Substitute Fiancee

by Lee Wilkinson

  Then, taking the stole, he moved behind her to put it around her shoulders, at the same time stooping to touch his lips to the vulnerable spot where her neck and shoulder joined.

  The caress made a little shiver run through her, and heightened the sexual tension which still gripped them both.

  One of his hands went round her waist to draw her against him while the other slid beneath her chin and tilted her head back. His mouth was only inches from hers when his mobile phone began to bleep.

  He muttered, 'Damn!' and, straightening, drew it from his pocket.

  Moving away, she watched his face as he answered curtly, 'Balantyne... Yes... Yes, I see... Where...? You're quite sure...? Excellent... Yes, I'll be there... Twenty minutes... Half an hour at the most..."

  His grey eyes were bright, the set of his dark head alert, and she could sense both a leashed excitement and a steely purpose behind his quietly controlled manner.

  Dropping the small phone back into his pocket, he said, 'I hope you don't mind, but our dinner venue has changed.'

  'No, I don't mind at all' she assured him, and waited for him to tell her where they were going and why the change of plan.

  But with no further explanation he hurried her out of the penthouse, across the luxurious foyer, and into the lift.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THEY were just crossing the main lobby when a taxi drew up outside to deposit some guests.

  'Just what we need,' Blaze said with satisfaction. He signalled to the driver, gave an address Fran didn't catch and, having handed her in, jumped in beside her.

  As they headed west, he added, "This will be more convenient than taking the car.'

  'Where are we going?' she asked.

  'The Royal George. It's a small hotel not far from Kensington High Street.'

  He didn't volunteer any further information, and, though puzzled by the sudden change of location, she didn't ask for any.

  As they headed for Kensington in the gathering dusk, shop windows made the pavements bright, and street lamps glowed orange against the deep blue of the sky. There were few pedestrians about, and even the traffic was fairly light.

  The Royal George was in Newlands Street, a quiet cul-de-sac. Once a handsome private house, now a hotel with a porticoed entrance, it displayed a board with gold lettering advising that the Georgian Room was open to nonresidents.

  At first glance it didn't strike Fran as the kind of place that Blaze would favour, but clearly she was wrong.

  Having helped her out of the taxi, he had a low-toned conversation with the driver before escorting her up the steps and across the wine-red carpeted lobby to the Georgian Room.

  Its decor was early nineteen-hundreds and unappealing, with dark walls and heavy lampshades, while the atmosphere was stifling in its respectability.

  Fran wasn't in the least surprised to see that there were only two tables occupied.

  One was close to the door, and as they walked past it a middle-aged couple—a woman with crimped grey hair and a balding man—paused in their discussion of what to have for dessert to glance up at them.

  The other was at the far side of the room, in a gloomy alcove partially screened by a collection of dejected-looking aspidistras.

  A hand beneath her elbow, Blaze led Fran across the room and over to the table in the alcove, where another couple were eating in silence.

  Fran was still staring at the pair in stunned disbelief when Blaze said smoothly, 'Good evening. I hope you don't mind if we join you?'

  The man and the woman looked up, startled. As both faces reflected shock and dismay Blaze added conversationally, 'I wouldn't have thought this place was quite your style.'

  Melinda was easily the first to recover. 'Nor yours, Edward darling.'

  Blaze smiled grimly. 'It seems we all had a special reason for coming here.'

  Sitting quite still, his shoulders hunched defensively, Kirk looked for all the world like someone who had just received a fist in the solar plexus.

  Melinda glanced from one man to the other, and with a poise that in the circumstances Fran was forced to admire, said coolly, 'I don't believe you two men have met. Kirk, this is Edward Balantyne...Edward, Kirk Varley...'

  'Forgive me if I don't shake hands,' Blaze said, more than a hint of contempt in his voice.

  Pulling out a chair, he pressed Fran into it before taking the remaining seat.

  As he settled himself an elderly waiter appeared and presented them each with a menu. Having given his a cursory glance, Blaze looked up to ask, 'Is there anything you can recommend?'

