Maggie Cox - Red-Hot Seduction - The Sins of Sebastian Rey-Defoe / A Taste of Sin / Driving Her Crazy

The name made her tense and the awed way her brother said it made her want to scream. She could admire achievements, even when money and power were not things she personally felt any desire for, but to inherit a position and money... What was to admire about that? Any more than you could admire someone for being beautiful and brooding, for inheriting genes that gave him sculpted features, spectacular eyes and sensually moulded lips.

‘They were talking about the massive deal he has with some Gulf state. The royal family there are putting up half the capital and one of his companies is supplying the know-how to computerise their health service, sort of a tit-for-tat thing—it could bring over a thousand jobs back to the area where they plan to build—’

Mari gave a cynical snort and cut across him. ‘And line his pockets with money, too.’

Mark’s sigh was tinged with envy. ‘If only I had some money.’

‘What’s money got to do with it, and what does it matter what he thinks if you want to be together?’

‘I don’t know why I expected you to understand. I mean, you’ve never been in love, have you? Oh, I forgot—you go for married men, don’t you...?’

Essentially a nice person, this was Mark when he was hurting. He hit out, wanting to share his misery, and he usually succeeded because he knew her weak spots.

He was the only one who did know this particular weak spot. Not the shameful details—those she would never share with anyone—just the basics. Well, knocking on his door at 4:00 a.m., having lost her key during the terrible journey back from Cumbria that had involved trains, buses and multiple changes, had required an explanation of sorts.

‘Adrian, he’s married!’ had been all she’d got out before she had burst into tears and fell sobbing through the door.

It was the past and she had moved on, Mari reminded herself.

Moved on or not, the fact remained that she couldn’t think of her eighteen-year-old self without cringing. How had she ever been that naive, that... needy ? How could she not have seen past the smooth, slick charm and macho posturing of her personal tutor?

‘If you’re not ready, Mari, I understand you want the first time to be special. I can wait...’

She had almost fallen over herself to assure Adrian that she was ready and she loved the Lake District. She’d never even had a boyfriend and here was this gorgeous, sophisticated man who looked like one of the Byronic heroes he lectured on falling for her, Mari Jones. Of course she couldn’t wait to show him how much she loved him.

And she would have.

If that man hadn’t appeared when he had...

For a year after the event he had been that man in her head, the strong, amazingly handsome lines of his lean face clearer somehow than Adrian’s, until the day she had opened a magazine in the dentist’s waiting room and there he was on a silver-sanded beach, too beautiful to be real, just like the blonde model he was entangled with.

The man who had humiliated her in front of an audience who had eaten up every word, every insult he had so eloquently delivered, was Sebastian Rey-Defoe: rich, gifted and born with several silver spoons in his cruel, insult-spewing mouth.

He’d made her feel grubby and guilty, his contempt somehow worse than Adrian’s deceit; at least she’d got the chance to tell Adrian that he was a total sleaze.

That man had not paused to ask questions, he’d just presumed the very worst. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that she might be a victim. Or she would have been—he’d saved her from her own ignorance and in the process made her a hell of a lot more cautious where men were concerned.

Done her a favour... Maybe...? That part had been accidental. He hadn’t been saving her from anything; he had been there to judge, to serve her up on a platter for public condemnation.

The incident had left Mari unable to trust her own judgement, which had proved an obstacle when some seemingly nice guy had wanted to get serious... Yes, she had trust issues.

She’d taken the psych class and she knew a therapist would say her fear of rejection stemmed from being an abandoned baby, which was stupid because Mark shared her history and he tumbled in and out of love at the drop of a hat.

She glared at her brother now. ‘You know, Mark, there are times when you can really be a vicious little—’

‘Sorry, Mari.’ Immediately contrite, her twin got up and came over, enfolding her in a hug. ‘You know I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what I’m saying. Everything was going so great. I mean, I actually made money last month, though the loan was much appreciated, sis, and the weekend was perfect, it was another world, Mari, honestly you’ve no idea. She never said that her grandfather was a lord, and the house... They live on this incredible estate, Mandeville Hall. It turns out the Defoes came over with William the Conqueror or something and what are we?’ His handsome face despondent now after the burst of envious enthusiasm, he sank back down into the chair.

‘Lucky—we are lucky to have found a terrific foster family, people who cared about us.’

It had been third time lucky.

Initially there had been plenty of people eager to adopt the cute twin babies whose discovery on the doorstep of a church had captured the public imagination for about five minutes. There had still been plenty of interested would-be parents at the point some months later when the authorities had decided the babies’ biological parents were not going to come forward to claim them.

Their enthusiasm had decreased when they had discovered that one of the babies, so pretty as a newborn, had developed a raft of allergies that gave the infant a constant cough and various unattractive rashes, kept under control only by a complicated prescription of numerous lotions and ointments.

If the twins had not come as a package deal, the rosy-cheeked blond-haired boy would have been easy to home, but the authority’s policy was not to split twins. So the boy had been left behind with his problematic sister.

There had been two temporary foster homes before they had finally been taken in by the Warings, a marvellous couple who had plastered a wall of their Victorian semi with photos of the dozens of happy children who had lived under their roof over the years, some for a short time, others like the twins growing up as part of the large extended family.

‘Yeah, I know, count my blessings,’ Mark drawled. ‘Don’t you ever get tired of counting them, Mari, being so damned grateful when our own mother left us on some step?’

‘I’m sure she had her reasons.’

‘I don’t care why she did it.’

It was true, Mari knew it—he didn’t care, and she envied her twin this attitude. He never asked himself why. Or, was it something about me...?

‘The fact remains she did... Do you know that the Defoes can trace their lineage back to William the Conqueror?’

Mari gave a bored yawn. ‘Yes, Mark, you mentioned it.’

Her twin missed the sarcasm. ‘Now, that’s the sort of background to be proud of.’

The envy in his voice made Mari’s annoyance grow.

‘I’m not ashamed of my background.’ That was thanks to their foster parents; grateful didn’t cover her attitude to the big-hearted couple.

‘Neither am I,’ Mark protested. ‘But I was thinking, Mari, perhaps if you could talk to the guy, make him see that we are not—’

The thought would have been laughable had it not been so horrific. ‘No, I will not!’

‘But—’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Mark, grow a pair and stop wallowing!’ The exasperated words were out before she could stop them.