A Woman Accused

Charles swallowed convulsively. ‘Do you—do you know Miss Harris, Edward?’

The man’s lips drew back from his teeth. ‘Not half as well as you do,’ he said.

‘Now, wait just a minute,’ Olivia began, and Charles’s fingers squeezed hers again.

‘Miss Harris and I were just—’

‘Don’t tell me.’ The stranger’s gaze drifted with slow insolence from Olivia’s face to her breasts. She felt a rush of crimson suffuse her cheeks; when his gaze finally met hers again, he laughed softly, as if he and she were sharing some awful joke. ‘You were discussing business,’ he said. ‘Any man with half a brain could figure that out.’

The words were innocent, but the insult had been blatant none the less. Olivia snatched her hand from Wright’s and got to her feet. She forced herself to look straight at the man blocking her way.

‘Excuse me,’ she said coldly.

‘Don’t leave on my account, darling. I’m sure you and Charles still have lots of “business” to discuss.’

‘Would you please step aside?’

‘So well-mannered.’ His teeth flashed in that awful smile again. ‘And so lovely. I must admit, Charles, your taste is impeccable.’

‘Just who in hell do you think you are?’ Olivia demanded in quiet fury.

‘Why don’t you tell her, Charles?’ the man said softly, his eyes never leaving Olivia’s face.

‘Edward.’ Charles’s voice was low and tense. ‘You’ve made an error. I told you, Miss Harris is—’

‘A business associate. Of course.’ He reached out suddenly and caught hold of Olivia’s arm. His hand curved tightly around it, the fingers long and tanned against the green silk. ‘That’s a lovely bauble, darling.’ She grimaced as he twisted her wrist upwards. Light gleamed on Ria’s last birthday gift, the diamond and gold watch. ‘You must be pretty good to have gotten such a bonus from old Charlie.’

Olivia twisted her hand free of his. ‘Let go of me!’ she demanded, her voice thrumming with barely suppressed rage. ‘Let go, or I’ll...’

‘You’ll what?’ he asked, so softly that only she could hear him. ‘Struggle? Fight me?’ He shifted his weight so that they stood as close together as if they were lovers. His smile grew lazy, almost sensual; she could feel the heat coming off his taut body. ‘Go on,’ he said quietly, ‘why don’t you try it?’

Her eyes narrowed with anger, and almost of its own volition her hand flashed up to strike his face, but he caught her wrist effortlessly and held it immobile in a strong, harsh grasp. The smile fled, and his eyes changed from cold pools of blue light to black winter ice.

‘Enjoy your lunch, Miss Harris,’ he said, and before she could collect herself enough to think of a response he’d turned on his heel and marched away.

‘Olivia. Olivia!’ She blinked and swung towards the banquette. Charles Wright was motioning to her. Tiny beads of sweat dotted his forehead. ‘Sit down, Olivia,’ he hissed. ‘Everyone’s looking at us.’

But he was wrong. The dimness of the lighting and the location of the booth had protected them; no one was looking at them at all.

Leave, she told herself, just head for the door and keep on going...but her legs felt like rubber. She needed to sit down before she fell down, and she collapsed into her seat, reached for her glass of champagne, and drained it dry.

‘I’m sorry,’ Charles said miserably. ‘I’m really sorry, Olivia.’

Olivia shook her head. ‘Who was that man?’ she whispered.

‘Someone who thinks he owns the world,’ he said grimly.

There was anger and determination in his voice now, but where had those emotions been while their unwelcome visitor had loomed over them? That bastard! The things he’d said to her—the things he’d implied...

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the cushioned banquette. Some birthday this had turned out to be! A stranger for a luncheon companion instead of Ria, an offer to start her own business—even though accepting the money now was surely out of the question—and an encounter with a—a madman, an absolute madman...

‘Livvie!’ The scent of Poison filled the air. Olivia’s eyes flew open as Ria Bascomb dropped into the booth beside her in a flurry of sable and silk. ‘Oh, Livvie, can you ever forgive me?’ She pressed her cheek to Olivia’s and smiled at Charles. ‘Hello, Charlie. Did you two have a nice chat?’

‘Ria,’ Charles said. ‘Thank God you’ve finally arrived. We just—’

‘Well? Did you tell her?’ Ria peeled off her kidskin gloves and tossed them on the table. ‘Well, Livvie, what do you think? I wanted you to hear the details from Charlie, so you’d understand it wasn’t just me trying to give you a...’ Her voice trailed off and she frowned. ‘What’s wrong here? I thought you two would have become the best of friends by now. Livvie, don’t tell me you’re angry because of Charlie’s offer?’

