The next morning Zara walked Xavier to the front door. She held his hand tightly, not wanting to lose his touch.
‘Bye, beautiful,’ he said, kissing her full on the mouth. She could have kissed him forever and died happy.
‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ she lamented.
‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ he said. Xavier had cancelled a few important meetings to make his flying visit back to Ravensdale. To her.
He placed his hands on either side of her head, drew her forehead to his lips and left a lingering kiss. A kiss full of tenderness. Full of love?
‘See you lunchtime tomorrow,’ he said, jogging down the front steps to unlock his van.
‘Why do you drive that pile of junk?’ she called. ‘You could have any car you wanted.’
He looked down the length of the truck.
‘I never buy expensive cars. I always like to remind myself where I came from. And,’ he tapped the tray of the truck, ‘I like having my tools with me. You can’t fit a mower in a Lamborghini.’
He pulled himself up in the cab of the truck and turned on the engine. He put the truck in gear and began to drive off. A few seconds later, he stopped the truck and leapt from the vehicle. He ran to her.
‘What did you forget?’ she asked.
‘This.’ He kissed her forehead, her cheeks and her lips, then strode back to the car. ‘Don’t forget me while I’m gone,’ he called over his shoulder.
Forget him. Her body ached for him.
‘Never,’ she said.
Zara watched until the truck disappeared from sight. She walked into the house. Her body hummed in unusual places. Hummed from the almost nonstop sexual romp she and Xavier had engaged in throughout the night.
Pressing her fingertips into eyebrows, she tried to ease away the tiredness. Exhaustion seemed to have taken up residence in every cell. But it was a luscious exhaustion. She skipped up the stairs.
She showered quickly and opened her cupboard. She selected a cream twin-set, a beige skirt that fell below the knees, stockings and low heels. Her father hated new fashions and brash colours.
She drove to the Meadows Retirement Village where her father now lived. The establishment was the best in the area and cost a fortune, but her father deserved the best care after the harsh hand he’d been dealt in his later life. Also, he’d accept nothing less.
Driving slowly through the narrow, pretty Devonshire lanes, she admired the emerald-green fields. She slowed and stopped to let a farmer herd his cows across the road into another stone-walled paddock.
Once, there’d been dairy farming all around Ravensdale, but those parcels of land had been sold one by one to meet the rising cost of maintenance and ongoing death duties. Her father had raged against every sale.
The first fifty years of her father’s life had been all luxury, wealth and the refined life of a peer of England. Lord Ravensdale was a respected aristocrat, a member of the House of Lords, and he’d invested well in the financial markets.
He’d married well too: the daughter of an earl. Lilly had been twenty years his junior. Her father had died young, leaving her fatherless at fourteen. Looking back at the marriage now, Zara could see her mother had needed a father figure, and her father had desired a trophy. It had worked for a few years, but even as a young child Zara could feel the cracks in the marriage.
The farmer drove the last of his cows through the gate and waved his thanks. She hit the accelerator.
Her father had always demanded his wife’s undivided attention but Lilly wanted parties, laughter, a full house and love. Lilly’s parties were as legendary as her beauty. Hugh grew more and more possessive and jealous. He banned the parties when Zara was around nine, so her mother turned to community events.
The Ravensdale gardens bustled with fetes, fairs and charity days. Zara realised all the work and activity distracted her mother from the distaste of her marriage. But Hugh brought that to an end too, saying Lilly needed to concentrate on house and home. Lilly had been desperately unhappy.
Then the Hunts arrived. Everything changed.
Lilly had found solace in the garden and, as it turned out, in Xavier’s father.
Zara slowed the car and pulled into the Meadows car park. The owners worked hard to ensure the surroundings were beautiful, with manicured lawns and immaculate landscaping.
