By Marriage Divided. Lindsay Armstrong
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happy to leave it all to me—I have her power of attorney. Now, I have an inventory here,’ she continued, suddenly brisk and practical right on cue. ‘I believe you have a copy?’ She glanced at him out of those amazing blue eyes.
‘I do.’ He drew some folded sheets of paper from the inner pocket of his jacket.
‘And, as you know, while most of the contents of the house were included in the sale, you did agree that we could keep some personal treasures.’
‘Yes.’ He inclined his head.
‘Well, I think we should check the inventory of what was to remain together now, then we can both sign it so there can be no disagreements later.’
Angus Keir looked her over unsmilingly and the nature of the mysterious niggle he’d experienced earlier suddenly came clear to him. He would like to have some power over this cool, serene and utterly gorgeous girl, some hold, even if it was only that she bitterly regretted having to part with a home he now owned. Why? he wondered. So he could lure her back to it? As an excuse to get to know her? Yes, he concluded, and his eyebrows rose in some surprise at the thought.
Then he realized that Domenica was looking at him curiously, but only because of the lengthening pause between them, and the irony of not making much of an impact on this girl at all when she’d done the opposite to him amused him inwardly but activated a resolve to change things…
‘I think that’s a very good idea, Miss Harris,’ he said. ‘And if you have second thoughts about anything you’d really like to keep, please let me know. I’d be happy to accommodate you.’
This time Domenica’s eyebrows rose, in sheer surprise. ‘That’s very kind of you but I don’t think there’s anything,’ she said slowly, as if she was not quite sure whether to believe him.
‘Should we start in here, then?’ he suggested.
It took them over an hour, and, although he’d inspected the house before and although houses didn’t mean that much to him, Angus Keir felt a sense of triumph to think that this lovely home with its use of timber and slate, the design that made the best use of natural light and the wonderful views, was his—even denuded of some of the Harris family treasures.
There was also an air about it of a home, not as if it should grace the glossy pages of an interior design magazine, not matched or co-ordinated within an inch of its life, but comfortable and gracious. Although, he conceded to himself, there would be one thing lacking.
And almost as if reading his thoughts, Domenica said, ‘I gather you’re not married, Mr Keir?’
‘You gather right, Miss Harris, but how could you tell?’
They were in the living room, looking out over the roses towards Sydney. Domenica glanced at him. They were standing almost shoulder to shoulder and, although she was five feet ten, even if she were wearing heels he would be taller than she was, she judged. And his physique and height at this close proximity plus the lines of his face—good-looking but with the hint in the uncompromising set of his mouth and the worldliness of those smoky-grey eyes of a self-assured man who got his own way frequently—did something strange to the pit of her stomach, she found.
He was also tanned where she was not, and it was impossible not to sense that he was extremely fit, and not only from the honed lines of his body but the way he moved. Then there was the masculine scent of crisply laundered cotton, tailored fabric and just plain man about him that was a little heady and, oddly, something rather touching about a small, star-shaped scar at the end of his left eyebrow.
A very fine example of a man in his prime, she thought, but with a slight sense of unease. She remembered, belatedly, what he’d said.
‘Uh—’ she wrenched her mind from the purely physical ‘—if I were a wife whose husband had just bought a house, any house, you couldn’t have kept me away,’ she said with a quizzical little smile, then shrugged. ‘On the other hand, it could be easier without a wife who may have wanted to change the house and imprint her personality on it—which could have cost you some more money.’
‘I don’t think, assuming I had a wife, I would let her change anything about Lidcombe Peace, Miss Harris.’
Domenica’s eyebrows rose. ‘Really?’
One word but uttered with such hauteur, Angus Keir reflected, he should feel instantly demolished. ‘Really,’ he agreed smoothly, however, and added, ‘I like it very much the way it is, you see.’
‘Oh.’ Domenica looked around and he could see her doing battle with pride in Lidcombe Peace and the kind of man who would not allow a wife to express her individuality. ‘Well—’ she faced him again with a fleeting expression in her eyes, this time of ‘It’s nothing to do with me anyway’ and held out her hand ‘…I’m sure you’d like to explore a bit more on your own, so I’ll get going. The other keys are on the hook in the pantry.’
He didn’t take her hand but said, ‘Would you have lunch with me, Miss Harris? I noticed a restaurant a few miles back that looked rather pleasant. And I wasn’t proposing to stay here any longer.’
She hesitated and frowned. ‘That’s very kind of you but—um—no, I should be getting back to work.’ She looked at her watch and then said with a fleeting grin, ‘Thanks, but I definitely should be making tracks!’
‘You don’t eat lunch?’ he queried.
‘Yes, I do, but on the run, if you know what I mean.’ Domenica stopped rather abruptly.
‘How about dinner this evening, then?’ he suggested.
She was silent, desperately trying to think of an excuse and, of course, every second she delayed made it obvious she had none.
‘Unless you eat all your meals on the run, Miss Harris?’ he drawled.
Domenica flinched inwardly at the underlying sarcasm of his question. She also asked herself why she was so unwilling to see more of this man without even giving it much thought, and realized it was an instinctive reaction to a subtle process that had been going on between them from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other. Certainly, for his part, an assessment of her that was not only physical but as if her mental processes were on test too had taken place—then again, she hadn’t been immune from making assessments either.
But it still came as something of a surprise to her that she should have been drawn into the process. Because she’d been prepared to dislike him thoroughly and with good reason, considering the war they’d waged over the sale of Lidcombe Peace? Only to discover herself speculating on his physique but, not only that, responding to the things he’d said as they’d moved about the house, things that had indicated a sense of humour as well as a man who might be interesting to know intellectually…
Or had it been a lot simpler? she reflected. That there was a magnetism about Angus Keir that could be summed up in three words—sheer sex appeal. It was impossible not to be impressed by his body, by his hands, by an aura of refined strength, as well as touched by the lurking feeling that, when you added it all up, it made you feel particularly womanly.
She blinked surprisedly at this choice of words that had sprung to mind and didn’t sound like her at all, and decided it was all the more reason to escape Angus Keir as soon as possible.
She said, ‘No, I don’t eat all my meals on the run, Mr Keir, but the thing is, although I told you I was a realist, it hasn’t been that easy to hand Lidcombe Peace over to you, or to anyone, for that matter, and I think it would be better to make a clean cut now.’ Which had an element of truth in it, she mused.
But the expression that crept into those smoky-grey eyes as he looked down at her meditatively was both insolent and sceptical, causing Domenica to feel suddenly unsure of herself. Because he’d read exactly how ‘womanly’—just hate that term now, she decided with gritted teeth—he’d made her feel, and knew all too well that she was disseminating for the most part?
Damn him, she thought.