Passionate Retribution Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  About the Author

  Books by Kim Lawrence

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Copyright

  “This is to be temporary, then, this marriage?”

  “Most are, it seems to me,” Luke replied harshly.

  “And I take it liaisons—discreet, of course—would be acceptable.” Emily watched the gleaming, predatory expression steal across his face.

  “My wife won’t require another lover.”

  He was awesome, Emily had to admit it. She was playing with fire, but it would be worth it. How dare he assume she was his for the taking?

  KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in rural Anglesey, Wales. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing! It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons, and the various stray animals that have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!

  Books by Kim Lawrence

  This is the first novel from exciting new talent Kim Lawrence. Be sure to look out for Kim’s future novels in the Presents line!

  Don’t miss any of our special offers. Write to us at the following address for information on our newest releases.

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  Passionate Retribution

  Kim Lawrence

  CHAPTER ONE

  A DARK figure silently emerged from behind a bank of luxuriant foliage and Emily let out a sharp yelp of alarm. A sliver of moonlight revealed the intruder’s features and she gave a grunt of shock which she swiftly disguised as irritation. ’must you loom like that? You almost gave me a heart attack.’ She gave a frown. ‘I thought you were in the Bahamas or somewhere,’ she added critically. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I knew you’d be delighted to see me,’ a deep, gravelly voice murmured smoothly. ‘How long has it been?’ Emily had a glimpse of white teeth as he gave an ironic grin. ‘Actually it was the Seychelles,’ he corrected.

  ‘Somewhere hot, anyway,’ she agreed, brushing aside a few miles of ocean with an airy wave of her hand.

  ‘Talking of hot, infant, why are you skulking in the conservatory?’ He loosened his tie as he spoke and idly plucked a juicy grape from the vine which was trained above his head.

  Emily’s lips pursed in aggravation as she watched him bite the dark fruit. He had used the denigrating childhood term with benevolent scorn. Luke had always made the most of the fact that he was twelve years her senior, and as a child ‘infant’ had always been able to send her into an incoherent rage. She was sure that despite his negligent manner the word had been calculated; most things about Luke were calculated and his malicious humour took a continual lazy delight in mocking her own family. ‘I was seeking a little privacy,’ she said pointedly, refusing to notice the minor irritation. Tonight even Lucas Hunt wasn’t going to spoil the euphoria of the occasion.

  ‘It is an incredibly tedious party,’ he said sympathetically. ‘Don’t grind your teeth like that; it’s very bad for the enamel,’ he advised her helpfully.

  ‘If it’s such a tedious party I don’t know why you bothered coming,’ she hissed back. ‘No one invited you.’

  ‘What? Miss an occasion like this—my favourite Stapely engaged to be married? It’s an obligation.’

  She gave a derisory hoot. ‘You wouldn’t recognise obligation if you fell over it; and as for being your favourite…’ His opinion of her family hardly gave her cause to consider this casual comment a compliment.

  ‘Admittedly there’s not much competition: Charlotte sends me to sleep if I spend more than five minutes in her company, and your brother has the wit and charm of a waxwork. If he were similarly dumb I might be able to tolerate him, but he reveals the intellect of a bigoted bore every time he opens his mouth.’

  ‘My sister…’ Emily began, her eyes sparkling. In all sincerity she couldn’t help sympathising with this opinion of her brother; his pompous smugness made it almost impossible for her to be civil to him. Fortunately their paths crossed little, but she felt instantly protective of her sister. Charlotte might be no intellectual giant but there was more to her than Luke’s damning comment suggested.

  ‘Is so two-dimensional I half expect her to disappear viewed sideways on.’

  ‘You are incredibly snide and unpleasant to her and she suspects there’s some dark, sinister meaning to everything you say.’

  ‘And do I inspire similar inarticulate awe in you?’

  ‘I know there’s some dark, sinister meaning in everything you say,’ she responded frankly. ‘And if you’ve come here to spoil my night, I warn you, Luke…if you pull one of your tricks…’

  Luke took a step forward and she could see his features clearly for the first time. The innocent expression should have looked absurd on the severely chiselled, swarthily dark features, but it didn’t. He had changed little over the four years since she’d last seen him, unlike herself. Even if she was never going to be a raving beauty, she knew she had more to recommend her now than as the awkward, confused adolescent she had been then. Fortunately she was also now immune to the effortless charm. Mockery glittered in the intensely blue eyes. ’tricks, Emily…?’

  She clicked her tongue with disapproval recalling the occasions he’d turned up at family events, his attire and companions always geared to offend the stuffy formality. ‘Are you alone?’ she asked suspiciously, recalling the voluptuous actress he’d brought to her parents’ silver wedding celebrations. Her father had tried so hard to avoid the lady’s ample cleavage, without much success. Luke had obviously been behind the woman’s embarrassingly tactile admiration of her parent, and the conveniently placed photographer who had captured the moment for the gossip column of a national newspaper the following morning…

  ‘Straight from the plane.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Didn’t even have time to shave; suffering from jet-lag. Aren’t you flattered, Emmy?’ He gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘You little sceptic—here, feel.’

