"PLEASE don't go in there, Bryony," Glenys Mercer told her
daughter tremulously. "Your father has an
important...er... visitor with him."
Bryony's hand fell away from the doorknob of the main
study as she turned to look at her mother, standing in the
great hulking shadow of the grandfather clock that had
kept time at the Mercer country estate for six generations.
"Who is it?" she asked. Her mother's drawn features seemed
to visibly age before Bryony's clear blue gaze.
"I'm not sure your father would like me to tell you."
Glenys Mercer twisted her thin hands together. "You know
how he is about those sorts of things."
Bryony did know.
She moved closer to her mother, her light footsteps on the
polished floorboards echoing throughout the huge foyer,
reminding her yet again of the emptiness of the grand old
house since her brother's death.
Ever since Austin had died almost ten years ago the house
had seemed to grieve along with the rest of the family.
Every window, room, corner and shadowed doorway held a
memory of a young man's life cut short, even the creaking
of the staircase every time she went up or down seemed to
her to be crying out for the tread of his steps, not hers.
"What's going on, Mum?" she asked, her voice dropping to
an undertone.
Glenys couldn't hold her daughter's questioning gaze and
turned away to inspect the intricately carved woodwork on
the banister.
"Mum?" 'Please, Bryony, don't make a fuss. My nerves will
never stand it."
Bryony suppressed a heartfelt sigh. Her mother's nerves
were something else she knew all about.
There was a sound behind her and she turned to see her
father come out of the study, his usually florid face pale.
"Bryony...I thought I heard you come in." He wiped his
receding hairline with a scrunched-up handkerchief, the
action of his hand jerky and uncoordinated.
"Is something wrong?" She took a step towards him but came
up short when a tall figure appeared in the study doorway
just behind him.
Cold dread leaked into every cell of her body as she met
the dark unreadable gaze of Kane Kaproulias, her dead
brother's sworn enemy.
She opened and closed her mouth but couldn't locate her
voice. Her fingertips went numb, her legs trembled and her
heart hammered behind the wall of her chest as her eyes
took in his forbidding presence.
He was much taller than she remembered, but then, she
thought, ten years was a long time.
His brown-black eyes even seemed darker than they had been
before, the straight brows above them giving his arresting
features a touch of haughtiness.
Her eyes automatically dipped to his mouth as they had
done every time since the day she'd put that jagged scar
on his top lip.
It was still there... "Hello, Bryony." His deep velvet
voice shocked her out of her private reverie bringing her
startled gaze up to meet his compelling one.
She cleared her throat and tested her voice, annoyed that
it came out husky and tentative instead of clear and
forthright. "Hello... Kane."
Owen Mercer stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket and
faced his daughter. "Kane has something he wishes to
discuss with you. Your mother and I will be in the green
sitting room if you should need us."
Bryony frowned as her parents shuffled away down the great
hall like insects trying to escape the final spurt of
poison from someone holding a spray can above their heads.
Her father's words seemed to contain some sort of veiled
warning, as if he didn't trust the man standing silently
just behind her not to do her some sort of injury while he
had her all to himself.
She turned back to face Kane once more, her expression
guarded, her tone clearly unwelcoming. "What brings you to
Mercyfields, Kane?"
Kane held the study door open and indicated with a slight
movement of his dark head for her to go in before him.
His silence unsettled her but she was determined not to
show how much. Schooling her features into cool
impassivity, she stepped through, trying not to notice the
musky spiciness of his aftershave or the expensive cut of
his business suit as she made her way past his imposing
frame.
The Mercyfields housekeeper's bastard son had certainly
turned some sort of professional corner, she reflected.
There was no trace of the gangling youth of her childhood
now. He looked like a man well used to getting his own
way, certainly not one who took orders from others.
She crossed what seemed an entire hectare of Persian
carpet to take a seat on the wing chair near the window
overlooking the lake. In an effort to maintain her
composure she slung one long slim leg over the other and
inspected the pointed toe of her shoe as she gave her
ankle a twirl.
She knew he was watching her. She could feel the pressure
of his dark gaze on her body as if he had reached out and
touched her. She was well used to male appraisals, but
somehow whenever Kane Kaproulias looked at her she felt as
if every layer of her clothing was slipping away from her,
leaving her vulnerable and exposed to his all-encompassing
dark eyes.
She sat back in the chair and regarded him with a cool
impersonal stare.
He held her look without speaking. She knew it was some
sort of test to see who would be the first to look away,
but as much as she wanted to escape that brooding
mysterious gaze she held on, not even allowing herself to
blink.
His eyes went to her mouth and lingered there. Bryony felt
an almost irresistible urge to run her tongue over the
parchment of her lips but fought against the impulse with
every fibre of her being. So great was the effort to
appear unaffected by his disturbing presence she began to
feel the hammer-blows of a tension headache gathering at
her temples, and her resentment towards him went up
another notch.
Finally she could stand it no longer. She got agitatedly
to her feet and, crossing her arms over her chest, faced
him determinedly.
