In Want of a Wife?

by Cathy Williams

Louis sat back and looked at her unsmilingly. ‘And you base that on what, exactly?’

  ‘Well, he’s very cheerful, and I gather from the conversation that he’s not too clued up when it comes to money.’

  ‘As understatements go, that one’s right up there.’

  ‘But, then, neither am I, as a matter of fact. I can never resist spending whatever I have as soon as the rent’s paid. By the time the end of the month rolls round, I’m usually too broke to do anything but stay inside and watch television.’

  ‘You should abort this conversation before it goes any further. And, as far as Freddy goes, you know nothing about the situation, so maybe you should bear that in mind when you’re forming your judgements.’

  ‘At least he laughs now and again. At least he’s light-hearted and fun!’

  ‘I could show you a lot of fun.’

  And just like that the atmosphere altered, shifted into some weird gear that Lizzy couldn’t get to grips with. She opened her mouth to return with something clever and cutting but nothing emerged. She watched as he very, very slowly smiled at her, a lazy, knowing smile that made her toes curl and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

  ‘I should, um, go. It’s late and I just came to, well, try and plead with you to give Rose the benefit of the doubt.’ She stood up clumsily and distracted herself from those piercing black eyes by fumbling with her bag.

  ‘Message received,’ Louis said drily, signalling for the bill.

  Received, Lizzy thought, addled, but neither understood nor accepted. But she wouldn’t press further. For some reason, all she wanted to do was leave the restaurant and get back to her flat as fast as her feet would take her.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LIZZY would have enjoyed the Christmas celebrations a lot more if she hadn’t been wracked with anxiety on so many fronts that trying to simply focus on one was nigh on impossible.

  There was the problem of Rose, who had returned from Crossfeld convinced for some reason that the party which Nicholas summarily had been volunteered to throw—on the flimsy grounds that he needed to make his mark with the local community who had welcomed him with open arms—was going to be the occasion for their engagement to be announced. Lizzy did her utmost to bring her back down to earth, but, like a balloon filled with helium, the second her restraining hand was removed up it floated once again.

  Then there was the nagging worry about her parents’ finances. How could they possibly have afforded the presents? The massive Christmas tree groaning with decorations? The extravagant Christmas day lunch? They didn’t seem to have curtailed their expenses at all. On the one occasion when Lizzy tried to tactfully mention ‘the money subject’, she was met with vague murmurings that everything would be all right. By which she assumed that they really were banking on Rose marrying Nicholas and his fabulous bank balance.

  Which made her instantly think of Louis with his contemptuous, lazy eyes—and the second she began thinking of

  Louis her mind wouldn’t stop. Image upon image crowded in until her head hurt.

  On top of which, Maisie and Leigh’s endless speculative chatter about the upcoming party was driving her crazy.

  Although there was a part of her that was also stupidly looking forward to that date in the calendar: the day after Boxing Day. Anyone would think that she had never been to a party before. But in bed at night, with the lights off and the constant chatter silent, she found that she was picturing herself in her newly purchased dress, which she had yet to reveal to any of her sisters.

  She had bought it the day before she had left London to return to Scotland, and as with the flamboyant mini, it was something she would previously have bypassed without a second glance, never thinking that anything colourful could ever possibly suit her.

  When had she started the process of pigeon-holing herself? she wondered. When had she taken up the mantel of the serious-minded daughter who had no time for the pointless frivolities of her sisters? Of course, Vivian, who was staying on in Africa over Christmas—and had piously instructed everyone to donate any money they might have spent on her Christmas presents to the orphanage where she was currently working—held the position of the virtuous member of the family. But Lizzy had gradually become the sharp, opinionated daughter. And over time she had dressed the part. Teaching didn’t require a smart, fancy suit and her wardrobe had dwindled to a selection of suitable clothes: jeans, leggings, and baggy jumpers of indeterminate colour that could withstand playground duty and art classes with eight-year-old kids.

