“If only you’d tell me,” she whispered.

“No” he muttered hoarsely, but his hands slid to her waist and he held her close to him. “I’ve never told anyone.”

He pulled her against his powerful body with a hunger that made her breathless, but before she could speak, his head swooped, that hot mouth closed urgently over hers and the sheer force of his angry passion brought a wild response from her.

“I need you!” he bit out thickly against her mouth. She didn’t get a chance to reply. He picked her up, carried her across the living room and kicked open the bedroom door, not stopping except to kick it shut again before striding to the bed in darkness and putting her on it.

SARAH HOLLAND was born in Kent and brought up in London. She began writing at eighteen because she loved the warmth and excitement of Harlequin. She has traveled the world, living in Hong Kong, the south of France, and Holland. She attended a drama school, and was a nightclub singer and a songwriter. She now lives on the Isle of Man. Her hobbies are acting, singing, painting and psychology. She loves buying clothes, noisy dinner parties and being busy.

Red-Hot Lover
Sarah Holland

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

CLARA stood in the church with tears in her eyes. Jared stood beside her, tall, powerful and charismatic. He was completely against weddings. He disliked them and did everything he could to avoid them. Whereas Clara loved them. Clara was beatific. Clara was floating along on a dream—lost to everything but the beauty of two lives being joined together.

As the bride reached the groom, the music stopped and everyone sat down. Sunlight shimmered over the twinned heads of the young couple. A blaze of light shafted through the stained glass which soared above a golden altar. Sincerity rang in their voices, and their exchanged vows echoed across the stone arches, pillars and walls of the church. It was a brief shining testament to everything most sacred about being human, needing love and joining together in matrimony.

Tears blurred Clara’s vision. She drew in her breath and struggled for self-control, but a muffled sob came from her as she felt hot tears slide over her lashes and down her cheeks.

Jared glanced down his arrogant nose at her, heavy eyelids drooping over steel-blue eyes. She suddenly felt the cool touch of his fingers and looked up breathlessly. Was it possible? Had he been moved by marriage at last? Had something in the ceremony melted his cynical heart?

‘Your mascara’s run,’ he drawled.

Blushing crossly, Clara snatched the handkerchief he offered and dabbed at her eyes. He watched her with a mocking smile. But she refused to take any notice of him because this wasn’t just any old wedding. No, this was the wedding she had waited all her life to see.

Her best friend Susie was the bride, and Clara had known Susie since the day they’d both arrived at the orphanage at the age of eight. They had become blood sisters a year later, vowing to be in touch with each other for the rest of their lives until they really did become family. Now, here was Clara, at the age of twenty-nine, still playing Susie’s ‘sister’ on her wedding day.

‘With my body, I thee worship…’

‘Probably the only vow he really means,’ Jared murmured beside her. ‘And the only one he’ll keep.’

Clara smiled, her green eyes lifting with sensual response to his. For all his cynicism, she knew how important lovemaking was to Jared. He was a marvellous lover and made her feel like a pampered pussycat with just one touch of his hands.

They had been living together for two years, now. She’d fallen in love with him the day she met him, and he’d insisted she move in with him almost immediately. Ever since then they’d been locked into a wonderful, intimate relationship which just kept getting better. The only low points were when they were at weddings. It was odd, really, because Jared was usually so even-tempered. But get him close to a bride and groom and he turned into a very different person. Today he seemed worse than usual.

‘I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.’

More tears misted her eyes. She sighed and clasped the handkerchief to her bosom. How passionate they were, this bride and groom. She wondered how many children they would have. And she imagined herself becoming a real live auntie for the first time, with little nieces and nephews. Of course, it wasn’t the same as having her own children, but she was confident that that would happen one day, no matter what Jared said to the contrary.

‘Silly besotted fool. Susie’s lovely, but Gareth will regret marrying her.’

‘Honestly, Jared,’ she whispered back. ‘I do wish you’d stop it.’

‘You know perfectly well that most marriages end in div—’

‘Shh! They’re going to sign the register!’ Clara looked resolutely ahead as a singer in a blue dress held up her microphone and began to sing. It was that lovely old classic about a wonderful world. She sang so sweetly, and that, coupled with the bride’s glowing amber head as she bent to sign the register, brought tears to every woman’s eyes. Clara felt her mouth tremble.

‘I wish they’d get a move on,’ Jared said impatiently.

‘Well, they’ve got to sign the register!’

‘I want to listen to the rugby on the way to the reception.’

Clara sighed. Normally he wasn’t obsessed by sport, but today England were playing Wales, and, as a Welshman, Jared naturally intended to cheer for his side. The odd thing was that he had spent the last few days rattling on about it as though he was deeply patriotic. Clara had never noticed any patriotism before this particular rugby match. Far from it. He rarely mentioned Wales. While she found his behaviour over the match rather odd, she dreaded to think what a foul temper he’d be in if they lost. Or, worse, if England thrashed them.

Suddenly the bride and groom were at the altar, the organ played and the bells pealed out.

Clara and Jared got to their feet. He towered beside her like a giant. At six foot six, he was more than a whole foot taller than her. Jet-black hair, a tough face and a scar on his right cheek—he was as passionate as he was masculine. His suit was expensive grey teamed with a dark red silk tie, stylishly knotted. Gold cufflinks flashed against crisp white cuffs. He looked just what he was: a multi-millionaire, and one of the most powerful men in Europe.

As soon as the bride and groom had left the church, Jared took Clara’s slender wrist in hard fingers. ‘At last. I thought it would never end.’

Clara swayed down the aisle beside Jared. Her blonde beauty had always drawn admiring looks from men, but her fame as a television actress drew just as many. Long sunshine-yellow hair fell in curls to her narrow waist and the wide-brimmed cream hat gave her an air of mystery that enhanced her natural glamour. She wore a cream silk dress which hugged her slender curves. And she was ravishing. Her face was heart-shaped. Luminous green eyes invited love. A full pink mouth invited kisses. And Jared was the recipient of those kisses, every man seemed to think, staring at him with a mixture of awe and envy. He was as powerfully masculine as Clara was sensual and feminine.

Outside in the sunlight, the London churchyard was filling up with well-dressed guests. A trestle table stood close to the arched doors, covered in linen, champagne, glasses and silver ice-buckets.

Jared spotted the champagne immediately. ‘Perfect! Just what I need after all that romantic nonsense.’

‘I thought it was a beautiful ceremony.’

‘You would,’ he drawled, and strode purposefully to the trestle table to get himself a glass of champagne.

