The Seduction Scheme (9 page)

Sir Stuart Arden, looking every inch the powerful pillar of the community, stood back with an expression of approval on his face.

‘I thought I'd surprise you with Sabrina,' he said as his son emerged from the thorough embrace.

‘Gift-wrapped, I see.' Benedict's expression didn't give away anything, but Rachel was pretty sure he didn't object to this form of greeting—what man would?

‘Do you like it, darling?'

Rachel observed the crimson fingertips and the lime-green and lilac striped sheath dress with distaste. She was the sort of girl who called everyone ‘darling' indiscriminately. Only in Benedict's case she probably meant it. Her proprietorial air with him spoke of a close relationship. The thought of how close made Rachel feel nauseous.

‘I hope they charged you by the yard,' he observed, eyeing the length of leg revealed.

‘Try and think metric, darling. I was telling your father, I've hardly seen you since you got back from that horrid farm.' She pouted attractively up at him.

Rachel, who had seen exactly where his masculine gaze was resting, would have bet money that that hateful laugh had been practised for hours to get that perfect sexy intonation.

‘Considering the amount of time you've spent behind a desk, Benedict, I was quite surprised.'

Rachel was immediately conscious, despite the casual tone, of the tension in the air between father and son. Aware that
his absence yesterday had been on her account, she hoped this wasn't responsible for the friction.

‘Have you, or any clients, got any complaints about my work?' Benedict already knew the answer. His father was no sentimentalist.

He had never made any secret of the fact that he wanted one of his sons to carry on the family tradition of heading the prestigious law firm which had been founded by their great-grandfather, but it had been shrewd judgement rather than nepotism that explained Benedict's presence.

He was here because he was the best of his year's crop of law graduates and this firm always wanted the best. He'd refused offers from rival law chambers and his father knew it, although he never referred to the fact.

‘You'd know if I had,' Stuart Arden confirmed. ‘I was talking to your father last night, Sabrina; he was telling me you've graduated with flying colours from your cordon bleu course.'

‘I was going to practise my skills on Benedict.' She glanced upwards through her heavily mascaraed lashes at him.

I just bet you were, Rachel thought with a fresh spurt of self-disgust. What am I doing? I don't want any part in this tacky scenario. I'm not going to compete for a man's attentions like this; it's so demeaning.

‘Only he stood me up,' Sabrina continued with a sigh. She tapped his hand playfully. ‘I was devastated. Did Daddy tell you he's going to set me up in my own little catering firm?'

‘Well, if we can put any work your way…'

That was how it worked, Rachel thought, when you knew the right people—so simple. This was Benedict's world, not hers; the gap between them had never been more apparent. Her hands were clammy as she struck the keyboard and tried to pretend she wasn't listening to every word. To the Sir
Stuarts and Sabrinas of this world secretaries were just part of the furniture. They probably hadn't even noticed she was there. However, the next words blew a big hole in this theory.

‘You're not Maggie.'

‘Pardon?' She didn't immediately realise that this remark was addressed to her. ‘No, I'm not.' The great man stood waiting expectantly and she knew she was looking more and more foolish with each passing second, but her vocal cords had seized up.

‘I thought you arranged the temporary transfer, Father.' Benedict came unexpectedly to her rescue.

‘Did I? I do a lot of things around this place.'

‘And with your failing faculties you can't be expected to recall them all,' Benedict observed in an understanding manner.

‘You're such a tease,' Sabrina remonstrated. ‘I wish half the so-called
young
men I know had half Sir Stuart's energy and dynamism.'

Rachel had never understood why intelligent men who had given up reading fairy tales years ago fell for such blatant flattery. It works every time, she thought, watching the distinguished-looking peer try to hide his pleasure. He puffed out his not insubstantial chest.

‘I only popped in to invite you out to lunch. You will come, won't you, darling Ben?'

