Bel, who had never travelled in a privately owned plane before, was staggered by the quiet opulence of the executive jet.
As soon as the plane was airborne Andrew excused himself and disappeared into the cockpit while Bel was shown into a comfortable lounge by a steward with a thin face and a soft Irish brogue, who introduced himself as Patrick O’Brien.
When she was alone, having refused the champagne and caviar she’d been offered, Bel poured herself a glass of the iced water she’d requested and took a look around.
Outside the windows she could see a sky of clear forget-me-not-blue resting on a carpet of white cotton wool clouds.
Inside, a cushioned couch and two pale green velvet upholstered armchairs, with a low table between them, stood on a blue and gold Persian carpet.
Opposite a well-stocked bar was a video screen and music centre, and on the bulkhead, echoing the colours of the carpet, hung a glorious Venetian scene by Canaletto.
By way of contrast, on a small, businesslike desk lay a briefcase and a laptop computer.
At the far end of the cabin was a luxurious shower room and toilet and, to her surprise, a small, but sumptuous bedroom.
The sight of the lavish, silk-sheeted bed, and the mirror above it, made her go cold. Innocent as she was, she could imagine only one reason for it being there.
Yet why did she feel so shocked? It wasn’t a boy she had agreed to marry, but an experienced man with a powerful libido. His amount of sexual expertise, not to mention his own admission, confirmed that he hadn’t lived like a monk.
Though he had said he preferred to have one special woman, she tried to reassure herself. But, having seen this distasteful little set-up, could she believe him? He had been cavalier with the truth in other directions.
Apart from the fact that he was a superb lover, she knew little of the private man, and this bed—a bed that breathed seduction—seemed to provide a dark and disturbing insight into his character…
Did his ironic smile, his stunning charm, conceal murky depths? What if he was planning to take her hand and lead her to that erotic love-nest?
Alarmed and agitated, shaken to the core to realise just what kind of man she might have fallen in love with, she retreated hurriedly and took a seat in one of the armchairs.
She had barely settled herself when Andrew appeared, carrying a small black leather case which he placed on the table.
Taking off his light jacket, he tossed it aside, then, coming up behind her, put a hand beneath her chin and tilted her head back As he bent to kiss her his other hand slid down to find the soft curves beneath her loose jacket.
Feeling sick, she caught his wrist and in mute protest held his hand away from her breast.
‘Don’t worry,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘Patrick is very discreet. He won’t come through without knocking.’
The painful knowledge that her suspicions had been correct made her jerk her head aside and demand bitterly, ‘How many other women have you said that to when you were planning to seduce them?’
Bel felt rather than saw him stiffen.
‘Do you imagine I usually mix business with pleasure?’
‘Why else would you need a bed?’
‘Apart from to sleep in, you mean?’ His tone was calm, even slightly amused, but she knew he was rattled.
‘I’ve never heard of anyone watching themselves sleep,’ she retorted contemptuously.
‘So you think I’m a lech?’ He was quietly, coldly furious.
Her hands were clenched into fists, the nails biting into her palms. ‘What else can I think?’
He came to stand facing her, his jaw set, his eyes, icy as a winter sea, holding hers.
‘I bought this plane some eighteen months ago, just as it stood. The only things I have added personally are the desk and the Canaletto. I have never made use of the bed, either for sleeping or for any other purpose. Most of my journeys have been short and purely business, and while I’ve owned the plane you are the only woman to have flown in it…’
The silence lengthened, the only sound the muffled roar of the engines, while relief ran through her like a warm tide.
‘I hope you believe me?’
Mortified by her own stupid blunder, she stammered, ‘Yes, I—I do believe you. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.’
‘No, you shouldn’t.’ Though he spoke softly, the edge to his voice could have cut glass.
Flushing, she said helplessly, ‘But I really don’t know you very well, and that room—’
She broke off abruptly as a tap at the door announced the luncheon trolley.
His gaze releasing hers, Andrew moved to shield her confusion from the steward’s glance, saying easily, ‘Thank you, Patrick. We’ll serve ourselves.’
When the man had gone, Andrew said evenly, some of the hardness leaving his face, ‘If the bedroom offends you, I’ll have it stripped out.’
His attitude made it clear that as far as he was concerned the subject was now closed, and he added with a touch of wry humour, ‘When we’re married, should we decide to join the Mile-High Club, there’s always the couch.’
‘The Mile-High Club?’
‘An élite few who are able to make love in a plane; that is to say more than a mile above the earth’s surface.’
