Elusive Obsession

Elusive Obsession

Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

PROLOGUE

‘HAVE you just come here to gloat, Falcon?’ her father’s voice rasped disgustedly. ‘Do you find some nefarious pleasure in watching your victims in their last death throes?’

She had been sleeping unobserved behind the curtains of the seated bay window in her father’s study when the two men had entered the room a short time ago, had gone there to hide from Nanny and the lessons she had intended giving her. Having been sent home from boarding-school, because she had fallen victim to the outbreak of mumps that had stricken almost half the pupils of the school, it was completely unfair, she had thought, that she had to do lessons at home now that she felt a little better but was still contagious. There had to be some advantage to being sick, she had decided! And so she had hidden in the one place she knew Nanny would never think to look for her—her father’s study—and then she had fallen asleep in the hot sun that shone through the huge window on this clear May day.

But she hadn’t slept for long, her father’s voice, raised in anger—something she had rarely known from the charmingly mild-mannered man during her nine years of life—easily intruding into her slumbers.

‘You chose this way, Howard.’ The man who answered her father’s impassioned accusation spoke so softly that she could barely hear him, and yet still she could feel the power in his words.

‘What other choice did you leave me?’ her father scorned with obvious contempt for the other man. ‘You’ve taken it all, haven’t you, Falcon? My business, my home, my—— My God, you couldn’t even leave me my pride, couldn’t do that, could you? My God, men like you make me sick!’

Whatever initial guilty thoughts she might have had of revealing her presence behind the curtain had faded almost as quickly as they came into her head; her father wouldn’t like the idea of her eavesdropping—accidentally or otherwise—on what was obviously a very private conversation, but from the little she had already heard she knew he would be even less pleased now if she were to step out and reveal that she had heard anything at all. She might only be nine years old, but she knew this conversation was very serious indeed.

Chalford, her home, the only one she had ever known, gone? To this man, this stranger, a man she couldn’t even see properly?

She had tried to look at him around the edge of the long wine-coloured velvet drapes, but she was too frightened of being discovered to put her head out too far. All she had was an impression of size and power—oh, what power!—that seemed to emanate from his very stillness.

He seemed to turn in her direction at that moment, as if sensing he was being observed, and she quickly ducked back behind the cover of the curtain, her breath caught in her throat as she waited in terrified expectation for a hand to reach out and drag her from her hiding place to face the full force, not just of Nanny’s displeasure at the way she had hidden from her so that she shouldn’t do those awful lessons, but her father’s wrath at her behaviour too. And his disappointment in her would be much harder to bear than Nanny’s scolding…

But as the seconds ticked by on the grandfather clock that stood against one wall of her father’s study, and no hand reached out for her, she slowly began to breathe again.

Once again the reply to her father’s accusation was made quietly. ‘No one twisted your arm, Howard,’ the man dismissed calmly. ‘You did it all yourself.’

‘Oh, yes, of course I did,’ her father scoffed scathingly. ‘How easy it is for men like you to set traps for gullible men like me——’

‘Greedy men like you,’ he was corrected harshly, ‘who blame everyone but themselves, the only real culprit, for their mistakes!’

She was filled with fury against this man. How dared he talk to her beloved father like that? She wanted to go out there and kick his shins for him, demand that he apologise to her father, who had to be the cleverest, most wonderful man in the world.

But before outrage could overcome good sense her father answered the man. ‘The only mistake I ever made was in believing I could trust you!’ he said self-disgustedly. ‘Oh, get out, will you, Falcon?’ He suddenly sounded very weary. ‘Chalford isn’t yours yet, not until the dust has settled and the lawyers say it is, and until that happens you aren’t welcome in my home. Now get out, Falcon,’ he repeated harshly. ‘And take Janette with you.’

Janette? Why on earth would her stepmother want to leave with this hateful man, a man her father obviously hated? None of this made any sense to her.

‘I don’t want your wife, Howard,’ the other man told him hardly. ‘I never did.’

‘Served her purpose, has she?’ her father said with knowing contempt. ‘Well, I don’t want her any more either!’

‘That’s between the two of you,’ the other man dismissed without emotion. ‘I’m only interested in——’

‘I know why you’re here, Falcon,’ her father cut in heatedly. ‘And I’ve told you, you have everything else—the house you’ll have to wait for. And much joy may it give you every time you think of how it came into your possession!’ There was the sound of the door behind wrenched open. ‘I’ve asked you to leave twice; if I have to do so again I’ll call in the police and have you forcibly removed—I wonder how that would look in newsprint?’

There was silence for several long-drawn-out seconds after this direct challenge, and she suddenly realised she was holding her breath again, this time without even knowing she had been doing it. She didn’t understand half the conversation she had unwittingly overheard, but she did recognise the raw emotion behind her father’s words as he once again ordered the man Falcon to leave Chalford immediately.