She walked to the high-care unit and pulled open the glass door. The smell of disinfectant and that unique odour of the elderly assailed her nostrils. She winced. The place always reminded her of life’s frailty. She envied those who travelled through time never knowing the pain of a loved one’s death, except those that were expected – those of elderly relatives or friends who’d had the opportunity for long, happy lives. Having lost her mother so young, Zara felt permanently cheated.
She walked down the hall, her shoes squeaking on the polished rubber floor. Her father hated this place but the doctors insisted he needed high-level care. He’d fought her and the medical authorities every step of the way. Her father considered himself above almost everyone else in the British realm. She also thought he secretly believed he was somehow above death too.
Arriving at her father’s door, she twisted her watch around and around on her wrist. She hadn’t visited since Xavier had arrived. She’d have to tread carefully. Any reference to Xavier would mean a nasty confrontation. With her shoulders back, she expelled a long, slow breath and knocked on the door.
‘Come,’ came the order.
‘Dad,’ she said, poking her head around the door. ‘It’s me.’
‘Umph,’ Hugh Ravensdale said, the usual dismal greeting he seemed to keep especially for her. He didn’t even look up from his book.
Hugh had never really been interested in her, but she understood he was emotionally limited. He’d never disguised the fact that he wished she’d been a boy. A son. That she was an enormous disappointment. As a grown woman she was sure she reminded Hugh of the wife who cheated on him and exposed him as a cuckold to the world.
‘How are you?’ she asked in a voice of forced sunshine. She placed a box of his favourite chocolates on the side table near his bed.
She flicked a glance at the urn holding her mother’s ashes. Hugh kept it close to his bed on a special table. He said it was to keep her near him, but she always wondered if it was to ensure he was the last man to have her. To possess her. She knew he’d never forgiven her for her affair.
She once asked if they could scatter Lilly’s ashes in the walled garden. The place her mother had so loved. Her father had flown into a rage, saying Lilly would never again leave his side. It sounded much more like ownership than love. Actually more like prison; he was somehow making her pay for her crime of passion.
‘How do you think I am, locked up in this place?’ he snarled.
Zara hid a sigh and settled herself into a chair. The one furthest from his bed.
‘Plans are going well for the charity event,’ she said, sidestepping the ‘why am I here?’ conversation that always went nowhere and only made her father furious.
‘Strangers traipsing all over my house. Bloody terrible idea.’
‘Dad, we’ve been over this. We have to show the bank we can pay back the debts.’
‘I’d rather lose the house than have every low-life picking over our things.’
Zara took a deep breath. She detested her father’s narrow, elitist views. If it were up to him, he’d reintroduce feudal law. She hadn’t told him she was opening the house to paying guests. The idea that people – well, currently Xavier Hunt – were sleeping in his bed might actually kill him.
A knock at the door saved her from responding to her father. A nurse bustled into the room.
‘Morning, Lord Ravensdale,’ the middle-aged nurse said, her tone crisp and friendly. Zara knew her father insisted all the staff call him by his correct title. She was sure they only complied to keep him from losing his temper and making himself ill.
‘Ah, Zara, lovely to see you,’ the nurse said.
‘That’s Lady Ravensdale to you,’ Hugh snapped.
‘Of course. Lady Ravensdale,’ the nurse said, giving Zara a little curtsey. Zara mouthed an apology when Hugh wasn’t looking. The nurse simply smiled and carried on with her duties.
‘Okay, Lord Ravensdale, I need to check your pulse and blood pressure. Hope you don’t mind the intrusion, Lady Ravensdale.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Well, I do,’ Hugh growled.
The nurse ignored him and slipped the sphygmomanometer cuff over his arm.
‘So, I’ve heard some exciting news,’ the nurse said in a conspiratorial tone.
Her father didn’t respond.
‘Oh yes? What’s that?’ Zara asked.
‘Someone said they saw Xavier Hunt drive through the village the other day. Xavier Hunt! Peggy down the pub said he used to live with you when —’
Hugh bolted upright. ‘What?’ he roared.
