“What will you do if I marry you?” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN Copyright

“What will you do if I marry you?”

A little smile curved his lips. “Make slow, delectable love to you until—”

Heat scorching through her, she croaked, “I mean about Dad.”

“As soon as he’s my father-in-law, the business and the house will be his again.”

“That’s very generous,” she said slowly.

“I’m sure you’ll be worth it,” Nick retorted sardonically.

“You don’t really want me for a wife. You just want to use me as a...a sex object, to rid yourself of an obsession.”

“Would you rather I said I loved you?”

LEE WILKINSON lives with her husband in a three-hundred-year-old stone cottage in Derby-shire, England, which gets cut off by snow most winters. They both enjoy traveling, and recently, joining forces with their daughter and son-in-law, spent a year going round the world “on a shoestring” while their son looked after Kelly, their much-loved German shepherd. Her hobbies are reading and gardening and holding impromptu barbecues for her long-suffering family and friends.

Wedding Fever

Lee Wilkinson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

THE letter that was to turn Raine Marlowe’s life upside down came out of the blue.

She and her father were eating breakfast in White Ladies’ white-walled, black-beamed morning room. September sunshine, golden as honey, bathed the garden and poured in through the lattice windows.

Raine, blissfully unaware of the coming upheaval, was putting marmalade on her second piece of toast while Calib, as black and glossy as her own hair, his cat’s eyes as green as her own, sat on the window-sill like a statue, the low sun gilding his fur and turning his whiskers to fine gold wire.

‘Only one this morning,’ the housekeeper announced cheerfully as she brought in the post.

Martha Deering had been with them twenty years and rated as one of the family.

‘Thank you, Martha.’

Ralph, a nice-looking man with a rugged face and a thatch of iron-grey hair, accepted the letter. Finishing his coffee, he tore open the envelope, which bore a US stamp, and drew out the folded sheet of paper.

Glancing at her father’s face as he read it, Raine saw that he looked shaken, tense. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

Taking of his horn-rimmed glasses, he said slowly, ‘A letter from Harry.’

‘Uncle Harry?’

‘Yes.’

As he passed it to her a sudden presentiment made her shiver.

She knew that the twin brothers had quarrelled and lost touch long before she’d been born, though in their younger days they had been very close, and, after leaving college, had gone into the real estate business together.

Confirmed bachelors, and well on their way to being highly successful, they had both fallen in love with the same woman—a black-haired, green-eyed, gentle beauty named Lorraine, who had been Harry’s girlfriend until she had met and fallen for his brother.

When, finally, she had agreed to marry Ralph, the brothers had split up. Ralph had kept White Ladies, the Elizabethan manor-house that had been the family home for generations, while Harry had realised enough capital to start another business and left for the States.

That had been almost thirty years ago.

The letter, which had a Boston address, was simple and to the point.

No doubt it will seem strange hearing from me after all these years. I’m ashamed to admit that only pride has kept me from getting in touch sooner. I’m aware, through a family friend, that Lorraine died a long time ago, leaving only one daughter. My own wife has been dead for many years, and I’m alone except for my adopted son, Nick. I’m still on my feet, but my health has been a problem for some time now, and the specialist has finally confirmed that I only have a few months to live. I would dearly like to see you again before I die. Will you come over for a while and bring my niece? If she can forgive an old man for being so foolishly stubborn.

At the bottom was a postscript.

If you decide to come, please make it as soon as possible. The specialist may be out on his timing...

Green eyes grave, Raine looked up to ask, ‘Will you be going?’

‘Of course.’ Her father answered without hesitation. ‘What about you?’

‘Do you want me to?’

‘It would be a pity not to meet your uncle and cousin.’

‘Then I’ll come. If we can both be away together?’

Since leaving business college Raine had been her father’s personal assistant. They went to work together each day; his office, in the little market town of Lopsley, was only ten minutes’ drive from home.

‘Certainly we can,’ Ralph said, rising to his feet. ‘Now, I’ll go into the office and deal with that side of things while you make the travel arrangements.’

‘When do you want to go?’

‘Today, if possible. As soon as we’re organised I’ll ring Harry and let him know our time of arrival.’

Raine could tell by the barely suppressed urgency in her father’s voice that all his old affection for his twin had come flooding back.

Some of that urgency rubbing off on her, she lost no time in phoning the airport, and in less than an hour they were booked on an evening flight to Boston.

The man waiting outside the international arrivals hall singled the pair out—a tall, spare, familiar-looking man accompanied by a slender black-haired beauty with wonderful Slavic cheekbones and a passionate mouth—and stepped forward.

Raine found herself looking up into a pair of long-lashed eyes the deep, dark blue of midnight—eyes of such a fascinating colour and shape that they took her breath away and made her heart do strange things.

They belonged to a tall, broad-shouldered man with a strong-boned face and thick, slightly curly hair the silvery-gold of ripe wheat.

‘Raine Marlowe?’ His voice was low and attractive, a little husky. Smiling at her surprise, increasing that electric sex-appeal by a thousand volts, he held out his hand. ‘Nick.’

The feel of her fingers imprisoned by the lean strength of his made her tremble and sent the blood racing through her veins.

Turning to shake Ralph’s hand, he said, ‘I’d have known you anywhere. There’s no mistaking the likeness between you and my father.’

While the two men dealt with the luggage and talked Raine tried not to stare at her cousin. Although she had been tipped off balance, she didn’t want to stand gaping like some star-struck schoolgirl. But that tough, handsome face, that austere yet sensual mouth, those eyes, drew her gaze like a magnet.

‘All set?’ His question made her blink and look away hastily.

‘All set,’ she replied, and thought crossly that if she didn’t pull herself together he’d put her down as a halfwit.

His sleek silver car was waiting, and as soon as he’d stowed their baggage they were off, heading into the heart of history-steeped Boston, the seventh largest city in the United States.

Indicating one of the elegant glass skyscrapers that filled the skyline, Nick remarked, ‘That’s where I have my offices. ’

‘Impressive,’ Ralph commented. ‘Harry mentioned that as well as running his companies you’ve been very successful on your own account. How difficult was it to build an international business empire before you were thirty?’

‘Not difficult at all,’ Nick answered coolly. ‘The technique was, and is, simple but effective. I buy up ailing businesses and reorganise them, cutting away the dead wood until they begin to make healthy growth...’

Raine had chosen to sit in the back, and while the men talked she stared out at the beautiful cosmopolitan city, which, though compact, had a wonderful feeling of airiness and space.

The skyline was full of contrasts. Tall skyscrapers and imposing modern buildings alternated with old steeples and clock towers and colonial landmarks.

It was a warm September evening, and as they drove towards Beacon Hill the streets seemed full of people strolling in summer dresses and short-sleeved shirts.

Red-brick mansions and narrow, gas-lit, cobblestoned streets gave the exclusive residential area, which sloped down to the Charles River, a picturesque, turn-of-the-century look.

The house Nick and his father shared was on Mecklenburg Place, one of the most elegant and charming squares, with tall shade trees and a central park. Illuminated by the streetlamps, the lacy canopy of leaves glowed with colour.

Number eight was a handsome, well-proportioned Georgian-style town-house, its front door flanked by symmetrical sash windows with rectangular panes and black-painted window-boxes full of autumn flowers.

As the car drew up outside the door it opened, spilling yellow light down the steps, and a tall, spare man with a rugged face and a thatch of iron-grey hair appeared.

Though Raine should have been prepared, it was oddly disconcerting to see a mirror image of her father.

Harry held out his hand.

Without a word, Ralph took it and wrung it. Then the two men were embracing, the warmth of their greeting wiping out the years of estrangement and separation as if they’d never been.

Raine, her eyes suspiciously bright, felt Nick’s hand cup her elbow. They exchanged a look and a smile of understanding which brought them close mentally as well as physically.

Over the next week that feeling of closeness, of unspoken communication remained, and, instead of fading, Raine’s first impression of Nick as the most wonderful man she’d ever met grew apace.

