New Arrivals: One Secret Child: Mistress, Mother...Wife? / Wealthy Australian, Secret Son / Her Prince's Secret Son. Margaret Way
than reality, and there were many, many times she’d sought refuge there.
Now, as though tugged by a powerful magnet, yet again she considered the handsome, square-jawed individual staring into space in the furthermost corner of the room. He’d occupied the stylish burgundy armchair for at least two hours now, had neither removed his coat nor glanced interestedly at the other well-heeled patrons even once. It was as though they were completely off his radar. All he seemed to be focused on was the inner screen of his own troubled mind.
There was definitely an intense, preoccupied air about him that intrigued Anna. After all, what dreamer with a yen for making up stories wouldn’t be intrigued or provoked by such fascinating material? Making sure she was discreet, she studied him hard. She hadn’t personally looked into his eyes yet, but already she guessed they would have the power to hynotise whoever was caught in their gaze. A small shiver ran down her spine.
Having checked the room to see if she was needed anywhere, she let her gaze return to the mystery man. He had straight mid-blond hair, with hints of silver in it, and appeared to be growing out a cut that had probably been both stylish and expensive. Everything about him exuded wealth and good taste, a well as the sense of power and entitlement that often accompanied those attributes. Although his eye-catching broad shoulders appeared weighed down by his concerns, he also wore a fierce need for privacy that was like an invisible electronic gate, warning all comers that they encroached upon his space at their peril. Had an important deal gone sour? Had someone deceived him or seriously let him down in some way? He didn’t look like a man who suffered fools gladly.
Anna sighed, then studied him again. No…she’d got it all wrong. The black coat he was wearing suddenly sang out to her. He’d lost someone close. Yes, that was it. He was grieving. That was why his expression was so haunted and morose. As she studied his formidable chiselled profile, with the deep shadow of a cleft centred in that square-cut chin, it seemed almost impertinent to speculate about him further if she’d guessed the truth. Poor man… He must be feeling totally wretched.
The third Scotch on the rocks he’d ordered was drained right down to the bottom of the glass, Anna noticed. Would he be ordering another one? Bitter personal experience had taught her that alcohol never solved anything. All it had done for her father was make his black moods even blacker.
The hotel bar closed at eleven-thirty and it was already a quarter past, she saw. Collecting a tray, she circumnavigated the tables with her usual light step, her heart thudding like a brick dropped into a millpond as she overrode her natural inclination to stay well clear. In front of the man, she schooled her lips into a pleasant smile.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but will you be requiring another drink? Only, the bar will be closing soon.’
Glittering blue-grey eyes that contained all the warmth of a perilous icy sea swivelled to survey her. For a startled second Anna told herself it served her right if she received a frosty reception, when his body language clearly signalled that he wanted to be left alone. But just then a corner of the austere masculine mouth lifted in the mocking semblance of a smile.
‘What do you think? Do I look like I’m in need of another drink, beautiful?’
There was the faintest Mediterranean edge to his otherwise British accent. But in any case he was wrong. She wasn’t beautiful. If it weren’t for the rippling waistlength auburn hair that she freed from her workday style every night when her shift ended, Anna would consider herself quite ordinary. Yet the unexpected compliment—mocking or otherwise—was as though he’d lit a brightly burning candle inside her.
‘I wouldn’t presume to think I knew what you needed, sir.’
‘Call me Dan,’ he said, giving her the commonly abbreviated form of his name which he went by in London, not wanting to hear Dante, the name his mother had gifted him with, tonight of all nights.
The invitation almost caused her to stumble. She dipped her head beneath the glare of his riveting gaze because it was almost too powerful to look into for long.
‘We’re not supposed to address the customers personally,’ she answered.
‘And do you always follow the rules to the letter?’
‘I do if I want to keep my job.’
‘This establishment would be extremely foolish if they were to get rid of a girl like you.’
‘You don’t even know me.’
‘Maybe I’d like to.’ His smile was slow and deliberate. ‘Get to know you better, I mean.’
That roguish grin was like a guided missile that hit all her sensitive spots at once. Inside, the implosion almost rocked Anna off her feet.
‘I don’t think you do,’ she remarked, serious-voiced. ‘You’re probably just looking for a handy diversion, if the truth be known.’
‘Really? A diversion from what, exactly?’ A dark blond eyebrow with tiny glints of copper in it lifted in amusement.
‘From whatever unhappy thoughts that have been bothering you.’
The smile vanished. His expression became as guarded as though a wall made of three-foot-deep granite had thundered down in front of it.
‘How do you know I’m disturbed by unhappy thoughts? What are you…a mind-reader?’
‘No.’ Anna’s teeth nibbled anxiously at her lip. ‘I just observe people and—and sense things about them.’
‘What a dangerous occupation. And you’re compelled to do this why? You don’t have any of your own material to contemplate? You must be a rare human being indeed if that’s the case…to have managed to negotiate your way through life without any problems at all.’
‘I haven’t…gone through life without any problems, I mean. How would I have learned anything or be able to empathise with other people if I’d been problem-free? I’d also be quite superficial…which I’m not.’
‘And here I was, thinking you were just a simple, uncomplicated barmaid, when in fact you’re clearly quite the little philosopher.’
Anna didn’t take the comment as an insult. How could she? As well as the pain glittering in his wintercoloured eyes, locked inside his scathing tone was the suggestion of the blackest kind of despair.
A heartfelt desire to help ease it in some way swept passionately through her.
‘I’m not looking for trouble. You just seemed so alone and sad, sitting there, that I thought that if you wanted to talk…well, I’d be a good listener. Sometimes it’s easier to tell your troubles to a stranger than someone you know. But anyway, if you think that’s impertinent of me, and another drink would help more, then I’ll gladly get you one.’
The man who’d told her to call him Dan raised a shoulder, then dropped it again dismissively.
‘I’m not the unburdening kind, and if you were hoping I might be then I have to tell you that you’re wasting your time. What’s your name? ‘
‘Anna.’
‘That’s it… just Anna?’
‘Anna Bailey.’
A cold sweat broke out across her skin, where previously his disturbing glance had kindled the kind of heat that made dry tinder burst into flames. Was he going to report her or something? She hadn’t meant to insult him. Her only desire had been to help if she could. Was he an important enough customer for a complaint from him to help her lose her job? She prayed not.
The comfortable family-run hotel in a quiet corner of Covent Garden had become her home for the past three years, and she loved everything about it—including her work. She didn’t even mind if she sometimes had to work long hours. Her employers were so kind—generous to a fault, in fact—and her recent pay-rise had helped make life a whole lot more comfortable than when she’d worked at jobs she’d hated and