“No strings.” His eyes moved over her face. “No commitment.” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE Copyright

“No strings.” His eyes moved over her face. “No commitment.”

He didn’t have to keep spelling it out as if she were some dewy-eyed teenager. She hadn’t thought for one moment that he felt anything more for her than a transitory physical desire.

“You haven’t slept with anyone since Simon, have you?”

“That is none of your damn business!” Regardless of her response, he was the one who had instigated the kiss, not her. And he was the one who had drawn back first, a taunting little voice reminded her.

“No, it isn’t,” he agreed. “Would you like your strawberries now?” He glanced over a broad shoulder. “I’ve some ice cream in the freezer.”

“Give mine to the twins,” she said curtly.

“What do you want me to do?” he said quietly, his eyes moving over her rigid face. “Apologize for kissing you?”

“Don’t be so ridiculous.”

“Or apologize for not taking you to bed?”

“I don’t want a casual, meaningless affair with you, and I certainly don’t want anything more, if that’s what you’re so terrified of,” she said steadily, her eyes never wavering from his. “But I had hoped we might be friends. I was wrong,” she concluded simply, and started to walk toward the door.

Rosemary Gibson was born in Egypt. She spent the early part of her childhood in Greece and Vietnam, and now lives in the New Forest. She has had numerous jobs, ranging from working with handicapped children and collecting litter, to being a gas-station attendant and airline ground hostess, but she has always wanted to be a writer. She was lucky enough to have her first short story accepted eight years ago and now writes full-time. She enjoys swimming, playing hockey, gardening and traveling.

Last Chance Marriage
Rosemary Gibson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

WEED or seedling? Trowel in her hand, Clemency crouched over the green shoots with thoughtful grey eyes. She’d scattered a packet of mixed annuals around about here in a fit of horticultural zeal last October, she recalled. Leave them alone and see what happens, she decided tranquilly, the spring sunshine glinting on her short copper curls multiplying the smattering of tiny freckles across her neat, straight nose. It was hotter than she’d realised. Dropping the trowel, she picked up the wide-brimmed sun hat that she’d discarded earlier and placed it firmly back on her head.

‘Dammit all, I moved down here to the country for some peace and quiet!’

Startled, Clemency rocked back on her heels and then realised that the deep, vehement male voice wasn’t addressing her, but issuing from the other side of the thick, high boundary hedge.

‘Peace!’ There was a loud, derisive snort. ‘I’ve been here barely one week and already every prying, interfering female in the village—no, the whole of Dorset—has been round...’

‘Now, stop exaggerating, Joshua, dear,’ a serene female voice broke in, adding musingly, ‘And I rather thought you moved here to be nearer to your father and I.’

‘Handing out advice, offering to babysit for the twins, suggesting I join this, that and the other club...’ There was the rhythmic sound of sawing.

‘They’re just being kind, dear. Welcoming you into the community.’

‘I have no desire to be part of the community, absolutely no desire to take up bell ringing, join the wine tasting circle, the gardening club or the local amateur dramatics association...’

Clemency raised her eyebrows, pushing the large sunglasses back on the bridge of her nose. The local societies would probably survive without him, she thought. Feeling a little uncomfortable eavesdropping, even though it wasn’t intentional, she tugged up a dandelion and rose to her feet, brushing off the mud from the knees of her jeans.

‘What’s your neighbour like?’ said the female voice.

Another disdainful snort. ‘Single. Chartered accountant. Works for a commercial bank in Poole.’

Clemency’s mouth curved as she tossed the dandelion into the bucket. The good old village grapevine.

‘No male in evidence. Compensates for her lack of social life by working long hours. Mid-twenties with her biological body clock beginning to start ticking.’

Well, really! Indignation and amusement warred for supremacy as Clemency picked up her trowel and bucket of weeds.

‘You’ve met her? That top branch looks dead too, dear.’

‘Not as such. She appeared on the doorstep yesterday morning with Jamie’s football. Why the hell she couldn’t have just tossed it back over the hedge...’

Clemency’s eyes sparked. Because she’d decided that it was about time she made some sort of welcoming gesture to her new neighbours, and also let them know that they were perfectly free to come and collect stray balls at any time.

‘I didn’t bother to answer the door and she left the ball on the front step.’

There was a little sigh. ‘You were always so polite as a boy, Joshua.’

‘And I saw her peeping at us from an upstairs window yesterday evening.’

She’d been closing her window, that was all, had done nothing more than glance into the next-door garden at the tall, dark-haired man playing cricket with two identical small boys. Pity that he’d chosen that precise minute to glance up. Clemency looked thoughtfully down at her trowel and decided regretfully that it might well miss the intended target.

‘Don’t you think you’re being a little arrogant, dear? Assuming every single woman has designs on you?’

Clemency’s eyes danced with repressed, delighted laughter.

‘It’s not me they have designs on. It’s the twins. I’m just part of the package.’ There was a fleeting note of self-mockery in the deep voice and then it hardened again. ‘The twins are not looking for a mother and I most certainly am not looking for a wife. This is an all-male household and that’s the way it intends staying.’

Clemency gave a muffled snort. What sane woman would want to infiltrate that household?

‘Yes, dear. When your father gets back from swimming with the twins, I should ask him to have a look at that wisdom tooth.’

‘Dad won’t want to go into his surgery on a Sunday afternoon. I’ll make an appointment with him for tomorrow.’

‘He was planning to go in anyway for a couple of hours to catch up on some paperwork, and you might be able to last out until tomorrow but I don’t know whether the rest of us can.’

There was a moment’s silence and then the stillness was broken by a rich, deep chuckle. ‘Have I been that impossible this morning?’

‘You haven’t exactly been suffering in silence,’ the gentle voice observed dryly, but the underlying affection was marked. ‘Shall I hold the ladder?’

Forewarned, Clemency had plenty of time to beat a hasty retreat, but refused to be driven out of her own garden and glanced up with a sunny smile as a dark head and wide, powerful shoulders appeared in her line of vision through the branches of the huge ash tree.

‘Hello,’ she began cheerfully, and stopped, her breath catching in her throat, the hairs stiffening on the back of her neck as she absorbed the hard, chiselled male features.

It couldn’t be him.

Slowly she expelled her breath, berating herself for her idiocy. Even after all these years, she thought wryly, the sudden glimpse of a well-shaped head, of a square, tenacious chin, a certain inflection in a deep male voice could still catch her completely off-guard, could still make some part of her leap in half-remembered recognition.

But of course this man wasn’t him. That other man belonged to the past, and she’d known that night they’d parted that she would never see him again.

Her eyes jerked upwards again. There was a slight facial resemblance, that was all, she convinced herself uneasily, but this man looked tougher, more formidable. His face could have been carved out of granite, gave nothing away, the hard, unyielding contours etched by a world-weary cynicism.

‘Clemency Adams,’ she introduced herself swiftly. Mid-thirties, she judged. It couldn’t be him, she denied again. It was impossible. He could not be her new neighbour. She wasn’t even sure how clear her recollection of him was any more, anyway. The image of the dark face still haunted her sleep sometimes but, when she woke with that inexplicable aching sense of loss, the image had blurred. Their time together had been so fleeting.

