# Ruthless Awakening

Sara Craven

Step into a world of sophistication and glamour, where sinfully seductive heroes await you in luxurious international locations.The ruthless billionaire’s captive virginThe grandeur of Penvarnon House is where Rhianna Carlow spent her lonely childhood as the housekeeper’s unwanted niece. Now she’s not the only guest returning for a wedding – billionaire Diaz Penvarnon is back, seemingly as arrogant and ruthless as ever.Diaz has one duty – to keep common gold-digger Rhianna away from the house. So Diaz, descendant of a Spanish pirate, kidnaps her…and Rhianna finds herself captive on his luxurious yacht – where her inexperience is no match for Diaz’s merciless desire!

And at that moment Rhianna became aware of the steady throb of a powerful engine. And she knew, with horror, that they’d sailed. She almost flung herself at the stateroom door, twisting the handle one way and then another, tugging it, dragging at it breathlessly, refusing to believe that it was actually locked.

Diaz had implied that he was descended from a Spanish pirate, but this was the twenty-first century, for God’s sake.

Rhianna faced him, hands folded to hide the fact they were shaking.

‘Just what do you think you’re doing? Diaz, you’re being ridiculous. You can’t behave like this.’

‘And just who is going to stop me?’ His voice held faint amusement.

Diaz straightened, coming away from the door and walking across to her. Standing over her so that in spite of herself she shrank back.

‘You see, Rhianna, I just don’t think you can be trusted. I think you spell trouble in every line of that delectable body.’ His eyes were hard. ‘You’re coming with me, sweetheart. You might not be my companion of choice, you understand, but—hey—the time will soon pass. We’re sailing off into tomorrow’s sunrise. Together.’

Sara Craven was born in South Devon and grew up in a house full of books. She worked as a local journalist, covering everything from flower shows to murders, and started writing for Mills & Boon® in 1975. When not writing, she enjoys films, music, theatre, cooking, and eating in good restaurants. She now lives near her family in Warwickshire. Sara has appeared as a contestant on the former Channel Four game show Fifteen to One, and in 1997 was the UK television Mastermind champion. In 2005 she was a member of the Romantic Novelists’ team on University Challenge—the Professionals.

Recent titles by the same author:

THE SANTANGELI MARRIAGE

ONE NIGHT WITH HIS VIRGIN MISTRESS

THE VIRGIN’S WEDDING NIGHT

INNOCENT ON HER WEDDING NIGHT

## RUTHLESS AWAKENING

BY

SARA CRAVEN

www.millsandboon.co.uk

RUTHLESS AWAKENING

CHAPTER ONE

AS THE train from London crossed the Tamar, Rhianna felt the butterflies in her stomach turn into sick, churning panic.

I shouldn’t be doing this, she thought desperately. I have no right to go to this wedding. To stand in Polkernick Church, watching as Carrie gets married to Simon. I should have kept away. I knew it before the invitation came. And even before it was made forcefully clear to me that I wouldn’t be welcome. That I should keep my distance.

So how can I be on this train—making this journey?

Ever since the engagement had been announced she’d been dreading the arrival of the elegantly embossed card, and had already drafted her polite letter of regret with the same excuse—the shooting schedule on the next series—that she’d previously used to get out of being a bridesmaid.

And then Carrie had phoned unexpectedly to say she was coming to London trousseau-shopping, and would Rhianna meet her for a girls’ lunch?

‘You must come, darling.’ Her voice had been eager, laughing. ‘Because it might just be the last one now that Simon’s got this job in Cape Town. Heaven knows when we’ll be back in the UK.’

‘Cape Town?’ Rhianna had heard the sharp note in her voice and cursed herself. She’d made herself speak more lightly. ‘I had no idea that he—that you were planning to live abroad.’ Nothing’s been said…

‘Oh, it wasn’t planned,’ Carrie had said blithely. ‘Someone Diaz knows had an opening in his company, and made Simon an offer that was too good to miss.’

Diaz…

Rhianna had repeated the name under her breath, tension clenching like a fist in her stomach. Yes, she’d thought dully. Painfully. It would have to be Diaz. Making sure that Simon was removed to a safe distance. Out of harm’s way. Regardless of the damage already done, which would be left behind.

Diaz—twitching the strings from across continents and oceans to make sure the puppets danced to his tune, and that Carrie, his much-loved young cousin, would walk up the aisle of the twelfth-century church in the village to be united with the man she’d adored since childhood.

The perfect match, she’d thought, her throat tightening. And nothing would be allowed to prevent it.

She should have made some excuse about lunch, and she knew it, but she’d been torn between the pleasure of seeing Carrie again and the anguish of keeping silent while the other girl talked about Simon and her plans for the wedding. Of making sure that not one word, one look or one hint escaped her.

But, dear God, it had been so hard to sit opposite Carrie and see her pretty face radiant with happiness. To see the dream in her eyes and know how hideously simple it would be to turn that inner vision into a nightmare.

How simple, and how utterly impossible.

‘So you will be coming to the wedding—you promise faithfully?’ Carrie had begged. ‘You’ll introduce a note of sanity into the proceedings, darling. A rock for me to cling to, because by then I’ll need it,’ she’d added, shuddering. ‘With the respective mothers already circling each other in a state of armed neutrality. I reckon there could be blood on the carpet before the great day dawns.’

And Rhianna had agreed. Because the only reasons she was left with to justify her absence were the ones she could never say.

But mainly because Carrie was her friend. Had been her first real friend, and shown her the only genuine kindness she’d ever known at Penvarnon. She—and Simon, of course. Which was how the trouble had first begun…

And now Carrie, who loved her, was here to make innocently sure that wild horses wouldn’t keep Rhianna from attending her wedding.

But wild horses didn’t even feature, Rhianna thought, her mouth twisting harshly. Not when they were up against the arrogant power of Diaz Penvarnon.

Against whose expressed will she was travelling to Cornwall. Defying his mandate.

His anger had been like a dark cloud, waiting in the corner of her mind to become a storm. A tangible thing, as if he were still standing over her, his lean face inimical.

‘Don’t say you weren’t warned…’

As she remembered, her mouth felt suddenly dry, and she uncapped the bottle of mineral water on the table in front of her and drank it down without bothering with the glass the attendant had brought her.

Pull yourself together, she thought. You’ll be in Cornwall for three days—four at the outside. And once Carrie’s wedding is over you’ll be gone—for good this time.

Besides, Diaz probably won’t even be there. He’ll be back in South America, arrogantly confident that his commands will be obeyed in his absence.

The rest of the occupants of that big grey stone house on the headland might not relish her presence, but there was no one who could really hurt her any more, she thought, her mouth tightening. No one to look down on her or treat her like an intruder. That section of her life was in the past, and she would make sure it stayed that way.

Because she was no longer the housekeeper’s unwanted niece, the skinny waif that the daughter of the house, Caroline Seymour, had inexplicably and unsuitably decided to befriend and had stubbornly refused to give up in the face of concerted family opposition.

She was Rhianna Carlow, television actress and current star of the award winning drama series Castle Pride. An independent woman, with her own life and her own flat, who didn’t have to dress in clothing from charity shops and jumble sales any more, or say thank you to anyone but herself.

She was a success—a face that people recognised. A few hours ago she’d seen some of the other passengers in this first-class carriage nudging each other and whispering as she’d taken her seat at Paddington.

She knew from past experience that it would only be a matter of time before someone asked her for an autograph, or permission to take a picture of her with a mobile phone, because that was generally what happened. And she would smile and acquiesce, so that the person asking the favour would go away saying how lovely she was—how charming.

And another brief performance would have been given.

But that was the easy part of being Rhianna Carlow. Because she knew it would take every scrap of acting ability she possessed to stand in silence the day after tomorrow and watch Carrie become Simon’s wife. To hear him say, ‘Forsaking all others…’ when he knew that she, Rhianna, would be in the congregation, listening to him, angry, hurt—and above all, anxious for Carrie.

When every nerve in her body would be urging her to cry out, No, this can’t happen. I won’t let it. It has to stop right here—right now. For everyone’s sake.

And weren’t you supposed to be cruel in order to be kind? she asked herself restlessly. Wasn’t that one of the relentless clichés that people trotted out, usually to justify some piece of deliberate malice?

But could she stand up and tell the truth and see the light slowly die from Carrie’s bright face when she realised just how fundamentally Simon had betrayed her?

It would be like, she thought dispassionately, watching an eclipse of the sun, knowing that this time it would be permanent and there would be no returning radiance.

Carrie had always been a sunshine girl, lit from within, fair-haired and merry-faced, drawing Rhianna, the outsider, the dark moon, into her orbit.

Compensating over and over again for her aunt Kezia’s unrelenting coldness, and the aloofness bordering on hostility displayed by the rest of the family at Penvarnon House.

From the first day that was how it had been, she thought. When she’d stood, an unhappy twelve-year-old, shivering in the brisk wind, at the top of the flight of steps that led down to the lawns, knowing guiltily that already she’d broken her aunt’s first rule that she should never—ever—stray into the environs of the house and its grounds.

Knowing that her home was now a chillingly neat flat, converted from the former stable block, and that if she wished to play she should do so only in the stable yard outside.

