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Inherited by Her Enemy
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Craven Sara

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She stared down at him. ‘Didn’t he tell you that I might be?’

‘No, why should that matter?’

She couldn’t think of a reason apart from how empty the cottage was—and how isolated. And that she had never expected to find herself alone with him—anywhere.

It occurred to her that in some odd way he made the hall seem even more cramped. And that with his untidy hair and the stubble outlining his chin, he was even less prepossessing in broad daylight than he had been the previous evening. He was wearing a dark roll-neck sweater under a thick jacket reaching to mid-thigh, and his long legs were encased in denim and knee-length boots.

And the silence lengthening between them was beginning to feel inexplicably dangerous.

She said hurriedly, ‘I—I’m sorry about the hovel remark. I’m afraid my mother was too distraught to think what she was saying yesterday.’

‘But today all that has arranged itself, and she is reconciled to her new situation?’ His tone bit. ‘I wish I could believe it was true.’

He glanced around him. ‘And how will she like her new home?’

The obvious reply was ‘She won’t.’ But Ginny decided to temporise.

‘Well, it’s rather small, and it does need refurbishing. But I think, in time, it could be—charming.’

‘Tout de m^eme, she did not accompany you here to see for herself.’

‘I don’t think you understand what a shock this has been—for all of us.’ She bit her lip. ‘We didn’t even know that my—that your father was ill.’

‘Nor I,’ he said quietly. ‘It was a matter he chose to keep to himself.’

‘Like so many others,’ Ginny said before she could stop herself.

The dark face was cynical. ‘Perhaps he realised that news of my existence would be unwelcome.’

She said defensively, ‘My mother could hardly blame him for something that happened long before she met him. If she’d been warned what to expect, she might not have this—sense of betrayal.’

‘She feels betrayed?’ The firm mouth curled. ‘How interesting that she should think so.’

She moved restively. ‘Well, I didn’t come here to argue the rights and wrongs of the situation. I’ll go and leave you to your inspection.’ She began to descend the stairs, then paused. ‘I almost forgot. I have an invitation for you.’

‘An invitation,’ he repeated, as if the word was new to him.

‘Yes—to have dinner with us. Tomorrow evening.’ She saw the look of incredulity on his face, and wished she’d never thought of the idea, let alone mentioned it. But it was too late now, so she hurried on, ‘I was going to leave it at the hotel, but as you’re here...’

She continued her descent, fumbling in her bag for the envelope, missed her footing on the uncarpeted stairs and stumbled forward, to be caught and lifted to safety in arms like steel bands.

Momentarily, her face was pressed against his chest, her nose and mouth filled with the scent of clean wool, soap and the more alien aroma of warm male skin, before she was set, ruffled and breathless, on her feet.

‘You should have more care, mademoiselle,’ he told her coolly. ‘You do not need another tragedy in your family.’

Ginny flushed. ‘I—I’m not usually so clumsy.’ She handed him the envelope. ‘You don’t have to decide immediately, of course.’ She added quickly, ‘And we won’t be offended if you’re too busy.’

‘But naturally I shall accept,’ he said silkily. ‘I am most intrigued that your mother should offer this olive branch.’ He paused. ‘It does, of course, come from her?’

She said quickly, ‘Oh, yes.’ But the brief hesitation preceding it had been fatal.

Strong fingers captured her chin, forcing her face up to meet his gaze.

‘To be a good liar requires practice, ma mie,’ he said softly. ‘Let us hope you are not obliged to be untruthful too often, as I doubt you will ever excel. But clearly your powers of persuasion with Maman are formidable.’

Ginny wrenched herself free and stepped back. ‘If it’s frankness you want, monsieur, may I ask if you ever shave?’

‘Bien s^ur—on occasion. Especially if I am going to be in bed with a woman. But I doubt I shall be so fortunate,’ he added pensively. ‘Your beautiful sister already has a lover, h'elas.’

She felt jolted as if her heart had skipped not one beat but several.

She said quietly, ‘My sister is engaged to be married, monsieur. She has a fianc'e.’

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