  Emily was too startled to demur when he firmly placed her hand against his jaw, rubbing the pads of her fingertips against the coarse, dark growth. She blinked to banish a sudden flurry of confusion as her eyes met the intense blue regard. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped, pulling her hand away. She looked pointedly at his fingers, very brown against her arm. Luke smiled slowly and released her, but not before his fingers had trailed over the blue-veined inner aspect of her wrist.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t troubled yourself on my account,’ she told him, rubbing her wrist where his fingers, despite their light hold, seemed to have left a mark on her skin. She half expected to see the smudge of bruises but her flesh looked as creamily flawless as earlier.

  ‘I shall be exemplary, an example of upright smug superiority, as befits a Stapely.’

  ‘You are not a Stapely,’ she reminded him.

  ‘How kind of you to remind me.’ A cynical smile curved his lips. ‘Having seen what being a Stapely means at close quarters, I’ve always seen that as a cause for celebration. I seem to remember you usually accompanied that gibe with the delightful spectacle of your tongue.’ His contemplative glance touched her mouth.

  ‘I grew out of that habit,’ she retorted. Did he imagine he could make h
er feel guilty for her childish cruelty? she wondered. All the same, it was aggravating to acknowledge that there was a sense of guilt, though heaven knew why—her infantile missiles had always glanced off him. ‘I’m grown-up these days.’

  The blue eyes seemed more intense as they unblinkingly examined the proof to substantiate this claim. ‘Is that why you’re marrying, Emmy, to prove the fact?’

  Emily realised she’d been holding her breath, waiting for him to speak. Her hand went to cover her bare throat where a pulse was throbbing almost painfully. She rubbed the skin, a faint frown flitting across her face; she was curiously unsettled by the inspection. ‘I feel no need to prove things, Luke, especially not to you.’

  ‘Why especially not me?’ he shot back swiftly. ‘Am I special, Emmy?’ His deep voice seeped honeyed mockery.

  ‘I realise you imagine the world revolves around you but—and I know this will come as a shock—some of us make life’s major decisions without considering your opinion.’ Emily’s lips tightened; her barbed comments had brought an almost humorous glint to his eyes.

  ‘You’re so passionate, infant, incoherently intense. Are you sure it’s you who aren’t the proper Stapely?’ he drawled mockingly. ‘Isn’t there something a tad common about impulsive displays of emotion?’

  ‘I believe the notion of a mix-up at the hospital was discussed,’ she couldn’t prevent herself commenting drily. There was little intimacy in her family and never had been; she had learnt early on that impetuous displays of warmth and affection were received, at best, awkwardly.

  ‘What’s he like, then, love’s young dream?’ He turned the subject, only a glimmer of a smile acknowledging her wry comment. His eyes remained beacons of cynicism.

  ‘Am I to suppose you are for one minute interested?’ Her withering look had no visible effect upon him. ‘You’re so bloody patronising,’ she muttered, chewing her lower lip.

  He raised one dark, eloquent brow and plucked another grape. ‘I asked because I am mildly interested at the sort of man who has finally made you fly the nest—or rather move from one prettily feathered nest,’ he amended, ’to another. Want one?’ he added, holding a juicy fruit to her lips. He shrugged as she shook her head, and swallowed it himself. ‘I am assuming he’s not a pauper.’

  ‘I don’t know why you would assume that,’ she replied coldly. Only Luke could imply that a person was an avaricious little schemer with that infuriating smile. ‘What has money to do with it?’ she enquired haughtily.

  ‘Oh, not a thing,’ he agreed blandly, ‘when one is filthy rich.’ He enlarged on the subject with smiling disdain. ‘I mean, it would never occur to you to do anything as tasteless as to fall in love with a poor man, would it, sweetheart?’

  He wasn’t going to ruin her night, she told herself, aware of anger building steadily. He’s doing it deliberately, she told herself; don’t take the bait. ‘I take it you’ve decided to despise my fiancé without having even met him,’ she observed with frigid scorn.

  ‘Some things in life have a sort of inevitability, Em. The day you decided to let your father run your life, you set a certain sequence in motion. I feel as if I’ve known Gavin most of my life.’

  ‘My father does not run my life.’

  ‘Come off it, Em; you’ve never set foot outside the cocooned abnormality of this mink-lined asylum. You’ve been toeing the party line ever since you could walk. Did Daddy pick out the bridegroom—or just give you a list of candidates?’

  Emily sank her nails into the flesh of her soft palms to release some of the anger that made her want to lash out. How dared he breeze in here assuming he knew her every motivation? An encounter with Lucas bloody Hunt served to make her realise her good fortune in finding Gavin. He was the antithesis of Luke, she realised, mentally comparing the two men.

  ‘Oh, I found Gavin all on my own,’ she said breezily.

  ‘Impressive. And what does Gavin do?’

  Why do I feel defensive? Why shouldn’t Gavin work in her family’s merchant bank? she told herself, her chin tilting a few more degrees to an aggressive angle. ‘Gavin works at the bank.’

  ‘With an impeccable lineage, of course.’

