Devil's Fancy

DEVIL'S FANCY Margaret Mayo

It hadn't been Fiona who had embezzled from Brandon Rivers firm but her selfish unscrupulous identical twin sister Faith who refused to own up. For her mothers sake Fiona could not disclose the truth -- and when she failed to convince Brandon of her innocence he proceeded to drag her off to work for him in the Bahamas where he intended to carry out his revenge on her And yet, with every reason to hate hum as much as he hated her nevertheless Fiona found herself falling on love with him. Would she ever manage to get out of thus tangle?

CHAPTER ONE FIONA HALLERTON opened her book and settled more comfortably in her chair. It was rarely that she had the house to herself and she intended making the most of it. Her mother had taken Sara to the zoo, Faith was away on her cruise, and she had the unusual luxury of having nothing to do. She wore jeans and a sloppy sweater and had tied back her waving blonde hair in a ponytail, making her look about sixteen instead of almost twenty-one. But before she had even read the first page the doorbell rang. Fiona groaned. She might have known it was too good to be true! It rang a second impatient time as she moved into the hall. Through the patterned glass she saw the blurred outline of a man, tall and broad, his hand poised to press the button yet again. She swung the door wide, intending to ask what the urgency was. But a glimpse of a strong, grim face was all she was allowed before she found herself pushed roughly back into the house. The door closed firmly and she was alone with the stranger. She had heard of such happenings—but to her? Raw terror ran through her as a pair of menacing dark eyes fixed firmly upon her, pinning her to the wall as effectively as if he had used his hands. Powerless to move, she held his gaze, her fingers seeking the coolness of the paint behind her. He did not look like a thief—or a rapist—or even an escaped lunatic—but they never did. They looked like perfectly normal everyday people. The type you would invite in and never think twice about. There was a determined toughness about him, and she had never been so frightened in her life. He was extraordinarily good-looking, with a physique which would be the envy of many a man. But no way would she be a match for him if he

chose to assault her. Best humour him, try and find out exactly what it was that he wanted. 'Is it money you're after?' It was difficult to speak with her throat so dry. 'We don't keep much in the house, but --' 'You bet it's money!' he grated. 'Thirty thousand, three hundred and twenty one pounds, to be exact!' His short silky black hair seemed to bristle with anger, his mouth was tight, eyes accusing. He didn't sound like a common thief. He had an educated accent—and did not look as though he was short of a few pounds. His suit shrieked Savile Row, silk shirt, Italian leather shoes—nothing about him was cheap. Why then was he demanding money? And why such a precise amount? He took a step forward and Fiona flattened herself against the wall, her green eyes enormous. 'I don't know why you've chosen this house. We haven't that sort of money.' 'Oh, no? Then where is it, frittered away on a good time?' His hands were on her shoulders, long, lean, powerful hands. Hard thumbs found her throat, pressing her windpipe, causing her to cough and choke and struggle to get free. 'I want that money and I want it now—and consider yourself lucky that it's me who's here and not the police!' Police? What was he talking about? Was he insane? His compelling grey eyes were a mere couple of inches from her own. They were flecked with a darker colour, the whites a startling white, thick black lashes framing them. 'They were eyes Fiona would remember for the rest of her life. When all this was over they would haunt her dreams—if she lived. The pressure of his thumbs increased and she felt herself going light-headed.

She was unable to speak, but it made no difference to the tight-lipped stranger. He was taking a malicious delight in hurting her, a peculiar gleam lightening his eyes. He was a sadist, she decided, getting his kicks from inflicting physical punishment. With superhuman strength she managed to push him from her, twisting sharply and running for the stairs. The bathroom was the only place with a lock—if she could reach it! In her haste she tripped, sprawling up the steps. She screamed, loud and long. Alerting the neighbours was now her only hope. But he was on top of her, one strong hand clamping her mouth, the other holding her hands above her head, the weight of his body pegging her down. He was one hell of a fit man. She could feel his muscular power, his hard bones and taut thighs, and above all a dangerous sexual magnetism that asserted itself even in this unlikely situation. Sex was the last thing on his mind, though. With incredible ease he yanked her to her feet, propelling her into the kitchen and pushing her unceremoniously on to a chair. She moistened her lips, her pretty green eyes wide and terrified, her hands clasped beneath her chin, knuckles gleaming. Her whole body trembled and she looked young and defenceless. He snarled angrily, 'Don't come the wide-eyed innocent with me, Miss Hallerton—you know exactly why I'm here. Did you really think you could get away with it?' He knew her name! Yet how could he? She had never seen him before in her life. 'Get away with what?' Her voice was a husky whisper and she was afraid to look up at him. His menacing power filled the kitchen, the air felt thick, she was aware of her heart thumping irregularly. She concentrated her

attention on the buckle of his belt, noting how it moved as he breathed, and he seemed to be breathing extraordinarily deeply! She chanced a glance up and drew in her breath at the cold hostility in those eyes. His dark brows were drawn over them, shadowing their greyness. The nostrils of his autocratic nose were dilated, and the downward curve of his lips turned his handsome face into a mask of hatred. His hands, with those long well-shaped fingers, were resting on his narrow hips, his whole stance that of a jailor over his captive. 'I never thought appearances could be so deceptive. No wonder Barlow was taken in by you!' 'Barlow?' The mystery deepened. 'You must be mistaken,' she whispered. 'I don't know --' 'Anyone by that name,' he finished for her. 'What a ridiculous statement! What I can't understand, though, is why you suddenly decided to leave. You got away with it for this length of time. What made you think you couldn't get away with it any longer?' He paused, obviously expecting an answer, but what could she say? He was talking in riddles. None of it made any sense. He must be insane! Those eyes, those wide grey eyes; now she came to think of it they did look a little wild, half crazy perhaps. They were fixed on her intently, piercing her, hypnotising her—and she could not look away. His lips curled back in a sneer. 'You knew I was going through the books with a fine tooth comb and you got cold feet. Is that it? My uncle might have turned a blind eye, Barlow might have accepted it as one of those things, but not me. When my company has gradually been milked of thousands of pounds I want to get to the bottom of it. And you, Miss Hallerton, can, I believe, give me the answer!'

Fiona suddenly broke out into a cold sweat. Something that had puzzled her greatly over the last few weeks suddenly became startlingly clear. 'Mr Rivers?' It was a question, but he did not see it as such, merely the prelude to something more, and he waited with an expectant lift of his brows. 'Go on,' he said impatiently, his whole body taut as a bowstring. The facts were too horrible to contemplate. She dropped her head in her hands. 'Oh, no! Oh, God, no!' Surely Faith wouldn't have—stolen?' 'So at last we're getting to the truth!' There was triumph in his voice, but Fiona did not hear him. She was going over in her mind her conversation with Faith a couple of months ago. 'A cruise? You must be mad! Where did you get the money?' She had faced her sister in disbelief. Faith shrugged. 'I've been saving.' 'And you've been spending. I know you have a good job—but this is ridiculous! No way could you save that amount. How much is it costing?' Eyes an identical green to her own stared belligerently back. 'I don't see that it's any business of yours.' Now she knew why! 'When my own twin suddenly announces that she's going on a cruise, I think it's very much my business. What did Mother say?'

'She's pleased,' said Faith defiantly. 'She said she wished she'd had the chance when she was my age.' 'I wish I had the chance now. I don't know how you've done it, I really don't.' Her twin smiled mysteriously.- 'Good management.' 'I'd say it's a miracle! You go out every night, you buy new clothes every week. How can you save?' She ought to have known then that something was very wrong.'Rich boy-friends,' came the reply as Faith sauntered away. 'You should try it sometime.' Not rich boy-friends, but an unsuspecting employer. Until this new man had taken charge! Faith had told her about him. The old Managing Director had died of a sudden heart attack and his nephew had replaced him. 'He's a bachelor, in his mid- thirties, and like a film star,' she had enthused. 'Flashing white teeth, shiny black hair, and those eyes— wow, what they don't do to you is nobody's business!' She ought to have recognised him sooner. And now he thought she was Faith! He was slamming into her while her dear sister was living it up on some luxurious liner—spending his money! Fiona's first thought was to save her own face. 'You're mistaken.' She looked at him through her fingers. 'I'm not who you think I am.' 'I might have known you'd say that!' The disgust in his voice whipped her and she flinched, her hands sliding down to her lap, eyes wide, enormous pools of green.

'But it's no use you putting on an act for my benefit, it won't work. I've seen you, don't forget, in your fancy clothes, with your expensive perfume and bold eyes. Don't think I haven't recognised the signals you've sent me. It was a mighty dangerous game to play, though, wasn't it? Or would that have been the ultimate? Becoming my girl-friend you would have had no further need to dip your smutty little hands into the company's coffers. Was that it?' Had Faith really been like that? Fiona was appalled to think that her own twin had behaved in such a manner. She found it difficult to accept. But they were different. Identical twins they might be, from the top of their heavy pale hair to the tip of their elegant toes, but a physical likeness was all they shared these days. When they were young they had done everything together. Their mother had dressed them alike, treated them alike, and it had been fun. But once they reached their teens they had developed their individual personalities. Faith was more like her father, enjoying a good time, spending money like water, and saying to hell with tomorrow. He had left them after Sara was born, saying he could not bear to be tied down with any more kids. Fiona took after her mother. She was a born homemaker, content to sit at home and help look after Sara, doing her share of the housework, making her own and Sara's clothes, never hankering after anything new or exciting. They had both trained as secretaries and Faith had gone to work in the City, for the chief accountant of a big construction company, always bragging about her high salary, scoffing at her sister for being content to accept a lower wage in the local solicitor's office.

'I see you're at a loss for words, Miss Hallerton.' The cold eyes flicked her hatefully. 'Please listen,' she implored. 'You've made a mistake.—It wasn't me. I don't work for you. I --' But he shut her up with a swift, angry exclamation. 'Be quiet, damn you! You're not going to get out of it like that. You've not exactly got the sort of face that a man easily forgets. Perhaps you can answer this one. Do I call in the law, or are you prepared to pay back what you owe right now?' What was the use of trying to convince him? He had made up his mind and that was that. 'I can't,' she managed to whisper. Nor could her sister! It had all been spent, the last of it was going right now on this extravagant cruise. 'And there's no need to tell me why,' he snapped. 'So what do you propose doing about it?' With an abruptness that startled her his hands shot out and he hauled her to her feet, gripping the soft fleshof her upper arms, each finger making its own painful imprint. Fiona did not know what to say. It would break her mother's heart if she found out what Faith had done. She would think that somewhere she had failed. She had failed to keep her husband, and now she had failed to bring up her daughter properly. 'What can I do?' There was pure terror in her eyes as she looked into his face. It was gaunt and bronzed, and despite his hostility he was quite easily the most attractive man she had seen in a long time. She could imagine what he looked like when relaxed, when he smiled. It could tear a girl to pieces. But at this moment he was

destroying her for an entirely different reason and she could not stop herself shaking. 'What can you do?' he mocked. 'Don't you think you should have thought of that a long time ago? Did you really think you'd get away scot free? That when you left the company it would be an end? Did it not occur to your pathetic little mind that once the pilfering stopped—and it coincided with you leaving—we wouldn't come up with the right answer?' Never had Fiona thought a man's face could look as though it was carved from stone. This man's did. Cold and hard, his cheeks chiselled, jaw square and firm, eyes, those eyes, like marble, searing into her, withering her. She went limp and had he not held her would have slid to the floor. 'It won't work,' he snarled, holding her against his hard muscular body. 'The days of fainting females are long since gone!' His aftershave, a clean tangy individual smell, seemed to revive her. She regained her strength and pushed away from his total maleness. It was crazy, but just for a second she had actually enjoyed being next to him! He allowed a few inches to separate them, but still his bony fingers bit into her. 'How does a few months in prison sound?' She gasped. 'You wouldn't?' 'Try me,' he rasped through gritted teeth. 'I don't take kindly to cunning females like you!' This Fiona could well believe. He looked as though he could cheerfully have murdered her. Oh, Faith, how could you? Her plea had to remain silent. Somehow she could not see this man believing the truth. He would think it an excuse, a way out.

Faith had never told anyone at work that she had a twin sister, that much Fiona knew. Faith thought highly of herself, of her good looks and model-like figure. It did not please her to acknowledge a sister equally attractive. Besides, what good would it do if she convinced him? Faith couldn't possibly repay the money, and it would destroy her mother if Faith went to prison. 'What alternative is there?' she managed weakly. His eyes narrowed until they were scarcely visible through the thick lashes, glittering slits, but still potently dangerous. 'I have a plan.' 'What plan?' Her head shot back and she eyed him warily. It couldn't be anything pleasant if it was devised by this man. He was mean, with a cruel, merciless streak running through him. It was apparent in the aggressive thrust of his jaw, the taut skin across high cheekbones. A pulse jerked. He was only just in control. On the other hand, she supposed he was justified. In his position she would hardly have felt inclined to be lenient. But would she have inflicted the stark terror he made her feel now? 'Your wings need clipping, I think.' A derisory smile curved the thin lips. 'Your good life has come to an end. No more new clothes, no nights out, no money in your purse. How does that sound?' T& Faith it would be purgatory. So far as she herself was concerned it didn't sound too bad—so far! Indeed, a small price to pay for the crime that had been committed. 'How do you propose going about that?' The unusual pale catkin green of her eyes was revealed as she stared him full in the face.

He let her go, turning his back, to look through the net-curtained window. His casualness did not deceive her. He was planning his words carefully. They had to hurt, they had to cut her to the ground. 'Is your passport in order?' This did surprise her. She wished she could see his face. 'It is, but why?' The broad back told her nothing, except that he was vitally male and incredibly strong. His dark hair followed the shape of his head, stopping just short of his shirt collar. His shoulders sloped slightly and he looked tough and aggressive and exceptionally tall. 'You're taking a trip abroad.' And this was supposed to be penance? 'I don't understand.' He swung round. 'You're not supposed to. It will be no holiday. We leave tomorrow. See that you're ready.' He strode to the door. Fiona called after him. 'But my mother! I can't leave the country without telling her where I'm going!' He stopped and looked at her, mockery winging his brows. 'You have a mother? That does surprise me. Didn't she ever teach you right from wrong?' 'You bastard!' The words were out before she could stop them. He drew a sharp breath, and took a step back into the room. 'If you were a man I'd flatten you!' 'And because I'm a woman?' The knowledge that he was not going to sexually assault her or beat her senseless, the relief of it, made her feel brave. Her chin jutted and she faced him defiantly.

'Because you're a woman, I'll let you get away with it—this time.' Nostrils flared, eyes narrowed. 'But try it again and I won't be responsible for my actions. You cannot afford to anger me. In my opinion you're getting away lightly, and if I were you I'd be very, very careful what you say or do.' 'In other words you're blackmailing me. Toe the line or else?' Fiona was unused to dealing with men such as Brandon Rivers. Her solicitor boss, James Magnan, was polite and courteous—a gentleman! This man was—a swine, a despot, and she wondered for how long she could put up with his totalitarian behaviour. 'That's right. See that you remember it.' Insolently he looked her up and down. 'I sure as hell hope my mother will be convinced.' She lifted her finely arched brows, feeling herself grow warm beneath his regard, but said nothing. He would tell her in his own good time exactly what it was that he had in mind. 'Do you know how to handle children?' A frown marred the smooth perfection of her brow. He asked the most unlikely questions. 'Not children— plural. I have a young sister who --' 'Who you probably go out of your way to avoid. No, it was a stupid thing to ask—you're not the type. But you're going to have to learn, my pretty little thief. In the next few months you're going to be doing a lot of things that you've never done before.' He shoved his hands deep into trouser pockets and walked around her, assessing, studying, as one would a horse at a sale. She half expected him to touch her, to feel her arms and legs, make sure they were strong, push back her lips to see her teeth were good and white. Hell, what type of a man was this?

For as long as she could she suffered in silence, but enough was enough. Her eyes flashed angrily.. 'Have you quite finished—or would you like me to strip off, make sure I haven't got a wooden leg or something?' Amazingly he grinned, and she saw for herself the flashing white teeth Faith had described. They were even, and perfect, like everything else about this damnable man—except his nature! 'I've seen your legs, and they're quite—something. No, I was picturing you in a uniform, something prim and neat, something that will hide your—dare I say—voluptuous figure.' She blinked, and swallowed, and wondered what was coming next. 'Do go on.' Her tone was acid. 'And your hair.' He took a step closer so that again she was aware of his distinctive aftershave. 'I think it might be better short.' With a quick movement he freed it from its band. Fiona's hair was her pride and joy. It was thick and luxuriant with a silky texture, and she took great care over it. He stood before her, running his fingers through its weight, feeling the shape of her head, accidentally brushing her cheeks with his thumbs. If it was accidental! There was an expression on his face she could not fathom. As if he was testing her! Seeing what sort of a reaction he would get. No doubt he was recalling the invitation her sister, Faith, had given him. He was wondering whether she still felt the same now that the circumstances had changed. And he was not unaware of his own sexual advantage! It was easy to understand why Faith with her more highly developed sexuality had found him attractive. Fiona was even aware of it

herself, but at this moment it was outweighed by her indignation over his behaviour. Nevertheless she allowed him to continue his exploration, standing resolutely stiff, determined not by so much as the flicker of an eyelash to let him know that he affected her. With a sudden angry gesture he gathered up her hair, pulling it in a tight knot on top of her head, hurting, ruthless, an inexplicable gleam in his eyes which looked almost silver at that moment. 'Yes,' he grated tersely. 'Very short, I think. If I had my way I'd have it shaved, but that wouldn't do—my mother would throw a fit if I turned up with a nanny with a bald head.' 'Nanny?' she echoed, knowing she sounded dumb and stupid. But a nanny? 'That's right.' He let her go abruptly. 'Surprises you, does it? Horrifies you, in fact? You can't see yourself totally tied down by a young child; washing, ironing, cooking/ Never a minute to call your own. Oh, yes, it will curb you all right. And I'm really going to enjoy watching it!' He yanked open drawer after drawer until he found a pair of scissors. 'Sit down.' Fiona gazed at him, horrified, clapping her hands to her head, trying desperately to cover her hair. 'You're not going to cut it. I won't let you. No! You can't!' But he ignored her protests, pushing her down, lifting a handful and savagely clipping. It made no difference when she struggled, all she succeeded in doing was hurting herself. She felt as though he was pulling the very scalp from her head.

In fascinated horror she saw one length of hair follow another until her vision blurred, and hot tears fell down her cheeks. When he had finished he smiled grimly. 'I think that should do it. I don't think many men will find you attractive for quite some time. Maybe you'll even be quite relieved to have a job which keeps you tied very much to the house.' He walked to the door. 'Oh, by the way, you can tell your mother it's the Bahamas you're going to. My sister's daughter is—to put it mildly—very difficult. Her parents were killed in an accident and she took it very badly. No one can do anything with her.'

CHAPTER TWO IT was several minutes before Fiona moved. Never in her life had she been so totally humiliated. It had not occurred to her that such men as Brandon Rivers existed. He was brutal, callous, insensitive—and heaven help the woman he married! She hated him with an intensity that alarmed her, and too late decided that she had done the wrong thing. Faith had done the stealing, Faith should be punished. But who would have thought he would go to such lengths? Her head felt strangely light, and tentatively, with hands that shook, she touched her hair. Some tufts were longer than others, it felt bristly and ghastly, and she withdrew in horror. Then as if impelled by a force stronger than herself she walked to the mirror over the fireplace. With her hands she shaded her vision until she stood, directly in front of it, even then she kept her eyes tightly closed, shooting them open for a few horror-filled seconds, before shrieking and racing to her bedroom. She slammed the door. What a sight! What a horrendous sight! She curled up on the bed, sobbing. Damn Faith. Damn her stupid fancy sister. How would she like it? It would kill her, just as it was crucifying herself now. Slowly and deliberately she took another look in the dressing table mirror. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as she had at first thought? But it was every bit as frightful. She looked like a punk rocker gone wrong. What could she do? Then she thought of her mother and Sara. They would be home soon. What would she tell them? In desperation she picked up her nail scissors, snipping frantically, until at least it was all the same length. She looked as though she had been scalped.

Then she went through to the bathroom and shampooed what little hair was left, blowdrying and brushing, inducing the alarmingly short strands to wave the way she wanted them to go. Perhaps it didn't look too bad? She stared at herself critically. She looked more like a boy than a girl. A gamin. A complete stranger. Her eyes looked wider, her face rounder. She turned away in disgust. In one way it would be a relief to leave the country. She could not bear the thought of anyone seeing her like this. She did not think she could stand the interest. She would be a seven-day wonder. When her mother and Sara returned her cases were packed. It was going to be a shock for her parent—first Faith going, now herself. Would she cope? But there was no doubt that she would cope better with this than, the discovery that her daughter was a criminal—and this was what mattered. It was Sara who saw her hair first. She dashed into the house, face excited, anxious to relate all she had seen and done. Then she stopped dead in her tracks. 'Fiona!' Her voice was hushed, scared. 'What have you done?' Mrs Hallerton followed and her face blanched. 'Your lovely hair! What's happened?' Fiona had prepared herself. A bright smile was fixed to her face, it was supposed to be reassuring. 'Do you like it? I thought it would be cooler. I've had this most wonderful offer. Sit down, Mother, I'll tell you about it.' Her mother sat, or to be more precise, dropped, on the nearest chair, her mouth wide, eyes popping, Sara giggled. 'You look like a boy, Fee. Where did you have it done? Why didn't you tell us? Was it a surprise?'

A surprise all right. The biggest shock of her life! 'Isn't it a bit—er—drastic?' suggested her mother hesitantly, clearly not approving, but unwilling to hurt her daughter's feelings. 'I thought you were going to have a quiet day. What have you been up to while we were out?' How Fiona wished she could relate the whole incredible story. But it was best this way. She had to go through with it, for her mother's sake. She knelt on the floor at her mother's feet, keeping her forced smile. 'You'll never guess. I had a visitor— someone Faith knows. He asked if I'd like a job in the Bahamas as nanny to his sister's little girl. Of course I jumped at the chance. Isn't it wonderful? All expenses paid. I won't have to find a penny!' Mrs Hallerton looked doubtful. 'Why ask you? You're a secretary, not a nanny. It sounds a bit suspect to me.' Fiona had expected this. 'Faith apparently told him how fond I was of children. How good I am with Sara. So I suppose he thought it better to employ someone he'd had recommended personally.' How easily she lied! She was almost as bad as Faith. Except that she was doing it to protect her. Her sister had better be grateful! 'What's his name? Shall I get to see him before you go?' Her mother looked anxious. 'Fiona, is it really what you want? You're not jealous of Faith? I knew she earns more money than you, but aren't you being a bit hasty? Why don't you think about it a while?' 'I have thought about it, Mother. I'm leaving in the morning.' This caused a further gasp. 'So soon? Fiona love, I've always considered you to be the sensible one! Are you quite sure?'

Fiona nodded. 'Yes, I am.' Heavens, it hurt, having to be firm like this, knowing her parent disapproved, pretending it didn't matter. She stood up and pirouetted. 'How about my hair? I thought it rather chic—and just right for the heat. And won't you be able to brag! "Oh, yes, Mrs Jones, Faith's away on a cruise, and Fiona's in the Bahamas. I do like my daughters to enjoy themselves."' Not to be outdone, Sara piped up, 'And yes, Sara's been to the zoo. Aren't you going to ask me about it, Fee? There were elephants and lions and funny chimpanzees. And I had a ride on a camel. You should have come!' Fiona smiled and wrapping her arms round the child's waist twirled her round. 'I wish I had, it sounds exciting.' And infinitely preferable to what had happened to her today! 'More exciting than being a nanny,' protested Sara petulantly. 'I never had a nanny. Why can't her mother look after her?' 'Because, you little horror, she hasn't got a mother. She's not as lucky as you. Go and get washed and I'll show you what I've made for tea.' With a whoop of anticipation her sister ran from the room. Her mother pushed herself up. 'I must say you seem excited by the prospect, Fiona. I'm happy for you, if that's what you want. I really am.' Fiona kissed and hugged her. 'James Magnan wasn't very happy—I phoned him. He says good secretaries are hard to come by. I feel guilty letting him down, but you don't get offers like this every day.' Thank goodness! Once in a lifetime was enough. Preferably never. It was not easy to sleep that night, knowing what was in store—or not knowing! It was impossible to picture what duress Brandon Rivers would subject her to. But whatever, it had to be better than Faith

going to jail and her mother suffering the social stigma that would inevitably go with it. Brandon Rivers had not given a time, but she was up and ready by seven, a nervous wreck by eight, and when he came half an hour later she could willingly have stabbed him with the bread knife. He wore a casual cotton jacket in khaki, with matching trousers and a checked shirt. He looked as though he was going on his holidays! Fiona faced him on the doorstep. His lips were grim and tight, as she had expected, his dark hair freshly washed, curving crisply. She guessed he kept it short to keep it tamed. Otherwise it would be as impossible as the man himself. His expressive eyes flicked over her hair, but he said nothing. 'My mother wants to meet you.' She led the way into the kitchen. The change in him was dramatic. A wide reassuring smile creased his face, crinkled the corners of his eyes. He looked a different man. 'Mrs Hallerton.' He held out his hand. 'How nice to meet you. I'm not sure how much your daughter's told you, and I know it's all a bit sudden, but she'll be quite—safe.' Her mother appeared not to notice the hesitation. She smiled warmly, completely captivated by this charming, good-looking man. 'I know she'll do her best, but it's not what she trained for. She's first ail foremost a secretary, you do realise that, Mr—er?' 'Rivers, Brandon Rivers, Mrs Hallerton. And I know all about your daughter. I'm quite sure she'll do the job to the best of her ability.' He cast a glance at Fiona as he spoke. An implied threat. If she didn't, there would be trouble!

'Would you like a cup of tea, Mr Rivers?' she asked demurely, her lids lowered. She mustn't let her mother guess at the friction between them.He shot back his cuff and glanced at his watch. 'I don't think we have time.' Mrs Hallerton had been thinking. 'Brandon Rivers? Aren't you the new man where Faith works?' He nodded and smiled. 'Didn't your daughter tell you?' And suddenly it was all all right. Mrs Hallerton looked relieved. If it was the Managing Director of Rivers Construction Fiona was going with, then there was no problem. He was someone she had heard of. Someone she could trust. There were smiles all round when they left. No one seemed to notice that Fiona's was forced. Sara made her sleepy way downstairs just in time to see them off, and Fiona promised to write the moment she got there. His car was a three-litre Rover which ate up the miles greedily. It suited him, and he drove with relaxed proficiency, his long lean fingers curled round the wheel, legs outstretched, khaki cotton taut across muscular thighs. Fiona sat stiffly beside him, quite unable to relax, conscious only of impending doom. She wore a white cotton skirt and a pink tee-shirt, with a thin cardigan over the top. It had been difficult to decide what to wear. What were the Bahamas like in June? What were the Bahamas like anyway? It was not a place she knew very much about. When Brandon Rivers suddenly spoke it made her jump. 'A pity I made such a good job of your hair. It looks quite attractive—unfortunately. But then I guess you're the type of a girl who would look beautiful no matter what she did to herself.'

Fiona had made up her mind not to let him ride her. Self-consciously now she touched it. 'As a matter of fact I finished off your job myself. You really should take lessons before you start messing with people's hair.' His fingers tightened on the wheel. 'Careful,' he warned, 'or I might take my razor to it yet!' 'And give your mother a fright?' she asked daringly, knowing she trod on dangerous ground, but finding it equally difficult to submit to this man's needling. 'It's all that's stopping me,' he said curtly. 'I'm very fond of my mother. She's not young, and she's had a very trying time with Becky. The strain is beginning to tell.' 'And you really think that getting me out there will help? I don't like children, don't forget. Becky will sense it. Children know these things.' 'Then you'd better damn well change your attitude,' he snarled. 'Not that this exercise is intended to give you pleasure, anything but. On the other hand, my mother needs help, and I want Becky returned to normality.' He made her sound very peculiar. 'How old is she? And how long has it been since she lost her—parents?' 'A few months,' he said. 'Becky's four. She doted on her mother. She's been quite inconsolable.' 'What happened?' asked Fiona. 'If I've got to look after her I think I ought to know, or I might put my foot in it.' He looked angry. 'A yachting accident—sort of. They were murdered, strangled, because they'd seen something they shouldn't. I

don't know whether you know, but the Bahamas and the Caribbean is now one of the world's richest illicit drug routes, and unfortunately Dianne and her husband stumbled across a transfer.' 'How awful!' Fiona could scarcely believe it, but she did recall reading an article some time ago about modern-day pirates. She had thought nothing of it at the time—but to hear of someone who had actually been involved! It made it all very real. 'Does Becky know what happened?' 'She saw it. She was there!' He looked tough and grim, and she thought, God help the pirates if he ever catches hold of them! 'She was supposed to be asleep, but was looking through the window. Fortunately she had the good sense to keep quiet—or maybe it was shock—-in either case the pirates didn't see her. Coastguards later spotted the yacht foundering. Becky gave them a garbled version of what happened and she hasn't been the same since.' No wonder! It was enough to give an adult nightmares for the rest of their life, let alone a child. 'The poor dear,' Fiona said feelingly. He shot her a glance. 'So you do have some compassion in that coldly calculating little head of yours?' He did not wait for her response. 'What was it your mother called you? Faith? I wondered what the F stood for, although a more inappropriate name I cannot imagine. Does she have faith in you, I wonder? Does she realise that her beloved daughter is a common thief? What did you tell her exactly? Not the truth, I'm sure. I reckon it would break her heart. She seemed a likeable woman.' 'She is,' snapped Fiona, and realised that she would have to be very careful or she would slip up. It was not nice to be accused of something she had not done. Not that there was any chance of him

believing her. She could imagine his reaction if she said, 'It wasn't me, it was my twin.' 'Oh, yes,' he'd say. 'A likely story, but only what I might expect of the likes of you. I expect you're pretty good at making up lies—you've had enough practice.' Keeping her eyes carefully on the road in front, she continued, 'I simply said that you'd asked me because you thought I would be suitable.' His lips curled drily. 'That's the last thing I think, but you could hardly tell her that. How about the hair? What explanation did you give for that? You slipped with the scissors, perhaps?' He looked amused, but Fiona did not think it funny. 'I said short hair would be cooler in the Bahamas.' 'Good thinking!' Mockery winged his brows. 'You seem quite accomplished in the art of deception. But let's get one thing quite clear. Once in my mother's house you go straight. No stealing, no lies. Understood?' Fiona tensed and bit back an angry reply. She must remember she was supposed to be Faith. How would Faith react in such circumstances? Her eyes would widen with shocked innocence. 'Me, Mr Rivers?' and she would flutter her long lashes. 'I'll be so good you won't know I'm the same person.' She did not realise she had spoken out loud, that she had unconsciously acted out the part she had given Faith to play. He looked scornful. 'I'll believe that when I see it.'

She said bitterly, 'How are you going to explain me to your mother? Do you reckon the hair makes me look like a nanny? If you ask me, I look totally irresponsible.' 'That's because you are.' His voice was deliberately cold. 'But I've been shopping. Harrods were very helpful. What are you, thirty-four, twenty-four, thirty- four? I think the uniform will fit nicely.' Her head whipped round, and just for a moment it felt funny not to have the weight of her hair following. Involuntarily she reached up and ran her fingers over what was left. She shuddered and it made her even more uptight. 'You have a nerve!' He was also uncannily accurate about her measurements. It embarrassed her to think he had studied her so intimately. 'I shan't wear it. You're not going to make a fool out of me!' fte lifted one dark eyebrow sardonically. 'You're inno position to refuse. You will at all times do what I say, when I say it.' 'And if I don't?' Fiona lifted her chin, the pale green of her eyes gleaming defiantly. 'Oh, but you will,' he said, and he sounded very sure, and his carved lips were very hard. 'For the record, my mother is expecting you. She wanted an English nanny for Becky. My mother is English, you see. My father was a white Bahamian. I'd already interviewed several girls when I hit on the idea of using you.' 'Cheap labour!' she exclaimed furiously, the true situation escaping her for a moment. 'Are you forgetting your debt?' Hard eyes rested briefly on her angry face. 'How much do you reckon you're worth as an untrained nanny? Forty pounds a week, fifty? Probably less. It's going to take a heck of a long time to pay back thirty thousand three hundred and twenty-one pounds.'