Clara waited by the steps of the church, studying the handsome man who was her lover and the only man she’d ever truly loved. If weddings upset him this much, there didn’t seem any chance he’d ever propose to her. Yet Clara couldn’t understand why. Jared had such sensitivity and intelligence. He’d moved naturally into love from the beginning, and Clara had barely to lift a finger to find their relationship flowing freely with love and trust. So why, she wondered, should he hate weddings and marriage with equal passion? He was already living with Clara as though they were man and wife. Clearly it wasn’t living with a woman that put him off marriage—so what could it be?

He came back, handed her a glass of champagne. ‘Here’s to getting out of this delightful little churchyard as soon as possible.’

‘Honestly, Jared! Why are you so anti-weddings?’

‘Because I’m a normal red-blooded male and you wouldn’t have me any other way.’

She laughed softly, eyes tracing his handsome face with love. ‘Well, I can’t deny that. I’m rather partial to your red blood. In fact, it preys on my mind night and day. But seriously, darling—can’t you see how lovely all this is? The bride, the bridesmaids, the—’

‘Looks like an extravagant waste of money to me.’

‘Coming from a multi-millionaire with two private jets, two private yachts and several homes around the globe—’

‘I can afford to waste money.’

‘So can the groom’s family.’

His face tightened. ‘Will you shut up about it?’ he bit out as anger flared in his eyes without warning. ‘I’m sick to death of this damned wedding! You’ve talked of nothing else for weeks! Let’s just get it over with as fast as possible and get home!’

Stunned, she just stared at him, her lips parted in shock. He had been agitated for the last few days, veering sharply between loving behaviour and sudden bursts of temper. She had put it down to the wedding, because he always played up at weddings. But now she wondered if there was something else on his mind. Something at work, perhaps? Maybe even something to do with money. But how could money be bothering him? He had more of it than Midas.

Moving closer, she put a loving hand on his cheek. ‘Darling, you will tell me if something’s wrong, won’t you?’ Her eyes scanned his face. ‘I mean—you won’t just hide it and try to deal with it alone, will you?’

‘All that’s wrong is that I need to peel that lovely dress off you,’ he drawled, and slid one strong arm around her waist, pulling her slowly towards him. ‘I’ve wanted to make love to you since I woke up this morning. But all you could think of was the wedding, the wedding, the damned wedding!’

‘I’ll make it up to you as soon as we get home,’ she promised huskily in his ear.

‘Make sure we get home quickly, then.’ His mouth moved over her cheek; his breath fanned her naked throat. ‘I want you as soon as possible. Naked but for creamy stockings and that hat. I’ll enjoy all that ladylike elegance as I push you over the bed…’

She responded instantly, fire in her blood. Erotic images exploded in her mind and excitement glittered in her half-closed eyes. She forgot all about her fear that something was wrong, because now she knew precisely what it was. He needed her. That was all that was bothering him. Her body curved seductively against his and she shivered at the touch of his hot mouth on her skin. Eyes closing, head tilted back, she must have looked as though she was already naked in his arms.

‘Would you like that, darling?’ He let one of his long fingers slide down her naked throat, ‘Because as soon as I get you home I’m going to do all of that to you and more—’

‘Jared, darling!’ Susie’s voice rang with happiness as she interrupted their private loveplay. ‘Stop seducing my sister in front of half of London!’

Jared’s whole body tensed. ‘Ah!’ he drawled, lifting his head with a tight, set face. ‘The radiant bride.’

Clara came out of her sensual reverie with a dazed look in her eyes. She heard the faint bite of his tone. A frown touched her brow.

‘That sounds as though you’re saying: “Ah! The piranha!”’ Susie looked as thrown by his remark as Clara felt. She looked from one to the other, then gave a bright laugh, trying to soften the edge that had crept into the sunny afternoon. ‘Surely even you don’t begrudge my radiance on what is, after all, my wedding day?’

Jared smiled, but his body was tense and Clara told herself it was because of desire. He often got like this. He was sometimes a walking volcano when it came to physical tension. Many times he had come home from work at the end of a long day and made love to Clara for hours, sometimes four or five times a night. He released emotion through making love…

‘Of course not.’ Jared’s impeccable manners returned and his cool voice said, ‘You have my very best wishes and congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’ Susie beamed.

‘I just wish we could all get to the reception as fast as possible,’ Jared said with a tight smile. ‘That’s all. I’d like to sit down, have a drink—’

‘More champagne, Mr Blackheath, sir?’ An usher popped up, brandishing a jeroboam.

Jared watched furiously as he poured.

‘There, you see?’ Susie said when the usher had gone. ‘You’ve just been sitting down and now you’ve got champagne flowing wherever you turn! What more could any man ask for?’

‘Privacy. You forget—there are photographers around. I always feel uneasy when they can take pictures of Clara and I without my permission.’

Clara frowned. He didn’t mind publicity. On the contrary—he actively sought it. It helped his businesses. Publicity always did. The higher the profile, the more business he attracted. That was the way it worked in any sphere of life, and Jared was nothing if not an arch self-publicist. So why was he lying? More to the point—why was he so tense and edgy? Her instincts were buzzing at her from the back of her mind. But no matter what she did or how she looked at things, she could not find a rational explanation for his agitated emotional state.

Susie bit her lip. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to pose for the wedding pictures in a minute. Will that be a problem?’

‘The photos,’ he muttered thickly, and his hand tightened on Clara’s waist as he stood stiffly, his arm around her. ‘I’d forgotten about them…’

Concern lit her eyes as she studied him. ‘Is anything wrong, darling?’ she murmured.

‘Why should anything be wrong?’ he demanded tersely.

‘So you will pose with us?’ Susie said at once. ‘Oh, good, because I must have Clara in the photos, and it’ll be bad luck if you don’t stand beside her.’

‘Will I have to pose with the whole family?’ Jared looked at Susie with a brooding expression. ‘I don’t want to be here all afternoon. I wanted to leave early so I could listen to the rugby on the way to the reception.’

Susie laughed. ‘Not another one. Gareth almost cancelled the wedding when he realised it would conflict with England versus Wales!’

‘He ought to be put up against a wall and shot,’ Jared bit out thickly. ‘Calls himself a Welshman? He should have cancelled the wedding on the spot. I would have done.’

Clara stared at him anxiously, and so did Susie. His remark would have sounded like a friendly joke if he had not uttered it in that hard, biting voice.

‘Darling—’ Clara worriedly soothed him with her most loving smile ‘—you can’t go around cancelling weddings in favour of rugby matches. Besides—this isn’t any old wedding. This is my sister’s wedding.’

‘She’s not your sister,’ Jared said harshly. ‘She’s your best friend, and your relationship is as much a farce as this wedding!’

Breathless, she felt the colour drain from her face as the knife went into her heart. How could you? she thought, pain glittering in her eyes. How could you have said that when you know how I feel about her? Even Susie was too shocked to speak. They both just stood there, staring at him. The sun shone down on the spire of the church rising above their heads to a halcyon blue sky.

