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The Baby Claim
CATHERINE GEORGE








“Not everyone falls in love at first sight.”


“No,” said Joss, her face suddenly shadowed. “Outside of fiction very few, probably.” She braced herself, nerving herself up for confrontation. Showtime. No point in dragging it out. “Is one of those glasses for me?” she asked, and moved forward into the light to take one.

Dan took an incredulous look at her and dropped one of the glasses on the stone flags.

There was a deafening silence.

“What’s known as a pregnant pause,” said Joss at last, deliberately flippant.







He’s a man of cool sophistication.

He’s got pride, power and wealth.

At the top of his corporate ladder, he’s a

ruthless businessman. An expert lover—

he’s one hundred percent

committed to staying single.

His life runs like a well-oiled machine….

Until now.

Because suddenly he’s responsible for a BABY!

His Baby.

An exciting new miniseries from

Harlequin Presents




He’s sexy, successful…

and he’s facing up to fatherhood!

Rafael’s Love-Child

by Kate Walker

Harlequin Presents


#2160




The Baby Claim

Catherine George















CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE




CHAPTER ONE


WHEN she was certain the balcony was empty Joscelyn Hunter hid behind one of its pillars and let her smiling mask slip. For what seemed like hours she’d laughed and chatted and circulated like the perfect guest. But enough was enough. It had been a test to come to the party alone tonight. But Anna was her oldest friend. Missing her engagement celebrations had never been an option.

The breeze was cool, and Joss shivered as it found her bare arms. Soon she could make some excuse and go—where? Home to the empty flat? She stared malevolently at the view, lost in angry reverie, until at last a slight cough alerted her to unwanted company. Joss turned with bad grace, to see a tall man with a glass in either hand.

‘I watched you steal away.’ The stranger held out one of the glasses. ‘Something told me you might be glad of this.’

Because there was no way she could snap at one of Anna’s guests and tell him to get lost, Joss muttered perfunctory thanks and accepted the drink.

‘Would you rather I left you to your solitude?’ said the man, after a long silence.

Joss looked up into his face. A long way up, which was a novelty. ‘You’ve as much right to look at Hyde Park as me,’ she said, shrugging.

‘I’ll take that as a no.’ He touched his glass to hers. ‘What shall we drink to?’

‘The happy pair?’

He echoed her toast, but barely tasted his wine.

‘You don’t care for champagne?’ she asked politely.

‘No. Do you?’

She shook her head. ‘Secretly I detest the stuff.’

‘Your secret’s safe with me,’ he assured her.

Joss relaxed against the pillar, surprised to find she rather welcomed the man’s company after all. It was certainly preferable to her own. ‘Are you one of Hugh’s friends?’

‘No.’ He shrugged rangy shoulders. ‘I’m a friend of a friend. Who dragged me along.’

She looked him up and down, amused. ‘You’re a bit on the large side to be dragged anywhere. Why were you unwilling?’

‘I’m no party animal. But the friend disapproves of my social life. Or lack of it.’ He leaned comfortably on the other side of the pillar. ‘All work and no play is bad for me, he tells me. With monotonous frequency. So once in a while I give in and let him have his way. Don’t drink that if you’d rather not,’ he added.

‘I’ve been on mineral water so far. Maybe a dose of champagne will improve my mood.’ She drank the wine down like medicine.

Her companion nodded slowly. ‘I see.’

She tilted her head to look at him. ‘You see what, exactly?’

‘I’ve been watching you for some time. Noting your body language.’

She stared up at him in mock alarm. ‘What did it say?’

‘That something’s not right with your world.’

‘So you came charging to my aid with medicinal champagne.’ She shook her head in pretend admiration. ‘Do you often play Good Samaritan?’

‘No. Never.’

‘Then why now?’

He leaned closer. ‘Various reasons. But mainly because I’m—curious.’

‘About what, in particular?’

‘The mood behind the smiles.’

‘I’d hoped I was concealing that,’ Joss said gruffly, and turned away to stare across the park.

‘No one else noticed,’ he assured her.

‘I hope you’re right. The last thing Anna needs is a spectre at the feast.’

‘Anna’s a friend of yours?’

‘Oldest and closest. But too euphoric tonight to notice anything amiss.’

Her large companion moved until his dark sleeve brushed her arm, and to her astonishment Joss felt a flicker of reaction, as though he’d actually touched her.

‘Do you live with Anna?’ he asked.

‘No, I don’t,’ she said flatly, and shivered.

‘You’re cold,’ he said quickly. ‘Perhaps you should go in.’

‘Not yet. But you go, if you want.’

‘Do you want me to?’

‘Not if you’d prefer to stay,’ she said indifferently, but hoped he would. In the dim light all she could make out was the man’s impressive height, topped by a strong-featured face under thick dark hair. But what she could see she liked very much.

‘Take this.’ He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it round her shoulders, enveloping her in a warm aura of healthy male spiked with spice and citrus. ‘Otherwise you might get pneumonia in that dress,’ he said, his voice a tone deeper.

Joss gave a laugh rendered slightly breathless by the intimacy of the gesture. ‘You don’t approve of my dress?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘If you were mine I wouldn’t let you out in it.’

Joss gave him a sub-zero stare. ‘Really!’

‘I’m not famous for tact,’ he said, lips twitching. ‘You asked a question and I answered it.’

‘True,’ she acknowledged, and thawed a little. ‘The dress was very expensive, in honour of the occasion. I like it.’

‘So do I!’

The dress was an ankle-length tube of black crêpe de Chine, edged with lace at the hem and across the breasts, held up by fragile straps and side-slit to the knee. Joss looked down at herself, then shot an amused look at her companion. ‘But you don’t approve?’

‘No.’

‘And I was so sure I looked good in it,’ she said with mock regret.

‘Every man present thinks you look sensational,’ he assured her.

‘Except you.’

‘Especially me. But it’s a very ambiguous dress.’

Joss found she was enjoying herself. ‘A strange word to describe a frock.’

His deep-throated chuckle vibrated right through the fine bespoke suiting, sending a trickle of reaction down her bare spine.

‘It may be a party dress to you,’ he went on, ‘but to me it smacks of the bedroom.’

Her chin lifted. ‘I assure you it’s not a nightgown. I don’t sleep in this kind of thing.’

‘Which makes me even more curious about what you do—or don’t—sleep in,’ he said softly, sending a second trickle down her spine to join the first.

‘We shouldn’t be having this conversation,’ she said brusquely.

‘Why?’

‘We’ve never met before.’

‘Then let’s introduce ourselves.’ He took her hand in a hard, warm clasp. ‘Tell me your name.’

Joss stared down at their hands, amazed to find herself flustered by his touch. ‘Let’s not get into names,’ she said, after a moment. ‘I don’t want to be me tonight. Just call me—Eve.’

‘Then I’ll be Adam.’ He shook her hand formally. ‘The party’s almost over. Take pity on a lonely stranger, Miss Eve, and have supper with me.’

Joss gave him a very straight look. ‘I thought you came with a friend.’

‘I did. He won’t mind.’ He bent his head to look in her eyes. ‘What was your original plan for the evening?’

Joss turned back to the view. ‘Originally I did have a date for tonight,’ she admitted shortly. ‘But it fell through. Which accounts for the lack of party spirit. Consequently—Adam—I don’t much fancy bright lights and a restaurant.’

‘Then I’ll get a meal sent up to my room here,’ he said promptly, and grinned at the incensed look she shot at him. ‘All I offer—and expect—is dinner, Eve.’