Fiona closed her eyes, sagging in her seatbelt. Surely he had said something about a month or two? 'You look dismayed? What did you expect, an early pardon for good conduct?' 'I never expected this,' she said limply. 'No more than I expected a pretty, intelligent girl like you to misappropriate company money. Tell me, Faith, exactly why did you do it? Didn't the firm pay you well enough? I always thought my uncle paid ridiculously high wages. He said it bought loyalty. What an old fool he was!' Fiona kept her eyes closed. What could she say? Who knew why Faith had done it? Perhaps it had been a compulsion? She hadn't desperately needed the money. Like he had said, Rivers Construction paid well. Faith had sufficient to buy all the clothes she wanted and have a good time. But until Faith returned and she, Fiona, went back home, the mystery would remain unsolved. Even then, Faith might not admit it. Punishment had been paid for the crime, so why not let it die a natural death? 'Mm, as I thought.' Brandon Rivers sounded bitter. 'No particular reason except perhaps a higher standard of living. Plenty of clothes, holidays abroad, a taste of the good life. You stole a few pounds, found you'd got away with it, and so it went on. Much wanting more, is that it? God, I'd like to wring your bloody little neck!' Fiona wanted to cry at the unfairness of it all. At first it had seemed a simple price to pay for her sister's indiscretion, her mother's peace of mind, but he was making it impossible. They hadn't yet got out of England and she felt as though she had been physically flayed. How much more could she take?

When she did not answer he too lapsed into silence and for the rest of the journey the atmosphere was uncomfortable, to say the least. He was tense, fingers strumming on the wheel whenever they had cause to stop. She got the impression that he would like to open the door and push her out. That he wished she had never entered his life. The same could be said of him. She wished wholeheartedly that she had never set eyes on Brandon Rivers, she wished she had never heard of him. Sitting in his car was like being trapped in a cage with a tiger. He was biding his time, but any second he would pounce, and devour her, savouring each mouthful, enjoying to the full her destruction. It was a relief when they reached Heathrow, but it was no ordinary plane on which they were flying to the Bahamas. Should she have expected it, knowing what type of man he was? Oh, no! It was an executive jet—a ten-seater Canadair Challenger. The pilot was ready and waiting, the plane was ready. Three other passengers were in their seats. In what seemed like seconds she was strapped in beside Brandon Riveb and the plane was moving along the runway. Was this how the other half lived? she asked herself, as they became airborne and an attractive girl in a pale blue skirt and blouse enquired whether they would like drinks. Brandon Rivers turned on her the full charm of his smile. 'Scotch on the rocks for myself, Linda—and water for Miss Hallerton. She doesn't drink.' Fiona could have hit him. Little did he know that she was, in fact, a teetotaller, but a fruit juice would have been nice. Nevertheless she made a determined effort not to let him see that his treatment hurt. She had noticed the effect he had on Linda, the girl looked as though her legs were about to collapse beneath her, and wondered whether

the day would ever come when he would look at herself as though she were a woman instead of a criminal. He was definitely the most attractive man she had ever met, and despite his attitude she still felt some of his compelling male magnetism. Sitting here now, waiting for their drinks, she was more aware of him than she had been at any time since their meeting. He had relaxed, was throwing some laughing comment to the man on the other side of the gangway, and stealing a surreptitious glance she was amazed at the difference. He looked—human. A funny thing to think, but up till now he had acted as though he was controlled by some inner force. His outer shell had been stiff and unyielding, disappearing only for the moments he had spoken to her mother. 'Hey, Max, watch what you're doing in Miami,' he said to one of the men. 'Don't forget you have a wife back home!' The man stole a glance at Fiona. 'Who's interested in the girls in Miami? How about introducing us to your friend? You've certainly kept her quiet!' 'It's Faith out of accounts,' said one of the others, sounding surprised. 'She's had her hair cut. What did you do that for, Faith? You look a different girl.' 'Still very eye-catching all the same,' returned the first man. 'You lucky swine, Brandon,' and to his companion, 'Why weren't we born rich? He gets all the winners!' Brandon's face had changed during this repartee, the grimness with which she was familiar returning, and now he said tightly, 'Shut up, the lot of you. Miss Hallerton no longer works for the company. She has a job in the Bahamas, and I'm taking her there. And that's all there

is to it. She's nothing to me, do you understand, and I'll thank you not to associate my name with her.' His colleagues looked at each other, shrugging and pulling wry faces. They clearly did not understand. Fiona felt like crawling beneath the seat. Surely it wasn't necessary for him to be quite so horrible in front of his business associates? She was conscious of her heightened colour, and when Linda brought her glass of water she was highly tempted to sling it over Brandon Rivers. In fact she toyed with it between her fingers for several minutes, looking at him obliquely, wondering whether she dared. 'I shouldn't, if I were you,' he said quietly, and she was shocked that he had read her thoughts. She took a sip and managed a vague smile. 'I really have no idea what you're talking about.' 'Oh, I think you have.' He swirled his own glass so that the ice chinked against the sides, appearing to concentrate his attention upon it. He spoke so softly that none of the others heard. 'I don't know how well these men know you, Faith, whether your reputation as a flirt has preceded you, but you'd be very wise to keep yourself to yourself during the flight. It's a long one, nine hours, and I've no doubt that they'll try to chat you up as soon as my back is turned. You will discourage them, do you hear?' She did not move. She sat very still, clutching her glass tightly, fighting an urge to scream and lash out. Who the hell did he think he was? She was as good as him any day. Better, in fact. She would never dream of treating people the way he did her. 'Answer me, Faith!'

Slowly she turned her head, her wide pale eyes deliberately insolent. 'Yes, sir. I'll do what you say, sir.' Then she drank her water, setting down the glass, and still very calmly moved in her seat so that her back was to him. All she could see was the sky, the white puffy clouds beneath—and an intolerable journey ahead! Before moving she had caught a glimpse of his face, the bitter twist of his mouth, the hardening of his eyes, and she was glad. Glad she had caused him just one tiny bit of the hurt he inflicted on her. After an hour or so the men grew restless and a video film was played. They were provided with a cold lunch and more drinks. But all the time Fiona sat, hunched in her seat, her back deliberately turned towards the rest of them. If this was how he wanted to play it, then it was what she would do. The rest could make of her what they liked. She knew for a fact that they would not mention her to Brandon again. They reached Miami and his colleagues said their goodbyes, smiling warily in her direction, puzzlement on most of their faces. It had been a relief to stretch her legs, but now she was back in her seat. This time she found it impossible to sit still. The embarrassing journey was almost over, but who knew what the future held? He was a cold, ruthless man, determined to make everything as difficult for her as he could. Her first sight of the islands was a breathtaking view of the water surrounding them. The variety of colour amazed her. Deep blue changed to purple over the reefs and to turquoise and emerald over golden sandbanks. She would have liked to share her pleasure—but with Brandon Rivers? Not likely! He had probably done the trip many times and

was immune to the aesthetic beauty of the Bahamas. He had a newspaper in front of him, had probably forgotten her existence. As they lost height it was possible to see the crystal- clear water within the reefs, the sunlight pinpointing the coral gardens, and she was sure that a few vivid flashes of colours must surely be fish. Even the circumstances of her being here could not dim her enthusiasm. Fiona caught a glimpse of white sandy palm-fringed beaches before they landed on a tiny airstrip on one of the smaller islands, and she looked about her with interest as they alighted. It was warm, but not unbearably hot, a pleasant breeze toying with the hem of her skirt and ruffling her short hair. She missed the feel of it about her face, and her resentment for Brandon Rivers deepened. A group of barefoot islanders in gay cotton clothes waved in welcome, their dark skins gleaming in the sun. A trap drawn by a pretty grey pony awaited. Brandon tossed in their cases as though they were empty. The driver feathered the horse with his whip and they were off. There was little room and Fiona found her thigh brushing the firm hardness of his. The contact sent tiny alarm pulses shooting through her and she edged away—except that there was nowhere to go! The inch or so that separated them did nothing to alleviate her awareness,and she became angry with herself for entertaining such feelings—and angry with Brandon for being so attractive. She was glad that their journey was short. In no time at all they stopped outside a low whitewashed villa. It looked simple and ordinary—nothing like what she had expected.

The garden was a riot of colour with all sorts of exotic flowers and shrubs to which Fiona could not put a name. It was the prettiest place she had ever seen. As soon as Brandon had lifted out their cases the trap disappeared, the pony's feet pounding sharply on the gravel track. Fiona stood hesitantly, looking about her, her heart scurrying suddenly at the thought of meeting his mother. Would she be as autocratic as her son? Would she also make her life here totally unbearable? 'Come along!' Brandon sounded impatient and she realised that he had gone on down the path and was holding the door open for her. Her legs felt heavy and she had to force herself to move. Inside, the square hall was cool and green, potted plants cascading from tubs and pots everywhere. There was a rush mat on the tiled floor which muffled their footsteps. He pushed aside a bead curtain and they moved into an even cooler, darker room. Reed blinds were drawn at the windows and there was a faint hum of air-conditioning and a smell of cologne. When her eyes became accustomed to the»gloom Fiona saw that his mother was asleep in a chair. Brandon stood over her, tender concern on his face such as she had never seen before. Here was one person he really did care about. Suddenly, as though some sixth sense told her that she was no longer alone, the woman's eyes opened. Fiona judged her to be in her late sixties, white-haired, but with a strong-boned face and startling clear grey eyes. That they were mother and son there was no disputing.

She smiled, reaching up to him. Brandon lowered his head and kissed her gently, folding her into his arms, a look of indescribable tenderness on his face. Fiona felt embarrassed. This was a private reunion. She shouldn't be here at all. But as she turned his mother saw her. 'Oh! Are you the new nanny? Forgive me, I didn't see you. Brandon, introduce us at once.' With reluctance, it seemed, he obeyed. 'Mother, this is Faith Hallerton. Faith—Mrs Rivers. I don't know where Becky is right at this moment, but I'll take you to your room and you can unpack and get into your uniform. Which is her room, Mother?' A slight frown creased the space between the older woman's eyes, speculating on the hardness of her son's tone. 'The yellow one, next to Becky's, but I want to talk to Miss Hallerton first. Take her case up, then go and collect Becky. She's at the Leyricks', supposedly playing with Pauletta. Take your time—I want to get acquainted with this young lady.' Fiona sensed he was not pleased with the arrangement, and caught the warning glint in his eye as he looked at her. One false move, it seemed to say, and you can look out! 'She's not the type of person I expected you to bring, Brandon,' continued his mother, 'Or --' looking at him knowingly, 'perhaps she is. I only hope you'll leave Miss Hallerton to get on with her job.' Not appreciating his mother's hint that he might be attracted to Fiona, he looked thunderous. Fiona smiled to herself. He looked as though he was going to explode. Only by some superhuman effort did he manage to keep himself under control. Perhaps this whole unfortunate affair was going to be as difficult for him as it was her.

She hoped so, she really did. It would give her the greatest pleasure to see his hideous plan disintegrate before his eyes. 'Sit down, Miss Hallerton,' said his mother when they were alone. 'Or may I call you Faith?' 'Please do.' Fiona chose a chair opposite Mrs Rivers. It was going to take some getting used to, answering to her sister's name. 'Now tell me about yourself. You're very young to be a nanny. Do they really train you so young these days?' Fiona hadn't a clue. She supposed so. Perhaps she ought to have brushed up on it before she came? Except that time had hardly been on her side. If she made a faux pas Brandon could blame no one but himself for getting her into this ridiculous situation. She made a guess and nodded. 'Everything's changed since your day, Mrs Rivers. I do hope you'll find me suitable.' Now why had she said that? What did it matter? Except that she had taken an instant liking to this rather charming woman. 'Time will tell. Now, Faith, where did you train?' Fiona swallowed and decided honesty was the best policy. 'I didn't. I have a young sister, and I like children, but those are my only qualifications. Your son does know this,' She looked down at her fingers, twisting them in her lap. 'But he seemed to think I would --' She could hardly say fit the part. He hadn't said that at all. He was hoping she'd make a mess of it, that it would be a hardship almost impossible to endure. 'You'd do,' Mrs Rivers finished for her. She smiled. 'Typical Brandon! Always does fall for a pretty face. I wish he'd settle down. I really can't keep up with his different girl-friends. I hope you're not going to lose your head over him, Faith. I've seen it happen so many times—and they never get anywhere, poor things.'

'There's no fear of that, Mrs Rivers,' said Fiona vehemently. 'Your son doesn't look on me in that light—and I'm afraid I—well, I don't really like him either.' 'Yet you agreed to come and look after Becky? Why was that?' There was a puzzled expression on Mrs Rivers' face. The question put her on a spot and Fiona avoided looking at her. She was a perceptive woman, already aware that there was some friction between her son and this pretty new young nanny. She smiled wryly and shrugged. 'Perhaps the Bahamas tempted me. They're certainly beautiful— what I've seen of them so far. You're very lucky having this-for your home.' 'And now it's going to be your home for a while.' Mrs Rivers was successfully sidetracked. 'I do hope you'll enjoy living with us. Becky has had an unfortunate experience—I don't know whether Brandon told you?' Fiona nodded. 'It must have been dreadful for her. I can't imagine anything worse.' Mrs Rivers sighed. 'I only hope it hasn't scarred her little mind for life. No one's been able to get through to her since. She's withdrawn into herself, entirely unnatural for so young a child. She rarely speaks and she has terrifying nightmares, and unfortunately won't let me console her. And now to top it all I had a fall and hurt my hip and it takes me all my time to get about the house. I'm at my wits' end, Faith.' She really did have more than her fair share of troubles, thought Fiona. And little did Brandon know that she was going to enjoy the challenge of this new and different job. Looking after Becky and helping Mrs Rivers in this delightful house on this island of sand, sea

and sun was going to be a happy experience— nothing like his intended prison sentence.

CHAPTER THREE FIONA and Mrs Rivers talked incessantly, discovering a mutual respect, the older woman expressing pleasure over her son's choice. 'I must admit when I first saw you I thought he'd landed me with some brainless beauty, but having got to know you, I think you will be ideal. You're young and full of life, which is what Becky needs, at the same time you're sensible. I know you'll stand no nonsense.' Fiona smiled. 'Thank you, Mrs Rivers. I shall certainly do my best. May I take a shower and get changed? It's been a long tiring day.' It was in fact only late afternoon, Bahamian time, but back home in England it would be after ten. Her body did not adjust so easily to the five hours' difference as did her watch. 'How remiss of me!' Mrs Rivers looked angry with herself. 'It was so nice talking to you I'd forgotten. You must be hungry too. If you'll help me up I'll fix a meal while you wash.' 'I'll do it if you like,' offered Fiona. 'I don't mind. I suppose it will be part of my job?' The woman smiled. 'Not strictly speaking, but I shall be glad of the help. Today, though, I'll look after you. Your room's through that door, third on the left. The bathroom's opposite. Take your time.' Fiona gave Mrs Rivers her arm. She was no light weight and leaned heavily on her. It had not been apparent when she was sitting that she was a big woman, almost as tall as her son, and certainly taller than Fiona. With her stick she managed to make her way into the kitchen and Fiona went along to her room. The yellow room! Aptly named indeed. Sunshine yellow walls, a white bedspread sprigged with tiny

lemon flowers, matching curtains, white furniture and a green carpet. A pleasant room, a happy room. She would like it here. Only one thing marred it. A grey dress and white pinafore laid out on the bed. Black lace-up shoes on the floor. Ugh! If he thought she was going to wear them he was mistaken. Blinds shielded the sun's glare, keeping the room cool. Fiona rolled them up, pushed open the fly-screen, and leaning out of the open window, inhaled the new and exciting scents that teased her nostrils. The view was more perfect than anything she had ever seen. Brandon was forgotten, the uniform was forgotten. This was like heaven on earth. They seemed to be on a slight hill and in the far distance through a fringe of palms she glimpsed a pale green sea lapping a white beach tinged faintly with pink. Closer to home were trees that looked like umbrellas, more palms, shrubs a riot of crimson and orange and yellow, thick shiny dark green leaves, lighter feathery fronds. A tropical paradise indeed. Butterflies, bigger and more brilliant than any she had seen, flitted from flower to flower, and it was with reluctance that she turned back into the room. Quickly she unpacked, then took a peep into Becky's room, which communicated with hers by an adjoining door. This too was bright and cheerful and was filled with more toys than a toyshop, bought probably to try and coax Becky out of her black depression. It was not material things she wanted, thought Faith, possessions could not make up for the loss of her parents—or the terrible traumatic ordeal she had been through. She thought she heard Brandon's voice and scuttled into the bathroom, bolting the door. The jets of water refreshed and revived, cutting out extraneous sounds, and when she padded back to her

room, wrapped only in a towel, she was horrified to discover Brandon waiting for her. 'I wanted to make sure you wear your uniform.' He sat on the edge of the bed, long legs outstretched, arms behind taking his weight. The expression on his face was difficult to read. It was as though he was daring her to defy him, as if he was looking forward to a verbal battle. Fiona knew she would not disappoint him. 'I don't agree. I think Becky will be overcome by it. She needs a friend, someone to understand her, someone with whom she can communicate. If I wear that I'll get nowhere.' 'And what do you know about children?' His frown deepened. 'I sure as hell hope you don't think this will be one big holiday, that you're here to play with Becky and do nothing else. You're here to work.' 'And you're hardly likely to let me forget it,' she snapped. 'Because I'm afraid you all too easily could.' Their eyes met and held, and Fiona became suddenly conscious that beneath the towel she was naked. She drew it more tightly about her and as though following her line of thought he said, 'Don't worry, you're quite safe. I wouldn't taint my hands on you.' 'Why, you --' Fiona was so shocked that she lunged at him. But the towel slipped and she grabbed that instead. 'You callous swine, how dare you!' The unusual green of her eyes turned luminous in her pale face. 'I'm as good as you any day. Although, come to think of it, I don't think I'd like you to touch me. You repulse me, do you know that? My skin would crawl if you so much as laid one finger on me.' The muscle working in his jaw should have warned her. He leapt from the bed with amazing agility for so big a man. His eyes were

murderous, hands outstretched towards her neck. She did not have time to back away before he was upon her. Never had Fiona felt so afraid. His treatment of her yesterday was nothing compared to the stranglehold he had on her now. She kicked and punched, but her bare feet and slight strength made no impact. And then, as suddenly as he had attacked, she felt his grip relax. Instead of her throat it was her head he clasped, moulding it between his long firm fingers, a strange silver light gleaming from his eyes. The next moment he was kissing her. His mouth worked on hers with savage brutality, and shock numbed her. She stood like a dummy, involuntarily submitting, vaguely aware that somewhere beneath her paralysed anger she found his kisses far from unpleasant. It was a disquieting discovery, and not the first time she had felt an unwitting response to his total male magnetism. He was one hell of a man, and she doubted he ever had a girl refuse him anything. She also knew that if he did not stop kissing her soon she would be in danger of revealing the effect he was having on her. Already her head was spinning crazily and she had an insane urge to press against him, feel the hardness of his bones, the power in those muscular thighs. Brandon must have felt the relaxing of her tension, because the next moment she was free, thrust from him abruptly. Malicious satisfaction appeared on his angular face, but before he could speak his mother called. 'Our meal's ready,' he said tersely. 'Be quick.' He spun on his heel and left and Fiona allowed the towel to fall, looking with distaste at her body through the mirror. It had let her down! Her long sculptured limbs, her firm moulded breasts, and the fickle heart that beat within.

They had all wanted this man, had experienced moments of profound, insane desire. She felt suddenly unclean and had there been time would have taken another shower, scrubbed away the lingering smell of him, the feel of his hands. Her skin had crawled, oh yes, but for an entirely different reason. A tremor ran through her and with an angry self- deprecating gesture she turned away. She pulled on a pair of white lacy briefs and matching bra, eyed the grey dress speculatively, then deliberately pulled a pretty pink cotton sundress from the wardrobe. A few minutes later she followed the sound of voices and discovered Brandon and his mother in the kitchen. It was a large airy room, Coolly tiled in blue and white. One end was used as a dining area with a round table and chairs, and gay blue checked tablecloth. At the table sat Becky, a chubby cherubic-faced little girl with a mass of black curls. But Fiona managed no more than a swift glance before Brandon barked, 'Your uniform, where is it?' And anyone looking at the cold light in his eyes would never have guessed that a short while ago he had been kissing her. 'I—I chose not to wear it.' She looked from him to his mother. Her defiance, she felt, had not gone unnoticed by her charming employer, and the woman smiled now and nodded. 'You're archaic, Brandon. As Faith pointed out to me earlier, things have changed. And if you bought it you've wasted your money. Faith's confessed she's not a trained nanny, so I know she wouldn't possess one. Besides, I don't think it would be a good thing—for Becky's sake. Come and meet Becky, Faith dear.' Fiona darted him a quick sidelong glance, wicked triumph in her green eyes. He looked thunderous, his lips in an even thinner line than

usual, hands clenched at his sides. It felt good to have scored against him, though she knew her pleasure might be short-lived. It displeased him to have his authority overridden. Now, though, Becky was of paramount importance. Mrs Rivers had slid awkwardly and painfully into the seat next to her granddaughter. 'Becky, my darling, this is Faith.' Fiona had already asked Mrs Rivers to allow the child to call her Faith, insisting that a formal Miss Hallerton was likely to put her off before they even got to know one another. 'She's come to live with us and she's going to look after you and take you out and you'll do all sorts of exciting things together. Won't that be nice?' 'Yes, Nana,' said the girl dutifully. Fiona smiled warmly. 'Hello, Becky.' The tiny tot had the Rivers' beautiful grey eyes, but instead of being laughing and full of mischief as one would expect of a child her age, they were expressionless. Deep haunted pools mirroring the appalling scene she had witnessed, locking into her mind the stark terror she had felt, hiding her grief. A lump of emotion rose and Fiona swallowed hastily. 'I do hope we're going to be friends. I need one. I don't know anyone here at all except your uncle and nana.' Wide, unblinking eyes fixed upon her, but the girl said nothing. Fiona wondered what was going through her mind. She glanced at Mrs Rivers, who gave a slight shrug. Fiona had already learned that Becky rarely responded, speaking only when necessary, or when her grandmother insisted on good manners. But Sara had gone through phases when she sulked and refused to speak, so Fiona was not entirely daunted. 'You'll have to show me where everything is, tell me what you like doing, and I'm sure we'll have a wonderful time.'

She sensed Brandon's eyes on her, and looking round saw the glimmer of surprise, the frown of puzzlement. She smiled at him, surprising him still more. It was evident he found her treatment of his niece unexpected. She turned back to the girl. 'Are you hungry, Becky? I am. I could eat a horse!' Sara usually giggled when she said that, her vivid imagination working overtime. But not a muscle moved in Becky's solemn little face. Fiona had no doubt, though, that she would eventually get through to her. If she didn't it wouldn't be for the want of trying. One look at the enchanting little child, one sight of those haunted eyes, had endeared her to her. Right now she felt like hugging and kissing her, giving her the love she so desperately needed. Mrs Rivers had done her best, trying everything possible to make Becky forget. But to Becky, she was simply her grandmother, and very, very old. She needed a younger person, a replacement for her mother. Though why she should presume to put herself in that position Fiona did not know! Something had happened to her in the few minutes she had spent in Becky's presence. Not the challenge of the job, nor the sympathy she undoubtedly felt; much more. A strange magnetic force that joined them. Somewhere inside Becky was a trigger. When she found it, when she released the happy little girl inside, there would grow a bond between them. Her own confidence amazed her. It could be a dangerous situation. Her job here was temporary. Once Brandon decided she had paid her supposed debt he would ship her back to England—and that would be the end of that. If she managed to win Becky's confidence, her departure could cause another setback.

Or had she perhaps too high an opinion of herself? No one was indispensable. Once the child had pulled out of her shocked state it wouldn't matter who looked after her. Children were resilient, springing back like a ball on the end of a piece of elastic. Becky's only disadvantage was that she had suffered more than most. Mrs Rivers signalled to her son to join them, and as he sat next to her Fiona was conscious of his disapproval deepening. He had hoped she would not fit in, that she would find the going hard, and resented already his mother's acceptance and her easy manner with Becky. It was a cold meal; ham, fresh crab meat, tomatoes, crusty bread, pineapple tart, trifle topped with freshly grated coconut and a whole lot of exotic fruits, some of which Fiona could not put a name to. Becky picked at the food her grandmother put on her plate. Mrs Rivers did not interfere; probably, decided Fiona, having learned the wisdom of not forcing her to eat what she did not want. Brandon, however, frowned tightly. 'Eat your bread, Becky, and stop fidgeting!' The little girl jumped visibly, his harsh voice frightening her. Fiona instinctively reached out and touched Becky's arm, and was startled herself when she flinched away. She glared at Brandon, hissing savagely, 'Now look what you've done? Haven't you more sense? Why take your temper out on her?' and then felt distinctly uncomfortable as his mother looked across, her fine brows arched reprovingly. 'I'm sorry,' she said immediately, 'I shouldn't have said that, it's not my place.' But how could she stop herself? He was so stupid, so incredibly ignorant where Becky was concerned.

Mrs Rivers' lips unexpectedly quirked. 'Brandon deserved it. He's like his father, has little patience—as I expect you've already discovered?' Oh yes, she knew that all right, but would it be wise to admit it? She risked a glance from beneath her long lashes. He stared at her with such cold hostility that Fiona felt a shiver run through her. It was not herself who should be on the receiving end of his hatred. It was very unfair—even though it had been her own idea to shield Faith. Abruptly he scraped back his chair. 'I'll have a word with you later. Excuse me, Mother.' When he had gone Fiona sighed and grimaced ruefully. 'Mrs Rivers, I really do apologise. I forgot for a moment my—er—position here.' 'I think,' said his mother, watching her closely, 'that you were already at loggerheads before you arrived, and that your response was instinctive. I confess I'm frankly puzzled by his attitude towards you, but it's not in my nature to interfere, and you both have a right to your private lives.' Fiona smiled weakly. 'You're very good to me. I don't deserve it.' Mrs Rivers shook her head. 'My main concern is Becky. I would like your promise that you will not argue with my son in front of her again. It's not good for any child to listen to grown-ups rowing, but Becky is even more sensitive. I try never to upset or frighten her.' Fiona knew that in the nicest possible way she had been chastised and blamed Brandon for it. Why the hell couldn't he hop back to England and leave her to get on with her job? Except that she knew there was no chance of that. He would hang around for as long as it took to witness what he hoped would be her struggle to survive against the odds he thought he had loaded against her.

But she was not Faith! Had Faith been here now she would have loathed the situation. She would have had no time at all for Becky and would probably have attempted to lure Brandon into an affair. If this was what he had expected it was no wonder he was disgruntled. 'I'll do my best, Mrs Rivers,' she said, realising she had not yet given her promise. The woman nodded. 'I'm sure you will. Now, Becky, how about some trifle? It's got bananas in, your favourite, and I'm sure Faith's going to have some too. It's really rather delicious.' Fiona concentrated her attention on Becky and managed to persuade her to eat most of the delectable concoction of bananas and creamy custard, feeling by the end of the meal that she had made progress, slight though it was. The child had not spoken, or smiled, tasting a spoonful when coaxed, seeming not to care whether she ate or not. But there had been no outright refusal as Fiona had feared. 'Perhaps you'd like to take Becky out into the garden before bedtime?' suggested her grandmother. 'I'll wash up and then I really must rest my hip.' There was considerable pain on her face which Fiona, her attention on Becky, had not noticed. 'I'll do them later,' she said quickly, 'when Becky's in bed—unless you'd like to help me, Becky, and we'll do them now?' Her thumb in her mouth, Becky nodded. Mrs Rivers said doubtfully, 'I hardly think she's old enough.' But Fiona replied, 'Little girls like to help. I'll supervise, don't worry—we won't break anything, will we, Becky?' This time a shake of the head, the thumb still a comfort.

Fiona helped Mrs Rivers through into the other room and then began clearing the table, giving Becky the easy things to carry. She placed a chair in front of the sink and knelt Becky on it, and soon she was up to her elbows in suds. It took a long time to wash up, the little girl painstakingly cleaning each plate and cup before placing them carefully on the rack on the draining board. She was soaked through to the skin by the time she had finished, but Fiona felt she had enjoyed it, even though the hoped-for smile had not yet appeared. 'I think we'll pop you in the bath now,' said Fiona, 'and then you can show me your toys and I'll read you a story. Would you like that?' Another nod. 'Then come and kiss Nana goodnight.' Fiona held out her hand, but Becky was not yet prepared to take that step, following a few paces behind instead. Fiona was surprised to see Brandon sitting with his mother, and wondered whether he had heard her chattering to Becky, and if so what he had made of it. His eyes were enigmatic, almost as expressionless as Becky's. The infant went dutifully to her grandmother. 'My goodness, you're soaked! What have you been doing?' Fiona smiled. 'She'll improve with practice. I'm going to bath her now.' 'And then I expect you'll be ready for bed yourself?' 'I wouldn't mind,' she admitted. Her limbs were already aching with fatigue. It had been a long and difficult day.

'After you've given me a few minutes of your time,' drawled Brandon, eyeing her closely. 'Really, Brandon,' said his mother sharply, 'won't it wait until tomorrow? The poor girl's ready to drop, surely you can see that?' He shrugged. 'I prefer to speak to her now.' While you're still in a bad mood! The words tumbled to Fiona's lips, but with great restraint, mindful of Mrs Rivers' warning, she held them back. 'My room is the other side of Becky's,' he said. 'Come to me when you're finished.' His mother looked shocked. 'And what's wrong with in here?' His smile did not quite reach his eyes, it curved his lips, but that was all. 'What I have to say is for Faith's ears alone, not you, my dear Mother.' 'You could take her outside. It's not right having a girl in your bedroom.' Mockery lifted his dark brows. 'I thought Faith had convinced you times had changed? But don't worry, I'm not going to seduce her.' 'Brandon!' His mother was outraged. Fiona turned away quickly. 'Come on, Becky, let's go.' She spent longer than she intended playing with her new charge. Even then she could not bring herself to go to his room. What was the point of walking into an argument?

But she did not get undressed. She sat on the edge of her bed and waited. He did not disappoint her. In less than ten minutes the door swung open, springing back on its hinges, and if Brandon had been capable of breathing fire she reckoned he would have done so at that moment. His nostrils were dilated, eyes sending out silver darts, jaw firm and inflexible. His hair was damp, as if he had showered, and he wore nothing but a silky robe belted round his middle. His legs were muscled and tanned, with a smattering of dark hairs, his feet pushed into thonged sandals. She wondered whether this was his usual garb when inviting members of the opposite sex to his room. Mrs Rivers would undoubtedly throw a fit if she saw him. Fiona was already discovering that her views were not very modern. 'You didn't come! Why?' The accusation shot across the room and Fiona felt herself stiffen involuntarily. She stood up, her chin tilted, her sleek short hair framing her elfin face. She did not realise how attractive she looked, with her cheeks flushed from the heat in the bathroom and her efforts to cajole Becky into some sort of response. She had failed—but it was early days yet. Brandon's lips twisted as he drew in a breath, his face becoming even grimmer. 'Answer me, damn you! What right have you to defy me?' 'Every right!' she cried. 'Why should I come to you when I know damn well that you're going to gun me down?' 'Yet you waited here! Why didn't you get into bed if it was your intention to ignore me?' He advanced into the room, kicking the door so that it slammed and she knew his mother would hear. 'Because,' she said tightly, 'I expected you.'