Charles leaned forward. ‘Edward just paid us a visit,’ he said tightly.

Ria’s head came up. ‘Edward? Good lord, Charles. What was he doing here?’

‘Making trouble. That’s all he ever does, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but Edward—here? What did he say?’

‘He said a lot of awful things—most of them directed at me.’ Olivia’s voice trembled. ‘And I’ve no idea why. Who in God’s name is he?’

Ria and Charles looked at each other, and then they both spoke at once.

‘Edward is—’

‘Edward’s—’

Charles fell silent, and Ria cleared her throat. ‘Edward is—he’s a member of Charles’s family. He—he resents Charles’s wealth, Livvie, oh, it’s all very complicated. Byzantine, you might say. But the bottom line is that he thinks he should have control of the family funds—which he’d squander, of course. And he never misses the chance to insult Charles if he can.’

Olivia puffed out her breath. ‘Well, he’s very good at it, I must say.’ She gave a shaky little laugh. ‘He made me feel as if—as if...’ Her eyes lifted to Ria’s. ‘But he did make me realise one thing. I can’t accept your offer.’

‘My offer?’

‘Well, Charles’s offer. I do thank you, Ria, it was quite the nicest birthday ever, but—’ Olivia took a breath. ‘It really was very generous, but it’s out of the question.’

Ria propped her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers beneath her chin.

‘Why?’

‘Well, because it just is. I mean, Charles doesn’t know anything about the decorating business...’

‘He’s not supposed to. You’re the decorator, remember?’

‘And—and who knows if I can make a go of my own studio? I’ve only been out of school four years.’

‘Nonsense. That fat jerk Pierre hasn’t lifted a pencil to a sketchpad since he made you his assistant and everybody knows it. What else?’

‘Well...’ Olivia flushed. ‘I just wouldn’t feel right taking so much money from a stranger.’

‘Edward made some insinuations,’ Charles said tightly.

Ria’s brows rose. ‘Did he?’

‘Yes,’ Olivia said. ‘Of course,’ she added quickly, ‘I know they were lies. I mean, Charles never even suggested...’

‘He’d better not have.’ Ria leaned across the table and reached for Charles’s hand while Olivia stared in surprise. ‘Charlies and I have become very close, Livvie,’ she said softly. ‘Did he tell you?’

‘No.’ Olivia swallowed hard. ‘No, he didn’t.’

‘Well, it’s true.’

‘I see,’ Olivia said, although she didn’t. Ria and Charles? There had to be thirty years separating them, at least. ‘Well then, why would this Edward person have acted as if he thought Charles and I were—as if he thought we were...?’

‘Edward is—he’s actually related to Charles’s wife. And Charles is separated from her.’ Ria flushed when Olivia looked at her. ‘Don’t look like that, Livvie. This is the twentieth century. Besides, it happened before we met.’

‘I—I’m just surprised, Ria,’ Olivia said slowly. ‘You never said...’

‘Well, we don’t talk much any more, do we?’ Ria said defensively. ‘Anyway, Edward doesn’t really care about our situation.’ Her pretty face set in grim lines. ‘I told you, all he wants is to get his hands on Charles’s money—as if what he already has weren’t enough. And he’s got an attitude about women that went out with the cavemen.’

Olivia’s mouth thinned. ‘Yes.’ Her fingers went to her wrist and rubbed lightly over the bruised flesh. ‘I’ll agree with that.’

‘Look, what can I tell you? Edward Archer was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.’ Ria made a face. ‘You know the type, Livvie. He resents anybody who doesn’t fit the mould.’

Yes, she knew the type. She knew it all too well. She’d grown up around boys like that, ones who came from families with old names and older money, who saw girls like her as toys. They were boys who grew into men with the same attitude.

Had Edward Archer seen right through all the layers added to herself over the years, the clothes, the sophistication, the quietly flawless make-up? Olivia’s mouth narrowed. Was that why he’d thought he would come on to her when they’d first bumped into each other, why he could insult her, why he’d misunderstood her relationship with Charles? Did she still somehow bear the mark that set her apart, that showed that she was not ‘to the manor born’?

‘Livvie, you’re not going to be foolish enough to let someone like that stop you from accepting Charles’s loan and changing your life, are you?’ Ria took Olivia’s hand in hers. ‘Are you, Livvie?’

