by Liz Fielding
Emerald had to admit she had been careless. She had intended the porter to pass on the information, that’s why she had given it to him, but she thought she would be well on her way to join Kit by then.
‘So you didn’t intend to search the whole of France?’
‘I’ll have my work cut out, but as I said, you’ll be safely tucked up at Honeybourne Park while I’m making my enquiries. Can I use your telephone to call him? My battery is flat.’
Brodie’s face broadened into an engaging, slightly lopsided grin that made Emmy’s heart give a strange little lurch. What was it about the man? The fact that he refused to be twisted around her little finger? That alone was a challenge. She had never been able to resist a challenge and she promised herself that she’d bring Brodie to heel in her own good time. But not yet. It was more important to convince him that she was genuine.
‘No… I’ll behave, Brodie. I know you’ve got to do your job, no matter how distasteful it is. I’ll take you to Kit and you can put your offer to him. All I ask in return is your promise that if he turns you down that will be an end of it.’ That sounded reasonable, didn’t it?
‘I’d rather you just gave me his address,’ Brodie said, unwilling to make any promise he might not be able to keep. ‘Or perhaps you think he won’t be able to resist your father’s money without you there to put a bit of backbone in him?’
Emmy crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘I have total confidence in Kit. I just want to be there to see fair play.’ She gave a little shrug. ‘It will take forever to find him without my help,’ she assured him, her smile seraphic. ‘Just how much time does a busy man like you have to spare?’
Not long, Brodie thought, irritably. It would have been a straightforward enough matter to deal with Kit Fairfax in London, no matter how distasteful he found it. A few hours at the most. Finding the man in France was something else.
While he didn’t trust Emmy further than he could throw her, he had little choice but to go along with her suggestion. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You take me to him. I’ll talk to him.’ And if Fairfax was unexpectedly staunch to his love, they still wouldn’t be able to marry for a month. Plenty of time for Gerald Carlisle to think of something else. Or maybe even get used to the idea.
Emerald, knowing she had scored the winning point, held out the softly draped silk of her trousers and sketched a little curtsey. ‘I’m glad that’s settled.’ She picked up her bag and handed it to him. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Go?’
‘I’m going to rent a car and drive down to Dover.’ She grinned. ‘Although now you’re here I suppose we could take your car.’
‘I’ve been working since seven this morning, Emmy. Driving all night is not an option.’
‘I can drive,’ she pointed out. ‘You can sleep.’
He would certainly give her ten for effort. She never gave up. ‘Forgive me if I decline the opportunity to be abandoned in the nearest lay-by.’
‘I wouldn’t—’
‘Of course you would.’ He didn’t add that he wouldn’t blame her. She didn’t need any encouragement. ‘And I don’t have two days to spare to drive south.’ Or another two to drive back. ‘We’ll fly to Marseilles in the morning and I’ll hire a left-hand drive car at the airport.’
‘You’re a whole lot more than a pair of broad shoulders, Brodie,’ she said, with reluctant admiration. He should have been surprised she even noticed what he looked like. After all she was supposed to be head over heels in love with Fairfax. So why wasn’t he? He filed the thought away, along with all the other oddities about this business, at the back of his mind. This wasn’t the moment to be sidetracked by blatant flattery. ‘But there’s a problem.’
He stared at her for a moment. ‘Go on surprise me,’ he prompted.
‘I don’t fly.’
‘I wasn’t expecting you to sprout wings,’ he conceded. ‘We’ll use a regular aircraft, with engines and everything.’
‘No, Brodie, I don’t fly, even with the aid of engines.’
‘Don’t or won’t?’ he asked, suspiciously.
‘Both. It’s a phobia. The minute they close the aircraft door I have hysterics.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Emmy smiled at him. ‘Would you like to risk it?’
Brodie regarded her with exasperation. He might not believe her, but he didn’t underestimate her. He suspected that Emerald Carlisle was perfectly capable of throwing a fit of hysterics that could bring Heathrow to a standstill if she put her mind to it. ‘It isn’t a problem. We’ll take the train.’
