Passionate Retribution

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Copyright

“This is to be temporary, then, this marriage?”

“Most are, it seems to me,” Luke replied harshly.

“And I take it liaisons—discreet, of course—would be acceptable.” Emily watched the gleaming, predatory expression steal across his face.

“My wife won’t require another lover.”

He was awesome, Emily had to admit it. She was playing with fire, but it would be worth it. How dare he assume she was his for the taking?

KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in rural Anglesey, Wales. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing! It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons, and the various stray animals that have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!

Passionate Retribution

Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

A DARK figure silently emerged from behind a bank of luxuriant foliage and Emily let out a sharp yelp of alarm. A sliver of moonlight revealed the intruder’s features and she gave a grunt of shock which she swiftly disguised as irritation. ’must you loom like that? You almost gave me a heart attack.’ She gave a frown. ‘I thought you were in the Bahamas or somewhere,’ she added critically. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I knew you’d be delighted to see me,’ a deep, gravelly voice murmured smoothly. ‘How long has it been?’ Emily had a glimpse of white teeth as he gave an ironic grin. ‘Actually it was the Seychelles,’ he corrected.

‘Somewhere hot, anyway,’ she agreed, brushing aside a few miles of ocean with an airy wave of her hand.

‘Talking of hot, infant, why are you skulking in the conservatory?’ He loosened his tie as he spoke and idly plucked a juicy grape from the vine which was trained above his head.

Emily’s lips pursed in aggravation as she watched him bite the dark fruit. He had used the denigrating childhood term with benevolent scorn. Luke had always made the most of the fact that he was twelve years her senior, and as a child ‘infant’ had always been able to send her into an incoherent rage. She was sure that despite his negligent manner the word had been calculated; most things about Luke were calculated and his malicious humour took a continual lazy delight in mocking her own family. ‘I was seeking a little privacy,’ she said pointedly, refusing to notice the minor irritation. Tonight even Lucas Hunt wasn’t going to spoil the euphoria of the occasion.

‘It is an incredibly tedious party,’ he said sympathetically. ‘Don’t grind your teeth like that; it’s very bad for the enamel,’ he advised her helpfully.

‘If it’s such a tedious party I don’t know why you bothered coming,’ she hissed back. ‘No one invited you.’

‘What? Miss an occasion like this—my favourite Stapely engaged to be married? It’s an obligation.’

She gave a derisory hoot. ‘You wouldn’t recognise obligation if you fell over it; and as for being your favourite…’ His opinion of her family hardly gave her cause to consider this casual comment a compliment.

‘Admittedly there’s not much competition: Charlotte sends me to sleep if I spend more than five minutes in her company, and your brother has the wit and charm of a waxwork. If he were similarly dumb I might be able to tolerate him, but he reveals the intellect of a bigoted bore every time he opens his mouth.’

‘My sister…’ Emily began, her eyes sparkling. In all sincerity she couldn’t help sympathising with this opinion of her brother; his pompous smugness made it almost impossible for her to be civil to him. Fortunately their paths crossed little, but she felt instantly protective of her sister. Charlotte might be no intellectual giant but there was more to her than Luke’s damning comment suggested.

‘Is so two-dimensional I half expect her to disappear viewed sideways on.’

‘You are incredibly snide and unpleasant to her and she suspects there’s some dark, sinister meaning to everything you say.’

‘And do I inspire similar inarticulate awe in you?’

‘I know there’s some dark, sinister meaning in everything you say,’ she responded frankly. ‘And if you’ve come here to spoil my night, I warn you, Luke…if you pull one of your tricks…’

Luke took a step forward and she could see his features clearly for the first time. The innocent expression should have looked absurd on the severely chiselled, swarthily dark features, but it didn’t. He had changed little over the four years since she’d last seen him, unlike herself. Even if she was never going to be a raving beauty, she knew she had more to recommend her now than as the awkward, confused adolescent she had been then. Fortunately she was also now immune to the effortless charm. Mockery glittered in the intensely blue eyes. ’tricks, Emily…?’