Apart from his stunning looks, she found that he was quick and brilliant and aware, with a strong character and a razor-sharp brain.

A conversation she overheard between the brothers one day proved that as well as loving him, his adoptive father respected him.

‘No one can afford to be soft in business,’ Ralph was saying. ‘There’s too many sharks about.’

‘You’re right,’ Harry agreed, and added, ‘Nick’s far from soft. Not many try to cheat or hoodwink him. The few who do, don’t last long.’

‘But he seems to be a good employer?’

‘He won’t keep anyone who’s unnecessary or who doesn’t pull his weight, but he cares about people. I’ve known him sack a man for being lazy then out of his own pocket support that man’s family until he’s found another job...’

From the first Raine had sensed a certain ruthlessness in Nick, and, falling deeper under his spell, wanting to think well of him, she was gladdened by that glimpse of humanity.

Every day she discovered more about his complex personality, about the man as a whole, and she liked what she found.

As well as an athletic build and a striking face—redeemed from film-star handsomeness by a strong nose and jaw—he had a kind of magnetism, a natural arrogance which made most women give him a second and lingering look.

Yet he was totally lacking in vanity or any kind of conceit, and, though he was quite capable of being hard and despotic, he was also caring and generous, with no petty faults or meanness of spirit.

He had everything and more that she had ever dared hope to find in a man, and, though she did her best to hide it beneath a cheerful camaraderie, the fascination he exerted intensified until he filled her thoughts by day and her dreams by night.

But she had no idea how he felt about her.

Often, when her eyes were drawn irresistibly to his face, she found he was studying her, but his cool expression gave nothing away and it was impossible to guess what he was thinking.

He took a vacation from the office and the four of them walked the Freedom Trail, saw the US Constitution, marvelled at the shimmering reflection of Trinity Church in the soaring glass of Hancock Tower, visited the Omni Theater at the Museum of Science and ate lunch in bustling Quincy Market.

With the unspoken knowledge that time was running out, they packed as much into their days as possible, and each night—after Raine had gone to bed and Nick had retired to his study to catch up on some work—the two brothers sat talking until the early hours of the morning.

One night, leaving the older men to their endless reminiscing, Nick followed Raine up the elegant staircase.

Talking casually, they paused by her bedroom door. She was smiling at something he’d said, when suddenly he bent and kissed her gently—then not gently at all.

The universe exploded in a flash of fire that was followed by a darkness like folds of thick black velvet.

When his lips had reluctantly freed themselves, he said huskily, ‘Goodnight, Raine. Sleep well.’

Closing the door of her room behind her, she leaned weakly against the panels and knew that her life would never be the same again.

That night she dreamt of white lace and orange blossom, of rice and rose petals and stained-glass windows, of living happily ever afterwards...

Next day, not being one to wear her heart on her sleeve, she did her best to maintain her usual veneer of composure. But Raine—cool, self-contained, sensible Raine—was head over heels in love, and happiness and excitement fizzed and bubbled inside her like champagne.

When, after a morning walk on the common, the four returned to Mecklenburg Place, Mrs Espling, the housekeeper, had a message from Nick’s secretary. Some business had cropped up that demanded his attention.

That evening, returning from the office in time to have a meal with them, Nick seemed unusually quiet and thoughtful.

While the two older men talked, Nick ate in silence. Raine watched him surreptitiously from beneath long lashes.

She was studying the planes and angles of that hard, lean face, the wide, mobile mouth, the strong nose and the well-marked brows, several shades darker than the thick blond hair, when he looked up and saw her.

Afraid the longing she felt was only too visible, she flushed scarlet and bent her head, allowing her black silky hair to partially curtain her face.

‘I have to go up to Maine tomorrow,’ Nick remarked during a lull in the conversation.’

‘Maine?’ Ralph raised an eyebrow.

Harry answered. ‘Donkey’s years ago I bought a lumber company and several paper mills up there. Nick takes time from his own business affairs to look after them for me.’

Nick smiled. ‘An occasional trip to Maine is no hardship. It’s a wild, beautiful state, well worth a visit. How about if we all go?’

Harry shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to count me out.’

‘What’s it like?’ Ralph asked his nephew.

‘Lakes, mountains, a spectacular rocky coastline with hundreds of small islands, charming little towns, white clapboard churches, quaint fishing villages, hidden harbours and colourful lighthouses... A lot of the sparse population live near the coast and make their living from the sea.

‘Northeast, towards Canada, is the Allagash—a wilderness of forests and swamps and waterways, where most of the logging is done.’

‘Sounds marvellous,’ Ralph said, ‘but I think I’ll stick with Boston.’

‘Why don’t you two young ones go?’ Harry suggested.

‘How about it, Raine?’ Midnight-blue eyes caught and held green:

A trip alone with Nick would be as exhilarating as jumping out of a plane at thirty thousand feet without a parachute—and as dangerous.

‘I’d love to,’ she said, and if he noticed the quiver in her voice, hopefully he would put it down to excitement.

The next day they caught an early flight up to Bangor. Then Nick, piloting the company’s small plane, which had been specially fitted with dual landing gear—wheels and floats—and extra fuel tanks, took them to the Maine wilderness.

They were to visit the site offices of the lumber company, and landed on a graded road, following a huge truck piled high with massive tree trunks held in place by chains.

Seeing that Raine was startled, Nick told her, ‘There are no airstrips out here. Either we land on water, or on one of these logging roads that belong to the company.’

He steered the plane over uneven ground and they bumped through enormous wire mesh gates and into a kind of compound, where there were several long prefabricated buildings.

Climbing the steps to what was obviously the office block, they were greeted by a short, plump, balding man, wearing a hairy checked shirt and rimless glasses. Nick addressed him as Elmo.

Raine was ushered to a hard wooden chair and plied with strong black coffee and thick slices of cake while Nick sorted out the problem that had taken him there.

Business completed, he returned to say casually, ‘We have a log cabin over at Owl Creek. Would you like to stay there for a few days and see something of the backwoods? Or would you prefer to go somewhere more civilised? ’

Without hesitation, she burnt her bridges. ‘Oh, stay at Owl Creek.’

They flew over forests of spruce, fir, pine and birch, interlaced with gleaming waterways, and landed on the mirror-like surface of Owl Lake, disturbing its evening cloud reflections.

Ringed by hills clothed in the scarlet and gold, green and bronze of ash and maple, tamarack and cedar, it was the most beautiful place Raine had ever seen.

The substantially built, single-storey log cabin was on the lakeshore about half a mile from Owl Creek. Set well back from the water, it was in the centre of a wide clearing and raised on piles, with an open veranda running along three sides and a screened porch.

Nick opened the heavy door, and, having stooped to put a match to the stove, left her to look around while he brought their luggage from the plane.

The kitchenette was fairly basic. Apart from a sink and an old-fashioned hand-operated washing machine, it had a gas cooker, which was connected, and a gas fridge, which wasn’t. But the larder was stocked with all manner of dried and tinned goods, including tins of butter and malted brown bread.

Beyond the kitchenette was a small, separate bedroom and next to that a bathroom—luxurious, Raine guessed, by backwoods standards—with a porcelain sink and bath, a shower cabinet and a flush toilet.

But most of the space was taken up by a large, attractive, open-plan room on split levels.

The living area was simply furnished with two long bookcases, a coffee-table and a comfortable black leather suite. There were boldly patterned cushions and curtains, and matching Aztec-type mats were scattered on the polished wooden floor. The huge wood-burning stove stood in a stone fireplace, and in front of it lay a shaggy bearskin rug.

To one side, on a curved, slightly raised dais, were a stripped pine wardrobe, a dressing-table, a blanket chest and a large divan.

The air was cold and held the faint mustiness of a place that had been shut up for some time, but already crackling flames were devouring the kindling and licking around the pile of split logs in the stove.

‘Like it?’ Nick asked as he carried in their cases.