'And me seeing you half naked once was more than enough?' 'Judging by the state of you now it was what you hoped,' she cried, and moved warily round him. 'I think it might be best if the door- was left open.' 'Oh, no!' He was there before her, and so close that she could see the flecks in his eyes, and smell again that tantalising aftershave which would for ever remind her of him. 'I've discovered that you're not as immune to me as you would have me believe. Not that it came as any surprise. It's a good act you're putting on, I'll admit that. But don't forget I know the true you. You're a sexy little bitch, and it won't take much to crack the thin shell you've pretended to erect.' Fiona let him get on with it. He had a pretty good picture of her twin. Not a pleasant one, but unfortunately a fairly accurate one. 'When I want you I shall take you, but I'm not ready for that yet. You're quite safe.' Fiona could not help it. She lifted her arm and before he knew what was happening slapped him across his face, feeling satisfaction at the sound of flesh against flesh. He did not hesitate, he hit her back, and she clapped a hand to her cheek, looking at him in surprise. 'No one does that to me and gets away with it,' he growled. 'Though God knows why you pretend to be outraged when back in London it was what you were angling after.' 'Wishful thinking on your part,' she snapped before she could stop herself. She was about to follow it up with, 'I'm not like that,' but remembered just in time that it was Faith he thought he was addressing. How complicated it was all becoming, and how she wished she had never started the whole sorry affair. It was ridiculous

to think she could pretend to be her sister when they were so different in their ways. Consequently her wide green eyes were reproachful as she looked at him, and he frowned, as if wondering what was going through her mind. 'I wish I could believe you.' His quick flare of temper had subsided, but he was still in a foul mood and Fiona knew that there was much more to come. 'I cannot understand you, Faith.' He folded his arms, leaning back indolently against the door, his eyes keenly assessing. His regard disturbed her, though she affected not to show it, staring back at him coolly. She was vitally aware of the virile man beneath the robe. His legs were strong, thighs heavily muscled, and in the gaping vee at his neck she caught a glimpse of a powerful bronzed chest. His waist was slim, hips narrow, and he had long feet, the nails on his toes as immaculate as those on his hands. A quiver ran through her and she shook her head and made herself look away. This was insanity. 'Why can't you understand me?' She had to say something, she had to break the spell he was casting over her. 'You're a different girl. Either you're a darned good actress or some miracle has happened and you've reformed overnight.' She smiled wryly. 'Let's plump for the miracle, shall we? Is that all you want to say?' 'You'd like that?' But suddenly he smiled too, and she realised that his lips were not as thin as they appeared. They were quite fully really, nicely shaped and—she checked her thoughts. She was getting as bad as her sister!

'No, I want to know what you've been saying to my mother. She surprised me when she said you'd admitted you were not a trained nanny. What did you say that for?' 'Because, Mr Rivers, sir, she asked where I'd trained. I don't like telling lies, so I told her the truth.' 'Which was?' She sighed. 'That I had a younger sister whom I often looked after and that I liked children.' He looked amused. 'You don't like telling lies, eh? So what were they, little white ones that don't really count?' Her even white teeth bit on her lower lip. Another mistake! 'Your mother believed me, and you must admit it sounds genuine enough. Besides, I have looked after Sara. I'm not that selfish that I don't do my share in the house.' 'But with what reluctance? Heaven help the man who marries you! Unless he's rich enough to employ a houseful of servants I can see him doing all the work himself—including bringing up the kids!' Fiona looked at him, wondering how a man as physically attractive as he could harbour such unpleasant thoughts. It was heaven help the girl who married him! She would be under his thumb, he would rule her with a rod of iron, and pity her if she ever crossed him. 'Have you nothing to say to that?' Brandon obviously found her silence puzzling. A frown creased his brow and he unfolded his arms and hooked his thumbs into the belt knotted about his waist. She shrugged, lifting her slim bare shoulders. There was something missing. Her hair! She was so used to the feel of it brushing against them. Resentment tightened her. lips. She would never forgive him

for cutting it. Never! 'Only that I didn't realise you had such a low opinion of me.' He laughed harshly, an explosive sound in the tiny room. Except that it was not really small. It was quite spacious, but with him in, he dwarfed everything and it felt crowded. There was definitely not room for the two of them. 'I liken you to a worm, a crawling insect. If I could I would grind you beneath my heel. That's what I think of you, dear little dishonest Faith. Never for one minute think that I might forget the real reason you are here. I might put on an act for my mother's benefit, much as you're doing, though even that will be hard. I despise you more than words can ever say.' Fiona wished she was indeed a worm so that she could wriggle away into a hole and hide. Tears pricked the back of her eyes and she strove desperately to think what Faith's reaction would be. She could not take much more of this. It was stupid allowing herself to be crucified for something she had not done. Faith would fight back, there was no doubt about that. She would use her sexuality to advantage and have Brandon Rivers eating out of her palm in no time at all. Or at least if she didn't it wouldn't be for the want of trying. But could she do that? She was Fiona, not Faith. She was not used to 'flaunting herself. It was against her nature to flirt with any man. She preferred the old-fashioned method when the man approached the girl. 'Tears?' He saw the brilliance in her eyes. 'Upset you, have I? Or is this another act? You think maybe I'll have a change of heart if I realise I've distressed you? Think again, oh cunning one,' Brandon Rivers is a tough nut to crack. It will take more than tears and soft

appealing eyes, pretty though they are, especially when you cry. Like great luminescent orbs.' He strode towards her, looking closely. Fiona stepped back a pace, her vision blurred. She saw nothing but a giant of a man, his body stiff with rage— and she was afraid. She put out her hands to ward him off, but had not realised he was quite so near. When her fingers touched hard muscles sheathed in silk she jumped instinctively. He caught her hands and held them flat against his chest and she could feel the steady beating of his heart. Her own raced in response, though she was sure it was more from fear than a physical response. She blinked rapidly and tried to focus, but all she could see was a hard bony face and shuttered eyes. 'What are you doing?' She tried to pull her hands from beneath his, but it was impossible. Brandon did not answer. Perhaps he thought that such close proximity would bring out Faith's true nature. Perhaps he was hoping for something more after all, despite his cutting words. Faith, in this situation, would certainly have slid her arms around him, possibly unbelting the robe and moving her fingers intimately over the smooth firm skin of his back. Fiona closed her eyes. Even thinking of what her sister might do quickened her own heartbeats, made her aware of Brandon's intense masculinity, and she knew that she had to be careful. He was a dangerous man to dally with, fully aware of his own magnetism. He was trying to tempt her. It would delight him if she succumbed. But then what? He would reject her with malicious pleasure, take her to the heights and then drop her like a red hot coal.

He was devious, and cruel, and quite the most hateful person she had ever met, and she must, free herself quickly! She tugged and pulled, but although he allowed her to break contact with his body he still held her wrists. The two of them imprisoned in one long narrow hand, his brown fingers spread tightly around them. 'There is one other thing.' His eyes glittered and she knew it amused him to see her struggle, to yield to his power. He thought he was the master; little did he know that he had the wrong girl. He let go her wrists suddenly, catching instead the thin straps of her dress, pulling them so tightly she felt sure they would snap. 'There is one other thing. Why did you choose to wear this? Why did you go against my wishes?' 'If you were a woman would you wear that uniform?' she asked crossly. 'If it went with the job, yes,' he said. 'It's no different from a soldier or a sailor. It's made for the purpose.' 'Maybe,' she said tightly. 'But I'm not a trained nanny, and I'm not wearing it, and now; I have your mother on my side as well. So what are you going to do about it?' She stared up at him belligerently. He frowned harshly, deep lines running between his eyes. 'I don't have much choice—unfortunately.' 'Then I'll make you a present of it,' she said, laughing. She spun away, forgetting he held her dress, heard to her horror the sound of tearing material. The straps came away in his hand. The dress held up, just. Fiona clamped her arms to her sides and said thickly, 'Get out!'

Brandon looked amused and he toyed with the strips of material in his hand. 'A pity I tore it. A bigger pity I didn't make a better job of it. You have a very beautiful figure, Faith. I'd like to see more.' 'And I'd like to spit in your eye,' she cried savagely. 'For Pete's sake, get out!' She turned her back on him, and waited. He moved quietly so that she was unaware he advanced until she felt his hands on her shoulders. A shudder ran through her, but she seemed strangely powerless to move. It was as though she had expected it, almost as though she had willed him to touch her. She closed her eyes and rested back against him, felt his fingers move until they circled her throat. But unlike the time he had nearly strangled her they were gentle now, fingertips soothing. Quick desire flared in her and she knew that in a few moment he would slide down her dress and explore her body too. She also knew that she would be incapable of stopping him. A sudden sound made Fiona open her eyes. The door to Becky's room stood wide; the child was looked at them, petrified with fear, her face chalk-white, limbs trembling. 'Oh, my God!' gasped Fiona, but before she could reach her the child had slid to the floor in a dead faint.

CHAPTER FOUR BRANDON lifted Becky into his arms and carried her to her bed. He sat down, cradling her, patting her cheeks, ordering Fiona to fetch a glass of water. When she returned Becky had come round, though the horror in her wide eyes was worse than anything Fiona had ever seen. 'What's wrong?' she whispered. 'Do you think she had a nightmare?' His eyes snapped. 'She saw us. She thought I was strangling you. Hell, I could kick myself!' Fiona went limp. Of course! That was how her parents had died. The poor mite! She dropped to her knees at the side of the bed. 'It's all right, Becky darling. Uncle Brandon was playing. He wasn't going to hurt me. He wouldn't do a thing like that.' Not half! But she had to convince this trembling little bundle. 'That's right, Becky.' Brandon added his own reassurance. 'I like Faith. I was going to kiss her, do you know that? She's a very beautiful lady and you're very lucky to have her here to look after you now that Nana has hurt her hip. Shall I kiss her now?' But there was no response in the pain-filled eyes. They stared at Fiona unblinkingly and Fiona could imagine what thoughts were racing through her tiny head. She was so confused. How she wished there was something they could do! 'Leave us, Brandon,' she said quietly. 'I'll settle her.' He slid his niece gently between the sheets, and the infant lay exactly how he put her. Fiona talked in a soothing voice and hoped that she was getting through. There was no way of telling. She did not move, she did not speak. Faint colour had crept back into her cheeks, but the soulful eyes would haunt Fiona for the rest of her life.

God, what fools they had been! Why hadn't they realised that the child was still awake and most probably listening to everything they said? How long had she stood there? Or were Brandon's hands round her neck the first thing she had witnessed? No doubt the sound of their voices had attracted her, made her curious to see what was going on between her uncle and the new lady. Fiona would have given anything for the child not to have seen them. Heaven knew what harm they had done. They could have set Becky back right to the beginning. What would his mother say if she knew? They had best make sure she never found out. She sat with Becky until the child's lids drooped and she fell asleep. Even then she was loath to leave her, but eventually returned to her room keeping the door between them open just in case. A while later she heard Becky's outer door open and saw the shadowy shape of Brandon standing over the girl. He stood for what seemed a very long time, but not once did he glance in her direction. At length he turned and went, and she heard his own door close, and somehow she felt disappointed. What she had expected she did not know. If he had come to her she would have told him to get out, or even pretended to be asleep. But he had not even looked! This was what hurt. Had there been no truth in what he told Becky about going to kiss her? But what the heck? What if he had lied? She wouldn't have let him anyway. Or so she told herself. She did not like to admit that he was getting beneath her skin. It was a terrible thing to admit. She hated him. He treated her as though she were dirt. How could she be so fickle as to respond to his taunts—for that was all they were. He was testing, probing, wondering how far he could go. Thinking, no doubt, that one day he could go all the way. No, not thinking, he was confident of it, had even bragged about it. God, how she hated him!

She punched the pillow, and wished it was Brandon. She was overtired and could not sleep, and she lay for a long time listening to the chirring crickets, looking at the dark night sky and the moon. The same moon that she had looked at in England! It seemed strange but a little bit comforting too. Perhaps she wasn't so far away from home after all? With this thought Fiona fell asleep. Becky woke a couple of times in the night, crying out. Not a nightmare, distressing dreams, triggered off no doubt by their thoughtless actions. Fiona went in to her on each occasion, comforted her as best she could, not really knowing whether she helped or not. At seven she got up, dead tired, but unable to sleep any more. Outside was a beautiful day. She stretched and smiled happily and decided she was not going to let Brandon Rivers spoil it for her. Again she looked out of the window. The early sun was already warm, enhancing a scarlet poinsettia, picking out a purple bougainvillaea which clustered over a stone wall at the end of the garden. A bird with a black face cocked a cheeky eye at her, another unseen warbled his morning song. She felt like singing back, it was all so enchanting. A black and yellow sail bobbed on the distant, glistening sea. She could see tiny dots that were people already making the most of this glorious island paradise. She took a look at Becky before going to the bathroom. Her face in repose was angelic, her dark lashes fanning her cheeks. Looking at her now no one would guess at the suffering that went on in her tiny mind. Quickly Fiona showered and dressed; white cotton this time, with tiny green polka dots, loose-fitting and cool and suiting her new

gamin image. She was beginning to get used to her short hair. By now Becky was awake, sitting up in bed looking at a picture book, but Fiona had the feeling that she was not really interested. When Fiona entered she put it down, looking at her solemnly. It was impossible to guess what she was thinking. Fiona smiled. 'Good morning, Becky.' Best not to refer to last night, she decided. 'Come on, let's get you ready. I can't wait to go out into this beautiful sunshine!' Pulling back the sheet, she held out her hand. 'Do you want a shower, so that you'll feel all nice and fresh? Or just a wash?' Becky scrambled from the bed, avoiding Fiona's hand, then stood looking up at her. 'A shower,' she whispered, before her thumb went into her mouth. Fiona smiled gently. Progress indeed! 'Right, come on, scamp.' Ten minutes later she discovered it had been a dead loss getting herself ready first. Too late she had decided she should have stripped off her dress. The little girl had seemed to enjoy the shower, standing quite still, allowing the warm water to spray over her brown body, wriggling with pleasure, screwing up her eyes as it ran down her face and finally sitting crosslegged to let it cascade over her back. 'Do you usually have a shower?' asked Fiona when she had persuaded Becky to come out. She shook her head. 'Never?' A faint, 'No'. Perhaps Mrs Rivers was wise. Becky had refused to have the door of the shower cabinet completely closed, which was understandable, but it had meant Fiona getting very wet indeed. Tomorrow she would

wear either her bikini or a plastic overall, and later she would get a mop and dry the bathroom floor. She dressed Becky in a pair of blue shorts and a white tee-shirt, brushed her hair, admiring the thick dark curls which would soon dry in the heat of the sun, and they made their way to the kitchen. It was empty. She wondered whether Brandon was up. She looked in the cupboards and refrigerator, asked Becky whether she would like an egg, boiled one for each of them and they sat down at the table. He came in as they were finishing. But he came from outside and he looked as though he too had slept little that night. 'Good morning, Becky,' he said. 'Good morning, Faith,' and the eye he cast over her was speculative. 'Say good morning to your uncle, dear.' Fiona was glad to concentrate her attention on the child. Apart from the lines of fatigue on his face he looked devastating in a pair of navy denim shorts, which revealed the long powerful length of his legs, and a white top edged also in navy, the half-sleeves stretched across muscular forearms. Her breath caught in her throat as she wondered what might have happened had Becky not interrupted them. She must have been insane, to let him so near. It would not happen again. He sat at the table and poured himself a cup of coffee. 'Is my mother not yet up?' 'I haven't seen her.' He pushed back his chair. 'I'll go and check, make sure she's all right.' 'Would you rather I --'

He silenced her with a glance. 'You're here to look after Becky, not my mother. Becky is a full-time job, as you're no doubt discovering.' In other words he did not want her to make herself indispensable to his mother. That was not his idea at all. It already rankled that his mother was on her side over the uniform. 'Point taken, Mr Rivers,' she said silently. 'But I don't think you're going to win.' His coffee was cold when he returned, Mrs Rivers leaning heavily on his arm, her face creased with pain. She dropped into a chair. 'Faith dear, I'm so sorry. My hip—it's worse some days than others. I'm afraid you'll have to do more than look after Becky today. Do you mind?' 'Not at all.' Fiona smiled warmly. 'I'll do whatever you want. You sit in your chair or go back to bed, just as you like. Give me your orders and I'll carry them out. Becky will help me.' She turned to the child. 'You can wash up again after breakfast. How about that? And then you can dust and help me make a cake, or whatever Nana wants.' 'You're a treasure! Where did you find her, Brandon?' Mrs Rivers' eyes were warm, unlike those of her son. His disapproval of the arrangements was obvious. Even his mother frowned at him. 'You don't think Faith should help me?' 'Oh, I agree,' he said surprisingly, pouring himself another cup of coffee, and one for his mother. 'I think she should be made to work very hard, very hard indeed.' The white-haired woman shook her head impatiently. 'Really, Brandon, there are times when I don't understand you! You've got something against Faith, even an idiot can see that. I'm not going to ask what, that's your affair, but I would like to know why you brought her here, if all you're going to do is to get on to the poor girl!'

Brandon switched his glance to Fiona. 'Faith knows why. Let's leave it at that, shall we?' And there was a warning glitter in his eyes. For a moment she held his gaze. He was a fool if he thought he was going to hide his secret from his mother for ever. But on the other hand, what would Mrs Rivers say if she thought she had a thief in the house? Would she send her away? Or would she agree with her son's course of action, acceding that this was a good way of making her pay back what she had presumably stolen? Or would she disagree entirely and sympathise with her, Fiona, and try to discover exactly why she had done what she had done? What Faith had done! She turned to his mother and smiled. 'It's all right, Mrs Rivers, I don't need you to stick up for me. Brandon and I understand each other better than you think. What would you like for breakfast—and you, Brandon? Can I get you something?' The crisis was avoided, she hoped. Brandon refused to eat, drinking cup after cup of black coffee. Mrs Rivers ate a thin slice of toast and then begged to be taken into the other room. Becky watched them all intently, and they had forgotten she was there. She was such a quiet little mite it was easy to put her out of their minds, but Fiona felt sure that she took everything in. And although she wouldn't really understand what it all meant she would sense that there was something wrong between her uncle and Faith. While Brandon settled his mother Faith and Becky cleared the table. She stripped Becky of all but her pants and together they washed and dried. Brandon came in when they had almost finished. 'My mother would like to see you.' She smiled for Becky's benefit. 'I won't be a moment, we've nearly .done. Becky's very good at washing up, Uncle Brandon.'

'Oh really?' She had expected him to compliment his niece, or at least give her a warm smile of encouragement. Instead he seemed totally uninterested. 'I'm going out—I have business on Grand Bahama. I shan't be back until this evening. I think, though, that you'll have plenty today to keep you occupied.' He was in a foul mood, and some imp in Fiona made her say cheerfully. 'Yes, I'm really rather enjoying it. It's quite fun. I'm glad you brought me here.' Anger flashed through his eyes, the thick lashes framing them darkly. 'You can't fool me,' he grated through clenched teeth. 'You won't keep this up. It's a novelty now, but give it a few days and you'll wish you'd never set foot in this place!' 'Or heard of Brandon Rivers?' she dared. 'I already wish that. You're the only thing that spoils it.' His jaw firmed. 'And I shall go on spoiling it for however long it takes. I'm damn sure you're not going to get any pleasure out of this!' Fiona glanced at Becky, saw the alarm on her face as she gazed up at her uncle, and said quietly, 'You're frightening her. I think you'd better go.' He changed dramatically, smiling at the little girl and swinging her up into his arms. 'You're not frightened of me, surely? I'm not shouting at you—and I'm not really shouting at Faith. I'll bring you a present back, shall I? What would you like—a new doll?' Heavens! thought Fiona. The child already had more than she could ever play with. 'Bring some colouring books,' she said 'and paints and crayons and pencils, and some books with those cut-out dolls that you put paper dresses on. She's got nothing like that.'

He looked at her scathingly. 'You deign to tell me what to buy my own niece?' Her chin lifted. 'I'm her nanny. I do know best.' 'God,' he said to no one in particular, 'it's gone to her head.' He put Becky down, kissing her wet cheek, appearing not to mind that she had dampened his shirt. 'I'll see you tonight, little girl. Look after Nana.' She nodded gravely and he went without saying another word to Fiona. Mentally shrugging, she finished tidying the kitchen, dressed Becky again, and they went through to the other room. The blinds were not drawn this morning, the windows flung wide, the fly-screen filtering the light. In front of the window lay Brandon's mother. Her settee was heaped with cushions and she was reading a newspaper. She looked better, her face free from the pain that troubled her when walking. 'What a delightful view!' Fiona looked through the windows, entranced. 'I didn't know you had a pool— how marvellous! Does Becky swim?. Mrs Rivers smiled. 'Like a fish—though she hasn't done much of it lately. Perhaps you'll persuade her?' 'Love to,' exclaimed Fiona. 'Oh, it's so beautiful here—I am lucky. Thank you, Mrs Rivers, for having me.' She sat down on the edge of the settee. Outside the window was a patio with loads of terracotta tubs filled with a profusion of plants in exotic reds, yellows and purples. Beyond them was the pool, blue-tiled, rectangular and very inviting. Wooden loungers, which she guessed had their own padded cushions, waited to be used. There was a table and umbrella and cast-iron chairs, and beyond all that was

a thick hedge of dark, glossy-leaved shrubs, sprouting huge wax-like flowers, and towering above them palms with silvery leaves. 'I think I'm lucky in having you,' said Mrs Rivers softly. 'I was just saying to Brandon that I think he ought to give you a raise in your salary with all this extra work.' 'And what did he say to that?' Fiona wished she had been there to hear them. 'That we would have to see what sort of a worker you were.' She frowned and took off the glasses she had worn when reading. Her clear grey eyes were puzzled as she looked at Fiona. 'I have the impression that he thinks you won't make a very good job of looking after Becky, and now, unfortunately, me.' Fiona smiled. 'Let's say he's hoping I won't make a very good job of it.' And because she felt that this nice woman was entitled to some sort of explanation, she continued, 'He didn't know me personally when he asked me to take this job—it was through—a third party. And to be quite frank, Mrs Rivers, we just don't hit it off—as you've noticed. I think he'd be happy if I failed.' 'But it was his idea that you came here?' 'Oh, yes. He was quite insistent.' 'So whoever recommended you must have spoken very highly? They would have to, to make Brandon go against his own judgment. In fact I've never known my son do a thing like this before.' She sucked the side of her glasses contemplatively. 'I think he's of the same opinion that I was in the beginning—all beauty and no brains. You have a very sensual face, my dear, enough to set any man's heart fluttering, but at the same time it's intelligent.'

Fiona began to feel embarrassed by all this, looking down at her hands folded in her lap. Becky was sitting on a chair nearby, deep in her own thoughts. 'And wearing your hair like that is a master-stroke. So many girls wear it long, floating about their faces, thinking it makes them more alluring. You've defined the beautiful shape of your head. You look enchanting, little-girlish and yet at the same time a woman. Any man who didn't take a second glance at you would want his head examining!' Fiona's cheeks dimpled. 'And you think your son does?' Mrs Rivers laughed. 'Not quite—he's aware of you, all right, and fighting it every inch of the way. So long as you don't let him get you down?' She sounded anxious. 'I can look after myself,' Fiona assured her. 'In fact, if you don't mind me saying so, I find the challenge stimulating.' 'Good for you, Faith!' The woman sounded satisfied and began to detail the work she would like doing. 'But you must have some free time,' she insisted. 'You're not going to be at beck and call twenty-four hours a day. You can have a couple of hours this afternoon while I have my nap. Use the pool—it's so rarely anyone goes in these days it seems quite a waste of money.' All morning Becky trotted after Fiona, doing whatever she was asked, speaking the odd word, even occasionally giving a wan smile. She seemed more relaxed when Brandon was not there and Fiona wondered whether it wasn't the effect of last night, whether in her own little mind she had been convinced that her uncle was about to strangle her. She would have to speak to him about it. They would have to make sure she witnessed no more of their arguments—except that it had

been hardly that. She was not sure what had been happening—and she preferred not to dwell on it. Becky had a rest after lunch and Fiona took the opportunity to stroll in the grounds. They were even more beautiful than they looked from inside. Here the heady scents could be appreciated to the full. She discovered trees covered with rich red flowers, and others heavy with bananas and mangoes. She was enchanted by a lizard sunning itself on a rock, and shuddered when .she. saw a black snake slithering through the undergrowth. And over all this was a clear blue sky. It was hot, but not oppressively so, and she felt alive and quite forgetful of the fact that she was serving a kind of prison sentence. She wanted to explore the whole island, she wanted to run and sing, and she was glad to be alive. She went back to her room and wrote a letter to her mother, hopeful that Brandon would post it for her the next day. And then Becky awoke and she took her to the pool. 'The water was warm and silky and the little girl needed no persuading. Perhaps all that had been required was someone willing to join her? She was a good swimmer, seemingly tireless, and they fooled about in the water until it was Fiona herself who called a halt. 'You're wearing me out,' she laughed. 'What are you, a water baby?' Becky gave a shy smile and showed Fiona where the brilliantly flowered cushions for the loungers were kept. They lay down and soaked up the sun. It was warm and soporific, and Fiona fell asleep. She woke when a rough hand shook her shoulder, and opened her eyes to see Brandon towering over her. To say that he was angry would have been an understatement. He was in another of his incredible rages.

He spoke tersely. 'What are you doing?' Still slightly dazed, Fiona blinked owlishly. 'What does it look as if I'm doing?' 'As though you're on holiday!' he bit. His arm shot out and he yanked her up. Fiona struggled furiously and wondered how long she had been asleep. 'Where's Becky?' she asked. 'Precisely. You should be looking after her. You have no right to indulge yourself when my back's turned. Besides, you're as red as a lobster. Have you no sense?' He dragged her along by the wrist as though she was no older than Becky herself. 'You'd better put something on that or you'll be as sore as hell in another hour!' Her skin already felt uncomfortably warm, but what right had he to dictate? 'I'll be all right,' she snapped. 'I don't need you to tell me what to do.' 'No?' His brows rose in a straight line, his forehead creasing into the dark waving hair. 'You're mine to do with as I like. Or is your memory so short? I must say, Faith, you're acting as though you're enjoying yourself. I really shall have to see what I can do about that. It's not what I had in mind at all.' They reached the house and he released her. She rubbed her wrist. 'I never thought for one moment that it was. I'm under no delusion, I assure you. But your mother did insist that I have some free time—and surely even inmates in a prison have periods they can call their own?' 'Yes,' Brandon snarled, 'when they're asleep—and that's all you're going to get!'

His mother called and they went in to her. Becky was there, sitting beside her, a doll dangling from her hand. 'Brandon, you're back early. We didn't expect you yet.' 'So I gathered.' His dry tones were not lost upon his mother. 'Becky and Faith have been swimming, isn't that nice? Becky enjoyed herself, didn't you, love?' The tot looked at her uncle and seemed to freeze. Fiona sighed inwardly. It was very much as she had feared. 'And Faith has almost given herself sunstroke. Where's that special lotion you keep? She'll need it.' 'It's in the cupboard, over the fridge.' Mrs Rivers looked at Fiona. 'Becky told me you'd fallen asleep, but I didn't realise how time was passing. You really should be careful, my dear, with your fair skin. But this stuff I have will take the sting out of it. Keep out of the sun for a day or two and you'll be fine.' Brandon returned with the bottle and handed it grimly to Fiona. She excused herself and went up to her room. She was alarmed when she looked at her reflection. Heavens! She really was going to be as sore as Brandon had warned. She poured some of the lotion into her palm and patted it gingerly on one arm. It was cool and soothing and unlike anything else she had ever used. Perhaps it worked miracles? She had a sensitive skin and usuallytook care not to stay out too long in the sun. If she hadn't been so tired! It was Brandon's fault—he shouldn't have kept her up. And then there was Becky. They had disturbed her night too. He was a swine, he really was, and now he was angry with her yet again. There seemed to be no end to it.

She hadn't expected to find her job a bed of roses, but she had not thought he would be so condemning in front of his mother. He was arousing her curiosity as nothing else would, and sooner or later she would probe more deeply into what was wrong between them. When her door opened she looked round, startled. 4

I thought you might need some help.'

Brandon looked amused and she could guess at the thoughts going through his mind. Even as he stood there his eyes were making their own exploration of her scantily-clad body. Her bikini was shocking pink, the top nothing more than two triangles laced together with cord. Faith had bought it for her last birthday and she had packed it thinking it would be ideal for the Bahamas— but she had never intended letting Brandon see her in it. 'It's almost difficult to decide which is you and which is bikini,' he said softly, insolently. 'Give me the bottle and lie down, I'll do your back.' 'I can manage,' she said tightly, bravely submitting to his appraisal. 'And if you've quite finished looking I'd thank you to leave.' His smile was slow and deliberate. 'I could watch you all day. Your long fluid limbs and beautiful breasts quite take my breath away. And once that red has changed to gold you'll be quite irresistible. Has anyone ever told you what a fantastic body you have?' 'You're a lecherous old man!' she snapped, even as her pulses raced. She was afraid and fully aware that a few minuscule pieces of material would not deter him.

'Thirty-five, old? Oh, no, I'm in my prime, and you, dear lady, are putting all sorts of ideas into my head. Why act coy? Don't forget I know the true you.' And Faith would be in her element in this situation! Brandon wanted her, she sensed it. He had that look in his eyes and she knew that she had to get him out of the room. She was not like her sister. She would get no pleasure out of this. 'You think you know me,' she cried, 'but you're mistaken. Please go, Brandon.' 'Only if you let me cream your back.' And she knew he meant it. With a sigh she handed over the bottle and lay face down on the bed, closing her eyes tightly, drawing in a swift breath when she felt the weight of him beside her. There was no need for it. He could have stood up and done the job quite easily. But she knew better than to argue. She was in a vulnerable position right at this moment. 'Are you a restless sleeper?' he asked, the second before his palm touched her shoulder. She tensed, alarmed at the reaction he had triggered inside her. 'Not that I know of, why?' 'Because you're red all over. If you'd stayed in one position you would have burned on one side only.' She was sure his movements were deliberately sensual. His fingers traced across her back with a slow deliberate action, sending shivers of anticipation through her body. 'I must be, then,' she said breathlessly.

He moved lower. His hands soothed and gentled over her waist, sensitive fingertips probing expertly. Then her thighs, long smooth erotic strokes. He knew exactly what he was doing and it took all her self-control not to show some reaction. His breathing had deepened noticeably and he was quiet. She wondered what he was thinking. She daren't come up with an answer. Then all too soon he had finished. His weight lifted from the bed and Fiona risked glancing up. He smiled, completely in control of himself. But the smile held a secret. He knew what he had done to her! He held out the bottle. 'Can you manage the front yourself? I'd be more than willing to oblige.' She was disappointed it had not taken him longer. It had all happened so quickly and she had, to be truthful, enjoyed it. But it was a relief that he was going to keep his word. It was one point in his favour. She stood up and took the bottle, flexing her shoulders. 'Mm, it feels better already. This really is good stuff. What is it?' He shrugged. 'Some concoction of my mother's. She has a cure for most ills, such as applying crushed leaves of ornamental acalypha for rheumatism. She says it works, I don't know. We have a travelling out-island doctor service and I'd rather rely on him if I'm ill.' 'Anyway,' she said, trying to make her tone light. 'Thanks for your help. I'll be along in a minute to prepare our evening meal.' His lips quirked. 'Dismissal?' Fiona nodded. 'That's right.'

'Pity. I enjoyed that. You must let me do it again some time.' He walked with slow easy strides across the room. He had an animal grace, each muscled movement perfection in itself, and Fiona found herself watching him. He was probably a fantastic lover! At the door he turned, caught the expression on her face, and looked satisfied. 'You feel as good as you look, baby. But then it's a well-known fact that you should never judge a parcel by its wrapping.'