Jared looked away. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean that.’ Then he drained his glass of champagne and strode to the trestle table to get a refill. Clara stared after him.

‘Well…’ breathed Susie beside her, trying to make light of it although her voice was shaky. ‘Somebody got out of bed on the wrong side this morning. Talk about grumpy-stump-stump!’

Clara turned slowly. Her fingers were so tense on the champagne flute in her hand that she thought the crystal might break at any moment. ‘Susie, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. Please forgive—’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it.’ Susie put a hand on hers, shaking her red-gold bridal head. ‘You’ve always said he hates weddings and now I’ve seen it for myself. I just didn’t realise he hated them this much.’

‘Neither did I.’ Clara looked across the lawn to him again.

Jared seemed to sense her watching him and looked round. Their eyes met. He gave her a long, hard stare then a tell-tale stain of red touched his scarred cheekbone. He turned away, drinking his champagne. Hiding his expression from me, thought Clara at once. He doesn’t want me to know what it is he’s feeling. And that’s the key to all this, isn’t it? she thought suddenly. His feelings are building up like a whirlwind. If only he’d tell me what they are.

‘Maybe it’s because it’s my wedding.’ Susie frowned, deep in thought, as she too looked at Jared, trying to understand why a man who had always treated her with affection and respect should suddenly turn into this hostile stranger.

‘But Jared adores you, Susie.’ Clara turned back to her. ‘He really does. I mean—he hates most of my friends but I know he likes you. He would try to get rid of you if he didn’t. You know how possessive he is.’

Susie smiled wryly. ‘The men who love you always are…’

‘But he’s never done that with you. If anything, he’s encouraged our friendship.’

‘Well, he’s not encouraging it any more, is he?’

Clara’s lovely face went very still. ‘You don’t think that’s why he said all that, do you?’

‘I don’t know Clara-Bear.’

Their eyes met and held in poignant affection for a moment.

‘If he’s trying to break us up, I’ll never forgive him,’ Clara muttered fiercely under her breath. ‘I just won’t.’

‘Calm down,’ Susie said at once, taking her hand again. ‘It might be a false alarm. For all we know, he’ll stop being so bad-tempered once he gets to the reception.’

‘What if he doesn’t? What if he—?’

‘Susie! He wants to do the photos now!’ Gareth called suddenly from across the lawn, smiling and waving as he stood on a mound of grass with his family. ‘Bring Clara and Jared, will you?’

‘Okay, darling!’ Susie called, then turned back to Clara, whispering confidentially, ‘I’ll leave you to get Jared. But try to hurry him up. The quicker these are taken, the quicker we can all get to the reception.’ She glided away.

Clara took a quick drink of her champagne, then turned to walk over to Jared.

She stopped after one step. Her heart somersaulted with sick disbelief. Jared was flirting with another woman. Not just flirting but actively showing sexual interest. And the brunette beside him was lapping it up, thrusting out her cleavage, tossing her long hair and licking her over-painted lips.

I can’t believe it, she thought, trembling. He’s never flirted with another woman. Never even looked at one. Since the minute they’d met, Jared had only had eyes for her. Why was he doing this? Right in front of her? Right here on Susie’s wedding day, when he should have been at Clara’s side, sharing her joy and happiness—not behaving like a swine, biting people’s heads off then going to flirt with another woman.

Tears sprang to her eyes but she blinked them back. She groped around for her faith in him. He loves me, she told herself fiercely. I know he does. It’s just that something’s wrong and he can’t share it with me. Not yet. Whatever it is, I’ll sort it out with him later. Meanwhile, that little man-eater is not getting her hands on my man!

Straightening up fast, Clara put her best foot forward and went over to break up the little tête-à-tête.

‘Darling!’ Smiling brightly, she slid a possessive hand through his arm. ‘Sorry to drag you away, but it’s time for the family photos.’

‘Must I?’ he demanded tightly.

‘Yes, you must.’ Her heart skipped beats with fear. She was appalled that he could even consider turning her down, especially in front of this seductive stranger.

‘Family photos?’ drawled the brunette, with a withering glance at Clara. ‘What a bore, Jared. I’d decline if I were you.’

‘I’m afraid he can’t decline,’ Clara said thickly. ‘You see, the bride is my sister. Jared lives with me and has been my boyfriend—’ she enunciated the word ‘boyfriend’ ‘—for the last two years. So, he really is honour-bound to appear in the wedding photos.’ She tugged at Jared’s arm. ‘Come along, darling. They’re waiting for us.’

Relief overwhelmed her because Jared allowed himself to be pulled away, but his face was very tense and his eyes were dark. In silence they walked across the sunlit churchyard. Birds were singing above the laughter of the guests. The summer breeze was warm on Clara’s skin, but inside her heart was aching and hurt.

‘I don’t want to be in these damned photos!’ he muttered beside her, trying to guide her away from the grassy mound they were supposed to be going to.

‘Jared, what on earth is the matter with you?’ she asked hoarsely, keeping her voice low so no one could hear her. ‘You knew you had to be in the photos. I told you weeks ago.’

‘Did you? I forgot.’

‘You can’t possibly have forgotten. I’ve reminded you almost every day. And don’t try to tell me you deliberately flirted with that woman to avoid having your photo taken. You have your photo taken all the time.’

‘For business purposes.’

‘Don’t be evasive,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘You know what you did just now. How could you? How could you humiliate me by flirting with that woman so blatantly?’

‘I wasn’t flirting with her,’ he muttered under his breath, watching his polished black shoes as he walked.

‘Yes, you were. I’m not a fool. Nor are any of the people here today.’ Hurt flashed in her eyes. ‘And you made me feel very jealous. You did that deliberately. I know you did. Why did you do that? What on earth have I done to make you behave this way?’

‘I hate weddings,’ he bit out thickly. ‘I keep telling you that. You should have left me at home and come alone.’

‘I needed you with me.’

‘You keep saying that, but—’ He broke off, stopped walking and studied the waiting group a few feet from them.

The bride, the groom, the photographer and Gareth’s family were all smiling across at Clara and Jared. It was an idyllic, happy scene, thought Clara. Everyone looked so good, and the sun was high in a clear blue sky on what must have been one of the hottest days of the year so far.

But Jared’s face was pale with tension. And as he stared across at the little family group his breathing altered and his heart began to beat heavily.

He looked around, as though searching for a way to escape.

‘Darling…?’ Clara whispered with a sudden renewal of concern. ‘What on earth is wrong?’

‘It’s nothing,’ he muttered, but as he looked back at the group he drew a harsh breath and suddenly turned to Clara, his arm going around her as he pulled her close and kissed her cheek. As their bodies touched she felt the beat of his heart. Was he frightened? But what on earth could frighten him in this idyllic setting? Yet he was deeply worried about something. Otherwise why would he close his eyes for so long as he kissed her, and why would he let his mouth linger a second too long on the soft curve of her cheek?

