by Lucy Ellis
The noise level from the bar shifted up a notch. Sybella flinched as one of the crowd dropped a glass and there was some laughter.
‘Try and keep the noise level down,’ Nik advised. ‘This isn’t New York. It’s a family pub in a small village.’
‘How quaint.’ Finally Marla’s dark eyes dwelt on her for a moment and Sybella realised she might be coming under the ‘quaint’ umbrella. Well, that was one for the books. Marla Mendez saw her as a threat.
Nik looked unimpressed. ‘Why don’t your people call me when you get back to New York, Marla, and we’ll set something up?’
‘Oh, no, you will have dinner with me, Nikolai Voronov. This is non-negotiable. I need your advice. Besides, I want you to show me this house of yours.’
Nik said something sharply in Spanish. Marla responded and then made a gesture at her that Sybella was pretty sure went along the lines of, Lose the local…come and play with me.
Sybella didn’t know what came over her. But Nik hadn’t introduced them, Ms Mendez was being very rude and Nik not much better, and frankly she wasn’t going to spend another second sitting here like a gooseberry. She plonked her glass out of the way, leaned across the table, took Nik’s face between her hands and kissed him. For a moment as she leaned in she saw his eyes flicker with surprise but he sure as hell kissed her back.
Then she melted back into her seat, straightened her dress and angled up her chin at Marla.
‘Nik can’t have dinner with you,’ she said firmly, and her voice didn’t wobble a bit, ‘because he’s having dinner with me.’
‘Marla Mendez,’ Nik said, amusement lacing his voice, ‘this is Sybella Parminter.’
Nik’s belated introduction was hardly necessary. She had all of Marla’s attention now. ‘Sybella,’ Marla said, those dark brown eyes acknowledging her at last. ‘I am staying at Lark House. Do you know it?’
‘I know of it. It’s an estate several miles from here,’ Sybella said, looking at Nik. ‘The Eastmans own it.’
‘Yes, Benedict and Emma,’ said Marla. ‘They are having a party. You can both come, yes?’ Suddenly she was beaming at Sybella as if they were friends.
‘No party,’ said Nik decisively.
‘I’d love to go to a party at Lark House.’ Sybella found herself staring down a Famous Woman who didn’t have thighs and feeling amazingly good about herself. Certainty was rolling through her and with that came confidence.
There was nothing between Nik and this woman, not even a speck of sexual tension, and Sybella felt oddly freed by it. She wasn’t that twenty-two-year-old bride any more, feeling as if she didn’t measure up. It was as if she’d cut the cord on the spectre of the other woman who had haunted her brief marriage. Only she suspected now that other woman had been the Sybella who was sitting here now, claiming what she wanted.
She’d never felt able to assert herself with Simon for fear of losing the place he’d made for her here in Edbury when he’d brought her home as his wife.
Whatever was between her and Nik, it wasn’t about this woman thrusting herself into the middle of their intimate conversation.
She and Nik didn’t have a problem. They just had an interruption to their lunch.
Phones had appeared stuck up in the air all around the pub, angled to take pictures. Sybella guessed at least as a non-celebrity she’d probably be lopped out of any shots that appeared on the Internet.
‘We will have such a good time!’ Marla put her hands on her hips and swivelled to face Nik. ‘I will let you out of dinner, but invite me down to your yacht in Nice this year for Cannes and I will forgive you.’
‘There’s always an open invitation.’
As Marla retreated to her table on the far side of the room people actually got up and followed her.
Nik leaned forward, the bored look on his face during Marla’s performance replaced by real concern.
‘Prohshu prahshehnyah. I apologise, Sybella. I didn’t know she’d be here.’
‘Clearly. She followed you, darling, all the way to the wilds of Gloucestershire.’
Nik scanned her face. ‘She didn’t bother you?’
‘No, but she’s chomping at the bit to bother you. Luckily you’ll let her on your yacht. Even if it is only this big.’ She inched her thumb and index finger apart to show him.
