'Ah, well,' he drawled unpleasantly. 'Brains in addition to those
blonde good looks would have been too much to hope for.' He went
to the door and held it open for her. 'Now, on your way, Miss
Beaumont, and try not to get lost in all those confusing passages.'
Sandie took a deep breath and tried to summon what dignity she had
left to her rescue. But it. was difficult when she was being sent to
bed—just like a naughty child—and for nothing.
Nothing.
As she walked past him, head high, Flynn Killane put out a hand
and ran a finger down the broderie anglaise-trimmed neckline of her
housecoat. Incredulously, Sandie felt his hand brush her breast, and
recoiled, the breath catching in her throat.
'You look—very fetching.' The smile that did not reach his eyes was
exactly the insult he intended it to be. 'You were no doubt hoping
for company. What a pity your only visitor turned out to be myself!'
She said chokingly, 'Please don't expect a polite contradiction, Mr
Killane. What I can't comprehend is how someone as kind and—and
charming as Crispin can possibly be related to someone like you.
Perhaps you really are some kind of changeling.'
She saw the lean face darken, and was aware of him taking one
threatening step towards her. His hand closed on her arm, anchoring
her, making retreat impossible.
He said softly, through his teeth, 'Now if you really want to make
comparisons...'
He pulled her against the hard length of his body and kissed her on
the mouth.
After Crispin's beguiling gentleness, Flynn Killane's cold-blooded,
deliberately sensual exploration of her lips had the shock of an
assault. For a moment Sandie was frozen, unable to credit what was
happening, then she began to struggle wildly, her body twisting
against his as she tried to free herself, and heard him laugh, deep in
his throat., His hands slid down her body, moulding her slender
contours through the thin fabric of housecoat and nightgown, and
her whole being seemed to burn with shame at his touch.
For a long moment he held her, then, totally unhurriedly, he lifted
his head and released her, stepping back.
'Take that to bed with you, darling,' he said silkily. 'And while
you're lying there, remember they're my sheets you're wrapped in.'
He paused. 'Sweet dreams!'
She lifted her hand and slapped him as hard as she could across his
tanned cheek, then she ducked her head, picked up the trailing skirts
of her housecoat, and ran like a hare for the stairs and safety.
WHEN Sandie opened her eyes the next morning, the sun was
shining into her room from a clear sky.
She sat up, aware of a faint throbbing in her temples, and pushed her
hair back from her face. For a moment she felt totally disorientated,
then, as the events of the previous twenty-four hours rushed back to
confront her in their entirety, she sank back against the pillows with
a little moan of dismay.
She glanced towards the window and the untrammelled blue of the
skies, and winced. 'Hypocrite!' she muttered.
She knew an ignominious urge to stay where she was, with the
covers pulled over her head, rather than have to get up and face the
inevitable repercussions of Flynn Killane's unexpected return.
No wonder everyone had reacted as they had to her arrival if he was
always as hostile and intolerant to people who were not there at his
personal invitation! Vet surely someone of Crispin's eminence in the
world of music did not have to go cap in hand to ask his half
brother's permission before inviting anyone to Killane.
Helpless colour flooded her face as she remembered the way Flynn
Killane had spoken to her—the unequivocal inferences that he'd
drawn from her presence. That had been quite bad enough without
the appalling humiliation of that odious kiss.
It mortified her now to recall her own wistful fantasies about
Crispin. It was as if a trail of slime had been laid across them, she
thought, shuddering.
By this time, of course, everyone at Killane would know the owner
of the house had returned. Flynn Killane was undoubtedly someone
who could make his presence felt.
Sandie groaned and got reluctantly out of bed. Well, there was little
point in delaying the inevitable.
Half an hour later, dressed casually but comfortably in her usual
jeans and T-shirt, her hair twisted into one long braid, she went
downstairs. It was essential, she thought, standing in the hall rather
irresolutely, to find Crispin, and tell him what had happened.
As she paused, Steffie, followed by James, emerged from the dining
room.
'Hello there,' Steffie was eating a thick slice of bread and
marmalade. 'Do you want some breakfast?'
'I'm not very hungry,' Sandie excused herself hastily. The way her
stomach was churning, it would be a miracle if she ever ate anything
again.
James gave her a speculative look, then glanced at his twin. 'We're
away down to the paddock,' he said. 'Why don't you come with us?'
Sandie hesitated. 'I think I'd better stay here.'
'I wouldn't,' Steffie said candidly. 'Flynn and Crispin are having a
terrible row in the study, shouting their heads off. You're best out of
it.'
'Crispin's doing all the shouting,' James supplied. 'Flynn's talking in
that quiet, cold voice that I don't like.' He turned to Sandie. 'He
wants you packed off back to England,' he informed her.
Sandie's heart sank. 'Oh, no! But why?'
Steffie giggled. 'Because he thinks you're Crispin's bit on the side,'
she said airily.
By rights, Sandie should have administered some well-chosen
reproof, but she was too angry.
'Well, he couldn't be more wrong,' she said curtly. 'And what
business is it of his, anyway?'
'Oh, everything that happens at Killane is Flynn's business,' Steffie
said sunnily. 'After all, it's his house, and Bridie says we're only here
on—on suffrage,' she added doubtfully.
'Sufferance,' Sandie corrected automatically. But the twins were
already heading for the front door, and after a moment's hesitation,
she followed.
