# A Countess For Christmas

Christy McKellen

The Earl’s secret bride…Emma Carmichael is shocked when she sees who she’s waitressing for at a lavish party—Jack Westwood, the new Earl of Redminster. Her new life comes crashing down when Jack announces to the world that they’re married!Jack has never forgotten his first love, despite the tragedy that tore them apart. When the paparazzi cameras intrude he proposes they live as man and wife until the fuss dies down. Emma feels like Cinderella, masquerading as his Countess…only behind closed doors their marriage feels tantalisingly real…

The earl’s secret bride...

Emma Carmichael is shocked when she sees who she’s waitressing for at a lavish party—Jack Westwood, the new Earl of Redminster. Her new life comes crashing down when Jack announces to the world that they’re married!

Jack has never forgotten his first love despite the tragedy that tore them apart. When the paparazzi cameras intrude, he proposes they live as man and wife until the fuss dies down. Emma feels like Cinderella, masquerading as his countess...only, behind closed doors, their marriage feels tantalizingly real...

Maids Under the Mistletoe

Promoted: from maids to Christmas brides!

Maids Emma, Ashleigh, Grace and Sophie work for the same elite London agency. And with Christmas just around the corner they’re gearing up for their busiest period yet!

But as the snowflakes begin to fall these Christmas Cinderellas are about to be swept off their feet by romantic heroes of their own...

Don’t miss the first book in our Maids Under the Mistletoe quartet

A Countess for Christmas

by Christy McKellen

October 2016

Also in this series

Greek Tycoon’s Mistletoe Proposal

by Kandy Shepherd

November 2016

Christmas in the Boss’s Castle

by Scarlet Wilson

December 2016

Her New Year Baby Secret

by Jessica Gilmore

January 2017

A Countess for Christmass

Christy McKellen


www.millsandboon.co.uk

Formerly a video and radio producer, CHRISTY MCKELLEN now spends her time writing fun, impassioned and emotive romance with an undercurrent of sensual tension. When she’s not writing she can be found enjoying life with her husband and three children, walking for pleasure and researching other people’s deepest secrets and desires.

Christy loves to hear from readers. You can get hold of her at www.christymckellen.com.

This one’s for all my wonderful friends, especially Alice, Karen and Sophie, my best buddies since our school days, and for the fabulous ladies writing this continuity with me, Kandy, Scarlet and Jessica, who I’m also privileged to call my friends.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THIS HAD TO be the most challenging party that Emma Carmichael had ever worked at.

As fabulous as the setting was—a grand Chelsea town house that had been interior designed to within an inch of its life, presiding over the genteel glamour of Sloane Square—the party itself felt stilted and lifeless.

The trouble was, Emma mused as she glided inconspicuously through the throng, handing out drinks to the primped and polished partygoers, it was full of people who attended parties for a living rather than for pleasure, in an attempt to rub shoulders with London’s great and good.

She knew all about that type of party after being invited to a glut of them in her late teens, either with her parents or with friends from her private girls’ school in Cambridge. But she’d been a very different person then, pampered and carefree. Those privileged days were long gone now though, along with her darling late father’s reputation and all their family’s money.

As if her thoughts had conjured up the demons that had plagued her for the six years following his death, her phone vibrated in her pocket and she discreetly slipped it out and glanced at it, only to see it was another text message from her last remaining creditor reminding her she was late with her final repayment. Stomach sinking, she shoved the phone back into her pocket and desperately tried to reinstate the cheerful smile that her boss, Jolyon Fitzherbert, expected his staff to wear at all times.

‘Emma, a word! Over here!’ came the peremptory tones of the man himself from the other side of the room.

Darn. Busted.

Turning, she met her boss’s narrowed eyes and swallowed hard as he beckoned her over to where he stood holding court to a small group of guests with one elbow propped jauntily against the vulgar marble fireplace.

Emma had encountered the bunch of reprobates he was with a number of times since she’d begun working for Jolyon two months ago so she was well used to their contemptuous gazes that slid over her face as she approached now. They didn’t believe in fraternising with the hired help.

If only Jolyon felt the same.

It was becoming harder and harder to avoid his wandering hands and suggestive gaze, especially when she found herself alone with him. So far she’d been politely cool and it seemed to have held him at bay, but as soon as he got a couple of drinks into him dodging his advances became a whole lot harder.

Fighting down her apprehension, she gave Jolyon a respectful nod and smile as she came to a halt in front of him.

‘Can I be of service?’

Jolyon’s eyes seemed to bulge with menace in his flushed face. ‘I do hope I didn’t just see you playing with your mobile phone when you’re supposed to be serving these good people, Emma, because that would be rude and unprofessional, would it not?’ he drawled.

Emma’s stomach rolled with unease. ‘Er—yes. I mean no, I wasn’t—’ She could feel heat creeping up her neck as the whole group stared at her with ill-disguised disdain. ‘I was just checking—’

‘I’m sure you think you’re too good to be serving drinks to the likes of us—’ Jolyon said loudly over the top of her, layering his voice with haughty sarcasm.

‘No, of course not—’

The expression on his face was now half leer, half snarl. ‘—but since I’m paying you to be here, I expect to have your full attention.’

‘Yes, of course, Jolyon. You absolutely have it,’ Emma said, somehow managing to dredge up a smile, despite the sickening pull of humiliation dragging her spirits down towards the floor.

He eyed her with an unnerving twinkle of malice in his expression, as if he was getting a thrill out of embarrassing her. ‘In that case I’ll have a large whisky.’

Emma opened her mouth to ask whether anyone else in the group required anything, but before the words could emerge Jolyon flapped a dismissive hand in her face and barked, ‘Go on, fetch!’

Stumbling backwards, stupefied by his rudeness, she gave him a jerky nod and turned away, mortification flooding her whole body with unwelcome heat.

Twisting the chain she always wore around her neck to remind her of better times—before everything in her life had gone to hell in a hand basket—she took a deep, calming breath as she walked stiffly over to where Jolyon kept his whisky decanter in an antique burr walnut drinks cabinet. Pouring his regular measure of two fingers of the dark amber liquid into a cut-glass tumbler with a shaking hand, she managed to slosh a little over the rim and had to surreptitiously wipe it off the wood with her apron so she didn’t get shouted at for not treating his furniture with due respect.

That was the most frustrating thing about working for Jolyon; he treated her with less respect than an inanimate object and all she could do was bite her lip and get on with it.

