The Yuletide Engagement & A Yuletide Seduction (24 page)

“Mayfair.”

Where else? Only the best for this man. After all, he didn't like hotels, did he? Too impersonal—

“I telephoned you over the weekend.”

Jane glanced sharply across at Gabe before instantly returning her attention to the road. She had received no call from him, no more cryptic messages left on her machine from him, either. But then, as she very well knew, he hated those “damned things”!

She shrugged. “I did tell you I was very busy in this time leading up to Christmas.”

“It was Saturday afternoon,” he told her evenly. “I decided that if I waited for you to contact me I would be dead in my coffin and you might—only might, you understand!—turn up for my funeral!” he bit out disgustedly.

A long shot, concerning his funeral, she had to agree!

And Saturday afternoon she had been visiting her parents…

“I was out of town,” she told him lightly, her heart once again thudding in her chest. But it was probably the only chance she was ever going to have… “A thirtieth wedding anniversary,” she told him truthfully. “In Berkshire. A couple called Smythe-Roberts.” The last was added breathlessly.

Ordinarily she would never have dreamt of talking of her clients to a third party, but as her parents weren't
actually clients… This was too good an opportunity to be missed!

“I've met them,” he nodded dismissively. “Working on a Saturday afternoon, too.” He shook his head. “You do keep busy,” he teased. “Turn left here,” he advised softly. “It's the apartment block on the right.”

Was that it—“I've met them”? She had finally got around to the subject she was really interested in, and he'd dismissed it with just three words!

And it wasn't true that he had only “met them”. He had visited them only the day before she had, had taken them roses; wasn't the coincidence of that worth mentioning?

Jane was so agitated by his casual dismissal that she only narrowly avoided hitting a Jaguar coming the other way as she drove the van over to the other side of the road and parked outside the building Gabe had indicated.

Well, she wasn't going to give up now, not when they had come so close. “What a coincidence,” she said lightly.

Gabe's expression was completely blank in the light given off by the street lamp outside. “My renting an apartment in Mayfair?” He frowned. “Do you know someone else who lives here?”

Hardly! Maybe once upon a time her friends might have moved in these sorts of circles, as she had herself, but, as with her parents' friends, most of her own had drifted away too with her own change of circumstances.

Besides, was this man being deliberately obtuse? Probably not, she conceded grudgingly as she saw he still looked baffled by her remark.

“I meant that you know the Smythe-Robertses' too,” she explained patiently.

“I think ‘know' them is probably putting it too strongly,” Gabe dismissed uninterestedly. “I knew their daughter much better!”

Jane stared at him, her whole body stiffening in reaction. They hadn't even met three years ago, so how on earth could he claim to have known her?

“Daughter?” She forced herself to sound only casually interested—although it was definitely a strain on her nerves. “I didn't see their daughter when I was there on Saturday.” Well, she hadn't looked in any of the mirrors there, had she?

She was a person who hated lies—being told them and telling them herself—but she was aware she was stretching the truth now, no matter what she might tell herself to the contrary!

“That doesn't surprise me,” Gabe said disgustedly, glancing up at his apartment building. “Would you like to come in for a nightcap?”

Would she? Not really. And yet if she wanted to continue this conversation with him…

“Just a coffee would be nice,” she accepted. She got out, and locked the van behind them before following Gabe into the building, the man in the lobby ensuring there could be no incidents like the one where Gabe had tricked Evie into letting him go up to her own apartment.

She didn't really want the coffee, found that it kept her awake if she drank it last thing at night. But she wanted to know why Gabe wasn't surprised that Janette Smythe-Roberts hadn't been present at her own parents' thirtieth wedding anniversary…

“Decaffeinated?” Gabe questioned as they entered the plush apartment, switching on the soft glow of lights as he made his way over to the kitchen.

“Thanks,” Jane accepted vaguely, following slowly.

The apartment was gorgeous, with antique furnishings, the brocade paper on the walls looking genuine too. Only the best, Jane thought again.

“Do I take it that you had an involvement with the Smythe-Robertses' daughter?” she prompted teasingly as she joined Gabe in the ultra-modern kitchen.

She knew damn well he hadn't been involved with Janette Smythe-Roberts, but she needed to keep on this subject if she were to get anywhere at all.

“Hardly.” Gabe barely glanced at her as he moved economically about the kitchen, preparing the coffee. “Spoilt little rich girls have never appealed to me, either!”