‘Love it,’ she answered lightly, trying to ignore the tension between them—a sexual tension which had been growing ever since she’d agreed to come here. ‘Incidentally, the bathroom surprised me.’

He grinned briefly. ‘I’m old enough to prefer a certain standard of comfort.’

‘But how do you manage it?’

‘The water’s pumped from a well, and bottled gas provides heating and lighting. Speaking of which...’

Dusk was falling rapidly, and, after bending to light a taper, Nick touched it to the gas mantles, which lit with little plops and blossomed into yellow flowers. That done, he drew the heavy curtains over the windows, making the place cosy and intimate.

‘I’ll cook tonight,’ he said. ‘Your turn tomorrow. But first we’ll have a drink.’

While she stood by the stove, enjoying the blaze, he brought a bottle of Chablis from the larder, and, having opened it, poured two glasses and handed one to her.

As she accepted it his fingers brushed hers, and she caught her breath audibly.

Their eyes met and held. Something deep and primitive flared in his—a look that was at once a challenge and a statement of intent.

She knew without a shadow of doubt that if she didn’t want him, now was the time to make that plain. All she had to do was break eye contact and step back.

But she did want him—with a passion that made her blood run through her veins as hot and impatient as molten lava. Green eyes drowned in blue, she took a step forward.

Removing the glass from her nerveless fingers, he set it carefully on the table.

But, instead of leading her to the bed, he laid her down in front of the stove with a cushion beneath her dark head, and, stretching out beside her, kissed her eyes and her throat and her mouth with a passionate hunger that turned her very bones to water.

She was his to take then, and he must have known that, but, keeping his own desire leashed, slowly, unhurriedly, with enjoyment and finesse, he set out to rouse hers to fever-pitch.

The fire-glow gilded her creamy skin as he slowly undressed her, savouring each new discovery, erotically exploring her exquisite, sensuous body with eyes and hands and mouth.

High, perfectly shaped breasts with dusky nipples firmed enticingly to his touch, offering themselves as tempting morsels for a hungry mouth. A slender waist asked to be stroked and spanned by two strong hands. Curving hips invited leaner hips to fit into their seductive cradle.

‘You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,’ he told her huskily as he stripped off his own clothes. ‘You enchant me.’

Her body responded to his without shame, arching to his touch, welcoming him, holding nothing back.

He was a skilful, considerate lover, and, though she was a virgin, there was no pain, only a joyous acceptance and a growing, spiralling delight that finally ended in a climax so intense that she felt as if her body had imploded into a white-hot core of pure sensation.

She was lying in his arms, her head on his shoulder, her heartbeat and breathing slowly returning to normal, when he queried softly, ‘First time, Raine?’

Wondering if he preferred experienced women, she asked, a shade hesitantly, ‘Do you mind?’

‘Mind? I feel like a king!’

After that first rapturous coming together they made love morning, noon and night, as though they were on their honeymoon, leaving the bed they shared only to shower or to eat, to take an occasional walk or a canoe trip on the lake.

Nick called her, ‘My green-eyed witch,’ and told her how lovely she was and how much he wanted her.

He never said the three words Raine was longing to hear, but it was only a matter of time, she felt sure—just an initial reluctance to admit to the deepest and most binding human emotion of all.

Neither wanted that idyllic week to end, but when, all too soon, the weekend came, he sighed and said they had to return.

They got an early start. During the journey home Nick seemed silent and abstracted, but, transported by love, Raine travelled back to Boston on cloud nine, deliriously happy with the present, glowingly confident about the future.

On reaching Mecklenburg Place, they found that Harry and Ralph had gone to a ball game and that an urgent message from Nick’s secretary was waiting.

‘Damn!’ he muttered, frowning. ‘I need to talk to you—to tell you something—but I’d better go into the office first. There are some important papers I have to look through and sign.’

Taking both her hands in his, he gave them a squeeze. ‘I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours at the most. Will you be all right on your own?’

‘Of course.’ She smiled at his concern.

He claimed her mouth in a hard, almost savage kiss, and, before she could even kiss him back, he was gone.

Wondering what he wanted to tell her, hoping she knew, she went up to her room and unpacked the small case she’d taken to Maine, blushing a little to think how few clothes she’d worn for most of the time—how few either of them had worn.

She was on her way back to the big, sunny living room when Mrs Espling appeared in the hall and asked pleasantly, ‘Can I get you anything, Miss Marlowe? A tray of tea, perhaps?’

‘Oh, thank you. That would be lovely.’

Raine was just pouring a second cup and finishing one of the housekeeper’s delicious blueberry muffins when, without warning, the door burst open.

Looking up, a glad smile on her lips, she was surprised to see a slender, dark-haired woman, perhaps a year or two older than herself.

‘Hi!’ the newcomer said cheerfully. ‘I’m Tina. You must be Nick’s cousin. When he spoke to me on the phone he told me you and your father were coming over... Is he home?’

‘No, he’s gone into the office.’

‘On a Saturday!’ The bright brown eyes clouded with disappointment. ‘Any idea how long he’ll be?’

‘He said possibly a couple of hours.’

‘Then I’ll have plenty of time to go home and unpack.’

‘Do you live far away?’ Raine asked politely.

‘Just next door—’ Tina dropped into the nearest chair, obviously quite at home ‘—so I’m used to seeing Nick most days. Now it seems ages since I saw him—and gosh have I missed him!’

Then, by way of explanation, she went on, ‘For the last three weeks I’ve been staying in New York with an old schoolfriend. I’ve only just this minute got back. Nick was coming to the airport to meet me, only the—’ She broke off abruptly, then went on, ‘Only I found I could get home a day earlier than I’d expected, so I decided to surprise him.’

She was pushing back a stray dark curl when Raine noticed the sparkling sapphire on her left hand, and, with a sudden premonition, she remarked through stiff lips, ‘What a beautiful ring.’

Tina’s pretty pale face lit up. ‘Yes, isn’t it? I wanted a diamond solitaire, but Nick said it wasn’t my style and he chose this one.’

Feeling as though she was being shut in an iron maiden, Raine asked, ‘How long have you been engaged?’

‘Nick proposed to me and we went to buy the ring the day before I left for New York.’

Getting to her feet, Tina headed for the door. ‘I’ll go and unpack his present. I bought him a watch from Tiffany’s. I want it to be a surprise, so if he gets back before I do, don’t tell him.’

‘I won’t be seeing him,’ Raine said, and it was a prayer. Her voice controlled, even, she added, ‘Something’s cropped up and I need to go home, so I’ll be off to the airport myself in a minute or two.’

‘Well, so long, then.’ Tina gave her a wide, friendly smile. ‘I hope you’ve enjoyed your visit. Have a good journey home.’

As soon as the door had closed behind the slim figure Raine phoned for a taxi. Then, hurrying upstairs, she threw her belongings into her suitcase with desperate haste, scrawled a note for her father, telling him that she was needed at home because Martha was poorly, and one for her uncle, thanking him for all his kindness, and was outside waiting as the cab drew up.

Luck was with her and she managed to get a seat on a plane that was leaving for London within the hour. Throughout the flight she sat pale and tense, dry-eyed, though her heart wept tears of blood.

Once a concerned stewardess touched her shoulder and asked, ‘Are you feeling ill? Can I get you anything?’

Grateful for the kindness, Raine shook her head and said, ‘No, I’m fine, thank you. Just tired.’

Tired and bitter and disillusioned, and swamped by such pain that, unable to bear it, she struggled to whip up anger to take its place.

What a fool she’d been. What a blind, stupid fool! All he’d wanted was a little light dalliance, some casual sex while his fiancée was away, but she’d given him everything she had to give—her heart as well as her body.

And how eagerly she’d offered that. Responding with a passionate sensuality she hadn’t realised she was capable of. She’d acted like a wanton.

And what if she was pregnant? Pregnant by a man who had only wanted an easy exchange of pleasure with no commitments. A sophisticated man who had no doubt presumed that she had taken precautions.