Clio Caldwell, who ran the high-end agency Maids in Chelsea that had found her this housekeeping position, had warned her that Jolyon was a difficult character when she’d offered her the job, but since he also paid extremely well Emma had decided she was prepared to handle his irascible outbursts and overly tactile ways if she was well remunerated for it. If she could just stick it out here for a little while longer she’d be in the position to pay off the last of her father’s debts and be able to put this whole sordid business to bed, then she could finally move on with her life.

What a relief that would be.

Out of nowhere the old familiar grief hit her hard in the chest.

Some days she missed her father so much her heart throbbed with pain. What she wouldn’t give to have him back again, enveloping her in a great big bear hug and telling her that everything was going to be okay, that she was loved and that he wouldn’t let anything hurt her.

But she knew she was being naïve. All the years he’d been telling her that, he’d actually been racking up astronomical debts. The life that she’d once believed was real and safe had evaporated into thin air the moment she’d lost him to a sudden heart attack and her mother had promptly fallen apart, leaving her to deal with a world of grief and uncertainty on her own.

Gripping the tumbler so hard her knuckles cracked, she returned to where her boss stood. ‘Here you go, Jolyon,’ she said calmly.

He didn’t even look at her, just took the glass from her outstretched hand and turned his back on her, murmuring something to the man next to him, who let out a low guffaw and gave Emma the most fleeting of glances.

It reminded her all too keenly of the time right after her father’s funeral when she couldn’t go anywhere without being gossiped about and stared at with a mixture of pity and condescension.

Forcing herself to ignore the old familiar sting of angry defensiveness, she plastered a nonchalant smile onto her face and dashed back to the kitchen, and sanctuary.

Stumbling in through the door, she let out a sigh of relief, taking a moment to survey the scene and to centre herself, feeling her heart rate begin to slow down now that she was back in friendly company.

She didn’t want anyone in here to see how shaken up she was, not when she was supposed to be the one in charge of running the party. After years of handling difficult situations on her own she was damned if she was going to fall apart now.

Fortunately, Clio at the agency had come up trumps with the additional waiting staff for the party today. Two of the girls, Sophie and Grace, had become firm friends of hers after they’d all found themselves working at a lot of the same events throughout the last year. Before meeting these two it had been a long time since Emma had had friends that she could laugh with so easily. The very public scandal surrounding her father’s enormous debts had put paid to a lot of what she’d thought were solid friendships in the past—owing someone’s family an obscene amount of money would do that to a relationship, it seemed, especially within the censorious societal set in which she used to circulate.

Sophie, a bubbly blonde with a generous smile and a quick wit, had brought along an old school friend of hers tonight too, a cute-as-a-button Australian who was visiting England for a few months called Ashleigh, whose glossy mane of chestnut-red hair shone so radiantly under the glaring kitchen lights it was impossible to look away from her.

During short breaks in serving the partygoers that evening, the four of them had bonded while having a good giggle at some of the entitled behaviour they’d witnessed.

Emma’s mirth had been somewhat tainted though, by the memory of how she’d acted much the same way when she was younger and how ashamed she felt now about taking her formerly privileged life so much for granted.

‘Hey, lovely ladies,’ she said, joining them at the kitchen counter where they were all busying about, filling fresh glasses with pink champagne and mojitos for the demanding guests.

‘Hey, Emma, I was just telling Ashleigh how much fun it was, working at the Snowflake Ball last New Year’s Eve,’ Sophie said, making her eyebrows dance with delight. ‘Are you working there again this year? Please say yes!’

‘I hope so, as long as Jolyon agrees to give me the time off. He’s supposed to be going skiing in Banff, so I should be free for it,’ Emma said, shooting her friend a hopeful smile.

The annual New Year’s Snowflake Ball was a glittering and awe-inspiring event that the whole of Chelsea society turned out for. Last year she and the girls had enjoyed themselves immensely from the wings after serving the guests with the most delectable—and eye-wateringly expensive—food and drink that London had to offer. Caught up in the romance of it all, Emma had even allowed herself to fantasise along with the others about how perhaps they’d end up attending as guests one day, instead of as waiting staff.

Not that there was a snowflake’s chance in hell of that happening any time soon, not with her finances in their current state.

‘Are you ladies working there too?’ Emma asked, bouncing her gaze from Sophie to Grace, then on to Ashleigh.

Grace, a willowy, strikingly pretty woman who wore a perpetual air of no-nonsense purpose like a warm but practical coat, flashed her a grin. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. You should definitely let Clio know if you’re interested, Ashleigh.’ She turned to give the bright-eyed redhead an earnest look. ‘I know she’s looking for smart, dedicated people to work at that event. She’d snap you up in a second.’

‘Yeah, I might. I’m supposed to be going back to Australia to spend Christmas with my folks, but I don’t know if I can face it,’ Ashleigh said, self-consciously smoothing a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘It’s not going to be much of a celebratory atmosphere if I’m constantly trying to avoid being in the same room as my ex-fiancé the whole time.’

‘He’s going to be at your parents’ house for Christmas?’ Grace asked, aghast. ‘Wow. Awkward.’

‘Yeah, just a bit,’ Ashleigh said, shuffling on the spot. ‘If I do stay here I’m going to have to find another place to live though. I’m only booked into the B and B until the beginning of December, which means I’ve got less than a month to find new digs.’ She glanced at them all, her eyes wide with hope. ‘Anyone looking for a roomie by any chance? I’ll take a floor, a sofa, whatever you’ve got!’

‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ Sophie said, shaking her head so her long sleek hair swished across her shoulders. ‘As you know, my tiny bedroom’s barely big enough for the single mattress I have in it and with my living area doubling as my dressmaking studio I can’t even see the sofa under all the boxes of cloth and sewing materials.’ She smiled grimly. ‘And even if I could, it’s on its last legs and not exactly comfortable.’

The other girls shook their heads too.

‘I can’t help either, Ashleigh, I’m afraid,’ Emma said. ‘My mother’s staying with me on and off at the minute while her place in France is being damp proofed and redecorated and I don’t think her nerves would take having someone she doesn’t know kipping on the sofa. She’s a little highly strung like that.’

‘No worries,’ Ashleigh said, batting a hand even though her shoulders remained tense, ‘I’m sure something will turn up.’

One of the other waitresses came banging into the kitchen then, looking harassed.

‘Emma, the guests are starting to complain about running out of drinks out there.’

‘On it,’ Emma said, picking up a tray filled with the drinks that Grace had been diligently pouring throughout their conversation and backing out through the swinging kitchen door with it.