Zara flinched in her seat. The sphygmomanometer loudly clattered to the floor.
Hugh’s eyes pinned Zara with a vicious stare. Her cheeks roasted.
‘Tell me that low-life is nowhere near my house. Is nowhere near you. I want him shot on sight if he comes within five miles of the estate.’
‘Please, Hugh, lie back now,’ the nurse said in a soothing voice, putting her hands on his shoulders.
‘Lord Ravensdale,’ he shouted in her face. ‘Get out of here, you stupid woman.’
The nurse put away her equipment.
‘Now, or I’ll have you sacked!’ he screamed.
Zara stood to apologise for her father’s outburst.
‘Sit down now,’ Hugh yelled at his daughter.
‘It’s best I leave’ the nurse muttered to Zara. ‘See if you can calm him down. Press that button if you need us.’ She pointed to the red button on the wall and left.
Hugh panted from exhaustion.
‘Dad, you need to calm down.’
‘I’ll calm down when you tell me that leech isn’t back to finish what he started.’
‘What are you talking about, Dad?’
‘Those Hunts came slithering into our lives, into my home to steal my fortune and my wife. That Xavier . . . He was after . . .’
‘I don’t think he’s after our fortune, Dad. He’s a billionaire now.’
‘I know what he is.’ Hugh spat out the words. ‘The jumped-up son of a gardener. That’s all he’ll ever be.’ The words were so wrong she felt wretched listening to them.
She stood. ‘Listen, Dad, I’d better go.’ Hesitantly she approached the bed, bracing for another onslaught, but it didn’t come. She pulled the covers up her father’s chest. ‘I think you should rest.’
Hugh grabbed her arm with surprising power. ‘Your mother was a disappointment to her family and her class. A disgrace. You will not make that mistake. This country is going to hell because the classes are mixing. You can’t trust them. They have no honour.’ His arm dropped away, as though the effort of gripping her had sucked up the last of his strength. ‘Stick to your class, Zara, that’s the only way.’
‘Yes, Dad.’ Zara gently extricated herself. ‘I had a lovely evening with Rupert Stanley-Howard a few weeks ago.’ She infused her voice with a brightness she didn’t remotely feel.
The news relaxed the old man instantly.
‘Stanley-Howard.’ Hugh nodded. ‘Yes, he’d be perfect.’ Hugh rested his head back. ‘Settle on a suitable man before I die. Then my soul will leave this land in peace. I need to know the family name . . . the family blood . . .’
‘Yes, Dad,’ she said.
A moment ago, he’d looked so fierce. She hated that she was still scared of him. Now he was a weak old man with only a few years left on this earth. But still he could make her shudder with fear.
‘I’ll see you in a few days.’ She patted his arm. This was as affectionate as she could ever be with him. Her father deplored public displays of affection.
Hugh didn’t respond. His eyes were closed, his face still carrying the lines of anger from his outburst.
Leaving the room quietly, she closed the door behind her. She leaned on the wall to gather her strength. Hugh always stripped her of her energy and joy. If this was how he had treated her mother, she could almost understand her mother’s infidelity.
The next morning Zara sat in the kitchen spreading honey on her toast. She took a bite, hoping breakfast would revive her. She’d had a fitful night’s sleep. Her father hadn’t had such a violent outburst in years. If he heard more reports about Xavier . . . well . . . She didn’t know what would happen, but it wouldn’t be good.
She jammed the lid back on the honey pot. She’d brought the honey, along with other supplies, from the local farmers’ market early that morning. Xavier would be back at lunchtime and she’d planned a feast of local lamb roasted with rosemary and fresh vegetables from the garden.
He’d been gone only twenty-four hours but she ached for his return.
Biting into the toast, she surveyed her to-do list. She stroked a drop of honey from her bottom lip with her tongue. All thoughts of the day’s action plan dropped from her mind. She ran her finger over her lips. She could still feel Xavier’s touch. Her mind was awash with him and her body throbbed for him.
