Taken by the Millionaire
Hotly Bedded, Conveniently Wedded
Kate Hardy
Naughty Nights In The Millionaire’s Mansion
Robyn Grady
Big-Shot Bachelor
Nicola Marsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Hotly Bedded, Conveniently Wedded

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Naughty Nights In The Millionaire’s Mansion

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

Big-Shot Bachelor

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

Hotly Bedded, Conveniently Wedded

KATE HARDY lives on the outskirts of Norwich, with her husband, two small children, a dog—and too many books to count! She wrote her first book at age six, when her parents gave her a typewriter for her birthday.

She had the first of a series of sexy romances published at twenty-five, and swapped a job in marketing communications for freelance health journalism when her son was born, so she could spend more time with him. She’s wanted to write for Mills & Boon since she was twelve, and when she was pregnant with her daughter, her husband pointed out that writing medical romances would be the perfect way to combine her interest in health issues with her love of good stories.

Kate is always delighted to hear from readers—do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com.

For Chrissy and Rich—the best aunt and uncle in the world—with love

CHAPTER ONE

‘RUN that by me again.’ No way could Isobel have heard him correctly. She was used to Alex asking if he could sleep on her sofa while he was in London between digs or on a flying visit—his own flat in London was let out to tenants—but this request …

She must’ve been hearing things.

‘Will you marry me?’ Alex repeated.

Exactly what Isobel thought he’d said.

Was this some kind of joke?

Unlikely, because he looked serious. Besides, Alex didn’t make that kind of joke. She frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Have you gone temporarily insane, or something?’

‘No. I just need to get married. And I think you’d be the perfect wife.’

Oh, no, she wouldn’t. She’d already failed spectacularly with Gary. ‘You get women posting their knickers to you. You could get married to any woman you wanted.’

He laughed. ‘They don’t post their knickers to me, Bel. That’s a vicious rumour started by Saskia.’

Saskia was Alex’s baby sister and had been Isobel’s best friend since they were toddlers. Though Isobel wasn’t so sure the comment was just sibling teasing. ‘I know for a fact you get asked out by more women than most men even dream about.’

‘Women who fantasise about The Hunter—not about me.’

‘You’re one and the same, in their eyes.’ In hers, too: Alex had presented three series of a popular television archaeology programme, based on a series of articles he’d written for a leading Sunday newspaper, and when Isobel had curled up to watch the programmes she’d thought he came across just as he was in real life. Clever and extremely well read, but with a bit of flamboyance that had women dropping at his feet and the kind of easy charm that meant he made friends effortlessly and couldn’t go anywhere without half a dozen people hailing him by name. It had been like that even before he’d been catapulted to fame as ‘The Hunter’, an explorer who delved in ancient places and found treasure; but nowadays, with national television exposure, he was recognised by people he’d never even met.

‘Just let it slip to one of your gossip-column friends that you’re looking for a wife and there’ll be queues for miles,’ she suggested.

‘Gossip-column journos aren’t anybody’s friends except their own,’ he corrected. ‘And none of those women would be like you—sensible and settled.’

She coughed. ‘You’re digging yourself deeper into that hole, Alex.’ He wanted to marry her because she was sensible? Give her a break. That wasn’t why people got married.

Then again, marrying for love hadn’t exactly worked for her, had it? Her marriage hadn’t survived its final crisis.

‘Why do you need to get married anyway?’ she asked.

‘Because I need to get a job.’

‘This is beginning to feel like Alice Through the Looking Glass. The harder I try to understand this, the weirder it seems.’ She shook her head. ‘Apart from the fact that you don’t need to get married to get a job, why do you even need a job in the first place? You’re loaded.’

Alex waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s got nothing to do with money.’

‘So what, then?’

‘It’s complicated,’ he hedged.

She leaned back against the sofa. ‘You’re not getting out of it that easily, Alex. Explain. Why do you need to get married?’

‘Because of this job. It’s perfect, Bel—Chief Archaeological Consultant for a firm that works with all the big property developers. When the developers plan to build on a site and discover remains of some structure they hadn’t even known existed, or we already know there are remains in the area that need to be conserved or recorded before any development work can start, I’d be in charge of a team of archaeologists who’d excavate the site.’

‘A desk job, you mean?’ She shook her head, scoffing. ‘No way. You’d last five minutes before you came down with a case of terminal boredom.’

‘It’s not a desk job. I’ll be doing the initial site visits and setting up the exploration, liaising with planning officers and talking people into giving us more time than they really want to for excavation work. Plus I’d be talking to the press, explaining the significance of the find.’

Put that way, it sounded just the sort of thing he’d enjoy doing. Alex would love the chance to be the first one in maybe hundreds of years to discover something. And the time pressure to excavate the site as thoroughly but as quickly as possible, so the builders could finish their job on schedule, would just add to the thrill for him. He thrived on being too busy.

‘I still don’t understand why you need a job. Aren’t you going to do the Hunter stuff any more?’

‘Of course I am.’ He shrugged. ‘But it’s only for a few weeks a year.’

She understood where he was coming from. Alex was a workaholic—it was the only way to explain how he managed to pack more into two days than the average person did in a working week—and he liked it that way. ‘In other words, not enough to keep you busy and out of mischief.’

He laughed. ‘Exactly. I could do more TV work, I suppose, but I’ve talked to my agent and I agree with him that overexposure would be a mistake. It’s better to keep the series the length it is and leave people wanting more, rather than them seeing my face and thinking, Oh, no, not him again, and switching off. So I need something else to keep me occupied.’

‘What about your articles?’

He shrugged. ‘As you say, a desk job would drive me crazy. I need something with a lot of variety.’

‘Lecturing, then? If you had tutorial groups as well, that’d give you the variety because your students would all be different.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘I’ve had offers, but to be honest I don’t really want to teach.’

Isobel frowned. ‘What’s wrong with what you do now?’

‘Nothing. I love freelancing. But I’m thirty-five, Bel. I need to be realistic about the future. In ten or twenty years I’m not going to want to spend hours at a time on my knees in a trench in the pouring rain. So I want to make the right career move now, while all my options are still wide open.’

It was a fair point, although Isobel thought Alex had enough strength of personality to make his own opportunities. She had a feeling there was a bit more to it than what he was telling her, but she couldn’t work out what. A relationship that had gone wrong? Surely not, because Alex kept his relationships light and very casual and in all the years she’d known him she couldn’t remember a girlfriend lasting more than half a dozen dates.

Maybe she was asking the wrong questions.

‘I still don’t understand where the married bit comes in.’

‘Apparently, the guy who owns the company wants a married man for the job.’

She snorted. ‘No way. That’s discrimination. It’s against the law, Alex.’

‘They’re not going to be able to ask me outright about my marital status,’ he agreed. ‘But it seems the last two guys they hired lasted all of six weeks before they got an offer they couldn’t refuse for—I quote—a really glamorous dig abroad.’

They both laughed, knowing that real archaeology wasn’t glamorous in the slightest. The stuff Alex did on TV accounted for a tiny fraction of the hard graft behind the scenes, and certainly didn’t take account of being on your knees in a muddy trench for hour after hour, or the long gaps between finds.

‘So third time around they want someone settled,’ he continued. ‘The word is they’re looking for someone who’ll commit to the project for at least two years. And, you know as well as I do, a married man’s seen as more dependable than a single guy because he’s already made a commitment.’

She flinched. ‘Marriage doesn’t always mean commitment.’

He winced. ‘Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to rip open old wounds.’

‘I know you didn’t.’ Alex didn’t always think. Mainly because he did things at a hundred miles an hour and his head was stuffed full of the past—just like her own. Which was one of the reasons why she’d always got on so well with him.

He took her hand and squeezed it briefly. ‘But you know what I mean. My reputation’s going to count against me. The Hunter, a gypsy vagabond.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re hardly a vagabond, Alex.’ Even though he did have itchy feet and didn’t tend to stay long in one place.

‘But I’m part gypsy. My mother says I’m a throwback to her grandfather—’

‘Who met your great-grandmother when she accompanied your great-great-grandfather to a dig in Egypt in the nineteen twenties, and your great-grandfather fell in love with her,’ Isobel finished. She knew the story, and she’d always privately thought it really romantic.

Archaeology was in Alex’s blood. And so too was the gypsy heritage. Which was why ‘The Hunter’ was his perfect screen persona: dressed in jeans with a white shirt, and a battered Akubra hat worn at a rakish angle, Alex Richardson made women swoon. That and his dark curls, his hair worn slightly too long, his exotic olive skin, and those piercing light grey eyes, completely unexpected with the rest of his colouring.

‘Look, I’ve spent the last few years travelling the world. On digs or for the show, admittedly, but still travelling.’

‘Which shows commitment to your job,’ she pointed out.

‘It’s not enough.’ He shook his head in apparent frustration. ‘The series played me up as the sort who won’t obey orders—a maverick who’ll go his own way regardless.’

She couldn’t argue with that. Besides, that was exactly what Alex was like—not that there was any point in telling him.

‘So that’s why I need a wife. To prove I’m settled.’

‘I still think it’s a crazy reason to get married. And why ask me?’

‘I already told you. Because you’re settled.’

That stung, and she couldn’t help sniping, ‘You mean I’m staid and boring.’

He laughed. ‘No. Just I’ve known you for ever. You’re the girl next door.’

‘Strictly speaking, I haven’t lived next door to you since I was thirteen and you went to Oxford,’ she said dryly. ‘Which is the best part of seventeen years ago.’

‘You were still there when I came home for the holidays,’ he reminded her.

The girl next door. As familiar as wallpaper. Alex hadn’t noticed her as a woman.

At her continued silence, he sighed. ‘Look, I never planned to get married. Archaeology’s my life—just as the museum is yours. There isn’t room in my life for another relationship.’

She raised an eyebrow.

He winced. ‘Sorry, Bel. That came out wrong. Mouth in gear, brain not. What I mean is, if I’m going to get married, I want to marry someone I like a lot. Someone I’ve got a lot in common with. Someone I trust.’

It should’ve warmed her that he felt that way about her. Trusted her. Liked her a lot. Exactly the way she felt about him. But she couldn’t help asking, ‘What about love?’

He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘I don’t believe in it.’

She knew where he was coming from. She didn’t believe in love any more, either. She’d loved Gary, but it hadn’t been enough to make their marriage work. Though at the same time, marriage without love seemed … wrong, somehow. ‘All three of your sisters are married,’ she remarked. ‘And if they weren’t happy and in love with their husbands—’

‘I’d take their husbands apart,’ he admitted. ‘Very slowly. And remove their hearts with a rusty spoon.’

Although Alex rolled his Rs and his eyes, she wasn’t sure that he was being entirely dramatic.

‘But it’s different for the girls.’

Sexism? From Alex? Now that she hadn’t expected. ‘Since when did you turn into a chauvinist?’

He frowned. ‘I’m not. It’s got nothing to do with gender. Just that …’ he lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug ‘… I’m not like them.’

‘So this marriage business—you’re looking for someone you like, someone who shares your interests, and who’s not going to tie you down.’

‘I’m not planning to have a string of girlfriends or be unfaithful to my wife, if that’s what you’re asking.’

Alex dated a lot. Which meant he had a lot of sex. If he was giving that up … did that mean he was planning to have sex only with his wife?

With her?

Oh, Lord.

The last twelve years suddenly unravelled, back to when she’d been eighteen and Alex had kissed her. Just once. But what a ‘once’ it had been. He’d actually taken her breath away. For one mad moment she’d thought that Alex had noticed her—that instead of seeing her as just his little sister’s best friend, the girl he’d known for years, he’d seen her as a soul mate. Someone who shared his interests. Someone he was attracted to. And then she’d realised he was being kind. Showing her that just because her rat of a boyfriend had dumped her, it didn’t mean that she’d never be kissed again.

He’d even said as much. Said that she’d soon find someone else. Added that she had a whole world to conquer.

That kiss hadn’t meant the same thing to him as it had to her. And Isobel was pretty sure things hadn’t changed since then. Alex saw her as a friend—a close friend, but just as a friend.

So no way would this marriage work.

She couldn’t do it.

She’d already ended up in one loveless marriage, and she really couldn’t face starting another on the same basis. She dragged in a breath. ‘I’m sorry, Alex. I can’t marry you.’

CHAPTER TWO

ALEX schooled his features into neutral. ‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s wrong to get married without loving each other.’

He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Of course I love you, Bel.’

‘But not in that way, Alex. And I’m not putting myself through that again.’

Alex stared at her. ‘Hang on. Are you telling me Gary didn’t love you? That he was unfaithful to you?’

She shook her head. ‘He didn’t break his marriage vows, no. Let’s just leave it that our marriage turned into a mess.’

She looked uncomfortable, and Alex knew Isobel wasn’t telling him the whole story—but he also knew not to push her. She’d talk to him when she was ready. She always had.

‘Though it didn’t take him very long to find someone else.’ Isobel dragged in a breath. ‘His new partner’s just had their first baby.’

That had clearly hurt her. He’d never asked Isobel why she’d split up with Gary—because it wasn’t any of his business and he didn’t want to rake open any painful wounds—but he’d always supposed that Gary had wanted a baby and she hadn’t been prepared to make any compromises with the career she loved.

So had his guess been completely wrong? Was Isobel the one who’d wanted children?

No, of course not. She adored Saskia’s daughter, Flora—her god-daughter and Alex’s niece—but Alex had always assumed that it went with the territory of being Saskia’s best friend. Isobel liked children, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to do her job—but she really, really loved what she did. A museum interpreter who worked with hands-on exhibits, dressing up as a Roman matron during school holidays or at weekends and giving cookery demonstrations and showing people what everyday life was like in Roman Britain, as well as working behind the scenes as a curator on the exhibitions that toured other museums.

So if it wasn’t the baby, maybe she was upset because the baby signalled that things were well and truly over between her and Gary. That they could never go back to how things were.

According to his sister, Isobel had rarely dated since her marriage ended two years ago, so maybe she was still in love with Gary. Alex had never thought Gary was good enough for her—for starters, the man had a feeble handshake and no imagination—but he also didn’t like seeing Isobel hurt and miserable. ‘Come here.’ He slid his arms round her and held her close. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘That it didn’t work out for you. That he let you down.’ He stroked her hair. ‘I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but he was never good enough for you.’

‘But he didn’t ask me to marry him just because I’m staid and sensible.’

Alex pulled back slightly and looked her in the eye. ‘I asked you because I want this job and being a married man is going to give me the edge I need.’

‘Rubbish. You can talk your way into anything.’

‘Apart from getting you to marry me, you mean,’ he parried. ‘And you didn’t let me finish. Whatever I said about you being sensible—which you are—the main reason I asked you is because you’re my friend. I’ve known you for years and years. I enjoy your company and I trust you. And that’s a much, much stronger basis for a marriage than being “in love” with someone.’ Thinking of Dorinda, Alex curled his lip. She’d been his biggest mistake ever. And she’d taught him all about the misery of love. A lesson that meant he wasn’t going to repeat that mistake. ‘Being “in love” is just temporary. It’s hormonal. Whereas what we’ve got has a much more solid foundation and it’s not going to change.’

‘Isn’t it? Because that’s what worries me, Alex.’ She bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to lose your friendship when it all goes pear-shaped.’

He sighed. ‘Apart from the fact that it’s not going to go pear-shaped, things aren’t going to change between us.’

‘How do you know? Unless you’re talking about a marriage in name only—and as you said you weren’t planning to have a string of girlfriends, I have to assume you’re …’ Her voice tailed off and she actually blushed.

He’d never seen her colour like that before.

And even though he knew he wasn’t playing fair, he couldn’t resist teasing her. ‘Assume what, Bel?’

‘That getting married means having sex with each other.’ Her flush deepened.

Alex felt as if his skin were suddenly burning, too. Sex with Isobel. Right now, he was holding her. Loosely, admittedly, but he was still holding her. All he had to do was move forward a fraction, dip his head, and he could kiss her.

His mouth went dry.

He could remember the last time he’d kissed her, other than the usual peck on the cheeks that accompanied their welcoming hugs when they hadn’t seen each other for a while. The night she’d come round to their house, crying her eyes out because her boyfriend had dumped her for someone more glamorous and less studious, and he’d answered the door. Saskia had been out, so he’d taken Isobel into the summer house in their garden for a heart-to-heart. He’d told her that the boyfriend was an idiot and it didn’t matter because there was a whole world out there just waiting for her to conquer it.

And he’d kissed her.

Just once.

Before remembering that Isobel was eighteen to his twenty-three, much less worldly-wise, and he really shouldn’t be kissing her like that.

Now he wondered what would’ve happened if he’d kissed her a second time. Would they have ended up making love in the summer house? Would he have been the one to introduce her to the pleasures of love-making?

And what shocked him even more was that his body was reacting even now at the thought of it.

Making love with Isobel.

He became aware that she was speaking.

‘And besides, I’m not your type.’

‘I don’t have a type,’ Alex protested.

‘Yes, you do. You always go for tall, skinny brunettes with legs up to their armpits.’

‘You have dark hair.’ The colour of a chestnut that had just slipped out of its prickly case, it was soft and silky when he ran his fingers through it. ‘And you’re not short.’ She was curvy rather than skinny, though with three younger sisters he knew much better than to discuss a woman’s weight or body shape.

‘I’m five feet four. That makes me slightly shorter than the average woman.’

He smiled at her. ‘It also makes you two inches taller than the average Roman woman in the fourth century.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Trust you to know that.’

He laughed. ‘Actually, you were the one who told me. When you were researching your first talk about Roman women.’

She stared at him in obvious surprise. ‘You remember that?’

‘Course I do. We must have sat up half the night talking about it. Well, after I’d bored the pants off you with all those photographs of the dig I’d just come back from.’

‘I wasn’t bored.’

‘See? We have things in common. Lots of things. And we like each other. Getting married would work, Bel.’

The colour was back in her cheeks, even deeper this time. ‘Supposing we’re not, um, compatible?’

‘Compatible?’

‘In bed,’ she muttered. ‘What if I’m rubbish at sex?’

‘If that’s what Gary said, he clearly wasn’t doing it right—and his ego made him blame you.’

‘Mmm.’

‘Look at me, Bel,’ he said softly. She had huge brown eyes that had topaz glints when she laughed, and a perfect rosebud mouth. Why had he never really noticed that before? ‘I think we’d be …’ he paused as his heart gave an unexpected kick ‘… compatible.’

‘I can’t believe we’re even discussing this!’ She pulled back from him. ‘So why didn’t you ever get married, Alex?’

He let her go. ‘Because my job meant a lot of travelling—and that meant either living apart from my wife most of the time, or dragging her around the world with me. Neither option’s a fair one.’

‘And you never met anyone who made you want to stay in one place?’