‘Very well,’ the other man finally conceded, and there was the sound of him moving towards the door her father obviously still held open for him. ‘I suggest we talk again, Howard, when you feel in a more reasonable frame of mind.’

‘And I suggest,’ her father returned tautly, ‘that in future you stay well away from me and my family!’

The door was closed with only slightly repressed violence as the other man finally seemed to have left, and with his departure the room was suddenly filled with an ominous silence, a silence that seemed endless.

She wanted to run out into the room, put her arms around her father and tell him that she thought the Falcon man was hateful too, that she didn’t want him to have her beloved Chalford, that he couldn’t let that awful man come and live here! But if she did that she would give away her hiding place, reveal that she had been eavesdropping on their conversation. And, indulgent as her father was with her, she knew that would make him cross all over again.

No, she would just have to wait here now until her father left his study, and then creep quietly away herself. It was almost teatime, so she shouldn’t have too long to wait, and her stomach rumbled hopefully; her father always joined them in the small family sitting-room for tea.

She could hear him moving about his study now, knew he had sat down at the desk, that he was opening and shutting the drawers as he looked for things he wanted. And then the room fell very silent, and as the minutes passed the muscles in her legs began to ache from the effort of having to sit completely still so that she wouldn’t be detected.

Suddenly, when she was beginning to think she would have to move anyway and face the consequences, without any warning, except perhaps the smallest of clicking noises, the silence was shattered by a deafening roar.

For a moment she was just too stunned to move, and then her surprise at the sudden noise turned to puzzlement. She had recognised the sound only too well, often having accompanied her father on his seasonal ‘shoots’. But he had always impressed on her, on those occasions, the importance of never having a loaded gun anywhere near the house, of always making sure the safety catch was on before handling a gun at all.

And yet she knew, without a doubt, that it was the sound of a gun being shot that had reverberated around the room seconds ago.

There was the sound of running feet in the hallway outside now, the door to the study being thrown open, the babble of the voices of the people who had entered the room—she guiltily recognised Nanny’s as being one of them, and there was Sylvester the butler too, and Mrs Hall the housekeeper—coming to an abrupt and sudden end … possibly so that her father could reprimand them for entering his study without knocking, as they were supposed to do!

‘My God…!’ Sylvester finally groaned raggedly.

She wondered why Nanny hadn’t rebuked him for the blasphemy, as she knew the elderly lady would have done if it had been her. The old lady had been Daddy’s nanny first, was almost at retirement age now, and her old-fashioned morality lingered on with this, the second generation.

But her curiosity was now fast overtaking any fear she had of a reprimand for disappearing in the way she had after lunch, until finally she couldn’t stand it any longer, silently leaving her hiding place, edging quietly into the room in the direction of her father’s desk, which seemed to be where everyone else’s attention was centred. So intent were they all that they didn’t even see her.

What she saw when she reached the desk made her eyes widen with disbelieving horror, and all the colour drain from her cheeks. That—that couldn’t be her father! It was too grotesque, horrific, unrecognisable as a human being, even. And the blood. Good God, there was blood everywhere. Everywhere. All over the pale blue shirt and checked jacket she knew her father had been wearing earlier in the day!

She opened her mouth to scream as she realised it was her father. But no sound passed her lips. And the silent scream went on and on and on…

CHAPTER ONE

‘I’VE dressed some brides in my time, Di——’ Joanna lovingly arranged the ivory-coloured veil for what must have been the dozenth time ‘—but you look—you look——’ Words seemed to fail the twice-married and twice-divorced cynic.

‘Fantastic!’ Cally told her without hesitation as she burst into the room and heard the latter part of their conversation.

‘Absolutely beautiful.’ Joanna, perfectly capable of talking for herself, drily chose her own description. ‘Of course, the gown could have something to do with it…!’

‘It has everything to do with it.’ Diana finally spoke from behind the sheer ivory-coloured veil with its beautifully arranged teardrop pearls draping her forehead. ‘Charles is going to be delighted,’ she said with husky confidence, squeezing the older woman’s arms reassuringly.

‘He had better be!’ Joanna told her fiercely as she still fussed over the veil, seeking absolute perfection in its shimmering length that cascaded to the base of Diana’s spine, her hair shimmering like gold beneath the whole length of it. ‘I’ve had nightmares about the next few moments!’

‘You had better get out there, Di,’ Cally advised warningly. ‘Before Charles is reduced to a quivering wreck!’

‘And why shouldn’t he be?’ Joanna said with a certain amount of relish. ‘After the week he’s just given me, I feel like one!’

With a wryly affectionate smile for the older woman Diana glided over to the door in the ivory satin gown, the tiny teardrop pearls on her forehead the only adornment on both the veil and the gown, the simplistic lines of the latter outlining the perfection of her uptilted breasts, slender length of waist, and gently curving hips. It was a gown of sheer genius, a masterpiece.

