Jessica Steele – The Bachelor's Bargain (страница 2)

Which was why she decided that she wasn’t going to bother saying anything. Though, since he was standing so close, she had to amend that decision. ‘If you wouldn’t mind getting out of my way, I’ll leave.’

She hated his cynical right eyebrow that lifted at her haughty tone. ‘You’re different; I’ll say that for you,’ he drawled.

‘I’m certainly no “waif or stray”!’ she told him snappily. Though if she’d hoped to embarrass him by tossing back at him the words she’d overheard, she could have saved herself the bother.

He did not look a scrap embarrassed, nor in the slightest apologetic when he apologised dryly, ‘Forgive me. I find it a trifle tedious being left to care for the lame dogs my brother constantly brings home—then, when his Samaritan impetuosity wanes, leaves me to deal with his problems.’

Problems! Lame dogs! Of all the insufferable… ‘You miserable worm!’ she flared. ‘I was mugged!’

The epithet about the miserable worm didn’t touch him, either. ‘Very conveniently mugged on my doorstep,’ he drawled, giving no quarter for her ruined tights and dishevelled appearance.

But she’d had it with him. Abruptly, too abruptly, she shot to her feet. She took one step, and as waves of dizziness assaulted her she needed something to hang on to. She stretched out her hands and held on to him until her world righted itself.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled from a proud somewhere, dropping her hands from his arms as if burned, going to take another step. Only this time he held both of her arms and pushed her back to the sofa.

‘Stay there,’ he ordered, and, while every instinct in her urged her to tell him what he could do with his orders, she was feeling too drained just then to do anything other than obey.

He went away, but returned in seconds with a glass of medicinal brandy. ‘Drink that,’ he commanded, and, at her belligerent look that said, Why should I? he flicked a glance over her shoulder-length natural blonde-streaked pale reddish hair, over her fine features and porcelain skin, and commented, ‘It could be that you’re naturally pale, but…’

‘Don’t bust a gut giving me the benefit of the doubt!’ Her spirit was returning—she felt better sitting down.

‘Just as it could be that you’re naturally lippy.’

‘It’s not every day I get mugged and then, while I’m coping with that, get accused of pretending to be mugged, for some reason my head’s in too much of a fog just now to be able to work out why.’

‘Drink the brandy.’

She tossed him a malevolent look, but, since it seemed the brandy might make her feel better, she took a sip, determined not to choke on the unfamiliar spirit, and took another couple of sips—whereupon her determination not to choke let her down. But only so far as a lady-like splutter.

She did, however, acknowledge, albeit reluctantly, that she was starting to recover from the shock and humiliation of being set upon by a trio of thugs.

‘Drink the rest of it and I’ll get a taxi to take you home,’ the man Jarad said.

A taxi—to Surrey! ‘I haven’t the money for a tax…’ Aghast, she stopped, fresh shock hitting her as, looking round for her bag, suddenly she fully remembered that the last time she had seen it some young thug was making off with it. ‘The money!’ she gasped in horror, she’d had two thousands pounds in that bag!

‘Here we go!’ drawled the man Jarad nastily. And, as Merren stared blankly at him, ‘Would it be very impolite of me, do you suppose, if I enquire what money?’

Merren had grown up loving her fellow man, but she had just come across one that she most definitely hated. She, who hadn’t a violent bone in her body, and maybe because of the violence recently done to her, felt she wanted to thump him, to hit him and keep on hitting him. But she had been better brought up than that. But her tone was full of loathing when she placed the brandy glass down on a nearby table and told him coldly, ‘Never, have I ever met a more odious creature than you.’

‘My heart bleeds—how much will it cost me?’

You’d have thought someone would have bashed that good-looking face in before this! ‘You—nothing.’

‘Let me try again. How much did the muggers get away with?’

Merren doubted that he’d decided to believe she’d been mugged after all. But pride about letting him know that she wasn’t the penniless ‘waif and stray’ he seemed so convinced she was made her answer, ‘Two thousand pounds, actually.’

‘In cash?’ She refused to answer. ‘You usually carry that amount of cash around with you?’ he questioned sceptically.