Once, but that had been a long time ago. In the days when he’d still worn rose-coloured glasses. Before he’d discovered that Dorinda was a liar and a cheat and had played everyone for a fool, including him. Since then, he’d never quite been able to trust anyone. He’d held back in his relationships, unwilling to risk his heart again and have it ground beneath a stiletto heel. Keeping things light and fun had worked for him, until now. ‘I told you, I don’t believe in love. But I do believe in friendship. In honesty. And if you marry me, Bel, I’ll be a good husband to you.’ A much better one than Gary had been.

‘I can’t get married. Ask someone else.’

There wasn’t anyone else he’d trust enough to marry. He shrugged. ‘Look, forget I asked. Come on, I’m taking you out to dinner.’

‘Why?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not an ulterior motive. You’ve said no and I’m not going to bully you into saying yes. Bel, you’re putting me up for a few days, so taking you out for dinner to say thank you is the least I can do.’

‘Alex, you don’t need to do that. You know I never mind you staying here.’

He smiled. ‘I know. But I like having dinner out with you. I like talking history and arguing over interpretations and laughing too much and eating half your pudding—because I’m greedy and you’re always nice to me.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re impossible.’

‘Uh-huh.’ But to his relief she was smiling and relaxed with him again. ‘Is that Moroccan place we went to last time still open?’

‘I think so.’

‘Good. Let’s go.’

It always surprised Isobel slightly that Alex liked taking the tube rather than a taxi. Then again, on the tube people were careful not to catch anyone’s eye, so although he’d probably be recognised it was unlikely that someone would ask for an autograph or a photograph with him taken with the camera on their mobile phone. Besides, without the hat, people were more likely to think he was a guy who just happened to look like the archaeologist from the show, rather than being the man himself.

It was practically impossible to talk on the tube; there were just too many people squashed onto the train. During late spring and summer, rush hour seemed to last a lot longer; the office workers crushing onto the train were quickly replaced by tourists.

Isobel wasn’t sure whether it made her more relieved or uptight—or both at the same time. Relieved, because she didn’t have to make eye contact or conversation with Alex. And uptight, because it gave her time to think about what he’d said.

Getting married—to Alex.

Having sex—with Alex.

Oh, Lord.

She’d enjoyed her friendship with Alex. She always had.

And she’d married Gary because she’d loved him.

But a little bit of her had always wondered: what if Alex hadn’t had his string of glamorous girlfriends? What if he’d repeated that kiss when she was twenty-one? What if she’d ended up with Alex instead of Gary?

Panic skittered through her. She had to be insane even to be considering this. Marriage wouldn’t work. She’d had one serious relationship before Gary, so she was hardly experienced—whereas Alex had practically had a girlfriend at every dig, not to mention the ones in between. She’d never be able to live up to his expectations.

His words echoed in her head. I enjoy your company and I trust you. And that’s a much, much stronger basis for a marriage than being ‘in love’ with someone.

Was he right? Were friendship and trust a better basis for a marriage than love and desire? Should she have said yes?

A note appeared in front of her eyes. In Alex’s spiky, confident handwriting.

‘Stop brooding. “Dinner” means dinner.’

The last word was in capitals and underlined three times.

She faced him. Sorry, she mouthed.

He smiled, and it gave her a weird sensation—as if her heart had just done a somersault. Which was anatomically impossible and completely ridiculous. Especially as, at the age of thirty, she was way, way past the teenage heartthrob stage.

And then it was their stop.

The crowds of people swirling round them meant it was still impossible to talk. But she was aware that Alex was behind her on the escalator. So close she could have leaned back against him.

What would it be like to feel Alex’s arms round her?

What would it be like to feel his hands against her bare skin?

What would it be like to feel his mouth touching her body intimately?

‘OK?’ he asked when they were through the ticket barrier and standing outside on the street.

‘Fine.’

‘Liar.’ He caught her hand and squeezed it briefly.

The lightest contact … and it sent a shiver all the way through her. Woke nerve-endings she’d forgotten she had.

No.

It wasn’t possible for her to feel like this about Alex. And even thinking about it meant she was storing up trouble for herself. She’d loved Gary. Deeply. But it hadn’t stopped everything going wrong. So she had to keep some kind of distance between herself and Alex, not let her heart get involved.

Or her libido.

‘I’m not lying,’ she mumbled, but she didn’t look him in the eye until they got to the Moroccan restaurant.

Alex insisted on holding the door open for her. ‘I don’t care if it offends your feminist nature. It’s good manners and it’s how I was brought up,’ he informed her.

It was how she’d been brought up, too. ‘Thank you,’ she said, meaning it.

Stepping inside the restaurant was like stepping out of London and into a souk. The air smelled of cinnamon and cardamom, and the décor was as beautiful as she remembered it; the walls were painted shades of saffron and terracotta and deep red, there were rich silks everywhere, the wrought iron chairs were covered with bright silk cushions toning with the walls, and the silk hanging from the ceiling gave the place the effect of being in some rich prince’s tent. Tea-light candles flickered on the glass tabletops, and rose petals were scattered everywhere.

The waiter ushered them to the table and handed them each a menu.

‘Red wine OK with you?’ Alex asked, glancing down the menu.

‘Fine.’

‘Good. Meze to start, I think. Anything in particular you fancy?’

‘I’ll let you choose.’ Not that she wasn’t capable of choosing her own meal, but she knew how much Alex enjoyed it. And, as he’d said, his tastes were very similar to her own, so she knew she’d like whatever he chose.

‘What do you want for your main course?’

‘Chicken tagine. The one with preserved lemons.’

‘I think I’ll have the same. We’ll choose pudding later,’ Alex decided.

And after pudding … he’d go home with her.

And if she’d said yes to his proposal, he would have taken her to bed. Proved how compatible they were.

Her concentration went completely, and she was reduced to saying, ‘Mmm,’ and nodding in the right places as Alex talked to her about the dig he’d been on in Turkey before his return to London. And it was even worse when the meze arrived—a selection of dishes to share. Traditionally, Moroccan food was eaten with fingers and pitta bread was used to scoop up the dips, and every time she reached for one of the stuffed vine leaves or the aubergine and cumin dip or the felafel, her fingers brushed against Alex’s. In the past, it wouldn’t have bothered her, but tonight the lightest contact made her tingle. A sensual awareness that spread through every part of her body and made her wish that she’d been wearing a thick concealing sweater rather than a thin T-shirt that revealed her body’s reaction to his touch.

If Alex said one word about being able to see her nipples, she’d kill him.

She ate her chicken tagine in silence.

And then Alex sighed.

‘Would it really be so bad?’

‘What?’

‘Going to bed with me.’

She felt the colour shoot into her face. ‘Alex!’

‘You’ve been quiet ever since I suggested getting married.’

And having sex. ‘It’s just … I never thought about you in that way before.’ It wasn’t the strict truth, but she didn’t want him thinking that she’d been secretly lusting after him. Their friendship had been genuine.

‘Not ever? Not even when you were … I dunno … eighteen?’

When she was eighteen? The only time she remembered him kissing her on the mouth. ‘No.’ She looked curiously at him. Did he remember that, too? And was he saying that, all those years ago, he had seen her as more than just the girl next door? ‘Did you?’

‘Not when I was eighteen—of course not.’ He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Bel, you were still a child when I was eighteen. And when you were eighteen and I was twenty-three, there was still a huge gap between us.’ He paused. ‘But now you’re thirty and I’m thirty-five. The gap’s not there any more.’

She knew she was going to regret asking, but she couldn’t help the question. ‘And?’

‘And …’ he paused ‘… I’m thinking about you in that way right now.’

There was a gleam in his eyes she’d never seen before. A purely masculine gleam that told her he was interested in her. As a woman, not as a friend.

Her breath hitched. ‘Oh.’

‘You’re thinking about it, too, aren’t you?’ he asked, his voice sounding husky.

‘Yes,’ she admitted, before she could stop herself.

‘Good,’ he said softly. ‘Hold on to that thought.’

It still seemed like some weird parallel universe. The idea of becoming Alex’s lover. Yesterday it would’ve been unthinkable. Today … the possibilities sent heat all the way down her spine.

She found it hard to concentrate when the waiter offered them the dessert menu, and eventually went for the safe option: bagrir, a light pancake served with honey and ice cream and nuts. Alex, just as she could have predicted, went for the selection of chocolate and cardamom ice cream.

‘Oh, yes. Best ever,’ Alex said when he tasted it. ‘Open your mouth.’

Oh, Lord. The pictures that put in her mind.

It must have shown in her expression, because she saw colour bloom along his cheekbones. ‘I meant, you have to try this. And it’s the cardamom one—I know you loathe chocolate ice cream.’

So he wanted her to lean forward and accept a morsel from his spoon? But her T-shirt was V-necked. Leaning across the table would give Alex a full-on view of her cleavage.

The thought made her nipples tighten even more.

‘Bel, it’s melting. Hurry up.’ He held the spoon out towards her.

She leaned across the table. Opened her mouth. Let him brush the cold, cold spoon against her lower lip before she ate the morsel of ice cream.

‘Good?’ he asked.

She had a feeling he didn’t mean just the ice cream.

‘Good,’ she whispered.

He smiled—a warm, sensual smile that made her catch her breath.

‘My turn,’ he said.

They’d done this so many times before—shared a pudding, tasted each other’s meals, filched buttered toast from each other’s plates or a swig from each other’s mug of coffee with an ease born of long familiarity.

But tonight it was different.

Tonight they were feeding each other like lovers.

And when he ate the proffered piece of her bagrir, she could see that he looked as distracted as she felt.

She had no idea how they got through the rest of their dessert, or the mint tea afterwards. Or when Alex had ordered a taxi, because one was waiting for them outside practically as soon as he’d paid the bill.

He didn’t say anything on the way back to her flat; he simply curled his fingers round her own—reassuring and yet incredibly exciting at the same time.

Holding hands with Alex was something she’d never really done. She was used to him giving her a friendly hug—almost a brotherly hug. But there was nothing remotely fraternal in the way he was holding her hand right at that moment. His touch was gentle—and yet firm enough so that she could feel the blood beating through his veins, in perfect time with her own.

When the taxi pulled up outside her building, Alex paid the driver and opened the car door for her. Isobel’s hands were shaking slightly and she fumbled the entry code for the security system; it took her three goes to press the right buttons in the right order. By the time she unlocked her front door, she was a nervous wreck.

Alex paused, leaning against the doorway. ‘Bel, let me reassure you that I’m planning to sleep on your sofa tonight. I’m not going to push you into anything you don’t want to do.’

That was what worried her most: what she wanted to do. The more she thought about sex with Alex, the more she was tempted to do it.

Except she didn’t want to risk ruining their friendship.

And she definitely didn’t want to tell him her deepest, darkest secret—the thing she’d only told Saskia after extracting a promise from her best friend that Saskia wouldn’t tell anyone else and wouldn’t ever talk about it again.

She couldn’t possibly marry Alex. Even though she was pretty sure he didn’t want children, what if he changed his mind? If anyone had asked her before today, she would’ve said straight out that Alex would never get married. And yet today he’d asked her to marry him. Tomorrow he might want to start a family. Something she wasn’t sure she could do.

Her worries must have shown on her face, because he said softly, ‘Have I ever let you down before?’

‘No.’

‘That’s not going to change.’

Maybe. But if she married him, she’d be letting him down. Taking a choice away without telling him. Which was morally wrong.

Even though she knew she was being a coward, she muttered, ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache. I need an early night.’

‘I’ll make sure I don’t disturb you. Do you want me to bring you a glass of water and some paracetamol?’

‘Thanks, but I’ll manage. I’d better sort the sofa bed out for you.’

‘I’ll do it.’ He reached out to stroke her cheek. ‘See you in the morning, Bel. Hope you get some sleep.’

CHAPTER THREE

TRUE to his word, Alex didn’t disturb her. And when Isobel got up the next morning he’d already put the sofa bed back to rights, tidied up and made coffee.

‘Morning. How’s your head?’

‘Better, thanks.’ The fib had blossomed into the truth, and she’d ended up taking paracetamol.

‘Here.’ He passed her a mug of coffee—hot, strong and milky, exactly the way she liked it. ‘Toast?’

‘Yes, please.’ She sat down at the little bistro table in the kitchen. This was the Alex she knew best. Her friend who knew her so well that he could practically read her mind. Though usually she was the one making toast and he was the one filching it from her plate.

‘So what are you doing today?’ he asked.

‘Roman kitchens,’ she said. ‘How about you?’

He joined her at the table after he’d switched on the toaster. ‘A bit of research.’

But nothing that really excited him, from the flatness of his tone. And he still seemed faintly subdued when she left for work.

Alex really needed a new challenge, she thought. Like the job he’d told her about yesterday; his eyes had been almost pure silver with excitement when he’d described it. But she still didn’t see how getting married would make any difference to whether he got the job. There was no reason for her to feel even slightly guilty about turning down his proposal. She’d done the right thing for both of them.

Though she couldn’t stop thinking about him all day. And when she walked in her front door that evening and smelled something gorgeous cooking, guilt bloomed. ‘Alex, I didn’t expect you to cook for me.’

‘No worries.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s as easy to cook for two as it is for one.’

She scoffed. ‘You mean, you were that bored.’

He handed her a glass of red wine. ‘Go away and let me have my mid-life crisis in peace.’

‘It’s my flat. I’m not going anywhere.’ But she sat down at the table. ‘What mid-life crisis? Alex, you’re thirty-five. That’s hardly middle-aged. And you don’t have a conventional desk job, so you can’t exactly take a six-month sabbatical and grow your hair and ride a motorbike round the world in search of adventure. That’s what you do for a day job, for goodness’ sake!’

‘I don’t have a motorbike.’

‘Don’t nit-pick. What I mean is, for you to do the opposite of what you normally do, you’d have to cut your hair short and get an office job and wear a suit and date the same person for more than three consecutive evenings. For most people, your life would be an adventure.’ She looked at him. ‘What mid-life crisis, anyway?’

He wrinkled his nose and turned away to pour himself a glass of wine. ‘Just forget I said anything.’

She shook her head. ‘You’ve been quiet for you, today. Something’s obviously bothering you. Come and sit down and talk to me.’

‘I’m busy cooking dinner.’

She sniffed. ‘Chicken casseroled in red wine, baked potatoes and salad?’

He smiled wryly. ‘All right. So most of the cooking’s already done. How did you know what I was cooking, anyway?’

‘Apart from the fact it’s your signature dish? Educated guess,’ she said dryly. ‘You just emptied that bottle into a clean glass.’

‘I could’ve been swigging straight from the bottle,’ he pointed out.

They both laughed, then he shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’ve been quiet because this is what happens when I have too much time on my hands. I start thinking—and that’s dangerous.’

‘Talk to me, Alex,’ she said softly. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘This is going to sound mad.’

‘Tell me anyway.’

He sighed and joined her at the table. ‘I’m thirty-five, Bel. My little sisters are all settled, married with a family. All the people I was at university with have settled down—some of them are on their second marriage, admittedly, but they’re settled. And although I love my life, I’m starting to wonder if what I’ve got is really enough for me any more. If it’s what I really want.’

‘So you’re saying you want to settle down and have children?’ Isobel asked carefully.

‘Yes. No. Maybe.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘I suppose what I’m saying is that I’m starting to think about what I do now. I’m doing something about my job, but what about the rest of my life? Do I want be one of these eternal bachelors who still behave as if they’re in their twenties when they’re pushing sixty?’

She smiled. ‘I can’t quite see you doing that, Alex.’ He’d still be immensely charming when he was almost sixty. He’d still turn heads. But he’d also have dignity and wouldn’t try to pretend he was still young.

‘But time goes by so fast, Bel. It seems like yesterday that Helen had the boys, and now they’re seven. Next thing I know, I’m going to be forty-five and I’ll be the spare man invited to dinner parties to make up the numbers, sitting next to the woman who’s just got divorced and either hates all men or is desperate for company.’

She frowned. ‘Alex, this isn’t like you. And this whole thing about looking to the future … oh, my God.’ A seriously nasty thought clicked into place. The reason why he suddenly wanted to settle down. ‘Is there something you’re not telling anybody?’

‘Such as?’

Well, if he wasn’t going to say it, she would. This needed to be out in the open. Right now. She swallowed hard. ‘You’re seriously ill?’

For a moment, there was an unreadable expression on his face, and Isobel felt panic ice its way down her spine. Please, no. Not this.

‘I’m fine. In perfect health,’ he told her. ‘But I did hear some bad news about a close friend while I was on my last dig.’

Someone else. Not Alex. Relief flooded through her, followed by a throb of guilt. Bad news was still bad news. ‘I hope your friend’s OK now.’

He shook his head. ‘He didn’t make it. It didn’t seem right, standing at Andy’s graveside only a couple of years after I’d been in that same church for his wedding. He’s the first one of my friends to die, and it’s made me realise how short life can be. How I shouldn’t take things for granted. And I got to thinking, maybe it’s time I did something about settling down.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘That’s one of the things I really liked about the specifications for this job. There’s enough travelling to stop me getting itchy feet, but not so much that I can’t have a family life as well. It’s the best of both worlds.’

A family life.

So he did want children.

Which meant, Isobel thought, that he needed to marry someone who could definitely have children—not someone who had a huge question mark hanging over her. After her miscarriages, the doctor had reassured her that the statistics were all on her side, that plenty of women went on to have healthy babies afterwards. Miscarriages were so common that the hospital wouldn’t even begin to look into the causes until a woman had had at least three.

But Gary hadn’t wanted to take the risk. He hadn’t wanted to stick around and wait.

And although Alex wasn’t like Gary—she knew he had the integrity to stand by her—he wanted a family. Something she might not be able to give him.

Telling him the truth was out of the question. If she did, she’d see pity in his face and she’d feel that she was no longer his equal. No way did she want that to happen.

But not telling him… If he was serious about settling down, if he’d meant that proposal and intended to ask her again, she’d have to refuse. It wouldn’t be fair to accept. If it did turn out that she couldn’t carry a baby to term, that she couldn’t have children … she didn’t want their relationship to go the same way as her marriage had. Down the tubes.

She pushed the thoughts away. This wasn’t about her. It was about him. ‘Hey, you’ll be a shoo-in for the job. And once you actually stay in one place for more than three seconds, you’ll find Ms Right,’ she said brightly.

She suppressed the wish that it could’ve been her.

They spent the rest of the evening talking shop, the way they always did. And Alex behaved the next morning as if everything was just fine, so she followed his lead and pretended he hadn’t opened his heart to her, the previous night.

She’d been at her desk for an hour when a courier arrived.

Odd. She wasn’t expecting a delivery. But when she opened the parcel, she discovered a box of seriously good chocolates. And there was a note in familiar spiky script: ‘Thanks for listening’

Alex might be a whirlwind, but he never took anything for granted.

She flicked into her email program.

Thanks for the chocs. Unnecessary but very, very nice. Bel x

A few moments later, her monitor beeped. Mail from Alex.

Least I could do. Don’t eat them all at once.

