Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

“Feeling rough?” a sympathetic male voice asked, close to her ear.

Her eyes flew open. As her vision adjusted, a lean, attractive face, the jaw rough with morning stubble, came into focus.

He was lying beside her, propped on one elbow, a sheet pulled up to his middle. His muscular shoulders and tanned chest were bare.

So, undoubtedly, was the rest of him.

Bel sat up with a jerk. She, too, was naked.

His appreciative gaze strayed over her and lingered on her mouth. “You’re even lovely first thing in the morning with a hangover.”

She pushed back the sheet and attempted to get out of the bed. The sudden movement sent her head spinning.

It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if the man beside her had been the man she was going to marry, but for it to be Andrew Storm…!

LEE WILKINSON lives with her husband in a three-hundred-year-old stone cottage in a village in Derbyshire, England. Most winters they get cut off by snow! Both enjoy traveling, and previously joined forces with their daughter and son-in-law, spending a year going around the world “on a shoestring” while their son looked after Kelly, their much-loved German shepherd dog. Lee’s hobbies are reading and gardening and holding impromptu barbecues for her long-suffering family and friends.

First-Class Seduction
Lee Wilkinson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

THOUGH lunchtime was almost over, the quiet backstreet restaurant was still fairly full.

Bel Grant had just paid her bill and was preparing to leave when she noticed Mortimer Harmen, their company secretary, sitting at a corner table. In a reflex action she ducked her smooth blonde head.

She disliked and distrusted Harmen, and avoided him whenever possible.

Handsome in a beefy, florid way, his smile brash, his manner bold, he clearly thought he was God’s gift to women.

He made Bel squirm.

Even during business meetings his pale blue eyes always seemed to be stripping her. The last thing she wanted now was for him to spot her and insist on walking back to the office with her.

A surreptitious glance showed that, though at the coffee stage, he was still deep in conversation with his luncheon companion, a dark-haired man who had his back to Bel.

She picked up her bag, and was making her way to the door when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harmen rise to his feet. He appeared to be looking in her direction. Muttering, ‘Oh, hell!’ she dived into the Ladies.

While she waited for the coast to be clear Bel checked her appearance. She hardly looked like a fugitive, she thought quizzically.

Mirrored walls reflected a slim, charmingly businesslike woman wearing a charcoal suit and white blouse. Her gleaming ash-blonde hair was up in a neat chignon. Her oval face, with its small neat nose and generous mouth, the clear green eyes perfectly set and slightly elongated, was cool and composed, and free of make-up.

Though her father owned the cosmetics company she worked for, Bel used few of their products. Well marked brows and lashes several shades darker than her hair, combined with a flawless skin, did away with the need—except for evenings out or special occasions.

After hovering impatiently for two or three minutes, afraid she would be late for the two o’clock board meeting, Bel cautiously emerged.

The table Harmen and his companion had shared was now vacant, and there was no immediate sign of her bête noire.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she was making a beeline for the door when she cannoned into a tall, muscular figure and went staggering back.

Lean hands shot out and gripped her shoulders, steadying her. She found herself looking up into a pair of thickly lashed eyes the exact colour of woodsmoke, and was suddenly breathless.

Telling herself it was the impact that had robbed her of breath, she stammered, ‘I—I’m so sorry.’

He said nothing, but as he studied her face a flame kindled and leapt in those smoky eyes.

An answering spark, a flare of excitement, of sexual awareness, ran through her, heating her blood and bringing a flush to her cheeks while she stood staring into his eyes as if mesmerised.

Then those handsome eyes blurred out of focus, and for an instant firm lips touched hers.

Drawing a deep, shocked breath, she pulled herself free and hurried out, refusing to glance back.

To any onlookers they must have appeared to be lovers taking leave of each other rather than total strangers.

She felt shaken and indignant, furious with him, and with herself, because she was forced to recognise that his powerful masculinity had appealed to everything feminine in her.

Trying to push the disturbing little incident to the back of her mind, Bel headed for Hyde Park, where the dusty trees and yellowing grass of late summer baked in the hot sun.

The offices of Grant Filey Cosmetics were situated in an elegant Georgian house in a quiet cul-de-sac close to the park.

‘Made it in the nick of time,’ the young receptionistcum-secretary in the outer office greeted her. ‘The others have already gone through to the boardroom.’

‘Thanks, Rosie.’ Bel smiled at the girl before making her way to the inner sanctum and sliding into her chair with seconds to spare.

It was a hot day, and Harmen, already seated, was mopping his red perspiring face with a silk handkerchief that matched his flamboyant tie.

At the head of the table, Bel’s father, Peter Grant, a grey-haired, nice-looking man, his usually cheerful face set and serious, rose to address this emergency meeting of the board of directors.

‘We seem to have a potentially dangerous situation on our hands. Someone has already bought up a lot of our privately owned shares, and is apparently on the look-out for more. Whoever is buying seems to be working undercover, and all the signs point to the fact that it’s an attempt at a hostile take-over…’

Bel, sitting on her father’s right, already knew the disturbing news he was telling the rest of the board, and was aware that he was blaming himself for not having acted sooner to safeguard the company.

The previous evening, his brown eyes showing his anxiety, he’d admitted, ‘It was a mistake to let Ellen keep those shares.’

Ellen, blonde and beautiful, friendly and ingenuous, closer to Bel’s age than Peter’s own, was his second and recently divorced wife.

At the time of the divorce Peter had been under financial pressure, and as part of the settlement had agreed to let Ellen retain a block of Grant Filey shares, relatively unimportant in themselves, but crucial in the present situation.

Trying to reassure her father, Bel had said with more confidence than she’d felt, ‘Surely she wouldn’t sell them without consulting you?’

The split had been an amicable one, and they had all remained the best of friends, but Ellen had no head for business, and what she wouldn’t do out of malice she might well do out of ignorance, if approached.

‘I wish I could be certain of that,’ he’d answered, frowning. ‘I’ll be happier when I can get hold of her and make sure she doesn’t’

‘How long was she planning to be away?’

‘I don’t really know. She just left a message on the answering machine saying she was looking forward to having a few days in Paris and she’d be in touch.’

Monitoring her father’s face now, anxious on his behalf, Bel sighed. After more than a year of financial problems, he could well have done without this latest worry.

Now, as the meeting continued, her attention gradually drifted away from business matters, and she found herself remembering those extraordinary blue-grey eyes that had looked into hers.

With a shiver of something akin to apprehension, she recalled the flame that had sprung to life in their smoky depths as he’d studied her face, and her own instinctive response to that sexual challenge.

He must have been tall, over six feet, but apart from his eyes, and an impression of lean toughness, she had no real idea what he looked like.

