Back in the Lion's Den (2 page)

Because she hadn’t known. Because she’d been too young to recognise the signs: his irritability, his drinking too much, his mood swings.

‘“Bled him dry”,’ she reminded him. ‘That was the phrase I believe you used.’

He didn’t negate or deny it. How could he? Sienna thought grimly. He wasn’t a man to pull his punches, or hide behind lies and subterfuge—as she had—whatever else he might have done.

‘I can’t talk about this now,’ she uttered quickly, hearing the last track on the album she’d selected earlier come to an abrupt end. ‘I’ve got to get back to my class.’ This meeting
with Niall’s brother was more traumatic than she’d ever have imagined possible, and it was with aching relief that she pulled herself away.

‘You’ll do as I ask, Sienna.’

She stopped in her tracks, swinging round to face him again, her eyes wide with defiance and disbelief.

‘Oh, will I? And what do you intend to do to try and bully me into it? Concoct some tale about my being an unsuitable mother and get an injunction to try and take Daisy away from me, as you threatened before?’ Beneath her bravado was a sick anxiety that he might try to do just that—somehow use his power and influence to get even with her for how he believed she had treated Niall.

‘I didn’t come here for that.’

‘No. You just want me to hand her over without all the hassle. Well, I’m sorry, Conan, but the answer’s still no. Daisy’s not going anywhere without me, and I’m certainly not putting myself back into the lion’s den, thank you very much!’

‘Oh, I think you will, Sienna.’

‘And what makes you so sure?’

‘Conscience, sweetheart. If you have one.’

Her small chin came up as she said bitterly, ignoring the patronising way in which he had addressed her, ‘Like you, you mean?’

She didn’t wait to catch any sniping response.

Making sure Daisy was asleep, Sienna kissed the little girl’s soft cheek before extinguishing her bedside lamp, unable to resist stroking the silky chestnut hair that curled against the pillow.

Like Niall’s, she thought poignantly, pulling the duvet up over the chubby arm wrapped around her pink hippopotamus. Daisy had inherited her father’s colouring, not hers.

Going back downstairs, she opened the back door to let in a big bouncing bundle of white shaggy fur, filled a bowl with the dog’s supper, and then started the ironing—normal
things she did every day, except tonight things felt anything but normal.

Meeting Conan again had opened up all the unhappiness of the past, forcing her to dwell on wounds she’d thought had healed, forcing her to think, to remember.

She had been just twenty when she had met Niall.

With her parents having sold their UK home to live abroad, Sienna had chosen to stay in England on her own. Her parents had always done their own thing. They liked sun, sea and sand, and Sienna had been happy for them, while relishing the prospect of occasional holidays in Spain.

She had been working as a receptionist at her local gym when she had met Niall. He had been a regular member there, and had often come into the bar where she had sometimes helped when it was short-staffed. She had instantly warmed to his wicked sense of humour. He’d been witty and charming, and just a little bit crazy, and she’d been swept off her feet before she had known what hit her.

Her parents had flown over for the wedding, which had been a short civil ceremony after a whirlwind romance. Faith and Barry Swann and Niall’s mother—a barrister’s widow—were poles apart, and while they’d tried to befriend her new mother-in-law it was clear that Avril Ryder hadn’t really warmed towards them. It had also been clear to Sienna from the start that the woman believed she had trapped her youngest son into marriage by getting pregnant, which was something over which Sienna had been silently smug, proving her wrong when Daisy had arrived exactly a year to the day that they had married.

Conan had been at the wedding, interrupting some important business conference he’d been attending in Europe, and the cool touch of his lips on her cheek as he’d wished her well after the ceremony had been as formal as it had been unsettling.

It had been clear, though, that Niall looked up to his brother, and Sienna had understood why. Already approaching his late
twenties to his half-brother’s twenty-three, and spearheading a global telecommunications company, Conan Ryder had been a mind-blowing success—dynamic, wealthy and sophisticated. It had been apparent to Sienna from the start who Niall was trying to emulate in the way he spoke, in his image, even in that air of glacial composure that Conan exuded.

Niall had been a top sales executive working at Conan’s head office, though not before pulling himself out of university and destroying his mother’s hopes of him following his late father into the legal profession. Nevertheless, he had been good at his job, and determined that she would reap the benefits—from the clothes he had bought her to every conceivable luxury she had wanted in their modern four bedroom home, a house he had mortgaged only a few miles from his half-brother’s Surrey mansion.