Ha. As if she would. She smiled, and carried on with the report she was writing.

A few moments later, her monitor beeped again.

Doing anything tonight?

Nothing special. Why?

It was a while before he responded. And then:

Consider your evening annexed. Meet you from work. What time do you finish today?

Six. Do I need to change first?

If you’re dressed as Flavia, yes! Otherwise, fine as you are. Ciao. A x

Which told her absolutely nothing about what he had planned. Typical Alex.

But she was busy and it was easier to go along with him, so she didn’t push the issue.

He was waiting for her in the foyer at six, wearing a casual shirt and dark trousers and looking absolutely edible. For a moment, her heart actually skipped a beat.

But this wasn’t a date. This was just two friends meeting up while one of them was briefly in London. The fact that he was staying with her was by the by. They weren’t living together and it wasn’t that kind of relationship.

And that marriage proposal hadn’t been a real one. She really needed to get a grip.

‘Hi.’ His smile did seriously strange things to her insides, and she strove for cool.

‘Hi, yourself. Good day?’

‘Not bad.’ He slid a casual arm round her shoulders and ushered her down the steps. ‘How was yours?’

‘Fine.’ She was glad her voice wasn’t as shaky as she felt. This was crazy. She and Alex had always had a tactile relationship. So how come this didn’t feel like his usual hug?

‘Good. You hungry?’

She grinned. ‘Considering I’ve been eating chocolate all day…’

‘What, and you didn’t even save one for me?’

She laughed. ‘No. But I did share them in the office.’

‘Hmm. So was that a yes or no to food first?’

‘Food before what?’

‘Before …’ He took his arm from her shoulders, fished in his pocket for his wallet, then removed two tickets and handed them to her.

She felt her eyes widen. Two tickets to that evening’s performance of Much Ado about Nothing at the Globe. The best seats in the house. ‘These are like gold dust, Alex!’ And to get them at short notice he must’ve paid a fortune to one of the ticket agencies.

‘I wanted to see the play, and it’s more fun going with someone who actually enjoys it, too.’

‘At least let me pay for my own ticket.’

‘No. But you can buy me a drink in the interval, if you insist.’

‘I do insist.’

‘“My dear Lady Disdain,”‘ he teased.

‘I did that play for A level,’ she reminded him.

‘I know.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I used to have to listen to you and Saskia murdering it in the summer house when I was home in the holidays.’

‘Murdering it?’ She cuffed his arm. ‘I’ll tell her that, next time I talk to her. And then you’ll be in trouble.’

‘No, I won’t. I’m her favourite brother.’

‘Her only brother,’ Isobel corrected.

‘Still her favourite,’ Alex said. ‘So. Food first or later?’

She glanced at her watch and at the time on the ticket. ‘Better make it later. Unless you want to grab something from a fast-food place?’

‘I’d rather wait and have something decent.’

‘Later it is, then.’

The tube was so crowded again that they didn’t get a chance to talk on the way over to Southwark. And the bar at the Globe was so crowded that they were forced to sit incredibly close together to have any chance of hearing each other speak.

Odd.

Alex was used to touching Isobel—giving her a hug hello and a kiss on the cheek when they said goodbye—but this was different. Now, he was aware of her in another way. Of the softness of her skin. Of the sweet scent of her perfume—a mixture of jasmine and vanilla and orange blossom. Of the shape of her mouth.

And it shocked him how much he suddenly wanted to kiss her.

‘Alex?’

‘Sorry. It’s a bit noisy in here. I can barely hear you.’ Acting on an impulse he knew was going to land him in trouble, but he was unable to resist, he scooped her onto his lap.

‘Alex!’

She was protesting—but she slid one arm round his neck to stop herself falling off his lap.

‘It’s easier to hear you if you talk straight into my ear,’ he said, his mouth millimetres from her own ear. ‘That way you don’t have to shout. And I don’t get backache from leaning down to you.’

She cuffed him with her free hand. ‘That’s below the belt.’

And maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. Because the whisper of her breath against his ear sent a peculiar sensation down his spine. A feeling he really didn’t want to acknowledge.

He took refuge in teasing. ‘I apologise … Shorty.’

‘Huh.’ She rolled her eyes.

He knew she wasn’t upset with him; this was the kind of banter they’d always indulged in. The kind of banter that was safe because their friendship was deep and it had been practically lifelong.

When she’d finished her glass of wine, he glanced at his watch. ‘We’d better find our seats.’

‘Sure.’ She slid off his lap, and Alex was shocked to discover he actually missed the warmth of her body against his.

The production was fantastic. And as soon as Benedick spoke his ‘dear Lady Disdain’ line, Alex glanced at Isobel—to see her glancing straight back at him. He curled his fingers round hers, acknowledging that he knew what she was remembering. To his pleasure, she didn’t pull away. But all the way through the play, when Beatrice and Benedick were fencing verbally, he found himself thinking of himself and Isobel.

‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange?’

His fingers involuntarily tightened for a moment round hers.

This was crazy.

Of course he wasn’t in love with Isobel. She was his friend.

But it didn’t alter the fact that he was holding her hand. Treating this like a date, when it wasn’t one at all.

He needed to regain his composure.

But for the life of him he couldn’t let her hand go.

At the end of the play, he released her hand so they could clap. And his arm was only round her on the way out of the theatre so he could protect her from the crowds.

At dinner afterwards, they chatted animatedly about the play until their meal arrived.

‘Next time we’ll have to take Saskia as well,’ he said. ‘And Mum—if she’s up to it.’

‘How is she?’ Isobel asked.

‘You know my mother. She almost never admits to feeling under the weather.’ He sighed. ‘This lupus thing … I worry about her.’

Isobel reached across the table and squeezed his hand. ‘She’ll be fine, Alex. Saskia was telling me about it—I know they haven’t found a cure for lupus, yet, but they can keep it under control with medication.’

‘But it’s going to take a while for them to find the right treatment to help her.’ Alex grimaced. ‘I’ve read up on it. I was in Turkey when Helen rang me and told me—and although I came home straight away, a snatched weekend here and there isn’t enough. I need to be around a bit more. Living in the same country as my family would be a start.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I’m not planning to move back in with my parents, because I’m used to doing things my own way and I’d drive them crazy, not fitting in with their routines—but I want to do my bit. It’s not fair to leave everything to the girls. I’m the oldest, and our parents are my responsibility.’

Isobel raised an eyebrow. ‘I think your parents would say they’re their own responsibility.’

‘Maybe.’ Alex frowned. ‘Mum’s putting a brave face on things but I know she hates it when I’m away so much, and she worries every time she turns on the news and hears of some kind of political unrest which might be somewhere near wherever I am at the time. It’s extra stress she doesn’t need.’

‘Alex, it’s not your fault she’s got lupus.’

‘No?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s stress-related.’

‘And my money’s on most of the stress being caused by her job. Saskia says she’s been feeling a lot better since she changed her hours and went part-time.’

‘Even so, it doesn’t help if she’s worried about me.’

‘She’ll be pleased about your new job, then,’ Isobel said.

‘Hey, I’m not quite arrogant enough to count my chickens—I know I’m in the running, but if they decide that my career to date makes me too much of a risk, that I’ll stay in the job for all of five minutes and then leave them in the lurch when I get a better offer … ‘He shrugged. ‘Well, something else’ll turn up.’

She frowned. ‘Alex, do you actually have to be married to make them think you’re settled, or would being engaged be enough?’

He thought about it. ‘Engaged would probably be enough.’

Alex needed her. And of course she wanted to help him. He was too proud to ask her again, she knew, so there was only one thing she could do. ‘Alex. I want to help you. I really want you to get this job and be happy.’ She took a deep breath. If she got engaged to him, it wasn’t the same as being married, was it? It wasn’t the same as tying him down to someone who might not be able to give him what he wanted in life. ‘Look, if we get engaged—after you get the job we can quietly break off the engagement and go back to being how we are now.’ And because they weren’t getting married, she wouldn’t have to tell him the truth about herself—about the miscarriages. Everything would be just fine.

‘You’d get engaged to me?’

‘Until you get the job, yes. If it’d help.’

She could see the relief in his eyes. ‘Thank you, Bel. I really appreciate this.’ He took her hand, raised it to his mouth and kissed her palm before folding her fingers over where his lips had touched her skin. ‘Any time I can return the favour, do something for you, you know I will.’

‘Hey. That’s what friends are for,’ she said, striving for lightness despite the fact that the touch of his mouth had sent desire zinging through her veins.

Though his words made her heart ache. Yes, there was something Alex could do for her. But it wasn’t going to happen, so there was no point in even letting herself think about it. A real marriage and babies weren’t on his agenda. Besides, the fact that Gary had a baby now proved that the problem was with her, not him.

‘To you,’ Alex said, lifting his glass. ‘My lucky charm.’

‘What was that you were saying about not counting your chickens?’ she asked wryly.

‘With you by my side,’ Alex said, ‘I could conquer the world.’

Oh, help. He sounded serious. She reverted to some childhood teasing. ‘Alexander the Great, hmm?’

He laughed. ‘Hey. I’m not going to make you change your name to Roxana. Though if you really want to …’

‘No, thanks!’

‘And this is an engagement of convenience.’

‘Exactly. Until you get the job. Which you will.’ She raised her own glass. ‘To you.’

‘To us,’ he corrected. ‘And to teamwork.’

‘Teamwork,’ she echoed.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALEX spent the weekend in the Cotswolds visiting his parents, and Isobel was shocked at how much she missed him, how empty the flat seemed without him.

Don’t get too used to this, she warned herself. Alex would move out once he’d got the job and decided where to settle. If he decided to move back to his own flat, he might stay for his tenants’ notice period, but he wouldn’t stay any longer than that. And their engagement was one of convenience, which wouldn’t last very long; there was no point in getting a ring.

She went out for a long walk on Hampstead Heath on the Sunday; when she let herself back into the flat, she was surprised to see Alex already there. And she was furious with herself for the fact that her heart actually missed a beat. ‘You’re back early,’ she said, keeping her voice deliberately light.

He looked grim. ‘Mmm.’

There was only one thing she could think of that would’ve made him look so upset. ‘Is your mum all right?’

‘She’s fine.’

‘Then what’s wrong?’

He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Things didn’t go quite according to plan.’

‘How do you mean?’

He sucked in a breath. ‘I took my parents out to lunch today. I was telling Mum about the job—and that you’d agreed to be my temporary fiancée, to give me the right profile. Except she didn’t hear the word “temporary”.’ He sighed deeply. ‘She thinks we’re really getting married, Bel. And her face … She looked so happy. As if a huge weight had been lifted from her. I just didn’t have the heart to correct her—not in the middle of the Partridge, anyway. I was going to wait until we were back home and then explain without having an audience listening in. But then I got out of the car and Dad was shaking my hand and slapping me on the back and telling me how pleased he was that I was finally settling down and about time it was too—and the next thing I knew, my mum had already gone next door to see your mum.’

Isobel blinked. ‘Marcia told my mum we were engaged?’

‘And Saskia. And Helen. And Polly. And half the street. I’ve only just managed to persuade her not to stick a notice in the local paper.’ He looked rueful. ‘I tried to ring your mobile to warn you, but your voicemail told me your phone was unavailable—and your landline went straight through to your answering machine.’

‘I went out for a walk—I must’ve been in a bad reception area.’

‘I sent you a couple of texts. Maybe they went AWOL.’

Or maybe she’d accidentally left her phone in silent mode. She took it out of her bag and checked the screen. There were three messages from Alex, all telling her to ring him urgently and not to listen to any of the messages on her answering machine until he got back to London.

She glanced at the answering machine. ‘Messages.’ The light was still flashing, so clearly he hadn’t listened to them.

‘I’m really sorry, Bel.’

‘Better find out what they have to say.’ She pressed ‘play’. The first message was from Alex. ‘Houston, we have a problem. Call me when you can—and if you’ve got other messages on the machine after this, don’t take any notice of them, OK? I’ll explain everything when I get back.’

Next was her mother. ‘Bel, Marcia just told me. It’s fantastic news—but why didn’t you tell me yourself, love? Get your diary and call me when you’re back. Your dad and I want to take you both out to dinner to celebrate. Love you.’

Then it was Alex’s mother. ‘Bel, we’re so pleased to hear the news—I wish Alex had waited until you were back from your course, so you could’ve told us together, but I know what my son’s like. He can’t wait for anything. See you soon, love. And we’re so pleased. We couldn’t have hoped for a better daughter-in-law.’

And then Saskia. ‘Oh, my God, you’re actually going to be my sister! Isobel Martin, how could you keep something like this quiet? And from me, of all people! Ring me the second you get this. I want details.’ She laughed. ‘And congratulations. This is brilliant. It’s the best news I’ve heard all year.’

Isobel sat down and looked at Alex. ‘Oh, blimey. They’re all so pleased.’

‘I know.’

‘And what course? Why does your mother think I’m on a course?’

He lifted a hand in protest. ‘She asked why you weren’t with me to share the news. I had to think on my feet. So I said the first thing that came into my head—that you were on a course. Which I know was a lie, and I know you hate lying, but what else could I do?’

‘You could’ve told them the truth.’

‘How?’ He sighed. ‘I’ve been racking my brain all the way here to work out how to fix this. Look, if you don’t mind going along with it for a while, then we can say I’ve done something terrible—I dunno, got drunk and disgraced you and gone off with another woman at a party or something—and you can break off the engagement in high dudgeon. And then we can just go back to normal.’

She shook her head. ‘Alex, that’s a hideously bad idea—it’ll hurt everyone. Your parents will never forgive you if they think you’ve treated me badly, mine will never forgive you either, and it’ll cause rifts all over the place. And I’m not going to tell even more lies. It’s enough of a mess as it is.’

‘Bel, you heard them all. They’re delighted that we’re together. It’s as if we’ve given them Christmas, a milestone birthday and a huge lottery win all rolled into one. If I tell them the truth, they’ll be so disappointed, so upset that it’s not happening. At least if we tell them it didn’t work out, it’ll let them down gently.’

‘By you being unfaithful? That’s hardly being gentle, Alex.’

‘Then I hope you’ve got a better idea, because I can’t think of any other way.’

Her mind had gone completely blank. ‘I can’t, either,’ she admitted.

‘Mum said she wondered how long it would take me to see what was right under my nose, and she’s glad I finally realised.’ He raked his hand through his hair. ‘She thinks I’ve been in love with you secretly since for ever.’

‘Of course you haven’t.’ Isobel shifted guiltily. Though could she say the same for herself? The fact that she could still remember how a kiss had felt twelve years ago …’ This is crazy.’

‘And it’s my fault. I’m sorry, Bel.’ He looked grim. ‘I’m just going to have to call everyone and put them straight. I apologise if it’s going to cause any awkwardness for you.’

‘Hey. I’ll get over it,’ she said lightly.

‘I just hate bursting Mum’s bubble. Especially as Saskia called me on my way back here and told me it’s the brightest she’s heard Mum sound in months.’

‘I know where you’re coming from. My parents have wanted to see me settled down again, too, after Gary. I think it’s because they’re …’ She bit her lip. ‘I was a late baby. Their only one. And although Mum’s a young seventy-two, she’s been talking lately about …’ She swallowed. ‘About getting old.’

‘And the fact that they’re your only family.’

Trust Alex to see straight into the heart of things. And to voice what she couldn’t bring herself to say—that when her parents died she’d be completely on her own.

He paused. ‘You know, this could be a solution for both of us.’

‘What could?’

‘Getting married. For real.’

It was a moment before she could speak. ‘But, Alex, you said you want to settle down and have a family.’

He shrugged. ‘A wife counts as family.’

‘So you don’t want children?’

He spread his hands. ‘Bel, if you want children, that’s fine by me—if you don’t, that’s also fine. No pressure either way.’

‘But …’ Panic skittered through her. If only he knew. They might not have a choice. ‘We can’t do this.’

‘Yes, we can.’ He took her hand. ‘Think about it. Our parents get on well. I like your parents and you like mine—we’re both going to have great in-laws.’

Something Isobel definitely hadn’t experienced with Gary, whose mother had always resented her. Nothing had ever been said overtly, but there had been plenty of pointed comments; Gary’s mother hadn’t taken well to the idea of his wife being the most important woman in his life. Isobel knew she wouldn’t have to put up with anything like that from Marcia, who had always treated her as a much-loved part of the family.

‘Both lots of parents are going to be relieved we’re settled down,’ Alex continued, ‘and they’ll stop worrying about us and nagging us. And we’ve got the basis for a brilliant marriage—we like each other.’

‘But liking isn’t enough,’ she protested.

‘Yes, it is. It’s better than love, Bel. It’s honest. It’s permanent—something that’s not going to change and we don’t have all these false ideals and rosy-coloured glasses, so we’re not going to get hurt. We’re going into this knowing exactly what we’re doing. Eyes wide open.’

‘I …’

He sighed. ‘Bel, if you’re worrying about what I think you’re worrying about … there’s only one way to prove it to you.’ He bent his head and kissed her.

It was the lightest, sweetest, most unthreatening kiss, and Isobel felt herself relax. Alex cupped her face in both hands and bent his head again. His mouth moved against hers, soft and sweet and gentle.

And then suddenly it was as if someone had lit touch-paper and heat flared between them. Her hands were fisted in his hair, their mouths were jammed together, and his tongue was exploring hers.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted someone so much.

And it was as scary as hell.

He broke the kiss for a moment, just to warn her, ‘Stop thinking—just feel.’ And then he was kissing her again, making her head spin.

The next thing she knew, Alex had swung her up in his arms and was carrying her to her bedroom. He set her down on her feet next to the bed. ‘Wow, Bel, you’re a real hedonist. I’ve never seen so many pillows.’

Of course. It was the first time he’d ever been in her bedroom. He’d always slept on her sofa bed whenever he’d stayed over at her flat. He walked over to the wrought-iron footboard and ran his fingers along it. ‘This is beautiful. And I’m very glad you have a double bed.’ He smiled. ‘Especially because you have all those pillows.’

‘I read in bed,’ she said defensively. ‘It’s more comfortable with lots of pillows.’

‘Other things are better with lots of pillows, too,’ he remarked.

And when colour shot into her face he laughed, stole another kiss, and went over to her bedside table. He switched on the lamp, closed the curtains, then frowned. ‘This light’s a bit bright.’

‘I told you, I read in bed.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I don’t see the point of giving myself eye strain.’

‘True. But I want something softer. Don’t move. And whatever you do, don’t start thinking.’

‘Why?’

He sighed. ‘Because … Look, there’s an easier way.’ He walked back over towards her, slid his arms round her and kissed her—sensual, demanding, and it actually made her knees weak. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this turned on by just a kiss.

‘Whatever’s put that look in your eyes, hold that thought,’ he said, his voice huskier and deeper than usual.