‘Allowing you here is a great concession by Mrs Seymour, and you must always be grateful for that,’ Aunt Kezia had told her repressively. ‘But it’s on condition that you confine your activities to our own quarters and not go beyond them. Do you understand?’

No, Rhianna had thought with a kind of desolate rebellion, I don’t understand. I don’t know why Mummy had to die, or why I couldn’t stay in London with Mr and Mrs Jessop, because they offered to have me. I don’t know why you came and brought me away to a place where no one wants me—least of all you. A place with the sea all round it, cutting me off from everything I know. Somewhere that I don’t want to be.

She hadn’t meant to be disobedient, but the minimal attractions of the stable yard, with its cobbles and long-unused row of loose boxes, had palled within minutes, and a half-open gate had beckoned to her in a way it had been impossible to resist. Just a quick look, she’d promised herself, at the place where she’d be spending the next few years of her life, then she would come back, and close the gate, and no-one would be any the wiser.

So, she’d followed the gravel walk round the side of the looming bulk that was Penvarnon House and found herself at its rear, confronted by lawns that stretched to the very edge of the headland. And racing across the grass towards her had been two children.

The girl had reached the foot of the steps first, and looked up, laughing.

‘Hello. I’m Carrie Seymour, and this is Simon. Has your mother brought you to have tea? How grim and grizzly. We were just going down to the cove, so why don’t you come with us instead?’

‘I can’t.’ Rhianna swallowed, dismally realising the trouble she was in.

‘I shouldn’t even be here. My aunt told me I must stay by the stables.’

‘Your aunt?’ the girl asked, and paused. ‘Oh, you must be Miss Trewint’s niece,’ she went on more slowly, adding doubtfully, ‘I heard Mummy and Daddy talking about you.’ There was another silence, then her face brightened again. ‘But you can’t hang round the yard all day with nothing to do. That’s silly. Come with Simon and me. I’ll make it all right with Mother and Miss Trewint, you’ll see.’

And somehow, miraculously, she had done exactly that—by dint, Rhianna thought drily, of smiling seraphically and refusing to budge. Just like always.

Rhianna, she’d insisted cheerfully, had come to live at Penvarnon House and therefore they would be friends. End of story.

And start of another, very different narrative, Rhianna thought. Although none of us knew it at the time. A story of past secrets, unhappiness and betrayal. And this time there would be no happy ending.

I should have stayed by the stables, she thought with irony. It was safer there. I should never have gone down the path to the cove and spent the afternoon climbing over rocks, peering into pools, running races along the sand and splashing barefoot in the freezing shallows of the sea. Discovering childhood again. Drawing my first breath of happiness in weeks.

She’d assumed that Simon—tall, also blond-haired and blue-eyed, and clearly older than Carrie by a couple of years or more—was Carrie’s brother, but she had been mistaken.

‘My brother? Heavens, no. Both of us are “onlys”, like you,’ Carrie had said blithely. ‘He’s just a grockle—an emmet.’ And she’d dodged, laughing, as Simon lunged at her with a menacing growl.

‘What’s a—grockle?’ Rhianna asked doubtfully.

‘An incomer,’ Simon informed her, pulling a face. ‘A tourist. Someone who doesn’t live in Cornwall but only comes here for holidays. And an emmet is an ant,’ he added, looking darkly at Carrie. ‘Because in the summer that’s what the tourists are like—all over the place in droves. But we’re not either of those things, because we have a house just outside the village and spend half our lives down here.’

‘So we have to put up with him for weeks at a time,’ Carrie said mournfully. ‘What an utter drag.’

But even then, young as they all were, some instinct had told Rhianna that Carrie didn’t mean it, and that Simon, the golden, the glorious, was already the centre of her small universe.

Both of them, she’d discovered, would be going back to their respective boarding schools at the end of the Easter holidays, whereas she would be attending the local secondary school at Lanzion.

‘But there’ll be half-term to look forward to,’ Carrie had said eagerly. ‘And then we’ll have nearly eight weeks in the summer. The sea’s really safe down at the cove, so we can swim every day, and have picnics, and if the weather’s foul we can use The Cabin.’

She was referring to the large wooden building tucked under the cliff, which, as Rhianna was to discover, not only housed sunbeds and deckchairs, but had a spacious living area with its own tiny galley kitchen, an ancient sagging sofa, and a table big enough to sit round to eat or play games. The late Ben Penarvon, Diaz’s father, had even had the place wired for electricity.

‘It’s going to be great,’ Carrie had added, her grin lighting up the world. ‘I’m really glad you came to live here.’

And even Aunt Kezia’s overt disapproval, and the fact that Moira Seymour, Carrie’s mother, had looked right through her on their rare encounters, had not been able to take the edge off Rhianna’s growing contentment. The feeling that she could relax and allow herself to feel more settled.

She’d still grieved for her mother—the more so since Aunt Kezia had made it clear that any mention of Grace Carlow’s name was taboo. At the same time Rhianna had realised that there was not one photograph of her mother, or any family mementoes, anywhere in the cheerless little flat. Moreover, her own framed photo of her parents’ wedding, which she’d put on the table beside her narrow bed, had been removed and placed in the chest of drawers.

‘I have quite enough to do in the house,’ Aunt Kezia had returned brusquely when Rhianna, upset, had tried to protest. ‘I’m not coming back here and having to dust round your nonsense.’

On the upside, she’d liked her new school, too, and had come home at the end of the summer term excited at being given a part in the school play, which would be rehearsed during the autumn and staged before Christmas.

But, to her shock and disappointment, Aunt Kezia had rounded on her. ‘You’ll do nothing of the kind,’ she declared tight-lipped. ‘I won’t have you putting yourself forward, giving yourself airs, because it only leads to trouble. And there’s been too much of that in the past,’ she added with angry bitterness. ‘Quite apart from this nonsense with Miss Caroline. And after all I said to you, too.’

She drew a harsh breath. ‘Kindly remember that you’re only here on sufferance, my girl, and learn to keep in the background more than you have been doing while you’re living in Mrs Seymour’s house.’

‘But it isn’t her house,’ Rhianna objected. ‘Carrie told me it really belongs to her cousin, Diaz, but he’s away most of the time, either living on his other estates in South America or travelling all over the world as a mining consultant. So her parents look after it for him. She says when he decides to get married they’ll have to find somewhere else to live.’

‘Miss Caroline says a deal too much,’ her aunt said grimly. ‘And I’m still going to have a word with your teacher. Knock this acting nonsense on the head once and for all.’

And, in spite of Rhianna’s tearful protests, she’d done exactly that.

‘Poor you,’ Carrie had said, her forehead wrinkled with concern when Rhianna had eventually told her what had happened. ‘She’s so hard on you all the time. Has she always been like that?’

Rhianna shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said unhappily. ‘I only met her for the first time when she came to Mummy’s funeral and told me that she’d been appointed my legal guardian and I had to live with her. Before that I’d never heard from her at all—not even on my birthday or at Christmas. And I could tell she was angry about having to take me.’ She sighed. ‘I’m not really welcome here either. I just wish someone would tell me what I’ve done that’s so wrong.’

‘It’s not you,’ Carrie said hesitantly. ‘I—I’m sure it’s not.’

Rhianna bit her lip. ‘You said once you’d heard your parents talking about me. Would you tell me what they said?’

Carrie’s face was pink with dismay. After a pause, she said, ‘It was ages ago, so I’m not sure I remember exactly. Besides, I shouldn’t have been listening anyway,’ she added glumly. ‘And I’m sure it would be better coming from your aunt.’

‘She won’t talk about it,’ Rhianna said bitterly. ‘She doesn’t talk about anything.’ She looked beseechingly at the other girl. ‘Oh, please, Carrie. I really need to know why they all seem to hate me so much.’

Carrie sighed. ‘Well—I was on the window seat in the drawing room, reading, and my parents came in. They didn’t realise I was there, and Mummy was saying, “I can hardly believe that Kezia Trewint would do such a thing. Agree to take in that woman’s child—and have the gall to ask to bring her here.” Daddy said he supposed she hadn’t had much choice in the matter, and he told Mummy not to do anything too hasty, because they’d never find anyone to run the house and cook as well as your aunt.’

She swallowed. ‘Then he said, “And it’s hardly the child’s fault. You can’t blame her for things that her mother did years before she was born. And that’s how it was, so don’t start thinking anything nonsensical.” Then Mummy got cross and said that your mother was—not a nice person,’ Carrie added in a little embarrassed rush. ‘And that the apple never fell far from the tree, and what the hell would Diaz say when he heard? Daddy said, “God only knows,” and he thought that everyone should reserve judgement and give you a chance. Then he went off to the golf club.’

She added tearfully, ‘I’m so sorry, Rhianna. I should never have listened, but when I met you I was really glad, because you looked so unhappy and lost, and I told myself that Daddy was right. Only now I’m afraid I’ve made everything a hundred times worse.’

‘No,’ Rhianna said slowly. ‘No, you haven’t—I promise. Because I—I really wanted to know.’ She flung back her head. ‘Besides, none of it’s true. Mummy wasn’t a bit like that. She was a wonderful person.’