‘Oh, my God, I almost forgot to tell you in the excitement!’ Cally hurried over to her, stunningly beautiful herself in a shimmering gold gown. ‘The mystery guest has at last arrived,’ she told Diana breathlessly. ‘It’s Reece Falcon!’ The announcement was made with a triumphant note for the effect the man’s identity was sure to have.

But Cally couldn’t know just how much of an effect it had had on the woman so thankfully hidden behind the shimmering veil. Her cheeks paled, green eyes glazed with forbidden memories, her mouth suddenly dry.

‘He’s Chris’s father,’ Cally encouraged as she received no obvious response from Diana. ‘Christopher Falcon,’ she enlarged frustratedly as she still had no reply. ‘The man who has been sending you red roses all week and generally making a pest of himself!’

Diana swallowed hard, fighting to regain control. It had just been the shock, the suddenness—— She had known she would have to face him again one day, but she had hoped it would be by her design, not like this, not today; she hadn’t even realised he had been sent an invitation. But perhaps he hadn’t, not in the normal way; Charles would have been sure to tell her of such an important guest. No, Reece Falcon had arranged this at the last minute; he was the sort of man who, when he decided he wanted something, made sure he got it. Getting himself invited here today would have been easy for a man like him.

Cally still looked deflated by her lack of reaction. ‘Diana——’

‘Will you stop delaying the girl?’ Joanna cut in desperately. ‘I can hear Charles building up to the finale now. God knows what he will do if Diana is late with her entrance——!’

‘Heaven forbid the bride should be late,’ Diana returned drily, fully in command of her emotions again now. Reece Falcon was just a man, with chinks in his arrogant armour like any other; hadn’t she managed to find one of them? Wasn’t that the reason he was here today? But there was nothing he could do to her, absolutely nothing he could do that would touch her either mentally or physically.

‘There won’t be a dry eye in the house,’ Joanna predicted. Even cynically hardened as she was, she was obviously moved by the delicate perfection of the bride who stood before her.

Diana gave her a grateful smile before stepping proudly from the room, she could hear the expectant murmur of voices in the main room as she took her place in readiness for presenting herself to them, professionalism taking over as she stepped out on to the catwalk right on cue, barely aware of the awed gasps of admiration as she began her slow walk—just the way Charles had told her he wanted it done!—down the raised platform. Silence fell over the entire room as she did so, even the effervescent Charles, the designer-genius of the gown, having nothing further to say after he had announced the ‘Divine Bride’.

All week, at this Paris fashion show, Diana had been showing Charles’s ‘Divine Collection’ exclusively. For she was Divine.

It had all started out as a gimmick thought up by her agent and herself when she first took up modelling four years ago: the Divine Diana. But as her career took off she had simply become known as Divine to her colleagues and the public alike. This exclusive collection named after her was as much an accolade to her own success as it was to Charles’s brilliance as a designer. This wedding gown, her final appearance for the week, was to be her—and obviously Charles’s—pièce de résistance.

And from the stunned reaction of the audience, as they gazed up at her with wide-eyed wonder, it was having the desired effect.

But now, at this moment in time, Diana was interested in one reaction only to her appearance—that of the man seated in the chair in the centre of the row at the very end of the catwalk—a chair, placed between a beautiful redhead on one side and a lovely blonde on the other, that had, until a very short time ago, remained mockingly empty. Model after model, as they came backstage for another quick change, had exclaimed over this unusual fact as the show progressed. It was unheard of for a seat to remain empty in this way at the Paris Fashion Show. And right there, at the end of the catwalk, it had been so glaringly obvious to them all.

But the seat, as Cally had stated, was empty no longer, was now occupied by a man whose very size seemed to dwarf those around him.

It was him. Reece Falcon. Or just Falcon, as he was generally known. A bird of prey. How apt.

And Diana knew that today she was the focus of that narrowed silver gaze. Not admiringly, as with the rest of the audience, but with cold, raking assessment, chilling contempt stamped on every arrogant line of his harshly chiselled face.

The veil she wore acted as a shield, gauzy admittedly, but it nevertheless meant she could look out, while no one—including this silver-eyed devil—could look in. It was all the reprieve she needed after learning of his unexpected presence here today. She knew why he was here, of course, had known this moment would have to arrive eventually. That chink in his armour…

The photographs she had seen of him didn’t in any way do him justice, could in no way tell of the power he emanated as he sat there so still and totally knowing. The lightweight hand-made suit he wore did nothing to tame the sheer animal savagery of the man, and neither did the cream silk shirt and neatly knotted tie at the base of his throat, all of them the trappings of civilisation worn by a man who lived by his own rules and not those dictated to him.

