Passionate Retribution

She wrung her hands in anguish, her fingers growing bone-white as the action cut off her blood supply. 'It must be a mistake,' she muttered, half to herself, no conviction in her voice, just a sense of desperation. I spend weeks coming to the most momentous decision in my life… That makes my judgement—what? Disastrous hardly seemed sufficient, she thought bitterly.

'Come off it, Emily, there has been nothing inadvertent going on here. Your Gavin knew exactly what he was doing—and Charlotte, despite the tears and sickly remorse, did too. They knew they were wrong but they did it anyway,' he reminded her brutally.

'Considering my earlier defence of Gavin, you must be feeling pretty smug,' she replied. The fury that sought an outlet was in her face as she turned on her heel and glared at him accusingly. 'Anyone would think I'd expect deceit by now—God knows I'm surrounded by it every day of the week. My parents' marriage is purely window-dressing…' Her marriage was going to be different, she… Wrong tense, she mentally corrected herself.

'Believe it or not, when I spoke earlier I wasn't expecting such a dramatic revelation,' he returned drily. 'The question is, what are you going to do? Are you going to fight for him, Emmy?' he persisted.

Her eyes focused on his face, surprised by his question and the unusual tone in his voice. 'I don't want him.'

'You love him?'

'Don't be absurd—I was about to marry him!'

'Not the same thing; people marry for lots of reasons.'

He brushed a stray leaf from the dark fabric of his trousers, and watched her from beneath his thick lashes, the only concession in his features to anything not abrasively masculine.

'Charlotte loves him,' she said in a choked voice.

'At least you can allow the full wrath of Charlie to fall on her head; you, sweetheart, are in the clear. You are the injured party and Charlotte is the bad guy… You do realise she won't be able to survive the guilty bliss at the expense of her sister's? the martyrish instinct is too deeply ingrained.'

She frowned at his sneering tone but realised the truth in his words. She felt a certain savage satisfaction. 'Good!'

'Who says charity begins at home?' he remarked drily.

'Am I supposed to make a present of him, gift- wrapped? I'm the injured party here,' she reminded him, her eyes flashing.

'And I'm sure you'll be universally sympathised with once the sordid details get out. Sweet revenge on big sister, and it's not even as if you love him, is it?'

His words were like a slap in the face; they ricocheted around the small clearing. 'How dare you----?' she began.

'Save the schoolmarm tone for those who are intimidated by it, infant,' he advised softly. 'Your sister just filched your property and the boyfriend just trampled all over your pride, and it hurts like hell; but you're not reacting like a girl whose heart is broken, so don't expect any sympathy from me.'

He was the most insensitive, wantonly cruel man on the face of the earth, she decided. 'I must say I find it amusing to hear you speak about love as if you're the expert. Thirty-two and unmarried might make some people draw conclusions,' she suggested outrageously.

Luke took this slur on his manhood unblinkingly. 'I could see over the potted palms,' he said softly, recalling the recent scene in the conservatory and the advantage of his six feet three compared to her average stature. 'Pretty boy—is that what made you pick him out to propagate the species?'

'I'm not as preoccupied with a pretty face as you appear to be.'

"That's a rather bizarre avenue for you to take just to avoid a simple question,' he said, standing up in that fluid way he had of moving. The grace and co-ordination of a jungle cat, she realised, momentarily diverted; strength masked by totally misleading indolence. Looking at his face, seeing no sign of anger at her comment, just an even more frightening absence of expression that was inhumanly cold, she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of the chill of the night.

'Could you be asking me to offer proof of my masculinity?' he asked, as though he were discussing the weather.

'L-Luke!' she stuttered, alarmed at his response to her unthinking gibe. It had never occurred to her that Luke was in any way effeminate; the idea was incredibly absurd! She'd just been hitting back without considering the fact that this target was unlikely to sit still and take the abuse. 'Now who's being absurd?' she said, trying to sound firm and in control of the situation.

'Male vanity is a very tender thing, Emmy,' he purred, taking, much to her alarm, another step in her direction. 'It should be nurtured.'

'Tender my foot; you're as fragile as the average steel bar, and about as insensitive too.' The idea that she could pierce his impenetrable hide made her realise he had to be reacting like this just to frighten her. If she had been less distracted she'd have realised this straight away. She knew him, of course, but it occurred to her that the knowledge she had was quite superficial.