War of Love Read online

  God, she was more than a little cynical herself after James had let her down so badly, but that didn't stop her feeling happy for her mother and Henry—it just meant she had no intention of ever falling in love again herself!

  Lyon stiffened at the familiarity of the question. 'We weren't discussing me-----'

  'Oh, but I think we were.' Silke shook her head, her hair a silver-blonde frame to gamin features. 'It seems to me that it's your own experiences with re­lationships that is making you judge the past situ­ation between Henry and my mother; that you-----'

  'Don't try any of your amateur psychology on me, Silke,' Lyon scorned harshly. 'The Winter-Buchanan money has always been the draw-----'

  'My mother gave all that up once,' she pointed out softly, looking at him searchingly; was it possible this man had been through a similar experience to her own, that he had also been let down in love? But she didn't want to have anything in common with Lyon!

  Certainly didn't want to find they had an affinity be­cause of past hurts. Considering the physical reaction (here seemed to be between them—no matter how much they both wished it weren't there!—that could be dangerous, very dangerous...

  Lyon shrugged now. 'She was young at the time, didn't realise quite what she was giving up. Besides, when it came down to it, she obviously didn't want the responsibility of someone else's brat!' His mouth twisted with distaste. 'I doubt taking on someone else's baby with the wedding-ring was the lifestyle she had in mind at all!'

  Silke frowned. 'Is that really what you think happened?'

  'Don't be so bloody naive, Silke; of course that's what happened!' he scorned.

  She shook her head again. 'That explanation doesn't make sense either, Lyon; with all that Winter-Buchanan money at her disposal my mother wouldn't have had to have anything to do with you herself if she didn't want to. She could have paid people to do that!'

  'Henry wouldn't have allowed that-----'

  'Henry did it!' she reasoned forcefully, clearly re­membering the conversation between the two men on that first day. And Lyon might not like her 'amateur psychology', but it was becoming more and more ob­vious, despite Henry's efforts—and that damned Winter-Buchanan money!—that Lyon had always had a very lonely life.

  'Because he had no choice,' Lyon bit out harshly now, eyes glittering dangerously. 'He was a man on his own, with a business to run-----'

  'If you know that, why do you give him such a hard time over your childhood?' she prompted softly. Her own childhood hadn't exactly been 'normal' either, and her experience with James hadn't been fun, but she was sure she didn't have the same cynical ap­proach to life Lyon did. Did she... ?

  He stood up forcefully, glaring down at her, a nerve pulsing in one tightly clenched cheek. 'Silke, I don't discuss my personal affairs with anyone like this,' he finally ground out dismissively.

  Maybe that was his problem. When James had walked out on her she hadn't hidden herself away and licked her wounds, had talked and talked and talked, mainly to her mother, until she had talked a lot of the pain and disillusionment away. None of the talking had really changed the situation; James had still be­trayed her in the worst possible way, the wedding-dress hanging in her bedroom seeming to mock her until she had got rid of it, but at least she hadn't kept all the bitterness inside her, destroying her. As it was, this man...

  'Maybe you should try it some time, Lyon,' she said lightly.

  Dark brows rose over scornful eyes. 'With you?'

  She looked shocked, moving away from him to sit back in her chair behind the desk, as far away from Lyon as she possibly could be. No, not with her! This man disturbed her enough already, had broken down certain of her defences she would rather have re­mained intact. She didn't want to know the man behind the hard facade, felt far safer telling herself that there wasn't one, that this hard, cynical man was all there was.

  'Certainly not,' she snapped defensively. 'As you so rightly guessed, my mother is at the clinic with Henry. Go and do your worst with the information you have on her. I can guarantee it won't make any difference to either of them,' she added confidently.

  Lyon shook his head. 'There are no guarantees in this world, Silke,' he rasped abruptly.

  She had thought her relationship with James the sort that would last a lifetime—and look how badly that had turned out! If James hadn't run off in the way that he had, they would have been married almost a year by now, a year she had believed would be filled with the happiness of setting up home together, of discovering all those things about each other that it wasn't possible to know until you actually lived with someone. And instead-----

  'But you look as if you already know that,' Lyon said quietly, having moved to stand beside her now.

