High on the list of reasons for his ongoing foul temper was the fact that he hadn’t been able to rid his mind of Elizabeth. She kept popping up like the proverbial bad penny at the least opportune moments: in the middle of high-level meetings. On the date he had had with a supermodel of the leggy-blonde format. In the middle of writing a report. Even at the gym, where he had lost concentration and remarkably ceded a pretty easy squash match to his partner.
Since when had he ever been the kind of guy who lost sleep over a woman? He had lost sleep over her, and he just didn’t get it. Had she put some kind of crazy spell on him? It felt like it. Except Andreas didn’t believe in crazy spells. God knew, it was a simple enough situation. Guy meets girl; guy distrusts girl; guy sleeps with girl; girl turns out to be liar, cheat and who knew what else? Guy makes his thoughts known and washes his hands of situation because no woman was worth the headache. Easy. Sorted. So why had she succeeded in taking up residence in his head like a squatter with no intention of clearing off? He couldn’t understand it.
And now this.
He scowled and stared out at a countryside that was moving past at dizzying speed and was barely visible under the cloak of darkness. He had instant and unpleasant recall of every word of the conversation he had had with his godfather the day before.
James had been on top of the world ever since Amanda’s startling revelation, and Andreas had endured so many conversations on the subject of his new-found lease of life that anyone would have been forgiven for thinking that his godfather had personally been the witness to a miracle of biblical proportions.
So it should have come as no surprise that trumpeting his happiness to the rest of the world would be on the agenda. Yet Andreas had been dumbfounded at James’s chipper announcement that he was having a bash, a rather substantial bash, to introduce his daughter to the great and the good.
‘I thought you had no time for the great and the good,’ Andreas had remarked, softening the clipped disapproval in his voice by adding, ‘You always maintained that they were a bunch of phonies only to be tolerated because of Portia and her never-ending social climbing.’
But apparently Elizabeth had changed all that.
‘I can’t wait to show off my beautiful girl,’ James had crowed with obvious glee. ‘I’m hoping you will make it to the party, Andreas. You and Elizabeth,’ he had continued slyly, ‘seemed so in tune with one another that I cannot believe that you haven’t been down already.’
‘It’s been a week, James, and I’ve had to hit the ground running here.’
Which was why he had excused himself from attending any party. Certainly events of that nature bored the living daylights out of him. So what the hell was he doing now, dressed to the nines like an advertisement for Italian tailoring, in his helicopter? He thought of Elizabeth luxuriating in the spotlight, despite all her protests about just wanting to get to know her father, and his scowl intensified. Of course he had planned on returning to Somerset, and had vaguely assumed that once his visit was announced Elizabeth would conveniently make herself scarce. Yet when he thought of her making herself scarce he was infuriatingly aware of a tightness in his chest that was close to a physical pain. He didn’t get it. He just knew that he had gone from being a man in total control of everything around him to a man driven by needs and cravings, that were making a nonsense of the cool-headed logic that was pivotal to his well-ordered universe.
‘Five minutes, sir.’
Andreas grunted. By the time he made it to the manor, the party would already be in full swing, and he had no doubt that Elizabeth would be living it up as the belle of the ball. For a girl from the wrong side of the tracks, she had suddenly hit the jackpot, and wouldn’t she be enjoying the experience?
Not to mention the thrill of mixing with the sons, nephews and friends of friends of the great and the good, among whom there was certainly a suitor in waiting.
Another little aside which James had confided almost as an afterthought at the end of their conversation.
‘I wouldn’t want her to become bored out here,’ James had said in a wistful voice, which was so unlike him that Andreas had had to bite back the urge to be sarcastic. ‘And what better way of staving off boredom for a girl than to have some suitable lad in the background?’
‘You don’t know any suitable lads,’ Andreas had felt compelled to point out as his mind grappled with the disconcerting vision of Elizabeth in bed with another man. He hadn’t bothered to conceal the sudden chill in his voice as jealousy had taken root, primitive, bone-breaking jealousy that made him clench his jaw in angry rejection.
‘But I know people who do! In fact, you’d be surprised,’ James had added smugly, ‘how many people want to come and see the wealthy hermit and his daughter. Nothing like a good scandal to get people crawling out of the woodwork! Dot’s been handling the whole thing, and never mind that it’s all last minute. Calendars are being cleared faster than you can say Bollinger! Never thought I’d be having so much fun at my ripe old age.’
A driver had been arranged to bring his car down from London and chauffeur him from air field to manor, but even in the back of the silent car—when Andreas could feasibly have used the down time to make a few business calls—he had found his mind too busily engaged in the situation that lay ahead.
It was ludicrous to think that Elizabeth would allow herself to be pushed into going on a series of dates with James’s idea of eligible bachelors. Andreas had met several of those over the years at parties, when Portia had been around, and they were usually neatly split into two categories: the chinless wonders with titles, and the pushy yuppies with money. He couldn’t credit that Elizabeth would find either appealing, but doubtless she would feel obliged to give them house room because she wouldn’t want to disappoint James.