‘If I say yes to a meal in your room,’ she said bluntly, ‘you might expect a lot more than that.’

‘I was watching you long before you vanished out here,’ he reminded her. ‘I know you’re not the archetypal party girl out for a good time.’

‘Do you?’ Joss detached her hand and gave him his jacket. ‘But you have the advantage, Adam. If you watched me earlier you obviously know what I look like. I haven’t even seen your face properly yet.’

He shrugged into his jacket, then moved to the centre of the balcony. From the room inside a shaft of light fell on a strong face with an aquiline nose and a wide, firmly clenched mouth. His cheekbones were high, the eyes slanted, one heavy dark eyebrow raised towards his thick, springing hair as he bore her scrutiny.

‘Well?’ he said dryly. ‘Will I pass?’

With flying colours, she decided. ‘All right—Adam. I’d like to have supper with you,’ she said quickly, before she could change her mind. ‘But not in your room.’

He smiled wryly. ‘Then tell me which restaurant you prefer and I’ll arrange it.’

Just like that. Joss eyed him curiously, in no doubt that if this man asked for a table no restaurant, however sought after, would refuse him. She thought it over for a moment, then gave him a straight look. ‘As you’ve gathered, I’m not in party mood. But we could have supper at my place—if you like.’

His lips twitched. ‘Can you cook?’

‘I offered supper, not haute cuisine,’ she retorted.

He laughed, then moved into her shadowy corner to take her hand. ‘I’m delighted to accept your invitation, Miss Eve.’

The charge of electricity from his touch hinted at danger she chose to ignore in her present reckless mood. ‘Let’s go, then,’ Joss said briskly. ‘But not together. You first.’

He nodded. ‘Allow a discreet interval for me to thank your friends. I’ll have the car waiting at the main entrance in twenty minutes.’

When she was alone Joss leaned on the balcony for a while, almost convinced she’d imagined the encounter. But a furtive peep through the curtains showed her new acquaintance dominating the group clustered round Anna and Hugh. Very nice indeed, thought Joss, reassured, and much too tall to be a figment of anyone’s imagination. She waited until he’d gone, then emerged from her hiding place and joined Anna and Hugh.

‘We were about to send a search party for you, Joss,’ said Anna indignantly. ‘Where on earth have you been?’

‘Communing with nature on a discreet balcony,’ said Joss demurely.

‘Alone?’ asked Hugh, grinning.

‘Of course not.’ She batted her eyelashes at him. ‘Anyway, must dash—supper for two awaits. Thanks for a lovely party. See you soon.’ Joss hugged Anna, kissed Hugh’s cheek, then did the rounds, saying her goodbyes, made a detour to tidy herself up in a cloakroom, and at last took the lift down to the foyer, where a man in hotel livery ushered her outside to a waiting car.

‘You’re late,’ growled an impatient voice as she slid into the passenger seat.

‘Sorry. Couldn’t get away.’ Joss gave him her address with sudden reluctance, hoping this wasn’t a colossal mistake.

‘I’d begun to think you’d changed your mind,’ said Adam as he drove away.

He was very nearly right. ‘If so I would have sent a message,’ she said crisply.

‘Ah. A woman of principle!’

‘I try to be.’ Joss turned a long look on the forceful profile, and saw the wide mouth twist a little.

‘I hear you, Eve, loud and clear.’

‘Good. What happened to the friend, by the way?’

‘When told I was dining with a ravishing lady he sent me on my way with his blessing.’

Joss laughed. ‘You’re obviously very old friends.’

‘We’ve known each other all our lives.’

‘Like Anna and me.’ She sighed. ‘I just hope Hugh makes her happy.’

‘Is there any reason why he shouldn’t?’

‘None that I know of. I like him very much.’

‘Then it’s marriage itself you distrust?’

‘Not exactly. But Anna is so certain they’ll live happily ever after. And all too often people don’t.’

‘Leave your friend to her quite obviously besotted fiancé and concentrate on yourself, Eve.’

‘Thanks for the advice,’ she said tartly, and made polite small talk until they arrived at a modern apartment building sitting in surprising harmony with its Victorian Notting Hill neighbours.

Adam parked the car, then followed Joss into one of the lifts in the rather stark, functional foyer.

‘I live on the sixth floor,’ she said, feeling a definite qualm as the door closed to pen her in the small space with her large escort.

Adam frowned down at her. ‘You’re not comfortable with this, are you?’

‘Not entirely,’ she admitted.

He shrugged. ‘In which case I’ll just see you safely to your door and fade into the night.’

Joss felt sudden remorse. ‘Certainly not,’ she said firmly. ‘I invited you to supper so I’ll provide it.’ She looked at him questioningly. ‘Would you really have left me at my door?’

‘If you’d wanted that, yes. But with great reluctance.’ He pressed her hand in reassurance. ‘I keep my word, Eve.’

‘If I didn’t believe that I wouldn’t have invited you here,’ she assured him.

Inside the flat, Joss led her visitor past her closed bedroom door and switched on lights as she took him along a narrow hall into a sitting room with tall windows looking out over communal gardens. The room was large, with free-standing shelves crammed with books, and a pair of brass lamps perched precariously on the top shelf. Otherwise there was only a small sofa and a large floor cushion.

‘Please sit down,’ said Joss. Half empty or not, the room looked a lot smaller than usual with her visitor standing like a lighthouse in the middle of it. ‘Supper’s no problem because I did some shopping today. But I wasn’t expecting company so all I can offer you in the way of a drink is red wine—or possibly some whisky.’

‘Wine sounds good.’ Adam let himself down on the sofa, and stretched out his endless legs. ‘If it’s red it should breathe, so I’ll wait until the meal. Can I help?’

Joss shook her head, chuckling. ‘No room for giants in my kitchen. I’ll open the wine first, then throw a meal together. Shan’t be long.’

As she worked swiftly Joss decided she liked the look of her unexpected guest very much. Not handsome, exactly, but the navy blue eyes, dark hair and chiselled features appealed to her strongly. So did the air of confidence he wore as casually as his Savile Row suit. She tossed a green salad with oil and vinegar, carved a cold roast chicken, sliced and buttered an entire small loaf, and put a hunk of cheese on a plate. She shared the chicken salad between two dinner plates on a forty-sixty basis, put them on a tray with silver, napkins and glasses, added the bread, cheese and wine, and a bowl of fruit, then went back to the sitting room and put the tray on the floor.

Her guest swung round from his absorption in her bookshelves to smile at her. ‘A wide range of literature,’ he commented.

‘My main extravagance. Do sit down again.’ She smiled in apology as she poured the wine. ‘I’m afraid it’s a picnic. You may live to regret not having your hotel dinner.’

‘I doubt it.’ Adam received his plate with approval. ‘What could possibly be better than this?’ He looked up, the indigo eyes holding hers. ‘Thank you, Eve.’

‘My pleasure,’ she said lightly, then curled up on the floor cushion to eat her own meal, realising this was the truth. After resigning herself to a solitary evening, probably not even bothering to eat at all, the present circumstances were a vast improvement.

‘For me,’ said Adam, raising his glass to her in toast, ‘it’s a pleasure—and a privilege—I never anticipated when I first set eyes on you tonight.’

‘When was that?’

‘The moment I arrived. You stood out from the crowd.’

‘Because I’m tall,’ said Joss, resigned. ‘But how on earth did I come to miss someone of your dimensions?’

