At the Boss's Command

by Darcy Maguire

‘I…er…’

  Jemima looked at him curiously.

  ‘Are you and Miles…?’

  She found that she was getting impatient with this whole conversation. She had so much else to think about. It was none of Russell’s business whether she and Miles were or weren’t. He could hardly expect they’d be able to sit companionably side by side discussing their respective love lives.

  ‘I’m sorry, I…’ He stood up restlessly and then sat down beside her again. ‘I hated it when you got pregnant with Sam,’ he said suddenly.

  Jemima couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.

  ‘I love him now. Of course I do. But I found the whole pregnancy difficult. You know, the antenatal classes, the house being full of baby things. It was worse with Sam because I knew what was coming. And you were always so tired—’

  Jemima cut him off. ‘I don’t think I need to hear this,’ she said, standing up.

  ‘Jemma.’ His voice stopped her. ‘If I could do things differently, I would.’

  Jemima turned and her dress swooshed on the path.

  Russell’s eyes looked up bleakly. ‘I’ve made a mess of everything, haven’t I? I suppose there’s no way…no way back…?’

  Any way back? To her?

  ‘Is there?’

  No. There was no way back. Jemima moved to sit beside him. It was strange how ‘little’ he seemed to her now. Not the handsome, strong man she’d thought she’d married, but a little boy. Confused, frightened by responsibility. She was sad for him.

  She reached out and touched his hand. ‘You’re with Stefanie now. That’s the choice you made.’

  A muscle flicked in his cheek. ‘I suppose…’

  ‘She’s not like you, Jemima. I—’ he smiled sadly and then found the word he was searching for ‘—miss you. Does that sound strange?’

  Jemima wasn’t sure whether it did or didn’t. In a way, she understood. She missed the dream she’d had. As she looked at Russell, she realised that she’d spent nearly three years of her life mourning the loss of that far more than the man himself.

  ‘We had some good years.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She felt almost as if she was talking to one of her sons rather than the man she’d once thought she’d spend her life loving. ‘And we share two fantastic boys. But we have different futures ahead of us now.’

  ‘You don’t love me?’

  ‘No. No, I don’t.’ And she really didn’t. Searching inside herself, there was no sense of regret. When she looked at Russell she felt…nothing.

  ‘Miles is a lucky man,’ Russell said, putting his arms around her and holding her. It seemed rude to push him away, so Jemima stayed still.

  Vaguely she heard the sound of footsteps and then Miles’s voice sliced through the air. ‘I’m sorry. I…’

  ‘Miles!’ Jemima pulled away from Russell and looked up into Miles’s eyes. They were bleak, as though his soul had been ripped out of him. For a moment she didn’t understand the expression on his face and then she felt as though she’d been torpedoed. Miles thought… He thought…

  ‘I didn’t realise Russell was with you,’ he said with quiet dignity. ‘I’m sorry.’ Then he turned to walk away without waiting for her to say anything.

  Oh, God, please, no.

  Jemima sat, stunned. She’d never heard such a raw edge of pain in anyone’s voice. Not even hers. Her limbs were slow to respond. She wasn’t sure what she ought to do now. She only knew that Miles was hurting—and she had to find him.

  ‘Russell, I’m going to have to go,’ she said, standing up. ‘I’ll talk to you about the boys next week, but I’ve got to go…’

  She trailed off and walked briskly down the woodland path. She came out on to the tulip lawn and looked around her. She couldn’t see him anywhere. She slipped off her high-heeled shoes and almost ran across the soft grass.

  ‘Jemima.’ Alistair’s second cousin stopped her.

  ‘I’m looking for Miles. Have you seen him?’

  ‘No. Oh, yes, he was going towards the marquee.’

  It was the start of a horrible fifteen minutes. Miles seemed to have vanished. He wasn’t in the marquee or even back at the castle. It was almost as though aliens had landed and he’d been plucked from the earth.

  Jemima stood listlessly looking at the Tudor bridge, finally accepting that he’d gone. Home? Possibly. Most of the guests had either left or were on the point of leaving.