That set his teeth on edge. To distract himself from his unpleasant train of thought, he fiddled with his phone, sliding his finger over the surface and idly scanning his address book—pausing fractionally when he got to Isobel’s name, but he had no inclination to call the newly acquired blonde. He wasn’t entirely sure what had possessed him to go on a date with her in the first place. She made great arm-candy but her conversation had been simpering, the date had been lukewarm and he was already aware that she would regrettably have to be jettisoned. He was finding it hard to remember those peaceful times when work had been everything and great arm-candy had been a revitalising tonic.
He stuck the phone back in his pocket and felt his incipient bad mood go up a notch as his limo began weaving slowly down the familiar country lanes that led to James’s house. Nor did it improve when the car turned the corner and he was rewarded with the sight of blazing lights, a courtyard festooned with outdoor heaters and massive urns of flowers and an array of cars that stretched around the rim of the courtyard and down the long lane that led up to the house. People were milling around outside, smoking. He was visibly reminded of the parties Portia used to give in her heyday, parties to which he had been invited only at James’s insistence: music, dancing, food, champagne, name-dropping and networking on a scale that would make your head spin.
‘Drop me here.’ He leaned forward to tap his driver on the shoulder. ‘And take the car back up to London. I’ll make my own way back.’
‘Are you sure, sir?’
‘The pub in the town does an excellent meal, and there are rooms there if you don’t want to make the trip tonight. Use my name and sign the bill.’ With that he let himself out of the car and seriously began to question the rashness of his decision to disobey his very logical, highly controlled streak which had told him to stay in London and let them both get on with the business of blazing her name in neon lights all over the county.
Elizabeth, just at that moment passing one of the windows that overlooked the courtyard and the long, straight avenue that led towards the lane at the end, missed the tall figure striding up to the house with his hands shoved into his pockets and a grim expression on his face.
This, even though she had been trying hard to find the whole thing exciting. James had ruefully told her that Andreas would not be attending, to which she had shrugged nonchalantly as though it mattered not in the slightest to her whether he attended or not. Then she had blown it by waspishly adding that he was probably way too busy living in the fast lane in London and probably sick to death of the countryside. To which James had countered, mildly, that her tone of bitterness was a little surprising, considering they seemed to have been getting along so brilliantly just before he left.
She began scouting around for her father. For someone who had made it his creed to avoid big parties at all costs, he seemed to be having a riotous time, catching up with old friends while holding court over all the local ones—including Dot, who had kindly sprung into action and arranged the whole affair. Since they had numerous friends and acquaintances in common, most of whom she had diligently kept in touch with over the years, the guest list had been easily compiled and had run into several dozen. Over a hundred, in fact. She snatched at a passing tray, helping herself to another glass of champagne and a canapé, and heaved a small sigh of resignation as Toby Gilbert weaved his way towards her.
Would she ever have met a guy like Toby Gilbert if she hadn’t entered this strange, elite world via the side door, being James Greystone’s prodigal daughter? No. He was one of those men who would have existed on the fringes of her life, one of those successful, eligible lawyer-types who moved in a slightly different stratosphere to the one she had occupied. Suave, charming, well-dressed and undeniably posh.
He was just one of several who had come with older friends or relatives to ‘brighten up the evening’, as James had coyly put it. Only at the eleventh hour, when Elizabeth had already nervously donned her party gear and had been looking forward to the party with a deep sense of dread.
‘You don’t look as though you’re having a ball.’ His brightblue eyes were amused and assessing as he helped himself from a passing tray to one of the intricate delicacies that must have taken some painstaking caterer ages to concoct. ‘Can’t say I blame you,’ he continued drily. ‘Must be hellish being held up for inspection and knowing that you’re obliged to enjoy the experience.’ His thick, blond hair was artfully cut, a little long at the front, but not so long that he wouldn’t be taken seriously in his job. He was, she had to admit, the kind of man who would have no trouble with the women. It was woefully unfair that her head was so cluttered up with the wrong guy that she couldn’t do more than return a wan smile and force herself to make polite small-talk.
She had promised herself not to think about Andreas. It seemed a vital step in weaning herself off him. She was sure she could do it. To aid the process, she swallowed the remainder of her champagne in one gulp, and was discomfited by the sensation of bubbles fizzing down the back of her throat.
Then she proceeded to listen politely, her head cocked to one side to demonstrate interest, even though her rebellious mind had broken free of its rein and was beginning to wander down all those forbidden routes. Which was why the sight of Andreas, leaning against the doorframe of the vast, crowded drawing-room and looking at her, was not at all disconcerting; she knew that it was just her crazy imagination playing tricks on her. She blinked to clear the picture and then gasped softly when she realised that the person now turning to address a few words to the fan club of tittering women who had circled him with interest was no figment of her imagination.
