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The Society Groom
Mary Lyons


Infamous playboy announces engagement! At eighteen, Olivia Johnson had a brief, passionate affair with the infamous, rich socialite Dominic FitzCharles. Madly in love, she'd never forgotten him - even though it seemed he had forgotten her… . Now twenty-eight and a successful businesswoman, Olivia had no time for love affairs.When she met Dominic again at a society wedding, she vowed she'd stay in control. But Dominic had other ideas. He announced their engagement to the press - and in front of London's elite; just how was Olivia supposed to say no?They're gorgeous, they're glamorous… and they're getting married!







Title Page (#u6e192936-3066-5f33-89dd-1a46f574e563)CHAPTER ONE (#u332bce19-beb8-5e8f-8256-d7429578bb4a)CHAPTER TWO (#ubfea67c5-3313-544f-bfd6-e1ed2f0030cc)CHAPTER THREE (#u633f19fb-ab6b-55f6-ab27-750926ef49bb)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


“I hope you haven’t made the big mistake of thinking he’s going to marry you!”

In the appalled, deathly silence that followed these words, Dominic immediately leapt to his feet.

Swiftly bending down and scooping up something from the table, he quickly grabbed hold of Olivia’s left hand.

“It’s not the traditional diamond, of course.” He grinned, slipping a tab from a soft drink can onto the third finger of her left hand. “However, as far as I’m concerned, I definitely intend to marry Olivia. So I think you can all regard this as our engagement party.”

There was another moment’s stunned silence, with everyone around the table staring openmouthed in astonishment as Dominic, pulling Olivia’s trembling and dazed figure to her feet, placed his arms swiftly around her before claiming her lips in a long, warm and tender kiss.


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Invites you to see how the other half marry in:






They’re gorgeous, they’re glamorous... and they’re getting married!

In this sensational five-book miniseries you’ll be our VIP guest at some of the most-talked-about weddings of the decade—spectacular events where the cream of society gather to celebrate the marriages of dazzling brides and grooms in equally breathtaking international locations.

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The Society Groom

Mary Lyons














www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS four o’clock on a freezing cold, dark winter’s afternoon in the City of London as the large black limousine slowly came to a halt in front of the church.

‘We’re a bit early, aren’t we?’ Mark Ryland muttered, glancing nervously out of the vehicle at the long flight of steps leading up to the brilliantly lit church porch.

‘Your bride-to-be gave me very clear instructions,’ Dominic FitzCharles told him firmly. ‘Not only was I to keep you as sober as possible at your stag party—but I was to make absolutely sure that we arrived at the church a good half-hour before the wedding.’

‘Anyone would think I was still a kid,’ Mark grumbled.

Dominic gave a quick shake of his dark head. ‘Oh, no. You’re merely that unimportant creature: the bridegroom! ’ he drawled with sardonic amusement. ‘And as such—if you’re a sensible man—you’ll do exactly as you’re told.’

‘Thanks, pal!’

Dominic laughed. ‘According to Sarah, she’s already had to cope with quite enough problems. So, for you to be either suffering from a mammoth hangover or to be late for the ceremony would definitely be the last straw!’

‘She’s got a point,’ Mark agreed as the uniformed chauffeur came around to open the passenger door.

Living in Hong Kong, where he was employed by a merchant bank, and only returning to Britain three days ago for his wedding, Mark had managed to avoid being dragged into any of the various traumas concerned with the organisation of his marriage to Sarah.

However, from what he could make out, it seemed that his fiancée and her mother had been at complete loggerheads with one another—barely able to agree about anything.

Fortunately, one of Sarah’s friends had told her about Society Weddings—a business run by a girl her own age which specialised in taking charge of everything to do with such an occasion. In fact, the service offered by the firm seemed to cover every aspect of a wedding from the marriage ceremony and reception down to even finding the right shoes to match the bride’s dress. And, in his fiancée’s case, it had not only been able to take the burden from her shoulders, but also deal with her formidable mother, Mrs Turnbull

‘It’s wonderful!’ Sarah had breathed in relief down the phone, some months ago. ‘Although I know Olivia’s had plenty of experience in dealing with ultra-glamorous, sophisticated events, she’s been so down-to-earth and helpful. And, what’s more, she’s managed to persuade Mummy to let me have exactly the sort of wedding that I’ve always wanted!’

So, thanks to the unknown Olivia, it had looked as if it was all going to be plain sailing as far as the arrangements for his forthcoming marriage were concerned.

But then his younger brother, James, had been suddenly rushed to hospital with acute appendicitis, only a few days ago. Which had left Mark in a dire fix, and urgently trying to find someone to act as his best man.

‘Sarah and I are both so grateful,’ Mark said as he stepped out of the limousine. ‘Getting off the plane from Hong Kong to hear about poor old James was a bit of a shock. In fact, I honestly don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t come to our rescue.’

‘Nonsense! It was the least I could do for an old school-friend.’ Dominic grinned at the other man as he joined him on the pavement.

‘Besides, it isn’t the first time that I’ve acted as someone’s best man—and I don’t suppose it will be the last,’ he added, casting a critical eye over the groom’s black morning tailcoat and pinstriped trousers—which, together with a crisp white shirt, doeskin waistcoat and pale grey tie, mirrored his own attire. ‘Hold it just a second...’ Dominic. murmured, quickly reaching over to adjust the red carnation in the shorter man’s buttonhole.

‘OK—that’s it. You’re looking very smart!’ he added, handing Mark a black silk top hat and gloves before giving the groom a cheerful, comforting slap on the back as they began mounting the long flight of steps leading up to the church. ‘By the way, what’s the latest news of your brother?’

‘He seems to be recovering well from the operation. Although, as you can imagine, he’s as sick as a parrot at being stuck in hospital and missing a good party,’ Mark told him. ‘All the same, I can’t help wondering if maybe I should have cancelled the wedding and waited until he was back on his feet again, after all?’

‘I don’t suppose that Sarah’s mother would have been too happy about the marriage being suddenly postponed at the last minute!’ Dominic murmured blandly. Despite only having had one brief meeting with the hard faced, strongminded Mrs Turnbull, he was profoundly grateful that she wasn’t going to be his mother-in-law!

‘No, you’re quite right—she wouldn’t,’ Mark agreed with a slight grimace, thanking his lucky stars that, following their honeymoon in the Caribbean, he and Sarah would be living in Hong Kong for the next few years—and well out of reach of her mother.

‘And what about you? How come you haven’t got married yet?’ Mark asked, pausing halfway up the long, steep flight of steps. ‘Isn’t it about time you thought of settling down with one of your glamorous girlfriends?’

Dominic turned his dark head to gaze at him in astonishment. ‘Good heavens! Why on earth would I want to get hitched?’

‘I just thought...’ Mark shrugged. ‘I mean, there’s all that business of needing a son to pass on the title, and...’

‘You’re way behind the times.’ His friend gave a dry bark of laughter. ‘Not only are the Government busy abolishing the House of Lords, but, quite frankly, no one cares very much about that sort of thing nowadays.’

‘So there’s been no pressure from your mother?’ Mark queried, his voice heavy with disbelief as they continued on their way up the steps.

From what he recalled of their school days at Eton, the Dowager Countess of Tenterden was a frighteningly imperious lady: stiff with family pride and altogether a very tough act. So the chances of her not badgering Dominic to provide a son and heir to inherit his ancient title were very slim indeed!

‘Ah! Well, yes...I must admit that my dear mama has expressed some firm views on the subject!’ Dominic agreed ruefully, while nodding at some of his friends amongst the crowd of ushers waiting to greet the wedding guests and show them to their seats inside the church.

