by Lucy Gordon;Sarah Morgan;Robyn Donald;Lucy Monroe;Lee Wilkinson;Kate Walker
Was that why he’d kissed her? she wondered. So that she wouldn’t appear sad and wan in front of his friends and colleagues?
Stroking a fingertip down her warm cheek, he queried, ‘Ready to run the gauntlet?’
As ready as she would ever be, she nodded.
Blaze’s arm around her waist, they descended the stairs just as Richard Henderson appeared in the hall.
He came over, and, catching sight of the bruises on her arm, asked jokingly, ‘Has Edward been beating you already?’
Shaking her head with a smile, she said, ‘A slight accident on the way here. I would have worn a long-sleeved dress had it been possible.’
‘Speaking for myself, I’m rather pleased it wasn’t.’ Eyeing the grey chiffon appreciatively, he added, ‘Just the sight of you makes me feel young again.’
‘You don’t think it’s too daring?’ she asked.
‘I certainly don’t. You look absolutely wonderful! Now, I’d better not detain you…I see there are more guests arriving.’
Amongst the first was Lady Melford, a sharp-eyed, frankly-spoken dowager, who described herself as, ‘A near neighbour, and one of the family’s oldest friends.’
The introductions over, that redoubtable lady enquired of Fran, ‘So how long have you and Edward known each other, my dear?’
Uncertain what to say, Fran hesitated, and looked at Blaze for guidance.
‘For about three years,’ he replied smoothly, and with perfect truth.
‘Then why have you kept it a secret all this time?’
Tongue-in-cheek, he answered, ‘It’s only quite recently that Francesca gave in to my…er…demands, and consented to become my fiancée.’
Turning to Fran, Lady Melford commented, ‘Very sensible, my dear. I strongly disapprove of these modern young females who are willing to jump into bed with a man after only a few hours’ acquaintance.’
His grey eyes ironic, Blaze glanced at Fran before replying gravely, ‘Francesca would never have done a thing like that, would you, darling?’
Itching to kick him hard, she felt her cheeks growing hot.
Taking note of the younger woman’s heightening colour, Lady Melford said, ‘Forgive me, my dear, if my plain speaking has embarrassed you.’
Fran shook her head in a smiling if somewhat flustered disclaimer. ‘Of course it hasn’t.’
‘You’ve chosen well, Edward.’ Lady Melford gave her verdict. ‘So many young men these days end up with a wife as hard as nails and “worldly”—whatever that means. It’s most refreshing to meet a bride-to-be who is obviously in love and still capable of blushing…I’m sure you’ll both be very happy…
‘Now, I see Richard is already here. I must go and say hello to him while you greet some more of your guests…’
Fran breathed an inward sigh of relief as the impressive silver-haired dowager left them to bear down purposefully on Richard Henderson.
Bending his dark head, Blaze murmured in Fran’s ear, ‘You’ve passed with flying colours. It isn’t easy to earn Lady Melford’s approval…Ah, here’s Sir Humphrey Waldon, and his wife Judith…I think you’ll like them…’
‘I’m sure I will,’ she assured him steadily.
Throughout the long evening, while an excellent buffet was served and the champagne flowed freely, they circulated amongst groups of people who were clearly having fun and enjoying the party.
Apart from a moment or two, when he crossed the hall to have a quick word with Mortimer, who was keeping an eagle eye on things, Blaze never left her side.
Pleasantly fielding any awkward questions, he gave a good impression of a relaxed and carefree host, with no concerns apart from showing off his fiancée, and the comfort of his guests.
For her part, making perhaps the biggest effort of her life, Fran talked and smiled, and received all the good wishes with grace and charm.
Though she felt as if she was being flayed, no one would have guessed she wasn’t the radiant bride-to-be that she appeared.
Once in a while, in his role of prospective bridegroom, Blaze would smile into her eyes and give her hand a squeeze.
