Substitute Fiancee

by Lee Wilkinson

'Either you're a fool or you believe / am.'

  'I don't know what you're talking about.'

  'Look,' he said, a shade impatiently, 'isn't it time to forget this charade and tell me the truth?'

  Reaching the end of her tether, she retorted sharply, 'If I knew what charade you were talking about, I might well. I'm fed up with all this...this...mystery...this double-talk. I wish you'd come straight out and say what you mean. What makes you think Kirk won't keep to the arrangements?'

  Blaze sighed. 'Very well, as you pretend not to know, I'll lay it on the line. Varley is on the verge of bankruptcy. It would take a miracle to save him—'

  'So you say.'

  Ignoring the interruption, he went on calmly, 'Your fiancé has in his possession a necklace that, with eighteen perfectly matched rubies, is worth a king's ransom. Even sold individually, the stones would raise enough to provide a fresh start in—' he shrugged '—say South America, and, with care, keep him in relative comfort for the rest of his life.'

  'You must be joking!' she burst out.

  Blaze shook his head. 'In his position anyone might be tempted.'

  'You surely don't...' She tried again. 'You can't be serious!'

  'I'm quite serious.'

  'Oh, this is absurd! You can't really think that Kirk might be on his way to Buenos Aires or somewhere with the Balantyne rubies in his pocket?'

  'That's exactly what I think. I also strongly suspect that he sent you here as a cover, to stall for as long as possible.'

  'And I suppose you imagine that when the hue and cry has died down I'll be sneaking off to join him?'

  'Why not? You're in it together, aren't you?'

  Fran laughed incredulously. 'I think you must have been reading too many cheap novels...'

  Seeing his face darken with anger, she insisted, 'Honestly, your suspicions are so far off the mark as to be ludicrous.'

  For the first time he looked uncertain. 'I could almost believe you mean that.'

  'I do mean it.'

  "Then suppose you give me some straight answers to some straight questions. Why didn't Varley use Rayburn Security, as arranged?'

  Knowing quite well what it would sound like, she found herself flushing as she answered. 'He said something about special security costing a great deal of money.'

  'How was that a problem when I was paying?'

  'P-perhaps he didn't know you were paying.'

  'He knew full well that I was meeting all the security costs. It was part of the agreement.'

  Seeing she was disconcerted, Blaze pressed home his advantage. 'So, if no security firm was to be involved, what was the plan?'

  She moistened dry lips. 'That as we were coming to Balantyne Hall...'

  When she hesitated, he urged, 'Do go on.' His voice was smooth as polished glass.

  'We should bring it ourselves.'

  Watching her like a cat watching a mouse, he said softly, 'I see. It's pretty much what I suspected from the start.'

  'In a way it made sense.' She tried to justify the decision. 'As Kirk said, everything had been done with such secrecy that apart from the craftsman who actually reset the stones—'

  'That was William Bailey, I understand?' Blaze broke in.

  'Yes...and Mr Bailey's been with Varleys for more than forty years. Apart from him, there wasn't another soul who knew anything about the necklace, so Kirk thought it would be safe enough.'

  'What did you think?'

  'I—I wasn't too happy with the plan, but I decided he was probably right. I mean from the point of view of secrecy...'

  'So you went along with it.'

  'Yes.'

  'And now it's gone wrong, and you're left holding the baby, so to speak.'

  'It hasn't gone wrong.'

  Grimly, Blaze agreed. 'I suppose from your point of view it hasn't. However, I don't care for the idea of being robbed, especially of a family heirloom.'

  'You haven't been robbed. When Kirk gets here—'

  His exasperation evident, Blaze broke in icily, 'Even if you're as innocent as you're trying to make out, it must be obvious by now that's he's not going to come. He has the necklace and—'

  'But he hasn't...!'

  Blaze stared at her, taken aback.

  'Kirk wasn't carrying the necklace.'

  'You mean you were?'

  'Yes,' she admitted.

  'Why?'

  'Because he had this business trip he couldn't get out of.'

  Reluctant admiration in his voice, Blaze admitted, 'Varley's been a damn sight cleverer than I gave him credit for.'