That endearment had the same effect on Rachel's nerve-endings as a dentist's drill. She clenched her teeth and bent blindly over her desk, giving a passable imitation of intense concentration.

‘Sorry, but I'll have to take a rain-check, Sabrina. I've got something else on.'

‘Anyone I know?' she enquired archly, and the Cupid's bow mouth tightened noticeably.

‘Let me walk you out.'

‘I'll wait for you in the office, Benedict. Perhaps Mrs French could get me some coffee?'

‘Miss French.' She wondered with a spurt of militancy what he'd say if she pointed out that coffee-making wasn't included in her job description.

‘
Miss
French.' He inclined his leonine head slightly as he moved past her. ‘I stand corrected.' And that didn't happen too often, she surmised, repressing an inappropriate urge to laugh—obviously nerves. ‘Are you enjoying working for my son? Is he a considerate boss?' he enquired casually.

‘It's nice to have an opportunity to use my linguistic skills.' Rachel had the distinct impression that nothing this man said was unplanned.

‘Very diplomatic. I've heard you're a
clever
young woman.' Rachel frowned. The way he'd said ‘clever' sounded almost like an insult. ‘I have a friend who works in Brussels who's always on the look-out for people with your sort of expertise in languages. You'd be in great demand over there.'

Suddenly he knew a lot about her, she thought as she smiled noncommittally back.

‘Have you ever thought about moving?'

‘I have a child, Sir Stuart.'

‘Boarding-school's the answer; it makes them independent. Our lot thrived on it. I take my coffee black,' he added abruptly as he stalked into Benedict's office.

This sudden concern for her future rang alarms bells in Rachel's head. What was behind this interest? She suddenly didn't feel at all comfortable.

‘This is for my father, I take it?'

Rachel wondered whether he ever dropped the formal ‘father'. She nodded.

‘I'll take it in.' Benedict took the cup from her hand. ‘An urgent call in…' he glanced at his watch ‘…shall we say
seven minutes? Don't look so shocked, Rachel; where do you think I learnt my tactics?'

Rachel stared as he closed the interconnecting door. Being orphaned too early to recall her parents hadn't made her the world's leading expert on family dynamics, but what Benedict had with his father didn't seem like your typical father-son relationship.

Stuart Arden had seated himself behind his son's desk. The gesture was inspired more by habit than a belief that it would help him intimidate his son; he knew his offspring too well for that. Benedict's independence had been an infuriating characteristic even when he was a baby. He often thought he'd got all his elder brother's share. The only time Tom had ever shown any backbone was when he'd refused to take his bar exams and follow in his father's footsteps.

‘What can I do for you, Father?' Benedict placed the cup down on the desk and strolled towards the window. He didn't notice the small red light that indicated his father had switched on the intercom.

‘There's been talk. Talk about you and that French woman.'

‘You must have been listening hard to hear any
talk
,' Benedict observed sceptically.

‘Something's been wrong with you since you got back and you left the office with her yesterday and cancelled all your afternoon appointments. It doesn't take much imagination…'

‘Not much, just a particular type.' Benedict spoke without any discernible inflection. Head slightly inclined to one side, eyes narrowed, he moved across the room and looked at his father thoughtfully. ‘So you pulled her file and scurried down here to check her out. Her name is Rachel.' Benedict was too familiar with his parent's
modus operandi
to sound surprised by this discovery.

‘There's a company policy about that sort of thing.'

‘That's a new one on me,' Benedict observed with interest.

‘Are you sleeping with her?'

‘Is this exchange of intimacies meant to bring us closer? I hate to disappoint you but I've already got a best friend to share my secrets with.'

‘Huh! Share,
you
? That I don't believe; you've never voluntarily given away any information in your life. You always were the most evasive child…'

‘I was only being polite,' Benedict admitted. ‘You know me so well. “Mind your own business” sounded so…bald and lacking in respect.'