  Looking quite pleased to be consulted, the waiter suggested, 'At the moment we have a French chef whose speciality is Coquilles Saint-Jacques...'

  'Francesca?' Blaze raised an enquiring brow.

  Her voice having deserted her, she nodded.

  'Coquilles Saint-Jacques it is, then, and a bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé.'

  When the waiter had gone, Melinda, who seemed determined to treat the whole thing lightly, asked, 'So how did you know we'd be here?'

  'How do you think?'

  'Oh, dear! And we felt sure we'd given that odious little man the slip when we stopped at a service station. I guess there must have been more than one of them?'

  "The agency was learning from past mistakes.'

  'Why were you having us followed?'

  'I'm sure I don't need to tell you.'

  Carefully, she said, 'I presume you have the necklace?'

  'Yes, it was delivered safely.'

  'What do you mink of it?'

  'The design is beautiful. It's a pity the stones aren't real.'

  She sighed. 'Kirk said it wouldn't take you long to spot a fake.' Then, looking at Fran for the first time, she asked, 'Just for curiosity, how did it come to be delivered safely?'

  'I wasn't happy about carrying it.' To Fran's surprise, her voice sounded almost normal. 'So I decided to wear it.'

  Jumping to his feet, Kirk snarled, 'You stupid little bitch! If you'd done as you were told, none of this would have happened. Why in hell's name couldn't you—?'

  'That's enough!' Though quiet, Blaze's voice cracked like a whip. 'I'd strongly advise you to sit down.'

  When the other man had sunk back into his seat, he added coldly, 'And mind what you're saying in future. If you speak to Francesca like that again, I'll break your neck.'

  'There's no need to get angry, darling,' Melinda reproved him. 'You can't blame Kirk for being upset. All his plans have gone wrong, and frankly the whole thing has turned into a nightmare that I would rather not be involved in...'

  Blaze gave her a straight look. 'I haven't the faintest doubt that you planned everything together. So it's a bit late to try and come the innocent.'

  Melinda pouted at him prettily. 'Darling, how ungallant of you. And as a matter of fact it was...' She was interrupted by the waiter bringing a bottle of chilled Pouilly-Fuissé.

  Almost as soon as Blaze had tried it, nodded his approval and indicated that four wine glasses were to be poured, the coquilles arrived.

  'If you would like to carry on with your own meal?' he suggested to the others.

  But no one, it seemed, had any appetite.

  'I'd like to get out of this place.' For the first time Melinda sounded edgy. 'It gives me the heebie-jeebies. We only booked in here because Kirk thought somewhere like this would be safer than sitting around at the airport... Safer. That's a laugh!' she added bitterly.

  'So when were you thinking of leaving?' Blaze enquired smoothly.

  Kirk gave her a warning glance.

  'Oh, what's the use of trying to kid ourselves?' she demanded irritably. 'You know as well as I do that the game's up.'

  Raising her glass to Blaze, she took a sip, then, reverting to her former manner, said almost flippantly, 'We'd planned to leave very early in the morning for fresh fields and pastures new.'

  'Such as?'

  'Can't you guess?'

  'South America?'

  'B
razil. Rio de Janeiro, to be exact. I've always wanted to live and love in Rio.'

  'How did you manage the fare?'

  She grimaced ruefully. Tm afraid I was forced to part with your wedding present. I didn't get anywhere near what the Porsche was worth, but it would have been enough to tide us over until...'

  'Until you could sell the rubies?'

  She lifted slim shoulders in a shrug. 'I never could see the point of having precious stones that just lie in a bank vault.'

  'Possibly not, but I must point out that they aren't yours to sell. They're part of a Balantyne family tradition—'

  'But darling, you told me you'd lived most of your life in the States. I don't believe you give a hoot for the Balantyne family traditions.'

  'That's where you're wrong. Having taken over the Balantyne estate I think the least I can do is carry on as my father would have wished.'

  'How incredibly stuffy,' she scoffed. 'You don't really intend to follow things through to the letter, do you?'

  'Yes.'

  She widened her eyes. 'You're going to let your bride wear the rubies, and then, when the wedding's over, put them away for twenty years until the next generation want to marry?'