Remembering the feel of his lips on hers, and still feeling flustered and angry, she went hot all over. Though the contact had been fleeting, there had been nothing in the least diffident about his kiss. It had seemed like a declaration of intent, a statement of impending ownership…

Oh, don’t be ridiculous! she told herself sharply. It could only have been an impulse on his part. He’d seen a chance and taken it. Nothing more or less.

But the thing she found most incredible, and disturbing, was that a perfect stranger she probably wouldn’t even recognise if she saw again had been able to affect her so strongly.

In an effort to banish the memory, Bel stared at the diamond solitaire on her engagement finger. If Roderick knew what she was thinking and feeling, he would be astounded.

Just the other night, when she’d called a halt to his lovemaking, he’d said, his smile a shade rueful, ‘You always manage to stay cool and in control. Don’t you find it hard?’

A little guiltily she’d realised it wasn’t hard at all. She found it easy.

Too easy?

Concerned, she’d asked him, ‘You don’t think I’m really cold, do you?’

He’d answered, ‘No, my sweet, I don’t. No one with a mouth like yours could be cold. I just think you know the value of chastity, to use an old-fashioned word, and that makes you very special and precious.’

For a while Bel managed to keep her mind safely on her fiancé, but soon her recalcitrant thoughts strayed to the disconcerting stranger once more.

Scared of the effect that brief encounter still had on her, she told herself it was a relief to know they would never meet again.

Yet somehow, despite the fact that she knew he spelt danger, it felt more like regret.

When the board meeting finally ended, and the directors, talking amongst themselves, had filed out, Bel turned to her father and asked, ‘Sure you won’t change your mind and come to Kent this weekend?’

‘Quite sure.’ Patting her hand reassuringly, he added, ‘I prefer to be in London in case Ellen tries to contact me…Is Roderick picking you up?’

‘He’s out of town on business, so as soon as I’ve showered and changed I’m driving down.’

‘Well, you’d better get off home, then. See if you can beat the rush hour.’

‘Promise me you won’t spend the weekend worrying.’

‘Indeed I won’t,’ he said, a shade too heartily. ‘As long as Ellen hangs onto those shares there’s not that much to worry about.’

‘You’ll let me know if you hear from her?’

‘Of course.’

The house Bel lived in was on the corner of a tree-shaded square less than fifteen minutes’ walk from the office. Number ten Clorres Place, which was fronted by black spiky railings, had been divided into three self-contained flats.

Bel had the basement.

Having descended the wrought-iron steps to a paved area brightened by tubs of flowers and a long windowbox overflowing with orange nasturtiums, she let herself into the small, white-walled flat and kicked off her smart court shoes.

After a cool, refreshing shower, leaving her long hair loose, she changed into a navy sleeveless dress and flatheeled sandals.

These days she seldom wore high heels. Roderick was a bare inch taller than her five feet seven, and she had discovered quite early in their relationship that he hated to be loomed over.

Her weekend case was packed and waiting. She collected it and, after walking round the corner to a sidestreet which bore the sign ‘Tenants Only Parking’, got into her white Cavalier.

She was ahead of the Friday afternoon rush hour and her journey out of London was comparatively easy. While she drove she considered the coming weekend.

Roderick, an only son, backed by the Bentinck family money, was in banking. He owned a bachelor pad in the City but, having no great liking for town life, preferred to escape into the country from Friday until Sunday.

His parents, who were always delighted to see Bel, had given her an open invitation, and after she had become engaged to Roderick she had usually accompanied him.

Her father had occasionally been persuaded to join them on what, apart from the odd game of tennis, were essentially peaceful, relaxing weekends.

But on this occasion, because it was the Bentincks’ fortieth wedding anniversary the following day, there was to be a weekend get-together. It was due to begin with a Friday evening party to welcome both visiting relatives and guests.

Bel had been looking forward to it until the previous day, but now worry cast something of a blight.

As soon as the Cavalier drew up on the paved apron in front of the mellow creeper-covered walls, Daphne Bentinck, a slight woman with grey hair curling around a cheerful face, came out to greet her.

‘How lovely to see you!’ she exclaimed as Bel got out of the car.

Defying the heat in a mauve twin-set and pearls, she gave her future daughter-in-law a quick hug before rattling on in her usual non-stop, staccato fashion.

‘Roderick isn’t home yet, I’m afraid, and I have to pop into the rectory. Such a nuisance. But you won’t mind taking care of yourself, will you? You’re in the rose room as usual.

‘I’ve left the front door open for you. Leave your car where it is; Thomas will move it later. Tell Maggie to make you a pot of tea and some sandwiches to tide you over. Must dash…’

She trotted off at speed towards an elderly Bentley parked in front of a stable block long since converted into garages.

Smiling, Bel took her case from the car and, leaving the keys in the ignition, made her way to the house.

As she entered the long, oak-panelled hall Margaret McDougal appeared and asked cheerfully, ‘You’ll be wanting some tea?’

‘I’d love a cup. When I’ve put my case in my room I’ll come down to the kitchen, if you like, and save your legs.’

As soon as Bel reached the pleasant, familiar room, with its rose-patterned wallpaper and light fashionable furniture, she unpacked and made sure the present she was carrying was safe.

A Jesse Harland figurine to add to Daphne and Roger Bentinck’s priceless collection, it was simple and oddly moving—a boyish figure of a young girl in jeans, the head tilted slightly, the gaze shy but steady.

Roderick had suggested that, to get the maximum effect, instead of having it gift-wrapped it should simply appear on the Bentincks’ breakfast table the following morning, and she had agreed.

Putting it carefully on the dressing table, Bel went to wash her hands and run a comb through her hair before making her way down to the huge kitchen.

On the oak table, large enough to have graced a medieval banqueting hall, Maggie had set out a tray with a freshly brewed pot of tea, a plate of dainty sandwiches and a selection of home-made cake.

‘That looks wonderful,’ Bel said appreciatively.

‘Then sit yourself down.’

‘Won’t you have a cup with me?’ Bel asked.

‘Aye, I might that.’

Maggie filled two cups with the steaming amber liquid, and the women sipped in amicable silence.

Peckish, after a salad lunch, and with no need to calorie-count to keep her slim figure, Bel ate a couple of the sandwiches and a piece of cake. She was on her second cup of tea when the door opened and Roderick came in.

Though he couldn’t be termed handsome, be was a pleasant-looking man, with fine brown hair, a thin, intelligent face and clear hazel eyes.

His small features, slightly sloping shoulders, and neat hands and feet made him appear somewhat prissy.

Which he wasn’t

He was open-minded, humorous, and excellent company, and Bel had liked him since they’d met at a business conference early in the spring.

‘So there you are.’ He stooped to kiss her cheek. ‘I saw the car, and when you were nowhere about I thought you must have gone for a walk or something.’

Dropping into the seat Maggie had vacated, he asked, ‘I take it you saw Mother? Did she tell you she’s had to invite Suzy for the weekend?’