‘Later, babes.’

Turning round to face the party, readying herself to put on her best and most professional smile again, her gaze alighted on a tall male figure that she’d not noticed before on the other side of the room. There was an intense familiarity about him that shot an unsettling feeling straight to her stomach.

It was something about the breadth of his back and the way his hair curled a little at his nape that set her senses on high alert. The perfect triangle of his body, which led her gaze down to long, long legs, was her idea of the perfect male body shape.

A shape she knew as well as her own and a body she’d once loved very, very much.

Blood began to pump wildly through her veins.

The shape and body of Jack Westwood, Earl of Redminster.

The man in question turned to speak to someone next to him, revealing his profile and confirming her instincts.

It was him.

Prickly heat cascaded over her skin as she stared with a mixture of shock and nervous excitement at the man she’d not set eyes on for six years.

Ever since her life had fallen apart around her.

Taking a step backwards, she looked wildly around her for some kind of cover to give her a moment to pull herself together, but other than dashing back to the kitchen, which she couldn’t do without drawing attention to herself, there wasn’t any.

What was he doing here? He was supposed to be living in the States heading up the billion-dollar global electronics empire he’d left England to set up six years ago.

At the age of twenty-one he’d been dead set on making a name for himself outside the aristocratic life he’d been born into and had been determined not to trade on the family name but to make a success of himself through hard work and being the best in his field. From what she’d read in the press it seemed he’d been very successful at it too. But then she’d always known he would be. The man positively exuded power and intelligence from every pore.

After reading in the papers that his grandfather had died recently she’d wondered whether he’d come back to England.

It looked as if she had her answer.

He was surrounded, as ever, by a gaggle of beautiful women, all looking at him as if he was the most desirable man on earth. It had always been that way with him; he drew women to him like bees to a honeypot. The first time she’d ever laid eyes on him, at the tender age of twelve, he’d been surrounded by girls desperate for his attention. His sister, Clare—her best friend from her exclusive day school—had laughed and rolled her eyes about it, but Emma knew she loved her brother deeply and was in awe of his charisma.

Emma, on the other hand, had spent years feeling rattled and annoyed by his unjustified judgemental sniping at her and for a long time she’d thought he truly disliked her. Her greatest frustration at that point in her life was not being able to work out why.

As she watched, still frozen to the spot, one of the women in his group leaned towards him, laying a possessive hand on his arm as she murmured something into his ear, and Emma’s heart gave an extra-hard squeeze.

Was he with her?

The thought made her stomach roll with nausea.

Feeling as though she’d stepped into the middle of one of her nightmares, she took a tentative pace sideways, hoping to goodness he wouldn’t choose that exact moment to turn around and see her standing there wearing her Maids in Chelsea apron, holding a tray of drinks.

‘Hey, you, don’t just stand there gawping, missy, bring me one of those drinks. I’m parched!’ one of Jolyon’s most obstreperous acquaintances shouted over to her.

Face flaming, Emma sidestepped towards him, keeping Jack’s broad back in her peripheral vision, hoping, praying, he wouldn’t spot her.

Unfortunately, because she wasn’t paying full attention to where she was stepping, she managed to stand on the toe of the woman talking with Mr Shouty, who then gave out a loud squeal of protest, flinging her arms out and catching the underside of the tray Emma was holding. Before she had a chance to save it, the entire tray filled with fine crystal glasses and their lurid contents flipped up into the air, then rained down onto the beige carpet that Jolyon had had laid only the week before.

Gaudy-coloured alcohol splattered the legs of the man standing nearby and a deathly silence fell, swiftly followed by a wave of amused chatter and tittering in its wake.

Emma dropped to her knees, desperately trying to save the fine crystal glasses from being trampled underfoot, feeling the sticky drinks that now coated the carpet soak into her skirt and tights.

All she needed now was for Jolyon to start shouting at her in front of Jack and her humiliation would be complete.

Glancing up through the sea of legs, desperate to catch the eye of a friendly face so she could escape quickly, her stomach flipped as her gaze connected with a pair of the most striking eyes she’d ever known.

Jack Westwood was staring at her, his brow creased into a deep frown and the expression on his face as shocked as she suspected hers had been to see him only moments ago.

Heart thumping, she tore her gaze away from his, somehow managing to pile the glasses haphazardly back onto the tray with shaking hands, then stand up and push her way through the agitated crowd, back to the safety of the kitchen.

‘Sorry! Sorry!’ she muttered as she shuffled past people. ‘I’ll be back in a moment to clean up the mess. Please mind your feet in case there’s any broken glass.’

Her voice shook so much she wouldn’t have been surprised if nobody had understood a word she’d said.

Please let him think he just imagined it was me. Please, please!

As she stumbled into the kitchen the first person she saw was Grace.

‘Oh, my goodness, Emma! What happened?’

Her friend darted towards her, relieving her of the drinks tray with its precariously balanced glasses.

Grabbing the worktop for support, Emma took a couple of deep breaths before turning to face her friend’s worried expression.

‘Emma? Are you okay? You’re as white as a sheet,’ Sophie gasped, also alerted by her dramatic entrance. ‘Did someone say something to you? Did they hurt you?’ From the mixture of fear and anger on Sophie’s face, Emma suspected her friend had some experience in that domain.

‘No, no, it’s nothing like that.’ She swallowed hard, desperately grasping for some semblance of cool, but all her carefully crafted control seemed to have deserted her the moment she’d spotted Jack.

‘There’s someone here—someone I haven’t seen for a very long time,’ she said, her voice wobbling with emotion.

He’d always had this effect on her, turning her brain to jelly and her heart to goo, and after six long years without hearing the deep rumble of his voice or catching sight of his breathtaking smile or breathing in his heady, utterly beguiling scent her body seemed to have gone into a frenzy of longing for him.

‘I wasn’t expecting to see him, that’s all. It took me by surprise,’ she finished, forcing a smile onto her face.

The girls didn’t look convinced by her attempt at upbeat nonchalance, which wasn’t surprising considering she was still visibly trembling.

‘So when you say “him”,’ Ashleigh said, with a shrewd look in her eye, ‘I’m guessing we’re talking about an ex here?’

Emma nodded and looked away, not wanting to be drawn into giving them the painful details about what had happened between her and Jack. She needed to be able to do her job here tonight, or risk being fired, and if she talked about him now there was a good chance she’d lose her grip on her very last thread of calm.

