The Diamond Bride. Carole Mortimer
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how to ride a horse wasn’t something that was discussed when I came here for an interview,’ she told him defensively. ‘But it’s something Jessica loves to do, and as she can’t possibly go out on her own—’
‘You had to accompany her,’ Rufus surmised, his eyes suddenly alight with humour, a slight twitch to those sculptured lips. ‘Done much riding before, have you, Annie?’ He raised innocently questioning brows.
Too innocently. He was laughing at her again, damn him!
‘There wasn’t much call for it in the inner London Children’s home I was brought up in!’ she told him sharply.
The stark contrast between her own childhood and Jessica’s was apparent in that one blunt statement. There had never been too much spare cash at the home, certainly not enough to run to riding lessons. Even if she had wanted them. Which she hadn’t.
And after Jessica’s accident she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to sit on a horse again! Jessica had been riding most of her life, it seemed, and still she had been thrown.
‘So you meant it literally when you called yourself Orphan Annie?’ Rufus said.
‘Yes.’ She was on the defensive, unsure of the turn of the conversation. Again!
Rufus took his time, sitting down in the chair behind the desk, his face softening as he looked across its width at her. ‘In that case, I wouldn’t take the Diamond family as a typical example of the species,’ he drawled dryly. ‘It had some sense of normality before my father died six years ago; since then it’s deteriorated into anarchy,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘A group of people who happen to share the same house but who can barely stand the sight of each other!’
‘Surely not?’ Annie gasped in dismay at the tragedy of such a thing. But hadn’t she seen it herself this evening, in the barely maintained civility over dinner? And at the time she had thought Rufus to be the catalyst; she couldn’t remember it having been quite as tense on other evenings when she and Jessica had joined in the evening meal.
‘Surely, yes,’ Rufus confirmed wryly. ‘And as no one else seems to have filled you in on the family history perhaps I should do so,’ he said wearily.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, already felt uncomfortable enough with the little she did know. ‘Is it relevant to Jessica that I know?’ She frowned.
His mouth tightened. ‘Before the weekend, I would have said no. Now I’m not so sure...’ He grimaced darkly, then shook off that mood as he smiled across at her. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he chided, at her apprehensive expression. ‘As far as I’m aware, there is no history of axe murderers or serial killers in the family. At least, none that Celia would ever allow to be discussed! Appearances are everything to my dear stepmama,’ he told her wryly. ‘Although she wasn’t always so particular,’ he amended harshly, eyes cold with anger once again.
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