Nik was observing her as if she’d turned into some species of wild animal he’d never met with before but fascinated him.
‘Do you really want to go to this party?’ He was looking at her mouth and Sybella, already stirred up by that kiss and her little flag-raising exercise over this man, could feel her erogenous zones jumping up to meet him.
‘The Eastmans own the most beautiful stately home in the county,’ she insisted. ‘Of course I want to go to that party.’
He leaned forward. ‘What would you like to do after the party?’
Right now her thighs were liquid and her nipples tight and she knew exactly what she wanted to do after the party and she guessed he did too.
If she were free to do it she would have dragged him into the coat room and made love to him within earshot of the entire pub. Only, she wasn’t free to follow her instincts. Her mother-in-law would be back at any moment with her five-year-old daughter and that kiss was the best she could do with what she had to hand.
Instead she asked, ‘What on earth do the two of you have in common?’
‘Marla came to me for business advice.’ Nik’s thick lashes had screened his eyes and he sat back, and Sybella got the feeling he wasn’t telling her the entire truth.
‘You mine for minerals. She models lingerie. It must have been an interesting conversation.’
He looked almost weary for a moment and Sybella shifted forward. ‘What’s wrong, Nik?’
‘She has a son,’ he said unexpectedly, ‘a few years older than Fleur, and she pretty much stocks her entourage with her family.’ He frowned as if this bothered him. ‘I think the two of you would probably get on well—if you could put up with the theatrics.’
‘And you can’t?’ But her feelings softened. Single motherhood wasn’t easy—for anyone.
‘It’s business, Sybella. She wants to design what she models and she has a very savvy designer on her payroll who happens to be her sister. I’m the money. Full stop. I’m expecting to see a tidy profit from this transaction, which interests me much more than seeing Marla socially.’
Nik knew then if he told Sybella about the other woman’s impromptu striptease ending with her in his lap, even if it was a week before he drove into Edbury, it wouldn’t go down well. Not after the story she’d told him about her husband and another girl.
No, Marla needed to keep her clothes on and to stay at the end of a long boardroom table and Sybella could never know the truth of just what his plans were for this small business venture. To use it and close it.
Because she was looking at him with those clear, frank green-brown eyes, and he knew she wouldn’t understand.
He touched his hands to hers.
‘What are you thinking, moya krasvitsa zhenschina?’
‘I imagine being your girlfriend would involve more of this kind of thing, with other contenders for the title.’
Nik stroked the length of her thumb with his. She dropped her gaze to their joined hands.
‘There are no other contenders.’ He spoke softly, his voice roughened by the crackle of sexual tension in the air.
Meaning she was the one? Sybella guessed she had just declared something when she kissed him in front of, not only Marla Mendez, but the rest of The Folly Inn.
‘But I told you once before, I can be an eminently shallow man.’ He had lowered his voice. ‘Because you do know I’m thinking about that roller-coaster ride from your delicate throat down to your slender ankles, and the place that probably thrills me most is when it reaches the lush promise of your lovely, voluptuous bottom.’
Sybella expelled a hot little breath and wondered if that coat closet idea was com
pletely bonkers.
He put his hand under her chin and lifted it so she had to look at him.
‘I flew back from Montenegro to take you to lunch because try as I might I couldn’t keep away.’
That awful week of not knowing was suddenly at the forefront of her mind. ‘But why did you try?’
They both heard Fleur’s voice on the perimeter of their table and Nik raised a brow to signify the reason.
Fleur?
Sybella was suddenly a little confused. He’d kept away because she had responsibilities? Because she had a child?
She tried to pull herself together and look cheerful and composed for her daughter, but her head was pounding with the idea Nik found Fleur a stumbling block to their relationship.
Not that it even was a relationship. At the moment it was all very up in the air.
She tried to focus on what her daughter was saying.
‘Mummy, Grandma says after tomorrow the ice rink will be closed. You promised and we never got to go!’
