Lynne Graham's Brides of L'Amour Bundle

by Lynne Graham

  ‘I organised a surprise for you yesterday,’ Roel revealed as he walked through the grand hall.

  ‘What kind of a surprise?’

  ‘I thought it was time to take care of the clothing problem,’ he told her softly and cast open the door on a huge and crowded reception room.

  Roel had issued invitations to several designer salons to visit the castello with a selection of garments. Hilary was whisked into the room next door to have her vital measurements taken and her attention fully claimed. She was in a panic. How could she allow Roel to go the expense of buying her an entire wardrobe? But how could she persuade him that she didn’t need anything new when he himself had seen how seriously short of clothing she seemed to be?

  Only minutes later she was paraded back into Roel’s presence. She was wearing a skirt suit that was at the cutting edge of the latest fashion trends.

  Roel studied her. The aqua shade flattered her fair skin and bright silvery blonde hair while the short fitted jacket and flirty skirt emphasised her stunning hourglass figure and shapely legs. His keen gaze glinted with masculine approval. ‘Delectable,’ he murmured huskily for her ears alone.

  And for the first time in her life Hilary felt worthy of special attention. Her own imperfections seemed to vanish beneath the balm of Roel’s unashamed appreciation. She was blushing like mad and feeling hugely self-conscious but at the same time she held her head high and she felt proud. When Roel was admiring her, she could no longer lament her imperfect features, lack of height and too generous curves.

  From that point on, Hilary was enjoying herself and existing in a realm in which Roel was her only focus. She tried on outfit after outfit. The expensive fabrics felt wonderfully luxurious against her skin. The tall gilded mirrors on the walls reflected her in a myriad unrecognisable guises. She saw herself twirl in a magnificent evening gown, a stunning trouser suit and a series of incredibly flattering little dresses, every one of which Roel seemed to signal a special liking for. Shoes and bags were produced to match. It was like a glorious dream in which everyone conspired to encourage her to play her favourite game of dressing-up just as she had when she was a little girl.

  In the space of hours she acquired more clothes than she had ever owned in her whole life. She knew that she would never wear most of them and told herself that Roel would be able to return them once she had gone home again. She did, however, succumb to selecting several bra-and-pants sets as well as nightwear for she had packed nowhere near enough for her Swiss sojourn. Breathless and still on the crest of an excited wave, she kept on a cream skirt and a sleeveless draped top.

  ‘I’m never going to wear all this stuff,’ she warned Roel.

  ‘You’re my wife. You should have everything you want.’

  Something twisted in the region of her heart and her eyes shone overbright because she was so painfully aware of the pretence she was maintaining.

  ‘Hilary?’ Roel queried.

  ‘You’re being too generous to me,’ she said tightly.

  ‘Don’t you know how to be generous in return?’ Dazzling golden eyes flicked hers with sensual provocation and a scorching smile of devilment slanted his beautiful mouth.

  Her heart hammered like a road drill and her mouth ran dry. He was so gorgeous he made her tremble. His power over her was terrifyingly strong but for a young woman who all her life had followed only her own counsel there was something deeply, disturbingly thrilling about his innately forceful temperament.

  ‘And if you don’t know…I can certainly give you hints, bella mia,’ Roel purred with sensual huskiness.

  She pressed her slender thighs together on the tingling responsive heat forming an ache of emptiness at the heart of her. Shocked at the strength of her own reactions, she lowered her eyes, fighting her own weakness as hard as she could.

  But Roel drew her up against him. As she felt the taut power of his male arousal her face burned and yet she wanted to melt into him with every fibre of her being. Blazing golden eyes held hers. ‘You look incredible, but what I want more than anything else in this world is for you to take those new clothes off again,’ he confided raggedly.

  Hilary moved back from him. She did something she’d thought she would never do. With unsteady hands she closed her fingers to the hem of her top and peeled it off. Then she unzipped her skirt, let it fall and stepped out of it.

  ‘I suspect I married you because you keep on surprising me,’ Roel commented rawly as he hauled her back to him with impatient hands and captured her mouth with devastating passion.