Without waiting for an answer to either question, he went on, ‘It was a bit awkward, as her parents are two of our oldest friends. When they were invited, it was understood that Suzy would still be abroad. But she came home yesterday, and Mother had no option but to extend the invitation to her. I hope you don’t mind?’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Bel told him, while admitting silently that she would have preferred the other girl to be safely abroad.

It wasn’t so much that she didn’t like Suzy, as that Suzy didn’t like her.

Barely eighteen, and spoilt rotten, the pretty, petite redhead hero-worshipped Roderick and had been devastated when she’d lost out to another woman.

Unable to control her tongue or her spite, she had made one weekend visit very uncomfortable. Sensibly, Bel had ignored all the gibes and, refusing to enter the fray, had done her best to keep the peace.

But she wasn’t looking forward to a rematch, especially with a houseful of strangers for an audience.

Clearly concerned that that shouldn’t happen, Roderick added carefully, ‘I have every intention of having a straight talk with her as soon as she gets here. I’m fond of Suzy, we’ve known each other all our lives, but I won’t have you upset or my parents’ anniversary spoiled.’

By eight o’clock that Friday evening most of the guests had arrived and been made welcome, including Suzy and her doting middle-aged parents.

It soon appeared that Roderick had been as good as his word, for when the redhead, looking both older and younger than her years in a black satin mini-dress, joined the party, she gave her rival a small, tight smile and then a wide berth.

Which suited Bel just fine.

Wearing a white dress with shoestring straps and a full skirt, her flawless skin a pale gold, her ash-blonde hair in a shining coil on top of her head, Bel looked lovely—cool and elegant and poised.

Her fiancé, debonair in evening dress, showed her off to his friends and members of the family she hadn’t yet met with undisguised pride.

A serve-yourself bar and buffet had been set up in the large conservatory and, the evening being fine and warm, there was dancing on the lantern-lit terrace.

Bel was busy enjoying the evening, and with the party atmosphere drinking more champagne than she was used to, when she felt an uncomfortable prickle of awareness, and sensed that someone was watching her.

Lifting her gleaming head, she glanced around.

A short distance away, his back to the light, a tall, well-built man in immaculate evening dress was standing, his eyes fixed on her.

She saw his hair was crisp and dark, but his face was in shadow. Even so, she was sure there was something about him…something oddly familiar…

As the thought crossed her mind his white teeth flashed in a smile. ‘How nice to see you again so soon.’ His voice was low and intimate, slightly husky. ‘Come and dance with me.’

Before Bel could gather her scattered wits, he had drawn her into the throng of dancers.

He was a good six inches taller than she was, Bel noted abstractedly, with shoulders wide as a barn door and narrow hips.

‘I really don’t…’ The protest died on her lips as they moved into the light and she saw his handsome, strongboned face, with its chiselled mouth, well-marked brows and thickly-lashed eyes.

Eyes that, ever since they’d looked into hers that lunchtime, had haunted her.

Though she felt as if she’d fallen down a lift shaft, somehow her legs kept moving to the rhythm of the slow foxtrot. In a strangled voice, she exclaimed, ‘You! What are you doing here?’

He looked sardonically amused. ‘I was invited.’

‘Your being here is too much of a coincidence.’ Gazing into that lean, compellingly attractive face, she spoke her confused thoughts aloud.

‘Not at all,’ he corrected calmly. ‘Our meeting in the restaurant was a coincidence. This one was carefully planned.’

‘I really don’t know what you mean…’ What had been intended as a cool put-down somehow sounded merely petulant. Taking a deep breath, she went on more hardily, ‘But I do know you have no right to kiss me like—’

He bent and covered her mouth with his, stopping the indignant flow of words and sending her head spinning. ‘Like that?’

His kiss, though brief, had been shattering, and even when her lips were free again, her head continued to spin for a moment.

As it cleared she caught a glimpse of Suzy’s startled gaze fixed on her, before the redhead and her partner were lost amongst the other dancers.

Scared, both of this man’s arrogant demonstration of possessiveness and her own helpless reaction to it, Bel stopped dancing and made an effort to pull herself free.

He merely tightened his hold.

‘Let me go,’ she said in a fierce undertone.

‘I want to talk to you. But first we’ll get away from this crowd.’

Clasping her right wrist, he led her down the terrace steps and across the smooth expanse of gently sloping lawn to a wooden bench beyond the range of the lanterns.

She should have resisted, even if it meant making a scene, but, knocked completely off balance, her common sense swamped by too much champagne, she found herself going without further protest.

It was a glorious evening—the sky a clear dark blue pricked with stars, a pale, shining disc of moon hanging like an angel’s cradle just above the treetops. The air was warm, soft as velvet, perfumed with honeysuckle and gillyflowers and the sharper, lemony scent of geraniums.

But, finding it difficult to breathe, all Bel was conscious of was the man who was holding her so lightly but inexorably.

Sitting on the bench, he drew her down beside him.

In spite of the background of lights and music, she felt curiously alone, isolated, as if no one else existed.

His handsome eyes silver in the moonlight, her captor studied her face with an unnerving scrutiny.

His long fingers still held her wrist and, knowing he must be aware of her racing pulse, she strove for calm. But her usual self-possession had deserted her entirely.

As though he knew exactly how he affected her, and was pleased, he smiled and said softly, ‘Without that air of cool composure you’re even more bewitching.’

Ignoring the compliment, she demanded, ‘Who are you?’ and was annoyed to find she sounded as agitated as she felt. ‘Are you a friend of Roderick’s?’

‘A business acquaintance…Andrew Storm.’

‘Andrew Storm,’ she repeated slowly. ‘Somehow it suits you.’ Once again she spoke her thoughts aloud.

‘And your name suits you, ma belle.’

Wondering how he knew her name, presuming Roderick must have mentioned it, she shook her head. ‘I was christened Annabel, but it was always shortened to Bel.’

His free hand came up to touch her cheek. Flinching away from that caressing touch, and trying desperately to find some stable ground, she said jerkily, ‘I’m Roderick’s fiancée. We’re getting married in October.’

‘Really?’ He sounded as if he doubted it.

To add weight to the declaration, she lifted her left hand and displayed her engagement ring.

‘Why did you choose a diamond?’

‘I didn’t. Roderick chose it.’

With a shake of his head, Andrew Storm dismissed the solitaire. ‘A diamond is too cold. You need the warmth of a topaz, or the green fire of an emerald. Beneath that air of cool reserve there’s a passionate woman…’

Startled by his assertion, striving to sound amused, derisive, she queried, ‘Do you think so?’

His arm went around her. ‘Would you like me to prove it, Bel?’

‘No!’

‘Scared?’

Terrified. ‘No, I’m not scared. But I am Roderick’s fiancée.’

He shrugged, discounting the fact as coolly as he’d discounted the ring. ‘So you’ve just told me. How long have you been engaged?’