And so beautiful too, she thought, with all that deep, dark auburn hair that Daddy said was the colour of mahogany, and the green eyes that tilted at the corners when she laughed. Whereas my hair is just—red.

She swallowed. ‘After Daddy died she got a job as a care worker, and the people she visited really loved her. They all said so. And Mrs Jessop told someone that if Mummy hadn’t been so involved with looking after everyone else she might have thought about herself more, and realised there was something wrong. Seen a doctor before it was—too late.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘So, you see, there must be some mistake. There has to be.’

Carrie gave her a comforting pat. ‘I’m sure,’ she said, but her anxious eyes said that even if her parents had been wrong, that still didn’t explain Kezia Trewint’s strange, unloving attitude to her only living relative.

Understanding that had still been a long way in the future, Rhianna thought wearily, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes. In the meantime it had remained on the edge of her life, a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand, yet occasionally ominously hinting at the storm to come.

Like the day she’d encountered Diaz Penvarnon for the first time.

It had been, she remembered, one of those burning, windless days in August, when the sun seemed close enough to touch.

They’d been down at the beach all day, slipping in and out of the unruffled sea like seals, Rhianna by then as competent and confident a swimmer as the other two. It had been Simon who’d called a halt, explaining that he needed to get back as his parents had friends coming to dinner.

In spite of the heat, it had always been a matter of honour to see who could get to the top of the cliff path ahead of the others. The girls rarely won against Simon’s long legs, but this particular afternoon he had dropped one of his new trainers in the loose sand at the foot of the cliff and halted to retrieve it, so that Carrie and Rhianna had found themselves unexpectedly ahead, flying neck and neck up the stony track.

And when Carrie had stumbled Rhianna had got there first, laughing and breathless, head down as she launched herself towards some invisible finishing tape.

Only to cannon into something tall, solid and all too real, finding, as she had staggered back with a gasp of shock, strong hands grasping her shoulders to steady her, while a man’s cool voice had said, ‘So—what have we here? A fleeing trespasser? This is private land, you know.’

She looked up dazedly into the face above her, swarthy and lean, with high cheekbones only to see the faint amusement fade from the firm mouth and the grey eyes become as icy as snow clouds in January. He studied her in return, his glance shifting with a kind of incredulity from her unruly cloud of hair to her long-lashed eyes and her startled, parted lips.

She said, ‘I’m Rhianna Carlow. I—I live here.’

He drew a swift sharp breath, lifting his hands from her and stepping back in a repudiation that was as instant as it was unmistakable.

He said, half to himself, ‘Of course—the child. I’d almost forgotten.’

‘Diaz!’ Carrie was there, hurling herself at him. ‘How truly great! No one said you were coming.’

‘It was intended as a surprise,’ he said, returning her exuberant hug with more restraint before he looked back at Rhianna. He added unsmilingly, ‘It seems to be a day for them.’

And she thought with inexplicable desolation, Someone else who doesn’t want me to be here…

Simon’s panting arrival provided a momentary diversion, but the greetings were barely over before Moira Seymour came sauntering across the lawn towards them, cool in a blue cotton dress, and fanning herself languidly with a broad-brimmed straw hat.

She said, ‘Simon, my pet, your mother’s telephoned, asking where you are. Carrie, darling, get cleaned up for tea, please.’ Her glance flickered dismissively over Rhianna. ‘And I’m sure, young woman, that your aunt can find something for you to do.’

The first direct remark Mrs Seymour had ever made to her, Rhianna realised. And one that made her inferior position in the household quite explicit. Turning her back into the intruder. The trespasser that Diaz Penvarnon had just called her. A name that might have started as a joke, but was now, suddenly, something very different.

My first starring role, Rhianna thought bitterly, and one that will probably haunt me, for so many reasons, as long as I live, wherever I go, and whatever happens to me.

Diaz—Diaz Penvarnon…

He was a chain, she told herself, linking her with the past, which must be broken now that he was out of her life for ever.

I’ve got to start thinking of him as a stranger, she thought, almost feverishly. I must…

But from that first moment of meeting he’d imprinted himself indelibly on her consciousness, and Rhianna had found her life changing once more—and not for the better, either.

Because she had once more been strictly relegated to the flat over the stables and its immediate vicinity, pretty much reduced to the status of non-person again, while a protesting Carrie had simply been whipped away and absorbed into the sudden surge of activities at the house itself, putting her out of reach for the duration of the owner’s visit.

The owner…

Even at a distance, Rhianna had sensed that the whole place seemed to have lost its languid, almost melancholy atmosphere and become—re-energised.

And that had been even without the constant stream of visitors filling the place at weekends, flocking down to the cove to swim and sunbathe, or play tennis on the newly marked court at the side of the house. Not forgetting the dinner parties that went on into the early hours, with music spilling out through the open windows into the warm nights, and dancers moving on the terrace.

With Diaz Penarvon at the forefront of it all.

On the few occasions that Rhianna had dared venture further than the stable yard she had seen that. Had recognised that his tall figure seemed to be everywhere, exercising effortless dominion over his surroundings, as if he’d never been absent, with the cool, incisive voice she’d remembered only too well issuing orders that were immediately obeyed.

‘And I wonder how Madam likes that?’ Rhianna had overheard Mrs Welling, the daily help, comment with a chuckle to Jacky Besant, who worked in the grounds, while they were enjoying a quiet smoke in the yard.

‘Not much, I reckon.’ Jacky had also seemed amused. ‘But she’s no need to fret. He’ll be gone again soon enough, and then she’ll have it easy again.’

Maybe we all will, Rhianna had thought, stifling a sigh.

It had occurred to her that Diaz wasn’t a bit as she’d imagined when Carrie had first told her about him.

For one thing she’d assumed he’d be much older. Physically much heavier, too. Not lean, rangy, and possessed of a dynamism she’d been able to recognise even at her immature age.

‘He’s what they call a babe magnet,’ Simon, himself sidelined under the new regime, had commented resentfully when Rhianna, sent on an errand by her aunt, had met him emerging from the village Post Office. ‘Tall, dark and mega-rich. My parents say that every female in Cornwall under thirty is trying to have a crack at him.’

‘Well, I think he’s vile,’ Rhianna said vehemently, remembering how those extraordinary eyes—almost silver under their dark fringe of lashes—had frozen her.

Recalling too how she’d seen him in a corner of the terrace one evening, when she’d slipped round to listen to the music. How she’d become aware of a movement in the shadows and realised he was there, entwined with some blonde girl in a way that had made her burn with embarrassment, together with other sensations less easy to define.

And how, as he’d pushed the dress from his companion’s shoulders, she’d turned and run back to her own domain, and not ventured out at night again.

Now, she added with renewed emphasis, ‘Sick-making.’

Simon grinned faintly. ‘Keep thinking that way.’ He paused. ‘Fancy going down to the harbour for an ice cream or a Coke at Rollo’s Café?’

She shook her head. ‘I—I have to get back.’ It was only partly true. She didn’t want to admit that she’d been sent out with the exact money to pay for her aunt’s requirements and no more.

‘You can be spared for ten minutes, surely?’ Simon said reasonably. ‘And you need something cool before you bike back to Penvarnon or you’ll be roasted.’ He paused. ‘My treat.’

She flushed with pleasure. Simon the cool and totally gorgeous was actually offering to buy her an ice cream. Normally he didn’t take a great deal of notice of her, when Carrie was there. They’d been friends long before she came on the scene, and she’d always accepted that, told herself it was nasty of her to feel even slightly envious.

But now Carrie was occupied, and she had this one blissful chance to spend a little while with Simon on her own. Without, she thought, having to share him. And instantly felt thoroughly ashamed of herself.

Then she saw Simon smiling at her, and drew a small, happy breath. ‘I mustn’t be too long,’ she temporised.

He bought their ice creams, and they sat on the harbour wall in the sunshine, watching the boats and chatting about everything and nothing, until Rhianna said regretfully she really had to get back, and Simon lifted her down from the rough stones.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘This has been great. We must do it again.’

As she’d cycled back to Penvarnon her heart had been singing. It might only been half an hour, but for Rhianna it had become thirty minutes framed in gold. A pivotal moment for a lonely girl on the verge of adolescence. Heady stuff.

But certainly not enough to provide the foundation for any dreams about the future.

But I didn’t know that then, she thought unhappily. And it was long, long in the future before I realised that by the time you’re sure of your dream and want it to come true it may be completely beyond your reach.

She was startled out of her reverie by the train manager’s voice announcing the express’s imminent arrival at her station.

Rhianna rose, reaching for her sunglasses, reluctantly collecting her suitcase and dress carrier as she prepared to alight.

You don’t have to do this, an inner voice urged. You could stay right here, extend your ticket to Penzance, and from there catch the next train back to London. Then make the excuse you’ve been hit by some virus. Summer flu. Anything…

Carrie will be disappointed if you don’t show, but that will surely be a minor issue when she has so much else to be happy about.

And if you can’t stand the idea of London, then get yourself to the nearest airport. You’ve got your passport in your bag, plus your credit cards, so buy a flight somewhere—anywhere—and chill out for a while.