If he’d noticed her momentary agitation, he gave no indication of it, the blue eyes showing no more than idle curiosity as they swept speculatively down the length of her slight frame from the top of her sun hat, over the baggy pink T-shirt, to her sandalled feet with a dismissive assurance that made her stiffen with inexplicable resentment. He wasn’t sure whether she’d heard or not. Didn’t much care if she had.

‘Joshua Harrington,’ he returned crisply, the straight mouth unsmiling. The bare arms revealed by the short-sleeved blue shirt were as tanned as the strong, lean fingers holding the saw.

‘How are you settling in?’ she enquired blithely, her heart giving an uncomfortable thud. So that was his name. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy village life, being part of such a small, friendly, close-knit community.’

The corners of the firm mouth quirked, the unexpected smile transforming the harsh, forbidding face so dramatically that Clemency’s stomach turned an involuntary somersault, the terrible, unwelcome sense of familiarity gripping her again, this time leaving her in no doubt—it was him.

‘I’m sure I shall, Miss Adams,’ Joshua Harrington drawled, the amusement in the discerning blue eyes leaving her in no doubt that he knew she’d overheard his earlier tirade and was now deliberately baiting him.

‘Mrs Adams,’ Clemency corrected immediately, wondering why on earth she had done so. When she’d first moved to the village, to her intense relief, it had been generally assumed that she was unmarried. She’d neither confirmed nor denied the mistaken assumption, just grateful to be spared the necessity of explaining about Simon.

‘Mrs Adams,’ he repeated slowly, the blue gaze concentrated on her face with heart-stopping intensity, as if, for the first time, he was mentally stripping her of the camouflaging hat and sunglasses. His mouth suddenly tightened, his eyes narrowing as they lingered on the short copper curls peeping out from beneath the wide-brimmed hat, and then abruptly he turned away, the muscles in his shoulders tautening as he swiftly and efficiently began sawing through the rotten wood.

Averting her own gaze just as abruptly, Clemency pushed the wheelbarrow to the end of the garden to empty the contents. She’d corrected Joshua Harrington because being dismissed as a workaholic spinster had struck a raw nerve, she admitted slowly. Especially as there was more than a grain of truth in it.

Work, initially an antidote to Simon, had slowly come to dominate her entire life to the exclusion of all else, she reflected with uncomfortable honesty. She squared her small chin. Well, unlike her marriage, she was at least making a success of her career, had heard only on Friday that she’d been short-listed for the vacancy in the international audit team, invited for a second interview in London next week.

The chief attraction of the coveted post was the travel involved. Mostly in Europe, but with occasional trips to Canada, Australia and the Far East. A chance to see much of the world, all expenses paid. Determinedly Clemency tried to recapture the enthusiasm that had made her apply for the position in the first place but was aware only of a tiny, dull emptiness inside her. No one to miss her when she went overseas, no one to greet her rapturously when she returned from each trip.

Snap out of it, Clemency! She could block off Joshua Harrington’s words but it was impossible to dismiss the man himself.

Stretched out lazily on the lounger after a late lunch, she tried to concentrate on her novel, but the disturbing image of strong, assured male features seemed to be superimposed on every page. It was all too easy to understand how his advent in the village had made such an impact on the local female populace, she conceded uneasily, overwhelmingly grateful that she was now safely immune to all members of the male sex. Her stomach started to churn; her hands felt clammy. Had he recognised her? She squeezed her eyes shut. Was he divorced? Widowed?

‘Hello.’

Her eyes shot open. Two small boys, distinguishable only by the differing colours of their T-shirts, stood by the lounger, studying her solemnly.

‘Hello,’ she returned with equal gravity, pushing herself upright. About four years old, she hazarded. No, she thought, her stomach muscles constricting. She didn’t need to guess—knew almost to the week exactly how old Joshua Harrington’s sons were.

‘What are you doing?’ Red T-shirt enquired, removing a twig from his tousled dark hair.

Thinking about your daddy. ‘Reading,’ Clemency said firmly.

‘Why?’

She was momentarily nonplussed. ‘Because I like reading.’

‘I can read. What’s your name?’

‘Clemency. What’s your name?’

‘Jamie.’

‘I’m Tommy.’ Blue T-shirt chipped in, looking down admiringly at the grass stains on his jeans.

‘Does your daddy know where you are?’ Clemency asked gently. Silly question. She hardly imagined Joshua Harrington had passively watched his offspring tunnelling their way through the hedge into her garden.

‘He’s gone out with Grandpa.’

Of course. The wisdom tooth.

‘And Granny’s making a cake.’

Doubtlessly innocent of the fact that her two enchanting grandsons had decided to go exploring. Swinging her long, slim legs to the floor, Clemency slipped on her sandals and rose to her feet. The sooner she herded these two escapees home, the better.

‘Why?’ both Tommy and Jamie enquired in unison when she explained her intention.

‘Because your Granny will worry when she finds you’re missing.’

‘She won’t mind,’ Tommy said airily. ‘Have you got a cat?’

Clemency’s lips twitched. Somehow she didn’t quite share his optimism. ‘No.’

‘Anna has two cats,’ he informed her, adding grandly, ‘When I’m big, I’m going to have ten cats.’

Who was Anna? ‘Are you?’ Clemency murmured, looking suitably impressed as she guided the two small boys down her front path and up the drive of the adjacent cottage. Originally a farm labourer’s dwelling, like her own, it had been extended by a previous owner but still retained its simple charm.

‘Have you got a dog?’ Jamie took over the interrogation.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it wouldn’t be fair to leave it on its own all day while I go to work.’

‘My daddy doesn’t go to work.’

‘He just draws,’ Tommy contributed vaguely.

‘Does he?’ Clemency said casually, determinedly masking her curiosity as she pressed the doorbell.

The woman who answered the door matched the voice she’d heard earlier to perfection. Slight, her dark hair sprinkled with grey, her gentle, serene face evinced momentary surprise and concern.

‘What have you two scamps been up to?’

‘We’ve been next door to see Clemency,’ Tommy announced innocently.

His grandmother frowned. ‘That was very naughty of you both,’ she said quietly. ‘You know very well you’re never to leave the garden on your own.’

‘Forgot.’ Tommy shuffled his feet uncomfortably and scurried into the cottage.

‘Sorry,’ mumbled Jamie, his small face equally crestfallen, and hurried after his twin.

Pulling a rueful face, the older woman held out a hand. ‘Mary Harrington. Thanks for bringing them home.’

‘Clemency Adams.’ Clemency shook the outstretched hand. ‘I think there must be a hole in the hedge somewhere.’

‘My son’s in the process of refencing the garden so it shouldn’t happen again. I hope they didn’t trample all over the flower beds.’

‘With the state of my garden at the moment, I wouldn’t notice if a herd of elephants had passed through.’ Clemency grinned. ‘It’s just that there’s an old well right at the bottom. There’s a small protective wall around it and a manhole cover, but...’

‘It might prove irresistible for two curious, unsupervised four-year-olds?’ Mary Harrington smiled back. ‘Look, I’ve just made a pot of tea. Have you time to join me in a cup?’