‘Three months.’

‘Do you and Bentinck sleep together?’

The question took her by surprise. ‘That’s none of your business,’ she said indignantly.

‘It could be relevant to our discussion,’ he pointed out coolly. ‘If you do—’

‘We don’t.’ The moment the words were out she could have bitten her tongue, realising she’d fallen into his trap.

He laughed softly at her discomfort.

Knowing she must put an end to this dangerous têteà-tête, she gathered herself and, jumping to her feet, said abruptly, ‘I’d like to go back to the party.’

Rather to her surprise he rose and, with an air of satisfaction, as though he’d achieved his object, agreed, ‘Very well.’

Tucking her hand through his arm, he walked her back to the terrace, where lantern-light took the place of moonlight and the party was still going strong.

There was no sign of Roderick.

‘Have you eaten yet?’ Andrew Storm queried, steering her to one of the small empty tables.

Her only wish to get away, she shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’ A shade desperately, she added, ‘In fact I’m about ready for bed. I didn’t get much sleep last night.’

As though he knew exactly what had kept her awake and restless, Bel’s companion suggested smoothly, ‘Worried about something?’

Apart from the few who had to know, her father wanted news of any attempted take-over kept under wraps. Hurriedly she shook her head. ‘I expect it was this heatwave. I’m hot now…’

‘Then I’ll get you a drink. Some champagne perhaps?’

The thought of a drink was welcome, but she was not a lover of alcohol and she’d had more than enough for one night. ‘I’d prefer a fruit juice, please.’

Watching his broad back disappear into the throng, Bel cursed the ingrained good manners that had prevented her from saying a firm no thank you, and walking away.

Though she could come to no harm here, in the midst of all these people, Andrew Storm was the most disturbing, dangerous man she had ever met, and she felt wrung out.

One of the guests she’d been chatting to earlier said, ‘Roderick has been looking for you. He wondered if you’d gone to bed.’

‘Oh…’ Bel felt herself flushing. ‘I’ve been in the garden. Perhaps I’d better go and find him.’

But even as she started to rise Andrew Storm was back, carrying a jug of iced fruit juice and two glasses, which he proceeded to fill.

‘I chose the tropical. I hope that’s all right?’

‘Oh, yes, fine, thank you.’ The concoction was cool and refreshing, and she drank thirstily before remarking, ‘Something tastes quite strong.’

Taking a sip of his own, he considered. ‘The mango? Or possibly the lime?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Finishing the juice, she said awkwardly, ‘Well, I’d better go, Roderick has been looking for me.’

Andrew refilled her glass. ‘There’s quite a crowd still milling about, but if you sit here for a while he’s bound to find you. Or are you scared of me?’

‘Why on earth should I be?’ She managed to sound coolly amused.

He smiled a little, but said nothing.

Picking up her glass, she remarked, ‘You said you were a business acquaintance of Roderick’s…’

Having accepted the challenge, it seemed safer to take the initiative and make polite conversation while they finished their drinks. Then, if Roderick hadn’t ap peared, she could go in search of him without losing face.

‘Do you live in London?’

‘I have an apartment on Park Lane,’ Andrew Storm answered smoothly.

If he lived on Park Lane he certainly had money. Lots of money. Was it possible to be wealthy, successful, stunningly attractive and still single at his age? He must be in his early thirties…

‘Are you married?’ The question was out before she could prevent it.

‘Is that a proposal?’ he enquired interestedly.

Feeling gauche, and cursing her wayward tongue, she said as calmly as possible, ‘As you well know, I intend to marry Roderick.’

‘Pity. I’m firmly convinced that you and I are much better suited…And, in case you want to change your mind, I’m not married and never have been.’

In no mood for jokes, starting to feel a bit dizzy, she made an effort to gather her wits and get back on track. ‘Are you a banker?’

‘I own a merchant bank. Though I would class myself as a businessman rather than a banker.’

‘What line of business are you in?’

‘You could say I have varied and worldwide interests.’

She watched while he topped up her glass again, and, her words slightly slurred, asked, ‘Such as?’

His excellent teeth gleamed in a smile. ‘An oil well in Texas, a champagne house at Épernay, an opal mine in Coober Pedy, and an electronics company just outside Rome…Amongst other things.’

‘How interesting.’ For some reason she found it difficult to get her tongue round the word ‘interesting’, and her head began to droop, too heavy for her slender neck.

‘You’re looking rather tired,’ he observed solicitously.

Enunciating with great care, she said, ‘I am tired.’ Swallowing the last of her drink, she rose unsteadily. ‘Must say goodnight to Roderick…’

Andrew was on his feet and by her side. ‘He’s nowhere to be seen. Neither are our host and hostess.’

‘Oh…’ She swayed a little.

He put a steadying arm around her waist. ‘I was thinking of turning in myself. I’ll see you upstairs. Which room are you in?’

‘The rose room.’

‘Ah…That’s convenient. I’m in the jasmine room, which I believe is just next door.’

Blinking at him owlishly, she asked, ‘Are you staying the weekend?’

‘I’m staying for tonight, at least. If everything goes according to plan I shall probably leave for town in the morning…’

As he spoke he was steering her through the remaining revellers and, proving his familiarity with the house, taking the shortest way up the back stairs.

Opening her bedroom door, he paused, half supporting her, and bent to cover her mouth with his. Tiredness rolling over her in dizzying waves, washing away all her inhibitions, she clung to him while he kissed her.

She was still clinging blindly to him when he raised his head and, unwinding her arms from around his neck, pushed her gently into the rose room.

CHAPTER TWO

BEL came back to consciousness slowly, painfully, mouth desert-dry, head pounding like a trip-hammer.

Unwilling to wake, reluctant to face the day, she kept her eyes closed tightly. Surely it wasn’t morning yet?

But it was undoubtedly morning. She could see the sunlight like a red haze and feel the warmth on her face and eyelids.

While her brain stirred into confused life her eyes remained shut against the light that threatened to dazzle her.

She felt terrible! Headachy and nauseous.

Was she suffering from flu? A migraine?

Whichever, and though proud of her full attendance record, she seriously doubted if she could make it into work today.

Maybe it was a weekend? she thought hopefully.

An attempt to remember proved unsuccessful. She hadn’t the faintest notion what day it was.

Had she felt ill the previous evening?

With no recollection of the previous evening, or of going to bed, she couldn’t answer that.

But wasn’t she at the Bentincks’? Wasn’t it their ruby wedding anniversary?

Yes, there had been a Friday night party…Dancing…Champagne…Too much champagne? She didn’t drink much as a rule…

It had been silly of her to drink more than one glass of champagne on an empty stomach, but she had never envisaged such drastic results.

So how had she got to bed?