What an autocrat! she thought, smouldering. What a petty tryant—
king of his rundown castle, and determined to let everyone know it!
She had hoped that by now Crispin would have explained the
situation to him, and got him to see some kind of reason. She'd even
imagined some kind of apology coming her way, and had planned
how she would accept it with icy dignity. But it seemed she had
totally underestimated the depth of animosity between the brothers.
And because of it, there would be no second chance for her. She was
going to be shipped back to England as if she was in some kind of
disgrace, when she was innocent of everything but wanting to be a
professional pianist—and a little wistful thinking about Crispin. And
what was really so shameful about that? she asked herself
defensively.
Flynn Killane was probably just jealous, she thought, her nails
curling into the palms of her hands. He might be a top man in his
field, but he had none of the fame enjoyed by the rest of his family.
Nor had he anything like Crispin's good looks or charisma, she
thought. In fact, he looked as if he knew more about street brawling
than high finance.
The horses were already waiting at the paddock fence for their
visitors. Sandie joined in the apportioning of carrot and apple, and
other titbits, and patted the velvet noses which came snuffling
inquisitively towards her.
'Do you want to come for a ride?' James asked.
Sandie shook her head. 'I don't think so. I've come here to work—
and to learn.'
'Well, don't expect a lesson from Crispin today. He'll be slamming
off somewhere in a temper like he always does.' Steffie giggled. 'I
love it when Flynn comes home. There's always hell to pay!' She
swung herself athletically on to the fence, and on to the back of the
nearest horse, twisting her hand in its mane.
'You're not going like that. Aren't you going to use a proper
saddle—and a helmet?' Sandie watched in alarm, as James also
mounted bareback.
'Oh, we have them somewhere,' Steffie called back over her
shoulder as she trotted off. 'But Flynn says we were born to break
our bloody necks.'
For such a critic of other people's morals and behaviour, Flynn
Killane's- own remarks in the Rearing of his younger siblings could
take some censoring, Sandie thought with disapproval.
She turned back towards the house, and saw, her heart sinking, that
O'Flaherty was striding briskly across the grass towards her.
'Himself wants to see you in the study,' he announced brusquely,
adding, 'And at once will be just grand.'
Sandie toyed with the idea of sending back an equally curt message
that Flynn Killane could go and jump in his own lake, but decided
against it. Thrusting her hands in her pockets, she sauntered back to
the house, with O'Flaherty in close attendance. Like some prison
warder! she thought, seething.
The study was a pleasant room, its walls lined with books, and with
a large, old-fashioned desk occupying pride of place. Flynn Killane
was standing, looking out of the window. Without turning, he said,
'Sit down, Miss Beaumont.'
'I prefer to stand,' Sandie said, adding sarcastically, 'Isn't that what
you're supposed to do when the headmaster sends for you?'
'Well, I'm no teacher of yours, thank God.' Flynn Killane walked to
the desk and sat down casually on its corner. He was wearing close-
fitting dark slacks today, and a white shirt, open at the neck, and
with the sleeves turned casually back to reveal tanned forearms. 'I
understand that's Crispin's role, and you're the eager pupil seeking
enlightenment at the feet of the master.'
Sandie's lips tightened at the overt sneer. 'I don't know why you
should find that so extraordinary. I can't be the first...'
'You're the first so-called student he's had the damnable nerve to
bring here,' he returned tersely. He looked her over. 'I see last night's
half-naked houri has been replaced by the well-scrubbed, youthful
look,' he commented. 'Just who do you think you're fooling, Miss
Beaumont?'
'This happens to be my usual appearance,' Sandie said icily. 'As for
last night -' in spite of herself a faint flush rose in her face, '—I was
not half-naked. I was perfectly decent.'
'I doubt if you know the meaning of the word.' The blue eyes were
implacable. He leaned forward slightly, and Sandie found, herself
taking a hasty and involuntary step backwards—a move that she
saw with chagrin was not lost on him. 'Let me give you some
advice, Miss Beaumont. Get back where you came from, before any
more harm is done.'
'Give me one good reason why I should.'
'Because no possible good can come of your remaining a day
longer.'
'But I disagree, Mr Killane.' Sandie lifted her chin defiantly. 'Under
Cris—Mr Sinclair's guidance, I intend to fulfil my potential as a
pianist, and justify the faith he's shown in me.'
There was a silence, and Flynn Killane gave a meditative nod. 'Tell
me,' he said softly, 'just how do you assess this—potential of yours?'
Sandie swallowed. 'I hope, one day, to be good enough to take my
place on the concert platform.'
He laughed. 'And also, no doubt, to find gold at the end of some
convenient rainbow.' He shook his head. 'That's so much moonshine,
my girl. You're deceiving yourself.'
'What do you mean?' Sandie flung her head back. 'And what do you
know about it anyway?' she added hotly.
He shrugged. 'In case you've forgotten, I heard you play last night.'
'And you think from that you can judge—you have the
presumption—the gall to pass an opinion?' She was shaking with
anger.
He looked faintly amused. 'I see that you've already been told about
Flynn the Philistine,' he commented drily. 'Come on now, Miss
Beaumont, I admit I don't play any kind of instrument myself.
Neither do I lay eggs, but as someone once said, I know a bad one
when I come across it.'
Sandie's lips parted in a gasp of pure fury, and Flynn Killane threw
up a hand to stem the indignant torrent of words before she could
give them voice.
'Not that I'd put you quite in that class,' he added. 'You play quite