'Very nice? Or lovely?' He was laughing at her, she realised suddenly, but not in the caustic, cynical way she imagined was almost habitual with him. His face was tender, gentile even, his eyes warm. And it frightened her.
She continued to feel frightened, in an excited, breathless way, through the rest of the evening. The meal was superb, served in an elegant, wood-paneled dining room amid gleaming silver cutlery, sparkling glassware and the heady scent of hothouse flowers from the bowl of expensive blooms in the middle of the table.
Luke was the perfect host—attentive, witty, setting out to entertain and amuse. And that was fine; she could cope with that. But then, as the meal progressed and they finished the first bottle of champagne and began on the second, he talked of his childhood, his parents, and then of his hopes, his dreams, and sh
e realised the thin ice she had been skating on all evening was getting more fragile by the minute.
'How old were you when you moved away from that little village in Sussex?'
Josie's stomach clenched tightly. She had been anticipating and dreading this moment all evening, and now it was here she still didn't know how to handle it.
'College age,' she said shortly. 'Mrs Hodges really is a wonderful cook. You are very fortunate to have two housekeepers who—'
'Why do you do that?' His voice was very deep and very soft.
'Do what?' she asked carefully.
'You know what I'm getting at, Josie. The past is like a closed book with you.' He leant forward slightly, his eyes drawing hers into their hold in spite of herself. 'That was a typical answer—'college age'. That could mean anything from sixteen to sixty. In fact it's no answer at all. What are you so defensive about anyway? What happened? And when?'
'Luke—'
'No, don't 'Luke' me.' He took a deep breath before shaking his head slowly. 'Tell me to go to hell, get angry, shout, scream—but don't go into that impenetrable shell of yours. I know what you are really like, Josie. You can't hide from me. I won't let you. I know.'
This was too deep, too serious. She forced a bright smile and spoke lightly as she gripped her hands together tightly under the tablecloth, her nails biting into the soft flesh of her palms. 'Well, clever old you, and what do you think you know? What am I? Career woman? Frustrated housewife? Or perhaps—'
'You're the woman I want to marry.'
The words hung in the air, stark and naked, as they stared at each other across the table, and she felt her heart stop and then hammer on at a pace that made her light-headed. She couldn't speak or move; even her thought process seemed frozen. She merely stared at him with huge, stunned golden eyes, her face stricken.
'I knew it the first moment I saw you,' he continued after a long minute had ticked by in absolute silence, his mouth twisting a little at her patent horror. 'And the knowledge swept away all the principles of a lifetime. I used to be adamant that there was no such thing as love at first sight, but then it happened to me—me, Luke Hawkton, thirty-five-year-old cynic and man of the world. And I do love you, Josie. I love you more than—'
'Don't.' It was merely a whisper but it stopped him in his tracks when he saw the anguish in her face. 'Please don't.'
'Why?' He kept his voice cool with an effort that made his mouth white. 'You have to hear it as it is, just once. And don't say you feel nothing for me because I don't believe that; you aren't that good an actress. I've tried not to rush you, to keep my distance and give you time, but hell—' He took a deep, shuddering breath. 'I have to at least tell you how I feel, tell you that you're different.'
Oh, she was different all right. His words hit her full in the chest and he saw the impact of the blow in her eyes a second before she rose, with trembling, painful dignity, from the table.
'Luke, this is pointless.' she said shakily. 'I can't— I don't want to marry you or anyone else. I told you that. I told you.' The control slipped for a moment, and what he saw under the fragile exterior appalled him, but even as he reached out to her she drew back, her body rigid. 'Please take me home.'
'No.'
Her eyes shot to his face and she saw that he was shaking his head slowly, his silver eyes narrowed and intense on her face and his mouth a thin line in the hardness of his jaw. 'Luke—'
'I mean it, Josie,' he said grimly. 'You aren't leaving this place till I get some answers.'
'You've got no right—'
'Probably not, but that's never worried me before and I don't intend to let it start worrying me now.' The touch of arrogance helped, putting iron in her backbone and steadying her shaking legs. Luke the tender lover she had no defence against, but the forceful, ruthless tycoon the world knew was a different matter.
And then it came to her. The one way she could walk out of this house and his life for good. But could she do it? Could she bear him thinking—?
'I'm involved with someone else,' she said flatly, not giving herself a chance to think any more about what she was doing.
'I don't believe it.' His eyes raked her face, searching and intuitive. 'I've never seen or heard a thing to substantiate that—'
'You wouldn't have.' She could feel the blood thundering in her ears and willed herself to go through with it. 'He's married—very married. If his wife found out it would be the end of his career, his future, and then there's the children…'
'He's got children?' His voice was expressionless, strange, and she went deeper into the lie, willing her voice to sound ashamed, broken…