She clicked her tongue with disapproval recalling the occasions he’d turned up at family events, his attire and companions always geared to offend the stuffy formality. ‘Are you alone?’ she asked suspiciously, recalling the voluptuous actress he’d brought to her parents’ silver wedding celebrations. Her father had tried so hard to avoid the lady’s ample cleavage, without much success. Luke had obviously been behind the woman’s embarrassingly tactile admiration of her parent, and the conveniently placed photographer who had captured the moment for the gossip column of a national newspaper the following morning…

‘Straight from the plane.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Didn’t even have time to shave; suffering from jet-lag. Aren’t you flattered, Emmy?’ He gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘You little sceptic—here, feel.’

Emily was too startled to demur when he firmly placed her hand against his jaw, rubbing the pads of her fingertips against the coarse, dark growth. She blinked to banish a sudden flurry of confusion as her eyes met the intense blue regard. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped, pulling her hand away. She looked pointedly at his fingers, very brown against her arm. Luke smiled slowly and released her, but not before his fingers had trailed over the blue-veined inner aspect of her wrist.

‘I wish you hadn’t troubled yourself on my account,’ she told him, rubbing her wrist where his fingers, despite their light hold, seemed to have left a mark on her skin. She half expected to see the smudge of bruises but her flesh looked as creamily flawless as earlier.

‘I shall be exemplary, an example of upright smug superiority, as befits a Stapely.’

‘You are not a Stapely,’ she reminded him.

‘How kind of you to remind me.’ A cynical smile curved his lips. ‘Having seen what being a Stapely means at close quarters, I’ve always seen that as a cause for celebration. I seem to remember you usually accompanied that gibe with the delightful spectacle of your tongue.’ His contemplative glance touched her mouth.

‘I grew out of that habit,’ she retorted. Did he imagine he could make her feel guilty for her childish cruelty? she wondered. All the same, it was aggravating to acknowledge that there was a sense of guilt, though heaven knew why—her infantile missiles had always glanced off him. ‘I’m grown-up these days.’

The blue eyes seemed more intense as they unblinkingly examined the proof to substantiate this claim. ‘Is that why you’re marrying, Emmy, to prove the fact?’

Emily realised she’d been holding her breath, waiting for him to speak. Her hand went to cover her bare throat where a pulse was throbbing almost painfully. She rubbed the skin, a faint frown flitting across her face; she was curiously unsettled by the inspection. ‘I feel no need to prove things, Luke, especially not to you.’

‘Why especially not me?’ he shot back swiftly. ‘Am I special, Emmy?’ His deep voice seeped honeyed mockery.

‘I realise you imagine the world revolves around you but—and I know this will come as a shock—some of us make life’s major decisions without considering your opinion.’ Emily’s lips tightened; her barbed comments had brought an almost humorous glint to his eyes.

‘You’re so passionate, infant, incoherently intense. Are you sure it’s you who aren’t the proper Stapely?’ he drawled mockingly. ‘Isn’t there something a tad common about impulsive displays of emotion?’

‘I believe the notion of a mix-up at the hospital was discussed,’ she couldn’t prevent herself commenting drily. There was little intimacy in her family and never had been; she had learnt early on that impetuous displays of warmth and affection were received, at best, awkwardly.

‘What’s he like, then, love’s young dream?’ He turned the subject, only a glimmer of a smile acknowledging her wry comment. His eyes remained beacons of cynicism.

‘Am I to suppose you are for one minute interested?’ Her withering look had no visible effect upon him. ‘You’re so bloody patronising,’ she muttered, chewing her lower lip.

He raised one dark, eloquent brow and plucked another grape. ‘I asked because I am mildly interested at the sort of man who has finally made you fly the nest—or rather move from one prettily feathered nest,’ he amended, ’to another. Want one?’ he added, holding a juicy fruit to her lips. He shrugged as she shook her head, and swallowed it himself. ‘I am assuming he’s not a pauper.’

‘I don’t know why you would assume that,’ she replied coldly. Only Luke could imply that a person was an avaricious little schemer with that infuriating smile. ‘What has money to do with it?’ she enquired haughtily.