‘It’s okay, I can handle it, but I managed to drop a whole tray of drinks out there. The carpet’s absolutely covered in booze right by the camel-coloured sofa and I managed to spray the legs of a partygoer as well. He didn’t seem entirely pleased to be showered in pink champagne.’ She let out a shaky laugh.

‘Don’t worry, Emma, we’ll cover it,’ Grace said, putting a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘Sophie, find a cloth to mop up as much of the liquid as possible, will you?’

‘Will do,’ Sophie said, swivelling on the spot and heading over to the broom cupboard where all the cleaning materials were kept.

‘Ashleigh—’

‘I’ll get another tray of drinks out there right now and go and flirt with the guy you splattered with booze,’ Ashleigh cut in with a smile, first at Emma, then at Grace.

‘Great,’ Grace said, grinning back. ‘Emma, go and sit down with your head between your knees until your colour returns.’

‘But—’ Emma started to protest, but Grace put her hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back towards one of the kitchen chairs.

Emma sat down gratefully, relieved that everything was being taken care of but experiencing a rush of embarrassment at causing so much trouble for her friends.

After a moment of sitting quietly, her heart rate had almost returned to normal and the feeling that she was about to pass out had receded.

She was just about to stand up and get back out there, determined not to shy away from this, but to deal with Jack’s reappearance head-on, when Sophie came striding back into the kitchen.

‘You look better,’ she said, giving Emma an assessing once-over.

‘Yeah, I’m okay now. Ready to get back out there.’

‘You know, you could stay in the kitchen and orchestrate things from here if you want. We can handle keeping all the guests happy out there.’

Emma sighed, grateful to her friend for the offer, but knowing that hiding wasn’t an option.

‘Thanks, but I can’t stay in here all evening. Jolyon expects me to be out there charming his guests and keeping a general eye on things.’ Rubbing a hand over her forehead, she gave her friend a smile, which she hoped came across with more confidence than she felt.

‘Okay, well, let’s fix your hair a bit, then,’ Sophie said, moving towards her with her hands outstretched. ‘We’ll get it out of that restricting band and you can use it to shield your face if you need to hide for a second.’

Grateful for her friend’s concern, Emma let Sophie gently pull out the band that was holding her up-do neatly away from her face so that her long sheet of hair swung down to cover each side of her face.

‘It’s such a beautiful colour—baby blonde,’ Sophie said appreciatively, her gaze sweeping from one side of Emma’s face to the other. ‘Is it natural?’

Emma nodded, feeling gratified warmth flood her cheeks. ‘Yes, thank goodness. I’d never be able to afford the hairdressing bills.’ Her thoughts flew back to how much money she used to waste on expensive haircuts in her pampered youth and she cringed as she considered what she could do with that money now—things like putting it towards the cost of more night classes and studying materials.

The kitchen door banged open, making them both jump, and Emma’s gaze zeroed in on the puce-coloured face of Jolyon Fitzherbert as he advanced towards her.

‘Emma! What’s going on? Why are you skulking in here when you should be out there making sure my party’s running smoothly? And what the hell was that, throwing a tray of drinks all over my new carpet?’

She put up a placating hand, realising her mistake when his scowl only deepened. Jolyon hated it when people tried to soothe him.

‘I was just checking on the stores of alcohol in here. I’m going back out there right now,’ she said, plastering a benevolent smile onto her face.

Jolyon’s eyes narrowed. ‘Come with me,’ he ground out, turning clumsily on the spot and giving away just how drunk he was.

Sophie put a hand on Emma’s arm, but she brushed her off gently. ‘It’s okay, I can handle him. You make sure everything runs smoothly here while I’m dealing with this, okay?’ She gave her friend a beseeching look, pleading for her support, and was rewarded with a firm nod.

‘No problem.’

Running to catch up with Jolyon, Emma saw him unlocking the door to his study and the lump in her throat thickened. This couldn’t be good. She was only ever summoned to his study when he felt something had gone badly wrong. He liked to sit behind his big oak desk in his puffy leather armchair as if he were lord of the manor and she were his serving wench being given a severe dressing-down.

Deciding to pre-empt his lecture, she put out both hands in a gesture of apology. ‘Jolyon, I’m very sorry about dropping those drinks. It was a genuine accident and I promise it won’t ever happen again.’

Stopping before he reached the desk, he turned to regard her through red-rimmed eyes, his gaze a little unfocussed due to the enormous amount of whisky he’d drunk throughout the evening.

‘What are you going to do to make it up to me?’ he asked.

She didn’t like the expression in his eyes. Not one little bit.

‘I’ll pay to have the carpet professionally cleaned. None of the glasses broke, so it’s just the stain that needs taking care of.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t think that’s apology enough. You ruined my party!’

Despite knowing it would be unwise to push him when he was in this kind of mood, she couldn’t help but fold her arms and tilt up her chin in defiance. She might have made a bit of a mess, but, if anything, her little accident had livened the party up.

‘Jolyon, everyone’s having a great time. You’ve thrown a wonderful party here today,’ she said carefully. What she actually wanted to do was suggest where he could shove his job, but she bit her lip, mentally picturing the meagre numbers in her bank balance rapidly ticking down if she let her anger get the better of her.

As she’d predicted, her boldness only seemed to exacerbate his determination to have his pound of flesh and he took a deliberate step towards her and, lifting his hand, he slid it roughly under her jaw and into her hair. His grip was decisive and strong and she acknowledged a twinge of unease in the pit of her stomach as she realised how alone they were in here, away from the rest of the party.

He began to stroke his thumb along her jaw, grazing the bottom of her lip. Waves of revulsion flooded through her at his touch, but she didn’t move. She needed to brazen this out. She knew exactly what he was like—if you showed any sign of weakness that was it, you were fired on the spot.

‘Well, you ruined it for me,’ he growled, moving even closer so she could smell the sharp tang of whisky on his breath. ‘But perhaps we can figure out a satisfactory way for you to make it up to me,’ he said, his gaze roving lasciviously over her face and halting on her mouth.

She clamped her lips together, racking her brains for a way out of this without making the situation worse.

‘Jolyon, let go of me,’ she said, forcing as much authority into her voice as she could summon, which wasn’t a lot. ‘I need to get back to the party and serve your guests and they’ll be missing you, wondering where you are,’ she said, grasping for something—anything—to aid her getaway. Appealing to his ego had worked well before, but she could tell from the look in his eyes that it wasn’t going to fly this time. He wanted much more than a verbal apology from her.

