The Right Bride? (19 page)

Unlike the tempestuous kiss in the woods?

There’d be no repeat of that, he thought grimly. He’d make it his business to forget the blond-haired witch who’d woven a spell around him under the shadow of the oak trees.

The sooner the better.

T
HAT
night Karyn slept about as badly as it was possible for anyone to sleep. She did sleep. She knew that, because all too clearly she could remember fragments of dreams whose eroticism horrified her in the cool light of morning. But she also spent far too long wide-awake, her body on fire with needs she was determined to deny. Tossing and turning, she’d found every lump in the mattress and had heard every creak as the old building was buffeted by the night winds.

At some point in the middle of the night, as she stared wide-eyed at the low ceiling, Karyn had finally admitted to herself that being kissed, in all good faith, by the man who was Fiona’s lover had further complicated her own compulsive need to meet her sister. Wasn’t it all too likely that in meeting Fiona she’d meet him as well? How would she ever face him? Shake his hand and say
How do you do, so nice to see you again?
She groaned aloud, wishing with all her heart that she’d been rational and sensible and four weeks ago had written a letter to Fiona about her proposed visit.

She hadn’t. So what was she going to do instead? Phone the Talbots this morning and ask for a meeting? Or write a letter and have it hand-delivered to Willowbend? She had to do one or the other. She couldn’t just hang around the village on the off-chance that she’d bump into Fiona on the street; that wouldn’t be fair to either of them. And she’d come too far at too great an expense to simply turn tail and flee.

What was she, a coward? No way. She was going to meet her sister, no matter what it took.

A bath in rather tepid water, choosing her most becoming summer dress and applying makeup all helped to restore Karyn’s spirits. Okay, so last night had been a disastrous beginning to her quest. This was a new day, and she was going to begin afresh.

She snacked on an apple and some granola bars she’d stashed in her luggage, not wanting to face the landlord or any of the villagers now that she knew about the resemblance between herself and Fiona. In the little desk by the window she found a pad of yellowing notepaper and some envelopes. She sat down, took out her pen and, her tongue caught between her teeth, began to write.

It took several false starts before Karyn was satisfied with her letter. She folded it carefully and stuck it in one of the envelopes. Just as she got up from the desk, stretching the tension from her shoulders, someone rapped on the door.

She gave a nervous start, staring at the door in horror. The black-haired man from the woods was standing on the other side. She knew it. Who else could it be?

The landlord. Of course. Come on, Karyn, smarten up.

She marched over to the door and pulled it open. The man glaring at her in the hallway was almost a caricature: scarcely an inch taller than herself, round as a barrel, clad in a tweed suit with a tweed hat clasped in his pudgy hands. But, she realized rapidly, there was nothing remotely funny about the look in his eyes. Her smile dying on her lips, she said, “Yes? Can I help you?”

“My name is Douglas Talbot. You are, I presume, Miss Karyn Marshall?”

“Yes.” He looked ready to give her a hard right to the
chin, and somehow this freed Karyn’s tongue. “Although I’m not sure how you know my name.”

“I wish to speak to you in private. May I come in?”

Her heart hammering in her rib cage, Karyn said calmly, “Of course, Mr. Talbot,” and gestured him toward the chair by the desk. Quickly she picked up the letter and tossed it on the bed before closing the door. Then, there being no other option, she sat down on the bed and folded her cold hands in her lap.

The chair creaked ominously as Douglas Talbot sat down. He put his hat on the desk. “You can start by telling me exactly what you’re doing here.”

Karyn said pleasantly, “I’d be pleased to. But first I’d like to know how you got my name.”

“The landlord phoned me last night to tell me you’d booked into the inn, and that you looked exactly like my daughter, Fiona. I want to know what game you’re up to.”

Karyn clamped firmly on her temper; losing it wouldn’t advance her cause. “I’m sure you know why I’m here,” she said. “I’m Fiona’s twin sister. I—”

“Balderdash.”

With a faint flicker of humor, Karyn realized she’d never actually heard anyone use that word before. She said flatly, “You asked why I was here. I’m trying to tell you. But if you won’t listen, we’re wasting each other’s time.”

Calculation flicked across Douglas’s red face; clearly he hadn’t expected any argument from her. “Then why don’t you tell me your story? I’m sure you’ve had lots of time to concoct it.”