Not wanting to refuse the friendly invitation but reluctant to be discovered ensconced in his home should Joshua Harrington appear, Clemency hesitated and then accepted, following her hostess down the hall into the kitchen overlooking the rambling back garden. Tommy and Jamie, crouched down on their small haunches, were engrossed in a game involving three plastic flowerpots, two sticks and a length of old hosepipe, the rules of which were completely incomprehensible to their two observers.

‘Do sit down,’ Mary Harrington waved a hand in the general direction of the large refectory table, and poured out two cups of tea. ‘Just push some of that clutter to one side.’ she added cheerfully.

Removing a plastic spade and bucket from a stool, Clemency drew it up to the table, carefully depositing a toy fire engine and packet of crayons on top of a pile of papers. Twice the size of her own immaculate kitchen, the comfortable, untidy, sun-filled room was evidently a focal point of family life. Brightly crayoned drawings adorned one wall.

‘Thank you.’ Clemency took hold of the proffered cup and saucer, her mouth curving as her eyes alighted on one of the drawings. Unlike the others, this had evidently been executed by an adult hand. A small boy, easily recognisable as one of the twins, was surrounded by cartoon cats, their almost-human feline expressions indicating their individual characteristics. Lazy, curious, supercilious, artful.

‘Joshua drew it for Tommy.’ The older woman smiled as she followed Clemency’s gaze. Positioning her chair so that she could keep a vigilant eye on her grandsons, she sat down.

‘It’s very good.’ Clemency’s eyebrows furrowed together as she continued to study the cartoon. More than good. Professional. There was something familiar in the style. ‘My daddy doesn’t go to work’. ‘He just draws’. A small suspicion beginning to unfurl in her head, her eyes dropped to the pile of papers on her right, editions of the same national daily she had delivered to her cottage. And each morning the first thing she glanced at was the gently satirical topical cartoon on the front page. Josh. She’d always assumed it was a pseudonym—‘josh,’ as in to tease good-naturedly. But it could equally be the diminutive for Joshua. No. It was all just coincidence. She was adding two and two and making five.

Aware of Mary Harrington watching her, she glanced up and read the confirmation of her unspoken question on the gentle face.

‘I always buy The Best of Josh every Christmas.’ Clemency instantly regretted the unthinking admission, hoping it wouldn’t be relayed to the author of the books that usually dominated the bestseller lists each festive season.

‘I inundate friends and relatives with copies. And always leave one in the waiting room of my husband’s dental practice,’ Mary Harrington confessed conspiratorially, and smiled. ‘Unbeknown to my son.’

Clemency laughed, liking the warm, unpretentious woman more and more by the second, her laughter suddenly dying in her throat as she heard the key in the door. Simultaneously the twins, having evidently heard a car draw up in the drive, hurtled into the kitchen.

‘Daddy’s back...’

As the lean figure loomed in the doorway, they launched themselves joyfully towards him like small, exuberant puppies.

‘Had a good afternoon?’

The gentleness in Joshua Harrington’s voice made Clemency’s heart miss an unsteady beat, her eyes leaping to his face. Mesmerised she watched the uncompromisingly male features warm, soften as he rumpled the two small, dark heads, the cynicism temporarily eradicated from his face.

‘Yes, Daddy,’ the twins chorused enthusiastically, and scampered back out into the garden.

‘Mrs Adams.’

Caught completely off-balance, Clemency flushed slightly as Joshua Harrington acknowledged her presence in his home and turned towards his mother. ‘Dad’ll be back in about an hour,’ he relayed, but the dark, slanted eyebrow clearly enquired, What’s she doing here?

Or perhaps she was merely being super-sensitive, Clemency acknowledged. She was twenty-seven, had been brought up with three elder brothers, been married, her colleagues were predominantly male—and yet this man unnerved her completely. Even during her adolescence she’d never felt this self-conscious in a man’s presence.

‘The twins went AWOL and Clemency brought them home,’ Mary Harrington said peacefully. ‘Tea in the pot. Oh, Lord, the cake!’ Springing to her feet, she moved across the kitchen to the stove at the far end.

‘Thank you.’ The blue gaze flicked to Clemency.

‘I considered simply tossing them back over the hedge,’ she couldn’t resist murmuring with an impish grin, recalling his earlier remark about the football, and instantly regretted it as she saw him frown. She was only joking, for heaven’s sake. Being deliberately flip to conceal her fast-fading composure. Then with an uncomfortable jolt she realised that the flippant remark hadn’t even registered with him; his whole concentration was focused on her face. He was inspecting each delicate feature, her high, fragile cheekbones, wide-spaced eyes, straight freckle-dusted nose with a clinical thoroughness that she was too keyed up to resent.

There was no acknowledgement of her fragile feminine attraction in the shadowed blue depths, no trace of the appreciation she was accustomed to witnessing—and rebuffing—in male eyes, but something else... But before she could analyse it, before she could be a hundred per cent sure, he had turned away.

Swallowing hard to ease the dryness in her throat, she watched him pour out a mug of tea and carry it across to the table. Removing a cricket bat from a chair, he sat down, stretching his long, lean legs out in front of him.

‘How long have you lived in the village, Mrs Adams?’ he enquired quietly.

Clemency hesitated. It was a perfectly innocuous question and yet there was something in the astute blue eyes that reflected more than just polite, idle curiosity.

‘I moved down here over four years ago.’

‘From London?’

Her spine stiffened. ‘Yes,’ she acknowledged.

‘An unusual career move,’ he observed slowly.

For a second Clemency wondered if he was baiting her, but there was no hint of mockery in the pensive eyes.

‘Relocation,’ she said shortly. Relocation of her life.

She focused her attention firmly on Mary Harrington as she rejoined them at the table but it was impossible to distance herself from the formidable male presence on her left. Contributing little to the casual conversation, he nevertheless seemed to dominate the room, emanated a masculine force that was almost tangible.

He wasn’t even in her direct line of vision, but she was alert to his slightest movement, her senses tuned into him as if she’d suddenly developed a set of ultra-sensitive antennae.

The kitchen which had seemed so warm and welcoming when she’d first entered seemed to have undergone some subtle change. There was an underlying tension which wasn’t solely contributable to her own growing unease. Unable to resist any longer, she flicked the silent man a sideways glance.

Dark eyebrows drawn together, he was frowning at the opposite wall. Unobserved, her eyes swept over the strong planes of his face, and dropped to the firm line of his chiselled mouth.

Unsteadily she picked up her cup and drained the contents, setting it down on the saucer with a clatter that seemed deafening in the otherwise silent kitchen.

‘Thanks for the tea.’ She forced herself to smile across the table.

‘You’re more than welcome.’ Mary Harrington smiled back.

‘I’ll see you out.’ Her son rose to his feet in a swift, controlled movement.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured evenly, overwhelmingly conscious of his height and breadth as he ushered her down the hall. Opening the front door, he stood back to enable her to step through, and for an imperceptible second her eyes locked with his, saw the hard certainty in their depths as they raked her oval face. The pretence was over for both of them.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ Joshua Harrington said quietly.

The colour drained from her cheeks. ‘Yes,’ she said simply, and saw a muscle clench along the hard line of his jaw.

‘I think I recognised you almost straight away,’ he conceded slowly.

‘But you hoped you’d made a mistake?’ she said levelly.