Though she knew quite well it was only play-acting, each time her heart seemed to turn right over.
Maybe because of the strain she was under, and the need to keep smiling when she felt more like weeping, the evening dragged endlessly.
By the time twelve o’clock came she was exhausted, and to add to her discomfort her ankle had begun to protest at the high heels she wore.
But, a smile pinned to her lips, she stood by Blaze’s side until the very last couple were ready to make their farewells. Then, shivering a little in the cool night air, she helped to wave them off.
As soon as the chauffeur-driven car had drawn away, he urged her inside and closed the door. Stepping awkwardly on her throbbing ankle, she winced.
‘Ankle hurting?’ he asked.
‘A bit,’ she confessed.
As she spoke, Mortimer and a couple of the servants appeared, to deal with the debris of the party.
Blaze waved them away. ‘For heaven’s sake, man, it’ll keep until morning. The entire household has had a long day. I suggest you just lock up and get off to bed.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ The butler cleared his throat, and then, his manner as impeccable as his clothes, went on, ‘May I, on behalf of myself and the other members of the staff, respectfully tender congratulations and all good wishes for you and your fiancée’s future happiness.’
‘Thank you, Mortimer.’
Inclining his head, the butler added, ‘The fire in your sitting room has been replenished, and a Thermos flask of hot chocolate taken up. Will there be anything else, sir?’
‘No, nothing, thanks. Goodnight, Mortimer.’
The butler gave a little bow. ‘Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, miss.’
‘Goodnight, Mortimer.’
Throughout, the manservant’s face and manner had remained impassive, but for the first time it occurred to Fran to wonder what he and the rest of the staff thought of the sudden change in fiancée.
As the black-coated figure moved away, once again reading her mind, Blaze remarked sotto voce, ‘I doubt if anything surprises Mortimer…And if it did he certainly wouldn’t show it…’
Then, before she could even begin to guess his intention, he stooped, and, picking her up in his arms, headed for the stairs. ‘We’d better save that ankle. You’ll want to be able to walk on it tomorrow.’
Chapter Seven
REMEMBERING only too clearly what had happened the previous night, Fran felt every nerve in her body tighten and she began to tremble.
Feeling the involuntary movement, he queried, ‘Cold?’
‘No.’ Even her voice shook.
He glanced down at her. ‘So what’s bothering you? No, don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re afraid of a repeat of last night?’
Her silence was answer enough.
‘Well, you don’t need to worry,’ he assured her quizzically. ‘I have absolutely no intention of letting the same thing happen again.’
She relaxed slightly. If he meant to just put her down at the door of her bedroom and walk away there would be nothing to worry about.
When they reached the top of the stairs, however, instead of turning towards her room he headed for the long gallery.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Back to my suite.’
Alarmed afresh, she asked, ‘Why?’
‘Didn’t you hear Mortimer say there would be a nice fire and a flask of hot chocolate waiting?’
Fran had presumed that the butler had arranged both for his master’s benefit. But, suddenly recalling what Blaze had said about no one venturing up to his suite without express instructions, she realised that this had been planned.
Her tone accusing, she said, ‘You gave orders…’
He made no attempt to deny it. ‘For one thing, you’ve had very little to eat tonight. For another, I thought we both needed to unwi
nd for ten minutes or so before going to bed.’
‘Oh, but I—’
‘And, if you remember, you left your case up there.’
It all sounded very logical, yet some sixth sense screamed danger. If he once kissed her, touched her, as he had the previous night—
Snapping off the thought, she reminded herself a shade desperately of Blaze’s mocking assurance. ‘I have absolutely no intention of letting the same thing happen again.’
When they reached his suite the plum-coloured velvet curtains had been drawn over the windows and the room looked cosy and welcoming, with its diffused lighting and glowing fire.
Shouldering the door closed, Blaze put her down on the settee, her back propped against some cushions, and slipped off her shoes.
When she would have swung her legs to the floor, he said crisply, ‘Better keep that foot up if you don’t want it to swell.’