Could they really put the past behind them? Obviously her father couldn’t, but that was a dangerous bridge she’d have to cross if things with Xavier went the way she hoped: that they could recapture that crazy, intense, soul-engulfing love of their youth and turn it into a lifetime of happiness.
She sipped her tea. So Xavier couldn’t admit to his past mistakes. Perhaps it was too painful for him to face head-on. Perhaps he’d locked it all away as a part of his life to be forgotten.
She heard a car in the driveway. She pushed back her chair. Who could be arriving this early? Steps echoed fast, straight to the kitchen.
Xavier burst into the room.
‘Morning.’ He threw his satchel on the table and swept her off her feet, whirling her around. He landed a kiss on her lips and all her senses leapt to life. She kissed him long and languidly.
‘I thought you weren’t coming back until lunchtime,’ she said.
‘Couldn’t wait,’ he said, his voice already breathless. ‘I held all my meetings yesterday and was on the road by dawn.’
He stilled. His arms dropped from her body. He wiped a finger across his bottom lip. His eyes shot to the kitchen table.
‘What are you eating?’ he asked. A chill prickled her skin at the urgency in his voice.
‘Toast.’
He swallowed and scratched his cheek, his eyes wide. ‘Honey?’ His voice sounded hoarse and he pulled at the skin on his throat.
‘Yes.’ She reached out to touch his arm. He pulled away.
‘I’m allergic.’
Her pulse leapt painfully.
‘You’re not,’ she said, stupidly. ‘You’re only allergic to peanuts.’
He grabbed his satchel and tipped the entire contents onto the table. He pawed through the mess.
She knew what he was looking for, and frantically joined the search.
‘Where is it?’ she cried, scattering his things across the table. Where was his adrenaline, his EpiPen?
He dropped into a chair, his face red and blotchy. He scratched desperately at his throat.
The beat of her heart roared in her ears. If Xavier’s allergy to honey was as bad as his one to peanuts, he’d stop breathing in the next few minutes.
‘Where’s your EpiPen?’ The fear in her voice fuelled the rising pitch of her words.
He pointed to the first floor.
She raced from the kitchen and ran up the stairs to his room. She checked his bedside table. Nothing. Running to the desk, she dumped the contents of his briefcase and rummaged through the papers. Finally she touched the vital plastic tube.
She flew back to the kitchen. Xavier’s face and neck were bright red. He dragged in shallow, rasping breaths. He ripped the tube from her hand, flipped open the lid, held the device over the top of his leg and stabbed it into his thigh through the fabric of his jeans. Almost instantly he dragged in a long lungful of air.
Zara grabbed her mobile and dialled emergency.
‘Ambulance,’ she instructed the operator and blurted out the address. She flung her phone onto the table and dropped to her knees in front of him. ‘Xavier, are you okay?’
‘Give me a minute.’ He could barely form the words.
‘I didn’t. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.’
‘Developed it while I was at . . .’ he breathed deeply. ‘Juvenile detention.’
‘What? How?’
He shrugged. The red slowly drained from his face. Only a few blotches remained. ‘No one knows.’
She picked up the pot of honey and threw it in the bin.
‘Wash your hands, your face,’ he said. ‘I only have to touch the stuff and this happens.’
Zara scrubbed her face and her hands raw but she still didn’t dare touch him. She sat a little way from him.
‘It’s okay. I’m not going to expire now,’ he said, but his breathing still sounded rough.
‘You could’ve died and it would have been all my fault.’
‘A deadly kiss,’ he said, a weak smile on his lips. ‘I can’t think of a better way to go.’
She could have killed him, and he was making jokes! She wanted to hit him and hug him at the same time.
‘Don’t talk, just breathe,’ she said.
Ten minutes later, a siren sounded in the distance. Xavier glanced at his watch. She knew he was thinking the same thing she was. The ambulance wouldn’t have made it in time. A lump the size of a fist jammed in her throat.