  ‘It’s out of this world.’ Hilary’s voice wavered. ‘I just don’t know what to say…I wasn’t expecting this.’

  She stroked a wondering finger over the delicate platinum band on her ring finger and gazed at Roel with dreamy gratitude. A wedding ring. She was touched to the heart that he should have wanted to see her wearing the symbol that signified marital commitment.

  His brilliant dark golden eyes were level. ‘I will not fail at anything, cara,’ he admitted. ‘I intend our marriage to be a success.’

  A stab of discomfiture pierced the veil of fantasy behind which Hilary had buried all her misgivings about the role she was playing. For four whole days she had refused to think further than one minute into the future. She had revelled in every moment she had spent with Roel and if it was possible she had fallen even more deeply in love with him. He was bitterly frustrated by the reality that he had yet to recover his memory. The return of that one tiny recollection had only increased his impatience. But he had demonstrated extraordinary strength of character in the way he dealt with his amnesia and made her more than ever aware of his rock-solid assurance and self-discipline.

  Now, made uneasy by his grave sincerity on the topic of their supposed marriage and wounded too by the wretched awareness of what she could not have, Hilary dragged her attention from his lean, extravagantly handsome features and made herself study her surroundings instead. After all, it was a gorgeous day and the landscape was spectacularly beautiful. They were sitting on the stone terrace of an exclusive restaurant set high above the lake at Lucerne. The sky was a dense bright blue and the picturesque medieval city was spread out below them.

  ‘Hilary…?’

  Roel reclaimed her attention with a frown just as a broadly built man with earnest features and blonde hair came to a halt several feet away and said, ‘Roel?’ in a tone of pleased surprise.

  His rare smile forming, Roel immediately vaulted upright to greet him. Hilary was aghast to recognise the man as Paul Correro, who had acted as a witness at their wedding. Sheer panic filled her and she was paralysed to the spot by the lawyer’s intent scrutiny. This was someone who knew that she was a fake wife, who had been paid to perform a service. He had to be astonished to see her in Switzerland in Roel’s actual company!

  CHAPTER SIX

  HEART thumping out her state of alarm like a manic road drill, Hilary decided that she had no choice but to attempt to brazen the situation out.

  ‘Anya and I are staying with friends,’ Paul Correro was telling Roel, who was kissing the cheek of the pretty pregnant redhead standing by his lawyer’s side.

  Arrogant dark head turning, Roel cast Hilary a glance that queried her lack of participation. Perspiration beading her upper lip and a fixed smile on her tense mouth, Hilary got up from the table and moved forward on legs that felt as clumsy as solid wood.

  ‘Hilary…’ Paul Correro dealt her a smooth smile that somehow contrived to send a shiver of foreboding down her rigid spine. ‘London’s loss is our gain!’

  At that gibe, Hilary almost flinched and she stood like a criminal waiting for the executioner’s axe to fall. But Roel mercifully removed his lawyer’s attention from her by engaging him in a low-pitched dialogue. As the two men lounged back against the stone balustrade several feet away, Paul’s companion approached her.

  ‘I’m Paul’s wife, Anya,’ she announced, her gaze coldly assessing.

  ‘Yes.’ Nervous as
a cat on hot bricks and quite unable to think of anything to say in the face of that hostile appraisal, Hilary stole a strained glance over at Roel and Paul and wondered frantically what they were talking about. An urgent desire for escape overcame her and, with a muttered excuse, Hilary headed for the cloakroom.

  How dared Paul and Anya Correro look at her as though she were some sort of criminal? She was hot and bothered and her tummy was churning. She ran cooling water over her hands while she fought to get a grip on her seething emotions. Everything she had done she had done for Roel’s sake and, for a guy of his temperament still frustrated by a five-year gap in his memory, Roel was managing very well! But was Paul Correro telling Roel right now that Hilary and their apparent marriage were twin giant fakes?

  Hilary emerged from the cloakroom only to find Paul Correro waiting to corner her. Already pale, she turned the colour of bleached bone.