‘However, I’m certainly in no hurry to “settle down”, as you put it,’ he continued. ‘For one thing I’m far too busy nowadays. And for another...well, let’s just say that I haven’t yet found the right girl.’

Oh, yeah? Mark told himself with cynical amusement as Dominic, his dark brows drawn together in a slight frown, took a quick step forward, peering into the dim interior of the large church porch.

He might have been living and working abroad for some time, but nevertheless Mark was perfectly well aware of Dominic’s regular appearance in the newspaper gossip columns and glossy magazines. Not only was he a highly eligible bachelor, but his fast turnover of stunningly beautiful, glamorous girlfriends seemed guaranteed to keep him in the headlines for some time to come.

Which meant that if Dominic FitzCharles, fourteenth Earl of Tenterden, hadn’t yet found the right girl...it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying!

It was difficult for one man to judge another, of course. However, there was absolutely no doubt that, while Dominic might not be outstandingly handsome, women had always seemed to find his friend amazingly attractive.

With his thick, wavy dark hair, a slightly swarthy complexion, high cheekbones and Roman nose—together with a distinctly predatory glint in the heavy-lidded smokygrey eyes set beneath dark, quizzical eyebrows—Dominic had a disturbingly hawk-like, dangerous air about him. On top of which, since he was not only a peer of the realm but also extremely wealthy, and lived in a romantic old castle, it was no wonder that he appeared almost irresistible to the opposite sex!

Mark’s slightly envious thoughts were interrupted as his friend, who’d left his side for a moment, returned with a puzzled frown in his face.

‘That’s odd,’ Dominic murmured. ‘I could have sworn... I thought I’d caught a glimpse of someone who seemed strangely familiar—although I can’t recall where or when we might have met. But...’ he shrugged his broad shoulders ‘...she now seems to have disappeared into thin air.’

‘Oh, really? So after all your efforts to keep the groom as sober as a judge maybe it was the best man who drank too much last night?’ Mark teased.

‘You’re probably right,’ Dominic agreed with a slightly embarrassed, wry shrug of his shoulders as they entered the church and began walking slowly down the brightly lit nave towards their seats in the front pew, on the right-hand side of the aisle.

Unfortunately, Olivia Johnson was only too well aware of the identity of the tall, dark and attractive best man.

Earlier, while standing within the church porch, checking that the ushers had ample supplies of the Order of Service sheets, her eyes had slowly and inexorably been drawn towards the tall, broad-shouldered figure accompanying a shorter man as they’d mounted the church steps towards her.

I don’t believe it! What on earth is he doing here? she’d asked herself incredulously, the blood draining from her face at the sight of the arrogant, hawk-like features of Dominic FitzCharles.

Feeling suddenly faint, as though she’d been hit by a violent blow to the solar plexus, Olivia had instinctively staggered back into a dark, shadowy far corner of the porch, desperately trying to pull herself together.

And then, as she’d heard the ushers outside on the steps calling out greetings to the two men, she’d realised that she’d just witnessed the arrival of the groom and his best man. Which had to mean that by some utterly disastrous, malign twist of fate it must be Dominic who’d been chosen to replace Mark Ryland’s brother.

A moment later, suddenly overcome by panic as she’d seen him moving determinedly through the crowd of ushers towards her, Olivia had taken to her heels. Quickly slipping through the half-open heavy oak door, she’d swiftly disappeared from sight inside the main body of the church.

Breathless and trembling with shock, her legs feeling as though they were made of cotton wool, Olivia had hurriedly made her way to a small side chapel, hidden from sight on the far side of the nave. Sinking weakly down onto a pew, and staring blindly at the flickering candles on the altar, she’d frantically tried to calm down and work out what she was going to do about this potentially disastrous situation.

Fortunately, it hadn’t been very long before some small measure of common sense had come to her aid, and she’d gradually begun pulling herself together.

So...OK...it had been a shock, she told herself now firmly. But running away from a situation—however difficult-was obviously a very childish response, and certainly wasn’t going to solve anything.

Although they now moved in quite different circles, and no longer had any friends in common, she really ought to have guessed that she was bound to meet Dominic again sooner or later. In fact, it had been downright stupid of her not to have already worked out what she was going to say, or do, if and when they bumped into one another. And why she hadn’t prepared herself for just such an eventuality long before now, she had absolutely no idea.

Well, that wasn’t strictly true, of course. Because no one with any sense would want to spend too much time thinking about unhappy episodes in their past. Not when they could hardly bear to recall the really awful, crippling shame of having once made such an almighty fool of themselves.

Besides, it must be at least ten years since that dreadfully embarrassing, quite horrendous episode involving herself and Dominic. Ten years in which Olivia knew that she’d changed beyond all recognition. Thankfully, she no longer bore any resemblance to that highly emotional eighteen-year-old, her head filled to the brim with romantic fantasies and madly in love with the wild, Byronic hero of her dreams.

Although, to be fair, she hadn’t been the only silly, immature young girl overwhelmed by Dominic’s devastating charm and overwhelming sex appeal. Or attracted, like a moth to a flame, by the highly glamorous, almost uncanny resemblance he bore to his ancestor—that famous seducer of beautiful women-King Charles II.

What an idiot she’d been! Olivia told herself, shaking her head at her own youthful folly. Anyone with even half an ounce of sense would have known that it would all end in tears. As indeed it had, she thought grimly, slowly rising to her feet and brushing the dust from her black velvet suit.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to clear her mind of the unhappy memories of the past. Quite apart from anything else, she couldn’t afford to stay hidden away here, feeling sorry for herself. In fact, it was absolutely imperative that she got back to work as soon as possible.

As the owner and sole proprietor of Society Weddings—providing a service for those wishing to place the organisation of their wedding in safe, professional hands—Olivia knew that much of her success was the result of sheer hard work and careful planning. And she had quite enough to cope with in making sure that Sarah Turnbull’s marriage proved to be the occasion of her dreams without having to worry about Dominic FitzCharles.

Of course, if she’d known that it was he whom Mark Ryland would choose as his best man when the groom’s younger brother had been so unexpectedly taken ill with appendicitis, she might have been better prepared. But then, as she knew so well, life had a way of throwing rotten tomatoes in your way when you least expected it, and she was just going to have to cope with the situation as best she could.

Unfortunately, despite giving herself such really excellent advice, there seemed nothing Olivia could do to control the slightly sick feelings of nervous apprehension settling like a hard lump of concrete in her stomach.

Taking a deep breath, and fully determined to concentrate on her job, Olivia walked slowly out of the small side chapel into the main body of the church.

Please ... please give Dominic FitzCharles a really bad case of amnesia! she prayed fervently, hoping against hope that a benevolent God would somehow save her from what she could only think of as a hideously embarrassing situation.

‘I’m not sure that getting here so early was all that great an idea,’ Mark said, shifting uncomfortably on the hard wooden pew and desperately wishing that he could get his hands on a stiff drink.

‘It’s just prewedding nerves,’ Dominic drawled, smiling at the nervous, worried expression on the other man’s pale face.

‘It’s all right for you!’ Mark muttered grimly, ashamed to find himself feeling quite so tense. ‘You may be in no hurry to get married, but I hope that I’m around to have a good laugh if and when some clever woman does manage to drag you to the altar.’

‘Hey—relax!’ Dominic murmured, gazing at his friend with concern. ‘Sarah’s a wonderful girl, and I know that the two of you are going to be very happy. So just hang in there, OK?’

Mark nodded. ‘Yeah...sorry about losing my cool like that. It’s just...I don’t know...’ He gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders.