Olivia looked at her friend. Ria’s smile was open and warm; Charles was looking at her with love shining in his eyes, and she thought suddenly of the way Edward Archer had looked at her, as if she were dirt beneath his feet.

‘Certainly not,’ she said without any more hesitation, and in that instant sealed her fate.

CHAPTER TWO

DAMN Edward Archer to hell! She barely knew the man with eyes like winter ice, and yet he’d managed to reduce her, a self-assured woman, to the shy, awkward girl she’d been years ago.

The knowledge, lodged like a stone in her breast, was enough to steal some of the pleasure from Ria’s ‘gift’. But as the days passed, Olivia was too busy to dwell on anything as insignificant as an encounter with a rude bully.

There were meetings with lawyers and with accountants, with real estate agents and painters and plasterers, and one memorable half-hour with Monsieur Pierre during which he first accused her of being an untalented, ungrateful upstart—and then all but got on his knees and begged her to accept a huge rise and stay on in his employ.

It was that acknowledgement of her worth that convinced her that leaving Interiors by Pierre and opening her own shop was the right thing to do.

It all came together quickly. Olivia fell in love with a narrow, four-storey town house on a tree-lined Manhattan street. She took a deep breath, put down a chunk of Charles’s loan, and the place was hers. The top floor became a small but comfortable flat that put an end to years of living in a cramped bed-sitter. The lower three levels were transformed into a design studio and showrooms that had, until now, only been a dream.

And that was what she named her shop: Olivia’s Dream.

She designed every square inch of it herself, so that it wasn’t only the showroom that had flash and dash, which was the way it had been at Pierre’s. He had been big on dazzling the customers, but he hadn’t cared a damn for his designers.

‘Life in the salt mines,’ Dulcie Chambers, who’d worked with Olivia, had said of their cramped, rather grim studio. They’d both tried to make the place more cheerful, but potted geraniums and framed prints had not been able to do the impossible.

‘When I have my own place,’ Dulcie had said wistfully, ‘it’ll be a million feet square, with wall-to-wall windows and hundred-foot ceilings.’

Olivia had smiled archly. ‘When I have mine,’ she’d said, ‘it’ll be a zillion feet square, with thousand-foot ceilings. I won’t have any walls at all, I’ll just have glass, glass, and more glass. How’s that sound?’

‘Like heaven,’ the other girl had sighed—and now, thanks to Ria and Charles, it had all come true.

Well, perhaps not quite all, Olivia thought, smiling a little as she looked up from her drafting table. The room on the second floor in which she and Dulcie worked now—the other girl had leaped at Olivia’s job offer—was a bit shy of being a zillion feet square and a thousand feet high. But it was big and bright and filled with cheerful colours, and, if it wasn’t a zillion square feet, it was as close to it as the architect could manage.

‘Are you happy, Livvie?’ Ria had asked just yesterday, when the two friends had met at the Plaza for drinks after Olivia’s Dream had closed for the day.

Olivia had smiled. ‘Do you really need to ask?’ she’d said, and Ria had beamed with delight.

And she was happy, Olivia thought as she picked up her sketch-pad, pushed back her stool, and walked slowly to the window. Most of the time—and, if there were occasional shadows and misgivings, she could hardly mention them to Ria.

Charles had been a perfect gentleman in the weeks since he’d offered to back her financially. He’d never given her a moment’s reason to regret her decision to accept his loan. Nevertheless, she couldn’t escape the feeling that the Charles she did business with and the Charles who was courting Ria were in some ways different men. And why was Ria so intent on keeping her relationship with him a secret?

Because Charles’s lawyers had advised it, until his divorce was final, Ria said. And then, she’d added with a sigh, and then there were her parents.

‘You know how they are, Livvie.’

Olivia did, all too well. The Bascombs had always treated her pleasantly, but they’d never quite let her forget that she was their housekeeper’s ward and living in their house on sufferance.

‘You mean,’ she’d said after a moment, ‘that they’re a bit conservative.’

Ria had sighed. ‘Stuffy and uptight’s a better way to describe it. If I tell them about Charles, they’ll go crazy. They’ll say he’s too old for me, they’ll be horrified that he’s still married...’

‘Maybe you ought to think about those things, too,’ Olivia had said gently.

‘Come on, Livvie, you’ve come to know him. Why, he’s got more energy than some men half his age. As for his marriage—I’ve told you, it’s been unhappy for years.’

