Infamous Bargain

Infamous Bargain

Daphne Clair

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

BRIAR slipped a pair of long silver and garnet earrings into place and rearranged a tendril of hair that had fallen against her cheek.

The deceptively casual style suited her, and the ‘Sunset’ rinse she’d had last week added a touch of warmth to what she thought of as a rather insipid colour. In her teenage years the extreme fairness of childhood had given way to something between brown and blonde. The rinse wasn’t obvious. Her father had cast it a puzzled, cursory glance, and apparently dismissed the subtle change as a figment of his imagination.

She could hear his voice, rich and a trace over-hearty, greeting the arriving guests. Already the doorbell had rung three or four times. Her stepmother would be in a flutter as usual, nervously checking impeccable place-settings, twitching unnecessarily at cushions, and darting out to the kitchen to ensure the caterers were coping, although they were from one of Auckland’s best and most experienced firms.

Briar checked her make-up. The new ‘Tropic Dusk’ eyeshadow was a subtle shade, making eyes that were neither blue nor grey seem larger, darker and somehow mysterious. Better go down. Laura would need her calming presence, and her father would be getting impatient if she didn’t soon appear and start being polite and welcoming to the financiers and lawyers and business people exchanging small talk over glasses of imported whisky and gold-medal New Zealand wines.

‘And I want you to pay special attention to Kynan Roth,’ he’d instructed Briar. ‘Make sure he has a good time.’

He hadn’t noticed the ironic glance that his daughter threw at him, and she’d bitten her tongue on the remark that hovered on the tip of it. Xavier Cunningham, despite his experience in business and his assiduous cultivation of the well-to-do and the financially useful, was probably totally unaware that his twenty-four-year-old daughter was capable of even slightly ribald thoughts. Briar knew very well that all he was asking of her was to act the poised, gracious hostess that his second wife had never learned to be.

Briar slid a pair of high-heeled pumps over her gossamer-stockinged feet, and adjusted the thin straps of the sheer floating confection of champagne chiffon over silk that she’d bought for tonight. Her father had insisted on her having a new dress, and even provided a hefty cheque for it.

She walked along the brass-edged carpet laid between gleaming kauri boards along the wide upstairs hall, and paused at the top of the curved staircase. The old, proudly preserved mansion, set in half an acre of mature garden in the long-established suburb of Remuera, was an estate agent’s dream. A Persian rug on the floor of the high-ceilinged lobby deadened the footsteps of the middle-aged couple her father was ushering into the big living-room from which a babble of voices floated. As the bell burred once more he inclined his handsome greying head and said to them, ‘I’ll be right with you. Here’s Laura—she’ll get you a drink,’ before turning to open the door again.

Briar was halfway down the stairs by the time the newcomer had shaken hands with her father and exchanged some remarks about the imminence of summer. He had a deep, incisive voice, and curiosity made her glance up from her concentration on the stair carpet. At the same time he must have become aware of her moving down the stairs, and lifted his head, gazing past Xavier’s shoulder.

Briar paused for an instant, surprised by a searching scrutiny from eyes the colour of old pewter, or a dawn sea. And—in spite of the unequivocal masculine reaction she discerned in them—as hard as metal and cold as a winter morning.

He was somewhere in his early thirties, she judged, his thick, dark hair untouched by grey, but there was a world of experience in those eyes, and in the taut planes of his cheeks, the carved-from-granite mouth. Even his stance, on the surface casual, one hand thrust into the pocket of a suit expertly tailored to a frame more appropriate to an athlete than a businessman, gave the impression of an underlying tensile strength. Perhaps it was the way his feet in their polished black leather were planted slightly apart on the Persian pattern, and the knife-edge crease of his trousers failed to conceal the latent power in his long legs.

He was taller than her father, who was well-built and not a small man, and she wondered if he lifted weights. Under the impeccable suit his shoulders were broad, his stomach flat. He looked superbly fit while not bulging with overdeveloped muscles.

As Briar descended the remaining stairs, he returned her involuntary inspection with interest, and a faint, knowing smile fleetingly curved his mouth. She felt the fine hair on her nape prickle. Very sure of himself, this man. Sure of his effect on women, too.