CHAPTER FIVE FIONA almost threw the bottle, remembering in time that she still needed to use the lotion. Brandon grinned and closed the door quickly and she was left fuming. It was all very well pretending to be Faith, but it was not easy to accept the insults he hurled at her. There would come a day when she could take no more, when she would blurt out the whole story. Not that she expected him to believe her. He hadn't believed her in the beginning, so why now? He would think that his plan was working and congratulate himself on his success. But he wouldn't relent. He might even be harder. She finished applying the lotion and slipped into the loose spotted dress Becky had soaked that morning. She had rinsed and drip-dried it and it looked as fresh as ever. The spots matched the catkin green of her eyes and the soft material was gentle on her skin. It was necessary to go through Mrs Rivers' sitting room to get to the kitchen, and Fiona was surprised to see Brandon sitting on the floor with his niece. Colouring books were spread out in front of them and the child was laboriously crayoning, using plenty of thick bright colour, the tip of her tongue clenched between her teeth in concentration. 'New books, Becky?' asked Fiona cheerfully. 'How lovely! You must show me later what you've done.' Brandon looked up, eyes gleaming. 'How's the sunburn?' But that wasn't what he meant, she felt sure. 'How's the temper?' was the question his eyes asked. She looked at him indifferently, then glanced at Mrs River. 'Your magical cure seems to have worked wonders. You must give me the recipe. Brandon says you have a cure for most ills.'

'I believe in a lot of the old remedies,' she said. 'I have a book on bush medicines if you'd like to look through it some time.' 'But she doesn't believe that pentagona, or the love vine, to give it its common name, is an aphrodisiac,' laughed Brandon. 'Do you, Mother?' Mrs Rivers shrugged. 'My son is a tease, Faith. He likes to get me going.' But her grey eyes rested on him lovingly. Fiona moved through into the kitchen and began setting the table for their meal. Under Mrs Rivers' directions she had earlier prepared a conch salad which consisted of diced conch, onions, hot red pepper, celery, sweet green pepper, cucumber and green tomatoes. According to the older woman Bahamians love seafood, the conch being their favourite, and Fiona had been surprised to discover the many different ways in which this creamy white mollusc could be prepared. All she had known about conch before was that they had very decorative pink shells which were on sale in almost every seaside town. When Brandon entered she was aware of him before she looked round. A tingle down her spine warned of his presence. 'You've not come to help?' she could not help the bitterness in her voice, it was an involuntary defence mechanism. 'Oh, no—that's your job, but I'm past the crayoning stage. I thought I might find it more entertaining in here.' Fiona lifted a fine brow. 'But not, surely, as rewarding? You might turn out a masterpiece—you never know.' He was not amused and said tightly, 'Becky is quite happy with my mother.'

'I was glad to see you got her those books,' she said, 'Most of her other stuff's too sophisticated for a child her age. I don't know who chose them.' He looked at her coldly. 'As a matter of fact I did.' She returned his stare with an equal coldness. 'Then you don't know very much about children.' 'Since I have none of my own, is that surprising? And now I suppose you're crowing because you're right and I wasn't?' Fiona smiled, the dimple deepening in her cheek. 'It surprises you, does it?' She reached out a fruit flan and began piping cream rosettes round the edge, each one as perfect as the next. For a few seconds he watched her in silence. 'Where did you learn to do that?' She shrugged airily. 'One of my many hidden talents. I made the flan too, in case you're wondering.' When he bounced out of the kitchen she almost laughed aloud, and it more than compensated for his derisory comments earlier. It did not suit him to find her so competent, but it suited her very well to get one up on him. Throughout the meal he sat grim and silent. 'Don't you think Faith's a wonderful cook?' his mother asked at one stage, shrugging resignedly when he glared and did not answer. Afterwards, when Becky was in bed, Fiona sat with his mother. She expected her to bring up the subject of Brandon's behaviour over dinner, and was surprised and relieved when she made no mention of it.

But he was in both their thoughts, she knew, and when he appeared at the side of the pool, clad only in a pair of brief dark swimming-trunks, she caught an involuntary breath. His broad back was tanned to gleaming copper, and as he lifted his arms and raised himself on tiptoe ready to dive, it portrayed to perfection his muscular power. ShS could not drag her eyes away.Mrs Rivers smiled. 'He's a fine figure of a man, Faith. He does me proud. Why don't you join him?' And enjoy herself? That wasn't allowed. 'I don't think so,' she said. 'I've had enough sun and water for today.' But it was a tantalising thought. She would enjoy nothing better than being out there with Brandon. She watched as his powerful, arms cleaved the water, up and down he swam, effortlessly, tirelessly. She lost count of the number of lengths he did. 'He trained for the Olympics,' said his mother proudly, 'then he pulled out and said it wasn't for him. He would have won a gold medal, I'm sure.' And if they gave out gold medals for being cruel and ruthless, he would win one of those too, decided Fiona, angry because she could not be out there with him. It was an hour before he hauled himself out. Somehow he did not look as though he had enjoyed it. He dabbed himself carelessly with a towel and his mother called him into the room as he passed the doorway. His skin still glistened, hairs lying flat along legs and chest, the hair on his head a tight mass of black curls. 'Brandon, why didn't you invite Faith to join you? She would have enjoyed it, I'm sure, and she's a good swimmer, I was watching her this afternoon.'

His brows drew together. 'Are you forgetting, Mother, that Faith is an employee?' 'Rubbish,' she said stoutly, surprise in the grey eyes. 'She's like one of the family. I took to her straight away and I can't think why you're so against her. She's worked jolly hard today, she deserves some pleasure.' 'Oh, yes,' he sneered, draping the towel round his neck like a scarf, 'I saw the way she was working when I came back. Very impressive!' Fiona was unable to keep her eyes from him. The sight of his compelling male body caused her heart to jerk painfully. Broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips, his chest strongly muscled, his legs long and powerful. He was the most powerful male animal she had ever seen. He caught the look in her eyes and she knew that he was aware of the thoughts chasing through her head. She felt an almost primeval longing to go to him, to be held by those sinewy arms, feel the strong beat of his heart. It was a heady, breathless sensation, and she shuddered unintentionally and was rewarded by a light of satisfaction in those dark eyes. She turned to his mother. 'Please, Mrs Rivers, I didn't want to swim anyway. Don't argue with your son because of me.' 'Don't worry,' his voice had softened, but the implied criticism was there, 'you're not worth arguing over. If you'll excuse me, I'll go and get dressed.' There were two damp patches where he had stood and Fiona found herself staring at them long after he had gone. His mother looked sad. 'I've never seen Brandon like this before. I wish I understood.'

Fiona smiled and shrugged, then stood up. 'I think I'll go to my room. Becky split her shorts today. I'll mend them before I forget.' 'In other words you want to keep out of Brandon's way?' suggested Mrs Rivers intuitively. 'Not that I blame you—he's like a bear with a sore head these days! Goodnight, Faith. Sleep well.' Fiona sat by Becky's bed to dg the sewing, looking often at the sleeping child, a tender smile curving her lips. She was such a pretty little thing, it was incomprehensible that such tragedy should have touched her young life. She found it difficult to believe that such things happened. These sun-kissed islands were a tropical paradise, their serenity and incredible beauty needing to be seen to be believed. What sort of characters were they who could threaten the safety of people enjoying the pleasure and excitement of sailing round these islands? Gently she reached out and stroked Becky's dark hair back from her flushed face. Perhaps one day soon the child would be able to push from her mind all that had happened until eventually it would seem no more than a bad dream. Brandon came in at that moment, looking surprised to see her there. 'Oh, very touching,' he jeered, 'except that somehow it doesn't ring true.' Afraid that he would wake up Becky, Fiona rose and moved through into her own room. He followed, closing the door soundlessly behind them. 'Now what?' she asked impatiently. 'You're for ever following me around. Aren't you satisfied with what I'm doing?' 'That's just it, you're too damn perfect.' His lips were compressed, deepening the lines scored from nose to jaw. His hair was dry already,

and neatly combed, and he wore a pair of stone-coloured trousers held up with a thin leather belt. His chest was bare, so too were his feet, and he sat down on a chair near the door stretching out his long legs, linking his hands behind his head. He eyed her speculatively, as though by so doing he could see where he had made his mistake. 'And you consider that a crime? Perhaps another reason why you should treat me badly?' Fiona perched on the edge of the bed, looking at him from beneath her lashes. 'It's something I cannot understand,' he snapped, 'I could have sworn you weren't this type of girl—and it can't be an act, you're doing things too well.' 'Perhaps I'm a Jekyll and Hyde character?' she offered caustically. 'Or maybe you're not so good at judging people as you thought you were.' Brandon jumped up suddenly. 'Whatever you are, you can rest assured that I shall find out.' 'I'm sure you will,' she said sweetly. 'I'm sure you'll let no stone go unturned until you've discovered why I'm so good at doing the things you thought would be a hardship for me. Or perhaps you'll try and find something else for me to do, that I'm not so good at?' 'You're damn right I will!' he snarled. His anger excited her, made her want to taunt him further, even though she knew it was a dangerous thing to do. 'You might find it a difficult task, Mr Rivers. I'm pretty good at everything.' He nodded violently. 'Oh, yes, I'm well aware of that. Embezzling topping your list, and flaunting your damned beautiful body next. Housekeeping and childminding may be there, but they're way down— more a necessity than a pleasure.'

Fiona bit back a heated retort, looking at him coldly, her eyes steady. Her silence enraged him further. 'I could willingly kill you,' he grated, 'except that would be far too easy a way out.' 'Careful,' she warned, 'you'll wake Becky. We don't want another recurrence of what happened last night.' His eyes flicked back towards the door and with a supreme effort he calmed himself. 'My mother has suggested that I take you and Becky into Nassau tomorrow. Becky needs some new sandals—and she also thought you might enjoy looking around our capital.' He did not look as though he would enjoy escorting her. 'It would be nice,' she said, 'but she's quite right, I would enjoy it. And that wouldn't do at all, would it, Mr Rivers? Maybe it's best if I don't go.' She looked demurely down at the floor as she spoke, trying to hide a smile, knowing full well that if his mother wanted them to go they would. 'My, God, Faith,' he slammed, 'you sure know how to try a man! We go straight after breakfast. And it might be advisable, difficult though I know it will be, to call a temporary truce to hostilities. We can't subject Becky to a whole day of you and me at each other's throats.' She smiled. 'Was that your idea, or your mothers?' One look at his face told her the answer. 'I'll do my best,' she said, 'though it will be hard. You're not easy to get on with.' 'In the circumstances it's hardly surprising,' he said stiffly. 'You're not the type of girl I usually associate with.' 'Nor are you my type of man,' she came back hardly. 'But if you can put up with a common little thief for a day, I expect I can put up with an arrogant Swine!'

She half expected him to set about her, and was relieved when he swung angrily on his heel and left the room. She smiled to herself, not at all dismayed by his manner. Tomorrow should prove an interesting experiment. She was quite looking forward to it, even though she found it difficult to accept that Brandon would be able to keep his half of the bargain.

Nassau was different. It had a glitter and sophistication that Fiona had not expected. It somehow spoilt her picture-image of the Bahamas. They reached it by boat, a small motorised cruiser moored at a pearly white beach not far from the house. Devil's Fancy, the boat was called, and Fiona thought the name typical of its owner. Becky sat rigid with fear as they began their journey, and Fiona held her tightly, talking softly, soothingly. She looked questioningly at Brandon over the top of his niece's head. 'It's the first time she's been on a boat since her parents were killed,' he explained softly, careful not to let Becky hear. 'Mother and I weren't sure what her reaction would be, but we thought that with you she would be all right. She does seem to have taken a liking to you.' This last was said begrudgingly. Fiona did not see how they could say that. Becky had given away none of her feelings. She had trotted round after her, doing as she was told, playing in her funny solemn little way. She was a good child. Too good, in fact. When she started getting into mischief, when she started chattering, then they would discover what her feelings were towards herself. Fortunately it was not a long trip and they moored in one of the cluttered marinas. From there it was a short walk to Bay Street,

Nassau's main shopping boulevard which ran parallel with the harbour and was almost the length of the city. His mother had given her a whole list of things that Becky required and they decided to do their shopping first, keeping their explorations for later. With Becky between them, a hand in each of theirs, Fiona felt they looked a typical family. She glanced across at Brandon, wondering whether his thoughts ran along the same lines. If they did he didn't look too pleased about it and for some unknown reason Fiona felt sorry for him. It was a shame his mother had saddled him with the two of them. 'If you like,' she said impulsively, "you can go and have a drink or something while Becky and I shop. We'll meet you later for lunch.' He smiled drily. 'I guessed you might suggest that. But it's not on. I intend keeping my eye on you every minute of the day.' She flicked him a caustic glance. 'Are you afraid I might steal something?' His jaw tightened. 'The thought had crossed my mind, though I don't think you would be that foolish. You might be tempted to buy something for yourself, though.' 'With a few English pounds?' she asked scathingly. 'There are ways. For instance, you've been told to charge Becky's things to my mother's account. Who would know if you slipped something in for yourself at the same time?' 'I'm damn sure you would,' she snapped.

'Too right I would,' came the crisp reply. 'But all the same, I intend accompanying you.' She shrugged. He was the one who would get bored, not she. The shops fascinated her. She would have loved to stop and browse. It didn't bother her that she had no money, her pleasure was in looking. But with Brandon at her side, gloating because he thought she wished she could afford to buy, she decided it was not worth the aggression. Instead she concentrated on the beautiful Georgian buildings, with their Colonial atmosphere, most of them painted in a variety of pastel shades. On the first floor were balconies, and she spotted the occupants of the flats sitting there, observing the crowded streets below. There were hoardings with colourful lifesize paintings of children at play, seaside scenes, fierce-looking fish, and the pavements were thronged with both visitors and Bahamians. They found the department store they wanted and she kitted Becky out with sandals, a blue pair and a white, a new yellow swimsuit, tee-shirts and a pretty blue dress. Mrs Rivers had announced that it was Becky's birthday in a few weeks' time and she planned to give her a surprise party. This dress, with its frilled shoulder straps and flounce round the hem, would be ideal, she thought. Brandon watched the whole performance with an expression of incredible boredom. Becky too was similarly indifferent. She did not' seem to care whether she had new clothes or not. But as they were leaving she pulled away from Fiona and ran towards a model displaying a vivid scarlet sundress with a ruched bodice and tie straps. She turned round to Fiona and for once there was interest on her face. She stabbed it with a chubby finger. 'That one.'

Fiona glanced quickly at Brandon, then dropped to one knee beside the child. 'You would like that dress, Becky?' She felt elated. Here was the first sign that Becky was pulling out of her shocked state. The girl nodded and looked again at the dress. All the clothes in her wardrobe were pale colours, pinks and blues, lemons and lilacs. Fiona had thought that perhaps she did not like these stronger colours. Indeed the new dress she had chosen earlier was a forget-me- not blue. But children did like bright colours. Perhaps Becky had never been given a choice? She smiled and stood up and took Becky's hand. 'Let's see if they've got it in your size.' It was a small thing to have given her so much pleasure, but Fiona really did feel that they had taken a big step forward, and she let Becky carry the important parcel. At the end of Bay Street they made their way through Rawson Square to the Straw Market. Here were hats, dolls, bags, baskets, all sorts of things, heaped, stacked, hanging, Everywhere you looked were straw creations. Bahamian women were hard at work making their goods while others, in gay cotton dresses and bandanas on their heads, were eager in their determination to persuade them to buy. Fiona picked up an unusual straw aeroplane and a model surrey, and was told, 'You can make anything outta straw if you'll just put your head to it.' This shecould well believe, but she shook her head when pressed to purchase. Brandon did suggest, though, that she and Becky each had a hat. Although Fiona had been careful to wear a dress that covered up her red, but not sore, skin, the heat of the sun on the back of her neck was making itself felt.

If she still had her long hair it would be no problem, so the thought of a hat was welcome. But she could not resist saying, 'I've no doubt you'll add it on to the cost of what you say I already owe?' His lips thinned. 'I am trying, Faith, to keep my part of our bargain. But if you insist on being difficult, then to hell with it. We'll go home now.' She thought of Becky, and the progress that had already been made. 'I'm sorry,' she said, 'and I would like a hat, the sun is very powerful.' But neither of them smiled as they made their purchase, and Fiona regretted her hastily spoken words. He had begun to relax and she was quite enjoying their day out—and now she had spoiled it. She had seen another side of Brandon. He had been gentle towards the child, teasing, joking, and occasionally he had included her, and it had made her feel warm inside. Her hat had a wide brim and was decorated with flowers, and when she wore it she could not see him unless she tilted back her head. In one way it was a relief, in another a disappointment. She enjoyed looking at his strong mobile face, and she knew that whatever happened in the future it would always be imprinted in her memory. He was not the sort of person one could easily forget. The straw market overlooked the harbour and Prince George's Wharf. 'That's where the cruise ships berth,' Brandon told her, but this morning the dock was empty. Becky's straw hat had a gay red ribbon round it. She had chosen it herself, picking it up and pulling it on and giving Fiona a shy look. Obviously, decided Fiona, she liked red. But now Becky was tired of walking, so they hired a surrey in Rawson Square, a cheerful red-painted carriage drawn by a

tired-looking horse. Fiona would have liked to explore the whole town, but she knew that Becky would be restless, so Brandon asked the driver to stop at Queen's Staircase. This turned out to be a steep flight of sixty-five steps, rising from Elizabeth Avenue to the ruins of Fort Fincastle above. 'Slaves hacked them out of the rock,' explained Brandon, 'as a quick passageway from the fort to the sea for troops garrisoned there. Shall we go up? There's a superb view at the top.' He hoisted Becky on to his shoulders and had reached the top long before Fiona. He was so fit, it was incredible. She grimaced wryly as she pantingly joined them. 'I wouldn't like to have to do that every day!' 'You haven't finished yet,' he smiled. 'There's still the water tower, that's where you get the best view.' She looked at the white concrete tower in dismay. 'I'll never make it!' Then he laughed. 'There's an elevator—for unfit people like you.' She pulled a face but felt happy inside. If she had met Brandon in different circumstances he would be like this with her all the time. He might even quite like her. The thought caused her pulse rate to quicken, and she squashed the idea before it grew any stronger. Brandon would always despise her. But in the close confines of the elevator, when the density of the crowd forced them together, every fibre of her being became aware of his lean hard body, and it was impossible then to ignore her feelings. She was glad of the hat that shielded her face, but never had a short ride seemed so long. She could even feel his heartbeat where her shoulder pressed into his chest, and smell again that tantalising aftershave.

There was a curious smile on his face when they got out at the top, making her wonder whether he was aware of the confusion he had caused inside her. Thinking she was Faith, he would also think she was attracted. Hadn't her sister made that clear to him when he first took over his uncle's job? And Faith would have certainly made the most of that opportunity in the lift to let him know how she felt! Was he now thinking that she had had a big inner struggle to keep her emotions hidden? Did the thought amuse him? He was certainly right about that, even if he was wrong about her identity. She was growing more and more attracted to him each passing hour. The view was worth the effort, though, and she . determinedly made herself ignore Brandon's dangerous power and concentrate on the land and seascape stretching out before them. New Providence, as Brandon had told her the island was called, even though many people referred to it as Nassau after the capital, was flat and palm-studded, with a few modern skyscrapers looking strangely unreal. But what really fascinated her was the humped bridge which led to another smaller island. 'Paradise Island,' Brandon informed her, 'and that's Potter's Cay Bridge.' 'Paradise? How lovely!' She was delighted by its name. Brandon grinned. 'It was once called Hog Island. How does that strike you? Not at all the same, is it? It used to be uninhabited, useful only as a weather shield for Nassau harbour. Before the Second World War a Swedish millionaire bought it for his private retreat. He eventually sold out to an American millionaire, who built a hotel and decided Hog Island sounded distinctly unromantic. Hence Paradise. It now has several hotels, a casino, cabaret, golf course—all sorts. It's very popular—for the very rich.'

'See how the other half live,' murmured Fiona. For a moment he frowned, and she knew he was recalling the money Faith had stolen, thinking that this was the type of life she hankered after. Then it was gone and he smiled again. 'Howard Hughes stayed there once, so too did the Shah of Iran, and some of the scenes of Ian Fleming's Thunderball were set in the grounds of the Cafe Martinique.' She had to admire the effort he was making. It really must be a strain for him to pretend he was enjoying her company. 'It all sounds very impressive,' she said. 'And the sort of life that you would like to lead?' Again that momentary frown. She also sensed disillusionment, which puzzled her. 'Not really,' she said, answering honestly, knowing her sister would have agreed wholeheartedly. He looked surprised, naturally, and for a moment they were quiet, taking in the breathtaking blues and greens of the sea, the island's marina with its slipways for dozens of yachts, two hotels towering above a sea of casuarinas and palms. 'Near that hotel,' he said, 'the Britannia Beach, there's a lagoon, and they give a twice-daily show feeding dolphins, and getting them to do tricks. They even talk.' 'Dolphins don't talk.' They hadn't realised Becky had been listening and looked quickly now at the earnest little face gazing up at them. She said it again, quite scornfully this time. 'Dolphins don't talk.'

Fiona was delighted. Brandon beamed and scooped her up into his arms. 'Don't they, my little beauty? How would you like to go and see?'Becky nodded emphatically, her thumb in her mouth, but with not quite so much blankness in her dark eyes. Things really were beginning to happen, thought Fiona, as she followed them to the lift. A sudden thought occurred to her. 'How often have you taken Becky out like this, since she's been living with your mother?' 'Not at all,' he admitted. 'I've been in England most of the time.' 'And your mother, has she taken her out?' 'I don't think so, she rarely leaves the island.' 'Where did Becky live before?' 'Jacksonville, in Florida.' 'So everything's new to her?' He sighed. 'I suppose so. Why all the questions?' 'Don't you see,' she said impatiently, 'this is what is wrong. I know your mother has the best intentions in the world, but if she keeps Becky at her side day in and day out, probably sympathising, lavishing her with love and protection, she's never going to win. Becky will go on the way she is for ever. All she's got is memories. She needs something to take her attention off them.' 'Hell, what are you, a psychiatrist?' He looked angry all of a sudden. 'What do you know about kids?' 'Don't you think we're proving my point today?' she asked strongly. 'Look at her—it's the first time she's ventured an opinion. It was

something she felt so strongly about it made her forget everything else. The same with that red dress. Brandon, don't you see?' She touched his arm, looking from him to Becky's round chubby face. The little girl was serious again now, sensing the urgency of their conversation, but not understanding what they were saying. 'I suppose you could be right.' And it was something that Faith would never have come up with in a thousand years. She would have had no patience with Becky, and it was doubtful the child would have responded as she was beginning to now. But the least of their worries was whether Brandon thought she was speaking through the top of her hat. What mattered was Becky. They must make sure that every step now was one forward. She mustn't be allowed to sink back into apathy. They took a taxi to Paradise Island and because it was too soon for the show to begin they found a cafe and had lunch. But Becky was too excited to eat and soon they were taking their places. They were rewarded with a spectacular display of leaping, tail-dancing, and diving. The two dolphins leaped as high as twenty feet to snatch fish and they made a funny sort of squawk-talk to their handler, which delighted Becky so that she clapped her hands excitedly. It was the first enthusiasm either of them had seen, and they smiled to each other and it was as though they were drawn together. Brandon's eyes lightened and Fiona held her breath, and over the top of Becky's head he kissed her. A brief kiss, a thank you, an admission that she could be right, but to Fiona it was much more. It meant he was accepting her, that maybe,

one day, he would be able to push out of his mind all that had happened. It was a heartstopping thought and she was unaware that her pleasure was reflected on her face. His jaw tensed and he turned his attention back to Becky, his hand resting on her shoulder, bending low to whisper in her ear. Fiona felt like crying. He had made his rejection so very, very plain. In future she must be doubly careful to keep her feelings well hidden; she must never, for one moment, forget the reason she was here.

CHAPTER SIX FIONA was relieved when Brandon suggested they go home. After the dolphins they had watched sea turtles and baby sharks being fed and she had concentrated her attention on Becky. The rapport that had developed between them had disappeared. Brandon had become again hard and disapproving, and it was not difficult to guess what he thought. She had revealed too easily the pleasure his kiss had given her, and he, thinking she was Faith, had decided that because he had cast off his iron shell she had thought it would be simple to win him over with her charm. He had even felt a strong pull towards her, she had sensed it, but when he saw her reaction he had deliberately hardened his heart. It hurt all the more because she was attracted to Brandon as she had been to no other man. And because she had been stupid enough to pretend to be Faith, there was not the remotest chance that anything could develop between them. Once on board Devil's Fancy she pulled Becky into her arms, concentrating totally on the child, talking about the display they had seen, heedless that she got no answer. It was enough that she had someone to divert her attention from Brandon. Brandon himself did not speak; even when they got home he still had that deadpan expression on his face, giving away nothing, his eyes like hard cold pebbles. His mother was waiting, eager to hear how they had got on. Becky still carried her important parcel and she fetched the dress out and held it in front of her grandmother's eyes. 'She chose it herself,' said Fiona. 'We'd already done the shopping when she suddenly decided she wanted this one.'

Becky nodded. 'Pretty,' she said, and tried to struggle out of the dress she wore. 'You want to try it on for Nana?' asked Fiona. 'Yes,' she answered. 'It's red.' 'And you. like red, don't you?' Fiona kept talking as she helped the happy little girl, catching sight of Mrs Rivers' surprise, and feeling a warm sense of achievement. Becky did a pirouette for her grandmother. 'Like it, Nana?' Mrs Rivers' eyes were suspiciously moist. 'I do, my precious. It's quite the most beautiful dress I've ever seen.' She pulled the infant on to her lap. 'Tell me what else you've done. Have you had a wonderfully exciting day?' . Becky nodded, her eyes going to Fiona and Brandon. 'We saw dolphins. They talked.' She laughed as she remembered. 'Like this.' And she gave a very good imitation of the sound they had made. Fiona laughed too, and Brandon, and Mrs Rivers. And then the older lady began to cry. Becky looked surprised—'No cry, Nana'—and this made her cry all. the more. 'Come on, Becky,' said Fiona gently, 'we'll go and put your things away. Nana's happy, that's all. You've made her happy, darling, telling her about the dolphins.' And now Brandon could tell her what had happened. No doubt he would take the credit himself. It would go against the grain for him to admit that she, Fiona, had had any part in it. They hung up the new clothes and changed Becky into a pair of old shorts and a tee-shirt. 'I suppose we'd better go and see about dinner,'

said Fiona, though shedid not really fancy meeting Brandon again. He had spoiled her day, quite ruined what was really a momentous occasion. But when they walked into Mrs Rivers' sitting room the woman was alone. She looked incredibly happy and peaceful, and her eyes lingered on her granddaughter. 'Isn't it wonderful?' asked Fiona. 'I reckon there'll be no stopping her now.' 'And all thanks must go to you,' said Mrs Rivers. 'Come and sit down.' 'But dinner—isn't it time I --' Mrs Rivers smiled. 'It's taken care of. I've had all day to do it. I'm not a complete invalid, you know, just a little slow at times—and since you've taken over my hip's improved.' 'But it won't get better if you do too much?' insisted Fiona. 'You should have left it for me. I really don't mind. I quite enjoy cooking.' 'I think you enjoy whatever you do,' said Mrs Rivers kindly. 'And I know you enjoy looking after Becky. I'll always be grateful for what you've done. In just two days you've worked wonders.' Becky was at the window, and Fiona saw Brandon in the pool, his bronzed figure carving the water at incredible speed. She wondered whether his frightening energy was for a purpose, whether he was ridding himself of the anger she had unwittingly built up in him. 'Me go?' Becky swung round, her little face aglow. Mrs Rivers nodded and Fiona immediately stripped off her clothes, 'Run along, see if you can beat Uncle Brandon.' Who cared about a swimsuit at her age?

They watched as the child hesitated on the edge of the pool. Then Brandon saw her and his face lit up. Becky jumped and swam strongly towards him, her little arms and legs churning the water like paddles. 'I can't believe it,' said Mrs Rivers. 'And I understand that you've more or less given Brandon and me a ticking off?' 'He told you?' Fiona felt embarrassed, aware of her cheeks colouring. 'He wasn't pleased,' admitted his mother, 'he seemed to think you had no right to have opinions.' Then why had he told her? She had never dreamt that he would. And she wished he hadn't. Wasn't it sufficient that Becky was beginning to come round? 'He doesn't think I ought to know anything about children. I've always worked in an office and he seems to think that's all I'm good for.' Mrs Rivers smiled. 'You're a woman, it's in your nature.' It wasn't in Faith's. Lord help the man who married her! 'I only know what I feel,' she said, 'and I'm sorry if you thought I was being impertinent. I didn't mean it. I know you can't get out with Becky, but we've proved today that this is what she needs.' His mother laid a hand on her arm. 'Dear Faith, don't go on so. I don't mind at all. You can say what you like to me. I'm so happy, Faith, I can't describe it. I wish I was fit enough to go out there and join them. I feel like running and jumping and singing. Inside I feel like a two-year-old.' She looked sheepish. 'Does that sound ridiculous?' Fiona knew exactly how she felt. She had felt that way herself—until Brandon spoiled it! She smiled warmly. 'It sounds normal. I realise how much you've suffered these last months. It must have been dreadful losing your daughter—especially in such

circumstances—and then with Becky like this—I don't know how you've coped.' The woman sighed. 'I couldn't have gone on much longer, I'll admit. It was a last resort, asking Brandon to find a nanny. I didn't really want a stranger here—I didn't think It would do her any good. How wrong I was!' Tm surprised it didn't help, her playing with other children,' said Fiona, her eyes all the time on Brandon. He was doing the length of the pool with Becky on his back, riding him like a horse. He really was incredibly strong. 'Who was that she was with the day I came? Pauletta, wasn't it?' 'Mmm,' agreed Mrs Rivers. 'Pauletta Leyrick. She's a lot older than Becky, bosses her about too much for my liking. There aren't many children of her age. It's very awkward—and it was very worrying. Now, thanks to you, I think my troubles are over.' And hers were just beginning! She was losing her heart to a man who had only been nice to her today at his mother's suggestion. It was not a pleasant feeling, and would certainly make her stay here more difficult. She would suffer, but not in exactly the same way Brandon had intended. They heard Becky squealing as Brandon tossed her into the air. She surfaced, shaking her dark curls, and swam back for more. The two dark heads were so alike they could almost be father and daughter. Would Brandon's children look like Becky? she wondered. Would they have the same dark curls? Or would they, perhaps, take after their mother? Unconsciously she touched her own fair hair, then turned away roughly as her eyes filled with pain. 'I'll go and look how dinner is,' she said, and her voice was thick. Mrs Rivers looked at her

strangely and Fiona knew she was wondering what had suddenly happened. Thank goodness she could not read her thoughts! For Becky's sake Fiona made an effort over their meal. She kept her voice bright and cheerful, studiously avoiding looking at Brandon, relieved when the time came to take Becky to her room. She read her a bedtime story, and allowed her to crayon in the book her uncle had bought her. There was a picture of a dolphin and Becky coloured it bright red. 'Uncle Bran's a dolphin,' she chuckled. 'I rided his back. He's funny!' 'You rode his back,' corrected Fiona automatically. 'Yes, I did. And tomorrow we're going on a picnic.' That was interesting. It meant he had heeded her words after all. 'Just you and your uncle? How lovely. Where's he taking you?' 'You as well,' said Becky, suddenly serious. 'You come, Faith?' She smiled. 'We'll have to ask Uncle. He might want you all to himself.' He certainly wouldn't want her! 'I not go, then,' said Becky stubbornly. Fiona took the book out of her hand. 'Go to sleep now, Becky. You've had a big day—and you've got another one tomorrow—and I'll ask your uncle if I can come as well. How's that?' Becky smiled and yawned and wriggled between the sheets. She was confident her uncle would agree. But Fiona had no intention of asking him. It would be too humiliating by far. Let his niece do the suggesting, and see how he coped with

her. Besides, it would not be a very pleasant day if he resented her presence. She would really much prefer to stay here and keep his mother company. , Or so she told herself as she sat in her room watching an incredible sunset. She had not joined him or his mother again, preferring to sit here with her thoughts. Now, for a brief moment, Brandon was forgotten. She watched entranced as the sinking sun turned distant clouds to pink and then blood-red, the sky lighting up as if on fire. Clouds swiftly changed shape, darkened to mauve and grey. The sun disappeared in a hurried farewell. But the rosy curtain remained. And then, all too soon, it was dark. Now the sky took on a different appearance. A myriad stars draped in swathes of white mist. A white moon rode high. In the garden plants changed shape and colour and in the distance the moving sea reflected and held silver points of light. Crickets chirred, frogs adding their raucous, discordant harmony. It was inviting, and Fiona did not think twice. She pushed her feet into sandals and let herself out of the house. Outside, though, she kicked off her shoes and walked barefoot on the grass. It was cool after the heat of the day, tickling her toes. She sat down and hugged her knees to her chin, looking out into nowhere. She decided she liked this time of day best. The sun's heat was enervating, but now she felt new life in her. It was good to be alive. There were all sorts of different sounds and smells at night and she sat for a long time soaking in her surroundings. Then she sprang up and walked round the house towards the pool. The waters were still and dark—and very tempting.

