‘Then I must wish you every success in your future, Roxanne,’ he said, before turning on his heel and walking out without a backward glance.
He barely registered his journey down in the lift and realised he was shaking by the time he reached the car. A fine mist of rain clung to his tanned skin but he didn’t bother wiping it off. It was almost as if he wanted the wet chill of the winter day to sink deep into every cell of his body. He debated whether to drive home, or to his club—but a restlessness and inability to focus made him change his mind and walk instead into the main foyer of the Granchester and then into the Piano Bar.
He guessed he could get very drunk and order a taxi home later on, but instead he sat in the shadows at the back of the bar, staring morosely at his untouched glass of whisky. He hadn’t been here in a long while, not since Ciro D’Angelo had owned it—and thrown some of the best parties in the city. Sometimes Titus used to fly over from Paris to join the great and the good who used to congregate here.
The room was dominated by a rather starry white piano and the deep blue of the velvet wall hangings gave the illusion that the room was high up in the night sky. A middle-aged man in a dark dinner suit had come into the bar and sat down at the piano, his fingers breaking into a medley of songs from popular musicals. And wasn’t life full of irony at times? thought Titus bitterly. Because the third tune he played was the poignantly familiar ‘Thanks for the Memory’. It was a song which a beautiful but doomed actress had once sung to her equally doomed President. A song which Roxanne Carmichael had sung to him.
And he had thrown it back in her face.
He lifted his glass to take a first sip of whisky, when it suddenly hit him like a punch to the solar plexus—and he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before. Putting his glass down, he lifted his hand to his forehead and rubbed it, as if doing that would make him see clearly. But he wasn’t seeing clearly at all. His thoughts were so dazzled by the foxy woman he’d just left that somehow he had overlooked the fatal flaw in his logic.
Because if Roxanne had used him to publicise herself and her band—if she was planning to resurrect her career on the back of it—then why the hell was she working as a chambermaid?
Suddenly, none of it made sense and all of it made sense. Did she look like a woman who was poised on the edge of a musical comeback? Did she?
Had he been, at best, stupid? Or at worst—cruel?
A shaft of pain shot through him as he saw how quick he had been to judge. How quick to wield the knife and to send accusations hurtling her way.
His hands were shaking as he pulled out his wallet and, peeling off a note, he put it down on the table next to his drink. He felt as unsteady as if he’d drunk a bottle, instead of a single sip and he wanted to go straight across the rainy car park to that anonymous block. To ride up in the lift and tell her … tell her …
He walked out of the bar, impervious to the smile of the brunette who was sitting at the bar and who raised her glass of champagne at him in a hopeful toast.
Tell her what? What could he possibly say which would ever make Roxanne forgive him for what he had said, and done?
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROXY stifled a huge yawn as she brought the trolley to a halt outside the heavily embossed double doors leading into the Maraban suite. She was tired. No. Scrub that. She was exhausted. Worn down by lack of sleep and by the unfamiliarity of starting to read textbooks again. And, of course, she was worn down by the overwhelming heartbreak of missing Titus.
She felt a renewed wave of misery wash over her. That was easily the most debilitating cause of her fatigue. Unsociable hours she could cope with and hopefully the art of studying would soon return. But the pain which twisted so relentlessly inside her—would that ever leave her?
Swallowing down another yawn, she pulled the master key from the pocket of her apron. Already that evening she had serviced twenty rooms, carefully turning the sheets back and plumping up the pillows so that they were as soft as clouds. Being a chambermaid had been a new direction for her and had certainly given her a few insights into human nature. People often left their rooms looking like pigsties, she had discovered. Or maybe they were just proud of their sexual activities. It didn’t matter how classy the hotel—and the Granchester was certainly classy—some guests seemed to have no qualms about leaving discarded bits of underwear scrunched up in among the rumpled sheets. One morning she’d even found a used condom!