‘It won’t be long now,’ Dominic told him comfortingly. ‘By the way...’ he added, attempting to distract his friend by turning his thoughts in another direction. ‘Because of your brother’s totally unexpected illness we haven’t had time to discuss all the normal duties of a best man. So, what do you want me to do about paying the vicar? I’ve brought some money with me, just in case it might be necessary, and...’

‘Oh, there’s no need to worry,’ Mark told him. ‘Sarah’s found this woman who’s apparently taking care of all those boring, nitty-gritty details. In fact, as far as I can make out, she’s handling just about everything.’

Dominic raised a dark, quizzical eyebrow. ‘Everything? ’

Mark nodded. ‘According to Sarah, this woman has organised the whole bang-shoot. And, while it might be costing her father an arm and a leg, Sarah reckons it’s worth every penny. If only for the fact that she’s now having the sort of wedding she wants—and not something dreamed up by her mother.’

‘That sounds like a damn good idea,’ Dominic agreed as the sound of soft organ music and the increasing amount of noise and bustle indicated that the first guests were beginning to enter the church. ‘Ah-ha...I knew I hadn’t been mistaken!’

‘Hmm...?’

Dominic nodded to the other side of the church, to where a girl was climbing up onto a pew, clearly with the aim of making a slight adjustment to a flower arrangement which had been placed on a high windowsill.

‘That’s the girl I saw earlier in the porch—when we first arrived. And I’m still quite certain that I’ve seen her somewhere before. But I can’t recall exactly when or where...’ he muttered, his dark brows drawn together in a distracted frown.

‘Sorry—I haven’t a clue who she is.’ Mark gave a slight shrug. ‘Although I must say,’ he added, viewing the tight skirt of the girl’s black velvet suit, momentarily riding up to reveal long, slim legs clothed in sheer black stockings, ‘she’s got a great pair of very sexy legs!’

‘You’re absolutely right,’ Dominic drawled with amusement. ‘But I don’t think this is exactly the right moment to be saying so, do you? Not when you’re supposed to be getting married in a few minutes’ time!’

Mark grinned. However, before he could reply, his attention was claimed by the arrival of his parents, who were being shown to their seats in the pew directly behind him.

While Lady Ryland gave her son a quick kiss, and Lord Ryland shook his hand, gruffly wishing him ‘the very best of luck, my boy’, Dominic found himself becoming increasingly irritated at not being able to recollect precisely where he’d seen the tall, slim girl.

Moreover, if it didn’t seem so utterly ridiculous, he might think that she was deliberately avoiding looking in his direction. In fact, despite not being able to catch more than a brief glimpse of a pale complexion and tawny-gold hair hidden beneath her wide-brimmed, black velvet hat, she still appeared disturbingly familiar—even while keeping her back firmly turned towards him.

With the arrival of Mrs Turnbull and the small bridesmaids, quickly followed by that of the bride and her father at the church door, Olivia found herself far too busy to spend any more time worrying about Dominic.

‘You look absolutely wonderful!’ she told Sarah with a beaming smile, before quickly reassuring the other girl that her groom had arrived, and everything was totally under control. ‘So just relax—and enjoy your wedding.’

‘Yes, I know that I will...thanks to you!’ Sarah said with heartfelt gratitude as Olivia carefully adjusted the cowl hood of the bride’s long ivory velvet cloak, lined in deep crimson satin, which flowed down to the ground and behind her in a curved train.

‘In fact, without your help, I’d be standing here dressed like a fairy on the top of a Christmas tree!’ Sarah added with a ripple of laughter, and the two girls grinned at one another as they recalled the many battles they’d had with Mrs Turnbull.

‘I want my daughter to look like a proper bride,’ that formidable lady had announced in a hard, no-nonsense tone of voice on being first introduced to Olivia, some months ago. ‘Sarah might be marrying a lord’s son—but I’m not having any of his family thinking we don’t know what’s what! Not when my husband’s got more loose change in his pocket than they’ve got in the whole of their bank account,’ she’d added grimly.

‘You’re absolutely right,’ Olivia had murmured soothingly, well able to understand the older woman’s determination not to be pushed around or over-awed by the prospect of her daughter marrying into the aristocracy. In fact, Mark’s parents, Lord and Lady Ryland, were perfectly nice, ordinary people, distinctly nonsnobbish, and very happy with their son’s choice of bride.

It had, however, taken a great deal of time and trouble on Olivia’s part to convince Mrs Turnbull that the slim, petite figure of her pretty darkhaired daughter would definitely not be seen to best advantage in the dress on which her mother had set her heart.

In fact, Olivia thought, it would have been downright cruel to force anyone to wear such a garment. With its heavily embroidered top, totally smothered in pearls and rhinestones, over a vast crinoline skirt composed of tier upon tier of heavy, brilliant white lace flounces, dotted with bows and posies of flowers—and yet more pearls and rhinestones—it had been a complete nightmare!

‘I’ll look dreadful—like some huge snowball!’ Sarah had wailed in despair. ‘Please help me, Olivia. You must try and make my mother see that I’m far too short to wear something like that And that hard, bright white is absolutely the wrong colour for my skin.’

Eventually Olivia had managed to persuade Mrs Turnbull that ‘less is more’—and to concentrate on elegance rather than magnificence. And the older woman had eventually agreed that maybe Sarah and Olivia’s choice of wedding gown wasn’t so bad, after all.

And now, as she gazed at the bride in her sophisticated, fluid sheath of pale ivory satin, a simple diamond hairband holding back her long black hair beneath the hood of her velvet cloak, Olivia realised that, despite the battles with Mrs Turnbull, it had all been worthwhile. Sarah looked not only stunningly beautiful, but also extremely elegant and thoroughly soignée.

‘It was a great idea of yours to have the twins as my bridesmaids,’ Sarah murmured, the battles she’d had with her mother all forgotten now as, wearing exactly the outfit she’d always wanted, she watched Olivia handing the tiny posies of red and pale cream roses to the two small girls.

‘Don’t they look adorable, Dad?’ she asked her father as she smiled happily down at the dark-haired, five-year-old twin daughters of Mark’s much older sister. Dressed in simple ivory velvet dresses, with wide crimson satin sashes tied at the back in a large bow, they looked enchanting.

‘Aye, they do, lass,’ Robert Turnbull agreed, nervously straightening his tie and wishing himself miles away.

Not that he didn’t love his only daughter, he told himself firmly. But he was a plain-speaking Yorkshireman, and never happier than when running his large textile business. Although he got on right well with Mark’s father, who seemed a sensible enough man, the sooner he could get back up North the happier he’d be.

‘Hey—have you had a chance to get a good look at Mark’s best man?’ Sarah asked Olivia as the other girl bent down to straighten one of the little bridesmaid’s ivory-coloured tights.

‘Er...yes...’ Olivia muttered, inwardly cursing the flush she could feel rising over her pale cheeks as she tried to concentrate on retying the bow of the little girl’s red ballet shoes.

‘Is he drop-dead gorgeous—or what?’ Sarah giggled. ‘At least half of the female guests invited to the wedding seem to be his old girlfriends, while the other half are intending to seriously chat him up at the reception!’ she added with a grin, before nervously taking her father’s arm as the organ began thumping out the first, loud chords of the ‘Wedding March’.

Waiting until the bride and her retinue had begun walking slowly up the aisle, Olivia slipped into a seat at the back of the church.

But, despite the long length of the nave between them, she was still acutely aware of the broad-shouldered, dark figure of Dominic FitzCharles, standing beside the groom as the vicar began the wedding service, joining Sarah and Mark together in holy matrimony.