  ‘What’s your game?’ the blonde man demanded. ‘Roel has just explained why he has barely been seen since the accident.’

  ‘I’m glad he’s taken someone else into his confidence,’ Hilary mumbled, wondering if Roel had already been told that she was not quite the wife she had allowed him to believe she was. Her heart sank like a stone.

  ‘Don’t treat me like an idiot,’ Paul Correro condemned in a harsh undertone. ‘The head of Roel’s security team called me yesterday to ask for my advice. Imagine how astonished I was to learn that you had shown up at the clinic claiming to be Signora Sabatino! This meeting is no coincidence. I interrupted my vacation to come here. How could you think that you could pull a scam like this off?’

  Beneath the lash of his scorn, Hilary was trembling. A security team worked for Roel? They had been so discreet she had had no idea of their existence. ‘There hasn’t been any scam. Have you told Roel the truth about our marriage?’

  ‘In a restaurant?’ the blonde man derided. ‘I intend to call at the Castello this afternoon—’

  Her eyes raw with appeal, Hilary closed a desperate hand over his sleeve. ‘Let me tell Roel. Give me until tomorrow to sort all this out—’

  ‘No. I’ll give you until this evening. That’s long enough, and if you don’t keep your word I’ll take care of it for you,’ Paul Correro warned her, his distrust unconcealed.

  It took enormous courage for Hilary to meet his accusing scrutiny. ‘I’m not what you think I am. I love him. I’ve always loved him—’

  The lawyer winced. ‘Whatever,’ he cut in dismissively. ‘He’ll never forgive this level of betrayal.’

  In a daze, Hilary walked back to Roel’s side. Anya was begging him to give a speech at some charity event. Paul joined his wife. Mentioning that they were running late for an appointment, Roel cut the dialogue short and swept Hilary back out to the limousine.

  ‘Paul was in a weird mood.’ A frown had hardened Roel’s lean, strong face. ‘Why was he so uncomfortable with you?’

  ‘Oh, you know Paul,’ she muttered weakly.

  ‘I do. I know him well and he has never learned the art of deception. I sensed a certain disrespect in his attitude towards you,’ Roel admitted. ‘I found that offensive.’

  Guilt pierced Hilary deep. She said nothing, saw that in the circumstances there was nothing she could say. Roel was an acute observer and he had noticed his lawyer’s hostility. However, Roel would soon know and understand why Paul Correro had been unable to conceal his scorn. A heady combination of fear and despair overwhelmed Hilary. How could she face telling Roel that their marriage was not a real marriage? How could she possibly face doing that?

  Only when the limo came to a halt outside an exclusive beauty salon did Hilary recall that the day before she had booked an appointment there. An appointment to get the pink tips removed from her hair because she had decided that her bi-coloured locks looked a little juvenile. Why not be honest with yourself? a little inner voice asked. She was ditching the pink tips in an effort to achieve a more elegant appearance for Roel. But what was the point now? What was the point when the bottom had just fallen out of her fantasy world?

  ‘Hilary?’ Roel prompted.

  ‘Could we just drive round for a minute or two?’ she gabbled without daring to look at him, for she was so confused she could hardly think straight. But she was aware of how reluctant she was to get out of the car and leave him.

  The truth hurt. Who had first said that? She had no idea. She only knew that for the past week she had been foolish enough to try and live her dream. She had buried her every scruple and surrendered to the fairy tale of pretending to be Roel’s wife. And she had been incredibly happy, happier than she had ever known she could be because the guy she loved had treated her as though she was the woman he had married. But the point was that she was not what he believed her to be and all the wishing in the world could not change that fact.

  Paul Correro had destroyed her pathetic pretences. He had also made her painfully aware that her actions could be judged in a harsh and self-serving light. But she had never intended to hurt or worry anyone. Even less would she have wished to cause the smallest harm to the guy she adored! However, just remembering how Paul Correro had looked at her brought Hilary out in a cold sweat. The cosy fantasy that had featured only Roel and her had been invaded and she had been plunged into terrible confusion.