Perhaps Roderick had rescued her? She only hoped her state hadn’t been too obvious. While he was broadminded where other people were concerned, he wouldn’t like his fiancée making a spectacle of herself in front of his parents’ guests.

Nor would she!

The thought that she might have looked or acted inebriated made her feel even worse, and she moaned aloud.

‘Feeling rough?’ a sympathetic male voice asked, close to her ear.

Her eyes flew open.

Blinded by the sun streaming through the window, for a moment Bel could see nothing but brightness, then, as her vision adjusted, a lean, attractive face, the jaw rough with morning stubble, came into focus.

His brows were well-marked, his nose strong, almost aquiline, and above a squarish chin he had the most beautiful mouth she’d ever seen on a man.

He was lying beside her, propped on one elbow, a sheet pulled up to his middle. His muscular shoulders and tanned chest, with its sprinkling of crisp dark hair, were bare.

So, undoubtedly, was the rest of him.

As she gaped brilliant eyes between thick, sooty lashes smiled into hers.

Bel sat up with a jerk. She too was naked, her pale, silky hair tumbling over smooth shoulders and small, beautifully shaped pink-tipped breasts.

His appreciative gaze strayed over her and lingered on her mouth. ‘You’re even lovely first thing in the morning with a hangover.’ He leaned closer, as if to kiss her.

She recoiled and, pushing back the sheet, attempted to get out of bed. The sudden movement sent her head spinning and made her sink back against the pillows with a groan.

It wouldn’t have been quite so bad if the man beside her had been the man she was going to marry, but for it to be Andrew Storm…!

The full horror of the situation was just beginning to dawn on her when, without warning, the bedroom door was flung open, and Suzy, wearing a short tennis dress, erupted into the room, Roderick at her heels.

‘There! What did I tell you?’ No one could have doubted the redhead’s malicious triumph, while Roderick, still in his maroon cotton pyjamas, stood as if stunned, his eyes popping, his jaw slack.

There was a terrible silence before, his voice anguished, Roderick demanded of Bel, ‘How could you?’

When, her oval face white as paper, her throat blocked, she only stared at him in abject misery, a hard flush of colour appeared along his cheekbones and he cried furiously, ‘Get out! Go on, get out of my parents’ house, the pair of you!’

He was turning to follow Suzy when Andrew said calmly, ‘Just a minute.’ Reaching across Bel, his arm brushing her bare breasts, he picked up an object from the bedside cabinet and, a look of quiet satisfaction on his dark face, tossed it across to the other man. ‘You’d better have this back.’

Only when Bel looked from the glittering object in Roderick’s palm to her own bare hand did she realise it was her engagement ring. She must have taken it off, sober enough to feel some sense of shame.

Thrusting the ring into his pocket, Roderick had swung on his heel when he caught sight of the Jesse Harland figurine on the dressing table.

As he picked it up, guessing his intention, Bel cried in horror, ‘Oh, no! Please don’t!’

But, ignoring her appeal, he hurled it savagely against the wall, shattering it into a dozen pieces.

Covering her face with her hands, Bel burst into tears just as the door slammed shut behind him.

As though it was the most natural thing in the world, Andrew took her in his arms and held her close, cradling her head against his broad chest while she wept unrestrainedly.

For a while her response to his tenderness, to the strength of his arms and the soothing murmur of his low, attractive voice, was total.

Then, horrified by the dawning realisation that she was accepting comfort from the man who, by taking advantage of her stupidity, was largely responsible for the situation, she managed to choke back the tears and wrench herself free.

Her pounding head protesting at the violence of the movement, she moaned, pressing slim fingers to her temples.

‘You need something for that hangover.’

When Andrew swung his feet to the floor and reached for his clothes, even through her distress and discomfort Bel saw that his naked, bronzed body was lithe and graceful, with a masculine beauty that drew and held her attention and made her oddly breathless.

Pulling on his trousers and tucking his unbuttoned shirt into the waistband, he headed for the door, saying over his shoulder, ‘I’ll only be a minute.’

As if he’d had the remedy to hand, he reappeared almost immediately, shaking a sachet of something that looked like sugar granules into a tooth glass half full of water.

‘Drink that,’ he instructed. ‘It’s not particularly palatable but it will lift your head and settle your stomach in no time at all.’

She obeyed, grimacing at the revoltingly bittersweet saltiness of the effervescent concoction.

Taking the empty glass, he added briskly, ‘Now I suggest you shower and dress. I’ll go and do the same, then we’ll get the hell out of here. We can stop for some breakfast on the way.’

The very thought of food made Bel’s stomach turn over sickeningly.

His glance knowing, sympathetic, he assured her, ‘In an hour or so you’ll be able to tackle a plateful of bacon and eggs.’

‘I doubt it,’ she muttered. ‘I don’t have that kind of breakfast normally.’

‘Then you’ll need to get into training,’ he said quizzically. ‘I love bacon and eggs, and sharing pleasures is part of the fun of living.’

Before she had time to take in and react to the mocking arrogance of that statement, the door had closed quietly behind him.

She stifled a groan. How could he seem so lighthearted in such an intolerable situation? Being caught in bed with his host’s fiancée and ordered out of the house was hardly something to be proud of.

Yet he seemed positively triumphant.

Feeling like death, shaken to the core by the backlash of Roderick’s anger and her own culpability, Bel stared into space with sightless eyes.

It hardly seemed possible that a weekend she’d looked forward to with such pleasure could have ended so ignominiously.

For a while she stayed where she was, her head in her hands, her mind in utter confusion, unable to untangle and deal with the immediate problems, let alone the wider implications.

Then, knowing some action was needed, she got out of bed and, on legs that seemed unwilling to support her, made her groggy way to the bathroom.

By the time she had cleaned her teeth and showered the potion was working and, physically at least, she was starting to feel somewhat better.

She had donned a cotton dress and sandals and was pinning her hair into a smooth coil when, with a perfunctory knock, Andrew returned.

He had showered and shaved and his crisp dark hair was a little damp. He was dressed in well-cut casual clothes and carrying an overnight grip.

‘About ready to go, Bel?’ he asked as she pushed in the last hairpin.

‘I still have to pack,’ she said helplessly. ‘And I can’t just walk out without seeing Roderick’s parents and trying to explain…to explain how…’ She faltered to a halt.

‘How you came to sleep with one of their guests?’ Dropping his grip by the door, he watched the hot colour pour into her face before adding wryly, ‘I hardly think an explanation will help matters.’

He was right, of course.

Her voice sounding flat, beaten, she said with what composure she could muster, ‘In any case I won’t be leaving with you. I’ve got my own car here.’

‘My dear girl, you’re in no fit state to drive. I’ll take you back to town and arrange to have your car picked up.’

As he spoke he was opening drawers and tossing her belongings into her small suitcase with cool efficiency.

Zipping it shut, he put a hand at her waist and urged her towards the door, sidestepping neatly to avoid a shard of porcelain.