Ice rink? Sybella gave an internal groan. She had promised. She was the world’s worst mother. ‘We’ll go next year, poppet.’
Fleur’s lower lip trembled.
‘Where is this ice rink?’ Nik’s deep voice had both Parminter girls turning their heads to look at him in surprise.
‘Belfort Castle opens a rink every year from November through January,’ Sybella explained. ‘We missed it last year too.’ She turned back to her unhappy daughter. ‘Mummy is so sorry, darling.’
‘Where is this castle?’
Sybella blinked. ‘Half an hour west.’
Why was Nik asking all these questions? Couldn’t he see it only gave Fleur more of a platform to agonise over it? But then, he knew nothing about children. He clearly didn’t want to know anything about her daughter.
‘We can do this now,’ he said.
Fleur’s quivering lip disappeared under her gapped front teeth. She gave a tremulous little squeal. ‘Mummy, Mummy, please. Pleeeease.’
‘If your mother’s agreeable,’ he added, and suddenly Sybella’s own platform for agonising collapsed.
He was making an effort. For her daughter.
‘I think that would be lovely.’ She gazed at him, feeling a lot of stuff that she’d have to shelve for the moment.
‘What would be lovely?’ asked Catherine as she reached the table.
‘Ice-skating, Grandma!’ Fleur was looking up at Nik as if he might pull a rabbit out of a hat for her. Sybella was aware she was doing much the same.
‘Wonderful.’ Catherine sat down, drawing Fleur up onto her knee. ‘Will any of this involve Fleur spending some time with Marcus and me tonight while you take Sybella to dinner?’
‘Catherine—’
‘Da, if you would,’ Nik interrupted her smoothly. ‘I’m taking Sybella to a party.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE RINK IN FRONT of Belfort Castle glowed with fairy lights as the afternoon dwindled.
Nik parked the SUV and waited for the girls to organise themselves.
On the drive Fleur, buckled up in the back in her child’s seat, chattered nonstop about various skating adventures she’d had. From the sounds of it she was the local Edbury skating queen.
‘Great, so she’ll be okay on the ice?’ Nik queried as they approached the boardwalk where they could sit down and put on their skates.
The ice rink was swarming with couples and family groups.
‘Fleur’s never been skating,’ said Sybella with a small smile.
‘Okay, then what was the story about winning the race and her friend tripping up and breaking her wrist?’
‘Fleur likes to make things up and they usually involve her friend Xanthe breaking something.’ Sybella stood up, getting her balance. ‘She has an active imagination. I don’t discourage it.’
Fleur was dancing up to them now, wanting her mother to put her skates on.
He circled Sybella and Fleur on the rink, keeping an eye on the other skaters as Fleur continually took spills. For the first time in his life he wasn’t entirely sure of his role here, but when Fleur toppled for the umpteenth time he leaned in and scooped her up before her bottom hit the ice.
She looked up at him with those big violet eyes, solemn as a church hymnal at this unexpected development, but as he set her on her feet again she kept hold of his hands and let him glide her along the ice. Sybella glided along behind them, applauding Fleur’s achievement at actually staying upright, and exchanged a smile with him.
It didn’t take long for Fleur to begin to flag and it was time to take her off the ice. She greeted his suggestion they go in search of hot chocolate happily enough.
They were standing a few yards from where Fleur was lined up to hand over the money to the lady behind the counter when he said without thinking it through, ‘Poor guy.’
Sybella was so busy going over what today had held and what it might mean, she was delayed in processing what Nik had said.
‘Who?’ She looked up at him, aware he’d slid his hand around her waist while she’d been watching Fleur. ‘Nik?’ She raised her eyes to his.
‘Poor guy, your Simon, not getting to enjoy any of this.’ He looked into her eyes as he said it and Sybella knew then he wasn’t going to tiptoe around the memory of her husband.
Thank God.
‘But that doesn’t mean you and Fleur can’t enjoy it,’ he said, proving he understood a great deal more than she was probably comfortable with.