She looked back towards the house; blinds were drawn, chinks of light attracting gigantic moths. Then she glanced again at the pool and her mind was made up. She stripped off her dress and in her white lacy bra and pants dived cleanly into the water. At first it took her breath away. She had not expected it to be quite so cold. But after a minute or so's vigorous swimming she got used to it. She lay on her back and floated, the silky water caressing her skin like a man's hand. It was so peaceful, so soothing. All she could hear was the gentle lap of water against her own body, the incessant drone of night insects, a faint whispering in the leaves as they were touched by a gentle breeze. And then a sudden splash startled her out of her reverie. It was too dark to see what or who was in the pool and she felt a sudden quiver of fear. She struck out for the side, only to feel her ankle held in a vice-like gripShe twisted and kicked and came face to face with Brandon. Even in the darkness she could sense his annoyance. 'Don't tell me,' she snapped, 'I know—I shouldn't be out here. What are you going to do, drag me back into the house?' 'Don't tempt me.' His arm was about her waist, holding her firmly against him. She could feel his breath warm on her face, see the devilish gleam in his eyes. Now, as never before, she was aware of his power. A lean leg was forced between hers and she could feel the silky hardness of his muscles.

'Why are you here?' she demanded, pushing her hands ineffectively against him. 'You've already had one swim.' 'And is there a law against two?' She shook her head, her breasts pressed against the rock-hardness of his chest. His heart beat wildly, and she wondered why. Anger perhaps, at her temerity in daring to come out here against his wishes? His eyes were dark and unfathomable as his hand slid from her waist to her back, moulding her even more firmly to him. There was no way she could escape and if she were truthful she would admit that she did not want to. --' 'I saw you standing by the pool. I watched as you took off your dress.' There was an odd breathlessness to his voice. 'Do you know what you looked like, standing there with the moonlight silvering your body?' Numbly she shook her head. She had looked back at the house; she had felt sure she was not seen. 'Aphrodite, born of the foam of the sea. I couldn't resist.' Fiona felt her skin scorch. 'You thought I—knew— you were watching? That I deliberately --' It was impossible to go on. He was hateful! She renewed her struggles. 'Invited me here?' He smiled grimly and his hands began a sensuous exploration of her body. 'Didn't you, Faith? Isn't this what you wanted?' It was not what she wanted—not then—but now it was impossible to ignore the sensations he aroused. Delicious shivers of anticipation ran through each and every limb until she felt weightless, as though he was taking control over her.

When she saw her bra flung to the other side of the pool it was no more and no less than she expected. And when his hand cupped her breast she found her legs involuntarily tightening on his. 'Let me go, you swine!' Her mouth was so dry that her voice came in a hoarse whisper. 'Venus, goddess of love,' he taunted, and his glittering eyes were no more than a few inches from her own. His fingers moved with silky softness over the wetness of her skin, deliberately provoking, arousing a pain of agony and longing that threatened to consume. 'Please, Brandon, don't!' She wanted and rejected him at the same time. Her plea fell on deaf ears. His lips were at her throat, nibbling her ears while all the time his hand moulded her breast which hardened beneath his touch. She felt an ache inside her, a longing to be totally possessed by this irresistible man. It was insanity, madness, yet she could do nothing about it. It was as though the moon had cast a spell over her, the moon and Brandon both. She no longer wanted to struggle, her fingers slid over his back, delighting in the smooth cool firmness, the ripple of muscle beneath the flesh, the power! She closed her eyes, moving her body erotically against his, in the heat of the moment quite unaware of what she was doing. She heard his swift intake of breath at the same time as his fingers bit into her shoulders, holding her apart from him. 'My, God, Faith, but you're asking for it!' She hardly heard what he said. It was as though he already possessed her body and she had no control over it. She clawed at his skin, tried to pull him back against her. It was cold without him.

'Brandon.' As if from a distance she heard the sound of her own voice. 'Brandon?' Then she felt him again, an arm beneath her legs, another round her shoulders. She was held against his hair-roughened chest as he waded to the end of the pool. She hooked an arm around his neck, pressed her cheek into the wet cold hair. He was going to make love to her, and she didn't care. All she felt was an exultation completely different from anything she had ever experienced in her life. He laid her on the grass, imprisoning her with the weight of his own body. There was a glazed look in his eyes, and something more. 'Faith,' he asked thickly, 'do you know what I'm going to do?' She smiled, she couldn't help herself. Of course she knew. Wasn't this what she wanted? Maybe later she would hate herself, but at this moment her body was dictating, and her body was ready for him. He kissed her. His lips were hard and demanding, his mouth exploring, and she felt as though her head was going to burst. She kissed him back, holding his head, liking the silky wetness of his hair beneath her fingers. And then his mouth began a slow exploration of her face, searching out each curve and hollow, lingering with tantalising slowness, so that her whole body burned up and she wanted him more desperately than before. He knew what he was doing, this man. His mouth was on her breast now, biting her nipple, hurting just enough to make her squirm with pleasure. His hand on her thigh was causing a disturbance all of its own and she felt as though she was going to pass out.

Then just as suddenly she was lying alone. Her eyes shot open to see Brandon standing over her. His gleaming body shook and he said savagely. 'Damn you, Faith! You very nearly dragged me down to your level!' She gasped and sat up, crossing her arms in front of her, feeling suddenly afraid and cold and very very humiliated. 'What do you mean?' Her voice trembled as she spoke. 'You started this!' 'You encouraged me,' he snapped. 'I know why you looked back towards the house, you wanted to make sure I followed. And fool that I was, I came. I had it all wrong when I said you were the goddess of love— you're the goddess of evil!' Fiona stared up at him. She was too shocked by the accusations he was slinging at her to do anything else. Did he really think she had deliberately lured him? She had never done anything like that in her life. But probably Faith would have done! The thought sickened her. And he thought she was Faith. He had experienced a little of Faith's method of working. If Faith wanted a man she went out and got him! It was that simple. And she had admitted that she wanted him too! But she wasn't usually like that. She must make him believe it. 'Brandon, you're wrong—you've got it all wrong. I didn't want you to swim with me. I wouldn't have gone in if I'd thought you were watching. I'm not like that. Please, Brandon, believe me!' She stood up and reached out her hands. 'You're a whore,' he said coldly and clearly, 'and you'll never convince me otherwise.' Her dress lay a few feet away. He picked it up and threw it. 'Make yourself decent, for God's sake, before I forget my principles altogether. I could say you've had a lucky escape, but I

rather think it's the other way round. I'm glad I came to my senses in time, because I would never have felt clean again!' Fiona stood as still as a statue. He had hurt her before; she had thought it impossible for him to degrade her even further. Her dress lay at her feet, her pale breasts reflected the silvery moon, and her eyes were deep wells of agony. She felt much as Becky must have done when she saw her parents murdered. Brandon had killed her just as surely. He had slayed her, so that she felt as physically hurt as if he had used a whip. She could not even cry. All emotion of that kind had drained out of her. All she felt was a deep and bitter loathing for Brandon Rivers. He had made her feel cheap. He had likened her to a woman who sells her body. What had he thought she wanted in return? HQT freedom? When she stopped thinking he had gone. Something snapped inside her brain and she began to move, picking up her dress, slipping it over her shivering body, moving over to the pool and hooking out her bra, wringing it and carrying it back with her to the house. She hoped she wouldn't bump into Mrs Rivers. She did not think she could face her—not now. Perhaps not ever. Surely what had happened tonight must leave an imprint on her face? She could never completely wipe away the sickness and revulsion she felt for her son. In the bathroom she ran a warm bath, then lay there until feeling returned to her numbed, cold body; until she could control the shivers which ran through her. She did not want to see Brandon ever again. She wanted him to go back to England, leave her here to look after Becky and his mother. But that was impossible. He had an even bigger hold on her now. He could thrust this at her whenever he fancied. It was another item on her list of sins.For hour after hour she lay in bed, wide awake, still

able to feel his hands on her body, see the disgust in his devil's eyes, and she wondered whether she would ever be able to rid herself of him. And then a scream sounded into the silence. Her throbbing heart stopped, then raced, and she shot from the bed. Another scream followed and she raced across the room, forcing Becky's door open. The little girl sat up in bed, her eyes wide but unseeing, her mouth open as yet another scream filled the tiny room. There was absolute horror on her face and her tiny hands were clawing the air. 'No, no, no! No!' Fiona pulled her into her arms, cradling the head on her shoulder, finding fierce and surprisingly strong resistance. 'Mummy, Daddy,' shrieked Becky, 'Mummy—oh, Mummy!' Gently Fiona shook her, but the next second Brandon was at her side. 'Here, let me.' He took the girl in his strong arms, sitting her on his lap. 'Becky, wake up. It's only a dream. Becky, listen to me—you're dreaming.' Tears streamed, running down his bare chest and it was with a little jerk that Becky woke. 'They killed Mummy,' she cried, 'and Daddy!' 'Becky darling, it's all over. It was a dream.' 'No! They here!' And she shuddered and buried her head in her uncle's chest. 'There's no one here, only Faith and me. Look. Becky, you're in your own room in Nana's house.' 'They after me!' The child was in danger of becoming hysterical.

Fiona dropped to her knees in front of them, hardly aware that her breasts brushed Brandon's leg. 'Becky love, this is Faith, look at me. You had a nasty dream, that's all. Would you like to come in my bed?' Becky nodded, sucking her thumb now, pressing herself against her uncle, her eyes still full of stark terror. Fiona reached out a handkerchief and wiped her face, murmuring soothing words, heedless that her arms and legs were touching Brandon as she ministered to the tiny girl. There was incredible tenderness on his face as he looked down at his niece, smoothing her damp curls from her face. Fiona had never seen him act quite like this before. She did not know he had it in him. And for a fleeting second she thought how wonderful it would be to be held in his arms like that. He must have sensed her sudden awareness, , because Mk looked up sharply, eyes narrowing as they rested on face, coolly insolent as they flicked over her body in its near-transparent nightie. For an instant their eyes locked and Fiona felt his disgust. It was so strong she flinched and drew in a sharp breath, then turned her attention again to Becky. His niece was the all-important one at this moment. She must ignore Brandon, difficult though it was. The earlier scene was still much too vivid in her mind for her to be able to erase it completely. When eventually Becky stopped trembling and some of the fear faded from her face, Fiona said, 'I think you can carry her through to my room now, Brandon. She'll be safe with me.' 'She's about the only one who is,' he said curtly. Fiona compressed her lips and led the way. This was no time or place for an argument. But there was no denying that his attitude hurt, and

if he kept this up it was going to be very difficult indeed to carry out her job. Becky lay still, her wide eyes haunted, and Fiona knew she would be afraid to go to sleep again. Brandon looked down at the tiny mite, then bent low and kissed her softly. 'Goodnight, little one. Go to sleep now, or you'll be too tired for our picnic tomorrow/ Becky gazed at him expressionlessly. 'Can Faith come?' She couldn't have timed that question better, thought Fiona, knowing his answer had to be yes. He couldn't afford to upset her further. He smiled and nodded. 'If she's very good.' And his eyes crinkled at the corners and he looked like a soft old uncle who would do anything for his favourite niece. Watching them Fiona thought, this was how he would be if it were his own child. He would spoil her something rotten, but he would make sure that she toed the line. She would grow up into a superb adult, adoring her father, independent, confident, moulded into the lines that he wanted. Probably with a ruthless streak running through her too. He left without looking again at Fiona and she climbed into bed beside Becky, holding her close, feeling her tension gradually relax. She wondered why today of all days she had had this nightmare. Today, when things had started to go right for her. She wondered how long these dreams would go on, how long this poor child would have to suffer. It was a long time before Fiona herself fell asleep, long after Becky, long after she heard Brandon moving about the house. She had picked up his footsteps as he walked past her door, faint sounds of a cup chinking in the kitchen, then later, much later, he had returned to his room.

What were his reasons for failing to sleep? Because of Becky? Or their scene earlier? It had disturbed her, but she had felt he was not the type of man to let anything like that bother him. Becky was still asleep when Fiona woke the next morning. She looked peaceful now, and Fiona watched her for a moment or two. She had grown to love this little mite already and her heart ached that she should suffer so much. One consolation was that time was a great healer. Soon, in a year or two, Becky would forget about this tragedy and be a happy normal youngster. She washed and dressed, and when she next looked at Becky the child was awake. But her eyes were indescribably sad and Fiona knew that the effect of the dream had not yet worn off. 'Gome on,' she said cheerfully, 'it's picnic day!' In the kitchen Fiona discovered that Mrs Rivers had already prepared their breakfast. 'Are we so late?' she exclaimed. 'I'm really sorry. You should have called me.' Mrs Rivers smiled affectionately. 'Brandon told me about last night.' Not the scene by the pool! It was the first thought that flashed across her mind, and for a fraction of a second her eyes widened in horror. Then she realised, almost at the same time, that his mother meant Becky's nightmare. 'She used to have the dream a lot in the beginning, now not so often. I'm hoping that one day they'll stop altogether.' 'I'm sure they will,' Fiona said positively. 'I was thinking the same thing myself. But today we're going on a picnic. She's quite looking forward to it, aren't you, pet?'

Becky nodded, but there was no happy smile, no eager anticipation. Her nightmare had dulled her enthusiasm, taken her back into herself. It looked, thought Fiona, as thought they would have to start all over again. 'Brandon's gone out,' said his mother surprisingly. 'To Nassau again, he said. Was he supposed to be coming with you?' 'It was his idea,' frowned Fiona. 'He told Becky himself last night. She was full of it, insisting that I went with them too.''Perhaps he's forgotten,' shrugged Mrs Rivers, though she did not look convinced, neither was Fiona. It was a dirty rotten thing to do. He knew how much Becky had been looking forward to today, and it was even more important following her bad dream that they did not let her down. She knew why he'd done it. He did not want to be with her, that was the real reason. But surely he could have put on an act for the child's sake? Surely Becky's happiness was more important than his own? 'I can't let her down,' she said anxiously. 'I'll take her myself. Is there somewhere nice within walking distance?' Mrs Rivers smiled. 'There's a perfectly safe beach less than half a mile away. I'd come myself, except that I don't think my poor hip would take me that far.' 'Do you mind if we leave you alone again?' The kindly eyes crinkled. 'Becky's happiness comes first with me every time. You look after her, Faith, that's all I ask. I have my tapestry, it will keep me occupied.' So as soon as breakfast was over Fiona packed their lunch and they set off along the narrow track which passed the house. It was a pretty walk. They left the path to wander through a coppice of sea grape and silver-top palms. Here and there were banana and mango trees, and

Bahama palms growing to about sixty feet with straight trunks and only a few branches at the top. And birds! A brilliant blue and green humming bird, its fast-moving wings a mere blue, stopping in mid- flight to sip nectar from a flower, backing off and moving to the next, then soaring straight up. Even Becky was fascinated, and they sat to watch as the bird unknowingly entertained them. Fiona had never realised before that this was how the bird got its name. But the humming noise made by its wings was unmistakable. They moved on and then rested again, listening to the wonderful song of a mockingbird, who seemed to be showing off especially for their benefit. 'Mockingbirds copy other birds,' Fiona told Becky. 'Did you know that?' Becky shook her head. She had not yet spoken this morning, nevertheless she did not seem unhappy. Her eyes were interested as she watched the birds and she pointed out a lizard with a curly tail sitting on one of the coral rocks which appeared all over the island. And then, framed by sea grape and orange love pine, they saw the sea. Its smooth blue-green surface shone like silk, the white-sand beach unmarred by one single footprint. Becky ran forward, kicking off her sandals, marching across the powder-soft sand, looking back and admiring her own trail. Fiona followed at a more leisurely pace, putting down the bag containing their lunch and taking off her own sandals. She sat for a moment, watching the child, feeling a bond with her as though she was her own. It seemed incredible that she had known her for only three days.

Beneath the sundress she had her bikini, so she liberally coated herself with sun cream on top of the insect repellant Mrs Rivers had insisted she apply and joined Becky. The child was in her element, playing the way children do. They built a huge castle with a moat and fetched water from the sea in the bucket they had brought along with them. And they swam, Fiona warning Becky not to go too far out. Nana had said these waters were safe, but she could not risk anything happening to her precious charge. Fiona would have loved to go underwater swimming, explore the coral reefs that surrounded these islands, admire the different colours and shapes of the fish that inhabited these clear waters. Perhaps some other time? Yet she knew fatalistically that it was no more than wishful thinking. None of these pleasures were for her. They ate their lunch; salad and fruit, cheeses and fresh crusty bread, drank orange juice and canned sea grape soda, which Fiona discovered had a refreshingly different taste, then they found a shady spot beneath some casuarina and went to sleep. Their disturbed night had told on both of them and they slept for two hours, waking within seconds of each other, finishing their supply of drinks, and then deciding it was time they went home. When they got back Becky was tired but happy, and eager to tell her grandmother what they had done. 'We swimmed, Nana, and we. built a castle, and we saw a copying bird and another bird whose wings went fast like this, and he eated a flower!' 'You sound as though you've had a wonderful time,' laughed Mrs Rivers. 'And you, Faith, have you enjoyed yourself? Or was Becky a bit of a problem?'

She smiled and shook her head. 'No trouble at all, Mrs Rivers. I love Becky almost as much as my own sister. I shall miss her very much when my job's finished.' 'That needn't be for a very long time yet,' suggested her employer softly. 'You can make this your home for as long as you like, Faith. When Becky doesn't need you, I will. I'm not getting any younger. I could do with a companion. Brandon's away so much I rarely see him—and when he gets married I suspect he'll visit me even less.' 'Perhaps that won't be for a long time yet,' she replied, wondering why it suddenly felt as though a cold hand had gripped her heart. 'And I do have my own family to consider, much as I like it here.' Mrs Rivers nodded. 'Of course, I understand. I'm getting selfish in my old age. I have dinner ready. Would you both like a shower and a change first?' Fiona took Becky and they got ready and still Brandon had not returned. They dined without him and then sat talking until it was time to put Becky to bed. It was while she was reading Becky her usual bedtime story that she heard the sound of drawers being pulled open in her own room. The little girl was almost asleep, so she put down the book and tiptoed to the adjoining door. Intent on his search, Brandon did not hear, and she stood for a shocked moment watching him. He was searching feverishly through each and every drawer, pulling out clothes by the handful, slinging them behind him on to the floor. Her wardrobe had already been searched, by the look of it. The doors hung wide, hangers were empty, dresses tossed carelessly to one side.

Quickly, in case Becky opened her eyes and saw what was happening, she stepped inside and closed the door. He heard the noise as it clicked and his head jerked in her direction. There was a blaze of anger in his grey eyes, hardness in his face. He straightened his back and looked at her accusingly. 'Where is it? Where have you damn well hidden it?' Fiona felt her eyes widen, knew that she was staring at him as though he had gone out of his mind. Perhaps he had? He looked half crazy right at this very moment. Fear prickled her spine, but somehow she managed to say coolly, 'Where's what, Brandon? What are you looking for?' 'Hell, don't give me that!' His hands clenched at his sides and there was menace in his stance. He looked ready to lunge at her.Not a new experience, she thought. How many times had he attempted to kill her? She had lost count. He was a man with a quick and violent temper, unreasonable moods which filled him so suddenly one had almost only to bat an eyelid before it was there. She shrugged, with apparent indifference. 'If you don't tell me, how can I help?' In reality she was scared, scared half to death. He was in such a rage she had never seen anything like it before. His lips had thinned to be almost invisible, the skin of his face was drawn tightly across gaunt cheek bones, his eyes looked as though they were ready to pop out of his head. In fascination she watched a pulse working overtime in his jaw. 'Perhaps it's in Becky's room? Is that what you've done with it? Maybe you thought I wouldn't find it there?' He bounced towards her, one arm raised to push her out of the way. 'No, Brandon, no!' she cried anxiously. 'You'll upset her. You've let her down once today, for God's sake don't do anything else!'

He stopped mere inches from her, poised on his toes, his hands moving through the air as if in slow motion ta settle on her shoulders in a pincer-like grip. Then he shook her. He shook her so violently that her teeth rattled and she felt as limp as a rag doll—and about as useless! Her pale green eyes were filled with shock and bewilderment and she wished she knew what this was all about. He pinned her against the wall, holding her with her shoulders, his devil's eyes flaming with barely controlled temper. 'Tell me, Faith,' he ground through gritted teeth, 'where is that wig? What have you done with it? It has to be here somewhere, and I want it. I'm going to destroy it—the same as I ought to destroy you!'

CHAPTER SEVEN HEAVENS, he really was insane! Wig? What was he talking about? Fiona licked her dry lips and shook her head dazedly. 'I haven't got a wig, Brandon. You're mad, you don't know what you're saying.' 'Don't I?' he crisped. 'I saw you—with my own eyes I saw you. Now where the hell is it?' He was like a man demented, and she wondered whether she ought to humour him. He had clearly gone out of his mind. He had become so absorbed with his passion to hate her that he was now making things up. 'Please, Brandon.' With an effort she made her voice gentle. 'You're hurting me. Let me go—and I-I'll tell you.' There was a fractional lifting of an eyebrow, a calculated gleam in his eye. Then he sagged. He seemed to crumple suddenly before her eyes and she was free. She rubbed her aching shoulders but did not move from her position against the wall. Brandon backed and sat on the bed, his shoulders bowed for a moment. Then he stiffened and stood up again, and he was as tense and accusing as before. He held out his hand and she noticed that it shook. 'Give it to me, Faith.' She sighed and moved towards him. 'Brandon,' she said gently, 'tell me why you think I've got a wig. And would it really be so important if I had?' 'I saw you.' The clipped words seemed to spill out into the room. 'At Prince George Wharf. A cruise ship berthed last night. I saw you, Faith, boarding it today. Don'J deny it. Your wig and your dark

glasses didn't fool me for one minute. What have you done, booked your passage out of here? Did you really think you'd manage to slip from under my nose? I know exactly when it's leaving the Bahamas, and I know exactly where you will be at that time, and it won't be on that ship!' But she hardly heard him. All this could mean only one thing. That it was her sister he had seen! Faith's ship had docked here—and he had thought it was her trying to plan her getaway! She had to see Faith. Somehow she had to find her. Faith was the only one who could get her out of this mess. Her mind worked at lightning speed. If they could confront Brandon with the two of them he would then have to believe that she was not the guilty party. And since she had begun to pay off Faith's debt, she could still go on doing it and their mother need never know! And without this enormous weight hanging over her head—who knew what sort of relationship could develop between her and Brandon? It was a heady exciting thought and her cheeks flamed, her eyes grew brilliant. She stared at Brandon without realising that her expression was to him one of guilt. The taut paleness of his face seemed to tighten yet more, the fanatical gleam in his eyes pierced through her. 'Damn you, Faith!' She could not tell him, not until she had spoken to her sister. But somehow she had to do something to quell his appalling rage. His mood was more violent than any she had experienced. 'Brandon,' tentatively she reached out an arm, 'I can explain—but not yet—I --' With an explosive sound he knocked her hand away, his face suddenly a dark, angry red. 'Explain? What the hell is there to explain?'

His darkened eyes looked at her with such intense loathing that Fiona stepped back, her hands fluttering to her mouth. 'Lies!' he snarled, the voice coming from deep in his throat. 'More lies! Is that what you're going to feed me?' He drew in a harsh ragged breath, rocking on his feet, his long lean fingers flexing violently. Forget Faith, she thought, tell him the truth, tell him exactly what you've been doing today. He'll have to believe that. She shook her head violently, her wide green eyes agitated. Again she missed the heavy swing of her hair and involuntarily put up her hands to her head. Misinterpreting, Brandon said thickly, 'It's not there, you must know that. God help me, when I find it I shall burn it—and if you ever so much as attempt to set foot outside this house again I shall shave your head! I wish I'd followed my instincts and done it in the first place. That would have clipped your wings nicely!' Fiona felt sick. The intense hatred on his face cut through her like a knife, and it occurred to her how futile it was to try and reason with this man. He would believe only what he wanted to believe—what he thought was the truth! But it must be done. No way could she allow him to speak to her like this. 'Brandon, I wasn't in Nassau today.' He stilled, his heaving chest and flashing eyes the only movement. 'You weren't?' and the softly spoken words held far more menace than his shouting. 'Did you really think I would expect you to admit it? What cock and bull story are you going to feed me?' She swallowed painfully. There was a hard lump in her throat. 'I took Becky on a picnic.'

'Oh, yes,' he said, 'I know all about that. My mother told me.' But he did not believe her, that was very clear. ;I also know that you were away nearly all day. You had plenty of time to get to Nassau and back.' 'And how would I do that if you had the boat?' It sounded a reasonable enough question to her. But Brandon had it all worked out. 'The island has charter planes—you must have seen them when we arrived.' His eyes were so deeply accusing that she could not contain a cry of pain. 'You see?' he pounced. 'I was right, you can hide nothing from me.' She shook her head wildly, her eyes wide and hurt. 'Please, Brandon, believe me. I took Becky down to the beach.' She wanted to suggest that he ask his niece, but it was unthinkable that they involve the child. Even now she could be listening. She hoped not. She prayed she was asleep already. This was too much for Becky to take. 'Please, Brandon, believe me,' he mocked. 'We're getting down to begging now, are we?' 'It's the truth,' she implored. She felt icy cold, her limbs shivering uncontrollably. She clasped her hands together to try and stop their trembling. 'We went to the beach. We took a picnic and made a castle and swam—and if you were anything like the man you like to think you are you'd have been with us. You promised Becky, why did you let her down?' 'It's not my actions that are in question,' he shot darkly. His feet were apart, his whole stance belligerent. Lips were pulled down at the corners, eyes wide, nose flaring, so that he looked more like a devil than ever before. Even his face was red! All he needed were horns sprouting from that thick black hair!

'No,' she cried desperately. 'It's not your actions, it's your thoughts. Why the hell won't you believe me? 1 was not in Nassau. Won't you get that into your thick skull?' If only she could explain about Faith! But first she must see her. Faith was likely to deny the whole thing if confronted suddenly by Brandon. She would not know how much it meant to her, Fiona, that he be made to know the truth, and if she thought it would save her own skin by denying everything, she would. It was not a nice thing to think about her own sister, but she knew Faith. With Faith, Faith came first. Her mind would logically reason that Fiona had been coping up till now, so why not go on doing it? 'And I say I saw you there,' Brandon said curtly. 'Can I disbelieve the evidence of my own eyes?' 'It must have been someone who looked like me,' she muttered, bending her head. 'Oh, yes,' he scoffed. 'You think I don't know you well enough to tell the difference between you and a look-alike? Hell, Faith, I know every inch of your body—I know you better than you think I do!' Humiliation burned her face. Last night, in the pool, when his hands had created their own magic over her body, and later, consoling Becky, when her breasts had brushed his leg. Oh, yes, he knew her all right. But all he saw was her physical shape. He had no idea of the girl inside. If he did, he would have realised instantly that she and the girl in Nassau were two separate entities. 'I see you can't deny it.' She glanced up at him, wincing at the sharp accusing scrutiny. 'Would it make any difference if I did?'

For a moment all that filled the room was his rough, deep breathing. Fiona could not bear to look at him. She wished for what must have been the thousandth time that she had not started this whole silly game. In the last few days she had experienced more suffering and actual physical fear than most people did in their whole lives. It was an absolute ludicrous state of affairs, and if anyone had told her that such a thing could happen she would never have believed them. It was like something out of a story, a tale dreamt up by an author to entertain his readers. Things like this did not happen in real life. But Brandon Rivers was very real! A living, breathing, macho male, who had it in for her badly, and lost no opportunity to twist the knife in her wound. One day he would kill her. It was on the cards. Each mood was more evil than the last. Each time she thought, heavens, it can't really be any worse. But it was. And one day he would snap. One day he would lose control of himself completely. And all because she had pretended to be Faith! It was the stupidest thing she had ever done. The only good thing about it was that at least it was protecting her mother. If—and it was a big if—she managed to go through with all this, her mother need never know about Faith. That was really what it was all about. She must never lose sight of that. Her mother's happiness, her peace of mind, were of prime importance. She had suffered enough when her father left them. Her own unhappiness was trivial in comparison. Faith—well, there was a lot of talking to be done there—and the sooner the better. It was perhaps providential that her boat had stopped at the Bahamas. It could all, with a bit of luck, be sorted out much sooner than she had expected.

'I wish I could read your mind,' Brandon snapped suddenly. 'See what sort of explanations you're trying to conjure up.' He paused, glaring with a black rage that shook his body. 'Not that I'm likely to accept any one of them.' 'I've already told you the truth,' she said quietly. 'Which I don't believe.' His tone matched hers, but its softness did not deceive her. His violent anger was apparent in the rigid outline of his powerful body. He was like a rock, an immovable object which she would get out of her room by strategy and hot force. 'There's no point in me saying anything else,' she whispered, swallowing again on the hard lump in her throat. 'Only an admission that it was you in Nassau, and that you were planning to get away.' 'Why should I want to leave these beautiful islands?' There was a hint of defiance in her eyes. 'I like it here, Brandon.' She could not have said a worse thing. He jumped as though a touch-paper had set fire to his fuse. He strode towards her, arms extended, long fingers curled. She ought to retreat, she knew that. But somehow she seemed rooted to the spot, gazing at him with fascinated eyes as he drew closer. Was this the end so soon? She felt unbelievably calm. She had heard that people felt an inner peace just before they died, and was not altogether sure whether she believed it. Now she knew. But within a fraction of an inch from her he stopped. She felt the heat of his body scorch her like a fire. His strong fingers hovered about her neck, as though held back by an invisible cord. Glazed eyes like organ-stops locked her own.