Suddenly she was released. But he grasped her hand in his as he led her to the smiling wedding group. One or two of Gareth’s family said hello. Jared nodded, gave them a tense smile, but did not speak. The photographer started taking pictures. Clara smiled as Jared’s large powerful hand nearly crushed hers—his grip was tightening the longer he had to stand here.

‘Could I get one of you alone with Miss Maye, Mr Blackheath?’

‘This isn’t our wedding day,’ Jared said. ‘It’s Susie and Gareth’s, as you very well know.’

‘Yes, but it isn’t often I get to take a few shots of such a famous couple.’

Clara felt herself blush. She’d always been happy to be famous, and she knew Jared was. It was one of the things they had in common. But to be photographed like this in front of the whole wedding crowd on Susie’s wedding day felt uncomfortably like upstaging the bride. Her eyes flickered to Susie’s as the rest of the family moved obligingly away, leaving Clara and Jared alone on the grassy knoll, centre stage and in the spotlight once again.

‘Go on.’ Susie grinned at her approvingly.

Clara bit her lip and looked up at Jared. He didn’t look as happy as she felt. In fact his face was hard, and set in an angry expression. He was also, she noticed, staring across the churchyard at the church, not looking at the bride and the groom or the photographer at all.

‘Just one or two,’ murmured the photographer, already taking pictures.

‘Very well.’ Jared’s mouth tightened. He stood on Clara’s right, still looking at the church, giving the photographer his arrogant profile, refusing to look at the camera or the family. Aware that the photographs would need some kind of composition, Clara looked up into Jared’s face with a smile, making the photo double-facing.

He felt her stare, glanced down at her and saw the love in her green eyes. A brief smile touched his mouth. The sun glowed behind them. It must have made a beautiful shot because murmurs of delight went up from the crowd. Clara felt her smile widen—being an orphan had left her with a remarkable desire to be noticed and talked about, as though without public acclaim she somehow did not truly exist. She had often wondered if Jared felt the same. She wondered it again now as she saw the smile deepen on his handsome face, aware of the stir they were causing.

Everyone was watching Clara and Jared. Although Clara was a well-known face from the television, Jared was the big fish. Sexy, dynamic multimillionaire tycoons were a rarity in any arena. Most people simply stared at him in awe.

‘Lovely, thanks.’ The photographer wouldn’t let up. ‘Just one more…’

But before the shutter clicked, Susie called, ‘Here!’ She threw her bouquet at Clara. ‘Your turn next, blushing bride!’

‘Right, that’s enough!’ Jared muttered furiously to Clara. ‘No more photographs. We’re leaving.’ He raised his voice so the others could hear. ‘Thank you, but we’re very tired and need to go. See you at the reception!’

Without waiting for a reply from anyone, Jared turned on his heel and strode away across the churchyard, still holding Clara’s hand tightly so she could not get away from him. Guests scattered like a flurry of flamingoes, all tottering in hats and high heels to let Jared Blackheath pass. And, clinging with one hand to both her hat and her new bouquet, Clara skittered along beside him.

His hatred of weddings had reached an all-time high. But why had this wedding, above all others, provoked it? There had to be some secret ingredient that had gone into today that she didn’t know about. But what…?

CHAPTER TWO

OUTSIDE the church, Jared beckoned the limousine. Harrison had been sitting on the bonnet in his grey uniform and peaked cap. He had a half-eaten sandwich in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other and a steel flask resting precariously on the bumper.

‘He’s having his break, poor man,’ murmured Clara as Harrison fumbled around trying to get ready to leave.

‘I don’t pay him to make me wait.’ Jared strode across the leafy Kensington road without waiting. ‘He must have seen us coming out of the church. He should have been ready to leave at a moment’s notice.’

Harrison was already behind the wheel by the time they reached the car. He knew his boss too well to even consider getting things wrong when Jared had a face like thunder. Normally even-tempered and goodnatured, Jared in a bad mood was not a man to tangle with. And if he had been in a bad mood this morning, before they left for the church, he was in a much worse mood now as he wrenched open the rear door.

Clara slid in first, and shifted breathlessly along the dove-grey seats as Jared got in beside her.

He slammed the door and bit out thickly, ‘The Ritz!’

‘Very good, sir.’ Harrison murmured, but did not turn his grey head to look at his master.

As they drove away down the little Kensington mews, Jared was already shouldering out of his grey jacket. It was a sure sign of severe muscular tension. He frequently did it after a gruelling board meeting, and his next step was always to loosen his tie, which he was now doing. Clara watched for the final step—unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt and all the buttons of his formal grey waistcoat. Finally, he leaned back against the seats, with his arms spread out on either side, and closed his eyes.

Clara watched him with concern. ‘Would you like me to massage your shoulders?’

‘Yes.’ It was a curt reply, and she made a face at him while his eyes were still closed because of it. ‘I saw that,’ he muttered, watching through slitted lids.

‘Well, you are in a horrid mood, darling!’ she said lightly.

‘That doesn’t give you licence to make faces at me behind my back.’

‘Oh, yes, it does!’ she teased, but she also knelt up on the seats to better get to his shoulder muscles. As soon as her fingers began to knead the lock-tight muscles, he gave a deep groan. ‘Oh, that’s lovely…’

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Sublimely,’ he said from deep in his throat. ‘I love it. Don’t stop.’

As she massaged and pummelled and pushed and kneaded, she thought about today’s wedding and tried to hone in on the secret ingredient that had made it so intolerable for him. He should not, after all, feel as though he’d just beaten his arch-enemies in a grim boardroom battle for power. Most people felt light and happy after attending a wedding, especially one as beautiful and simple as Susie’s. If nothing else, it renewed one’s faith in love.

And Jared did have a great deal of faith in love. Oh, he huffed the way most men do—particularly powerful men—and talked a blue streak about weddings being ‘romantic nonsense’ or ‘a trap’. But underneath the hard-headed macho façade, Jared hid a deep romanticism that he was afraid to let anyone but Clara know about. He had to keep it hidden. There were too many sharks in the world of big business and he could not risk letting his enemies see how vulnerable he could be. How could such a sensitive man grow to hate weddings so much that he reacted like a cornered animal to them?

‘It was worse for you today, wasn’t it?’ she said gently as his muscles began to unknot and relax beneath her loving fingers.

‘I hated every second of it.’

‘You always have a bad time at weddings. But there seemed to be something different about today that I—’

‘There was nothing different about today.’

‘Then why are you so tense?’

His eyes flashed open, watching her with a guarded expression. ‘I’m not tense!’