He left the room and she could hear him moving things in her living room. He returned a few moments later with the pillar candle she kept on her mantelpiece, placed it on the bedside table next to the lamp, lit the candle and then switched off the lamp.

‘Better,’ he said in approval.

Then he sat on the bed and patted the space next to him. ‘Come here,’ he said, his voice soft.

‘Alex, I …’ How could she tell him she was scared she’d disappoint him? That she was out of practice? That no way would she match up to the leggy stick insects he normally dated?

In the end, she didn’t have to, because he took her hand and tugged her towards him, then scooped her onto his lap. ‘It’s going to be OK, Bel. And you don’t have to be shy with me. I’ve seen you naked before.’

She stared at him in surprise. ‘Since when?’

‘When you were about … oh, I dunno. Two? It was a really hot summer that year and we almost always had the paddling pool out. You and Saskia used to splash about all afternoon.’ He laughed. ‘Mum’s probably got a photo somewhere.’

When she was two? She rolled her eyes. ‘That doesn’t count.’ But she found herself laughing, relaxing.

‘That’s better,’ he said softly. ‘Stop worrying. This is going to be fine.’

And if she were honest with herself, it was something that had been simmering between them for years. Unfinished business. An attraction she’d never admitted to because she’d been so sure Alex didn’t think of her in that way … but he’d brought it up himself a few days ago. Told her that he saw her as a woman.

Maybe—just maybe—this was what they both needed.

To get it out of the way and go back to being sensible.

Though there was still a problem. She took a deep breath. ‘Alex, I haven’t done this for a while.’

‘Good.’

‘Good?’ Now that was a reaction she hadn’t expected.

He smiled, and rubbed the pad of his thumb against her lower lip. ‘Very good, in fact. Because it means I get to remind you what pleasure’s all about.’

When her lips parted involuntarily, he dipped his head again to kiss her; by the time he broke the kiss, her head was spinning. He slid his hands under her T-shirt, stroking her abdomen with the tips of his fingers. ‘Your skin’s so soft.’ He nuzzled the curve of her neck. ‘You smell of orange blossom. I want to touch you, Bel. I want to look at you.’ Gently, he tugged at the hem of her T-shirt and she let him pull the material over her head.

He sucked in a breath. ‘You’re beautiful. How come it’s taken me all these years to notice?’

‘Because you’ve dated a string of women who were practically models?’ she suggested.

He gave her a mock-affronted look. ‘Isobel Martin, are you calling me shallow?’

‘Yup.’

He grinned. ‘Better hope I have hidden depths, then.’

He traced the lacy edge of her bra with the tip of one finger. The light touch made her quiver, and her nipples were tightening again.

Although he didn’t make a comment, he’d clearly noticed, and rubbed the pad of his thumb across them; the friction of her lacy bra against her sensitive skin sent a thrill through her.

‘You’re still fully clothed,’ she said.

‘Do something about it, then,’ he invited.

She undid the buttons of his shirt to reveal a broad, muscular chest, olive skin and dark hair. Such perfect musculature. She ran her fingertips over his hard pectoral muscles, his ribcage. And when she looked him straight in the eye, she could barely see his irises, his pupils were so huge. Meaning that he was as turned on by this mutual exploration as she was.

He slid the straps of her bra down, then kissed her bare shoulders; Isobel felt a sharp kick of excitement in her stomach. His mouth drifted along to the curve of her neck; when she closed her eyes and tipped her head to one side, he began a trail of tiny, nibbling kisses all the way along the sensitive cord at the side of her neck. His lips were warm and sure and incredibly sexy, and he was finding erogenous zones she hadn’t even known existed. Isobel shivered when he lingered in the sensitive spot behind her ear and her mouth parted involuntarily.

Then she became aware of the lacy fabric of her bra falling away from her skin; he’d unfastened it with one hand, so deftly she hadn’t even realised what he was doing. And now her breasts were spilling into his hands; he cupped them, lifting them slightly, teasing her nipples with his thumb and forefinger and making her quiver with arousal. From the hard pressure through his jeans against her thigh, she knew that he was just as turned on.

‘I love having you sitting on my lap,’ he whispered, ‘but it isn’t enough for me, Bel. I need more. Now. I need to touch you. Taste you.’

She needed it, too. ‘Yes.’

Gently, he shifted her off his lap and lay her back against the pillows. Kneeling between her parted thighs, he dipped his head, took one nipple into his mouth and sucked.

Oh, Lord.

So many sensations at once.

The soft silkiness of his hair against her skin, contrasting with the beginnings of spiky stubble on his face. The movement of his tongue and lips. The warmth of his mouth. The pressure of the suction. The tingling that started in her nipples and seemed to flood through every nerve-end.

‘Oh, yes, Alex,’ she whispered, arching her back against the softness of the duvet. She slid her hands into his hair, wanting more.

He lifted his head a fraction and looked up at her, his eyes dark in the candlelight. ‘Do you like that?’

‘Yes.’ The word came out slurred with pleasure.

‘Good. So do I.’ He paid attention to her other nipple, teasing it with his teeth and his tongue until she was wriggling, then slowly kissed his way down her abdomen. ‘I wish you were wearing a skirt.’

‘Why?’

‘Because these are in the way.’ He stroked his hands down the denim of her jeans, then slid one hand between her thighs, cupping her sex through her jeans. ‘If you were wearing a skirt I’d be closer than this.’ He rubbed one finger along the seam of her jeans, pressing against her clitoris. ‘Much closer.’

And right now she needed him much closer. She shivered. ‘Alex. You’re driving me crazy.’

‘That’s the idea.’ He shifted back onto his haunches, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on hers as he undid the top button of her jeans.

They were getting nearer and nearer the point of no return.

Slowly, slowly, he lowered the zip. The air felt cool against her heated skin, and she shivered.

‘Cold?’

‘And hot,’ she admitted.

‘Good.’ He leaned forward and kissed the skin he’d just uncovered. ‘And you’re going to get hotter still by the time I’ve finished with you.’

And wet.

God, she was wet. So ready for him.

Gently, he encouraged her to lift her buttocks, and pulled her jeans down over her hips. He made short work of removing them after that, taking off her socks at the same time so she was left wearing only a tiny pair of knickers. He looked at her, lying against the pillows, and sucked in a breath. ‘Wow. How come I never noticed you’re a pocket Venus? All curves.’

Curves. She flushed and wrapped her arms round herself.

He groaned. ‘I didn’t say “fat”.’

‘I am compared with the stick insects you normally date.’

‘I might date them,’ he said softly, ‘but it doesn’t necessarily mean I sleep with them. And, for the record, I happen to like curves. And yours are gorgeous.’ He slid the tips of his fingers underneath hers. ‘Don’t be shy with me. I want to see you, Isobel.’ Gently, he prised her hands away from her body. ‘You’re lovely.’

She dragged in a breath. ‘This isn’t fair. You’re still wearing your jeans.’

‘I’m all yours, honey. Do with me what you will.’ He spread his hands in invitation.

It had been a long, long time since she’d played this sort of game with anyone. Towards the end, with Gary, sex had been primarily to make a baby, not an expression of love. And when that had all gone wrong…

‘Touch me, Bel,’ he said, his voice sinfully inviting.

Isobel reached out and undid the top button of his jeans. And the next. And the next. She could feel his erection straining against her fingers as she continued unbuttoning his fly. What was sauce for the goose, she thought with an inward smile, and traced the outline of his penis with one fingertip.

He shivered. ‘I think I should warn you not to tease me.’

‘Is that a threat?’

He shook his head. ‘You can tease me as much as you like, later. But I want this first time to be for you.’ He took her hand and kissed it, sucking each fingertip in turn.

The movement of his mouth against her skin made the pulse beat hard between her legs. If he could make her feel like this just by playing with her fingers, what was it going to be like when he touched her more intimately?

She sat up again and pulled his jeans down over his hips. On impulse, she pressed her mouth against his abdomen.

He groaned. ‘I warned you about teasing me.’ He rolled to one side and ripped off his jeans and socks, then joined her on the bed.

‘I half expected you to go commando.’

He laughed. ‘No. ‘Then his expression went serious. ‘Bel, just for the record, I don’t sleep around. I date a lot, I have a good time, but I’m fussy about who I take to bed. And in the past I’ve always used protection.’

She nodded, appreciating his candour. And she believed him absolutely. ‘I haven’t—’ she dragged in a breath ‘—slept with anyone since I split up with Gary.’ Two years. More, if you counted the last disastrous months of her marriage. She’d dated a couple of times but she’d never gone further than a goodnight peck on the cheek.

He stroked her cheek. ‘Then we’ll take this slowly.’

He was going to stop? Now?

She must’ve said it aloud, because his eyes darkened. ‘I’m not going to stop, Bel.’ His voice was deep and husky and sexy as hell. ‘And, as much as I feel as though I’m going to implode if I’m not inside you in the next nanosecond, I want this to be good for you.’

He wanted her that much? Oh-h-h. ‘I need you inside me, too,’ she whispered. And she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt that needy. The last time she’d wanted sex for its own sake and not to make a baby.

Gently, Alex removed her knickers and slid one hand between her thighs. She felt the long, slow stroke of one finger against her sex, a movement that had her quivering and needing more. As if he could read her mind, he did it again. And again.

‘This is taking it slowly?’ She could hardly get the words out.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘You’re driving me crazy, Alex. I want …’

‘This?’ He pushed one finger inside her.

She gasped. ‘Yes.’ The word came out as a hiss of pleasure.

He continued circling her clitoris with his thumb, and she wriggled against him, wanting more.

‘You’re so warm and wet for me,’ he whispered. ‘Just how I want you.’

‘Alex. Now. Please,’ she said huskily. ‘I need … I want …’ Why couldn’t she even string a sentence together? She was never this inarticulate.

He smiled. ‘Guess what? I want you all the way back.’ He stripped off his jockey shorts, then took a condom from his discarded jeans and rolled it on before kneeling between her thighs again and kissing her. She felt the tip of his penis nudge against her entrance—and then he was inside her with one long, slow, deep thrust.

She shuddered.

He stilled, letting her body adjust to his. ‘Are you all right, Bel?’

‘Yes—I just wasn’t expecting this to … Oh-h-h,’ she said as he began to move again.

She could feel the pressure growing, warmth curling at the soles of her feet and spreading up through her body into ripples, then waves.

She’d known Alex would be good at this—Alex was good at everything he did—but she really hadn’t expected it to be this good, taking her to a completely different world.

‘Bel,’ Alex demanded softly. ‘Look at me.’

She opened her eyes—and saw the same wonder she was feeling reflected in his own eyes as her climax hit her.

It was a while before she could even think, let alone speak. And she was cradled in Alex’s arms, her head resting on his shoulder.

‘I think,’ he said softly, ‘that proves we’re pretty compatible.’

‘Yes.’ More than she’d ever expected.

He stroked her face. ‘So. We like each other. We have a lot in common. And the sex is good.’

She had a nasty feeling she knew where this was heading.

‘So how about we don’t burst anybody’s bubble?’ He shifted so he could kiss her lightly. ‘If we get married, it’s going to solve all the problems at a single stroke.’

No, it wasn’t. Because she was going to have to tell him about the miscarriages. ‘Alex—about the baby business …’

‘It’s fine.’ He pressed his forefinger lightly against her lips. ‘Stop worrying. I know you love your job and you’re good at it. I’m not expecting you to give it up. If we do have children, we’ll work something out. If we don’t, then we’ll carry on exactly as we are.’

He said that now, but how would he feel later?

‘It’s a win-win situation.’

Hardly. Because Alex didn’t love her. Which meant their marriage would be one-sided—and if he had any idea that she was falling in love with him, he’d back off straight away. He made no secret about the fact he considered himself allergic to love.

‘Bel. Stop panicking.’ He stole a kiss. ‘It’s going to be fine.’

‘Is it?’

He smiled. ‘I think I’m going to enjoy spending the rest of today proving it to you. Very, very slowly.’

Her face felt hot. ‘Alex!’

‘I’m going to get us something to eat.’ He climbed out of bed. ‘Stay put. And I mean it, Bel. No worrying. This might just be the best idea either of us has ever had.’

CHAPTER FIVE

THE alarm shrilled; Isobel rolled over to hit the snooze button and collided with a body.

A warm, hard and very obviously male body.

‘Good morning, Bel,’ Alex said quietly.

How could he possibly be awake already? They’d spent much of the previous night making love, after Alex had returned to bed with a platter of fruit and cheese and crackers and insisted on feeding her. They’d explored each other’s bodies so completely that neither of them had anything left to hide.

And right now all Isobel wanted to do was snuggle back under the duvet, wrapped in his arms, and go back to sleep.

‘Hello? Earth to Isobel? Anyone home?’ he teased.

He sounded bright and chirpy. But that was Alex, able to burn the candle at both ends. He could stay up late—or, in the case of last night, spend a fair part of it making love—and still be wide awake and ready to go at the crack of dawn.

‘Uh,’ she said.

He must’ve hit the snooze button because the alarm stopped shrieking; then he rolled her onto her side and curved his body round hers. ‘Good morning, sleepyhead.’ He kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear. ‘I take it you have to be up for work this morning.’

‘Uh.’

He chuckled. ‘I always thought you were a morning person.’

‘I am,’ she mumbled, ‘if I get enough sleep first.’

He traced a lazy circle round her navel with his fingertip. ‘Ah. That. I guess we were a bit … busy, last night.’ His hand flattened against her stomach, then slid upward to cup one breast. ‘Any regrets, this morning?’

Apart from aches in muscles she’d forgotten she had … She twisted round to face him and pressed a kiss into his chest. ‘No.’

‘Good. So you’re going to marry me, then.’

He hadn’t actually asked her, the previous night. None of the traditional down-on-one-knee stuff, no declaration of love, no four little words.

She suppressed the sting of hurt. He had asked her, a few days before—and she’d refused him. So this time round he hadn’t asked and she hadn’t accepted. Which, in a weird sense, made them quits in this marriage that wasn’t a marriage.

‘Bel?’

She forced herself to sound light-hearted. ‘Depends.’

‘On what?’

‘I need coffee.’

‘I can take a hint.’ He laughed. ‘Go and have a shower, and I’ll make us some breakfast.’ He stroked her hair. ‘I’m tempted to join you in the shower … but then you’d be seriously late for work, and I don’t want to get you into trouble.’

‘Trouble?’

‘For spending the morning in the shower with me instead of doing what you’re supposed to be doing.’

She could just imagine the water beating down on them as Alex eased into her body, and desire flooded through her. ‘Oh-h-h.’

‘Tempted?’ he teased.

She slid the flat of her palm down his side, curving round his buttocks. ‘Mmm.’

The alarm shrilled again, and she groaned. ‘I have to go to work.’

‘We’ll take a rain check. Just keep thinking about whatever put that incredibly sexy look on your face just now—and tell me tonight. In detail. So I can act it out.’

Oh, Lord.

How was she supposed to concentrate on anything for the rest of the day, after a promise like that?

He shut off the alarm and climbed out of bed, pausing only to pull on his boxer shorts, and headed for the kitchen.

By the time Isobel had showered and dressed for work, Alex had made a pot of proper coffee, set the table and was halfway through buttering some hot toast.

‘Breakfast,’ he said with a smile.

Sitting there at her kitchen table, bare-chested, he looked utterly edible.

She’d never breakfasted like this with Alex before. Sure, they’d had breakfast together plenty of times. But not when he was practically naked. And not when they’d spent most of the previous night making love, and his hair was all mussed, and she knew just what that sexy mouth felt like against her skin. All she wanted to do right now was sit on his lap, make his hair even messier, kiss him stupid and drag him back to her bed.

God, she really needed that coffee.

She couldn’t fall in love with Alex. This wasn’t part of the deal.

‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, reaching for her mug. He’d made the coffee just the way she liked it—hot, strong and milky. ‘Mmm. Perfect.’

‘Me or the coffee?’ he enquired with a lazy grin.

‘The coffee, of course.’

‘Huh. Tomorrow, Isobel Martin, you can make your own breakfast,’ he retorted. Though the gleam in his eye told her he was enjoying the banter as much as she was.

‘House rules—you stay here, you make breakfast,’ she teased back.

His eyes glittered. ‘I can think of some much more interesting house rules. But then you’ll be very, very late for work.’ He moistened his lower lip. ‘Want me to tell you?’ His gaze slid lower. ‘Mmm. Looks as if you can guess.’

She folded one arm across her breasts. ‘Alex. That’s not fair.’

He laughed. ‘Sorry, Bel. I shouldn’t tease you. Not when I can’t carry it through to its proper conclusion.’

‘No.’ She paused. ‘Alex, about last night … I wasn’t expecting it to be so…’ How could she say this without insulting him? ‘Well, so good,’ she ended lamely.

‘Neither was I,’ he said. ‘I mean—I’ve always liked you. A lot. But last night wasn’t just going through the motions, was it? It wasn’t just perfunctory sex.’ He reached over and took her hand. Kissed her palm and folded her fingers over his kiss. ‘Maybe we should’ve done this a long time ago.’

‘You weren’t ready to settle down.’ She wasn’t so sure that he was ready now. Alex wasn’t a settling-down kind of man. He was more like a meteor shower that made a spectacular appearance in your life for a brief while and then vanished—until the next time.

So although sex with Alex had been a revelation—of the nicest possible kind—she wasn’t going to let her heart get involved. Wasn’t going to rely on him.

‘What are you doing today?’ she asked.

‘A bit of research. You?’

‘Probably working up a handout for the touring exhibition.’

‘Want to do lunch?’

She shook her head regretfully. ‘Sorry. I’ve got meetings that I know are going to end up going through lunch.’

‘Admin. Bleugh.’ He pulled a face. ‘My least favourite bit of any job.’

‘Says the man who’s planning to get a desk job.’

‘I’ll be negotiating for an admin assistant.’

She laughed. ‘You would.’

‘I don’t want to spend my time on tedious paperwork when I could be doing something much more interesting.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’ll see you back here tonight, then. And I might even cook you dinner.’

‘Yeah, right,’ she scoffed. ‘Once you’re in the archives, you only leave when they chuck you out at closing time.’

He gave her a speaking look. ‘As if you don’t do exactly the same.’

She shrugged. ‘I love my job.’

‘I know. Which is why you understand me so well.’

She finished her toast. ‘I’d better be off. See you later.’

‘You’re leaving me to do the washing-up? Not fair,’ he complained teasingly. ‘I made breakfast.’

‘I’ll pay you back tonight.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll hold you to that.’

Over the next few days, life just seemed to get better and better. Alex was right about an affair not affecting their friendship; he still talked to her as much, argued with her and teased her. But at the same time their love-making gave an added dimension to their relationship. One Isobel hadn’t expected. She couldn’t remember being this happy before, even in the early days with Gary—in the days before they’d tried for a family. Before Gary had accused her of putting her job before their baby, the last time she’d miscarried. An accusation that was so far beyond unfair, it was untrue. She’d wanted a baby just as much as he had. And if the midwife had put her on bedrest for her entire pregnancy, she would’ve done it for the sake of their child.