Despite the many other large, prestigious London hotels which were often chosen for wedding receptions, Claridge’s Hotel was far and away Olivia’s favourite venue. Together with its wonderful Art Deco, nineteen-thirties’ style of decoration, the hotel’s vast experience in handling functions—from simple dinner parties to grand balls attended by English royalty and the few remaining crowned heads of Europe—meant that she could safely leave all arrangements in the capable hands of the hotel’s staff.

And she’d been quite right. It was now an hour since the bride and groom had arrived at the hotel following their marriage, and everything seemed to be going with a swing.

The large reception room looked magnificent. The crystal chandeliers were casting a sparkling glow over the smartly dressed guests; the many huge flower arrangements filled the air with a delicious perfume; and an army of waiters were making sure that the champagne was flowing like water. All perfect ingredients for a great party!

However, as she now stood in a far corner of the large reception room, quickly glancing down at her watch as the happy couple circulated amongst their guests, Olivia knew that there were still some hours to go before she could relax.

With the groom only returning to Britain just a few days before his marriage, it hadn’t been the easiest of weddings to arrange. Especially as Sarah had had some firm ideas about the reception.

‘I want to have some sort of dinner-dance,’ she’d said, before adding with a frown, ‘But what do we do with the all those elderly relatives and friends of my parents? They’re going to simply hate the idea of dancing, since most of them will just want to sit around, catching up on the family gossip.’

However, after carefully going through the proposed list of guests, and noting that many of Sarah and Mark’s friends worked in the City of London, Olivia had put forward a suggestion that the wedding should take place in one of the ancient City churches on a late Friday afternoon.

‘I know it’s slightly unusual,’ she’d told Mrs Turnbull and her daughter. ‘But it will make it a lot easier for busy men and women to attend the wedding at the end of a working week before going on to a reception in a hotel such as Claridge’s. And if you start with a champagne reception—including the usual speeches and cutting the wedding cake—those who wish to do so can then leave, with the younger guests staying on to enjoy a buffet dinner and dance.’

‘That’s a brilliant idea!’ Sarah had exclaimed. And even Mrs Turnbull had grudgingly agreed that it did seem to cater for just about all their guests.

However, now, despite being busily engaged in making sure that the reception was proceeding smoothly, Olivia was only too well aware that she still had a major problem on her hands.

Right from the moment he’d arrived at the hotel with the bride and groom, she’d been acutely aware that Dominic FitzCharles—clearly unused to being thwarted in any way—was still determined to find an answer to the puzzle which had been troubling him since his arrival at the church.

The damn man’s as stubborn as a mule, Olivia had told herself grimly, doing her best to ignore the granite-hard, clear grey eyes regarding her intently as she’d moved about the room, making sure that the influx of guests were being properly looked after. Luckily, Dominic had been forced to stand in the receiving line, together with Sarah and Mark and their parents—so she’d been quite safe for a while.

However, after all the guests had arrived, and Dominic had at last been able to leave the receiving line, Olivia had found herself beginning to panic. Maybe she was just being paranoid, but it had seemed that he was deliberately ‘stalking’ her through the crowded throng of guests, smoothly greeting his friends and acquaintances while all the time firmly keeping her tall, slim figure in view.

He’d almost caught up with her as she’d been checking over the timing of the speeches with the Toastmaster, hired for the occasion. Luckily, she’d managed to quickly make her escape by hurriedly taking refuge in the ladies’ powder room.

Suddenly feeling exhausted by the stress and strain engendered by Dominic’s totally unexpected appearance as Mark Ryland’s best man, she’d sunk down onto a padded stool, removing her wide-brimmed black hat and gazing helplessly at herself in the mirror.

‘Come on! For heaven’s sake, pull yourself together—and get a grip on the situation!’ she’d muttered grimly under her breath, grimacing at the sight of her pale cheeks and the tense, strained lines around the wide green eyes staring back at her, cloudy with fear and apprehension.

While she couldn’t, of course, have stayed hidden in the powder room for very long, it had at least given her the opportunity to do something about her hair. And, there was no doubt, after vigorously brushing her long hair before once again winding it into a neat coil at the back of her head, that she had felt a whole lot better.

Leaving her large hat in the care of the cloakroom lady, and confident that she was once again maintaining her normal ‘strictly business’ appearance, she’d cautiously made her way back to the reception.

Now, following her signal, the Toastmaster gathered together the chief members of the wedding party at the far end of the room, before calling for silence to enable an elderly relative of the bride to propose the health of the happy couple.

So used to wedding speeches—which could occasionally go on for an inordinate length of time!—Olivia wasn’t really listening to what was being said at the far end of the room. Until, to her complete astonishment, she caught the sound of her own name.

Quickly jerking to attention, she gazed over the heads of the crowd towards where, most unusually, she saw that the bride had seized hold of the microphone.

‘...and we’re so happy to see you all here today.’ Sarah gave the guests a broad grin. ‘I’ve already thanked my parents, and everyone else connected with our marriage, but I do want everyone to know that without the help of Olivia Johnson and her firm Society Weddings, which took all the strain out of what could have been a tense time before our wedding, Mark and I might well have run off on our own and eloped to Gretna Green!’

Oh, Lord! It looks as if Sarah has really hit the champagne bottle, more than somewhat! was the first thought to enter Olivia’s head, as a ripple of laughter and applause rang around the room.

And then, as she saw Dominic give a quick snap of his fingers—the gesture accompanied by an expression of triumph and satisfaction flickering briefly across his handsome face—Olivia realised that any hope of her remaining anonymous as far as Dominic was concerned was now a complete waste of time. A fact emphasised as, in his role of best man, he stepped forward to make the final speech of the day, before once more proposing the health of the bride and groom.

It was an accomplished, smooth performance. Although Olivia could have done without the heavily cynical, distinct emphasis in his voice when welcoming so many ‘old friends’ to the wedding.

However, it looked as though the rotten man must be able to move with the speed of light. Because, only a moment or two after the bride and groom had cut the cake, Olivia suddenly became aware that the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Dominic FitzCharles was now standing by her side.

‘Well, well, how very nice to see you again, Olivia. And after all these years!’ he drawled coolly, smiling sardonically down at the pale-faced, slim figure of the girl who’d been so clearly avoiding him for some hours.


CHAPTER TWO

‘IT’S been a long time since we last saw one another,’ Dominic drawled smoothly.

‘Yes, it has,’ Olivia agreed, thoroughly rattled by his sudden, unexpectedly swift appearance at her side.

‘So... what have you been doing with yourself all these years?’

She shrugged. ‘Not a lot.’

‘Oh, really?’ he murmured. ‘You certainly seem to have been quite busy today.’

‘Well, yes. As you can see, I run a business arranging weddings,’ she muttered, avoiding his eyes as she gazed past him at the crowded throng of guests.

He gave a short bark of dry laughter. ‘Yes—I had rather gathered that fact,’ he told her, not bothering to hide the note of hard irony in his deep voice. ‘Is it a successful business?’

She gave another shrug of her slim shoulders. ‘I make a reasonable living!’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he drawled, his lips twitching with wry amusement and clearly not at all perturbed by the girl’s obvious reluctance to continue the conversation. ‘But what about your private life?’

‘What about it?’ she queried stonily, still avoiding his gaze as her eyes flicked nervously around the room, frantically searching for some avenue of escape from the tall, dark figure now standing so close to her.

‘Well, now...’ he drawled mockingly. ‘I was merely wondering if you are happy and content with your life? Whether you’re married or single? Are you still living in the country—or do you have a home here in London? Nothing very dramatic,’ he added with a grin. ‘Just the normal, boring type of questions that one usually asks at this kind of function.’

‘Yes, I am happy. No, I’m not married—and, yes, I live in London,’ she snapped tersely. ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I really think that I must go and...’