  Silke gave him a startled look, wondering just how much she had revealed in those few disturbed mo­ments. Too much, if Lyon's searching gaze was any­thing to go by! The last thing she wanted—next to not getting to know the man behind the facade!—was for him to get to know her !

  'I'm twenty-five, Lyon,' she dismissed with delib­erate flippancy. 'You don't get to that age without realising that the saying "life can be a bitch" is founded on a certain amount of truth!'

  His mouth twisted. 'I believe the correct saying is "life's a bitch—and then you die"!'

  'Oh, let's be correct.' She gave a mocking incli­nation of her head.

  He gave a grim smile. 'I think the most interesting part of that statement is that life is classed as being female.'

  'Careful, Lyon,' Silke drawled, her equilibrium re­gained after her brief lapse. 'Or you could be mis­taken for a misogynist!' She looked at him challengingly.

  Dark brows rose. 'I don't dislike women, Silke,' he told her softly.

  'No?' she taunted sceptically.

  'No.' His mouth firmed. 'I don't know what Henry has told you about me—and I don't particularly want to know, either—but I think I should warn you he gets annoyed because I won't confide my private life to him, and because I won't he chooses to believe I don't have one. He's never accepted the fact that I've grown up!'

  Silke quirked blonde brows. 'Does any parent?' She shrugged. 'You'll probably be the same yourself when you have children of your own.' Good God, how had they progressed from outright antagonism to dis­cussing this man's prospective children!

  He obviously thought the same thing, giving a dis­gusted snort. 'I doubt it,' he drawled non-committally. 'In the meantime, I have no intention of the two of us ever being related!'

  Discussion over, Silke thought as she stiffened at his intended insult; after all, she was the daughter of the woman he believed to be a gold-digger, and he had no intention of showing her even politeness, let alone talking to her! 'Talk to Henry and my mother about that, not me!' she snapped.

  Lyon looked grim now. 'I intend to! It's ridiculous for them to imagine they still love each other after all these years; they don't even know each other, only a memory!'

  And this man intended to make sure they realised that! Silke didn't agree with him—but then, when had she?—and she believed, no matter what happened, that her mother and Henry were adults, and as such should be left to make their own choices—or mis-fakes, if that was what they turned out to be.

  She shook her head. 'I don't think that's any of our business-----'

  'I'm sure you don't,' Lyon rasped scornfully, looking about him disparagingly. 'Your mother cer­tainly wouldn't have to concern herself with this place if she were Henry's wife.'

  Silke gave him a pitying look. 'And no doubt you're the sort of man who would insist on your future wife's signing a prenuptial agreement before you would con­descend to go through with the wedding!'

  'Not at all,' he drawled, dark brows raised mock­ingly as Silke looked up at him. 'For the simple reason that I never intend falling into the marriage trap!'

  Was that really what it was, what it had become? She had looked forward to her marriage to James, had anticipated their happiness together. No, despite what had ha
ppened to her engagement to James, she couldn't agree with Lyon's sentiments on marriage. Although at the same time she couldn't see herself ever contemplating it again either. But for her mother and Henry it was a different matter...

  'Obviously Henry and my mother don't feel the same way about it that you do,' she dismissed. 'And I really don't think you have the right to interfere.'

  Lyon's eyes were glacial. 'I have the right to protect Henry from his own folly!' he bit out harshly.

  Silke raised blonde brows at his arrogance. 'Do you?'

  'Yes!' he rasped forcefully. 'So be prepared to pick up the pieces!' He marched over to the door, a man totally in command of a situation.

  'Er—Lyon... ?' Silke called out to him softly as he reached the door.

  He turned back to her, his brows challengingly raised.

  'You forgot this.' Her mouth twisted disgustedly as she held up the brown envelope he had placed so con­fidently on her desk a short time ago. Containing damaging evidence against her mother, she was sure. She was also sure her mother and Henry had become strong enough together the last few days to withstand anything Lyon had to throw at them.