She shook herself.

Not now.

Though now she’d agreed to marry Alex, the question of babies rose uppermost in her mind. He’d been so casual about it, saying that if it happened, it happened, and he’d be guided by her. But when she told him just how much she wanted a baby, would it make him run?

And there were no guarantees she could even have a baby.

Then there was his new job. Although he was based in England, it would still involve a fair amount of travelling. So his lifestyle wasn’t really going to fit in with being a dad.

She needed to talk to him about this. Before the engagement and wedding plans went too far. It was just a matter of finding the right time.

The following Thursday morning, Alex was not only up at the crack of dawn, he was wearing a suit.

Isobel blinked. ‘Blimey. You really are trying to impress the interviewers.’

‘No. I’m giving them a chance to see me as a consultant,’ he corrected. ‘Someone who can talk to the money people—they already know I can do the other side of the job.’

‘The last time I saw you in a suit, it was Flora’s christening.’

‘It’s the same suit,’ he said with a grin. ‘I only possess one. And it usually gets dragged out for just christenings and weddings.’

‘Uh-huh. Well, you look professional. Just check your pockets for confetti.’

‘Good point.’ He checked his pockets. ‘No confetti.’

‘Good.’ She kissed him lightly. ‘And I’m buying you dinner tonight to celebrate.’

‘You really think I’m going to get the job?’

‘Of course I do. You’re the best candidate.’

‘You don’t actually know any of the other candidates,’ he pointed out.

She shrugged. ‘I don’t need to.’

He smiled. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence. So what are you doing today?’

‘Being Flavia.’

He laughed. ‘You love all that dressing-up stuff, don’t you? It’s just like when you and Saskia were little—pretending to be a princess or a bride or what have you.’

‘Don’t knock it,’ she said with a grin. ‘It’s a lot of fun. I know you proper archaeologists have a bit of a downer on living history, but it gets the kids interested, and that’s a good thing.’

‘Living history’s OK as long as you’re not too earnest about it.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘And you know exactly what I mean. So what’s today’s topic? Roman food?’

‘Domestic stuff. Beauty,’ she said.

‘Mmm. Well, if you need someone to oil you and get the strigil out…’

She laughed. ‘Don’t you dare. You’ll mess up your suit.’ She paused. ‘Will you know today?’

He nodded. ‘Assessments this morning and then interviews, and then they’ll tell us.’

‘Text me when you hear?’

‘Course I will.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better go. See you tonight.’

‘I’m not going to wish you luck. Just go and be yourself. That’ll be more than enough to get you the job.’

‘Especially as I’m a nice, settled, about-to-be-married man.’ He kissed her. ‘Thanks, Bel. I owe you.’

She patted his shoulder. ‘Go and show them what you’re made of.’

When he’d gone, Isobel tidied up the kitchen and then headed for work. Although she normally loved the days when she did the hands-on displays, today she found herself itching for her lunch break so she could check her mobile phone.

But there was no message from Alex. He must still be in the interview, or waiting round while the other candidates were being grilled, she thought. Well, she’d just have to wait until the end of her shift.

She was partway through getting the children to guess what all the items were on the little manicure set she kept on her belt, and was right at the point where they were gleefully disgusted by the earwax remover when she became aware of someone walking into the gallery, dressed in a toga with a broad purple stripe. Odd. She didn’t think they had anyone playing the part of a senator today. Maybe they’d changed the schedules round a bit without telling her and were doing politics in the next gallery.

As the man in the toga drew nearer, she realised who it was.

He’d oiled his hair back to give the impression of a short Roman crop.

And he looked utterly gorgeous.

But what on earth was Alex doing here, dressed like this?

‘Sorry I’m late. Politics in the Forum,’ he said with a smile, coming to join her.

What?

But—

She didn’t have time to ask any questions because he stood next to her and took her hand, before turning to the audience. ‘I’m Marcus, the senator in charge of the emperor’s entertainment. I order the elephants and the gladiators for displays in the circus, so I’m very busy—and I really need someone at home keeping my domestic affairs in order, running my household.’

He was ad-libbing, Isobel knew. But his knowledge of the historical period was sound and he was used to performing to a TV camera or lecturing at conferences, so their audience would no doubt think he’d played this role for years.

‘One of the important customs in Roman times was betrothal. If I wanted to get married, I’d have to negotiate with my intended bride’s family. And if they approved of me, we’d have a betrothal ceremony.’ He produced something from inside his robe; it glittered in the light. ‘The Roman wedding ring used to be made of iron in the early period, but betrothal rings like this one could be more opulent.’ He let the audience pass it round, then made sure he got it back. ‘Now, what did you notice about it?’

‘It’s gold and shiny,’ one little girl piped up.

He smiled. ‘Absolutely right. It’s a new one, so my bride’s parents will know that I’m wealthy enough to buy her jewellery and I haven’t just borrowed it from my mum. Anyone else notice anything?’

‘There’s a pattern on it,’ another child offered.

‘That’s right.’ He smiled at Isobel, then showed the audience the pattern on the front. ‘What sort of pattern?’

‘Two hands,’ one of the children said.

‘It’s a claddagh ring,’ one of the mums offered.

‘Not quite a claddagh—though that also has two clasped hands, it usually has a heart between them to represent true love, and a crown or fleur-de-lys carved over the top for loyalty,’ Alex explained. ‘There’s a very pretty story behind that—about three hundred years ago, a fisherman from Claddagh in Ireland was captured by Spanish pirates and sold into slavery. His new master taught him how to be a goldsmith, and every day he stole a speck of gold from the floor and after many years he had enough to make a ring to remind him of his sweetheart back in Claddagh. Eventually he escaped and made his way home—to find that his sweetheart was still waiting for him. And he gave her the ring to prove his love.’

Oh, Lord. She could practically see various hearts melting right before him. He definitely had this audience in the palm of his hand. Half the women in the audience were clearly imagining that he was the Irish fisherman about to give her a gold ring.

And Alex was on a roll.

‘This is actually a replica of a Roman betrothal ring, and the hand clasped at the wrist represents Concordia, the goddess of agreement,’ he said. ‘But, as with the claddagh ring, the design also symbolises love and fidelity. It’s sometimes called a “fedes” ring.’ He smiled. ‘Does anyone know why an engagement ring is put on the third finger?’

A chorus of no—and now practically all the women in the audience were gazing longingly at Alex, Isobel noticed. Hardly surprising: in a toga and sandals, he looked fantastic.

He lifted Isobel’s left hand and stroked his fingertip along the length of her ring finger. ‘The Romans followed the Egyptian belief that there was a vein in this finger that led straight to the heart, so it was important to capture it within a ring—a symbol of unbroken eternity.’ He slid the ring onto Isobel’s finger. ‘Like so.’

A shiver went down her spine. He was acting … wasn’t he?

‘Aren’t you the guy from the telly?’ one of the women asked. ‘You did that programme on Egypt last year. The Hunter’

‘Uh, yes,’ Alex said.

‘So you work here now?’ she asked.

He smiled. ‘No. My fiancée does.’ He draped one arm around Isobel’s shoulders. ‘I just hijacked her exhibition. But that’s how people got engaged in Roman times—exactly as we got engaged just now.’ He took Isobel’s left hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Sorry about that, Bel. I mean, Flavia.’

‘He’s … I …’ Isobel squirmed. ‘Sorry, everyone. This wasn’t planned. And he isn’t supposed to be here.’

‘Don’t worry, she’s not going to get into trouble,’ Alex said in a stage whisper. ‘I talked to her boss first.’

He’d talked to her boss? What? When?

‘Oh, that’s so romantic,’ another of the women said, sighing. ‘To surprise you at work like that.’

‘Given what she does for a living, I couldn’t really do anything else,’ Alex said. ‘And if you’ll excuse us, Flavia has finished work for today.’

‘Alex, I—’ she began.

‘Shh.’ He placed his finger on her lips. ‘I cleared it with your boss. Thank you, everyone, for being our witnesses today in a genuine Roman betrothal ceremony.’

Everyone started clapping and calling out their congratulations. Alex smiled back, then simply picked up all the elements of Isobel’s display, took her hand, and shepherded her out of the gallery.

‘Alex, I can’t believe you just did that!’ she said in a low voice.

‘Stop worrying. I really did clear it with your boss. Rita also let me borrow the outfit—which I need to return, so let’s go and change.’

‘You borrowed the senator’s outfit?’

‘I wanted to surprise you,’ he said with a grin.

‘You did that, all right. I thought you were in the interview this afternoon?’

‘I was.’

‘And you were going to text me to let me know how it went.’

He shrugged. ‘I decided to come and tell you in person.’

‘So did you get the job?’

‘This morning, you were very confident in my abilities.’ He tutted. ‘Clearly I’ll have to take you home and remind you just how able I am.’

‘Alex,’ she said warningly, ‘if you don’t tell me right now, I’ll stab you with these tweezers. They might be replicas, but they’ll hurt.’

He laughed. ‘Yes. I got the job. And I’m taking you out to dinner to celebrate—that, and our engagement.’

‘Our engagement?’ She glanced at the ring. ‘I thought you were … I dunno … hamming it up.’

‘No. You just got engaged to me, Bel. In public, so you can’t back out—and, besides, we’re meant to be seeing the parents at the weekend. They’re expecting to see a ring.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s gorgeous. And it’s a perfect fit—but how did you know my size?’

‘Give me some credit for resourcefulness.’

‘No, I want to know.’

‘While you were in the shower a few days ago, I borrowed one of your rings and drew round it. I took the drawing to the jeweller’s and asked them to size it for me—and I gave them a photograph of exactly what I wanted them to make for me. I picked it up on the way here. It’s eighteen-carat so it’s more durable.’ He paused. ‘I know it’s not exactly a modern engagement ring, but I thought this was more you.’ He smiled at her. ‘Though if you want a diamond, that’s fine—we can go shopping for one whenever you like.’

‘No. This is perfect.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t quite believe this just happened. You borrowed the senator’s robes and hijacked my show—’

‘With factually correct information,’ he cut in.

‘Skimpy, but I suppose it’ll do.’

‘Skimpy?’ He scoffed, then bent his head to whisper in her ear, ‘But, seeing as you brought it up … skimpy can be good. Are you dressed completely as a Roman woman?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Because, if you are, then I know you’re not wearing very much underneath that robe. And in that case I sincerely hope your office has a blind at the window and a lock on the door.’

‘It’s open plan.’

‘Pity.’ He nibbled her ear lobe. ‘Looks as if we’ll have to go home before dinner…’

CHAPTER SIX

WHEN Isobel walked into the office, she was surprised to see a large card propped up in the middle of her desk along with a beautiful bouquet of flowers; the card attached to the flowers made tears well up in her eyes when she read it. ‘Isobel and Alex. Congratulations and much love.’ It was from the whole department—and they could only have known about this a few minutes ago. Someone must have organised a collection at record speed and gone straight out to buy the flowers even as Alex had been striding towards her in his toga.

‘Congratulations, Bel.’ Rita, Isobel’s boss, came over to her and hugged her. ‘I’m so pleased for you, love.’

‘Though you kept it very quiet,’ Siobhan, the department secretary, said. ‘I thought you two were just good friends?’

‘Not any more,’ Alex said, smiling back at her and draping his arm round Isobel’s shoulders.

‘Let’s see the ring.’ Rita looked at it, then nodded her approval at Alex. ‘It’s lovely. And very much our Isobel.’ She smiled at Isobel again. ‘And don’t you dare sneak off and get married in secret, do you hear?’

‘We won’t,’ Alex promised with a smile. ‘In fact, I want to have a chat with you about that.’

Isobel could guess exactly where this was heading. ‘No, Alex, we’re not having a Roman wedding in the middle of the Roman gallery. Apart from the fact it’s not licensed for weddings … No.’

‘Spoilsport,’ Alex grumbled, but he was laughing. ‘Rita, I know it’s a bit of a cheek, but would you mind if I sweep my new fiancée off for dinner right now rather than waiting until the end of her shift? We’ve got a few things to celebrate.’

Rita smiled broadly. ‘It’s not every day someone gets engaged around here. Of course I don’t mind. Shoo. Go and have fun.’

‘I’ll stay late tomorrow night to make up the time,’ Isobel offered.

‘No need, love. Apart from the fact that you already put in more hours than you should, I believe a happy staff is a productive staff.’ Rita smiled. ‘Though you two might want to change back into normal clothes before you leave the building.’

‘We’d turn a few heads, dressed like this,’ Alex agreed, laughing.

By the time Isobel had changed, Alex had ordered a taxi, which was waiting outside for them.

‘That’s so extravagant,’ she said.

‘It’s also much easier than carrying a bouquet on the tube in the rush hour,’ he pointed out as he opened the taxi door for her, then placed the flowers on her lap before climbing in beside her.

‘I can’t believe they managed to do all this between you asking Rita if you could hijack my display, and you taking me back to my office.’

‘Everyone likes you, Bel,’ he said simply. ‘Of course they’d want to do something for you—and not wait until tomorrow, either.’

She opened the card. ‘Everyone in the department’s signed the card. Look at all these messages wishing us luck and so much happiness together.’ She blinked back the threatening tears. ‘This is all wrong. I feel such a fake, Alex.’

‘You’re not a fake. And it’s not wrong. We’ve been through this, Bel. This marriage is going to work, because we’re very, very good friends.’ He moved slightly closer, and whispered, ‘Plus we’re having great sex. Which in my book is a million times better than falling in love and being as miserable as hell.’

She frowned. ‘What happened, Alex? Who was she?’

‘Who?’

‘The woman who made you so bitter about love.’

He shrugged. ‘It was a long time ago.’

‘She must’ve hurt you a lot,’ Isobel said softly, curling her fingers round his, ‘for you to avoid a relationship for all these years.’ She couldn’t even remember him bringing anyone back to meet his parents.

‘As I said, it was a long time ago.’

‘And if you’re still hurting …’

‘I’m not. I’m over it.’ Alex sighed. ‘All right. If you have to know the gory details, I was working on my PhD. I was on a dig down on the south coast, and Dorinda lived in the next village. Like most of the locals, she’d come to take a look at what we were doing at the dig. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen—glamorous, with all that long dark hair and legs that went on for ever.’

So that was why he always dated stick-insect brunettes. Because he was looking for another Dorinda. Right at that moment, Isobel wished she’d never asked.

But Alex was still talking.

‘I was a geeky student who still practically had teenage spots, and I thought she was way out of my reach. But then I found out that she liked me, too.’

Geeky?

Alex had never been geeky, as far as she could remember.

Or covered in spots.

‘We had a drink together, and it snowballed from there into a mad summer affair. I spent every second with her I could. And, yeah, a lot of it was in bed.’ His expression turned grim. ‘She told me she was divorced, or I would never have started seeing her.’

Isobel believed him. Alex had a strong code of honour.

‘I was actually planning to ask her to marry me. I hadn’t got as far as choosing a ring and working out a romantic place to propose, but I was close to it. But then her husband came back. It turned out I was just a diversion because she was bored.’ His smile was tinged with bitterness. ‘I was twenty-two, remember. Still didn’t have a clue how the world worked. And would you believe I was actually stupid enough to say to her that I’d thought she loved me? She just laughed and asked me why on earth she’d want to go off with a student who had no money and no prospects of having any, when her husband was practically a millionaire.’

‘Sounds as if you had a lucky escape.’ She tightened her fingers round his again. ‘Alex, she wasn’t worth it. And if you’ve been hurting all these years over her …’

‘I haven’t been brooding on it, exactly. But it left a nasty taste in my mouth.’ He grimaced. ‘She’d cheated on her husband with me. She’d lied to us both, played us both for a fool. And I hated the fact that she’d used me to hurt someone else.’

‘Not everyone’s like that.’

‘I know. But her husband was away for long periods—just like I was. So it made me stop and think. Supposing I’d got married and left my wife on her own all the time…’

‘Your wife wouldn’t necessarily have cheated on you.’

‘Maybe not intentionally, Bel. But these things happen. With me being away so much, she would’ve been lonely. Vulnerable. An easy target for anyone who showed her the affection she wasn’t getting from me because I wasn’t there. And I didn’t want to take that kind of risk. It was easier to stay single and keep my relationships short and sweet—and to focus on my job.’

‘You’re still going to be away a lot with this job. So do you think I’m going to be unfaithful to you?’ she asked.

‘Of course I don’t.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Apart from the fact that you’re not a liar or a cheat, we’re not going into this all hormonally charged and with rose-coloured glasses on and declaring all the hearts and flowers stuff. And I hope you know that I won’t be unfaithful to you, either.’

‘This feels more like a business arrangement than a marriage.’

‘It’s not a business arrangement. It’s a sensible arrangement,’ Alex said as the taxi pulled up outside her flat. ‘And you and I will never lie to each other, so it’s going to work out just fine.’

Guilt flooded through her. Lies didn’t have to be direct; lies could also be caused by omission. And she was keeping something important from him.

She really had to tell him.

Soon.

He paid the driver, then let them in—almost, she thought, as if he’d lived there for ever and wasn’t just using her spare set of keys. ‘I need to get changed,’ he said.

‘You look good in a suit.’

‘But I hate wearing it. It makes me feel … ‘he clenched his fists and paced up and down the room ‘… “cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d.”’

‘Ooh, get the drama king,’ she teased. ‘Though you’re more of an Antony than a Macbeth.’

‘What, an ageing roué whose brains are in his trousers?’ He pulled a face. ‘Which makes you a middle-aged tart who doesn’t have the courage of her convictions—and takes a whole act to die, while talking about making the briefest end.’

‘Oi! I like that play,’ she protested.

He smiled. ‘Next time it’s on at the Globe, we’ll go. But before you dive for the what’s on listings, I really need to wash my hair.’

She laughed. ‘You’re being prissy about your hair? Don’t tell me you’re planning to get a haircut, now you’re officially a consultant.’

‘Am I, hell,’ he scoffed. ‘My hair’s fine as it is. Well, when it’s not oiled back so I can fake a Roman haircut.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Hey, you didn’t happen to bring that strigil home from your Roman beauty kit, did you?’

‘No,’ she said, guessing what he had in mind, ‘and I’m sure you wouldn’t like traditional Roman hygiene.’

‘I dunno.’ His eyes glittered. ‘I quite like the idea of sauntering into a caldarium and having you scrape me off with a strigil.’

She laughed. ‘Alex. You’re impossible.’

‘Who, me?’ he deadpanned. ‘Look, I don’t want to get olive oil all over this suit, so would you mind giving me a hand undressing?’

‘That has to be the most trumped-up excuse I’ve ever heard.’

‘I thought it was quite a good one, actually.’ He gave her a wicked smile. ‘Come and have a shower with me.’