‘Yes,’ he admitted shortly.

That swift pinprick of hurt was completely irrational. Hadn’t she been equally reluctant to acknowledge his identity? Exhibited no more warmth or pleasure at seeing him again than he had her?

‘Your hair was longer then,’ he said abruptly.

Five years ago her waist-length red hair had been the most striking, most immediately noticeable thing about her.

‘I had it cut.’ She stated the obvious, wondering why it should matter that he made no immediate comment on the shorter gamine style. His own physical appearance had altered, too, but the change was more subtle. His dark hair was as thick and rich as she remembered. His eyes were the same intense blue—but the guarded detachment in their depths was as alien to her as the cynicism.

Clemency surveyed him with large, wary eyes, the constrained silence that had fallen between them unbearable. It seemed impossible that she had once, for a short time, felt closer to this man than any other living creature. But she was at a total loss how to even try to bridge the chasm that existed between them now. Wasn’t even sure that she wanted to.

‘I’d better be getting home.’ With amazement Clemency registered her calm, collected voice. But then over the past five years she’d become an expert at concealing her emotions. What happened to your wife? Knowing just how tenuous her composure was, terrified that the faade might crack at any minute and she would give utterance to the question pounding in her head, Clemency turned away quickly.

‘Mind the step.’

Instinctively he stretched out a hand to steady her as she missed her footing. His touch was brief and impersonal but her bare skin felt as if it had been scorched. That she could still react to his slightest touch like this was ultimately the biggest shock of all.

‘Goodbye, Clemency,’ he said quietly. It was the first time he had ever used her given name.

‘Goodbye.’ she returned, registering the finality in his voice that told her as clearly as words that he had neither the desire nor the intention of furthering their acquaintance.

But then, what had she expected? Clemency wondered, her legs swinging with uncharacteristic jerkiness down the drive. An invitation to come over for coffee that evening when the twins were in bed to have a cosy chat about old times?

To Joshua Harrington she would always be a reminder of a past that, like her, he wanted to forget. A reminder to that strong, proud, private man of a rare moment of weakness. Moving on autopilot, Clemency made her way around to the back of her cottage. Reaching the far end of her garden without any real recollection of how she’d arrived there, she sat down on the grass beneath the shade of an old gnarled apple tree.

Joshua Harrington. A man she had never expected to see again. The only person to whom she’d ever told the truth about Simon. Her anonymous confidant. The stranger on a train.

Except that she hadn’t met Joshua Harrington on a train but on a London bench by the Thames on a dark New Year’s Eve, five years ago.

CHAPTER TWO

DRAWING up her long legs to her chest, Clemency rested her chin on her knees and stared unseeingly at the daisy-strewn lawn. Married to Simon for eighteen months, she’d been so happy at the start of the evening, so totally unprepared for the bombshell that was to wreck her secure world. Her eyes closed. They had been celebrating the end of the year at a party in her eldest brother’s flat by the river in Chelsea.

Her hair swinging over her shoulders, cheeks flushed from the heat generating from the swirling, gyrating dancers packed into the small room, Clemency tried unsuccessfully to match the flamboyant steps of her extrovert partner.

As the music slowed, somewhat to her relief, the russet-headed young man took hold of her hand and swung her in front of him.

‘I think you’re the most beautiful woman here tonight, Clemency Adams,’ he proclaimed loudly.

Clemency laughed up into his open, good-natured face.

‘And I think you’re extremely drunk,’ she reproved him affectionately. Best man at their wedding and, like Simon, a school friend of her youngest brother, she’d known David Mason almost all her life.

‘Run away with me to my South Sea island home,’ he implored her theatrically.

‘To your bedsit in Clapham?’ she teased gently.

‘Oh, Clem, you’re a hard woman.’

‘I’m also a very married one.’ She grinned back, her eyes moving around the densely packed room, searching for one particular fair head. There he was. Standing over by the corner talking animatedly to Lisa.

That was an encouraging sign, she thought with satisfaction. Why her husband and her closest friend, two of the people she cared most about in the world, should have developed such an aversion to each other’s company over the past few months, after years of friendship, had both baffled and upset her. Hopefully tonight they’d finally decided to call a truce, stop the ridiculous bickering. She felt a wash of sadness as her gaze rested on the small brunette by her husband’s side. She was going to miss Lisa when she moved to New York, was still surprised at her sudden decision to apply for the overseas post.

She lost sight of her husband and friend as the tempo of the music increased, dancing with renewed energy until she finally pleaded for mercy from her inexhaustible partner.

‘No staying power, these married women,’ David teased her, planting a brotherly kiss on her cheek as he released her hand. ‘And, if you’re looking for your lucky swine of a husband, I just saw him heading towards the kitchen.’

No doubt to replenish his empty glass. Edging her way towards the door, Clemency watched with amusement as David threaded purposefully across the room towards a solitary, attractive blonde. She’d spent the early part of the night circulating, catching up with friends, and now, she thought contentedly as she made her way towards the kitchen, she just wanted to spend what was left of the old year with Simon.

Later she was never quite sure why she had paused in the doorway, had not simply walked straight in the moment she’d seen Simon and Lisa in the otherwise empty kitchen. But she had paused, had seen that expression of utter desolation on Simon’s face as he gazed longingly across the room at the dark-haired girl standing with her back to him staring out of the window into the darkness.

‘Please don’t go to New York, Lissy.’

Clemency froze, unable to move, the anguished desperation in Simon’s voice numbing her completely.

‘I have to, Simon. You know that.’ Lisa’s voice was low and muffled, her back rigid. ‘If I stay...I don’t want an affair with you...I couldn’t do that to Clemmy.’

‘I don’t want an affair with you, Lissy. I love you...’

She couldn’t be hearing this. Would wake up any moment and find it was a nightmare. The numbness had eased, the first wash of agonising pain tearing through Clemency. This could not be happening, not to her. She wanted to cry out her protest, her denial as she watched her husband cross the floor and take her best friend in his arms but her throat was too raw.

‘Lissy, please.’

‘No, Simon...’ Pushing him away, Lisa swung back to the window. ‘I love you, but I love Clemmy too. I’ve known her since I was five, even longer than you have. She’s like a sister.’ Her voice was so low, Clemency could barely distinguish the words. ‘I couldn’t ruin her life, and nor could you, Simon.’

They already had...

Her eyes flicking open, Clemency stretched out her stiffening legs and leant back against the tree. Perhaps if she’d tackled Simon and Lisa right then it might have been easier, less painful in the long run. But she hadn’t. She’d turned and crept away like a wounded animal, grabbed her coat and escaped silently out of the flat into the December night.

Oblivious to the squeal of taxi brakes, moving like a sleepwalker, Clemency crossed the road to the river embankment. For a moment she stared down into the dark, cold water and then began walking along its edge, her pace increasing until she was almost running. Head bowed, her eyes blurred with unshed tears, she didn’t see the group of young men approaching until it was too late to take evasive action and almost cannoned straight into them.

‘Happy New Year, beautiful.’

‘What’s a woman like you doing on her own tonight?’

‘Fancy coming to a party with us, gorgeous?’