  ‘Do you want to skip this appointment?’ Roel questioned with an edge of impatience.

  He was so decisive. He could answer the average question before she had finished asking it. How would he feel about her when he realised that she had encouraged him to live a lie with her? Would he, as Paul Correro had implied, despise her for her behaviour? She was unbearably hurt by that idea but minute by minute an awareness that her masquerade had gone too far was bearing down on her. Perhaps her masquerade had gone too far the very instant she had lain in Roel’s bed and allowed their relationship to become intimate.

  ‘What—?’

  ‘It’s OK…I’ve made my mind up and I’m going to get my hair done!’ Hilary proclaimed with a forced laugh as she turned to look at him.

  Brilliant dark golden eyes telegraphed a mixture of impatience and wonderment over the strange way that her brain seemed to work when compared with his. Getting out of the car wasn’t made any easier by the fact that he looked absolutely devastatingly gorgeous. In a sudden movement she skimmed across the seat and kissed him with bitter-sweet fervour.

  ‘It’s been such a wonderful few days…’ she mumbled unsteadily, snatching up her bag and hurtling out of the limo before she could embarrass herself and him any further.

  In the hairdressing salon she felt as though a glass wall separated her from the buzz of familiar activity. Dully she recognised that she was in shock. She also finally understood what her mind was so reluctant to confront and accept: it was time for her to bow back out of Roel’s life again. She needed to leave quickly as well. What would be the point of returning to the castello to tell Roel what she had done? That would only plunge them both into an unpleasant confrontation and how was that likely to profit either of them?

  She decided that it would be wiser to fly straight back home to London instead. Fortunately, she had kept her passport in her bag and once her hair was done she could head for the airport at Lugano. She had only brought a few clothes with her to Switzerland and what she was leaving behind would not be missed. She would leave a letter of explanation for Roel in the limousine. Wouldn’t that be the most sensible choice? When he appreciated the truth of what she had done, he would be astonished and furious and probably consider himself very well rid of her. Any good opinion he had had of her would be utterly destroyed.

  Her tight throat convulsed on the tears she was struggling to hold back. How on earth had things gone so very wrong? She had set out only to help Roel and had somehow got sucked in so deep that she had closed her eyes and ears to the promptings of her own conscience. She had allowed herself to get carried away with her own fantasy. Only now when she was forced to wonder how Roel would judge her behaviou
r did she appreciate that she had crossed the boundary line of what was honest and acceptable. That acknowledgement hit her very hard for Hilary never hid from her own mistakes. But on her terms the toughest punishment of all had to be the hard reality that she would never, ever see Roel again…

  ‘Haven’t you taken your break yet?’ Sally Witherspoon asked Hilary.

  Hilary set a pile of freshly laundered faded towels on the shelf behind the washbasins. ‘I’m not hungry—’

  ‘Well, you ought to be.’ Her senior stylist’s homely face was concerned. ‘You can’t work the hours you’re working on an empty stomach. You look so tired.’

  ‘Stop worrying about me. I’m fine.’ Her silvery blonde head bent, Hilary got on with topping up the shampoo bottles as if her life depended on it. And in a sense her life did depend on activity because, the busier she kept herself, the less opportunity she had to brood. She knew that she had shadows under her eyes and that she was looking less than her best. She wasn’t sleeping well and her appetite had vanished. She was horribly unhappy but she despised self-pity and was doing her utmost to behave normally and regain her spirits.

  What was done was done. It was two weeks since she had flown back from Switzerland. For seven days Roel had been the centre of her world and now he wasn’t there any more and he never would be again and she had to learn to live with that. But what she also needed to accept was that what she had shared with Roel had been unreal and false and that was the hardest lesson of all for her to bear.

  ‘Your eleven o’clock appointment’s here…’ Sally hissed. ‘He’s a right good-looking bloke too…aren’t you the lucky one?’

  Hilary lifted her head. Roel was poised in the centre of the room. Her hand jerked the giant bottle of shampoo she was holding and the liquid began to pour down the sink instead of into the dispenser.