  He was hurting. It was almost unbelievable that she could have the power to hurt a man like Miles. She had that power because he loved her—loved her—and in her fear she’d thrown that love back in his face. Had hurt him. She picked up the front of her dress and walked purposefully towards her hired car. He loved her.

  And she loved him. Not like she’d loved Russell. That had been…different somehow. Maybe it was because they’d been so much younger, but…

  This felt scarier. She’d thought her fear was because she was too scared to risk her heart on another relationship, but actually it was because she knew she wouldn’t survive Miles falling out of love with her.

  But then she’d seen the pain in Miles’s eyes as he’d seen Russell holding her. It had changed everything. Every thought in her body was that she needed to get to him, talk to him…

  The journey back to London seemed to take for ever. She didn’t even have a very clear idea of what she intended to do when she got there. The traffic slowed to a snail’s pace as she reached the outskirts of town and she felt more impatient than she’d ever done before.

  She didn’t even think about how strange she must look still dressed in her bridesmaid’s dress when she stopped for petrol. It was as though she was running on pure adrenaline.

  And all the time she was planning what she should do. She could phone him, but she didn’t think she could say what she wanted to without being able to see his face. She had to see him. And it had to be tonight.

  Although she’d never been to his house, she had his address on a piece of paper tucked inside the front pocket of her handbag. It meant she had to drive to Harrow first.

  What if he wasn’t at home? Well, if he wasn’t she’d have to phone him then. But only if he wasn’t home.

  ‘Jemima!’ her mum exclaimed, looking up as she ran through the lounge. ‘I didn’t expect you back yet.’

  ‘I know. I…’ Her fingers fumbled with the front clasp of her handbag and she pulled out the piece of paper. ‘Are the boys okay?’

  ‘They’re fine. Fast asleep.’

  ‘Mum, I’ve just made the most terrible mistake. I…’ Her voice cracked and her mum smiled.

  ‘Miles?’ she said gently.

  ‘I’ve got to go and find him.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Her mum settled back into her armchair. ‘I’ll stay with the boys, so don’t hurry back.’

  In a whirl of russet fabric, Jemima tore out of the house. She was so focused on what she was doing that she didn’t notice that she drove up a bus lane and twice cut up the same black cab.

  It was only when she approached Miles’s house that she felt any sense of nervousness. She was used to seeing him in her own home, even against the stylish backdrop of Kingsley and Bressington, but this was money. Money as Verity lived it. It felt a little strange.

  She parked the car and managed to find change for the meter. His house was tucked away in a small mews—double-fronted with its own garage. She remembered now that he’d told her he’d bought it because it had a place to keep his precious car.

  Jemima picked up the hem of her dress and walked towards the blue front door. She could do this. She really could. Her heart was pounding but she was filled with an uncharacteristic exuberance.

  Without giving herself time to think any more about what she was going to say, or what Miles might say to her, Jemima pushed the bell. Then she waited, her ears straining to hear the sound of his footsteps coming to answer the door.

  There was silence. Perhaps he’d decided not to come home.
Perhaps…

  And then the door opened.

  He looked dreadful. He’d changed from his wedding clothes and he looked…broken. She’d never imagined Miles could look like that.

  She wasn’t sure how to begin to explain why she was here. It had seemed so simple back in Kent. She loved him, not Russell, and she wanted him to know that. Russell was her past, not her future.

  Miles didn’t ask her in. He seemed confused that she was there, braced to be hurt. She understood how that felt.

  Jemima moistened her lips. ‘I…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I came to tell you… I…’ She broke off again and cursed herself inwardly for not having worked out exactly what she was going to say.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I came to tell you I’m sorry. That I…’

  Miles stepped back into his house as though she’d hit him. He seemed to expect that she’d follow, so she did, shutting the door behind her.

  She’d never felt so nervous in her entire life. What if Miles had only asked her to marry him as a momentary impulse?

