Ungentlemanly Behaviour. Margaret Mayo
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was no sign of the younger Lane. She presumed he would be joining them shortly.
‘A drink, Sommers?’ he asked, indicating with a movement of his hand that she should sit on one of the linen-covered armchairs near the French windows.
She shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’
‘Of course,’ came the mocking response as he poured himself a generous measure of Scotch. ‘I’d forgotten you were an abstainer.’
Abby doubted it; he struck her as the type of man who forgot nothing. ‘Where’s Greg?’ she asked. She had no intention of sitting around wasting time when there was work to be done.
‘He’ll be joining us later.’ Hallam Lane moved over to the white marble fireplace, where he rested his elbow on the mantelpiece and surveyed her indolently.
‘Later?’ Abby questioned with a frown, at the same time registering the way his close-fitting trousers hid none of the muscular strength of his thighs. He had to be the most potent male specimen she had ever seen, and it took her a second or two to drag her eyes back to his face and remember what they were talking about. ‘What do you mean, later?’ she questioned, her eyes sparking with irritation. ‘Our appointment was for eight.’
‘He’s been detained.’ There was curious pleasure in Hallam’s voice as he made his announcement, and his dark eyes were watchful on hers, registering every change in her expression.
‘I don’t believe you.’ Abby jumped up and crossed the room to face him. ‘If Greg’s not here then there’s no point in my staying.’
A secret smile played about his generous lips. ‘I thought we could spend a little while getting to—know each other,’ he said softly, an innuendo in his tone that was distinctly disturbing.
‘Then you thought wrong,’ she retorted firmly. ‘I have much better things I could do with my time than make small talk with you.’
He took a slow sip of the amber liquid, watching her closely as he did so, an enigmatic expression narrowing his beautiful dark eyes. ‘I’d like to talk about you. I’m curious as to why you chose law as a profession. With your looks and figure I would have thought you’d choose something more glamorous.’
Abby looked at him cool and hard. ‘The answer’s easy: I’m following in my father’s footsteps.’ When her parent had had a sudden and fatal heart attack a few years ago it had devastated her, her mother also, and they had consoled each other as best they could. Now her mother had a new boyfriend and she had her career and a place of her own. She was quite content.
‘And you’re happy without a man in your life?’ There was a deliberate lift to his brows. ‘Or is there someone? You see, I know so little about you.’
‘My private life’s private, and that’s the way I’d like it to stay,’ retorted Abby sharply. She had no intention of discussing her personal life with this man. ‘I’m here to find out about your son, not for you to find out about me,’ she told him. ‘How long is he likely to be?’
Hallam Lane swallowed a further drop of whisky, savouring the smooth golden liquid to the full, before saying with what seemed like deliberate vagueness, ‘I really have no idea.’
‘No idea?’ she countered, green eyes feverishly bright. ‘This really is most irregular, Mr Lane. Is he upstairs? Can’t you give him a call? I—’
‘I’m afraid that’s impossible,’ he cut in quietly, his black eyes suddenly locked into hers, the suspicion of a smile curling his lips. ‘Greg is not at home.’ There was a certain amount of satisfaction in his voice.
Abby looked at him sharply and suspiciously. ‘You didn’t tell him about our appointment, did you? You deliberately let me come here, knowing that your son would be out.’ Anger, fierce and swift, flooded her and she cursed herself for being so foolish. She should have known that she could not trust him.
Hallam Lane lifted his broad shoulders in acknowledgement, not in the least disconcerted. ‘I can answer your questions myself.’
‘You know exactly what happened on the night in question?’ she asked, chin lifted, eyes blazing. Lord, what an idiot she had been.
‘I know what my son told me.’
‘Which need not necessarily be the whole truth,’ she pointed out coolly.
Hallam Lane frowned. ‘Why would he lie?’
‘I’m not saying he’s lied,’ she retorted, ‘but he could have quite easily held something back. Your son respects you, Mr Lane; I don’t know whether you realise that. He wouldn’t want to hurt you more than necessary.’
She recalled her younger brother—now married and living in the USA—getting into trouble on several occasions, but he’d never told his father every single detail, for the simple reason that he had not wanted to upset his father unduly—or incur further wrath!
Hallam shook his head, as though denying that this could be the case. ‘I don’t believe for one moment that my son would be so foolish.’ And with an abrupt change of subject he added, ‘I think it’s time we ate.’
Abby stiffened, her finely shaped brows drawing together into a disbelieving frown.
‘I did invite you for dinner,’ he reminded her drily, a faint quirk to his lips.
‘And I distinctly remember refusing,’ she riposted. ‘And since Greg is not at home then I see no point in staying.’ She headed towards the door.
His voice stopped her. ‘It’s all ready; it would be uncivil of you to waste good food. And—there’s always the chance that Greg will be back before we’ve finished,’ he added softly.
He must have known that this would persuade her. She heaved a sigh and finally turned, to discover uneasily that he had moved away from the fireplace and was only a pace behind her. She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘I guess I am hungry,’ she said reluctantly—actually she had eaten nothing since breakfast. ‘But the instant we’ve finished—if Greg isn’t here—I shall go.’
He smiled and, taking her elbow, led her out of the room. At his touch her stomach tied itself into knots, every pulse raced, and Abby wished that she had not been so quick to agree.
If Hallam Lane did not approve of her as his son’s solicitor then why did he bother to entertain her? She wished she knew what thoughts were going through his mind, and she wished to goodness that she had spoken to Greg himself when he’d visited her office, so that this mix-up would not have happened.
The dining-room was next door, still overlooking the fine grounds. The rosewood table was laid with a cream damask cloth and cream napkins with a wine-coloured embroidered border. The candles were of the same deep red, as was the central single rose. There were two place settings only! Abby was furious. ‘You had this arranged all along,’ she declared, her voice shrill with accusation.
‘What pretty girl doesn’t like to be wined and dined?’ he asked, a look of smug satisfaction on his handsome face—a look that told her everything was going according to plan—his plan!
She drew in a deep, unsteady breath. ‘It looks set for a seduction scene to me, Mr Lane, and I can assure you I want no part of it. I refuse to sit here and eat with you and pretend that we like each other.’
‘I’m not asking that you like me, Sommers.’ There was a sudden crisp edge to his tone. ‘I simply believe that it would be to our mutual advantage to spend a little time discussing my son.’ A minute ago he had said he wanted to talk about her! ‘That’s an excuse and you know it,’ she cried, her eyes flashing her hostility, and she turned to head out of the room.
Hallam Lane’s fingers closed about her arm. ‘You’re not running out on me now,’ he growled, twisting her round to face him.
‘If you think that you can force me into staying you’re making a big mistake,’ Abby gritted, struggling