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‘You’re an only child?’
‘Yes.’ Laura would have liked children of her own, she was sure. Briar didn’t know if the lack of them had been an accident of fate or a deliberate choice of her father’s.
A bearded man with an incipient paunch came over and said to Kynan, ‘Kath tells me you’re a cricketer.’
‘Used to be,’ Kynan answered. ‘Nowadays I just watch, mostly.’
Clive Bailey, patting his expanding waistline, grinned. ‘Me, too. Our son’s a great little goer, though. Got any kids in the game, yourself?’
‘No kids,’ Kynan said easily. ‘I’m not married.’
‘Thing is,’ Clive explained, ‘our club’s looking for coaches for the juniors—’
Briar finished her coffee and said, ‘Please excuse me. I think Laura needs some help.’
Laura, as always preferring making herself busy to making conversation, had begun collecting empty cups. Kynan emptied his and handed it to Briar as she stood up. She gave him an automatic smile and went to join her stepmother. She’d done her duty by the special guest; her father ought to be satisfied that he’d not been neglected.
But later Xavier cornered her, with Kynan in tow beside him. ‘Kynan’s interested in early New Zealand paintings,’ he told her with an air of something approaching triumph. ‘I told him you’d show him our Heaphy in the library. I don’t like to leave the other guests.’
The other guests, Briar might have told him, would almost certainly not be aware of his absence for five or ten minutes. Good manners prevailed. She mustered a pleasant smile and said, ‘Of course.’
Xavier squeezed the other man’s arm. ‘Briar will look after you.’
Briar reflected that her father appeared to have decided that her mission in life was to look after Kynan Roth. She took a fleeting look at the object of all this attention, and found an ironic glint in his dark eyes, coupled with something else even more disturbing. It occurred to her that she didn’t want to be alone with this man.
But she could hardly come to any harm in a room only two doors away from here. ‘This way,’ she said, turning as they reached the passageway.
He walked at her side, and when she reached out to open the library door he stepped quickly in front of her, so that she steeled herself not to snatch back her hand as his fingers closed about the gleaming brass knob. He cast her a questioning glance and swung open the door, then stood back to let her go first.
Xavier seldom read anything other than newspapers, financial magazines and business guides, though occasionally he skimmed through a book that had hit the best-seller lists or that someone had given him. But the previous owners had stocked the library with classics, travel books and biographies, to which had been added some well-reviewed modern fiction. Xavier frequently worked there on his portable computer, or waded through mountains of paperwork at the huge antique desk.
The Charles Heaphy original, a watercolour of a bracken-covered hillside washed in light, with a painstaking rendering of delicate ponga ferns in the foreground, hung on the wall to one side of the desk.
‘That’s it,’ Briar said unnecessarily. Kynan was already crossing the carpet to inspect it.
Briar stood in the centre of the room waiting for him. Finally he said over his shoulder, ‘Quite a good example, isn’t it?’ He returned his attention to the painting.
‘Is it? I’m no expert, I’m afraid. I’ve always rather liked it, though.’ She walked over to stand beside him, admiring it.
‘Has it been in the family for long?’ He glanced at her again.
‘In the family?’ She shook her head. ‘Dad bought it a few years ago, when the financial wizards were saying that art was a gilt-edged investment for the future. I gather that it hasn’t increased in value as much as he was led to believe it might.’
‘So he’s not a connoisseur?’
She wondered if her father had been trying to impress Kynan with art talk. Xavier was good at picking up snippets of information and trotting them out at opportune moments, giving the impression of more knowledge than he really had.
‘Are you?’ she countered, deflecting the question.
‘I have an interest, but I doubt if I could spot a fake.’
‘This isn’t a fake.’ Her father would have had that thoroughly checked.
He turned to her. ‘I haven’t suggested that it is. Not my field, except in an amateur way.’
‘What is your field?’ she asked him. She’d been wondering all evening. His name had sounded vaguely familiar, but she was unable to make the necessary connection.
‘Didn’t your father brief you?’
‘Brief me?’ She looked at him blankly, finding knowing laughter lurking in his eyes, and dropped her gaze as she recalled being told to be nice to him. She felt as though he was reading her mind, an uncomfortable sensation.
‘I’m in company finance,’ he told her, ‘among other things.’
‘An entrepreneur?’
‘I prefer the term investor. These days entrepreneur tends to be a term of opprobrium.’
‘How times have changed.’
‘Are you old enough to remember?’
‘I’m not a child.’
‘No.’ His eyes gleamed.
Briar looked away.
He said softly, ‘You’re not pretending to be shy?’
She looked up then, and found the cool, piercing eyes on her face, a hint of cynicism in them. ‘I’m not shy.’
‘No, I didn’t think so. Your father tells me he depends on you a lot. I gather your stepmother isn’t nearly as reliable.’
‘She just needs a bit of self-confidence. She’s...’
‘Decorative?’ Kynan suggested drily.
‘She’s also a very nice person!’
‘I’m sure she is. How long have she and your father been married?’
‘About thirteen years.’
‘That long? You must have been just a kid.’
‘A teenager—nearly. Laura was my salvation.’
‘Oh?’ His head cocked as though he wanted to hear more.
She wasn’t prepared to exchange confidences with this discomfiting stranger. She opened her mouth to ask if he was ready to leave now, but he forestalled her. ‘And are you prepared to be hers?’ he asked. ‘Or your father’s?’