But he’d played as hard as he worked. Often too hard, Sienna remembered painfully, as she ironed the back of one of Daisy’s little blouses for at least the third time. Because it had been that reckless sense of fun and that daredevil attitude towards almost everything that had killed him during those five days in Copenhagen at that stag party that had gone terribly wrong …

Pain and remorse pressed like twin bars against her chest, and she forced herself to breathe deeply to ease the anguish.

While he’d been alive he’d been driven: always trying to compete—almost obsessively so, she reflected—with his elder brother. But Niall hadn’t had Conan’s focus—or his ruthlessness, she thought bitterly. Because when Niall had got into dire financial straits and had asked his brother for help, just a couple of weeks before he’d died, Conan had refused. Niall had been devastated. It was only then that he’d told her how far they had been living above their means and just how much money they owed. She’d been too young and far too naive to realise it!

Both Conan and her mother-in-law had blamed
her
for her
husband’s overspending, and for the worry she had caused, which had led to his drinking and his ultimate accident.

‘It wasn’t my fault!’ she’d shot back at Conan that last day, just a week after Niall’s funeral, hurting, agonised, reproaching herself for going along with everything Niall had expected of her—given her—even when her instincts had told her that he was wrong, or that it seemed he was being far too extravagant. ‘And if
you’d
helped him when he came to you for help perhaps he wouldn’t have got so drunk as not to know what he was doing!’ she had flung at him bitterly, too overcome by grief to care what she was saying.

She had wanted desperately to cry. To break down. To alleviate the pain pressing like a dead weight against her chest. But standing there in the sumptuous drawing room of Conan Ryder’s Regency home, where she’d come to return the last of Niall’s things, her tears wouldn’t come. She had felt only a numbing emptiness that had given her an air of spurious indifference—which had only cemented her guilt in his brother’s eyes, promoting what he’d decided he already knew: that she’d been cheating on his brother.

‘My brother was in trouble and you weren’t even aware of it—too wrapped up in your spending and your …
boyfriend
to notice.’

‘Oh, I noticed all right!’ It was a bitter little cry, torn from beneath the veneer of icy detachment she was feeling.

‘And you did nothing to help him.’

‘I was his wife—not his nursemaid!’ She realised how cold and brutal that sounded. She was trying to defend herself and failing miserably, wanting to scream at Niall for leaving her to face his family like this—alone. Hurt, angry, reproaching herself …

‘My mother has expressed concerns that you aren’t mature or responsible enough to look after a child—and quite frankly I agree with her. I want my brother’s offspring to grow up as a Ryder, under this family’s roof. Not in some other man’s home, bearing some other man’s name.’

‘She’ll grow up as I consider fit,’ she assured him, stung by the things her mother-in-law had said. But then Avril Ryder—whom, she noted, hadn’t emerged from her own wing of her eldest son’s exclusive residence—had never made any attempt to conceal her disapproval of her other son’s match. There was no way, though, that Sienna ever intended changing her child’s name—even if she did end up with another man in the far distant future. ‘You’re not her father, Conan,’ she reminded him coolly. ‘Even if you’d like to think you are.’

‘No.’ Derision curved his uncompromising mouth at that. ‘Fortunately I can’t claim to be among those to have had the pleasure.’

Her hand clenched with the almost uncontrollable urge to lash out at him, to feel the sting of her palm as it met the hardness of his cheek which might shake her out of this numbing misery. But she’d decided that enough damage had been done already.

‘I don’t have to stay here and take this from you,’ she responded quietly, hating herself for the tingle of awareness that had run through her at his blatant innuendo a moment ago. ‘But if you’re trying to make me feel cheap, then go ahead. I was never good enough for you, was I?
Either
of you,’ she’d added accusingly. ‘Is that why Niall made such a mess of things? Because he was made to feel he wasn’t good enough either? Because he felt so overshadowed by his much smarter, richer and generally more favoured elder brother?’

If he’d looked angry before, he’d looked livid then, his proud nostrils flaring, the skin above his upper lip white with rage. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he’d rasped.

‘Don’t I?’ She went on goading him, unable to help herself, needing something—anything—to ease the burden of confusing emotions that were ravaging her. ‘I know you did next to nothing to support him—in
anything
—and that when he came to you for help you refused him any financial backing! Well, don’t worry! We’ll be leaving tomorrow. You won’t have
to put up with me soiling this family’s precious pedigree any more!’

‘You take Daisy away from here and you’ll have me to answer to. Is that clear?’

‘As crystal! What do you propose to do?’ she taunted. ‘Sue for custody?’

‘If it comes to it.’

‘On what grounds?’ she challenged, suddenly wary. ‘That I’m an unfit mother?’ Painfully she remembered the instances that had helped tar her with that particular brush—the circumstances that she couldn’t explain even if she wanted to.

