she realised that the moonlight had rendered the fabric virtually transparent.
Luc was not similarly unaware and hadn’t been since she had leapt from her bed. He was painfully aware of the outline of her slim, supple body. As much as he tried not to let them, his eyes were continually drawn to the gentle upward tilt of her rosy-tipped breasts and the strategic darker shadow at the apex of her long legs.
Megan resisted the urge to tug down the hem, and endured his scrutiny impassively. It isn’t what you wear, it’s the way you wear it—isn’t that what Mum always says? Of course her mother, who bought sexy silk pyjamas half a dozen at a time from her favourite designer, would never have been caught wearing a cheap chain-store nightdress.
‘Was it all a joke to you?’ Megan asked.
His smoky gaze returned to her face; his manner was uncharacteristically distracted. ‘Of course it wasn’t a joke…I didn’t expect tonight to go the way it did.’
‘Well, I don’t believe you,’ she countered furiously. ‘I think you planned everything. I think you’re a cold, callous, manipulative snake.’
‘Right, then, I don’t suppose there’s anything more to say.’
He’s going now…say something. ‘Fine, you know where the door is.’
Face like stone, Luc turned. ‘See you around, Megan.’
‘Not if I see you first,’ she hissed.
The moment the door closed she crumbled.
CHAPTER NINE
MALCOLM, wearing silk pyjamas and a dressing gown, looked relieved when he saw Megan.
‘I thought for a second you were your mother. I’ve been outside to have a couple of puffs on a cigar. You couldn’t sleep either, huh?’ He looked sympathetically at Megan, who was seated at the long scrubbed table in the cavernous kitchen.
Megan shook her head and nursed her mug of tea, which had gone cold while she’d sat there. She summoned up a weak smile and hoped her face had recovered from the worst of the tear damage. ‘Bad night, Uncle Mal?’
‘I never sleep in the country. Quite frankly I don’t see how anyone does. It’s so darned noisy,’ he complained, dragging himself up a chair.
Despite her bleak frame of mind Megan was amused by his comment. As a country girl born and bred she couldn’t let this comment go unchallenged.
‘What about London traffic?’ Even she, a sound sleeper—normally—found that hard to cope with sometimes.
‘You can tune out traffic noises—wild animals making all sorts of unearthly noises through the entire night you cannot. Frankly, it gives me the creeps. Mind you, it’s not as bad here as where Luc lives.’ He gave a shudder. ‘You have the sound of the sea to cope with there as well. God, the sound of the sea has to be the loneliest sound in the world.’
‘That’s really quite poetic, Uncle Mal.’
‘Yes, I thought so too,’ he agreed, looking pleased. ‘Is there any tea in the pot?’
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s cold,’ she said. ‘I thought Luc said he lived in London.’
‘Told you that, did he? Not like Luc to tell you anything beyond name, rank and serial number. He must have taken a shine to you.’
Megan laughed uncomfortably and said lightly. ‘I doubt it.’
‘No, the London place is a new thing. When he isn’t traveling—a bit of a gypsy, our Luc is. You never know when he’ll have the urge to take off. It’s in his blood.’
Megan, who had heard the Land Rover revving up at three in the morning, lowered her gaze to the cold depths of her mug. She had seen the note on the hall stand addressed to her mother in a strong scrawl. It wouldn’t be long before Malcolm discovered that Luc had taken off again…and good riddance!
‘Normally he buries himself out in the wilds of the country, some place with a name I can’t pronounce…Welsh. Not big on his fellow man, is Luc, but then,’ he reflected, ‘who can blame him under the circumstances?’
‘What circumstances would those be?’ Megan enquired.
‘Said too much,’ said Malcolm, looking alarmed.
‘No, you’ve not said enough,’ Megan corrected forcefully. She was sick to the back teeth with all this secrecy.
Malcolm sighed heavily. ‘You’re very like your mother sometimes,’ he said. ‘Now you must promise that what I tell you stays between us…?’
Megan gravely nodded.
‘Luc had a successful business, engineering, he had a partner and, to cut a long story short, the partner had been draining the firm of funds for ages. The chap finally did a runner and left Luc to face the music.’
‘Music…but I thought you said it was the partner…?’
‘True, the only thing he had done wrong was trusting the wrong man. The police were very good, he said.’
‘The police were involved!’ she exclaimed.
‘Sure, there was a full investigation and Luc was totally vindicated. It might have stopped there but one of the investors killed himself when he realised his life savings were down the toilet. Apparently the guy was pretty unstable to begin with, but when someone leaves a couple of kids and a pretty widow the press are not going to mention that. The press did a real job on Luc.’
The information was a lot for Megan to take in at once. ‘Why don’t I know about any of this?’
‘It happened during your dad’s last illness. Luc has changed a lot since then too; he doesn’t look much like he did…short hair, sharp suits…people forget.’
‘But Luc doesn’t,’ she said quietly.
‘God, no!’ exclaimed Malcolm. ‘Luc isn’t the forgiving and forgetting type.’
‘Him and me both,’ Megan gritted. No matter what had happened to Luc in the past, nothing made what he had done to her excusable.
‘Relocation?’ Megan repeated blankly. She had been finding it pretty hard to concentrate all day. It hadn’t quite sunk in yet even though she had done the test twice—to be sure. It hadn’t really been necessary—deep down she had already known, even before the little blue line had appeared.
There hadn’t been symptoms as such, just a feeling. She had told herself that she was worrying unnecessarily, dates meant nothing, her cycle had always been pretty erratic.
She was still in denial. Of course she knew it happened, but not to her! The situation had been complicated by the fact that an old school friend was staying with her that week. Sophie was just about her best friend in the world, but confiding in her wasn’t an option. Sophie had been married five years and had just completed her second lot of IVF treatment—how could you tell someone who was desperate to have a baby that you’d got pregnant accidentally?
‘The quotes to bring the building in line with health and safety regulations have proved prohibitive.’
Megan struggled to concentrate on what her boss was saying.
‘This a prime site for development and, apparently, it’s economically more viable to sell and move out of the city.’ He sighed. ‘It’s a charming part of the world, not far from a village called Underwood. I don’t suppose you know the area…?’
‘Actually I was brought up not far from there,’ Megan admitted.
‘Excellent. Well, you don’t have to make any decision now, but we’re very keen not to lose key staff like yourself. I think that once you’ve had a chance to examine the details, you’ll find that the relocation package we’re offering is generous—very