  But, when she had walked into that restaurant and seen the flash of appreciation in Louis’s eyes, something inside her had stirred.

  So the day after Boxing Day, with Christmas out of the way and her siblings busily getting themselves prepared for the party, Lizzy surreptitiously fetched her finery out of the bowels of the wardrobe and spread it out on her bed for inspection.

  It was long-sleeved, figure hugging, and hundreds of sequins in varying shades of blue glittered whenever she moved. It was a statement dress from someone who had grown accustomed to scorning statement dresses.

  And when she made her appearance, the very last of the Sharp household to descend the staircase, it was to five upturned, open-mouthed, speechless faces.

  Not only was she wearing a sequined dress, but she was also wearing very high, iridescent blue shoes—and instead of her usual black coat, she had a very deep blue cape draped over her shoulders.

  Of course, the speechlessness was short lived, then Maisie and Leigh were swarming around her, trying to unearth the label of the dress while Rose winked and gave her the thumbs-up sign. Her mother contented herself with declaring for anyone interested that at long last all her advice about dressing to impress had paid off, because no child of hers should have ever contemplated a never-ending diet of jeans and leather jackets.

  The only crazy thought in her head whilst all this was going on around her was what was Louis going to think? Then she had to sternly remind herself that she didn’t care what he thought. Whether he knew it or not, he was the property of the very suitable Jessica, or someone like her who fitted the perfect criteria; they were poles apart and could have evolved from different planets. His snobbishness enraged her and contradicted every principle she had ever held dear.

  None of it helped very much when, half an hour later, they pulled up into the courtyard. It had been decorated with the sort of style only vast sums of money could buy, and there was valet parking, so that they were relieved of their people carrier as soon as it drew up to the front door.

  The house itself was ablaze with lights. They must have given some of the rooms in the wing that had been closed off a bit of an airing, because surely there would be numerous people staying over? She didn’t know about Nicholas, but she suspected that Louis’s pulling power and influence was so far reaching that at the snap of his finger he would easily have been able to command a full house, even in Scotland in the depths of winter.

  Although it had to be said that the weather was behaving particularly kindly at the moment—bitterly cold, but blue skies had driven back the relentless rain and snow that always threatened any event at this time of year.

  They entered the house, which was packed with people, some familiar but most not. Waiters were scurrying through the crowds, holding their trays high, and through one of the doors drifted the sound of very mellow jazz music.

  In true festive spirit, the decorations were elaborate and seasonal, and had obviously been done by professionals working with a bottomless financial fund.

  Immediately upon entering, Rose excused herself so that she could locate Nicholas, and Maisie and Leigh disappeared into the throng, buoyant and excited at the prospect of spotting some celebrities.

  ‘You’re going to mingle, aren’t you, pet?’ her father asked as he spotted a golf buddy across the room.

  Lizzy gulped. She had been relieved of her coat by one of the army of helpers employed for the event, and now felt as c
onspicuous as an elephant in a china shop. But mingle she would, especially as her parents were on the point of deserting her. They had recognised friends and—her mother being her mother—she, like Maisie and Leigh, would be avid with curiosity about the hordes of people there, some of whom, she muttered, she already recognised from the telly.

  ‘I’d wager there are lots of eligible bachelors here, Lizzy,’ she muttered with a glint in her eye, which was Lizzy’s cue to propel herself through the crowds, stopping en route to grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

  The house was extensive and the rooms on the ground floor were all opened up. In several of them, buffets had been laid out for anyone who wanted to help themselves. In the massive lounging area, she discovered the source of the jazz music, a live quartet. Because this room was less noisy and less demanding than every other room she had entered, she edged towards one of the free tables and allowed herself to keep time with the music, tapping her feet lightly, and smiling because she recognised the tune.