  ‘I wouldn’t care if he came from a long line of bastards,’ she retorted hotly. How dared he breeze in here and calmly put her on trial? She wished he’d stayed on whatever inaccessible spot he’d flown in from.

  ‘That’s very liberal of you; speaking as a first-generation bastard, I find that heart-warming.’

  ‘I feel certain you wouldn’t have allowed birth to stop you achieving that particular state. Lucas Hunt, you are a self-made…’ A finger to her lips stopped her completing her sentence, and he shook his head admonishingly. She hit out with her hand, but his thumb moved to the angle of her chin, his long fingers cupping her jaw.

  ‘I wouldn’t advise it, Emmy.’

  ‘What?’ she snapped, an imminent storm flecking her eyes with gold lights. She gave an inarticulate sound of fury in her throat as her attempts to twist her head free were futile; there was tensile strength in those hands, she realised.

  ‘Bite, isn’t that the instinct that’s making you grind your teeth? Bad idea,’ he drawled with an indulgent sympathy that made the idea of drawing blood all the more attractive. ‘How many people know that beneath that air of quiet composure lurks a little savage?’

  ‘The only savage around here, Luke, is you,’ she hissed. In fact, she found the strength of her desire to sink her teeth into his flesh vaguely shocking. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ve your own reasons for being here, concern for my welfare not being one if them. I might have to tolerate your presence because my family——’

  ‘Through a misplaced sense of loyalty won’t throw me out,’ he supplied with unerring accuracy. ‘You don’t believe that, do you, infant?’ he said slowly, as his forefinger traced the outline of her full lips. ’this is a public occasion—I feel sure all the socially significant people are here, and a show of family unity is called for. No matter how much Charlie would love to throw me out of Charlcot, he won’t.’

  With a sense of quiet desperation she shook her head and much to her relief Luke released her; the tactile sensation had been intimidating out of all proportion to the casual contact. It must be the tension of the whole occasion, she told herself; it was far too elaborate, not at all the quiet, intimate celebration she had wanted. But Gavin had sided with her family on this occasion until she’d felt it churlish not to go along.

  ‘I suppose you think being something of a celebrity makes your presence indispensable,’ she sneered, willing her pulse-rate to return to its normal level. She ignored the undoubted accuracy of his observation; in public, at least, her family would accept Luke.

  ‘Being a publicly recognisable face means more to your father than it does to me. Not only does he have to accept me publicly, he actually has to project pride.’ The smile was cruelly complacent. ‘You find it more comfortable to accept things on face value, don’t you?’ he said with contemplative distaste. ‘You’ve acquired a veneer of unpleasant hypocrisy, Emily.’

  ‘It’s you who continues this feud, a remnant of some childish grudge. Don’t you think it’s about time you forgot the past? I don’t care what you think of me, but none of it has anything to do with me,’ she said wearily. The constant warring repelled her; there was something so single-minded, almost malignant, about Luke’s derisive contempt.

  ‘While your name is Stapely, Em, you are involved,’ he said, a harsh inflexion in his voice.

  ‘Then the fact I’m about to change my name should please you: one less Stapely for you to hate!’ she yelled. A sudden frown. ‘You don’t seem exactly overjoyed at my impending nuptials,’ she said, puzzled, as it occurred to her that he was displaying uncharacteristic interest.

  Luke shrugged, his long, lean body relaxed in contrast to her tense posture. The hooded eyelids half shielding the brilliant blue gaze gave the impression of boredom. ‘Do you require universal approval for pe
ace of mind, Em? Surely a few home truths from me can’t matter. Can it be that there are doubts lurking in that delectable heaving breast? Are there?’

  ‘They don’t…You don’t…Not that they are true, of course,’ she amended somewhat incoherently. The direction of his gaze made the colour rise in her face. ‘You have a distorted view of everything,’ she protested. Something on the periphery of her vision distracted her. She tore her eyes from the ironic blue gaze. At the same instant it occurred to her that it could appear strange if she emerged from the shrubbery with anyone other than her fiancé, especially if the other turned out to be Luke. She heard the sound of said fiancés voice and gave a grimace; she wished she hadn’t waited guiltily for those few silent moments—she should have revealed her presence immediately.

  She didn’t look up at Luke; she was sure he would take the opportunity to make the situation as awkward as possible. Not that Gavin would believe for an instant anything but the most innocent of explanations; unlike Luke, he didn’t have a cynical, distorted view of human nature.

  ‘We shouldn’t, Gavin.’

  Emily froze in the act of stepping forward.

  ‘We’ve got to tell her, Charlotte.’ The sound of soft cries of distress and the unmistakable murmers of exchanged embraces hung in the humid air.

  Emily felt strangely objective, as if what she was listening to had nothing to do with her: it was as impersonal as a radio drama. It wasn’t her fiancé and her sister exchanging what sounded like a wildly passionate embrace, but two strangers and studio effects. The sound of her own breath sounded unexpectedly loud in her ears, accompanied by the thud of her heartbeat.

  ‘It’s no good, Gavin, we can’t do this to Emmy… she’s my sister.’ Emily heard her sister’s soft voice crack with emotion and the sound of soft sobs filled the room.