  Uncertain just how to take that remark, Fran said defensively, 'He went to a lot of trouble to make sure the necklace was safe.'

  'I bet he did.' His eyes cold and hard as granite, Blaze suggested, 'Perhaps you'll tell me exactly what arrangements were made?'

  'Before Kirk left for Amsterdam, he packed the necklace up himself and put it in the safe. Then, the following day, just before my taxi arrived to take me to the airport, Mr Bailey opened the safe and gave me the package. Kirk had checked up and found that my plane was due to land about twenty minutes before his, so he asked me to wait for him by the main reception desk—'

  'And you were waiting there when you got the message to say he'd been delayed and you were to go on?'

  'What did you do then?'

  'I went to get a taxi.'

  'And that's when your bag was snatched?'

  'Yes.'

  He laughed harshly. 'My dear Francesca, do you really expect me to believe that cock and bull story?'.

  'It happens to be the truth.'

  'Oh, yes, I know your bag was snatched, but wasn't the whole thing just a put-up job to account for the necklace being missing? So that the most anyone could accuse either of you of was negligence?'

  'No, it wasn't—'

  'Oh, come on! You know as well as I do that you never had the necklace in the first place. You were covering up for Varley.'

  "That's where you're wrong—'

  'But I'm afraid, my sweet, that you made two big mistakes. In the first place you took the whole thing far too calmly. You didn't even report the theft, did you?'

  'No.'

  'Why not?'

  'I didn't want to be held up for ages. You see, I—'

  'It would have been a damn sight more convincing if you'd had hysterics and called Airport Security, as anyone who was supposed to have had a priceless necklace stolen would have done.

  'In the second place you said nothing to me. When I asked you about the necklace you tried to pretend that everything would be fine when Varley got here. If you'd really had it stolen—'

  'But I hadn't,' she cried. 'I said I was carrying the necklace, but I never said it had been stolen. If you'd only stop and listen to me...'

  His grey eyes narrowed on her face. 'Okay, I'm listening,' he said curtly. 'And believe me it had better be good.'

  'Though Kirk had assured me there was no risk, I was terribly nervous about carrying something so precious in a handbag. I kept wondering if there wasn't a safer way... By the time I got to the airport, I'd made up my mind. I went into the Ladies', took it out of its case and put it on under my dress, which luckily buttons up to the neck. The scarf was useful for hiding any telltale outline...'

  'Well, I'll be damned!' he said admiringly. Then, sharply, 'So where is it now? What did you do with it?'

  'I wasn't sure what to do with it,' she admitted. 'I didn't want to just leave it lying around in my room, so I decided to let it stay where it was until Kirk got here.'

  'You mean you're still wearing it?'

  'Yes. I—I hope you don't mind.'

  She took off the wisp of scarf, undid the top two buttons of her dress, and reached to unfasten the necklace.

  As she fumbled with the safety catch, he said, 'Let me... No, don't get up...'

  Suddenly he was standing over her, much too close for comfort. As he released the catch his fingers brushed the warmth of her nape, making her s
hiver.

  Lifting the glittering necklace free, he held it between his long, well-shaped hands while he studied the new design.

  The setting was light, almost delicate, but Fran had grouped the rubies in threes, giving them maximum impact and making them look like exotic flowers.

  'I hope you like it?' she queried nervously, while, her own hands not quite steady, she refastened her buttons.

  'It's absolutely exquisite,' Blaze said slowly. 'You have real talent.'

  'Thank you." She was absurdly pleased by his praise.

  Turning those brilliant eyes on her, he demanded, 'Tell me something. Why didn't you give it to me sooner?'

  She stated the obvious. 'As owner of the firm, I thought Kirk should be the one to hand it over and complete the business.'

  'And wasn't there another reason?'

  'Another reason?'

  'Weren't you...disinclined, shall we say, to let on that you'd been carrying it?'

  It wasn't safe to think while he was in the same room. 'Yes,' she admitted reluctantly. 'Having had my bag snatched...'

