Mistress at a Price
Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Endpage

Copyright

PROLOGUE

September

THE bathroom was lit by candles, their flames burning steadily in the warm still air.

She tilted the flask of fragrant oil and added a few drops to the steaming water in the deep tub, drawing a deep, appreciative breath as the smoky scent of lilies reached her.

A glass of chilled white wine was waiting on the small table beside the bath, with a tall, slender vase of freesias. Music was drifting in from the bedroom next door—a sultry Latin beat, quietly and insistently sexy.

Perfect, she thought, pinning her hair into a loose coil on top of her head, then untying the sash of her silk robe and letting it fall to the ground. She stepped into the water, leaning back against the little neck pillow with a brief sigh of satisfaction, letting her whole body relax by inches. Feeling the tensions of the day slowly disappear. To be replaced by a different sort of excitement.

She picked up her wine glass and sipped. Not long to wait now. Only half an hour—forty minutes at the most—to complete this precious ritual, and be waiting—and oh, so ready. She laughed softly in anticipation.

The soap was scented with lilies too. She worked it into a gentle lather and began to apply it to her skin, taking her time, her senses tingling in anticipation of the moment when other hands would touch her body—other fingers caress her sensitised flesh.

She soaped one smooth, slender leg and then the other, lifting each of them clear out of the water and surveying them critically, admiring the pearly sheen of the polish on her toenails.

Her belly was as flat as she could wish, and her hips were slim but gently rounded. All in all, she was in good shape.

She was taking better care of her body these days, she reminded herself. She ate sensibly and went regularly to the gym.

All I ever needed, she thought, slanting a secret smile, was the right motivation.

‘You look terrific,’ a male colleague had remarked over lunch, his eyes appraising. ‘Don’t tell me you’re in love.’

‘I won’t,’ she’d retorted crisply. ‘Because I’m not.’

She wondered now what he’d have said if she’d told him the truth. Let him in on her secret night-times—this hedonistic, sensual bargain that gave her all the pleasure of love but none of the pain.

Yet there might eventually be pain, she supposed. If one of them decided it was time to part before the other was ready.

But that wasn’t a thought that need trouble her tonight. Not on the very brink of his arrival.

She cupped water in her hands and poured it over her shoulders, letting it cascade down her taut breasts. Watching the droplets clustering on her rosy nipples. Feeling the breath catch in her throat as she imagined his mouth capturing them.

Not long now, she told herself, and, as if on cue, her mobile phone rang.

Her mouth curved in delight as she checked the caller.

‘Welcome back,’ she said softly, her tone faintly teasing. ‘You seem to have been away for ever.’

She leaned back, her smile widening as she listened. ‘You’ll be here in twenty minutes? That’s terrific.’

She paused, then added huskily, ‘But hurry—please. Because I’m waiting for you …’

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS a beautiful day for a wedding, Cat Adamson thought as she descended the steps of the hotel terrace and began to walk slowly across the lawns towards the lake.

That was, of course, if you liked weddings, which Cat most assuredly did not. And her cousin Belinda’s nuptials were priming themselves to head the list as the worst ever.

What a relief, she told herself wryly, to breathe fresh air for a while instead of the violent clash of expensive designer scents. And how wonderful to hear actual birdsong instead of the magpie clamour of high-pitched voices, interspersed with the boom of male conversation and the intrusion of over-loud laughter.

No one, she thought, had noticed her leave the reception.

Not the bride, her eyes narrowing to suspicious slits as she watched Freddie, her new husband, chat up the chief bridesmaid with far too much enjoyment.

Not the bride’s father, Cat’s Uncle Robert, who had earlier made an emotional speech on the sanctity of marriage, regardless of the fact that he’d been having an affair with his secretary for the past year. Nor her much loved Aunt Susan, who’d stood beside him like a statue throughout his remarks, staring down at the floor, her expression unreadable.

And certainly not Cat’s own parents, who had both arrived, to the excitement of the other guests, with their latest in a long line of alternative partners, and who were stonily pretending to ignore each other from opposite ends of the room.

A happy state of affairs which could, however, change at any moment.

When last seen, her father had been tightlipped and her mother had had bright spots of colour in her face and been tapping her foot. Not good signs.

But then, as Cat knew to her cost, they were both professional actors with volatile personalities, and there were times when any stage would do. And any audience.

She could remember school prize-givings and sports days which had left her shaking with tension, as well as a really hideous scene at her eighteenth birthday party.

So why should their only niece’s wedding be spared?

Since their split-up ten years ago, when Cat was still in her early teens, her father and mother had both remarried and divorced twice. And it looked as if they were each planning another danger trip into the rocky shoals of matrimony, although it was anyone’s guess how long this latest foray would last, she thought, grimacing.

As David Adamson had sauntered in, his trophy blonde on his arm, Cat had found herself detained by her mother, her manicured and polished nails digging painfully into her arm.

‘What the hell is your father doing here?’ she demanded. ‘I accepted this invitation on the sole understanding that he would be in California.’

Cat shrugged, detaching the sleeve of her crêpe de chine jacket from her mother’s grasp. ‘Filming ended early,’ she returned. ‘And he is Uncle Robert’s only brother. Naturally he was going to be here if he could.’

‘And with his latest tart, I see.’ Vanessa Carlton gave a small brittle laugh. ‘My God, she’s about your age.’

‘I suppose he could say the same of your choice of escort,’ Cat said evenly, trying to ignore the fact that the gentleman in question—tall, bronzed, with perfect teeth that he liked people to know about—was blowing an extravagant kiss at her mother.

‘There’s no comparison,’ Vanessa denied indignantly. ‘Gil and I are in love—deeply and sincerely. He says he has always been drawn to older, more sophisticated women. He likes—maturity.’