‘Now there’s an offer,’ she said, rolling her eyes. But she slid his jacket from his shoulders and hung it over the back of a chair. He hadn’t put his tie back on when he’d changed out of the toga, and he looked incredibly sexy in dark trousers and a white shirt with the top button undone.

She unbuttoned his shirt, and ran her hands lightly over his chest. ‘Mmm. The barbarian look. I like it.’

‘Do you, now?’ Alex’s response was to make short work of her clothes and the remainder of his own; then he picked her up and carried her into the bathroom.

Isobel laughed. ‘You really are a barbarian, Alex.’

‘Just living up to your view of me.’ He set her on her feet in the bath, stepped in next to her, and switched the water on.

Isobel shrieked. ‘That’s cold!’

‘Don’t be a baby.’ He grabbed the shower gel. ‘All righty—you’re Flavia the patrician matron and I’m your barbarian slave.’

She laughed. ‘Shouldn’t you have scented oil and a strigil if you’re my barbarian slave?’

‘This is much more civilised,’ he said loftily.

‘You? Civilised?’

‘I can be.’ He gave her a lascivious wink, then poured shower gel into his palms, lathered it, and glided his fingers over her skin. ‘Mmm. Bel. Your skin feels nice. Turn round.’

She did so, and he lathered her shoulders and her back, then drew her back against his body. She could feel his erection pressing against her; then he fanned his fingers across her abdomen and then stroked gently upwards until he could cup her breasts.

‘Better still,’ he whispered, kissing the curve of her neck as his thumbs and forefingers played with her nipples.

She wriggled against him. ‘Barbarian.’

He nibbled her earlobe. ‘At your command, my lady.’

She turned round again to face him. ‘I don’t think you’d be at anyone’s command except your own, Alex.’

He kissed her lightly. ‘You could command me to make love with you. I’d obey you.’

She slid her fingers down to grasp his erection. ‘Only because it’s what you want to do.’

‘It’s a win-win situation, Bel. Apart from the fact that you’ve turned round, which means we switch roles,’ he added with a grin.

‘We do?’

‘Uh-huh. You have to obey me, because I’m the patrician now.’

She gave him a wicked grin. ‘But you look like a barbarian. I’ll just get the tweezers to sort you out, my Lord.’

‘Don’t you dare.’ He lifted her up and pinned her against the tiles.

She yelped. ‘Alex, that’s freezing!’

‘I’ll warm you up, then.’ He kissed her hard, his mouth urgent against hers. Her hands were locked round his neck, holding him close, and he’d moved so he could push one hand between her thighs, stroking her and teasing her until she was quivering.

‘Now?’ he asked softly.

‘N-now.’ She could barely speak, she was so turned on.

He lifted her slightly so he could fit the tip of his penis against the entrance of her sex, then slowly pushed into her.

‘Alex,’ she whispered, and jammed her mouth over his.

The water was pouring over them and Isobel was so aware of every single movement Alex made—the slow, deliberate thrusts as he brought her nearer and nearer to the edge, the way his body fitted hers perfectly—and she knew the exact second his self-control snapped and his body surged into hers. Although her eyes were tightly closed, she could see starbursts; and all she could do was hold on tightly to Alex as her climax rocked through her.

Finally, he eased out of her and set her on her feet. ‘Um. When did the hot water run out?’

‘No idea,’ she said.

‘Sorry.’

And he really did look contrite. She smiled. ‘I’m not.’ She reached up and touched his hair. ‘Except for this. You still need to get rid of that olive oil. I’ll go and boil the kettle so you’ve got some hot water to do your hair.’

‘Thanks. I wouldn’t want to look a total scruff when I take you out to dinner.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you telling me you’re going to wear your suit again tonight?’

‘No. Suits are overrated.’ He kissed her again. ‘I’m not wearing a tie, either.’

But by the time she’d dried her hair and he’d dressed, she had to admit he looked good. Black trousers and a turquoise silk shirt that, on Alex, just heightened his raw masculinity.

‘You scrub up rather nicely—for a barbarian.’

‘Watch it, or the hat goes on,’ he teased back. ‘Come on, beautiful. Let’s go celebrate my new job—and our engagement.’

The endearment warmed her. Alex thought her beautiful?

Probably just a figure of speech.

But she was glad he’d made the effort.

And she was starting to believe that he was right. This was going to work out just fine.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ON SUNDAY, Alex drove Isobel to the little market town in the Cotswolds where they’d grown up. They’d arranged to meet their parents at the local hotel, along with Alex’s sister Saskia and her husband Bryn and baby Flora. Alex’s twin sisters, Helen and Polly, were both away for the weekend, but he’d said wryly that their parents wouldn’t wait any longer for them to turn up as an engaged couple—if they didn’t go to the Cotswolds, their families would come straight to London and besiege the flat.

The second they walked into the dining room, their respective mothers spotted them and started waving. And it was a good ten minutes before the hugs and the congratulations and the official inspection of the engagement ring were over.

‘What a welcome,’ Isobel said, smiling as she sat down.

‘Well, of course! This is a celebration. It’s not every day my daughter gets engaged.’ Stuart made what was clearly a pre-arranged signal to the waiter, who immediately brought over champagne.

‘Getting engaged to the boy next door after all these years. It’s so romantic,’ Marcia said, smiling at them.

Saskia rolled her eyes. ‘This is Alex we’re talking about, Mum. Your son doesn’t do romance.’

‘Of course I do,’ Alex protested.

No, he didn’t, Isobel thought. But they were meant to be putting on a show for their parents, so she didn’t correct him.

He nudged her. ‘Bel, tell them how we got engaged.’

She smiled. ‘He hijacked my talk on Roman beauty—came strutting up in a toga, told everyone all about betrothal customs, and then put the ring on my finger.’

‘You got engaged in the museum?’ Anna asked.

‘It was romantic,’ Alex protested.

‘That’s so you, Alex,’ Marcia said ruefully.

‘And so Isobel, too,’ Anna added, laughing. ‘You’ve got a rival for my daughter’s affections in her job, you know, Alex.’

He laughed. ‘You could say the same about me. But we’ll put each other first, won’t we, Bel?’

‘Of course,’ she chipped in.

‘So you bought her a Roman betrothal ring and you had a Roman engagement.’ Saskia raised an eyebrow. ‘Does this mean you’re going to have a Roman wedding, too?’

Isobel groaned. ‘Don’t encourage him, Saskia.’

‘No. It’ll be an ordinary civil wedding,’ Alex said. ‘Close family only. As in you lot plus Helen and Polly and their husbands and the boys.’

‘Well, congratulations,’ Stuart said, raising his glass. ‘And welcome to the family, Alex.’

‘Thank you,’ Alex said, smiling.

‘Welcome to the family, Bel,’ Tom echoed, raising his own glass. ‘We’ve always thought of you as family anyway, but it’s good to make you officially one of us.’

Isobel swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Thank you. I think I’m going to cry.’

‘No, you’re not.’ Alex, who’d made sure he was sitting next to her, scooped her onto his lap and wrapped his arms round her waist, holding her close.

‘So have you set a date or anything?’ Saskia asked.

‘No,’ Alex admitted, ‘but as we’ve known each other for years, there’s not much point in having a long engagement. As it’s a small wedding, it won’t take long to organise—so are you all busy in three weeks’ time?’

Isobel almost choked on her champagne. ‘Alex, I can’t possibly organise a wedding in three weeks!’

‘But I can,’ he said. ‘I’m twiddling my thumbs for the next month until I start my new job. Three weeks to the wedding, a week’s honeymoon—and this will give me something to do in the meantime and keep me out of mischief.’ He smiled. ‘Actually, it’ll be fun.’

‘Why does that set all the alarm bells ringing in the back of my head?’ Isobel asked.

‘Because you know what my brother’s like,’ Saskia said. ‘He could be planning anything.’

‘Alex, maybe we’d better wait until you’ve been in your job for a few months,’ Isobel suggested. And it would buy her some time, too. So she could find the right moment to tell him about what had happened with Gary. Explain about the miscarriages. She was marrying him under false pretences as it was. She couldn’t do it under double false pretences.

‘No, he’s got a point,’ Anna said, surprising Isobel. ‘You’ve known each other for years. Why wait? And a summer wedding will be lovely.’

‘I think so, too,’ Marcia said. ‘Don’t worry that he’s going to go over the top, Bel. We’ll keep him under control—won’t we, Anna?’

‘Absolutely,’ Anna said. ‘I foresee daily phone calls and updates.’

‘I’ll text you,’ Alex said, laughing at the horrified look on his mother’s face.

Saskia dug him in the ribs. ‘Don’t be mean. You know Mum hardly ever switches her mobile phone on and gets in a knot over texting.’

‘All right, all right. Daily updates. In a phone call,’ Alex promised.

‘I think we need a toast,’ Marcia said, beaming. ‘To Isobel and Alex. And may they have a very long, very happy married life.’

‘Isobel and Alex,’ everyone echoed.

Alex bent his head to whisper in Isobel’s ear, ‘Stop worrying. It’s all going to be fine.’

‘No snogging at the table, you two,’ Saskia directed. ‘Let the poor girl go back to her seat, Alex. It’s lunchtime. Flora’s been really patient but if we don’t feed her in the next ten seconds she’s going to start screaming.’

‘Just like her mother,’ Bryn said.

Alex laughed. ‘You can say that again.’ He lifted Isobel’s hand, kissed her palm and folded her fingers over the place he’d just kissed. ‘As my little sister’s being bossy …’

‘Yes, dear.’ Isobel fluttered her eyelashes at him, laughed and slid off his lap to reclaim her seat.

It was the perfect lunch. Everyone was laughing and talking and smiling, and Isobel’s heart gave a funny little throb as she thought how much she loved all the people there.

Including Alex.

But Alex didn’t feel the same way about her. If she wasn’t very, very careful, she was going to get her heart broken all over again. And this time she wouldn’t be able to put the pieces back together.

Isobel was really quiet on the way home, Alex noticed.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes, of course.’

But her smile was fixed rather than genuine. He reached across to take her hand and squeeze it. ‘No, you’re not. What is it? The wedding?’

She sighed. ‘Yes.’

‘Going to tell me about it?’

‘I’ve been married before,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve done the church and the partying and it all went wrong.’

‘Because you trusted in love,’ he said. ‘This time, we’re going for something that lasts—we like each other and we get on well, so it’ll work. And I can guarantee this wedding’s not going to be anything like your first one.’ He slid her a wicked look. ‘For a start, the groom will be wearing an Akubra.’

‘You’re kidding!’

Oh, he loved this. She was so easy to tease. ‘You don’t want me to wear my Hunter stuff? OK. We’ll make it a Roman do and I’ll sweet-talk Rita into lending me that toga again.’

‘Alex …’

He could hear in her voice that he’d just pushed her over the edge into worrying again. ‘I was teasing, Bel. As our mothers are both keeping an eye on me, I can’t do anything too outrageous, can I?’

‘I suppose not,’ she admitted. ‘Though I’d be happier if you actually planned it with me.’

‘Bel, you’re up to your eyes at work. The last thing you need when you get home is to have to go through all the hassle of choosing this and booking that and seeing if there’s an alternative if we can’t have our first choice.’ He rubbed the pad of his thumb across the backs of her fingers. ‘Whereas I’m not officially at work for another month. I don’t have anything pressing to do, so it makes sense for me to be the one making the arrangements and chasing things up. And, actually, I’d get a huge kick out of giving you a surprise wedding. A day to remember for all the right reasons.’

She swallowed hard. ‘Alex, I really need to talk to you about something.’

‘Bel, it’s going to be fine,’ he said softly. ‘I’m not going to plan anything you’ll hate. Just trust me.’

‘I do trust you. It’s not that. It’s …’ She sighed. ‘Now isn’t the right place. But there’s something you ought to know. About me.’

‘Your divorce never came through properly?’

She shook her head. ‘No, that’s sorted. Gary made sure of that when his—’ for a moment, her voice cracked ‘—when his partner became pregnant.’

‘So there’s no legal bar to us getting married. Good. So do you want a church wedding or a civil wedding?’

‘I’m divorced,’ she reminded him. ‘I can’t marry in church.’

‘You could still have a blessing, if you want one.’

‘Civil’s fine. And something quiet, Alex. Not a media circus.’

‘It won’t be a media circus,’ he promised. ‘So the mums and Saskia are coming to help you find a wedding dress, next weekend?’

‘Yes.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘But this is all happening so fast.’

‘Relax. We have three weeks. And whatever I say about loathing admin, I’m actually quite good at organising things. I’m not going to skimp any of the little details—or anything major, come to that.’ He gave her a sidelong look. ‘So I take it you’re not going for the meringue dress?’

‘Been there, done that.’

‘That’s a no, then.’ He paused. ‘Tell you what would look good. A little shift dress—you know, like the one Audrey Hepburn wears in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.’

‘A black wedding dress?’

‘No.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I was talking shape, not colour. White would be good, because it would go with your flame-coloured veil.’

‘What flame-coloured …’ She groaned. ‘Oh, no. Saskia put the idea in your head. We’re not having a Roman wedding and I’m not wearing a flame-coloured veil.’

He pursed his lips. ‘It’d look stunning in the photographs.’

‘Alex!’

He laughed. ‘All right, all right. I’ll leave the dress up to you. But just remember the mums and my sister will all be sworn to absolute secrecy about the finer details, so when you go shopping there’s no point in even asking them what I’m planning.’

‘You’re impossible.’

‘If what I have in mind is doable, you’re going to enjoy it, I promise you that much.’

She was silent for a while, and he was aware of her fidgeting next to him.

‘All right. What now?’

‘Nothing.’

He sighed. ‘Bel, don’t pull that girly stuff on me. What’s the matter?’

‘Are you at least going to tell me where we’re going on holiday?’

He noted her choice of word: holiday, not honeymoon. Good. So she wasn’t about to go sentimental on him. ‘Nope.’

‘So how do I know what to pack? Or if I need any vaccinations?’

‘You don’t need any vaccinations—and we’re not going anywhere that involves mosquitoes or even the tiniest possibility of malaria. As for packing … wear what you want.’

She sighed. ‘Will you at least tell me if it’s going to be cold or hot?’

‘Better than that. I’ll pack for you.’

She growled in frustration. ‘I hate you.’

‘No, you don’t. Just humour me, Bel. I want to do something nice for you—and I like giving surprises.’

‘I don’t like receiving surprises.’

‘Because you’re a control freak,’ he teased.

‘I’m not. You’re a steamroller.’

‘Insulting me isn’t going to make any difference. I’m still not going to tell you anything.’ He chuckled. ‘Though you could try seducing it out of me.’

‘Maybe I’ll do a Lysistrata on you,’ she fenced.

He got the reference to the ancient Greek play immediately. ‘Go on a sex strike? You can try, honey.’ His luck was in, because there was a lay-by ahead. He signalled, parked the car, then removed his seat belt. ‘But that’s not going to work.’

‘Oh, really?’ She lifted her chin at the challenge.

‘Really. Let me show you why.’ He undid her seat belt, yanked her into his arms, and kissed her. Teasing, nibbling kisses along her lower lip until she gave in and opened her mouth, letting him deepen the kiss. He slid one hand underneath her top, stroking her skin in the way he knew she liked; she slid her arms round his neck and drew him closer.

He moved one hand up to cup her breast, rubbing the pad of his thumb against her hardening nipple through the lace of her bra, then broke the kiss.

‘That,’ he said softly, ‘is why a sex strike wouldn’t work. Because it’s good between us, and your body knows it. Right now, your nipples are hard, just as right now I’m hard for you and I really, really want to be inside you.’

Her cheeks flamed. ‘So you’re saying I’m easy?’

‘No. Just that it’s good between us.’ He stroked her face. ‘And if it makes you feel any better, I’m not going to be very comfortable while I’m driving us home. Right now, I can’t think of anything I’d like more than to carry you out of the car, lay you down on the nice soft grass and wrap your legs round my waist.’

She shivered, and he knew she wanted it, too.

‘But as having sex in public could get us arrested, I’ll go for option two.’

‘Which is?’

‘To drive home as fast as possible without getting a speeding fine. And then I’m going to take all your clothes off. And then …’ He gave her a wicked grin. ‘Then I’m going to make you beg.’

She scoffed. ‘In your dreams, big boy.’

He kissed her again. ‘No, honey. In ours.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE next week simply flew by. Isobel was really busy at work; so she had to admit that no way would she have had the time to organise the wedding herself, or even help Alex much.

But by Friday night she knew she had to talk to him. Before she went shopping for a wedding dress. Before things went too far. Because once he knew the truth, he might change his mind about getting married.

As she walked up the steps to her flat, her feet felt like lead. This was a conversation she really didn’t want to have. But if she didn’t speak up now and things went pear-shaped in the future, Alex would never forgive her for lying to him.

One of the reasons he’d reacted so badly to Dorinda’s betrayal was that she’d lied and cheated.

Right now, she was no better. She could be cheating him out of a future.

And hadn’t Alex himself said that their marriage would work because they’d never lie to each other?

When she reached the front door, she dragged in a breath. Nerved herself. And walked indoors to face Alex.

‘Hi.’ He looked up from his laptop and smiled at her. ‘How was your day?’

‘Fine.’ Lord, how she wanted to back out of this right now. To pretend that nothing was wrong. But she couldn’t do that to him. ‘Alex, we need to talk. I need to tell you something.’ Forestalling his interruption, she held up a hand. ‘There’s no easy way to say it, so I’m going to just come out with it. And I don’t want you saying a word until I’ve finished, OK?’

He frowned, but nodded. ‘Hit me with it.’

‘It’s why Gary and I split up. And I’ll understand if you want to walk away now.’ She closed her eyes, unable to bear looking at him and seeing the pity in his face. ‘We … we tried to start a family. Except I lost the baby. Both times. And…’ she gulped ‘… you said you maybe wanted a family. I might not be able to give you that.’

He was silent.

Just as she’d expected.

And now he was going to walk away. Just as Gary had.

She dragged in a breath, still with her eyes closed—and the next thing she knew, she was in Alex’s arms and he was holding her really, really tightly.

‘Alex? What …’

‘I agreed not to say a word until you’d finished,’ he reminded her.

‘I—I’ve f-finished now.’ To her horror, her voice was actually wobbly.

‘Oh, Bel. I had no idea you’d been through something like this. I’m so sorry.’

Sorry, because he didn’t want to marry her any more?

But then why were his arms still round her? Why was he still holding her close to him, as if she were the most precious thing in the world? This was Alex—the man who didn’t even believe in love.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly, ‘that you had to go through something so heartbreaking. I just assumed that he wanted kids and you didn’t, because you’ve always been so dedicated to your job.’