‘Oh, but I do mind,’ he murmured, quickly taking hold of her arm and leading her reluctant, nervously protesting figure to a small alcove in the far corner of the room.

‘No...really...I’ve still got a lot of work to do, and...’

‘It can wait,’ he said, firmly sitting her down on a small padded bench, effectively screened from the rest of the room by heavy velvet curtains.

‘We’ve both been on duty quite long enough. So I feel we’re entitled to a short break, don’t you?’ Dominic continued, not waiting for an answer as he added, ‘I’m just going to get us both a drink. But don’t make the mistake of trying to escape me yet again, hmm?’

Despite the cool smile on his face, there was no mistaking the intimidating, icy note of menace in his voice as he stood staring down at her for a moment, before swiftly turning on his heels and striding across the room in search of a waiter.

As she watched Dominic’s tall, commanding figure smoothly making his way through the crowd, Olivia desperately tried to bring her chaotic thoughts and emotions under some sort of control. To have so unexpectedly met again the man who’d once meant so much to her, and from whom she had parted so abruptly and painfully, was proving to be almost more than she could cope with.

It was ridiculous to be meekly sitting here—doing as she was told and not daring to move, just as though she was a naughty child, she told herself, suddenly irritated with herself for being so weak and feeble. However, as she acknowledged with a heavy sigh, it was obviously pointless to continue trying to evade any contact with Dominic. There were still some hours to go before the end of the wedding reception—and she could hardly keep ricocheting back and forth around this large room, attempting to avoid the man. She would just end up looking totally ridiculous.

In any case, she was damned if she was prepared to let Dominic guess just how devastated she’d been by the abrupt termination of their brief love affair. In fact, if she’d had any sense at all—and hadn’t been so thrown by his sudden appearance by her side a few moments ago—she ought to have lied her head off and told him that she was happily married. Or at least laid claim to a highly active sex life with a whole string of highly glamorous lovers.

Come on...come on! You’ve got to get a grip on yourself. You’re not a teenager any more, she told herself roughly. You’re a successful businesswoman of twenty-eight years of age. So there’s absolutely no reason why you should put up with any nonsense, she was telling herself firmly as she saw Dominic returning back across the room, a glass of champagne in each hand.

He hasn’t changed at all, she thought, her mood swinging from firm resolution to nervous misery in the twinkling of an eye; she instantly recognised an old, all too familiar ache m her body at the sight of the most devastatingly attractive man she’d ever known.

There were, of course, a few threads of silver amidst the dark hair at his temples, and his face was now somewhat leaner, with a more stern expression than she remembered. There also appeared to be a more forceful, autocratic stance to his figure. However, that was perhaps not so surprising, since Dominic had inherited both his title, the huge castle in Kent and the management of ten thousand acres on the death of his father some years ago. And with such an inheritance had also come noblesse oblige: the heavy duties and responsibilities of those born to wealth and grandeur.

While she might not have physically laid eyes on him for the past ten years, Olivia was well aware—from both the newspaper columns and glossy magazines—that if Dominic played hard, he also worked very hard as well. He sat on the boards of various large companies involved in farming, he’d been appointed by the Queen as Deputy Lord Lieutenant for the County of Kent, and, as she knew from her own father, who lived nearby, Dominic was also president of many various local charities.

However, as he now handed her a glass of champagne, she realised that while his outward appearance might have changed slightly over the past ten years, he still possessed that glittering aura which instinctively drew people to him: an almost sinister air of stillness and self-control that had always set him apart from anyone else she’d ever known.

‘We’ve a lot of news to catch up on,’ he said, sitting down beside her on the small bench. ‘How is Lord Bibury these days? I haven’t seen him for some years.’

‘Oh, Dad’s all right,’ she muttered, trying to inch away from the tall, broad-shouldered figure, whose hard, muscular thigh was now pressed closely to her own. ‘Actually... actually, my father isn’t too good these days,’ she added, her attention slightly distracted as she realised that it was a waste of time to try avoiding contact with Dominic—since the bench had clearly been designed for midgets!

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he murmured, his lips twitching with wry amusement at the girl’s obvious reluctance to sit too close to him. ‘What’s the problem?’

Olivia sighed. ‘Poor old Dad got totally hammered in the Lloyds of London debacle.’

‘What bad luck.’ Dominic frowned. ‘Did he lose a lot of money?’

‘Just about everything.’ She sighed heavily. ‘We’ve managed to hang onto the house. But I’m afraid all the land was sold some time ago.’

‘And what about your stepmother?’ he queried. ‘I can’t imagine Pamela having been too happy about that sort of situation?’

‘No, she wasn’t!’ Olivia agreed with a snort of grim laughter as she stared down at the glass of champagne in her hand.

A whip-thin, socially ambitious blonde woman, who’d managed to sink her hooks into Olivia’s father only a year after his wife’s death, Pamela had been responsible for making Olivia’s teenage life an absolute misery. So when Pamela—the archetypal wicked stepmother—had been faced with the sudden collapse of her comfortable life, and her role as Lady of the Manor, Olivia hadn’t been in the least surprised by her subsequent actions.

‘When the going gets tough—the tough get going. Literally, in the case of my stepmother!’ Olivia told him with another bark of harsh laughter. ‘Because she quickly dumped my father and is now married to a rich northern industrialist—Reg Plumley. Although, as you might guess, she still calls herself “Lady” Plumley—if and when she thinks she can get away with it!’

Dominic gave a low, soft rumble of laughter. ‘She really was a dreadful woman, wasn’t she?’

‘Oh—absolutely awful!’ Olivia agreed, the past ten years seeming to fade away as she grinned up at him, their mutual sense of humour and appreciation of the ridiculous aspects of life clearly as strong as it had always been.

‘It’s good to see that you haven’t really changed at all,’ he murmured, placing an arm around her slim figure and pulling her closer to his strong, firm body. ‘I’ve missed you all these years.’

It didn’t need the warm, sensual note in his deep voice, or the decided glint in those gleaming grey eyes beneath their heavy lids, to set the alarm bells ringing loudly in her brain. At the first touch of his strong arm about her shoulders Olivia had immediately begun to feel almost sick and breathless. And, with her face now only inches away from his own, every nerve-end in her body seemed to be tingling in response to this man’s extremely dangerous, rampant sex appeal.

Desperately trying to combat the insidious aura of sensuality which had always seemed to surround Dominic—and was still as highly potent today as it had been ten years ago—Olivia made a determined effort to pull herself together.

‘You’re quite wrong,’ she told him as firmly as she could, although she was well aware of the slightly tremulous wobble in her voice as she quickly jumped to her feet. ‘I have changed. In fact, I’m now an entirely different person—and light years away from the silly, immature girl that you once knew. Believe me, she was dead and buried a long time ago,’ Olivia added with a grim smile.

‘As for that ridiculous statement about your having missed me—I’ve never heard such nonsense!’ she continued, calmly handing him her still full glass of champagne. ‘I’ve got eyes in my head, and I can read the newspapers and gossip columns along with everyone else. So, quite frankly, Dominic—’ she gave a short bark of sardonic laughter ‘—I suggest that you save that sort of chat-up line for some other young girl who hasn’t yet cut her wisdom teeth!

‘And now, if you’ll excuse me...’ She quickly straightened her velvet jacket, before brushing some fluff from her skirt. ‘I must go and see how the arrangements for the buffet supper are coming along.’

How she was able to walk away from him with her head held high and with such firm, determined steps, Olivia never quite knew. However, the knowledge that she’d at last had the great pleasure and satisfaction of being able to give Dominic such a well-deserved put-down was definitely a soothing balm for her strained emotions.