Cat’s lips tightened. ‘Really? Then I hope he’s not around when you start throwing things.’

Vanessa gave her a fulminating look. ‘I admit I’ve made my mistakes,’ she said. ‘But I see now that any other relationships in the past were simply—tragic mistakes. But then,’ she added angrily, ‘you’ve always taken your father’s side.’

Before Cat could reply her mother had beckoned to Gil and set off determinedly round the room, towing him in her wake.

Leaving Cat to make her escape through the open French windows. Once outside, she drew a deep, shaking breath. That was one of the hardest things to bear—the constant accusations that she supported one parent more than the other.

Because it was simply not true. She’d done her best always—always to be even-handed. Often under very difficult circumstances.

She wished now that she’d turned down the entire invitation to the wedding, and not just Belinda’s reluctant invitation for her to be one of the bridesmaids. At least she’d had the sense to avoid that.

She couldn’t altogether blame her cousin for the undercurrent of hostility which had always soured their relationship. Belinda, too, was an only child, and had clearly resented Cat’s regular invasion of her family circle, even though she must have been aware there was nowhere else for her to go.

Even before the divorce David and Vanessa had been missing a lot of the time, either on location or touring in various plays. Although Cat could remember an idyllic year at Stratford, where she’d joined them during her holidays from boarding school. And she had been with them during long runs in West End plays too.

Their separation and divorce had sent a seismic shock through the acting world, quite apart from the devastating effect on Cat herself.

There’d always been rows—tantrums, shouting and slammed doors—but followed by equally full-blooded reconciliations.

That last time, however, there had been no displays of histrionics, just a terrible quietness. And then, as if a switch had been thrown, they’d both plunged feverishly back into their separate careers and new much-vaunted relationships.

From then on Cat had owed what remained of her childhood stability to Uncle Robert and Aunt Susan. In spite of her problems with Belinda, their big, rambling house had seemed an oasis of security in her shaken world.

Which had made it even harder to bear, she thought sadly, when she’d spotted her uncle a few months ago at a corner table in a smart London restaurant, exchanging playful forkfuls of food and lingering glances with a much younger woman.

Perhaps he’d always been more like her father than she’d realised, she told herself with real regret, and this affair with his secretary was not the first time he’d strayed.

Looking back, she could pinpoint other strains and tensions in the household which she’d been too young to understand. Or maybe she’d simply been too immersed in her own shock and bewilderment at her parents’ parting to care.

After all, that had been the time when she’d learned about being alone, and the dangers of relying on other people for happiness.

On today’s performances, she thought, wincing, why would anyone wish to be married—ever? When betrayal and heartbreak seemed to be forever waiting in ambush.

It’s togetherness that seems to kill the thing off, she told herself broodingly. Maybe familiarity does breed contempt, after all.

Which was why she’d always retreated from any serious commitment, especially when moving in together had been suggested.

First you find somewhere to rent together, she thought, and then you get a joint mortgage, to be closely followed by an engagement party, and a trip down the aisle in a meringue like Belinda’s.

But I can’t do that. I am never, ever going to be caught in that trap. To hitch my wagon to one particular star when all the evidence suggests it doesn’t work.

Yet, if she was honest, celibacy had no great appeal either.

I don’t believe in ‘happy ever after’, she thought. But what’s wrong with ‘happy for now’?

The rest of her life was in order. She had an absorbing career, a terrific flat, and a pleasant social life.

So surely it should be possible to compromise somehow over the love thing? Find a relationship where she could still maintain a distance—enjoy her own space. And make it clear that it was the here and now that interested her, and not the future.

There was a faint breeze coming from the water as she reached the lake’s edge. It tousled her pale blonde hair, blowing the silky strands across her face. Impatiently Cat tried to rake them back into their usual layered bob, her attention caught by a moorhen proceeding with her chicks in a sedate convoy towards the reeds.

Life, she thought, must be so simple for moorhens. She was about to step forward for a better look when somewhere near at hand a man suddenly spoke, breaking into her consciousness.

‘I really don’t advise that.’ His voice was low pitched and cool, with a note of amusement in its depths.

Cat turned sharply, shaken by the realisation that she had unsuspected company, her brows snapping into a frown at having her peace suddenly disturbed.

No wonder she hadn’t noticed him. Although he was only a few yards away, he was standing half hidden in the shade of a weeping willow, one shoulder propped negligently against its slender trunk.

As he moved forward, pushing aside the trailing branches, Cat saw that he was tall and lean-hipped. A faded red polo shirt set off powerful shoulders, and his long legs were encased in shabby cream denims.

His face and forearms were tanned, and his thick dark hair curled slightly, yet he wasn’t handsome in any conventional sense. His high-bridged nose was too thin, and the lids that shaded his grey-green eyes were too heavy for that. But his mouth was well defined and humorous, with a faintly sensual curve to its lower lip.

Absorbing this, Cat felt jolted by a sudden stab of recognition. Which was ludicrous, she thought, dry-mouthed. Because she’d never seen this man before in her life.

If I had, she told herself, drawing a deep, unsteady breath, I’d remember it. My God, but I would.

She realised that he was studying her in turn, his own brows drawn together in faint bewilderment, as if he too was trying to place her in some context.

She was aware of the slow, strained thud of her own heartbeat. The sunlit silence seemed to enclose them, locking them together into a golden web. The deep breath she drew sounded like a sigh.

Then, somewhere close at hand, a bird sounded a note, long and piercingly sweet.

Breaking the strange spell that had trapped her and bringing her sharply back to reality. She stiffened—instantly and defensively.