“I’ll tell you the truth,” Karyn said.

As Douglas gave a rude snort, she tried to organize her thoughts. Douglas Talbot deserved the facts, yes; but none of the emotions that went along with them. She said coolly, “My mother died last winter. When I was going through
her papers a month ago, I found a letter telling me I’d been adopted in England as a baby, twenty-six years ago. My twin sister had been adopted at the same time by a couple called Douglas and Clarissa Talbot, from Droverton in Cumbria.” She paused, fighting the tightness in her throat. “I hadn’t known I was an adopted child. To cut a long story short, I decided to come to Droverton to meet Fiona. A long-overdue meeting, as I’m sure you’d agree.”

She seemed to have run out of words. She’d give her soul for a cup of hot, black coffee.

His voice laced with sarcasm, Douglas said, “A charming story—and not a word of truth in it. Fiona was not adopted. So that’s the end of it.”

“You can look at me, and deny every word I’ve told you? Fiona and I—we’re identical twins. Of course she was adopted!”

Douglas leaned forward. “Let me tell you something that I’m sure you already know. I have a considerable position in the business world and in society. A very considerable position.” He gave the shabby little room a disparaging look. “It would be greatly to your advantage to ally yourself with our family.”

“I couldn’t care less—”

“But that’s not all. My daughter is intimately associated with one of the richest men in England, an association that’s moving toward marriage. You’re telling me it’s coincidence that at a time when an announcement is imminent Fiona’s identical twin appears out of the blue? Come, come, Miss Marshall, you strain my credulity. And my patience.”

The black-haired stranger in the woods…“Rich?” Karyn faltered.

“Rafe Holden of Holden Enterprises. I’m sure even in the wilds of Canada you’ve heard of him.”

Karyn had certainly heard of the Holden chain of hotels, although she’d never stayed in one of them. Their cheapest rooms would have blown her budget for months. She said roundly, “I had no idea when I flew over here that Fiona was about to get engaged, let alone to whom. Nor would it have made any difference if I had.”

“The kind of money Rafe Holden commands? I have no doubt it inspired your story from beginning to end.” Douglas levered himself up from his chair. “You’ll leave Droverton today, and you’ll stay away from my daughter forever. Should you disobey me, there will be severe legal consequences—I will not tolerate any disturbance to my family’s peace of mind, especially by a little upstart like you. Do I make myself clear?”

Karyn got to her feet, pink flags of fury in her cheeks. “I’m Fiona’s twin sister. She was adopted by you and your wife twenty-six years ago. Don’t you dare try to bully me.”

His eyes looked as though they might pop out of his head. “Get out of Droverton today, Miss Marshall—you’ll regret it if you don’t.” He marched to the door, swung it open and slammed it shut behind him. Through the panels she could hear his footsteps clumping down the stairs. She went to the window that faced the street. A few minutes later, Douglas Talbot stalked over to a shiny silver Jaguar and barreled down the road in the direction of Willowbend.

So much for any fantasies she’d cherished of being warmly welcomed into the bosom of the family. How could Fiona stand having such a horrible father?

She stayed at the window, gazing down at the street. There was a cold lump in the vicinity of her heart. All along, she’d blithely assumed that Fiona knew she’d been adopted; that Fiona’s parents hadn’t chosen the same course as the Marshalls of keeping their child in ignorance. But
Fiona didn’t know. As far as Fiona was concerned, Douglas and Clarissa were her only parents and there were no shadows around her birth.

Was she, Karyn, to be the one to tell Fiona the truth? She could remember as clearly as if it were yesterday how the discovery of her own adoption had shocked her to the core, causing her to look at her parents with new eyes. How could she expose Fiona to the same doubts and confusion?

She couldn’t. Which meant she was barred from meeting Fiona now or ever.

Stay away from my daughter forever…

Lanced by pain, Karyn moved away from the window. Now that it had become totally impossible to approach her sister, she realized how much she’d been counting on meeting her, finding out what it was like to have an identical twin.

Both her own parents were dead, and she was an only child; she was alone in the world. What a cliché, Karyn thought with an unhappy twist to her lips. But how lonely those words made her feel; and how understandable that she’d come all the way from Prince Edward Island to Cumbria to find her sister.