‘I’ll go and meet them,’ she said, striding to the door.
‘Zara.’
She turned.
‘It’s not your fault,’ he said. ‘You didn’t know. I forgot to mention it because, well, it was you, and you’re one of the few people in the world who really knows me.’
Tears built behind her eyes. She scrubbed at them roughly. Now was not the time to lose it.
‘There’s so much we don’t know about each other now.’ She didn’t want to say any more, as she knew her voice would crack.
He nodded as though considering her statement carefully. ‘But we’ve got a lifetime ahead of us to find all that out.’
Zara stared at his beautiful face. A lifetime? Would they really stay together?
The crunching of the driveway gravel announced the arrival of the ambulance.
‘Don’t go anywhere,’ she said. Don’t ever go anywhere.
‘I don’t plan to,’ he said, with a devastating smile.
She ran down the hall, her hands still trembling. She couldn’t lose Xavier again. She couldn’t. To hell with her father and his antiquated, pretentious attitudes.
Nothing would keep them apart now. Nothing.
‘Absolutely not,’ Zara said. She pushed Xavier back onto the sofa. ‘You sit back and stay put.’
She’d installed Xavier in the living room with a stack of DVDs, a remote, a cup of tea, a plate of biscuits and instructions not to move. ‘You will not work in the garden. You will not move from here. I need to know exactly where you are at all times for the next seventy-two hours.’
She’d placed an EpiPen on the side table next to him and had one in her pocket.
‘Overreacting a little, aren’t we?’ Xavier said. ‘It was a small case of anaphylaxis. No permanent damage. Look.’ He inhaled deeply. ‘Breathing.’
She gave him a glare that was permeated with the fear of losing him, and the distress of a day spent in the hospital waiting room. ‘The doctor said you could relapse anytime in the next three days. I couldn’t live through losing you again. So humour me and stay put.’
‘Come here,’ he said, trying to grab her hand.
‘No. Don’t touch me. Not until I’ve had a shower and scrubbed my skin again. I’m not going to risk another killer kiss.’
‘But your kisses are devastating.’
‘Ha ha. Such a comedian.’ Why was he taking this so lightly? If she hadn’t found the EpiPen, he’d have stopped breathing and the ambulance would have been collecting a corpse. ‘Don’t move. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
She showered quickly and changed her clothes. After checking Xavier again she made her way up to his room. Heavens, what a mess. She’d been in a frenzy while searching for Xavier’s EpiPen. His work papers were strewn all over the floor.
She picked them up and placed them on the desk. Straightening each page, she returned them to his briefcase.
A large piece of folded paper lay crumpled down one side of the desk. She unfolded it and smoothed it out. She cocked her head and stared. It was a map of the estate, of Ravensdale. She frowned and looked more closely. It was a precise survey map. She ran her finger over the paper. Each of the key estate features was marked with a series of notes. She read those listed next to the stables.
Training room A.
She pressed her lips together. What is this? She reviewed the other notations. Every piece of the estate was marked for some bizarre use.
Her gaze snagged on the walled garden. That special space was listed as a permaculture garden. She shook her head, trying to make sense of the strange document. She trailed her fingers up to the title. It was handwritten in Xavier’s distinctive scrawl.
The Charlie Hunt Horticulture School for Disadvantaged Youth.
Her pulse spiked and she dropped into the chair. Xavier was planning a school? Here? At Ravensdale? But . . . How?
The realisation slammed into her mind with more impact than if she had been thrown from a horse. The interested party. The potential buyer the bank had called about was Xavier. The room spun. She gripped the desk. The latest generous offer. Xavier. The bank bringing forward the date for repayment. All Xavier.
It was happening again. She’d trusted Xavier. Fallen in love with him, and he was trying to spirit away her assets while she was ensnared in a lovesick haze. Her chest tightened, again and again and again until she could hardly breathe. Her father had been right.
