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Wife By Approval
Lee Wilkinson


Billionaire Richard Anders needed Valentina to claim the spectacular Castle Anders.But he hadn't counted on her breathtaking beauty and playing the part of husband proves more pleasurable than he'd imagined. Valentina's given Richard her innocence in the bedroom, and her word at the altar. But when she learns the truth, will she give him her heart?









Wife By Approval





Lee Wilkinson











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




contents


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN




CHAPTER ONE


SEATED at her desk in her first-floor office, Valentina Dunbar was gazing absently through the rain-spattered window which overlooked Cartel Wines’s long, narrow car park and, beyond the high wall, the River Thames.

Dusk had begun to creep stealthily out of hiding and lights were coming on, gleaming on the dark water and glowing orange against the cloudy purple sky.

Most of the day staff tried to get away early on a Friday night and a steady stream of vehicles were already leaving the car park to join the London evening rush hour.

Responsible for organising the social gatherings and the informative literature that invariably accompanied Cartel Wines’s latest sales push, Tina was endeavouring to put the finishing touches to the pre-Christmas campaign. But for once she wasn’t giving the job her full attention.

It was Friday the thirteenth. A day that, for her at least, had lived up to its unlucky reputation.

First thing that morning she had slipped and hurt her ankle getting out of the shower. Gritting her teeth, she had been forced to stand on one leg while she had dried and dressed and taken her thick, silky hair, naturally blonde on top but with darker undertones, into a neat chignon.

By the time she’d finished, the pain had eased quite a bit and she was able to hobble into the living-room to get her toast and coffee.

Ruth, her friend and temporary flatmate, who was breakfasting in her dressing gown, looked up to ask, ‘Why are you limping?’

As Tina finished telling her, the phone rang.

‘I hope this is Jules,’ Ruth exclaimed eagerly, grabbing the receiver.

It was.

Her fiancé’s firm had transferred him to Paris for six months and she was missing him badly.

‘He’s coming to London for the weekend,’ she said after a minute or so, her elfin face full of excitement, her black hair standing up in spikes. ‘He’ll be arriving this afternoon and going back Monday morning.’

Then, apologetically, ‘By the way, he’s expecting to stay at the flat with me…’

The ‘flat’ was nothing more than a large bedsitter, which meant that Tina would have to make other arrangements for the three nights.

Her own flat was in a run-down Victorian house that the new owner had decided to have refurbished and modernized, and Ruth had offered her a put-you-up for the ten weeks or so that would elapse before she could move back in again.

‘Perhaps you could ask Lexi or Jo to give you a bed for the weekend?’ Ruth suggested.

‘I’ll think about it,’ Tina said non-committally. Then, seeing Ruth’s concerned expression and knowing she owed it to her friend, she added cheerfully, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get something fixed up. You just make sure you have a great time.’

‘I will,’ Ruth assured her as she went to shower and dress.

Both Lexi and Jo had resident boyfriends and, with no intention of playing gooseberry, Tina had already made up her mind to book into a hotel.

As soon as she had pushed a handful of underwear, a few changes of clothing and some necessities into a small case, she collected her shoulder bag and mac and, calling, ‘Have a good weekend…see you Monday,’ let herself out.

When she had descended the stairs with care, she crossed the foyer to check for mail. In Ruth’s pigeon-hole was a single redirected letter addressed to her, which she thrust unopened into her bag.

Until now the autumn weather had proved to be glorious, an Indian Summer of warm golden days and balmy nights. But today it was grey and chilly, a thin curtain of drizzle being blown along by a strong blustery wind.

She turned up the collar of her mac and, her ankle still a little painful, made her way to where her car was parked in the residents only space that belonged to the building.

Her offside front tyre was flat.

By the time the local garage had checked the tyre, repaired the damage and re-inflated it, she was late for work.

The morning had passed in something of a whirl and it had been practically twelve o’clock before she’d realised that, owing to the earlier upheaval, she had forgotten to pack her usual sandwiches or her small flask of coffee.

But there was a delicatessen just around the corner that made up rolls and sandwiches to order. If she could get there before the rush…

As she reached in her bag for her purse she came across the forgotten letter. Glancing at it, she noticed that in red, on the left-hand side of the envelope, was stamped what appeared to be the name of some firm.

Dropping it on her desk to read when she got back, she pulled on her mac and made her way out of the rear entrance.

In a few minutes she returned, carrying a ham and salad roll and a fruit yogurt in a paper bag. She was crossing the deserted car park, her head down against the now driving rain when, glancing up, she saw a man watching her.

Tall, dark-haired and arresting, he was standing quite still beneath the roofed loading bay, his eyes fixed on her.

Since Kevin’s defection, shattered and wholly disillusioned, she had steered well clear of all men. Especially handsome ones.

Though this man couldn’t be called handsome in the film star sense. He was very good-looking but in a tough, wholly masculine way.

Her pulse rate quickening, she found herself wondering who he could be.

As she drew nearer, their eyes met.

Some glances were like collisions. The impact of those dark eyes stopped her in her tracks and made her heart start to throw itself against her ribs.

She was still standing rooted to the spot, staring at him as though mesmerized, when the bottom of the wet paper bag gave way, allowing her lunch to fall through.

The roll, though soggy, was fairly easy to pick up, but the plastic yogurt carton had split and its contents were oozing out.

Making use of one of the paper napkins that had been included, she managed to scoop up the mess and deposit the remains of her lunch in the nearest litter bin.

As she wiped her hands on the remaining napkin, her gaze was drawn once more to where the dark-haired stranger had been standing.

With a strange sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, as though she had dropped too fast in an express lift, she found herself staring at the now empty space.

He had vanished.

She was certain he hadn’t passed her and she had neither seen nor heard a car start, which meant he must have gone inside.

So who was he?

She knew all the admin and general office staff by sight and this man didn’t belong to either. Nor, she was quite sure, was he one of the warehouse staff. Apart from an unmistakable air of assurance and authority, he had been far too well-dressed to be doing manual work.

However, to have been here at all, he must have some connection with Cartel Wines.

Perhaps he was a visitor.

But visitors always used the visitors’ car park and the main entrance. They didn’t come in the back way and go through the warehouse, as he must have done…

A trickle of icy-cold water ran down the back of her neck, making her shiver. Belatedly aware that she was standing like a fool getting saturated, she hurried into the building.

As she walked through the warehouse she glanced about her. But there was no sign of him amongst the men at work and she knew she couldn’t mistake him.

When she reached the top of the stairs she found that her office door was a little ajar and realised that in her haste to beat the rush she couldn’t have latched it properly.

While she fetched a towel from the small adjoining cloakroom to pat dry her hair and face, her thoughts winged their way back to the dark-haired stranger like homing pigeons.

In spite of the fact that she had seen him only briefly, his height and the width of his shoulders, the image of his lean, attractive face was clear in her mind. And, though she had tried her hardest to dismiss it, it had haunted her for the rest of the afternoon, displacing any thoughts of hunger.

Now, gazing through the window, her blue-violet eyes abstracted, she was still wondering about him…Who was he? Why had he been here? If he had been a visitor, would she see him again…?