‘Do you usually hand out unwanted advice to complete strangers?’ She kept her tone curt.

‘You’re pretty near the edge, and the mud is treacherous where you’re standing.’ He shrugged, apparently unfazed by her abruptness. ‘I wouldn’t like you to slip and fall on your back—or worse.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But I’m quite capable of looking after myself. You really don’t need to be concerned.’

He’d halted a few feet away, hands on hips. ‘It’s pure self-interest, I promise you.’ His expression was deadpan. ‘If you fell in, I’d feel obliged to rescue you, and that water is freezing and full of weeds. Besides,’ he added, subjecting her ivory slip dress and the filmy turquoise and ivory jacket she wore over it to another lingering appraisal, ‘this wedding gear of yours clearly cost someone an arm and a leg. It would be a pity to spoil it.’

Cat’s mouth tightened. ‘Actually, I pay for my own clothes.’ She frowned. ‘And how do you know I’m at a wedding, anyway?’

He said drily, ‘Well, you’re clearly not dressed for a stroll in the countryside. Besides, I saw cars arriving earlier, done up with flowers and ribbons, plus girl in crinoline with veil looking furious. The usual stuff.’

He paused. ‘So what role are you playing in all this? Matron of honour?’

‘You’re not as observant as you think.’ She held up bare hands in a challenge she immediately regretted. ‘I’m not married.’

‘That doesn’t necessarily follow,’ he returned. ‘Wedding rings might not be politically correct this month.’

She hesitated. ‘I’m simply the bride’s cousin. Just another guest.’ She made a business of looking at her watch. ‘And I really should be getting back now.’

‘Why the sudden haste to go?’ His tone was lazy but his eyes were intent. She could feel them examining her, with all the intimacy of a touch, and felt her throat tighten in mingled alarm and excitement.

‘You wandered down here as if you had all the time in the world,’ he went on.

‘Because,’ Cat said tautly. ‘Things are quite tricky enough back there without me causing offence by staging a disappearing act.’

‘Although you’d like to.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘So, what’s the problem? Got a secret yen for the groom?’

‘God—no!’ The denial was startled out of her.

‘Well, that came from the heart.’ His mouth slanted into a wry grin. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

Now was the moment to tell him politely it was none of his business and go, thought Cat. Leave immediately, with no looking back.

So how was it she heard herself answering? ‘He plays rugby all winter, cricket all summer, has too much money and a roving eye. Plus he drinks far more than he should, and is already overweight.’

He whistled appreciatively. ‘You paint with words. No wonder the bride was looking so cross. Couldn’t you have done her a favour and produced a just impediment?’

‘I don’t think she’d have thanked me,’ Cat said drily. ‘Even if he has been leering down her best friend’s cleavage all through the reception.’

His brows rose. ‘Have they cut the cake yet? If not, I’d watch what she does with the knife.’

Cat realised her mouth was twitching, and tried to control it. ‘It’s not funny. And I really don’t know why I’ve told you all this, anyway,’ she added frankly.

‘Because you needed someone to talk to,’ he said. ‘And I happened to be here.’

‘Well, it’s very disloyal of me,’ she said. ‘And indiscreet. So, it would be kind of you to—put the whole thing out of your mind.’

‘All duly forgotten,’ he said. ‘Except, of course, for meeting you,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘You can’t really expect me to relegate that to some mental dustbin. That’s too much to ask.’

‘But we haven’t met,’ she said. ‘Not really.’ Oh, God, if he’d only stop looking at her like that. She could feel a languid warmth invading her that had nothing to do with the heat of the day. And instinct told her that it spelled danger—a complication that she didn’t need.

‘It’s just been a chance encounter,’ she continued hastily. ‘And it’s over now, anyway. I—I’m sure you have things to do.’

‘Such as?’

‘Well …’ Cat gave his shirt and jeans a dubious look. ‘You do work here, don’t you?’

‘Among other places,’ he nodded.

‘Then someone’s paying for your time,’ she said. ‘And they might not be too pleased to find you …’ She hesitated, searching for the right word.

‘Loitering?’ he supplied, his eyes glinting mockingly. ‘With intent?’

She bit her lip. ‘Something like that. I—I didn’t think jobs were that easy to come by these days.’

‘That rather depends on the job,’ he told her softly. ‘And whether or not you’re an expert at what you do.’

‘Which, naturally, you are,’ Cat flashed back at him, with more haste than wisdom.

‘I don’t have many complaints.’ He smiled at her slowly, letting her know without equivocation that this conversation had nothing to do with gainful employment.

Cat found herself stifling a gasp as her inner heat went suddenly soaring and her imagination ran momentarily wild. And he, she thought with shock, was as aware of that as she was herself.

‘But it’s good of you to care,’ he added negligently.

She said carefully, as she got her breathing back under control, ‘Actually, I don’t give a damn what you do in your working hours or out of them. But I do wonder what the Durant hotel chain would say if they knew that one of their employees spent part of his working hours—harassing guests?’

His brows lifted. ‘Is that what I’m doing?’ he enquired sardonically. ‘I hadn’t realised. In that case, I’d better leave you in peace and return to my—er—duties, so that you can get back to the party of the century.’ He turned, lifting a casual hand. ‘Have a nice day.’

She was aware of ludicrously mixed feelings as he walked away. Yes, she’d found him both attractive and quite unbelievably unsettling, making it essential for the encounter to be brought to a brisk end before she said or did something genuinely stupid, but had it really been necessary to go into uptight bitch mode instead?

Maybe, she thought wryly, because I know that at any other time or place I could have been very seriously tempted.

But now I have to get back to the reception and check that it hasn’t descended into open warfare.

