by Liz Fielding
‘Would you like a glass of wine, Mr Brodie?’ Kit offered.
‘It’s a little soon to celebrate, surely?’ he said, his voice like chipped ice. ‘Let’s get the formalities over with first.’ He walked across to the huge scrubbed table that dominated the kitchen and placed his briefcase on it, taking out the file that Carlisle had given him. ‘Would you care to sit down, Mr Fairfax, this shouldn’t take long.’
‘Brodie…’ Emmy began uncertainly, taking a step towards him. ‘Tom?’ She put her hand out to touch his arm. ‘What’s wrong?’ She glanced at the bag by the door. ‘Surely you don’t think…? I was coming straight back…’
He was used to hiding his feelings, but it took all his willpower to keep his face from betraying all the pain, all the hurt. ‘I’m sure you were. Once you’d got your five minutes with Fairfax to make sure he understood exactly what he had to do.’
‘No… Darling …’
Darling? What more did she want from him for heaven’s sake? She had his heart, his mind and finally his body. Did she want his soul, too? He stared down at her, then pointedly at the hand on his arm. She snatched it back as if her fingers had suddenly been burnt.
‘Fairfax?’ he said, turning to the fair-haired young man watching this interchange with a perplexed expression. ‘I’d like to get on with this.’ His boyish face crumpled in consternation, he glanced at Emmy, but she was not help, staring at him as if she couldn’t believe her ears. Brodie shrugged. He was perfectly willing to conduct business on his feet if necessary. ‘I have no doubt that Emerald has already explained the purpose of this visit.’ He didn’t wait for confirmation. ‘Gerald Carlisle is of the opinion that you are not a suitable husband for his daughter—’
‘Husband? But Emmy said…’
Brodie was in no mood to listen to what Emmy had said. ‘He has authorised me to offer you a sum of one hundred thousand pounds,’ he continued as if Fairfax had not spoken, ‘on the understanding that you will withdraw from the scene and undertake never to see her again.’ He produced the document that Carlisle had provided for the man’s signature. ‘All you have to do is sign this and the cheque will be immediately drawn in whatever currency you prefer.’
Fairfax had the kind of skin that flushed crimson when angry or embarrassed. It was crimson now. ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this,’ he said.
It was anger, Brodie noted.
‘Does that mean you were expecting more? I daresay he would go a little higher. A hundred and twenty?’ he suggested.
‘You bastard!’ Fairfax took a step forward and swung. The move was so unexpected that although he saw it coming Brodie didn’t react, but watched the man’s arm arc towards him, as if in slow motion.
Then the fist connected with his chin, knocking him clean off his feet, hurtling him back against the sink, jarring his back. Dazed, unable to prevent himself from falling, he slid down onto the floor and for a moment lay there as he tried to come to terms with what had happened.
Was that a refusal? Suppose he told the man about the way he and Emmy had made love, tearing at each other’s clothes as the rain had poured over them, lost to everything but desire…
No. Oh, God, no. He closed his eyes.
He couldn’t do that to her. Even now. His soul was, apparently, already hers to keep.
‘Tom! Tom, darling…’ Emmy flung herself down beside him, cradling his head in her lap. She smelt of Chanel and rainwater and the love they had shared and all he wanted to do was hold her, tell her how much he loved her. Because he couldn’t hate her. He would never hate her, no matter what she did.
‘Get me some water, Kit, quickly.’ He felt her lips press against his brow. ‘Tom, dear Tom, please wake up.’ She splashed water over his face, rubbed her fingers over his forehead, his temples. ‘I’m not going to marry Kit,’ she said. ‘I was never going to marry him—’
‘You weren’t?’ He opened his eyes. ‘Never?’
She stared down at him. ‘You weren’t unconscious,’ she said, accusingly.
‘If you weren’t going to marry him, what the hell have we been doing for the last two days?’
‘Having fun?’ she said. ‘Falling in love?’