She dropped her head into her hands. Her belly crawled with bitter nausea. She’d been seduced by a Hunt as her mother had been. Seduced so he could have easy access to everything he’d needed. Goddamn it. She jerked upright, the heart-wrenching horror replaced with red-hot anger. She’d given him a tour of the property, for God’s sake. Shown him exactly what he’d be getting. Her racing heartbeat counted down the end of her relationship with Xavier.
‘What are you doing up here?’ Xavier’s voice broke the silence. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t look at the man who’d morphed from sensitive lover to scheming devil.
‘Zara?’ He moved closer and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. His touch was as foul as a noose around her neck.
‘What —’ His fingers tightened on her skin. ‘Oh God.’
His voice betrayed everything. He’d been caught. His deception had been exposed. He was guilty, guilty, guilty.
Xavier’s heart slammed against his rib cage. He held tight to Zara’s shoulders. How could he have been so stupid? A sharp pain hit the back of his throat as though he was again succumbing to anaphylaxis.
Why hadn’t he told Zara about his plan? Why hadn’t he discussed it with her . . . what they should do next with Ravensdale? Do together? He knew the answer. Because his mind was obsessed with Zara, being with her, touching her, loving her. Never wanting the magic to end.
‘It’s not —’
Zara lurched from her seat and put as much distance between them as the room would allow. A nasty, icy chill covered his skin. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him. The disgust on her face broke his heart.
‘Not what, Xavier?’ she spat. ‘Not what it looks like? Did someone plant this map in your briefcase? Did someone copy your handwriting and write those notes?’ With every statement her voice rose in pitch. ‘Did someone set you up?’ She stabbed out the last three words with staccato sarcasm.
He stepped toward her. ‘Please, Zara. Let me explain.’
‘You have five minutes to pack and get out.’ She pointed out the window. Her hand shook. His stomach clenched into a hard, tight ball.
‘I’m not going anywhere until I explain,’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘You need to understand.’
She edged around the bed, her eyes on him as though he were a wild animal waiting to strike.
‘Oh, I understand,’ she said, backing up toward the door. ‘Dad was right. People don’t change. Even with billions of dollars, you’re still a conman.’ She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. ‘It all makes sense now. Your going from juvenile detention to billions. This.’ She spread her hands wide to encompass the map. ‘This is how you do it. Stealing people’s assets.’
‘For God’s sake, Zara, listen. I was going to buy Ravensdale, but that was before —’
‘Before you tricked me into bed?’ She strode to the door.
He moved faster. Closing the door, he locked it and thrust the key in his pocket.
She jammed her hands on her hips ‘Great. Adding kidnapping to your long list of misdemeanours. This just gets better and better.’
‘I won’t let you out of this room until you listen. Until I explain. Will you please sit?’
‘Oh, sure,’ she said, continuing to stand. ‘Any story you tell me is will keep me on the edge of my seat.’
He paced the room. Where to start?
‘While I was locked up, every day I wanted revenge against your father, this place and even you. The anger, the hatred, the pain . . . it was like poison.’ He stopped and met her eyes. ‘I didn’t let it show. I was a model prisoner. But I made a vow that someday I would make a fortune, so no one could ever again control me. Then I’d come back here, destroy this place and never live in England again. A place where, even in the twenty-first century, class could still affect your future.’
She drummed her fingers on the wooden post of the bed and tried to look bored, but he knew he had her attention.
‘As soon as I was released, I moved to LA. My gardening skills and my “cute” accent meant I had lots of work. I quickly became the gardener to the stars. Cutting a long story short, I got my TV break while transforming a movie director’s garden. Things snowballed and within ten years I had an empire.’
He ran his hand roughly through his hair.
‘I drove myself so hard. Always with the goal of coming here. Making you all pay. I was driven by darkness. I was becoming the man I was accused of being.’
Zara’s fingers ceased drumming.
‘But then I met a man who showed me a new path. Evan Knight.’