Horror filled her, causing her entire body to flush with heat. She felt her face and throat burn and a trickle of perspiration run down between her breasts.

A feverish calculation reassured her that her stupidity was unlikely to have dire results.

Aware of just how much the knowledge of her behaviour would upset her father, she felt sick with relief. Now he would never need to know.

Though that was pure luck. She flayed herself with the thought. Nothing could alter the fact that she had behaved like the worst kind of fool. A fool who had given in to passion, presuming that because she loved Nick he must love her, and that marriage and a home and family would automatically follow.

But she’d learnt a painful, mortifying lesson and learnt it well. Never, never again would she allow passion to rule her.

She had scarcely arrived home when a phone call from her father, enquiring how Martha was, threw her into a panic. Unused to lying, she found herself stammering, ‘Sh-she doesn’t seem too bad...’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m not sure... Some kind of flu...’

‘Then you can cope? You don’t need me back?’

‘Of course not.’

‘How did you manage at such short notice?’

Doing her best to sound her normal self, Raine endeavoured to answer her father’s questions and allay his. concern.

‘Well, don’t try to go into work as well as taking care of Martha,’ he said eventually.

‘I’ll see how things are,’ she hedged.

‘And let me know if you need me.’

‘I’m sure I won’t. I’d much rather you stayed with Uncle Harry... Give him my love.’

‘Don’t go,’ Ralph said. ‘Nick’s waiting to speak to you...’

‘Raine...’

She heard the urgency in the deep voice as, trembling in every limb, she put the phone down.

Common sense told her it would have been better to speak to him, to pretend, for her pride’s sake, that the little incident had meant nothing to her. But she knew only too well that she would have been unable to hide her pain and misery, her humiliation and shame.

The next weeks were the worst of her life. Feeling as though she was slowly bleeding to death, Raine somehow struggled through the long days and even longer nights.

Martha, having been told only that Raine had needed an excuse to come home, looked at her with anxious eyes, but, never one to pry, said nothing.

Nick tried several times to ring her, but Raine refused to speak to him, and, recognising his bold scrawl, destroyed the letters he sent unopened.

She went back to the office and tried to lose herself in her work, but the thought of Nick was always at the back of her mind, and a black weight of emptiness lay on her spirit.

She missed him and longed for him constantly, even while she reminded herself that he was hard and callous and uncaring—that he’d not only used her but betrayed his fiancée.

Ralph was reluctant to leave his brother, and it was a month before he came home. Though Raine was still fighting a desolation of spirit so intense that she felt she would never recover, she was able to hide it better by then, and met her father’s shrewd eyes with relative composure.

When, apart from asking how Harry was, she avoided mentioning Boston, Ralph took the bull by the horns. ‘What did you and Nick quarrel about?’

‘What makes you think we quarrelled?’

‘Don’t take me for a fool, girl. I know you’ve been refusing to speak to him, and, though Martha did her best, she’s no better at lying than you are.’

When Raine said nothing, her father went on, ‘It must have been something pretty serious to send you running home like a scalded cat, but I’m sure—’

‘Please, Dad,’ she broke in desperately. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

Seeing her set face, the stubborn line of her mouth, he sighed. ‘Perhaps you’ll change your mind when Nick comes over.’

Feeling as though she’d been punched in the solar plexus, she croaked, ‘Over here? When is he coming?’

‘He said as soon as he can get away. Probably this weekend.’

CHAPTER TWO

AFTER a night spent tossing and turning, and with her mind finally made up, Raine rose early and pushed a few necessities into a case. That done, she wrote a note to her father saying that she was going up to London for a few days, then, while the household still slept, she quietly let herself out.

No doubt it was cowardly, but she couldn’t bear to stay and face Nick. Whatever it was that was bringing him here—a pricking conscience? Belated guilt at not having told her he had a fiancée?—she didn’t want to know.

Nothing he could say or do would wipe out the past or mitigate her shame. Seeing him again, hearing him apologise, would only add unbearably to her humiliation, strip away any remaining shreds of self-respect.

It was a dark, chilly November morning, with mist lying over the herbaceous borders and shrouding the trees, and, feeling like a fugitive, she hurried down to the old stable block that many years previously had been converted into garages.

The engine of her small car sprang into life immediately, and, its lights feeling the mist like the antennae of some insect, she drove down the drive and turned left towards the station.

Leaving the car in the station car park, she caught the early train into town. By breakfast-time she was booked into a quiet hotel near Green Park, confident that she could safely lose herself in London until Nick had given up and gone back to the States.

Over the next few days she did her level best not to think about him, but the memories refused to be banished completely.

Whenever she relaxed her guard she recalled the smile in his voice when he spoke to her, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her, the swift mental affinity which had made them enjoy each other’s company so much... And a great deal more she would rather have forgotten.

And would forget, she vowed. She wouldn’t let herself keep on recalling the past, thinking of a man who belonged to another woman. A man who had only wanted to use her.

Knowing it would drive her mad to sit in her room, she forced herself to go out each day—walking, window-shopping, visiting museums and art galleries, passing the time somehow, anyhow, until she could go home.

On the fifth day of her self-imposed exile her phone call to White Ladies shook her, making her drop the receiver as though it were red-hot when Nick’s deep voice answered.

Though she had no appetite, she made herself eat, and at night, refusing to let herself brood, she went to concerts, to the opera and to a couple of the long-running shows.

Leaving the theatre on Friday night, after seeing a musical, she found that it was raining. Rather then just stand being jostled by the crowd, she had started to walk down Shaftesbury Avenue, keeping her eye open for a taxi, when she cannoned into a tall, slimly built man hurrying the opposite way.

The impact made her step back and drop her clutch-bag, which opened, spilling its contents all over the wet pavement.

‘I’m so sorry,’ the well-dressed stranger apologised, and, stooping, he began to gather up her belongings and drop them back into her bag.

Thanking him, she admitted, ‘It was my fault. I was trying to find a taxi and not looking where I was going.’ As she spoke she put weight on her right foot and winced.

‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked, his voice clear, with a distinctly upper-class accent.

‘I’ve just stepped awkwardly and turned my ankle. It’s nothing serious.’

‘Can you walk?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She took a step to prove it, and winced again.

His look held concern. ‘Perhaps I’d better give you a lift. My car’s quite close.’

When she hesitated, he added, ‘You won’t stand much chance of finding a taxi on a night like this.’

He was young and good-looking, with gold-rimmed glasses and a reassuring air of quiet respectability.

‘Well, if it’s not out of your way...’ she said slowly. ‘I’m staying at the Wirral Hotel, near Green Park.’

‘I know it. And it’s not out of my way. I have a flat in Curzon Street, and the family home is in Mayfair.’

‘Then, thank you. It’s very kind of you.’

‘Not at all,’ he said politely, meaninglessly, as he offered her his arm with old-fashioned courtesy. As they began to walk—Raine hobbling slightly—he added, ‘My name’s Kevin ... Kevin Somersby.’

‘Raine Marlowe.’

‘Raine?’ he echoed blankly.

‘Short for Lorraine,’ she explained.

‘Oh.’ Judging from his frown, he didn’t approve of shortening names.

His car was an extension of himself—an expensive, well-polished, rather sober saloon. He handed her in with care, and she found herself thinking that his excellent manners must have been instilled from birth.

During the short drive they chatted, and it came as no surprise to discover that he worked in the Foreign Office and that his mother was Lady Maude Somersby.

Though he was handsome, it was in an oddly negative way. His looks didn’t raise her blood pressure one iota, and he was so prosaic that he neither stimulated nor disturbed her. In short, he presented no threat, and she found herself relaxing in his company.

Having escorted her into the hotel lobby and been duly thanked, he wished her a pleasant goodnight.

‘Goodnight...and thank you again.’ Raine offered him her hand.

He held it for a moment, then asked a shade diffidently, ‘May I call tomorrow to enquire how the ankle is?’

‘Of course.’

He was a very nice, correct young man, she thought as she took the lift up to her room, and the complete antithesis of Nick.

