‘Older women!’ said Liz disparagingly, picking up on the one topic she could argue with. ‘You’re not old, Fliss, and you know it.’
‘I’m twenty-six, and sometimes I feel old enough to be your mother,’ retorted Fliss drily. ‘In any case, that has nothing to do with it, I’m not interested in Mr Lynch.’
‘Mummy is.’ Liz tipped her head defiantly. ‘She hasn’t taken her eyes off him since he and—Rose Chen—got out of the car. Did you see the car he was driving, by the way? I think it’s a Ferrari. It’s long and low and really mean. Dody was nearly drooling!’
Fliss shook her head. ‘Liz! Your father’s only been dead just over three weeks. Show a little respect.’
Liz grimaced. ‘I’m not being disrespectful,’ she argued. ‘Haven’t you noticed the way Mummy’s stationed herself at his elbow? How old do you think he is, anyway? Eight—ten years younger than she is?’
‘Liz!’ Fliss was getting very impatient with this conversation. ‘Go and find someone else to pester, will you? You’re giving me a headache.’
‘That’s because you’re frustrated,’ Liz retaliated, in parting, and Fliss was so glad to see her go that she didn’t dispute it.
Instead, she uncoiled her legs from under her and reached for the cooling cup of tea resting on a nearby end table. She wished she could go, she thought. Robert didn’t need her at the moment, and she had no doubt she would hear all about his conversation with Rose Chen. To distraction, probably, she mused ruefully, recalling that since his father’s will had been read it had become almost the sole topic of conversation. She sympathised with him; or course she did. But surely half the company was enough to satisfy even the most prodigal of heirs. She appreciated the things that money could buy, but she couldn’t understand why some men were prepared to sacrifice everything, even their self-respect, in the pursuit of great wealth. Her father said it had to do with power, with the power that money brought. But Fliss—probably due to her father’s influence—had little use for either.
‘Are you?’
The lazily spoken enquiry was so unexpected that Fliss almost spilled her tea. She had been so absorbed with her thoughts that she had been unaware of anyone’s approach, least of all that of the man who had eased his long length into the chair beside hers.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she said, glad to find that for all her trepidation she sounded pleasantly composed. She crossed her legs, swiftly gathering together the skirt of her dress when its wraparound folds threatened to part. ‘Did you say something?’
‘I said—are you?’ Oliver Lynch repeated levelly, though she could tell from his expression that he didn’t believe she hadn’t heard him the first time. With an errant breeze lifting the ends of his dark hair, and his muscled forearms resting along his thighs, thighs that had parted to accommodate the booted feet set squarely on the floor of the terrace, he was too close for comfort. The neckline of his navy silk shirt was open to display a disturbing glimpse of body hair as well, and Fliss thought he looked like a predator, his casual air of relaxation as spurious as his smile.
‘Am I what?’ she asked politely, returning her fragile cup to its saucer. She gave him an enquiring look. ‘I fear you have me at a disadvantage, Mr—er—Lynch.’
Oliver Lynch’s thin lips parted. ‘I doubt that, ma’am,’ he countered, with equal formality. ‘The kid accused you of being frustrated. I wondered if you agreed.’
‘Did you?’ Fliss’s breath escaped with a rush. She didn’t believe it for a moment. ‘I don’t really think you expect me to answer that question.’ She glanced along the terrace and saw Robert’s mother watching them with undisguised hostility, and inwardly groaned. ‘Um—is this your first visit to England?’
‘No.’
He was non-committal, curiously pale eyes—wolf’s eyes, she decided imaginatively—assessing her appearance intently. Was he only trying to embarrass her? Or was he bored by their company, and eager for diversion? Whatever the prognosis, she wished he’d chosen someone else to practise on.
‘You’re an American,’ she observed now, striving for a neutral topic. ‘But you live in Hong Kong. Do you have business interests there, too?’
‘You could say that,’ he responded carelessly, and she immediately felt as if she was being unpardonably inquisitive. But, heavens, what was she supposed to say to a man who was so obviously out of her realm of experience? She had never considered herself particularly good at small talk, and his kind of verbal baiting left her feeling gauche.
‘Do you live in Sutton Magna, Miss Hayton?’ he asked after a moment, and Fliss was relieved he hadn’t made some other mocking comment. ‘Mandy says you’re going to marry Robert,’ he added, with a slight edge to his voice. ‘Is that right?’
Mandy ?
It took Fliss a second to realise he was talking about Mrs Hastings. She had never heard Amanda Hastings referred to as ‘Mandy’ before. ‘Um—yes,’ she answered hurriedly. ‘To both your questions. My father is the local clergyman. Maybe you and—your friend would like to visit the church while you’re here. It’s a Norman church, and parts of it date back to the twelfth century.’
‘I’m not a tourist, Miss Hayton.’ Oliver Lynch’s tone was vaguely hostile now, and Fliss wondered what she had said to annoy him. She had only been trying to make conversation. There was no need for him to be rude.
But her innate good manners wouldn’t allow her to put him in his place as she should, so ‘I’m sorry,’ she said courteously. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you were.’
Oliver Lynch’s eyes darkened, a curious phenomenon that caused the pupils to dilate and almost obscure the pale irises. ‘Forget it,’ he said, his low voice harsh and impatient. ‘I’m an ignorant bastard. I guess I’m not used to mixing in polite company.’
Now what was she supposed to make of that? Fliss’s tongue moved rather nervously over her upper lip. She wasn’t sure how to answer him, and she wished Robert’s mother would stop scowling at her and come to her rescue.
‘Er—let me get you some more tea, Mr Lynch,’ she ventured, relieved at the inspiration. ‘It really is a hot afternoon, and I’m sure you must be thirsty.’
‘I am,’ he agreed, his pupils resuming their normal size, and a humorous grin lifting the corners of his mouth. ‘But——’ he laid a hand on her bare arm as she would have got to her feet ‘—not for tea! If there’s a beer lying around here, I’ll take it. But not more of the lukewarm—stuff—I was offered earlier.’
Fliss jerked her arm back as if he’d burned her. And indeed, the sensation his hand had induced on her flesh was not unlike that description. His fingers, lean and hard and cool, had left an indelible imprint. So much so that, for a moment, she had hardly been aware of what he was saying.
Instead, she found herself wondering how it would feel to have his hands on her body; and not just her limbs, which were already melting at the thought. But on her waist; her hips; her breasts. She caught her breath. The idea that he might also touch her intimately was a fascinating prospect, and it took Robert’s voice to arouse her from the dangerous spiral of her thoughts.
‘I see you’ve introduced yourself to my fiancée, Lynch. What have you been saying to make her look so guilty?’
The American rose in one lithe easy movement, in no way daunted by the faint edge of animosity in the Englishman’s tone. ‘Oh—we were discussing the relative merits of tea, among other things,’ he replied, not altogether untruthfully. ‘As a stranger in your country, I’m not accustomed to the—customs.’