Dark hair that seemed inclined to curl was kept neatly cut to his perfectly shaped head, equally dark brows winging arrogantly over those narrowed silver-coloured eyes, the latter taking on a slightly luminous quality against the dark tan of his skin. His nose looked as if it might have been broken at some time in his life—probably by one of his many enemies, Diana dismissed with contempt—appearing almost hawklike with that slight bump in its bridge, further enhancing his Falcon reputation, no doubt. His mouth was thin and unsmiling, his jaw square and challenging as his head tilted back in that steady assessment. A bird of prey, in fact.

But she had no intention of being his next victim!

As Charles had instructed, she glided to a halt at the end of the catwalk, pausing for effect, all eyes riveted on her now, before slowly raising slender silver-tipped fingers and lifting the veil back from her face.

As Charles had predicted, spontaneous applause filled the room as the full effect of her youthful beauty in the magnificently simple gown became apparent, several women openly crying at the simplistic perfection she presented.

Reece Falcon, Diana noticed, remained unsmiling, showing no emotion whatsoever, although that luminous glitter of his eyes seemed to have taken on a mesmerising quality.

Diana wasn’t in the least conceited about the way she looked, had no illusions about her pale ‘English Rose’ beauty; after all, for the last four years her face and her body had been her fortune, and the photographers and designers left her in no doubt about the fact that she would only be popular for as long as those looks lasted.

Her golden hair, naturally wavy, reached to the base of her spine, framing a face that was hauntingly lovely; green always-distant eyes flecked with gold were surrounded by thick dark lashes, her nose was short and straight, her lips full and sensual, her chin small and pointed, her skin as pale and creamy as magnolia. She had an almost Pre-Raphaelite beauty, an unworldliness that made her much in demand both for modelling and photographic sessions.

But she might as well have been a block of misshapen wood for all the impression she had made on Reece Falcon!

A cold lack of emotion remained in that silver-eyed gaze as she moved first to one side of the T-shaped dais and then the other to show the full effect of the gracefully flowing lines of the back of the gown, her hair glistening like gold against the ivory veil.

Diana held her features composed in the dreamily distant way Charles had wanted from her, her hands steepled together almost in prayer as she walked, the long ivory sleeves ending in a point that reached the knuckle of the third finger of each hand. She had the look of a proudly sacrificial bride.

The silence began to be broken now as some of the women in the audience began to whisper together excitedly, overcome by the majestic beauty.

Diana knew her composure must have slipped slightly as the beautiful redhead sitting to the left of Reece Falcon turned to him and murmured softly, the blue-eyed gaze remaining fixed on Diana as she did so.

The woman had been here from the beginning of the show, but when she laid a slender scarlet-tipped hand on Reece Falcon’s arm as she spoke to him, an act that implied intimacy between them, it was obvious the two of them knew each other very well.

It was the first indication Diana had had that Reece Falcon wasn’t here alone.

It should mean nothing to her, did mean nothing, and yet—— Reece Falcon had had a string of women in his life since his divorce ten years ago, and it was unlikely this one would be any more significant than any of them had been, yet she hadn’t realised he was involved with anyone at the moment…

Before she began that long slow walk back up the catwalk, to the sound of thunderous applause now, she found herself giving the other woman a more searching look. She wasn’t as young as Diana had first thought; she looked to be in her mid to late thirties—very close to Reece Falcon’s own age of thirty-nine—although the professionally artful use of make-up made her initially appear more youthful. Small and delicately made, and expensively dressed in designer-label clothes that Diana instantly recognised as such, the woman was obviously the sophisticated socialite Reece Falcon usually involved himself with. Beautiful as the woman was, she only held half of Reece Falcon’s attention as she spoke to him, the other half being firmly fixed on Diana, and so she doubted the other woman would figure any more prominently in his life than any of those others had over the years.

Diana couldn’t help the slightly contemptuous twist to her lips as she turned to begin the walk back, whatever slight wavering of confidence she had momentarily known disappearing completely as those silver eyes continued to glare up at her; whatever place the beautiful redhead had in his life, she couldn’t completely divert his attention away from Diana!

The congratulations, once she reached the changing-room, from Joanna and the other models, passed over her head as if she was in a dream as she stepped out of the wedding gown to reveal that she wore only skin-coloured panties beneath, her breasts full and rosy-tipped, her body more slender unclothed than it had appeared in the exquisite clothes she had been modelling all week, her legs long and slim, each movement she made unknowingly graceful, her hair at last revealed in all its long shimmering glory as Joanna carefully removed the delicacy of the pure lace veil.

Diana’s attention was held by the bouquet of roses that lay on a table in the corner of the room—today’s offering from Chris, the card attached to them having remained unopened as they had arrived during the rush and bustle of the half an hour before the show began. She had felt no urgency to open the envelope and read the card inside because she had thought it would be the same as the others during the week; two simple words—‘Marry me’. But perhaps this time she had been wrong; surely Chris knew his father was here, in Paris?