Secret Courtship. Grace Green
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a look.” She grimaced. “And the rest, as they say, is history.”
This pleasant, friendly woman lived with Nicholas Diamond? Their surnames were different, so they weren’t married... Or maybe they were. It wasn’t uncommon for a woman, nowadays, to cling to her maiden name instead of assuming the surname of the man she had married. And she was expecting a child. His child, of course. She couldn’t imagine a man like Nick Diamond tolerating any other kind of situation. But the woman seemed so nice; why on earth would she have let herself get involved with a tyrant such as—?
“He’s my brother. My twin, actually. Nicky, I mean.”
She was his sister, not his wife. Laura was taken aback by the odd little quiver that trembled through her heart as the other woman imparted the piece of information. What on earth did it matter to her if Nicholas Diamond was married or not? And just because this woman wasn’t married to him, it didn’t mean that some other woman wasn’t ...
Good Lord, her mind was driveling on as if it assumed she had some interest in the man! Perhaps she was still suffering from jet lag; that could be the only explanation.
She realized, suddenly, that the woman was staring at her, waiting. Waiting for what? Had she spoken?
“Er ... sorry,” Laura murmured. “Did you ...?”
“If you’ve just moved in, you’re probably going to be busy cleaning this morning, but ... in the afternoon, would you like to come next door for awhile? Nick has a pool, and we could have a swim, or just have a coffee and chat.”
Laura had thought it would be easy to slip into her new home-easy to keep to herself, easy to avoid getting involved with neighbors. She had reckoned without meeting such a friendly, open person as this Sally Peterson.
“Thanks, but i...er...have to go out this afternoon.”
“Some other time, then.” Sally’s smile was cheery. “Give me a call when you’re free—the number’s in the book. Nick’s number, that is. I’m not getting around much—my baby’s due in three weeks—so I’d really appreciate some company. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” She turned to go, and then swiveled back. “I almost forgot—” she held out a paper bag “—these are for you. Some blueberry muffins—they’re still warm from the oven.”
After a brief hesitation, Laura took the bag. “Thanks,” she said, and for the first time managed a smile. “Thanks very much.” And, with that, she withdrew into the cottage again, and locked the door.
When Laura had flown to Vancouver, she had left behind-in the triple garage of her Toronto suburban house—her cream Volvo, Jason’s scarlet Ferrari and the antique silver Rolls that had been kept for attending special functions. She could have had one of those vehicles delivered to her at Sweet Briar, but she wanted to get back to basics—wanted a simple home and a simple way of life... And, for the moment anyway, that included a simple mode of transportation.
Curled up on the windowseat in the living-room just before noon, Laura stared out at the back garden. She had spent the morning scouring the kitchen, until every surface, every corner was gleaming. Now, nibbling the last crumbs of one of Sally’s muffins, she thought about the things she needed to buy when she went shopping.
First on the list was a bicycle.
Notebook on her lap, she tapped her pencil against her teeth, remembering that on the way to Juniper Ridge in the cab she had noticed a village at the foot of the hill; perhaps she would find a cycle shop there. She started to scribble out her list, starting with the bike and adding enough items of food to keep her going for several days.
When she’d finished, she stretched lazily and smiled. Before she went shopping—before she even showered and changed—there was something she was going to do... somewhere she was going to go. A treat she’d promised herself, as a reward for her morning of hard work.
Standing up, she stuffed her list in the pocket of her jeans before taking her empty plate to the kitchen.
Then, anticipation sparkling up inside her like a sunburst of champagne bubbles, she made for the front door.
KEEP OUT
TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
Laura stared disbelievingly at the sign nailed to the narrow gate at the forest entrance. Who on earth had put it there? And how long had it been there? When she’d spent that summer at Sweet Briar, there had certainly been no such sign. The forest had been there for everyone to enjoy.
Disappointment surged through her like sour bile. Everything, she decided bitterly, had changed. First, the old cottages had been razed to the ground; secondly, the back garden at Sweet Briar was no longer private; and now the forest was forbidden to her. Fighting a sudden welling of tears, she slumped against the gatepost.
At least the cottage itself remained unchanged. And for that she was profoundly thankful. But, instead of its being in its original jewel-like setting, it was as if the small house was the last survivor in a now unfamiliar world. She felt as though she was the last survivor in an unfamiliar world ...
“Excuse me!”
She hadn’t heard anyone approaching from the forest path. Now, as she jerked away from the post, she became aware of a man just a step away, waiting to get by. The man—for just a second she hadn’t recognized him, and then her heartbeats thundered with the intensity of galloping hooves on sun-baked turf—was Nicholas Diamond.
He was wearing an icy-gray shirt with the sleeves loosely rolled back over his forearms, a striped light gray and navy tie and a pair of navy suit trousers that snugly followed the contours of his thighs and narrowed to a pair of highly polished shoes... And over his shoulder, slung by a thumb, was his suit jacket—that he was carrying it that way was, she noticed bleakly, the only casual thing about him. Had he been wearing the jacket, he would have looked as if he’d stepped straight from the cover of a fat and glossy business magazine.
She realized that his original detached expression had given way to a frown.
“Aren’t you the young woman who was walking in the middle of the road yesterday?” Censure edged his tone. He opened the gate as he spoke, walked through and clicked it shut behind him, his critical gaze never leaving her.
“Aren’t you the roadhog who almost ran me over?” she retorted acidly. He had recognized her from their first encounter, but he obviously hadn’t connected her with the woman he’d tangled with during the night.
“Why are you hanging around?” The question had a hard edge. Still without taking his gaze from her, he jerked his head toward the sign. “This area is out of bounds,” he went on, but before he could say more, Laura broke in scornfully.
“I can see that! And whoever put up that sign should have his head examined. The forest belongs to everyone, and as long as people respect it then they should be allowed to wander through it at will.” She glared up at him. “Though that doesn’t seem to stop you! Are you one of these people who go through life disobeying rules just for the sheer hell of it?”
The breeze caught the scent from his body and brought it to her like an unwanted gift—a gift she had no way of refusing. It wasn’t the raw male scent she’d been subjected to the day before—that pheromone-laden scent which had called to some deep and dark and primal part of her—it was a clean, sophisticated fragrance, with musk and sandalwood undertones—one that teased her in a different but equally tantalizing and disturbing way. To her dismay, as she waited for him to respond to her challenging words, she felt her mouth become dry.
When finally he spoke it was in exactly the same tone as he’d used the day before, when he’d told her his name, and with exactly the same icy expression in his eyes.
“The forest,” he said, “belongs to me.”
Dry throat suddenly forgotten, Laura stood speechless.