The thought made her shudder.

Taking a sudden step backwards, she managed to break his hold on her. ‘I need to get back. Let’s talk about this tomorrow, shall we?’ Before he could react, she turned and walked swiftly out of the door and back towards the noisy hubbub of the party, her heart thumping hard against her ribcage and the erratic pulse of her blood spurring her on.

She heard him come after her, his breath rasping in his throat as his movements picked up into a drunken jog. She’d just made it to the living-room doorway when he caught up with her, grabbing hold of her arm and spinning her around to face him.

‘Jolyon, please—’ she gasped, then froze in horror as his lips came crashing down onto hers, his arms wrapping around her like a vice. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, her heart hammering hard in her ears as she struggled to get away from him—

Then suddenly he seemed to let go of her—or was he being dragged away? The loud ooof! sound he made in the back of his throat made her think that perhaps he had been and she spun around only to come face to face with Jack.

His mesmerising eyes bore into hers, blazing with anger as a muscle ticced in his clenched jaw, and her stomach did a slow somersault. His gaze swept over her face for the merest of seconds before moving to lock onto Jolyon instead, who was now leaning against the doorjamb, gasping as if he’d been winded.

‘What do you want, Westwood?’ Jolyon snapped at Jack, flashing him a look of fear-tinged contempt.

Jack glared back, his whole body radiating tension as if he was having to physically restrain himself from landing a punch right on Jolyon’s pudgy jaw.

He took a purposeful step towards the cowering man and leaned one strong arm on the jamb above Jolyon’s head, forming a formidable six-foot-three enclosure of angry, powerful man around him.

‘I want you to keep your hands off my wife!’

CHAPTER TWO

JACK WESTWOOD KNEW he’d made a monumental mistake the moment he heard the collective gasp of the crowd in the room behind him.

What the hell had he just done?

It wasn’t like him to lose his head, in fact he was famous in the business circles in which he presided for being a cool customer and impossible to intimidate, but seeing Emma again like this had shaken him to his very soul.

It occurred to him with a sick twist of irony that the last time he’d acted so rashly was when he’d asked her to marry him. She’d always had this effect on him, messing with his head and undermining his control until he didn’t know which way was up.

Logically he knew he should have stayed away from her tonight, just until he was mentally prepared to see her again, but after finding he couldn’t concentrate on a word anyone had said to him after he’d spotted her earlier his instinct had been to search her out, then jump in to defend her when he’d seen Fitzherbert trying to kiss her.

She was still his wife after all, even if they hadn’t had any contact for the last few years—that was what had prompted him to do it. That and the fact he hated any kind of violence towards women.

The searing anger he’d felt at seeing this idiot being so rough with her still buzzed through his veins. Who did he think he was, forcing himself on a woman who clearly wasn’t interested in him? And it was obvious that Emma wasn’t. He knew her too well not to be able to read her body language and interpret her facial expressions, even when she was trying to hide her true feelings.

‘Emma, are you okay?’ he asked, turning to check her face for bruises. But it seemed all that was bruised was her pride. At least that was what the flash of discomfiture in her eyes led him to believe.

‘I’m fine, thank you, Jack. I can handle this,’ she said, laying a gentle hand on his arm and giving him a supplicatory smile.

Unnerved by the prickle of sensation that rushed across his skin where she touched him, he shook the feeling off, putting it down to his shock at seeing her again mixed in with the tension of the situation. Nodding, he took a couple of steps backwards, allowing Jolyon to push himself upright, and watched with bitter distaste as the man brushed himself down with shaking hands and rolled back his portly shoulders.

‘I’d like you both to leave,’ Fitzherbert said, his voice firm, even if it did resonate with a top note of panic.

Jack turned to see Emma looking at Fitzherbert with a pleading expression, making him think that leaving was the last thing she wanted to do. Why on earth would she want to stay? Unless they were together as a couple?

The thought of that made him shudder. Surely she couldn’t have stooped so low as to have attached herself to a playboy like Fitzherbert. He knew she’d been brought up living the high life, was used to being taken care of by other people, but this was beyond the pale.

‘Jolyon, please, this is just a misunderstanding. Can we talk about it—?’

Fitzherbert held up a hand to halt her speech and shook his head slowly, his piggy eyes squinty and mean.

‘I don’t want to hear it, Emma. I want you to leave. Right now. The other girls can cover for you. From what I’ve seen tonight that’s already been happening anyway. Whenever I’ve looked for you, you’ve been skulking in the kitchen.’

‘I’ve been orchestrating the party from there, Jolyon—’

He held up his hand higher, his palm only inches away from her face.

Jack experienced a low throb of anger at the condescension of the act, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t think Emma would appreciate him butting in right now. He’d let her handle this.

For now.

‘Didn’t you hear me, Emma? You’re fired!’ There was no mistaking Fitzherbert’s tone now. Even though he was drunk, his conviction was clear.

Fired? So she was working for him? Jack found this revelation even more shocking than the idea that they’d been a couple.

She went to argue, but Fitzherbert shouted over her.

‘I specifically requested the agency find me a housekeeper that wasn’t married so there wouldn’t be any difficulties with priorities. I need someone who can work late into the evening or on short notice without having to check with a partner first. I’ve been burned by problems like that before.’

He glanced at Jack now, his expression full of reproach. ‘A decent chap doesn’t want his wife working for a bachelor such as myself.’

By that, Jack assumed what Fitzherbert actually meant was that he’d wanted the option to pursue more than just housekeeping duties with his employees without the fear of a husband turning up to spoil his fun, or, worse, send him to the hospital.

A prickle of pure disgust shot up his spine at the thought.

‘You said in your application that you were unmarried,’ Fitzherbert went on, apparently choosing to ignore Jack’s balled fists and tense stance now.

‘You lied. So I’m terminating our contract forthwith. I don’t want a liar as well as the daughter of a wastrel working in my house.’

Shock clouded Emma’s face at this low jibe and Fitzherbert smiled and leaned closer to her, clearly relishing the fact that he’d hit a nerve. ‘Yes, that’s right, I know all about your father’s reputation for spending other people’s money. I make sure to look up everyone I employ in order to protect myself.’

He jabbed a finger at her. ‘I gave you the benefit of the doubt because you’re a hard worker and easy on the eye...’ his snarl increased ‘...but who knows what could have gone missing in the time you’ve been here?’

That did it.

‘Don’t you dare speak to her like that!’ Jack ground out.