  'Yes, it wasn't much of a recommendation for Varley's plan. I take it the snatch was genuine?'

  'Yes, it was,' she said shortly. And could only be grateful for the impulse that had made her decide not to carry the necklace in her bag, as Kirk had suggested.

  'You didn't seem to be too upset, which rather made me wonder.'

  A trifle tartly, she told him, 'Having my purse, credit cards, chequebook and driving licence stolen wasn't my idea of fun, but their loss faded into insignificance compared to the necklace...'

  'Speaking of which, I'd better put this little bauble away.'

  'I'm sorry I don't have the box.'

  'A minor problem.' Blaze crossed to the fireplace and touched a hidden button, and to the right of the mantelpiece a section of panelling slid aside to reveal a small safe set in the wall.

  Taking out a soft grey leather pouch, he dropped the necklace into it. A moment later the safe door was closed and the panelling in place.

  As he turned back to her the grandfather clock in the hall began to strike eight. Blaze frowned. 'If the other two don't get here soon, it looks as though we'll be having dinner à deux.'

  Shuddering at the thought, she prayed silently, and with great fervour, that the missing pair would turn up without further delay.

  The prospect of a meal and maybe an evening alone with Blaze was daunting, to say the least. He wasn't a comfortable companion—she was far too aware of him, and the memory of all that lay between them was a traumatic one. For her at any rate...

  'You mentioned wanting to shower and change.' Blaze's voice broke into her thoughts.

  'Yes. Yes, I do,' she said, rising to her feet with more than usual care.

  He never missed a thing. 'How is your ankle? Can you make it up to your room? Or would you like me to carry you?'

  Just the thought of lying in his arms made her go hot all over. 'No!' Then, more moderately, 'No, thank you, I'll be fine.'

  'If you're sure?'

  'I'm sure.'

  'In that case I'll leave you to it. Will twenty minutes be long enough?'

  At her nod, he suggested, "Then perhaps you'll join me for a pre-dinner drink on the terrace...? In this kind of weather I prefer to be outdoors whenever possible.'

  As he moved to touch the bell she turned to escape, afraid he'd change his mind and insist on carrying her.

  Ignoring the stabs of pain, she hobbled across the hall and began to climb the stairs, favouring her injured ankle as much as possible.

  To add to her troubles her right side was starting to stiffen up, and the inevitable bruises were making themselves felt. By the time she reached her room she was bathed in a cold dew of perspiration.

  Standing stork-like whenever practicable, she took off her clothes and showered, ruefully noting the dark bruising on her right hip and arm.

  Dried and scented, Fran donned fresh undies and a simple cocktail dress with shoestring straps. She would have preferred to hide the bruises on her arm, but both the evening dresses she'd brought were sleeveless.

  She never wore bright lipstick, just a touch of pale lip-gloss, and with a flawless complexion, and brows and lashes several shades darker than her hair, as a rule she needed little or no other make-up.

  But now, standing in front of the mirror, she made up with care, partly to disguise her paleness and partly to boost her morale, before starting to take her hair into its usual neat coil.

  While her hands mechanically performed the routine tasks, she wondered for the umpteenth time where on earth Kirk could be.

  Once again the thought returned to haunt her that he might have had an accident of some kind. It would explain why there had been no message...

  No! She mustn't start imagining the worst.

  But if he was all right why hadn't he at least called to make sure she had got the necklace there safely, and explain his own absence? It was strange and disturbing.

  And there was another thing that was equally strange and disturbing. If Kirk had known full well that Blaze was meeting all the security costs, why hadn't he used Rayburns rather than take the slightest risk?

  If she'd left the necklace in her handbag...

  But thank the Lord she hadn't.

  It was a great relief to have finally handed it over and know it was no longer her responsibility. And at least by producing it she'd managed to allay some of Blaze's wilder suspicions.

  Realising her twenty minutes were almost up, she hurriedly finished pinning her hair and, praying that at least one of the missing two had turned up, set off down the stairs.

  Grimacing at each step, she battled on, using the polished banister to take as much of her weight as possible.