‘Oh.’
‘You’re not frightened of trains too, are you?’ he asked.
She was tempted. There was, after all, that great big tunnel. And it would have been so much easier to get away from Brodie in a car. But she knew when to give in gracefully. ‘No,’ she said, demurely. ‘I love trains.’
Trains made stops.
‘Good. That only leaves one thing to be decided.’ Emmy raised one of those beautifully arched brows of hers. Something else she practised, he’d bank on it. ‘Are we going to spend the night here, or at my place?’ And before she could object. ‘I’m not taking my eyes off you until we’re safely on the train.’
As Emmy opened her mouth to tell him what he could do with his cheek, the telephone began to ring. She threw it a startled glance. ‘Oh, lord that’ll be Pa,’ she said, making no move to answer it.
‘Perhaps you should answer it and put his mind at rest. He must be worried about you.’
Emmy pushed her hair back from her face. ‘He’s worried, you can count on it. But only about my money.’
She saw Brodie’s brows dip in surprise. ‘That’s a little harsh, surely? He’s just got your best interests at heart.’
The telephone abruptly ceased ringing and for a moment they both stared at it. ‘I wonder if that’s the first time he’s rung,’ she said, uneasily.
‘Probably not,’ Brodie ventured. ‘I worked out that you’d have to come here to collect your passport and money, and at least a change of clothes. He’s quite capable of making the same calculation. Does it matter?’
‘Yes.’ Brodie raised a querying brow. ‘The answering machine was on,’ she explained. ‘I checked my messages when I came in and there were a couple of hang-ups that might have been him. I must have forgotten to reset it so now he’ll know I’m home.’
‘You’re not having a terribly good day.’
She glanced at him, remembering the moment their eyes had met above her father’s head. Remembering that moment in the car when he had come so close to kissing her. ‘It hasn’t all been bad.’
‘No?’ He clearly wasn’t convinced. ‘Whatever. It’s time to choose the lesser of two evils, Emmy. We can wait here until your father arrives. Or you can come with me.’
For a moment she stared at him. ‘No contest. Let’s go.’ And there was still the taxi waiting downstairs.
She picked up her bag and headed for the door. He hooked his fingers in her belt and brought her to an outraged halt. ‘I think I’d be happier if you handed over your passport and mobile phone,’ he said.
She pulled a face. ‘You’re no fun, Brodie. You think of everything.’
‘Amusing you was not part of the brief. And if I thought of everything you wouldn’t have run off with my car.’
‘For all the good it did me. You’re just too smart for me.’
He wasn’t taken in by her flattery. ‘I thought you were going to behave.’
‘I am,’ she declared.
‘Then you won’t need your passport will you?’ He wasn’t to be distracted, she realised as he stood there, one hand grasping her waistband, the other outstretched, demanding obedience. ‘Maybe it would help if I told you that I sent your taxi away?’ Emerald capitulated with a shrug of resignation, retrieving her passport from her shoulder bag and handing it over with a grudging smile.
Let him think he’d won some major victory. Once they were in
France she wouldn’t need her passport. And he couldn’t keep his eyes on her all the time, could he?
‘And your phone.’
‘It’s in my handbag back at Honeybourne, along with my wallet and my credit cards.’ He gave her a long, hard look. ‘You can search me if you like,’ she offered, and lifted her arms in a provocative invitation to pat her down.
Sadly, he declined.
Even more sadly, on this occasion she was telling the truth.
Brodie’s flat was not in the same class as Emmy’s. He lived in a converted warehouse loft on the wrong bank of the Thames, bought at the bottom of a slump when the developer had been glad to be rid of it at any price.
It didn’t have a hall porter to take messages and run errands and was served by a vast goods lift that would have taken Brodie’s BMW without flinching.
In its favour it had huge open spaces with high ceilings and acres of polished wood floors that gleamed with a dull richness, the perfect setting for colourful tribal rugs that broke up the huge floor area.
The furniture, what there was of it, was old and comfortable.
