‘Mother never travels in less than the best,’ Roarke explained dryly as he joined her in the back, having passed a few friendly words with the driver, whom he obviously knew well.
‘Hasn’t she heard of energy saving?’ she charged, judging that the limousine would guzzle petrol as if it was going out of fashion.
Roarke uttered a bark of laughter. ‘She never hears anything that would be to her disadvantage. Which is why she insists her children call her Marganita and not mother. The surgeon’s skill has maintained her youthful looks, which would be undermined by having a son my age.’
‘What do you call her?’ Ginny wasn’t sure whether the woman sounded likeable or not, he was painting such a dreadful picture of her. Her eyes narrowed. Just a minute, why was he doing that? It wasn’t like him at all to be so openly critical. She began to smell a rat.
That roguish smile reappeared. ‘Mother, of course. I think it’s important somebody keeps her in touch with reality.’
‘Why bother if she’s such an ogre?’ Ginny countered, definitely getting the idea that something was more than a little fishy here.
‘She’s my mother. I can’t just abandon her,’ Roarke replied carelessly, and Ginny knew she was right. She sent him a narrow-eyed look.
‘You, Roarke Adams are a twenty-four-carat fraud,’ she accused, which had him looking at her with what she could clearly see was feigned surprise.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Your family is gruesome and your grandfather is the only one you’d give the time of day? Ha! The fact that I’m here gives the lie to that. You care so much for your father you don’t want to hurt him, and as for your mother… You love every larger than life inch of her,’ Ginny declared roundly, the glow in her eyes daring him to deny it.
One eyebrow quirked. ‘Is that so?’ he said softly, and she nodded, quirking an eyebrow right back at him.
Roarke glanced away, scratching his ear. When he looked back, his expression was ruefully impressed. ‘You aren’t just a pretty face and a fabulous pair of legs, are you?’
‘I was hired for my brain,’ she confirmed, but Roarke smiled.
‘And a humdinger of a brain it is, but a mere brain didn’t see what you did. How does a woman who’s locked up in layers of permafrost get such an accurate insight into man’s deeper emotions? Sort of begs the question: were you always as frosty as you are now?’
Ginny gave him a sad look. ‘Just because I don’t choose to live my life as a high drama like your mother doesn’t make me frosty,’ she said, and received a look of high scepticism.
‘I beg to differ. A glance from those eyes of yours can deliver a serious case of frostbite,’ he drawled humorously.
‘The answer to that is to not say anything to provoke me,’ she advised, glancing out of the window and enjoying the view as the car began to circle the lake. They must be getting closer to their destination, she decided, and a tiny flutter of nerves started up inside her.
It wasn’t that she was really worried, for she was used to meeting new people, and all she had to do was be there to show Roarke’s stepmother that he was spoken for. Money for old rope, really. By Sunday evening she would be back in her own home again, and he would owe her one big favour.
All the same, the situation was just that little bit different. This was a family function and, Lord knew, she had never been a whizz at those. Doing what was expected of her, for a father who was notoriously hard to please, had been difficult. He had hated her spirit, and had done his best to crush it. That he had failed was due to her inner strength. She had refused to give in, and it had taken her along paths leading to betrayal and rejection. Her determination to be free had cost her dearly, and the memories were painful to this day.
She was distracted from her uncomfortable thoughts by the driver turning the car in through iron gates set in a wall that appeared to stretch for ever. It was a winding drive through natural forest, and Ginny wasn’t in the least surprised when they finally came out of the trees and found themselves drawing up before a large turn-of-the-century mansion. The views over the lake were spectacular.
Climbing out of the limousine, Ginny stared up at the impressive frontage. Goodness only knew how many bedrooms there were.
‘It’s not much to look at, but it’s still home to us,’ she sighed dramatically.
Roarke slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels. ‘Impressed?’ he queried, tongue-in-cheek.
‘I’m impressed by the size of the fuel bills. It must cost a packet to heat this place,’ she exclaimed in awe.
He grinned. ‘Which is why it’s the summer place. Summers are hot, so there’s no need to heat it. There’s a cool head under all that passion and flamboyance.’
She looked at him speculatively. ‘Aha, I’m beginning to see where you get your cunning from. What characteristics did you inherit from your father, other than an eye for the ladies?’
His laughter sent a trickle of pleasure down her spine. ‘Why, good looks, charm and wit, of course.’
‘Very useful,’ she drawled ironically.
‘All depends what you want to use them for,’ he countered smoothly, and she had no trouble guessing what he meant.
‘So, why isn’t your father in the hotel business?’ Ginny asked as they walked to the front door. Lawns stretched out on either side and were immaculately kept.
Roarke shrugged. ‘He’s better at spending money than making it. Fortunately, he can never spend what he has. He inherited a tidy fortune from his maternal grandmother, and has been living on the interest ever since. Oh, he isn’t a fool where money is concerned. It’s all stashed away, making more money than he could spend in three lifetimes, but it means he doesn’t have to work.’
‘So what does he do all day?’ Ginny wanted to know, frowning up at him in disapproval.
Seeing the look on her face, Roarke quirked an eyebrow mischievously. ‘I told you, he spends money,’ he said mildly, just as the door opened as if by magic.
Ginny had been going to pursue the subject, but the vision before her took the words out of her mouth. Standing deferentially in the doorway was a butler. Not just any butler, but a genuine English one from the way he wished them good evening. He could have stepped right out of that well-known series of humorous novels.
Roarke stooped down to whisper in her ear. ‘If the wind changes, you’ll stay like that,’ he said and, realising she was staring with her mouth open, Ginny closed it with a snap of teeth.
‘Is he real?’ she asked, stepping inside in response to Roarke’s hand in the small of her back.
‘The lady wants to know if you’re real, Watson,’ Roarke promptly addressed the question to the butler, much to Ginny’s discomfort.
‘Indeed I am, sir,’ Watson replied with gravity, but Ginny thought she caught the faintest of twinkles in his eyes.
‘He’s real,’ Roarke reported back, and Ginny sent him a look sharp enough to slay him where he stood.
‘Very funny,’ she growled, then gave the butler a friendly smile. ‘Take no notice of him, Watson. He has a warped sense of humour.’
‘Mr Roarke’s foibles are well known to me, miss.’
Laughing, Roarke turned back to the butler. ‘Are we the last to arrive?’
‘Of those expected today, yes, sir. Madam had dinner put back to coincide with your arrival. Cocktails will be served in the drawing room in half an hour.’
Roarke glanced at his watch. ‘We can make that. There’s no need to show us up, I know the way.’