Passionate Retribution

'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 fiancé’s 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.