‘Oh, not a thing,’ he agreed blandly, ‘when one is filthy rich.’ He enlarged on the subject with smiling disdain. ‘I mean, it would never occur to you to do anything as tasteless as to fall in love with a poor man, would it, sweetheart?’

He wasn’t going to ruin her night, she told herself, aware of anger building steadily. He’s doing it deliberately, she told herself; don’t take the bait. ‘I take it you’ve decided to despise my fiancé without having even met him,’ she observed with frigid scorn.

‘Some things in life have a sort of inevitability, Em. The day you decided to let your father run your life, you set a certain sequence in motion. I feel as if I’ve known Gavin most of my life.’

‘My father does not run my life.’

‘Come off it, Em; you’ve never set foot outside the cocooned abnormality of this mink-lined asylum. You’ve been toeing the party line ever since you could walk. Did Daddy pick out the bridegroom—or just give you a list of candidates?’

Emily sank her nails into the flesh of her soft palms to release some of the anger that made her want to lash out. How dared he breeze in here assuming he knew her every motivation? An encounter with Lucas bloody Hunt served to make her realise her good fortune in finding Gavin. He was the antithesis of Luke, she realised, mentally comparing the two men.

‘Oh, I found Gavin all on my own,’ she said breezily.

‘Impressive. And what does Gavin do?’

Why do I feel defensive? Why shouldn’t Gavin work in her family’s merchant bank? she told herself, her chin tilting a few more degrees to an aggressive angle. ‘Gavin works at the bank.’

‘With an impeccable lineage, of course.’

‘I wouldn’t care if he came from a long line of bastards,’ she retorted hotly. How dared he breeze in here and calmly put her on trial? She wished he’d stayed on whatever inaccessible spot he’d flown in from.

‘That’s very liberal of you; speaking as a first-generation bastard, I find that heart-warming.’

‘I feel certain you wouldn’t have allowed birth to stop you achieving that particular state. Lucas Hunt, you are a self-made…’ A finger to her lips stopped her completing her sentence, and he shook his head admonishingly. She hit out with her hand, but his thumb moved to the angle of her chin, his long fingers cupping her jaw.

‘I wouldn’t advise it, Emmy.’

‘What?’ she snapped, an imminent storm flecking her eyes with gold lights. She gave an inarticulate sound of fury in her throat as her attempts to twist her head free were futile; there was tensile strength in those hands, she realised.

‘Bite, isn’t that the instinct that’s making you grind your teeth? Bad idea,’ he drawled with an indulgent sympathy that made the idea of drawing blood all the more attractive. ‘How many people know that beneath that air of quiet composure lurks a little savage?’

‘The only savage around here, Luke, is you,’ she hissed. In fact, she found the strength of her desire to sink her teeth into his flesh vaguely shocking. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ve your own reasons for being here, concern for my welfare not being one if them. I might have to tolerate your presence because my family——’

‘Through a misplaced sense of loyalty won’t throw me out,’ he supplied with unerring accuracy. ‘You don’t believe that, do you, infant?’ he said slowly, as his forefinger traced the outline of her full lips. ’this is a public occasion—I feel sure all the socially significant people are here, and a show of family unity is called for. No matter how much Charlie would love to throw me out of Charlcot, he won’t.’

With a sense of quiet desperation she shook her head and much to her relief Luke released her; the tactile sensation had been intimidating out of all proportion to the casual contact. It must be the tension of the whole occasion, she told herself; it was far too elaborate, not at all the quiet, intimate celebration she had wanted. But Gavin had sided with her family on this occasion until she’d felt it churlish not to go along.

‘I suppose you think being something of a celebrity makes your presence indispensable,’ she sneered, willing her pulse-rate to return to its normal level. She ignored the undoubted accuracy of his observation; in public, at least, her family would accept Luke.

‘Being a publicly recognisable face means more to your father than it does to me. Not only does he have to accept me publicly, he actually has to project pride.’ The smile was cruelly complacent. ‘You find it more comfortable to accept things on face value, don’t you?’ he said with contemplative distaste. ‘You’ve acquired a veneer of unpleasant hypocrisy, Emily.’