  She looked stunning, Louis thought, sipping his drink and lounging against the door. He wondered whether he had been looking out for her or whether he had just happened to notice her the second she had walked through the front door. He also wondered how it was that, although she was classically less beautiful than her sisters—in fact classically less beautiful than a lot of the women there, many of whom made it their business to look beautiful—she still managed to drag his attention like no one else.

  He also wondered whether she was the reason he had gone all out to ensure that this party, which technically wasn’t even his, was as elaborate and impressive as it undoubtedly was. He wasn’t the kind of guy who liked parties to start with, and would certainly never have instigated an extravaganza on this scale, least of all because there had been no need for his involvement in the first place.

  But he had overridden Nicholas’s far more modest suggestions and taken time out to implement his own.

  For her—to impress her like a kid with a teenage crush? Louis squashed that unsettling thought before it had time to take root. But, hell, she had been on his mind too much, resurfacing with annoying ease even when he attempted to apply reason by telling himself that she was little more than a nuisance.

  And now … His eyes lingered on the way the dress clung to her body, before he pushed himself away from the door and headed in her direction.

  Over the sound of the saxophone, she was unaware of his approach until she felt his breath warm against her neck, and heard his lazy drawl as he asked her whether she was having a good time.

  Lizzy started, spilling some of her champagne, and turned around. She hadn’t seen him, although her stomach had churned at the knowledge that he was in the house somewhere.

  ‘Thank you. Yes.’ She took a step back because his proximity was wrapping itself around her and stifling her ability to think clearly. ‘It’s very … er … fancy. Lots of people.’ He looked drop-dead gorgeous in a pair of dark trousers, a white shirt which he had cuffed to the elbows and a bow tie with a swirly paisley pattern, which she found herself staring at because looking directly at him made her jittery. Very quickly, she swallowed the remainder of her champagne. ‘Are these all friends of Nicholas?’ she carried on.

  ‘Mutual friends.’ Louis gave an indifferent shrug.

  ‘How on earth did they all get here?’

  ‘Let me put it this way, they had lots of fun taking over the first-class carriages on the trains up. The rest flew.’

  ‘I’m surprised they made the effort.’

  ‘Are you? I invited them.’

  ‘And naturally they wouldn’t consider refusing.’

  ‘You got it in one.’ Since when had he been prone to uttering statements of that nature? ‘Dance with me,’ he said abruptly and Lizzy’s eyes widened in surprise.

  ‘Dance with you? Why?’

  ‘Do I have to provide a reason?’ Louis asked irritably. ‘I’m being polite. After our acrimonious dinner the other evening,

  I think it might be a good idea to call a truce, at least for the duration of this party.’ Had he ever been turned down by a woman for a dance? Louis didn’t think so.

  ‘Is … is Freddy here?’ Lizzy asked, shying away from the thought of being held by Louis to the very slow number being played.

  Instantly Louis stiffened and narrowed his eyes on her. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered. He said that he was going to come.’

  ‘And is that the reason you’ve dressed to kill? Forget it. No money there.’

  ‘I knew it! You just can’t be polite to me for more than five seconds, can you?’ In a curious way, it felt good to be angry with him because it camouflaged far more disturbing responses. ‘So, in answer to your question, no—I don’t want to dance with you!’ But she wasn’t quick enough to dart away and she felt his hand circle her wrist. It was like having a live current shot through her. She almost gasped aloud, and when she spoke her voice was thin and uneven.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing …?’

  ‘I apologise. I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘I still won’t dance with you,’ Lizzy muttered. She clung frantically to the thought that he was still tarring her with the same prejudiced brush that he had used to tar her entire family.

  ‘Why? Are you scared?’

  ‘Scared of what? I’m not scared of anything.’

  ‘Because I don’t bite,’ he said softly. And then with amusement is his voice, ‘At least, not until I’m asked.’ He held out his hand and, after having announced her lack of fear of anything, Lizzy had no option but to allow herself to be led to the small area that had been cleared for dancing.