  "That's exactly what I'm going to do,' he assured her icily.

  Shrewdly, she changed tack. 'Well, if you feel so strongly about it, I'm sorry I wasn't there to wear them at the party as planned...'

  When he made no comment, she went on, 'I suppose when you weren't able to produce either a fiancée or the rubies you had to cancel it?'

  'Not at all. Everything went ahead as arranged.'

  A flicker of surprise in her blue eyes, she asked, 'How did you explain my absence?'

  'I didn't. As no one had ever met you, I simply found myself another fiancée.'

  There was a brief silence, then, showing how quickwitted she was, Melinda looked at Fran and said consideringly, 'I don't want to sound rude, but you don't look the kind that could carry it off—'

  'There again you're wrong,' Blaze cut in evenly. 'Francesca carried it off magnificently.'

  'And I suppose she wore the fake rubies?'

  'They were good enough to pass muster.'

  'So no one knows about...?' She let the question tail off.

  'I haven't yet informed the police, if that's what you mean.'

  At the mention of the word police Melinda's confidence faltered a little. 'I hope that won't be necessary?'

  'It all depends.'

  'On what?'

  'On how quickly I get the rubies back, for one thing.'

  Melinda's beautiful face took on a calculating look, and, making it quite obvious what she meant, she asked, 'Are the rubies the only thing you want back?'

  There was a pregnant pause, and at least three of the people round the table held their breath.

  Blaze's grey eyes flicked from one to another of the waiting faces before he answered calmly, 'No, they're not.'

  Kirk lost colour, Fran, her heart feeling as though it was being squeezed by a giant fist, stared blindly at her untouched plate; Melinda breathed an audible sigh of relief.

  After a moment she asked slyly, 'Do I take it you haven't cancelled the wedding?'

  'No, I haven't cancelled the wedding.'

  'So if you were to get the rubies back straight away everything could go ahead as arranged...'

  'It could,' he agreed. 'But in view of what's happened, I'm not—'

  'I can understand how you feel,' she broke in hastily, 'and I really don't blame you for being angry.'

  "That's nice of you.' The sarcasm was blistering. . 'But as I tried to tell you earlier,' she persisted, 'the whole thing was Kirk's idea...'

  Kirk made as if to protest, then fell silent, his fair, handsome face tired and beaten.

  Looking at the wreck of the man she had once thought she loved, Fran could only feel sorry for him.

  'If I'd had any sense I would never have gone along with it,' Melinda went on. 'But it was one of those sudden and powerful attractions, and I'm afraid I lost my head... I'm sorry now that I behaved so stupidly—'

  'I bet you are.'

  Brushing aside the interruption, she went on with the easy confidence of a woman sure of herself and her own beauty, 'But it's not too late. After all, there's no real harm been done, is there? So if you want to go on as if nothing has happened...?'

  Before Blaze could speak, Kirk said, an ugly look appearing on his face, 'Just a word of warning. Before you decide to take her back, there's something you ought to know. Try asking her—'

  Losing her cool, Melinda turned on him furiously. 'Why don't you keep out of this?'

  Suddenly he was pleading. 'Don't go back to him, Mel... You said you loved me... We're much better suited, and you know it...' He seized her hand. 'Everything I tried to do was for us...'

  Pulling her hand free, she said trenchantly, 'You must be mad if you think I've the slightest intention of staying with a penniless bankrupt who could well end up in prison.'

  'If I go to prison I'll take damn good care that I don't go alone—'

  'Instead of making threats,' Blaze broke in curtly, 'suppose you tell me what you think I should be asking Melinda?'

  'Ask her whether she ever really intended to have your children.*

  Blaze's grey eyes narrowed on Melinda's beautiful, heart-shaped face. 'Well?'

  'Of course I did, darling,' she assured him. 'You know quite well it was part of our contract, and I would have kept to it—'

  'She's lying,' Kirk burst out hoarsely. Then, with something like desperation, 'You tell him, Fran. You were there when she admitted she had no intention of ever having children.'