‘It’s you who continues this feud, a remnant of some childish grudge. Don’t you think it’s about time you forgot the past? I don’t care what you think of me, but none of it has anything to do with me,’ she said wearily. The constant warring repelled her; there was something so single-minded, almost malignant, about Luke’s derisive contempt.

‘While your name is Stapely, Em, you are involved,’ he said, a harsh inflexion in his voice.

‘Then the fact I’m about to change my name should please you: one less Stapely for you to hate!’ she yelled. A sudden frown. ‘You don’t seem exactly overjoyed at my impending nuptials,’ she said, puzzled, as it occurred to her that he was displaying uncharacteristic interest.

Luke shrugged, his long, lean body relaxed in contrast to her tense posture. The hooded eyelids half shielding the brilliant blue gaze gave the impression of boredom. ‘Do you require universal approval for peace of mind, Em? Surely a few home truths from me can’t matter. Can it be that there are doubts lurking in that delectable heaving breast? Are there?’

‘They don’t…You don’t…Not that they are true, of course,’ she amended somewhat incoherently. The direction of his gaze made the colour rise in her face. ‘You have a distorted view of everything,’ she protested. Something on the periphery of her vision distracted her. She tore her eyes from the ironic blue gaze. At the same instant it occurred to her that it could appear strange if she emerged from the shrubbery with anyone other than her fiancé, especially if the other turned out to be Luke. She heard the sound of said fiancés voice and gave a grimace; she wished she hadn’t waited guiltily for those few silent moments—she should have revealed her presence immediately.

She didn’t look up at Luke; she was sure he would take the opportunity to make the situation as awkward as possible. Not that Gavin would believe for an instant anything but the most innocent of explanations; unlike Luke, he didn’t have a cynical, distorted view of human nature.

‘We shouldn’t, Gavin.’

Emily froze in the act of stepping forward.

‘We’ve got to tell her, Charlotte.’ The sound of soft cries of distress and the unmistakable murmers of exchanged embraces hung in the humid air.

Emily felt strangely objective, as if what she was listening to had nothing to do with her: it was as impersonal as a radio drama. It wasn’t her fiancé and her sister exchanging what sounded like a wildly passionate embrace, but two strangers and studio effects. The sound of her own breath sounded unexpectedly loud in her ears, accompanied by the thud of her heartbeat.

‘It’s no good, Gavin, we can’t do this to Emmy… she’s my sister.’ Emily heard her sister’s soft voice crack with emotion and the sound of soft sobs filled the room.

A mental scream was building in her head; this was real…it was actually happening. Her head felt as if it would explode; there was no vocal outlet for the anguish that swiftly flowed through her ruthlessly. With my own sister…The words went around in her head. Not Charlotte, she prayed uselessly, the concept was too awful to contemplate, but it was true. Gavin’s reply left no room for doubt.

‘But it’s you I want, darling.’

‘I couldn’t, knowing I’d wrecked Emmy’s happiness. I couldn’t live with that.’

Emily touched her cheek, surprised to find it wet with tears. Teeth clamped over her lower lip, she closed her eyes. She couldn’t live with it, poor Charlotte, she thought bitterly. Charlotte was a fraud. Anger mixed with an acute nausea surged through her in violent waves. It seems a little late for regrets, sister, dear.

‘But I need you…’

She had never heard that inflexion in Gavin’s voice, she wished she hadn’t heard it now. The pain was intense, and humiliation more profound than anything she had encountered before confronted her like a solid object. It jolted into life a long-forgotten memory, just as an odour could conjure up some distant recollection of a time, a place, an event consigned to the dim recesses of memory.

‘Emily needs you.’

She shook her head free of the scarlet fingernails running through the dark hair of the tall man. The image was startlingly vivid. Her mind returned to her sister’s soft pink nails and her fiancé’s blond hair. The pain was acute; it stimulated her senses, and she was conscious of every nuance in the voices; her ears, strained to hear, could imagine every gesture, every touch.

