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His frown deepened. The name Libby meant nothing to him. What was more concerning was that she’d called him Kai, and no one ever called him Kai except Neve. He was always either Mr Frost and Kaius to everyone else.

‘It’s Mr Frost to you,’ he said coldly. ‘And I don’t know anyone called Libby.’

She’d pulled the throw more firmly around her, still shivering. ‘Y-you did once. Though, most everyone else called me Liberty.’

Liberty…

A distant bell in the back of his mind rang, only he wasn’t entirely sure why. ‘How the hell did you get here?’ he asked, deciding to ignore the issue. ‘Are you a reporter?’

She looked surprised. ‘A reporter? No, I’m not a reporter.’

He studied her face, more closely this time. She was a pretty little thing, with a pointed chin, fine features and long, thick lashes. Her eyes weren’t as dark as they’d seemed through the window. In the light they were a clear and lovely amber, almost gold. There was a familiarity to them—to her—that tugged at him, but like her name, he couldn’t quite place it.

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said, and he didn’t. There was only one person he’d ever trusted, and that was Neve.

She looked taken aback at that, as if she’d never had anyone not believe her in her entire life. ‘I–I–I’m telling the truth. I’m really not a reporter.’

Fuck, he wished Neve was here. She’d be able to tell if this woman was lying. She’d always been much better at reading people than he had, though she’d taught him quite a bit over the years. He’d always preferred numbers and money. They were much easier to read than people were.

Still, Neve had always been clear that giving people the benefit of the doubt wasn’t a good thing, that you always had to assume they were out for something, and that had been borne out in all his business dealings. He didn’t see why that shouldn’t be the case now.

‘If you’re not a reporter,’ he said, deciding that was another issue he would think about later, ‘then what the hell are you doing on my private property.’

Liberty was still staring at him as if she’d never seen anything like him in all her life. It was familiar, that look on her face. Women did that to him all the time and he was used to it, so he ignored it. ‘I…came to see you,’ she said hesitantly. ‘You really don’t remember me?’

‘Should I?’

A crease appeared between her brows as she searched his face, clearly looking for a hint of recognition that wasn’t forthcoming. ‘Well, I did think you wouldn’t. I guess it’s been a long time.’ She seemed disappointed. Perhaps she was a woman he’d slept with at university, years ago and now forgotten. There had been a lot of them, after all, especially after his ignominious marriage proposal to Neve. She’d turned him down flat, and rightly so. He’d been far too young and, worse, far too trusting, both of which now he’d remedied.

At the thought of Neve and the clause she’d put in her damn will, pain and no small amount of fury twisted inside him, but he brushed it aside. He wasn’t ready to deal with that, not yet.

‘A long time?’ he asked. ‘I didn’t sleep with you, did I?’

A wash of colour stained her pale cheeks. ‘No,’ she said, sounding shocked. ‘God, no. We didn’t do anything like that. I’m Liberty Lockheart. From The Worthington Home, remember?’

The Worthington Home…

Ah, there it was, distant but very definitely there, a memory from his past. A little girl with golden hair and a bright smile, who’d been like a sister to him. Libby…

He stared down at her, dim memories stirring. Of the group home he’d been in after his birth parents had died, which hadn’t been the worst, but hadn’t been the best, either. Of how everything had changed when Neve had arrived, taking him away to a better and more successful life than anything he could have imagined.

He hadn’t thought of that for a very long time, and quite frankly, he didn’t want to think of it now. He’d left behind the home and his childhood twenty years ago and had no wish to return.

‘I see,’ he said shortly.

An expression he couldn’t read flickered over her face. ‘That’s all you have to say? “I see”?’

But he was growing impatient now. The little girl he barely remembered was now this woman, a stranger, and for some reason she was here at his private residence, and he had no idea why. Nor did he want to know. He had no interest in his past or anyone from it.

What he wanted was to spend his first Christmas without Neve at the lodge, trying to deal with both his grief at her loss and his anger at the last thing she’d asked of him. She’d wanted him to find a wife, and if he didn’t, then the ownership of all her companies, everything she’d promised to him, everything he had of her now she was gone, would be given to charity.

If he wanted Neve’s fortune, he would have to marry, and it was not what he wanted. He didn’t care about the fortune—he already had plenty of money—it was more about what that fortune represented that mattered.

The woman who’d taken an orphaned boy in and adopted him, though she’d never been a mother to him. No, she’d been something else. His mentor, his inspiration, his heroine. She’d been everything and he was her heir. That fortune was her legacy, and he wasn’t about to let it be broken up and sold. He just didn’t want to marry anyone to stop it.

‘I remember you, Liberty,’ he said, dismissive. ‘But that was a long time ago. I don’t know what you’re doing here now, but whatever it is, I’m not interested. So, I suggest you return to whatever vehicle you came here in and leave my property.’

Her mouth, a soft bow, tightened. ‘My car ran off the road, and I walked up here. If I return to my vehicle, I’ll have to stay in it until it can be towed and I’ll likely freeze to death before that happens.’