The white-painted brick walls, on the other hand, provided the perfect backdrop for a stunning collection of paintings, the work of talented students, bought before they became unaffordable for a man who worked for his living.
Emmy stood in the centre of the living area and turned slowly around, absorbing every detail. ‘I love this,’ she said, at last. ‘You’ve got a good eye for a picture. Can I look around?’
‘Help yourself. I’ve deadlocked the front door and I’m taking the key into the shower with me.’
She swivelled round. ‘Really?’ Her gaze travelled swiftly over his body. ‘I’d be interested to know where you plan to keep it.’
‘In the soap dish?’ he offered.
‘Don’t be boring, Brodie. I’m not going to run for it. I promised.’
‘So you did.’ And butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, he thought. ‘While you’re looking around the kitchen do feel free to make some tea.’
‘Do you really want tea? Or is that just your way of keeping me out of mischief?’
‘I have more confidence in your ability to make mischief than that,’ he said, cynically. He didn’t wait for her retort.
He was sure she had one, but he wasn’t in the mood to hear it. It had been a long day and he was in no mood to play nursemaid to a wilful young woman who was set on getting her own way. On top of which he was going to have to surrender his bed.
He glanced at it. Low and wide, it was plenty big enough for two. The thought rose unbidden in his head, tormenting him with images of a pair of long, elegant legs, bright, laughing eyes and a mouth that would tempt a saint. He quashed it mercilessly.
He stepped out of his suit and hung it carefully in a walk-in wardrobe full of expensive clothes. There had been a time when one suit had been all he could afford. Old habits died hard.
Perhaps he should have made the effort to find himself a heiress with a father who would rather pay out a fortune than see his daughter married to the son of a miner. With his luck the father would have called his bluff, and there were very few heiresses who looked like Emmy Carlisle.
He stripped off the rest of his clothes, flicked on the shower and stood for a few moments beneath the hot, reviving needles of water and considered what other tricks Miss Carlisle might have up her sleeve.
She could protest that she was going to “behave”, flash those big innocent eyes and say “honestly” until the cows came home, but he wouldn’t believe her. Her father had said she was a handful, and Brodie had to admit that the man knew what he was talking about. But going along with Emmy’s plan was still the quickest way of getting to Fairfax. Provided she didn’t manage to give him the slip.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew that it wouldn’t be difficult for her to get away from him once they were in France.
She had already demonstrated a reckless daring, a facility for thinking on her feet, the kind of spirit that you would cheer from the sidelines if you weren’t the poor sucker being made to look a fool.
He might have learned his lesson regarding car keys, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep her in sight twenty-four hours a day. However, since the only alternative would be to take her back to father and own up, he would certainly have to try. A small crease appeared in one corner of his mouth at the thought.
He considered her mop of tousled red hair and a pair of the most bewitching green gold eyes that he had ever encountered and vowed to make it a priority. About one thing, he was in total agreement with Gerald Carlisle. There was no way he was about to let her marry some layabout who called himself an artist and had his eye on her money.
He reached for a towel and wrapped it about him, but as he walked into the bedroom the telephone at the side of the bed gave the faintest ting. It hadn’t taken Emerald long to make herself at home and use the kitchen phone to make a call. No surprise there.
With luck she’d just made his job a lot easier.
CHAPTER FOUR
EMMY was excessively pleased with herself. To have found Kit in the local café was too much to hope for, but the patron had taken a message for him, promising to pass it along as soon as he saw him. At least she hoped that was what he said. He hadn’t spoken much English and she hadn’t paid a lot of attention in French lessons at school.
In a day that had alternated between exhilarating ups and frustrating downs, however, the ups had, in the end, come out marginally ahead. And this time Brodie hadn’t caught her. That alone was almost enough to put the smile on her face. The kettle boiled, she poured the water on the tea and picking up the teapot turned to put it on the tray.
Brodie was standing in the doorway watching her. There was nothing in his expression to indicate how long he had been there. It took every ounce of self-control not to cast a guilty look in the direction of the telephone. Every ounce of self-control to stop her wrist from shaking. And it wasn’t just a nervous reaction to coming so close to getting caught. Brodie, stripped of the civilising uniform of his business clothes, was a thoroughly dangerous-looking male.