She might well regret having been so foolish in the past. But at least she’d now drawn a line under that silly, immature affair which had taken place between them so long ago. Because there was no way a proud, arrogant man like Dominic FitzCharles would ever again try to smooth talk his way into her affections.

However, if Olivia had paused to look over her shoulder, she might well have been surprised to see that far from being dejected and cast down—or, indeed, furiously angry at being given the cold shoulder by an old girlfriend—Dominic was regarding her progress across the floor with a raised, dark quizzical eyebrow and a highly amused smile on his lips.

‘Well, well! Now, that really is very interesting,’ he murmured softly to himself as he rose to his feet, handing the two glasses of champagne to a passing waiter. It definitely seemed as if the once soft, shy young girl had now developed some very sharp claws!

Moreover, he was intrigued to note over the next few hours that Olivia had indeed changed over the past ten years. In fact, it was obvious that a considerable number of men, both married and single, were attracted to the tall and slim tawny-haired girl as she moved confidently and serenely through the crowd of guests, making sure that no one had an empty glass and that all the arrangements went smoothly. Yes...it certainly looked as though the pretty young cygnet had now become an extremely graceful, elegant swan.

As far as Olivia was concerned, while she was doing her best to appear cool, calm and collected, she was actually in a state of utter panic. Where on earth were the bride and groom?

All thought of Dominic had been driven completely from her mind as she hunted high and low for the happy couple. Goodness knows where they’d got to. But since they were due, in five minutes’ time, to open the dinner-dance by taking the floor in a slow waltz, it was imperative that she track them down as soon as possible.

‘Oh—thank heavens! I thought you really had taken off for Gretna Green!’ she exclaimed, beaming with relief as she spotted Mark and Sarah coming out of a lift on the ground floor. ‘Where on earth have you been?’

A flush rose up over Mark’s face as he adjusted his tie and pulled down his waistcoat. ‘Well, the thing is...’

‘The thing is,’ Sarah echoed, her eyes gleaming with laughter, ‘Mark and I decided to nip upstairs to our fantastically luxurious, glamorous bridal suite—to see if the bed was really quite as comfortable as it looked!’

‘Oh, honestly!’ Olivia muttered, unable to repress a grin as she quickly straightened the bride’s dress, adjusting the diamond headband before brushing out the tangles in Sarah’s long black hair. ‘There’s a time and place for everything, you know!’

‘That’s what we thought, too,’ Sarah agreed solemnly, before almost collapsing in a fit of giggles.

‘I’m glad that you’ve had a good time.’ Olivia grinned. ‘However, can you both get yourselves onto the dance floor as soon as possible? Because to tell the truth, Mark, your new mother-in-law looks as if she’s going to blow a gasket any minute!’

‘Oh, Lord! Thanks for the warning,’ Mark muttered, quickly grabbing hold of Sarah’s hand and hurrying towards the ballroom.

‘There was nothing to worry about,’ she assured Mrs Turnbull, who’d clearly been getting up a full head of steam about the temporary disappearance of her daughter. ‘Sarah just needed to make a minor repair to her dress,’ Olivia lied smoothly, well used to coping with new brides and grooms unable to resist an early celebration of their marriage.

Luckily, the remainder of the evening passed without another hitch. Although, as very much a spectator at these sort of events, Olivia was unable to avoid the sight of Dominic, constantly surrounded by a large number of highly attractive women

And good luck to him! she told herself firmly. She simply wasn’t interested in him one way or another. Although, if she was going to be strictly honest with herself, she really hadn’t cared for the sight of that young blonde starlet—regularly featured in some of the more downmarket, glossy magazines—who’d been all over Dominic like a rash while they’d enjoyed a smoochy dance, late in the evening.

And then, soon after midnight, the bride and groom were being waved off to their bridal suite. Although it was another hour before most of the young guests decided to call it a day, leaving the very tired but happy parents of the bride and groom to also seek their beds.

Well—that’s another job well done, Olivia told herself as she shepherded the last stragglers to the door, leaving them in the capable hands of the uniformed doorman in his top hat, either to order taxis or see them to their own vehicles.

Collecting her own hat from the ladies’ cloakroom, and thanking the manager on duty for all the help and expertise of his staff, she at last felt able to make her own way home.

Unfortunately, although there was normally no problem in finding a taxi in Brook Street, the mass exodus of guests had obviously depleted the usual number of vehicles normally to be found outside the hotel. Standing outside on the street, stamping her feet to keep warm, Olivia found herself regretting that she hadn’t, in fact, realised that there might be a problem and sensibly parked her own car around the corner earlier in the day.

‘It’s funny how there never seems to be a taxi when you want one, isn’t it, miss?’ the doorman said with a grin, stepping out into the street and looking up and down the road. ‘However, I’m sure there’ll be a taxi along in a minute.’

‘I hope so,’ she muttered, pulling her jacket tightly about her cold figure. ‘At least it isn’t raining,’ she added, her teeth chattering as a blast of icy wind swept down the street.

‘You waiting for a taxi, lady?’

‘Yes, I am...’ she muttered, her eyes widening as she looked up to see a large blue Range Rover drawn up before her shivering figure.

‘You’d better hurry up and jump in.’ Dominic grinned at her through the open driver’s window. ‘Unless, of course, you don’t mind freezing to death out there!’

‘Well...’ Olivia glanced up and down the deserted street, but there was clearly no sight of a taxi. ‘Oh, all right,’ she agreed with a helpless shrug as she went around to the passenger door. ‘But you don’t know where I live. It might not be on your way home.’

‘I expect I’ll manage to find the way—to wherever it is.’ Dominic grinned again. Then, as she still hesitated, he told her roughly not to be such a fool. ‘You could be waiting out here for ages,’ he pointed out. ‘Still, if you don’t mind catching pneumonia that’s your problem, not mine!’

‘Thanks!’ she grumbled, before quickly deciding that he was quite right. There was no sight of any other form of transport, and the thought of having to stand outside the hotel, freezing to death in this weather, was more than she could face.

‘I live in Holland Park,’ she said, hitching up her skirt and climbing up into the high vehicle. ‘I hope that’s not too much out of your way? Are you planning to drive back down to Kent tonight?’ she asked breathlessly, not at all sure that it was sensible to accept a lift from Dominic, but not seeing that she had any alternative.

‘No, I’ve got a small pad in Chelsea which I and my sisters use when we have to stay overnight in London,’ he told her, putting the car in gear and driving off down the street.

With very little traffic around at that time of night, it should have been a quick and easy journey home. But as he drove them up Park Lane and around Marble Arch, towards the Bayswater Road, she began to find the atmosphere within the large vehicle becoming increasingly claustrophobic.

There was absolutely no reason for her to be feeling quite so tense and apprehensive—not to say distinctly nervous. Nevertheless, she was finding it difficult to combat the strangely insidious, intimate atmosphere within the close confines of the vehicle. Even after tearing her gaze away from the sight of his strong hands gripping the wheel, and closing her eyes as she leaned back against the headrest, all her senses appeared to be disturbingly alive, acutely conscious of the scent of his cologne, and the slight movements of the tall, powerful body seated so closely to her own.

‘I think you’d better direct me from here on,’ Dominic said quietly as they sped through Notting Hill Gate and entered Holland Park Avenue.

However, just as she was telling him to take the next left turning into Holland Park, she was surprised to find their way barred by bollards with flashing lights and two police vehicles parked across the entrance of the mews.

‘What the heck... ?’ she muttered as a policeman approached and Dominic pressed a button to lower his window.