Bravely she faced him. The dark flecks in his eyes were very strong, the whites laced with red, his lashes shooting away in a stiff black frame. His skin glistened where it stretched across fleshless bones and perspiration stood out like tiny glass beads on his brow. His breathing rasped deep in his throat and she knew that she had to be very careful. Brandon was at the end of his tether. There was only the last proverbial straw to be placed on his back before he broke. She drew in a long slow breath, afraid almost to blink in case she brake the spell that was locking him in this position. And then, slowly, like ice melting beneath the rays of the sun, he crumpled. First his arms dropped heavily to his sides, his shoulders sagged, lids drooped, but not before she had seen the pain of defeat in his eyes. His lips were bloodless and he looked tired and older, and when he turned and moved towards the door his feet dragged, as though his shoes were filled with lead. A sob rose in her throat and she made a gesture towards him. But it was unseen, and he let himself out of the room, leaving the door wide. Her last glimpse was of a bowed head and hunched back. As if in a trance she moved across and closed the door, leaning against it, her sweaty palms touching the cool painted surface. She felt as drained as Brandon had looked. There was only one question she had to ask herself now. How could she love a man such as he? Because she did. It had come to her in a flash in those last seconds when she had stood waiting for him to strangle her. It was why she had not run, why she had not protested, why she was afraid. If Brandon had wanted to kill her, then she would have let him. She loved him so much that if it was what he wanted to do, then it was all right with her too. To die at the hands of the man she loved did not

seem very terrible. She loved him so much she would willingly give up her life for him. Nor did it seem strange that she had fallen in love so quickly, or with a man who treated her abominably. Perhaps love did not work that way. It did not take into account time or people's attitudes, it did not care whether they were friends or enemies. It simply happened. And it had happened to her! The physical attraction had been there right from the beginning. Even that first day when he had her pinned against the wall in her mother's house, she had felt an awareness of him as a man instead of an aggressor. And since then it had grown, despite his harsh treatment. Until finally, a few seconds ago, she had known that this was the man she wanted to spend the .rest of her life with. Without him, she would be nothing, no one, and better off dead. Perhaps that was why she had not resisted. She had known instinctively that life without Brandon would not be worth living. She wished now that he had done it. Because what future was there? Brandon hated her. His violent illogical distrust was eating away at him like maggots. Her only hope now was Faith. Somehow she had to find her sister and persuade her to tell Brandon the truth. A difficult task it would be, but if her entire future happiness was at stake, then she must make sure she did not fail. Except that Brandon would be watching her like a hawk from now on. It was doubtful she would have one minute to call her own, and getting away from the island would be a feat in itself. The next morning she had a letter from her mother. Miss F. Hallerton, it said on the envelope which Brandon silently handed to her at breakfast. Why couldn't her mother have put Fiona? It might have

helped. It would have been a start to the explanations which would follow as soon as she had contacted her sister. So far as Brandon was concerned, the F stood for Faith. Faith! He had no faith in her. He trusted not so much as one hair on her head. There was no indication on his face of the battle they had fought last night. Nor was there any friendliness for the benefit of his mother. It was as hard and relentless as it usually was. At least Becky had not heard them arguing, that was something to be thankful for. She had peeped in when her strength returned last night and the child had been fast asleep. There was even a smile on her face—which had seemed incongruous when a war had more or less been raging about her head. She slipped the letter into her pocket ready to read later and helped Becky to cornflakes. Brandon asked whether she would like coffee and poured both hers and his mother's. Everything was so normal, it made her wonder whether what had happened last night had been a bad dream. Then when his mother asked what she was going to do today and Brandon answered for her that she was going to stay at home, she knew it was no dream. It had been very real and very frightening. It had also exposed her own love for this man. Her cheeks coloured faintly as she looked at him with new eyes, and how grateful she was that he could not see into her mind. What a laugh he would have! It would give his campaign against her an added fillip. It would be something else he could use to hurt her. She lowered her long lashes and toyed with a slice of toast, and when she looked up again his eyes were upon her. She felt guilty as hell, as though she had some big secret she had to hide from him at all costs. Which she had, of course, but he was not to know this.

But when his eyes narrowed she knew that her guilt had shown on her face. Except he thought it was because she had lied about being in Nassau yesterday. And then Becky said, quite suddenly, and without any prompting, 'Go to the beach again, Faith?' Fiona could not hide a spark of exultance. Now he must surely believe her? 'If you like, Becky. If Nana doesn't mind.' 'And you, Uncle?' asked Becky. 'You come as well?' 'No one's going to the beach,' he snapped. 'If you want to swim use the pool.' Mrs Rivers looked surprised by his vehemence. 'Why, Brandon? They enjoyed themselves yesterday.' 'Oh, I'm quite sure they did.' His dry humour was not lost on Fiona. 'It seems such a pity to keep Becky here,' continued his mother, 'now that she's getting better. If you don't want to go they can go alone. They spent hours there yesterday and Becky was so happy when she came home.' 'Really?' he asked coldly. 'And was Faith happy too? Did she seem as though she'd had a—profitable day?' Mrs Rivers sighed. 'Very profitable. Except that that's perhaps not the exact word I would have chosen. She's doing wonders with little Becky, and if you'd gone with them, as apparently you promised in the first place, then you could take part yourself in your niece's rehabilitation.'

'I had things to do in Nassau,' he said tightly, 'and as a matter of fact I'm very glad I did go. I discovered something that I might otherwise have known nothing about until it was too late.' His mother smiled, looking relieved. 'To do with business, Brandon? I'm sorry, I didn't realise.' 'Business?' His brows flicked upwards. 'I suppose you could say that. At least I learned something to my advantage—and I've taken action on it. What the outcome will be I shall have to wait and see.' 'But you're not going out today?' His mother sounded anxious. He shook his head. 'Not for a while yet.' She smiled. 'Then you can spend your time entertaining your niece.' 'And Faith.' His mocking eyes rested lightly on her face for a second. 'We mustn't forget Faith. We can't have her working all the time, can we, Mother?' 'I'm glad you've come to your senses, son.' Mrs Rivers looked absolutely delighted. 'When you first brought her here you insisted that she work so hard, the poor girl, I felt sorry for her. It will be nice for the three of you to be together, and it will be so beneficial for Becky.' It suddenly struck Fiona that he must have wondered what she had done with the child while she was supposedly booking her passage in Nassau. It was strange he hadn't mentioned it—except that it hadn't occurred to her either. She wished she had remembered last night, it might have helped convince him. Now she had no intention of bringing up the subject again. She had enough to occupy her mind, working out a way of dodging Brandon and getting to Nassau.

Little did he know, but he had told her how to go about it. The airport was no more than a couple of miles away. She could walk that easily and would have to trust to luck that there would be a charter plane available. The difficult part would be getting away from Brandon. It looked as though he was prepared to cling like a leech. And he had one advantage over her. He knew how long the cruise ship was staying in the Bahamas. She had no idea whether it was leaving today, tomorrow, or next week. It was imperative, therefore, that she flew there as soon as possible. She could, of course, take Brandon's boat. She would not have so far to walk and it would be less risky than chancing there being a plane at her disposal. On the other hand, she had no idea how to navigate the coral reefs surrounding these islands and could very well end up capsizing it. After breakfast Mrs Rivers washed up and Fiona went to make her own and Becky's bed. Brandon did his own, she had been told by his mother. 'He's a very neat and tidy person. He really needs no looking after at all.' Which was as well. She did not fancy going into his room, especially if he was there. First, though, she read her mother's letter. She was missing her already, but even more so was Sara. There had always been a close bond between her and her younger sister, and Fiona smiled wryly. Poor Sara! She had lost her confidant. She had told Fiona things that she could not tell her mother, like the first kiss she had had from a boy at school, and the day she had played truant because she did not like the teacher. But the most interesting piece of news was that her mother had had a letter from Faith. It had arrived the same day that Fiona left. She was enjoying her cruise enormously and had met a wonderful man whom

she hoped to marry. He was very rich and very handsome— and just about the most fantastic thing in trousers she had ever seen! A typical Faith statement. What did her mother think of it all? Fiona wondered. She did not say much in her letter, except that she hoped Faith knew what she was doing and that it was not going to turn out to be a shipboard romance that fell flat the minute they resumed normal life. Finally her mother asked how she was getting on with Mrs Rivers. He seemed such a nice man. Wouldn't it be nice if they too fell in love, then she and Faith could have a double wedding? What could be more perfect for twins than that? Her lips twisted bitterly and she pushed the letter in a drawer under her undies. It had taken her an hpur last night to tidy up her room after Brandon's frantic search, and even now she did not like to think that he had touched these intimate garments. Not that he would have noticed what they were. He had been in such a foul mood he wouldn't have noticed were they dusters. He had had one thing in his mind—and that was the wig. What did he think she had done with it? Destroyed the evidence? Or had he perhaps not given up looking? Maybe he thought she had hidden it somewhere else in the house? She made the beds and tidied the rooms, then spent a few minutes looking out of the window, gazing at the distant ocean. Was Nassau in that direction? Was her sister Faith somewhere over there? She did not realise how sad her face was until Brandon's voice reached her from below. He was virtually under the window. The bungalow was elevated slightly, on this side, so that no one in the garden could see into the bedrooms. Fiona wondered how long he had been there, whether he

had been listening to the sound of her moving about the rooms, making sure that she was where she had said she would be. 'It's no use hankering after the impossible, Faith.' There was a curious half smile on his lips. He was confident that he had successfully blocked her plan to escape. It was impossible to look down at him and ignore the wild beating of her heart. He wore a thin white sweater which clung to his chest, accentuating every muscle, enhancing his copper tan. Narrow black trousers made his long legs seem longer, and the upward thrust of his chin as he looked at her made his face even more aggressively handsome. His eyes were dark and unfathomable from this distance, his hair neatly combed. He was proud and male and very sure of himself. His thumbs were hooked loosely into his belt, his feet a few inches apart. His casual pose did not fool her. Inside he was as taut as a bowstring. His plan was to keep her under surveillance for every minute of every day until the crucial hour—whenever that was—had passed. Even then she was not sure that he would relax his vigil. There were other ships. How was he to know that she would not make her escape on one of them? Except that she did not want to escape him. She loved him. She wanted to shout it from the rooftop. All she wanted to do was clear her own name and give herself a fair chance. He did not find her unattractive, she knew. Only the sort of person he thought she was stopped him from getting any closer. And she wasn't like that at all. But to make him believe that she had to get to Faith. Every time her thoughts came back to this same thing. 'You still think I want to get away on that ship, Brandon?' She forced herself to speak lightly. 'I shouldn't waste your time and effort

guarding me if I were you. I'm not going anywhere.' Except to find her sister! 'Good. I'm glad to hear it. Why don't you come and join Becky and me in the pool?' 'Why? Are you getting tired of craning your neck to see what I'm doing?' 'Damn you, Faith!' His mouth hardly moved, the tight words hissing through gritted teeth. 'Get yourself out here at once. And that's an order!' She smiled, which was easy. Her love was giving her an immunity to his harsh words. They slid off her back like water on a duck's. 'Give me two minutes to change. What would you like—the minuscule bikini or something a little more—er—decent?' He eyed her belligerently and she laughed. 'Okay, I'll decide for myself. I might even surprise you and wear only what nature intended.' Indeed she was surprising herself by her temerity in daring to speak to him like this. But her love had given her a new confidence and there was a bounce to her step as she made her way out to the pool. Becky and her uncle were already in the water, fooling around, the girl squealing with delight. When he saw her he stopped, his eyes flickering over the jade green one-piece swimsuit. Not that it hid much more than the bikini. It was slashed to the waist at the front, held in position between her breasts with a gold clip. The back also dipped low, sitting snugly over her hips and nestling into the small of her back. She smiled and executed a perfect dive into the pool, surfacing and swimming to the far end on her back, herstrokes deliberately slow

and sensual. It was a heady feeling, flirting with Brandon like this. It was something she had never done before, and it was a dangerous thing to do now. It could make him even more angry. Faith would be in her element. This was Faith's attitude towards all men. It was highly likely that this new man in her life had been caught in just such a way as this. Faith wove her web carefully, and it was very rare that the spider escaped. Except Brandon! Perhaps he had posed more of a threat? There was a real danger there that he would discover that she had been pilfering. He was a spider to surpass all spiders. A tarantula, highly dangerous, to be avoided at all costs. So she had left the company and gone off on this cruise. And now there was another unsuspecting male in her life. Except that if she succeeded in marrying him, she would not have to steal from him! Her future would be secure. Fiona pulled herself up on to the edge of the pool, crossing her trim ankles, smiling as Becky came chasing after her, but more aware of her uncle standing halfway down the pool, looking at her with a baffled expression on his face. How could she behave so naturally when she was plotting to get away? he must be asking himself. It was what she wondered too. She spread her hands on the floor behind, leaning on them. She tilted her head back to shake her hair—then remembered that there was no hair to shake. How easily she forgot that Brandon had brutally hacked off its silky length. In her exaggerated pose her breasts strained against the thin material of her bikini, nipples taut and proud.

Her red skin had changed to honey-gold and the droplets of water clinging to her smooth legs and arms reflected dazzling points of sun-light. She was looking her very best, and the knowledge gave her new-found confidence an extra boost. Brandon was puzzled by her behaviour. It was what he had expected in the beginning, believing her to be Faith. She had puzzled him then by the way she had adapted to this new life. And now she was a different person yet again. She even felt a different person. But she knew why. Brandon didn't. Whether it was wise to behave like this, she did not know. It might cause him to increase his vigilance, or then again he might get so annoyed and frustrated because he could not understand her that he would leave her alone. And then he was swimming towards them. She pulled Becky up beside her and they watched as his powerful arms made short work of the distance. She expected him to join them on the side, and she gave a shriek when he caught her ankles and pulled her into the pool. It hurt her back as she slid over the hard edge, but she knew that a little thing like that would not bother him. Becky, thinking they were playing, jumped in as well and for a moment all three bodies thrashed about in the water. Then somehow she and Brandon were at the other end, out of Becky's earshot. 'Flirt with me again like that,' he ground out tightly, 'and I won't be responsible for my actions! I'm only human—and when a woman offers me her body I usually take it.' 'Except,' she taunted, 'that you know your mother will be watching, and of course there's the child to consider. Not taking into account the fact that it would make your skin crawl to make love to a girl like me!'

She never expected him to hit her. The sharp sting of his hand across her face brought tears to her eyes. But all she could do was stare back, see him through a haze of p^in and shock, too surprised to retaliate. 'I hope your mother saw that,' she managed to say hoarsely. 'And I hope you have some jolly good explanation to satisfy her!' 'And you, young lady, had better not speak to me like that again. Do you hear? You will respect me. I've saved you from a prison sentence, you should be grateful.' 'Does that mean getting down on my knees three times a day and saying thank you, sir?' Fiona's earlier euphoria had completely disappeared and she was as angry as he. 'Do you know what I think about you, Brandon Rivers? I think you're living in the wrong age. The days have gone when there were masters and slaves, and no way am I going to kowtow to you!' A blind rage tore through him, shaking his limbs, darkening his face. He glanced towards the house and she guessed he thought, as she did, that his mother was watching—and this was her saving grace. He struck away from her, swimming more quickly and powerfully than any man she had ever seen. He would have won an Olympic gold medal easily! Then he hauled himself out, muscles rippling beneath the surface skin of his long wet rangy body as he stalked with animal grace into the house. And in that instant it occurred to Fiona that this could be the chance she was waiting for, coming earlier than expected. Brandon was so angry with her now that for an hour or two he would avoid her—in case he did something he would later regret! It would take her no more than a few minutes to get back into the house and change into a dress and shoes. She left Becky with her grandmother. 'We're tired of swimming,' she said. 'And I rather fancy

a walk on my own, do you mind? I don't know where Brandon's gone.' And when he found out it would be too late. She would already be on her way. Mrs Rivers looked at her cautiously. 'Did I see him hit you?' Fiona touched her cheek and forced herself to smile.' 'It was a mosquito, about to bite me—Brandon knocked it away.' 'I see.' The woman looked satisfied. 'Enjoy your walk, then. But watch the midday sun, you know how powerful it can be.' Who cared about the midday sun, thought Fiona, as she pulled her sunhat down on her head and let herself out of the house. She was glad all the bedrooms were on the other side, because if that was where Brandon was he would not see her. She followed the path towards the airport, the one they had travelled the day they arrived. It had not seemed very far in the pony and trap. But after walking briskly for a good, half hour it was still nowhere in sight. She passed one or two , houses and saw lots of children playing, some wearing tee-shirts with the slogan, 'It's Better in the Bahamas,' and all with shy smiles as she walked on. No one seemed in a hurry, except herself. She came across a cluster of houses and a group of men and women sitting beneath the shade of a fig tree. She stopped and asked where the airstrip was, but it was a long time before she got an answer. They seemed prepared to discuss anything and everything rather than give her the information she wanted. But she was apparently going in the right direction, so on she hurried. She was becoming more and more agitated. If Brandon discovered she had gone, and which way, his long legs would soon catch up with

her. At least there were no cars on the island, that was one consolation. Then suddenly, there it was, right, in front of her. She almost ran the last few hundred yards. But it was not until she had found a pilot willing to take her to Nassau that she realised with a sudden sinking feeling that she had no money.

CHAPTER EIGHT FIONA decided to wait until they were in mid-air before telling the pilot. Finding Faith was much more important than arguing about whether or not she could payBut as they talked she discovered that the pilot knew Brandon, and indeed spoke very highly of him. 'I'm staying with him and his mother,' Fiona informed, 'and do you know what I've done? I've come out in such a rush I forgot my purse.' She made a pretence of searching through her bag. 'Could you send the bill to Brandon?' She held her breath as she waited for the grinning black man's reply. 'Sure thing,' he said. 'It'll do next time Ah see him.' It was only a matter of minutes before they landed in Nassau. Fiona shook the pilot's hand, thanking him profusely for bringing her. 'How you getting back?' he asked. 'I can wait.' It would solve her problem—but she did not know how long she would be. 'I could be hours,' she smiled. 'Thanks, but I'll find someone else.' Faith would surely have some United States currency, or even Bahamian dollars. He grinned. 'And you get Brandon to pay? He's some man!' Fortunately she did not need to answer. Then came the difficult part, finding. Faith. She supposed the ship should be first. Looking through the streets of Nassau would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. But again, yet another stumbling block. The airport was ten miles from the town! A line of taxis waited and she wondered whether she could offer them English money, when a smartly dressed woman climbed into one and Fiona heard her clearly ask to be taken to Rawson Square.

She ran to the car and without stopping to think, said. 'Excuse me, but are you going into Nassau? I'm on that cruise ship in Prince George Wharf and I've lost my purse. I don't know what I'm going to do.' How easy it was to lie! But the woman must have thought her story plausible, because she nodded and smiled. 'Of course, dear, jump in. Heavens what a fright! You've not lost everything, have you? Travellers cheques, the lot?' Fiona swallowed and shook her head and hoped she did not look too guilty. 'Then that's all right. I remember I did that once, in Hong Kong I think it was. The British Embassy were very good, but the rigmarole you have to go through! Was it worth it I asked myself?' The woman chattered on for the whole ten miles. In the end Fiona was not even listening. She was concerned with finding Faith, hoping that all this was not going to be for nothing. What if the ship had gone? It did not bear thinking about. In Rawson Square, she thanked the woman warmly for letting her share her taxi, and to her intense relief the ship was still berthed. She could see it as she walked towards the wharf. A huge luxury liner, a floating hotel, looking very clean and very impressive and with suntanned happy laughing men and women coming and going. Mentally crossing her fingers that she would not have much trouble in finding Faith, Fiona walked up the gangplank. It did not take long to find out that her sister was ashore for the day, not that she really had any hope that she would be there. . Knowing Faith, she would be out enjoying herself, but she could wait. It might be preferable to traipsing all over the place in the hope that she might spot her.

She went back on to the quayside to wait. For hour after hour she sat there, filled with dread in case Brandon put in an appearance and dragged her back to his mother's house before she had the opportunity to speak to Faith. He would wait for no explanation. So far as he was concerned she would be making another attempt to escape. Finally her vigil was rewarded. Her sister's companion was a much older man than she had expected, with receding hair and a thickening waistline, but he looked kind and judging by the way he looked at Faith he clearly adored her. When Fiona stepped in front of her sister, Faith was so shocked, her mouth fell open, catkin green eyes widening. Her companion looked taken aback, too. He had probably never expected to bump into an exact replica of his new girl-friend. Then Faith laughed, rather selfconsciously. 'Heavens, Fiona, what are you doing here, and what have you done to your hair?' 'It's quite a long story,' admitted Fiona, looking about her anxiously, still on the look-out for Brandon. 'Can we go to your cabin and talk—alone?' Faith glanced up at her companion. 'Bill, honey, this is my twin sister Fiona, as you've probably gathered. Fiona—Bill Lockwood. Can you leave me a few minutes, my darling? It appears Fiona has something very important to say to me.' She contrived to look mysterious and amused at the same time. Her man-friend laughed. 'Of course, sweetheart. You'll know where to find me.'

They exchanged a mutual private smile. Faith reached up and kissed his cheek, then turned to Fiona. 'Now what's this all about? I had no idea you were in the Bahamas. Are you holidaying, or what? Who are you with? And what's so important that you want to see me?' Fiona laughed, although she was not feeling very amused. 'One question at a time, don't you think?' In a matter of seconds they were seated in Faith's luxury cabin. Fiona stared about her, her lips tightening. This was what she was paying for! This was the reason Brandon was crucifying her. Faith sat down, crossing her slim legs, lighting a cigarette. 'I don't like your hair, Fiona. What made you have it cut?' She tossed her own luxuriant locks. 'It's so much more feminine to wear your hair long.' Fiona decided she might as well jump in with both feet, so to speak. There was no point in dithering. She had come here to acquaint her sister with the true facts. Her face hardened as she looked at the girl who was a mirror image of herself. 'Brandon Rivers cut it—in a fit of temper. I was lucky he didn't scalp me altogether!' Faith sat very still, hardly breathing, looking at Fiona for a long time. Then she laughed, a high false sound. 'Brandon Rivers? What do you mean? Is this some sort of joke?' She did not even look guilty! Surprised, and wary, but not uneasy. Not as though she was afraid her sins might be discovered! 'It's no joke,' said Fiona bitterly. 'I wish it was. He thought I was you. He came to our house, Faith, demanding money. Money he said you had stolen from the firm.' Faint alarm flickered at the back of Faith's eyes. Fiona would have missed it had she not been watching her closely, because the next second her sister was calmly speaking, looking at her through a faint blue smoke haze. 'He's nutty. Do you really think I'd do such a thing?'

'If you didn't, then I've ruined my life for nothing,' cried Fiona. 'But I happen to believe that you did. How else could you have afforded—this?' She waved her hands wildly about her. 'I don't like to think of my sister as a thief. I could hardly believe my ears when Brandon catapulted into our house and demanded instant repayment. But suddenly it all began to add up—the new clothes you'd bought, the good times you could surprisingly afford.' Faith tossed her head haughtily. 'Really, Fiona, I think you're off your rocker! I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about. You're making no sense at all.' Fiona found it difficult to accept that her sister, her own twin, could so calmly deny what she knew to be fact. 'Faith,' she said feverishly, 'if you didn't steal, where did you get the money to pay for this holiday? Answer me that, will you?' Faith waved her cigarette airily. 'Rivers Construction pay well, you know that.' 'Not that well,' cried Fiona. 'He even had an exact figure. Where would he have dragged that up from if it wasn't true?' 'Search me,' Faith pulled an uninterested face. 'I really can't see what any of this has to do with me. He's clearly made a mistake. Let's forget it. Tell me instead what you're doing here. I never thought the Bahamas was your type of holiday. Is Mother with you?' Fiona took a few deep breaths. She felt as though she was going to be sick. Her own sister, lying like this to save her own face! Not that it should be surprising. If she had had the nerve to steal, she would find lying easy. 'I'm here with Brandon Rivers,' she said tightly. 'I'm working off what you owe him. And it's not easy, Faith. I want you to come with me and confess. I've had enough. I'm sick up to here.' She held her hand

to her chin. 'Faith, are you listening? You must come. He's treating me like dirt—I can't take any more!' And I also love him desperately, quite, quite desperately. But that's my secret, and unless you, dear sister, help me out, it will be something I'm stuck with for the rest of my life. 'I can't.' The two words hissed from between Faith's carefully made up lips. Fiona looked at her tightly. 'You can't—or won't? Don't you care about my happiness, Faith? Are you only concerned with saving your own precious skin?' 'I can't admit to something I didn't do.' Fiona clapped her hands to her head in anguish. She had been so convinced that once she found Faith the rest would be comparatively easy. 'What are you afraid of. Faith? He can't do anything to you now. I'm already paying for your debts.' 'Why did you let him believe you were me?' Why? A good question. Why had Faith stolen? she might well ask. 'Because, swine that he is, he wouldn't listen when I tried to tell him he'd made a mistake. Excuses, he said, excuses. And then there was Mother— why didn't you think of her when you did it? If I'd kept on insisting and finally managed to persuade him that I had a twin sister, would you have agreed to come out here and slave for him, be a nanny to his niece, companion to his mother, housekeeper and everything else all rolled into one? No, I don't think you would— but the alternative would have been prison. And what do you think that would have done to Mother? The humiliation, the stigma, would have killed her. I did it for her, Faith, not you. If you're stupid enough to get yourself into this kind of trouble then I reckon you should take the punishment!'

Faith listened to all this without the slightest emotion crossing her face. She looked as cool and calm—and alienated from it all—as though they were discussing a third party. Fiona felt near the end of her tether. 'Faith, I know you can't repay the money, I know you've spent it all on this wildly extravagant holiday, but please, come and tell Brandon who you are. Clear my name, that's all I ask. I'll still go on working for him until he considers the debt paid, I don't mind that. But I can't go on if he continues to treat me like the scum of the earth!' Faith stubbed out her cigarette and looked at her sister, smiling coolly. 'Do you know what I think? I think you've fallen in love. I think my dear home-loving twin has fallen for the mighty Brandon Rivers. He's not really the marrying type.' 'Yet you made a pass at him,' flared Fiona. Faith smiled confidently. 'That's different. He and I are on the same wavelength.' 'I wouldn't be too sure,' said Fiona crossly. 'He told me he didn't much care for women of easy virtue—- except that it was me he was addressing his remarks to. He's not got a very high opinion of me, Faith, and it's not a pleasant feeling. For pity's sake come and enlighten him.' 'I'm sorry, Fiona,' returned Faith adamantly. 'It can't be done. I'm sure you'll cope, you usually do. And now, dear sister, I think it's time I rounded up my Billy. He'll be wondering what's happening, poor sweet.' 'But you won't tell him?' Fiona felt as limp as a deflated balloon. 'Is he the reason behind your refusal? Are you afraid your new rich boy-friend might find out exactly what type of girl you are?'

'One of the reasons,' said Faith, shrugging lightly. Fiona opened the door, defeat hanging heavily on her shoulders. It was inconceivable that her own sister, who looked as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, could be so hard and uncaring as to let her suffer the degradation and humiliation Brandon Rivers was imposing. Surely it wasn't such an impossible thing she had asked? It didn't seem impossible to her—but then who knew how Faith's mind worked? They had been so close at one time, now they were virtual strangers. She would never forgive Faith for this, not ever. Not even when it was all over and they could sit back and laugh. She would bear the scar for the rest of her life—it would be a perpetual reminder of her sister's treachery. It Was not until she was walking back through Rawson Square, totally oblivious to the good-natured bartering in the straw market, that she remembered she had not asked Faith for a loan for the return flight. Then she shrugged lethargically. What did it matter? What did anything matter any more? Sooner or later Brandon would come looking for her, that was a foregone conclusion, and he could be no angrier than if she managed to find her way back. He would have missed her by now. She was surprised he had not turned up sooner. Except of course that he knew which day the ship was leaving. And if it wasn't today there was not much point in him haring after her. She walked and walked, aimlessly, not caring where she was going, not knowing where she was going. She crossed the bridge to Paradise and sat down in the shade of a palm. She was thirsty and hungry, and tired and disillusioned—and she wanted Brandon to find her.

A ridiculous thought—but it was true. At least she would be able to eat and drink, take a refreshing shower and change into clean clothes. She got up and retraced her steps, finding her way back eventually to Prince George Wharf. Faith was up there, on that big ship, her callous sister, who thought more of saving her own face than helping her twin out of a difficult situation. Suddenly unexpected tears trickled down her cheeks, and she dabbed at them furiously. Hell, she wasn't sad. She was angry, hurt, frustrated, bitter, but not sad. Shefelt like wringing her sister's neck. She felt like going back on board and dragging Faith by her hair all the way to Brandon's house, demanding that she make a clean breast of everything. She swung away, her eyes blinded with the tears, stumbling into someone, apologising and turning in another direction. It was a couple of seconds before she sensed him, before the realisation came that it was Brandon she had walked into. Abruptly she stopped, her eyes closed tightly, her shoulders resolutely firmed. It was his tangy aftershave that had given him away. Otherwise she would never have known. She would have trudged away, back into the crowds, back into hopelessness. Except that it was doubtful he would have let her. It was strange he did not speak, nor touch her. What was he doing? Waiting for her to make the first move? She opened her eyes, blinking until her vision cleared, then twisting round until she found him. She had expected violent anger, was totally unprepared for the blank hopelessness on his face. He reminded her of Becky, his eyes deep unfathomable wells. He held out his hand. 'Shall we go?'

Fiona said nothing, moving forward, allowing him to take her arm, walking at his side, feeling she was being led to her doom. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do about it. Her only hope had been Faith—and Faith had let her down. Now she was condemned to a whole lifetime of unrequited love. They took a taxi to the airport and there was the plane that she had chartered earlier. The pilot grinned. 'You very lucky, miss. I be lucky too—Brandon pay me double!' They sat in silence for the short flight. A pony and trap waited at the airstrip, and they were silent during that journey too. Fiona began to feel that this was worse than Brandon shouting. She had no idea what thoughts were in his mind. Whether he was angry, or resigned, or even amused by what he must think was her pathetic attempt to run away. He must have wondered why she stood looking up at the ship, crying, instead of hiding away on it. Perhaps he thought she had been told there was no passage for her after all. Perhaps he was feeling jubilant? If he was, why didn't he show it? Anything would be better than this interminable silence. She stole a glance. His profile looked as though it had been carved out of stone, not a muscle moved; chin tight, lips firmed, eyes looking straight ahead. It was infinitely more frightening than his explosive rages. She shivered and huddled into the corner of the seat. And although Brandon must have been aware of her reaction he did not even blink an eye. Indeed he might almost have been sitting alone. At the bungalow he helped her down, dismissed the driver and accompanied her indoors. 'You'd better go to your room.' It was a command, not a suggestion. 'Get cleaned up. I'll be in later.'

She was too tired, her senses still too dulled, to even think of refusing. She ran a bath, poured in perfumed oils, and lay until the water grew cold. In her room was a tray, with a jug of fresh orange juice and a plate of sandwiches. She pulled on a cotton kaftan, then sat down and ate hungrily drinking two glasses of the juice. Afterwards she lay on top of the bed and stared at the ceiling. Brandon's attitude puzzled her. It was not at all what she had expected. He was probably planning some even worse form of punishment for this latest escapade. She wrapped her arms about her, rolling as if in agony, and she did not hear him when he came into the room. 'Are you in pain?' The sharp question penetrated the silence. She looked at him and shook her head. Not physical pain. Mental anguish—something completely different, something that he would not understand. 'Sit up, then. I want to talk to you.' His narrowed, hard grey eyes were fixed upon her face. It was impossible to look away. They were like magnets, drawing her resolutely to him. She swung her legs over the side, tucked the kaftan round her because she felt cold, and waited. It was a long time before he spoke. He seemed to have difficulty in finding the right words. She could see a muscle working spasmodically in his jaw, his eyes flickering over her uncertainly. 'Why, Faith?'

The question had been so long in coming it was a let down. Why, what? Why was she in Nassau? Why had she been crying? Why did she want to leave? She could think of no end of questions he could be asking. She looked at him blankly. 'It doesn't matter,' he said, his voice thick with emotion. 'I know the answer. And I've decided to let you go.' She blinked—several times. 'Back to England?' He nodded grimly, as though it had been a difficult decision to make. 'Why?' It was her turn to ask a stupid question. He sighed deeply, his chest heaving. He had changed his thin sweater for a shirt. It was open to the waist and a film of perspiration added a sheen to his bronzed skin. How could he be so hot when she was cold? Her hands were like ice. She touched her face with her fingertips, surprised to feel it warm as usual. She shivered and waited for his answer. 'Because—it's what you want.' Her head jerked. 'What I want?' Her voice sounded squeaky. 'And since when has that made any difference to you?' He shrugged. 'That's immaterial. The fact is that I've now decided to take you back to England.' She swallowed, not so sure that she wanted to go. 'How about Becky? She still needs me.'

