Into Temptation

by Emma Abbott

  Jessica dropped down to the floor beside her and hugged her sister tight. ‘We’ll stand by you Amber. Mum and me. Don’t worry, everything will be all right. We’ll manage. We love you.’

  ‘Oh Jess,’ Amber stuttered, eyes filling with guilty tears at her sister’s kindness. ‘You don’t know the half of it. You won’t love me half as much when I tell you…’

  ‘…That it’s Jack Ward’s baby?’ Jess interrupted gently.

  Amber’s eyes flew up to her sister’s in amazement. ‘You… you know? But how?’

  Jessica shifted position, turning around so that she was leaning against the bathtub, facing her sister. ‘Rory.’

  ‘Rory?’

  ‘He phoned after you came back from Jersey. He asked for mum – said he had something important to tell her. He seemed pretty worked up. I thought it was all very strange, what with you two having split up months ago and everything. I told him mum wasn’t here, so he said he’d tell me what he had to say instead.’ She sighed, tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. ‘He said he’d run into you in Jersey, that you were staying in the same hotel – and that you’d been with some man. He said he saw the two of you on the terrace, kissing, and that shortly afterwards he saw you go into your room with him – oh Amber, he must have followed you up there! He said it wasn’t until the next morning that he twigged the man in question was Jack Ward – the same man behind Ward Hotels. He said he was concerned you were hiding it from us, and thought we “ought to know”.’ Jessica grinned. ‘I told you that you needed to dump that guy didn’t I? He’s a snake.’

  Amber’s stomach churned. It was hardly credible: her twisted, vengeful ex-fiancé had calculatedly phoned her family to report back on what he’d seen, hoping to drive a wedge between her and those she loved best… But that was beside the point now. ‘You knew about Jack,’ said Amber, ‘days ago, and you didn’t say anything?’

  ‘What was there to say?’ Jessica replied. ‘As I tersely informed your ex, your private life is your own affair.’ She smiled. ‘And you see? I was right. I knew there was a man in your life.’

  ‘Oh Jess. Whatever must you think of me, sleeping with Jack Ward – after all that his father put dad through? I’ve reproached myself with it over and over again. But it’s as if I couldn’t help myself. I’ve let you all down. You and mum; and dad too.’

  ‘You haven’t let us down,’ said Jess. ‘You never could. I must admit I was a bit shocked when I first heard. But love is a funny thing Amber, and I don’t presume to judge you for a moment. It stirs up your insides, makes you do all sorts of strange things you’d never believe you were capable of. I’ve been there myself, believe me.’ Her concerned eyes flickered up to her sister’s face. ‘You do you love him, I take it?’

  ‘Oh yes, I do. More than anything. So much that it hurts. More’s the pity: he doesn’t love me.’ The tears began to flow again.

  ‘Then he’s a fool.’ Jessica leant forward and squeezed her hand.

  ‘Don’t tell mum, will you?’ said Amber. ‘I’ll tell her myself. But not quite yet. I need a little more time.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Amber sat up in the vast, king size bed, and gave up trying to sleep. She was so bone-achingly tired these days that she could generally quite happily fall asleep any time, anywhere. But not this afternoon. Not when she was in the Ward Grand, Jack Ward’s flagship hotel on London’s prestigious Park Lane. And certainly not when she was finally about to see the great man himself in just a few short hours’ time.

  Yesterday, the e-mail from Jack had suddenly popped up in her inbox, changing everything, bringing her here:

  I need you to attend the London Children’s Foundation ball with me tomorrow night at the Ward Grand as my hostess. I don’t suppose you know, but I’m the president. Karen will make the necessary arrangements. I ought to warn you that people will naturally speculate that we’re an item. It’ll probably be easier if you just play along. Meet me in the Manhattan bar at seven. Jack.

  Her heart had done a back flip of pure joy. She was going to see him again, spend a whole, fabulous night at the side of the man she loved!

  But then, reading the message again more slowly, taking in his words, the happiness had faded.