She looked around the little room with sudden loathing. She couldn’t stay here one more minute. If Willowbend was out of bounds, then she’d go somewhere else. Because, of course, it wasn’t just Fiona who was on her mind.

Rafe, she thought. Rafe Holden. It was a name that suited him, that dark-eyed man who’d kissed her under the trees thinking she was Fiona; and to whom she’d responded mindlessly and with the total abandon of desire. Even now, she could remember the strength of his arms around her, the sensitivity with which he’d stroked her breast, the way he’d invited her to his bed.

Douglas Talbot had confirmed that Rafe and Fiona were lovers. Lovers who were soon to be married.

Shivering, Karyn paced up and down, the floorboards groaning underfoot. When she’d looked up Droverton and its environs on the Internet, she’d read about Holden Castle, an exclusive retreat west of the village. The man who’d kissed her owned it, along with dozens of other internationally-known luxury resorts.

He’d spoken to her so gently, thinking she was Fiona. He’d tried to soothe her fears, and he’d wanted her to enjoy his bed and his body. Tears filled Karyn’s eyes. Steve had never cherished her in that way.

She clamped down viciously on thoughts of Steve; the only way she knew how to deal with those memories was to repress them. However, when she transferred her attention to her present predicament, Karyn felt just as unhappy. She had to leave Droverton for Fiona’s sake, certainly. Rafe Holden was the other reason, equally pressing, that she must get away from here. She couldn’t risk meeting him again. It would be too humiliating, too upsetting.

Her quest was over before it had begun.

Impulsively Karyn grabbed the little folder supplied by the inn and flipped through it. Picking up the antiquated phone, she dialed the number of the nearest car rental agency. To heck with her budget. She’d go nuts if she sat in this room all day.

Late that afternoon, Karyn was driving back along the narrow roads toward Droverton. She’d tramped the fells, rented a rowboat on one of the lakes, lunched in a pub and seen innumerable shaggy sheep. On the outskirts of Coverdale, she’d had a calorie-laden tea sitting on a balcony overlooking tree-clad hills and velvet-green fields neatly edged with stone. She felt, marginally, better.

She’d also made a decision. She was going to leave Droverton today. She had no other choice. She couldn’t risk hurting Fiona in any way.

As she coasted down a hill on the approach to the village, she caught a glimpse of a rose-brick mansion tucked among the trees. Impetuously she pulled over onto the verge and got out of her car. Crossing the road, she leaned on the stone wall and gazed down at Willowbend.

It might as well have been on the other side of the world.

Another car was approaching. Studiously she kept her gaze trained on the view, doing her best to look like one more tourist admiring the scenery. But the other vehicle pulled up behind hers; as the engine was turned off, the distant bleating of sheep sounded very loud in the silence. Furious with the intruder, Karyn turned to see who was disturbing her privacy.

Rafe Holden was crossing the grassy verge toward her, his hands jammed in his pockets. It was the first time she’d seen him in daylight. Rapidly she skimmed his face with its broad cheekbones, strongly modeled jawline and hardset mouth. His black hair was thick, glossy as a raven’s wing; his dark eyes stormy.

He was taller than she remembered. Taller than Steve, she realized with an inward judder of her nerves; and more powerfully built. His whipcord trousers were snug to his hips, while his open-neck shirt revealed a physique wholly and disturbingly masculine. Would she ever forget that devastating kiss under the oak tree?

For a moment her gaze flicked to his hunter-green sports car. She didn’t know much about cars, but she’d be willing to bet this particular one represented five years of her salary.

Somehow this gave her the courage to go on the offensive. She said coldly, “Why don’t you get back in your car
and drive straight to Willowbend? It’s where you belong—and you’re the last person in the world I want to see right now.”

“In that case, why did you station yourself on a public road overlooking Fiona’s house?”

“I don’t owe you any explanations!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Rafe said with dangerous softness. “I want to know who you are and what you’re doing here—and I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

One of Steve’s legacies to Karyn was a fear of large angry men. For Rafe Holden was angry, she was in no doubt about that. But they were standing in the open, and what could he do to her, short of bundling her into his car or tossing her over the wall? She retorted, “I don’t respond well to threats.”

“I don’t like women who trespass on other people’s property and run away without explaining. Why don’t we start with your name?”