‘Still, all this—this subterfuge is—is—’

‘—is necessary,’ Ria had said firmly. ‘Until his divorce is final, anyway, and then we’ll go to Vegas and get married and then present my parents with a—what do you call it?—a fait accompli.’

It sounded more like sneaking around to Olivia, but she’d known better than to put Ria on the defensive.

‘I just don’t want to see you get hurt,’ she’d said instead, and Ria had smiled as she reached across the table and took hold of Olivia’s hand.

‘I know,’ she’d whispered. ‘Oh, Livvie, I’m so glad we’re close again,’ she’d said. ‘I’ve missed you.’

They weren’t close again, not really, but Olivia hadn’t the heart to say it to the girl who’d once been as much sister as best friend. Instead, she’d smiled and grasped Ria’s hand tightly.

‘Me, too,’ she’d said, and that had ended the conversation.

And then there was Edward Archer. Olivia caught her bottom lip between her teeth. It was crazy, but the ugly run-in with him had never been far from her thoughts, as if her mind had only been waiting for her to have time to think about something other than architectural plans and structural sketches to relive those awful moments in the restaurant.

And that was ridiculous. The incident had occurred almost a month ago, and she hadn’t seen him since.

Why, then, was she remembering it? Without warning, there’d be the image of him, standing close to her. She’d see the tall, leanly muscled body, the eyes that had danced with sexual appraisal when he’d tried to pick her up and had later damned her with sexual contempt. Edward Archer had given her a look that had clearly said, If I wanted you, I could have you, I could subdue you and make you cry your need for me into the darkness...

Her body flooded with the heat of humiliation, and Olivia leaned her forehead against the cool window-pane.

Years ago, she’d stepped off a kerb on a rainy night into the path of a sports car just as the light went green. She’d heard the angry roar of the engine as it revved—and then, almost too late, the driver had seen her and hadn’t released the clutch pedal. But that frightening sense of something powerful, something held under taut control just waiting to be unleashed, had left a lasting impact.

Confronting Edward Archer had been like that. Despite the elegant cut of his suit and the scent of expensive cologne, there’d been an animal edge to him. Instinct warned her he’d been holding himself in tight control. It was as if she’d glimpsed the expert assassin that lurked just beneath the civilised exterior of any well-groomed house cat. It had been in the feel of his hand clamping down on her arm, in the hint of dark stubble barely visible on skin tautly drawn over the hard bones in his face.

She caught her breath. What would it feel like, that shadowy stubble, moving lightly against a woman’s tender flesh? Rough, slightly abrasive, as his mouth traced a path down her throat, across her shoulders, across her breasts...

‘Olivia?’ The sketch-pad fell from her hands as she spun around. Dulcie stood in the open doorway, her fair hair a bright nimbus around her freckled face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’

Olivia swallowed. ‘That’s OK. I was—I—I was trying to come up with a design for those draperies we’ve been...’ Her voice faded as she bent and picked up the pad. ‘And getting nowhere,’ she said briskly. ‘Is it my turn to be salesgirl?’

‘No, I’m still the lucky one.’ Dulcie’s brows rose. ‘Actually, someone’s asking for you.’

‘A customer?’ Olivia said. All thoughts of Edward Archer faded away at the prospect. Each new order was still something of an event.

‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘Ah, well.’ Olivia sighed dramatically. ‘I wonder what permit I’m missing this time, although heaven only knows what could possibly be left. Department of Health, Department of Taxation, Department of Labour...what more could any man want of me?’

‘A great deal—unless he were a damned fool.’

Olivia’s heartbeat stuttered. ‘Olivia?’ Dulcie said, but Olivia was already twisting towards the sound of that softly insinuating voice.

Edward Archer stood lounging in the studio’s open doorway, his navy suit jacket open over a cream shirt and dark silk tie, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his trousers so that the fabric drew tautly across his thighs. He smiled when he saw Olivia’s eyes widen in shock, his mouth tilting up at one corner to give an even more suggestive twist to his words.

Olivia didn’t hesitate. ‘How dare you come here?’

His smile became a lazy grin. ‘That’s a hell of a way to greet a client.’ His gaze swept over her with slow insolence, moving down the beige linen suit she’d designed herself to the Charles Jourdan pumps picked up on sale last spring, returning at last to her face. ‘Or has old Charlie supplied you with all the “clients” a girl could possibly handle?’

Olivia’s face coloured. He was doing it again, here on her own territory.