Her fingers stilled. Her eyes met his for a moment and he saw the flash of surprise. The Knight name was synonymous with Gates, Jobs and Dell.
‘Yes, he and I became great friends. He showed me the light, so to speak. When he died I was shocked to discover he’d left me a vast portion of his fortune. I went from millionaire to billionaire overnight.’
Zara’s mouth dropped open a fraction. She was now the only person in the world beyond Evan’s legal team who knew this fact.
‘Even with everything Evan had taught me, it was only in that moment that I began to believe in myself again. That I wasn’t what I was accused of.’
He looked out the window and blinked hard. It was difficult to think about Evan without letting his emotions rise.
‘If a man the calibre of Evan Knight could trust me with such a fortune, then I couldn’t be the low-life you all believed me to be. I redirected all that dark energy into something positive. I worked with disadvantaged kids. I was amazed at how their lives were transformed. But I still couldn’t move on with my life. I realised I had to draw a line under my history and create a new future.’
He picked up the map and held it up. ‘When I discovered Ravensdale was in financial trouble I thought I could buy it and turn it into a school. That would be my line in the sand. Then I could move on. It’d also give me the chance to build Dad a legacy. He loved this place so much.’
Zara clapped her hands slowly.
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘So noble. You’re able to wreak your revenge and wrap it up in a nice philanthropic package. Forget about your BAFTA. After this stunt you’d probably be awarded an OBE.’
Her words hit like missiles. Why couldn’t she understand? See the logic? See how this could end the pain of the past and pave the way to a happy future?
‘I wanted to get on with my life. Be able to live without regret, without revenge eating away at every cell in my body.’ He took a step toward her. ‘But I hadn’t counted on you.’
‘What?’ she asked. ‘That I didn’t play the game the way you wanted?’ Her expression turned hard and flinty. ‘That having sex with you didn’t distract me enough to execute your plan in secret? That a few tumbles in the sheets and I’d never find out what you were planning?’
‘How can you say that?’ He wanted to gather her in his arms and hold her until she understood. ‘I love you. I wanted to do this together. Create this peace together. Make the past history for both of us.’ He reached for her hand.
She recoiled, the action a knife to his heart.
‘I’d rather lose Ravensdale than ever let you touch me again.’ She stalked to the bedroom door. ‘Now, let me out.’
‘I love you, Zara. Does that mean nothing to you?’
Her top lip curled, marring her beautiful face. ‘As the prosecution outlined so well in court, conmen will use anything at their disposal to achieve their aims. You love me!’ She pressed her hands to her belly. ‘You make me sick.’
He stared at her for a long moment. How could he have messed this up so badly?
‘I’ll give you the house,’ he said.
Her eyes flashed. ‘As far as I know, I already own it.’ She thrust out her hand. ‘Give me the key.’
‘The bank is going to repossess the place in two weeks. They’ll sell it out from under you for a pittance. You’ll be in debt for the rest of your life.’ What was he doing? Trying to make her hate him forever.
She fixed him with a deadly stare.
‘Interesting. I only found out this morning that the bank had brought forward the date of review. Spies in the bank, Xavier? How very honourable of you.’
He threw up his hands. She was twisting everything. ‘That’s just business. Any half-decent executive could have acquired that information.’
She folded her arms across her chest. ‘You’ll never get your hands on Ravensdale.’ Her voice was low and tight and determined. ‘Let me out. Now.’
He had no more words to offer. He’d told her he loved her and she’d thrown it back in his face. Unlocking the door, he opened it wide and stepped back.
‘Make sure you’re gone in three minutes or I’ll call the police,’ she said.
His eyes narrowed. In that moment she looked more like her father than ever before.
‘Yes. The Ravensdales are good at doing that. Using the legal system to get what they want.’ It was a cheap shot. Stupid. But she was sending him mad.
She didn’t react. She simply walked through the door. Once again, Zara Ravensdale disappeared from his life not knowing the truth.