Still, she only had one more bed to turn down and then she could escape to the peace of her little room and try to do some reading. Try to do anything, really—as long as it didn’t involve lying on the bed, nursing her heart and thinking about the man who had broken it.
She thought back to yesterday evening when Titus had turned up out of the blue—looking all tanned and vibrant and making her feel insubstantial just by being close to him again. She thought about the rage which had contorted his face as he’d hurled those bitter accusations at her—and the way she had just stood there and let him. Why had she done that? Swallowed her pride and been so passive in front of him? Because that was the best thing to do, she told herself fiercely. The only way you could guarantee he would leave you alone.
Picking up two chocolates from the trolley, she gave a polite rap on the door of the suite. She’d left this one until last, mainly because it was her favourite, named after the homeland of one of the hotel’s most famous guests—an exotic sheikh who had once stayed there.
She had just stepped into the gold-and-rose coloured interior when she saw a figure sitting at the desk in one of the windows with his back to her—and her heart gave a jolt. Her fingers curled nervously around the foil-covered chocolates she was holding. ‘I’m so sorry, sir. I thought the room was empty. I did knock, but …’
But the words died on her lips. The blood began to roar in her ears because the figure was getting to his feet and turning round. A figure with a powerful physique and hair the colour of burnt copper. The blood drained from her face as she met the pewter gleam of his eyes. For this was the stuff that dreams were made of. Or nightmares.
‘What … what are you doing here?’ she questioned shakily.
Titus stood completely still as he surveyed the pallor of her face and the haunted expression on it. She looked so vulnerable, he thought. There was a terrible sadness in her blue eyes, which were very bright, as if she’d been crying. Had he made her cry? Had he?
‘I’m staying here,’ he said.
Roxy shook her head, angry with him now. ‘I gathered that. But why? You’ve got a house in London.’
For a moment he was overcome by a wave of remorse so bleak that he felt it wash over him like a dark and bitter tide. ‘Because I wanted to speak to you on neutral territory.’
‘Why? I don’t think we’ve got anything left to say to each other, Titus.’
‘Oh, I think we do. Or at least, I do.’ He sucked in a hot and unsteady breath. ‘I’ve come to say sorry.’
Roxy swallowed down the prick of tears—determined that he wouldn’t see her cry. Hadn’t she cried enough tears over him already—stupid, salt tears which had soaked her pillow night after night? ‘Sorry won’t cut it, I’m afraid,’ she said.
Titus met the look of stubborn fury on her face and felt his heart twist. Had he thought this would be straightforward? That a few words of apology would have her flying into his arms and covering his face with grateful kisses? He tensed. Perhaps he had.
‘I don’t blame you for being angry with me, Roxanne.’
‘That’s very generous of you.’
Slowly, he nodded, acknowledging her sarcasm as nothing more than his due. ‘I should have known that you’d never do something as cheap as exploiting our relationship to further your career.’
‘And when did you manage to work that out?’ she questioned tiredly.
‘When I realised that you wouldn’t be doing a job like this if you’d relaunched your career.’
She nodded. ‘But you couldn
’t just take my word for it, could you?’
He met the challenge in her eyes and it felt like having a sabre plunged deep into his chest. ‘No,’ he said harshly. ‘It seemed I couldn’t. I was a fool— and so I say to you again that I’m sorry. And believe me when I tell you that I will never misbelieve you again.’
She shook her head, steeling herself against the look of contrition which had darkened his steely eyes. He thought it was all so easy, didn’t he? Because it was. Everything always had been easy for Titus. Oh, maybe not his growing-up years, but certainly where women were concerned. He called the shots—and they let him. ‘You’re making it sound as if we have some kind of future together, Titus,’ she said. ‘And we don’t.’
‘But we could.’
