claws,' he observed. 'I advise you to keep them
sheathed. There's only room for one tigress in this particular jungle,
as you may find to your cost. And I'm waiting.'
'For what?'
'For you-to tell me your name and what you're doing here.'
Christina hesitated. Every instinct urged her to tell him that it was
none of his business, and yet how did she know it was not? He was a
Brandon after all, and she could not be sure what his position in the
family was.
'My name is Christina Bennett,' she said eventually and very stiffly.
'And Mrs Brandon has employed me to be her secretary/companion.'
'Is that a fact?' he said softly.
She stared at him. 'You—you sound as if you don't believe me. Why
else should I be here?'
'That's what I'm asking myself.' He drew briefly on the cheroot, then
stubbed it out in an onyx ashtray on the table in front of him. 'But at
the moment I'm not getting any satisfactory answers.'
Christina returned her cup to the tray with a clatter. 'I think you're
being rather ridiculous,' she said sharply.
'Am I?' He gave a twisted smile. 'Now then, Miss—er— Bennett.
You've met my aunt. Does she really strike you as the sort of woman
with the slightest need for a female companion?'
Christina wound her fingers round each other in her lap. 'I suppose
that depends on the kind of duties she expects.'
'And precisely what duties do you foresee yourself performing?' he
drawled.She paused. 'We haven't discussed them in any great depth
...' she began.
He snorted. 'That I can well believe. Tell me, Miss Bennett, have you
ever held a similar position?'
'Yes, I have.' Christina faced him defiantly. 'I—I have worked for
my—aunt for several years in that capacity.'
'And you feel that qualifies you to work for mine,' he said
expressionlessly. 'You are either very naive, Miss Bennett, or
extremely clever. I wonder which it is.'
Christina gasped. 'And you are very insulting, Mr Brandon,' she
retorted. 'If your aunt considers my qualifications sufficient, surely
that's enough?' She got to her feet. 'If you'll excuse me...'
'Sit down,' he said curtly. 'I haven't finished with you yet.'
She sent him a glittering smile. 'How unfortunate. Yet I, Mr Brandon,
have finished with you. Obviously you find me unsuitable for this
post—although I'm at a loss to understand why ...'
'At a loss?' he interrupted decisively. 'My good child, take a look at
yourself.'
Before she could move, he had risen to his feet. There was a small
table on a graceful pedestal just to the right of the door, with a mirror
in an elaborately gilded frame hanging just above it. Devlin Brandon
took Christina by the shoulders and turned her forcibly to face this
mirror. She was shocked by her own reflection—dishevelled hair,
flushed cheeks and blazing eyes. She looked like a wild thing, and it
was all the fault of this—creature whose fingers were bruising her
flesh with their grip. He was holding her against him, and she could
feel his skin against her bare back. A weird shiver ran through her,
and she struggled to release herself.
'Be still,' he ordered curtly, 'and just ask yourself what possible
companionship a girl of your age and appearance could offer a
woman like my aunt.'
'Perhaps, Mr Brandon, she doesn't feel quite ready for the scrapheap
yet,' Christina fired back. 'She wants someone young about her—she
told me so.'
'And you were so fired by the thought of a glamorous life in the
Caribbean that you leapt at the job, naturally.'
For a moment, she was tempted to tell him the truth— to confide in
someone all the doubts and fears that had beset her, but she crushed it
down. If that was what he wanted to think, let him, she thought
savagely. Why should she care?
'Of course.' She managed a careless laugh. 'Who wouldn't? But don't
think for one moment that I was misled. Mrs Brandon pointed out all
the disadvantages to me.'
'And all the advantages—what did she say about them, if
sheathed. There's only room for one tigress in this particular jungle,
as you may find to your cost. And I'm waiting.'
'For what?'
'For you-to tell me your name and what you're doing here.'
Christina hesitated. Every instinct urged her to tell him that it was
none of his business, and yet how did she know it was not? He was a
Brandon after all, and she could not be sure what his position in the
family was.
'My name is Christina Bennett,' she said eventually and very stiffly.
'And Mrs Brandon has employed me to be her secretary/companion.'
'Is that a fact?' he said softly.
She stared at him. 'You—you sound as if you don't believe me. Why
else should I be here?'
'That's what I'm asking myself.' He drew briefly on the cheroot, then
stubbed it out in an onyx ashtray on the table in front of him. 'But at
the moment I'm not getting any satisfactory answers.'
Christina returned her cup to the tray with a clatter. 'I think you're
being rather ridiculous,' she said sharply.
'Am I?' He gave a twisted smile. 'Now then, Miss—er— Bennett.
You've met my aunt. Does she really strike you as the sort of woman
with the slightest need for a female companion?'
Christina wound her fingers round each other in her lap. 'I suppose
that depends on the kind of duties she expects.'
'And precisely what duties do you foresee yourself performing?' he
drawled.She paused. 'We haven't discussed them in any great depth
...' she began.
He snorted. 'That I can well believe. Tell me, Miss Bennett, have you
ever held a similar position?'
'Yes, I have.' Christina faced him defiantly. 'I—I have worked for
my—aunt for several years in that capacity.'
'And you feel that qualifies you to work for mine,' he said
expressionlessly. 'You are either very naive, Miss Bennett, or
extremely clever. I wonder which it is.'
Christina gasped. 'And you are very insulting, Mr Brandon,' she
retorted. 'If your aunt considers my qualifications sufficient, surely
that's enough?' She got to her feet. 'If you'll excuse me...'
'Sit down,' he said curtly. 'I haven't finished with you yet.'
She sent him a glittering smile. 'How unfortunate. Yet I, Mr Brandon,
have finished with you. Obviously you find me unsuitable for this
post—although I'm at a loss to understand why ...'
'At a loss?' he interrupted decisively. 'My good child, take a look at
yourself.'
Before she could move, he had risen to his feet. There was a small
table on a graceful pedestal just to the right of the door, with a mirror
in an elaborately gilded frame hanging just above it. Devlin Brandon
took Christina by the shoulders and turned her forcibly to face this
mirror. She was shocked by her own reflection—dishevelled hair,
flushed cheeks and blazing eyes. She looked like a wild thing, and it
was all the fault of this—creature whose fingers were bruising her
flesh with their grip. He was holding her against him, and she could
feel his skin against her bare back. A weird shiver ran through her,
and she struggled to release herself.
'Be still,' he ordered curtly, 'and just ask yourself what possible
companionship a girl of your age and appearance could offer a
woman like my aunt.'
'Perhaps, Mr Brandon, she doesn't feel quite ready for the scrapheap
yet,' Christina fired back. 'She wants someone young about her—she
told me so.'
'And you were so fired by the thought of a glamorous life in the
Caribbean that you leapt at the job, naturally.'
For a moment, she was tempted to tell him the truth— to confide in
someone all the doubts and fears that had beset her, but she crushed it
down. If that was what he wanted to think, let him, she thought
savagely. Why should she care?
'Of course.' She managed a careless laugh. 'Who wouldn't? But don't
think for one moment that I was misled. Mrs Brandon pointed out all
the disadvantages to me.'
'And all the advantages—what did she say about them, if
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