No,’ Fergus confirmed lightly, sipping the white wine Logan had opened to accompany their snack meal. ‘Firstly, because there’s no point; your feelings on that issue are your own business. Secondly,’ he continued as Logan would have spoken, ‘because I believe there is something of much more urgency for us to discuss.’

      Logan raised dark brows. ‘Such as?’

      ‘Such as how you’re going to break it to Darcy that you’re Margaret Fraser’s son? Without her hating your guts when you’ve finished, I mean,’ Fergus added.

      He had been wondering the same thing himself!

      ‘I am right in surmising Darcy doesn’t have a clue about that, aren’t I?’ Fergus mused.

      ‘Maybe if you hadn’t arrived here so precipitously—’

      ‘Don’t try and blame this situation on me.’ Fergus held up defensive hands.

      Fergus was right; Logan knew that he was. He should have told Darcy the truth the moment she’d mentioned Margaret Fraser. But, if he had, he also knew that Darcy would have looked at him with the same dislike she had looked at his mother. And that wasn’t something he wanted from Darcy. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from her, but it certainly wasn’t for her to lump him in with the same antipathy she felt towards his mother.

      He had less than twenty-four hours to think of a way of telling Darcy the truth—without the end result being, as Fergus had pointed out only too graphically, her hating his guts!

      She was late.

      She knew she was late. Almost fifteen minutes, to be exact. With any luck Logan would have tired of waiting for

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