‘I wouldn’t count on old Charlie for very much, Olivia.’ He stepped away from the door-frame, moved into the room, and strolled the length of it, pausing every few feet to glance at the sketches tacked on the walls. ‘Actually,’ he said after a moment, his voice very soft, almost silken, ‘I wouldn’t count on old Charlie at all, if I were you.’

Damn the man! Olivia gave herself a mental shake, then drew herself up. ‘You’re not welcome here, Mr Archer,’ she said in a cold voice.

It was as if she hadn’t spoken. He didn’t even glance at her. Instead, he paused at the windows that looked down on the town house’s tiny garden.

‘Nice. Very nice.’ He swung towards her and gave her a smile that was all even white teeth. ‘Who’d have thought such a transparent ploy would work, Olivia? Telling old Charlie you couldn’t accept whatever he was offering that day, convincing him you didn’t want his money—’

‘Get out!’ She took a step forward. ‘Do you hear me, Mr Archer? You get out of my office this minute!’

‘I guess he upped the ante, hmm?’ Archer leaned back against the window ledge and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Hell, Charlie always was an old fool for...’ His eyes moved over her again, very slowly and very deliberately, and she had to fight against the terrible desire to cover herself with her hands. ‘Although this time I can almost understand why.’

Dulcie cleared her throat. ‘Olivia? Shall I—shall I do something?’ She looked from Edward Archer to her employer. ‘I mean, do you want me to—to call somebody, or—or...?’

‘You can show this—this “gentleman” out, Dulcie.’

Archer’s smile faded. ‘I’m not leaving.’

Dulcie shifted closer to Olivia. ‘What do you want me to do?’ she whispered.

Edward Archer answered before Olivia could speak. ‘She wants you to go out and close the door after you,’ he said softly. His eyes locked with Olivia’s. ‘Isn’t that right, Miss Harris?’

‘No,’ Olivia said quickly, almost breathlessly. ‘Don’t—don’t go, Dulcie.’

Hearing the pathetic tremor in her own voice made her flinch. How dared he do this to her? She belonged here, not he. It was he who was the outsider.

The realisation gave her strength.

‘If you have something to say to me, Mr Archer,’ she said coolly, ‘you’d better get to it.’

‘Tell her to go.’ He jerked his head towards Dulcie, who was still gaping. He was all business now; something about the look in his eyes and the set to his mouth sent a chill up Olivia’s spine. ‘You and I have things to discuss, Miss Harris. I suggest we deal with them in private.’

‘Olivia? Should I—should I call the cops?’

Edward Archer, in the hands of the police! Oh, but the thought was tempting! But calling them would be a foolish indulgence, and Olivia knew it. Olivia’s Dream was on a quiet street; she’d spent a small fortune on discreet advertisements in The Times and a handful of pricey magazines, but one visit from a police car with its lights flashing and its siren wailing would bring down the kind of publicity her business might never live down.

Besides, every instinct warned that she should hear him out. There was a grim determination about him now; whatever had brought him here would have to be dealt with.

‘No, Dulcie,’ she said quietly, ‘that won’t be necessary. You just go on down to the showroom.’ It was hard to smile, but she managed. ‘We don’t want to miss any clients, do we?’

The girl’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m going to stay right outside the door,’ she said with a meaningful glower in Edward’s direction. ‘You call and I’ll come running.’

Olivia waited until the door swung shut. She looked down at her watch and then at Edward Archer.

‘You have one minute,’ she said coldly.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. ‘This is going to take a hell of a lot longer than that.’

‘One minute, Mr Archer. And so far, you’ve wasted almost five seconds.’

‘You’ve got your act together since we last met.’ She looked up. He was watching her narrowly, his eyes cool and assessing. ‘The Lady of the Manor thing, I mean. Very nicely done. I’m impressed.’

‘Nine seconds gone, Mr Archer.’

His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘And then what? Will you throw me out?’

‘Thirty-nine seconds left, and counting down,’ she said as she walked to her corner desk. She bent and riffled through the papers strewn across it. What did he want? Damn it all, what did he want?

‘Because we both know you won’t be able to do that.’ She went very still as she felt him come up behind her. His breath ruffled her hair. ‘I can overpower you,’ he said softly. ‘I can do whatever I want with you, Olivia, and we both know it.’

She felt her heart begin to race. One one thousand, she thought, two one thousand, three...

When she was certain she could face him without trembling, she turned around.