She made to turn and nearly overbalanced, arms flailing, as she realised, too late, that the slender high heel of one strappy turquoise sandal was stuck firmly in the mud.

Oh, God, she groaned inwardly, this is all I need.

She tried desperately to wriggle it free, but it wouldn’t budge, and now her other heel appeared to be sinking too.

Of course she could always slip her feet out of her shoes and tiptoe to firmer ground, but it would be only too easy to slip.

And with her luck …

What she actually needed, she realised reluctantly, was assistance.

There was only one person in earshot who could provide that, and he was now some fifty yards away, and moving fast.

She put her hands to her mouth. ‘Hey,’ she called. ‘Could you come back, please? I—I need help.’

He swung round and looked at her, and for one awful moment she was convinced he was simply going to shrug and walk on, leaving her there, stranded. Which, of course, would be the perfect revenge, she thought, simmering.

But then he began to make his way back, without particular hurry. He paused a few feet away, watching her, poker-faced. ‘Having trouble?’

‘As you see.’ Cat bit her lip. ‘And, yes, you warned me, so I only have myself to blame. But could you get me out of here, just the same?’ She paused, waiting in vain for some move on his part—even some softening of his expression. Then added with some difficulty, ‘Please?’

‘I’d be delighted.’ He walked over to her. ‘Are you prepared to put your arm round my neck? Or will you have me arrested as well as fired?’

She flushed. ‘I’m sorry about all that.’ She tried a laugh. ‘I’m—a little tense, that’s all.’

She felt awkward and absurdly self-conscious as she did as she was bidden. Inadvertently her hand brushed his hair, and its crisp texture sent a shiver through her body.

He put his arm round her waist, and she felt his muscles bunch as he lifted her clear of her shoes, balancing her on his hip. She could feel the warmth of his body burning through her thin dress—and—even more troubling—the immediacy of her own response.

He smiled into her eyes. ‘I’ll do a trade with you,’ he said softly. ‘Have dinner with me tonight, and I’ll not only rescue your footwear, Cinderella, but I’ll also resist the temptation to dump you on your charming backside in the mud.’

Her arm tightened round his neck in pure alarm. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

He allowed her to slip—just a fraction—and she gasped, half in panic and half at the increased intimacy of the contact, aware that her dress had ridden up round her thighs and that he knew it too.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘Is it a deal?’

She was silent for a moment, her mind churning. Then, ‘I suppose so,’ she muttered.

‘I’ve had more gracious acceptances.’ There was a touch of wryness in his tone. ‘But I guess I’ll have to settle for what I can get—for now, at least.’ He paused. ‘Shall we say eight o’clock? They should have finished removing the bodies from the Banqueting Suite by then.’

Cat flushed, setting her mouth. ‘I did ask you to forget what I said.’

‘Impossible,’ he said. ‘But I will try not to refer to it again.’

‘Thank you.’ She hesitated. ‘You’re quite sure that you want to eat here?’ She was genuinely surprised at the suggestion. The Anscote Manor Hotel was quietly luxurious, and it had a fine reputation for its food—with prices to match.

‘You think they’ll refuse to serve me?’ He shook his head. ‘They’re quite democratic. There won’t be a problem.’

Perhaps they even offered discount to staff, Cat thought, although it seemed unlikely on a busy summer evening. But if they were refused entry it would let her off the hook.

‘Very well,’ she acknowledged tonelessly. ‘Eight it is, then.’

He carried her to a patch of dry grass and set her down, then went back for her shoes. He knelt, freeing each heel with great gentleness, then produced a handkerchief from his hip pocket and wiped them both carefully.

He brought them to her. ‘Give me your foot,’ he directed, sinking down on to one knee, and mutely she obeyed, resting a hand momentarily on his shoulder as he fitted the sandals back on for her. Finding, as she did so, that she was fighting an impulse to let her fingers stray over the crispness of his dark hair, or inside the collar of his shirt, and explore the taut muscularity of his shoulders. Feeling a strange trembling weakness stir deep inside her.

Oh, God, she told herself in a silent whisper. I cannot—cannot allow this to happen …

‘There,’ he said. ‘As good as new.’

‘Thank you,’ Cat said, pulling herself together with an effort. ‘But that’s more than can be said for those jeans—or your handkerchief.’ She regarded the glistening muddy streaks on both items with disfavour. ‘You’d better have them laundered and send me the bill.’

‘You pay for your clothes,’ he reminded her. ‘I pay for my own laundry. But it was a kind thought.’

‘Yes—well.’ She offered him a swift, meaningless smile. ‘I’ll—see you later.’

‘You can count on it.’ He paused. ‘But I think we’ve forgotten something. I don’t know your name. You don’t know mine.’

‘Is it strictly necessary?’ she asked with spurious brightness. ‘After all—ships that pass in the night and all that.’ She shrugged. ‘It might even be—more exciting not to know.’

‘Well, we all have our own separate ideas of excitement,’ he said with a touch of dryness. ‘But I’d still like to know what you’re called.’

‘Then it’s Catherine,’ she said reluctantly. ‘But I’m always known as Cat.’

His brows lifted. ‘Not Cathy—or Kate?’

‘Absolutely not. It’s because of the story.’ She shrugged again. ‘Someone once told me I was like The Cat That Walked By Itself.’

‘I wonder if that’s true.’ He looked back at her, half frowning. ‘I suppose you have a surname as well?’

‘And I’m sure you do too,’ she said evenly. ‘But we’re not going to use them—and that’s my part of the deal. First names only.’

He said slowly, ‘Very well. If that’s how you want it.’ He paused. ‘And I’m Liam. Sometimes known as Lee, but only to my intimates. So I’m afraid you don’t qualify.’