‘We were late. And it was the hair I noticed, not your height. You had your back to me, but you were facing a mirror. I could see that narrow face of yours framed in it, and wondered why the eyes were at such odds with the smiling mouth. The contradiction intrigued me.’

‘I’m glad I didn’t know,’ said Joss with feeling. ‘Rather like being caught on Candid Camera. I hope I was behaving myself?’

‘Of course you were. The perfect guest.’ Adam helped himself to more bread. ‘But I could tell you weren’t in party mood. I was surprised—and impressed—that you stuck it out so long.’

‘So you saw me disappear,’ said Joss thoughtfully.

He nodded. ‘At which point inspiration struck. At worst, I reasoned, you would send me packing.’

‘And at best?’

‘The privilege of talking to you.’ He gave her a direct look. ‘My imagination never got as far as this.’

‘Chicken salad and questionable claret?’ she said flippantly.

‘Exactly. Now, tell me why you asked me back here tonight.’

Joss shot him a warning look. ‘Certainly not to share my bed.’

‘I thought we’d sorted that out already,’ he said impatiently. ‘Listen to me, Eve. In basic terms, I swear I won’t leap on you the moment we’ve finished supper, or at any other time—is that blunt enough for you?’

Blunt and very reassuring, decided Joss. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

He eyed her searchingly. ‘You’ve obviously had bad experiences in the past in this kind of situation?’

She shook her head. ‘I never invite men here for supper.’ Which was true enough.

He frowned. ‘Never?’

‘Never.’

‘Then why me?’

‘Because you were in the right place at the right time,’ she said candidly. ‘I was in need of company tonight, and you offered yours.’

Adam leaned forward, one of the heavy brows raised. ‘You mean I happened to be nearest, that any man would have done?’

‘Certainly not,’ she snapped, and jumped up. ‘You were kind. I liked that. But, best of all, you’re very tall.’

He looked amused. ‘Is height a vital requirement?’

‘No. But for me it’s a definite plan. I’m five feet ten, with a passion for high heels.’

Adam laughed as he refilled their glasses, and took very little persuading to finish off the bread and cheese. She offered him the fruit bowl. ‘Have one of these to go with it.’

His lips twitched as he took a shiny red apple. ‘Very appropriate, Eve. Will my life change for ever after one taste?’

‘Try it and see.’ Joss smiled and sank down to her cushion again as his strong white teeth crunched into the apple. ‘Sorry there wasn’t any pudding.’

‘This is all a man could ask for. Company included,’ he added. ‘Do you feel better now?’

‘Yes. I haven’t been eating well lately.’

‘I didn’t mean the food.’

‘I know. And since you ask, yes, I do feel better.’

‘Good.’ Adam finished everything on his plate and put it on the tray. ‘Shall I take this out to your kitchen for you?’

She shook her head. ‘Leave it. I’ll see to it later.’

‘Much later.’ He looked at her steadily. ‘I’ve no intention of leaving yet.’

Joss was glad of it. The last thing she wanted right now was solitude.

‘I’ve respected the veto on names,’ he went on, ‘but is it against the rules to ask what you do with your life?’

Joss decided against telling him she was a journalist. That might give too much away. For tonight she would just be romantic, mysterious Eve. ‘I’m—in publishing.’

‘Fiction?’

‘No. Fact.’ Joss settled herself more comfortably. ‘How about you?’

‘Construction.’

Joss was struck by a mental picture of suntanned muscles and heavy loads of bricks. ‘It obviously pays,’ she commented, eyeing his clothes.

‘If you mean the suit,’ he said, straight-faced. ‘It’s the one I keep for parties and funerals. My Sunday best.’

‘Is it really?’

‘Absolutely.’ His eyes roved over her tawny blonde bob, the wide-spaced eyes, the faint suggestion of tilt to the nose. His gaze lingered for a moment on the full curves of her mouth, then continued down until it reached her black silk pumps. ‘I don’t think you bought any of that in a chainstore, either.’

‘True. I felt Anna’s engagement party deserved something special.’ Her eyes clouded. ‘And when I bought it I was in belligerent mood.’

‘Is this something to do with the dinner date that fell through?’

Joss smiled bleakly. ‘In a way.’

‘But there’s a lot more.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Her eyes glittered angrily. ‘A whole lot more.’

‘Would it help to tell me about it?’

Joss frowned, taken aback.

‘It’s easier to confide in strangers,’ he pointed out.

‘I see. I confide my pathetic little story, you offer me a shoulder to cry on, then off you go into the night and we never meet again?’ She smiled. ‘I think I saw the movie.’

‘I’d prefer to alter the script a little,’ he said, chuckling. ‘But whatever you tell me will be in strictest confidence.’

‘Like confessing to a priest?’

Adam shook his head. ‘Wrong casting.’

She nodded, looking at him objectively. ‘You’re right. You don’t suit the role.’

‘But I’m a superb listener,’ he assured her.

‘And you’re curious?’

‘Interested, certainly.’

Joss gazed at him for a moment, weakening by the second in her need to talk to someone. Anna would have been her normal choice, but that, like staying away from the engagement party, had been out of the question. At least until Anna’s celebrations were over and the new, yawning gap in Joscelyn Hunter’s life could no longer be hidden.

‘Are you sure about this?’ she asked.

Adam nodded decisively. ‘I want to know what was behind the Oscar-winning performance tonight.’

Joss gave him a wry little smile and took the plunge. ‘I used to share this flat with my fiancé. A few weeks ago he walked out on me.’




CHAPTER TWO


JOSS had made an all-out effort to get home early for once. She’d rushed through the door, laden down with groceries for a celebration dinner. And almost fallen over the luggage in the hall.

As she’d stared Peter Sadler had rushed from the bedroom, his face the picture of guilt. ‘You’re home early!’ he accused.

Joss nodded coolly. ‘And you’re obviously not pleased to see me. Is there a problem?’

‘Yes, you could say that.’ He took the grocery bag from her. ‘I’ll put this in the kitchen. Would you like some tea?’

Joss stood tense with foreboding, watching as Peter filled a kettle and put teabags in a pot. ‘So what is the problem? And why the suitcases? Are you going somewhere for the firm?’

‘No.’ He turned to look at her, a truculent look on his fair, good-looking face. ‘I’ve resigned.’

She stared incredulously. ‘Resigned? Why?’

‘I got in first, before they could fire me.’

Joss shook her head in disbelief. ‘This is terribly sudden, Peter! If you were that worried they’d fire you why didn’t you talk to me about it?’

‘When?’ he threw at her in sudden anger. ‘You’re never here.’

‘That’s an exaggeration,’ she snapped. ‘We share a bed, remember? You could have given me a hint on one of the rare occasions you stayed awake long enough to say goodnight.’

‘You know I need my sleep,’ he said sullenly. ‘And lately there’s been precious little to stay awake for. We haven’t made love for weeks. You lust for your job more than you ever did for me.’

Joss felt as though her entire world was disintegrating. ‘You’ve obviously been building up to this for a long time. I’ve been blind.’ She thrust an unsteady hand through her hair. ‘I know you’ve been very quiet lately, but I thought that was for a different reason.’

‘What other reason?’ he said blankly, adding salt to the wound. ‘All I could think of lately were my plans for the new riverside complex.’ His mouth twisted. ‘In case you’re interested, Athena turned them down.’

Joss stared at him in horrified sympathy. ‘Peter—I’m so sorry! I know how hard you worked.’ She frowned. ‘But it isn’t the end of the world, surely?’