But she must stop this fruitless speculation, she told herself sternly, and concentrate on practicalities. At almost five o’clock on a wet Friday afternoon, with darkness hovering in the wings, she still hadn’t decided where to stay.

But after urging Didi, her stepsister, to accept the place at the prestigious Ramon Bonaventure School of Drama that she had been offered, and promising to pay her fees, it would have to be somewhere not too expensive.

Still, she would manage somehow. It might mean stringent economies for a couple of years, but to have Didi—who had been christened Valerie, but had always been Val to her friends and acquaintances and Didi to her family—on course again it would be well worth it…

The bleep of the internal phone cut through her thoughts. Pushing aside the lists of dates and tasting notes that littered her desk, Tina picked up the receiver.

‘Miss Dunbar,’ Sandra Langton’s somewhat nasal voice said, ‘Mr De Vere would like to see you before you leave.’

‘I’ll be straight down.’

Wondering at the unexpected summons, she left her office, a slim figure in a smart grey suit, and, still limping slightly, descended the flight of bare stone steps that led down to a wide corridor.

On the right, the heavy double doors into the warehouse—where the wines for the domestic customers were stored before being put into stout cartons to be despatched nationwide—were closed.

To the left were the main offices. In the outer office, Sandra Langton, the boss’s middle-aged PA, gave her an odd look before saying, ‘If you’d like to go straight through?’

Frowning a little, Tina tapped at the door of the inner sanctum and waited for the curt, ‘Come in.’

She thought, not for the first time, that if Frenchmen were noted for their charm, Maurice De Vere had to be the exception to the rule.

A short, dry man with grey hair, thin features and an irascible manner, he was due to retire at the end of the month.

He hadn’t really been a bad boss, she reflected, but, a diehard who disliked modern technology, he had refused to install computers or any equipment that would have made office life easier.

Added to that, he had always believed in the stick rather than the carrot, so whoever took his place would almost certainly be an improvement.

Ensconced behind a large, imposing desk, with a motion of one claw-like hand he waved her to a chair.

She was barely seated when, looking down at a sheaf of papers, he began, ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Miss Dunbar…’

He hesitated, then, looking at her over his rimless glasses, went on abruptly, ‘When I decided to retire and I sold out to the Matterhorn group, they promised very few changes. On the whole they’ve kept their word. But this afternoon I learnt that John Marsden, the man who’ll be coming in on Monday to start running Cartel Wines, has his own very definite ideas about how the sales campaigns should be staged.’

‘I don’t see that as a problem,’ Tina said quietly. ‘The suggestions I’ve already made can easily be changed or adapted to suit—’

The words died on her lips as De Vere began to shake his head. ‘I’m afraid Marsden’s insisting on bringing in his own team of organisers, which means you’re redundant.’

As she stared at him in stunned silence, he added, ‘I’m more sorry than I can say. Your work has always been excellent…’

Coming from a man who had never been known to compliment his staff, that was praise indeed. But what use was it when she was now out of a job?

‘Bearing that in mind, I’ll make sure you have very good references.’

‘When…?’ Her voice wobbled dangerously and she stopped speaking.

Looking uncomfortable, he said, ‘As Marsden will need your office for his own team, it would be best if you left immediately. I’ve authorized six months’ salary in lieu of notice, which will be paid directly into your bank…’

That was very generous. Her contract had only specified one month.

‘A reference and any other appropriate papers will be sent to your temporary address in due course.’

Rising to his feet, he held out his hand. ‘May I wish you well.’

Her voice under control now, she said, ‘Thank you,’ then shook the cold, papery hand and walked out of the room with her head held high.

In the outer office, Sandra Langton, who was just putting on her coat, said with obvious sympathy, ‘Tough luck.’

Then, dropping her voice, ‘I must admit I was surprised by how hard old Sourpuss took it…When will you be leaving?’

‘Now…As soon as I’ve cleared my desk.’

‘Well, all the best.’

‘Thank you.’

Shock setting in, Tina climbed the stairs on legs that felt as wadded and useless as a rag doll’s and, sinking down at her desk, gazed blindly into space.

She had been with Cartel Wines since she left college two years ago. It was a job she had loved and been good at. Even old Sourpuss—as the staff called De Vere behind his back—had admitted it.

But that made no difference whatsoever. Due to circumstances, she was now unemployed.

A kind of futile panic gripped her. Six months’ salary was a buffer, but when the alterations to the house had been completed and she moved back into her flat, her rent would be considerably higher. That, added to Didi’s expenses, meant losing her job couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Over the past year, life had been a series of downs with scarcely any ups. Now, with this final blow, she seemed to have hit rock-bottom.

Well, if that was the case, the only way was up.

Allowing herself no more time for regrets, she rose, squared her shoulders and started to tidy her desk top.

Only when it was clear, did she suddenly recall the letter she had been going to read. Seeing the handsome dark-haired stranger had put it right out of her mind.

But where was the letter?

A quick search through the papers she was taking failed to bring it to light.

Oh, well, it must be there somewhere. She would look more thoroughly later.

Finding an almost empty box in the cupboard, she transferred the few remaining items in it to one of the shelves, then, taking her personal belongings from the desk drawers, stacked them in the box.

The plants she had brought to brighten the somewhat spartan office, she would leave.

She pulled on her coat, put the strap of her bag over her shoulder, tucked the box under one arm and, switching off the light, closed and locked the door behind her for the last time. There was nothing of value in the office, so she left the key in the lock.

Just the night security lights were burning, which meant that the rest of the staff had already gone and she was probably the only person still left in this part of the building.

The main entrance doors at the front would have been locked and bolted some time ago. But her car was in the rear car park, so it was just as quick to go through the warehouse.

As, without looking back, she began to descend the stairs to the dimly lit passage, a movement she heard rather than saw made her realise that she had been wrong. There was someone else still here.

At the bottom of the stairs she turned right and in the gloom saw that the double doors at the end of the passageway were swinging slightly.

Whoever was still here was obviously only a little way in front of her and heading for the car park, as she was.

When she went through the doors, however, the long warehouse appeared to be deserted.

More than a little puzzled, she frowned and, her footsteps echoing in the vast space, began to walk past the various bays, with their rows of pallets stacked with crates and boxes of château bottled imported wine.

Last autumn and winter, on the nights she had worked late, she had walked through the warehouse without a qualm. But tonight, for no good reason, she felt on edge, uneasy.

The night security lighting was high up in the roof of the building and left areas of deep shadow that suddenly seemed sinister, providing as they did an opportunity for someone to lie in wait…

She was doing her utmost to ignore the far from comfortable thought, when some sixth sense insisted that she wasn’t alone, that someone was watching her from the shadows.

The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose and her skin goose-fleshed. Instinctively, she paused and glanced behind her.

Not a soul was in sight.

Gritting her teeth, she was about to walk on when in the silence she heard a faint noise like the brush of a furtive footfall.

The echoing vastness of the warehouse made it impossible to tell where the whisper of sound had come from.

She was standing rooted to the spot when she realised that it would be George Tomlinson, the night security man.

Feeling foolish, she took a deep breath and called out, ‘George, is that you?’

Only the echo of her own voice answered.

She tried again, louder.

