‘Ah, so he’s dirt poor with a sensitive heart but no balls,’ he said crudely.
Nell flashed him a disgusted look. ‘You know nothing about him so don’t pretend that you do.’
‘Are you so sure about that?’
‘Yes!’ she insisted. ‘Or you would have had him beaten up by your mob and be throwing it at me by now.’
‘Clever girl,’ he drawled.
‘Shut up.’ She hated him.
‘Are you going to tell me where he is?’ he persisted.
‘You must be joking,’ she scoffed.
‘No,’ he denied. ‘In fact I have never been more serious. Where is he, Nell?’ he repeated levelly. ‘And before you answer me with some whipping comment I think I should warn you that your freedom will continue to be restricted until you do tell me …’
Nell sizzled on a seething breath of air. ‘I wish I’d never married you.’
‘As if your choices were crowding at your father’s begging door,’ he mocked. ‘As far as I
am aware, it was either me or some short, ugly guy in his forties with fat lips and three pairs of hands.’
Stung, she flicked him a sharp glance. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing—forget I said it.’ Frowning, he leant forward to press a button, which brought a miniature drinks bar shooting out of the car’s central bulkhead.
Feeling a bit as though she was about to be slaughtered where she sat, Nell watched him select a bottle of whisky then pour himself a measure into a squat crystal glass. He relaxed back into the seat, downing some of the whisky as he went, his lean face turned to stone again with just the merest hint of self-contempt.
Nell’s upper lip trembled as she parted it from her stiff lower lip. ‘Xander, y-you—’
‘Don’t ask,’ he clipped out.
But it was too late. He had not pulled that nasty remark out of a bag at random just to get at her. There had been hard meaning behind every deriding word.
‘I n-need to know what you meant.’
‘You married me, therefore it meant nothing.’ He stared grimly into his glass.
‘Tell me!’ she cried.
A burning blast of annoyance racked his face. ‘Your father had overstretched his resources. He was sinking very fast. He needed bailing out but there are not many people out there with fifty million pounds sterling to spare on a very bad risk. I was one such person willing to take the risk—for a price.’
Julian Garrett’s daughter and his risky investment protected as much as it could be with the production of a son and heir from the union who would claim the daughter’s inheritance!
‘You already know all of this, so why drag it all out again?’ Xander flicked harshly into the strumming tension holding Nell pale and still.
Because he was still missing out one vital detail—the man with the fat lips. The weekend before Xander came to stay at her father’s house, Clive Benson had come to stay—short, overweight, constantly smiling. At first she’d suffered his over-friendly attitude towards her out of good manners and because she thought he was just doing it in a fatherly way—until he’d become just a bit too friendly, and dared to touch her thigh. She’d taken refuge by spending as much time as she could outside with the dogs, aware that her father had some heavy business going with the man—aware that she could not afford to offend.
‘You’re trying to imply that my father put me up for auction,’ she whispered.
‘You will please make note that I am trying hard not to say those ugly words, agape mou,’ he returned.
But they were there—they were there!
‘My father wouldn’t do such a h-horrible thing to me.’
Silence. All Xander did was toss the rest of his whisky to the back of his throat. Nell felt the churning surge of nausea in her stomach.