She saw his eyes darken with anger but before he could say anything she swung away from him, went to Felix, and clasped the handles of his wheelchair.
‘Shall we go out and sit in the garden for a while?’ she said pleasantly.
‘An excellent idea, Miss Miller.’
Arden pushed the chair down the hall towards the sliding glass door that opened on to the garden. There was silence behind her, but she could feel Conor watching her. At the last moment, she turned back and looked at him. His eyes were fixed on her, a cold, green light that seemed to hold her transfixed.
A chill danced down Arden’s spine. For one wild moment, she wanted to change her mind, to race to her room and pack her things...
‘Well?’ Felix banged his cane on the floor. ‘What takes so long, Miss Miller? I want to go into my garden.’
Arden took a deep breath, turned her back on Conor, and pushed the chair out into the sunlight.
Just before seven, Arden came slowly down the stairs, her hand drifting over the polished beechwood banister. Sounds drifted from below: the clink of glasses, the light sound of a woman’s laughter set against the huskier counterpoint of a male voice, and she paused on the bottom step, listening not just with her ears but with her entire body, as a doe would when making her way through a forest where danger lurked in every shadow.
I don’t want to go down there!
The thought rang in her head as clearly as if she’d spoken the words aloud. Her hand tightened on the banister; she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
She was being ridiculous! She wasn’t about to step into an arena filled with lions; she was a competent, capable woman and her adversary was only one insolent, egotistical male. There was no reason to have an attack of nerves because this would not be the usual quiet evening’s meal with Felix Romero.
‘Remember, Miss Miller, dinner will be at eight,’ Felix had said when his nurse had come to collect him. ‘Tonight, we will dress formally.’
Arden smoothed down the fabric of her ankle-length black silk skirt. With it, she wore a cream-coloured silk blouse, small gold earrings, and high-heeled sandals. It was as formal an outfit as she could manage. She suspected it would not stand up to whatever creation Linda would be wearing, but that didn’t bother her.
What bothered her, she thought as she made her way down the rest of the staircase and along the corridor, was that dressing this way made her feel terribly vulnerable, as if she were about to sneak into a party on the Hill when she was really supposed to be going there to pass trays of hors-d’oeuvres.
It was silly, but she’d have felt much better wearing one of her business suits, a pair of sensible pumps, and a man-tailored silk shirt. Then she’d have felt more like herself—and appropriately armoured for what she was sure was going to prove to be an unpleasant evening.
Conor was certainly not finished giving her a difficult time. Arden grimaced. The more she knew about the man, the more she disliked him. He was everything she’d suspected—and more, she thought grimly, remembering the things Felix had told her this afternoon.
‘This is a good place to sit,’ the old man had said when they’d reached a bank of multiflora roses in the garden. ‘Come, my dear. Sit on this bench and let me tell you about my devoted family.’
Arden, who’d heard enough to last her a lifetime, had shaken her head.
‘I’d rather you wouldn’t,’ she’d said quickly. ‘It’s none of my business.’
But Felix insisted. ‘My nephew made it your business,’ he growled. ‘Now come, sit down and let an old man talk.’
He talked for what seemed hours, telling a convoluted tale of investments and land acquisitions, all of them lusted after by avaricious relatives.
‘I always thought my stepdaughter the most greedy,’ he said. He leaned forward and put his gnarled hand on hers, ‘but my nephew—’
‘Conor?’
‘Yes. He is the worst. A few years ago, I fell ill. Conor stepped in and took over the running of El Corazon. Just until I was better, he said, and I, in a moment of weakness, agreed. But he has not really relinquished control from that day! He says it is for my good and for the good of El Corazon but he has always coveted this finca and I would not put it past him to do anything he can to get it.’
Arden’s eyes widened. ‘Are you saying he’s trying to steal it from you, señor?’
The old man had shaken his head. ‘Why should he steal when he has only to wait and inherit?’ He had leaned closer and chuckled softly. ‘At least, that is what he thinks.’
Now, standing at the foot of the steps, Arden thought what a pleasure it would be to walk into the library, smile at the man who’d accused her of being a fraud and a cheat, and tell him to his handsome face that she suspected his devotion to his uncle wasn’t simply the result of familial concern.
A hand fell lightly on her shoulder. ‘Good evening, Miss Miller.’
Arden looked up, startled. Conor had come up behind her as sile
ntly as a cat.