Still no answer, apart from the mocking echoes.

It occurred to her that he was probably doing his early evening rounds of the offices, checking that all the lights were out and the doors locked.

But if it wasn’t George she’d heard, who was it?

Perhaps someone had slipped in through the small door the employees used and had been heading for the wages office when they had heard her coming and decided to hide?

Reason soon put paid to that theory. It was Friday night and, as any would-be thief would undoubtedly know, Friday was pay day and the safe would be empty.

After a moment she recalled that there were a couple of cats who lived on the premises.

But cats moved silently and they didn’t go through heavy doors and leave them swinging.

A shiver ran down her spine at the memory.

Don’t be a fool, she chided herself sharply; it was time she used her common sense rather than letting her imagination run away with her.

Instead of someone going out ahead of her, it must have been George, coming the opposite way to check the offices, who had left the doors swinging.

It was a perfectly logical explanation.

Yet, illogically, she didn’t believe it.

Well, whether she believed it or not, it was high time she made a move.

If George had already locked up and completed all his checks—he wouldn’t have worried about a light in her office; he was used to her working late—he could well be ensconced in his little cabin on the far side of the annex, having his tea.

Which meant that he might not emerge until it was time to do his rounds again and she couldn’t stand here much longer. Her ankle hurt and the box under her arm was getting heavy.

Glancing round her, she could see no sign of life or movement. Still the feeling of being watched persisted, as though the watcher was patiently waiting to see which way she would jump.

She pushed the thought away and, summoning all her willpower, decided that as she had already walked more than half the length of the warehouse it made sense to go on, rather than turn back.

Fighting down a panicky impulse to run, she forced herself to walk steadily towards the huge sliding doors at the end of the hangar-like building.

Her legs felt curiously stiff and alien, her breathing was rapid and shallow and every muscle in her body had grown tense. Try as she might, she was unable to stop herself from glancing repeatedly over her shoulder.

When she reached the small staff door to the left of the big main doors and found it securely closed, she breathed a sigh of relief. It boasted a Yale lock so, unless someone had a key, it could only be opened from the inside.

So much for some thief slipping in and hiding! With an over-active imagination like that, she should be writing stories…

Her tension relaxing, she let herself out into the dark, wet night and closed the door carefully behind her. Everywhere appeared to be deserted, though a dozen or so cars remained and, outside despatch, a couple of Cartel’s vans were waiting to be loaded.

The pre-harvest sales push had been phenomenally successful and extra orders for hotels and restaurants were being dealt with by a special evening shift working over in the annex.

Beyond the range of the annex’s lights, however, the car park, poorly lit apart from the entrance, had areas that looked pitch-black.

Having come in almost an hour late that morning, she had been forced to park in one of the old, narrow, brick-walled bays that sloped steeply down towards the river. None of the employees used the bays if they could help it because of the difficult manoeuvring that was entailed, and the fact that they were at the far end of the car park.

There wasn’t a soul in sight as she began to limp to where she’d left her car, but once again she felt that uncomfortable awareness, that disturbing sensation of unseen eyes watching her, and a tingle of fear ran down her spine.

She felt a cowardly urge to head for the annex where there were lights and people…

But then what would she do? Admit that she was scared to walk through the car park alone? They would think she was mad.

And they wouldn’t be far wrong, she thought crossly as, resolutely ignoring her fear, she carried on. Perhaps all the stress of the last year had caught up with her and was making her paranoid? If so, the sooner she got a grip the better.

Unable to see more than a few yards ahead, it took her a moment or two to locate her small navy-blue Ford. When she did, it was a relief to put her carton on the back seat alongside her case and slide behind the wheel.

There! Safe! So much for these stupid fancies.

As she started the engine and began to back out, it occurred to her that she still had no idea where she was heading.

For someone who was…had been…paid to organise things, she wasn’t doing too well on her own account, she told herself wryly. But, for once in her life, she hadn’t been thinking straight, otherwise she would have looked for somewhere inexpensive and booked before she’d left the office.

Her left ankle had stiffened up and she was finding it painful to use the clutch, so it would be as well if she could find somewhere comparatively close.

As she started to turn, it occurred to her that there used to be a smallish hotel a couple of streets away. Now, what was it called…? Fairfax? Fairhaven? Fairbourn? Yes, that was it. She couldn’t remember noticing it lately, which might mean that it had closed down, but—’

From behind there was a sudden dazzling blaze of headlights and a glancing rear impact sent the front of her car swerving into the wall with a grinding of metal and a tinkling of broken glass.

Momentarily paralysed by shock, she was sitting motionless when the driver’s door was jerked open and a male voice demanded urgently, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes…Yes. Quite all right…’ Her own voice seemed to come from a long way away.

The car had stalled when her foot slipped off the clutch but, even so, he reached inside and felt for the ignition key to turn everything off.

‘Then I suggest you stay where you are for a minute while I assess the damage.’ He closed the door against the rain.

Though she felt dazed, part of her mind registered that his voice was low-pitched and pleasant, a cultured voice and not one she recognised.

But that attractive voice had said, ‘while I assess the damage’…She groaned inwardly. From what little she could see, his car appeared to be a big expensive one. And, though he had hit her, she was to blame. If she had been concentrating, instead of thinking about where she was to stay, it might not have happened.

She had just managed to gather herself and was about to unfasten her safety belt and climb out, when the door opened and he was back.

‘How bad is it?’ she asked fearfully.

‘The original impact was only a glancing blow, so there’s hardly a mark on my car…’

She could only be thankful for that.

‘But I’m very much afraid that the damage caused when your nearside front wing hit the wall will make your car undriveable.’

After the kind of day she’d had, it was the last straw and she gave way to a crazy impulse to laugh.

His face was in deep shadow and she couldn’t see his expression but, sounding concerned and obviously wondering if she was about to become hysterical, he asked, ‘Sure you’re all right?’

‘Quite sure…’

A shade apologetically, she explained, ‘I was just seeing the funny side. It’s been an awful day and I’m afraid I’d reached the stage where I either had to laugh or cry.’

‘Then you made the right decision.’

As he held the door against the wind, a scattering of rain blew in.

Suddenly realising that he was standing getting wet when, but for her, he would no doubt be on his way home to his wife, she made to clamber out, favouring her bad ankle.

He stepped back and put a steadying hand beneath her elbow.

Startled by his touch, she said jerkily, ‘I’m really very sorry about all this…’

‘As my car hit yours, I’m the one who should be apologizing,’ he told her.

Honesty made her insist, ‘No, it was my fault. My mind was on other things and when I started to back out I hadn’t realised there was anyone else about.’

‘Rather than stand in the rain arguing,’ he said dryly, ‘I suggest that, for the moment at least, you allow me to accept the blame. Later, if necessary, we can always agree on six of one and half a dozen of the other.’

Opening the door of what, at close quarters, she could see was a top-of-the-range Porsche, he added briskly, ‘Now, before you get wet through, suppose you jump in and I’ll take you home.’

‘That’s very good of you, but I…’ Her words tailed off as, in the glow of his headlights, she recognised the dark, powerful face she had thought never to see again.