Spoilt little—! Jane glared across the room at the powerful width of his back. She might have been over-indulged by her loving parents when she was younger, but marriage to Paul had obliterated any of that. And there was no money now for her to be “spoilt” with!

And this man, after his visit to her parents' home last week, must be aware of that…

“The Smythe-Robertses didn't appear overly wealthy to me.” She spoke lightly as Gabe joined her at the breakfast-bar with the coffee.

“Nor me,” he acknowledged tightly. “But there was plenty of money there three years ago—and I should know, because I bought David Smythe-Roberts's company from him!—so I can only assume the daughter has it all!”

Jane stared at him. Was that really what he thought?
That she would have gone off with the money and left her parents living in what was, in comparison to how they had once lived, near poverty?

Didn't this man know of the debts there had been to pay three years ago, of Paul Granger's gambling, of the way he had siphoned money out of the company to supplement his habit?

But even that hadn't been enough for Paul in the end, and he had begun to sign IOUs he hadn't a hope of paying. IOUs that on his death had passed on to his widow. IOUs that, because of Janette's own ill health at the time, her father had paid out of the money he had received for his much depleted company, her parents having decided she had already suffered enough at Paul Granger's hands.

By the time Jane had felt well enough to deal with any of it, it was already too late; her father had already sorted it all out.

Only Gabriel Vaughan's need for vengeance had survived that sorry mess, and the only person left alive to answer that need had been Janette Granger, Paul Granger's widow. So Janette had been the one to come under his vengeful gaze.

Because, at the time of her death, Gabe's wife, Jennifer, had been leaving him. And the man she had been leaving him for had been Paul Granger, Jane/Janette's own husband…!

J
ANE
licked suddenly dry lips, frowning darkly. “You mean that the daughter—”

“Janette Smythe-Roberts, or rather Janette Granger—her married name,” Gabe supplied scornfully.

“Are you saying her parents gave her all their money and left themselves—left themselves—?” How to describe her parents' present financial position? Genteel poverty probably best described it. But “spoilt little rich girl” did not best describe her!

“Almost penniless, from what I saw last week,” Gabe said much more bluntly. “According to the parents their daughter now lives abroad.” The disgust was back in his voice. “Admittedly, she was beautiful—the most beautiful woman I've ever seen—present company excepted, of course—”

“Please, Gabe,” Jane protested weakly in rebuke, still totally stunned by his summing-up of Janette Smythe-Roberts. As for living “abroad”, there was more than one meaning to that word, and she lived in freedom now, not in another country, as Gabe believed!

And beauty was no good, no good at all, if the person who possessed that beauty was as unhappy as she had been married to Paul. Gabe didn't know, couldn't even begin to guess at the hell her marriage had been. Or the pain that had quickly followed his death…

Gabe grinned now in acknowledgement of her rebuke. “Okay, I'll cut the compliments. But Janette Smythe-Roberts had the perfect face, the perfect body, the most glorious golden hair I've ever set eyes on,” he told her grimly. “And all that perfection only acted as a shield to the selfishness within. Do you have any idea what she did three years ago, after her husband died, and her father's company was in trouble? No, of course you don't.” He shook his head as he scathingly answered his own question. “There was simply no sign of the grieving widow, the supportive daughter, because Janette disappeared. Just disappeared!” he repeated disbelievingly.

Jane stared at him, taken aback by the interpretation he had obviously put on that disappearance.

But there had been a very good reason why she hadn't been on show, why she couldn't face the barrage of publicity that accompanied the death of her husband in the company of Gabe's wife; why her parents had shielded her from the worst of their financial ruin.

For, like Felicity Warner now, with her husband Richard in difficulties with his own company, Janette had been pregnant three years ago. And upon learning of Paul's duplicity, of how he had taken money from her father's company to back up his gambling, of his intention of walking out on her, and leaving her father's business in ruins and herself pregnant with their child, she had lost the baby that she had so wanted, her own life also hanging in the balance.

Was that the selfishness of Janette Smythe-Roberts that Gabe referred to…?

Because she hadn't “disappeared” at all. She'd been in a private nursing home, under the protection of her parents and doctor, until the danger had passed and she
had been well enough to go home—not to the home she had shared with Paul, or even her parents' home, but a rented cottage in Devon, far away from prying eyes.

Gabe had simply chosen to put his own interpretation on how he perceived her disappearance… But he was wrong, so very wrong.

Jane looked at him now. “Is it still possible to disappear in this day and age?” she derided lightly.

“Thousands do it every year, so I'm told.” Gabe shrugged dismissively. “And Janette Smythe-Roberts did it so well, no one seems to have seen her since!”

