‘Answer the question,’ Felix snapped. ‘Who is your favourite poet?’
Arden blew out her breath. ‘Emily Dickinson,’ she said impatiently. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, señor—’
Romero’s mouth twitched. ‘A third-rate romantic, Miss Miller, with a penchant for melancholy.’
Arden frowned. ‘I don’t agree. Dickinson’s lines are spare but they’re filled with passion.’
The old man nodded. ‘And what of the use of nuclear energy, Miss Miller? Do you agree with me that it will solve the problem of the declining supply of fossil fuel?’
‘Yes—but then we’ll have other problems to deal with.’
‘Such as?’
Linda clucked her tongue. ‘Honestly,’ she said, throwing out her arms, ‘who cares about such nonsense? This has nothing to do with—’
‘Only lily-livered fools are afraid of nuclear energy,’ Felix said smugly.
Arden looked at him. ‘That’s ridiculous, señor. Any sensible person knows that nuclear waste is—’ Her words trailed to silence and she flushed. ‘Your stepdaughter is right,’ she said stiffly. ‘I can’t see what this has to do with anything!’
‘Ah, but it does!’ Romero wheeled his chair to Arden’s side. ‘This young woman has a brain, Conor, and she’s not afraid to use it. When you can find me someone who is her equal in intelligence and in determination, we’ll discuss replacing her. Until then, Arden Miller stays at El Corazon.’
Conor stared at his uncle in silence, and then his gaze slipped to Arden.
‘Very well,’ he said coldly. ‘But it will be a short stay.’ He looked at Arden again, and she could see the anger once again held tautly in check in his eyes. ‘Perhaps, if we are both fortunate, our paths will not cross very often while she is here.’
Felix chuckled. ‘You will see her at dinner. Miss Miller dines at my table every evening.’
Conor’s eyes narrowed. ‘Does she, indeed?’ he said, his voice soft as silk.
Arden flushed. ‘It was your uncle’s idea, I assure you,’ she said coldly, ‘not mine.’
He smiled tightly. ‘And does she room in the servants’ quarters?’ he asked, his gaze locked on Arden’s face. ‘Somehow, I suspect not.’
‘She is not a servant, Conor. Surely even you can see that.’
‘I can see a great deal, Uncle,’ Conor answered without looking in Felix’s direction. ‘In fact, I suspect I see more than your Miss Miller wishes.’
‘You see only what you want to see,’ Arden said sharply. ‘Men like you always do.’
‘Men like me?’ Conor stabbed his hands into his trouser pockets and smiled coolly as he rocked back on his heels. ‘Bums, you mean. But I was under the impression you never gave them the time of day.’
‘I was referring to men whose bank accounts outweigh their morals, señor.’
‘How very ecumenical of you,’ he said, his voice like the purr of a great cat. ‘You don’t like men who are poor, and you don’t like men who are rich.’
‘I didn’t say—’
‘And yet you’ve taken a fancy to my uncle, who obviously is very wealthy.’ His lips drew back from his teeth in a cold smile. ‘How generous of you to make an exception in his case.’
‘You’re deliberately twisting my words!’
Conor moved forward slowly until they were only inches apart. ‘I must be,’ he said softly, so only she could hear. ‘Because we both know you have an affinity for men with money. They’ve always provided you with a source of income, haven’t they, sweetheart?’
Arden felt herself tremble with fury. How she hated this man! She wanted to slap his face, tell him what he could do with his insinuations and his lies, she wanted to turn on her heel, march out the door, and never look back.
But that was what he wanted her to do, and why should she? This job was hers—Felix had made that clear enough. Besides, if she quit it would mean another victory for Conor Martinez, another defeat for her—and she’d be damned if she’d let that happen again!
‘Think what you like,’ she said, just as softly. She forced a smile to her lips. ‘It’s Felix’s opinion that counts.’