The possibility made her hesitate. She wanted to be able to leave tomorrow.
If Blaze would let her…
But now she had finished playing the role of fiancée, and he’d admitted that he no longer suspected her of being a prime mover in the plot, surely there would be no reason to make her stay?
‘Ready for some hot chocolate?’ he asked.
‘Please.’
He took the top off the Thermos jug and poured the creamy liquid into two mugs. Passing her one, he instructed, ‘Careful, it’s quite hot.’
Holding it in both hands, she took a sip. It was deliciously light, yet satisfying. ‘Mmm…that’s good,’ she murmured.
Picking up his own mug, Blaze sat down on the settee by her legs.
In response to her involuntary shift away, he queried blandly, ‘Not crowding you, I hope?’
Disturbed by the movement, the material of her skirt parted company.
Before Fran could reach to pull it into place Blaze half turned and, after admiring the expanse of slender silk-clad leg and thigh, with his free hand he carefully rearranged the grey chiffon.
‘Thank you,’ she said in a strangled voice.
He leered at her theatrically. ‘Always willing to be of service.’
All at once, in response to the laughter in his eyes, a smile tugged at her lips.
‘That’s better,’ he applauded. ‘I was afraid you’d lost your sense of humour.’
‘I haven’t had much to laugh about lately.’
‘No, the last couple of days can’t have been a lot of fun.’
That was the understatement of the year, Fran thought as she sipped. Fate had dealt her so many blows that she was starting to feel well and truly battered…
All at once, whether from lack of concentration or sheer weariness, the mug in her hand tilted, spilling the remaining hot chocolate down the front of her dress and into her lap.
She gave a cry of horror.
Jumping up, Blaze demanded urgently, ‘Are you scalded?’
‘No. No. But the dress…!’
As he took the empty mug from her hand and put it on the tray beside his own, she stumbled to her feet and headed for Melinda’s room.
‘Don’t worry about the dress.’
Ignoring his injunction, she unzipped it and stepped out of it as quickly as possible. Then hurrying through to the bathroom, she began to sponge away the worst of the mess.
How could someone who was usually quite careful have been so downright clumsy? she chided herself.
It wouldn’t have mattered a jot if it had been off the peg and her own, but this was an expensive designer model belonging to another woman…
When she’d got the dress as clean as possible, she hung it on a hanger and briefly considered what to do next.
The chocolate had soaked through to her skin, and her delicate undies were stained and sticky.
After a moment’s thought, she decided that as her case was here the most sensible thing would be to shower at once, clean her teeth, and put on her night things. That way, as soon as she reached her own room she could drop straight into bed.
A glance in the mirror reminded her that she was still wearing the necklace. Taking it off, she put both that and Blaze’s ring carefully on the dressing table, before returning to the bathroom to strip off her undies and step into the shower.
Some five minutes later, her hair loose about her shoulders and still slightly damp, she donned an ivory satin nightdress and a robe, which she belted securely. Then, putting all her things into her case, she zipped it up and, that in one hand and the necklace and ring in the other, returned to the living room.
Blaze, who was standing with his back to the fire, came over. ‘You’ve only just made it. Another thirty seconds and I was coming in to get you.’ Eyeing the case, he queried, ‘Going somewhere?’
Ignoring the levity, she handed him the necklace and the ring and said, ‘I’ve done what I could with the dress…’
He slipped the ring into his pocket, tossed the necklace carelessly on to the bureau and, taking the case from her hand, set it down by the wall, before leading her back to the fire.
Without knowing quite how she got there, Fran found herself stretched out on the settee once more, with Blaze by her side.
Anxiously, she added, ‘I only hope it’s not ruined.’
‘The dress isn’t important,’ he said firmly, ‘apart from the fact that you looked so sensational wearing it.’