She swallowed hard. ‘I wanted a baby. I wanted a baby so much, Alex. And when Gary and I couldn’t …’ She closed her eyes again. ‘When he left me, I thought I’d never have another chance to have a child of my own. I’ve tried so hard to suppress it—so hard to make my job, my life, be enough for me. And it’s got worse since Saskia had Flora. Every time I hold my god-daughter …’ The wave of longing was so strong, she could hardly breathe. ‘I never thought I’d be the broody type, but it doesn’t seem I have a choice in the matter. It’s her weight, the perfect size to cradle in my arms, her warmth, that new baby smell. Everything.’

‘So what happened? Did the doctors say why you miscarried?’

‘Just that it’s really common before twelve weeks. It happens to lots and lots of women.’

‘Did they do any tests?’

The question hurt, but his voice was so gentle. No judgement. No blame. ‘They don’t even consider looking into the causes until you’ve had at least three miscarriages.’ And that was the worst part. She tried to swallow the tears. ‘Gary didn’t want to take the chance of losing a third baby. And I guess I was a becoming a bit difficult to live with.’

‘What?’ Alex shook his head, as if trying to clear it. ‘Are you telling me he walked out on you, and said it was your fault?’

‘I …’ She let her head rest against his shoulder. ‘Yes,’ she admitted brokenly.

‘Right at this moment, I’d like to break every bone on his body, then peg him out in the desert in Turkey, smear him in honey and leave him to the ants.’

Isobel pulled back and stared at Alex in shock. She’d never, ever heard him sound angry like this before. Coldly, viciously angry.

‘But that’s not going to change the past—or the fact he hurt you. That he let you down when you needed him.’ Still keeping one arm wrapped round her, he stroked her cheek. ‘Here’s what we’re going to do. You want a baby.’

She dragged in a breath. ‘Yes.’

‘You helped me get what I want, Bel, so I’m going to do the same for you. After we get married, we’re going to try for a baby.’

‘But what if …’ She couldn’t bring herself to ask the rest of the question.

But he seemed to guess what she couldn’t say. ‘We’ll see how things go. And if it doesn’t work out, we’ll talk to the doctors. Get tests. Find out what the problem is and see what our options are.’

She swallowed hard. ‘I’m the problem.’

‘And how do you work that out?’

‘Gary has a baby now. So it can’t be him, can it?’

Alex smoothed the hair off her face. ‘I’m not a medic and I don’t know anywhere near enough about miscarriages to give an informed opinion. But things are never that clear-cut, Bel. Don’t blame yourself.’

She made a noncommittal murmur.

‘Seriously, Bel. Don’t blame yourself.’ He paused. ‘When you told me about Gary’s new partner and the baby, I thought you were upset because you were still in love with him.’

She shook her head. ‘My love for him died a long time ago. I don’t envy her because she has him. It’s because …’ Because of the baby. The baby she’d wanted so much herself. She paused. ‘Look, I understand if you want to call the wedding off.’

His eyes glittered. ‘Two weeks tomorrow, Isobel Martin, we’re getting married. And we’re going on honeymoon. And we’re going to make a family of our own.’

The tears she’d been trying so hard to hold back were suddenly too much for her. She could feel her eyes brimming, feel the wetness leaking down her face even though she tried to stop it.

With the pad of his thumb, Alex wiped the tears away. ‘This doesn’t change anything about our marriage, Bel. It just proves I’m right about love. It lets you down.’ He dipped his head to kiss her very lightly on the mouth. Gentle and unthreatening. ‘But I’m not going to let you down. That’s a promise.’

And Alex was the kind of man who always kept his promises.

‘Come on. Give me a smile,’ he coaxed.

She tried. And failed.

He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. ‘I think you need food. Though I can’t cook because there’s nothing in the fridge. I’d planned to take you out to dinner, tonight.’

‘Alex, that’s lovely of you, but I’m really not hungry.’ Right then she felt as if food would choke her. And after baring her soul to Alex, she felt too raw, too exposed even to go out of the flat.

He stroked her cheek. ‘OK. I understand. So let’s stay in.’ He stroked her hair. ‘What I want to do right now is hold you close—just you and me, skin to skin. I’m not going to lie to you, Bel. I can’t promise that I’m going to make everything all right for you—but I can promise that I’m going to try my hardest.’

She let him draw her to her feet. Let him strip away her clothes, the way she’d stripped away her emotional barriers. He just held her in silence for a while, his arms wrapped protectively round her. And when they made love, later that night, Alex was so tender, so cherishing, that just for a while she allowed herself to believe that he felt the same way about her as she was beginning to feel about him. And maybe, just maybe, her dreams were going to come true.

The following morning, Isobel woke to an empty space beside her. Judging by how cold the sheets were, Alex had been gone for a while.

She pulled on a dressing gown and padded into the living room. Alex was curled up on the sofa, working on his laptop and nursing a mug of coffee. He looked up when she walked in and quickly saved whatever file he was working on. ‘Morning, Bel. I was going to wake you in about half an hour.’

‘It’s Saturday. How come you’re up so early?’ Because he’d had time to think about what she’d told him last night, and changed his mind?

‘I’m always awake early.’ He shrugged. ‘And you needed some sleep. I thought I’d work out here so I didn’t disturb you.’ There was a distinct twinkle in his eye. ‘Besides, I can hardly give you a surprise wedding day if you’re able to look over my shoulder and see what I’m doing.’

The knot of tension between her shoulders loosened slightly. ‘What’s to stop me doing that now?’

‘I’ve closed the file. And the whole lot’s password-protected, so it’s pointless you even trying to open it.’

‘I could,’ she said, pursing her lips, ‘hack my way in. I have friends who are good with computers and they’ll tell me how to do it if I ask them nicely.’

He laughed. ‘But you’re not going to, or I’ll tell the mums and they’ll nag you stupid. What time are they getting here?’

‘They’re not. I’m meeting them at the train station.’ She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Oh, help. I didn’t realise it was that late!’ She frowned. ‘But my alarm didn’t go off.’ She hadn’t bothered looking at the clock before she got out of bed, assuming that she’d woken before her alarm went off.

‘I turned it off,’ he admitted, ‘because I thought you could do with some sleep.’

‘I’m going to be late now, and they’ll worry.’

‘They won’t. Go have your shower and I’ll text Mum to let her know.’

‘Alex, she never picks up texts. Better ring her or text Saskia instead,’ Isobel called from the bathroom door.

It was the quickest shower on record and for once she didn’t bother washing her hair. But by the time she was ready, Alex had a cup of coffee waiting for her. ‘I added enough cold water so you can drink it straight down,’ he said. When she’d done so, he handed her an apple and a banana. ‘Breakfast to go.’

‘Is this what you do when you’re on a project?’

He grinned. ‘Hey, it’s healthy. At least I wasn’t suggesting what some of my colleagues used to do—doughnuts and coffee with four sugars. Carb overload.’ He kissed her lightly. ‘See you when you get back. Have a good time.’

‘Thanks, Alex. And, um, about last night …’ She swallowed hard. ‘I wanted to say thank you. For understanding.’

He laid his palm against her cheek. ‘Stop worrying. This is me you’re talking to. There are no pedestals for either of us to fall off. Go and find yourself a nice frock.’ His lips twitched. ‘And a flame-coloured veil.’

Isobel met their mothers and Saskia as planned at the railway station, albeit slightly late. And although she tried to get some information out of them about the wedding, none of them would tell her a single thing about Alex’s plans.

‘He’d have our guts for garters,’ Marcia said. ‘No can do.’

‘But I promise you’ll love it,’ Saskia added.

Anna nodded agreement. ‘And I know now just how much Alex loves you—because he’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it the perfect day.’

He didn’t love her, Isobel thought. Not in the way her mother believed he did. But that was something she didn’t want to explain, so she allowed herself to be distracted by dresses.

‘This,’ Anna said, holding out a cream silk shift dress, ‘is perfect.’ She made Isobel try it on and come and pirouette for the three of them. ‘That’s the one,’ she said.

Meanwhile, Marcia found the perfect pair of high-heeled cream court shoes to go with the dress. And they had them in Isobel’s size.

‘That’s the difficult bit done, then.’ Saskia smiled. ‘And I need a coffee break after all that hard work.’

Next were the dresses for the mums. And after the fourth shop, Isobel rubbed the base of her spine. ‘Time out. We’ve been walking for ages. Coffee.’

Marcia looked at her and then at Saskia. ‘I’ve known you two all your lives—and I know full well you can shop all day without a break. Are you doing this because of me?’

‘Of course not,’ Isobel fibbed, but she couldn’t look Marcia in the eye.

‘You arranged this between you,’ Marcia said suspiciously. ‘Breaks practically on the hour. Look, I’m fine. I’m not ill.’

Isobel exchanged a look with her best friend. ‘OK. I admit it. We’re worried about you, Marcia. You’re not an invalid, but you’ve had a rough time with your health. We don’t want to push you too hard.’

‘You want to stay well for the wedding, don’t you?’ Saskia added.

Marcia scowled. ‘That’s emotional blackmail.’

‘But they’re right,’ Anna cut in gently. ‘They’re worried about you, Marcia.’ She smiled. ‘And I’m ten years older than you, so I vote for a rest, too.’

‘I give in,’ Marcia said ruefully.

‘So are you going to humour Alex about the flame-coloured veil?’ Saskia asked over coffee.

‘So he is planning a Roman wedding,’ Isobel said.

‘No, no, no, no, no!’ Saskia, looking panicky, crossed her hands rapidly in front of her. ‘But he was going on about it last weekend. You could call his bluff and do it.’

‘I’m not sure an orange veil would look right with that dress, love,’ Marcia said.

‘But if it was made of crystal organza and you wore it more like a stole—actually, that would look stunning.’ Anna looked thoughtful. ‘Especially if your hair’s up and you wear finger-less elbow-length gloves and your bouquet’s a simple sheaf of lilies. If you choose the material today, I can hem it for you.’

Isobel spread her hands. ‘Well, as none of you will tell me anything, I’ll just have to let you decide for me.’

Saskia grinned. ‘And don’t you just hate not being in charge?’

Isobel scowled. ‘Alex called me a control freak, too.’

‘You are,’ Saskia said, laughing. ‘You like everything just so.’

‘It’s called doing your research properly.’ Isobel sighed. ‘My colleagues all have invitations to the reception, but he’s sworn them all to secrecy as well. Nobody will even give me a hint. It’s driving me insane.’

‘He’s not going to tell you, so there’s no point in stressing about it,’ Saskia told her.

‘So you’ve got everything now, apart from the gloves and the veil?’ Marcia asked. ‘Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue?’

‘I’ve got a new dress,’ Isobel said. ‘So that’s one of them.’

‘And you can borrow my gold bracelet—the one my parents gave me for my twenty-first,’ Anna said. ‘That takes care of old and borrowed. I’ll bring it to you on your wedding morning.’

‘And I’ll deal with the blue,’ Saskia said with a smile. ‘Something tasteful, Bel, I promise.’

‘Thank you. You’ve all gone to a lot of trouble over this.’ There was a huge lump in Isobel’s throat.

‘That’s because we love you,’ Anna said, hugging her daughter. ‘And we all want you to have the happiness you deserve. With Alex.’

Alex.

Her husband-to-be.

Who was equally convinced that everything would work out just fine.

She knew Alex was nothing like Gary. And, as Alex had pointed out, they were going into the marriage with their eyes wide open. Practical. Sensible. So why was the fear—the horrible feeling that everything was going to go pear-shaped—still dragging along behind her like a shadow?

Isobel managed to keep it away for the rest of the afternoon—just—while they went shopping for more shoes and the gloves to match her dress. Their last stop was to choose a length of shimmering flame-coloured crystal organza.

‘Don’t tell Alex about this,’ she said. ‘As he’s keeping me in suspense about everything, I want this to be a surprise.’

‘We won’t let him see the dress, either,’ Marcia promised.

‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll take these,’ Anna said, scooping up the bags containing Isobel’s dress, the shoes and the material for the wrap. ‘I’ll be helping you get ready, so I’ll bring them with me—that way Alex won’t see them before the big day.’

Isobel shivered. ‘Mum, I …’

‘Shh.’ Anna kissed her gently. ‘Of course you’ve got butterflies in your stomach. It’s only natural.’

They weren’t butterflies. They were elephants, doing the cancan.

‘But Alex is the right man for you,’ Anna said softly. ‘You love each other, so everything’s going to be fine.’

Was it?

Isobel wasn’t so sure—because they didn’t love each other. Not in the way their family seemed to think they did.

But she forced herself to smile. ‘Thanks, Mum.’

Over the weekend, Isobel found the perfect wedding present for Alex on the internet—a watch made of black ceramic, with no markers on the dial except for a diamond on the twelve. She discovered there was a stockist for the Swiss manufacturer near the museum, so she dropped in on Monday lunchtime to buy it and have it wrapped. Then she transferred it to a plain bag so if Alex did spot it he wouldn’t have a clue what she’d bought.

The next few days went by in a blur. And then it was the day before their wedding: her last day at work for over a week. Isobel ate a sandwich at her desk and used the time to try to get ahead of schedule with her work, but at the end of the day, when she’d planned to slip quietly away, Rita banged a spoon against a bottle of sparkling wine and the whole department focused on Isobel.

‘You haven’t got a wedding list,’ Rita said, ‘so we were flying a bit blind here, but I hope you like it.’ She handed Isobel a beautifully wrapped box. ‘Happy wedding, from all of us.’

Isobel carefully unwrapped it, and stared in delight when she opened the box to discover a fused-glass bowl, shading from light azure through to deep cobalt. ‘It’s gorgeous, Rita. Thank you. Thank you all so much.’

‘Our pleasure,’ Rita said, speaking on behalf of the department. ‘See you tomorrow night.’ She hugged Isobel. ‘You’ve got a good man, there.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And he’ll be so much better for you than He Who Should Not Be Named. You’ll be happy with Alex. It shows in your face when you look at him—and when he looks at you.’

If only you knew, Isobel thought, but she smiled. ‘Thanks, Rita.’

She went back to her flat, carefully protecting her parcel on the tube. Alex was waiting for her and kissed her hello. ‘How was your day?’

‘Lovely. Look what everyone in the department gave us as a wedding present.’

Alex inspected the bowl. ‘That’s gorgeous. I love the colours. And it’ll look great in our new house.’

Isobel frowned. ‘What new house?’

‘The one we’ll be looking at when we get back after the wedding. This flat only has one bedroom,’ he reminded her, ‘and if we’re going to start a family we’re going to need extra space.’

She lifted her chin. ‘What if we can’t have a family, Alex?’

‘We’ll face that if we have to.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘My grandmother used to have a saying: “Never trouble trouble, until trouble troubles you.” But if you want to think of it another way—with two of us, and the fact that I’ve got even more books than you have, we need more office space and more storage space. Which means a bigger place.’

‘You are going to let me have a choice in this, aren’t you? You’re not going to steamroller me, the way you have about the wedding?’

‘I’m not steamrollering you. I’ve been trying to surprise you about the wedding,’ Alex pointed out. ‘I’m giving you a day to remember. Choosing a home’s different—the place has to feel right for both of us, so we need to look at it together.’

‘So you’re telling me I have to put my flat on the market?’

He shook his head. ‘Keep it as an investment. You can rent it out—the rent should cover your mortgage.’

She frowned. ‘But yours is rented out, too. How on earth are we going to afford another flat between us?’

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘my flat isn’t going to be rented out any more. The letting agent rang me the other day and said the tenants wanted to know if I’d consider selling to them. Serendipity,’ he said with a smile. ‘Obviously I wanted to discuss it with you, first, before saying yes. But a bigger place would be sensible, wouldn’t it?’

‘I suppose so.’ She bit her lip. ‘Alex, my life feels as if it’s been zooming along on a fairground ride—at a speed I can’t control, spinning round just when I think I know where I’m going. A month ago, I was single and I thought you were in Turkey. Tomorrow, I’m marrying you—and in ten days’ time you start an office job. And now you’re telling me we’re going to move house.’

‘Right now it might seem we’re going fast, but it’s all going to be fine,’ he told her softly, pulling her into his arms. ‘And think of the fun we’re going to have, choosing a new place together.’

‘Hmm.’ Isobel wasn’t so sure. What he’d suggested was sensible, she knew—but she liked her flat. Liked it a lot. It had been her bolt-hole ever since she’d split up with Gary. And losing that security…

‘Just trust me,’ he said, holding her close. ‘I’ll call the trattoria and get them to deliver dinner while you pack—and then we’ll go straight after dinner.’

‘Go where?’

‘To the place where we’re getting married tomorrow.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Pay attention, Mrs Richardson-to-be.’

‘So we’re not getting married in London?’

‘No.’ He smiled at her. ‘Pasta, salad and garlic bread OK for dinner?’

It was much easier just to give in and go along with him when Alex was on a roll. And she adored Italian food anyway. ‘Fine.’

‘Good. Go and pack—I’d recommend just a few light clothes. If it turns cold where we are, then I’ll buy you something warmer when we’re there,’ Alex said.

He was giving her absolutely no clue about where they were going—tonight or after the wedding. Though at least, she thought, he hadn’t carried out his threat of packing for her.

She was still none the wiser about their destination when they left London, though when Alex turned onto the M4 she was fairly sure he was heading for the Cotswolds. It made sense that they’d get married near their respective families.

But then he took a different turning. ‘Alex? Where are we—?’

‘You’ll know when we get there,’ he said.

‘You really are an infuriating man.’

He gave her a sunny smile. ‘Indeedy.’

When he drove into Bath and parked outside a beautiful Georgian manor in the middle of the city, she blinked again. This is where we’re getting married?’

‘Stop asking questions,’ he said. ‘We’re staying here tonight.’

‘Alex …’ She swallowed. ‘I know we’re not exactly getting married for traditional reasons, but I’m not supposed to see you on the day of the wedding until the actual ceremony. It’s bad luck.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘I saw Gary on the morning of the wedding.’

‘Honey, that had nothing to do with why your marriage broke up. You just married a man who wasn’t good enough for you and who let you down.’ He stroked her face. ‘I’m not Gary. This isn’t a rerun of your first marriage, and I’m not going to let you down. But I had a feeling you’d be superstitious about this. Which is why we’re having separate rooms—and I’m going to sneak out of your room and go to my own at precisely one minute to midnight.’

‘So when do I see our mums and Saskia?’ she asked.

‘After your alarm call at six.’

‘Six? Alex, that’s the crack of dawn.’

‘Just as well you’re a morning person, then.’ He paused. ‘Bel, there’s something I need to talk to you about.’

Ice trickled down her spine. ‘What?’

‘Don’t look so worried.’ He bent his head and stole a kiss. ‘Just that you need to be on time tomorrow. I know it’s traditional for the bride to be late, but if you’re late tomorrow we’ll have major problems.’

She frowned. ‘So what time are we getting married?’

‘Half past eight.’

‘You’re kidding! Why so early?’

‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘all will be clear.’

‘As mud,’ she grumbled.