Her pale brows rose.

‘I said, I’m not tense!’ He flushed angrily and shrugged her off. ‘In fact, there’s nothing wrong with me that a large brandy wouldn’t cure!’ Leaning forwards, he clicked open the drinks cabinet.

Clara watched with a frown as he poured himself a measure of cognac. A disciplined man, constantly driven to achieve, Jared rarely drank. In fact, she had known periods of up to four or five months go by without Jared touching even wine. Yet he had so far drunk two glasses of champagne, was now starting on brandy, and it was still only mid-afternoon.

‘Are you sure you want that brandy?’ she asked softly.

‘Quite sure, thank you!’ He glared over the rim of the glass.

Clara met his angry gaze and said, ‘Give me a smile. You look so grim.’

‘Why shouldn’t I look grim?’ He sat back, drank some more brandy. ‘You know I hate weddings. You know they irritate me. And you know I get badtempered just sitting through them. But you deliberately dragged me along to this one. Even though I told you this morning that I knew it would ruin the day for us.’

‘Darling…’ She was amazed that he could continue to be so unreasonable. ‘This wasn’t just any wedding.’

‘You knew it would ruin the day if I came along.’

‘But the day was the wedding. There was nothing else to the day. Just this. The church, the wedding, the bride, the groom—’

‘Precisely.’

She drew a patient breath. It was pointless arguing with him when he was in one of these moods. And it was true—she had known he would have a difficult time. She just hadn’t been able to see a way round it for either of them.

‘Well,’ she said with a placatory smile, ‘the ceremony itself is over. You can relax and look forward to the reception.’

‘I don’t want to go.’

Clara’s jaw dropped. For a second she just stared at him in speechless disbelief. Had he really said that? It wasn’t feasible. Not today.

Jared’s angular cheekbones ran red as he saw the shock in her face. ‘Look—I’ve had enough. All right? I know I’m not going to enjoy the reception.’

‘But, Jared, I—’

‘No. I’ve had enough. Can’t you see that?’ He sighed, ran a hand over the back of his neck as though the mere thought of the reception was sending his muscles back into a state of rigid tension. ‘It’s not just the marriage bit that I object to. It’s the press attention and the way everyone keeps staring at me.’

Clara found her tongue. ‘But press attention and admiring stares have been a part of your life since you first hit adulthood! In fact, you’ve been famous for over half your life! How can you possibly expect me to believe you’ve suddenly turned camera-shy?’

‘Yes, well, I’m not in the mood for cameras today.’

‘Why not?’

‘What do you mean—“Why not?”’ He threw her a furious look. ‘I don’t have a reason! I just know that that’s how I feel. Today, for my own personal reasons, I hate the attention. I hate being stared at like an animal in a zoo. I hate being photographed. And, most of all, I hate being asked stupid questions by strangers.’ He drank some more brandy, his face tense. ‘I don’t want to continue any further. I want, in fact, to abandon ship. I suggest we bypass the Ritz, turn round at Eros and go straight home. I’ll tell Harrison to—’

‘No!’ The word shot from her like a bullet from a gun and she caught his arm as he moved to lean forward and speak to Harrison. ‘Jared, I’m not going to let Susie down like this! She’s my best friend. She’s the closest thing—’

‘I know, I know!’ he muttered angrily, and after a second gave a deep sigh as he slumped back in his seat. But he glared straight ahead and refused to look at her. ‘All right. All right. We’ll go to the reception, damn it all to hell!’

She moistened her lips. ‘You don’t seriously want us to go home. I know you’re only saying it because you’re upset. You care about Susie, and you’d never do anything to destroy her happiness. It’s just this day, somehow. Something unusual must have happened today that I don’t know about.’ She was thinking aloud, going over the clues without realising what she was saying. ‘Something to do with the wedding photograph. The Llewellyns—’

‘Shut up!’ he bit out thickly, and when she looked up in startled disbelief at him speaking to her like that, she saw the tide of dark red deepening on his cheekbones.

She also saw the look in his eyes.

The black pupils were fully dilated now. The vivid blue surrounding them was shifting, glittering, everchanging like a kaleidoscope. She had seen that look before. It meant he was trying to hide something. Suddenly her confused mind began to click certain things into place.

‘Have you met the Llewellyns before?’ she asked softly.

‘The groom’s family?’ he replied, like a politician, skilfully evading the question, and leaned forward, trying to pretend he hadn’t evaded it. ‘Their Welsh connection just reminded me that I was missing the rugby match, that’s all.’

He switched on the radio while Clara watched him with very thoughtful eyes. He had yet to answer yes or no.

‘And England have won!’ The commentator’s voice burst out excitedly over a roaring, cheering crowd. ‘5-4 to England, knocking Wales out of the running and wiping the floor with—’

‘Great.’ Jared punched it off again but was clearly glad to have an excuse to continue in this badtempered mood. ‘Now Wales have lost. That just about makes my day.’

‘Never mind, darling. It’s only a rugby match. There’ll be others. And besides—we can go and see them play in Wales.’

He tensed and his dark lashes flickered. Clara knew in that moment that all this had something to do with Wales, although she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why meeting a Welsh family should send him into such a strange and inexplicable mood.

‘Wales…?’ he said thickly, staring at her as though she’d just grown two heads.

‘Wouldn’t it be better to see them play on their own home ground? We could drive down to Wales for the weekend and have a deliciously private holiday together, as well as supporting the team.’

‘Sounds like just what I need,’ he drawled unsteadily, avoiding her eyes and breathing a little easier.

Clara could hardly allow them both to turn up at the wedding reception of her oldest friend without first attempting to defuse his intense and explosive feelings.

‘Yes, we could go to Wales, watch the rugby, see the sights—’

‘What sights?’

‘And even visit your mother.’

His mouth tightened. ‘Oh, yes…’

Clara frowned, studying him. Three times a year his mother, Lily Blackheath, made the train trip to London alone, staying in five-star luxury at the Dorchester.

A tall, slender and striking woman, Lily had kept her hair dyed jet-black and looked much younger than her fifty-seven years. But she never visited Clara and Jared at their Regent’s Park home. Jared didn’t want her there and Lily seemed to agree with that. They had a strange relationship, mother and son. Tied to each other by ropes of steel, yet so distant with each other it was as if they were bound by some dark secret. And when Clara tried to probe, they united against her. That was when they really did seem like mother and son. When they joined hands to ward off danger and keep their secret. Of course, Clara could not be sure that that was the case. She could only suspect.

‘Well,’ said Jared after he’d had a moment to think, ‘Lily wouldn’t really want us there. She’s got her own life. She’s a busy lady. She wouldn’t want us barging in on her uninvited.’

‘Have you ever asked her?’

