He spoke the words heavily, incisively, as if they were being carved into him. He looked at her, held her eyes unreadably for one last moment longer, then spoke again.
‘And I hope beyond all things that it will be my home—’
She stared at him. Why had he said that? It was his home now—her signature had made it so.
But he was speaking still. ‘That, however, depends entirely on you.’
Bewilderment filled her. There was something in his eyes now—something that, had the sombreness and the despair of the moment not overwhelmed her, she would have said was a glint.
‘You should always read what you’re signing before you sign it, Ellen,’ he said softly, and his eyes were still holding hers.
‘It’s a contract of sale,’ she said.
Her voice was neutral, but she was trying desperately in her head not to hear the seductive, sensuous echo of his naming of her, that had sent a thousand dangerous whispers across her skin.
‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed.
‘Selling you my share of Haughton.’
‘No,’ said Max, in measured, deliberate tones. ‘It is not that.’ He paused. ‘Read it—you’ve signed it...now read it.’
Numbly, she turned back the pages to reach the opening page. But it was full of legalese and jargon, and the words swam in front of her eyes.
Then Max was speaking again. ‘It is a contract of sale,’ he said, ‘but you are not the vendor.’ He paused. ‘I am.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
MAX’S EYES WERE holding hers and not letting them go—not letting them go for an instant...a single second.
‘You see...’ he said, and he spoke in the same measured tones, but now there was something else in his voice—something that was an emotion rising up to break through, an emotion that was possessing every cell in his body. ‘You see, I am selling you the two-thirds share of Haughton I have already purchased from your stepmother and stepsister. Which, Ellen—’ and now the emotion broke through finally, unstoppably, blazing through him, lighting up his eyes with the fire he had banked down with every ounce of his strength since he’d watched her walk up to him across the lawns ‘—which I now restore to you.’
For one last moment he held on to his self-control.
‘I’ve given you a very good price,’ he told her. ‘I believe even on your teacher’s salary you can afford to pay me a hundred pounds. How does that sound? I hope it’s acceptable—because you’ve just put your signature to it.’
She wasn’t saying anything. She was just staring at him as incomprehension, shock, disbelief, all flashed across her face.
‘I don’t understand...’ It was a whisper, faint and scarcely audible.
For one long, timeless, endless moment the tableau held. Max standing there, his face expressionless, and she seated across the desk from him, as white as a sheet with shock etched across her features. Then, like a dam breaking, all the emotions Max had been holding in check burst from him.
‘Did you truly think I would take your home from you—after you’d ripped the scales from my eyes?’
He took a shuddering breath, making himself calm. His gaze was on her, holding her like a magnet.
‘The moment you hurled what you did at me, before you stormed out, I knew there was only one thing to do. Only one! And now...’ A sigh of profound relief went through him. ‘Now it’s done. I put my legal team on to it straight away, the minute you’d gone, and they got hold of your stepmother out in Spain and told her I’d buy their share even without yours.’
A hard, cynical look entered his eyes.
‘She jumped at the chance like I was dangling a diamond necklace in front of her. My lawyer phoned me their agreement when I was in the Gulf, and then I knew, finally, that I was free to do what I have just done.’ He paused, and an expression moved across his face that showed all that had possessed him until this moment, the driving urgency to accomplish what he had. ‘Make Haughton safe for you,’ he finished.
She heard him, yet still she dared not believe what he was saying. Dared not believe that she had just bought her beloved home back for herself—for a song—for a gift...
For of course it was a gift! How could it be otherwise at so paltry a price? A gift that Max had given her—a gift so wonderful, so precious that it took her breath away, squeezed her lungs so tight she could hardly breathe, could hardly feel the beating of her heart, though it was hammering in her chest.
‘Why?’ It was the only word she could say, as faint and low as her breath could make it. ‘Max—why?’
She took a searing breath through the constriction in her throat and made herself speak again, forced the words from her though they were still low and faint.