Island of the Heart (5 page)

'Ah, well,' he drawled unpleasantly. 'Brains in addition to those

blonde good looks would have been too much to hope for.' He went

to the door and held it open for her. 'Now, on your way, Miss

Beaumont, and try not to get lost in all those confusing passages.'

Sandie took a deep breath and tried to summon what dignity she had

left to her rescue. But it. was difficult when she was being sent to

bed—just like a naughty child—and for nothing.
Nothing.

As she walked past him, head high, Flynn Killane put out a hand

and ran a finger down the broderie anglaise-trimmed neckline of her

housecoat. Incredulously, Sandie felt his hand brush her breast, and

recoiled, the breath catching in her throat.

'You look—very fetching.' The smile that did not reach his eyes was

exactly the insult he intended it to be. 'You were no doubt hoping

for company. What a pity your only visitor turned out to be myself!'

She said chokingly, 'Please don't expect a polite contradiction, Mr

Killane. What I can't comprehend is how someone as kind and—and

charming as Crispin can possibly be related to someone like you.

Perhaps you really are some kind of changeling.'

She saw the lean face darken, and was aware of him taking one

threatening step towards her. His hand closed on her arm, anchoring

her, making retreat impossible.

He said softly, through his teeth, 'Now if you really want to make

comparisons...'

He pulled her against the hard length of his body and kissed her on

the mouth.

After Crispin's beguiling gentleness, Flynn Killane's cold-blooded,

deliberately sensual exploration of her lips had the shock of an

assault. For a moment Sandie was frozen, unable to credit what was

happening, then she began to struggle wildly, her body twisting

against his as she tried to free herself, and heard him laugh, deep in

his throat., His hands slid down her body, moulding her slender

contours through the thin fabric of housecoat and nightgown, and

her whole being seemed to burn with shame at his touch.

For a long moment he held her, then, totally unhurriedly, he lifted

his head and released her, stepping back.

'Take that to bed with you, darling,' he said silkily. 'And while

you're lying there, remember they're my sheets you're wrapped in.'

He paused. 'Sweet dreams!'

She lifted her hand and slapped him as hard as she could across his

tanned cheek, then she ducked her head, picked up the trailing skirts

of her housecoat, and ran like a hare for the stairs and safety.

WHEN Sandie opened her eyes the next morning, the sun was

shining into her room from a clear sky.

She sat up, aware of a faint throbbing in her temples, and pushed her

hair back from her face. For a moment she felt totally disorientated,

then, as the events of the previous twenty-four hours rushed back to

confront her in their entirety, she sank back against the pillows with

a little moan of dismay.

She glanced towards the window and the untrammelled blue of the

skies, and winced. 'Hypocrite!' she muttered.

She knew an ignominious urge to stay where she was, with the

covers pulled over her head, rather than have to get up and face the

inevitable repercussions of Flynn Killane's unexpected return.

No wonder everyone had reacted as they had to her arrival if he was

always as hostile and intolerant to people who were not there at his

personal invitation! Vet surely someone of Crispin's eminence in the

world of music did not have to go cap in hand to ask his half

brother's permission before inviting anyone to Killane.

Helpless colour flooded her face as she remembered the way Flynn

Killane had spoken to her—the unequivocal inferences that he'd

drawn from her presence. That had been quite bad enough without

the appalling humiliation of that odious kiss.

It mortified her now to recall her own wistful fantasies about

Crispin. It was as if a trail of slime had been laid across them, she

thought, shuddering.

By this time, of course, everyone at Killane would know the owner

of the house had returned. Flynn Killane was undoubtedly someone

who could make his presence felt.

Sandie groaned and got reluctantly out of bed. Well, there was little

point in delaying the inevitable.

Half an hour later, dressed casually but comfortably in her usual

jeans and T-shirt, her hair twisted into one long braid, she went

downstairs. It was essential, she thought, standing in the hall rather

irresolutely, to find Crispin, and tell him what had happened.

As she paused, Steffie, followed by James, emerged from the dining

room.

'Hello there,' Steffie was eating a thick slice of bread and

marmalade. 'Do you want some breakfast?'

'I'm not very hungry,' Sandie excused herself hastily. The way her

stomach was churning, it would be a miracle if she ever ate anything

again.

James gave her a speculative look, then glanced at his twin. 'We're

away down to the paddock,' he said. 'Why don't you come with us?'

Sandie hesitated. 'I think I'd better stay here.'

'I wouldn't,' Steffie said candidly. 'Flynn and Crispin are having a

terrible row in the study, shouting their heads off. You're best out of

it.'

'Crispin's doing all the shouting,' James supplied. 'Flynn's talking in

that quiet, cold voice that I don't like.' He turned to Sandie. 'He

wants you packed off back to England,' he informed her.

Sandie's heart sank. 'Oh, no! But why?'

Steffie giggled. 'Because he thinks you're Crispin's bit on the side,'

she said airily.

By rights, Sandie should have administered some well-chosen

reproof, but she was too angry.

'Well, he couldn't be more wrong,' she said curtly. 'And what

business is it of his, anyway?'

'Oh, everything that happens at Killane is Flynn's business,' Steffie

said sunnily. 'After all, it's his house, and Bridie says we're only here

on—on suffrage,' she added doubtfully.

'Sufferance,' Sandie corrected automatically. But the twins were

already heading for the front door, and after a moment's hesitation,

she followed.