  But what if he was hurting?

  Jemima moistened her lips. ‘Miles.’

  He’d picked up a whisky tumbler and took a sip. ‘Can I get you anything? Wine? Tea? Coffee?’

  It was difficult to speak to him when he was like this. Everything was making it seem harder to say what she needed to, even their being in his starkly beautiful home rather than somewhere familiar to her.

  ‘Miles.’ She moistened her lips again. ‘I came to tell you—’

  ‘That you’re taking Russell back?’ His voice was thick with pain and Jemima lost her English reserve.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, I came to tell you that I love you.’

  It was as though something snapped inside him. She heard the sound of his glass being put down roughly on the table and then she felt his hands tenderly cradling her face.

  ‘Say that again,’ he instructed, looking deep into her eyes.

  It was easier this time. Her smile was tremulous. ‘I love you. And—’

  But she didn’t get a chance to finish what she was saying because he was kissing her with a desperation that was incredibly erotic. His voice was husky as he said her name and Jemima let her hands snake up to bury themselves deep in his dark hair.

  It was going to be all right. Not just all right—it was going to be incredible. She felt tears of relief start in her eyes.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

  Jemima didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘To Russell? No. I love you.’

  She heard the soft groan he made at the back of his throat and then he was kissing her again. His mouth was warm and tasted of whisky and her body responded as though it were liquid heat. She’d never experienced anything so instantaneous. So…mindblowingly sexy.

  There would be time later, much later, to tell him about Russell’s new baby. All about their conversation in the wood. For now it was enough that Miles was holding her as though he’d never let her go. More than enough.

  Miles pulled back and stroked his thumbs gently over her tear-stained cheeks. ‘You taste of salt.’

  ‘You taste of whisky.’

  He smiled then, that twisting sexy smile that made her feel light-headed. ‘I was depressed.’

  ‘That’s a very bad reason for drinking whisky. You need taking in hand.’

  ‘I know.’

  Jemima took a deep breath and looked into his glinting blue eyes. ‘Will you marry me?’

  Slowly, very slowly, Miles traced his thumb across her lips, his face inexpressibly tender. ‘You’re asking me to marry you?’ he said, his voice thick with wonder.

  Her stomach was churning with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. ‘Will you?’

  ‘Try stopping me.’

  Epilogue

  JEMIMA stood outside the church and experienced a moment of intense panic at the enormity of what she was doing. Her heart started to beat erratically and her legs felt like blancmange. She couldn’t do this.

  What if Miles changed his mind five years down the track? What if he woke up one morning and realised he didn’t love her any more? What if he’d already realised he was making a terrible mistake and was standing at the front of the church now wishing he wasn’t?

  ‘Ready?’ Rachel asked, smoothing one wayward curl back off Jemima’s forehead.

  ‘I’m scared.’

  Her friend looked at her and then asked gently, ‘Is that nervous scared, or scared scared?’

  Jemima’s hands started to tremble. ‘I’m scared this is the wrong thing.’

  ‘For you, or for him?’ Rachel asked sagely. Then, in spite of the hand-tied bouquet of white roses, she took hold of Jemima’s cold hands. ‘Look at me, Jemima.’

  Slowly Jemima brought her frightened eyes away from the arched church door and looked into Rachel’s unusually calm and sensible ones.

  ‘This is Miles you’re marrying. There’s nothing to be scared about.’

  I’m marrying Miles. Jemima repeated Rachel’s words in her head and felt the fear recede as quickly as it had come. Miles.

  ‘I’ve seen you make some daft decisions. Not many, but some,’ Rachel said with a smile. ‘This isn’t one of them.’

  No, it wasn’t. It absolutely wasn’t.

  Rachel released her fingers and Jemima looked down at the engagement ring Miles had chosen for her, but it wasn’t the beauty of the princess cut diamond she saw. She saw instead the amazing man who’d given it to her.

  And she saw the expression in his eyes when he’d presented it to her. They’d been standing in a capsule on the London Eye on a balmy late August evening, the city lights dramatic in the night sky.