‘Why did the fact that Bentinck vented his anger on the figurine upset you so much?’ he queried, glancing down at the broken pieces.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she told him, ‘It was a Jesse Harland original I’d bought for his parents. I thought it was beautiful.’

Andrew nodded without comment, then, taking both bags in one hand, he closed the door behind them and, an arm around Bel’s waist, propelled her along the corridor.

Ignoring the back stairs, he turned towards the main staircase, saying firmly, ‘Keep your head high. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.’

If only that were true!

Her chin up, a flag of bright colour flying in each cheek, she allowed herself to be escorted down the stairs, across the hall and out of the front door.

To her very great relief they met nobody.

Andrew’s sleek blue Jaguar was parked in front of the stable block, and in less than a minute they were purring through the pleasant Kent countryside.

Bel took in nothing of the scenery. Gazing blindly through the windscreen, all she could see in her mind’s eye was a replay of her wakening to find him beside her, and the ugly little scene that had followed.

As though giving her a chance to come to terms with what had happened and regain her equilibrium, apart from an occasional glance at her pale, set face, her companion drove without speaking.

Just outside Mitford he stopped at the King’s Head for something to eat. It was still quite early, and the clean, comfortable bar was empty. Bel took a seat on an upholstered bench in front of the open casement windows.

When he’d slipped off his corduroy jacket, Andrew sat down beside her. He was wearing a short-sleeved navy silk shirt, and his tanned arms were smoothly muscular, with just a sprinkling of dark hair.

He was much too close for comfort and, her breathing already impeded, Bel was careful not to let her own arm brush against his as they drank the excellent coffee.

Neither spoke, and, though conscious that Andrew watched her every move, as though trying to deny his existence, Bel avoided looking at him.

When breakfast arrived, Bel averted her eyes from the plateful of food set in front of her, her appetite nonexistent

‘Try to eat a little,’ her companion urged. ‘You won’t feel yourself again until you’ve got something inside you.’

She was doubtful if she would ever feel herself again. But, realising he was probably right, she picked up her knife and fork and cut into a piece of crisply grilled bacon.

Some twenty minutes later her plate was empty, and she was finishing a slice of crisp golden toast and tangy marmalade while Andrew poured fresh coffee for them both.

Young, fit and resilient, physically she was almost herself again, but her thoughts were still in chaos.

Watching her face, he observed, ‘What’s happened must still seem something of a nightmare?’ His voice was low and husky and sounded genuinely sympathetic.

But, unwilling to be dissected for what she told herself was his idle amusement, she said curtly, ‘As it’s a nightmare of my own making—’

He broke in swiftly, ‘Don’t blame yourself too much, Bel.’

‘So who should I blame?’ she demanded.

‘Me, if it makes you feel any better.’

‘It doesn’t. If I hadn’t drunk too much champagne in the first place…’

He frowned a little. ‘Drinking too much isn’t a crime. Nor is sleeping with someone.’

‘It may not be a crime, but it’s ruined Roderick’s life as well as my own.’

‘Rubbish!’ Andrew said decidedly. ‘My guess is that in less than six months he’ll have forgotten about you. The possessive redhead will make sure he does.’

‘She’ll certainly do her best,’ Bel agreed bleakly. And for the first time found herself wondering how Suzy had become involved.

Had the redhead seen Andrew accompany her into her room the previous night? If so, why hadn’t she alerted Roderick then, instead of waiting until Saturday morning?

There seemed to be only one answer. Suzy had wanted them to spend the night together, wanted to be sure there would be no grounds for forgiveness or reconciliation…

And in that she had succeeded admirably, Bel thought bitterly. Not only would Roderick never forgive her, but she would never forgive herself.

Watching her expressive face, Andrew asked quietly, ‘I suppose you must hate the girl?’

Bel shook her head wearily. ‘No, I don’t hate her. I can’t even blame her for seizing the opportunity. Suzy’s in love with Roderick and—’ She broke off abruptly as tears threatened.

Andrew made as if to put his arm around her, but she flinched away, frightened of his touch, muttering, ‘Keep your hands off me. You’ve done enough harm.’

His voice soothing, reasonable, he said, ‘When you’ve got over the shock, and had time to think, you’ll be willing to admit you’ve had a lucky escape.’

‘A lucky escape! I happen to love Roderick.’

‘Not passionately.’

‘Enough to want to spend the rest of my life with him.’

‘He’s not the man for you, Bel.’

‘In a minute you’ll be telling me you are!’

‘I don’t need to tell you. Your subconscious already knows. When we bumped into each other in that restaurant it was like a spark set to dynamite. Then when we met for a second time that same spark was there, burning fiercer than ever. That’s why you’re scared to let me touch you…why our night together was—’

Alarmed by the undoubted truth of his words, and the feeling that she was being relentlessly taken over, she broke in derisively, ‘Don’t tell me…our night together was wonderful!’

Eyes gleaming, he murmured, ‘So you do remember?’

‘I don’t remember a thing,’ she denied, her cheeks growing pink. ‘For all I know you could have raped me.’

‘I didn’t rape you,’ he said quietly.

‘But you did take advantage of me,’ she accused

‘I didn’t do anything you didn’t want me to do…’

Knowing the strength of her reaction to him when her barriers were up, and guessing what it must have been like with all her inhibitions gone, she found herself reluctantly believing him.

‘As I said before, you’re a very passionate woman…’

Bel had never thought of herself that way. She’d had boyfriends since her schooldays, but a certain inborn reserve, a natural self-respect, had prevented her from indulging in casual relationships.

Throughout college, having decided on a career in business rather than art, a determination to succeed had kept her mind on her work when most of her contemporaries were paying more attention to their love life.

‘How did you manage to hold out against Bentinck?’ Andrew pursued. ‘Or wasn’t he that pressing?’

‘Of course he was pressing!’ she exclaimed. ‘He’s a red-blooded man.’

Andrew raised a dark brow. ‘So in this day and age how come you didn’t sleep together?’

‘We wanted to wait until after we were married.’

‘Both of you? I get the feeling that you were the one who held back. That you were never seriously tempted…’

It was the truth, and she was unable to deny it. Perhaps, on her side at least, that vital spark Andrew had talked about had been missing from their relationship.

‘Isn’t that so?’ he persisted.

Cornered, she cried wrathfully, ‘I don’t want to discuss it.’

In no way fooled, Andrew smiled sardonically and observed, ‘It would have been a very dull marriage.’

‘How dare you presume that?’

Unruffled, he said, ‘As well as being one of the pleasures of life, good sex is an important part of any complete and happy relationship.’

‘It would have been good. We loved each other.’

‘I doubt if Bentinck ever took your breath away and made your heart beat faster. He would never have been able to lift you to the heights—’

‘I’ve already told you I don’t want to talk about Roderick,’ she broke in jerkily. ‘And I won’t sit here any longer and let you belittle our relationship!’