When Kevin turned up after breakfast next morning, with a dozen long-stemmed roses and an invitation to lunch, she had no hesitation in accepting.

The lunch-date stretched into the afternoon, and they ended up having dinner and spending the evening together.

Before leaving her that night, he asked hopefully how long she would be staying in town.

Telling herself that Nick would surely get the message and go home soon, she answered vaguely, ‘I’m not sure ... probably another day or two.’

Clearly crestfallen, Kevin rallied to ask, ‘will you come to Manton Square tomorrow for lunch? Mother would like to meet you.’

Not sure how she could get out of going, and not even sure that she wanted to, Raine answered politely, ‘Thank you, I’d love to.’

‘Then I’ll pick you up about twelve.’ Kevin looked relieved, and Raine felt a sudden conviction that the invitation had been issued so that she could be vetted as a suitable companion for Lady Somersby’s only son.

Such was the case.

The next day she found herself greeted with the utmost courtesy by a regal lady with a cast-iron hairdo, several strings of pearls and pale eyes like gimlets.

After an excellent lunch, having been politely but minutely grilled about her background and social standing, Raine was given what was evidently the seal of approval when Lady Somersby suggested that Kevin might take her to see the family portraits.

The following evening, after a phone call to Martha had reassured her that Nick had returned to the States, Raine told Kevin she would be going home the next day. His obvious disappointment was somewhat alleviated when she added, ‘You’ll be very welcome at White Ladies any time you care to call.’

‘Have you a car in town?’ he queried.

‘No, I came by train.’

‘Then perhaps I could drive you home?’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said automatically, ‘but won’t you be at your office?’

‘I have some days due to me,’ he announced firmly. Raine found herself wondering what her father would think when she arrived home with a strange man in tow. But after some consideration she decided it was the ideal solution. Kevin’s presence would prove that she wasn’t mooning over Nick, and it should help to smooth over what might otherwise have been an uncomfortable homecoming.

Safe in the knowledge that no matter how vexed he was with her, her father would be polite and pleasant to any guest, she suggested, ‘If you have nothing planned for the evening, perhaps you’ll stay for dinner?’

Kevin gave her his charming smile. ‘Thank you, I’d like to.’

From then on he became a constant visitor, and early in the spring, with due ceremony, he proposed to her.

Raine had seen it coming, and she didn’t need to think about it. With Kevin, everything would be ordered and placid. He would never tear her apart emotionally and leave her bleeding to death. It might not be the most exciting of marriages, but they were happy and comfortable together. They wanted the same things out of life.

She said yes.

He bought her a discreet diamond solitaire and they began planning the wedding and their future together. In the following months there were only two things they disagreed on—working wives and where to live.

Raine wanted to continue with her job, at least for a time, but Kevin proved to be unexpectedly obdurate about it.

The contentious topics were shelved several times, and then, on Friday evening in September, as they strolled through the garden at White Ladies, Kevin reintroduced them.

‘It’s time we came to a decision, old thing,’ he said, and then, almost as though it clinched matters, ‘I have to tell you that Mother strongly disapproves of these modern marriages where the wife keeps working to the detriment of family life. And in any case,’ he continued, ‘my flat is too far away to make commuting every day feasible.’

‘I’d rather hoped not to have to leave Dad,’ Raine replied. ‘He’s looked after me ever since Mum died, and I’m all he’s got.’

Seeing Kevin frown, she added persuasively, ‘There’s a large, self-contained apartment here at White Ladies, and, with your office situated where it is, it wouldn’t be any further for you to travel to work than you’re travelling now.’

But once again he was adamant. ‘I’ve always felt that a wife should move into her husband’s home, not the other way around.’

‘But what would I do all day, cooped up in a London flat?’

His pale grey eyes looked hurt. ‘I hope we’ll entertain quite a bit when we’re married, and there’s voluntary work and committees and things... Mother will be pleased to help and advise you. And we’ve agreed we want to start a family.’

She seized on that. ‘Surely a town flat isn’t the ideal place to bring up children?’

‘When the time comes we’ll look for a house in the country,’ he promised. ‘Agreed?’

She nodded, and said reluctantly, ‘Very well. I’ll tell Dad I won’t be going back to work after the wedding.’

Having got what he wanted, Kevin was willing to be gracious. ‘If you’d like to be close to your father, when we do buy a house we can try to find something within a reasonable distance of White Ladies as well as London.’

He kissed her cheek. ‘I must go. I’m taking Mother to a charity function in the morning and then on to lunch, but I should be here some time in the afternoon. By the way, we’ll be dining in Lopsley. I’ve booked a table at that new place you said you wanted to try.’

Disarmed by his thoughtfulness, his attempt to please her, she accompanied him to the door and waved him off.

The old walled garden was a suntrap. Eyes closed, head pillowed on her discarded woolly, Raine lay flat on her back on the smooth, green expanse of turf in the centre while she waited for her fiancé.

The late afternoon sun shone redly through her eyelids. She could hear the bees buzzing around the lavender and autumn roses, and smell the various pungent herbs. A baby breeze patted her cheek and ruffled her wispy half-fringe.

Calib sat on her stomach, blinking sleepily while he contemplated nothing in particular. Applying a pink tongue to a velvet paw, he began to wash leisurely behind one ear.

His hearing was more acute than his human companion’s, and he looked up and paused in his ablutions a second or two before the door in the high pink-brick wall opened.

Raine heard the steps cross the crazy-paving path that meandered past the flower-borders, and felt Calib’s easy spring as he abandoned his perch. He always absented himself when Kevin came, determinedly repulsing all his attempts to make friends.

Her fiancé’s shadow falling over her face momentarily blotted out the sun. Keeping her eyes shut, she murmured a lazy hello, and smiled a little invitation.

When he sat down beside her and leaned over to let his mouth lightly brush hers, she reached up to put her arms around his neck.

Rather to her surprise she felt him stretch out beside her. Normally Kevin wasn’t one for lying about on the grass. Even the touch of his lips seemed different. Less deferential. More disturbing. Much more disturbing.

All thought was suspended as, making her heart start to race with suffocating speed and sending a swift surge of pleasure through her, he deepened the kiss.

While her entire body sang into life and a core of liquid heat formed in the pit of her stomach he explored her mouth with masterful thoroughness, one hand following the curve of her hip and buttock in a way it had never done before.

A sudden fear, like the shock of an icy plunge, made her brain click into gear.

Until now, Nick had been the only man who had ever been able to engender such an urgent and overwhelming response. And she didn’t want to feel this way. It terrified her.

Stiffening in rejection, she tried to push him away.

Refusing to be so summarily dismissed, he finished the kiss unhurriedly before lifting his head.

Raine’s eyes flew open.

At first, dazzled by the low sun, she could see nothing but brightness. Then she found herself focusing on a lean, sardonic face, with brows and lashes several shades darker than the thick blond hair, and eyes of a deep midnight-blue. A strong-boned, handsome face. No, much more than handsome—a fascinating, compelling face. A face she had taught herself to hate. A face she’d hoped never to see again...

Panic swept over her as her worst fears were confirmed. ‘You!’ she whispered, jerking upright. Trying to swamp fear with anger, she demanded furiously, ‘What are you doing here? How dare you kiss me like that?’

A level brow was lifted mockingly. ‘How did you want me to kiss you?’ His mouth, the top lip thin, the bottom one seductive, was much too close for comfort. ‘With more respect and less enthusiasm, as I understand your noble fiancé does?’

‘I don’t want you to kiss me at all,’ she hissed at him.

‘You did once,’ he reminded her with deliberate cruelty.

Her mind was suddenly in confusion, beset by memories that returned to her with devastating clarity.

Calib, who had been watching from a short distance away, came back with a little rush to push between them as, face burning, Raine ignored the goad and demanded, ‘And how do you know how Kevin kisses me?’

‘Your father described Kevin Somersby as a minor civil servant—a steady and correct young man.’

