Mistaken Mistress. Margaret Way
didn’t realise anyone was here. Lang Forsyth.” He introduced himself. “I’m Owen’s partner.”
“Yes.” There was such stillness about her. She might have been a painting. “Owen has told me so much about you.”
“How fascinating!” He recognised that as acid. “I must go now.” He had to get out of there before he told her what he thought of her. That would be much too much. The end of everything with Owen.
“Please…” It was an appeal and it stopped him briefly. “You were at the restaurant last night.”
“I wanted to be private. There’s no reason for you to tell Owen. I had no wish to disturb you.”
“You looked at me as though you hated me?”
The luminous gaze momentarily disarmed him. “How could I do that? You’re a total stranger.”
“Except you do have a reason. Your reaction was so strong.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “What the devil are you doing here in his suite? Half dressed.” He marvelled at the colour and texture of her skin.
“I’m a kept woman, is that it?” Such control for such a small-boned, small-breasted, willowy creature.
He knew his eyes were ice-cold. “Forgive me if I can’t be as civil as you’d like. All I can think of is what’s going to happen from now on?”
“You don’t want me in Owen’s life?”
He shook his head. “Definitely not.”
“But I am in it, Mr. Forsyth,” she said with no trace of triumph. “My position has been confirmed. Owen loves me.”
“Infatuation,” he cut in. “Owen is totally swept away by your beauty.”
“He’s seen it before.”
He couldn’t account for that. “What are you talking about? What tricks are you playing?”
“No tricks,” she said gently. “If you’d allowed me just a little time to justify my actions…”
He turned decisively to go on his way. “I’m sorry. You’d need all the time in the world.”
“You’re on dangerous ground, Mr. Forsyth,” she warned from behind him.
“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” He caught hold of the doorknob. “You’ve propelled yourself into Owen’s life but it’s not my relationship with Owen that disturbs me the most. Or the fact that our relationship might end. It’s Owen himself I’m worried about. Owen and his family.”
“Such pure motives. How high-minded you are.”
“While you are not.” He let her see his contempt.
“I think you’d better go now.”
How her flush accentuated the whiteness of her skin. “I intend to. From something Owen said to me earlier I think he was planning for us all to meet over dinner. That may not be possible.”
“I’ll allow Owen to persuade you,” she said quietly. “I have no desire to myself.”
CHAPTER TWO
EDEN first laid eyes on her father at her mother’s funeral. She had no idea then who he was or the remarkable fact that he, not Redmond Sinclair, was her natural father. Owen was her mother’s lover over twenty years before when they were both very young.
Owen—a ruggedly handsome man in his prime—would have stood out anywhere, but it had been the quality of his gaze that had seized and held her attention. Just as Lang Forsyth’s silvery lancing glance had compelled her to look in his direction in the restaurant last night. Now she knew who he was. Owen’s close friend and partner. Owen had portrayed Lang Forsyth as a wonderful guy. Brilliant! A man of great strengths, educated, polished, ambitious, a great mixer, the sort of man you’d want on your side. Not the man you’d ever need as an enemy, Eden has since concluded.
She put up her hands to cover the flush of helpless anger that rose to her cheeks as she relived that brief incident which had so affected her. Of course he harboured the belief she was Owen’s mistress. How ironic! She still saw his frozen gaze. Diamond-hard. Heard the vibrant voice, uncompromising, deliberately stripped of all softness. She comforted herself—just barely, he had upset her so much—he would soon know the truth. Not that she would ever forgive him his contempt, understandable or not. She had suffered enough anguish of recent times, but she had loved her mother dearly. It hadn’t been easy to accept Owen’s claim he had fathered her and not Redmond Sinclair, the man she called “Father.” They had never been close or so comfortable for her to call him “Dad.” Redmond Sinclair was a man who never showed emotion. Not even at her mother’s funeral when every other thing about him spelled grief and desolation.
Now at long last Eden knew what was at the heart of the lack of trust her “father” had shown in her mother. The fear, kept rigidly in control, one day she might leave him. In retrospect she realised Redmond Sinclair had lived with such a burden of suspicion it had poisoned him. It allowed her to understand his reserve with her. In his heart of hearts Redmond Sinclair had known she wasn’t his child, but so closely did she resemble her mother, the woman he loved who had never returned his love in full measure, it kept him from rejecting her child outright. That and the fact Redmond Sinclair always strove to please her grandfather who had pulled a lot of strings to further his son-in-law’s legal career.
Her grandfather had been shattered by her mother’s death. In the intervening six months his health had declined rapidly. It seemed he didn’t want to survive the loss of his only child or thought he didn’t deserve to. Eden had known since she was a child her parents’ marriage hadn’t been a happy one just as she had gleaned over the years it had something to do with her mother having obeyed her father’s wishes as to her choice of husband.
Eden sank into an armchair trying to recover from the great shock of Lang Forsyth’s dramatic entry into her life. The day had started out so well. She had stayed in town with her father rather than return to the “family” home where she no longer felt needed or wanted. These days she only presented a pain-filled reminder to Redmond Sinclair. Her real father, Owen, had turned over the master bedroom of his suite to her while he spent the night on the very comfortable day bed in the main room. He’d left early to inspect a motor yacht he was particularly interested in. It was moored at the Gold Coast, some fifty miles away. She intended to spend the day in town doing some shopping and having lunch with a girlfriend. Owen would be back late afternoon. He had everything planned. At dinner he was going to introduce her to his close friend and partner, Lang Forsyth, a man Owen clearly looked on as “family.”
How the best-laid plans came unstuck. Lang Forsyth had caught up with her many hours before Owen intended, his attitude harshly judgmental. In truth the sight of him at dinner last night, a stranger staring so fixedly at her, darkly handsome and authoritative, an easy elegance to his tall body, his beautiful clothes, had filled her with foreboding. His appearance in Owen’s suite this morning was as momentous in its way as her first meeting with her own father. Even when Forsyth found out who she really was, Eden had the feeling he would always be antagonistic towards her. Maybe that was her destiny. Always to be the outsider.
Eden sank further into her reverie. She and Owen had come a long way since their first meeting. After her mother’s sudden violent end in a car crash, she and Redmond Sinclair had been on compassionate leave from her grandfather’s legal firm, Redmond a full partner, she a recent associate. Owen had approached her one morning as she’d left the house to visit her grandfather. At first she’d been startled to see him again, thinking perhaps he was someone from the press—there had been some speculation her mother’s death hadn’t been an accident, but Owen by his sheer presence overcame any fears and suspicions. He told her he wanted to speak to her about her mother; Cassandra was someone he had known very well when they were young. Could they go someplace quiet and private where they could talk?
Strangely