HE HADN’T expected this. Marc hadn’t known what to expect of Lara’s sister but it certainly wasn’t the woman standing before him.

She looked bereft, he thought, and he accepted that she really hadn’t known about her sister’s death. Which led him to Isobelle. Their mother.

What sort of mother would not tell one daughter about another’s death?

It wasn’t any of his business, he told himself savagely. His job was to get the papers signed and get out of here. Heaven knew a trip to Australia at this time was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Jean-Paul’s death had left a huge mess at home. He needed to collect the child and go.

He just needed the signature, but, judging by the look of devastation on the face of the girl before him, it was going to be tricky.

Maybe he could just push the papers in front of her and say sign. Maybe she would. She looked so shocked he could push her right over and she wouldn’t fight back.

He shouldn’t do it-he should give her time-but it was his country he was fighting for. Henry’s country. Henry’s inheritance.

And his own freedom.

‘I need you to sign,’ he repeated, this time more gently, and he motioned to the car. ‘I have the papers here.’

‘What papers?’

‘The release papers.’

‘I still don’t understand what you’re talking about.’ She was standing as if she’d been turned to stone. Her face was totally devoid of colour and he thought she looked as if she was about to topple over. She looked sick.