She shook her head. “I find that hard to believe.”

He shrugged again. “Nevertheless, that appears to be the case.”

“Appears to be” was certainly correct! “Has anyone ever tried to find her?” Jane asked.

Gabe grimaced. “I had some sort of mistaken idea of helping her myself three years ago—”

“You did?” Her surprise wasn't in the least feigned. Help? Gabe hadn't come bearing gifts three years ago, but something else completely! “I thought you said you weren't involved with her?” She tried to sound teasing, but somehow it came out accusingly…

“I wasn't.” Gabe grimaced again, his gaze warm now as he reached out and lightly touched her hand. “Do I detect a note of jealousy in your voice, Jane?”

How could she possibly be jealous of herself?

She snatched her hand away as if he had burnt her. “Don't be ridiculous,” she snapped, standing up. “I think it's time I was going—”

“I was only teasing you, Jane.” Gabe laughed softly as he too stood up. “For some reason that's beyond me, we seem to have spent the latter part of this evening
discussing a woman you don't even know—and who I haven't set eyes on for three years!” He frowned. “And we were doing so well until then, too!” he added cajolingly.

That was his interpretation of the evening; until these last few minutes she hadn't even been able to approach the subject that really interested her!

But in a way he was right; talking of Janette Smythe-Roberts and her parents had certainly caused friction in what had, until then, been a lightly enjoyable evening. Surprisingly so, Jane realised. But then, Felicity and Richard had been understandably relaxed after the end of their recent worries, and Gabe had been charming to all of them.

But as she looked up at Gabe now and saw the teasing light in his gaze turn to something much more dangerous she knew it was definitely time she left…

She knew, as Gabe's head lowered and his mouth claimed hers, that she had left it far too late to reach that conclusion…

She wrenched her mouth away from his. “No, Gabe—”

“Yes, Jane!” he groaned, cradling either side of her face with his hands as he kissed her gently—first her eyes, then her nose, then her cheeks, and finally her mouth again.

It was that gentleness that was her undoing. If he had been demanding, or even passionate, she would have resisted, but he just kissed her again and again with those gently caressing lips.

“That wasn't so bad, was it?” he finally murmured, resting his forehead against hers.

“No…” she confirmed huskily. “Not bad.” In fact, it
had felt too good. And yet she wished he would kiss her again!

He smiled at her, aqua-blue eyes so close to her own as he gazed into those sherry-brown depths. “How long did you think you could go on hiding, Jane?” he murmured affectionately.

Every alarm bell she possessed went off inside her at the same time, her eyes widening, her breath catching in her throat, every muscle and sinew in her body seeming to stiffen into immobility. “I wasn't hiding from you,” she snapped angrily, moving sharply away from him.

Gabe gave her a deeply considering look. “I didn't say you were hiding from me,” he pointed out softly.

Jane swallowed hard, thinking back to what he had said. No, he hadn't said that exactly, but— “Or from anyone else, either!” she bit out tautly, glaring at him accusingly.

He shook his head in gentle rebuke. “You've misunderstood me totally.”

Had she? Minutes ago he had been telling her about Janette Smythe-Roberts, about the fact that she had disappeared three years ago without apparent trace, and now he was asking her how long she'd expected to go on hiding! What conclusion was she supposed to draw from that?

With her own knowledge that she was Janette Smythe-Roberts—his supposed “perfect” woman he had once seen—there could only be one conclusion to draw. But as Gabe had given no indication, either now or in the past, that he realised she was Janette, perhaps she had jumped to the wrong conclusion…?

She swallowed hard, looking at him with narrowed
eyes. “Kindly explain what you did mean,” she invited stiffly.

He shrugged, a smile playing about those sensuous lips. “I was referring to your role in the kitchen—always keeping in the background.”

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” She came back with the same comment she had made to her father at the weekend, warning bells still ringing inside her, but a little more quietly now.

“Exactly,” Gabe nodded, grinning openly now. “While you hide away in other women's kitchens, you're never likely to have one of your own.”

His reply was much like her father's had been too!

“But I already have a kitchen of my own,” she reminded him mockingly. “You've seen it for yourself.”

“You're being deliberately obtuse now,” he drawled impatiently. “I meant—”

“I know what you meant, Gabe,” she cut in with dismissive derision. “And your remarks are presupposing that I want a kitchen of my own.” She shuddered at the thought of it, her experience of marriage definitely not a happy one. “I'm happy the way I am, Gabe,” she assured him lightly, picking up her evening bag. “Thank you for the coffee,” she added with finality.