‘Which you interpreted as dull and inhibited!’

Rising to his feet in one fluid movement, Nick held out a lean suntanned hand. ‘Was I wrong?’

‘Totally wrong! He’s—’ Breaking off the hasty words, she said coldly, ‘I’ve no intention of discussing Kevin with you.’ Carefully avoiding Nick’s outstretched hand, she scrambled to her feet.

The clamour of her own heartbeat almost deafening her, she busied herself brushing wisps of grass from her grey and white striped cotton shirtwaister.

Her diamond solitaire flashed in the sun. Aware that his eyes followed it thoughtfully, she asked again, ‘What are you doing here?’

His healthy white teeth gleamed in a smile. A smile that, like his words, held a subtle threat ‘If the mountain won’t come to Mahomet...’

Just for an instant both her heart and breathing seemed to stop. She took a long, shuddering breath and asked the first thing that came into her head. ‘Did Dad know you were coming?’

‘Yes, he knew. I gather he didn’t tell you?’

Her green eyes flashed. ‘You probably asked him not to!’

Neither confirming nor denying the charge, Nick said, ‘I thought it was high time we had a talk.’

Feeling as though a silken noose was tightening around her throat, she informed him, ‘There’s nothing to talk about. I’m going to be married in a month.’ She spoke the words as though they were a talisman with the power to keep danger at bay.

‘Really?’ he drawled.

‘Yes, really.’ She strove to sound serene and certain, but all at once she hardly believed it herself. To add substance to the declaration, and aware that her father and Nick corresponded regularly, she added, ‘Surely Dad must have mentioned it?’ And then she knew that of course he had. That was why Nick was here!

His smile oblique, Nick agreed, ‘Oh, yes, he mentioned it...‘ But he wasn’t very happy about it. The words were as clear as if they’d been spoken aloud. Eyes glinting, Nick went on, ‘However, I gather he doesn’t think too much of your intended.’

It was the truth and she couldn’t deny it. Angry with both of them, she said sharply, ‘What he thinks of Kevin is nothing to do with you.’

‘Oh. I don’t know... Apart from anything else we’re family. Kissing cousins, you might say.’

When Raine failed to rise to the bait, stooping to stroke Calib, who, purring like a young traction engine, was winding sinuously around Nick’s ankles, he remarked reflectively, ‘Though, apart from just now, it’s almost a year since you last kissed me.’

Swallowing hard, feeling the past she’d struggled so hard to leave behind closing in on her, Raine denied it. ‘I didn’t kiss you just now.’

Straightening to his full height of well over six feet, towering over her five feet six inches, he said, ‘Strange. That’s what it felt like.’

‘I thought it was Kevin.’

‘Well, if he’s able to make you respond so passionately, perhaps your father’s wrong about him being prudish.’

Though she knew he was trying to provoke her, she couldn’t stop herself saying, ‘Kevin’s not prudish. He just isn’t—’ Breaking off, she continued raggedly, ‘I much prefer romance to...’

‘Passion?’ Nick suggested when she faltered. Dark blue eyes holding an expression that could have been contempt, he continued derisively, ‘But of course romance is so much less disturbing than passion—less of a risk. Holding hands, a stroll in the moonlight, a chaste kiss—that doesn’t demand any real commitment, any great depth of feeling. Everything’s calm and orderly and safe.’

He was a fine one to talk about commitment, about depth of feeling. Desperately she fought back. ‘If that’s how I want things to be it still has nothing to do with you.’

‘Why do you want things to be that way?’

Because surrendering to passion had almost destroyed her, and she had no intention of ever letting it happen again.

When, staring blindly at a magnificent display of orange dahlias, she failed to answer Nick’s question, he took her shoulders and made her look at him. ‘Why, Raine? Why do you want things to be calm and orderly and safe? It doesn’t seem to be much of a recipe for marriage. It’s like trying to sail a three-masted schooner on a pond rather than taking it out to sea.’

She made an attempt to pull herself away and felt a rush of relief when he let her go. ‘Some people get seasick.’

‘Kevin, for instance?’

‘It suits us both to have a calm, friendly—’

‘Friendly! Ye gods ... a platonic marriage.’

On the defensive, she cried, ‘It won’t be platonic. It just won’t be...’

‘Stimulating? Passionate?’

She sought for a word. ‘Stormy. Neither of us care for an excessive display of emotion.’ Realising just how priggish that had sounded, she flushed and dipped her head, so that the long black hair fell forward, half curtaining her face.

Nick laughed harshly. ‘Little Lord Fauntleroy can’t have any good red blood in his veins if he’s willing to settle for a tepid relationship like that It seems as if your father was right when he—’

‘Dad’s not right. For once in his life he’s prejudiced and—’

‘Save your breath,’ Nick broke in softly. ‘It looks as if I’m going to have the opportunity to judge for myself.’

Kevin was advancing towards them over the grass, and for the first time she noticed that his shoulders were somewhat rounded and that he carried himself with a slight stoop.

Despite the warmth of the day, and the fact that it was a Saturday, he was conservatively dressed in a suit and tie.

Against Nick’s smart but cool attire of casual cotton trousers and dark blue open-necked shirt, he looked overheated and overdressed. But, Raine was pleased to note, he was by far the most conventionally handsome of the two.

Determined to prove something, she exclaimed brightly, ‘Darling...’ Going to him, she flung her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to press her lips to his.

Kevin didn’t actually say, Steady on, old thing, but he looked so uncomfortable that Nick had to turn his choke of laughter into a polite cough.

Raine glared at him.

Holding out a civil hand to the newcomer, he said blandly, ‘I’m Dominic Marlowe—Raine’s cousin.’

‘Kevin Somersby. How do you do?’ Pale eyes distinctly curious, Kevin shook the proffered hand, his grip moist but studiously firm.

Raine picked up her woolly and brushed it free of grass, then, slipping her hand through her fiancé’s arm, asked, ‘Shall we go up to the house?’

As though the suggestion had included him, Nick joined them, strolling along, sandwiching Raine between himself and Kevin, with a calm assurance that rattled her afresh.

Glancing from the slender black-haired girl by his side to the blond giant beyond her, Kevin remarked in his clear voice, with its upper-crust accent, ‘I fail to see any family resemblance—though you mentioned you were cousins?’

‘But not blood relatives,’ Nick said shortly.

‘Yet you have the same name?’

‘My mother had been widowed and I was just a year old when she married Harry Marlowe. He adopted me.’

‘I see.’ Kevin nodded, before asking a shade condescendingly, ‘What line of business are you in, Mr Marlowe?’

‘The family call me Nick.’

‘Then Nick it is.’ The words were just a fraction too hearty.

With a thin smile, Nick went on, ‘I take over small, near-bankrupt companies and make them into large, successful ones.’

Clearly disconcerted, Kevin adjusted his glasses and said awkwardly, ‘That must be very satisfying.’

‘It is, believe me.’

For no earthly reason, Raine shivered.

Calib had, as usual, made himself scarce when Kevin appeared. Now, to her annoyance, he emerged from a clump of purple Michaelmas daisies and attached himself to Nick with almost dog-like devotion.

Noticing the overt display of affection, Kevin collected himself and commented, ‘The cat appears to know you very well.’ When Nick said nothing, he continued a shade pompously, ‘It seems a little strange that we’ve never run across each other before... In fact, I don’t recall Lorraine ever mentioning you.’

‘She’s a funny girl,’ Nick observed with a smiling, intimate sidelong glance at his cousin. ‘Until today she’d never mentioned you to me.’

Kevin seemed unsure what to make of that. There was a rather awkward pause, during which Raine silently cursed Nick, before, either prompted by genuine interest or good manners, Kevin resumed the conversation again to ask, ‘I take it you don’t live in this part of the world... er...Nick?’

‘I live in the States—in Boston, Massachusetts.’

‘Ah... I wondered about the accent. I understand many Americans consider a Boston accent refined...’

