Whirlwind by Charlotte Lamb

wasn't tempted to soak for long; she towelled herself hurriedly and padded back to her room to dress, but at the top of the narrow stairs she saw a dark figure looming.
    She gasped before she recognised Laird; in the shadows he had a distinctly threatening height.
    When it dawned on her that it was him her crazy pulses didn't calm down; to her anxiety they even quickened as her eyes ran over him. He looked so out of place in these shabby surroundings, his clothes far too expensive and his manner radiating too much assurance. Long-legged, tall, with that strong-boned face and coolly commanding eyes, he confronted Anna with a mocking little smile.
    'How did you get in here?' she burst out, and from the bottom of the stairs heard Mrs Gawton's voice.
    'I let him in, dearie. He said he'd come to pick you up to have lunch. Isn't it all right?'
    Anna heard the intrigued note in her sly voice and bit her lip, angrily aware of Laird's sardonic amusement at her predicament. She couldn't bear to argue with him in front of her landlady; she didn't want to give Mrs Gawton even more fascinating gossip to pass on to all her neighbours.
    'Yes, thank you, Mrs Gawton,' she said, raising her voice politely, then swung and opened her door.
    Laird wandered past her without a word, and Anna winced as she closed the door, watching his eyes flick round the room, his brows shooting up.
    'So this is where you live,' he said, and she saw the place through his eyes, wishing to heaven that she hadn't allowed him through the door. She hadn't made her bed yet; she moved over to pull the quilt over it, her face burning, conscious of him watching her, assessing her well-washed old blue dressing- gown, her damp red-gold hair, her threadbare blue slippers.
    'What are you doing here?' she muttered, turning to face him reluctantly. 'I thought I told you . . . '
    'My family are expecting you for lunch,' he interrupted smoothly, and Anna's lips parted in bewilderment.
    'But . . . no, we didn't make any arrangement. They invited me casually for some day. but no date was fixed.'
    'Are you doing anything else today?' Those fine black brows winged upwards and his eyes read her expression. 'No? Then if you'll get dressed we'll be on our way.'
    '1 can't,' Anna stammered, totally thrown. 'I haven't got anything to wear.'
    He didn't laugh or tell her that that was a female cliche; he gave her a wry look, then walked over to the battered old wardrobe in one corner of the room, opened it and ran his eyes over the sparse contents. Anna ground her teeth. What was he thinking as he inspected her pathetic pretence of a wardrobe? The hair on her nape bristled; what business of his was it anyway? She was poor now, but one day she would be able to buy what she liked, go where she liked, and meanwhile she wasn't taking pity or contempt from anyone, least of all Laird Montgomery.
    'Stop that! Go away!' she snapped, shaking with rage.
    Taking no notice, he pulled down a simple black dress which she had had since her first year at drama school. Tossing it on her bed, he ordered curtly, 'Wear this!'
    Anna's mouth was rigid with obstinacy. 'Please apologise to your parents for me, but 1 can't come.'
    'Give me one good reason!'
    She lost her temper. 'You know very well why! I'd v be totally out of place, I don't belong among your sort of people . . . '
    He regarded her with open derision. 'You little snob!'
    Anna couldn't believe her ears. Incredulously, she stammered, 'Me, a snob? Oh, that's funny. Don't be ridiculous!'
    'Inverted snobbery is just as damn stupid as the usual variety,' Laird drawled, then his hand shot out and she felt him untie the belt of her dressing-gown, which fell open before she could stop it. 'Do I have to dress you myself?' Laird's voice was husky; he was staring at the sensuous shimmer of her naked body under a fragile, clinging drift of white fabric.
    Anna shakily dragged the dressing-gown together again, her skin heated, her pulses hammering with a peculiar