To Marry Mcallister. Carole Mortimer

faded, her expression becoming noncommittal once again. ‘My mother—obviously—is a great believer in further education for women, believes women should have as many choices in life as they can possibly achieve.’ Her mouth twisted ruefully. ‘I don’t think she’s too impressed with the fact that, for the moment, I’ve chosen modelling.’

      ‘But it is obviously by choice.’ Brice shrugged, frowning suddenly. ‘And if your mother is so conventional in her outlook, what does she make of your living here with Richard so openly?’

      He hadn’t even finished saying the words before knowing he had just made a terrible mistake. And the truth of the matter was, he wasn’t interested in how Sabina’s mother felt about her living arrangements; he wanted to know the answer to this particular question himself.

      Because he found the idea of Sabina sharing Richard Latham’s house, Richard Latham’s bed, completely unacceptable.

      Sabina had stood up abruptly as soon as he’d asked the question, blue eyes blazing angrily across the room at him now. ‘You’re being extremely personal, Mr McAllister!’ she snapped, two bright spots of angry colour in her cheeks.

      And her anger, Brice realised, wasn’t all directed towards him; she had also realised, having been drawn into an unguarded conversation about her parents, that she had actually left herself open to Brice’s overfamiliarity. And she was obviously furious with herself because of it.

      Brice remained seated. ‘Talking of Richard…where is your fiancé today?’ he enquired mildly; he really had expected the other man to be here today. If only to keep an eye on one of his ‘priceless possessions’!