What an autocrat! she thought, smouldering. What a petty tryant—

king of his rundown castle, and determined to let everyone know it!

She had hoped that by now Crispin would have explained the

situation to him, and got him to see some kind of reason. She'd even

imagined some kind of apology coming her way, and had planned

how she would accept it with icy dignity. But it seemed she had

totally underestimated the depth of animosity between the brothers.

And because of it, there would be no second chance for her. She was

going to be shipped back to England as if she was in some kind of

disgrace, when she was innocent of everything but wanting to be a

professional pianist—and a little wistful thinking about Crispin. And

what was really so shameful about that? she asked herself

defensively.

Flynn Killane was probably just jealous, she thought, her nails

curling into the palms of her hands. He might be a top man in his

field, but he had none of the fame enjoyed by the rest of his family.

Nor had he anything like Crispin's good looks or charisma, she

thought. In fact, he looked as if he knew more about street brawling

than high finance.

The horses were already waiting at the paddock fence for their

visitors. Sandie joined in the apportioning of carrot and apple, and

other titbits, and patted the velvet noses which came snuffling

inquisitively towards her.

'Do you want to come for a ride?' James asked.

Sandie shook her head. 'I don't think so. I've come here to work—

and to learn.'

'Well, don't expect a lesson from Crispin today. He'll be slamming

off somewhere in a temper like he always does.' Steffie giggled. 'I

love it when Flynn comes home. There's always hell to pay!' She

swung herself athletically on to the fence, and on to the back of the

nearest horse, twisting her hand in its mane.

'You're not going like that. Aren't you going to use a proper

saddle—and a helmet?' Sandie watched in alarm, as James also

mounted bareback.

'Oh, we have them somewhere,' Steffie called back over her

shoulder as she trotted off. 'But Flynn says we were born to break

our bloody necks.'

For such a critic of other people's morals and behaviour, Flynn

Killane's- own remarks in the Rearing of his younger siblings could

take some censoring, Sandie thought with disapproval.

She turned back towards the house, and saw, her heart sinking, that

O'Flaherty was striding briskly across the grass towards her.

'Himself wants to see you in the study,' he announced brusquely,

adding, 'And at once will be just grand.'

Sandie toyed with the idea of sending back an equally curt message

that Flynn Killane could go and jump in his own lake, but decided

against it. Thrusting her hands in her pockets, she sauntered back to

the house, with O'Flaherty in close attendance. Like some prison

warder! she thought, seething.

The study was a pleasant room, its walls lined with books, and with

a large, old-fashioned desk occupying pride of place. Flynn Killane

was standing, looking out of the window. Without turning, he said,

'Sit down, Miss Beaumont.'

'I prefer to stand,' Sandie said, adding sarcastically, 'Isn't that what

you're supposed to do when the headmaster sends for you?'

'Well, I'm no teacher of yours, thank God.' Flynn Killane walked to

the desk and sat down casually on its corner. He was wearing close-

fitting dark slacks today, and a white shirt, open at the neck, and

with the sleeves turned casually back to reveal tanned forearms. 'I

understand that's Crispin's role, and you're the eager pupil seeking

enlightenment at the feet of the master.'

Sandie's lips tightened at the overt sneer. 'I don't know why you

should find that so extraordinary. I can't be the first...'

'You're the first so-called student he's had the damnable nerve to

bring here,' he returned tersely. He looked her over. 'I see last night's

half-naked houri has been replaced by the well-scrubbed, youthful

look,' he commented. 'Just who do you think you're fooling, Miss

Beaumont?'

'This happens to be my usual appearance,' Sandie said icily. 'As for

last night -' in spite of herself a faint flush rose in her face, '—I was

not half-naked. I was perfectly decent.'

'I doubt if you know the meaning of the word.' The blue eyes were

implacable. He leaned forward slightly, and Sandie found, herself

taking a hasty and involuntary step backwards—a move that she

saw with chagrin was not lost on him. 'Let me give you some

advice, Miss Beaumont. Get back where you came from, before any

more harm is done.'

'Give me one good reason why I should.'

'Because no possible good can come of your remaining a day

longer.'

'But I disagree, Mr Killane.' Sandie lifted her chin defiantly. 'Under

Cris—Mr Sinclair's guidance, I intend to fulfil my potential as a

pianist, and justify the faith he's shown in me.'

There was a silence, and Flynn Killane gave a meditative nod. 'Tell

me,' he said softly, 'just how do you assess this—potential of yours?'

Sandie swallowed. 'I hope, one day, to be good enough to take my

place on the concert platform.'

He laughed. 'And also, no doubt, to find gold at the end of some

convenient rainbow.' He shook his head. 'That's so much moonshine,

my girl. You're deceiving yourself.'

'What do you mean?' Sandie flung her head back. 'And what do you

know about it anyway?' she added hotly.

He shrugged. 'In case you've forgotten, I heard you play last night.'

'And you think from that you can judge—you have the

presumption—the gall to pass an opinion?' She was shaking with

anger.

He looked faintly amused. 'I see that you've already been told about

Flynn the Philistine,' he commented drily. 'Come on now, Miss

Beaumont, I admit I don't play any kind of instrument myself.

Neither do I lay eggs, but as someone once said, I know a bad one

when I come across it.'

Sandie's lips parted in a gasp of pure fury, and Flynn Killane threw

up a hand to stem the indignant torrent of words before she could

give them voice.

'Not that I'd put you quite in that class,' he added. 'You play quite