‘There you are!’ her father said, smiling expansively as he turned to her. ‘Kynan, let me introduce you to my daughter. Briar, this is Kynan Roth. I told you about him.’ He directed a meaningful glance at her, and Briar noticed that the other man sent a quick, probing look at his host before he took her extended hand and closed strong fingers about it.

His hand was warm and he held hers firmly before releasing it.

‘Come along in, Kynan,’ her father said, laying a hand on his guest’s shoulder. Briar thought the shoulder stiffened. He hung back, allowing her to precede him and her father into the lounge. It was a large room furnished with comfortable leather chairs and sofas, solid mahogany coffee-tables, and some good antique cabinets and occasional pieces. The bar in one corner had been carefully designed to blend into the décor.

‘I’ll leave Briar to look after you,’ her father said, giving the other man’s shoulder a pat, ‘if you don’t mind. Catch up with you later.’

‘I’m delighted.’ A gleam entered the cool eyes as Kynan Roth murmured the polite response.

He didn’t look delighted, Briar thought. He looked like a wary predator, circling for the kill but with one ear pricked for trouble.

She said, ‘What would you like to drink?’

‘What are you going to have?’

‘A Chardonnay.’ She didn’t usually drink anything more than dry ginger ale this early in the evening at her father’s parties, but something about this man was making her tense, and a glass of wine might relax her.

‘Then I’ll have the same.’

Surprise made her hesitate. He looked like a straight whisky man, or vodka on the rocks at least.

He raised his brows a fraction. ‘Anything wrong?’

Briar shook her head and smiled, more at her thoughts than at him.

He didn’t smile back, but something flickered in his eyes, and those slightly satanic brows momentarily drew together.

‘Briar!’ Her stepmother, draped in designer blue silk, clutched at her arm. ‘There you are!’

Briar saw Kynan Roth’s mouth twitch at the corner, his glance flicking from Laura to her as he obviously remembered her father’s identical greeting, though delivered quite differently. He was looking at Briar now rather curiously.

‘Laura,’ she said, forestalling any outpouring of the latest imagined crisis—wine that hadn’t been uncorked in time, a guest who had just now casually mentioned being a vegetarian, a last-minute begging-off leaving the table numbers uneven?—‘this is Kynan Roth.’

Laura, remembering her manners, flashed a distracted smile. ‘How do you do, Mr...?’ Then the name obviously penetrated and the sky-blue eyes widened. ‘Oh! Oh, Mr Roth! Oh, I’m very pleased to meet you.’ She held out her hand, but almost as though she anticipated it might be bitten off. Her gaze now was fascinated in the way a mouse was supposed to be fascinated by a snake. As Kynan took her hand she looked about anxiously. ‘My husband...he’ll be wanting to...’

‘He let me in,’ Kynan told her, releasing her fingers.

‘Oh. Oh, good!’ She was still looking at him. ‘You’re not at all what I expected.’

‘Really?’ He still didn’t smile, yet Briar had the distinct impression he was beginning to enjoy himself. ‘Tell me what you expected.’ He bent his head towards Laura.

Laura blushed, the colour rising under her ageless white skin to the roots of her beautifully coiffured blonde hair. She looked helplessly at Briar.

Briar put a reassuring arm about her waist. ‘I don’t suppose Mr Roth expects you to answer that,’ she said, fixing a social smile to her face.

Mr Roth looked as though he might be about to dispute her supposition, but Briar didn’t give him a chance. ‘He might not hear what he’d like to,’ she went on, braving the faint spark that rose in the strangely metallic eyes. ‘I was just about to fetch him a drink.’ She withdrew her arm from Laura and took Kynan’s, steering him away. ‘The bar’s this way.’ If he got his kicks from teasing defenceless women, at least she could rescue Laura from him.

When they had their wine, he turned to her, lifting his glass. ‘The name’s Kynan,’ he said, ‘Briar.’

Be nice to him, her father had instructed. She curved the corners of her mouth upward and raised her glass. Her eyes fleetingly met his before sipping her wine gave her an excuse to look away. There was a concentration in his stare that made her uneasy.

