Free Dragon's Lair by Sara Craven Page A

not lift from Rhiannon's face. She slammed round the
    kitchen, fetching a cup and saucer and filling it with coffee before
    dumping it unceremoniously in front of him.
    'I don't think I'll come to this restaurant any more,' Huw Morgan
    called after her retreating figure as she went out to the scullery. 'The
    service isn't what it was.' He took an appreciative sip of coffee and
    smiled at Davina. 'Don't take any notice of her. Her bark's always
    worse than her bite, and something seems to have put her out
    today.'
    'Yes,' Davina agreed drily. 'My arrival, apparently.'
    Huw sent her a meditative glance. 'Well, that's only natural, see.
    Very attractive man, her cousin Gethyn. Bit of a Sir Galahad
    too—rescuing Rhiannon and her mother like that and buying back
    her horses. You couldn't really blame her if she took a bit of a
    tumble for him, now could you?'
    Davina, taken aback by this plain speaking, glanced apprehensively
    towards the scullery door which stood ajar, but it was doubtful
    whether Huw's quiet words could have been heard by either Mrs
    Parry or Rhiannon above the clatter of the washing up.
    She looked at him. 'You think that's all it is? A bit of a tumble?'
    He set his cup down, his expression suddenly wry. 'I'm counting on
    it.' He gave her a considering look. 'Are you staying long?'
    'No.' Davina shook her head emphatically. 'I'm leaving in the
    morning.'
    'Without seeing Gethyn?'
    'Yes.' She made herself smile. 'It's not essential that I see him. I only
    have some papers for him, and those I can easily leave.'
    'Hm.' The considering look deepened. 'Must be very important
    papers if they brought you all this way from London with them.
    Wouldn't it have been easier just to post them?'
    'I think that's my business,' she said tightly.
    He grinned, unabashed. 'Of course it is, bach, but I have
    an—interest too, shall we say? And I'm sorry you're going for
    another reason. Good-looking women are scarce round this way
    and Rhiannon tends to have things too much her own way. A bit of
    competition would have been good for her.'
    Davina held up her hands in mock horror. 'And they call this the
    simple life! I shall be glad to get back to sweet, uncomplicated
    London!'
    They were still laughing when Rhiannon returned.
    'What's so amusing?' she demanded ungraciously. 'Have you
    finished with those cups?'
    'And the answers to those questions are "Never you mind" and
    "Yes",' Huw said pleasantly. 'I'm glad to see you're all dolled up,
    bach. I'll go and change and be back for you in three-quarters of an
    hour, right?'
    'Why?' Rhiannon stared at him. She flushed slightly. 'I'm not
    wearing this dress for your benefit, Huw Morgan.'
    'There's a pity.' But he did not sound too downhearted. 'I thought we
    had a date with a disco tonight.'
    'Oh.' Rhiannon looked taken aback. 'I'd forgotten all about that,
    Huw. I'm sorry, but I don't feel like going anyway. I've got a bit of a
    headache.'
    Huw shook his head. 'Sorry to hear that,' he said. 'I've been looking
    forward to it myself.' He looked at Davina. 'How about it, bach?
    Would you like to sample the local night life with me, seeing as I've
    been let down?'
    'Huw!' Rhiannon looked scandalised. 'She wouldn't want to be
    bothered with all that old nonsense. Besides, you've only just met
    her.'
    'Well, she's got a tongue in her head,' Huw said cheerfully. 'Besides,
    she's not going to have much of an evening otherwise if you're
    going to sit glaring at her all the time. She'd be much better off
    going out for a bit of a dance with me. It's all in the family anyway,
    in a manner of speaking.'
    'She's not one of our family,' Rhiannon denied hotly, then turned
    away biting her lip.
    Huw smiled across at Davina. 'Come on, girl, what do you say? If
    nothing else, it will give you something to laugh about when you get
    back to London— My night with the Welsh peasants by Miss
    Davina Greer. You might be able to write a book instead of just
    publishing other people's.'
    In spite of