Their bantering was good-humoured—if puerile—rather than threatening, and normally Clemency wouldn’t have had any trouble in dealing with the group of intoxicated but harmless young men. But tonight she simply stared dazedly at the group forming a half-circle around her.

‘Scram!’

The deep, educated voice came from behind her. Quiet and controlled, it held an authority that was immediately recognised and acted upon. Macho bravado evaporating, the young men dissolved into sheepish small boys, murmuring apologies to Clemency before hastening on their way.

‘Are you all right?’

Tilting her head, Clemency looked up at the tall, quietly spoken man.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said mechanically. The glow of the street lights illuminated strongly carved male features.

‘Where are you going? It might be advisable to take a taxi.’

It was the flicker of concern in the dark, shadowed eyes, the gentleness in the deep voice that proved to be her undoing. ‘I d-don’t know where I’m going,’ she mumbled in a small, bewildered voice and burst into tears.

Vaguely she was aware of a firm hand on her arm propelling her towards a bench. He made no attempt to assuage her tears, offered no trite words of comfort, simply sat there silently by her side, letting her cry without question or intrusion. Yet his very presence, his aura of calm strength was more soothing than a million platitudes.

Her tears subsiding, she dabbed at her cheeks with a tissue and turned towards him. She had never broken down in front of anyone in her life before, should have felt self-conscious and awkward, but she felt neither. Maybe it was because he himself showed no signs of embarrassment or impatience, the corners of the very masculine mouth curving in a reassuring smile, the dark blue eyes inviting but not pressing her to tell him the cause of her distress.

There were tiny laughter lines etched on his face, hinting at a strong sense of humour, a sense of the absurd. A man not given to small talk but, she suspected from the astute eyes, an acute observer. His clean-shaven jaw was lean, well defined, its decisiveness reflected in the square, tenacious chin. In his early thirties, he looked resourceful and competent, not a man to be fazed easily, and certainly not by a weeping female.

She ran a hand over her face again and gave him a watery smile. The embankment was deserted but she felt no qualms about sitting alone in the night with him, not the slightest flicker of unease.

‘I’m fine now,’ she assured him unconvincingly. ‘Please don’t let me detain you any further,’ she added politely.

He didn’t answer. Made no effort to move. Just sat there. Waiting.

‘I’ve just found out that my husband has fallen in love with my best friend,’ she blurted out, and saw the leap of compassion in his eyes. She swallowed. ‘We were at my brother’s party and I overheard them talking in the kitchen...’ Jerkily she relived again out loud the most traumatic seconds of her young life. ‘I just ran away,’ she concluded in a mumble.

‘You had no idea?’ the man beside her asked softly.

‘No. Not a clue. I thought we were happy,’ she said bleakly. ‘I’ve known Simon since I was at primary school. He was my first boyfriend when I was sixteen.’ She paused, her luminous eyes huge with pain and bewilderment. ‘How can you know someone almost all your life, live with them, share their bed and not really know anything about them at all? Not really know what they’re thinking, feeling?’

‘I don’t know.’

His voice was even but the muscle flickering along the lean jaw betrayed him, alerted Clemency immediately. He wasn’t simply paying lip service to the words but actually understood—no, more than that—shared her dazed incredulity.

Slowly she searched his face, her eyes locking with his. And for the first time she saw the unhappiness in the dark blue depths. He wasn’t as she’d automatically supposed en route to a party, but, like her, had deliberately sought out the solitude and anonymity of the river embankment. This man was suffering as much as she was.

Her heart squeezed, aching for him, her own pain momentarily forgotten as she silently willed him to confide in her as she had in him. She saw the hesitancy on his face, the hesitancy of a man accustomed to keeping his own counsel, dealing with his own problems.

Then she saw the doubt disappear and was aware of a sudden jolt of warmth at the knowledge that he trusted her as instinctively as she did him. Why it should matter so much that he did so, when her whole life was falling apart, was too confusing even to think about.

‘I found out this afternoon that my wife’s pregnant,’ he said quietly.

Clemency looked up at him uncomprehendingly. Surely that was cause for celebration, wasn’t it?

‘She’s known for six weeks.’

‘Six weeks?’ she echoed. How could his wife have kept the news to herself for six weeks? Not wanted to share it with him immediately?

‘She doesn’t want the baby,’ he said abruptly. ‘She doesn’t want our child. My child.’

The pain in his voice cut through Clemency like a knife, driving everything else from her mind.

‘Laura’s an interior designer. A very successful one. She’s just won a prestigious overseas contract which she’s due to start in June next year.’

By which time she would be nearing the end of her unplanned and unwanted pregnancy.

The chiselled mouth twisted. ‘Lousy timing, hmm?’ He paused. ‘I always knew that Laura’s career was important to her.’ His voice was so low that Clemency had to strain her ears to hear it. ‘But I didn’t realise...’

That it was the most important part of her life, more important than her husband or their unborn child. The unspoken words hung in the air, the raw, naked hurt etched on his face almost unbearable. Knowing just how inadequate any words she could offer would be, Clemency reacted instinctively. Inhibitions abandoned in the overwhelming need to comfort him, she reached out and gently took hold of his hand.

His strong, lean fingers tightened around her small palm and then slowly relaxed but didn’t release their hold. The tension easing from his face, he smiled down at her wryly.

She smiled back, a sense of complete unreality engulfing her, the blue eyes anaesthetising her to everything but the sensations induced by the warm male fingers folded lightly around hers. She was sitting in the dark on a London bench holding hands with a man whose name she didn’t even know and yet it felt the most natural thing in the world to be doing, as if, far from being strangers, they were old, familiar friends. Or lovers.

She stiffened, horrified at the insidious thought, further appalled to realise that Simon had completely slipped from the forefront of her mind. Oh, God, Simon and Lisa. She began to shudder as reality crashed over her again.

‘You’re getting cold.’

She nodded, the protectiveness and concern in the deep voice making her throat constrict with the effort of keeping back another flood of tears. How could this man’s wife not want his child? How could anyone hurt him like this? It took every ounce of control not to launch herself into his arms, hold him, hug him.

‘I’ll walk you back,’ he said quietly, pulling her gently to her feet.

She nodded again, both relieved and bereft as he released her hand. Shortening his strides to match hers, he accompanied her as she retraced her path along the river bank towards her brother’s flat, the silence between them no longer comfortable but increasingly constrained. Clemency ground to a halt, indicating the illuminated three-storey house across the road, the sound of music spilling out into the night from the ground-floor flat.

‘It’s just over there.’ As she spoke the music was abruptly silenced, raised voices beginning a countdown. Ten, nine...

Eight seconds to midnight. Clemency stared up at the house. Was Simon standing beside Lisa? Had he even noticed she was missing or was he too lost in his own misery even to care?

‘One...’ As the exuberant voices reached a crescendo, she turned to look up at the figure towering by her side, his dark face as strained as her own.

‘Happy New Year,’ she murmured wryly, and felt an inane bubble of laughter rising in her throat, the words so hopelessly inappropriate under the circumstances.

‘Happy New Year,’ he returned, and she saw his own mouth quirk as he too recognised the absurdity of their seasonal exchange. His eyes moved slowly over her face. ‘Take care, hmm?’

‘You too,’ Clemency said unsteadily. Once this man turned and walked away she would never see him again. The tightness in her chest had nothing to do with Simon.