And suddenly it all fell into place and he knew. ‘It was the money wasn’t it? You just wanted him to have the money so he could buy the lease of his studio.’ He eased himself up — he was going to feel like hell in the morning — and propping himself against the cupboard. ‘But why was it so important that you talked to him before I did?’
‘Because he didn’t know anything about it. If Hollingworth didn’t treat me like a three year old, refusing to let me have more than pocket money — but of course I’m just a stupid, feeble girl who can’t be trusted — I wouldn’t have had to do this.’
‘You remembered what had happened when you ran away with Oliver Hayward and decided to try it again. If you couldn’t use your own money to help Kit, you’d get your father to bail the man out.’ He laughed, winced, touching his hand to his lip. ‘Betty was right.’
‘Betty?’
‘She told me that nothing was what it seemed.’
‘Oh.’
‘Emmy! Is that true?’ Kit demanded. ‘You really pretended we were…?’ For a moment he appeared lost for words. ‘But why?’
‘Because you were about to lose your studio.’
‘But that’s appalling.’
‘Well, yes, but if Pa hadn’t had me followed after he saw our picture in Celebrity at that charity thing it would never have occurred to me.’
‘So that’s why you asked me to paint your portrait? It wasn’t for your father’s birthday?’
‘How else was I going to spend all those afternoons at your studio?’ She grinned. ‘You did a great job, by the way. He’ll love it.’
‘That’s why you insisted on sleeping on my sofa, going on about having too much to drink at lunchtime, when you scarcely touch a drop?’
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘So you should be.’
‘I know. But my father is disgustingly rich and he doesn’t do nearly enough to support the arts…’
Brodie began to laugh. ‘All that plotting and planning for nothing.’
‘No,’ Emmy said, earnestly. ‘He can still have the money. You won’t say anything will you, darling? Please, Tom. My father expects you to settle with Kit. He’ll be pleased with you…’
‘But I don’t need it, Emmy,’ Kit said. ‘I’ve got this farmhouse and some property down the coast. That’s where I was going when you turned up. I’ve got a meeting a lawyer about selling a villa.’
‘A what?’
‘A villa. I inherited it from my father. In fact if it hadn’t been for the storm you’d have missed me. Why don’t you two make yourselves at home here? I’ll be back tomorrow.’ He glanced at Emmy, then Brodie. ‘No, not tomorrow,’ he hastily amended. ‘It’ll be the weekend at least.’ He picked up his overnight bag. ‘I’ll stop at the village and sort out something about the car. Just leave the key under the flowerpot when you leave.’
Brodie raised a hand to acknowledge that he’d heard. His mouth was too busy kissing Emmy.
‘Brodie!’ Emmy’s urgent whisper brought Brodie drifting up from sleep and he half-opened his eyes, smiling into her morning face. Her curls were tumbled about her face, her green-gold slumberous eyes were full of love.
‘Hi, sweetheart,’ he said, softly, then suddenly and urgently wide awake, he pulled her down to him and kissed her. For a moment she protested, mumbling something beneath his mouth, but, laughing, he turned her onto her back. ‘Oh, no. When you wake up a man, my darling, you have to pay a forfeit—’
‘Brodie!’
‘I thought, last night, that we’d agreed you’d call me Tom,’ he said, kissing her shoulder. ‘Now that we’re better acquainted.’
‘Tom…’
‘That’s better. Now this forfeit… A kiss, here, perhaps?’ He grazed her throat with his mouth. ‘Or here? Or here?’ He
eased down her body, liberally planting kisses over her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach and for a moment she relaxed, giggling as the night stubble of his chin tickled and tormented her delicate skin.
Then her body stiffened beneath him. ‘Tom!’ she said, and there was something about the urgency with which she said his name that made him stop, look up.
But Emerald wasn’t looking at him, she was looking towards the door. He turned and in the entrance were framed the shocked faces of Gerald Carlisle and James Hollingworth.
‘That’s why I woke you,’ Emmy said, faintly. ‘To tell you that I thought I heard someone downstairs. ‘
Gerald Carlisle looked as if he was about to have a stroke.