‘Of mine, with this particular firm of architects, it most definitely is.’ Peter shrugged his shoulders moodily. ‘Not that it matters. I was never cut out for corporate cut and thrust, Joss. I only took the job in the first place because you pushed me into it. I’m going back to the family firm. Where I belong,’ he added as the crowning touch. He glanced at his watch, then caught her eye and flushed. ‘I’m in no rush, Joss,’ he said quickly. ‘I can catch a later train.’

‘Don’t alter your arrangements on my account!’ She stood with arms folded. ‘I assume this means it’s all over between us?’

Peter swallowed convulsively. ‘I suppose it does.’

‘You suppose?’

‘I left you a letter, Joss,’ he said hurriedly. ‘It explains everything.’

‘How thoughtful.’ She eyed him with scorn. ‘So if I’d come home at the usual time I would have found the bird flown?’

‘I thought it would be easier that way,’ he muttered, and handed her a cup of tea.

Joss slammed it down on a shelf. ‘Easier for you, certainly, Peter.’

He shrugged sulkily. ‘All right. Easier for me. Look, Joss, things haven’t been right between us for a long time.’ He squared his slim shoulders and looked her in the eye. ‘If you want the truth, I’m just not happy with you anymore. You’re older than me, more ambitious, you earn more money—hell, you’re even taller than me. You—you diminish me, Joss. I can’t take it any longer.’

‘I see.’ Joss’s eyes burned angrily in her pale face. ‘So that’s it? The past year means nothing at all to you?’

‘Is it only a year?’ he said with unconscious cruelty. ‘I thought it was longer than that. Anyway, I’m sorry it had to end like this. A pity you came home before I could—’

‘Sneak away?’ she said scathingly.

‘Don’t Joss! Let’s part friends—please,’ he pleaded, and put his hand on her arm.

She flung it away, suddenly unable to bear his touch. ‘Just take your things and go, Peter. A pity my timing was wrong. You could have got away scot-free.’

He stepped back in quick offence. ‘So why were you early?’

Joss clenched her teeth. ‘I just felt like it. Goodbye, Peter.’

He moved towards her, arms outstretched, but backed away in a hurry as he met the look in her eyes. ‘Goodbye, then, Joss. I—I wish things could have been different. If I’d won the Athena job—’

‘I would still be older than you—and taller.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘I never dreamed it mattered so much.’

‘In the beginning it didn’t,’ he muttered.

Joss locked militant eyes with his. ‘Peter, tell me the truth. You owe me that much.’

He frowned. ‘I have told the truth. Hell, I thought I’d even been a bit over the top with it. I never meant to come out with all that stuff about your age—and the height and so on.’

She shrugged impatiently. ‘Never mind all that. Just tell me if there’s someone else.’

‘Another woman? Lord, no,’ said Peter, with unmistakable candour. ‘You’ve always been more woman than I can really handle, Joss. Never had any time—or energy—for anyone else.’



Joss looked across at Adam, taking comfort from the fierce look of distaste in his eyes. ‘Oddly enough, that was the last straw. I lost it completely, made a terrible scene, threw my ring at him and sent him packing. Then I rang a removal firm and arranged to ship most of his belongings to his parents.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Which is why I’m a bit lacking in home comforts. All the furniture was Peter’s, but I’ve kept the sofa and the bed until—until I buy replacements.’

Adam gave her a probing look. ‘You’ve kept all this secret?’

‘Yes. No one knows yet, other than you.’

‘Not even your parents?’

‘I don’t have any now. And I just couldn’t spoil things for Anna before the party. I told her Peter was away on a course and couldn’t come. She lives in Warwickshire, so it was easy to keep it from her for a while.’

‘No wonder you weren’t in party mood,’ he said dryly.

She pulled a face. ‘One way and another the party was a bit hard to take. Eventually the effort to sparkle was too much, so I spotted that deserted little balcony and vanished for a bit.’

Adam smiled a little. ‘In the circumstances I’m surprised you were so polite when I joined you.’

Joss smiled back guiltily. ‘My first reaction was to snarl and tell you to get lost. But after a while I was glad of your company. It kept me from wallowing in self-pity. It was gallant of you to come to my rescue.’

Adam shook his head. ‘I’m no knight in shining armour, Eve. If the damsel in distress had been less pleasing to the eye I might have felt the same sympathy, but I doubt I’d have done anything about it.’

‘An honest man!’

‘I try to be. I watched your every move from the moment I first saw you. When you did your vanishing trick I seized the moment, grabbed two glasses of champagne and followed you outside.’

Her eyes danced. ‘What would you have done if a vengeful husband had come after you?’

‘Beaten a hasty retreat.’ He grinned. ‘I steer clear of husbands, vengeful or otherwise. I prefer my women unattached.’

‘Your women?’ Joss repeated.

‘A figure of speech.’

Her eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘Are you unattached, by the way?’

‘Yes,’ he said with emphasis. ‘Otherwise this wouldn’t be happening.’

‘Would you like some coffee?’ she said unevenly, very much aware that something was happening.

‘Is that a polite way of asking me to go?’

Joss gave him a long, considering look. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘Not if you’d like to stay awhile.’

‘You know I would. And I don’t want any more coffee,’ he said deliberately. ‘Shall I tell you what I do want?’

‘No—please,’ said Joss swiftly. ‘Before Peter and I began to live together we’d been exclusive to each other for a fair time. I’m out of practice at this sort of thing.’

‘What “sort of thing” do you think this is?’ he asked, amused.

‘More to the point, what do you think it is?’

‘A simple desire to get to know you. How about you?’

Joss thought about it, fairly sure that ‘simple’ was the last word to describe her guest. ‘I asked you here for a meal because I was depressed and angry, and you were kind and—’

‘A lot taller than you,’ he finished for her, and Joss laughed, suddenly more at ease.

‘You’re taller than most people!’

‘I’ve never had more cause to be thankful for it than right now,’ he assured her. ‘So, mysterious Eve, come and sit beside me and hold my hand.’

‘Ah, but if I give you my hand will you want more than that?’

‘Yes,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’m male, and normal. But where women are concerned I don’t take, Eve, only accept.’

‘In that case…’ Joss moved from her cushion to sit beside him on the sofa, discovering that the space left by his large frame was only just enough to accommodate her. ‘A tight fit,’ she said breathlessly.

Adam shifted slightly to give her more room, and took her hand in his. ‘You were right,’ he said after a moment. ‘Just holding your hand isn’t enough. Go back to your cushion.’

‘Just how much else did you have in mind?’ Joss asked very bluntly.

For answer Adam slid his arm round her. ‘Only this.’

Joss laid her head against his shoulder, reassured, and the hard arm pulled her closer. It was new, and morale-boosting, to feel small and fragile in a man’s embrace. She leaned against him, feeling safe and protected, his warmth soothing the anger and hurt of Peter’s abrupt departure from her life.

‘Why the sigh?’ he asked.

‘I was thinking how strange it was to be here like this with a man I’d never met until a few hours ago.’

‘But you’re no longer afraid of me,’ he commented.

‘I wasn’t afraid of you,’ she said indignantly, turning her face up to his.

He smiled down into her eyes. ‘Nervous, then?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled back.

‘Are you nervous now?’

‘No.’

‘So how do you feel?’

‘Comfortable.’

His crack of laughter disarmed her completely. ‘Not very flattering.’

‘For me, tonight, it’s the most flattering compliment I could pay you,’ she said with feeling.

He raised the hand he was holding to his lips, and kissed it. ‘If it’s any consolation, I think the absconding fiancé’s a complete idiot. But I’m grateful to him.’