‘I’ll try and get over the disappointment. Besides, I’d probably be lost in the crowd anyway,’ Cat told him coolly. ‘And now I’d better get back to the killing fields.’ She hesitated. ‘So where do you want us to meet—this evening?’

‘Don’t worry about that.’ His faint smile did not reach his eyes. ‘When the time comes—I’ll find you.’

And he turned and walked away, leaving Cat staring after him, her face expressionless but a thousand alarm bells ringing in her brain.

CHAPTER TWO

I MUST be losing my grip, Cat thought grimly as she made her way back to the hotel, trying not to hurry too obviously in case he was watching from somewhere. Because this is a serious overreaction on my part.

It was ludicrous to feel like this—as if she was helpless, or threatened in some way. Because that was far from the case. She, Cat Adamson, was quite capable of taking care of herself.

And, yes, Liam—or Lee-to-his-intimates—was undeniably loaded with attraction, but he was by no means irresistible. In her scheme of things no man was.

No doubt he’d sampled all the local talent and decided to spread his net a little wider. A born opportunist, she told herself scathingly, who would benefit from the set-down she was planning to administer. Not that he was likely to see it that way, of course. But she doubted it would do any real harm to the male arrogance flourishing under all that dangerous charm.

What was it he’d said? I guess I’ll have to settle for what I can get—for now, at least …

What was that supposed to mean? she wondered. Not that she was ever going to find out, because, whatever she might have said, she wasn’t keeping this date.

Instead, she would simply cancel the room she’d booked for the night and be back in London before he even knew she was gone. And that would draw a final line under an episode which had disturbed her far more than she wanted to admit.

At the terrace steps she hesitated, taking a quick look back over her shoulder. But he was nowhere to be seen, she realised with a quick sigh of relief. Probably his tea-break, or whatever, was over, and he’d decided to return to work. She could only hope he wasn’t operating anywhere near the car park.

She stepped back into the Banqueting Suite, and straight into a wall of noise. The music had begun and people were dancing, their faces flushed and grinning, their buttonholes and corsages wilting in the heat.

Cat found her hand seized by the best man, Freddie’s recently divorced older brother. ‘I’ve been looking for you all over the place.’ He smiled at her winningly, eagerly. ‘Come and dance.’

She complied, because there was no real reason not to, even though she suspected she was going to find herself the target of some pretty determined flirting. His wife had left him for her boss, and Tony was clearly anxious to re-establish his own pulling power as a result.

He was obviously still raw over Cheryl’s defection, so Cat humoured him, at the same time gently deflecting his efforts to discover her London address and phone number. In spite of his bravado, he wasn’t really looking for a casual relationship, she thought. He already had the house, the job and the car, and he needed a wife to complete the set. And, as he was better-looking than Freddie, and an altogether nicer character, she was sure he would succeed. Only not with her.

She found, disturbingly, that Liam’s image kept swimming back into her consciousness. That she was focusing almost greedily on the memory of his smile—his touch. And that the mere thought of them was making her senses tingle and her mouth go dry. Well—that could stop, right here and now, she told herself with grim resolution.

Gritting her teeth, she threw herself into the fray of the party. She loved to dance, and there were men queuing up to partner her. There were lots of people who wanted to chat, too—old friends and neighbours of her aunt and uncle, who remembered her from childhood and were glad to see her again.

But that also had its trying side. ‘Haven’t you brought a young man?’ they kept saying. And, even worse, ‘It’ll be your turn next.’

Over my dead body, Cat thought, smiling until her jaw ached, while she fervently agreed that Belinda and Freddie, who were dancing together stiffly, with fixed smiles, made a lovely couple.

It was a distinct relief when the pair of them disappeared, amid applause, to change into their respective going-away outfits.

And as soon as they’d left for their honeymoon, Cat decided, she would also be on her way. All she had to do now was get out of this dress, which she would happily never see again, put on the casual skirt and top she’d arrived in that morning, repack her overnight case and pay her bill. She would undoubtedly be charged for her cancelled night’s booking, she thought, with a mental shrug, but it would be worth it for a speedy getaway.

But as she began to edge round the room she was pounced on by her father, looking furious.

‘Would you kindly have a word with your mother?’ He started in without preamble. ‘Request her to show a modicum of civility to my future wife?’

‘No,’ Cat told him with sudden terseness, glaring back at him. ‘I will not. I’m tired of being the messenger in this stupid war you’re waging on each other. From now on the pair of you can do your own dirty work.’

Good God, she thought. I can hardly believe I said that. I usually sigh, and agree to do my best.

Her father sent her a look that combined shock with sorrow. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Cathy,’ he told her heavily. ‘But then, you’ve always taken your mother’s side against me.’

‘Not,’ Cat returned drily, ‘according to my mother. Actually, I’ve done my damnedest to remain impartial, but that clearly hasn’t worked, so I’m going to become uninvolved instead. If you have bullets to fire, use your own guns.’

She met his measuring glance calmly. Then David Adamson’s face relaxed into a rueful, charming grin. ‘Point taken. But can I at least offer you a lift back to town when this is over?’ He lowered his voice confidentially. ‘I’d really like you and Sharine to become friends.’

Cat wondered cynically if the other girl would be around that long, but she kept her doubts to herself.

She said merely, ‘Thanks, Dad, but I’ve brought my own car. Another time, perhaps.’

He winced. ‘Call me David, please, my darling.’ He made an expansive gesture. ‘Dad is so—so …’

‘Ageing?’ Cat suggested. ‘I’ll try and remember. Especially in front of Sharine,’ she added drily.