When, her wits scattered, her heart starting to race, she stood rooted to the spot, he said, ‘Is there a problem?’

When she didn’t immediately answer, he suggested, ‘Perhaps you don’t trust me?’

‘No…No, it’s not that.’

‘Then what is it?’

She blurted out the first thing that came into her head. ‘I—I was just wondering if I should try and move my car.’

‘Leave it where it is,’ he told her decidedly. ‘It shouldn’t be in anyone’s way and first thing tomorrow morning I’ll get my garage to tow it in and do the necessary repairs.

‘Now, is there anything you need out of it?’

‘A small case on the back seat.’

‘Jump in and I’ll get it.’

He had left the engine running and in a moment she was installed in the warmth and comfort of the most luxurious car she had ever been in.

Not even Maurice De Vere had a car in that class.

She found herself wondering what a visitor—and, as she had never seen either him or his car before, the dark-haired stranger must be a visitor—was doing in Cartel’s car park so late in the evening…

Her case deposited in the boot, he slid in beside her and reached to fasten both their seat belts. That done, he turned to her and, in the light from the dashboard, studied her face.

Embarrassed by his close scrutiny and only too aware that with wet, bedraggled hair and a shiny nose she must look an absolute fright, she felt her cheeks grow warm.

As though sensing her discomfort, he moved away a little and asked, ‘Where to?’

‘I—I don’t know,’ she stammered.

He raised a dark brow. ‘Amnesia?’

Knowing he was making fun of her and vexed with herself for losing her usual calm composure and acting like a fool, she took a deep breath and said crisply, ‘Certainly not.’

Pulling a mournful face, he observed, ‘Oh, dear…now you’re mad with me.’

For an instant she wavered between annoyance and amusement. Amusement won and she smiled.

Smiling back, he observed, ‘That’s better.’

His smile increased his charm a thousandfold and she found herself thinking that a lot of women would find him irresistible…

Suddenly becoming aware that he’d asked a question she hadn’t caught, she pulled herself together and said, ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I asked why don’t you know?’

Trying to be brief and succinct, she explained, ‘Well, the house I live in is being refurbished, which means my flat is un-inhabitable, and I’m staying with a friend…’

He listened, his dark eyes fixed on her face.

Thrown by the intentness of his gaze, she momentarily lost the thread.

Then, realising he was waiting, she carried on a shade distractedly, ‘Her boyfriend is in London and expecting to stay with her. But her flat is really only a bedsit, so you see I have to find a hotel.’

It seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity and, his thoughts racing, he said, ‘That shouldn’t be a problem. There are plenty of hotels in London. You don’t have any particular preference?’

‘No, anywhere will do…So long as it’s not too expensive,’ she added hurriedly.

But, judging by his clothes and his car, he wouldn’t have to consider expense, so he was hardly likely to know any of the cheaper places. And she couldn’t expect him to go touring London on her behalf when he’d already been held up and inconvenienced.

Recalling her earlier thought, she said, ‘I’m not sure if it’s still there, but there used to be a small hotel quite close to here, on Mather Street…I think it was called the Fairbourn…’

His well-marked brows drew together over a straight nose. ‘If it’s the place I’m thinking of, I wouldn’t say it was particularly prepossessing.’

So long as it was clean and respectable, she wasn’t in a position to be over-fussy. ‘As it’s only for three nights, I can manage.’

Three nights suited his purpose even better, he thought jubilantly.

Things had been going smoothly, but the business trip he’d been forced to take had cost him precious time and they had managed to trace her much faster than he’d anticipated.

Hence the sudden need for drastic action.

Which had worked so far, he reminded himself. But with so much at stake, he simply couldn’t afford to mess things up.

‘As the Fairbourn may well have closed down,’ he said smoothly, ‘and it’s hardly the sort of night to be touring the town in search of accommodation, I suggest you come home with me.’




CHAPTER TWO


WHEN, staggered, wondering what he had in mind, Tina simply stared at him, he repeated evenly, ‘Come home with me.’

Knowing what kind of woman she was, he hadn’t expected much in the way of opposition and was shaken when she said, as if she meant it, ‘I couldn’t possibly do that.’

‘Why not? There’s a perfectly good guest room standing empty.’

Though she was reassured by the mention of a guest room, there were other considerations. A mature man in his late twenties or early thirties, he might well be married. ‘Thank you,’ she began, ‘but I—’

‘It makes sense to come for tonight at least,’ he broke in decidedly. ‘Then tomorrow, if you want to move into a hotel, you’d have all day to find somewhere suitable.’

Rather than ask if he was married, she said, ‘What on earth would your wife say?’

‘As I don’t have a wife, not a lot.’

He hadn’t a wife. Her spirits rose with a bound.

Then common sense took over. If he hadn’t a wife, he would almost certainly have a live-in lover.

‘But you must have…I mean there must be…’

‘A woman around?’ he supplied quizzically.

‘Well…yes.’

‘Oh, there is.’

Though she had half expected it, her heart sank.

‘Thank you,’ she said carefully. ‘It’s very kind of you to suggest it, but—’

He sighed. ‘Now I’ve put you off and I thought you’d feel easier, knowing there was another woman around the place.’

She shook her head. ‘I really think I should go to a hotel. It’ll be far less trouble for—’

‘Oh, Gwen won’t mind,’ he said easily.

If she was living with him she wouldn’t be too happy if he brought a woman home he didn’t even know. Decidedly, she began, ‘I’m quite sure your girlfriend would—’

‘Oh, Gwen’s not my girlfriend. She’s my housekeeper. A very upright woman,’ he added solemnly. ‘A pillar of the church and so forth.’

Feeling as though she was on a roller coaster and with the disturbing impression that he was enjoying teasing her, Tina frowned.

‘Is that a problem?’ he asked, straight faced. ‘Do you have anything against religious women?’

‘Of course not,’ she began. Then, seeing the wicked gleam in his eye, she stopped speaking and gritted her teeth.

‘In that case it’s all settled,’ he announced calmly and let in the clutch.

He had managed it so smoothly that they had pulled out of the car park and joined the evening stream of traffic that flowed down Lansdale Road before she could gather her wits enough to assess the situation.

Though she was very attracted to him and wanted to be with him, the voice of caution warned that to meekly go off with a man she knew nothing about was reckless in the extreme.

Just because he was well-dressed and well-spoken and had a big expensive car, it didn’t necessarily mean that he was trustworthy.

As her mother would have phrased it, he might have designs on her.

Though why should he?

She was tall and slim with good skin and neatish features, but she was nothing to write home about, certainly not the sort to drive men wild.

And a man with his looks and charisma wouldn’t be short of lady friends. In fact, with so much going for him he wouldn’t need to lift a finger to have eager females queuing up.

But, apart from that, there was something about him, she felt, a kind of basic integrity that was oddly reassuring. And this might well be her one and only chance to get to know him. If she insisted on being dropped off at a hotel, in all probability she would never see him again.

The thought was like a hand squeezing her heart.

It didn’t seem possible for a quiet, self-contained woman like herself to feel so strongly about a man she had only just met and didn’t know.

Yet she did.

Throwing caution to the wind, she asked, ‘Where do you live?’