When Nick failed to react to that piece of snobbery, Kevin went on, ‘Are you one of the Boston Brahmins, by any chance?’

‘Hardly,’ Nick replied coolly. ‘Though my mother’s ancestors came over on the Mayflower.’

‘What on earth is a Boston Brahmin?’ Raine asked.

It was Nick who answered. ‘It’s a name coined by Oliver Wendell Holmes back in the nineteenth century to describe the “aristocracy”—wealthy merchants of the city who were well-read, well-travelled and very conservative. They were usually descendants of the early Puritan settlers.’

As they left the walled garden and began to walk up the gentle slope of green lawns that led to the house, with its rosy brick herringbone-patterned walls and overhanging eaves, Kevin smoothed back his already smooth hair and pursued the matter. ‘So, have you two known each other all your lives?’

Nick shook his head. ‘We didn’t get to know each other until... when would it be, Raine?’

She ground her teeth. ‘I don’t remember exactly.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you do.’ He caught and held her glance. The gleam in his dark blue eyes brought a quick flush of betraying colour to her cheeks.

‘About a year ago, I suppose.’ Her tone was as offhand as she could make it.

‘It’s rather a romantic story,’ Nick went on conversationally. ‘Wouldn’t you say so, honey?’ Then, turning to the other man, he went on, ‘You see, when—’

Afraid of that “honey”, and of what he might be about to reveal, Raine interrupted jerkily, ‘I’m sure Kevin won’t want to be bored by all the family history.’

‘Not at all,’ Kevin said politely. Then to Nick, ‘Do go on.’

Cocking an eyebrow at Raine, Nick suggested, ‘Perhaps you’d like to carry on?’

Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, she chose the latter, and, estimating the distance to the house, began at the part she didn’t mind telling.

‘Nick’s—’ she spoke the hated name with difficulty ‘—adoptive father and mine were twins. More than thirty years ago they quarrelled and lost touch. Then last autumn, quite unexpectedly, we heard from Uncle Harry. He had just been diagnosed as suffering from a terminal illness and he wanted to make up the quarrel while he could. Dad and I went over to Boston.’

Leading the way over the old crazy-paving into the house, Raine added, as though it didn’t matter, ‘And that’s when Nick and I met for the first time.’

Crossing the hall, she opened the door into the long, wood-panelled, black-beamed lounge. A comfortably faded chintz-covered suite and some lovingly cared for antiques stood on the polished oak floorboards. Bowls of autumn flowers glowed in dark corners, and a huge jar of bronze chrysanthemums filled the stone fireplace.

Ralph glanced up from the detective story he was reading. In the past he’d always been too much of a workaholic to relax, but whiplash injuries sustained in a minor road accident that year had left him with pains in his back and chest, and he’d been warned to take it easy.

For once in his life, Raine was pleased to see, he seemed to be obeying his doctor’s orders.

He took off his glasses, put down his book and smiled at the little group, revealing a gap between his two front teeth that gave him an endearingly boyish look.

He addressed his daughter. ‘Martha has just been in to ask how many there’ll be for dinner tonight.’ His enquiring glance at Kevin, though civil, lacked warmth. ’So if you’d care to tell her?’

Her voice cool and composed now, Raine asked, ‘Is Nick staying?’

Ralph’s hazel eyes showed his annoyance. ‘Of course he’s staying.’

‘Then there’ll be just the two of you.’ She moved closer to her fiancé. ‘We have other plans for the evening—haven’t we, darling?’

Her father frowned. ‘Other plans?’

‘When I’ve got changed we’re going in to Lopsley. Kevin’s taking me to Phasianidae.’

‘What the deuce is that?’ her father demanded irritably.

‘A new restaurant that’s just opened in Cheyne Walk.’

Ralph glanced helplessly at his nephew.

‘So you’ll have to forgive us for not joining you.’ Raine gave Nick a disdainful little smile. ‘I’m sure you and Dad can find plenty to talk about.’

‘I’m sure we can,’ he agreed smoothly. ‘But it’s you I need to talk to.’

Her face froze into a stiff mask. ‘Anything you want to say to me will presumably keep until tomorrow.’

‘Unfortunately it won’t.’ Turning, Nick clapped a hand on Kevin’s shoulder. ‘We’ve come up against something of a family problem that needs sorting out immediately. I know you’ll understand, and I’m quite sure that in the circumstances you wouldn’t want to...’ He allowed the words to tail off.

‘No...no, of course not.’ Reacting to the hint of cool authority that lay beneath the friendly tone, Kevin was already backing away.

Alarm made Raine dig her toes in. ‘I really don’t see what’s so urgent that it can’t wait until the morning.’

Catching Nick’s peremptory glance, Kevin said hastily, ‘Don’t worry, old thing. We can always go some other time. I’ll cut along now and come over early tomorrow, if that’s all right by you?’

Desperate to keep her fiancé as a buffer between herself and Nick, Raine appealed to her father. ‘But Kevin will soon be part of the family. Surely he can stay?’

It was Nick who answered. ‘He can, but...’ You won’t really want him to, the dark blue eyes warned her.

Brought up short, she hesitated.

As though he owned the place, Nick moved to shepherd Kevin out, adding in a jocular tone, ‘Perhaps it’s better not to know about the family skeletons until after you’re married. ’

In the doorway he glanced back, and Raine saw an odd look pass between him and Ralph before the latch clicked to behind him.

Fuming helplessly, a flush of colour lying along the wide cheekbones inherited from her mother, she turned to Ralph and asked in a choked voice, ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘I sent for him.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?’

‘Because last time I told you he was coming you bolted.’

‘I didn’t want to see him,’ she said defensively.

‘Damn it, girl,’ Ralph exploded, ‘have you any idea how furious you made him? He hung around here for over a week—a week he really needed to be in Boston.

‘You made him look a complete fool, and you ought to know he’s not a man to tolerate that sort of treatment. Why hadn’t you the decency to stay and listen to him?’

‘I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. I stil don’t.’

Almost wearily, Ralph said, ‘Well, you can’t keep or avoiding him. He’s here now, and you’ll have to face him.

CHAPTER THREE

RAINE shook her head, silently repudiating that statement. As far as she was concerned she didn’t have to do anything of the kind. It had been her fixed intention never to see him again.

In spite of her father’s pleas, and to her everlasting shame, she had even chickened out of going to her uncle’s funeral because he’d be there.

It would be a relief when she was safely married, she thought fervently, while her stomach remained tied in a knot of tension. Though it would mean leaving her father and the home she loved, at least she wouldn’t have to risk coming face to face with Nick out of the blue like this.

But it wasn’t really out of the blue. Her father had asked him to come. Suddenly, without knowing why, she was scared stiff. ‘What made you send for him?’

Looking uneasy, anything but comfortable, Ralph said, ‘The doctor advises that I don’t go back to the office for at least three months.’ Involuntarily, his hand had gone up to touch his chest.

‘Your heart...?’ she whispered.

‘There’s nothing wrong with my heart. I’m as fit as a fiddle,’ he said testily. ‘But I...well, I’m not getting any younger, and I...’

‘Oh, Dad...’ She went down on her knees by his chair.

‘Don’t be a fool, girl.’ He patted her hand. ‘Now, get up, and believe me when I tell you that I’m not ill. I’d just like to take it easy for a while. That’s where Nick comes in...’

‘How do you mean?’ But already a cold chill was raising the short hairs on the back of her neck and running down her spine.

‘I mean he’s going to take the reins temporarily.’

‘But couldn’t I do that?’ she protested, rising to her feet.

Shaking his head, Ralph reminded her, ‘You’re getting married soon, and if Kevin doesn’t want you to work...’

‘Well, can’t David Ferris cope? He’s been with you for years and he’s absolutely trustworthy...’

‘David’s got enough to do,’ her father said shortly. ‘And I want someone up front who isn’t soft—someone with initiative and drive.’

‘But how can Nick look after your business affairs without neglecting his own?’

