Threat From The Past
Shameless Selina was determined to protect her uncle from Adam Tutor. It was clear from the start that Adam was determined, devious and very dangerous. And that he'd even use his powerful sensuality as a weapon - one Selina could not hope to fight.His sensual onslaught heightened her sense of fury at his truly Machiavellian scheme of blackmail and revenge. Adam had made her his pawn - in a battle from which there could be no surrender. And no defeat.
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
THERE was something wrong. Very wrong. Something she wasn’t being told, she was sure of it. Selina changed down and turned the Volvo on to the narrow lane that led towards Lower Otterley Hall, mindful of the brittle crust of ice beneath the tyres, her golden gaze clouded under strong, arching eyebrows.
But what? She flipped down the sun visor, shading out the low, slanting rays of the pale afternoon sun as they shimmered through the bare branches of trees and hedgerows, spangled now with ice as pure as crystal. She sensed undercurrents and she didn’t usually imagine things. She was far too level-headed to worry about anything until it actually leapt up and hit her between the eyes.
So why the decidedly uneasy and definitely uncharacteristic sensation of looming disaster? Selina shook her head unconsciously, setting the riotous mane of tawny, gold-streaked hair flying around her face. It wasn’t the current recession which was hitting the King’s Ransom chain of boutiques as hard as every other high street business in the land, that was for sure. They had ridden the last and they would come out of this one, too.
True, her buying budget had been slashed, but all that had achieved had been to provide her with the sort of challenge she thrived on. She had only just returned from a two-week buying trip to the Continent, picking up fine leather accessories, summer silks and cottons at knock-down prices. Haggling was the name of the game when times were tough, she assured herself, her wide mouth quirking upwards in a wicked grin. And if the suppliers wanted to keep the goodwill of the ultra-successful, entirely family-owned King’s Ransom chain then they had to bend a little, cut profits as the family itself was having to do in order to safeguard jobs and keep shops open and cleverly stocked for when boom-time came again, as it surely would.
As always, when the oddly pitched lichen-covered roofs, the tall, intricate chimneys and the mellow stone walls of the Hall came in view Selina’s normally prosaic heart performed a lilt of sheer delight. Swinging the sturdy car on to the long, tree-lined drive, she suffered a sudden, stabbing remembrance of the day when she had first come here to live. Ten years old, her features too bold for her pale little face, her unruly hair tamed into a single thick pigtail, she had been bewildered, battered by the grief of losing both her parents in a motorway pile-up, the cruel waste of which could still leave her shaking with anger even now, sixteen years later.
Her mother’s much older sister, Aunt Vanessa, Selina’s only remaining blood relative, had offered to take care of her, but it had been her aunt’s husband, Uncle Martin, who had given her the affection and patient attention her grieving young heart had so desperately needed. Her cousin, Dominic, a year older than herself, had openly resented her presence. An only child, a precious child, he hadn’t been prepared to share his parents with anyone. Which was probably why, Selina thought wryly, his doting mother had been especially careful to impress on him that he came first in everything.
Vanessa, astute businesswoman that she was, brilliant hostess and calculating socialite, had a blind spot where Dominic was concerned. The fact no longer troubled Selina—she knew her own worth—but it did, and always would, quietly amaze her.
And it had been this house itself, Lower Otterley Hall, that had helped her come to terms with her awful loss. Her uncle and aunt had recently moved in at that time, and Selina had never visited the place before. Bought at the time when the chain of boutiques had been expanding, the house had been far less opulent than it was now. But the young Selina had seen beyond the neglect to the enchanting home it could and had become, packed with so much character that it made the mock-Georgian house in Watford which they had recently sold, and where Selina had visited with her parents, look like a cardboard doll’s house.
The gradual and careful restoration had fascinated the young Selina and the choosing of suitable period furniture from auctions around the country had been the one thing to bring her and her aunt closer. But it had been Martin King’s patience, his gentle, caring support—even more than her increasingly passionate devotion to the beautiful old house—which had helped her come to terms with the loss of her parents and emerge into the well-balanced, confident young woman she was today.
As she garaged the Volvo next to Dominic’s snarly red Porsche she sat for long moments softly drumming her gloved fingers against the steering-wheel, wondering if her uneasy premonitions had anything to do with Martin’s health.
But surely not. He had a heart condition, diagnosed a couple of years ago, but he was in the care of one of the most prominent cardiologists in the country and, following his advice, was readying himself for retirement, grooming Dominic to take over his position as financial director for the King’s Ransom chain.