His build-up of tension relaxing, he smiled. ‘I’ve a house in Pemberley Square, close to St James’s Park.’

‘Oh…’A far cry from Mather Street and the Fairbourn Hotel.

‘As we’ll be spending the night…’ He paused. ‘I was about to say together…but, as that might be misconstrued, I’ll say under the same roof, I think we should introduce ourselves, don’t you? My name’s Richard Anders.’

‘Mine’s Tina Dunbar.’

‘Tina?’ He sounded surprised.

‘Short for Valentina,’ she explained reluctantly.

He gave her a sideways glance and, his voice casual, asked, ‘Is Valentina a family name?’

‘No.’

‘Born on February the fourteenth?’

She nodded. ‘That’s right. Though these days Valentine is used for either sex, unfortunately my mother preferred to stick with the feminine form.’

‘Unfortunately?’

‘Valentina is a bit of a mouthful.’

‘I like it.’

‘Oh…’ She felt a little warm glow.

As they headed for the West End, the wipers rhythmically swishing, the wet, almost deserted pavements reflecting back the brightly lit shop windows, he said, ‘So you’re with Cartel Wines…What do you do, Valentina…?’

Very conscious of him, of the handsome, clear-cut profile, the closeness of his muscular thigh to hers, the faint male scent of his cologne, she tried to drag her mind away from the man himself and focus on the question.

‘Are you a buyer?’

‘No. I’m responsible for public relations and sales promotions.’ Then, with a sinking feeling, ‘Or, rather, I was.’

‘You’re leaving?’

‘I’ve no choice. I learnt this afternoon that Matterhorn, the group who have taken over Cartel’s, have their own promotional team coming in next week, which makes me redundant.’

‘So you won’t be going back?’ he pursued.

‘No. I’ve cleared my desk.’

‘Have you been working for Cartel Wines long?’

‘Ever since I left college,’ she answered without thinking.

He gave her a quick sideways smile. ‘As you look about sixteen…’

Wishing fruitlessly that she looked her usual cool, composed self, she said quickly, ‘I’m twenty-three,’ and was aware that she had sounded indignant.

‘That old!’

Now he was laughing at her openly. But it was in a nice way, a way that invited her to join in.

With a smile, she said, ‘I suppose in a few more years being told I look about sixteen will seem like a compliment.’

Then, keen to remove the spotlight from herself and wondering what he’d been doing at Cartel Wines, she changed the subject by remarking, ‘You’re not employed by Cartel?’

‘No.’

‘I didn’t think so. But I wouldn’t have put you down as a visitor. Or certainly not an ordinary one.’

‘Is that a complaint or a compliment?’

‘A comment. Ordinary visitors use the front car park and the main entrance and always leave before the staff.’

‘Well, as I did none of those things, I plead guilty to being out of the ordinary…’

It occurred to her that she still didn’t know why he’d been at Cartel Wines, but, before she could pursue the matter, he remarked, ‘Incidentally, I caught sight of you earlier in the day…’

So he’d recognised her.

‘Yes, I’d slipped out to buy some lunch.’

To give her no chance to ask the question that he wasn’t yet ready to answer, he went on, ‘I fear it came to a sad end. Did you manage to replace it?’

‘No.’

‘You must be ravenous. But we’ll soon be home and Gwen’s sure to have dinner waiting.’

Wondering how the housekeeper would cope when he turned up with an unexpected guest, Tina began, ‘I’m afraid it—’

‘Don’t worry,’ he broke in, ‘there’ll be no problem.’ Then, deciding to stick with a safe topic, at least for the moment, he went on, ‘As a young woman, Gwen had a family of six boys to feed, so she’s always been used to cooking for what seems like an army. She still does.

‘Her church runs a centre for the homeless and each evening she fills her car boot with food and takes it round there.’

He had just finished telling her about his housekeeper’s charitable activities when they reached Pemberley Square and drew up outside a handsome porticoed town house.

It was still raining hard and he retrieved Tina’s case before escorting her across the leaf-strewn pavement and into a chandelier-hung hall.

As he closed the door behind them, a small, thin, neatly dressed woman appeared.

‘Ah, Gwen,’ he said, ‘we have an unexpected guest.’ He introduced the two women, adding, ‘Miss Dunbar was with Cartel Wines.’

The housekeeper smiled and said, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Dunbar.’

Smiling back, Tina said a little anxiously, ‘I hope I’m not causing you a lot of trouble, Mrs Baxter?’

‘Not at all. The guest room is always kept ready. Now, if you’d like to freshen up before dinner…?’

‘If there’s time?’

‘Plenty of time,’ the housekeeper announced comfortably. ‘Luckily I’d decided on a casserole, which will keep hot without spoiling.’

‘In that case,’ Richard said, ‘I’ll check my emails and when Miss Dunbar comes down we’ll have a quick pre-dinner drink in the study.’

With a glance at his watch, he added, ‘But, so your regulars won’t have to wait too long for their supper, I suggest you leave ours on the hotplate and we’ll serve ourselves…’

Mrs Baxter nodded gratefully, then said, ‘Oh, there’s one more thing…Miss O’Connell has been trying to get hold of you. She said your mobile has been switched off all day. She seemed extremely upset about it…’

Reading his housekeeper’s tight-lipped expression correctly, Richard hazarded, ‘So Helen’s been giving you a hard time? Sorry about that.’

Her face softening, Mrs Baxter said, ‘The young lady would like you to give her a ring.’

‘I’ll do that. Thanks, Gwen.’

Taking Tina’s case, the housekeeper led the way up a long, curved staircase and across a balustraded landing, remarking as they went, ‘Mr Anders is always kind and thoughtful. They don’t come any better.’

Doing her best not to hobble, though her ankle was, if anything, worse, Tina asked, ‘How long have you worked for him?’

‘Just over six years and in all that time I’ve never known him be anything other than even-tempered and pleasant.’

‘That’s praise indeed.’

‘And well earned. He’s one of the most generous people I know.

‘In the two years that it’s been in existence the centre that I help to run must have saved quite a few lives, especially in the winter.

‘They have him to thank. Not only did he buy a big warehouse and have it converted into comfortable living quarters, but he pays all the running expenses out of his own pocket and provides money for food and other necessities.

‘He’s even managed to save a few of the poor souls who come there…Oh, not by preaching to them, but by trusting them and giving them a decent job…’

Tina was about to ask what kind of business he was in when she was ushered into a large pastel-walled bedroom that overlooked the rain-lashed lamplit square, with its central garden and mature trees.

Having deposited the case on a low chest, the housekeeper closed the curtains, remarking, ‘It looks like a nasty wet, chilly night, so I’d best get off and make sure that everyone’s taken care of.’

Her hand was on the latch when she turned to say, ‘Oh, when you come down again, the study is straight across the hall.’

The guest room was pleasant and airy, with a pale deeppile carpet, modern furniture, a large, comfortable-looking bed and walk-in wardrobes, while the en suite bathroom was frankly luxurious.

Feeling grubby and dishevelled, Tina decided to take a quick shower.

While she enjoyed the flow of hot water over her bare skin she thought about Richard Anders.