Emma turned to him with frustration in her eyes and held up a hand. ‘Jack, I said I can handle this. Please keep out of it!’

‘No wonder you’ve kept your marriage to her a secret if that’s the way she speaks to you,’ Fitzherbert muttered, slanting Jack a sly glance.

‘Oh, go to hell, Jolyon,’ Emma shot back, with a vehemence that both surprised and impressed Jack. ‘You know what, you can keep your measly job. I was going to leave at the end of the month anyway. Your wandering hands had got a bit too adventurous for my liking.’

And with that, she pulled an apron that Jack had not noticed she was wearing before from around her middle and dropped it on the floor at Fitzherbert’s feet, then spun on her heel and strode towards the front door.

Glancing back into the room, Jack saw that a large crowd of partygoers had gathered to watch their tawdry little show and every one of them was now staring at him in curious anticipation.

It suddenly occurred to him that they were waiting for him to chase after his wife.

Damn it.

Now the secret was out, he was going to have to find a way to handle this situation without causing more problems for himself. The last thing he needed was to catch the attention of the gutter press when he was just finding his feet again here in England. Knowing Emma as he did, he was aware that it would be down to him to handle the fallout from this, which was fine, he was used to dealing with complex situations in his role as CEO so this shouldn’t be much of a stretch, but he could really do without an added complication like this right now.

Throwing Fitzherbert one last disgusted glance, Jack turned his back on the man then went to grab his overcoat from the peg by the door. Following Emma out, he caught her up as she exited into the cold mid-November night air.

She didn’t turn round as she hopped down the marble steps of the town house and out into the square.

‘Emma, wait!’ Jack shouted, worried she might jump into a cab and he’d lose her before he had a chance to figure out what he was going to do about all this.

‘Why did you have to get involved, Jack?’ she asked, swinging round to face him, her cheeks pink and her eyes wild with a mixture of embarrassment and anxiety.

The sight of it stopped him in his tracks. Even in his state of agitation he was acutely aware that she was still a heart-stoppingly beautiful woman. If anything she was even more beautiful now than when he’d last seen her six years ago, with those full wide lips that used to haunt his dreams and those bright, intelligent green eyes that had always glowed with spirit and an innate joy of life.

Not that she looked particularly joyful right now.

Shaking off the unwelcome rush of feelings this brought, he folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at her.

‘I wasn’t going to just stand by and watch Fitzherbert manhandle you like that,’ he said, aiming for a cool, reasonable tone. There was no way he was going to have a public row in the middle of Sloane Square with her. What if there were paparazzi lurking behind one of the trees nearby?

He shifted on the spot. ‘I would have done the same for any woman in that position.’

There was a flash of hurt in her eyes. ‘Well, for future reference, I can take care of myself, thanks. It wasn’t your place to get involved, Jack.’

The muscles in his shoulders tensed instinctively. ‘I’m your husband. Of course it was my place.’

She sighed, kicking awkwardly at the ground. ‘Technically, maybe, but nobody knew that. I certainly haven’t told anyone.’

He was annoyed by how riled he felt by her saying that, as if he was a dirty secret she’d been keeping.

It was on the tip of his tongue to start demanding answers of her—about what had happened in the intervening years to make it necessary for her to work for a man like Fitzherbert and why she hadn’t contacted him once in the six years they’d been estranged, even just to let him know that she was okay.

But he didn’t, because this wasn’t the time or place to discuss things like that.

‘Why did you shout about us being married in front of all those people?’ she asked, her voice wobbling a little now.

He took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his forehead in agitation. ‘I reacted without thinking in the heat of the moment.’

That had always been his problem when she was around. For some reason she shook him up, made him lose control, like no one else in the world could.

To his surprise the corner of her mouth quirked into a reluctant smile. ‘Well, it’s going to be round Chelsea society like wildfire now. That crowd loves a bit of salacious gossip.’

Sighing, he batted a hand at her. ‘Don’t worry, people will talk for a while, then it’ll become old news. I’ll handle it.’

She looked at him for a moment, her eyes searching his face as if checking for reassurance.

Jack stared back at her, trying not to let a sudden feeling of edginess get to him. As much as he’d love to be able to brush the problem of them still being married under the carpet he knew it would be a foolish thing to do. There was no point in letting it drag on any more now he was back. It needed to be faced head-on so they could resolve it quickly and with as little pain as possible.

Because, inevitably, it would still be painful for them, even after all this time.

Emma tore her gaze away from him, frowning down at the pavement now and letting out a growl of frustration. ‘I could have done with keeping that job. It paid really well,’ she muttered. ‘And who knows what the knock-on effect of embarrassing Jolyon like that is going to be?’

He balled his fists, trying to keep a resurgence of temper under control at the memory of Fitzherbert’s treatment of her. ‘He won’t do anything—the man’s a coward.’

‘Jolyon’s an influential man around here,’ she pointed out, biting her lip. ‘He has the ear of a lot of powerful people.’

She stared off into the distance, her breath coming rapidly now, streaking the dark night air with clouds of white. ‘Hopefully Clio at the agency will believe my side of the story and still put me forward for other jobs, but people might not want to take me on if Jolyon gets to them first.’

‘Surely you don’t need a job that badly?’ he asked, completely bemused by her anxiety about not being able to land another waitressing role. What had happened to her plans to go to university? She couldn’t have been working in the service industry all this time, could she?

The rueful smile she flashed him made something twang in his chest.

‘Unfortunately I do, Jack. We can’t all be CEO of our own company,’ she said with a teasing glint in her eye now.

He huffed out a mirthless laugh and shook his head, recalling how it had been through Emma’s encouragement that he’d accepted the prodigious offer for a highly sought-after job at an electronics company in the States right after graduating from university, which had enabled him to chase his dream of setting up his own company.

It had been an incredible opportunity and one he’d been required to act on quickly. Emma had understood how important it had been to him to become financially independent on his own merits, rather than trading on his family name as his father had, and had urged him to go. In a burst of youthful optimism, he’d asked her to marry him so she could go with him. She’d been all he could think about when he was twenty-one. He’d been obsessed with her—every second away from her had felt empty—and the mere suggestion of leaving her behind in England had filled him with dismay.

In retrospect it had been ridiculous for them to tie the knot so young; with him only just graduated from Cambridge University and she only eighteen years old.

They’d practically been children then: closeted and naïve.

She coughed and took an awkward step backwards and he realised with a start that he’d been scowling at her while these unsettling memories had flitted through his mind.

