Forbidden Surrender

‘Nice-looking man,’ her aunt remarked.

‘Very nice.’ If you were partial to arrogant, bossy men! And she wasn’t, especially ones who thought themselves omnipotent into the bargain.

She felt hesitant about keeping the luncheon appointment the next day, knowing that her pleasure in seeing Marie had already been dampened by the fact that Dominic Thorne would be there too. She finally decided it would be an act of cowardice not to go. Besides, she didn’t even have to speak to Dominic Thorne unless she wanted to.

It seemed he had other ideas about that. As soon as Sara arrived at the Lindlay house she was shown into what turned out to be a study, and the occupant of that room was none other than Dominic Thorne.

His gaze took in her appearance, the finely checked brown tailored suit and contrasting tan blouse a complete antithesis of her attire of the evening before.

‘Marie will be down in a moment—she’s still dressing,’ he explained her absence.

‘Is she feeling better?’ Her voice was stilted, distinctly unfriendly.

‘Much better. Actually I’m glad she’s late, because I have something I wanted to discuss with you.’

‘Oh yes?’ She was at once on the defensive.

‘Yes,’ he gave an abrupt nod of his head. ‘Please, sit down.’ He waited before she had done so before becoming seated himself. ‘Now, I’ll come straight to the point.’ He leant foward over the desk. ‘You lied to me, Miss Hamille,’ he told her quietly.

Sara’s hackles rose indignantly. ‘I beg your pardon? I have never at any time lied to you.’ Her tone gave the impression that she didn’t consider him important enough in her life to bother with such things.

‘There is such a thing as lying by omission,’ he said coldly. ‘I had you checked out, Miss Hamille—–’

‘You had no right!’ Her eyes flashed angrily.

‘I had you checked out,’ he repeated calmly, ‘and I found that your father was not Richard Hamille.’

‘I never said he was!’

‘Would you kindly let me finish,’ Dominic Thorne snapped. ‘I also found out that you aren’t American by birth, you’re English, that—–’

The door behind them swung open and another man walked in. Dominic gave Sara a sharp look before greeting the other man.

‘You’re back early, Michael,’ he said almost enquiringly.

‘I heard about Marie. I—You aren’t Marie!’ the man accused, his face paling, going a sickly grey as he continued to look at Sara. ‘My God,’ he said dazedly, ‘if you aren’t Marie then you have to be—–’

‘Sara,’ she supplied huskily, feeling as if the world were revolving around her. ‘And you’re my father!’

The face was much older, the hair greyer, but this man was still the same man her mother had shared her first wedding day with, the man who stood beside her in their wedding photographs, the man her mother had said was dead!

CHAPTER FOUR

THIS was all like some horrendous nightmare. The man standing in front of her couldn’t be her father—and yet he was, she knew he was. She had a photograph of him in her handbag somewhere, and although it had been taken twenty-two years ago, on the day of his marriage to her mother, there could be no doubting his identity.

And if this man, Michael Lindlay, was her father, then that made Marie her half-sister. No wonder they were so much alike!

‘Sit down,’ Dominic instructed as she seemed to pale even more.

She hadn’t even been aware of standing up, but she sat down thankfully, staring speechlessly up at her father. He seemed to have been struck dumb too, and the two of them stared at each other in silence.

He was a very distinguished man, tall, with grey wings of colour over his temples, the rest of his hair the same blond as her own and Marie’s. His face was handsome, although she guessed him to be in his mid, possibly late, forties. And he looked kind, a touch of sadness in the depth of his brown eyes. Sara found it strange that she should have the same colouring, and look so much like a man she didn’t even know.

She turned to Dominic Thorne, to find him watching them warily. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’ she accused huskily.