  The slow music played on. His arm went round her waist and the feel of his muscular body against hers brought a soft groan to her lips. This wasn’t right, she thought feverishly.

  This was dancing with the enemy. But without even thinking her head rested against his shoulder and her body, wilful and disobedient, moulded against his as she let him guide her.

  She didn’t know whether he was even aware of it, but his thumb was making small, erotic circles against her back and she shivered and drew fractionally closer to him.

  Thank the good Lord the music didn’t allow for conversation, because her tongue had clamped tight to the roof of her mouth.

  It took a few seconds to surface after the song had drawn to its mellow conclusion, and she made a show of instantly pulling back and rearranging her dress.

  ‘There. See? I’ve danced with you.’

  ‘And did you enjoy the experience?’ Louis enquired huskily. Leading question but, whatever she said to the contrary, he knew that she had enjoyed it as much as he had. Hell, he might even have enjoyed it a little too much, if that was possible.

  ‘I like the song. It was one of my father’s favourites. We all grew up with it being played non-stop in the house. I should go and look for Rose.’

  ‘Why? She’s a big girl. She can look after herself. I thought we’d established that already.’

  ‘Yes, well …’ But her feet refused to walk away, and when they finally got into gear it was to follow him out of the room and away from the crowds until they were out in what could be loosely termed the conservatory. It was more akin to an indoor courtyard, in fact, with massive urns from which spilled plants of every variety and a scattering of comfortable chairs, sofas and tables. It was easy to envisage how sumptuous it would be once it was fully renovated and the paintwork and windows repaired.

  Lizzy wondered how she had arrived there. Now they were on their own and somehow a drink had found its way to her hand. She was keeping her distance, hovering by the door while he lounged indolently against the bay window, one hand shoved into his trouser pocket. But even with the distance between them she could still feel her skin tingling in response to his presence.

  ‘Nicholas asked me something rather peculiar yesterday,’ Louis said conversationally.

  ‘What?’


  ‘There’s no need to look so wary. He asked me if I had decided to make a donation to your school.’

  ‘Oh.’ Lizzy cast him a sheepish look. ‘I had to find an excuse to get your address and telephone number.’

  ‘Very creative.’

  ‘Not that my school doesn’t need donations. There’s always something that needs updating, and we don’t have nearly as many computers as we’d like. Private schools have very healthy funds but state schools, well, it’s a completely different story. Some of the classrooms haven’t been painted in, well, years.’ Lizzy knew that she was babbling while he stood there half-smiling, silent, sipping his wine and just looking at her with his head slightly tilted to one side.

  ‘So … maybe I will make a donation.’

  ‘You will?’

  ‘Stop hovering by the door as though you’re about to take flight, Lizzy.’

  Lizzy supposed she could do that, considering he was thinking about donating money to her school. Really, they were having a business conversation, and as such there was no need to get wound up and tense. She fought back the temptation to take a deep breath and walked towards him, feeling his eyes on her as she closed the gap between them.

  ‘You don’t have to feel obliged to do that because Nicholas is under the impression that you were thinking about it.’ Her voice emerged a little breathless.

  ‘I never feel obliged to do anything because of other people and what they might think of me. I have a considerable amount of money set aside for charity work and donations.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘I know. Difficult to think that there might be a chink in the stereotyped image you have of me, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess that would be company money, tax deductible stuff …’

  ‘All from my own private income.’ He waited for that to settle in. The mellow light shed from the two imposing lamps in the corners of the room softened the contours of her face, and her huge eyes were like dark wells, fringed with lashes he knew most women would have killed for, had she but known it. But even in a dress that would make most men stop in their tracks and swing around for a second look she was still ingenuously innocent of her own sexuality. She had no idea what a turn-on that was for him. He didn’t think that it was possible for a woman to be so ludicrously removed from his idea of femininity and yet so wildly appealing. But it seemed that she was.