She half turned from him, watching the other guests. All were representative of solid, respectable firms who managed the city’s wealth, the kind of people her father had cultivated ever since, as a young, shrewd accountant with a hard-won degree and none of the right connections, he had set out to forge for himself a place in the upper echelons of Auckland’s business community.

‘Is there anyone I need to introduce you to?’ she asked. She wondered if this evening had been arranged specifically to impress Kynan Roth.

He cast a cursory glance about. ‘I’ve met some of the men.’

One of the women, Briar knew, was a successful barrister, another a well-known artist. But they were here because their husbands had been invited to bring them. Xavier found it difficult to cope with women in business.

‘Would you like to meet their wives?’ she asked.

His look seemed vaguely speculative. ‘Would you mind?’ he asked, a thread of something like laughter in his voice.

‘Introducing you? Not at all.’ She turned to lead him away from the bar, wondering why she’d thought there was a hidden meaning in his innocuous question. Then it hit her. He’d thought she’d been cutting him out for herself when she steered him away from Laura, that she’d decided not to let another woman near him.

She nearly laughed aloud. Automatically, her head swivelled to look back at him as he followed her, and he came closer to her and said, ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ She shook her head, indignation overcoming the laughter. She’d like to take him down more than a peg, but wrecking her father’s dinner party wasn’t the way to do it. Especially as Laura would field the blame.

She gave him a brilliant smile to hide her thoughts and led him towards a plump, pleasant-faced woman sitting on one of the deep leather sofas and twiddling with her glass while her husband talked with another man. Briar introduced them all to Kynan and, when he’d seated himself beside the woman with every appearance of pleasure, gracefully withdrew to find Laura and fix if necessary whatever was bothering her.

Apparently the crisis was over. Her father and stepmother were talking with another couple now. When she joined them, asking quietly, ‘Is there something you wanted me to do, Laura?’ she received a grateful smile and a whispered,

‘It’s all right, I think. The caterers said they’d sort it out.’

‘I’m sure they will.’ Briar smiled at the other couple and asked after their children, two at university and one still attending school.

As soon as their various whereabouts and latest exam results had been verified, Xavier broke into the conversation. ‘Are you looking after Kynan, Briar?’

Suppressing a retort that she’d never met anyone less in need of looking after, Briar said patiently, ‘I got him a drink and he’s talking to Kath Bailey.’

Xavier frowned. ‘You should have stayed with him.’ Following his eyes, Briar saw Kath talking animatedly, her companion apparently listening with absorbed attention. Kath was a teacher, and, although she probably didn’t have a lot in common with Kynan Roth, she wouldn’t wilt with embarrassment if he should decide to have a little fun at her expense. In fact she’d probably give as good as she got, in the nicest way possible.

‘He looks quite happy,’ she pointed out.

Xavier said, ‘Mmm. Well...I’ll just.... Excuse me a moment.’ And he nodded to the group and went over to the sofa.

Laura glanced at her watch. ‘Dinner should be ready soon.’ She took half a step towards the door, then stopped, apparently remembering her duty as hostess. ‘Briar, would you...?’

‘I’ll check.’ Briar was glad to leave the room. Laura seemed even more nervous than usual, and her father was like a cat on hot bricks. What could possibly be so significant about Kynan Roth?

She got no enlightenment over the meal, although he was seated next to her at the table. The dinner-party chat touched on the news of the day, skated over politics, and moved on to an exchange of views on best-selling books and the latest films, interspersed with business gossip.

Her father seemed surprisingly ready to concur with Kynan Roth’s views—not that the younger man expressed them except when someone directly asked what he thought. And Laura, with her carefully rehearsed list of questions-to-keep-the-conversation-from-flagging, wasn’t the only one who asked. The others seemed to find his opinion worth their attention, even if they disagreed. But most of the time he just listened, with an expression that Briar found impossible to define. Not boredom, exactly. More as though he was patiently waiting for some small glitter of gold to turn up in a pan of dross.

He seemed to have a good mind, and Briar respected that. He didn’t dither about sitting on metaphorical fences, but considered other views and asked intelligent questions, seemingly in pursuit of information, not to score off an opponent. The perfect dinner guest, in fact.