Unaccountably a flood of hot, messy tears hit the backs of Sybella’s eyes and scalded her face before she could even think to blink them away, and then she was tucked up in his arms, her face, her whole body out of the elements and safe, warm, protected.
‘If it were me,’ he said in a deep voice, ‘I would want this. I would want the two of you to have this. It’s okay to move forward, Sybella.’
She nodded her head resolutely against his chest, relief making her a little light-headed. Then she tilted up her chin. ‘Why are you doing all of this with us?’
He shook his head at the inanity of the question. ‘Because you’ve let me.’ Then he fitted his mouth to hers and she felt it to her toes.
When she floated back up to take in air there was a stillness about Nik that warned her something wasn’t right. He was looking over her shoulder.
Sybella turned around.
Fleur was looking up at them, clutching her change.
‘What are you doing to my mummy?’
*
Later in the early evening, as she drove her daughter round to her grandparents, Sybella acknowledged Nik had handled her immediate descent into panic mode with considerable sangfroid, keeping his hand firmly around her waist and making Fleur see it was all right for him to show her mother affection.
It wasn’t as if Fleur hadn’t seen her grandparents being affectionate with one another, or Aunty Meg locked in a kiss with the odd boyfriend, all of which Fleur ignored with the lofty disregard of someone who was five and a half. But it was different when it was her mother.
Sybella understood. What surprised her was Nik had understood it better. He’d also handled it better. She’d underestimated him.
Fleur had picked up on what Nik had told her—I want to kiss your mama because she’s so nice—and when she’d seen Sybella in her frock and heels tonight she’d confided, ‘I think Nik will want to kiss you again, Mummy.’
Sybella couldn’t help thinking about her marriage as she drove back home.
If she’d had that time over she might not have come back to Simon, and she certainly wouldn’t have married him until she’d felt secure in their relationship. She’d been so young, and maybe that was partly why she’d stayed faithful to his memory, perhaps for too long.
Simon had never not been her friend, but Nik was something more. He was her lover.
Nik’s SUV was parked outside her house when she pulled up.
As she walked towards him his eyes told her everything she
wanted to hear.
He reached into his pocket and produced a bracelet that slithered through his hand.
‘I thought this would look well on you.’
He draped it over her wrist. The stones were small white diamonds. Sybella gave a soft gasp.
‘Nik, I can’t accept this. Diamonds?’
But he was trying to work the delicate silver catch with his big, blunt fingers and there was something about his lack of response and the concentration of his expression and his complete inability to finish the job that made her heart melt. This man who ran an empire was defeated by a delicate catch on a woman’s bracelet. God help her, she didn’t want to give it back, not when he was being so genuine.
‘Here,’ she said, handing him her evening bag, ‘let me fix it.’
She carefully gathered both ends between the fingertips of her right hand and slid the catch closed. Then she held up her arm to inspect its beautiful drape to the top of her forearm. It was exquisite.
‘You like it?’ He asked as if it mattered.
‘It’s beautiful. I don’t know what to say, Nik. No one’s ever given me such an expensive gift.’ She made a face. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned that, should I, the cost?’
‘I want you to be yourself, Sybella, and I want you to wear it, if you will.’
She stroked her bracelet and wished she had the courage to stroke his face and kiss him and take him upstairs to her new bed, but her newfound confidence of this afternoon seemed to have deserted her. Instead she took a deep breath.
‘Didn’t Marla say something about a party?’
*
Lark House was lit up like Christmas. It was also the closest stately home to Edbury Hall.
The owners were apparently happy to entertain the elusive Russian oligarch who was their nearest neighbour on such short notice.
Sybella loved this house. It had all the charm Edbury Hall did not, but, while it was open to the public for functions, it didn’t require the services of the Heritage Trust. It was very much a family home, even if that family consisted of two socialites and their grown-up children and was open to weddings and functions on weekends.