‘If I find you wanting in that regard, I won’t hesitate in applying for Daisy to be made a ward of court, most certainly.’

From anyone else she would have considered it an idle threat. From Conan it merely struck the deepest fear into her heart.

He was rich and powerful enough to make any court take notice of charges he made against her. And though she doubted that the Ryders would ever be allowed full custody of her daughter, she still feared what he might try to do with his staggering influence and his money.

‘Well, perhaps I should marry my
boyfriend!
’ she threw back desperately, pandering to his previous accusation. ‘And then you wouldn’t be able to do a thing! Stay away from me, Conan!’

She’d stormed out of the house and their lives without another glance back, paying off her debts and setting up home in the little terraced house she’d managed to mortgage with the small amount of capital left over from the sale of the house she had shared with Niall.

But now Conan had turned up again, still as judgmental as ever, and with a lethal maturity only acquired by three more years of honing that indomitable strength of character alongside his superb masculine physique. Of increasing his wealth and power and making himself one of the most talked about entrepreneurs of his generation—both in the playgrounds of
the rich and in his corporate life. It amounted to three more years of getting what he wanted. And he wanted Daisy …

When the doorbell rang, she almost dropped the iron.

S
HADOW
—so named because of the patch of black fur covering the whole of one side of his head and one floppy ear—was barking frantically at the front door by the time Sienna reached it.

‘Conan!’ She didn’t know why she sounded surprised. She had known he would come.

The dog was leaping excitedly up at him, with no regard for his designer tailoring, while Conan, with a face like granite, stood rigidly impervious, his nostrils flaring and his olive skin infused with something almost akin to anger.

‘I’m sorry. He isn’t usually like this,’ Sienna apologised, rushing forward to grab the dog’s collar. In fact, after bringing the six month old Shadow home from an animal rescue centre two years ago, she had been pleased when her pet had flown through obedience classes with the equivalent of a doggy distinction. Rather grudgingly though she decided that just the mere sight of a man like Conan Ryder was enough to make even a mere animal forget its manners.

‘May I come in?’

With every nerve on alert, still holding the dog’s collar, Sienna backed away to admit him.

Immediately the walls of the narrow passageway seemed to close in on all sides, the space between them shrunk by his imposing physique.

With a tightness in her chest, Sienna took another step back for an entirely different reason, releasing the dog which, after
one brave sniff at the man’s black designer shoes, trotted off to the comfort of the living room.

Her mouth dry, Sienna demanded, ‘What’s this all about, Conan? Because if it’s about Daisy you’ve had a wasted journey. I thought I made my position clear this afternoon.’

For a split second something flared in his eyes. Anger? Retaliation? She wasn’t sure. But with that strong self-command she had always envied about him he brought it under control, only the muscle that pulled in his darkly shadowed jaw disclosing any other sign of emotion.

‘We parted on a rather bad note today. I thought it only right to try and rectify that.’

Oh, did you?

His dark head tilted towards the door at the end of the passageway, his meaning obvious, while an arresting movement of his devastating mouth caused a peculiar flutter in the pit of her stomach.

Conan Ryder being hostile was something she could deal with. Conan being charming was far more dangerous to her equilibrium.

‘You’d better come through.’ She wondered if he had detected that nervous note in her voice, and as she went ahead of him along the passageway could almost feel his eyes boring through her tight black T-shirt and jeans.

Too aware of him as she led him into her tiny sitting room, she sensed his brooding gaze moving critically over its rather jaded décor. ‘Sit down.’ She looked around the cramped little room in dismay. ‘If you can find a space.’ She darted to remove the pile of ironing from her one easy chair, dragging toys and a jigsaw puzzle box off the worn, rather lumpy-looking settee beside it.

Ignoring her, he was looking around at the rather shabby and tired-looking furnishings, the few sparse pieces of furniture that made up a wooden table and chairs, a rather stressed bookcase, a modest hi-fi system and her television.

‘Is this how you’re living?’ Censure marked the hard lines of his face.

Eyeing him resentfully, with a pile of freshly ironed garments supported on her hip, Sienna snapped, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

Conan’s mouth pulled down hard on one side. ‘A bit of a change, isn’t it, from what you were used to?’

‘At least it’s all paid for!’ It was an anguished throwback to the girl who had blindly accepted every luxury without question—only to find herself plunged into widowhood with nothing but loneliness, a precious little toddler and a whole heap of debt.