Ralph answered in a roundabout way. ‘He told me once that, having watched his father work himself into an early grave, the most important thing he’d learned was how to delegate.

‘Under Finn Anderson, his right-hand man, he’s built up an efficient team who are quite capable of carrying on in his absence.

‘Added to that, his business interests are varied and worldwide—so he can keep an eye on everything just as well from England as he can from the States.

‘I’m well aware that things haven’t gone right between you...’ he said gruffly.

And that had to be the understatement of the century, thought Raine.

‘But he’s doing us an enormous favour. So try to be pleasant to him,’ Ralph finished firmly.

Raine gritted her teeth. When her father spoke to her in that tone of mild reproach it made her feel as though she were a child again, instead of a woman of twenty-four.

‘I know you were intending to take next month off to organise the wedding,’ Ralph went on, ‘but if you could spare a day or two to go into the office with him...?’

‘No! I . . .’ Fighting down blind panic at the thought of having to come into close contact with Nick on a daily basis, she managed more moderately, ’I’m sorry, Dad, but I won’t have time.’

Hardening her heart against her father’s disappointed face, she went on hurriedly, ‘In fact, I won’t be here. Because the wedding reception is being held in Mayfair, Lady Somersby has suggested that I stay with her in Manton Square until the final seating plan and all the last-minute details have been decided on...’

For the past two weeks Raine had been politely resisting the suggestion, but now it seemed the lesser of two evils.

‘So when Kevin comes tomorrow, I intend to go back to town with him.’

‘You’re running away again,’ Ralph accused her, a kind of anxious irritation in his hazel eyes.

‘I’m doing nothing of the kind,’ she denied. ‘I—I need to be on the spot to help complete the arrangements and cope with any possible hitches...’

Some slight sound made them both look up.

Nick was standing there, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. Judging by his derisive expression, he’d overheard enough to put him in the picture.

When he spoke, his manner was as cool and hard as ice-clad marble. ‘Before you make any further arrangement, we really should have that talk.’

Managing to sound distant and haughty, Raine informed him,—‘I’ve just talked to Dad. It’s kind of you to help him out, and I’m grateful, but...’

Nick’s handsome eyes glinted as he warned, ‘Don’t patronise me, Raine.’

Flushing a little, despite herself, she ploughed on, ‘But it doesn’t involve me, and—’

‘Don’t be too sure about that. Though your father’s put you partly in the picture, you’ll understand much better when you’ve heard what I have to say.’

The eyes of the two men met.

‘If you’ll excuse me.’ Ralph got to his feet. ‘I’d better let Martha know how many there are for dinner, or we won’t be getting any.’

With calm effrontery, Nick said, ‘I was intending to take Raine out for a meal, if that’s all right with you?’

‘Fine by me,’ Ralph agreed genially.

For a moment she was speechless, then, as the door closed behind her father’s tall, spare figure, she turned on Nick furiously. ‘I wouldn’t have dinner with you if you were the last man on earth.’

‘Not a very original remark,’ he taunted.

‘Original or not, I mean it. I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to suggest such a thing after you’ve completely ruined the evening...’

‘The evening’s not over yet,’ he pointed out, a strange note in his voice. Then, watching her involuntary shiver, he added in a bored tone, ‘Now, do go and get ready, there’s a good girl.’

‘This late on a Saturday night you won’t get in anywhere without a reservation.’ She made no attempt to hide the triumph. ‘We’ll end up eating in the local snack-bar.’

He merely smiled. ‘I’ve already booked a table for two at the Priest House.’

The Priest House, a beautiful old building dating from the fifteen-hundreds, was the most expensive and exclusive restaurant in the neighbourhood.

‘How dare you do such a thing without even asking me?’ she burst out. Then, realising that by losing her temper she was playing into his hands, she drew a deep breath and went on more calmly, ‘I’m afraid you’ll be eating alone. I’d rather starve than accept your invitation.’

Nick’s face hardened. ‘My dear Raine, you don’t seem to understand... It isn’t an invitation. It’s an order.’

Furiously, she demanded, ‘What makes you think you can give me orders?’

With a smile that showed the gleam of his white teeth but failed to reach his eyes, a smile that was a danger signal, he said with terrifying confidence, ‘Because I hold the whip hand.’

She wanted to deny his assertion, to protest that he was joking, or mistaken, or mad, but, knowing the man, she was suddenly convinced that he was none of those things. That he somehow did hold the whip hand.

Feeling as though she’d been punched in the solar plexus, Raine stared up at him mutely, her clear green eyes startlingly beautiful.

‘My, what big eyes you’ve got,’ he murmured mockingly.

Finding her voice, she said through stiff lips, ‘If you think I’m going to take orders from you just because you’re helping Dad out...’

But it didn’t need his silence to convince her that his autocratic statement was based on a great deal more than that. In exasperation, she cried, ‘Well, if it isn’t that, what is it?’

‘I’ll tell you after we’ve eaten. Now, suppose you go and get changed?’ Though phrased as a suggestion it was undoubtedly an order. And he wanted her to know it.

As she turned blindly away he cautioned, ‘Oh, and Raine, until you know exactly how things stand, it wouldn’t be wise to worry your father.’

On legs that shook a little, she hurried up the dark-oak crimson-carpeted stairs to the pleasant, lattice-windowed room she’d had since childhood.

“It wouldn’t be wise to worry your father...” While she showered the quiet warning kept ricocheting around her mind, making her wonder if Nick knew something her father was keeping from her.

Well, it was no use getting worked up about it, Raine told herself firmly, but at the first opportunity she’d have a word with Dr Broadbent.

Hands unsteady, she pulled on a silky lilac dress with a matching jacket and, to counteract Nick’s intimidating height, high-heeled sandals.

Too het up to bother with make-up, she pulled a comb through her smooth, glossy, below shoulder-length hair and picked up her bag; she was ready.

Quick as she’d been, Nick was waiting for her in the hall. He’d changed into a well-cut, lightweight suit and a pearl-grey tie, and his thick blond mane was parted on the left and neatly brushed.

Standing arrogantly at ease, head tilted a little, one hand thrust into his trouser pocket, he watched her come down the stairs, long-legged and elegant, her slender body moving gracefully.

‘Full marks for speed...’ he commented with satisfaction. Then, tilting her chin with a proprietorial hand, he studied her exquisitely boned face with its black winged brows and wide-spaced almond eyes, straight nose and generous mouth.

His gaze lingered on her mouth.

‘Don’t!’ she said sharply.

‘You have no lipstick to smudge...’

She froze into immobility and closed her eyes as his mouth moved closer and hovered. But the kiss never came. With delicate cruelty he nipped her full lower lip between his white teeth.

When her lids flew open, he said flatly, ‘Even without make-up you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’

Badly shaken, she tried mockery. ‘In a minute you’ll be telling me Kevin’s a lucky man.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion. Personally, I rate the willingness to trust a great deal higher than looks.’

The chilling put-down was delivered with a complete lack of emotion. Still it stung.

Jerking free, she retorted, ‘Was I the only one who was expected to trust you? Or did you ask your fiancée to trust you too?’

His mouth thinned. ‘I would have explained how things were if you’d given me a chance, instead of running out on me.’

‘Apart from admitting you were an unprincipled swine, how would you have “explained” seducing me while you were engaged to another woman?’

‘Hardly seducing you,’ he drawled. ‘As I recall, you were more than willing.’

Her face flamed. Unable to deny the charge, she said tightly, ‘But then I had no idea what you were really like.’

‘And you didn’t stop to find out. You weren’t prepared to even listen, let alone trust me.’

The accusation was full of anger and contempt. In that instant she knew that if he had any feeling for her now, it was hatred.

Well, that made them equal, she thought bitterly.

He lifted broad shoulders in a shrug. ‘However, that’s all in the past. It’s the future I’m concerned with, and what I want from you now doesn’t include trust.’

‘What do you want from me?’

‘Nothing you haven’t already given me.’

That sardonic statement made her blood run cold. ‘If you think—’

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