‘It’s good to see you again, Jack, despite the less than ideal circumstances,’ she said softly, her expression guarded and her voice holding a slight tremor now, ‘but I guess I should get going.’

She seemed to fold in on herself and he realised with a jolt that she was shivering.

‘Where’s your coat?’ he asked, perhaps a little more sharply than was necessary.

‘It’s back in the house, along with my handbag,’ she muttered. ‘I can’t go back in there for them now though. I’ll give one of the girls a ring when I get home and ask her to drop them over to me tomorrow.’ She paused as a sheepish look crossed her face. ‘I don’t suppose you could lend me a couple of pounds for my bus fare, could you?’

The tension in her voice touched something deep inside him, making him suddenly conscious of what a rough night she was having.

‘Yes, of course.’ Taking off his overcoat, he wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘Here, take my coat. There’s money in the pocket.’

She looked up at him with wide, grateful eyes. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ he clipped out, a little unnerved by how his body was responding to the way she was looking at him.

He cleared his throat. ‘Will you be able to get into your—er—flat?’ he asked. He wasn’t sure where she was living now. He’d heard that she’d moved to London after they’d sold the family home in Cambridge, but other than that his information about her was a black hole. He’d deliberately kept it that way, needing to emotionally distance himself from her after what had happened between them.

He’d told himself he’d find out where she was once he’d had time to get settled in London but he’d had a lot on his plate up till now. His business back in the States still needed a close eye kept on it until the chap he’d chosen to take over the CEO role in his absence was up to speed and he was keenly aware of his new familial duties here.

‘My mother’s staying with me at the moment so she’ll be able to let me in,’ Emma replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He nodded slowly, his brain whirring now. It occurred to him with a jolt of unease that he couldn’t let her just skip off home. If she disappeared on him he’d end up looking a fool if the press came to call and he said something about their relationship that she contradicted later when they caught up with her. Which they would eventually.

And after not having seen her for nearly six years he had a thousand and one questions he wanted to ask her, which would continue to haunt him if she vanished on him again.

No, he couldn’t let her leave.

‘Look, why don’t we go back to my house to talk? It’s only a couple of streets away,’ he said, wishing he hadn’t dismissed his driver for the night. He hadn’t intended to go out this evening but had been chivvied along at the last minute by an old friend from his university days who was a business acquaintance of Fitzherbert’s.

‘We need to figure out what we’re going to do about this,’ he said, registering her slight hesitation. ‘You know what the gutter press are like in this country. We need to be able to give them a plausible answer if they come calling. If they think there’s any kind of mystery about it they’ll hound us for ever. I don’t know about you, but I’m not prepared to have the red tops digging into my past.’

That seemed to get through to her and he saw a chink of acceptance in her expression. And trepidation.

He moved closer to her, then regretted it when he caught the sweet, intoxicating scent of her in the air. ‘All I’m asking is that you come back to my house for an hour so we can talk. It’s been a long time. I want to know how you are, Em.’

She looked at him steadily, her expression closed now, giving nothing away. He recognised it as a look she’d perfected after the news of her father’s sudden death. He’d been a victim of it before, right after the tragedy had struck, and then repeatedly in the time that had followed—the longest and most painful days of his life.

‘Okay,’ she said finally, letting out a rush of breath.

Nodding stiffly, he pointed in the direction they needed to go. ‘It’s this way,’ he said, steeling himself to endure the tense walk home with his wife at his side for the first time in six years.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS A blessing that Jack’s house was only two streets away because Emma didn’t think she’d be able to cope with wearing his heavy wool coat so close to her skin for much longer, having to breathe in the poignantly familiar scent of him and feel the residual warmth of his body against her own.

It had been a huge struggle to maintain her act of upbeat nonchalance in front of him outside Jolyon’s house and she knew she’d lost her fight the moment she’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d realised how cold she was. It was the same look he used to give her when they were younger—a kind of intense concern for her well-being, which reached right into the heart of her and twisted her insides into knots.

Gesturing for her to follow him, Jack led her up the stone steps of the elegant town house and in through a tall black front door that was so shiny she could see her reflection in it.

The house was incredible, of course, but with a dated, rather rundown interior, overfilled with old-fashioned antique furniture in looming, dark mahogany and with a dull, oppressively dark colour scheme covering the walls and floors.

Jack’s family had a huge amount of wealth behind them and owned a number of houses around the country, including the Cambridge town house overlooking Jesus Green and the River Cam that Jack and his sister, Clare, had grown up in. She’d never been to this property before though. They’d not been together long enough for her to see inside the entire portfolio of his life.

‘What a—er—lovely place,’ she said, cringing at the insincerity in her voice.

‘Thank you,’ he replied coolly, ignoring her accidental rudeness and walking straight through to the sitting room.

She followed him in, noticing that the décor was just as unpleasantly depressing in here.

‘Was this place your grandfather’s?’

‘Yes,’ he said. There was tension in his face, and a flash of sorrow. ‘He left me this house and Clare the one in Edinburgh.’

Emma recalled how Jack had loved spending time with his grandfather, a shrewd businessman and a greatly respected peer of the realm. He’d always had an easy smile and kind word for her—unlike Jack’s parents—and she’d got on well with him the few times she’d met him. Jack had notably inherited the man’s good looks, as well as his business acumen.

‘I was sorry to read about him passing, Jack,’ she said, wanting to try and soothe the glimmer of pain she saw there, but knowing there wasn’t any way to do that without overstepping the mark. He’d been very careful up until this point not to touch her and, judging by his tense body language, would probably reject any attempt she made to reach out to him.

She needed to keep her head here. This wasn’t going to be an easy ride for either of them, so rising above the emotion of it was probably the best thing they could do. In fact they really ought to treat this whole mess like a business transaction, nothing more, if they were going to get through it with their hearts intact.

The mere thought of what they had ahead of them made her spirits plummet and she dropped into the nearest heavily brocaded sofa, sinking back against the comforting softness of the cushions and pulling her legs up under her.

‘Have you seen Clare recently?’ she asked, for want of a topic to move them on from the tense atmosphere that now stretched between them.

‘Not since Grandfather’s funeral,’ he replied, his brow drawn into a frown. ‘She’s doing well though—settled in Edinburgh and happy.’ He looked at her directly now, locking his gaze with hers. ‘She misses you, you know.’

Sadness sank through her, right down to her toes. ‘I miss her too. It’s been a long time since we talked. I’ve been busy—’

She stopped herself from saying any more, embarrassed by how pathetic that weak justification sounded.