‘Why?’

‘If he hadn’t left I wouldn’t be here.’

‘True.’ Joss yawned suddenly. ‘Sorry,’ she said with contrition. ‘I haven’t slept much lately.’

Adam smoothed her head down against his shoulder again. ‘Relax,’ he whispered in her ear, and Joss closed her eyes, melting against him pliantly.

She woke from a doze to find herself in Adam’s arms en route to her bedroom. He bent slightly to open the door, then laid her on the bed and stood looking down at her.

‘Goodnight, Eve,’ he whispered, and bent to kiss her cheek.

Joss deliberately tilted her head so that the kiss landed squarely on her mouth, and suddenly the overwhelming need to feel whole and normal and desirable again obliterated caution. ‘Don’t go,’ she said unsteadily. ‘Don’t leave me. Just for tonight. Please?’

Joss stared up in entreaty into the taut face, saw him close his eyes and clench his fists for an instant. Then he let out an unsteady breath, sat down on the bed and lifted her onto his lap, his forehead against hers.

‘This wasn’t meant to happen, Eve.’

‘Don’t you want me?’ she said desolately.

‘You know damn well I do!’ he growled.

‘Then show me.’

He locked his arms round her, pressing light, tantalising kisses at the corners of her mouth, but the contact ignited heat which rose in them both so quickly he was soon kissing her with a hunger which showed beyond all doubt how much he wanted her. She kissed him back, exulting in the desire she could feel vibrating through his body as he pulled her hard against him. Their kisses grew wilder, open-mouthed, tongues caressing as his hands sought breasts which rose taut with invitation in response. His breath rasped in his broad chest as he pulled away slightly to shrug off his jacket and tear his tie loose. Joss burrowed her face against him, her seeking hands undoing shirt buttons to find smooth skin hot to the touch. Darts of fire shot through her as she felt him hard and ready beneath her thighs, then he stood her on her feet and Joss backed away from him, her eyes locked with his in the semi-darkness. Slowly she slid the dress down her body, deliberate in her intention to inflame. She stepped out of the pooled silk and lace, then bent slowly to detach black silk suspenders from sheer dark stockings, and in triumph heard the hiss of his breath before he seized her, his mouth hard on hers as he dispensed with their remaining garments. At last he lifted her high in his arms, his eyes blazing with such need she shivered in excitement, and hid her hot face against his throat as he laid her on the bed.

‘Are you sure?’ he said harshly, in the moment before the question was too late. Joss nodded vehemently and stretched up her arms, pulling him down to her, and he stretched his long body beside her and slid his hands down her back to smooth her against him, their hearts thudding in perfect unison at the contact. Joss made a small, choked sound of protest as he put her away a little, then gasped in delight as he began to kiss every curve and hollow of her tall, slender body. The relentless, controlled caresses kindled slow fire along every nerve until Joss was in such an unashamed state of arousal that he abandoned the control, his hands and mouth so demanding they took her to dizzying heights of response. She surged against him, her fingers digging into the taut muscles of his broad shoulders, and he raised himself on his hands, his arms throbbing with the desire surging through his body. He asked a brief, urgent question and she shook her head wildly, and at last his body took possession of hers with a thrust of pure sensation, and she gasped, overwhelmed by fiery, rhythmic pleasure which mounted in increasing levels of intensity until white-hot culmination engulfed them both.

‘What does one say in these circumstances?’ she panted afterwards, when his arms had slackened slightly.

‘What do you usually say?’ Adam said hoarsely.

‘Goodnight, I suppose.’

He raised his head to peer down into her face. ‘Is that what you want me to say?’

‘No.’ Her eyes fell. ‘Unless you want to go now.’

He kissed her hard. ‘No, I don’t want to go. I want to stay here, holding you in my arms all night, and maybe pinching myself from time to time to make sure this is real.’

‘I feel like that,’ she confessed. ‘Shocked, too.’

‘Shocked at what we did?’

‘No,’ she said dryly. ‘I know about the birds and the bees.’

He laughed and kissed her again more gently, running the tip of his tongue over her lips. ‘So what are you shocked about?’

‘That I could have actually begged you to make love to me.’ Joss bit her lip. ‘I’ve never done that before.’

‘I’m sure you haven’t,’ he said, his broad chest vibrating with laughter.

‘I’m glad you find it so amusing!’

‘Extraordinary, not amusing,’ he assured her huskily. ‘If you hadn’t asked me to make love to you it’s possible I might have found the strength to kiss you goodnight and leave, but I seriously doubt it. I wanted you from the moment I first saw your reflection in the mirror tonight.’

‘Are you saying that to make me feel better?’

Adam smiled down into her eyes. ‘No. It’s the simple truth.’

Joss sighed with satisfaction, her mouth curving in a smile he bent to kiss, taking his time over it. When she could speak she put a finger on his lips. ‘You’ve achieved something rather wonderful tonight.’

‘Don’t I know it!’

‘Not that,’ she said impatiently, then smiled. ‘Well, yes, that too, because it was wonderful. But the way you made love to me healed my poor, battered ego.’

‘What way?’ he asked, frowning.

‘As though you were starving and I was food.’ Joss blushed in the semi-darkness as he chuckled and ran his hands down the curve of her hips.

‘That’s it exactly,’ he assured her. ‘For me the entire evening was one long build-up of foreplay. Before I’d kissed this mouth, or caressed these exquisite breasts, all I could think of was this—and this—’

Adam matched caresses to his words with such skill desire swiftly engulfed them again, sending them in another breathtaking, headlong rush towards ecstasy.




CHAPTER THREE


AT SOME time in the night Joss was aware of hands pulling the covers over her, of a warm, hard mouth on hers for an instant, and a whispered goodnight in her ear, then she slept again until daylight brought her back to earth with a bump.

For a moment, as bright sunlight poured across the bed, she wondered if she’d dreamed the prolonged, sensual fantasy of the night.

But one look at the wild disorder of the bed told her it had all been blazingly real. A violent tremor ran through Joss at the thought of it. She breathed in deeply, pushed back the tangled covers and got out, raked tousled hair out of her eyes, restored a couple of pillows to their rightful place, then pulled on a dressing gown and ventured into the hall to make sure Adam had gone. When she found she was alone in the flat, Joss let out a deep, shaky breath. She hugged her arms across her chest, her face on fire at the memory of her utter abandon in the dark. She knew people who indulged in one-night stands without turning a hair. But it just wasn’t her style. Last night had been a first on several counts. Living and sleeping with the man she’d expected to share her life with for ever had been no preparation for the bliss experienced in the arms of a total stranger.

There are names for women like you, Joss told herself darkly, and went off to run a hot bath. She lay in it for a long time, deep in thought, devoutly thankful that no one had actually seen her with Adam. If she were careful enough last night could remain a secret. She was unlikely to bump into her mystery lover again, whoever he was. Not that his identity mattered. Overpoweringly attractive he might be, but after her recent exit from the frying pan she had no intention of tumbling straight into the fire again, with Adam or anyone else. Joss got out of the bath, wincing as certain muscles protested in ways that brought colour to her face to think of them. She dressed hurriedly, and went into the kitchen, then stopped dead as she saw the note propped against the kettle.

Eve, it’s damnably hard to tear myself away, but you might prefer to be alone when you wake. I’m out of the country for a few days. I’ll ring when I get back. Adam.

