‘I’m a Metaxis and proud of it.’ Shimmering bronze eyes struck sparks off hers in cold challenge. ‘Keep quiet and let the grown-ups deal with business.’
Ophelia plunged upright like a jack-in-the-box on a spring. His unapologetic insolence outraged her. ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that!’ she launched at him.
Lysander was entertained by the ease with which she rose to the bait.
‘Ophelia…Mr Metaxis…please let me finish,’ Donald Morton interposed in a pained plea…
CHAPTER TWO
WITH colour burnishing her cheeks and silky golden strands of hair descending from her wobbly topknot, Ophelia was trembling with a rage unlike any she had ever experienced. Slowly, grudgingly, she forced herself to sit down again in the seething silence.
‘If no marriage takes place, Madrigal Court will go to Ophelia’s third cousin, Cedric Gilbert,’ Donald Morton hastened to tell them.
‘But my grandmother hated Cedric-she wouldn’t even let him into the house!’ Ophelia gasped.
Cedric was a wealthy property speculator. When Gladys had discovered that her husband’s relative had been making sly enquiries about his chances of gaining planning permission for a housing estate at Madrigal Court, she had been outraged by his greed and calculation.
‘I should add that although Mr Gilbert would inherit in those circumstances,’ the solicitor continued, ‘his ownership would be restricted by an agreement neither to sell the house nor try to develop the site for five years.’
The angles of Lysander’s bold bronzed profile hardened. ‘And if he were to break those rules?’
‘The entire estate would then devolve to the government. Mrs Stewart was keen to eradicate any potential loopholes.’
Lysander, who always thought fastest in a tight corner, was engaged in suppressing a lacerating tide of fury.