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desperation and kissed him even while he was determinedly resisting her. Yes, she now realised why he had been adopting that rigid and forbidding attitude. He had been guarding himself and her . . . but finally his resolve had broken down and it had been her fault entirely. She had regarded Luke as a sort of uncle for so long that she had allowed the fact that he was a virile man to escape her altogether. Now, though, she saw him in a different light and she was earnestly determined to take more care in future.
    She bathed and dressed, and it was as if she had fallen into a state of limbo because she had no qualms about facing Luke at the breakfast table until she was halfway along the corridor and she caught the whiff of bacon and toast. She stopped, aware of warmth in her cheeks, dampness in the palms of her hands. She turned and would have fled out to the garden but John was there, a smile on his good-natured face.
    ‘Mr. Curtis is waiting, miss. Please come this way.’ Deliberately he was making it impossible for her to escape, since she had no alternative than to follow him to the breakfast room. Luke was already there; John silently withdrew and closed the door behind him.
    ‘Sit down,’ invited Luke as if knowing she’d be too tongue-tied to bid him good morning. He had risen and with the old familiar gallantry he was drawing out her chair. She thanked him in a low voice and sank down, keeping her eyes averted. Where, she wondered, was the new confidence she had earlier believed she had acquired? ‘You look much better this morning,’ he went on to observe with a cool appraisal and an impersonal tone to his voice. ‘How do you feel? Not affected by a hangover, I hope?’
    She shook her head. ‘No—I feel fine.’
    ‘Good. Then you’ll eat a good breakfast before I drive you back to Cassia Lodge.’ There were grey flecks in the tawny eyes which lent a metallic quality Christine had never noticed before.
    ‘Luke,’ she began, knowing that what happened must be mentioned if their relationship were not to be impaired. ‘Last night—’
    ‘Yes?’ casually, but the very fact of the interruption gave evidence of his interest in what she had to say.
    ‘I’m sorry. I was really tipsy. Forgive me for something which was entirely my fault.’
    ‘Your generosity is most gratifying,’ returned Luke sardonically. ‘Many thanks.’
    Christine’s violet eyes flashed. ‘Sarcasm’s not clever!’ she told him spiritedly.
    ‘You’re growing up, Chris. You used to treat me with respect.’
    She felt deflated and lowered her eyes. ‘I still respect you,’ she asserted. ‘I always shall.’
    ‘Then don’t give me any more of your back answers. I haven’t yet spanked you but that’s not saying I never will. I’m not used to receiving sauce from anyone, so remember that and take care.’
    Christine glanced at him suspiciously. ‘You’re trying to avoid the issue of last night,’ she accused.
    ‘Issue?’ with a blank expression that infuriated her. ‘What issue?’
    ‘Oh, Luke!’ She subsided into silence and concentrated on the grapefruit which had been put before her by John, who had silently entered the room carrying a silver tray.
    ‘Shall we forget last night?’ suggested Luke when his servant had gone. ‘I know that neither of us is proud of our behaviour and, therefore, it’s easier on our consciences and self-respect to pretend it never happened.’ Luke dug his spoon into his grapefruit and put a segment into his mouth. He was not looking at her and his indifference angered her inexplicably. She ought to be glad he was taking this attitude and could not for the life of her understand why she was not greatly relieved by it.
    ‘It’s difficult to pretend it never happened,’ was all she could find to say, and this was after a long pause.
    ‘I shan’t find it difficult.’ He shrugged. ‘After all, it was not a unique occurrence, was it?’
    ‘For you—perhaps not,’ she agreed,