‘Would you mind telling me what the devil you think you’re doing, Brodie!’ he demanded.
For one delicious moment Tom Brodie considered the obvious answer, but thought better of it. ‘I’m carrying out your instructions,’ he said. ‘You did say that I was to use whatever means were necessary to prevent Emerald from marrying Kit Fairfax?’
Gerald Carlisle stared at him. Then at his daughter. ‘I give up,’ he said. ‘Do what you want. You’ve made your bed once too often my girl, well now you can lie on it.’
Brodie raised one darkly defined brow at Emmy, who was clutching the sheet to her neck. ‘You heard the man, sweetheart. Lie down. I’ll be right with you.’
Emmy gasped, catching her lower lip between her teeth to stop herself from laughing out loud at her father’s outraged expression. Then she slid back down against the pillows. Brodie, his face expressionless, turned to Carlisle and Hollingworth.
‘As you can see, gentlemen, the lady has made her choice. Please shut the door on your way out.’
Tom Brodie regarded the man sitting behind the ornate desk and waited. He could afford to be patient. He held all the cards, as Gerald Carlisle was well aware.
‘What exactly do you want from me, Brodie?’ he asked, finally. ‘I don’t imagine a hundred, thousand pounds is going to shift you.’
‘No, but if you’ve got that kind of money looking for a good home I can suggest a couple of worthy causes that would be grateful for the help.’
‘How much?’ he replied, bluntly.
Brodie didn’t lose his temper. He was being tested. He’d expected that. ‘I only want your daughter. And your blessing.’
‘So you came to ask for her hand in marriage like some old-fashioned suitor?’ Gerald Carlisle didn’t sound convinced.
‘I thought that was how gentlemen did it. I would have given you chapter and verse of my family history and my prospects, too, but I imagine you’ve already had Nicholas Hollingworth down here to lay it out in words of one syllable.’ Hollingworth had already told him as much. ‘In your shoes that’s what I would do.’
‘Oh, you would, would you?’ He paused. ‘Well I have. And the man had the nerve to tell me how lucky I am. How lucky Emmy is to have found you.’
Nick Hollingworth hadn’t bothered to share that part of the conversation with him, but he buried his grin. ‘We found each other, and I believe I’m the lucky one.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ He glared at Tom. ‘And if you do get married where will you live? Emerald’s flat is too small—’
‘We’ll live in mine.’
‘A converted warehouse on the wrong side of the river?’ He was dismissive. ‘No. You’ll need a house. I suppose it had better be my wedding present. I’ll get my agent—’
‘All in good time.’
‘But—’
‘When we’re ready to move we’ll find our own house. And I’ll pay for it.’
Gerald Carlisle, already reaching for the telephone, paused. Then, quite suddenly, his face softened and he began to laugh. ‘By God, Brodie, Emmy met her match when she crossed your path. Whatever else it is your married life won’t be dull.’
Finally recognising in Gerald Carlisle a father who cared desperately about his daughter, wanting nothing bad to happen to her, ever, Brodie found himself responding with an unexpected warmth to the man. ‘No, I don’t suppose it will be. But love should never be dull. And I do love her. I’ll do everything I can to make her happy.’
‘Will you?’ Carlisle rose. ‘Then I suppose all that’s left is to set the date.’
As Tom stood up to take the hand extended to him, Emmy burst into the room. ‘Darlings, it’s all fixed. The vicar is reading the Banns on Sunday and the wedding will be on the last Friday in September—’
‘September?’ Gerald Carlisle repeated. ‘This September?’
‘Well, we could have waited until October…’ — she slipped her arm through her father’s and, all innocence, continued — ‘…but your diary is booked solid with shooting parties all through October and November. Then it will be Christmas and everyone will be too busy.’
‘Spring is a good time,’ he countered, a little desperately.