Heat surged inside Joss. Shaken by the sheer, physical force of it, she fought hard against temptation. Last night, she told herself fiercely, had happened solely because Peter had left her devastated. Adam had restored her faith in herself quite miraculously. Their glorious night together had been a fitting climax to part of her life. But now it was time to get on with the rest of it. Besides, if she saw Adam again there would be no more mystery. Hard facts would be required about names and careers. So if he rang she would no longer be here. There had been a strong, sudden magic about last night. But magic couldn’t be expected to last, or even happen twice. Joss hugged her arms across her chest to steady her thudding heart. Adam was a man of powerful charisma, and in her vulnerable state his passionate lovemaking had provided a quite wonderful salve for her bruised self-esteem. The Eve part of her longed to see him again. But realistic Joss knew that what seemed so irresistibly romantic in the hours of darkness might seem very different if they met again in the harsh light of day.



Early next morning Joss was packed and ready when the removal firm came to take her belongings away. One of the sub-editors on the Post had been searching for a flat in Notting Hill for months. After Peter’s departure Joss had neither wanted nor could afford to live in the flat alone, and so had asked Nick Holt if he and Carrie fancied exchanging their flat in Acton for hers. The Holts had jumped at the chance, and the exchange was carried out at top speed. The new address was less fashionable, but the flat was in good repair, carried a much smaller price tag, and had no memories of Peter—or Adam—to haunt it.

The removal men had finished loading her belongings into the service lift and Joss was about to leave when a youth came hurrying towards her, holding a florist’s box.

‘Miss Eve?’ he asked.

Joss opened her mouth to say no, then flushed and said yes.

‘These are for you, then. They should have arrived earlier—bit of a problem with the greenery.’

Joss thanked him, and gave him a tip. The box held a sheaf of yellow roses on a bed of leaves. Fig leaves, she realised, her heart hammering. ‘From Adam’, said the card, and Joss buried her face in the blooms, suddenly engulfed in the memory of a hard, possessive body taut with desire, of skilled, caressing hands and gratifying, devouring kisses… She shivered, eyes tightly shut for a moment, then took in a deep, steadying breath, blotting out the memory by sheer strength of will. Then she closed the door and locked away a year of her life.

Her new home occupied the upper floor of an Edwardian house in a picturesque terrace of identical houses in varying states of restoration and repair. It was much smaller than the flat in Notting Hill, but it would need less furniture, had a separate front door and private stairs, a forecourt to park the car, and, best of all, left Joss in possession of a sizeable sum of money. Part of this would go to Peter, to cover his half of the deposit on the expensive Notting Hill flat he’d insisted on, due to its superior architecture and fashionable address. But Joss had paid off the mortgage.

Once the removal men had gone Joss telephoned for a pizza, then rang Anna to give her the new phone number.

‘I wish I could be there to help,’ said Anna. ‘Has Peter taken time off to give you a hand?’

‘No,’ said Joss, taking a deep breath. ‘Look, Anna, are you busy? I’ve got something to tell you.’

Joss put the phone down later, feeling drained. Anna had blown her top, said a great many uncomplimentary things about Peter Sadler, congratulated Joss on being rid of such a poisonous rat, then offered to drive up to London that minute to provide a shoulder for her friend to cry on.

Joss had refused affectionately. ‘I’ll soon get used to being single again. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, Anna.’

‘I do worry,’ said her friend stormily. ‘Hugh was right. He never liked Peter. Anyway, did you enjoy the party?’

‘Of course I did. By the way, who was that very tall man I saw with you when people were leaving?’

‘Which one? I hadn’t met half of Hugh’s friends before.’

‘I think this one was more a friend of a friend.’

‘Shall I ask Hugh?’

‘No, don’t bother. Anyway, I must go. My lunch has arrived.’

Once she’d eaten her pizza, Joss locked up and went shopping for furniture. She ordered a comfortable sofa and pair of tables to hold her lamps, chose a restored brass bed, and arranged for delivery. Then she turned her attention to food. Her unexpected guest had demolished all the provisions bought to tide her over the move. Which was hardly surprising. There was a lot of him to keep fuelled. Joss thrust groceries in a basket at random, controlling a shiver at another memory of Adam’s naked body. Making love with him, she told herself trenchantly, had happened purely because he’d materialised in her life at a time when she desperately needed to feel wanted and desirable again. And though Adam had fulfilled the need, with success so spectacular it overshadowed anything experienced with Peter, she had no intention of seeing him again.

When she got back to the flat Joss put the food away in the new fridge, then collected some tools together and began putting up her bookshelves, allowing herself to admit, at last, that her relationship with Peter had been foundering for some time. He had been all too accurate about their love-life, if she were brutally honest. It had been non-existent on a physical plane for a long time, and his failure to win the Athena contract had merely given him the excuse to break their engagement. But not the bottle to do it face to face. His dismay had been almost laughable when she’d turned up before he could sneak away.

At first Joss had been consumed with hurt and anger. Then fiercely grateful for the work which filled her life. She worked long, irregular hours as a freelance journalist, and regularly filled in for staff on holiday, or sick, or away on special assignments. Her free time had rarely coincided with Peter’s, something he’d fiercely resented. And there’d also been the burning question of a family. She had been adamant about waiting until he earned enough money for her to work less, and do more from home. And though he’d said he was agreeable Peter had obviously lied. As she should have realised. Everything Peter wanted he wanted right now.

Her eyes hardened. In the unlikely event that she ever considered a relationship with a man again she would make sure their aims were mutual. Her experience with Peter had taught her a salutary lesson. Any man in her future must fit certain requirements. He would be older, for a start, equally ambitious, and so successful in his own career he wouldn’t resent hers. Joss smiled cynically. If such a paragon existed he was certain to be married anyway, to a stunningly beautiful woman who was a perfect wife and mother and ran her own thriving business while helping with the children’s homework and producing cordon bleu dinners for twelve.



Joscelyn Hunter’s interest in journalism had first begun when she’d edited the school magazine, which had fired her with such enthusiasm she’d found a job working at weekends and as holiday relief on the local morning paper. She’d started out as a messenger, then progressed to researcher, and soon begun bombarding the editor with so many stories and features he’d eventually accepted one, and she’d never looked back. She had been in her element mixing with journalists, so interested in all aspects of the job she’d made contacts which had won her a full-time job on the same paper, after she had a degree in modern languages and a year’s post-graduate course in journalism under her belt.

At first Joss had loved her job, and with undiminished enthusiasm had covered law courts, local government, industry, the arts and a variety of local events. She’d interviewed a wide range of people, from local members of parliament, county councillors, businessmen, victims of tragedy, to schoolchildren and celebrities of all kinds. But after three years or so Joss had begun to feel inhibited by parochial bias. She’d lusted after a job on a national paper, and in her spare time had regularly submitted features to London dailies. When her efforts had begun to be accepted she’d taken the plunge and left for the capital, where her experience, coupled with the right qualifications and a willingness to work long, irregular hours, had won her jobs as a freelance, doing shiftwork on some of the national dailies.

Joss had set off for London with her father’s blessing and a small legacy left by her mother. But soon afterwards the Reverend George Hunter had died, shortly before his retirement, leaving a grief-stricken Joss without a base in the Warwickshire village of her birth, other than her constant welcome from Anna’s family. But her visits to the Herricks had been few and far between since her relationship with Peter, who had never fitted in with them. Now he was gone she could please herself, and would definitely drive down to Glebe House for lunch one day soon, Joss decided, preferably on one of the Sundays likely to drag a bit from now on.