'Becky is over the worst. Unless anything very terrible happens I think she'll now continue to recover.' 'It will upset her, me going. What does your mother say?' His lips tightened. 'My mother? Yes—well, I'm afraid she's—against it. But she doesn't know the real reason you're here. I shall find another nanny, a qualified one, and send her out. I am, of course, coming back to London with you.' But of course. It should have been obvious! 'How delightful!' She could not keep the sarcasm out of her voice. He looked at her coldly. 'Don't worry, I don't intend harassing you any further. We shall go our own ways. You can consider your debt paid.' 'You're so generous!' she tossed, wanting to hurt him as he was hurting her by his rejection. He looked as though he would like to hit her. His fingers curled tightly into his palms and he gave every indication of a man fighting to keep control of himself. 'I'm doing what I have to do.' 'You don't have to send me away,' she taunted. 'You can keep me here for ever and a day, or until I've paid everything off, plus the cost of the hat, of course, whichever comes sooner.' She felt slightly hysterical. She wanted to throw herself down on the bed and kick her heels and scream. He couldn't do this to her. He couldn't! He couldn't hustle her out of his life as though she was nobody. She loved him, didn't he know that? Couldn't he tell? Hadn't he had enough experience of women to know whether they loved him or not? Her throat hurt, choked by a big hard lump. Tears welled and she beat her fists on the bed beside her. She was having as much difficulty in controlling her emotions as he.

'You sound as though you don't want to go,' he commented. 'Which is stupid, when I've been trying to book my passage on that ship.' 'Yes, it is.' He looked at her strangely. 'Has it ever occurred to you that I might have been there for some other reason?' 'There's none that I can think of,' he said, 'so I shouldn't bother with any more of your fairy stories. You've got your way. Isn't that sufficient?' 'I suppose so.' His anger finally erupted. 'Dammit, Faith, what more do you want? I really fail to understand you.' He strode about the room and his long legs had the powerful grace of an animal. His arms were stiff at his side, fingers curled. His shirt clung damply to his back and chest and she desired him—never more so than at this moment when he was cutting her out of his life completely. She tried not to look at him, she tried to concentrate on a spider crawling across the floor. She didn't like spiders, and this one was bigger than any she had ever seen. Black and hairy. If it came any nearer she would scream! Brandon turned round and came towards her and his foot crushed the spider. He stood over her, tall and proud, his arms folded across his magnificent chest. It occurred to her that he had just done to that spider what he was doing to her, except that the spider's end had come much more quickly. Her extermination was slow and painful in the extreme.

But soon, soon, she would be free of him. Another day perhaps, two days, then they would be in London and it would be Goodbye, Brandon, I'd like to say it's been nice knowing you, but it hasn't. It's been the most devastating experience of my life. And not because of what you've done to me. But because—I love you. It was almost as though she had said these last words out loud. She looked at him, her eyes wide. But he gave no indication that she had said anything of the kind. His frown merely deepened. 'You're an enigma, Faith. You change at every turn. My first impressions were of a coquette, then when I got you here you became a damned good cook, housekeeper and nanny all rolled into one.' 'Which you didn't like,' she snapped. 'That didn't fit the bill at all, did it? It wasn't punishment any more, it was pleasure.' He flickered a silver, impatient glance at her. 'True, you did seem to be enjoying it. So what did you do next? Hare off to Nassau and try to hitch a ride back to England. None of it makes any sense.' His brow was creased both from fury and trying to understand her, his narrowed eyes were mere silver slits, hidden by the long dark lashes. His lips were nonexistent as usual and his tanned face held a greyish tinge. Fiona felt sorry for him, and wondered if this was the right moment to try and explain everything, or whether she would make things worse. Probably the latter. It had gone too far for her to try and make a clean breast of it now. It ought to have been done in the beginning. She should have let Faith pay for the crime she had committed. She attempted to smile. 'At least you can't say I'm dull!' He flung away angrily. 'Hell, no—never that. My mother wants to talk with you. Don't let her persuade you to stay.'

'Is that a threat?' she asked stiffly, thinking it was what he would like best. 'It's an order,' he said tersely. 'Until we part company in England you will still do exactly what I say. I shall not consider your debt absolved until that time.'

Mrs Rivers looked hurt. 'I'm sorry you tried to run away from us, Faith. I didn't realise you were so unhappy.' Fiona shrugged. 'It's not exactly that, Mrs Rivers, but I don't expect you to understand. It's probably for the best. All I hope is that my leaving won't affect Becky. She was doing so well.' The woman's lips twisted wryly. 'All the more reason I can't understand you wanting to leave. But,' she shrugged fatalistically, 'I always knew there was something strange about your being here. Brandon brought you against your wishes, I know, so perhaps it is for the best, as you say. Neither of you have been able to accept each other, and that's not good for Becky. She is my first consideration, after all. Perhaps her next nanny will --' She spread her hands and did not finish. 'I understand you're leaving in the morning? I think perhaps it would be as well if you don't see Becky again. She was upset when you disappeared. She's in my bedroom now, fast asleep.' 'Yes, Mrs Rivers,' said Fiona quietly, feeling more upset by this woman's quiet tones and unspoken reprimand than all Brandon's harsh words. 'And—I'm sorry.' Then she rushed from the room before she broke down altogether.

CHAPTER NINE FIONA and Brandon had the Rivers Construction executive jet to themselves. She had woken that morning with a thumping headache, bade a subdued farewell to Mrs Rivers, apologising again for any upset she had caused. Then she sat in dismal silence as the pony and trap took them to the island's tiny airstrip. Now, with her eyes closed and her head back, she felt ill and out of sorts and she knew that if Brandon said anything to her she would snap his head off. His only words this morning had been to ask whether she was ready. He looked at his most menacing in a black rollneck sweater and tight black trousers which emphasised his panther-like grace. He was playing the final role of executioner to perfection. It was a relief he had not chosen to sit next to her. Fiona wished he was out of sight, though, instead of where she could see the back of his well-shaped head. His wavy black hair finished where the line of his collar began. His wide shoulders looked strong and invincible. She could see just one hand, resting on his leg. He had fine hands, articulate hands, with long spatulate fingers. Hands that looked as though they should belong to a pianist or sculptor, not a man who made his living from building office blocks and factories. She had felt those hands on her body, gentle, erotic, arousing her to unexplored heights. She had also felt them around her neck, the long, strong fingers quite capable of squeezing every vestige of life from her. He had said she was a woman of many parts, but could not the same be said of him? He could be tender, compassionate, loving and kind. She had seen all these.But he could also be sadistic and vindictive, with a merciless streak, utterly, utterly ruthless. He never cared when he hurt her. It gave him pleasure.

Yet, despite all this, she loved him. It was a sad thought, a futile thought. Soon now, ten hours or thereabouts, they would part. They might shake hands, though she doubted it. Then Brandon would stride his way and she would go hers. The man with the devil's eyes, the man who had plucked out her heart and broken it into a million pieces, would walk out of her life for ever. They arrived at Heathrow at two in the morning. Brandon had slept a lot of the time. Fiona had reclined her seat and tried to sleep, but her mind had been too active. Perhaps to him it was a relief, her going. Perhaps the responsibility had weighed heavily, and now she was a load off his mind. Whatever, nothing had kept him awake. He looked refreshed as they disembarked, having washed and shaved and pulled on a dark jacket. London was cold after the Bahamas, especially at this time in the morning. Fiona had packed everything. She had no more than a woolly cardigan which she now held tightly about her, shivering, unable to keep her limbs still. lie looked at her sharply. 'Are you all right?' She nodded. What did he expect her to say? 'I'll get you a taxi.' To her home, twenty miles away? The man was mad! He paid in advance and she climbed in with her luggage, refusing to look back through the window as it pulled away. She cried all the way. The taxi driver must have thought her very strange, but she did not care. He was not suffering from a broken

heart. He had not just left the person he loved most in the world, knowing he would never see that person again. Fiona had to bang on the door to make her mother hear. A bedroom window was thrown open and a tired, puzzled face looked down. 'It's me, Mum—Fiona. I'm back!' 'Heavens!' Her mother disappeared, and seconds later the door was unbolted and unlocked and Fiona ushered inside. 'What's happened? Why didn't you let me know you were coming? Oh, Fiona, my love,' suddenly seeing the tears, 'are you all right? Are you in trouble?' She smiled weakly. 'Make me a cup of tea and I'll explain.' But not everything. Not Faith's part. That had to remain a secret. The debt was paid—but at what price? 'It didn't work out,' she said simply, when she had drunk the welcoming tea and poured a second cup. 'You mean you couldn't cope with the child? That's unlike you, Fiona. Was she very impossible?' Fiona smiled, recalling the sad little face, so like her uncle's. 'Becky was a pet. She saw her parents killed, Mum, can you imagine anything so traumatic? But she's getting over it now. I think I helped a bit.' Mrs Hallerton did not press for details, clearly realising that her daughter needed sleep more than anything at this moment. But her face was shocked and she said anxiously, 'Fiona, how awful! The poor dear. But what was the problem? You say it didn't work out. Why?' 'Brandon Rivers,' said Fiona firmly. 'He's impossible, Mum. I couldn't stay there. He accused me of all sorts of things.'

'Like what?' Mrs Hallerton frowned, not liking the thought of her daughter being persecuted. Fiona shrugged. 'It's pathetic really. For instance, he caught me sunbathing—and said that wasn't allowed when my job was to look after Becky.' 'Heavens,' said Mrs Hallerton in surprise, 'and heseemed such a nice man. Mind you, I wasn't really keen on you going. It happened so suddenly, I didn't like it. It all sounded very funny. I'm glad you're back.' She hugged her tightly. 'Come on, love, your bed's ready. Won't Sara have a surprise in the morning!' Sleep drifted over her like a cloud. No sooner had Fiona's head touched the pillow than she was away. She slept right through until lunchtime the next day, then scolded her mother for not waking her. 'You needed it,' smiled her parent. 'You looked ready to drop. You're much better now. What's it like in the Bahamas?' They talked about everything except Brandon Rivers, though Fiona knew her mother would expect one day to hear more about this man who had upset her daughter to such an extent that she had walked out on her job. When Sara came home from school she fell on her sister. 'Fee, it's good to see you. And what a super tan! Oh, and I'd forgotten you'd had your hair cut, don't you look different!' Fiona laughed. 'I've been away a week, you minx, how can I have changed? But it's good to be home, all the same.' In the days that followed Fiona settled into her old routine. James Magnan had not yet replaced her, so she was able to have her old job back, and after a few weeks it was as though she had never been away.

Brandon Rivers was nothing more than a ship that had passed in the night. Or so she kept telling herself.. She still loved him, she always would. Often she dreamt of him, more often she daydreamed about him. She preferred to remember only his good points, like how different he looked when he smiled, what a soft mouth he had when he kissed her, how her body responded to the sheer masculinity of his. Not the ruthless thin lips, or the hard calculating eyes, or the skin stretched tightly across the bones of his face when he was in a seething temper. They had another letter from Faith saying that Bill had now asked her to marry him and that she had accepted. They wanted to get married as soon as they came back—which wouldn't be long now. The letter had taken quite a while to reach them. Then one day a beige Rover was parked outside the offices where Fiona worked. Her heart lurched, as it did every time she saw a car like Brandon's. There was always a chance that it might be him. But it was a shock all the same when an arm yanked her inside as she walked past. 'We have to talk,' said a well-remembered voice. Her heart stopped, then raced at double quick time. But she looked at Brandon coldly. 'You know where I live. Why the strong-arm tactics?' 'Because what I have to say is very private.' 'You also knew that I would refuse to see you?' He nodded grimly. 'I rather expected it.'

'So,' she shrugged, 'what makes you think I'll talk to you now? I hope you haven't had second thoughts and decided to go to the police after all? Or come up with some other more devious plan?' Why hadn't he kept away? Her heart raced like a mad thing, and her arm, where he had touched it, felt burnt. She could not imagine what was so important that he wanted to speak to her privately, nor why he had felt it imperative to go this funny way about it. He was every inch as she remembered him, from the dark waving hair and devilishly handsome face, to the : long lean legs stretched out in front of him. Grey corded trousers sheathed their power and she could see muscles working as he engaged the clutch and set the car smoothly in motion. 'I'm sorry you still have such a bad opinion of me.' He slanted her a glance from those compelling grey eyes, and his hands tightened fractionally on the wheel. 'It's no worse than the one you have of me,' she returned calmly, wondering whether he was aware of the effect he was having on her. 'I'm astounded you can bring yourself to come near me.' He drew in a tight breath. 'Perhaps I did ask for that. Would it surprise you to hear that it doesn't matter any more?' Surprise her? That was putting it mildly. He had never tried to hide the disgust and loathing he felt. They were not feelings he could easily forget. 'I shouldn't believe you.' Fiona looked across. There were new lines on his face. He looked strained and tired, as though he had been working himself too hard. 'No,' he sighed again, 'I didn't really think you would.'

They drove in silence for a few moments. They were heading out of the town towards London. 'Where are you taking me?' Not that she was particularly interested. It didn't matter. He wanted to talk, so let him. It wouldn't make any difference to how they felt about each other. She loved him. He despised her. She was pretending indifference. He was pretending he didn't care any longer that she was a thief. It was all a farce. It was laughable. Except that she did not feel like even smiling! 'My flat,' he replied. 'Where we won't be disturbed. There's a lot I have to say.' Her body grew warm at the thought of being alone with Brandon in his apartment. She had often wondered where he lived, and tried to imagine him in his own surroundings—now she was about to find out! It occurred to her that she could be putting herself in an extremely dangerous situation. Brandon aroused was capable of all sorts of things. And he was not taking her there to discuss the weather! She wished she could read minds. Forewarned was forearmed, so they said. If she knew what it was he wanted to discuss she could be ready with her answers. As it was, she had not the slightest idea. He did not look particularly friendly. Indeed, his jaw was set, his lips in that thin firm line she knew so well. It could not be anything pleasant. As the minutes ticked away and Brandon did not bother to speak again Fiona wondered whether he could hear the throbbing of her heart. It was ridiculous feeling physically excited at the thought of going back to this man's flat. He was not taking her there to make

love! Just what he had in mind it was impossible to guess. But he looked tense, as though pleasure was the last thing he had planned. He stopped in a courtyard of a new block of flats on the outskirts of the. city. They were pleasantly landscaped and each had balconies which were rather bigger than normal, most of them teeming with potted plants and tubs and windowboxes and hanging baskets. It was very colourful and impressive, and Fiona stopped a moment to look up. 'You like it?' She nodded. 'It looks as though the architect has given more thought to the aesthetic beauty of the place than they normally do. Was it a woman?' Brandon grimaced wryly. 'No, it was me. And I'm not so sure that that's a compliment.' Fiona could not help smiling. There was nothing effeminate about Brandon. He was a rough, tough male, full of aggression and power. 'I'm sorry, I had no idea.' 'Oh, yes,' he said carelessly as they entered the building, 'I've gone through every aspect of the construction industry, right from the first ideas sketched on the back of an envelope, the locating of the site, materials to be used, methods of construction, right to the point when, figuratively speaking, the key is handed over. I'm no figurehead of the company, like my uncle was. I can do any job myself. And that's how I think it should be. Were you not aware of any of this?' She shook her head. Maybe Faith was, but she was Fiona. Brandon Rivers had been just a name until that day he forcibly entered her life. His rooms were at the top. A high-speed lift whisked them up in seconds. A solid oak door closed behind them. Its quiet click sounded

final. Fiona's eyes grew wide and her pulses raced alarmingly. Was this a wise thing that she had done? Brandon took her coat and she moved forward down three steps into a huge living area. She was disappointed. It was clean and tidy and richly furnished—but it could have been anyone's home. There was nothing that told her it belonged to Brandon. It was completely impersonal. No mementoes that she could look at and say, yes, that's the sort of thing he would collect. No books or magazines. No photographs. She sat down on the edge of a leather armchair, locking her hands round her knees. Brandon poured himself a Scotch and downed it in one swallow, then turned and asked whether she would like a drink. Fiona shook her head, looking at him, studying the long rangy length of him. Not that she needed to. He was imprinted in her memory for all time. He looked uneasy, unsure of himself—which was unlike the Brandon she knew. He filled his glass again, then stood in front of the window, so that the light behind emphasised his broad shoulders and narrow hips. He had taken off his tie, and loosened the collar of his black shirt. But even now it seemed as though it was choking him. He pulled at it roughly and a button popped. His eyes followed its path across the polished wooden floor. It came to rest at Fiona's feet. She picked it up and held it out on the palm of her hand. He put down his glass and moved towards her. She looked at the polished toes of his shoes, afraid to look up. Something was going to happen; she could feel it in the air, like the crackle of electricity. Brandon stopped directly in front of her and holding her breath Fiona allowed her eyes to travel slowly up the length of his legs. She saw

the push of muscle through his trousers, then the tips of his fingers hanging loosely against his thighs. As she watched they curled and flexed and he wiped his palms across the corded material. She could see that they were moist with sweat. It occurred to her that her life was in danger. He had had time to brood, time to work himself up into this condition that was consuming him. He had decided he had let her get away far too lightly! And she, besotted fool that she was, had walked right into his trap. Her eyes reached the buckle on his belt. It was a lion's head. Yet another symbol? she wondered. She was in his lair, she was entirely at his mercy. A little uneasy sound escaped her throat and she looked up at him with wide, scared eyes. Her hair had grown a little and she could feel it softly brushing the back of her neck. But there were prickles down her spine and real fear in her heart. Her throat felt dry and she gasped as his hands shot out and grabbed her by the shoulders, hauling her to her feet. His eyes were unfathomable, deep and dark, relentlessly searching her face, perhaps wanting to get one last picture of her before—The thought was too dreadful to contemplate. She could not put it into words. His hands moved high on to her shoulders, his thumbs sliding with deliberate slowness over the slim column of her throat. Even in the midst of her fear Fiona could not ignore the wild stirrings inside her.So gentle was his touch that if she closed her eyes it would be easy to imagine that it was a caress, a deliberate attempt to arouse her baser instincts. But she refused to succumb to the excitement that coursed through her. She watched him carefully, observing the pulse that flickered at his temple, the muscle jerking in his jaw, the blazing

eyes. All signs of tension. He had set himself a task to perform. Was he perhaps -finding it more difficult than he expected? His touch became harder, she could feel the strength in those long fingers. His breathing deepened, so too did hers. And her mouth was so dry! And then, as she watched, a change came over his face. His self-control snapped. 'God help me, Faith—I can't help it!' It was a despairing cry. The next moment his mouth fastened on hers and he was kissing her hungrily, deep urgent kisses that drew an instant response. She did not stop to wonder. She clung to him as though her life depended on it. His arms wound round her and their bodies fused as they exchanged kisses with animal passion. His hard-boned hips pressed into her, his strongly muscled thighs bruised her flesh. She felt the strong beat of his heart and the burning heat that consumed him. It was as though once started neither could stop. Fiona's head rolled on her neck as he swung her back in his arms, and pressed kisses to her throat. He kissed her eyes, her ears. His hands moved possessively from her back to her hips, holding her inexorably against him. There was no denying the passion that raged. Fiona arched herself, moaning softly, the tip of her tongue licking dry lips. She refused to consider what was going to happen after this. She had thought of just such a moment so often, it was like a dream come true. It was a long long time before Brandon eventually put her from him. With a shuddering sigh he sat down, raking his fingers through his hair, his face pale and anguished. He looked at her penitently.

'I'm sorry, Faith, but I needed that.' He was breathless, his chest heaving. 'I wanted to talk first, I didn't mean this to happen, but God, I couldn't stop myself. You're not angry?' She looked down—and saw a beaten man. A lump rose in her throat, tears welled, and for the first time she felt a spark of hope. Weakly, her limbs trembling too, she dropped to her knees, looking into his face, taking his hands, holding them to her breast. 'No, Brandon,' she whispered, smiling self-consciously, 'I wanted it as much as you.' He looked as though he didn't believe her. His eyes were incredibly sad. Gone was the hardness, the ruthlessness. The tiny flecks in the grey irises seemed to grow and merge, making his eyes darker and wider and filled with a curious, inexplicable longing. Fiona could not look away. She felt compelled to keep her eyes on his face, as if she so much as blinked she might miss something—something important! 'You do know why I've brought you here, Faith?' She shook her head. 'Because --' He tugged his hands away from her, letting them fall in his lap. His fingers twisting repeatedly as he strove to find the right words. Fiona waited, her heart feeling as though it was beating inside a great big hollow in her chest. It was like a drumbeat, loud and insistent, the sound echoing through her throat to her ears. It was the only sound she could hear, and it was as though it was ticking away the seconds of her life.

Brandon crumpled suddenly and did not look at her as he spoke. 'I love you, Faith. I can't live without you.' The drumbeat stopped. Loud music took its place, filling her head with its rich, triumphant chords. She reached out and placed one hand on each side of his face. His skin was damp. She made him look at her. 'Would you mind saying that again?' Savagely he wrenched free and stood up. 'So that you can gloat?' His voice was loud and self-debasing. 'I guessed you would. I've been a bastard—I've been hard and cruel, and I deserve everything you want to throw at me.' He looked down and his eyes were rimmed with red. 'But it was a chance I had to take. I had to tell you. There was a remote chance that——' 'I might love you too?' Fiona suggested softly, making no attempt to get up from her position on the floor. A warm glow was spreading from her heart, filling her whole body, making her feel dizzy with anticipation. He nodded grimly. 'I was a fool. But I couldn't stop thinking about you. Through my own bloody single- mindedness I'd let you walk out of my life, I had to find out.' He sighed and turned away, picking up his drink, tossing back the whisky, and then sending the glass hurtling to the floor. Fiona flinched as it shattered. It could very well have been herself he destroyed. 'Brandon.' She mouthed his name so softly that he did not hear. She pushed herself up and crossed soundlessly towards him. 'Brandon.' She touched a taut shoulder, and he recoiled and spun round.

'I'll take you home,' he said, and his look of utter hopelessness tore at her heart-strings. 'I'm sorry I brought you out here for nothing.' 'First, there's something I want to say to you.' she said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She felt suddenly lightheaded. His jaw tightened. 'I expect it's no more than I deserve.' 'I think you deserve it very, very much.' Her love was shining in her eyes now and before she could stop herself she rose on tiptoe and kissed his mouth, then confidently allowed the tip of her tongue to erotically explore the outline of his lips. With iron self-control he stood and let her do it, showing no emotion whatsoever. When she had finished he said through gritted teeth, 'And what the hell was that supposed to mean? Are you trying to crucify me altogether?' 'Like you did me?' It was an involuntary teasing. She was not bitter any more. But he stiffened and she regretted her words instantly. 'It means, Brandon, that I love you too.' He did not believe her! He simply did not believe her! He stood and stared and his anger grew. 'I'm not amused,' he said. 'It wasn't supposed to be funny,' she returned. 'It happens to be true. You're not the only one who's been going through agony.' His breathing grew deeper and quicker until it was the only sound that filled the room. His eyes were locked into hers, his brows drawn together in a thick frown, then with a whoop he swung her into his arms, twirling her round, laughing loudly. 'I don't believe it. I don't believe it!' He set her down. 'Tell me again, tell me you love me.' Fiona smiled sweetly and touched his face. 'I love you, Brandon.'

'Despite what I've done?' She nodded. 'Despite what you've done.' A deep shuddering sigh shook his whole frame. 'Let's sit down, Faith, and then you can tell me when you first knew, and how you've managed to fall in love with a raving maniac like me, when you ought to hate my very guts.' 'I could ask the same of you,' she said softly, once she was safely secure in the curve of his arm. 'I'm not a very nice sort of girl.''As if I care,' he said strongly. 'What the hell does it matter?' Perhaps she ought to tell him now that she was not Faith? Except that it still did not seem the right moment. She would like to talk it over with Faith first, present him with a fait accompli. Why spoil this precious occasion with difficult explanations? Especially as he had said it did not matter any more. His tangy aftershave filled her nostrils and she wriggled ecstatically against him. 'The first thing I noticed about you was your smell.' 'That's nice,' he mocked. 'Very nice. Are you always so generous with your compliments?' Fiona giggled. 'I didn't mean that how it sounded. It's your aftershave—it's sexy, it does things to me.' 'So it's my aftershave you love? This gets more intriguing every moment. What else, I ask myself, is this girl going to come up with?' She sighed contentedly. 'I want to know how long you've loved me?' 'It's difficult to know where pure lust stopped and love began,' Brandon admitted. 'I fancied you something rotten right from the

start. From the day I walked into your office and you began making sheep's eyes at me.' 'Did I do that?' she asked blithely. 'That doesn't sound like me at all.' But it was Faith to the last letter. 'Oh, yes,' he said, 'you did that all right. I was tempted to take you up on it. Then you suddenly left.' Fiona tensed. 'And you found out about the money?' At least one good thing had come out of all this. They would never have met if it hadn't been for Faith. 'And I damn near scalped you! I wanted to kill you. How could someone with your looks, your brains, and your perfectly beautiful body, stoop low enough to steal, and do it so cleverly that it took years to discover? That's what I asked myself. Now, I couldn't give a damn. You won't do anything like that again, you won't need to. I can give you everything you want. We'll even go on a world cruise if that's the sort of thing that turns you on.' Fiona smiled. 'Is that so funny?' 'Funnier than you think,' she said. .'I'll explain one day, not now. Now I want to savour these moments. I can't believe it's all happening. I think it must be a dream.' The pressure of his arms increased. 'It's no dream, my love. You've made me happier than any man deserves to be. I'm going to take very great care of you. I'm going to spoil you hopelessly. I'm never going to let you out of my sight for one second of any day.' 'Mmm, that's nice.' Fiona closed her eyes and snuggled closer.

'I'm still finding all this hard to believe. I've been so cruel, so vindictive. Why do you love me?' 'Because you're you,' she said, pressing her lips to his throat, 'and I wouldn't have you any other way. You're big and tough and you'll take care of me.' 'I'll try,' he smiled, 'not that you need much taking care of—you're a damned independent woman. You surprised me. I really thought you were a good-time girl, that such mundane things as cooking and cleaning would be beyond you.' Her cheeks dimpled. 'You should never judge a book by its cover.' Brandon shook her gently. 'Exactly when did you discover you loved me, you impudent child?' She thought a moment, then smiled. 'You're never going to believe this. You remember that day you searched my room for a wig, and when you couldn't find it you nearly strangled me?' He nodded. 'It was then. I would have let you do it. I was powerless to move, I was completely under your influence.' He drew a rasping breath. 'If I'd known! All that stopped me was the thought, was it possible to take the life of a person you love? I almost did, God help me. It was your eyes that stopped me. You never took your eyes off my face. And I knew that if I killed you they would haunt me for the rest of my life.' 'Like little Becky,' she whispered. 'How is she? I've thought of her often.'

His tension drained and he seemed relieved that the subject had been changed. 'She has a new nanny and apparently accepted her—which is a blessing. I think she's well on her way to normality—thanks to you.' 'What will your mother think of—us?' Fiona said the word shyly. It seemed strange, coupling herself with Brandon. He smiled. 'She'll wonder, she'll ask herself what it's all about. But she will be pleased. She liked you, Faith. She was hurt when you left. She thought you'd let Becky down.' 'I know,' said Fiona sadly. 'I felt that way too. But I wasn't really given any choice.' Brandon groaned and crushed her against him. 'Please don't remind me. It's something I have to live with, something of which I'm not very proud.' He kissed her again. 'I'd like to take you home now, Faith. I'd like to meet your mother again. How much have you told her? Do you think she'll forgive me for being such a swine to her daughter?' Alarm flickered inside her. Her mother would call her Fiona! The whole story would come out before she was ready. 'Not today, Brandon. I want to keep you to myself for a bit. It's all so new and wonderful that I don't want to talk about it to anyone. Does that sound stupid?' 'It sounds crazy,' he smiled. 'But the sort of muddle- headed thought I might expect from you. You won't change your mind, though? You won't go away and think about it and then tomorrow tell me you won't marry me?' She smiled wickedly. 'I didn't hear you ask.'

He sighed with happy impatience. 'Well, little dunderhead, I'm asking now.' 'You're not telling me? It's not an order?' 'Oh, yes,' he imprisoned her mouth, his voice muffled as he spoke against it, 'it's very much an order. There's no way you can get out of it!'

Her mother knew, the instant she walked into the house, that something had happened. There was a new radiance about her daughter, a glow, a lightness to her step. Since the Bahama affair Mrs Hallerton had worried about Fiona, though she had wisely kept her thoughts to herself. Now she smiled happily. 'Well, I must say, Fiona, you look as though you've won the pools! What's happened?' 'I'm in love,' said Fiona simply, 'with a most wonderful, wonderful man.' Surprise arched her mother's brows. 'Isn't it rather sudden? Who is it? Do I know him?' And although she had told Brandon that she did not want her mother to know at this early stage, Fiona had no intention of keeping this exciting news to herself. It would have been impossible anyway, with it written all over her face. 'Brandon Rivers,' she said quietly, preparing herself for the explosion. But it never came. Her mother nodded. 'I had a feeling that when you eventually got together and sorted out your problems, you'd discover

that this was at the root of all your trouble.''I thought he hated me,' admitted Fiona, 'How could you have known, Mum?' 'Men are peculiar creatures,' Mrs Allerton said. 'They don't like showing their feelings. I must admit I don't really know what he's like. Maybe he thought you were—beneath him? Some men do, though we're all God's children, so I can't think why.' Fiona said, 'I think we just started off on the wrong foot and then he found it difficult to back down.' 'Probably,' agreed her mother. 'But I'm glad that it's all worked out. And by the way, Faith's home. Maybe we'll have that double wedding after all?' 'Yes, Mum, perhaps we will.' But first she and her sister had a lot of talking to do. 'Where is she? In her room?' 'Heavens, no! She dropped her cases and went out. You know Faith, she never was one to sit at home. You haven't met Bill yet, have you? He surprised me—not at all the type I thought she would have picked. A nice sensible man, who idolises her. I think they should be very happy. I think you'll both be happy, and I shall be very proud that my two daughters have chosen such good husbands.' It was late when Faith finally returned. Fiona had gone to bed, though not to sleep. She wanted to see her sister tonight. She wanted to sort everything out before she went to work in the morning. She wanted everything clear in her mind before she saw Brandon tomorrow night. She gave Faith a few minutes, then went to her room. 'Hi, nice to see you back. How's Bill?' Faith smiled and stretched, looking as pleased as a cat who'd got the cream. 'Very well and very rich, thank you. But from all accounts you

haven't done too badly for yourself. You caught him in the end? How clever! I didn't think you had it in you.' 'Mother told you?' Fiona perched herself on the dressing-table stool. 'At least it saved me the bother. But now there's something I want you to tell Brandon. I want you to make a clean breast. He still thinks I'm you. I want you to come with me when I see him tomorrow and we'll tell him the whole sorry story.' Fiona laughed and pulled off her dress. 'What's the point now?' She looked at her slim brown body in the cheval mirror. 'Doesn't a tan make you feel good?' Then she looked anxiously at her perfectly flat stomach. 'Do you think I've put on weight?' Fiona shook her head impatiently. 'No, I don't. You're like a beanstalk. And there's a point. I'm not going to marry Brandon with him thinking I'm a common thief. You must help me convince him, Faith. My honour's at stake.' Faith twirled and looked at her with her wide green eyes. 'He hasn't told you? Hell, that's a giggle! I wonder why?' 'Told me?' echoed Fiona blankly. 'What, for heaven's sake.' 'It was Barlow! I met one of the girls I used to work with in the pub tonight. There's been a right old rumpus, apparently. He's been milking the company ever since he worked there, and no one twigged. There'll be a court case, of course. He'll probably go to prison.' Fiona frowned, not sure that she understood any of this. 'Then why did Brandon think it was you?' Faith lifted her slim shoulders. 'Because Barlow said it was me. But I wasn't here that day he came round, was I? And you, poor dear, didn't know any different. You even thought that I'd done it. Your own

sister! Do you think I'm that stupid? I reckon you deserved what you got for thinking so badly of me!' 'I'm sorry,' said Fiona. 'But he seemed so sure of his facts^ what else could I think? I still don't see why Barlow had to blame you, though.' 'Because,' said Faith, 'I already knew what he was doing.' 'And you didn't tell anyone?' Faith looked guilty at last. 'I know I should have, but he used to pass me the odd quid to keep quiet. It was very useful.' So that was how she'd got the extra money! 'And the cruise? Did he pay for that too?' Faith nodded. 'I think he was getting cold feet. He asked me if I'd leave the company and he offered me the chance of this cruise—to keep my mouth shut. You know me, how could I refuse? And if he was going to get away with it, good luck to him, I thought. Now I guess I'll be in trouble too.' 'And he's finally been caught? When did all this happen?' Faith shrugged. 'Today, I think. Some homecoming! I expect it will be in the papers in the morning.' 'Yes, I expect it will.' Fiona felt suddenly deathly cold. 'Well, g'night, Faith. Nice to have you back.' She knew exactly what she had to do. Her happiness had been shortlived in the extreme. Brandon had put on a very convincing performance of nothing mattering except his love. But the truth of the matter was that he had had no intention of associating with a girl who stole money from his

company. It went against the grain. Who was it who said that love conquered all? Love had not conquered the distaste Brandon felt. He had been unable to erase from his mind what he thought she had done. That had beaten his love. She did not doubt that he did love her—in his own way. But who wanted that sort of love? If it was the real thing he would love her no matter what she had done. She went downstairs and picked up the phone, filled with a bitter consuming rage. She had made a mental note of his number when in his flat today, now she dialled with fingers, that would not stop shaking. It was a long time before he answered. His voice sounded sleepy. 'Hello, Brandon,' Fiona said tightly. He recognised her voice immediately. 'Oh, hello, darling. How nice to ring me at this time of night? Are you in bed too? What a lovely thought!' 'No, I'm not in bed,' she snapped, 'and there's something I have to say to you. So listen to me good and proper, because I'm only going to say it once.' 'Hell, it sounds important. What's wrong, love? Shall I come over?' 'No, you won't,' she cried passionately. 'Not tonight, not ever. I don't want to see you again. What a fool I was to believe your sob-story! More of a fool to admit the way I felt. It's a good job I found out before it was too late, before I suffered the total humiliation of marrying a man who doesn't know the meaning of the word love!' She ran out of breath and discovered tears streaming down her face. There was silence at the other end. She looked at the receiver as if

expecting to see Brandon there. Why didn't he say something? Why didn't he tell her it was all right, that she had made a mistake? Because he couldn't! Because he damn well couldn't! 'What's the matter?' she yelled. 'Are you too shocked to speak? Don't worry—I wouldn't listen to your excuses if you had any. This is goodbye, Brandon. I wish I could say it's been nice knowing you. But it hadn't, it's been sheer hell—and that's where I wish you!' 'Faith, please listen. Faith? Faith!' He sounded anguished. She smiled grimly and put down the phone.