And stop—stop agonising over the past. Because there’s nothing you can do—not without ruining Carrie’s happiness. And that’s never been an option.

But she was already caught up in the small stream of people who were also leaving the train. The door in front of her had opened, and she was stepping down into the sunlight.

It was hot, but Rhianna felt the fine hairs on her arms react as if a chill wind had touched them.

She paused, all her senses suddenly alert, and saw him.

He was waiting at the back of the platform, taller and darker than anyone else in the bustling crowd around them. A shadow in the sun. His anger like a raised fist. Waiting for her, as she’d somehow known he would be. As she’d felt him deep in her heart—her bones—even while she was trying to convince herself that he’d be long gone, a thousand miles away, and that she had nothing more to fear.

Then, as their eyes met, Diaz Penvarnon began to walk towards her.

CHAPTER TWO

RETREAT was impossible, of course. There were people behind her, and she was being carried forward by their momentum. Towards him.

And then a voice beside her said, ‘It’s Rhianna Carlow, isn’t it? Lady Ariadne from Castle Pride. This is a bit of luck. May I have a quick word?’

Rhianna turned quickly to the newcomer, youngish and thin- faced, his brown hair slicked back, his smile confident, but her relief was short-lived.

‘I’m Jason Tully,’ he went on. ‘From the Duchy Herald. May I ask what you’re doing so far from London? They’re not planning to shift the new Castle Pride series down to Cornwall, are they?’

‘Not as far as I know.’ She could handle this, she thought, making herself smile back, every nerve in her body tinglingly aware that Diaz Penvarnon was standing only a couple of feet away. ‘Although that would be lovely, of course. But I’m actually here on a private visit.’

She was careful not to mention it was a wedding, in case her presence there was enough for him to rouse the rest of the press pack and bring them homing in on Polkernick Church.

Which would no doubt be interpreted as her deliberate attempt to upstage the bride, she thought bitterly.

‘I see.’ He signalled to an older stouter man, carrying a camera, then looked past her to the train. ‘So, are you travelling alone, Rhianna? You don’t have a companion?’

‘I’m on my way to see friends,’ she returned, not daring to look at Diaz and see his reaction.

‘Sure.’ Jason Tully grinned again. ‘I guess you know it’s just been announced that your co-star Rob Winters has split up with his wife? I’m wondering how you feel about that?’

Ah, so that’s who you were expecting to see following me off the train, you little weasel.

She suppressed an inward groan.

‘No, I hadn’t heard that,’ she returned steadily, aware that Diaz was absorbing every word of the exchange, brows lifted cynically, that other people were halting to stare—and listen. ‘And if it’s true I’m—sorry. However, I’m certain that it’s a temporary difficulty which will soon be resolved.’

‘But you and Rob Winters are pretty close?’ he persisted. ‘Those were some very torrid love scenes you played in the last series.’

‘Yes,’ Rhianna said. ‘We played them. Because we’re actors, Mr Tully, and that’s what we’re paid for.’

And you will never know, she thought, how true that is—for me, anyway.

She added, ‘And now—if there’s nothing else…?’

‘Just a picture, if you don’t mind.’ He looked at Diaz, standing in silence, his hands on his jean-clad hips. ‘And you are?’

‘Miss Carlow’s driver.’ Diaz stepped forward and took the bags from her unresisting hands. All of them, she realised too late, including her handbag, with her money, return ticket and everything else.

‘I’ll be waiting in the car—madam,’ he added, as he turned away, heading for the exit. Leaving her staring after him.

‘We only came down here to do a story about the delay in track repairs,’ Jason Tully announced jubilantly as Rhianna recovered herself, posing obediently for the camera. ‘This is a real bonus.’

Your bonus, she thought. But my can of worms.

‘Have a nice visit,’ he added as she began to walk away. ‘I hope you enjoy yourself with your—friends. When you meet up with them.’

The innuendo was unmistakable, and she rewarded it with another dazzling smile, wishing that she could knock him down and jump on him.

He’ll be on to the nationals as soon as he can get his mobile phone out of his pocket, she thought bitterly as she left the station. I only hope that idiot Rob is staying with his parents in Norfolk, and hasn’t chosen to go to ground somewhere, in true dramatic fashion. Or nowhere west of Bristol, anyway.

But she couldn’t worry about that now. She had her own problems to deal with. The most major of which was standing beside his Jeep, his face bleak and hostile, his pale eyes brooding as he watched her walk towards him.

Her mouth felt dry, and her hands were clammy. If there had been anywhere to go she’d have turned and run. But that wasn’t possible, so she’d have to fall back on sheer technique.

Treat it as stage fright, she thought. Then go on and give a performance. The kind that saves the show.

‘Mr Penvarnon,’ she said, her voice cool and detached. ‘What a surprise. I thought you’d be on the other side of the world.’

‘You hoped,’ he said, as he opened the passenger door for her. ‘Was that why you decided to ignore my advice?

Her brows lifted. ‘Is that what it was?’ she asked ironically. She climbed into the vehicle, making a business of smoothing the skirt of her plain café au lait linen dress over her knees. ‘I thought I was being threatened. And I don’t respond well to threats.’

‘But you deal very well with inconvenient questions from reporters, I notice,’ Diaz said smoothly. ‘I’m so glad you didn’t use that coy old cliché, We’re just good friends, when he was quizzing you about your involvement with Robert Winters.’ He paused. ‘So, what is he? Your consolation prize for missing out on the man you love?’

Her heart seemed to stop, but she managed to keep her voice level.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Both Rob and his wife are genuinely friends of mine, but Daisy and I are closer because we met at drama school. And the reason they’re having problems is that she wants to stop work and have a baby, whereas he sees them as some starry theatrical couple on a smooth and uninterrupted ride to the top. I see no reason to mention that to the press, local or national.’

She paused, drawing a swift breath that she tried to keep steady. ‘And I’m telling you this only because I’m sick of the implication that any other woman’s man is fair game as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Your protest is touching,’ he said, as the Jeep moved forward. ‘But the evidence is against you.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Perhaps it’s genetic.’

‘If you mean like mother, like daughter,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you just say so? I have no objection. Because I know that whatever my mother did it was for love, and that I am no different.’

‘Slow curtain,’ he said sardonically, ‘and tumultuous applause. I loved the authentic quiver of sincerity in the voice, sweetheart. You could make a living in straight drama without needing to take your clothes off on television. But perhaps you enjoy it.’

He paused. ‘Incidentally, how did this good friend of yours react to the sight of you cavorting naked with her husband?’

She shrugged. ‘She thought it was funny.’

Even now she could remember being in Daisy’s kitchen, the pair of them hooting with uncontrollable laughter as they waited for Rob to come back with their Indian takeaway.

‘Do you know how long it took me,’ Daisy had asked tearfully, ‘to put concealer on his bum because he thought he was getting a spot?’

‘He didn’t mention that.’ Rhianna shook her head, hiccupping. ‘He just kept c-complaining about the draught on the set.’

‘He does that when we’re in bed,’ said his loving wife, wiping her eyes. ‘Invariably at the wrong moment. He’s terrified of catching a cold. Some people have champagne in their fridges. We have gargle, bless him.’

God, but they were so right for each other, Rhianna thought. Rob—his ambition and talent battling his anxieties. Daisy—serenely grounded.

Their love for each other had been unquestioned and unquestioning—until Daisy’s biological clock began ticking away.

If they were now separated it had to be a glitch, she told herself passionately, because they belonged together in a way she could only observe and admire. And, if she was honest, envy.

‘So what are you doing here, Rhianna?’ Diaz’s voice broke harshly across her thoughts. His hands were gripping the wheel so fiercely that the knuckles stood out. ‘God knows there isn’t a soul that wants you at Penvarnon—apart, I suppose, from Carrie. In her case, love is indeed blind, or she’d have seen you a long time ago for the treacherous, self-serving little madam you really are.’

‘Heavens,’ she said. ‘What a turn of phrase. If we ever need a scriptwriter for Castle Pride I’ll recommend you. Unless, of course, you’re planning an alternative career as a cabbie?’

‘You didn’t really think I’d risk Simon coming to meet you from the train?’ he said softly. ‘Because my poor trusting Carrie would have let him do it if I hadn’t stepped in.’

‘Dear me,’ she said lightly. ‘Is he so little to be relied upon?’

‘No.’ His voice hardened. ‘You are. You’re the loose cannon around here. The snake in the grass. And don’t think I’ll let that slip my mind even for a minute.’

They were outside the town by now, and he swung the wheel suddenly and sharply, pulling the Jeep on to the verge at the side of the road and bringing it to an abrupt halt.

‘And this isn’t more advice,’ he went on. ‘It’s a warning to be taken seriously.’

He drew a deep breath. ‘You probably have every red-blooded man in Britain lusting after you, but that’s not enough for you—is it? Because you didn’t learn your lesson five years ago. You had to make another play for Simon, and this time it worked.’

He paused. ‘But, sadly for you, the Rhianna effect didn’t last. You can’t have been too pleased when the stupid bastard came to his senses just in time, and realised what was genuine and worthwhile in his life, and how easily he could have lost it. After all you’re irresistible—according to the television company’s publicity machine.’