Any remaining doubts about what kind of man he was had been set at rest by Mrs Baxter’s unstinting praise and she could only be thankful that she had accepted his hospitality rather than turning it down.

Refreshed, she towelled herself dry, quickly found some clean underwear and swopped her suit for a fine wool button-through dress in oatmeal.

Her ankle was distinctly swollen now so, instead of changing into high-heeled sandals, she stayed with her flat shoes.

When she had put on a discreet touch of make-up and brushed and re-coiled her dark blonde hair, she made her way carefully down the stairs.

She felt eager and excited, if a touch nervous, at the prospect of spending the evening alone with Richard Anders and getting to know him better.

For perhaps the first time in her life she found herself wishing that she was clever, beautiful, exciting, alluring—whatever it took to arouse and hold his interest.

But of course she wasn’t. She was just an ordinary girl, unable even to keep the interest of a man like Kevin who, though undeniably tall and handsome, hadn’t been in the same class as Richard Anders for looks and presence.

But perhaps it was wealth that had given him his presence, his force of personality?

No, she was oddly convinced that it wasn’t so. If he’d been a poor man he would still have had those assets and, with them, he wouldn’t have remained a poor man for long.

Arriving at the study door, after a momentary hesitation, she tapped and walked in.

It was a pleasant book-lined room with a rich burgundy carpet and matching velvet curtains. An Adam fireplace and an ornate plaster ceiling with flowers and cherubs added to its beauty.

The lighting was low and intimate and a log fire blazed cheerfully in the grate. A small table and a couple of soft leather armchairs had been placed in front of the fire.

Richard, who had been standing by the hearth, advanced to meet her. He looked coolly elegant and just the sight of him made her heart lurch wildly.

He too had made time to shower and change. Instead of the business suit and tie he’d been wearing, he was dressed in smart casuals. His thick dark hair was brushed back from his high forehead and his jaw was clean-shaven.

‘So there you are. Come and make yourself at home.’

A hand at her waist—just that impersonal touch made her go all of a dither—he ushered her to the nearest chair.

Trying to look cool and composed, she sank into it.

His glance taking in the touch of make-up, he smiled at her and said teasingly, ‘My, now you look all of eighteen.’

That white smile, with its unstudied charm, rocked her afresh and made her feel as though her very bones were as pliable as warm candle wax.

‘I’d just started to wonder if you knew which was the study,’ he went on, ‘or if you were wandering around, lost.’

‘No, I knew. Mrs Baxter told me.’ She was aware that she sounded more than a little breathless.

Indicating a drinks trolley, he queried, ‘What’s it to be?’

Bearing in mind that she’d had nothing to eat since breakfast, she plumped for orange juice.

While he added crushed ice to the glass and poured the freshly squeezed juice, she watched him from beneath long lashes.

In dark well-cut trousers and a black polo-neck sweater, he looked even more handsome and attractive and, in spite of all her efforts, her heart began to pick up speed.

He glanced up and, unwilling to be caught staring, she looked hastily away.

A moment or two later he was by her side. Handing her a tall, narrow, frosted glass, he said, ‘Here you are.’

While she sipped, he leaned against the mantel, a whisky and soda in his hand, firelight flickering on his face, and studied her appraisingly.

He would have expected the sort of life she’d been leading to have left its mark, but at close quarters she looked clear-eyed and healthy and altogether too untouched to be the kind of woman he knew her to be.

He’d known from the start that she was blonde and blue-eyed, had even seen photographs of her, which had convinced him that she was attractive.

But the first time he had seen her in the flesh coming out of De Vere’s office he had realised that the photographs didn’t do her justice.

She was beautiful.

Now, taking in the long-lashed blue-violet eyes that slanted slightly upwards at the outer corners, the lovely silky hair the colour of corn-syrup—and natural too, he’d bet—winged brows and high cheekbones, the straight nose and the mouth that his own suddenly felt the urge to kiss, he revised his earlier opinion.

She was more than merely beautiful.

Much more.

She was bewitching, haunting, a fascinating contradiction. Despite that passionate mouth, she had an air of innocence, of vulnerability that, however false, had got under his skin the instant he saw her. And that could be dangerous.

He shrugged off the thought.

Being attracted to her was all very well so long as he kept in mind what his goal was and didn’t allow that attraction to affect his judgement.

Over the past few weeks he had considered several courses of action. But, thinking it would be easier to judge when he knew her better, he had been waiting to decide exactly how to play it, which would be his best option.

In the end, however, things had moved so fast that he’d had no time for a leisurely appraisal.

Still, most of his plans were in place, even his final contingency plan. Which, because of the time element, he was now going to have to go with.

If he could bring it off.

There was no if about it. He had to bring it off.

But, having seen her at close quarters, he knew that taking her to bed would be no hardship. In fact the mere prospect made his blood quicken.

Of course, if he could get her emotionally involved, make her fall in love with him, it would ease his task enormously.

Experience told him that she was already attracted to him, though oddly enough she wasn’t giving out the kind of overt signals he would have expected from a woman like her.

He knew from the reports he’d received that she was, to put it mildly, a child of her times and, despite her air of naivety, he found it almost impossible to believe that she had any scruples or inhibitions.

But, as time was short and he was unwilling to take any chances, it would do no harm to make certain that if she had, they were well and truly banished…

Tina glanced up and, thrown by the expression of almost savage intensity and purpose on his face, asked jerkily, ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Wrong? Of course not.’

His voice sounded quite normal and the expression that had startled her was gone as if it had never been. Realising it must have been a trick of the firelight, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Straightening, he asked easily, ‘Another drink?’

‘Please.’

Taking her glass and moving over to the drinks table, he said, ‘I suggest this time you try it with a secret ingredient.’

Curiously, she asked, ‘What is the secret ingredient?’

He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘I have to confess that it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Merely a dash of Cointreau.’

She laughed and took a sip of the drink he handed her. As he stood looking down at her, she saw for the first time that his eyes weren’t simply brown, as she’d thought, but a dark green flecked with gold. Handsome tawny eyes, with long heavy lids and thick curly lashes.

As she gazed up at him, he took the glass from her hand and set in down on the low table. Then, stooping unhurriedly and as if—rather than obeying a sudden impulse—he knew exactly what he was doing and could take all the time in the world to do it, he kissed her mouth.

She had been held closely and kissed many times. But never like that. Without holding her in any way, with only their lips touching, his kiss held everything she had ever wanted—warmth, tenderness, passion, sweetness. It both gave and took, coaxed and effortlessly mastered.

When finally he lifted his head and drew away, she felt radiant, enchanted.

Satisfaction in his voice, he remarked, ‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the first moment I caught sight of you standing there in the rain.’

Though—now she had seen his house—common sense told her he was right out of her league as far as any serious relationship went, she was filled with pleasure and excitement. He’d felt the same kind of instant attraction that she’d felt and, for the moment at least, that was enough.

Though it could lead nowhere.

And it was dangerous.

Especially if Richard had seduction on his mind. And, after the way he had kissed her, she could no longer rule that out.

But she wasn’t one to have affairs or indulge in casual sex, so if he did intend to try and seduce her, she would just have to stay cool and uninterested.

Cool and uninterested! Who was she trying to kid?