‘It was to pay some bills!’ Why did she feel she had to defend herself? She was going—getting out of there.

‘You don’t have a chequebook?’ he asked, before she had moved an inch.

She didn’t have two thousand in her account, nor even a quarter of that. Nor was she likely to tell him that Robert’s creditors had point-blank told him that a cheque would be unacceptable. Merren could only suppose he had tried to stave off the evil day by previously writing cheques that had not been honoured.

‘So either you don’t have a bank account or your creditors know your cheques are worthless.’ Oh, aren’t we the Smarty Pants! ‘Where did you get this two thousand?’ he wanted to know.

‘It’s nothing to do with you!’ she snapped, part of her wondering why she was still sitting there. Had that hard pavement addled her brain? Had the shock caused her to move in slow motion? Anyone would think she was enjoying having a slanging match with him.

‘Since it looks a certainty that I’m going to be two thousand pounds out of pocket, I’d say it has everything to do with me!’ he answered crisply.

Merren stared at him, totally perplexed. ‘You’re going to be two thousand pounds out of pocket?’

He clearly had no belief in her puzzlement, but astonished her when he replied mockingly, ‘I just know it’s going to cost me that much to keep my word to my brother that I’d look after you.’

‘You’re suggesting you’d lend me the money?’ she questioned, more to check that she’d got it right, that her brain wasn’t so addled she was beginning to believe.

‘I’m stating, not suggesting,’ he began, but, waking up fast, Merren was butting in.

‘Why should you?’ she asked, starting to realise she must have landed in either a most generous or most crackpot family.

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ he questioned back, his steady grey glance on her improved colour. ‘Piers, whom I promise you has cost me more than forty pounds a week just lately with his lost causes, is about to leave the country to work abroad for a year. I think I’ll be getting off lightly by making a final two-thousand-pound contribution to his waifs and strays fund.’

Insults she didn’t need. Merren got to her feet, glad to find her legs were steady and that her dizzy spell was a thing of the past. ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ she told him proudly, and, taking a few steps away from him, ‘As for your money, I wouldn’t dream of touching a penny of it.’

Grey eyes locked with deeply blue eyes. ‘Fine,’ he said, and, his glance flicking over her, ‘You won’t want to go through the streets looking like that.’ And then, a decision made, ‘I’ll drive you home.’

Had she any other choice, Merren would have taken it. But, aside from the fact she knew she looked a wreck, she didn’t so much as have the price of a twopenny bus ticket—if there was such a thing—and she certainly wasn’t going to borrow from him. ‘I live in Surrey,’ she stated.

He didn’t bat an eyelid, but escorted her out to where his beautiful-looking black Jaguar was parked.

They were silent for most of the drive. What was there to say? She didn’t want to talk to him—she certainly had no intention of answering any of his questions—and he, likewise, didn’t seem to want to talk to her.

In any case, she had a lot on her mind. Robert would be in despair when she told him she’d had the money but had lost it. She tried to think what else she could sell. There was her car, which was in good working order, but it was so old she’d be lucky if they got five hundred for it. Besides which, they seemed to need that car. In the six weeks since Robert and his family had moved in there had been countless visits en masse to the supermarket, and she’d taken her nieces, eight-year-old Queenie and six-year-old Kitty, out several times when Carol had been particularly edgy with them.

Merren wished her father would reply to Robert’s letter. She knew her father didn’t have a lot in the bank, but occasionally in the past, when her mother had hit hard times, she’d overcome her pride and accepted money he’d sent to tide them over.

Merren was just deciding that she would write to her father herself that night, when the man Jarad pulled up outside the detached house her father owned.

Jarad turned to her. ‘You’re looking better.’

‘I’m a good actress,’ she returned airily.

‘So, I may have been wrong, and you may have been mugged.’

‘Don’t strain yourself!’ she tossed at him, but belatedly remembering her manners, added politely, ‘Thank you very much for bringing me home.’

‘I’ll bet that hurt!’ Merren made to get out of the car. ‘Will there be someone in to look after you? You’re probably still in shock.’