She set off again, skirting chattering groups, calling greetings with a smile, but finding herself, inevitably, detained by others. Having to talk and be civil in spite of the pounding urgency to be gone that was building inside her.

And when she finally reached the door her mother was waiting for her impatiently. ‘What was your father saying to you?’ she demanded. ‘Was he talking about me? And is he really planning to marry that—bimbette?’

‘I suggest you ask him yourself,’ Cat said coolly. ‘As I told him, I’ve decided to abandon my role as go-between once and for all.’

Vanessa’s brows rose incredulously. ‘Heavens, sweetie, you sound almost militant. What’s prompted this? Too much champagne?’

‘I drank half a glass for the toasts,’ Cat returned.

‘Hmm.’ Vanessa pursed her lips. ‘Then perhaps you need more.’

‘Maybe I need my parents to start behaving like adults.’ Cat glanced round her. ‘Where’s Gil?’

‘Oh, he’s met someone else who’s a photographer. They’re discussing cameras somewhere,’ Vanessa said vaguely. She brightened. ‘I’m going to be in London for at least a week. Why don’t we all have dinner together? It’s time you got to know him. We’re staying at the Savoy.’

Cat hesitated. ‘That would be—good. But I’m pretty tied up at work just now.’

‘Well, I’m sure you can make some time for me—if you try.’ Vanessa sent her a glittering smile. ‘And I might have some work for you myself. A friend of mine wants to revamp her entire Knightsbridge house, and I told her how brilliant you were. She’s dying to hear from you.’

‘Mother,’ Cat said patiently, ‘I’ve told you—I don’t do houses. We’re commercial designers. Find a friend with an office block and I’ll be happy to help.’

Vanessa pouted. ‘It’s not very glamorous. And I have so many contacts—I know I could get you all kinds of commissions. You could earn a fortune.’

‘I’m doing fine, thanks. And you and Dad cornered the glamour market a long time ago.’ Cat gave her mother’s scented cheek a quick kiss. ‘You look terrific, by the way.’ She forced a smile. ‘Gil must be doing something right.’

‘Oh, he’s an angel,’ Vanessa said, almost absently. ‘But what about you, sweetie? Clearly you’re here on your own. Isn’t there someone you could have brought?’

Cat shrugged. ‘I didn’t look. Besides, I prefer to keep my weekends free.’

‘It does seem such a waste. And half my friends are grandmothers.’ There was an oddly wistful note in her mother’s voice.

Cat’s brows lifted. ‘In one of your recent interviews,’ she pointed out mildly, ‘you implied that I was still at school, and certainly below the age of consent. You can’t have it both ways.’

‘No.’ Vanessa paused, her smile almost wry. ‘I’m beginning to realise that.’

There was a sudden stir in the hotel foyer, and the guests began to surge towards the door of the Banqueting Suite. Cat found herself carried along with them.

Belinda was coming down the stairs, pretty in a pale blue dress and jacket, followed by a plainly sheepish Freddie. She paused theatrically, holding up her bouquet amid laughter and cheering, then tossed it high into the air. Cat realised it was coming straight for her and took a hasty side-step, clasping both hands behind her back for good measure.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a hand reach up and grab it by the streamers of its white silk bow. There was a moment of stunned silence, then the cheers began again with a sudden roar.

Looking round, Cat saw with real shock that it was Vanessa who was standing, smiling as she held the flowers clasped in front of her. Saw her mother turn to Gil, who’d materialised at her side, reaching up to pull him down triumphantly to her kiss.

And saw, too, her father, standing a few yards away, as if he’d been turned to stone. His face was like a mask, but it was the expression in his eyes that stunned her. There was a blaze of anger there, but there was pain too, stark and ocean-deep.

Cat took one horrified step towards him, then paused as Sharine got there first, sliding her arm through his as she pressed her body seductively against him. She murmured something that made him look down at her, his mouth relaxing into a smile.

Perhaps it had just been a trick of the light, Cat thought, turning abruptly away. But the moment was over, whatever it had meant.

She went back into the suite, deserted now but for one solitary figure sitting at a table, her fingers pulling at the spray of roses she was wearing, systematically destroying it petal by petal.

Cat said uncertainly, ‘Aunt Susan—they’re just leaving—Belinda and Freddie. Don’t you want to say goodbye?’

Her aunt shook her head. She said quietly, ‘I seem to have been saying that for a long time now.’ She paused. ‘Some things end—others begin. That’s the way it works—isn’t it?’

Cat knelt beside her impulsively. ‘Would you like me to come back with you tonight? Stay for a day or two?’

Susan Adamson stroked her cheek almost absently. ‘No, my dear, but thank you for offering. I have a lot of thinking to do, and I need to be alone for that.’ She paused, forcing a smile. ‘I may even go away myself for a while. I need a rest after all this—chaos.’ She gestured around her at the littered tables, but Cat knew she wasn’t merely referring to the wedding.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ she promised quietly.

With the departure of the bridal couple a sense of anti-climax had set in, and people were already beginning to drift away. As Cat went towards the stairs she glimpsed her uncle in a shadowy corner of the foyer, talking with soft urgency on his mobile phone.

No prizes for guessing who he was calling, she thought, remembering bitterly her aunt’s quiet, contained expression.

Even now people were stopping her. ‘So good to see you again, Catherine.’

‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t even try any more to match names to faces.

‘What a marvellous day it’s been. Gone without a hitch.’

‘Yes, fantastic.’

‘So lucky with the weather.’

‘Perfect.’

Were they all blind? she wondered incredulously as she finally won free and went upstairs to her room. Hadn’t they realised what was going on in front of them? Or were they too carried away by vintage champagne and their preconceptions of married bliss to care?

And what would they have done if she’d stood up and shouted the truth aloud?