‘Emily needs someone to agree with her.’ Bitterness was unmistakable and she bit her lip to stop the sound of distress which obstructed her throat. ’she never actually listens to me.’

The duplicity was like a physical blow. He was angry with her…The irony tasted bitter in her dry mouth. She couldn’t listen to any more; she felt as if the walls were closing in around her. With her hands clamped over her ears she ran towards the open door that led out on to the terrace, past caring if they heard her.

The soft evening air hit her after the hothouse atmosphere of the emotion-clogged room she’d fled from. She hit the turf running and didn’t stop until her lungs complained too fiercely. She sank down on to her knees and her head fell forward, spreading her honeybrown hair around her. A touch on the exposed nape of her neck made her start and raise her tear-stained, turbulent features.

‘Go away!’ she spat venomously. The last thing she needed right now was any of Luke’s barbed comments. What had happened was bad enough, but that Luke of all people had heard every humiliating syllable was the crowning glory.

He met the tear-drenched, golden-brown eyes, shot with gold as they always were when she was in the grip of strong emotion, impassively. ‘OK,’ he agreed after a short pause.

She watched as he turned, his long-legged stride, peculiarly elegant, swallowing up the ground. ‘No, don’t go…’

He turned. ‘You need a whipping-boy?’ he asked, one dark eyebrow quirking.

‘Well, if it’s sympathy I’m after I wouldn’t be turning to you, would I?’ she snapped back. She sniffed loudly; the instinctive words needed an explanation, and she was glad he’d supplied it because she couldn’t. Why cling to Luke’s company? She pushed her heavy hair back from her face and straightened the skirt of her heavy silk dress. ‘Grass stains all over,’ she said, wondering why she was discussing the state of her clothes when her whole future lay in shreds around her…

How could they? Outraged horror blinded her to her surroundings; she forgot the man standing contemplating her limp, distraught figure with enigmatic eyes. How long had they been…? They had been lovers… they were; some instinct told her this. The intimacy had been in their voices.

She recalled Gavin’s smiling face as her parents had toasted them earlier; nothing in his exterior had given any clue to the infidelity which even then he—they— must have been plotting and scheming. Had he continued with the charade because he hadn’t been totally sure of Charlotte? Am I a reserve? she wondered furiously.

Luke reached her side. He held out a hand to heave her to her feet. ‘In that dress, Emily, no one’s eyes stray as far as the skirt,’ he assured her. His eyes were fixed unapologetically on the upper slopes of her breasts, which gleamed above the stark black fabric of her strapless gown.

‘Not everybody has such a sordid mind as you,’ she told him. The sexual innuendo was peculiar: nothing like that ever entered their relationship…friendship would be stretching it to breaking-point, though he wasn’t always as unpleasant as he had been this evening. Luke sparred with her, baited her, tried and occasionally succeeded in shocking her, but nothing intimate. Even in her present state of miserable confusion she registered that she didn’t care for that brief comment, made more to distract her than for any other reason, she was sure. Was that Luke’s idea of kindness? His next words firmly contradicted this concept and made her catch her breath.

‘If you find a healthy admiration of a good cleavage sordid, maybe that’s why lover boy has looked elsewhere,’ he suggested unsympathetically.

She felt torn between a strong desire to collapse into tears of pain, and violent outrage at the heartless comment. The brilliant blue regard was as cold and indifferent as ice; pride made her face him without a quiver in her voice, and a sense of self-preservation kept her hands firmly at her sides. The pleasure of striking him would be diluted by the fact that he would undoubtedly retaliate in kind; she’d tried that in the dim and distant past and some things never changed.

‘My sex life is none of your business.’

‘Just as well—I have such a lamentably low boredom threshold,’ he said silkily.

‘You’re enjoying this,’ she accused, her voice shaking. ‘I have just…’

‘Found out your boyfriend prefers the big sister,’ he provided helpfully as she took several deep breaths. He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘Why worry? You heard her about to make the supreme sacrifice on the altar of sisterly love.’ He made a noise of disgust. ‘I thought I was going to throw up. All you have to do is keep quiet.’