‘With what?’ Derision laced Conan’s voice as he sliced another detrimental glance around the sad little living space, finishing up on Shadow who was gazing up at him from his shabbily cushioned basket with suspicious eyes. ‘You can scarcely earn much from that menial job you do at that gym.’

‘And what’s it to you?’ She hadn’t meant to snap. He’d come to try and patch things up, after all. But his criticism of her home and his disparaging reference to what she did when she had trained so hard—worked so hard—to keep a roof over her and Daisy’s head was proving more than she could take.

‘Everything—if I think my niece is being deprived of the most essential necessities when she could be benefiting from the help that her mother is too proud—or to selfish—even to consider.’

Sienna’s hackles rose—not least because she
was
sometimes worried that her daughter was missing out on some of the things her little friends obviously enjoyed. Like bouncy castles on her birthday and pretty clothes; like the reliability of a car that wasn’t breaking down every five minutes. Like a father who hadn’t died and left her …

Regret mingled with anger—the anger she often reproached herself for feeling towards Niall and the way he had died when it had all been so avoidable. So pointless …

‘Proud and selfish you might think me,’ she quoted, pulling
herself up to her full five feet four inches to face Niall’s brother with a display of composure she was far from feeling, ‘and perhaps I am. But as far as what I said to you three years ago, when you very kindly condescended to offer us financial assistance goes …’ Her voice dripped pure venom. ‘I don’t retract a single word.’

The animosity she felt towards him lay thickly on the air between them. Conan felt it like a live thing, along with the silent, anguished accusation that rose like a torturing spectre from the darkest recesses of his mind.

You didn’t want to help us when Niall was alive! We can do without any help from you now!

Heavily, with some private emotion seeming to stretch the skin taut across his prominent cheekbones, he pointed out, ‘Even if Daisy suffers because of it?’

‘She won’t,’ Sienna returned, with more conviction than she was feeling, glancing down at Shadow, who was making rather indelicate grunting noises as he delved violently into his fur.

‘Then at least allow her to see her grandmother.’ His denigrating glance towards the basket told her he probably didn’t approve of her dog either. ‘You have a duty, Sienna. To Niall’s family as well as your own.’

‘Duty?’ She almost laughed in his face. What right had he to talk about
duty
when he had never really cared about his half-brother? When he had turned his back on him when Niall had needed him most? ‘He never asked you for anything,’ she accused bitterly, wanting to drive away memories that were too painful to remember. ‘When he did …’ She had to swallow to continue. ‘He looked up to you and he needed you. He was desperate,’ she muttered, ‘and you just weren’t there for him.’

‘And you think
I
killed him? Drove him to drink so much that he overbalanced on that bridge when he took up his friends’ ridiculous challenge to walk along that wall? Isn’t that what you said?’

There was raw emotion in his voice—in the perfect structure of his hard-hewn features. Had he loved his brother after all? Despite everything? Or was it just a pricking of his conscience that was responsible for the darkening of his amazing eyes.

‘I didn’t know what I was saying.’ Vainly she strove to redress the situation, to justify what she had thoughtlessly flung at him because of his accusations. If he’d loved Niall half as much as she had they would have lain heavily—would still lie heavily—on his conscience. ‘As I said earlier—I’d just lost my husband.’

‘And I’d lost a brother.’

She was right. Her words had left an indelible mark on him. She could see it—hear it in the dark resonant depths of his voice.

For a moment they faced each other like warring combatants—Sienna with her cheeks flushed, eyes glittering defensively, Conan’s olive features tinged with angry colour.

He was every bit the Celt, Sienna decided distractedly, from his thick black hair to his strong, proud Gaelic bone structure. In his pride and in his daunting self-sufficiency. In that unmistakable air of command that surrounded him, which made him lead where other men could merely follow. Both brothers had been handsome men. Niall had had the cheek and the charm of his mother’s Celtic bloodline, but it was Conan who bore his Irish ancestry like a blazing flag.

‘My mother’s unwell,’ he stated, quietly and succinctly. ‘She’s very unwell.’ In fact the doctors had told him that Avril Ryder didn’t seem to have the will to recover. The dark fringes of his lashes came down to veil his eyes. ‘I’ve brought her to stay with me in France.’ He owned a spectacular villa these days on the Côte d’Azur, Sienna remembered from an article she had read about him. ‘She needs cheering up, and I know her greatest wish is to see her only grandchild. You will come with Daisy, of course—I wouldn’t expect anything else—and
with the holidays coming up, I’ll expect you to stay for the summer.’