As her cheeks flushed with pleasure, he went on seriously, ‘I was proud of you tonight. You played the part of fiancée beautifully…Which reminds me…’
Taking the ring from his pocket, he slipped it back on to her finger and touched his lips to it.
‘Moonstones, like opals, should be worn all the time, even in bed. See how these glow? They pine and grow dull if they’re put away, or the wrong person wears them.’
His romantic words and action made her heart melt, even while a sense of self preservation warned that such a feeling was dangerous.
Watching her face, he said softly, ‘And speaking of bed, it’s about time you went. It’s been a tiring evening and you’re looking shattered.’
‘I didn’t sleep very well last night,’ she confessed.
He surprised her by saying, ‘Neither did I. But hopefully we can remedy that tonight.’ Then, with a lift of one brow, ‘You don’t look very optimistic?’
She wasn’t. Though she was weary, with such a lot on her mind she didn’t see how she could possibly sleep.
Helplessly, she said, ‘There’s so much unresolved…so many things there’s been no time to even think about, let alone discuss. Suppose we were wrong in presuming Melinda and Kirk had run off together? There might be some other explanation.’
‘I very much doubt it.’
‘And if the necklace really is a fake—’
‘There’s nothing can be done at the moment,’ he broke in decidedly. ‘So I can’t see any point in staying awake and worrying.’
‘I don’t think I can help it,’ she admitted.
Leaning towards her, his eyes fixed on her mouth, he said with soft intent, ‘Well, I’m sure I can take your mind off things.’
Too late she realised the danger. ‘No! Please, Blaze, don’t…’
But his hands cupped her face, lifting it to his, and that hovering mouth swooped and claimed hers.
His kiss was light, almost experimental, searching for a response that, lips pressed together, she fought hard to withhold. The tip of his tongue brushed over them, coaxing them to part, finding the soft, sensitive inner skin, making her shudder.
One hand slid beneath her tumbled hair, finding the warmth of her nape, while the other moved to caress the curve of her breast.
Already her eager body was longing for his touch, and in just a moment or two her need would swamp her common sense and then she would be lost…
Somehow she tore her mouth free and gasped, ‘You said you had no intention of kissing me.’
‘I said I had no intention of letting the same thing happen tonight that
happened last night.’
‘But this is what happened last night.’
‘No, it isn’t. Last night we both slept alone…or rather didn’t sleep. A cold shower had little effect. And I don’t plan to take another one. Tonight I intend to have a hot shower and go to bed with my fiancée.’
In a panic, she cried, ‘No! I’ve done as you asked so far. I’ve taken Melinda’s place at the party. But I’ve no intention of taking her place in your bed. I won’t be a substitute—’
‘Who said anything about a substitute?’ he broke in coldly. ‘In any case, you’ll be anything I want you to be. As I pointed out earlier this evening, you owe me…’
‘Don’t force me to sleep with you,’ she begged.
‘You know as well as I do that there won’t be any need for force. Sexually we’ve always struck sparks off each other. Last night, when we were both committed, you would have let it happen. You wanted it to happen. Tonight we’re both free, so what’s the problem?’
The problem was that, loving him as she did, she couldn’t bear to just feel used… At the very least she wanted him to want her…
But she could hardly tell him that.
Jerkily, she said, ‘I’ve never gone in for one-night stands or short-term affairs—’
‘You did once,’ he reminded her cruelly.
‘And one mistake was enough.’
The dark face hardened. ‘So you regard it as a mistake?’
‘What else can I regard it as?’
‘I see,’ he said silkily. ‘And you don’t want to make the same mistake twice? Well, that’s too bad…’
He got to his feet, and in one swift movement stooped and lifted her high in his arms.
‘I’ll just have to see that it’s a mistake you enjoy making…’
His bedroom had plain white walls and black polished oak floorboards. It was simply furnished, apart from a magnificent four-poster with a crimson and gold canopy.
He put her down on the bed and went to turn the key in the lock.
‘What are you doing?’ she gasped.