Once he turned to her when a lively debate was going on among their neighbours, and said, ‘Are you always so quiet?’

Briar put down her fork among the remnants of the artichoke on her plate and picked up her wine glass. ‘When there’s no particular need to talk,’ she replied.

‘What do you think of the government’s moves on taxation, then?’ he asked her.

It wasn’t a question her father would ever have thought of asking a woman. She glanced up at Kynan, wondering if he expected her to disclaim any interest in or knowledge of the subject. Was he looking for an opportunity to indulge what she suspected was a heartless sense of humour?

His eyes held nothing that she could detect except a courteous curiosity.

Well, if he really wanted to know, she would tell him. She did, succinctly and logically. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. He raised a point or two that they tossed about between them while the caterers served succulent lamb garnished with paper-thin orange slices and mint sprigs, and then he slanted her an odd little smile before turning to answer a remark addressed to him from across the table.

When she refused dessert, he gave her another smile, accompanied by a quick, surmising and slightly humorous glance over her slim but well-defined figure. Then he spooned into a fluffy four-inch-high cheesecake topped with kiwifruit and strawberries on a thick layer of fresh whipped cream.

Briar was accustomed to people assuming that she skipped sweets because she was dieting, and usually it didn’t bother her. Now, although he hadn’t commented, she found herself biting her tongue to stop herself snapping, ‘I just don’t have a sweet tooth!’ to correct Kynan Roth’s tacit preconception.

When they all returned to the other room for coffee, she helped Laura pass the cups. Her father was talking to Kynan, who listened with his head inclined, his eyes intent and watchful. She let Laura take them coffee, carrying a second tray in the opposite direction. But when Kynan Roth’s cup was empty, Xavier brought it to her for refilling, and muttered, ‘Take this to Kynan, will you? There’s an empty seat beside him now.’

She had to sit by him, since every other chair was occupied. He took his cup from her and regarded her over it before his eyes lowered and he took a sip. ‘Good coffee,’ he said. ‘Where do you get it?’

‘I’ve no idea. That’s Laura’s decision.’ Laura was actually quite good at housekeeping and at backstage organisation, never leaving anything to chance because she suffered such agonies if the smallest thing went wrong. Her indecisiveness and nervous anxiety could drive people like her husband wild, but the professionals she employed liked her, perhaps because she was always grateful for their expert advice.

‘You call your mother Laura?’

‘Stepmother,’ Briar explained briefly.

He didn’t ask for details. ‘You seem to get on well with her.’

‘She’s been extremely good to me.’

‘A change from the stereotype.’

‘Stereotypes are often wrong. I’m no Cinderella.’

‘I can see that.’ His gaze held a shade of mockery. ‘And no ugly stepsisters?’

‘No sisters or brothers of any sort.’

‘You’re an only child?’

‘Yes.’ Laura would have liked children of her own, she was sure. Briar didn’t know if the lack of them had been an accident of fate or a deliberate choice of her father’s.

A bearded man with an incipient paunch came over and said to Kynan, ‘Kath tells me you’re a cricketer.’

‘Used to be,’ Kynan answered. ‘Nowadays I just watch, mostly.’

Clive Bailey, patting his expanding waistline, grinned. ‘Me, too. Our son’s a great little goer, though. Got any kids in the game, yourself?’

‘No kids,’ Kynan said easily. ‘I’m not married.’

‘Thing is,’ Clive explained, ‘our club’s looking for coaches for the juniors—’

Briar finished her coffee and said, ‘Please excuse me. I think Laura needs some help.’

Laura, as always preferring making herself busy to making conversation, had begun collecting empty cups. Kynan emptied his and handed it to Briar as she stood up. She gave him an automatic smile and went to join her stepmother. She’d done her duty by the special guest; her father ought to be satisfied that he’d not been neglected.

But later Xavier cornered her, with Kynan in tow beside him. ‘Kynan’s interested in early New Zealand paintings,’ he told her with an air of something approaching triumph. ‘I told him you’d show him our Heaphy in the library. I don’t like to leave the other guests.’