  Blaze turned to look at Fran.

  Feeling sick inside, she shook her head mutely. She wanted no part of it. If he was prepared to take Melinda back after all that had happened he must want her very badly indeed. And now he'd been warned it was up to him.

  Melinda turned to Blaze, her smile blatantly triumphant. 'You see, darling? Kirk's jealous... He was just trying to make trouble.'

  Reaching across the table, she put a possessive hand on Blaze's sleeve. 'Now, if you can forget about these last few days I'm prepared to go ahead and marry you as planned.'

  His answering smile as glittering and dangerous as a knife-blade, he said, 'How very noble of you! It's too bad I've already found myself another bride.'

  'Another bride?' All the sparkle died from her face, making her look suddenly older and plain. 'Who?'

  'I'm planning to marry Francesca, on the grounds that fair exchange is no robbery...'

  It was a toss-up which of the two women was the most surprised.

  'Though in this case I'm satisfied that I'm getting the best of the deal by far.'

  Rallying a little, Melinda cried, 'I don't believe it. You're pulling my leg.'

  When, his expression steely, he merely looked at her, she objected, 'But you've only known each other three days, and she's not your type at all.'

  'I'm afraid you're wrong on both counts. Francesca and I met more than three years ago, and she's exactly my type.'

  'But you said the rubies weren't the only thing you wanted back...'

  'Nor are they. I'd like you to return my engagement ring.' Silently he held out his hand.

  After hesitating for a second, Melinda reluctantly removed the ring and dropped it into his palm. Real venom in her tone, she snapped, 'I suppose you want it back so you can give it to her?'

  'No,' Blaze answered evenly, 'I want it back because it happens to be another family heirloom. Francesca already has a ring.' Reaching for Fran's hand, he displayed the half-hoop of moonstones.

  Refusing to look at it, Melinda begged, 'I need to talk to you alone. Please, darling. There's something I must tell you, something I want you to know...'

  'Later, perhaps. First things first.'

  Taking an object from his pocket, he tossed it across the table to Kirk, who caught it in a reflex action. 'Just to even things up. You'll no dou
bt want that back.'

  Fran realised it was her ring. So much had happened since Blaze had taken it from her finger that she hadn't given it a thought.

  As Kirk stared down at the modest solitaire, Blaze suggested, 'Perhaps, while you're still a free man, you'd like to ask Melinda if she wants it?'

  Then, his smile derisive, he added, "Though I very much doubt if it's...shall we say...princely enough to make her change her mind.'

  Fran looked from Kirk's hopeless face to Blaze's relentless one, and shivered. Judging by that, 'while you're still a free man', it seemed as though he did mean to call the police after all...

  Unable to stand any more of his cat-and-mouse games, she rose to her feet.

  Taking in her paleness, her air of quiet desperation, Blaze said, 'I still have several things to settle, but I asked the taxi to wait, so it might be as well if you go back now...'

  Picking up her stole, he arranged it around her shoulders. 'I suggest you have a nice relaxing bath and get to bed early. Don't bother to wait up for me.'

  Bending his head, his lips brushing her ear, he added, 'I don't want my bride to be too tired to enjoy her wedding night.'

  Though his manner was intimate, his voice, Fran realised, had been pitched so that Melinda could hear.

  Don't get mad, get even... Fran bit her lip.

  A hand at her waist, he urged her towards the door. Leaving Melinda and Kirk sitting at the table, she went without a word. After all, what was there to say?

  The window table was empty now, but the middle-aged couple who had occupied it earlier were standing in the lobby, looking at a range of leaflets giving details of shows and London attractions.

  They turned and glanced at Blaze, who nodded silently before escorting Fran down the steps.

  When they reached the street he lifted his hand, and the taxi, which had been waiting at the end of the cul-de-sac, drew up alongside the kerb.

  Having put her into it, he produced one of the penthouse keys. 'You'll need this...' Then, handing the driver some notes, he directed, 'Back to the Empire Park, please.'

  Before she could ask him what he planned to do, or how long he'd be, the door slammed and the taxi moved away.