suggested that he was a regular visitor at
Archangel, and she knew it would be more tactful to conceal her
hostility, but something in his words flicked her on the raw.
Her glance and her voice were cold and unsmiling as she said, 'Thank
you—yes. How kind of you to ask.'
His eyebrows rose. 'A touch of English frost. Perhaps a cup of
English tea will thaw it. I presume you are on your way to the
library?'
It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it and retreat back upstairs to
the comparative sanctuary of her room, but she controlled the
impulse, aware that Eulalie was still standing by the library door
listening with astonishment to this interchange. If she ran away now,
she would simply make herself ridiculous, she thought, and forced
herself to walk , casually across the expanse of gleaming mosaic. She
was acutely conscious all the time that his eyes were upon her.
The library was a charming room, if Christina had been in the mood
to appreciate it. It was square and low- ceilinged, with a Persian
carpet. Three of its walls were occupied by shelves of books from
floor to ceiling. The remaining wall was glass—tall French windows
standing open to catch the breeze from the gardens beyond. A cream
leather chesterfield with matching deep armchairs had been drawn up
in front of the windows and a low table placed in front of them. On
this had been placed a tray, complete with silver teapot and hot water
jug, and delicate china cups. Christina observed with a sinking heart
that the tray had been laid for two people.
She glanced instinctively over her shoulder and saw to her dismay
that he had followed her in from the hall and was in lie act of closing
the doors. He caught her glance and smiled unpleasantly as if he
could read her thoughts.
'Milk but no sugar, please,' he said sardonically.
Christina flushed and turned hurriedly to busy herself with the teapot.
It was obviously a very old one and very heavy. It made her wrist
shake and she found to her annoyance that she had splashed tea into
the saucer and on to the tray. She bit her lip, very much aware that her
unwanted companion was shaking his head as he contemplated her
handiwork.
'That won't do at all, Miss Sort-of-Secretary. You'll have to take some
lessons before you pour tea for Tante. She's inclined to be—fussy
about these things and make her views known. Or hadn't you
noticed?'
Christina set down the teapot with a jerk. One word had registered
with her. She moistened her lips. 'You say "Tante". Are you—is she
...'
'I'm afraid so,' he said too gently. 'I suppose this is as good a time as
any for formal introductions. I'm Devlin Brandon—your employer's
nephew.'
'I see,' Christina said numbly, after a brief appalled silence.
Devlin Brandon produced a battered packet of cheroots from his shirt
pocket and lit one. Those strange silver eyes glittered as he watched
her.
'I've obviously been an unpleasant surprise to you,' he commented
coolly. 'Would it be any comfort if I said you'd caused a similar
reaction in me?'
Her head came up indignantly. 'I don't see why.'
'No?' His smile was abstracted as he studied the glowing tip of his
cheroot. 'But then you haven't explained to my satisfaction why Tante
should need the services of a—sort- of-secretary.'
'Perhaps you'd better ask her that.' Christina took a firm grip on
herself and poured tea into the second cup without mishap. She
offered it to him. 'And I wish you wouldn't keep calling me that!'
'I can hardly address you as "Hey you",' he pointed out. 'It wouldn't be
civil.'
Christina picked up a plate of macaroons and offered these in turn. 'I
wouldn't have thought civility would have been a great concern of
yours, Mr Brandon,' she said sweetly, and felt she had scored a
victory.
But he appeared totally undisturbed, leaning back at his ease in the
armchair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was even
smiling slightly.
'So the kitten has
Archangel, and she knew it would be more tactful to conceal her
hostility, but something in his words flicked her on the raw.
Her glance and her voice were cold and unsmiling as she said, 'Thank
you—yes. How kind of you to ask.'
His eyebrows rose. 'A touch of English frost. Perhaps a cup of
English tea will thaw it. I presume you are on your way to the
library?'
It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it and retreat back upstairs to
the comparative sanctuary of her room, but she controlled the
impulse, aware that Eulalie was still standing by the library door
listening with astonishment to this interchange. If she ran away now,
she would simply make herself ridiculous, she thought, and forced
herself to walk , casually across the expanse of gleaming mosaic. She
was acutely conscious all the time that his eyes were upon her.
The library was a charming room, if Christina had been in the mood
to appreciate it. It was square and low- ceilinged, with a Persian
carpet. Three of its walls were occupied by shelves of books from
floor to ceiling. The remaining wall was glass—tall French windows
standing open to catch the breeze from the gardens beyond. A cream
leather chesterfield with matching deep armchairs had been drawn up
in front of the windows and a low table placed in front of them. On
this had been placed a tray, complete with silver teapot and hot water
jug, and delicate china cups. Christina observed with a sinking heart
that the tray had been laid for two people.
She glanced instinctively over her shoulder and saw to her dismay
that he had followed her in from the hall and was in lie act of closing
the doors. He caught her glance and smiled unpleasantly as if he
could read her thoughts.
'Milk but no sugar, please,' he said sardonically.
Christina flushed and turned hurriedly to busy herself with the teapot.
It was obviously a very old one and very heavy. It made her wrist
shake and she found to her annoyance that she had splashed tea into
the saucer and on to the tray. She bit her lip, very much aware that her
unwanted companion was shaking his head as he contemplated her
handiwork.
'That won't do at all, Miss Sort-of-Secretary. You'll have to take some
lessons before you pour tea for Tante. She's inclined to be—fussy
about these things and make her views known. Or hadn't you
noticed?'
Christina set down the teapot with a jerk. One word had registered
with her. She moistened her lips. 'You say "Tante". Are you—is she
...'
'I'm afraid so,' he said too gently. 'I suppose this is as good a time as
any for formal introductions. I'm Devlin Brandon—your employer's
nephew.'
'I see,' Christina said numbly, after a brief appalled silence.
Devlin Brandon produced a battered packet of cheroots from his shirt
pocket and lit one. Those strange silver eyes glittered as he watched
her.
'I've obviously been an unpleasant surprise to you,' he commented
coolly. 'Would it be any comfort if I said you'd caused a similar
reaction in me?'
Her head came up indignantly. 'I don't see why.'
'No?' His smile was abstracted as he studied the glowing tip of his
cheroot. 'But then you haven't explained to my satisfaction why Tante
should need the services of a—sort- of-secretary.'
'Perhaps you'd better ask her that.' Christina took a firm grip on
herself and poured tea into the second cup without mishap. She
offered it to him. 'And I wish you wouldn't keep calling me that!'
'I can hardly address you as "Hey you",' he pointed out. 'It wouldn't be
civil.'
Christina picked up a plate of macaroons and offered these in turn. 'I
wouldn't have thought civility would have been a great concern of
yours, Mr Brandon,' she said sweetly, and felt she had scored a
victory.
But he appeared totally undisturbed, leaning back at his ease in the
armchair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was even
smiling slightly.
'So the kitten has
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