A strong refusal sprang to Sienna’s lips—but she couldn’t express it. If the Ryders—Conan especially—only wanted to salve their consciences by making up for lost time with Daisy, that was one thing. They could go whistle for all she cared. But from the look on his face as he’d told her about his mother things sounded pretty serious. What if this was the last chance Daisy might have of seeing her grandmother? Sienna found herself considering reluctantly. Wouldn’t she be doing her daughter a grave injustice by refusing to let her go? And if Avril Ryder
was
that sick …

The holidays
were
coming up, as he had said and her regular classes were coming to an end. She found herself assessing the matter before she had fully realised it. She did have individual training sessions to honour. Also, she couldn’t afford to take that much time off without it eating severely into her already frugal budget. But if she did give in and condescend to grant his wishes, she’d be darned if she’d let Daisy go anywhere—or
stay
anywhere—without her!

‘I—I can’t take that much time off,’ she found herself eventually admitting hesitantly. Though her ethics might be forcing her to do what anyone with half a conscience would do, she didn’t want to suffer the indignity of Niall’s brother guessing just how little money she had, or just how hard she was struggling to make ends meet. ‘I would if I could, but I can’t.’

Conan’s eyes moved reflectively over her pleasingly toned and agile figure.

Of course, he thought, with an introspective smile touching the firm line of his mouth. He’d guessed she could use her job as an excuse. But women like her could be bought—for a price. Hadn’t he seen evidence of it in the luxuries she had demanded from her husband? In the clothes and the designer jewellery? In the fast car she’d been happy to buy out of his limited funds before she’d found herself more interesting fish to fry?

‘Wives don’t come cheap, bruv … as you’ve yet to find out.’
Across the years he heard his late brother’s almost bragging statement after he’d warned Niall about his spending, and remembered, some time later, accusing Sienna of taking his brother for every penny she could get.

‘I will pay you what you earn—I’ll triple it,’ he assured her coldly. The reminder of the type of woman she was had turned his heart to stone.

Now, why didn’t that offer surprise her? she thought grimly.

‘That’s very generous of you.’ Sienna gave him a bright, unfaltering smile. ‘But can you safeguard my position until I come back?’

‘If I have to.’

Of course. The Conan Ryders of this world could get anything they wanted. They snapped their fingers and lesser mortals jumped to do their bidding. How stupid of her even to ask!

‘I take it, then, that that’s a yes?’ he pressed.

She didn’t answer, deciding to wait to tell him that if she did agree to what he wanted she had no intention of taking a penny of his precious money. Why spoil his mean and miserable opinion of her? she thought, following his gaze to where it was resting on Shadow, who was making violent sucking noises now as he burrowed with increasing ferocity into his fur.

‘Does that dog of yours have a problem with ticks?’

‘No, he doesn’t!’ What
was
the emotion that was turning down the corners of his superbly masculine mouth? she wondered. Disapproval? Dislike? And why was she even
looking
at his mouth? she thought, annoyed with herself. Let alone considering it superb?

Refraining from telling him that Shadow’s problem sprang from rolling on a chocolate wrapper while on his walk this evening, much to the surprise and angry retaliation of a few disgruntled wasps, she enquired breezily, ‘Don’t you like dogs?’

A broad shoulder lifted beneath the tailored jacket. ‘I can
take them or leave them. Let’s just say I wouldn’t choose to share my home with one.’

Well, tough! Sienna thought, but said brightly, and with some relish, ‘That’s all right, then. Because if you want to take Daisy and me away with you for the summer I’m afraid you’re going to have to take us all.’

‘I thought you said Conan never had much time for his brother?’ Faith Swann commented when Sienna rang her parents to tell them where she would be going and why. ‘That he was positively heartless towards him, and that Avril Ryder was always making you feel inferior and criticising the way you were bringing up my granddaughter?’ Faith was fiercely protective of those she loved, and was constantly trying to persuade Sienna to bring Daisy to join her and her husband in Spain.

‘He was—and she was,’ Sienna averred, and though she hated having to acknowledge it she said, sighing, ‘But they’re Daisy’s family too. And no matter how they treated me, or Niall, as his mother’s not well I have to go.’

‘I expect he can be quite persuasive,’ her mother was remarking distractedly about her late son-in-law’s brother. ‘I only saw him in the flesh that once …’ She meant at the wedding. ‘But I saw a picture of him recently in one of our English newspapers,’ Faith continued. ‘He’s quite a looker, isn’t he? Not so obviously handsome as Niall was, but the more moody and magnificent type that a lot of women go for. At least he
looked
moody in that photograph,’ she added with a little chuckle. ‘Probably because he was caught hurrying from the executive lounge of some airport with his latest adoring companion. You know that chat show hostess? Petra Somebody-or-other?’