His voice roughened. ‘You betrayed the best, most loyal friend you’ve ever had in order to bed Simon, just to prove that you could. But on Saturday she’s still the one he’s going to marry. And you will say nothing and do nothing to jeopardise that in any way. Do I make myself clear?’

‘As crystal.’ She stared straight ahead of her through the windscreen. ‘Tell me—did Simon receive a similar lecture, or was this fascinating diatribe designed for me alone?’

‘I didn’t need to have another go at him,’ he said. ‘Simon is subdued enough already. And he’s made it clear that he bitterly regrets the criminal stupidity of putting his entire future on the line, however potent the temptation. I recommend you keep out of his way,’ he added grimly.

‘No problem,’ she said. ‘It’s not as if we’ll be sharing a roof for the next two nights, after all. And if you’re concerned about the daylight hours, why not ask the Hendersons if they’ll move out of the flat and put me back in the stables—the servants’ quarters—where I belong?’

‘When,’ he said harshly, ‘did you ever belong anywhere at Penvarnon?’

She should have expected it, but for a moment Rhianna felt her throat close in shock.

But I never wanted to be there. She wanted to say it aloud. Shout it. Not once. And I left as soon as I could. If it wasn’t for Carrie, I wouldn’t be here now. And once these next few ghastly days are behind us, you’ll never—ever—see me again.

But she remained silent. Because he would no more believe her now than he’d done in the past, so there was no point in hoping.

She simply had to deal with the present pain, and face the uncertainty of the future. Both of which she would accomplish alone.

Then his hand moved. The engine roared into life and the Jeep moved forward.

Taking them to Penvarnon.

‘Alone at last.’ Carrie’s laughter had an edge to it, and her hug was fierce. ‘Oh, Rhianna, I’m so thankful that you’re here. Wasn’t it ghastly downstairs just now? You must have noticed.’

‘You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife,’ Rhianna conceded drily as she returned the hug. ‘But I attributed that to my arrival.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ Carrie returned. ‘Besides, no one cares about a lot of old nonsense that happened years ago. Not any more.’

Don’t they? Oh, God, don’t they? What makes you so sure? Because I can think of one person at least who hasn’t forgotten a thing. Or forgiven…

She was still shaking inside, she thought, as she had been throughout the remainder of that taut, silent drive to the house. Seated beside him, hands clamped in her lap. Staring at nothing.

Still shaking when she reached for the door handle almost before the car had stopped on the wide sweep in front of the main entrance and swung herself recklessly, desperately, out on to the gravel.

She’d thought—imagined—just for a moment that Diaz had very quietly said her name, and in that instant had been tempted to turn and look at him.

Only to see Carrie, almost dancing with excitement at the top of the shallow stone steps, while Henderson, very correct in dark trousers and a linen jacket, came down to collect her luggage. So she’d walked towards the house instead.

And as they’d moved inside she’d heard the car drive off—fast.

Swallowing, she now applied herself to the task in hand—hanging the dress carrier in the elegant wardrobe and unzipping her travel bag. ‘So, what’s the problem?’

Carrie sighed. ‘Just that the bell seems to have gone for round fifty in the battle of the mothers. Dad says it’s like Waterloo—“a damned close-run thing”—then disappears to the golf club. His answer to everything these days,’ she added, with an unwonted hint of bitterness.

‘Well, you can’t expect him to take a passionate interest in hemlines, flower arrangements and tiers on the cake.’ Rhianna tried to sound soothing. ‘He probably thinks it’s his duty just to keep quiet and write the cheques. Besides,’ she added, ‘knowing that he’s going to have to give you away very soon now and watch you disappear to Cape Town must be preying on his mind, too. Maybe he needs time and space to deal with that?’

‘It’s going to be hard for me too,’ Carrie admitted unhappily. ‘Oh, Rhianna, Simon and I—we are doing the right thing, aren’t we?’

Rhianna’s heart lurched. ‘In what way?’ She tried to sound casual.

‘The new job. I sometimes get the feeling that Simon’s having second thoughts about it. He’s been so quiet over the past few weeks. Yet when I ask him he says everything’s fine.’

Rhianna bent over her case, letting a swathe of waving mahogany hair hide her sudden flush. ‘Then probably everything is,’ she said constrictedly. ‘And don’t forget that it’s only a job, Carrie, not a life sentence. If it doesn’t work out, you move on.’

‘I suppose so. But Diaz probably wouldn’t be too pleased about that.’

‘And is the maintenance of his goodwill really so vital?’ She tried to speak lightly. ‘Or just a habit?’

‘Well, he has been incredibly kind,’ Carrie said. ‘After all my parents could never have afforded a place like this, and Diaz has let us live here all this time.’ She sighed. ‘Although that’s coming to an end quite soon, as I expect he told you.’

‘No.’ Rhianna straightened. ‘No, he didn’t mention it. But we’re hardly on those terms.’

‘Oh.’ Carrie looked at her, dismayed. ‘I thought maybe things had improved a little in that quarter—especially as he offered to fetch you from the station. Simon volunteered, naturally, but Diaz reminded him he was supposed to be getting his hair cut in Falmouth, and said he’d go instead.’

‘Yet another of his many acts of kindness,’ Rhianna commented unsmilingly. ‘So, what’s happening about the house?’

Carrie shrugged. ‘Apparently he’s coming back here. To settle, would you believe? Mother thought, from something he said in passing, that he might be getting married, but there doesn’t seem much sign of it. No announcement, and he certainly isn’t bringing anyone to the wedding. In fact he may not even stay for it himself. Not with his new toy to play with.’

‘Toy?’

‘His boat.’ Carrie rolled her eyes. ‘Windhover the Wonder Yacht. Or that’s how Dad describes it. Like the best kind of floating hotel suite, but powered by a massive engine and moored down at Polkernick. He brought it round from Falmouth the day before yesterday and he’s sleeping on board, which has saved Ma having hysterics over the bedroom arrangements here, because usually it’s all change when Diaz comes to stay, and as he wasn’t expected there’d have been uproar.’

‘Of course,’ Rhianna said. ‘The master must have the master bedroom—however inconvenient.’

But at least this boat might keep him at a distance, she thought. Maybe that’s where he was driving off to just now? I can but hope.

‘Well,’ Carrie said tolerantly, ‘you can hardly blame him for wanting his own space. It is his home, after all, even if he hasn’t spent that much time here in the past. And now, to Ma’s horror, he wants it back, and she’ll have to give up being Lady of the Manor.’ She grimaced. ‘Which she’ll hate.’

But she’ll go down fighting, Rhianna thought, remembering Moira Seymour’s bleak gaze meeting hers a short while ago, from the sofa in the drawing room where she’d sat, poised and chilly as ever, in a silence that had been almost tangible.

‘Ah, Miss Carlow.’ The cut-glass voice had not changed either. ‘I trust you had a pleasant journey?’ She’d added coldly, ‘Caroline tells me she has put you in the primrose room.’

All the attics full, are they? Rhianna had asked silently. The oubliette filled in?

However, she’d smiled, and said, with her best Lady Ariadne drawl, ‘It sounds delightful, Mrs Seymour. I’m so glad to be here.’

Then she had turned, still smiling, to the woman sitting opposite. ‘Mrs Rawlins, how lovely to see you again. You’re looking well.’

Not that it was true. Widowhood had put years and weight on Simon’s mother, and given her mouth a sour turn.

‘I hear you’re making a name for yourself on television, Rhianna?’ As opposed to soliciting at Kings Cross, her tone suggested. ‘I find so few programmes of any substance these days that I tend to watch very rarely, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Rhianna had echoed gently.

‘Tea will be served in half an hour, Caroline,’ her mother had said. ‘Please bring your guest to join us,’ she’d added, after a brief hesitation.

Rhianna had been glad to escape upstairs to the designated ‘primrose room’, which turned out to be as charming as its name suggested, its creamy wallpaper and curtains patterned with sprigs of the tiny flowers, and the bed covered in a pretty shade of leaf-green.

Moira Seymour might not be her favourite person, but Rhianna couldn’t fault her choice of décor.

Now, she said slowly, ‘Your mother’s bound to find leaving here a wrench. But it’s an awfully big house for two people.’

‘True,’ Carrie agreed. ‘But an even bigger one for a determined bachelor like Diaz. Unless, of course, he does intend to bite the bullet and become a family man.’ She paused. ‘Did you ever see him with anyone in particular? The times you ran across him in London, that is?’

Rhianna stared at her. She said jerkily, ‘Did he tell you we’d met there?’

‘He mentioned you’d been at some bash together.’ Carrie shrugged. ‘Something to do with insurance?’

‘Apex, the company sponsoring Castle Pride.’ Rhianna nodded. ‘But it was a very crowded room, so I didn’t notice if he had a companion.’ My first lie.

‘And you were both at a first night party for a new play, weren’t you?’

‘Perhaps. I don’t recall.’ Rhianna was casually dismissive as she put away the last of her things. She looked at her watch. ‘Now, I suppose we’d better go down to the promised tea. But you’d better explain to me first why the swords are crossed and the daggers drawn. I thought Margaret Rawlins and your mother were friends?’

