'Where do you think it came from?' she yelled at him triumphantly.
'I have no idea.'
'From Grandpa! You eat his food. You don't mind taking our best fat lambs, do you? But then you break every agreement ever made. You threaten Grandpa with eviction. What are you trying to do? Kill him?'
He frowned. 'What is this agreement? What are you talking about?'
'The agreement between us and Marian Park, that's what! And you haven't heard of it because you wouldn't listen. But you'll listen now, by heaven! The agreement was never put on paper, but my great-grandfather and Henry Lloyd's father shook hands on it. That was all that was necessary. They were men. Men's men! Not like you!'
Her chin lifted with stormy pride. 'They fought side by side in the trenches of the Somme during the First World War. And helped each other survive the terrible conditions and hardships. They forged a friendship that crossed all barriers of wealth and class. And the word "gentleman" did mean something in those days!'
The vivid green eyes flashed her scorn at him. 'You might have the wealth to buy Marian Park. And you certainly have the arrogance to think you have class! But you'll never belong here. Not in a hundred years! You're not gentleman enough to clean Henry Lloyd's boots! You set yourself up as lord of the manor, and don't even bother to find out whom you're trampling over.'
'What was the gentleman's agreement you refer to?' he demanded to know. His voice was even, but there was now a glitter in his eyes that suggested she had struck a nerve.
Danger prickled down Kelly's spine as she remembered Uncle Tom's warning. Maybe she had gone too far. 'Our solicitor is dealing with that. The point is… that parcel of land belongs to Grandpa. He cleared it, fenced it, worked it and built it up. Everyone in Crooked Creek will attest to that. He might not have legal title to it at the moment, but don't think we'll stand by and let you take it away from us. We'll fight you every inch of the way.'
Justin St John moved. Kelly instinctively stepped back, then berated herself for cowardice. He might be strong and threatening, but she had right on her side and she wasn't going to budge until he had heard her out. She placed her hands on her hips in a belligerent pose.
He eased his legs over the edge of the table and sat up, grimacing at the pain it cost him to do so. There was a tired sickness in the eyes that swept up to hers again, but Kelly stubbornly ignored the stab of sympathy she felt.
'Miss Hanrahan…' His mouth took on an ironic twist. 'You're quite exceptionally beautiful when you're angry.'
She flushed with indignation. 'Don't think you can soft-soap me!'
'No. Perhaps not.' He gave a thin smile. 'You have the advantage over me. Could you bring yourself to oblige me with your first name?'
'Kelly. Kelly Hanrahan,' she answered proudly.
'Very Irish.'
Kelly instantly bridled at the comment. 'Yes!' she snapped, remembering his family history from the newspaper article. A St John had been a marine captain in the First Fleet in 1788. Eventually he had been granted land in the new colony. The St Johns of this world had always had it far too easy. It infuriated her further that this St John thought he could lord it over her.
'We came out here during the potato famine of 1848, when the English left us to starve in our millions. They don't have much of a record of treating the Irish fairly, do they?' she taunted.
'That was a long time ago.'
'You're still inflicting pain!'
He eyed her consideringly. 'It would seem my solicitor has been over-zealous in carrying out my orders,' he said with measured deliberation. 'I told him I didn't want tenants and to handle the legal problems involved, and to buy out all the leases. I did not realise, nor was I told, the circumstances pertaining to this matter. I'll order a report on the situation tomorrow. Does that satisfy you?'
'That you order a report?' Kelly whipped back at him scathingly. 'Of course I'm not satisfied! You're killing my grandfather, and you want to fob me off with a promise to look into it?' She looked at him with utter contempt. 'You wealthy people are totally unscrupulous!'
'Why should I trust your word?' he countered, his eyes hardening into steely cynicism. His gaze flicked down to her feet and up again with deliberate provocation. 'I'm too old to be easily taken in by a beautiful face and a delectable body. I know no more about you than what you've told me. Why should I believe you? What if you're just acting this out?'
'Oh! Oh…' Momentarily robbed of speech, Kelly stamped her foot. Then, absolutely steaming with outrage, she turned her back on him and stomped over to the window. She stared blindly out at the croquet lawn, tears of frustration burning her eyes.
She should have known it was no use speaking to him. Uncle Tom had told her.
'Kelly…' The unexpectedly soft intonation of her name sent a queer little shiver down her spine. 'If what you say is true, a little time for me to investigate is not unreasonable.'
She clenched her hands and whirled on him. 'If you were reasonable, you would have investigated in the first place, instead of…' To her intense mortification, tears rushed into her eyes. 'My grandfather doesn't have a lot of time!' she stormed over the lump in her throat. 'He's eighty-four years old and he doesn't have the… the will to keep going any more. That's what you've done to him with your damnable… damnable…'
She took a deep breath to steady her quivering lips, and smeared the tears away with a quick swipe of her hand, no longer caring what Justin St John thought of her. She was determined to speak out even if it was futile.
'It was terrible when Henry Lloyd died. He and Grandpa had been such close friends all their lives. They'd shared each other's joys and griefs all these years. And Henry Lloyd always wagered that Grandpa would die first, that he'd outlive him by a decade or two…'
Her voice hardened into bitter accusation. 'Then you come and take the heart out of him. What was left of it. One killing blow after another. The shock of having his home threatened on top of the grief of losing Henry. The stress of having to go to the solicitors. Henry Lloyd would turn in his grave if he knew. You're a no-good…' She was lost for words to describe him.