“And goodbye. Again,” he added wryly.

Jane glanced back at him, not unmoved by how ruggedly handsome he was, or that teasing light in his eyes as he looked across at her with raised brows. But he was dangerous—very much so.

“Exactly.” She ruefully acknowledged his last remark. “That word doesn't seem to have worked too well on you so far!”

“Are you sure you really want it to?” he prompted softly.

“Of course I want it to!” she replied sharply. “You—”

“Jane, I have a confession to make…” he cut in reluctantly.

She looked at him warily; he already seemed to have said so much tonight! “Such as?” she challenged brittlely.

He sighed. “Well, I'm not sure just how close you and Felicity are—”

“I've already told you, I'm not especially close to either of the Warners! I just don't like to see injustice.” She looked at him pointedly.

He gave a mocking inclination of his head. “Your views were duly noted on that subject,” he drawled self-derisively. “But I think you should know—just in case Felicity feels duty-bound to mention it at some stage—that I—well, I sort of mentioned to Richard at the weekend that it might be nice if the four of us had dinner together some time!” he admitted, with a pained wince for what her reaction to that was going to be.

Ordinarily she would have been furious at the machinations behind this evening's dinner invitation, but in the circumstances it was difficult to stop herself smiling. There she had been, racking her brain trying to think of some way of seeing him again, albeit so that she could question him about his visit to her parents, and all the time he had been nefariously arranging such a meeting himself!

But Gabe wasn't to know that!

“You really are a man that likes his own way, aren't you?” she said disgustedly. “So okay, Gabe, we've all had dinner—but I still have to go now,” she added firmly.

“Could we say goodnight rather than goodbye?” he prompted huskily. “Goodbye is so final, and goodnight leaves a little hope—for me—that we'll meet again.”

Jane couldn't help herself; she did laugh this time, shaking her head ruefully. This man really was impossible.

“Goodnight, Gabe,” she told him dryly.

“There, that wasn't so difficult, was it?” he said with light satisfaction as he walked with her to the door, his arm resting lightly about her shoulders. “Drive home carefully,” he told her softly.

And, unlike Jane when he had visited her at her apartment last week, Gabe watched her as she walked over to the lift and stepped inside, pressing the button for the ground floor, Gabe still standing in the doorway to his apartment as the lift doors closed.

Gabe had had no need to tell her to drive carefully; she never drove any other way. She was all too aware of how fragile metal and glass could be, the glass smashing, the metal twisting out of all recognition. As fragile as the people inside the vehicle…

She hadn't been the one to go and identify Paul after the accident three years ago; that onerous task had fallen to her father. Jane had been admitted to a private nursing home almost as soon as she'd learnt of the accident, delirious with pain as she lost the baby she had only carried for nine weeks.

It was a time in her life she tried very hard not to think about—Paul's death, his betrayal nothing in comparison with the loss of her baby.

The pregnancy couldn't have happened at a worse time in their marriage: Paul was rarely at home any
more, and Jane was no longer bothered by his long absences; in fact she felt relieved by them.

But when she'd found out about the pregnancy she had known that she wanted her baby, wanted it very much, and had thought that perhaps there was something to be salvaged from their marriage after all. But Paul had easily disabused her of that fairy tale, laughingly informing her that he was leaving her to be with Jennifer Vaughan.

Which was what he had been doing at the time of the accident…

The scandal that had followed the two of them being killed together in Paul's BMW had been too much for Jane on top of what she had already suffered. The newspapers had been full of it, her own photograph, as Paul's wife, and that of Gabriel Vaughan, as Jennifer's husband, appearing side by side together in a stream of speculation that had gone on for days on end.

Jane had been too emotionally broken to deal with any of it, and it had been weeks before she was even aware enough to realise that Gabriel Vaughan was looking for her. And as far as she was concerned there had been only one conclusion to draw from his search: somehow he blamed her for the fact that her husband had been involved in an affair with his wife!

That was when she had decided Janette Granger had to disappear, not just for the months she had already been secluded away because of her ill health, but for always if she were ever to make a life for herself.

And so she had disappeared.

But her fear of Gabriel Vaughan had not! Oh, not the Gabe who teased and kissed her; that Gabe was all too easy to like. But the Gabe who had been to visit
Daphne and David Smythe-Roberts last week, the Gabe who could still talk so contemptuously of his believed selfishness of Janette Granger; he was definitely a man still to be feared!