CHAPTER TEN WHEN Fiona went back upstairs her mother was standing at the top. 'Fiona love, I couldn't help overhearing. Do you want to tell me what it's all about?' Fiona went into her mother's arms and cried as she hadn't since she was a child. They moved through into her room and she sobbed until no tears were left. It had been wrong to keep everything from her mother. She should have told her in the first place; Faith hadn't needed shielding, as it happened. She was in the wrong, admittedly, for accepting money from Barlow and not denouncing him instead. But if she, Fiona, hadn't decided to pretend she was Faith the whole sorry story would have come out sooner. 'It's a long story, Mum,' she said at length. 'I've been foolish. I thought I was doing the right thing—I wanted to protect you—and all I've done is make a mess of my own life.' Mrs Hallerton looked even more puzzled. 'Suppose you start at the beginning?' And so Fiona told her everything, from the day Brandon had forced himself into the house, how he had thought she was Faith—what he said, and her decision to pretend to be her sister and do as he asked to pay off the debt. Seeing Faith in Nassau, Brandon thinking she was trying to run away—then his surprising decision to send her back home after all. Her mother had shown surprise, horror and distress as Fiona related her story. But for the moment Fiona, not Faith, was her concern. 'And then you met him again today and he asked you to marry him? So what's happened to change your mind?'

Fiona shuddered, wrapping her arms round herself. 'According to Faith he found out today that she didn't really do it. It was her boss. The trouble is Faith knew and accepted bribes to keep her mouth shut.' Her mother's lips compressed. 'It's not pleasant to think my own daughter is mixed up in something like this. But at least she has Bill to look after her now. I don't think he'll let her down.' 'Not like Brandon did me,' said Fiona thickly. 'He couldn't have loved me very much, not if it made a difference when he thought I'd stolen that money. If only he'd asked me to marry him before all this came out!' And then there was a loud banging on the door downstairs and she knew it was him. Her eyes filled with horror. 'Please, Mum, don't let him in!' Her mother said gently. 'Fiona dear, it's past one in the morning. He'll wake the whole street! I'll have to open the door.' Before he broke it down! He was shouting now, calling Faith. And then the door shuddered and she knew he had put his shoulder against it. In a minute he would be in the house! 'Go on, then, Mum, but don't let him come up here. Tell him I don't want to see him, that I refuse to speak to him ever again.' Mrs Hallerton looked at her daughter doubtfully, then hurried from the room, and the next moment Fiona heard Brandon's loud urgent voice. He sounded angry, terribly, terribly angry. Then her mother's quieter tones. Then the door into the sitting room closed and their voices were less distinct. But her mother was shouting too—and she had never known her mother raise her voice!

She huddled on her bed and hoped her mother would have the strength to deal with this man. He was unlike anyone she had come up against before. He was hard, and when he so chose could be ruthless. Her mother would be no match for him. Perhaps she ought to go down? It was unfair to expect her mother to deal with Brandon in one of his raging moods. She knew exactly how evil he could be. She wished she could hear what they were saying. Their voices had grown quieter and she had to strain to hear anything at all. Then the sitting room door opened and she tensed, half expecting him to come bounding up the stairs. To her amazement her mother said, 'Goodnight, Brandon,' the front door opened too. In a matter of seconds his car purred into life. Then he had gone! Fiona lay back limply and closed her eyes. She could not believe it was all over. Whatever her mother had said it had worked. A few minutes later her mother came into the room. Fiona smiled weakly. 'How did you manage it?' 'Strategy. It does more than loud words, But unfortunately I had to agree to let him come and see you later on, at a more reasonable hour.' 'You did what?' Fiona felt herself tensing all over again. 'Mum, how could you! You know how I feel.' 'I also know that you'll never have any peace of mind until this lot's sorted out satisfactorily. Even if you still don't want to marry him afterwards I think you owe it to yourself and to him to put matters straight. I've told him nothing, it wasn't my place. But I think you should.'

'He doesn't deserve it,' said Fiona bitterly. 'I hate him. He tricked me into admitting I loved him. I'll never forgive him!' Her mother sat on the edge of the bed and took her hands. 'He'll also think that you tricked him when he discovers you have a twin sister. Don't you think it better to tell him yourself rather than let him discover it in court when this Barlow man's case comes up? Faith will have to attend.' Her mother looked suddenly sad and very old, and Fiona wished she had not had to involve her in any of this. 'He won't. He'll still think it's me. And he'll hate me all over again, because Faith's different and he'll see the difference. He'll decide I've been fooling him all along—and it will be best that way. Please, Mum, let's leave it now. I can't take any more.' The door opened and Faith came in, a sheer black negligee covering an equally sheer black nightie. 'Will someone mind telling me what's going on? Who was that man I heard downstairs? He was making one heck of a noise!' 'It was Brandon Rivers,' said her mother tightly. Faith suddenly stilled, her eyes, darting anxiously towards Fiona. 'Mother knows,' she said faintly. 'Yes, my lady, I do. And you've got a lot of explaining to do. But right at this moment it's Fiona's happiness I'm concerned about. She thinks Brandon's only asked her to marry him because he's found out that she wasn't the thief he thought her to be.' 'Is that why you looked so dumbfounded?' Faith looked at her sister in amazement. 'What does it matter anyway? He's asked you, hasn't he? Lord, I'd have married him myself if he'd asked me before Bill did. He's rich, that's the thing that counts these days. Why bother about the reason?'

'It happens to matter to me,' said Fiona stiffly. 'If Brandon has decided to marry me for all the wrong reasons, then I don't want him.' 'You're a fool,' said her sister. Mrs Hallerton looked at Faith crossly. 'You'd do as well to take a page out of Fiona's book. You're already in trouble, and if that's your attitude then you're heading for more.' Faith shrugged. She really was a cold-hearted little bitch, thought Fiona. If that was the impression Brandon had got of her it was no wonder he had behaved in the manner he had! 'Brandon's coming back later,' added Mrs Hallerton, 'and I want you, Faith, to see him with Fiona. You refused once to go and put Fiona in the clear. Now I'm asking you—and I shan't take no for an answer.' Again Faith lifted her slim shoulders. 'If that's what you want.' Fiona could see the despair on her mother's face and she put an arm about her shoulders. 'Perhaps we all ought to get some sleep—or we might still be in bed when he comes!' Brandon arrived at noon. Fiona and Faith waited in the sitting room while Mrs Hallerton let him in. Fiona heard the deep rumble of his voice and felt a tingle of awareness. God, how she loved him! But she mustn't let it blind her to the man he really was. His face, when he came into the room, was a picture. If Fiona hadn't been so uptight she would have laughed. He looked first at her, then at Faith, then back to herself. Then he turned to their mother. 'Am I seeing things?'

Mrs Hallerton allowed herself to smile weakly. 'These are my daughters, Faith—and Fiona.' He looked at Faith, staring intently. And because she was Faith, because it was in her nature to flirt with any man, she smiled coyly, her long lashes fluttering. His eyes hardened and he turned his attention towards Fiona. She glared and said bitterly, 'Now you know.' He peered at her closely. ' You are—Fiona?' She nodded. 'That's right, and this is my twin, Faith.' 'Faith.' Again his eyes swivelled. 'You're not the girl I took to the Bahamas?' Faith shook her head, her long hair swinging. 'Unfortunately, no.' 'But you are the girl who was employed by Rivers Construction?' 'Unfortunately again, yes.' Her eyes let him know that she found him attractive. He swung back to Fiona. 'And you pretended to be Faith?' She nodded. There was a whiteness about his mouth and dark glittering anger in his eyes. 'Why?' 'Because you wouldn't let me explain.' 'Nonsense!' But he looked uncertain. 'You couldn't have tried very hard.'

She looked at him hostilely. 'No one tries very hard when they're banging their head against a brick wall!' His face looked ashen and in some way Fiona felt curiously elated. He was getting no more than he deserved. He had discovered what an atrocious mistake he had made and was finding it a bitter pill to swallow. Suddenly he groped behind him for a chair and sat down. 'Hell, what a ghastly mistake! What terrible thing have I done?' At last he was feeling some of the hurt he had caused her! His eyes were glazed and he was gazing at her as though he still could not believe what his own eyes were telling him. Faith gave him a curious glance. 'Well, folks, if you've finished with me, I'll go and meet my darling Billy.' Her hips wiggled as she walked from the room. Brandon noticed, and groaned anew, burying his head in his hands. Mrs Hallerton said, 'I think, Fiona, you're best alone with Brandon now. You've got a lot to sort out.' Fiona gave her an imploring glance, but it made no difference. And seconds later there was only the two of them id the room. Fiona looked coldly down at Brandon. 'My mother's wrong. There's nothing to discuss. It makes no difference that you thought I was my sister. It changes nothing.' 'But it does,' he said loudly, and stood up. 'It makes a hell of a difference. I've wronged you. God, how can I live with myself?' 'That's your problem,' she said bitterly.

Brandon pulled her into his arms. 'My love, you're wrong. It's our problem. You must help me.' 'You're beyond help,' she said contemptuously, standing stiff and unyielding in his arms. Never had she seen so much agony on a man's face, and it pleased her. 'You think you're a little god, deciding what's right and what's wrong, meting out punishment as you think fit. If you suffer only half as much as you've made me suffer, then it will be worth it.' He drew a deep tortured breath. 'What can I say, what can I do? God help me, I never expected this to happen.' 'But when you thought I was Faith, it didn't matter, did it? You thought the punishment fitted the crime. So what's the difference? What counts is that you did what you did. And nothing will alter that.' He gazed imploringly into her eyes, his fingers digging with painful urgency into her shoulders. 'Last night you said you loved me despite—everything.' 'Last night I was off my head,' she said. The pain helped. It made her remember what type of man he was. It helped blind her to the entreaty in his face and the knowledge that her body was responding to his nearness. 'I was fooled by your emotional blackmail.' His eyes shot wide, the black lashes reaching towards his brows. 'I was sincere, Faith. Oh hell—I'm sorry— Fiona. I've never been more sincere in my life. I love you and I want to marry you.' And they both knew the reason why! It probably made things even better now that he'd discovered she wasn't who he thought she was. She was a good, honest, trustworthy girl who'd never bring dishonour to his name. What a turn-up for the books! 'And I wish I'd never set eyes on you!' she said bitterly.

'You don't mean that, Fiona. You can't mean it,' he muttered. 'Hell, I wish I'd done the right thing in the first place and gone to the police with my suspicions.' He slid his hands beneath her hair, cradling her head, pulling her resisting body towards him. She made herself look at him blankly. 'Then you'd have got caught up with Faith—and married her instead.' His lips curled contemptuously. 'I don't think so. Faith is very much as I recall her. I'd have used her, she's attractive. I would have taken what was offered— what man wouldn't? It's what I intended doing with you. Until I discovered you were different from what I expected. I couldn't make you out.' The strong fingers pressed into the back of her head. 'I found I couldn't violate your beautiful body. You had an aura of innocence, you seemed—untouched. God, I wanted you so much, but I couldn't, I just couldn't.' 'So you used your anger on me instead.' He groaned and pulled her head forward so that his lips touched her brow. 'I was a cruel swine—I admit it freely.' 'And yet you profess to love me? It doesn't make sense.' 'I didn't want to fall in love with you,' he muttered. 'I fought against it. I kept seeing you as I'd seen your sister, a girl unashamedly after a man. I kept telling myself you were putting on a big act and that sooner or later the true you would show through.' Fiona closed her eyes. She couldn't bear to look at him any longer. He seemed genuinely upset. Yet howcould he be? He didn't love her—not in the true sense of the word. Not with a deep abiding love that would stand the test of time. She wanted to cry, but she must be strong. It wouldn't always be like this. She would get over him, in time. There would be other men.

Except that none would set her pulses racing just by looking at her. An intangible thread had drawn her to him, still held her to him, still held her now. She must break it. She must cut this man out of her life completely. 'And when it didn't,' she said bitterly, 'when you discovered I was nothing like you'd expected, you brought me back here.' Brandon swung away savagely, his face contorted, and he would never know how difficult it was for her to contain herself. 'When I saw you in Nassau, that first time, I was so angry,' he said. 'God, was I angry! Then when you disappeared the second time I was murderous. I was going to do everything but kill you. You'd been gone hours before I discovered it. I expected to be too late.' Fiona glanced at him, her green eyes glittering. 'You yourself gave me the opportunity. You were so mad at me when we were in the pool I knew you'd keep away.' 'You flaunted yourself,' he accused. 'Hell, you don't know what you did to me—and knowing who you are I can't understand why you did it. It was something Faith would do, not you.' 'You hit me!' She touched her cheek, looking at him reproachfully. 'And I chastised myself a thousand times afterwards. Oh, my love, my own sweet love, please forgive me!' He attempted to pull her into his arms again, but she swung away. She had to be strong, and feeling Brandon's body against her own would do nothing but weaken her control. His jaw tightened and he said, 'When I found you at the wharf, standing looking up at the ship, silent tears rolling down your cheeks, I knew I couldn't hurt you any more. If you wanted to leave that badly, I thought, I'd let you.'

She could have said, 'I wasn't trying to get away, Brandon. I was seeing Faith, I was trying to persuade her to tell you the truth, I loved you and I couldn't bear it when you thought ill of me.' But what was the point? It would not help, not now. From somewhere she had to find the strength to send him away, and admitting her love again was entirely the wrong way to go about it. 'You could have told me you loved me,' she said. It would have made all the difference, she would have known that he loved her for all the right reasons. 'What was the point?' Brandon sounded defeated. 'I thought you hated me, and I was afraid of making a fool of myself. If only I'd known!' He groaned and turned appealing eyes on her face. She looked at him coldly. 'You're making a fool of yourself now. My mind's made up.' 'Tell me why the sudden change of heart?' he implored. 'Fiona, I can't understand it. Didn't you mean what you said yesterday? Don't you really love me? Did you do what you did to get some of your own back for all the hurt I've inflicted?' The easy way out would be to say yes. But that was one thing she could not do. 'It's your love that's in question,' she said stiffly. 'It's not the right kind. Please go away now, and don't ever come back.' 'Fiona, Fiona, you're overwrought. It's all been too much. Sit down, let's discuss this rationally.' He tried to take her hands, but she shook her head and stepped back. 'There's no point.'

'There's every point,' he said strongly. 'Last night you agreed to marry me. A few hours later you phoned to say you'd changed your mind. Something happened— and I want to know what it was.' Her eyes were wide pools of pain when she looked at him. 'If you don't know, I'm not telling you.' And her voice was growing fainter by the minute. Brandon shook his head and raked his hands through his hair. 'You're being ridiculous. What the hell is all this about?' 'I am not being ridiculous,' she returned tightly. 'I have a very good reason,' 'Which you won't tell me?' 'That's right. If you're too stupid to see it for yourself then that's another reason I've made the right decision.' He looked at her savagely, then swung on his heel. 'I'll ask your mother.' 'She won't tell you.' 'I'll make her.' 'No, you won't. You made me suffer. You're not going to start on my mother.' At that point Mrs Hallerton came into the room, making Fiona wonder whether she hadn't been listening. She took one look at their faces and said, 'I think it's time you went, Mr Rivers.' He looked at her coldly. 'I am not going out of this house until I've sorted things out. Your daughter has made a very puzzling statement and I want to know why.'

Mrs Hallerton looked at Fiona hopelessly, as much as to say, 'What do you do with a man like him?' 'If my father was here he'd throw you out,' said Fiona bravely, 'but because we're two helpless women you think you have the upper hand.' Her mother added, 'If my daughter doesn't want you here, Mr Rivers, then the same goes for me. And if you won't go when asked politely then I think it's a matter for the police.' He looked surprised. More than that, he looked shocked, as though he found it difficult to believe that this mild-looking woman was being very brave. It would be so easy for him to turn the tables and bring up Faith's involvement in Barlow's dishonesty. He could make their name mud if he so chose. But instead, for a long tense moment he looked at Fiona. There was deep hurt on his face, plus bewilderment, an inability to accept that she was rejecting him. Then his eyes flickered to her mother. 'You win,' and he turned and walked out of the room. But Fiona knew as clearly as if he had told her that he had not given up. 'He's not going to take no for an answer,' said Mrs Hallerton, sadly confirming her thoughts. 'Then I'll just have to keep fighting.' Fiona's shoulders were firm with resolve, her mouth tight, but her eyes were unhappy, and her mother looked at her thoughtfully. 'Do you think you could be wrong? I'll back you to the hilt, you know that. If you don't want him here again I'll keep him out. But he really did seem as though you'd cut the very ground from under his feet. I've

never seen a man look so harrowed. Perhaps he really does love you Fiona?' But Fiona shook her head. 'He can't do. He would have told me before. Why wait until he found out Faith wasn't the mean thief he thought her? It makes me sick to think I've lost my head over a man like him!' Her mother compressed her lips and said no more, making tea which they drank in the kitchen. Then Fiona went to her room and stayed there for the rest of the day. On Sunday she took Sara to the park and tried to pretend that nothing was wrong. They fed the ducks and took a boat out on the pool. She sat and watched white her sister rode the swings and shot down the slide. They went home and Fiona ate her meal, then later she had a bath and washed her hair, but all the time her mind was never once off Brandon. He filled every waking thought, consumed her logical thinking. He was destroying her still, even though he wasn't here, even though she had banished him out of her life. It would be a long slow process, getting rid of him. She wondered whether she would ever be able to do it successfully. Faith thought her an idiot. 'For pity's sake,' she had said, 'take what's being offered. You'll never get another chance like it.' But money wasn't everything. Wealth spelt security so far as the material things of life were concerned. But Fiona wanted more than that. She wanted a man who loved her deeply enough to accept her faults, who would stick by her through thick and thin no matter what. If she went out and stuck a knife in someone she would expect him to stand by her. That was the type of loyalty she would give, and it was what she expected in return.

Brandon was weak. He looked tough and aggressive and was possessed of an overpowering self-confidence, but deep down inside he was a coward. His thick outer shell hid a man afraid to offer marriage to a woman unless she was as pure as the driven snow. He could not bear to think that she might be less than acceptable to society, that she had a skeleton in her cupboard which when exposed would reflect on him if he was her husband. She cried herself to sleep that night, then when she went into the office the next morning James Magnan told her that she had a visitor. Her face whitened and her pale eyes looked at him apprehensively. 'Brandon Rivers?' Her boss nodded. 'I did say that you had work to do and it would be much better if he arranged to see you when you finish tonight.' 'But he wouldn't take no for an answer?' she asked tightly. 'He's like that, I'm afraid. Where is he?' 'In my office. He stalked in and sat down and refused to budge. Wasn't it his mother you went to work for in the Bahamas?' Fiona nodded. 'I'm sorry, Mr Magnan, to involve you in my private life. He had no right. I'll try to be quick.' He put a kindly hand on her shoulder. 'The path of true love not running smooth, eh? I thought something was wrong, when you came back so quickly. If you need a referee, give me a call.' She smiled weakly. Why couldn't she have fallen for someone like him? He was kind and considerate, and never, never shouted. 'Give me a couple of minutes then come and turf us out,' she said. 'Say you're expecting a client, or something.'

He glanced at her sympathetically. 'He looked as though it would take longer than that to get whatever's bothering him off his chest. I'd better make it three.' She smiled and went in, her face changing abruptly when she saw Brandon sitting in James Magnan's chair, looking for all the world as though he owned the place. 'You have a nerve, coming here,' she snapped. 'You'll probably get me the sack!' 'I don't think so. Your boss seems a reasonable man. Even offered me the use of his office.' He was actually smiling! Fiona had expected anger, aggression, certainly not this, and for a moment she was taken aback. 'Sit down, Fiona. Shall I send for coffee—you look as though you need it.' 'I need you out of here,' she said angrily, her initial shock over. Two bright spots of colour burned in her cheeks and her heart hurt where it beat against her ribs. 'It's as good a place as any,' Brandon shrugged. 'Unless you'd like to come back to my flat?' So that he could take her into his arms and weaken her defences? Oh, no. It was much safer here where James Magnan could walk in at any moment. She eyed him coldly. 'I think you know the answer to that. What do you want? Didn't I make myself clear the other day?' He smiled and pushed himself up from the desk, walking round it and standing in front of her. It was possible to feel the heat of him, and her breath caught in her throat as she looked up.

'You made yourself very, very clear,' he said, and his voice was soft and his eyes incredibly tender. 'I've sat and thought about it the whole weekend, and when the answer hit me, I wondered how I could have been so blind not to see it at once.' 'Then why are you here now? Have you also had the opportunity to think up some wonderful excuses?' She did not like the way he was looking at her. She was weakening already. Adrenalin coursed through her veins, setting her on fire, so that she had to hold on to the edge of her chair to stop her hands trembling. 'Who else but you, my darling, would think of giving up their own happiness for the man they love?' She blinked. 'I beg your pardon?' Brandon dropped to his knees in front of her and took her hands. 'You're the most unselfish woman I've ever met. I feel humble, I don't deserve your love. I'm not even in the same league.' He buried his head in her lap and a shudder ran through him, and Fiona felt strangely moved. 'Brandon,' she whispered, 'tell me. Tell me what you're thinking.' He groaned. 'To make it hurt even more?' He lifted his head and his eyes were moist with love and pain. She looked at him, and found it hard to breathe. For a few long seconds he stared back, then he freed himself, shaking his head, as though finding it difficult to think coherently with her so close. Her thoughts too whirled chaotically. It was impossible to guess what was in Brandon's mind, but he thought he had come up with the right answer, and it intrigued her what it might be.

He leaned back on the edge of the desk. 'You heard about, Barlow? And that it was him, not Faith, who'd done the embezzling?' She nodded grimly. 'Faith told me on Friday night.' 'Until then I rather suspect that your sister had told you nothing? When I came to your house, accusing you of having stolen, you hadn't the slightest idea what I was talking about?' Fiona shook her head. 'You probably thought that I was making a big mistake, that Faith would never do a thing like that, but because I wouldn't listen to you, because I bullied you into accompanying me to the Bahamas, you didn't argue.' She shrugged, assuming uninterest, and wishing he would get to the point. His eyes darkened, his breathing was ragged and he looked as though he was having difficulty in keeping away from her. 'I expect Faith also told you that she was nevertheless involved, although not in the way I had at first thought?' He smiled confidently, refusing to be rushed. 'This is where my sweet, honourable little Fiona comes into her own. To the end of my days I shall never be able to make it up to you.' 'Make up what, for pity's sake?' she cried.' 'You think I don't know? You think that even now I haven't worked out the reason behind what must have been the hardest decision you've ever had to make in your life?' 'You're confusing me, Brandon,' she said tightly. 'Say what you've come to say and let's get it over with.'

'So modest,' he mocked softly, and held out his arms. 'Come to me, my love, let me hold you. Feel my heart beating strong and proud for the woman who was prepared to give up her own happiness in case she discredited my name!' He thought she'd done it to save his face! God, what a laugh! 'You really think that?' 'What else can I think, Fiona?' 'You could try admitting the truth,' she snapped, her eyes suddenly blazing. 'It's a good story, I admit, and you've done an excellent job convincing yourself. But don't you think hard facts are better? Why don't you own up?' 'To what, for the Lord's sake?' There was sudden hardness on his face—and this she was more able to cope with. 'To the fact that marriage to a hardened criminal was unthinkable. What sort of love do you call that? If that's all you can manage, Brandon, then you're best out of my life altogether.' 'I'm not quite sure that I follow.' A frown furrowed his brow and the cold silver eyes were narrowed to two slits. 'You're suggesting that I didn't ask you to marry me until after I'd discovered that your sister wasn't the person responsible for milking my company?' She nodded. 'The news leaked on Friday. You asked me on Friday night. I don't need any more proof than that. And even though I'm not Faith, even though it wasn't me who was involved, it sticks in my throat to think that your love was so weak that you couldn't stomach marrying me because of what you thought I was.' 'Fiona,' he breathed hoarsely, agony now glazing his eyes, 'it wasn't like that at all. I've been out of the country. I took the new nanny and then went to Miami. When I got back I came straight to see you. It

wasn't until much later that I received a phone call telling me about Barlow.' She looked at him warily. How could she believe that he was telling her the truth? 'Then Why didn't you ring and apologise for wrongly accusing me?' 'I thought you'd be in bed. I was going to come and see you the next morning. I can't believe that you think I'd contemplate such a thing, yet alone do it. Lord, if I'd known that you loved me I'd have asked you sooner! It would have saved me a lot of pain. I really thought you hated me—you had every right.' Fiona felt her cheeks colour and her eyes grow wide with horror. Had she misjudged him so badly? 'Do you mean that, Brandon? It wasn't because by then you thought I was innocent?' 'Fiona, if you came up to me and said you'd robbed the Bank of England I'd still want to marry you. I can't live without you. I thought I would have to. I could hardly believe my ears when you declared that you loved me too, and I sure as hell am not going to let you go now.' There was no doubting his sincerity. 'Oh, Brandon!' Tears ran down her cheeks as she reached the welcome comfort of his arms. He held her close and she could actually feel the strong, proud heartbeats of which he had boasted. They thudded against her breast like a steam engine, racing at double-quick time. 'Forgive me,' she whispered, turning her damp face to his. 'For what?' He stroked back a moist curl from her cheek. 'For daring to doubt the love of a bastard like me? I don't deserve your love. I was hard on you when I thought you were Faith—but to think that I was actually punishing the wrong girl into the bargain—it persecutes me every time I think about it. You're very special, Fiona. You accepted

your sister's castigation without complaining; as much, I suspect, to protect your mother as Faith. You knew it wouldn't really be a hardship, looking after little Becky. If it hadn't been for me, you would have found it a real pleasure. Can you ever forgive me, that's the question?' Fiona held up her mouth for a kiss that tasted like nectar, that sent a fever like molten metal coursing through her veins. Then she smiled, a sweet mischievous smile. 'I wasn't trying to run away, Brandon, when I went to Nassau.' A momentary frown marred the bliss on his face. 'No? What were you doing, then, my sweet love, sightseeing on your own?' 'Faith was on that ship,' she explained. 'It was Faith you saw that first time.' Brandon drew in a swift incredulous breath. 'She was on a cruise, at Barlow's expense. I went to try to persuade her to tell you the truth, but she refused. She said she couldn't admit to something she hadn't done. I thought it was because she was afraid her lover might find out.' 'You should have told me,' he said, sounding agonised. 'I didn't think you'd believe me, not unless I could present you with proof. I was beginning to reach the end of my tether. I loved you so desperately, yet you showed no sign of relenting. I wanted to clear my name. I thought perhaps then you might, just might, fall in love with me. Then when I failed, and you decided to take me home, I decided it was the best solution all round.' 'Solution be damned,' he said strongly. 'It was the biggest mistake I ever made. But I was certain I wasn't going to make another one by letting you cut me out of your life. Not once I'd discovered that by

some miracle you loved me too. I've not slept since Friday night. Come back with me to my flat. Let's go to bed now.' There was an urgency in his tone that she could not ignore. But she shook her head shyly. 'I somehow don't think you would sleep, even then!' 'Hell, who cares about sleep? I need you, Fiona. You're my life-blood. I'm no good without you.' And she was no good without him. She found his mouth and kissed him. He groaned and held her close, and neither noticed when James Magnan popped his head round the door, smiling to himself and withdrawing quietly. 'I still don't know how you found out I worked here,' Fiona said. He smiled slowly. 'Simple. I watched your every move when I first brought you back. Forcing myself to go to Miami and stay there was the hardest thing I've ever done. In the end I could stay away no longer. I knew that if I didn't see you, didn't tell you how I felt, I would be a wreck of a man for the rest of my life. There was a chance I would still be a wreck after seeing you, but it was a chance I had to take.' 'You thought that perhaps I'd love you a little bit?' He shook his head, pain once again filling his eyes. 'I didn't think you'd ever want to see me again. That was why I made a grab at you. I didn't want to give you the chance to turn me away without listening to what I had to say.' 'I would have done,' she admitted. 'Even though I loved you. When you turned up like that I really thought you wanted to hurt me some more.'

Brandon groaned again. 'Hell, I've hurt you so much, it will take me the rest of my life to make up.' She smiled. 'You've made a very good start. Go on like this and I shall have no complaints. But don't you think we ought to let Mr Magnan have his office back? Aren't we being a tiny bit selfish?' 'Damn James Magnan,' he said hoarsely. 'I've waited for this moment so long I'm sure not going to let him do me out of it!' 'But he is my boss,' Fiona insisted, turning away from his hungry mouth.'No longer,' he said sternly. 'You belong to me now, Fiona. Body and soul you are mine.' 'Yes, sir,' she said meekly, and lifted her face for his kiss. 'There is one other thing I would like to ask,' she said shyly, when he eventually let her go. 'Could we— adopt Becky?' His eyes twinkled. 'I'm sure that could be arranged. Except that there would be one stipulation. I don't believe in only children. I want a little girl of our own, with long blonde hair exactly like her mother.' 'Long?' she teased lightly. He grimaced. 'It will grow, and then, and only then, will I be able to push from my mind all the unhappiness I've caused.' 'I don't think I was ever truly unhappy,' she said. 'Hurt and bewildered, but with the dawn of my love grew an inner happiness—sometimes I lost sight of it— but --' 'But now,' he cut in, 'no one, my love, least of all me, will ever take it away from you. True love and happiness for the rest of our days—that is my vow to you."