Emma Darcy: The Ultimate Choice

His eyes were wide open now, sharply alert and diamond-hard. His arm shot out and a vice-like hand fastened around Kelly's wrist. 'You'd better explain yourself,' he said in a low, dangerous tone.

It shocked her for a moment, the electric contact of his touch… the frightening sense of being captured by him… the impact of his sudden closeness. Kelly's reaction was all the more intense because of it.

'Let go of me!' she blazed, then plunged on recklessly, desperate to repel him and his confusing effect on her. 'It's not exactly hard to work it out, is it? I can't trust myself to touch you any longer. I want to rip you apart for what you've done.'

'What I've done?' His eyes narrowed. He released her wrist and rolled on to his right side, propping himself up on his elbow with an air of suffering patience. 'I see you're bursting to enlighten me, so go ahead,' he invited, his mouth taking on a grim curve. 'This is your chance. Maybe it's the last you'll ever have.'

Kelly folded her arms, needing to wipe away the feeling his hand had branded on her wrist, but not wanting to be conspicuous about it. She fixed Justin St John with a baleful glare and chose her words with bitter precision.

'The name Hanrahan apparently means nothing to you, Mr St John. You either don't know, or you don't care. But my grandfather and I are the so-called tenants that you wish to evict from our home. A home, I might add, that was built by my grandfather and his father almost seventy years ago. And which has been occupied continuously by our family ever since.'

She paused for that information to sink in, but there was not even a flicker of reaction on Justin St John's face. His expression might have been carved from granite. His gaze returned hers with the steadiness of a rock.

'It was presented to me that there were tenants on property that belonged to Marian Park. That they were freeloaders who were not paying any rent,' he stated flatly.

Blind fury overwhelmed her. She would have hit him if she had been a man. 'How dare you talk of my family like that?' Outrage almost choked her. 'Rent?' she spat out. 'Freeloaders?' she shrieked.

Her hands flew out in vehement dismissal of his argument, and the blazing green daggers of her eyes sliced viciously at Justin St John. 'My family has always paid its way! Always! Of course there wasn't any rent-Henry Lloyd would have scorned to take Grandpa's money. Henry Lloyd was a gentleman…'

'You are not making any sense,' he cut in impatiently.

'You want sense?' she shouted at him. 'I bet you had baked lamb for dinner last night. Or grilled lamb. Or lamb stew. Or something lamb!'

'Yes, but…' He sighed in resignation. 'What has that got to do with anything?'

'Where do you think it came from?' she yelled at him triumphantly.

'I have no idea.'

'From Grandpa! You eat his food. You don't mind taking our best fat lambs, do you? But then you break every agreement ever made. You threaten Grandpa with eviction. What are you trying to do? Kill him?'

He frowned. 'What is this agreement? What are you talking about?'

'The agreement between us and Marian Park, that's what! And you haven't heard of it because you wouldn't listen. But you'll listen now, by heaven! The agreement was never put on paper, but my great-grandfather and Henry Lloyd's father shook hands on it. That was all that was necessary. They were men. Men's men! Not like you!'

Her chin lifted with stormy pride. 'They fought side by side in the trenches of the Somme during the First World War. And helped each other survive the terrible conditions and hardships. They forged a friendship that crossed all barriers of wealth and class. And the word "gentleman" did mean something in those days!'

The vivid green eyes flashed her scorn at him. 'You might have the wealth to buy Marian Park. And you certainly have the arrogance to think you have class! But you'll never belong here. Not in a hundred years! You're not gentleman enough to clean Henry Lloyd's boots! You set yourself up as lord of the manor, and don't even bother to find out whom you're trampling over.'

'What was the gentleman's agreement you refer to?' he demanded to know. His voice was even, but there was now a glitter in his eyes that suggested she had struck a nerve.

Danger prickled down Kelly's spine as she remembered Uncle Tom's warning. Maybe she had gone too far. 'Our solicitor is dealing with that. The point is… that parcel of land belongs to Grandpa. He cleared it, fenced it, worked it and built it up. Everyone in Crooked Creek will attest to that. He might not have legal title to it at the moment, but don't think we'll stand by and let you take it away from us. We'll fight you every inch of the way.'

Justin St John moved. Kelly instinctively stepped back, then berated herself for cowardice. He might be strong and threatening, but she had right on her side and she wasn't going to budge until he had heard her out. She placed her hands on her hips in a belligerent pose.

He eased his legs over the edge of the table and sat up, grimacing at the pain it cost him to do so. There was a tired sickness in the eyes that swept up to hers again, but Kelly stubbornly ignored the stab of sympathy she felt.

'Miss Hanrahan…' His mouth took on an ironic twist. 'You're quite exceptionally beautiful when you're angry.'

She flushed with indignation. 'Don't think you can soft-soap me!'

'No. Perhaps not.' He gave a thin smile. 'You have the advantage over me. Could you bring yourself to oblige me with your first name?'

'Kelly. Kelly Hanrahan,' she answered proudly.

'Very Irish.'

Kelly instantly bridled at the comment. 'Yes!' she snapped, remembering his family history from the newspaper article. A St John had been a marine captain in the First Fleet in 1788. Eventually he had been granted land in the new colony. The St Johns of this world had always had it far too easy. It infuriated her further that this St John thought he could lord it over her.

'We came out here during the potato famine of 1848, when the English left us to starve in our millions. They don't have much of a record of treating the Irish fairly, do they?' she taunted.

'That was a long time ago.'

'You're still inflicting pain!'

He eyed her consideringly. 'It would seem my solicitor has been over-zealous in carrying out my orders,' he said with measured deliberation. 'I told him I didn't want tenants and to handle the legal problems involved, and to buy out all the leases. I did not realise, nor was I told, the circumstances pertaining to this matter. I'll order a report on the situation tomorrow. Does that satisfy you?'

'That you order a report?' Kelly whipped back at him scathingly. 'Of course I'm not satisfied! You're killing my grandfather, and you want to fob me off with a promise to look into it?' She looked at him with utter contempt. 'You wealthy people are totally unscrupulous!'

'Why should I trust your word?' he countered, his eyes hardening into steely cynicism. His gaze flicked down to her feet and up again with deliberate provocation. 'I'm too old to be easily taken in by a beautiful face and a delectable body. I know no more about you than what you've told me. Why should I believe you? What if you're just acting this out?'

'Oh! Oh…' Momentarily robbed of speech, Kelly stamped her foot. Then, absolutely steaming with outrage, she turned her back on him and stomped over to the window. She stared blindly out at the croquet lawn, tears of frustration burning her eyes.

She should have known it was no use speaking to him. Uncle Tom had told her.

'Kelly…' The unexpectedly soft intonation of her name sent a queer little shiver down her spine. 'If what you say is true, a little time for me to investigate is not unreasonable.'