  Just play along…

  He wanted her to pretend to be his girlfriend. Did she need any more ironic and humiliating reminder of her true position? She was being instructed to play at being that which she longed to be with all her heart. This was work, another assignment – nothing more. Most likely he’d been let down at the last minute by whichever beautiful woman of the moment had been set to accompany him – and she’d been the only other person available to step in at such short notice. Her social diary, unlike that of the sort of beauty Jack Ward was more used to squiring around town, was glaringly empty.

  She had toyed, briefly, with the idea of refusing – telling him that she was sorry, but he would have to find someone else. She had her pride, after all.

  But she didn’t want to cause any trouble for herself. Not now that there was the baby to consider, and the new job. He had made it quite clear that he expected her to work out her notice, and – arrogant and uncompromising as he was – he was still quite capable of carrying out his threat of court action if she crossed him.

  But admit it, she conceded dismally, swinging her legs over the bed, that was only part of the reason she had consented. Despite herself, she wanted to see him. Needed to see him. Just one last time. Privately hoped – even though it shamed her – that at the end of the night, they would end up in bed again, however little it meant to him.

  She got up and padded across to the gigantic bathroom, dragged a brush through her hair. It was almost time to go down. Jack appeared to have a busy afternoon arranged for her: an appointment in the hotel spa, then a session with Lucien, the hotel’s top hair stylist. Clearly he wanted his little country bumpkin to look presentable for his important guests. Well, she could hardly blame him for that she supposed…

  She looked at herself in the mirror, wishing that she didn’t look quite so drained – and that she had brought something better to wear for tonight than Jessica’s red dress once more. In the Ward Grand elegant designer-wear appeared to be almost compulsory. But there was no money for fancy clothes now.

  She went through to her suite’s private drawing room, wondering anew at the sheer, unbelievable opulence of the place. The hotel’s exterior was unbelievably imposing: a huge Edwardian building topped by a magnificent dome, boasting enormous, French-style windows, and an impressive stucco frontage festooned with elaborate mouldings.

  And her jaw had practically dropped to the floor as she’d been ushered in through the ornate glass doors. The interior was dominated by a cathedral-like, galleried atrium ascending several floors, the sun pouring through it and bathing the whole sumptuous scene in glorious light.

  The centerpiece was a winter garden with palm trees and tropical plants, surrounded by a set of original Edwardian fountains spurting water into the air. In the foreground a string quartet had been playing gently, barely disturbing the genteel buzz of conversation, while obviously well-heeled guests and business people ate in a restaurant below, staff flitting unobtrusively between the tables.

  And the suite itself was in a different league entirely to anything at Le Fourchet, or any of Frank De Garis’s hotels: wall-to-wall marble flooring, antique bookshelves filled with smartly-bound books, top-of-the-range entertainment console and even a baby grand piano. Everywhere she looked there were antique vases, objets d’art, original paintings – and fresh flowers. Lilies, freesias, orchids…

  So, she was finally going to see him. Her stomach spasmed – as it had been doing all morning, every time she tried to visualise the moment when she first clapped eyes on him after more than a week.

  She’d begun to think she was never going to see him again; that, his plate full of important deals, he’d decided to simply drop his plans to stay on in Guernsey and bring in someon
e else. She’d just begun to get used to the idea, to make herself believe that it was for the best.

  And then had come his message…

  She closed her eyes. She must try to forget everything that had happened between them and simply carry out the task that had been assigned to her. She mustn’t screw up. This was a big deal: the Children’s Foundation Ball was one of the highlights of the London social calendar. Tickets apparently cost a thousand pounds a head.

  For many women it would be a dream to be here tonight, as Jack’s hostess. But not for her; for her it was going to be torture, spending all that time with the man she adored, watching him all night, looking at him glad-hand all the guests, work the room, charm the women, knowing she was carrying his baby – and knowing he cared nothing for her.

  Despondency gnawed at her anew. Jack Ward moved in a different world to hers entirely, a world of great wealth and privilege, where multi-million pound deals were signed with more frequency than she had hot dinners. Just look at this room, this hotel – and he owned hundreds more hotels across the world. How could a man like that ever possibly be interested in an inconsequential little accountant from Guernsey like her?