‘Besides,’ he continued, as though she had not spoken, ‘I’m much too busy with work at the moment. I can’t take any time off. Don’t forget I’m going to Texas on Monday, then San Francisco. I’ll be away for at least a fortnight. And after that there’s the usual round of board meetings and London business, and then I’m off to Hong Kong, Tokyo…’

Clara suspected he was dodging the issue, but couldn’t prove it any more than she could have done when he avoided answering her question about the Llewellyns. It could be true that he was too busy. He was, after all, a very busy man, with an action-packed schedule. But he was the kind of man who moved mountains when he wanted something. If he wanted to go to Wales and visit old haunts, watch the rugby, see his mother—he would go. But, of course, Wales was a no-go area…

Jared flew to every country of the world except the country of his birth. And Clara’s career did sometimes permit her to go with him, to leave London for weeks at a time, travelling the world in stretch limousines and private jets with the man she loved. It was just as exciting as working in television, although Clara couldn’t help needing the security that only a career could bring. So she always made sure she kept on working. And her agent, Mitch, was very good at keeping Clara in work as often as possible.

Once or twice a job had come up for her while she was away with Jared, and Mitch had called her with the news, no matter where Jared had taken her—whether Mombasa or Dubai or Venezuela. She had flown straight back for the auditions and got them. But, no matter where Jared had taken her, he had never so much as suggested they set foot in Wales together. Not since the day she met him. Jared’s company had offices in almost every capital of the world. Even such far-flung places as Cuba, Taiwan and Latvia were on his annual visiting list. But never Wales. Never Rhossana Bay. Not even to visit his mother.

Now she saw the connection between Wales and Susie’s wedding for the first time.

Funny the things you miss, she thought, when your own feelings are so deeply involved, as mine are with Susie. I never gave it a second thought that she was marrying a Welshman. I just thought, What a coincidence that she should love a Welshman, too! And that was that.

But, after Jared’s complex and unfathomable reaction to the Welsh presence at the wedding, she knew she must find out what his real reasons were, or there was trouble ahead for both of them. If Jared continued to feel this way about the marriage, she could see arguments looming—most notably at the reception.

For that reason, she pushed on with her pursuit of the subject. It was the only sensible thing to do.

‘We ought to go to Wales anyway, even if it’s not until next year.’

He rapped long fingers on his thigh. ‘What’s the big deal about Wales all of a sudden?’

‘I still haven’t seen the place where you were born. Rhossana Bay, wasn’t it?’

‘Rhossana is a dead-end seaside town with absolutely nothing to recommend it.’

‘That’s not what my guidebook says.’

He turned slowly to stare at her. ‘You’ve got a guidebook? On Wales?’

‘I bought it as part of a set on the UK when I was trying for that job as a presenter. I had to have a wide knowledge of the country because it was a travel programme on—’

‘You didn’t need a wide knowledge of Rhossana Bay!’ He gave her an arrogant look. ‘I could have told you all you needed to know. For instance—it would only take you half an hour to walk from one end of town to the other! It’s not exactly the big metropolis.’

‘Yes, but as I had the book I took a quick look to—’

‘Don’t give me that! The truth is, you’ve been checking up on me out of sheer female nosiness.’

‘I admit I was curious, but—’

‘Nosy,’ he accused, glaring at her. ‘Like all women, you assume that there’s something wrong with me. That I need fixing and that you’re the girl to do it. Well, let me tell you, Little Miss Fix-It, there’s nothing wrong with me that another stiff brandy wouldn’t cure!’

Clara released his hand as he leant forward to angrily open the cabinet again.

‘No. This isn’t what I need.’ Slamming the cabinet shut, he turned round and reached for Clara, eyes burning with a rush of angry desire. ‘This is what I need most.’

He pulled her into his arms and she gasped in surprise. His mouth closed over hers. She felt the warmth of his skin through his shirt. It was a delicious way to be silenced.

As Jared pressed the electric button which operated the dark screen window between chauffeur and passengers, she realised what he was planning. She gave herself up to it, eyes closed and head tilted back, the kiss stirring pulses in her body. He was stirred too.

His hands moved passionately over her. Her hat fell softly backwards, tipped onto the seat.

Clara moaned, pulses quickening rapidly. He was so gorgeous when he was in a temper. Try as she did to soothe him, she really did find him irresistible when he grabbed her like this for a quick, fierce kiss. He pulled her closer. He deepened the kiss and his breathing quickened. Clara’s heart was pounding madly. Everything grew dark and sensual. Images flashed through her mind of the four-poster bed at home…

‘Oh, Jared…’ she whispered thickly.

‘Just turning your body on and your brain off, baby!’ he muttered passionately against her mouth, and his hand moved up to close over her breast, making her moan as he kissed her deeper, his long fingers stroking her erect nipple through her clothes. ‘Like that?’

‘Yes… I’m on fire…’

‘So am I.’ His voice was hoarse and his face darkly flushed with excitement. ‘In fact, I want to make love to you—right here and now…’

Moaning, she kissed him sensually. ‘Oh, yes, please…’

He gave a rough groan and plundered her mouth. The car was slowing down now, inching through traffic while Jared obliterated Clara with the sheer power of his kiss. His hand was on her thigh, stroking the pale flesh above the lace top of her stocking.

‘I want you so much,’ he ground out as his hand slid slowly higher up her stockinged thigh. ‘Let me take you home. Let me make love to you.’

‘We can’t,’ she murmured through passion-bruised lips. ‘We must attend the reception. But I’ll make it up to you when we get home, I promise.’

‘I’d much rather you made it up to me now.’

‘So would I.’ She lay back, dazed and flushed and over-excited, her hands in his thick dark hair. ‘But we can’t…’

‘Yes, we can. You can come home with me now and not attend this blasted reception.’

The car stopped outside the Ritz. Jared was watching her intently. His face was dark with sexual excitement, yet the black pupils of his eyes were surrounded by a glittering kaleidoscope of blue which told her he was trying to hide something, trying to get his own way and trying to cope with an emotional chaos she could only guess at.

He was determined to avoid the reception.

Clara tried to get her breath back. He’d always known how difficult she found it to resist him. That was why he’d pulled this stunt just before they reached the hotel. He knew it would put the greatest pressure on her to do as he asked.

‘Jared, we’re sitting on the top table with the bride and groom. We’re here as Susie’s only family. We have to attend. There simply isn’t any choice. Not for me, at any rate.’

His fists clenched. ‘Clara…I want to go home.’

She tried to sit up, breathless. ‘Look—Harrison’s getting out to open the door.’

‘He can just damned well get back in.’

‘No, he can’t.’

‘I want to leave.’

‘Jared, Susie is my—’

‘I am not attending—’

Harrison opened the door.