Ignored me, probably, she decided with a wry twist of her mouth.

But everything that had happened simply confirmed and hardened her resolution to stay clear of entanglements—especially the emotional kind.

They’re not worth the suffering, she told herself.

Sighing, she unlocked the door of her room and went in. The deep sunlight of early evening was pouring through the window, bathing the pastel walls and the charming flower-sprigged fabrics in a mellow glow.

Cat found herself sending the wide, canopied bed a regretful glance as she discarded her wedding finery and put it into her case, after extracting clean underwear and a plain white skirt, to be teamed with a short-sleeved knitted top in dark blue silk. She’d been looking forward to spending the night here and waking to the sound of birdsong instead of London traffic.

She examined her sandals minutely before packing them, but apart from a tiny fleck of mud on the inside of the heel, which she removed with her thumbnail, they were as good as new. Apart, of course, from the memories they evoked. She wouldn’t rid herself of them quite so easily.

On the whole, rural peace offered rather too many opportunities for brooding, she decided, particularly over things that she could not change.

For an uncomfortable moment she found herself remembering the way her mother had spoken of grandchildren, and David’s immediate reaction when Vanessa had caught the wedding bouquet and smiled up into her lover’s face.

But they were actors, she reminded herself with sudden harshness. So who could say if the emotions she had glimpsed were genuine?

Apart from that, the Anscote Manor Eden had its own built-in snake, she thought, her mouth twisting. So it would be far more sensible to get back to the city, real life and sanity, and avoid unnecessary temptation. Because this Liam was simply not for her—and for all kinds of reasons.

She bit her lip. She was still ashamed of her unguarded response to his touch. And for all the other emotions he’d made churn inside her.

He knew exactly what he was doing, she thought bitterly, as she reached for the phone to call Reception. And I allowed it. Even though I am not—repeat not—into one-night stands.

‘This is Miss Adamson in Room Ten,’ she said briskly, when her call was answered. ‘I’ve decided not to stay the night after all, and I’d like my bill to be made up, please.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll be leaving in about three quarters of an hour.’

She went into the bathroom, cleaned off every speck of make-up, then took a leisurely shower, letting the warm water stream over her.

Washing away, she hoped, the residue of the day. And any lingering resonances there might be.

She towelled herself down, applied some of the lily-scented skin moisturiser she’d found in the array of toiletries provided, then, wrapping herself sarong-like in a fresh towel, she wandered back into the bedroom.

Collecting the hairdryer, she seated herself on the broad cushioned seat under the window while she finger-dried her hair into its usual sleek shape. The view below was of formal gardens, with gravelled paths bordered by teeming summer flowers.

The local Lothario seemed to know a lot about his job, too, she thought with an inward grimace, her eyes straying half-unconsciously to the golden gleam of the lake in the distance. He’d certainly created the perfect romantic backdrop for a little intimate adventuring.

So it would do him good to find himself ditched and left high and dry.

And it would make her feel better too, knowing that her moment of weakness had passed and she was back in control again.

She dressed, added a touch of blusher to her face and a hint of lustre to her mouth, slid her feet into low-heeled navy pumps, then collected her bag and jacket and went downstairs.

The place seemed deserted, she thought, looking around her. Everyone had disappeared, off in their different directions, and Belinda’s wedding was well and truly over at last.

There was no one at the desk either, so she rang the small silver bell. After a minute a girl in a dark suit emerged from the inner office, looking harassed.

She checked when she saw Cat. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Are you the lady from Room Ten who wants her bill?’

Cat’s brows lifted. ‘Yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘Is there some problem?’

The girl’s colour deepened. ‘We’re having problems with the computer. It’s a new system, and it’s swallowed some of our data. We’ve got an engineer coming, of course, but we can’t make your bill up just yet.’ She moved her hands awkwardly. ‘I—I’m very sorry.’

Not half as sorry as I am, Cat thought, glancing at her watch with inner dismay. Time was passing rapidly and she needed to be gone.

‘Don’t you have some kind of back-up?’ she asked. ‘Or couldn’t you just calculate what I owe you with a paper and pencil? Anything?’

‘I’m afraid not, but I hope we won’t have to keep you too long. The engineer is on his way.’ The girl hesitated, looking uncomfortable. ‘Would you like to wait in the lounge?’ she suggested. ‘Or the bar, maybe?’

‘No,’ Cat said. ‘I think I’ll go back to my room.’ She paused. ‘And if anyone enquires, will you tell them I’ve checked out and gone, please?’

The receptionist looked wary. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I suppose we can.’

Well, don’t knock yourself out, Cat thought, torn between annoyance and amusement.

‘And can you send up a tray?’ she requested. ‘Just coffee and some sandwiches. A selection of what’s available would be fine,’ she added, with a shrug.

‘Certainly, Miss Adamson.’ The girl spoke more confidently. ‘I’ll see to that right away.’

This has not been my luckiest day, Cat told herself ruefully, as she let herself back into her room.

She found the paperback novel she’d brought to read in bed, and curled up with it on the window seat, trying to relax. It was going to be a glorious sunset, she thought, promising more fine weather tomorrow. She might go out somewhere—to Kew, perhaps, or on the river.

She returned her attention to the book, but found it difficult to focus. She felt too edgy—too restless to give it the concentration it deserved.

She got up and walked round the room, eyeing the telephone and wondering if Reception would have the wit to tell her once the computer was working again.

She kicked off her shoes and lay across the bed on her stomach, her chin propped on one hand while she flicked the remote control through the TV channels with the other. But there was little to engage the attention there either, so it was almost a relief when a tap on the door announced the belated arrival of her coffee and sandwiches.