So she would have to appear to be cool and uninterested. In the past she had always been good at quietly freezing men off, she reminded herself. But then she had been genuinely uninterested or, for one reason or another, unwilling to take that particular relationship any further.

Though it was old-fashioned, almost ludicrous in this modern age, she had been brought up to believe that love and commitment went hand in hand and that sex should belong within the framework of marriage.

It hadn’t made her narrow-minded or critical of other people’s behaviour. It was simply a standard that had been set for her and that she had so far adhered to.

While some of her friends laughed and said she was mad and others admired her, Ruth had suggested it was because she had never been seriously tempted. ‘No, I haven’t forgotten Kevin,’ she had said, ‘but while he was tall, dark and handsome, he obviously hadn’t got what it takes to turn you on.

‘It’s a jolly good thing you didn’t marry him,’ she had added seriously, ‘otherwise you might have ended up just going through the motions and missing out on one of life’s most wonderful experiences…’

‘Penny for them…’

Richard’s voice brought Tina back to the present.

Her cheeks growing warm, she stammered, ‘I—I was just thinking about something my friend said.’

‘You’re not angry that I kissed you?’

She shook her head.

Sounding confident, he added, ‘And I take it there’s no current boyfriend to object?’

A little piqued by that assumption, she said, ‘What if there is?’

With a kind of wry self-mockery, he told her, ‘If there is I’ll have to wrest you from him…’

She had the strangest feeling that he would be prepared to wrest her from the archangel Gabriel himself should it prove necessary.

‘Is there?’

She shook her head.

‘But you didn’t like me assuming that?’ he queried shrewdly.

‘As it happens, my fiancé and I split up earlier in the year.’

He raised a brow, not expecting her to have had such a serious past relationship. ‘How long were you engaged?’

‘About three months.’

‘Officially?’ he queried.

‘You mean did I have a ring?’

He looked casually down at her left hand. ‘Did you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who broke things off?’ Richard queried.

‘I did,’ Tina answered.

‘Why?’

She paused, then looked up at him. ‘I caught him playing around with another woman.’

‘Do you still love him?’

‘No, I don’t,’ she said, and knew it was the truth.

‘But you still feel upset about it?’

She had until now. Though it wasn’t so much that it had happened as the way it had happened.

Realising he was waiting for an answer, she said, ‘I did at first, but now it no longer matters.’

Suddenly wondering if her words had been too revealing and feeling uncomfortable, she began to sip her drink once more.

Nursing his whisky and soda, Richard sat down on the other side of the hearth and changed the subject with smooth aplomb. ‘I understand the sunny summer and autumn they’ve had on the Continent has helped to produce an excellent grape harvest…’

While they talked about the good weather they’d been enjoying and the climate in general, though he barely touched his own drink, an attentive host, he refilled her glass once more.

At length he rose and, having put some fresh logs on the fire, remarked, ‘We’d better get something to eat before you starve to death.’

As they walked to the door, he told her, ‘The dining-room is at the other end of the hall.’ Adding, as she favoured her injured ankle, ‘Can you manage?’

A little flustered, she said, ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’

‘Sure? I can see your left ankle’s swollen and I’ve noticed you limping from time to time.’

‘I’m sure I can manage, thank you.’

The gold and ivory dining-room was elegant, the table laid with cut glass and porcelain, while a bottle of wine encased in a silver cool-jacket waited to be poured.

Dinner, though simple, proved to be most enjoyable. Richard played the part of host with panache, filling Tina’s plate and helping her to some of the excellent white wine.

Somewhat to her relief, he chose impersonal topics of conversation and as they ate they discussed books, music, art and the theatre. It didn’t take long to discover that their tastes matched in most things and they both much preferred reading to watching television.

‘I sometimes think television is the bane of modern living,’ he observed, ‘especially when the set takes over the room and becomes the focus of it.’

She agreed entirely and said so.

By the time the leisurely meal came to an end and Tina had finished her second glass of wine, starting to feel distinctly light-headed, she elected to take her coffee black and refused a liqueur.

It was getting late by the time their cups were empty but, knowing it made sense not to rush this part, he led the way back to the study.

Having stirred the glowing fire into life and settled her in front of it, he suggested, ‘Let’s have a small nightcap before we turn in.’

As, hazily happy just to be here with him, she was gazing into the flames, he handed her a balloon glass containing a swirl of golden cognac. Then, taking a seat opposite, he raised his own glass in a kind of toast and took a sip.

When she followed suit, he asked conversationally, ‘How did you hurt your ankle?’

‘I slipped when I was getting out of the shower.’

‘Hardly a good start to Friday the thirteenth,’ he commented dryly, ‘and I gather things didn’t improve very much?’

‘Not a lot,’ she said and, when he waited expectantly, went on to tell him about having a flat tyre and being late for work.

‘Then at lunch time I discovered I’d forgotten to pack any sandwiches…’

He shook his head sympathetically. ‘And, after losing your lunch, you end the day with a badly damaged car and no job.’

Though having no job still had to be a major worry, it didn’t seem half so bad now she was sitting opposite Richard, sleepily watching the flickering firelight turn his face into a changing mask of highlights and shadows.

Hoping she hadn’t sounded sorry for herself, she said hardily, ‘But it could be worse. Mr DeVere has promised me a good reference, so it shouldn’t take too long to find another position.’

‘I presume you know a lot about wine?’

‘Quite a lot,’ she said simply. ‘Otherwise I couldn’t have done my job.’

Studying her reflectively, he queried, ‘Any idea where tonight’s wine came from?’

‘France,’ she answered without hesitation. ‘I’d say the Loire Valley.’

‘Can you put a name to it?’

Recognising that she was a bit squiffy, she said cautiously, ‘Yes, I believe so.’

When he waited, one eyebrow slightly raised, she correctly named both the wine and the year.

Looking surprised, he remarked, ‘Surely you weren’t able to learn how to identify the area and the vintage merely from tutorials and course work?’

Sensing faint disparagement, she said, ‘No, of course not.’ Then, realising that she was starting to slur her words, she made an effort to enunciate more clearly. ‘That has to come from the hands-on side, the bouquet and tasting…’

She stopped speaking, feeling dazed, overcome by tiredness. All she wanted to do at that moment was lie down and go to sleep.

Watching her trying to keep her eyes open, he said, ‘You look more than ready for bed.’

He rose and in one lithe movement put the fireguard in place.

‘I’m sorry…’ she began.

‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s been a long, eventful day…’

He was right about that, she thought as she struggled to her feet.

‘Need any help?’ he queried.

‘No, no…I’m fine,’ she lied as, limping, she wove her way somewhat unsteadily to the door. Oh, why had she accepted that cognac? She should have had more sense.

Having bided his time until she reached the hall, he said firmly, ‘I think I’d better carry you.’

Not at all sure that she’d heard him aright, she echoed, ‘Carry me?’

‘Carry you,’ he repeated firmly.

Going hot all over at the thought of being held in his arms and cradled against that broad chest, she stammered, ‘R-really there’s no need. I can manage quite well.’

Her normally low, slightly husky voice sounded agitated and squeaky.

Ignoring the assurance, he stooped and effortlessly lifted her high in his arms.

