Conan being charming was far more dangerous to her equilibrium.
‘You’d better come through.’ She wondered if he had detected that nervous note in her voice, and as she went ahead of him along the passageway could almost feel his eyes boring through her tight black T-shirt and jeans.
Too aware of him as she led him into her tiny sitting room, she sensed his brooding gaze moving critically over its rather jaded décor. ‘Sit down.’ She looked around the cramped little room in dismay. ‘If you can find a space.’ She darted to remove the pile of ironing from her one easy chair, dragging toys and a jigsaw puzzle box off the worn, rather lumpy-looking settee beside it.
Ignoring her, he was looking around at the rather shabby and tired-looking furnishings, the few sparse pieces of furniture that made up a wooden table and chairs, a rather stressed bookcase, a modest hi-fi system and her television.
‘Is this how you’re living?’ Censure marked the hard lines of his face.
Eyeing him resentfully, with a pile of freshly ironed garments supported on her hip, Sienna snapped, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Conan’s mouth pulled down hard on one side. ‘A bit of a change, isn’t it, from what you were used to?’
‘At least it’s all paid for!’ It was an anguished throwback to the girl who had blindly accepted every luxury without question—only to find herself plunged into widowhood with nothing but loneliness, a precious little toddler and a whole heap of debt.
‘With what?’ Derision laced Conan’s voice as he sliced another detrimental glance around the sad little living space, finishing up on Shadow who was gazing up at him from his shabbily cushioned basket with suspicious eyes. ‘You can scarcely earn much from that menial job you do at that gym.’
‘And what’s it to you?’ She hadn’t meant to snap. He’d come to try and patch things up, after all. But his criticism of her home and his disparaging reference to what she did when she had trained so hard—worked so hard—to keep a roof over her and Daisy’s head was proving more than she could take.
‘Everything—if I think my niece is being deprived of the most essential necessities when she could be benefiting from the help that her mother is too proud—or to selfish—even to consider.’
Sienna’s hackles rose—not least because she was sometimes worried that her daughter was missing out on some of the things her little friends obviously enjoyed. Like bouncy castles on her birthday and pretty clothes; like the reliability of a car that wasn’t breaking down every five minutes. Like a father who hadn’t died and left her …
Regret mingled with anger—the anger she often reproached herself for feeling towards Niall and the way he had died when it had all been so avoidable. So pointless …
‘Proud and selfish you might think me,’ she quoted, pulling herself up to her full five feet four inches to face Niall’s brother with a display of composure she was far from feeling, ‘and perhaps I am. But as far as what I said to you three years ago, when you very kindly condescended to offer us financial assistance goes …’ Her voice dripped pure venom. ‘I don’t retract a single word.’
The animosity she felt towards him lay thickly on the air between them. Conan felt it like a live thing, along with the silent, anguished accusation that rose like a torturing spectre from the darkest recesses of his mind.
You didn’t want to help us when Niall was alive! We can do without any help from you now!
Heavily, with some private emotion seeming to stretch the skin taut across his prominent cheekbones, he pointed out, ‘Even if Daisy suffers because of it?’
‘She won’t,’ Sienna returned, with more conviction than she was feeling, glancing down at Shadow, who was making rather indelicate grunting noises as he delved violently into his fur.
‘Then at least allow her to see her grandmother.’ His denigrating glance towards the basket told her he probably didn’t approve of her dog either. ‘You have a duty, Sienna. To Niall’s family as well as your own.’
‘Duty?’ She almost laughed in his face. What right had he to talk about duty when he had never really cared about his half-brother? When he had turned his back on him when Niall had needed him most? ‘He never asked you for anything,’ she accused bitterly, wanting to drive away memories that were too painful to remember. ‘When he did …’ She had to swallow to continue. ‘He looked up to you and he needed you. He was desperate,’ she muttered, ‘and you just weren’t there for him.’
‘And you think I killed him? Drove him to drink so much that he overbalanced on that bridge when he took up his friends’ ridiculous challenge to walk along that wall? Isn’t that what you said?’
There was raw emotion in his voice—in the perfect structure of his hard-hewn features. Had he loved his brother after all? Despite everything? Or was it just a pricking of his conscience that was responsible for the darkening of his amazing eyes.
‘I didn’t know what I was saying.’ Vainly she strove to redress the situation, to justify what she had thoughtlessly flung at him because of his accusations. If he’d loved Niall half as much as she had they would have lain heavily—would still lie heavily—on his conscience. ‘As I said earlier—I’d just lost my husband.’
‘And I’d lost a brother.’
She was right. Her words had left an indelible mark on him. She could see it—hear it in the dark resonant depths of his voice.
For a moment they faced each other like warring combatants—Sienna with her cheeks flushed, eyes glittering defensively, Conan’s olive features tinged with angry colour.
He was every bit the Celt, Sienna decided distractedly, from his thick black hair to his strong, proud Gaelic bone structure. In his pride and in his daunting self-sufficiency. In that unmistakable air of command that surrounded him, which made him lead where other men could merely follow. Both brothers had been handsome men. Niall had had the cheek and the charm of his mother’s Celtic bloodline, but it was Conan who bore his Irish ancestry like a blazing flag.
‘My mother’s unwell,’ he stated, quietly and succinctly. ‘She’s very unwell.’ In fact the doctors had told him that Avril Ryder didn’t seem to have the will to recover. The dark fringes of his lashes came down to veil his eyes. ‘I’ve brought her to stay with me in France.’ He owned a spectacular villa these days on the Côte d’Azur, Sienna remembered from an article she had read about him. ‘She needs cheering up, and I know her greatest wish is to see her only grandchild. You will come with Daisy, of course—I wouldn’t expect anything else—and with the holidays coming up, I’ll expect you to stay for the summer.’
A strong refusal sprang to Sienna’s lips—but she couldn’t express it. If the Ryders—Conan especially—only wanted to salve their consciences by making up for lost time with Daisy, that was one thing. They could go whistle for all she cared. But from the look on his face as he’d told her about his mother things sounded pretty serious. What if this was the last chance Daisy might have of seeing her grandmother? Sienna found herself considering reluctantly. Wouldn’t she be doing her daughter a grave injustice by refusing to let her go? And if Avril Ryder was that sick …
The holidays were coming up, as he had said and her regular classes were coming to an end. She found herself assessing the matter before she had fully realised it. She did have individual training sessions to honour. Also, she couldn’t afford to take that much time off without it eating severely into her already frugal budget. But if she did give in and condescend to grant his wishes, she’d be darned if she’d let Daisy go anywhere—or stay anywhere—without her!
‘I—I can’t take that much time off,’ she found herself eventually admitting hesitantly. Though her ethics might be forcing her to do what anyone with half a conscience would do, she didn’t want to suffer the indignity of Niall’s brother guessing just how little money she had, or just how