Stuart Arden gritted his teeth. Benedict was the one who was meant to be on the defensive. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the desk. That infuriatingly languid tone of Benedict's always irritated him—he did it deliberately, of course…

‘She works for you, she has a child… You're going to raise…false expectations; of course she's eager. I'm not saying she's set out deliberately to snare you.'

‘That's very generous of you.'

‘You can sneer, Benedict, but you have to look at the facts. In her position who could blame her for…? You're a
catch
, so they tell me. You'll make her a figure of fun when you've finished with her.'

‘What an exemplary employer you are,' Benedict breathed admiringly. ‘So considerate towards your employees. I'm curious about your sources. Is this fatherly instinct or surveillance talking now?' The resigned humour had been replaced by a definite thread of hard anger, but his father continued, oblivious to the change.

‘Why go looking for trouble when there are any number of suitable young things like Serena…?'

‘Sabrina,' Benedict corrected him drily.

‘Whatever.' His father brushed aside the interruption im
patiently. ‘The right sort of wife is very important for someone in our position. If you'd been married you wouldn't have been so eager to spend six months sorting out a manager for that damned property. I'm sure she only left you the place to spite me!' he added in a disgruntled tone.

‘Knowing Gran, you're probably right,' Benedict conceded with a sudden grin. ‘I'm surprised you married Mum, considering her shaky pedigree. The word hypocrite springs to mind for some reason.'

‘That's entirely different.'

‘It would be, of course. But have I got this right? The consensus is I should marry…sooner rather than later. How do you know I'm not considering it…?' Even though his only intention when he'd opened his mouth had been to taunt his father, by the time he closed it a number of things had fallen into place in his mind.

‘
You
, lumbered with another man's cast-off?'

‘Are we talking child or mother here?' Benedict let this slur pass unpunished. His heart wasn't wholly committed to the verbal combat any longer; he was still reeling from an unexpected discovery.

‘Both! It would be social suicide. Have you any idea how many skeletons a woman like her is bound to have? A High Court judge needs to have a blemishless background…'

An unwilling laugh was torn from Benedict's throat. ‘High Court judge! So that's what I want to be when I grow up, is it,
Daddy
?'

‘You've got a brilliant future ahead of you; everyone says so,' his father said defensively, aware that he'd gone further than he intended in the heat of the moment.

‘Thank you, Father.' A smile that worried his parent no end curved the stern outline of Benedict's lips.

Feeling old, the elder man levered himself slowly from the leather swivel chair. ‘Thank me for what?' he said suspi
ciously. Emily had warned him to leave well alone. You'd think he'd have learnt by now—his wife usually knew what she was talking about, he reflected grimly.

‘For reminding me it's
my
life.'

‘My life? What sort of talk is that? You're an Arden, boy; you're my heir.'

‘So long as I toe the line?' Benedict suggested lightly. ‘You've got other children.'

‘Your brother is happy being a country solicitor.' He shook his head, unable to comprehend how his first-born was happy with such an existence.

‘Nat…'

‘Natalie is a girl.'

‘Open your eyes. Nat is a girl with enough drive and ambition to light up the national grid; is a girl who is as well endowed in the brains department as me.'

‘Did she gain entrance to Oxford when she was—?'

‘Oh, I know she hasn't gone through school three years ahead of her peers, but that's only because you didn't think it worthwhile to constantly urge her onwards and upwards—she being a mere girl.'

‘You didn't complain!'

‘Maybe you don't know what things are really important until it's too late,' Benedict observed thoughtfully. He wasn't assigning blame. So certain aspects of his childhood might have been better—the same could be said for a large proportion of the population. He was much more interested in the present.

‘I tell you something, Father, you really should take a good look at Nat one of these days—you might be pleasantly surprised. She's certainly hungry to prove herself to you.'

‘Unlike you.' He sounded disgruntled but Benedict could see his father was looking thoughtful. ‘About that woman…'

‘Rachel,' Benedict said firmly.

‘I'm only thinking of your best interests.'