In truth, she’d deliberately let her friendship with Clare slip away from her.

A couple of months after Emma’s father had passed away, Clare had gone off to university in Edinburgh and Emma had stayed at home, giving up her own place in an Art course there, which had made it easier to disassociate herself from her friend. Not that Clare hadn’t put up a fight about being routinely ignored and pushed away, sounding more and more hurt and bewildered every time Emma made a lame excuse about why she couldn’t go up to Scotland and visit her.

There had been a good reason for letting their friendship lapse as she had though. Clare hadn’t known about her and Jack’s whirlwind relationship. Emma hadn’t known quite how to tell her friend about it at the time—in her youthful innocence she hadn’t even known how to feel about it all herself—and she’d been sure Clare wouldn’t have responded well to hearing how she’d snuck around with her brother behind her back, then how much she’d hurt Jack by walking away from their marriage.

Emma couldn’t have borne being around her friend, whose smile struck such an unnerving resemblance to Jack’s own it had caused Emma physical pain to see it, and not being able to talk about him to her. It would have been lying by omission. So instead she’d cut her friend out of her life.

The thought of it now made her hot with shame.

‘How’s your mother?’ Jack asked stiffly, breaking into her thoughts.

She realised she was worrying at her nail, a habit she’d picked up after her father had died, and forced herself to lay her hands back in her lap.

‘She’s fine, thanks,’ she said, deciding not to go into how fragile her mother had become after losing her wealth, good standing and her husband in one fell swoop. She liked to pretend none of it had happened now and had banned Emma from talking about it. ‘She’s living in France with her new husband, except for this week—she’s staying with me while Philippe’s away and the house is being damp proofed and redecorated.’

Jack let out a sudden huff of agitation, apparently frustrated with their diversion into small talk. ‘Do you want a drink?’ Jack asked brusquely.

Clearly he did.

‘Er, yes. Thanks. I’ll have a whisky if you have it, neat.’ A strong shot of alcohol would be most welcome right now. It was supposed to be good for shock, wasn’t it?

Jack got up and moved restlessly around the room, gathering glasses and splashing large measures of whisky into them.

The low-level tension in the pit of her stomach intensified. She’d thought she’d be able to cope with being around him here, but his cool distantness towards her was making her nerves twang.

‘So how’s the electronics business in the good old US of A?’ she asked, wiggling her eyebrows at him in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

‘Profitable,’ was all he said, striding over to her and handing her a heavy cut-glass tumbler with a good two fingers of whisky in it.

‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ she asked, shooting him a wry smile.

He didn’t smile back, just turned away and paced towards the window to stare out at the dark evening.

Her heart sank. Where had the impassioned, playful Jack she’d once known gone? He’d been replaced with this tightly controlled automaton of a man. There was no longer any sign of the wit and charm she’d loved him so much for.

Knocking back a good gulp of whisky, she turned in her seat to face him, determined not to let her discouragement get to her. ‘So you decided to come back and take on your social responsibilities as an earl, then?’ She rolled the glass between her hands, feeling the pattern of the cut glass press into her palms.

He turned his head to look at her, his gaze unnervingly piercing in the gloomy room.

‘Yes, well, after being responsible for running my own company for the last five years it’s made me realise how important it is to uphold a legacy,’ he said, folding his arms and leaning back against the window sill. ‘How much blood, sweat and tears goes into building a heritage. My ancestors put a lot of hard work into maintaining the estate they’d inherited and it’d be arrogant and short-sighted of me to turn my back on everything they strove so hard to preserve.’

She was surprised to hear him saying this. She’d expected him to be reluctant to return to take on his aristocratic responsibilities after working so hard to achieve such a powerful position in his industry.

But then for Jack it had always been about doing things on his own terms. From the sounds of it he’d made the decision to come back here; no one had forced him to do it.

She gave an involuntary shiver as a draught of cool air from somewhere blew across her skin.

Frowning, Jack left his vantage point at the window and paced over to the other side of the room, bending down and grabbing a pack of matches by the fireplace to light the tinder in the grate.

‘So you’re going to be living in England now?’ she asked, her voice trembling as she realised what that would mean. There was a very good chance they’d see each other again, especially as Jack would be fraternising with the type of people they’d just left at the party. The worst of it was that she’d probably find herself serving him drinks and nibbles as a waitress at the society events he was bound to be invited to now.

‘Yes, I’ll be based in England from now on.’ He sat back on his heels and watched the tinder catch alight, before reaching for a couple of logs from a basket next to him and laying them carefully over the growing flames.

Turning back to face her, he fixed her with a serious stare. ‘So I guess we should talk about what we’re going to do about still being married.’

Divorce.

That was what he meant by that.

She knew it was high time they got around to officially ending their marriage, but the thought of it still chafed. Dealing with getting divorced from Jack was never going to be easy, that was why she’d not made any effort to get in contact with him over the years, but the mere thought of it now made her stomach turn.

They’d been so happy once, so in love and full of excitement for the future.

She wanted to cry for what they’d lost.

‘Yes. I suppose we should start talking to lawyers about drawing up the paperwork,’ she said, desperately trying to keep her voice even so he wouldn’t see how much the subject upset her. ‘If that’s what you want?’

He didn’t say anything, just looked at her with hooded eyes.

‘Are you—’ she could barely form the words ‘—getting married again?’

To her relief he shook his head. ‘No, but it’s time to get my affairs straight now I’m back in England.’

‘Before the press interest in you becomes even more intense, you mean?’

She saw him swallow. ‘Speaking of which, we need to work out what we’re prepared to say to reporters about our relationship if they come calling.’ He stood up and came to sit on the sofa opposite her. He was suddenly all business now, his back straight and his expression blank.

She took a shaky breath. ‘Should we tell them we were married but we got divorced and we’re just friends now?’ The uncertainty in her voice gave away the fact that she knew deep down that that would never work.

He shook his head. ‘They’ll go and look for the decree absolute and see that we’re lying. It’ll only make things worse.’

Sighing, she pushed her hair away from her face. ‘So what do we say? That our marriage broke down six years ago after you moved to the States, but we’re only just getting round to finalising a divorce?’

‘They’ll want to know why you didn’t go to America with me,’ he pointed out.

‘We could just say that I needed to stay here for family reasons,’ she suggested, feeling a rush of uncomfortable heat swamp her as it occurred to her that they might go after her mother too.