Dishevelled and loveswept, Clara hesitated. But only for a moment. Jared was on the brink of ordering Harrison to drive them straight home and she couldn’t let him do it. Not at this wedding. Susie wouldn’t just be disappointed. She’d be heartbroken. And in that moment of hesitation all Clara could think of was the little red-haired girl in the playground of St Winifred’s, who had hurled herself fiercely at the boy who’d just broken Clara’s doll. Susie had leapt to Clara’s defence on the day they met. The very least Clara could do now was return the favour—twentyone years later.

Fumbling for her hat and bag, she stepped out onto the hot pavement while Jared watched her with brooding temper. She avoided his gaze. He could glare at her all he liked. She wasn’t getting back into the car.

‘Clara.’ Jared’s voice was almost drowned out by the sound of traffic. ‘Get back in the car.’

She pretended not to have heard him, and stepped back to let the traffic drown his voice to nothing. Staring resolutely at the curly green writing on the Lebanese restaurant across the road, she continued to avoid his eyes. He was trying to will her back into the car.

Eventually, he got out. Women walking past stared at him with admiring recognition. He stood smouldering with bad temper as he shrugged his grey jacket back on.

Clara turned on her high heels before he could start another argument and walked up the gilded steps to the swing doors of the Ritz.

Inside, the hushed pink and marble shimmered and the soft carpeted reception area glowed under crystal chandeliers. Handsome young men in smart frockcoats swished around attending to wealthy guests.

‘Very well.’ Jared strode in behind her with a face like thunder. ‘You get your way. So where is it? This wedding reception? The Marie Antoinette Suite?’

‘No, the restaurant.’

‘Then let’s get it over with.’ He took her hand in a firm grip and strode off down the pink carpet past the Palm Court. People stared. It was at moments like this, when they were in the middle of a blazing row, that Clara wished they weren’t so famous.

But as they entered the restaurant her tense face relaxed into a radiant smile. A wedding breakfast fit for a princess, she thought, staring at the top table which ran along the French doors. White lace and satin decorated it; sapphire taffeta bows gleamed along the edges. Silver flatware, an assortment of crystal glasses and bouquets of the most exquisite pale pink orchids completed the look of luxurious celebration.

For a little ragamuffin from St Winifred’s—with no parents, family or real chance in life—Susan O’Malley had done well. Susie had not realised when she first met Gareth that his grandfather, Owain Llewellyn, was rich. Gareth’s family was so used to money that they were almost aristocratic in their habits: unpretentious, homely and down to earth. Imagine Susie’s shock when she’d realised she’d been courting for a year with a Llewellyn of Llewellyn and Sons, Builders—a firm currently valued at over fourteen million pounds and entirely in private hands.

‘Looks wonderful, doesn’t it?’

‘Wonderful.’ He strode without another word to inspect the table. Clara followed him. He was reading the place settings. As he reached the far end of the table he caught his breath, staring. ‘We’re sitting here! Did you organise the place settings? Did you put me—?’

‘Of course I didn’t.’

‘Then who did?’

‘Well, I imagine it was the groom’s mother. She organised the whole thing.’

‘Why was she allowed to?’

Clara’s eyes rounded in amazement and he flushed angrily.

‘I can’t sit here!’

‘Jared, for heaven’s sake stop behaving like this! It’s only a wedding reception. You won’t have to stay longer than an hour or two. Who are you sitting next to, anyway? Let me see the—’

‘Owain Llewellyn Senior,’ he snapped, and turned on his heel, mystifying her as he walked out of the open French doors into the private gardens beyond.

Clara counted to ten. Keep your cool, she told herself, and picked up the place card. Studying it as though convinced she might find some clue on it, she eventually replaced it, baffled. Then she followed Jared out into the gardens.

He stood with his back to her. Sunlight blazed over his dark hair and made it seem to shine blue-black. A balustrade ran along the white steps which led to the lawns. Grecian urns were bathed lazily in the warmth of the summer afternoon.

‘Darling—’ she walked up behind him ‘—why don’t you want to sit next to Owain Llewellyn Senior? Do you know Mr Llewellyn?’

Silence.

She tried again. ‘Is there some kind of business intrigue going on that I don’t know about? Something that’s happened between you and the Llewellyns that makes social interaction difficult?’ Jared bought and sold companies as part of his work. Failing businesses were turned into dynamic successes with a wave of the Blackheath hand. Because of this, he frequently had to build new factories or redesign existing buildings to accommodate the leap in productivity and employment.

‘You know I always use Wright-McArd for all my construction work in the UK. Why would I engage another building firm?’

‘Especially a Welsh firm?’

‘It’s got nothing to do with their Welshness. You don’t seriously think I’d do business on a basis of personal background or family history?’

‘I didn’t mention family history.’

He tensed, aware he had given himself away.

‘Do you know anything about their family history, Jared?’

‘What is this—the Spanish Inquisition?’ He turned away, his voice thick. ‘I couldn’t be less interested in the Llewellyns or their family history.’

‘Then why don’t you want to sit next to Owain Llewellyn?’ She knew she was pressing on some kind of old wound but she wasn’t going to let him keep his secret hidden for ever. Not when it was so obviously painful for him. To say nothing of the trouble it was causing everyone today. Jared had a tendency to cope alone with difficult emotions. Normally she let him carry on while she waited for the moment he decided to turn to her and share them. But today they simply didn’t have time for that approach. ‘Let’s examine exactly who Owain Llewellyn is, shall we?’

‘Let’s not,’ he muttered, but she carried on regardless.

‘The head of the firm. Gareth’s grandfather. Just an old man in his early sixties with very little about him that could possibly worry—’

‘Stop harping on about him. I’m not interested in the man. Why are you?’

She was obviously getting warmer. ‘The Llewellyn offices are in Cardiff, aren’t they? I’m sure I remember Susie mentioning something about it. Offices in London, Cardiff—’

‘I don’t want to discuss the geographical details of Llewellyn’s damned offices!’

‘And a house in the countryside. A house by the sea, Susie said, somewhere on the south coast, somewhere Gareth always wanted to visit but wasn’t allowed to because…’ She paused with a thoughtful frown. ‘Now why was that? He couldn’t visit the house because his family said—’

‘Look!’ He turned on her without warning. ‘I just don’t want to be here, all right? Is that so hard to understand? Must you hunt for clues that don’t exist? Stop trying to find a logical reason because there isn’t one! I hate weddings! I always have; I always will. End of story. Now leave me alone’.

A bird hopped onto the balustrade, trilled sweetly and regarded them both with beady eyes.