‘Sorry, sir—we’ve got a slight problem here,’ the man told him. ‘It seems that there’s a burst water main, and—’

‘Oh—not again!’ Olivia groaned.

‘Yes, I’m afraid so, miss.’ The policeman shrugged. ‘Someone from the Fire Brigade told me that there’s often a problem here in Holland Park Avenue. Although I understand the mains are due to be replaced in the near future.’

‘That’ll be the day,’ she grumbled, fed up to the back teeth with the aged water pipes which had caused so much trouble for such a long time.

‘How long will it take before it’s mended?’ Dominic enquired.

The other man shrugged. ‘I’m told there’s no access to either end of the mews for the next four hours at least. And I shouldn’t be at all surprised if it doesn’t take a lot longer than that,’ he added gloomily.

‘OK. Thanks,’ Dominic said, closing the window and quickly putting the car into reverse before speeding off back down Holland Park Avenue.

‘What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going? ’ she cried, feeling stunned by the speed of events, and desperately trying to work out where she was going to spend the night.

‘I’ve got a spare bedroom, so it makes sense for you to stay the night in my house,’ he told her. ‘Unless, of course, you’d prefer that I take you to a hotel?’

Olivia turned to glare at him in the darkness. ‘Oh, yes—that’s a great idea!’ she grumbled sarcastically. ‘First of all I’ve got to find a hotel that’s still open at this time of night. And even if I do they probably wouldn’t be willing to take me in—not without any luggage, or even a toothbrush to my name,’ she added grimly.

Dominic merely shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s up to you, of course. Although it doesn’t look as if you’ve got much choice, does it?’

‘No.’ She gave a heavy sigh. ‘You’re quite right—it doesn’t.’

However, by the time he was parking the large Range Rover in Markham Square, Olivia had managed to overcome her instinctive anger and annoyance at finding herself at the mercy of some arbitrary fate.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I really ought to apologise for being so ratty just now. I expect that I’m just a bit tired—and I was looking forward to returning home and putting my feet up. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you,’ she added, turning to give him a brief, apologetic smile. ‘And I really am very grateful for the offer of a bed tonight.’

‘there’ no need to apologise.’ He waved a hand dismissively in the air. ‘We’ve both had a long, tiring day.

‘Just a minute,’ she said as he released his seatbelt and opened his door to alight from the vehicle. ‘This “spare room” of yours? I take it it really does exist—and isn’t some figment of your imagination?’

Dominic gave a low rumble of sardonic laughter. ‘Relax! I have at least three spare bedrooms—so you’ll be able to take your pick,’ he told her, before coming round to open the passenger door. ‘Although, of course, I’d be more than happy to offer you the use of my own bedroom. ’

‘If it includes you as well—the answer is thanks, but no thanks!’ she snapped, her nerves not improved by the sight of his wide grin and the glint of ironic amusement in his eyes, clearly visible beneath the sodium glare of a nearby streetlight.

‘Calm down, darling,’ he drawled, helping her down from the vehicle and issuing her in through the front door of a large house. ‘I can promise you, on my word of honour, that I won’t lay a hand on you.’

‘You’d better keep your promise—or you’ll be sorry!’ she muttered grimly as he led the way into a sitting room.

So much for the ‘small pad in Chelsea’! Olivia told herself, recalling how Dominic had described his home in London as she gazed around the large, elegantly decorated room. Having been forced to save up every penny for her own small mews house, she was in no doubt that this huge building would, on the open market, fetch well over a million pounds.

‘Now...why don’t we both relax and have a drink?’ he was saying, with a slow, sensual smile which practically made her hair stand on end. ‘I can offer you some whisky, or brandy, or...’

Olivia gave a nervous shake of her head. ‘No, thanks all the same, but I’m really feeling very tired. It’s been a long day,’ she added quickly. ‘If... if you don’t mind, I’d like to go to my room straight away.’

‘Of course,’ he said, opening the door and waving for her to go ahead of him up the wide flight of stairs, before leading her along the landing and throwing open the door of a large guest room.

‘As you see,’ Dominic told her, walking across the large room and opening a door in the far corner, ‘this guest bedroom has its own en suite bathroom. I’ll just check...’ He switched on the lights and peered around the door. ‘Yes, there appear to be plenty of towels. But let me know if there’s anything else you require, OK?’ he murmured as he retraced his steps across the room, giving her a slight smile before closing the bedroom door behind him.

Well, things could definitely be a lot worse, Olivia told herself some time later, almost groaning with pleasure as she lay back in the deliciously oily, highly perfumed bath water, closing her eyes and letting all the stresses and strains of the day drain out of her tired body.

Although she’d been fed up at not being able to relax in her own bed, it was kind of Dominic to have placed a spare room at her disposal. Not that he wasn’t the same tricky, conniving, two-timing rat that she’d known all those years ago, of course, she quickly reminded herself. Leopards didn’t change their spots—right? And the way that blonde bimbo had practically glued herself to his tall, broad-shouldered figure on the dance floor had been nothing short of disgraceful!

But why should she care? It was, after all, years since she’d first tumbled headlong into love with Dominic. But she was no longer a silly teenager, and if he wanted to make an exhibition of himself—or go to bed with half the women in London, for that matter—it was absolutely nothing to do with her.

Well, yes...OK...she had been upset to see him again. But that was only because his appearance at the wedding had been so totally unexpected. Any woman would be likely to feel slightly shocked and thrown a bit off base by the sudden appearance of an old flame. So her reaction had been a quite normal one, she assured herself firmly. And, after a good night’s sleep, she would be perfectly capable of saying a cheerful goodbye to her host before going back to her own home and never giving him another thought.

Having sorted out the current situation to her own satisfaction, Olivia felt a whole lot more cheerful. Of course, the relaxing effect of a hot bath had a lot to do with it, she told herself, climbing out of the deep tub and wrapping a thick fluffy towel about her slim figure. However, it wasn’t until she was walking slowly back into the bedroom that she suddenly realised she had a slight problem.

Although many of her friends slept in the nude, she’d never been at all keen on getting into a cold bed stark naked. And, since she’d made the mistake of rinsing out her underwear and leaving it to dripdry by morning, she was now well and truly stuck without anything to wear. However, just as she was wondering whether to wrap a fresh, clean towel about herself, in place of her usual night attire, she heard a brisk tap on her door.

‘I hope you haven’t gone to sleep in the bath,’ Dominic’s amused voice called out from the other side of the door. ‘Would you care for the use of a spare dressing gown?’

Hesitating for a moment, she quickly wrapped the towel more tightly about her before opening the door.

‘Yes, I would,’ she admitted, noting from his damp, curly dark hair that he, too, must have recently had a bath or shower. And, instead of his elegant morning dress, Dominic was now wearing a knee-length, dark red silk dressing gown. And not much else, if the sight of his long, tanned bare legs was anything to go by, she told herself grimly as he walked across the room to open the door of a large cupboard.

‘There’s a spare gown in here,’ he said, taking out a long, silky garment and handing it to her. ‘There are also one or two nighties—but I’ll leave you to make your own choice.’

‘That’s very kind of you, but I really don’t think that—’

‘Don’t worry—they are definitely not my old girlfriends’ castoffs!’ He turned to give her a quick grin as he closed the door of the wardrobe. ‘My older sister, Connie, was over from the United States last year, and she left some articles of clothing behind when she returned home.’

‘Oh, right,’ Olivia muttered, feeling slightly flustered by his uncanny ability to read her mind. Because of course she couldn’t have faced wearing anything left behind by any of his usual girlfriends,. Most of whom—if the glossy magazines were to be believed—consisted of glamorous film stars with truly amazing chest measurements.

‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’ he asked, moving slowly towards her.

