8 Magnificent Millionaires. Cathy Williams
reached her and witnessed the livid red welt bruising her pale cheek, her lovely hair coming undone from its fastening and her blue eyes huge and damp with tears, he naturally dragged her hard against his chest and held her. Feeling her slender body shake almost uncontrollably in his arms, he put her a little away from him and stared down questioningly into her eyes. ‘What the hell happened?’
‘I think I’ve killed Steven Ferrers.’ Her lower lip trembling, Liadan’s face grew even paler apart from the vivid red welt. Something in the pit of Adrian’s stomach went sickly cold.
‘How? Where is he now?’
‘He’s in the hall. I hit him, Adrian. I hit him with a vase and he fell to the floor.’
‘Wait here.’ His mind racing overtime, he briefly touched his fingers to Liadan’s unmarked cheek before running towards the steps that led into the house, negotiating them two at a time until he disappeared inside the entrance. Unable to heed his command to stay where she was, Liadan followed him, albeit more slowly, dreading the confrontation with what could possibly be Steven Ferrers’ dead body.
But when she reached the door and slowly walked inside, Adrian had a very much alive and kicking Steven slammed up against the far wall, his fist raised bare inches from the other man’s blood-stained face. After her initial relief of finding her assailant still breathing, everything inside Liadan went deathly cold at the idea that Adrian might finish the job she’d started. The rage coming off those broadly muscular shoulders of his in his tanned leather flying jacket was tangible and she was frightened of the damage he might do in the grip of it.
‘Adrian! No! Don’t hurt him!’
As he turned briefly to look at her Adrian’s dark gaze was malevolent. ‘He’s lucky he’s not dead already if he did that to you. Did he do that to your face?’ he barked.
‘Let him go and we’ll talk,’ she pleaded, more fearful for the damage that might be done to Adrian’s already much maligned reputation than any harm that could be inflicted on Steven Ferrers.
‘Oh, we’ll talk, all right. Come here and get my mobile phone out of my jacket pocket. I’m not risking letting this lowlife go until the police get here.’
‘The police?’ The sudden rush of blood to her head made Liadan momentarily lose her bearings. ‘Adrian, think about it. You don’t want to involve the police in this. You know what the papers will do to you. They’ll put some poisonous slant on it to make you look bad. Just let him go, will you? I’m all—I’m all right, I promise!’
Adrian couldn’t believe she was thinking about his reputation when she’d been attacked by the scum he currently had up against the wall. His chest hurt abominably when he thought about what she had been through. Why the hell had he decided to go into town today of all days?
‘Please, Adrian. He’s bleeding. I—I hit him hard with that vase.’
The shattered pieces of the pretty Chinese vase were scattered everywhere. For one brief, hysterical moment Liadan wondered whether it might be a Ming or something equally valuable. Heaven knew Adrian’s lovely house was filled to the rafters with antiques and expensive objets d’art of all descriptions.
With a ripe curse Adrian let go of the other man, only to have him ignominiously slide down the wall and sit on the floor groaning as he held his hand to his head. With none-too-gentle fingers Adam made a perfunctory examination of the wound, then, straightening, walked across the chequered floor to Liadan.
‘He’ll live, more’s the pity. He’s cut but it doesn’t look like it needs stitching. More to the point, how are you?’ Wincing, he touched the livid red welt with his fingertips, his chest growing tighter by the second at the realisation that she’d been hurt…and under his roof, where she should have been safe. He cursed the day that he had gone against all his instincts and employed Steven Ferrers as a favour to his father. No doubt when his faithful head gardener learned of what had happened, it would break his heart. But right now it was Liadan and only Liadan that Adrian was interested in.
‘Now listen to me,’ he said firmly, tenderly pushing away a curling tendril of spun red-gold away from her brow. ‘I want you to go into the kitchen and wait for me there. I don’t want you to do anything but sit and wait for me, is that clear?’
Suddenly too weary to argue, Liadan nodded mutely.
‘As soon as I’ve dealt with him—’ he jerked his head disparagingly in Steven’s direction ‘—I’ll come and join you. Now go along and don’t worry.’
‘You won’t hurt him?’ She bit her lip, her blue eyes looked enormous in her small, oval face.
‘I may be as mad as hell but I know the risks, Liadan. I’m going to phone George on his mobile and get him over here, then I’ll take things from there.’
‘Okay…if you’re sure?’
With one reluctant glance back at Steven Ferrers slumped pitifully against the wall, Liadan walked with relief back to the kitchen.
Half an hour had never seemed so long. As she sat at the kitchen table nursing the deliberately sweet cup of tea she’d forced herself to make Liadan flinched at every sound she wasn’t sure of, fearing the worst when she heard nothing and straining her ears for any sign of Adrian returning. When she heard a door finally slam somewhere in the house, she started to get to her feet, anxious to know who was leaving, terrified in case Adrian had decided to go for the police after all and had left Steven sitting on the floor in the hall. But when Adrian himself came through the door, shucked his jacket off those reassuringly broad shoulders of his and stood regarding her with deep concern in his eyes, Liadan had never known such sweet and blessed relief.
‘What’s happened? Did George come? Is he taking Steven to the hospital?’
‘George came. He’s taking Steven home to let him sleep off his drunken stupor. We both took another look at his head wound and it’s nothing to worry about. It certainly doesn’t warrant a hospital visit and, even if it did, I’m sure Steven would rather avoid any kind of authorities right now in the light of what he did.’
‘And how is George?’
‘How do you think?’ Shaking his head, Adrian came over to Liadan, studying her gravely as she sat in the ladder-backed kitchen chair, her hands cupped round her drink. ‘He’s appalled, ashamed, furious and ready to do his son some serious damage. His only fear is that whatever he says or does won’t sink in. Steven’s been in trouble with the police before, Liadan. Petty thieving, a couple of pub brawls…nothing too serious up until now.’ Leaning back against the table, Adrian put out his hand and tipped up her chin. Her face was drained of colour apart from the red mark on her cheek and she looked as if she’d been crying again.
He blamed himself completely for what had happened. He had hired Steven Ferrers knowing he had a criminal record, even if he had done it as a favour to George. George, who wouldn’t even help himself to a glass of water unless it was offered first. Now Liadan had been hurt for the second time in a few days. Could anyone blame Adrian for believing that he and this house were some sort of jinx for the woman?
‘I should get you some brandy for shock.’ Reluctantly he withdrew his hand, inwardly fighting against an almost insurmountable need to keep on touching her and never stop.
‘I made some sweet tea. It does the same thing, I heard.’
‘How did he get in?’ His logical mind demanding he know all the answers and tie up any loose or suspicious ends, Adrian was still having trouble quelling the tumult of emotion that was crowding his chest. Truth to tell, if he couldn’t tear Steven Ferrers limb from limb, he wanted to break something instead…do anything that would divert the maelstrom of anger that was almost suffocating him.
‘He knocked on the door. Before I realised he had been drinking, he just pushed back the door and came inside.’
Replacing her cup back in its saucer, Liadan pushed her fingers agitatedly through her hair, dislodging her