Once she was settled in the new flat Joss steeled herself to forget Adam—and Peter—and soon found she quite enjoyed living alone. Her job absorbed most of her time, as usual, but now she could suit herself about what time she finished, with no reproaches when she got home, late and tired, to someone expecting her to cook supper and iron shirts. There were definite advantages to being single again.

As a change from reporting on press conferences, demonstrations, or whatever event the news editor wanted covered, one day Joss was told to dig out information about ancestral homes hired out by their owners for corporate entertaining, and spent time consulting with the Daily Post library and electronic database to discover which aristocratic personalities and properties were likely to be most newsworthy.

‘We’ve got some mail for you,’ said Carrie Holt, when Joss was poring over her findings with a lunchtime sandwich. ‘And a message on the machine when we got home last night.’ She handed over a bundle of junk mail and a slip of paper. ‘How are you settling in at the flat?’

‘Very well,’ said Joss with satisfaction. ‘How about you and Notting Hill?’

‘I love it. I don’t know how you could bear to leave the place, Joss.’ Carrie bit her lip. ‘Sorry. I’m a tactless cow. I suppose it was painful once Peter left.’

The message Carrie gave her was brief. ‘I’m back. Ring me at this number. Adam.’

Joss wanted to. Badly. But if she did ring him, Adam, like any man with blood in his veins, would expect to take up where he’d left off. Half of her wanted that so much it made her shake in her shoes, but the other half wouldn’t hear of it. Peter’s treatment had left her so vulnerable it would be madness to plunge into a new relationship. Her mood had been abnormally emotional with Adam that magical night. But she was back to normal now. And normal didn’t include making mad, passionate love with strangers.

But when her phone rang late that night Joss felt oddly disappointed when she found it was just Anna, checking up on her.

‘Are you pining, Joss?’

‘No way. Too busy.’

‘Is everything spick and span at the new place?’

‘Hardly! I’ve only just got delivery of the new furniture, so the place is a mess. Who do you think I am, Superwoman?’

‘Leave it all where it is and come down to stay with us instead.’

Joss was deeply tempted. ‘I’d just love to, but the place is a shambles, Anna. I really must soldier on,’ she said with regret. ‘I’ll come down as soon as I’m a bit straighter.’

‘I’ll keep on until you do,’ threatened Anna, then went on to talk of wedding plans, and afterwards asked what Joss was up to at work, her interest caught when she heard about the article on ancestral homes.

‘One of Hugh’s old schoolfriends does that. He was at the party. Francis something. I’ll tell Hugh to give him a call.’

Next day Joss spent a morning on the phone, setting up interviews with the owners of various ancestral piles she’d decided on for her article, then settled down to one of the more mundane tasks of the freelance journalist, and began sifting through a pile of regional newspapers looking for stories that could be followed up on a national basis. When her phone rang Joss was heartily glad to be interrupted.

‘Miss Hunter?’ asked a light, attractive male voice. ‘My name’s Francis Legh. Hugh Wakefield rang last night, asked me to get in touch. What can I do for you?’

Hugh’s old schoolfriend, Joss learned, was only too pleased to be part of her story on corporate entertaining.

‘Publicity of the right kind never goes amiss,’ he assured her.

‘Would it be possible for me to see you this week?’ asked Joss hopefully. ‘Where exactly do you live?’

‘Deep in the wilds of Dorset. Do you know the area?’

‘Not very well, but if you give me the address I’ll find you.’

‘I don’t suppose you could possibly come on Sunday, Miss Hunter?’ he asked. ‘We’re having some fancy electronics installed during the week. On the other hand,’ he added suddenly, ‘it’s colossal cheek to ask you to give up your time on a weekend—’

‘Not at all. I’d be glad to,’ said Joss quickly. ‘What time shall I come?’

‘Midday,’ he said promptly. ‘I’ll give you lunch.’

The news editor buttonholed her shortly afterwards, with the news that Charlotte Tracy, who covered all the smart events of the season, had rung in to say she was going home early from Ascot with flu.

‘Flu in June,’ said Jack Ormond bitterly. ‘How the hell did she manage that? Anyway, Joss, it means you’ll have to cover Ladies’ Day at the races tomorrow. Thank goodness you can handle a camera—you know the happy-snappy kind of thing Charlotte turns in.’

‘You bet,’ she said with enthusiasm. But no way was she going to Ascot in her normal working gear of trouser suit and T-shirt. She was due at Harrods later, to interview a movie star at a book signing. Afterwards she would dash along the road to Harvey Nichols, splurge on an outfit for Anna’s wedding and wear it to Ascot first.

After her chat with the actress Joss rang in her brief report to accompany the glamour shot waiting to go with it, then spent an hour on choosing a bronze silk suit and large, flattering hat in creamy translucent straw. It’s for Anna, she reminded herself, wincing as she signed the credit card slip.

For once the British summer turned up trumps and favoured Ladies’ Day with glorious sunshine. Joss found a good place in the crowd at the rail in front of Tattersalls to watch the procession of carriages bearing the Queen and various members of the royal family, and afterwards wandered among the elegant crowds, murmuring discreetly into her little machine, pausing now and then to photograph a particularly adventurous creation. It was the outlandish which made news, and Joss snapped away at towering feathered confections and precarious architectural fantasies, glad for once of her height as she jostled to get a clear shot.

Towards the end of the afternoon Joss had seen quite enough hats to last her for life, and decided to take one last shot of the horses in the starting gate instead, then leave to beat the rush. Before she could get her shot in focus someone jostled her elbow, and instead of a row of snorting horseflesh she found she was looking through the viewfinder at the top half of a man who towered above the crowd. Joss stood rooted to the spot, her heart thumping at the discovery that Adam looked even better by daylight in morning coat and top hat, an opinion obviously shared by the woman gazing up at him raptly from under the brim of a sensational feathered creation. On impulse Joss snapped the striking pair, then pushed her way through the crowd before she was spotted, all her pleasure in the day gone. Seen in daylight, in all the glory of formal Ascot wear, Adam was even more impressive than she remembered. No wonder she’d wanted him to make love to her. But so did his beautiful companion by the look on her face. The pair of them had been obviously engrossed in each other. Joss drove back to London in a black mood, and snarled irritably at the wolf-whistles and lip-smacking which greeted her finery when she plunged back into the usual frenzy at the Post.

For most of the next day Joss found it hard to put Adam and his lady from her mind. How smug she had been, she fumed bitterly, about her virtue in avoiding another meeting. So smug she had no right to such irrational, mortifying jealousy. But because of it Friday seemed interminable, and when it was over at last Joss did her best to put Adam from her mind by spending a couple of lively, unwinding hours over a meal in a wine bar with a bunch of fellow journalists before she finally went home.

‘Joss,’ said Carrie Holt’s indignant voice on the answer-machine. ‘Two messages tonight. One from Peter and another from this mysterious Adam person. For pity’s sake give the men in your life your new number.’

Joss bit her lip. The Holts had every right to be annoyed. She would drop a line to Peter and tell him she’d moved, and not to get in touch again. Adam she would ring right now. She tapped in the number, then sat, tense, on the edge of the bed while she waited for him to answer. But the only response was a terse recorded message stating his number and a request for the caller’s identity. For a moment Joss was so shattered by disappointment she couldn’t speak. Then she pulled herself together and said coldly,

‘This is Eve. I’ve moved from the flat in Notting Hill. To make an entirely new start. In every way,’ she added with emphasis. ‘Thank you for the beautiful roses, and for your—your kindness that night. Goodbye.’

