Seductive Stranger

'I'll see you tomorrow, then,' he said, leaving, but it wasn't her father who came next morning at ten o'clock to pick her up. Prue was up and dressed, waiting by the window, looking out over the windswept moorland behind the hospital. She saw the red car drive up and park, and stiffened incredulously. The dark head moved below her across the forecourt to the entrance, and her eyes followed it. Was he here to see her? Or was it a coincidence that he was visiting the hospital today?

A moment later he walked into the ward and she heard the muted stir of curiosity among the other patients; everyone stared, whispered.

'I'm here to collect you,' he said, picking up her suitcase from the end of her bed. 'Your father got caught up in an emergency; some of his ewes escaped on to the main road, and he had to round them up before someone ran them down. As I was coming into town, I said I'd pick you up.'

She gave him a tight little smile. "Thank you.' He was being kind again, and she ought to be grateful, but why did he always talk to her in that go-to-blazes voice? I've come to collect you, he said, as if she was a parcel, and all the time those jet-black eyes of his were wandering over her in a desultory fashion, making her both uneasy and furious.

'But I'm in a hurry,' he said, striding off, and Prue had to run to keep up with him, pausing only to wave a last goodbye to the other patients.

In the corridor they met the ward sister, who said briskly, 'Off now, Miss Allardyce? I expect we'll see you when you visit your fiancé.'

'Could I see him now?' Prue pleaded.

'He's asleep at the moment; we don't want to wake him, do we?'

'No, of course not,' Prue sighed. 'When can I visit him, then?'

'I should let him rest today; he's under sedation. Come tomorrow afternoon. Visiting hours are from three to four o'clock.' Her pale eyes then flicked to the man carrying Prue's suitcase, and she gave one of her rare, slightly chilly smiles.

'Good morning, Mr Killane, nice to see you.'

He gave her a nod. 'Hello, Sister Wood.'

Prue froze on the spot; her green eyes wide and shacked. Killane? He was a Killane? Josh, she thought in a slow, stupid way. Josh Killane—of course she remembered him, not that she had seen him very often. He had moved in a very different world from hers, but he had ridden over her father's land with the local hunt. She remembered him very well; he had been mesmeric with that black hair and those dark eyes, in the drama of his red coat, buff breeches and knee-length black leather boots. Prue had watched the hunt from her bedroom window, but she had never ridden with them. She had a pony, like most of the farmers' children in that part of the world, a shaggy moorland pony bought cheaply at a horse auction and broken for her by her father. It was a stolid, patient, gentle creature, but her mother wouldn't let her hunt, and anyway, Prue had been divided in her loyalties. She loved foxes, and hated the savagery of the hunt, yet the huntsmen on their tall, sleek horses had such glamour, particularly Josh Killane, who was a superb horseman, and usually leading the rest of the hunt across hedges and over fields, riding as if he was part of the horse, arrogantly, gracefully, carelessly.

Most of the land in the valley belonged to the Killane family. They owned several farms as well as the one they farmed themselves. They had lived at Killane House since the Napoleonic wars when a returning soldier bought up a great stretch of land, built himself a solid, elegantly functional house, planted a park around it, and started a dynasty.

Her father was one of their tenants; he had been born on the farm which his father had then rented, and he loved the place. Her mother had been a Londoner; she had hated the Killanes and what she called the feudal way of life in the valley. After she married James Allardyce, she tried to get him to leave his farm, go to Australia, where she had a brother, but he would never listen. At first, she had believed him when he said he simply couldn't bear to leave Yorkshire, but gradually she had come to believe that he had another reason for staying in the valley, among the Killanes.

Josh Killane's mother, Lucy, had been the other woman who had wrecked that marriage and driven Susan Allardyce and Prue away to Australia.

CHAPTER TWO

PRUE was so engrossed that she was barely aware of walking out of the hospital, getting into the car, driving away. Josh Killane drove capably; Prue noticed that at last, if reluctantly, prickling with hostility. He didn't seem aware of her; his profile razor-edged, eyes fixed. ahead. He was wearing casual, working clothes: blue denims, a blue shirt, a sheepskin jacket. He still looked tough and he still had the same glamour. It wasn't just the aura of power, or money; the man himself was somehow compelling.

She disliked his manner, his self-assurance, his way of talking, looking at her, but she had to admit that he was not someone you could ever overlook. His features were too masculine; all angles and very insistent. She had a vague idea that he took after his father in feature, as far as she remembered Henry Killane—but in colouring he undoubtedly took after his mother. She could see Lucy Killane now, if she dosed her eyes, so she did, and immediately summoned up the elegant, beautiful woman who had haunted her childhood. Was she still alive? Did she still have that sleek black hair, the eyes of gleaming jet, the flawless camellia skin?

'Why have you come back?' Josh asked abruptly, and she opened her eyes wide at the tone of his voice.

'To see my father!'

'After ten years of silence, you suddenly remembered him?' His voice was dry with sarcasm and she flushed with anger.

'I'm not discussing my private life with you, Mr Killane!'

'I'm sure you don't want to, but you're going to have to . . .' He paused, then emphasised her name, 'Miss Allardyce!'

'Oh, no, I'm not!' Prue said through her teeth. 'You know nothing about me . . .'

'I know your father wrote to you for years without getting a single reply!' he said bitingly. 'Oh, I'm sure he won't reproach you. He's too happy to have you back home to say anything. I'm not going to let you get away that easily, though!'

'This is none of your business!'

'I'm making it my business!' His voice had a harsh rasp, but Prue wasn't backing down, however much he glared.

'Now, look!' she burst out, but he just raised his voice several decibels.

'I like and admire your father and I know how much it hurt him, all these years, having a daughter on the other side of the world who wouldn't even send him a Christmas card!'