An imaginary Andreas would not now be laughing and flirting with the gaggle of blondes around him but then her imagination was a far cry from the reality, which was that Andreas had proved himself to be a guy who would happily seduce one woman while having another stashed away somewhere else. He was a guy who could still find it possible to think the worst of her even when he should have known better, should have seen that side of her that would never, ever take advantage of anyone. He was a man who had not been at all interested in what she had had to say. He was someone who could make a girl fall in love with him even though she didn’t want to, and then turn around and treat her as though what they had briefly shared was meaningless.
She could feel a great ache of sadness and self pity well up inside her, and she refocused all her attention on the man in front of her, who suddenly seemed so hollow and insubstantial compared to the cad by the door—now holding a drink in his hand, although he had yet to take a sip of it.
Her nerves were suddenly stretched to screaming point as she forced herself to focus on Toby, to take an interest in what he was saying, reminding herself that he was a great guy whose attention was flattering and ego-boosting, and a soothing balm to her battered sense of self-worth.
But her skin felt hot and prickly, and out of the corner of her eye she was aware that Andreas had shaken off the gaggle of women. Like royalty, he couldn’t move without someone wanting to shake his hand. By golly—she didn’t want to admit it—but he looked drop-dead gorgeous. His black hair was swept away from his lean, darkly handsome face and his white shirt and black tailored tuxedo clung to him with loving perfection.
She wondered whether he had spotted her, and rather thought that if he had he would do his utmost to avoid her. He had made it clear in no uncertain terms that she disgusted him but, that aside, she was relieved that he had shown up. James had taken his refusal to attend the party on the chin, but he would have been hurting inside.
She was aware that she was making all the right noises. Who knew? Under normal circumstances, she might very well have been riveted by Toby’s amusing account of a legal case he had handled a few months previously. Under normal circumstances, she might very well have been hanging on to hear the punchline to his anecdote. Sadly, she couldn’t remember the last time she had experienced the luxury of normal circumstances, and they sure weren’t normal now. Her nerves were all over the place and she was aware of every small movement of her body even though she now had her back to Andreas.
‘Gilbert.’
The low, lazy drawl feathered the back of her neck and she felt her skin prickle as she slowly turned around. She imagined Andreas had targeted her not because he was dying to have a conversation with her, but probably because a week away had provided him with yet more fodder for attack.
‘I haven’t seen you around these parts recently. Still clinging to that job of yours at Taylor Merchants? I heard the pavements outside their offices are littered with unemployed lawyers, scrabbling around and wondering how they’re going to survive without their bonuses. Hell, still—there’s always money to be found in unexpected quarters. Wouldn’t you agree, Elizabeth?’ Andreas knew that it was a low blow, uncalled for. But he had never liked Toby Gilbert, and seeing the man involved in some kind of bonding conversation with Elizabeth had set his teeth more on edge. His teeth had already been set on edge the minute he had spotted her get-up. She was dressed to kill, and with enough potential victims to fill her little black book. James hadn’t been kidding with that snide remark about wanting her to find a nice young man. The faint aroma of some very subtle perfume made his nostrils flare, but he was resisting the urge to look at her.
Toby had sti
ffened, but the respect and fear that Andreas was capable of instilling was powerful enough to elicit a polite reply to the obvious insult.
‘Still hanging on, old man. And, as for money in unexpected places? Not the sort to chase a moneyed woman, although with or without James Elizabeth would make most heads turn…’
‘Is that a fact?’ The tightness in his chest was back, accompanied by a cyclonic rage that Andreas fought to contain.
The deadly softness of his voice made the hairs rise on the back of Elizabeth’s neck. It also yanked her out of her trancelike state of absorption and catapulted her back into fighting spirit. She remembered that this was the man who had stolen her heart and returned the favour by treating her like something the cat had brought in, something unsavoury that he would have shoved instantly into the rubbish bin had his godfather not prevented it. Not content with that, now his casual, insolent insult penetrated her like a curare-tipped arrow. What more evidence did she need, to know that there was nothing left between them?
‘Not everyone is terrified of surprises, Andreas—and, Toby, thank you for that compliment. It means a lot to me.’ Elizabeth placed her hand gently on Toby’s arm and shot Andreas a rebellious look from under her lashes. Just looking at the harsh, beautiful lines of his face was enough to make her feel giddy and, lord, how she hated that.
Andreas looked at her hand on Toby’s arm and bolted down his drink in one gulp. ‘Be a good chap,’ he said pleasantly enough to Toby, even though the image of her hand on his arm was burning a hole in his head, ‘and give us a few minutes. There’s some stuff we need to discuss. Matters of estate.’
Toby’s departure seemed to lock them into an intimate situation in which they were isolated from everyone around them. It was as if everything became background noise and motion, so great was the power Andreas could exert over her. She made a feeble attempt to break the spell by glancing around for help in the shape of her father, who was nowhere to be seen. He had been transformed from virtual recluse to party animal, it would seem.
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