When Joss reached Dorchester on Sunday, she skirted it, as directed, and after a few miles turned off on a minor road which took her straight into the rolling, deeply cleft terrain familiar to fans of Thomas Hardy novels. With time to spare she drove slowly, to appreciate her surroundings, but eventually spotted a sign for Eastlegh Hall, home of Francis Legh, who, she’d discovered from research beforehand, was the ninth Baron Morville to live there. Joss turned in through a pair of beautiful gates and drove along a carriageway that wound through tree-dotted parkland for a considerable distance before approaching a rise crowned by Eastlegh Hall, which gleamed in pale, Palladian splendour in the sun.

Hugh’s friend would have very little trouble letting this beauty out for conferences, or anything else, thought Joss, impressed. She walked up a flight of shallow stone steps to the terrace, and crossed to the pillared portico, where large doors stood open, giving a view of a lofty hall with a pair of carved chests and a pedestal holding an urn overflowing with fresh flowers. She lifted the ornate knocker on one of the doors, then waited on the threshold, admiring the burnished dark wood of the graceful double staircase, and eventually a slim, well-dressed woman emerged from a door at the back of the hall and came hurrying towards her.

‘Miss Hunter? Lord Morville apologises for being held up. He suggests I show you over the house while you’re waiting. I’m Elizabeth Wilcox, the housekeeper.’

‘How do you do?’ Joss smiled warmly. ‘Thank you. I’d like that very much.’

‘We’ll just take a quick tour,’ said Mrs Wilcox. ‘Lord Morville will show you the rest after lunch.’

Joss followed her guide through a series of beautiful rooms hung with paintings, a formal drawing room with pale yellow walls and gilt and damask furniture, a double-cube salon, a ballroom with a painted ceiling, and a dining room with sweeping velvet curtains, swagged and tasselled in gold, and a table long enough to seat thirty at a push. The grand staircase led to a long gallery hung with more paintings, and formal bedrooms with four-posters.

‘Few stately homes are able to offer overnight facilities of the type available at Eastlegh. We even have central heating in some parts,’ added Mrs Wilcox proudly. ‘Installed by Lord Morville’s American grandmother.’

‘It’s all very impressive, and so well kept,’ said Joss with respect.

‘Thank you. I’m lucky to have a good team.’ The housekeeper smiled, gratified, then looked at her watch. ‘Now I’ll show you how to get to the farm.’

‘Farm?’ said Joss, surprised.

The other woman smiled regretfully. ‘Lord Morville no longer lives in the house. He moved into Home Farm when his father died.’

Following the housekeeper’s directions, Joss drove past a formal knot garden and skirted a maze, then drove along a carriageway through woodland until a large house with barleystick chimneys came into view above box hedges which enclosed its gardens in privacy. Joss parked the car, then opened a tall wrought-iron gate and followed a paved path through beds filled with roses. Before she could knock on the massive oak door it was flung open by a fair, smiling man in jeans and checked shirt.

‘Lord Morville?’ Joss smiled. ‘I’m Joscelyn Hunter.’

‘Francis, please,’ he said quickly, holding out his hand, grey eyes friendly in a long, attractive face easily recognisable from some of the portraits in the Hall. ‘Sorry I wasn’t on hand when you arrived, Miss Hunter. We were sorting out a problem with the latest booking.’

Wondering if the ‘we’ meant Lady Morville was on hand, she smiled, liking him on sight. ‘I’m usually Joss.’

‘Then Joss it shall be.’ He led the way through a square, stone-flagged hall into a sitting room with panelled walls, comfortable chintz-covered furniture and a massive stone fireplace. He waved her to a chair, then crossed to a tray of drinks. ‘What can I give you?’

‘Something long, cold and non-alcoholic, please,’ said Joss, smiling, pleased that the long journey had dictated her choice of clothes. Her fawn linen trousers and plain white shirt were in perfect keeping with her casually dressed host.

‘I thought we’d have lunch first,’ he said, handing her a tall ice-filled glass. ‘Then we can go back to the house and you can ask what questions you like. Or you can ask some now.’

‘I was surprised to find you don’t actually live at Eastlegh,’ said Joss. ‘Did you find it strange, moving to a much smaller house?’

‘Not in the least.’ He grinned. ‘When I was young I was never allowed in the state rooms anyway, and the bedrooms here are a damn sight more comfortable than my old room over at the house.’

He looked up as a young woman came into the room. ‘Ah, Sarah, this is Miss Hunter from the Daily Post.’

Sarah was composed and dark-haired, and oddly familiar, with a swift, charming smile. ‘Hello. I’m Sarah Wilcox.’

Not Lady Morville, then. Joss smiled and took the proffered hand. ‘Hello. I assume I’ve just met your mother.’

‘Yes. She loves showing Eastlegh off to visitors.’

‘Between them the Wilcox family run my life,’ said Francis. ‘Elizabeth is housekeeper, as you already know. Her husband Alan acts as butler when necessary, and helps me run the estate, and their frighteningly well-qualified daughter here is my House Manager and executive right hand.’ He turned to Sarah with a coaxing smile. ‘Change your mind. Have lunch with us.’

‘I’d love to,’ she said regretfully, ‘but I promised to share the family roast for once. I’ve heated Mrs Wyatt’s soup for you. The vegetable flan is in the warming oven, and the rest is just salad, cold beef and cheese.’

‘What would I do without you, Sarah?’ he said warmly.

She smiled at him serenely, and turned to Joss. ‘Francis will give you my extension number, so if you need any further information just ring me and I’ll provide it.’

‘A lot better than I can,’ said Francis wryly.

Joss thanked her, then watched thoughtfully as Francis escorted his attractive right hand from the room. Sarah Wilcox might not be Lady Morville, but it was plain to the onlooker, if not to His Lordship, that she would like to be.

When Francis got back he topped up Joss’s glass and told her Mrs Wyatt was the lady who looked after him during the week. ‘I fend for myself on weekends, but when Sarah heard you were coming for lunch she insisted on organising it. Very efficient lady, young Sarah.’

‘A very attractive one, too,’ said Joss.

Francis looked blank. ‘Sarah? Yes,’ he said, surprised. ‘I suppose she is.’

‘Is this actually a working farm?’ asked Joss.

‘Not any more. I won’t bore you with politics, but we gave up farming a few years ago as no longer feasible. But we do a roaring trade in shrubs and bedding plants, and every type of herb imaginable—and people come from miles around to buy Sam’s organic vegetables.’

‘Who’s Sam?’

‘Used to be head gardener at one time, officially now retired. But he still terrorises the groundstaff here. When I was a schoolboy I don’t know who frightened me more, Sam or my father. Ah, good.’ Francis opened one of the windows and leaned out. ‘Hurry it up, Dan, I’m hungry.’ He turned back to Joss with a smile. ‘I persuaded a friend of mine to join us for lunch. Let’s go straight to the table.’

The dining room was across the hall, with more panelling, and a table set for three with a posy of flowers for centrepiece.

‘Courtesy of Sarah?’ asked Joss, then her smile congealed on her face as a man loomed in the doorway, ducking his head to enter the room. Instead of a formal suit he wore jeans and a thin dark blue shirt, but there was no mistaking his identity. Or the face which hardened to a mask at the sight of her.

‘Perfect timing, Dan,’ said Francis, grinning. ‘Let me introduce Miss Joscelyn Hunter—Joss to her friends, she tells me. Joss, this is Daniel Armstrong.’ He looked from one rigid face to the other, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. ‘Ah! You two know each other already.’




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