  But at the same time she knew she had to warn them of what Lyon was trying to do, waiting until Lyon had grabbed up the brown envelope from her to stride forcefully from the room before placing a call through to the clinic.

  To her surprise she was told that Mr Winter had been discharged that morning. Silke very much doubted Lyon was aware of that. Or that his temper, or his determination, would be improved by not knowing!

  Her mother wasn't answering the telephone at her apartment either, which meant she was probably at Henry's home with him. And Silke had no idea where that was. Oh, well, she had tried to let them know of Lyon's intention of causing trouble. And she couldn't really believe, after seeing the older couple together the last few days, that Henry and her mother would be affected by anything Lyon had to say on the subject of her mother's past. Maybe someone would even get around to telling Lyon that he, for different reasons from the ones he was assuming, was the reason her mother had fled from the situation all those years ago.

  Why hadn't she told Lyon the truth this morning? He had certainly given her the perfect opening for it. And yet she hadn't taken it. Why hadn't she?

  The truth was, she didn't want to probe her own motives too deeply! He seemed to have no hesitation in trampling over other people's feelings, so why-----?

  The less she thought about Lyon, the better. Determinedly opening the next file on her desk, intent on forgetting about him, she concentrated on her work. Unfortunately, the next account she looked at was the one for Buchanan's for the hire of the bunny girl. The wrong bunny girl. God, Silke still cringed when she thought of that day and that damned outfit she had been wearing. She doubted Buchanan's would forget it in a hurry either!

  This time she didn't even look surprised when Lyon burst into the office a short time later, and there was certainly no point in being annoyed about it; it seemed to be becoming a habit of his!

  As usual he didn't bother to knock, just walked in. As if he owned the place. As if she didn't have any work to do.

  She looked up at him with weary resignation. 'Yes, Lyon?'

  'Did you know about it all the time?' he demanded without preliminaries, towering over her as he stood by the desk.

  Silke instantly felt irritated by this man's constant superiority over her. Not that it would make an awful lot of difference if she were to stand up, she realised ruefully; he would still dwarf her! He-----

  'Well?' he demanded harshly at her lack of re­sponse. 'Did you know?'

  Obviously he had been to the clinic and knew of his uncle's discharge. And he was furious about it. Good God, could no one make a move without this man's permission?

  'I telephoned the clinic after you left earlier.' She nodded. 'Don't look so worried, Lyon,' she chided as he still scowled darkly. 'I'm sure they wouldn't have discharged Henry if he weren't well enough to-----'

  'Peter didn't discharge him,' Lyon cut in harshly, eyes blazing. 'Henry discharged himself!'

  Silke frowned at this news. Although even that wasn't too serious, surely; Henry had seemed fine when she saw him the previous evening, and Peter Carruthers had originally said the older man only needed a few days' bed-rest. It didn't seem too dis­astrous to her that Henry had tired of the clinic and decided to take matters into his own hands. Although she could see that it bothered Lyon enormously!

  'Where are they, Silke?' he rasped, his eyes taking on a silver sheen. 'And don't say you don't know, because I can't believe your mother hasn't invited you to the wedding,' he added accusingly.

  Wedding? But that wasn't until next week, when— when they could be sure Henry was out of hospital...

  Silke stared up at Lyon, a terrible truth starting to dawn on her; her mother and Henry had decided to avoid any further confrontation with Lyon and had gone off somewhere quietly and got married. That was the reason Henry had discharged himself without anyone knowing!

  CHAPTER SIX

  'Well?' Lyon demanded as she continued staring at him.

  Well, indeed. What could she say? She knew exactly what her mother and Henry had done—and she couldn't blame them in the least. Not in the cir­cumstances. The last thing Henry needed at the moment was tension and strain, and dealing with Lyon over this situation was sure to cause that. Much better simply to present him with a fait accompli. Lyon was aware of that too—and he was obviously absolutely furious at the idea of being duped by the older couple.