He had discarded his formal suit, the crisp white shirt, regulation dark silk tie and polished shoes for a track suit bottom worn thin with use and an equally hard-worn t-shirt that hung loosely about his torso. The tendons on his upper arms stood out in relief, as did the veins on his forearms. Deeply tanned forearms. Not sun-bed colour, and his clothes had been worn thin from being put vigorously to the purpose for which they were intended.
His feet, long and beautifully shaped, were bare. Which was why she hadn’t heard him coming.
It occurred to Emmy that Brodie was wearing this rather unlikely outfit for her benefit. Not the kind of man to wear pyjamas — she suspected any overnight guest wouldn’t usually be worried about such niceties — this had been the best he had been able to come with on short notice.
‘Milk, sugar?’ she asked, as her wrist finally succumbed to the shakes and she put the pot down rather suddenly.
Brodie raked his hand through hair still wet from the shower. He hadn’t expected her to do what he’d asked. It wasn’t in character. Maybe Emmy thought if she’d been obviously busy he wouldn’t wonder what else she might have been up to while he’d been in the shower. ‘Just milk. Thanks. Aren’t you having a cup?’
‘Not before going to bed.’
‘Oh, well, the bedroom is all yours,’ he said. ‘Come on, I’ll show you.’
‘Bedroom?’ she enquired, looking in at the austere white room, the enormous bed covered by a plain black quilt. ‘Singular? Haven’t you got a spare room?’
‘Not with a bed in it. The need hasn’t arisen in the past.’
That she could believe. ‘But where will you sleep?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ll be fine on the sofa.’
‘Really?’ She looked doubtful. ‘It’s an awfully big bed, Brodie. If you had a pillow-bolster, we could share it,’ she offered, unable to res
ist a little tit-for-tat retaliation for making her blush.
Emmy realised, but far too late, that she should have resisted, taking a step back as Brodie’s eyes flared with anger, and something far more dangerous. She had been very foolish — nothing new, she was famous for it — but this time she didn’t quite know how to handle the result as Brodie slowly advanced on her.
‘Share it?’
She took another step back, then another before she finally came to a halt. Retreating was not in her nature. But it was a real effort to stand her ground when Brodie was up close with a six-inch height advantage and an edge to his voice that would have cut glass. But stand her ground she did and launch a counter-offensive.
‘Like they did in the Middle Ages?’ she offered. ‘A sword dividing the bed?’
‘A sword? Wasn’t that terribly dangerous?’
‘You’re missing the point, Brodie. It was symbolic. A true knight errant wouldn’t cross the dividing line, even if the sword was sheathed. For safety,’ she added, quickly, blushing again.
‘I’ve already told you, Emmy. I’m no knight errant.’ He took another step towards her. ‘But it’s an interesting idea. Perhaps a couple of pillows would do the trick.’
‘No, Brodie,’ she said, quickly, putting out her hand to stop him coming any nearer. ‘I was joking…’
Her palm collided with the hard muscle of his chest but it did nothing to impede his progress and as the warmth of his body seeped into her through her hand, along her arm until her entire body seemed to be heating up from within, her fingers closed over his t-shirt, bunching it in her fist, holding it tight.
‘Joking?’ he enquired, softly. For a moment she thought she had a chance and opened her mouth to reinforce her contention. But he stroked the back of his long slender fingers slowly and gently from her throat to her chin, mesmerising her with his touch and a delicious languor stole through her body as he captured her chin. Then he began to trace a slow, sensuous line across her bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. It was like that moment in the car when he had so nearly kissed her. When she had, for one crazy moment, wanted him to kiss her more than anything else in the world. She still did and when she saw the reflection of her own heart in his eyes, Emerald Carlisle trembled. ‘What is there to joke about, Emmy?’ he finally asked her, his voice no longer diamond bright, but soft as cobwebs tearing in the wind.