Carrie sighed. ‘They were never that close,’ she admitted. ‘You see, the Rawlins’ cottage was originally a second home, and Ma doesn’t approve of such things. Cornwall for the Cornish and all that—even though she and Aunt Esther were both Londoners. And the fact that Mrs Rawlins has now moved down here permanently hasn’t altered a thing.’

‘But that can’t be all, surely?’

‘No.’ Carrie pulled a face. ‘When we began discussing wedding plans Margaret opted out completely. Said that whatever we decided would be fine with her. So—we went ahead.’

‘Except she changed her mind?’ Rhianna guessed.

‘And how,’ Carrie said fervently. She began to tick off on her fingers. ‘We agreed on the guest lists ages ago, but each time we put the numbers in to the caterers she came up with someone else who simply must be invited. That’s probably why she’s here today—with yet another afterthought. And that’s not all. She thought the charge for the marquee was extortionate and insisted we get another quote from a firm she knew, with the result that someone else hired the one I really wanted. Then, last week, Margaret asked with a sad smile if “Lead Kindly Light” could be one of the hymns, because it was “my poor Clive’s favourite.”’ She shook her head. ‘It’s beautiful, I know, but hardly celebratory. Besides which, all the Order of Service booklets were printed ages ago.’

She took a deep breath. ‘There—that’s off my chest. Until the next instalment, anyway. And I know there’s going to be one. I feel it.’

‘Oh God.’ Rhianna looked at her with fascinated horror. ‘Couldn’t Simon have a word with her?’

Carrie sighed again. ‘I asked, but Simon’s very defensive about his mother. Says she’s still mourning his father, which I’m sure is true, and that we must make allowances—especially as we’ll be moving so far away.’ She paused. ‘Anyway, as I said, he seems in a world of his own these days.’

‘Oh?’ Rhianna picked up her brush and stroked it carefully through her hair, meeting her own watchful gaze in the mirror. ‘In what way?’

‘Like nearly missing today’s hair appointment, for one thing,’ Carrie said ruefully. ‘And a few times lately I’ve arranged to ring him at his flat, only he hasn’t been there. Says he forgot, and has stuff of his own to do, anyway.’

‘Probably hung over after his stag night and doesn’t want to admit it,’ Rhianna said lightly.

Carrie stared at her. ‘But his stag party was ages ago. He went to Nassau with a bunch of guys from work. They got this special deal and stayed for a couple of extra days. Surely I told you?’

‘Yes,’ Rhianna said. ‘Yes, of course you did. I’m an idiot.’

How could I forget? How could I possibly forget the trip to Nassau, when it was only a couple of days later that I found out about the baby?

She put down the brush, aware that her colour had risen swiftly, guiltily, again.

‘I keep telling myself that it doesn’t matter,’ Carrie went on. ‘That it will all be over soon and Simon and I will be on our own, making a new life for ourselves. That I’ll look back and laugh at all these niggles. Only…’

‘Only just for now you’d like to punch Mrs Rawlins’ lights out,’ Rhianna supplied briskly. ‘Perfectly understandable—even commendable.’

‘Oh, Rhianna.’ Smiling, Carrie slipped an arm through hers. ‘Thank heavens you’re here. Nothing is going to seem as bad from now on.’

Oh, God, Rhianna thought, her stomach churning as they went downstairs. I just hope and pray that’s true.

Her uneasiness increased when the first person she saw in the drawing room was Diaz, lounging in a chair by the open French windows, glancing through a magazine. The new toy, apparently, wasn’t as compelling as she’d hoped.

As they came in he rose politely and smiled, but his eyes, slanting a glance at Rhianna, were as hard a grey as Cornish granite. She made herself walk calmly past him, choosing a deep easy chair where he’d be out of her sightline.

But not, unfortunately, eliminated from her consciousness. She was still as aware of him, of his silent, forbidding presence, as if he’d come to stand beside her, his hand on her shoulder.

She had also placed herself at a deliberately discreet distance from the sofas, where the two mothers were ensconced opposite each other—tacitly acknowledging her position as the outsider in this family gathering, but not so far away that she didn’t notice there was now a large, flat box beside Margaret Rawlins and wonder about it. But not for long.

‘Caroline, dear,’ Mrs Rawlins said, as her future daughter-in-law obediently took a seat beside her mother. ‘I was thinking the other day of that old rhyme, “Something old, something new…” and I remembered the very thing. I wore it at my wedding and kept it ever since—thinking, I suppose, that one day I’d have a daughter. But that wasn’t to be, of course. So I’d like you to carry on the tradition instead.’

She lifted the lid of the box and carefully extracted from the folds of tissue paper inside a mass of white tulle, layer after layer of it, and a headdress shaped like an elaborate coronet, each of its ornamental stems crowned by a large artificial pearl.

It looked, Rhianna thought dispassionately, like something the Wicked Queen might wear in a remake of Disney’s Snow White. Only not as good.

In the terrible silence that followed, she did not dare look at Carrie.

Eventually, Carrie said slowly, ‘Well, it’s a lovely thought, but I wasn’t actually intending to wear a veil, just some fresh flowers in my hair. Didn’t I explain that?’

‘Ah, but a bridal outfit is incomplete without a veil,’ said Mrs Rawlins brightly. ‘And although I’m sure your dress is very fashionable and modern, I know Simon is quite old-fashioned at heart, and he will like to see you in something rather more conventional too.’

She paused. ‘You’ll have to be very careful with the coronet, of course. It’s extremely delicate, and one of the stems is already a little loose.’

Rhianna found herself looking at Margaret Rawlins with fascination and some bewilderment. She recalled Simon’s mother as a perfectly pleasant woman, a good cook and devoted to her family, who had joined in all the local activities with open enjoyment.

So how on earth had she come to turn into the Control Monster?

As for her comments about Simon…

Was it ‘old-fashioned’ and ‘conventional’for a bridegroom to have been sleeping with someone else for the past three months? Telling that someone else that he loved her? Inventing that special deal in the Bahamas in order to be with her for a few stolen days? And eventually committing the overwhelming error of making her pregnant?

My God, she thought, a tiny bubble of hysteria welling up inside her. What a truly great tradition to uphold.

She glanced at Carrie and saw her looking anguished, while Moira Seymour’s mouth was tight with outrage.

And then the door opened, and Mrs Henderson came in pushing a laden trolley. The tension, perforce, subsided—if only temporarily.

It helped that it was a superb tea, with plates of tiny crustless sandwiches, a platter of scones still warm from the oven, accompanied by a large bowl of clotted cream and a dish of homemade strawberry jam, together with a featherlight Victoria sponge and a large, rich fruitcake.

Mrs Rawlins fussed endlessly about getting the veil back into its protective wrappings before any of it was served—much to Rhianna’s regret. A well-aimed cup of tea would obviously have solved that particular problem for good.

So she’d have to think of something else.

As she returned her tea things to the trolley, she casually picked up the coronet and carried it over to the French windows, as if to examine it more closely.

‘Oh, do be careful.’ Mrs Rawlins’ voice followed her. ‘As I’ve said, one of the stems is very fragile.’

‘So it is, but I’m sure I can fix that,’ Rhianna said brightly, as her fingers discovered that the stem in question had actually become partly detached from the base.

Well, I’m already the least favourite guest, she thought, so what have I to lose? And she gave it a sharp and effective tweak, before gasping loudly in dismay and turning contritely back to the owner.

‘Oh, heavens, it’s come off altogether now.’ Her voice quivered in distress. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Rawlins. I can’t believe I could be so clumsy.’

‘Let me see it at once.’ Margaret Rawlins was on her feet, her face furiously and unbecomingly flushed. ‘Perhaps it can be repaired.’

‘I doubt it very much.’ Diaz had risen too, unexpectedly, and was crossing to Rhianna’s side, taking the mutilated object from her hand. ‘It looks seriously broken to me. But it’s probably better for this to happen now instead of during the ceremony. That would have been really embarrassing.’ The smile he turned on the agitated Mrs Rawlins was charm personified. ‘Don’t you agree?’

‘I suppose so,’ the older woman returned after a pause, lips compressed. ‘But I don’t know what Simon will say when he hears.’

Rhianna stared down at the carpet, as if abashed, her long lashes veiling the sudden flare of anger in her eyes. Simon, she thought grimly, has other things on his mind to worry about.

Fussily, Mrs Rawlins picked up the box with the veil. ‘You had better take this upstairs, Caroline—before there’s another accident,’ she added, with a fulminating glance at Rhianna.

‘Yes,’ Carrie said without enthusiasm. ‘Yes, of course.’ She glanced appealingly at Rhianna, who picked up the cue and immediately followed her.

‘You’re a star,’ Carrie said simply, tossing the box onto the bed in her room. ‘But what the hell am I going to do with a thousand yards of dead white tulle when I’m wearing ivory satin? Look.’

The dress was lovely, Rhianna thought instantly as it was removed from its protective cover and displayed. A simple Empire line sheath, needing no other adornment but Carrie’s charming figure inside it.