"OK. Let's skip the weather and the current cricket score
and get right down to why you are here."
He held her defiant glare for another pulsing pause. "I
thought it was time I paid the Mercer family a visit."
"I can't imagine why. You're not exactly on the Christmas
card list any more."
His mouth thinned in what she recalled was his version of
a smile. "No, I imagine not."
She forced her eyes away from the jagged edge of his scar,
surprised at how it still affected her to see it after all
this time.
He looked fit and strong, as if he was no stranger to hard
physical exercise, and his skin was tanned, but then, she
reminded herself, his maternal Greek heritage had always
given him somewhat of an advantage in the summer sun.
Standing before him now, her creamy skin seemed so pale in
spite of the intolerably hot weather they'd been having
since Christmas four weeks ago.
"How is your mother?" she felt compelled to ask out of
common politeness.
"She's dead."
Bryony blinked at his bluntness. "I...I'm sorry...I hadn't
heard..."
His eyes glittered with hard cynicism. "No, I expect the
passing of a long-term servant wouldn't quite make it to
the Mercer breakfast table, let alone as a topic for
discussion over lunch or dinner."
The bitterness of his words stung her as he clearly
intended it to. As much as she hated admitting it, he was
very probably right. Her parents would never discuss
servants as if they were real people. She'd grown up with
their attitudes, had even demonstrated similar ones
herself, but as she had grown older had shied away from
maintaining such outdated snobbery.
Not that she was going to let him know that.
No, let him think her the spoilt brat heiress of the
Mercer millions.
She sent him an imperious look over one shoulder as she
wandered back to her chair, taking her time to arrange her
skirt over her knees.
"So —" she inspected her neatly French-manicured nails
before lifting her blue gaze back to his ' — what do you
do these days, Kane? I don't suppose you've followed in
your mother's footsteps and clean up other people's messes
for a living?"
She knew she sounded exactly like the shallow socialite
he'd always considered her to be; she could even see the
slight curl of his damaged lip as if he was satisfied his
opinion had been justified by her crass words.
"You suppose right." He leant back against her father's
antique desk with the sort of indolence she'd come to
always associate with him. "You could say I'm in shipping."
"How very Greek of you," she observed with undisguised
sarcasm.
His dark eyes challenged hers, a flicker of anger lighting
them from behind. "I am just as much an Australian citizen
as you are, Bryony. I've never even been to Greece, nor do
I speak any more than a few words of the language."
"How can you be sure of your true heritage?" she asked. "I
thought you didn't know who your father was?"
It was a nasty taunt, and one she wasn't proud of, but his
manner had increasingly unnerved her to the point of
reckless rudeness.
She watched as he reined in his anger, the white edge of
his scar standing out as his mouth tightened.
"I can see you still like to play dirty," he said. She
shifted her gaze back to the unfathomable depths of
his. "When pressed to do so, yes."
"Let's hope you can cope with the consequences if such a
need arises in the very near future."
Bryony couldn't hold back a small frown at his coolly
delivered statement. There was something about his
demeanour that alerted her to the strange undercurrents
she'd felt swirling about her ever since she'd driven down
from Sydney that morning.
"Why are you here?" she asked. "What possible reason could
you have to be here?"
"I have several reasons." 'Let's start with number one."
She set her chin at an imperious angle even though inside
she was trembling with an unnamed fear.
He crossed one ankle over the other, his action drawing
her eyes to his long muscled thighs.
She tore her gaze away and forced herself to hold his
Sphinx-like stare.
"Number one is —" He paused for a mere fraction of a
second, but it was long enough for another flutter of
unease to feather along the lining of her stomach. "I now
own Mercyfields."
Her eyes widened in alarm. "W-what did you say?" Kane
ignored her question and continued with implacable
calm, "Number two is I also own Mercer Freight
Enterprises."
She swallowed her rising panic with difficulty. "I-I don't
believe you."
Again he ignored her strangled comment. "I also own the
harbourside apartment and the yacht." He paused as he gave
her an inscrutable look before adding, "However, I have
decided to allow your father to keep his Mercedes and
Jaguar; I have enough cars of my own."
"How very magnanimous of you," she managed to quip
caustically. "Is there anything else in the Mercer
household you think you now own?"
He smiled a hateful smile that chilled her already
tingling flesh.
"I don't just think I own the Mercer package, Bryony — I
do own it."
He reached for a sheaf of papers that was lying on her
father's desk behind him and handed them to her. She took
them with fingers that felt like wet cotton wool, her
tortured gaze slipping to where her father's signature
should have been but very clearly wasn't.
Each document was the same. The new owner of everything to
do with the Mercer millions was now Mr Kane Leonidas
Kaproulias. The houses, the business, the investments, the
yacht...
She let the papers flutter to the floor as she stood up on
watery legs. "I don't understand...how did this happen? My
father would never let things get to this state! He'd
rather die than see you take everything."
The loathsome smile was back. "Actually, he was quite
agreeable to it all in the end."