She was making soup for their lunch. She’d had to swear by all that was holy to Adrian that she wouldn’t overdo it, but he had finally relented and let her come downstairs. All the ingredients she needed were laid out carefully on the scrubbed pine table. Chopped-up celery stalks filled a blue ceramic bowl next to a dish of roughly sliced carrots and next to that was a smaller dish of finely diced onion and garlic. Having spent years helping in the kitchen of her parents’ hotel, Liadan favoured an ordered approach to her cooking. Once all her ingredients were prepared and on display, then she could get down to the fun part of creating appetising meals. Now as she stood at the stove stirring a large pan of simmering stock she breathed in the fragrant cooking smells and tried not to concentrate on the dull, aching throb in her forehead.

      Adrian had warned her not to get carried away. A sandwich and a cup of coffee would suffice for lunch, he’d told her as his dark serious gaze had swept broodingly across her features. But Liadan surmised the man needed to get a bit more creative, at least as far as his lunchtime routine went. And there was nothing better than hot, home-made soup on a bright, cold winter’s day like today.

      ‘Anybody home?’

      Liadan turned at the voice, and her gaze collided dazedly with a smiling Steven Ferrers. He strolled into the big country kitchen with his usual bad-boy stride, his too-intrusive glance flicking up and down her sweater-and-jeans-clad figure, making it obvious that he liked what he saw. Liadan’s hackles rose immediately, just as Izzy’s did when unfamiliar visitors came into the house.

      ‘What are you doing in here? How did you get in?’

      She hadn’t seen him since that unpleasant encounter in the garden and she was seriously bothered by the fact that he didn’t seem to have paid any attention to what she’d said to him then about keeping away from her.

      ‘That’s a nice greeting, I must say! Front door was open, for your information. Our Mr Jacobs has gone for a walk and left it ajar. I only dropped by to see how you were. Dad told me you drove your car into a ditch last night and his lordship had to take you to hospital. You’ve hurt your head. I’m sorry to see that, Liadan.’

      Unsure how to handle Steven’s professed concern about her welfare and slightly discomfited by the fact that Adrian wasn’t present in the house, Liadan wasn’t about to let her guard down just yet.

      ‘It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m perfectly fine, actually.’

      ‘I won’t argue with that, sweetheart. You’re easily the best thing in this whole godforsaken place!’

      ‘Look.’ Exasperation getting the better of her, Liadan folded her arms across her chest and sighed. ‘I really must get on. I’ve got work to do and I’m sure you have, too.’

      ‘Seen the papers this morning?’

      Before Liadan could answer one way or the other, Steven drew a folded-up newspaper from one of the deep patch pockets on his duffel coat and slapped it on the table in front of her.

      ‘Look on page two and cast your eyes over what our infamous Mr Jacobs has been up to!’

      When Liadan deliberately made no move towards the offending tabloid newspaper and instead stared frostily at Steven, he leant forward and opened the pages himself for her to examine. Reluctantly Liadan’s gaze fell on the grainy black and white picture of Adrian, clearly taken in his days as a war correspondent. He was standing in some kind of desert landscape and he wore light-coloured trousers with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows. Even though he must have been reporting from some dangerous and grim terrain, he looked much less careworn and younger than he did today—as if he could easily deal with whatever trials life threw his way and still have reserves left over.

      Her stomach clenched tight as though there were suddenly a giant-sized knot inside it. Next to the picture of Adrian there was another more glamorous snapshot of a beautiful brunette with exotic slanting eyes and pouting lips. Petra Collins. The headline screamed, HOLLYWOOD ACTRESS CLAIMS WRITER LOVER DEMANDED ABORTION. Casting her eye further down the page, Liadan briefly read, ‘Well-known author Alexander Jacobsen—previously war correspondent Adrian Jacobs—denies Petra Collins’ startling claim that he made her have an abortion when she was pregnant with his child…’

      ‘This is garbage.’ Grimacing with distaste, she closed the paper and turned back to stir the fragrant-smelling stock in the pan.

      ‘Know that for sure, do you, sweetheart?’

      To her alarm, Steven came up behind her and laid his hand on her shoulder. His touch made Liadan shudder as though a bug had just crawled down her bare skin and she swung round and pushed her hands roughly against his chest to make him go away. ‘I told you before, if you ever lay your hands on me again I’ll call the police!’

      ‘Think your threats can scare me, little Miss Goody Two Shoes? Just who the hell do you think you’re saving yourself for—the Lord of the Manor? He might bed you, sweetheart, but don’t expect any more than that. You’ve seen what he did to that actress. When he marries it won’t be to the likes of you or her. It’ll be to some posh tart that went to the right school whose daddy is loaded. You could do worse than be nice to me, Liadan. A lot worse.’

      His mouth was twisting cruelly, and the macabre grin made her blood run cold. Trembling with emotion, Liadan shook her head. ‘If you want to delude yourself, fine! Enjoy your little daydream while it lasts, because if you so much as come within ten feet of me again I’ll go straight to your father and tell him exactly what you’ve been doing.’

      ‘No, you won’t.’

      ‘Yes, I w—’

      ‘What’s going on here?’ Adrian stepped inside the room with a face like a thundercloud. Liadan’s heart almost stopped. Grabbing up the paper from the table, she quickly folded it and shoved it into Steven’s hands. The last thing Adrian needed to see today was that vile slander.

      ‘Nothing.’ She smiled, her blue eyes silently signalling Steven to keep quiet. With another self-satisfied grimace, the younger man touched the paper to his head as though doffing his cap and sauntered past Adrian as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

      ‘Just a minute.’

      ‘Yes, Mr Jacobs?’

      ‘I don’t want you coming