‘Absolutely. That’s why it’s already crammed with other people’s weddings,’ Emmy replied as, turning to Tom and, with the merest suggestion of a wink, slipped her other arm through his, drawing the three of them together. Then with a little sigh, ‘Of course, if it’s going to be too much for you to organise, Pa, I suppose we could forget the formalities and run away to get married on a beach somewhere. One of those Greek islands, perhaps—’
‘September will not be a problem, Emmy,’ her father conceded, hurriedly. ‘What about you, Tom? You must have commitments.’
‘I’ve cleared my diary,’ he said, well aware what Emmy had planned. ‘And I’d planned on saving the Greek islands for our honeymoon.’
‘Oh, perfect.’ Emmy’s eyes softened, grew misty and she leaned against him, her red curls brushing his cheek. ‘Do you think Betty will come to our wedding?’
‘We can stop on the way back to London and ask her to save the day.’
Gerald Carlisle, on the point of enquiring who Betty might be, thought better of it and instead crossed to the phone. ‘I’ll ask Johnson to bring up a bottle of champagne,’ he said, trying very hard not to smile too much. Then, as Emmy wound her arms around Tom’s neck, raising herself on tiptoe to kiss him, he kept walking. ‘Maybe I should go and choose it myself. Something special…’
But he was talking to himself.
Go to the Index
Praise for Liz Fielding
“effortlessly engaging” … Julie Cohen
“Witty, heart-warming and totally spellbinding…” Tempted By Trouble - Cataromance.com
“…a beautifully written story full of emotion, with characters I will remember long after finishing it.” Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto – Mad About Romance
“A magnificent setting, a feisty heroine and a sexy hero – a definite page-turner…who could ask for anything more?” A Wedding At Leopard Tree Lodge – Still Moments eZine
Reunited: Marriage in a Million is a story that contains everything we’ve come to expected from Liz Fielding – a veteran of romance fiction. Her well-honed expertise is apparent at each and every perfectly-plotted twist and turn of this story. – Romance Reviewed
Liz Fielding’s The Secret Life of Lady Gabriella is charming and funny, but has some dark emotional moments too. A keeper. – Romantic Times
“Fielding’s deft handling is a triumph. The characters are fabulous, the relationship between them complex and nuanced…and keep a tissue handy at the end!”
SOS: Convenient Husband Required – Romantic Times
About the author
Award winning author, LIZ FIELDING, was born with itchy feet. She was working in Africa before her twenty-first birthday and - gathering her own special hero and a couple of children on the way - lived in Zambia, Botswana, Kenya and the all over the Middle East, with pauses for sightseeing pretty much everywhere in between.
She finally came to a full stop in a tiny Welsh village cradled by misty hills, and now mostly leaves her pen to do the travelling.
The author of more than sixty romances, Liz has been nomi
nated seven times for the Romance Writers’ of America RITA® award, winning twice with The Best Man & the Bridesmaid and The Marriage Miracle. She has also been nominated four times for the UK’s Romantic Novelists’ Association “Romance Prize”, winning with A Family of His Own and was awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award for her work by Romantic Times BOOKclub magazine.
She gives talks and holds workshops on writing romance.
For news of upcoming books visit Liz’s website at http://www.lizfielding.com, visit her blog at http://lizfielding.blogspot.com or follow her on Twitter @lizfielding
A full list of her books is available at http://www.lizfielding.com
Some recent books by Liz Fielding
The Beaumont Brides Collection
Flirting With Italian (Harlequin)
Tempted By Trouble (Harlequin)
SOS: Convenient Husband Required (Harlequin)
Secret Baby, Surprise Parents (Harlequin)
The Sheikh’s Unsuitable Bride (Harlequin)
A Wedding at Leopard Tree Lodge (Harlequin)
Non-fiction
Liz Fielding’s Little Book of Writing Romance (Classic Romance)
All the characters in these books have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure fiction.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The text of this publication or any part hereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.
The right of Liz Fielding to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988
First published in 1998 by Harlequin Mills and Boon Ltd
This version of Eloping With Emmy has been revised to take account of changes in currency, technology and the route of the Eurostar.
© Liz Fielding 1998
© Liz Fielding 2012