  She looked at her watch. Nearly time for her treatments. Thank goodness: she badly needed something to occupy her mind. She picked up her bag and, gratefully, went downstairs.

  Later, back in her room, Amber inspected herself in the dressing room mirror. It was clear to her why Lucien was the hotel’s top stylist. He had set her hair in large rollers, then swept it up artfully on top of her head, securing it at the side with a fresh lily. The effect was simple but stunning. She’d applied her make-up herself, subtly, just as she liked it – the only concession to the occasion being a slightly darker-than-normal lipstick.

  Just gone six. A little early to think about putting on Jessica’s red dress. But then exactly what was she meant to do with herself? Tension jabbed at her like a needle, utterly negating the effect of the relaxing treatments she’d just enjoyed. She took a couple of deep breaths. Perhaps she’d get on with some of the work she’d brought. Yes, that might help to take her mind off things…

  Then all at once her room’s doorbell went. Amber went to answer it. A woman smartly attired in a Ward Grand uniform was at the door. She had in her charge a rail filled with the most exquisite-looking gowns.

  ‘Bon soir Miss Dorey,’ she said. My name is Agnès Lefranc, head of Ward Grand boutique. May I come in?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Amber, perplexed. What was this all about?

  ‘I have come to dress you for this evening’s ball. But first I must give you this.’ She handed Amber a flat, black velvet box, with the word Chopard discreetly emblazoned in gold letters on the lid. ‘Mr Ward would like you to wear these tonight.’

  Amber opened up the box – and her hand automatically flew to her mouth. On a bed of black satin was nestled a fabulous filigree necklace of marquise cut diamonds, and a pair of matching earrings. Jack meant her to wear these? They were the most beautiful things she’d ever seen – and must be worth a fortune. He really was serious about impressing his guests…

  The woman clapped her hands together. ‘Alors!’ she began, looking Amber up and down. ‘Yes, Monsieur Ward guessed very well: I would also say you are a size ten to twelve.’ She wheeled the rail further into the room. ‘I have brought lots of gowns for you to select from: Gucci, Valentino, Vera Wang, Oscar de la Renta – we stock only the very best designers at the Ward Grand.’ She inspected her charge, nodding her head. ‘I think, perhaps, something in taupe – or… mais non! Maybe something more dramatic. Come, we don’t have much time, and we must also choose shoes and accessories!’

  A little over forty minutes later, Amber’s transformation complete.

  ‘Alors ma belle, what do you think?’ the Frenchwoman smiled, an amused sparkle in her eye as she watched Amber goggle at her reflection.

  ‘I… hardly know myself,’ she answered, in a low, awed voice.

  They had chosen a simple Carolina Herrera ball gown in deep turquoise silk organza. It plunged deeply at the neckline to a high, black velvet waistband, the sensuous silk caressing over her body in the softest of embraces. The dress was teamed with a pair of sleek black satin Gina sandals and a small Hermès clutch bag. At her neck and ears sparkled the unbelievable diamonds. She looked like a princess, or at the very least a duchess.

  Agnès gently touched her shoulders.

  ‘I must go now. And so must you. It’s already ten past seven.’

  ‘Ten past seven?’ Amber swung around. She was supposed to be in the Manhattan Bar!

  ‘Yes, but don’t worry.’ Agnès winked. ‘It is, after all, de rigueur for a woman to keep her man waiting – to leave him, how you say, a little on tenterhooks, n’est-ce pas?’ With that she turned and softly let herself out of the room.

  Was that what the woman thought, Amber wondered dully, that Jack was her man? Clearly he’d been right about people’s assumptions. If only he were her man. If only she were more to him than just a passing fancy. If only she meant one tenth to him, of what he meant to her!

  She took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm her jangling nerves. Then she picked up her clutch bag and left.