  It had been one of those golden moments, the kind you knew you’d remember until the day you died. He’d pulled the small velvet box from his pocket and had told her he loved her, the woman she was and the woman she’d become.

  She’d been a little scared that day. Part of her had been worried that if she allowed herself to be too happy it would hurt more when it was snatched away. And Miles had known that, had understood why.

  Jemima passed Rachel her simple bouquet to hold and twisted her engagement ring off her finger, transferring it to her right hand for the ceremony.

  There’d been moments during their engagement when that fear had risen to the surface. Days when she’d been so sure Miles would look at her and realise she wasn’t what he wanted.

  Like the day when Sam had ridden his bike slap bang into his prized Bristol 407 and made a horrible scratch along the right passenger door. Jemima smiled wryly. She’d been certain Miles would leave her then.

  Then there was the time when he’d been left kicking his heels outside Ben’s classroom because Russell had unexpectedly been able to make parents’ evening after all. She’d been terrified he’d leave her then.

  Jemima took back her bouquet from Rachel and smiled. ‘I’m marrying Miles.’

  ‘And he loves you,’ Rachel said, adjusting the single white rose amidst the copper curls. ‘Very much. Your sad times are all behind you.’

  No more sad times. It was something Jemima thought of all the way down the aisle. Such a short distance and yet it felt so far.

  She was vaguely aware of the music that heralded her entrance and the faces of close friends and family. Her mother was a blur of soft dove-grey and Hermione a more noticeable figure in burgundy, but mostly she saw Miles waiting for her, Ben beside him.

  Miles turned to watch her. Tall, dark, handsome…actually, very handsome…and hers. Rachel was wrong. There would be sad times. But there’d also be happy times, exciting times…

  And there’d be Miles.

  Hers. For better, for worse. In sickness and in health. Forsaking all others.

  And she believed him. Absolutely.

  It meant that when Miles promised to love her until she died she knew he’d keep that promise, whatever the future held for them. It was the time for doubting
that was over.

  And when Ben, as best man, solemnly passed over the gold band and Miles slid it on her finger, Jemima felt a sense of peace.

  ‘…pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.’

  Jemima looked up into his blue eyes and she knew he meant it when he said softly, ‘I love you, Mrs Kingsley.’

  Her own eyes twinkled up at him. ‘Then you’d better kiss me.’

  His hands cradled her face and he did just that, his lips saying more than the words of the church service. Then he reached down and touched Ben on the head. A simple gesture, but it was something Jemima knew she’d never forget.

  Just as she wouldn’t forget the sight of the traditionally painted Gypsy caravan pulled by one horse as it came round the corner towards the church.

  She looked up at her new husband, a question in her eyes.

  ‘You said different,’ he said, reaching down to hold her hand. ‘Good idea?’

  It was strange how close laughter and tears were, because Jemima suddenly felt as if she wanted to cry. ‘Brilliant idea.’

  ‘No ghosts, then?’

  She shook her head. ‘No ghosts.’

  Then Miles smiled and it came as a blinding revelation to her that he’d been worried there might be. She reached up and touched his face. ‘I love you.’

  ‘Just me,’ he said with mock severity. ‘No one else.’

  Jemima shook her head and held up her left hand. ‘I promised.’

  His eyes took on their customary glint. ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ he said, leading her towards the Gypsy caravan that would take them to their reception. ‘I love you, too. And I really love your “something blue”. Very sexy. Are brides supposed to be sexy?’

  Jemima smoothed out the ice-blue silk of the elegant but simple dress she’d chosen to be married in. Then she looked up, a mischievous twinkle in her own eyes. ‘Just wait till you see what I’m wearing that’s white,’ she said, teasing. ‘I think you’re really going to love that.’

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  At the Boss’s Command

  Three sizzling, office romances from three beloved Mills & Boon authors!

  In February 2010 Mills & Boon bring you two classic collections, each featuring three favourite romances by our bestselling authors