Impulsively she stood up on tiptoe, intending to plant a swift, chaste kiss on his cheek. Simultaneously he lowered his head to bestow a similar parting gesture, but as she unexpectedly tilted her face upwards his mouth, instead of grazing her forehead, closed over her lips.

The warm, firm mouth barely brushed hers and yet it acted like a touch paper, heat instantly pooling in the pit of her stomach, flaring up, gathering momentum, scorching through her veins. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he lifted his head, his dark face rigid with shock.

For a second she could hardly breathe, let alone think, stared up at him with wide, stunned eyes, drawing desperate gulps of air into her burning lungs. Then she turned and ran.

With a tiny, convulsive shiver, Clemency jerked herself to her feet and paced across the garden, coming to a standstill by the wooden fence that separated her garden from the open farmland beyond.

More than five years on and she could still remember that mindless panic with which she’d fled Joshua Harrington that night. Her hands tightened over the fence and then relaxed. She’d been in a total daze that night, emotionally completely off-balance, vulnerable to anyone who’d shown a modicum of sympathy and understanding.

Turning around, she began to make her way briskly up the garden and faltered, her eyes drawn like a magnet to the red-tiled roof adjacent to her own. Why of all people did her new neighbour have to be him? She’d made a new life for herself with which she was perfectly content.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, Clemency. She pulled herself up irritably. There was no earthly reason why her orderly existence should be remotely affected by her new neighbour. Joshua Harrington, she reminded herself firmly, had made it perfectly clear that he had no intention of intruding into her life, let alone changing it.

CHAPTER THREE

MUFFLING a yawn, Clemency zipped up her jeans and tugged a green cotton sweater over her rumpled red curls. Barefoot, she padded across to her bedroom window and flung it open, surveying the cloudless blue sky. It looked as if it was going to be another glorious day.

Yawning again, she slipped on her sandals and made her way downstairs. She bent to retrieve the newspaper and mail from the front doormat and headed down the hall, coming to an abrupt halt as she heard the sound of breaking glass.

One of the cats from the local farm knocking down a milk bottle? Except she didn’t keep her empty bottles outside her back door. She took a tentative step forward and froze. Someone was breaking into her kitchen...

‘Please, Daddy, let me do it.’

‘Sorry, old chap. Back you go. You too, Tommy, please.’

She expelled a long, deep breath. Did prospective burglars normally bring their four-year-old sons along as witnesses? Tiptoeing to the door, she stealthily eased it open a crack and peeped through.

Armed with gloves and a small hammer, Joshua Harrington was casually knocking out the glass in her open back door onto a plastic sheet. From the safety of the lawn, the twins, identically dressed today in the brown uniform of the village school, watched with expressions of utter longing on their small faces.

Clemency’s eyes dropped to the football at their feet and her eyes darkened reflectively. One hell of a kick for such small legs—over the hedge with still enough force to smash her window.

Pushing open the door, she stepped into the kitchen.

‘Good morning,’ she said breezily.

If she’d hoped to throw Joshua Harrington even marginally off-balance, she was disappointed.

‘I thought you’d be at work by now,’ he murmured mildly, the navy blue sweatshirt hugging the wide, powerful shoulders intensifying the brilliance of his eyes. Knocking out the last fragment of glass, he stooped to gather up the plastic sheeting.

Normally she would have been, Clemency conceded, but it wouldn’t have hurt him to ring the doorbell and check. ‘I’m on leave for a week.’

Waggling her fingers at the twins, who were waving to her enthusiastically from the garden, Clemency retrieved the strong refuse bag from the floor and held it open.

‘Thanks.’

As he deposited the plastic sheeting deftly into the bag, her eyes flicked over the strong contours of his face, absorbing the weariness etched into it. For a second her hard-won composure almost cracked completely, the muscles of her stomach coiling into a fierce knot. Had he endured an equally troubled night? Lain awake for hours, like her, eyes open, staring into the past?

‘Daddy’s going to put a lovely new window in your door,’ trebled a small voice. Evidently deciding that their temporary banishment had been lifted now the glass had been safely removed, the twins scampered across the grass.

‘That’s really kind of him, isn’t it?’ The second voice piped, with unconcealed hero-worship.

‘Yes, it certainly is,’ Clemency agreed solemnly, her muscles relaxing as the small boys bounded into the kitchen.

‘Especially as Daddy broke the damn window,’ Joshua Harrington murmured sotto voce, the corners of the firm, straight mouth twitching.

Unable to keep it straight any longer, Clemency’s face broke into a warm, wide grin, the wariness in her eyes of which she’d been quite unconscious clearing briefly.

‘Where’s your lunch box, Tommy?’ Joshua enquired, straightening up.

‘Left it in the garden.’

‘Go and fetch it, please.’

‘Yes, Daddy.’ The boys started for the door and then, as if some invisible hand had tapped them on the shoulder, turned back towards Clemency.

‘Bye, Clemency,’ they chorused dutifully.

‘An’ thank you for having us...’ one voice continued absently, parrot fashion.

‘You don’t have to say that...’ Its owner was instantly corrected.

‘Goodbye, Jamie,’ Clemency said formally, repressing her laughter, a little mystified at the expression of utter resignation on their small faces as they looked up at her. They were so adorable, she could hug them! ‘Goodbye, Tommy.’

For a second neither of them moved and then, faces lighting up with relief, they turned and bounded towards the door.

‘She didn’t kiss us...’ The clear, carrying voice floated jubilantly back through the open door.

‘Or hug us...’

‘I believe,’ Joshua Harrington murmured dryly, ‘that you’ve just passed the litmus test.’

Clemency couldn’t quite meet his eyes. She so very nearly hadn’t!

‘An’ she smelled nice...’

‘Even nicer than Anna.’

Anna again, Clemency mused, but on that tantalising note the small voices faded away.

‘Hmm.’ Joshua gathered up the refuse bag and headed for the door. ‘I think I might have a word with my sons and heirs about the importance of discretion,’ he murmured thoughtfully.

‘Do as I say, not as I do?’ Clemency enquired innocently before she could help herself.

‘How much of my diatribe did you overhear yesterday?’

‘You mean did I hear the “to hell with all women” soliloquy?

‘Or the reference to the inquisitive, frustrated spinster next door?’

‘I don’t think those were quite my words...’ he refuted, his mouth quirking.

‘No,’ she conceded, ‘but that was the inference,’ she continued lightly. ‘The implication that no woman could possibly feel fulfilled without the presence of a man in her life. An arrogant male assumption that isn’t true.’ She smiled back at him to take the sting out of her words, to show him she was half-teasing. Nevertheless, it suddenly seemed very important to assure him, however obliquely, that she had absolutely no designs on either him or the twins, wasn’t in the market for happy families.

She saw his eyes flicker, but their expression was as unreadable as his face.

‘The assumption works both ways,’ he drawled. ‘I’ve had my fill over the past few years of the manipulative attempts at matchmaking by the wives of various male acquaintances.’

His voice was as light and as casual as hers had been, but perversely the underlying tension between them seemed to intensify rather than ease. They were making ground rules, Clemency absorbed, warning each other off—though why it should be necessary to do so was something she didn’t care to analyse.