The other guests, Briar might have told him, would almost certainly not be aware of his absence for five or ten minutes. Good manners prevailed. She mustered a pleasant smile and said, ‘Of course.’

Xavier squeezed the other man’s arm. ‘Briar will look after you.’

Briar reflected that her father appeared to have decided that her mission in life was to look after Kynan Roth. She took a fleeting look at the object of all this attention, and found an ironic glint in his dark eyes, coupled with something else even more disturbing. It occurred to her that she didn’t want to be alone with this man.

But she could hardly come to any harm in a room only two doors away from here. ‘This way,’ she said, turning as they reached the passageway.

He walked at her side, and when she reached out to open the library door he stepped quickly in front of her, so that she steeled herself not to snatch back her hand as his fingers closed about the gleaming brass knob. He cast her a questioning glance and swung open the door, then stood back to let her go first.

Xavier seldom read anything other than newspapers, financial magazines and business guides, though occasionally he skimmed through a book that had hit the best-seller lists or that someone had given him. But the previous owners had stocked the library with classics, travel books and biographies, to which had been added some well-reviewed modern fiction. Xavier frequently worked there on his portable computer, or waded through mountains of paperwork at the huge antique desk.

The Charles Heaphy original, a watercolour of a bracken-covered hillside washed in light, with a painstaking rendering of delicate ponga ferns in the foreground, hung on the wall to one side of the desk.

‘That’s it,’ Briar said unnecessarily. Kynan was already crossing the carpet to inspect it.

Briar stood in the centre of the room waiting for him. Finally he said over his shoulder, ‘Quite a good example, isn’t it?’ He returned his attention to the painting.

‘Is it? I’m no expert, I’m afraid. I’ve always rather liked it, though.’ She walked over to stand beside him, admiring it.

‘Has it been in the family for long?’ He glanced at her again.

‘In the family?’ She shook her head. ‘Dad bought it a few years ago, when the financial wizards were saying that art was a gilt-edged investment for the future. I gather that it hasn’t increased in value as much as he was led to believe it might.’

‘So he’s not a connoisseur?’

She wondered if her father had been trying to impress Kynan with art talk. Xavier was good at picking up snippets of information and trotting them out at opportune moments, giving the impression of more knowledge than he really had.

‘Are you?’ she countered, deflecting the question.

‘I have an interest, but I doubt if I could spot a fake.’

‘This isn’t a fake.’ Her father would have had that thoroughly checked.

He turned to her. ‘I haven’t suggested that it is. Not my field, except in an amateur way.’

‘What is your field?’ she asked him. She’d been wondering all evening. His name had sounded vaguely familiar, but she was unable to make the necessary connection.

‘Didn’t your father brief you?’

‘Brief me?’ She looked at him blankly, finding knowing laughter lurking in his eyes, and dropped her gaze as she recalled being told to be nice to him. She felt as though he was reading her mind, an uncomfortable sensation.

‘I’m in company finance,’ he told her, ‘among other things.’

‘An entrepreneur?’

‘I prefer the term investor. These days entrepreneur tends to be a term of opprobrium.’

‘How times have changed.’

‘Are you old enough to remember?’

‘I’m not a child.’

‘No.’ His eyes gleamed.

Briar looked away.

He said softly, ‘You’re not pretending to be shy?’

She looked up then, and found the cool, piercing eyes on her face, a hint of cynicism in them. ‘I’m not shy.’

‘No, I didn’t think so. Your father tells me he depends on you a lot. I gather your stepmother isn’t nearly as reliable.’

‘She just needs a bit of self-confidence. She’s...’

‘Decorative?’ Kynan suggested drily.

‘She’s also a very nice person!’

‘I’m sure she is. How long have she and your father been married?’

‘About thirteen years.’

‘That long? You must have been just a kid.’

‘A teenager—nearly. Laura was my salvation.’

‘Oh?’ His head cocked as though he wanted to hear more.

She wasn’t prepared to exchange confidences with this discomfiting stranger. She opened her mouth to ask if he was ready to leave now, but he forestalled her. ‘And are you prepared to be hers?’ he asked. ‘Or your father’s?’