His glass of brandy was next to him on the mantel; another glass was waiting for her on the coffee table. He turned to look at her as she entered the room; the reserved smile he’d managed for Johnny was gone, replaced by an expression of authority and determination. As she gazed at his stern features and dark, impenetrable eyes, Lorna felt distinctly uneasy.

She bent to pick up her glass and then sat down in a corduroy armchair, curling one leg beneath her.

“Shall we get the details out of the way, Misha? Exactly when do you need the money?” he asked flatly.

She hesitated. “I don’t need the whole ten thousand dollars, Matthew,” she said quietly. “Only enough to pay Johnny’s tuition for this year. Johnny needs this school, but my furnace went out last week, which is why I started to panic-”

“The question was only when, Misha, not how much.”

She took a sip of brandy and let it flow down her throat before answering. He was standing with his feet apart and one elbow resting on the mantel; the stance was aggressive, all authoritative male, and she thought, No, Matthew, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let myself get defensive. Not for anyone, not anymore. Her tone was low and very, very controlled. “The school he’s in has all but asked me to find another place for him. Johnny’s bright, Matthew. Too bright. When he gets ahead of the others, he’s bored…but any kid who calls him ‘brain’ gets a punch in the nose. He’s already played hookey several times. Of course, he only goes to the library, but-”

“Misha, I don’t have to hear all about the boy’s problems. The only thing I really need to know is when you want the money.”

Her smoky eyes darkened expressively as she set down her glass. She didn’t care if Matthew could read the signs of impending anger: her flicked-hair back; her stiffened chin; her eyes the ominous gray of a storm cloud. “Next week,” she clipped out.