She called ‘Come in,’ and as the door opened added, ‘Put the tray on the table by the window, please.’

Liam said, ‘I cancelled the food order. I was afraid you’d spoil your appetite for dinner.’

Cat heard herself yelp. The remote control skittered out of her hand to the floor as she flung herself upright, her eyes blazing.

She said, breathlessly, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I just told you.’ He sounded mildly surprised. ‘I came to explain about the food.’

‘Damn the food,’ she said tautly. ‘You’re the gardener, for God’s sake. So who gives you the licence to roam into guest bedrooms with any kind of message?’

He propped himself against the dressing table. ‘I don’t confine myself to the great outdoors.’ He had the gall to sound faintly amused. ‘My talents are many and varied.’

Even though she was furiously angry, it occurred to her, as she stared haughtily back at him, that if he hadn’t spoken she might not have recognised him. The scruffy jeans and shirt, she saw with growing amazement, had gone, and been replaced by a pair of elegantly cut charcoal pants. His crisp white shirt, open at the neck and with the cuffs turned back over his forearms, accentuated his tan.

The dark hair was neatly combed, and he’d clearly shaved. She could breathe the tang of some expensive citrus cologne in the air.

He’d gone from extremely attractive to seriously glamorous in one stride, she thought, swallowing.

She, on the other hand, was desperately at a disadvantage, barefoot, flushed and dishevelled, kneeling in the centre of a large bed.

All this, she thought, is really bad news.

He sent her a mocking grin, as if he’d guessed the tenor of her thoughts. ‘Do you still want to wait until eight o clock?’ he queried softly. ‘Or are you hungry now?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Look,’ she began, ‘it was kind of you to offer me a meal, but I really have to get back to London tonight. I’m just waiting for the computer to produce my bill.’

‘Well, it’s not ready yet,’ he said. ‘So you may as well eat—with me.’

‘I think,’ Cat said, keeping her voice steady, ‘that you’re going to have to learn to take no for an answer. Starting now. So, will you please leave my room?’

He settled himself more comfortably against the dressing table, making her disquietingly aware of the lean strength of his body. And that he had the air of a man prepared to wait, as well.

‘Tell me something,’ he invited. ‘What are you so afraid of?’

‘Oh, that’s an old ploy,’ Cat said scornfully. ‘I’d have expected better of you.’

Liam shook his head. ‘It’s a positive request for information. You had a room booked for the night, yet you were so keen to run out on me that you asked the receptionist to lie for you. Why?’

‘I had second thoughts,’ she said curtly. ‘And I considered you might be troublesome about them.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I certainly got that right, didn’t I?’

‘What in hell,’ he said slowly, ‘do you imagine I’m going to do to you?’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ Cat said, ignoring the fact that the imagination in question was currently running riot. Her stomach was churning in turmoil and her mouth was dry.

He said, ‘You seem—uneasy, that’s all. A trifle—on edge.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said, too quickly. ‘As I said, I have—stuff waiting for me in London. I decided I should make a start on it—that’s all.’

‘Even if it meant breaking a promise?’ His eyes met hers. Held them.

‘It wasn’t a firm arrangement.’ Cat bit her lip, aware that her breathing had quickened. ‘I—I didn’t think you could be serious—or that you’d believe that I was.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Because I’m merely part of the hired help and you’re a lady from London with appointments to keep and deals to be made?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Because you’re a complete stranger, and it didn’t seem—appropriate.’

‘Yet that’s how things begin,’ he said. ‘With strangers meeting. And, according to statistics, a lot of those strangers actually meet at weddings too.’

‘We didn’t exactly do that—if you remember.’

‘I have total recall,’ he said. ‘Of every detail. You’re The Cat That Walks By Herself, and all places are alike to you. Isn’t that how it goes?’

Her brows lifted. ‘Bravo.’

‘But if that’s really the case,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘there’s nothing to prevent you being with me for a while. Going my way for a change.’ He smiled at her. ‘After all, what have you got to lose?’

More, she thought, than I even want to contemplate …

She said tautly, ‘Are you always this persistent?’

‘Are you always this elusive?’

‘It doesn’t occur to you that I might—just prefer my own company?’

‘How can you know,’ he said, ‘until you’ve tried mine?’ He gave her a considering look. ‘Of course, if you’re too ashamed to be seen with me in the restaurant, we could always dine up here.’

‘No!’ The denial seemed to burst out of her.

He grinned at her. ‘No to the shame, or no to being alone with me?’

She lifted her chin. ‘Both.’

‘What’s the matter, Cat?’ His voice was soft—goading. ‘Discovered some hot bricks? You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten.’

She was silent, knowing that she’d run out of arguments yet hating to admit it. ‘Very well,’ she conceded reluctantly, at last. ‘If—if I must.’

‘You overwhelm me,’ he murmured. He allowed his gaze to wander over her for a meditative moment. ‘Tell me something—is that bed as comfortable as it looks?’

Cat stiffened defensively, angrily conscious that she’d started to blush. ‘It’s all right. Why?’

‘Because you seem to be glued to it.’ He unhitched himself from the dressing table and came towards her. ‘Need a hand?’

From somewhere she managed a steely glance. ‘No, I do not. Thank you.’ She paused. ‘I—I’ll join you downstairs.’

‘Will you, now?’ He was grinning again, she saw with chagrin. ‘I think it might be safer if I waited for you right outside—just in case you have some alternative getaway planned. And don’t be too long,’ he added softly. ‘Because I seem to be developing quite an appetite.’

And he left her kneeling there, in that absurd ocean of sprigged bedspread, staring after him, her heart thudding unevenly and her arms wrapped round her body like a shield.

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