With a little gasp, she begged, ‘Please put me down.’ Adding distractedly, ‘What on earth will your housekeeper think if she sees us?’

Looking unperturbed, he said, ‘No one will see us.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because Jervis, the chauffeur and handyman, lives at the rear above the garages, and Gwen, who used to be a nurse, is staying at the centre overnight. Old Tom, one of her “regulars”, is just recovering from a bad bout of flu, so she’s remaining on hand in case he needs her.’

‘Oh,’ Tina said in a small voice.

As he crossed the hall and began to climb the stairs, Richard smiled down at her and added with soft emphasis, ‘So you see, we’re all alone.’




CHAPTER THREE


ALLalone.

Just for a second Tina had the absurd feeling that she’d walked into a trap.

There had been something in his voice, his choice of words—satisfaction? a touch of menace?—that made her heart start to thump against her ribs and a shiver run through her.

Noticing that betraying movement, Richard glanced down at her. ‘There’s no need to look so scared—’ now his tone was reassuringly normal ‘—I haven’t lured you here to imprison you in the cellar or lock you in the attic…’

Suddenly feeling foolish, she denied, ‘I never thought you had.’

‘Though I do have plans for you.’

The rider, though added jokingly, brought a touch of alarm.

‘Plans?’ she said thickly. ‘What kind of plans?’

He laughed. ‘Don’t worry; I’m sure you’ll like what I have in mind.’

Realising that he was teasing her, her head spinning, she let it go.

He carried her easily and when they reached the top of the stairs there was still no sign of him being out of breath.

As well as strong, he must be very fit.

Virile was the word that sprang to mind. It was a word that immediately produced some erotic images…

Shocked by her own thoughts, she told herself hazily that this wasn’t like her. It must be alcohol swamping her inhibitions. Normally she drank very little and the amount she’d had tonight, some of it on an empty stomach, had gone straight to her head. As he crossed the landing and fumbled briefly to open her bedroom door, everything began to whirl gently round her and she closed her eyes.

Crossing to the bed, he pulled back the duvet and laid her down, supporting her head while he unfastened the clip that held her heavy coil of hair in place.

As the silken mass tumbled around her shoulders, he settled her head on the pillows and, sitting down beside her, slipped off her shoes.

She lay like a beautiful doll, her eyes closed, the long lashes making dark gold fans on her cheeks, her soft lips a little parted, the lovely creamy column of her throat exposed, vulnerable.

It was obvious that the alcohol had done its work too well and she was almost out for the count.

Frowning, he realised that she couldn’t be as used to drinking as he’d been led to believe. It had been his intention to get rid of any possible inhibitions, not to make her practically incapable and he felt like a heel.

However, he couldn’t afford too many scruples. Everything he held dear was at stake. If he’d been certain she would be reasonable…

But he couldn’t be certain. It would depend entirely on what kind of woman she really was, and he wouldn’t know that until he knew her better.

By that time it would be too late.

So he needed to go through with it.

As he made the decision, she opened her eyes.

Smiling down at her, he started to undo the buttons of her dress.

He had reached her waist when, pushing herself up groggily and brushing his hands away, she said hoarsely, ‘It’s all right…I can manage.’

‘Sure?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘But you would like me to stay.’ He made it sound as if it had all been decided.

The true answer was yes.

But even in her tipsy state she knew that all he wanted was a one-night stand and, making an effort to stick with her long-held principles, she started to shake her head.

It was a mistake and, as the world began to spin once more, she closed her eyes and mumbled, ‘I’d like you to go.’

‘Then I’ll say goodnight.’ He leaned forward and kissed her.

The light pressure of his lips against hers was enough to make her sink back against the pillows.

His mouth still keeping contact, he followed her down and, when her lips parted helplessly, he deepened the kiss until her head was whirling even more and her whole being melted.

Without conscious volition, her arms went round his neck and she was holding on to him as if he were the only stable object worth anything in her world…



Her brain came to life slowly, consciousness ebbing and flowing. As she lay with closed eyes, she became aware that she was unusually warm and comfortable on the rather uncomfortable put-you-up.

And, what was even more unusual, her hair was loose around her shoulders—normally she braided it—and she was naked. Why wasn’t she wearing her nightdress? Unable to think, she let the thought go and drifted off again.

It was the sound of a shower running that eventually began to penetrate her stupefied state.

Ruth must be up early this morning. Usually she was last in the bathroom, preferring to breakfast in her dressing gown even on a weekday.

But surely this was the weekend? Hadn’t it been Friday yesterday?

Friday the thirteenth and everything had gone wrong…

Like a tide carrying flotsam, the events of the day washed into her mind and for a moment or two she sorted dazedly through them until she found the one thing that mattered above all else.

She had met Richard Anders.

The recollection banished sleep and focused her attention. A moment later, memory filled in the details with a rush.

The car accident, the invitation to go home with him, the drive to Pemberley Square, his kiss in the study, dinner together, brandy in front of the fire…Then him carrying her upstairs after saying with a strange intonation in his voice, ‘So you see we’re all alone.’

He had taken her into her room, laid her on the bed and kissed her goodnight…

But she had a vague memory of wanting him to stay, of kissing him back and putting her arms around his neck…Her eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright.

She was briefly aware that the room was light, sunshine slanting in through a gap in the curtains, then, the sudden movement making her head spin, she groaned and, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, pressed her fingertips to her temples.

‘Headache?’ a male voice asked sympathetically.

She opened her eyes again to find Richard just emerging from the bathroom. His dark, attractively rumpled hair was still damp from the shower and he hadn’t a stitch on.

The sight of that beautifully toned male body with its muscular chest and lean hips, its trim waist and taut belly, made her heart lurch wildly and her stomach tighten.

Oh, but he was gorgeous. A superb male animal.

As she gaped at him speechlessly, he strolled over and, bending, kissed her lightly on the lips as if he had every right.

As if they were lovers.

Which, no doubt, they were, otherwise what was he doing in her room stark naked?

Transfixed by the thought, she froze.

When, sitting still as a statue, she failed to respond to his kiss, he looked at her appraisingly, trying to sum her up.

He knew what kind of woman she was and, though he was sure that she wanted him, she wasn’t acting as he would have expected. Most of the women he had known would have twined their arms around his neck and done their best to coax him back to bed.

But, instead of trying to look seductive, she looked positively embarrassed, as if she wasn’t used to sleeping around.

Had she reacted like those other women, he would have accepted the invitation. Even first thing in the morning and with a hangover, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Her neck was long and slender, her breasts small and firm, with dusky-pink velvety nipples that he felt the urge to stroke with his tongue…

Realising that his eyes were fixed appreciatively on her breasts, in a panicky reflex action she jerked up the duvet to cover her nakedness.

A gleam of amusement in his eyes, he said, ‘I’ll get you something for that headache.’

As he turned and walked to the door, she caught her breath at the seductive back view of his tall, well-built figure.

His skin, with its golden all-over tan, was clear and glowed with health, his shoulders were broad, his buttocks firm, his long legs strong and straight. The line of his spine was elegant. Even the back of his neck, with the damp hair trying to curl a little into his nape, was sexy.




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