Clara was very still. Jared was determined not to be questioned and that meant she was on the right track. But what lay at the end of the trail? Now that she’d started picking at the Llewellyn subject she was beginning to realise that all his behaviour—from the moment Susie had met Gareth right up until today—could be attributed to the presence of a Welsh family called the Llewellyns. Why hadn’t she picked up on that before? If she had, there might have been a chance of helping him cope with whatever he was going through in that battened-down hatch of a heart. As it was, she had left it too late. The breakfast was due to start at any minute. And Jared was getting worse, not better. Although she hated giving up, she knew it was the only wise course of action. There was only one thing she could do. Let him leave.

‘Okay…’ She admitted defeat with forgiving tenderness. ‘I understand. If you really want to leave, then…’ she shrugged ‘…leave.’

He did a double-take, staring. He took a step towards her. His eyes were haunted. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Darling, I don’t want to see you suffer like this. You obviously can’t bear to be here. I’ve tried everything I can to make the day enjoyable for you, but even I’ve run out of ideas. If you want to go—go.’

He reached for her, pulled her tenderly into his arms and buried his hot face in her neck. ‘I can’t believe you mean it. You’re the most wonderful woman in the world.’

She laughed softly and stroked his dark hair. ‘I know, I know! But hurry up, darling. People are arriving. In fact the dining room looks crowded from here.’

‘Forgive me,’ he muttered deeply and raised his head, love in his eyes as he stared down at her. ‘I’ve behaved so badly today. But if you only knew what a strain it’s been for me. The last few months, weeks, days…’

‘You’ve been hiding your real feelings from me all along, haven’t you? Darling, you mustn’t do that. It upsets me and doesn’t help you.’

‘I promise not to do it any more. Starting from now…’ His mouth closed over hers in a slow, gentle kiss. Clara gave herself wholeheartedly to his loving embrace, letting her head fall back so that her hat dropped softly to the ground. They both ignored it. Her mouth opened beneath Jared’s and the kiss took fire.

‘We’ll go straight home and straight to bed!’ he muttered roughly, and she tensed.

‘Darling, I’m not leaving. I didn’t mean to sound as though I was. I just said that you could go if you wanted.’

His romantic expression slowly hardened. ‘What are you talking about? We’re both going. You can’t stay alone. Are you crazy? Either we both stay or we both leave, and you just said—’

‘But I’ll be home soon. I promise. I’ll leave just as soon as the bride’s had her first dance with the groom.’

‘No! I’m not leaving you here on your own!’

‘But why ever not? What harm—?’

‘I just don’t want to know that you’re here with—’ He broke off.

His face was chalk-white.

He was staring at the doorway.

Clara turned her tousled blonde head to follow his stare. A very tall old man stood there, the sun on his well-groomed silver hair and elegant grey morning suit. He had great dignity and noble bearing.

‘Forgive the intrusion.’ His voice had a deep Welsh lilt. ‘But I heard voices, see, and thought I ought to warn you. Everybody’s sitting down now. The breakfast’s about to be served. Thought I’d let you know, so you could come in without a grand entrance.’

The summer breeze lifted strands of black hair from Jared’s forehead as he stared. He was utterly silent. Unmoving. The only clue to his feelings were the chaotic kaleidoscopic lights of his eyes.

‘You must be young Jared Blackheath.’ The old man stepped forward. ‘I’m Owain Llewellyn. Do you remember me?’

Jared released Clara with a swift movement that nearly caught her off balance. ‘How do you do?’ He strode to Llewellyn, extended his hand, shook the old man’s and towered over him like a giant, saying briskly, ‘Pleased to meet you. This is my girlfriend, Clara Maye. Clara!’

‘Hello!’ Clara called shyly, bending to pick up her hat and dust it off while Owain Llewellyn continued to shake Jared’s hand with admiration and respect.

‘So pleased to meet you,’ the old man was saying, a gruff note in his voice as he looked earnestly at Jared. ‘So very pleased at last to—’

‘Yes, of course.’ Jared wrenched his hand away as though burnt, raked long fingers through his hair and looked as though he wanted to be a million miles away.

‘How do you do?’ Clara rescued him by walking over to shake the old man’s hand instead. ‘We were just snatching a private moment before the celebrations began.’

‘Oh, the celebrations could go on for a very long time.’ The bony fingers clasped hers but his old grey eyes were fixed on Jared as he spoke. ‘And how lovely that they should begin like this, two young people, so much in love, ready to move into their first home, a home they—’

‘I think we should go in,’ Jared cut in thickly. His hand curled around Clara’s waist and drew her against him as though she were an amulet to ward off danger. ‘Thank you for coming to get us, Mr Llewellyn. I can see the bride sitting down now. It’s time we took our places…’

Jared steered them into the dining room without giving the old man a chance to reply. Clara could hardly interfere. It was too late for Jared to leave now, too late for another argument, and they had no choice but to take their places at the top table. Owain Llewellyn was close behind them, sadness in his austere face. As he sat down beside Jared, Clara saw Jared’s fist clench on the white tablecloth. She wished she knew why he felt this way.

The wedding breakfast commenced. Jared spoke to Clara continuously throughout the meal. She couldn’t believe he’d done it, but he had actually turned his back on poor old Mr Llewellyn, forcing him to eat in isolation at the end of the table. She felt sorry for him. But she also felt a great deal of empathy for Jared. His eyes were still so haunted, and lines of strain were now etched at his mouth as he struggled to keep his feelings hidden from all these people, most of whom were strangers, staring at him because of his fame. He ate almost nothing. He drank far too much champagne. When the meal was over and the speeches began, he turned a whiter shade of pale and Clara frowned at him, not understanding why he should be alarmed by them.

Gareth’s father stood up with the microphone. His deep voice boomed around the room. He was quick, witty and entertaining. Even Jared laughed at one or two jokes. Then the best man stood up and told how Susie had first met Gareth—mistaking him for a dropout because he was asleep on a park bench in torn jeans, having lost his keys and wallet after a wild party.

‘Gareth was so used to women chasing him for his money,’ said the best man, to ripples of laughter, ‘that he decided to let Susie carry on believing he was a penniless drop-out. Imagine her shock when she discovered a year later that he was really the heir to the Llewellyn millions!’

Jared fidgeted restlessly. The best man had finished his speech and Jared’s fingers began scrunching and unscrunching his napkin with nervous tension.

‘And now,’ said the best man, ‘Owain Llewellyn, Gareth’s grandfather, would like to say a few words.’

The old man got to his feet. Jared was ashen. Clara suddenly realised what was going to happen. She suddenly remembered Susie saying, ‘An old house by the sea…’

‘As you know,’ said Owain, ‘the Llewellyns are Welshmen, born and bred. Our headquarters are now in London, and many of us live here, but we still have Welsh headquarters, in Cardiff. As many of you know, my old partner, Daffyd, retired last month, which leaves the Cardiff offices without a managing director. There’s only one real choice for the post, I’m sure you’ll all agree—my grandson, Gareth.’

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