‘No, I’m fine,’ she murmured, instinctively backing away from his advancing figure.

There really ought to be some sort of law to prevent highly attractive, sexy men from walking around practically stark naked, she told herself grimly. Because the sight of his tall figure in the deep red dressing gown—despite the fact that it was tightly belted about his slim waist—was enough to make any poor, susceptible woman feel distinctly lightheaded.

Viewing the soft, silky material clinging so closely to his damp body, emphasising his broad shoulders, slim hips and strong, muscular chest covered in dark curly hair, Olivia could almost physically feel her senses being assailed by his overpowering aura of sheer, rampant masculinity.

‘I think that I’ve got everything,’ she muttered helplessly, moistening her lips, which had suddenly become dry and parched. ‘I expect...I’m sure...that you must be as tired as I am...’ Her voice trailed away as she noticed his eyes gleaming with amusement at her obvious confusion.

‘Are you quite sure that you’ve got everything you want...?’ he drawled softly, the low, sensual note in his voice playing havoc with her nervous system, her pulse almost racing out of control as she took another step backwards.

But then, as she felt her spine jar against the wall beside the door, she made a desperate effort to pull herself together.

‘I—I’m not interested in playing stupid games,’ she told him as firmly as she could, bitterly aware of the breathless, hoarse note in her voice as she clutched the towel tightly about her slim figure. ‘So, will you please leave this room—and return to your own bedroom.’

‘Of course I will,’ he murmured, continuing to move forward until his figure was virtually touching her own. ‘I was merely intending to kiss you goodnight before I go.’

‘Cut it out—Dominic!’ she protested huskily as she felt the weight of his hard, firm body pressing her up against the wall. ‘I thought you’d promised not to lay a hand on me?’

‘You’re absolutely right!’ he agreed with a low rumble of laughter, before placing the palms of his hands flat on the wall either side of her head. ‘And I have every intention of keeping my promise,’ he murmured, leaning forward to brush his mouth across her quivering lips with a teasing, erotic sensuality that left her breathless with desire.

‘Goodnight, Olivia,’ he breathed softly against her mouth as his kiss deepened, his lips and tongue seducing her into a state of helpless, trembling rapture. And then, quite suddenly, he raised his dark head and she found herself released from the heavy pressure of his hard body.

For a brief, fleeting moment, it seemed as though the gleaming grey eyes held a strange message as he stared intently down at her, an oddly tense, strained expression on his handsome tanned face. But by the time she’d managed to pull her dazed mind and body together Olivia realised she must have been mistaken. Because he appeared to be regarding her with a perfectly normal, light smile on his lips.

‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he murmured, running a finger gently down over her soft cheek before swiftly leaving the room.


CHAPTER THREE

DESPITE being tired, and weary from having been on her feet all day, Olivia found herself tossing and turning as she stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling of the guest room in Dominic’s house.

There seemed no immediate, obvious reason why she was finding it so difficult to go to sleep. Not only was it a very comfortable bed, but she’d also enjoyed the luxurious comfort of a hot bath: two of the items normally recommended for those seeking oblivion in sleep.

Sighing heavily, Olivia realised that there was no point in trying to fool herself any longer. Because that goodnight kiss from Dominic had left her feeling not only dazed but utterly shattered by her own response to the mere touch of his warm lips on hers. Even now, some hours later, her body still seemed to be trembling and throbbing with excitement, her senses aching with a mixture of desperate longing and thwarted desire.

Deeply ashamed of the fact that she’d made no protest—not even the mildest attempt to wriggle free from the heavy, muscular body which had been pressing her so closely to the wall—Olivia could feel her cheeks burning fiercely in the darkness. She seemed unable to prevent herself from recalling the heat of his flesh through his thin silk robe, and the clear evidence of his arousal matching her own, breathless excitement.

So it was no wonder she was finding it difficult to sleep all these hours later. Because it was Dominic, and the disastrous effect he was having on her long-dormant emotions, who clearly lay at the root of her problem.

Eventually giving up the unequal struggle, she threw back the sheet and blankets and slipped out of bed. Putting on the warm dressing gown, she padded across the carpet towards a large window on the far side of the room.

Drawing aside the heavy curtains and letting the bright moonlight flood into the room, she found herself gazing down on a formal town garden—a far cry from the rolling hills and valleys of the Kent countryside where both she and the owner of this large house had spent their childhood.

Because while it might have been ten years since she’d last seen Dominic FitzCharles, she had, in fact, known him all her life. With only a small stream dividing her family’s land from that of the huge Charlbury estate and its medieval Norman castle belonging to Dominic’s family, it wasn’t surprising that her own father, Lord Bibury, and the elderly Earl of Tenterden, had been both close neighbours and lifelong friends.

That was in the good old days, of course. When her mother had still been alive and her father had yet to lose virtually everything he possessed.

However, in what now seemed on looking back to have been a happy, golden childhood, both Olivia and her older brother, Hugo, had been on casual, friendly terms with the three FitzCharles children: the two older sisters, Blanche and Constance, and their much younger brother, Dominic.

Whether spending the summer riding freely over the lands of the Charlbury estate, or, at Christmas time, joining the children of other local families for the traditional Boxing Day party in the old castle, Olivia couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been wildly and foolishly in love with Dominic FitzCharles.

Not that he’d ever taken any notice of her, of course. And why should he have, when she was five years younger than he was? An almost insuperable gulf when she’d been an awkward thirteen-year-old and he a glamorous, if wild young man of eighteen, roaring around the countryside in a fast sports car and already capable of breaking the hearts of so many pretty young girls.

And then, following her mother’s death when Olivia was aged fourteen, her whole life had dramatically changed.

The advent of a new stepmother, Pamela, whom her father had married only a year after his first wife’s death, had devastated both her brother Hugo and herself. Particularly when her stepmother had lost no time in packing Olivia off to a strict boarding school, which had left the young girl feeling utterly rejected and bitterly unhappy.

Arriving when most of the other girls had already made friends with one another, Olivia had been thoroughly miserable, rapidly becoming a difficult, turbulent teenager, seemingly determined to cause as much trouble as possible. Although if her life at school had been bad enough, her home—when she returned for the holidays—had hardly been much better.

Her father, a charming but weak man, had allowed himself to become totally dominated by the woman whom Olivia had referred to openly as her ‘wicked stepmother’.

It was possible, of course, that she’d been unfair about Pamela—although the older woman’s subsequent history had merely underlined her stepdaughter’s sharp dislike and distrust. However, as a teenager, every issue had seemed quite clearly either black or white—with Olivia refusing to accept that there might be a point of view other than her own, and being as difficult and obstructive as possible. And so, fighting her stepmother every inch of the way, it had seemed as if her previously happy, secure home had become a cold, grim battlefield.

Nevertheless, Olivia now knew that she’d been much luckier than many children raised in a town environment. At least she’d been able to escape from her unhappy home life by hiding in the barns of the home farm during the winter. While, during the summer, she’d only had to grab a can of some fizzy drink and make up some sandwiches before saddling up her pony, Rufus, and going off to spend a day roaming around the countryside.

And it had been in the summer just before she’d turned eighteen that she’d often seen the distant figure of Dominic FitzCharles riding about the large estate which he’d recently inherited, following his elderly father’s death the previous year.

Local gossip had been full of stories of how Dominic was busy sowing his wild oats, both in Charlbury itself and at Cirencester Agricultural College, where he’d been learning up-to-date techniques of land management. In fact, it had probably been his reputation for youthful wild behaviour—coupled with the exciting reports of the thrillingly dangerous, lethal damage he’d been causing to young female hearts—which had added to his attraction.




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