‘No!’ Her word rang out with a bell-like clarity and she knew that she had to be brave enough to tell him. Because unless he understood that she meant this, then he might not give up. She knew that Titus hadn’t finished with her yet—that the sexual attraction which had always burned between them was still sizzling away. And that if she wasn’t careful, then their affair could be picked up and resumed. Could drag on for months—and where would that leave her when it finished once and for all? Feeling a million times worse than she did right now, that was where. But if she told him the truth then she wouldn’t see him for dust.
‘No, we couldn’t,’ she continued. ‘Like I said, we don’t have any kind of future together. End of story.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Why not?’
She stared at him, knowing that she had to be strong enough to admit her weakness. That she had to swallow her pride and tell him. She had to let him know that this wildly flamboyant gesture of hiring out the most expensive suite in the hotel—presumably so that he could drag her over to that enormous bed—didn’t actually mean anything. It was nothing to do with the real, emotional stuff—it was all about sexual gratification. And it was no longer enough. ‘Because I love you, Titus,’ she said quietly. ‘Because somewhere along the way—and even though I vowed it would never happen—I’ve fallen madly in love with you.’
‘Roxanne—’
‘No!’ she interrupted—the words bubbling up in her throat in their eagerness to be spoken. ‘Let me finish. I’ve fallen in love with you—but that happens to people all the time and they get over it. I’ll get over it. But what I will not get over is if we drag it out—every exquisite moment a step closer to the inevitable end. Because I know it can never be more than a casual fling to you. I know you’ll need to go hunting around for a suitable wife to give you the heir you require and you probably ought to do that sooner rather than later. I understand all that—I just don’t want to be an understudy for the role any more, that’s all.’
Titus felt his heart race as he listened to her passionate outburst. He realised how much courage it must have taken for her to admit to loving him, when he had never given her any indication that his feelings for her went beyond the simply carnal. He had taken and taken from her and never given anything back and now it looked as if he was about to reap the bitter consequences of such behaviour. Never before had he felt as if a situation was so delicately poised on the brink of triumph or disaster—as if she held his very happiness in the palm of her hand. So tell her, you fool. Reach out and tell her before it’s too late.
‘And I don’t want you to be an understudy,’ he said, his words sounding unsteady as he saw everything that he stood to lose. ‘I want you to take the starring role in my life. Because I love you, Roxanne. I love you so very much.’
‘No, you don’t!’ Roxy realised that she’d been gripping the chocolates so tightly that she’d squashed them and, furiously, she stuffed them into the pocket of her apron. ‘You’re just saying that because you want to have sex with me!’
‘That is true. I most definitely want to have sex with you,’ he said gravely. ‘But I also want to marry you. I want you to be mine—legally, physically and emotionally.’ He took a step towards her, his face tense. ‘I’ve been so wrong, Roxanne. I always thought I’d be forced to marry out of a sense of duty and that was why I looked on the prospect of marriage in the way a man might regard the hovering blade of a guillotine. But marrying for love is something entirely different. The thought of it fills me with … joy. And a very primitive kind of anticipation. I want to make you my wife. Or my Duchess, to be more precise.’
‘Stop it,’ she whispered. ‘Please will you stop it, Titus? Words are cheap. Anyone can say them and not mean them.’
‘I know they can,’ he said fiercely. ‘Which is why I didn’t come rushing straight round to tell you this last night. Why I forced myself to wait until today, even though the effort of doing that nearly killed me. But I had to wait until my bank was open.’
‘Your bank?’ she echoed in confusion, because for one crazy moment she thought he was talking about her wages, which she happened to know had been paid in full.
‘Yes. Or more specifically—the vaults in my bank.’
‘You’re not making any sense.’
‘Aren’t I? Then perhaps I’d better let my actions speak for me instead.’ He put his hand into the pocket of his trousers and drew out a small, very old-looking leather box and opened it. He heard Roxanne make a disbelieving little gulp, which became a shocked gasp when he dropped to one knee in front of her and took her trembling hand in his. ‘Roxanne Carmichael, I love you more than my uptight words can probably ever convey and if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife, then I would be the happiest man on the planet.’ He looked up at her and suddenly his voice was catching in his throat and he could feel the prick of tears behind his eyes. ‘Because I can’t bear to think of a future which doesn’t include you, my darling. My life has been so empty without you.’