Only the damage was done.

Already Andrew had raised doubts, and Bel was even more furious to find herself wondering if she might have missed out had she gone ahead and married Roderick.

Contemplating Andrew’s long, lean and no doubt skilful hands, and his mouth—a mouth that sent shivers down her spine—with a strange pang, she realised that she’d also missed out on what would almost certainly have been the most exciting night of her life.

But what was she thinking of? She ought to be mourning the loss of her virginity to a total stranger rather than the inability to remember the experience!

Oh, but she had been right to put him down as dangerous, she thought agitatedly. In less than twenty-four hours he had taken her virginity, wrecked her engagement, dragged her pride in the dust and, worse, made her doubt her own wishes and desires.

Confused, angry both with him and with herself, she said raggedly, ‘Now we’ve had breakfast perhaps we can get on our way?’

‘Is there any reason to hurry back? We could spend a pleasant day in the country.’

He must be joking!

As she began to shake her head he added quizzically, ‘I’ll do my best to keep my hands off you.’

With a flash of her old spirit, she retorted, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you.’

He laughed. ‘Then the answer’s yes?’

‘The answer’s no!’ The last thing she wanted was to spend any more time with him. She needed to be alone, to think. More moderately, but no less determinedly, she added, ‘I want to get home.’

Appearing in no way put out, he rose to his feet, tall and broad-shouldered, overpoweringly male, and agreed, ‘Very well…Would you like to freshen up before we start?’

As they headed into London, mingling with the Saturday morning traffic, he made conversation, forcing her to talk rather than relapse into a brooding silence as she would have preferred.

Avoiding anything too personal, he asked her opinion on a variety of subjects and listened to her answers with intelligent interest, sometimes agreeing with her comments, sometimes putting forward a different point of view that provided grounds for argument.

Roderick had never been one for debating issues, valuing women for their beauty rather than their brains, and Bel found the no-quarter cut and thrust of the present discussion invigorating and absorbing. She was surprised when she realised they had reached Clones Place and were drawing up outside number ten.

But how had Andrew known where she lived? He hadn’t asked, and she was sure she hadn’t mentioned it.

Roderick must have told him.

Her exact address?

Unlikely as it seemed, it appeared to be the only explanation.

Or was there another, more threatening one? she wondered as, having surveyed the narrow, whitestuccoed, three-storey building, he slid from behind the wheel and came round to open her door. Was knowing where she lived part of some campaign?

Shaken by the notion, Bel was telling herself not to be a fool when all at once she recalled their conversation while they were dancing.

She’d said, ‘Your being here is too much of a coincidence…’

And he’d answered, ‘Our meeting in the restaurant was a coincidence. This one was carefully planned…’

Bel took a deep, uneven breath while every nerve in her body tightened in panic. Though she didn’t understand how he could possibly have planned it, or what his motives were, she knew beyond all shadow of a doubt that he was stalking her, intent on taking her over.

All at once she became aware that he was standing holding open the car door, waiting for her to make a move. Avoiding his proffered hand, she scrambled out and headed for the wrought-iron steps.

By the time he had taken her case from the boot and followed her down she had opened the black-painted door and turned, at bay.

His smile slightly mocking, he asked, ‘I take it you don’t intend to invite me in?’

Ignoring what she recognised as a ploy, she said with cool civility, ‘Thank you for bringing me home.’

‘My pleasure,’ he returned formally. Stooping to set her case down just inside the doorway, he added, ‘I’ll have Bridges pick up your car later this afternoon.’

‘Thank you.’ Remembering how she’d been welcomed on her arrival at the Bentincks’, Bel’s voice sounded hollow, and her face mirrored her desolation.

Watching her with his usual piercing regard, his voice casual but edged with an unmistakable concern, Andrew asked, ‘You’re sure you’ll be all right on your own?’

‘Don’t worry, suicide isn’t on the agenda.’

Hearing the bleakness beneath the flippancy, he frowned ‘In time things won’t seem so bad.’

‘You can save the platitudes!’ she snapped.

Unruffled, he observed, ‘It may seem a trite remark, but that doesn’t prevent it being the truth, Bel.’

At the end of her tether, she starred to close the door.

Holding it with his foot, he said, ‘I’ll drop by tomorrow and take you out to lunch.’

‘You needn’t bother,’ she told him sharply, too harassed to be gracious. ‘I don’t want to see you again.’

He spoke soothingly, as though to a child. ‘Perhaps after a good night’s sleep you’ll have changed your mind.’

‘No way!’

Smiling a little at her vehemence, he bent his dark head and kissed her lips. ‘We’ll see, shall we?’

A moment later he was ascending the steps with that easy masculine grace which seemed to characterise all his movements.

Though light, his kiss had had its usual earth-shattering effect, and she found she was trembling as she closed the door and leaned against it while she listened to his car drive away.

After a moment, knees still shaky, Bel made her way to the nearest chair and sank into it.

Andrew Storm had proved himself to be a determined man, and even if she kept the door locked tomorrow and refused to answer he could, and probably would, lay seige to the place…

Hands clenched into fists, she strove for calm. For the moment at least she was safe in her own home, and if he did lay siege to the place she’d just have to move in with her father for a while…

Her father… She groaned aloud. Somehow she had to tell him what had happened…No, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him everything; he’d be too shocked and ashamed…

But she must tell him something. And quickly. If he tried to get in touch with her at the Bentincks’…Galvanised into action, Bel picked up the receiver and dialled her father’s number.

He answered almost immediately, as if he’d been sitting over the phone, and she knew he had when he said, disappointment edging his voice, ‘Oh, I thought it might be Ellen.’

‘Then you haven’t heard from her?’

‘No, not yet. But you shouldn’t be worrying about business matters while you’re with Roderick.’

‘I’m not with Roderick,’ she broke in abruptly. ‘I’m back in town.’

‘Back in town? What on earth for? Surely you’re not—?’

‘I’m back in town because Roderick and I have split up. He has his ring back and our engagement’s over.’

‘Over?’ Her father sounded thunderstruck. ‘Are you sure it’s not just a storm in a teacup?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘What on earth did you quarrel about?’

‘Please, Dad…’ Suddenly she was close to tears, ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’

‘Very well,’ he said slowly. ‘But is there anything I can do? You sound terribly upset.’

‘Yes, I am,’ she admitted. ‘But there’s nothing anyone can do. I just need some time to collect myself. A breathing space.’

‘Then go away for a while. Leave all the hassle behind you. You’ve more than earned a break…’

She hadn’t had a proper holiday since joining the firm, working all out to consolidate her career, and this year her father had several times urged her to take one. But Roderick had been already committed to an allmale sailing trip in the West Indies, and she had felt little inclination to go away alone…

Now the thought of getting right away was a welcome one. Even more welcome than her father realised.