‘I’ll pick up a pane of glass after I’ve dropped the boys off at school.’ Glancing at his watch, he grimaced slightly, and hurried outside to herd up his sons, their small, bowed heads on a level just above his knees as they scampered by his side, trying to keep pace with his long, rapid strides.

Moving across to the window, Clemency watched the tall, lean, assured figure disappear around the side of the house, her grey eyes thoughtful. She had nothing but admiration for those courageous women who had attempted to interfere in his private life. And she very much doubted that Joshua Harrington had ever been manipulated by anyone in his entire existence.

Breakfast! Turning away from the window, Clemency moved across the tiled floor, extracted a loaf of bread from the fridge and, changing her mind, replaced it. She’d skip her usual tea and toast this morning, settle for a cup of instant coffee instead. Her mouth twitched. Live dangerously, change her routine!

Switching on the kettle, she picked up the newspaper while she waited for the water to boil, her gaze darting immediately to the cartoon at the bottom of the front page. Josh. The distinctive, decisive signature was oddly redolent of its owner, instantly conjuring up an image of the dark, rugged face.

Abruptly she tossed the paper to one side, the cartoon for some reason failing to amuse her this morning, and armed with a mug of coffee sat down at the breakfast bar. She glanced up at the wall clock. How long would it take him to drop the twins off and buy a new pane of glass?

Determinedly she turned her attention to her post. Mostly junk mail. An exceedingly rude postcard from David Mason. Idiot. She smiled, thinking affectionately of the russet-haired man who had somehow managed the difficult task of maintaining his friendship with both herself and Simon.

Her smile faded. Had David known about Simon’s feelings for Lisa all those years ago? Let himself be used as an alibi on occasions? Had those games of squash with Simon been fictitious? She winced. Oh, blast Joshua Harrington. He was the one indirectly responsible for reviving those painful questions, questions she had resolutely dismissed years ago.

Slipping off her stool, she carried her mug of coffee through to the sitting room at the front of the house. Was that the sound of his car now? Tensing, she gazed out of the window into the lane. No, just a tractor en route to the farm. Restlessly she wandered back to the kitchen, had just sat down again when the doorbell chimed.

Trying to ignore the rush of adrenalin spurting through her, she jumped to her feet and went to answer it. Joshua had evidently decided to announce his arrival more formally this time.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door expectantly, perturbed by the immediate sense of anticlimax as she saw the grey-haired man standing in front of her. Recovering quickly, her mouth curved in a warm, welcoming smile.

‘Hello, William.’

His gnarled, weather-beaten face creased in a beam. ‘Brought you something for your supper tonight,’ he said laconically and without preamble. Digging into the pocket of the voluminous waxed jacket that he wore both summer and winter, and, Clemency sometimes suspected, even to bed, he drew out a brown paper parcel and thrust it into her hands. ‘Fresh this morning.’

‘Oh, how lovely!’ Clemency exclaimed enthusiastically, her heart dropping as she felt the clammy contents through the paper. ‘I shall look forward to them.’ Stooping down, she petted the black and white collie sitting obediently by the gum-booted feet. ‘Thank you very much.’ She smiled, straightening up, only then noticing the lean figure coming up the drive towards them.

‘Come on, Jesse.’ Nodding his head with satisfaction at Clemency’s evident pleasure with his gift, the elderly countryman made his way back down the drive, returning Joshua’s courteous greeting as they passed with a monosyllabic grunt.

‘A man of few words,’ Joshua commented as, a tool box in one hand, a pane of glass in the other, he reached Clemency’s side.

‘William doesn’t say a lot,’ Clemency conceded, trying to ignore the way the sun’s rays were flickering over the thick, rich dark hair, caressing the hard contours of his face. ‘But he and his wife are very sweet,’ she added over her shoulder, leading Joshua down the hall and into the kitchen. She was unsuccessful in camouflaging her slight shudder as she deposited the package on the sink unit, and sighed resignedly as she met the quizzical blue gaze.

‘They don’t have a car any more so I give them the occasional lift into Bournemouth,’ she said vaguely. She didn’t mention the fortnight last winter when she’d faithfully driven William over to the hospital every evening to visit his wife who’d been recovering after a fall.

‘And William and his wife express their appreciation with mysterious brown parcels?’ Depositing his tool box and the pane of glass on the floor, Joshua’s eyes dropped thoughtfully back to the sink unit.

‘William was a gamekeeper until he retired.’ Clemency’s own eyes returned to the package. Oh, heavens, it hadn’t moved had it? No, that was definitely her imagination. ‘And I suppose he still has, um, contacts in that line.’ She had never enquired too closely about the source of her presents. ‘It’s usually fish, like today. But sometimes it’s a rabbit or even a pheasant.’ Her large, expressive eyes darkened unhappily. ‘William just assumes that I can...prepare them.’ She paused and confessed in a guilty rush, ‘I know it’s dreadful but I bury them at the bottom of the garden.’

‘In the dead of night so no one can see you?’ The corners of his mouth twitching, Joshua turned his attention to the back door.

‘It’s not funny,’ Clemency reproved, but she grinned back at him and then sighed. ‘I should have been honest with William right from the start.’ Leaning back against the sink unit, she watched as Joshua deftly inserted the new pane of glass into the door, fascinated by his dexterity. ‘And told him I was just a feeble, squeamish townie.’ She’d held one of those strong, capable hands, felt the warmth of those long, supple fingers against hers. She swallowed hard. ‘Or claimed to be a strict vegetarian, but...’

Her stomach muscles contracted in a fierce knot as against her will her eyes skidded over the chiselled mouth. Why did she have to start remembering that kiss now? Just when she’d begun to feel at ease with him, begun to relax.

Taking a step backwards, Joshua examined his handiwork and, apparently satisfied, glanced back over his shoulder. ‘I picked up a couple of new bolts while I was out.’ Discarding his sweatshirt, he tossed it casually over a chair, the tanned length of his arms sprinkled with fine, dark hairs revealed by the dark blue T-shirt.

Clemency felt herself stiffening. She didn’t want his unnerving masculine presence in her home for one moment longer than was strictly necessary.

‘Thanks.’ She forced out the word but knew from the slight narrowing of his eyes he’d noticed her hesitation. But hopefully, she prayed inwardly, not the reason for it. ‘I really ought to have changed the old bolts before now,’ she added more lightly. Joshua had demonstrated just how easy it was to gain access to her home now the rusty bolts were no longer functional, she admitted. Especially as she did occasionally forget to remove the key from the lock.

Armed with a screwdriver, Joshua dropped to his haunches by the door, the blue denim jeans tautening across the muscular thighs. Clemency averted her gaze abruptly. ‘Coffee?’ She had to occupy herself with something, couldn’t just stand there watching him—or trying not to watch him—any longer.

‘Yes, please.’ He looked up. ‘Black. No sugar.’

‘Right.’ His eyes under the thick sweep of dark lashes were so impossibly blue, the depth and intensity of the colour almost mesmerising. She turned away swiftly and spooned coffee into two mugs, cursing under her breath as the spoon slid from her fingers and landed on the tiled floor with a resounding clatter. Bending down to retrieve it, she sensed Joshua watching her.