Roxy was staring from his eyes to the ring, and then back to his eyes again and her mouth kept opening and then closing.
‘You’re supposed to say something,’ he prompted gently.
It wasn’t the ring which swung it—though it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever clapped eyes on. And it certainly wasn’t a very feminine satisfaction that she of all people should be subjected to this most traditional of proposals. No, it was the look of love blazing from his grey eyes which made Roxy’s heart turn over. Which made her realise that there was only one answer she could possibly give.
‘Yes,’ she whispered shakily, her determination that he shouldn’t see her cry now melting away as tears of joy began to slide down her cheeks. ‘Yes, I’ll marry you, Titus.’
He slid the ring on her finger and slowly kissed the palm of her hand, before standing up to pull her into his arms so that he could kiss her properly.
After that, it all became a little frantic and conversation was reduced to gasped little words and whispered pleas until, several hours later, she lay wrapped sleepily in his arms in the giant bed. Reflectively, he stroked her hair and felt her long sigh of contentment as her breath fanned against his chest.
‘Just one thing puzzles me,’ he said slowly. ‘Well, two things, actually.’
‘Spill.’
‘If your greatest hits album is topping the charts in several countries, then why did you need to get a live-in job which didn’t pay very much?’
Roxy lifted her head. ‘You mean, why wasn’t I going out to put a deposit on a fancy apartment?’
‘Something like that.’
She drew a little circle around one of his nipples and enjoyed his instinctive intake of breath. ‘I don’t think people realise how long it takes for royalties to come in,’ she said seriously. ‘They don’t just land in a massive heap on your doorstep overnight. But the royalties are irrelevant, because I didn’t write the songs. Justina did—and so all the money will go to her.’
He lifted her distracting finger and raised it to his lips. ‘Then why didn’t you want to re-form the band?’ he questioned. ‘When you could have gone back out there on tour and made yourself a fortune?’
Roxy was silent for
a moment. She couldn’t deny she hadn’t been tempted by the possibility, until the reality of what it would be like had hit her. ‘Because immediately it became like a circus,’ she said quietly. ‘All those reporters asking all those questions again. The sense that I was nothing but a commodity. Touring was hard enough when I was nineteen—but at nearly thirty, it would have been a nightmare. And it would have been going back—revisiting the past instead of trying to move into the future.’ She was silent for a moment, because only a few hours ago her future had looked very different indeed. But it was important for her to acknowledge that she had planned to be proactive. That she had been making plans to move on and to live a useful life, with or without Titus.
‘I planned to study,’ she said, with a smile. ‘I thought I might do something useful, like speech therapy. I thought I might put my gift for mimicry to good use.’
There was a moment of silence while he considered this. ‘You might find the demands of being a Duchess and taking on a new career a little much—’
She placed her finger over his lips to silence him. ‘I know that, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘Marriage to you, and hopefully motherhood—that’s the only career I’m interested in now.’
He lifted her hand to look at the clutch of antique diamonds which was glittering on her finger. ‘I love you, Roxanne Carmichael,’ he said. ‘You make me laugh and you challenge me. You satisfy me and tantalise me and I can’t think of anyone else I could better describe as my equal, in every way that counts.’ He grazed his lips over her fingertips and as he heard her exultant little giggle he frowned. ‘You haven’t changed your scent, have you?’
‘No, why?’
‘It’s just that you definitely smell of chocolate.’
With a start, Roxy looked across the room to where her apron was lying in a heap with the rest of her discarded clothes. And there, just above the distinctive embroidered ‘G’ of the hotel crest, was a dark and spreading stain of finest Belgian chocolate. She looked deep into her new fiancé’s eyes and smiled.
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