She considered. ‘What flowers are you wearing in your hair?’

‘Roses,’ Carrie said. ‘Gold and cream, like my bouquet.’ She took the veil from the box and lifted it up. ‘But they won’t be substantial enough to hold a weight like this.’

‘Then we’ll just have to make it manageable.’ Rhianna paused. ‘Got a sharp pair of scissors handy?’

‘Oh, God,’ said Carrie. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘Cement my reputation as the arch-vandal of the western world,’ Rhianna told her cheerfully. ‘Simon’s mother will never speak to me again, of course, but that’s a small sacrifice to make.’

Besides, she would have far more powerful reasons to hate me—if she knew…

She took the veil from Carrie and placed it on her own head, studying herself in the full-length mirror. ‘Heavens, it swamps me—and I’m taller than you. However, if we just use one layer we’ll be able to see your hair through the tulle, and the flowers will help too, of course. Besides, if I’m careful, it can all be sewn back together afterwards,’ she added, grinning, and gave Carrie an encouraging push towards the door. ‘Now—scissors and sewing kit.’

Left alone, she picked up the dress with immense care and held it in front of her to see the whole effect. She’d use the veil’s shortest tier, she thought, as it would only reach Carrie’s shoulders and therefore wouldn’t detract from the lovely simplicity of the dress itself.

At least she hoped so. After all, she’d had enough costumes practically re-made on her to know what worked and what didn’t, she thought drily.

Then paused, staring at herself, suddenly stricken, as she asked herself what she was doing. Why was she taking this trouble over a wedding that shouldn’t even be happening? How she could be helping her friend marry a man who had already betrayed her so terribly?

Especially when there was no guarantee that it would never occur again, she thought bitterly. That Simon would suddenly become repentant and faithful.

But he was the husband Carrie had always wanted—had set her heart on from young girlhood. Had waited for. And this wedding was going to be the culmination of all her sweetest dreams.

The image in the mirror was suddenly blurred. Rhianna lifted a hand and quickly wiped away her tears before they could fall on the precious satin. Besides, she thought she heard a movement in the passage outside, and she couldn’t risk Carrie coming back to catch her weeping.

Nor could she take the dream of her friend’s whole life and smash it. She would have to keep the secret. Pretend she had no idea there had been a hidden love affair. No baby so soon and so finally eliminated from the equation.

And no dream for me, either, she told herself, pain twisting inside her as she put the dress gently back on its padded hanger and covered it.

Out of all that had happened, she thought, that was the hardest thing to bear. Knowing that she had nothing left to hope for.

And having to live with that knowledge for the rest of her life.

CHAPTER THREE

IT OCCURRED to Rhianna that an excuse to stay out of harm’s way in her room was exactly what she’d needed, giving her a chance to catch her breath and regain some of her composure.

Working with immense care, she’d reduced the mass of tulle by two thirds, and the discarded lengths, their raw edges neatly hemmed, were back in the box.

Carrie was reluctantly reconciled to the idea of the shortened version, and by the time Simon’s mother discovered what had been done it would be too late. Although the fact that the veil could be subsequently reconstituted in all its voluminous glory might mollify her a little.

Whatever, thought Rhianna. Carrie and I will be long gone anyway, so she’ll have to fulminate alone.

But now the time was fast approaching for the next ordeal—a quiet dinner at home with the family. Including, of course, the master of the house.

‘The big party’s tomorrow evening,’ Carrie had told her happily. ‘At the Polkernick Arms. We’ve practically taken the place over.’

Her face had clouded slightly. ‘But Simon can’t be with us tonight. His godfather and his wife are travelling down from Worcestershire a day early, and Margaret’s insisted that he spends the evening at home with them.’

Rhianna had given an inward sigh of relief. At some point, sooner or later, she and Simon would have to face each other, of course. But she’d prefer that to be much, much later.

But his absence was not going to make the occasion any easier for her. Because he was not her only problem, she reminded herself unhappily. There was also Diaz to be confronted yet again, and although there might have been a brief moment’s complicity between them in the drawing room earlier, it had been no more than that, and she was totally deluding herself if she believed otherwise.

He would still be gunning for her. Watching her. Waiting for her to make one false move.

So she would have to make damned sure that he was disappointed, she told herself grimly.

And she was armoured for the challenge.

She’d showered, and changed into a silky skirt the colour of indigo, stopped with a white Victorian-style blouse, high-necked and pin-tucked. Demureness itself.

She’d drawn her hair back from her face, securing it at the nape of her neck with a silver clasp, and used the lightest of make-up—a coating of mascara to her long lashes and a touch of colour on her mouth. Nothing more.

She’d accentuated the body lotion used after her shower with a drift of the same fragrance on her throat and wrists, and fixed modest silver studs in her ears.

Neat, she thought, scrutinising herself in the mirror, but not gaudy.

She walked over to the window seat to repack Carrie’s sewing basket, and stood for a moment staring out of the window at the grassy headland, the blue ripple of the sea beyond.

It was the last time she would see it like this, because first thing tomorrow they were coming to put up the marquee. So she would take a long, final look now at this view, so familiar and yet at the same time so alien.

So many memories too, she thought wryly, and so few of them to be treasured. In fact, she could almost count them on the fingers of one hand. The feel of the short turf, cool beneath her bare feet as she ran. The hot gritty slide of the sand under her burrowing toes down in the cove, and the eventual, blessed shock of the sea against her heated skin. Misty mornings. Blistering afternoons, lying languid in the shade. All pure nostalgia.

But also tears scalding her eyes, like salt in her throat. And a man’s voice saying almost gently, ‘What’s wrong? There must be something…’

She stirred restlessly. That particular recollection had to go. It had no place in her memory. Not any more.

Perhaps this was really why she was here? she thought. To clear her mind of the past and prepare for a future that in so many ways was looking good. The kind of career many actresses her age could only dream of.

Except her dreams were different, and that was something she had to deal with once and for all.

To accept that she’d been crying for the moon all these years, and that the man she wanted had his own obligations, his own priorities, creating a void between them that could never be crossed.

She turned abruptly away from the window. Took several deep, steadying breaths from her diaphragm, as she did before she began an important scene. She opened her door, stepping into the passage—and ran straight into Simon.

‘So there you are.’ Abruptly he took her arm, propelling her back into her room and following. ‘What’s going on, Rhianna? I thought you weren’t going to be here. That’s what you let me believe, anyway.’

‘I told you I hadn’t made a decision,’ she defended, rubbing the arm he’d grabbed, aware that she was quivering inside, and a lot of it was temper. ‘What’s the matter, Simon? Conscience troubling you at last?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ His voice was harsh, goaded. ‘I made a mistake, that’s all. I’m not the first man and I won’t be the last to get spooked by the thought of marriage and have a fling before the gates finally shut.’

‘A fling?’ she echoed bitterly. ‘Is that what you call it? It’s rather more than that when you tell someone you love her. Make her believe in happy ever after, then dump her, leaving her pregnant with a child she thought you wanted too.’

‘Is that why you’re here?’ he said hoarsely. ‘To tell me the termination’s been cancelled after all? Or to make some other kind of trouble?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘And—no. Does that put your mind at rest? But understand this, Simon. I’m keeping quiet about this whole hideous mess for Carrie’s sake, not yours. You don’t deserve her, you appalling creep, and you never have. But you’re what she wants.’

‘Well,’ he said softly, ‘she isn’t the only one—is she, sweetpea?’ He lifted his hand and stroked it insolently down her cheek.

Rhianna flinched away as if she’d been burned. ‘Just get out of here,’ she said harshly. ‘And you’d better make Carrie happy, that’s all. Don’t ruin her life as well, you complete and utter swine.’

‘No,’ he said, suddenly sober. ‘I won’t. Because I really do love her. Maybe it took a stupid, meaningless involvement to teach me how much. To make me realise I couldn’t bear to lose her. Can you understand that?’

‘I’ll never understand you, Simon.’ Her glance was cold and level. ‘Or anything that’s happened in the last months. Not if I live to be a thousand.’ She paused. ‘And my own loss, of course, doesn’t matter,’ she added bitterly.

‘Come off it, Rhianna.’ The mockery was back, coupled with a note of triumph. ‘How can you lose what you never had? Get real.’ He paused. ‘And now, sadly, I must tear myself away. But I’ll be back tomorrow, so remember that I’m about to marry your best friend and be nice, hmm?’ He gave her a valedictory grin, and departed.

Left alone, Rhianna sank down on the edge of the bed, feeling the inner trembling spread through her body, permeating every nerve, every sinew.

Calm down, she told herself. You’ve seen Simon. Spoken to him. You don’t have to do that again. By now he’ll be gone. Tomorrow there’ll be a mad rush to get everything done, and avoiding him should be pretty easy. The trick is not to make it too obvious, or Carrie will notice and wonder.

Tonight, you’ll simply be—pleasant, speaking only when spoken to. You know how to do that. God knows, you’ve had plenty of practice over the years, right here in this house, where you’ll always be the interloper. The unwanted guest.

And when dinner’s over you can yawn, say you’re tired after the journey. Make that your excuse for an early night.