‘Yes?’ she enquired silently, lifting her eyebrows.

‘Nothing.’ The innocent blue eyes answered wordlessly. Smiling blandly, he began collecting up his tools.

One black coffee, one white, Clemency reminded herself firmly. Surreptitiously she watched Joshua as he rinsed his hands and drew up a chair to the table. Sitting sideways, he stretched out his long, lean legs indolently in front of him, crooking a muscular arm around the back. This was her house, her kitchen and yet right now he seemed to be the one completely at home, not her, she thought with a prickle of resentment.

Picking up the mugs carefully, she carried them across to the table and handed him one.

‘Thanks.’

Sitting down opposite him, she took a sip of coffee and flicked him an upward glance. The dark blue eyes were resting pensively on her left hand, the betraying band of white skin on her third finger long since disappeared.

‘I used to wonder occasionally what had happened to you. How everything had turned out.’

The quiet admission was so unexpected it made Clemency start.

‘Did you?’ she said with studied casualness, wondering why she found it so difficult—no, impossible—to make the same admission. ‘Simon and I separated when I moved down here four and a half years ago,’ she said instead, after a pause. ‘We’ve been divorced for two.’ She wasn’t unduly surprised by his slight frown as he registered the time discrepancy.

‘I didn’t confront Simon about Lisa straight away,’ she said evenly, and saw the furrow between the dark eyebrows deepen.

‘Why not?’ he said quietly.

She averted her eyes. Initially because I felt so damn guilty about you. It had been absolutely absurd in retrospect, particularly under the circumstances. One fleeting New Year kiss—and for a while she’d actually felt as guilty about Simon as if she’d been the betrayer not the betrayed. She’d waited nearly five weeks before finally confronting Simon.

‘I suppose I convinced myself that he was simply infatuated with Lisa, that once she went to America he would forget her. It wasn’t as if he’d actually had an affair with her, been physically unfaithful.’ Was that really true or had she simply chosen to believe it? Put her own interpretation on the words she’d overheard in the kitchen?

‘And then when you finally did tackle Simon about Lisa?’ Joshua asked quietly.

Clemency studied the table. Simon’s distress at the pain he’d caused her had been almost as unbearable as her own hurt. ‘We decided to give our marriage another shot.’ For nine long months they’d tried so hard, both concealing their increasing unhappiness beneath a veneer of superficial domestic normality. ‘It didn’t work out. Simon didn’t stop loving Lisa just because she went to America, and I stopped deluding myself that he had.’

Her eyes darkened, remembering both the sadness and relief with which she and Simon had finally agreed that their marriage was over. A marriage, she had gradually come to realise, that should never have taken place. Simon hadn’t fallen out of love with her—he’d never been in love with her in the first place. A deep affection, a loyalty grown out of a shared childhood had never been a strong enough basis for a lifelong commitment as man and wife. They had been friends but never truly lovers.

‘Simon and Lisa were married six months ago,’ she finished steadily. It was completely irrational but it had still hurt.

‘A happy ending for Simon.’ The blue eyes moved over her face. ‘And you, Clemency? Are you happy?’ he enquired softly.

Was she? ‘I like living on my own,’ she said slowly, occurring to her only then just how much she did value her independence, just how reluctant she would be to give it up. Okay she did get lonely occasionally, but that was a small price to pay for the advantages of her single status. Never again would her personal happiness be reliant on someone else.

‘And you enjoy your job?’ He lifted a quizzical eyebrow.

‘Yes, I do,’ she acknowledged, and frowned, not wholly comfortable with the image she was presenting of a self-sufficient, independent career woman. Well, it was an apt one, wasn’t it? This was the second time in as many days that Joshua Harrington had triggered off this introspection, stirred up some tiny core of dissatisfaction within her, she realised uneasily.

‘At least my career is proving to be more rewarding and fulfilling than my marriage,’ she said with a rare touch of bitterness, and could have bitten off her tongue as she saw the shutters slam down over the blue eyes.

‘A view apparently shared by my ex-wife,’ he observed caustically.

How could she have been so unbelievably thoughtless? Clemency opened her mouth and closed it again, knowing that to start apologising would only compound her gaffe. Unhappily she watched as he took a sip of coffee, her gaze moving over the hard features, the cynicism once again pronounced.

‘Laura resented her pregnancy for its entire duration.’ He raised his head abruptly. ‘She returned to work full-time almost immediately the twins were born, leaving them in charge of a nanny. As her reputation grew, she spent more and more time travelling overseas. Our home became little more than her base in England. On the occasions she was at home, we were like strangers, sharing nothing but the same roof.’

Clemency’s eyes didn’t waver from his face. His voice was even, devoid of all emotion, but it was all too easy to fill in the gaps left by the skeleton account of the disintegration of his marriage.

‘Prolonging the marriage for the sake of the children hardly seemed appropriate under the circumstances. In fact,’ he said wryly, ‘I think Laura saw more of the boys once we were separated. They used to think it was a great adventure, going to stay the night at her flat.’

Past tense, Clemency registered.

‘We were divorced eighteen months ago and Laura now lives in the States. She sees the boys whenever she comes to England, phones them, never forgets their birthday.’ He paused. ‘In her own way, I think she does care about them.’

‘Do the twins miss her?’

‘They did a little at first but they rarely mention her now, seem to have accepted the situation quite easily, though no doubt when they’re older they’ll start asking more questions.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t think Laura was ever a large enough part of their lives for them to really feel the loss. In fact they were far more upset when Sue, their nanny, left a year ago. Unfortunately due to a family crisis she had to leave very suddenly, giving them no time to get used to the idea.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t replace Sue with another full-time nanny.’

Clemency nodded. He hadn’t wanted to run the risk of the twins becoming attached to yet another woman who might disappear from their lives. That Tommy and Jamie appeared to be such happy, well-adjusted small boys despite the two emotional upheavals in their short lives was in no small way attributable to their father, she conceded thoughtfully.

Her eyes moved speculatively over the strong face. Had the ban on women been applied just as rigorously to his own life? It was difficult to believe that he’d been completely devoid of feminine company since his divorce, though his evident determination not to allow anyone into his domestic life must have placed severe limitations on any relationship.

‘Can I get off the couch now?’ the deep voice enquired dryly.

‘Sorry?’ Clemency blinked at him innocently. ‘Miles away,’ she murmured airily, starting to rise to her feet automatically as she heard the doorbell ring.

‘Don’t get up,’ Joshua drawled, unfurling his long frame with deceptive speed from his chair. ‘It’ll probably be for me.’

To her disbelief Clemency found herself instantly obeying the commanding hand as it waved her back to her seat. He was giving her orders in her own home now?

‘I’m expecting some fencing this morning, and left a note explaining where I was,’ he added casually, striding into the hall. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

There was the murmur of male voices followed a few seconds later by the slam of her front door.

Well, really! Clemency felt a gurgle of laughter rising in her throat as she surveyed the chair opposite her. She had wished for his departure, but hadn’t expected it to be quite so abrupt.

Permission to stand up in my own house? She inclined her head towards the empty chair and, gathering up the two empty mugs, carried them across to the sink, heaving a sigh as her eyes encountered the brown parcel.

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