  'Well,' Silke repeated slowly, leaning back in her chair, playing for time really. What could she say? She didn't know any of the details of her mother and Henry's disappearance, only appreciated the reason for it. But at the same time she knew Lyon wasn't going to believe her ignorance about the older couple's plans.

  'Where are they, Silke?' Lyon ground out harshly at her continued silence.

  She looked at him consideringly, at his set features, the cold fury in his eyes—and she was grateful she knew none of the details of the runaways' wedding. Because she knew that, if she had, Lyon wouldn't have relented until he had extracted those details from her. Which she was sure her mother and Henry were aware of too.

  She drew in a deep breath. 'I know you aren't going to believe this-----'

  'If you're about to tell me you don't know where Henry and your mother are, then no, I'm not,' Lyon grated, eyes glittering.

  Silke grimaced at his determined expression. 'I don't know where Henry and my mother are,' she repeated evenly, her own gaze unflinching.

  He let out a controlled snort of disbelief. 'Silke, you-----' He broke off as the telephone on the desk began to ring. 'Instruct your secretary to hold all calls,' he bit out harshly, glaring balefully at the of­fending telephone.

  Silke arched blonde brows at him at the same time as she reached out for the receiver. 'I have a business to run, Lyon, and-----'

  'It's your mother's business,' he snapped. 'And after today it doesn't look as if she's going to need it any more!'

  Silke picked up the receiver, her gaze never leaving Lyon's determinedly set face as he moved to sit in the chair facing her desk. Not that he looked in the least relaxed once he had sat down, his body filled with a powerful tension as he sat so quietly watching her. Unnerving!

  What was even more unnerving was the voice on the other end of the telephone line! No wonder Jackie hadn't hesitated in putting the call through!

  'Silke! Darling, I-----'

  'Hello, Mrs—Adams.' There was only the slightest hesitation before the surname—thank God. The last thing she wanted was for Lyon to realise it was her mother on the telephone! As it was, her own palms were sweating as she held the receiver, and she was sure she must have gone slightly pale. 'No, my mother isn't here at the moment,' she said pointedly; Lyon was the one who was here! 'I believe she's getting married today,' she added even more pointedly, frowning warily as Lyon instantly looked furious.

>   'Who's there with you, Silke?'

  Thank goodness her mother had picked up on the near panic of her words, even if she had managed to keep her tone lightly friendly! 'Your guess is as good as mine,' she replied dismissively. Guess, Mummy, guess! Who else but Lyon Buchanan would make her behave in this way?

  'Lyon,' her mother realised heavily. 'He's been to the clinic?'

  'Yes,' Silke replied economically.

  'Oh, God, Silke,' her mother sighed. 'I'm so sorry. Is he very angry?'

  'Very,' she confirmed lightly, a brief glance at Lyon's face telling her his mood wasn't being im­proved by the interruption of this telephone call. And that was without even realising who the caller actually was!

  'We thought this way was for the best, Silke,' her mother explained apologetically.

  'I'm sure you're right,' she quickly assured her; the longer this call continued, the more short-tempered Lyon was likely to become—and he was difficult enough to deal with already. 'I'll tell my mother you called,' she briskly decided to conclude the conver­sation as she saw Lyon move in his chair impatiently. 'Perhaps you could call back?'

  'Tonight, Silke,' her mother instantly agreed. 'At my apartment?'

  'That would be best,' Silke agreed in a relieved tone.

  'Are you all right, Silke?' her mother said wor­riedly. 'God knows I realise how obnoxious Lyon can be----'

  'I'm just running things for my mother while she's away,' she cut in quickly, sure from the increasing dis­pleasure on Lyon's face that he was actually going to wrench the receiver out of her hand in a minute and tell 'Mrs Adams' to go to hell. And once he had spoken to her mother that would ruin everything! 'We'll look forward to hearing from you.' She rang off quickly before her mother could say anything else, putting down the receiver as if it were red-hot.