But above all you will not—not—cry. Certainly not now. But not even tonight, when it’s dark, and you’re lying on your own, thinking of—him. Trying not to want him and failing miserably. Just as you’ve done for so many nights in the past. As you’ll want to do for the rest of your life.

Having composed herself with an effort before venturing downstairs again, it was something of an anti-climax to walk into the drawing room, her head high, and find it empty.

But the rest of the party were clearly expected, because a tray of drinks, including large jugs of Pimms and home-made lemonade, plus a cooler containing white wine, had been set out on a side table.

The French windows were standing open, and the evening sun was pouring into the room like warm gold, accompanied by the faint whisper of the sea like a siren call.

Rhianna took two steps towards the open air, then paused. However pressing her desire to escape, she was hardly dressed for scrambling over rocks and sand, or for paddling through the creaming shallows of the tide, she reminded herself drily. Far better to stand her ground and hope the evening would pass quickly.

She wandered back towards the wide stone fireplace, and stood looking up at the portraits which flanked it of Tamsin Penvarnon and her Spanish husband.

Carrie had told her all about them one afternoon, when they’d been alone because Simon had been dragged unwillingly to Truro, shopping with his mother.

‘Several years after the Armada there was a Spanish raid on Cornwall,’ she’d said. ‘They burnt Mousehole and Newlyn, but as they were getting away in their galleys there was a fight, and one of their marine captains, Jorge Diaz, was wounded and swept overboard. He was washed up in our cove and Tamsin Penvarnon, the family’s only daughter, found him there, half drowned. She had him carried up to the house and nursed him until he recovered.’

She gave an impish grin. ‘Then Tamsin found she was having a baby. So she and Captain Diaz got married—only the family put it about that he was really her cousin, one of the Black Penvarnons from near St Just, in case anyone asked awkward questions. He took the family name, but he and Tamsin called one of their sons Diaz, and the tradition has kept going ever since. So when Uncle Ben and Aunt Esther had a boy, everyone knew what he’d be christened.’

She sighed. ‘It’s a wonderful story—especially as it turned out that Jorge Diaz’s father was one of the conquistadores who went to South America and won lots of land and masses of gold, which he left to Jorge’s elder brother, Juan. But Juan Diaz got fever and died too, so everything came to Jorge and Tamsin, which is how the Penvarnon fortune started. And, to add to it all, they found enormous mineral deposits on their estates in Chile. Which is why my cousin Diaz is a multimillionaire and we’re the poor relations,’ she added buoyantly. ‘Only Mummy doesn’t like me to say that.’

Rhianna digested this. ‘Is Mrs Penvarnon—your aunt—dead too?’

‘Oh, no.’ Carrie shook her head. ‘She lives abroad. She just—doesn’t come back here.’

‘Why not—when it’s so beautiful?’

Carrie shrugged. ‘I asked Daddy once, and he said that though Mummy and Aunt Esther were both Londoners, some people didn’t transplant as well as others. Although Jorge Diaz seemed to manage it,’ she added. ‘He and Tamsin had their portraits painted when they got rich, and she’s wearing the Penvarnon necklace, all gold and turquoise, that he had made for her. Their pictures are in the drawing rooms. One day when no one’s around I’ll show them to you.’

Carrie had been as good as her word, Rhianna recalled, and she’d stood enthralled as she gazed up at the long-ago lovers—he with the kind of saturnine good-looks to die for, and she a red- gold beauty with vivid blue eyes.

Now, as she took another look, the resemblance between Diaz Penvarnon and his Spanish ancestor was truly amazing, she acknowledged with reluctance once again. Shave the black pointed beard, replace the snowy ruff with an open-necked shirt and substitute a mobile phone for the sword Don Jorge’s hand was resting on with such stunning authority, and they could be twins.

Both of them adventurers too, she thought. Their eyes looking outward with challenge, seeking new worlds to conquer and fresh fortunes to be made.

Had Tamsin known what she was taking on that day in the cove? she wondered. Or had she ever sighed for a more settled existence?

She moved slightly closer. Tamsin hadn’t the expression of a lady who suffered from doubts. Her eyes and faint smile held the same proud certainty as that of her husband. One hand toyed with an elaborate feathered fan, while the other pointed beringed fingers at the dramatic chain of turquoises, set in gold, that surrounded her neck, its single pendant stone, encircled by pearls, nestling enticingly in the valley between her breasts.

‘It used to be kept in that display case over there on the table,’ Carrie had told her, as they’d stood gazing that first time. ‘But there were problems with insurance, so Uncle Ben decided it should live in the bank. Penvarnon brides always wear it on their wedding days, so I suppose we’ll have to wait for Diaz to get married before it comes out again.’ She’d darted across the room to the table in question. ‘But the fan’s still here, if you want to have a look.’

I should have stuck at looking, Rhianna recalled ruefully, but the temptation to take the lovely thing from its satin bed and hold it had been too strong.

And as she’d touched it something strange had happened to her, as if the simple action of unfurling a fan and waving it smoothly and languidly had transformed her into a different person—a grown woman, aware of the power of her own beauty. She’d moved slowly across the room, her walk a glide, glancing from left to right under her lashes, as if acknowledging the admiration she aroused.

She’d thought since that that was the moment when she’d known with absolute certainty she would become an actress. That she might be able to hide from her intrinsic loneliness by becoming other people.

At the time, she’d spun round on her toe, laughing almost shamefacedly at her own silly fantasies—only to look past Carrie and see Moira Seymour standing grim-faced in the doorway, with Diaz Penvarnon just behind her.

‘How dare you?’ The older woman’s voice had been molten with anger. ‘How dare you touch anything in this house, you little—?’

‘It’s not her fault,’ Carrie broke in staunchly. ‘I told her she could.’

‘Then you had no right, Caroline.’ Her mother turned on her furiously. ‘This is a Penvarnon family heirloom, not some cheap toy to be passed around and played with. In future, the case will be locked. And this girl should not be in the house, anyway. I gave strict instructions about that.’ She took a step forward, her hand outstretched, her eyes fixed inimically on Rhianna’s white face. ‘Now, give it back and get out. And believe me—you haven’t heard the last of this.’

‘I haven’t done anything to it.’ The words came out all wrong. They sounded sullen when she’d meant them to be apologetic and reassuring. ‘I wouldn’t.’ She glanced up at the portrait. ‘I just wanted to hold it because it was hers, and she’s so beautiful.’

Diaz Penvarnon said with quiet authority, ‘It’s all right, Aunt Moira. I’ll deal with this.’ He moved past Mrs Seymour and took the fan carefully from Rhianna’s numb fingers.

He said, ‘You might not mean to harm it, but it’s very old and consequently extremely fragile.’ He looked at Mrs Seymour. ‘And, as I said when I was last here, it properly belongs in a good costume museum. I shall see to that.’

There was a silence, then Moira Seymour said, openly reluctant, ‘Of course—if that is what you wish.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is.’ He replaced the fan gently in the case and closed the glass lid. ‘There,’ he added. ‘No real harm done. Now, off you go, both of you, and we’ll say no more about it.’

He’d been as good as his word, Rhianna thought. The expected tongue-lashing from Aunt Kezia had never materialised. And the glass case and its contents had been removed from the drawing room and taken away in a van a few days later.

‘Mummy’s in a fearful temper about it,’ Carrie had reported dolefully. ‘She used to like pointing it out to visitors—our genuine Elizabethan relic. And now she can’t. And she got even more cross when Daddy said the fan belonged to Diaz’s ancestors, not ours, and he was entitled to dispose of it as he saw fit.’

She paused, then looked more cheerful. ‘He also said that barring you from the house was the kind of stupid, unkind rule which was bound to be broken, and he was only surprised it hadn’t happened before. He said that Diaz thought so too. So we don’t have to worry about that any more.’

Rhianna knew they almost certainly did, but kept quiet about it anyway.

Now, all this long time later, nothing had changed, she admitted with an inward sigh. She allowed herself one long, last look at Tamsin, a woman who had fought for and won the man she loved—but not, she thought wryly, without breaking the rules of her own time. Then she turned away—only to halt with a stifled gasp.

Diaz was standing in the French windows, one shoulder negligently propped against the frame as he watched her silently.

She said unevenly, ‘You—you startled me.’

‘Not as much as I’d hoped,’ he said. ‘Or you’d have stayed away.’

Rhianna bit her lip. She said tautly, ‘I meant that I didn’t know you were there.’

‘You were lost in thought,’ he said. ‘Clearly those portraits fascinate you just as much now as they seemed to when you were a child.’

She shrugged. ‘They tell a fascinating story.’ She paused. ‘And that’s an amazing necklace. I wonder why he chose to give her turquoises?’

‘The turquoise is said to represent the connection between the sky and the sea,’ he said. ‘Which makes it an appropriate stone for a Cornishwoman.’

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Well, I was rather hoping you’d lend it to Carrie for her wedding, so I’d get the chance to see it in reality.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, without a hint of regret. ‘It’s to be worn by Penvarnon brides only, as a symbol of constancy and faithfulness in marriage.’ His brief smile was unamused. ‘Which rather puts it out of the running—wouldn’t you say?’