  So intent was she that she had almost reached the hall before she realised that Blaze was standing at the foot of the stairs watching her.

  He was wearing a well-cut dinner jacket, a white evening shirt and a black bow tie; he looked handsome, charismatic, and distinctly vexed.

  Grimly, he observed, 'I see you'd rather suffer than ask for help.'

  "Thank you, but I don't need any help.' She was better at standing on her dignity than her feet.

  He gave her a look of exasperation, 'Well, at least take my arm.'

  Reluctantly she obeyed, and found herself glad of its support until she was able to hobble on to the terrace and sink into one of the reclining chairs.

  Overhead the sky was a clear blue grazed with purple, the sprinkling of stars looking close enough to touch.

  Anxiety making Fran blind to the beauty of the evening, she voiced the question uppermost in her mind. 'Have either of the others arrived?'

  Hearing the forlorn hope, he said sardonically, 'No, I'm afraid you're stuck with me. However, I'll do my best to make sure you're not bored.'

  To Fran's anxious ears the words sounded more like a threat than a promise.

  Playing the role of polite host, he crossed to the drinks trolley and asked, 'Now, what will you have?'

  Playing the role of polite guest, she answered, 'A dry sherry, please.'

  'How very proper of you.'

  His teasing smile made her heart lurch. 'I happen to like dry sherry.' She was aware she sounded defensive.

  'If I remember rightly, you used to prefer a cocktail—something more laid-back and exotic.'

  Refusing to let his mockery throw her, she said coolly, 'My tastes have altered since then. Of course, if you haven't got any dry sherry...'

  'Don't worry, I'm quite sure I can provide anything you want.'

  Trying to ignore the mocking gleam in his eye, she asked, 'I don't suppose there were any messages?'

  Lifting the decanter, he filled two sherry glasses with the pale amber liquid and handed her one, before answering, 'None. Which isn't like Melinda. Though she's seldom, if ever, on time, she usually manages to keep in touch. If for some reason she's changed her mind and decided not to come until tomorrow, I'm su
rprised she hasn't let me know.'

  'Can't you phone her?' Fran asked practically.

  'Before I went up to shower I tried calling her hotel, but she wasn't in her room. The receptionist on the desk told me she'd gone out, after a phone call from a man.'

  Drily, he added, 'If I didn't know how attached she is to the good life, I might be worried.'

  'But you're not?'

  Blaze shook his head. 'Money can buy pretty well anything. Including a faithful wife.'

  His chiselled lips twisted into a smile. 'Now you're going to say money can't buy love, but if you remember I did qualify it by saying pretty well anything. I'm under no illusions that Melinda loves me. I don't want her to.

  'As I've said before, what I do want is a beautiful, passionate lover, a good-tempered, stimulating companion, and a mother for my children. She's willing to be all of those in return for a life of luxury...'

  His eyes narrowed on Fran's transparent face. 'You seem to have some grave misgivings?'

  She bit her lip, and, fighting down the impulse to tell him what Melinda had said about children, sidestepped the issue. 'It's really none of my business. The only thing that concerns me is that you and Miss Ross should be satisfied with my work.'

  'I'm sure she will be...'

  As he finished speaking, the young maid appeared to announce that dinner was ready.

  Blaze nodded. 'We'll be in directly. Oh, and Hannah, please see that the doors to the living room and the dining room are left open.'

  She gave a little bob of acknowledgement, and departed.

  Turning to Fran, Blaze relieved her of her glass, and, before she could attempt to argue, stooped and lifted her with what seemed to be effortless ease.

  Tm sure you could make it on foot, but we don't want the soup to get cold, do we?'

  Her heart seemed to miss a beat, and, made breathless by the strength of his arms and the contact with his muscular body, she made no attempt to answer.

  As he carried her through the hall Mortimer appeared. Just for an instant the butler's face registered surprise.

  'Miss Holt has ricked her ankle,' Blaze paused to explain blandly.

  Something about the way he spoke, a hint of amusement in that deep, attractive voice rattled her even further. A quick glance at her tormentor convinced Fran he was enjoying himself. Hot and angry, she clenched her teeth.