‘I have missed this,’ breathed Margaret as her gaze searched his face. ‘Me. You. I have missed our fights . . .’

Talek turned his face towards her, his tone as chilled as ice, ‘—Or I will be tempted to strangle that pretty little throat of yours.’ He released her suddenly and stepped back, causing her to stumble. ‘Where is he?’

Margaret’s face hardened, stealing all the beauty from it. ‘I don’t know.’ She nudged past him to the bell pull and rang it. ‘He has left. Run off like the rat he is.’ She touched her hair to compose herself before the servant arrived. ‘Perhaps Miss Kellow can tell you. She came here often enough with the excuse of talking about the accounts.’

‘I visited twice,’ corrected Grace in a glacial tone, ‘and it was not an excuse. It was the truth.’ Grace felt Talek watching her. ‘You can’t believe I came here for any other reason?’

Talek’s hazel eyes studied her as he weighed up the truth in her words. Finally he shook his head.

‘I don’t know what to believe any more.’ He turned to Margaret. ‘We are leaving. If he returns, let me know.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘Henry has committed fraud. What made him do it is beyond me, perhaps your sudden appearance demanding more money had something to do with it, I really don’t care. But I suggest that if you do not want to be held accountable too, then you should help me bring him to justice.’

Talek strode from the room. Grace hurried after him. She found him in the hall, waiting for her.

‘Talek, I’m so sorry.’

‘For what? Not sharing your worries with me? Not being truthful? Taking the trust I placed in you and tearing it apart?’

‘All that and more.’

‘More?’

‘For Margaret. If I had known who she was—’

‘You would have warned me? Somehow, I very much doubt it. You have warned me of little else.’

He was about to leave when a small infant, with dark locks and an impish laugh, ran with short unsteady steps, past him. He stopped abruptly, shaken by the sight. An exasperated nanny followed in hot pursuit.

‘A small innocent, conceived during our engagement,’ he murmured to himself.

‘Could Margaret have lied to Henry? Could the child be yours?’ asked Grace, unsure if she could bear to hear the answer.

He stared at the door the child and nanny had disappeared through.

‘I’m no angel . . .’ he replied, quietly.

Grace’s heart hammered against her chest wall. The spectre of Margaret had been brought vividly to life today. She was no longer a memory, but a living, breathing, sensual woman. Whatever had been between them once, Grace had seen with her own eyes that there were still feelings of passion between them. Was it love or hate? Did it really matter? Weren’t both feelings so closely entwined that they could so easily become as one? And now there was a living, breathing child, whose laughter could fill a house with joy. A child who might share a bloodline that would forever bind him to the first woman who stole his heart. The child would be forever a symbol of all that he had lost.

‘The child is not mine. I loved and respected Margaret and was willing to wait. Margaret, on the other hand, showed little respect for me and was . . . less patient.’

Grace threaded her arm through Talek’s. This time he did not shake her off.

‘Let us go home to Roseland,’ she encouraged. ‘We can discuss what is to be done there.’

Talek tilted his head and listened to the toddler’s laughter as it disseminated into the depths of the house. He nodded drunkenly and allowed her to guide him to the waiting horse and trap outside.

They rode home in silence, both too bruised and battered by the events of the day to voice their thoughts so soon. Both knew that speaking about what had been uncovered would not change the damage already done — damage that would affect their future together, if a future together existed at all.

Chapter Seventeen

Talek jumped down from the trap before it had fully stopped. He could feel his anger rising again as soon as they turned into the drive leading to Roseland. The building lay before him, like an old friend or lover, and welcomed him home with promises of familiarity, comfort and peace. But for how much longer? Henry’s stupidity had risked everything, and if their business reputation was damaged and contracts were lost, Roseland would have to go. The realisation had shaken him. How had he ever considered living anywhere else? This was his home and now it was at risk. And so was his clay business. Was it only when he was about to lose something did he see its true worth?

‘I will check on Amelia,’ said Grace as they went inside.

He didn’t reply and went straight to his study in search of peace. He did not find it. His large, solid desk mocked him. What sort of businessman allowed such a thing to happen? He pulled out the drawer and grabbed the framed photo of Margaret. He had kept it all this time, pining for her love. But her love had never existed as after he had courted her, took her on walks, drives and to the theatre, she had lain in Henry’s arms, limbs entwined, her curves covered with the sheen of lust for another man.

Margaret’s image stared back at him. Before today he had perceived her pose as a seductive challenge directed at him. Now he only saw arrogance and contempt. Her exquisite expression was devoid of any tenderness or empathy and her lips — which had once felt soft beneath his — had just spoken fool. An angry yell escaped him as he threw it across the room. It smashed and buckled against the wood panelling, showering shards of glass onto the carpet below. Footsteps came running to his study door, but no one dared enter.

He slammed the drawer shut and leaned heavily against the desk. The laughter of a madman bubbled up inside him. The irony that his staff respected and trusted him enough to not enter, despite what he had just done, was not lost on him. He began to tremble. If only they knew how incompetent he had been. Their livelihoods were at stake because he had placed his trust in a man who at the end of the day had gone home and made love to his fiancée. He had not suspected at all. His laughter stopped. He had been a fool in business and in love.

He let out an anguished roar as he swiped every object off his desk with his outstretched arm. Photographs, stationery and a crystal cut glass cascaded over the edge and fell onto the floor in a scattered, broken mess.

‘Mr Danning, is everything alright?’ asked his housekeeper from the other side of the closed door.

She sounded worried and he could not blame her. It was not every day your employer lost his wits.

Talek braced himself. ‘Go about your business, Winter,’ he said, calmly. ‘I do not wish to be disturbed.’

‘Yes, sir. If you insist.’

He leaned against the desk again, bowed his head and listened to the housekeeper’s footsteps walking away. The silence barely lasted a minute when the door quietly opened and closed. He did not look up, there was no need. Only Grace would enter the cage of a wounded animal. Her deception had caused him the most pain of all. He could sense her coming closer as if her warmth and sympathy radiated from her to embrace him. He did not want her sympathy. He closed his eyes to shut her out, but there was no hiding from her. Her burnished copper hair and concerned expression lay behind his tightly closed lids as if waiting to wrap him in her arms.

‘Leave me alone,’ he warned her.

‘I will not.’ Her soft calm voice was almost the undoing of him. How could a person sound so gentle, yet behave as she had done? He heard the rustle of her dress as she approached. ‘Talek, darling—’

‘Don’t try to soothe me with endearments.’

‘Look at me, Talek.’

‘Why? So I can see my failure in your eyes? I do not need your pity.’

She put a comforting hand on his back. Her touch was too much to take. He turned, grasped her hand and drew it behind his back, drawing her close.

‘Tell me,’ he asked, hoarsely, ‘why you didn’t tell me as soon as you knew.’

His grip tightened slightly, but she did not flinch.

‘I already told you. At first I thought I had made a mistake.’

Her answer only raised more questions. He frowned, confused.

‘Do you consider me such an ogre that you could not discuss it with me?’

‘The way we met, the circumstances of my arrival . . . you did not hold a good opinion of me.’