‘Everyone else is staying at a different hotel.’ He gave her a wicked little smile. ‘So they don’t cramp our style. But you’ll see them in the morning. Our mums and Saskia are bringing your outfit with them.’

He signed them into the hotel, then carried their bags upstairs to her room.

There was a bottle of champagne on ice in her room.

Which had a king-size bed.

‘Time for just you and me,’ he said softly. ‘And there’s something I want to give you. A wedding gift.’

‘Me, too.’ She’d retrieved the watch from its hiding place and packed it in her suitcase before they’d left London.

He turned the lights down low, then opened the champagne and poured them both a glass before raising his own in a toast. ‘To us.’

‘To us,’ she echoed.

He undid his suitcase, then gave her a gold box, beautifully tied with an orange ribbon. Isobel smiled, thinking about her organza wrap: her compromise on the flame-coloured Roman-style veil he’d been so keen on. Alex gave her a suspicious glance. ‘What’s that smile about?’

‘Tomorrow,’ she quoted back at him, ‘all will be clear.’

‘Oh, yes?’ He laughed. ‘Maybe I’ll have to seduce it out of you.’

‘You can try.’

‘Is that a dare?’ His eyes glittered.

She backtracked, fast. ‘No.’

‘OK. You can open it now, if you like.’

She did—and stared at the string of almost perfectly symmetrical black pearls. ‘They’re beautiful.’ They had an incredible shimmering lustre—and although Isobel didn’t know much about modern jewellery, she had a feeling they cost a small fortune. ‘Alex. These are amazing. Thank you.’

‘Happy wedding day,’ he said softly. ‘They’re Tahitian, by the way.’

She tried them on. ‘They feel gorgeous.’

‘They look good on you,’ he said with a smile. ‘Maybe you can wear them tomorrow.’

‘I will. They’ll be perfect with my dress.’ Gently, she took them off and put them back in the box, then retrieved the box from her own suitcase. ‘And this is for you.’

He unwrapped it and blinked as he saw the black ceramic watch. ‘Wow. This is fantastic.’

‘I thought you’d like something high-tech and sophisticated,’ she said.

He tried it on. ‘It’s perfect—thank you. And I’ll wear it tomorrow.’ He put it back in his box, then went to sit next to her on the bed. ‘Come here. Let me thank you properly.’

‘I need to thank you properly, too.’

He smiled, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

Their love-making was gentle, and so perfect that Isobel was near to tears.

At precisely two minutes to midnight, he climbed out of bed and pulled some clothes on.

And at precisely one minute to midnight, he kissed her goodnight. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well.’ He stroked his face. ‘And stop worrying. Everything’s going to be just fine.’

CHAPTER NINE

ISOBEL slept really badly that night. Odd how she’d grown used to sleeping with someone again. The bed felt way too wide without Alex curled round her body, his arm wrapped round her waist and holding her close to him.

Every time she glanced at the clock, only a few minutes seemed to have gone past.

She’d just drifted into sleep when the phone shrilled.

Groggily, she reached out and felt for the phone, picked it up, and dropped it back on the cradle again.

The phone shrilled again.

This time she answered—more of a mumbled noise than an actual word, though she put the receiver to her ear.

‘Rise and shine, honey. We’re getting married in two and a half hours.’

‘Alex? But …’

‘It’s not unlucky to talk to your bridegroom on the wedding morning, before you say it.’ He laughed. ‘Tomorrow, you can sleep in as late as you like.’ His voice went husky. ‘Because you might be a little bit busy tonight.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Later,’ he promised. ‘Later I’ll carry you over the threshold. And there’s going to be some serious ravishing in the bridal bed. But for now … go have your shower. Because I think you have visitors due in twenty-five minutes.’

She glanced at the clock. ‘They’ll be up already?’

‘Their hotel is all of ten minutes’ walk away, two minutes by taxi, and Saskia told me yesterday they’re getting changed in your room—so I’d say the odds are they’re already up or they’ve just hit the snooze button and they’ll be up in five minutes. I’ll see you at eight-thirty.’

‘Eight-thirty,’ she promised.

A shower and washing her hair made her feel a lot more awake. She’d just wrapped her hair in a towel and herself in the thick towelling robe provided by the hotel when there was a knock on her door. She opened it and Marcia, Anna and Saskia were all there, beaming at her and carrying an assortment of bags and cases.

‘This is the plan. The mums sort the clothes and order breakfast by room service, I do your hair and make-up, and you’re going to be the most beautiful bride ever,’ Saskia informed her.

‘Room service?’ Isobel asked.

‘Coffee and pastries. It’s our family tradition to have cake for breakfast on red letter days,’ Saskia said, smiling.

‘In your dreams, you bad child.’ Marcia laughed. ‘I’m sorry, Anna. My daughter’s a bad influence.’

‘I hate to tell you this, but cake for breakfast sounds good to me as well,’ Anna said, laughing back.

‘Pain au chocolat and Danish pastries. Oh, and some orange juice so we can claim we’ve been healthy,’ Saskia directed.

‘Champagne and orange juice?’ Anna suggested.

‘Mmm, but we don’t want her tipsy in case she falls into the—’ Saskia clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘I could always tell Alex you told me anyway,’ Isobel suggested.

Saskia cuffed her. ‘Behave, or I’ll accidentally on purpose stab you with a hair pin.’

Isobel didn’t have a chance to start worrying about the wedding. What with a breakfast of pastries and Buck’s Fizz, then the flowers arriving—a simple bouquet of cream Calla lilies that matched her cream silk shift dress perfectly—and her hair, nails and make-up being done, and everyone else getting changed, there wasn’t a spare moment.

‘Right. Time to get you dressed. Something old—and borrowed.’ Anna handed her the bracelet.

‘Thanks, Mum.’

‘Something new—that’s the dress. But before you do, the something blue.’ Saskia fished in her bag and handed Isobel a box.

‘A blue garter.’

‘We won’t make you flash your legs. Well, Alex might,’ Saskia said with a grin.

‘And we’ll spare you the sixpence in your shoe—that’d be way too uncomfortable,’ Marcia chipped in.

Saskia helped her into the dress and the gloves.

‘And I need these.’ Isobel took her pearls from the box.

‘Oh, Bel—they’re gorgeous,’ Marcia sighed.

‘Alex gave them to me as a wedding present,’ she said shyly.

‘They go perfectly with your dress,’ Anna said. She brought out the organza stole and draped it round Isobel’s shoulders. ‘Oh, love. You look like a princess.’

Marcia took her camera from her handbag. ‘Hold your flowers, Bel. That’s it. Now smile.’

‘You look …’ Saskia blinked back tears. ‘Oh, Bel. Today, you’re really going to be my sister.’

‘You used to tell your school friends that she was your twin, like Helen and Polly are twins,’ Marcia said.

Anna’s eyes were glittering with tears. ‘The sister I never managed to give you, Bel.’

Isobel stared at her mother in surprise. It was something they’d never talked about, and as she’d grown up she’d simply assumed that because her parents were older, she’d been a ‘happy accident’ late in life rather than a planned baby.

So did this mean her mother had wanted more children? Or even that she’d had trouble conceiving—had had miscarriages, the same way that Isobel herself had? ‘Mum …’

Anna shook her head. ‘This isn’t the time and the place to talk about it. But just as long as you know how much your father and I love you. How proud we are of you. And how happy we are that you and Alex are together.’

Isobel swallowed hard. ‘I think I’m going to cry.’

‘Don’t you dare. You’ll smudge your make-up. And Alex will scalp us if we deliver his bride in anything less than smile mode,’ Saskia said quickly.

The phone rang; Marcia answered, then nodded. ‘Thank you.’ As the others turned to her in enquiry she said, ‘That was the wedding car.’

‘Wedding car? So where exactly are we going?’ Isobel asked.

‘It’s more than our lives are worth to tell you,’ Marcia said. ‘But everyone else is meeting us there.’

Alex had hired an old-fashioned Rolls-Royce. And when the car pulled up outside Bath Abbey, Isobel shook her head. ‘No. This can’t be right. No way can he have booked the Abbey. They wouldn’t marry us, not when I’m divorced.’

‘It’s not the Abbey,’ Anna said gently, squeezing her hand. ‘You’ll love this.’

‘Then where …’

Enlightenment dawned when they reached the entrance to the old Roman baths. ‘I don’t believe he managed to organise this.’

‘They’re open to the public during the day, so the only time you can get married here is half past eight in the morning,’ Saskia explained. ‘Which is how come you had to be up at the crack of dawn.’

‘I … Oh, Lord.’ Isobel was lost for words.

‘Smile,’ Saskia directed, ‘or my brother will scalp me.’

‘We could’ve walked here, but Alex wanted to string it out to the last possible second,’ Marcia said. She laughed. ‘You know my son. He always takes things further than anyone else.’

‘You can say that again,’ Isobel said fervently.

The torches around the great pool were lit and the steam was rising. The water was pure aqua—the same colour as the bowl her colleagues had bought them. And that, Isobel thought, was probably no coincidence.

And then she saw Alex.

She’d known he was teasing her when he’d threatened to wear his battered Akubra or a toga. But she really hadn’t expected this. He was wearing a morning suit: a black tailcoat and pinstriped trousers with a white wing-collar shirt and a gold waistcoat. And his cravat matched her stole exactly. The rest of the wedding party were dressed in similar style, and they all had a lily as their buttonhole.

For a moment, she could believe that she and Alex really were getting married for love. He looked absolutely stunning and, when he walked towards her, smiling, her heart felt as if it had done a weird kind of flip.

‘That dress is perfect. Simple and classic and letting your beauty shine through. The gloves are pretty sexy, too. You look amazing,’ he said softly.

‘You look pretty stunning yourself.’

He smiled. ‘Note—no toga, and no hat.’

She indicated her stole. ‘And I’ve got the flame-coloured veil you asked for. Sort of.’

He laughed. ‘I like it. And I like your hair up like that.’ He leaned forward and whispered, ‘And I’m really looking forward to taking it down later tonight.’

A shiver of pure desire rippled through her. ‘Later.’ She glanced round at the registrar and their family, sitting there with such love and such joy on their faces.

And Alex had been the one to make this all happen.

‘Thank you, Alex, for doing this. It’s just …’ She could feel tears welling up.

He looked alarmed. ‘Don’t cry, Bel.’

‘They’re happy tears,’ she hastened to reassure him.

‘Even so.’ He took her hand, raised it to his mouth and kissed it. ‘Let’s go and get married.’

‘I can’t believe we’re getting married on a two-thousand-year-old warm pavement.’

He smiled. ‘I told you it was going to be different.’

‘It’s perfect, Alex.’

She walked with him over to the table where the registrar was sitting; Alex held her hand very, very tightly as the registrar welcomed them all.

‘I declare I know of no legal reason why I, Alexander Tobias Richardson, may not be joined in marriage to Isobel Anna Martin,’ Alex said at the registrar’s prompting.

She repeated his declaration.

Then he turned to her. Held both hands. Looked her straight in the eye. ‘I, Alexander, take you, Isobel, to be my lawful wedded wife.’

She swallowed hard. ‘I, Isobel, take you, Alexander, to be my lawful wedded husband.’

Then Saskia came to the front, carrying Flora, who was holding a basket containing the wedding rings.

Alex took the smaller one and slid it onto her finger. ‘With my heart, I pledge to you all that I am. With this ring I marry you and join my life to yours.’

And even though he didn’t mention love in his vows, she knew he meant what he said.

Just as she meant it when she took the other ring and slid it onto his ring finger. ‘With my heart, I pledge to you all that I am. With this ring I marry you and join my life to yours.’

She barely heard the registrar’s speech; the only thing that she could focus on was Alex’s wide smile when the registrar said, ‘You may kiss the bride.’

He did.

When they’d signed the register, it was time for photographs. Then they went back to the hotel, where there were more photographs in the garden and Alex’s nephews took great delight in throwing rose petals over them—and then brunch, which Alex had arranged in a private dining room.

‘So where are the speeches?’ Polly asked.

‘We’re not doing any. We’re together, we’re married, we’re happy. End of story.’ Alex gestured to his nephews, who were busily playing with the train set he’d had put in the room earlier. ‘And the kids won’t want to sit through long speeches.’

‘They won’t mind. They’re quite happy playing, thanks to their genius uncle,’ Helen said.

Alex laughed. ‘I can remember sitting through weddings at their age and being bored out of my mind. I thought they’d like something a bit more interesting to do.’

‘They love it,’ Poppy confirmed.

‘Come on. Don’t cheat us,’ Helen wheedled. ‘Speech.’

‘No need.’ Alex gave her his most charming smile. ‘As I said. We’re together, we’re married, we’re happy. Everyone knows how we met—and everyone knows everything about both of us. So there’s nothing more to say.’

‘Actually, as the father of the bride, I’d like to say something,’ Stuart said diffidently. ‘I found this lovely blessing on the internet. I’m sorry it’s not Roman—it’s Apache—but I thought the words were lovely.’

‘Go on, Dad,’ Isobel said.

Stuart stood up, took a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, and unfolded it. With a tender look at Isobel, he said:

‘May the sun bring you new happiness by day;

May the moon softly restore you by night;

May the rain wash away your worries

And the breeze blow new strength into your being,

And all the days of your life

May you walk gently through the world and know its beauty.

Now you will feel no rain,

For each of you will be the shelter for each other.

Now you will feel no cold,

For each of you will be the warmth for the other.

Now you are two persons,

But there is only one life before.

Go now to your dwelling place to enter

Into the days of your life together.

And may your days be good and long upon the earth’

Everyone clapped loudly.

‘Hear, hear,’ Marcia said. ‘Stuart, that’s so lovely.’

Isobel had a lump in her throat. She glanced at Alex, who tightened his fingers round hers.

‘Thank you, Stuart,’ Alex said.

Even his eyes were smiling, Isobel thought. As if he’d married her for real.

Well, it was legally real. Just not the great love match everyone believed it was.

Tom stood up, next. ‘I’m more of a figures man than a words man,’ he said ruefully, ‘so I can’t come up with anything anywhere near as pretty as Stuart. So I’m going just to keep it short and sweet. Welcome to the family, Bel—though we’ve thought of you as part of our family for years anyway, we’re so pleased that you’re officially ours now. And may you both be very happy. I’d like everyone to join me in raising their glasses in a toast. Bel and Alex.’

‘Bel and Alex,’ everyone echoed, raising their glasses of champagne.

In response, Alex kissed Isobel. Very, very thoroughly.

CHAPTER TEN

‘SEEING as our dads have made such nice speeches,’ Alex said, ‘maybe I will say a few words.’

‘About time, too,’ Helen teased.

‘I just want to thank you all for being here. For sharing our special day—and for all the help beforehand, especially from our mums and Saskia. I know it’s traditional for the bride and groom to give gifts to their parents and ring-bearer and what have you—but I loathe giving gifts in public,’ Alex said, ‘so you’ll find our thanks to you back in your respective hotel rooms. And the train set is for the boys to keep, by the way,’ he added to his middle sisters. ‘There should be enough track and trains for it to be a decent set each when split in two.’

‘Alex, that’s so sweet of you.’ Polly smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’

‘And as everyone was up at the crack of dawn,’ Alex continued, ‘I suggest an afternoon nap before the reception this evening. You’re welcome to stay here for more champagne or coffee, but I want some quiet time alone with my bride before tonight.’

‘Quiet time alone,’ Saskia said, rolling her eyes. ‘Yeah. We all know what that means.’

Alex laughed. ‘I said quiet time, not wedding night.’ He raised his glass. ‘To you all. Because Bel and I are lucky to have the best family in the world.’

‘Oh, you charmer,’ Saskia said, but she was looking misty-eyed. And Isobel had too big a lump in her throat to speak.

Alex had a quick word with the butler, then whisked Isobel off to the garden and found a quiet table and chairs beneath a tree. ‘We’re going to do a very English thing, now, and have tea in the garden.’

‘That’s fine by me.’ She smiled at him. ‘You’ve made it the perfect day.’ And very different from her first marriage. He’d made it so much easier for her, because there were no points of comparison. ‘And this ring is beautiful.’ A layer of white gold sandwiched between yellow gold.

‘I’m glad you like it.’

Something in his eyes made her wonder. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

He gave her an enigmatic smile. ‘Doesn’t matter. Bel, you look amazing in that dress. Especially with the, ahem, orange veil.’

‘It’s a stole, and you know it,’ she corrected with a grin. ‘You look pretty amazing yourself. I thought you hated wearing suits.’

‘I do.’ He shrugged. ‘But you nixed the toga and my normal clothes just aren’t appropriate today.’ He reached over to run his thumb along her lower lip. ‘I did think about taking you for a spa this afternoon—but I didn’t want to mess up your hair or your make-up before this evening.’

‘I don’t know if I dare ask what you’ve planned for this evening.’

He laughed. ‘It’s a surprise. But one I think you’ll like.’

‘Continuing the Roman theme?’

‘Might be.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Just think yourself lucky they throw confetti rather than walnuts at the bride and groom nowadays.’

‘You’ve gone to so much trouble, Alex.’

‘You’re worth it,’ he said simply.

For a moment, Isobel thought he was going to tell her he loved her.

But she knew that Alex didn’t believe in love.

And she didn’t, either. She wasn’t going to let her heart be broken again. He was absolutely right to be practical about this. Deep friendship and spectacular sex were a good basis for a marriage. Something that wouldn’t crumble—unlike love. And if they couldn’t have a family … he’d still be there for her. He wouldn’t walk away.

‘This,’ Alex said after the waitress had brought their tea, ‘is the life.’

Isobel scoffed. ‘You’d far rather be pottering around ruins with a camera and someone who’d talk to you about the history of the place.’

‘Well, yes,’ he admitted. ‘But that’s hardly an option today.’

‘What time do we have to be at the reception?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you worrying again?’

‘No—just wondering how much free time we have.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Ages. We don’t have to be there until seven. Which means leaving here about ten to, if you don’t mind walking.’

She smiled. ‘Walking’s fine with me.’

‘Obviously we’ll be expected to dance together, but we can get away with just the traditional first dance if you really hate it.’

The first dance. That feeling of floating on air—and, despite being in a crowded place, there being nobody there except her husband. ‘Just as long as you haven’t picked the same song as I had with Gary.’

‘Hardly. Apart from the fact we’re having a string quartet …’

‘A string quartet?’

He laughed. ‘They’re going to switch halfway through to pop stuff. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance. You didn’t dance at Saskia’s wedding—or Helen’s, or Polly’s.’ Or her own wedding to Gary, now she thought about it.

He shrugged. ‘It’s not something I do very much.’

‘So you can’t dance?’

‘I didn’t say I can’t. Just that I don’t.’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘Worried that I’ll have two left feet and ruin your shoes?’

‘No.’ Yes.

Alex stood up, took her hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘OK. Practice run.’ He held her close, then began to sing a ballad very softly as he danced with her, swaying perfectly in time to the beat.

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