Feeling as though some piece of the conversation was missing, Briar said hesitantly, ‘I...help when I can.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ He gazed at her almost broodingly. ‘I suppose you all have a lot to lose.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘All this—’ he looked about them ‘—is very impressive. Gives the effect of a solid background.’
Her eyes sparked. ‘Everything my father has he’s got by his own efforts. He’s never pretended to be anything he isn’t.’
‘Maybe that’s a matter of opinion.’
Apprehension fluttered in her stomach. Something was wrong, and the supreme confidence of this man, contrasting with her father’s peculiar nervousness tonight, had a lot to do with it.
He said, ‘I only needed to ask around the financial community when he began pursuing my acquaintanceship, to find out why.’
With a trace of acid that brought a brief surprise to his eyes, Briar said, ‘You mean it wasn’t for the charm of your personality? And what did you find out?’
‘That your father needs cash, and he needs it fast.’
Several things fell into place. Her anger dissolved in fright, which automatically she tried to conceal. ‘I...don’t know anything about my father’s financial affairs,’ she said. ‘And if I did I wouldn’t be discussing them with you.’
‘No,’ he said slowly, ‘I suppose that isn’t your role.’
Role? Whatever he meant by that, the expression on his face warned her that it wasn’t good. He looked hard and contemptuous, and she didn’t like the way he was studying her, his gaze moving from her defiant eyes down to her feet and slowly back again.
Stiffening under the visual assault, she said, ‘I’m afraid I’m not up with the play. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, come on.’ He was smiling, in an oddly angry way. ‘You’ve played it perfectly so far. Done everything darling Daddy told you to.’
He knew? ‘My father is just being a good host,’ Briar said. Some dim understanding of what he meant began to filter through her puzzlement. Her voice turned icy. ‘This is your first time in our home and he hoped you’d enjoy the evening. I think you misunderstood. If you’ve finished in here...’
‘Surely you’re not finished yet? You don’t need to give up on providing me with enjoyment just because I find you—and your father—a little...obvious.’
Briar took a deep, disbelieving breath. ‘If this is some kind of game—’
‘Isn’t it?’ he queried, his brows rising diabolically. ‘I thought it was the oldest game in the world. Or should I say...profession?’
CHAPTER TWO
BRIAR felt almost dizzy. Anger brought a flush to her cheeks and buzzed in her head. She wanted to hit him, lash out with her hands, wipe the cool, scornful smile from his handsome face.
She clenched her fists at her sides, but her voice, a notch higher than usual, shook. ‘I don’t know how you usually conduct your business, Mr Roth, but I assure you that my father would never expect me to lower myself to that level. I suggest you get your mind out of the gutter! Or better still, crawl back in there where you belong. Excuse me, I need some clean air.’
She turned, making for the door, but was brought up short by a hard hand on her wrist pulling her about to face him.
Tugging at it, she said, eyes blazing, ‘Don’t you touch me!’
‘Hang on there.’ He easily swung her to one side, reaching over to push the door shut.
Alarmed, she tried to kick out at him, but he evaded it and let her go so suddenly that she almost lost her balance.
Now he was standing against the door, leaning on the panels with his hands in his pockets and his burnished-pewter eyes alert and bright.
‘If you don’t get away from that door I’ll scream,’ she threatened.
‘Don’t be silly, I’m not hurting you. Not even touching you, in fact.’
Her head went up, her mouth stubbornly set. ‘I want to leave.’
‘In a minute.’ He was regarding her with speculation. ‘Are you mad because I called your bluff, or because I was wrong in my assumptions?’
Briar’s hand clenched. ‘I’m not going to defend myself to you. You probably wouldn’t believe me, anyway.’
‘Try me,’ he offered.
She debated trying to shove him aside, but although she was no weakling, he had the edge over her in both size and strength. She’d felt the power in his grip as he held her. ‘You were wrong,’ she said, her voice very even although she was sizzling inside. ‘Totally, completely wrong.’
He seemed to be weighing that up, still steadily watching her. ‘Your father didn’t tell you to give me a good time?’
Briar felt her cheeks burn again. ‘He didn’t mean what you think.’
Softly, Kynan asked, ‘Are you sure?’
An insidious doubt crept into her mind. Shaking it off, she said, ‘Of course I’m sure. He wouldn’t...and anyway, I wouldn’t...’
Something like a grin briefly appeared on the chiselled mouth. ‘I’m beginning to believe that you wouldn’t.’ He paused. ‘I apologise.’
An apology was certainly due. ‘Am I supposed to thank you for that?’ she enquired.
The grin widened slightly. ‘Not necessarily.’
‘Good.’ She was still simmering. ‘Might I suggest you refrain from jumping to bizarre conclusions next time someone offers you their normal hospitality?’
‘Oh, come on, Briar.’ He folded his arms and crossed one ankle over the other, looking at her. ‘What was I supposed to think? Your father was throwing you at me at every turn, and you certainly didn’t seem to be objecting. You brought me in here on the flimsiest excuse—’
‘He told me to—’
Kynan nodded. ‘Are you always such a dutiful daughter? You seemed to be quite pleased with the idea.’
‘I’m a good actress.’
He smiled openly at her tart tone. It made him look considerably less formidable. ‘A natural,’ he agreed. ‘So...you don’t really like me at all?’
‘Should I?’
‘Ouch!’ he murmured. ‘What should I do? Go down on my knees?’