  Several minutes later she walked into the Manhattan Bar. It was already buzzing with people in evening dress, men in tuxedos and women in all different shades of gorgeous, shimmering evening gowns. She immediately felt the subtle arousal of interest she was causing, the force of a dozen pairs of male eyes on her. But there was only one man here in whom she was interested, whose attention she craved. She scanned the room, increasingly urgently. Where was he? Perhaps he hadn’t arrived yet…

  Then, all at once, she saw him, leaning at the bar, his back towards her, the tallest, the most impressive man in the room by far.

  And as if at that very second he sensed her presence, he slowly turned, and their eyes met, dark penetrating blue locking with tender green. Longing seared through her. Oh God but he was irresistible. How was it possible for a man to be so exquisitely, so supremely gloriously formed? Her time away from him had done absolutely nothing to temper her ardour. She wanted him just as much – more.

  Move feet, move…!

  She picked her way across the bar, aware, all the time, of the steady force of his cool, inscrutable gaze. Finally she reached his side. He said nothing for what seemed like an age, his eyes moving unhurriedly over her. She remembered the last time he had looked at her like that, in Jersey, as he had undressed her… Her heart rapped crazily against her ribs.

  He put a finger to her throat, brushed it feather light against her skin, making her tremble. ‘You make the diamonds come alive,’ he said in a low voice. ‘You should always wear diamonds.’

  She smiled, automatically put up a hand to her throat, to the burning spot that Jack’s fingers had touched. ‘If I owned these, I always would,’ she said. ‘They’re beautiful.’ She gestured around the room. ‘As is the Ward Grand, Jack. It’s simply fabulous beyond words. I’ve never seen a more beautiful hotel.’

  ‘It’s not sterile and anonymous then.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘You accused me of running sterile and anonymous hotels. Don’t you remember? That day on the boat.’ His eyes betrayed a gleam of amusement. ‘You told me I was wrong to assume there was no future for the three-star independent hotel, that I was insufferably arrogant, and that my money doesn’t count for anything. You put me very firmly in my place, as I recall.’

  Her face blazed with embarrassment. Yes, she had said those things; she recollected them all too well. And he had remembered them too – with surprising precision… ‘Well I concede that I was wrong,’ she said with a smile. ‘Apparently you know a great deal about running hotels after all.’ She swallowed. ‘And throwing very large parties. I hope I don’t let you down.’

  His brow furrowed. ‘Let me down?’

  ‘Tonight.’ Oh why did he always have to look at her like that? In that way t
hat turned her knees to jelly? Come on Amber, she exhorted herself, try to be professional! ‘I mean the dinner – the ball. I’m very flattered you chose me to be your hostess. I hope I manage to live up to your expectations.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, shifting position, his face clouding. ‘The ball. Yes, the ball…’

  ‘Would you like to quickly run through the schedule and tell me exactly what you want me to do?’

  ‘It’s pretty straightforward. There’s a reception, then dinner, a couple of speeches, and then dancing, with a short break for a raffle. There’s nothing I expect you to do in particular, apart from make small talk – and stay close by.’

  She looked up at his inscrutable face. She would stay close to him forever and a day, she thought, if she could. Except that he didn’t want that, and she must force herself to remember it.

  He scrutinised her for a moment. ‘And you won’t have a problem posing as my girlfriend for a night?’ he said, making her stomach clench. You won’t be upset by the attention? People will be whispering about you all night, speculating who you are.’

  ‘No. It isn’t a problem.’

  He nodded. Then, ‘I knew I could rely on you,’ he said, leaning back again. ‘Just try to be natural. If anyone asks how we met, just say we got to know one another in Guernsey. You don’t have to go into detail.’ He turned to the barman. ‘Another glass of the Dom Perignon please.’

  ‘Um, I’d rather just have a sparkling water please.’

  He changed the order without comment, then turned back, studying her in silence, his eyes almost black in the soft light of the bar. She felt a stab of anxiety. Was he angry about something? Was her dress wrong, or her hair?

  ‘Let’s sit down,’ he said, guiding her to a corner table. ‘So,’ he said, once they were installed, ‘just one more week and your month will be up.’