‘Why not go to Rome?’ he was suggesting. ‘The flat is empty—’ a pleasant second-floor flat was kept for any Grant Filey staff visiting the Rome offices, which were only a short walk away ‘—so you could see all the things you didn’t have a chance to see last time…’

She liked the idea. Her first visit to Rome, after being appointed European Marketing Director, had been a brief one, and there had been no opportunity to do any sightseeing.

‘Enjoy the ambience—’ her father was into his stride ‘—and find yourself a spot of la dolce vita. Make it a real holiday…’

Recalling the other dark cloud that hung on the horizon, Bel demurred, ‘I don’t like the idea of being away with the threat of a take-over looming.’

‘If I thought your being in London would make a scrap of difference I’d ask you to stay. But, as it won’t, I’d feel happier if you went. So for goodness’ sake go and practise your Italian.’

‘I think I just might.’ ‘Now you’re talking!’

‘I’ll try to get a flight out today.’ All at once she couldn’t wait to get away.

‘Being Saturday, the flights might be full, so if you don’t manage it we’ll have dinner together tonight. Ring me at the office. I’m going in for a couple of hours. There’s something I need to discuss with Harmen…’

After phoning several airlines, Bel was about to give up when she was lucky enough to find a single seat on a plane leaving for Rome that very afternoon.

Having no car, she rang for a taxi and, while she waited for it to arrive, demonstrated her state of mind by hauling out a large suitcase and throwing things into it with a disregard for order that would have horrified the old Bel.

Just as a knock signalled the arrival of her taxi, the phone rang. For a second she hesitated, wondering whether to ignore it. But it was probably her father. Snatching it up, she said, ‘Dad?’

‘No, it’s me.’

‘Ellen! Thank goodness! Where are you?’

‘I’m still in Paris.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘Hotel Colbert…it’s not far from the ChampsÉlysées. I’m having the most marvellous time—’

‘Have you been in touch with Dad?’ Bel broke in.

‘Not for a day or two.’

‘He needs to talk to you—’ Another knock cut through her words.

‘I’ll give him a ring,’ Ellen promised carelessly. ‘But I must tell you about Jean-Claude. He’s six feet tall and drop-dead handsome, with silvery blond hair and blue eyes. Honestly, Bel, he has to be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met, as well as having the sort of manners you only read about…’

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ Bel apologised, ‘but I can’t talk now.’

‘He’s invited me to his villa at Épernay—’

There was a louder knocking and a shout of, ‘Taxi!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Bel repeated, ‘but I have to go. I’ve a taxi waiting to take me to the airport.’

‘Where are you off to?’

‘Rome.’

‘Oh, business…’ Ellen said flatly.

‘No, this time it’s a holiday. And I really must fly. You won’t forget to ring Dad? If he’s not at home he’ll be in the office.’

‘No, I won’t forget. How long are you—?’

As well as being a scatterbrain, Ellen was an inveterate talker. Hardening her heart, Bel replaced the receiver and hurried to open the door.

Less than two hours later she was on the Saturday afternoon flight to Leonardo da Vinci Airport, hoping against hope that she might be leaving at least some of her troubles behind.

CHAPTER THREE

HEAVY-EYED after a restless night, Bel sat on the flower-filled balcony and ignored her breakfast while she gazed across the sunny piazza.

Somewhere close at hand a dog barked, and, above Rome’s background noise of traffic, Sunday church bells from all over the city called the faithful to mass, making what Bel, after her first visit, had described to Roderick as a melodious cacophony of sound.

At the thought of her former fiancé she had to bite her lip to stop the tears welling up. Poor Roderick. He dadn’t deserved to be hurt and humiliated in that way.

Not even the fact that she’d drunk too much could excuse the stupidity and wantonness of her behaviour, and it was the realisation of what he and his parents must think of her that hurt most. There was one thing to be devoutly thankful for, though: she had successfully escaped Andrew Storm.

Refusing to consider why the unmitigated relief she should have felt was somehow mingled with a kind of unreasonable depression, she wondered how long he would keep calling at her empty flat before he finally got the message that she had no intention of ever seeing him again.

Probably not long. He wasn’t the sort of man who would waste his time.

Despite the warmth of the sun she shivered, and, making an effort to banish the image of that strongboned, ruthless face from her mind, began to eat her breakfast.

As soon as she’d finished the fresh rolls and fruit pressed on her by Signora Paplucci, the plump, smiling wife of the mustachioed custode di casa, Bel tried again to ring her father but no one answered.

She’d also tried to phone him when she’d arrived at the flat the previous evening, only to find she was unable to get through because of a fault on the line.

By the time Bel was ready to go out, wearing a silky skirt and button-through camisole top with spaghetti straps, it was almost mid-morning.

Armed with camera and a map, she made her way down the cool marble steps, across the bare dimness of the entrance hall and out into the bright oven-heat of Rome.

Being Sunday, the shops on the Via Cordotti were closed, and the picturesque buildings, with their peeling shutters and flaking ochre stucco, had a deserted air.

A bus-load of camera-hung tourists, already pink and perspiring in the hot sun, strolled along the narrow pavements while pairs of local youths, riding motor scooters that sounded like enraged hornets, turned the smooth cobblestones of the roadway into a racetrack.

Bel was enjoying the colourful scene when a sudden wrench on the strap of her shoulder-bag made her stumble and fall, grazing her elbows and knees and sending her sunglasses flying.

Scrambling up, dazed and dazzled, she glimpsed a tall, dark-haired man dressed in fawn trousers and a two-tone shirt sprinting after the last pair of scooter riders, who were making off with her bag.

As he drew level he seized the man by the scruff of the neck and hauled him off the scooter, which, after one drunken swerve, kept going.

The ensuing scuffle was brief but fierce. A moment later a blow to the jaw had sent the burly youth sprawling on the pavement and the tall dark man was returning with her bag. A man who was no stranger.

‘Are you all right?’ Andrew demanded urgently.

When she merely goggled at him, he repeated the question, stooping to retrieve her sunglasses and hand them, and her bag, to her.

Somehow she found her voice and stammered, ‘Y-yes, I’m quite all right,’ just as rapidly retreating footsteps indicated that the youth was making good his escape.

The passersby who had seen what was taking place and had stopped to stare began to walk on, and the next second it was as if nothing untoward had happened.

His eyes travelling over her with the proprietorial air that was becoming only too familiar, Andrew remarked, ‘You’ve cut your knee.’

Removing a spotless white handkerchief from his trouser pocket, he crouched on his haunches to stanch the warm trickle of blood that was running down her slim tanned leg.

Staring at the top of his dark head, she wondered with a kind of stunned disbelief what he was doing in Rome, and how, in a city of over three million inhabitants, she’d been unlucky enough to run into him.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.