While she blushed rosily he turned his attention to the beautifully presented seafood platter and raised an enquiring brow.
At her nod, he helped her to a selection of smoked oysters, wafer-thin salmon, king prawns and watercress, accompanied by dainty triangles of brown bread and butter and a glass of perfectly chilled PouillyFumé.
As the plane carried them through a cloudless blue sky Bel ate without speaking, her eyes on her plate while she struggled to regain her composure. If only she hadn’t made such a mess of things…
After a while, a surreptitious glance from beneath her long, silky lashes showed that Andrew, who was pouring coffee from the heated jug, now wore a casual, relaxed air, as if he’d forgotten the uncomfortable little incident.
But, only too aware that she owed him an apology, Bel was unable to do the same. Accepting her cup, she met his eyes and said jerkily, ‘It wasn’t so much the bedroom that offended me as the thought of how it might have been used. But I had no right to…to…’
‘As my fiancée, you had every right to ask for an explanation.’
‘I only wish I had asked, rather than jumping to conclusions.’ Her eyes filled with contrite tears. ‘I’m sorry I said what I did.’
He lifted her hand and carried it to his lips. ‘Don’t cry, my darling. It’s forgotten.’
My darling… Though she knew it meant nothing, after what had happened the endearment was a precious and unexpected gift that lightened her heart.
‘And as my fiancée,’ he went on, after a moment, ‘it’s high time you had a look at these.’
Reaching for the case he’d brought in earlier, he took a seat beside her and, flipping open the lid, displayed a selection of superb and unusual engagement rings.
Smiling at her stunned expression, he said, ‘This time I thought you might like to choose.’
There was a ruby, a topaz, an aquamarine, a sapphire, a garnet, an amethyst and a glorious emerald that even Bel’s untrained eye could see was in a class by itself.
When she merely stared at the dazzling array, he added, ‘Of course, we can buy a ring in London if you don’t see anything here that takes your fancy.’
‘No, it’s not that,’ she managed. ‘They’re all gorgeous. I’m just…overwhelmed.’
‘Then I suggest you take your time and try them to see which you like the best.’
Bel’s fingers were long and slender, the well cared for nails pale shiny ovals. Lifting her left hand, he slipped the rings on one by one, giving her time to admire them.
She could almost have picked blindfolded. Each of them looked good in its own way, and they all fitted perfectly, but when he came to the last, however, the emerald sli
d onto her third finger as if made for it.
It was a huge stone in an antique setting, and it could have appeared overpowering, but on Bel’s slim, yet strong hand it looked wonderful, and she caught her breath as the magnificent gem flashed green fire.
‘Yours, I think?’ Andrew asked simply.
Cheeks a little flushed, eyes shining, she nodded, and, now they were officially engaged, waited for him to kiss her.
When he made no move to do so, she said, ‘Thank you. It’s the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen. It looks genuinely old.’
‘It is. I asked Giovanni to send a selection so you could have a choice, but this particular ring was my maternal grandmother’s. It was said to have belonged to one of the infamous Borgias, though I rather doubt it.’
‘I wouldn’t mind if it had.’
‘And you’re not superstitious about emeralds?’
‘No.’
‘That’s good.’ His voice deepening, roughening, he added, ‘It matches your lovely eyes.’
Made breathless by the way he was looking at her, she swallowed hard and, knowing the ring must be worth a king’s ransom, said huskily, ‘You’d better put it safely away.’
‘Leave it on.’
‘But it must be very valuable. Suppose I lost it, or it was stolen…’
‘It’s insured,’ he said calmly, ‘and I see no point in keeping your engagement ring locked away in a safe. I want you to wear it to prove you’re mine.’
Her flush deepening, her lips a little parted, she waited. Surely he’d kiss her now?
But he got up abruptly and after snapping the case shut, put it on the desk. When he turned to her his face >was taut, the tanned skin stretched over the strong bone structure, a hard flush lying along his cheekbones.
His desire, held rigidly in check though it was, beat against her like the white-hot heat from a furnace, melting her very bones. She rose to her feet.
For once his intuition wasn’t working, and he misread the signals. A muscle jumped in his jaw. ‘There’s no need to panic,’ he told her caustically. ‘Just because you’re wearing my ring I have no intention of trying to drag you off to bed and seduce you.’
So, even though he’d said her scathing words had been forgotten, they had left a mark.
‘I never thought you had,’ she informed him, with a coolness she was far from feeling, and wondered if there was anything she could do to erase them from his memory.
When he made no move, she went to him and, putting her arms around his neck, asked provocatively, ‘But aren’t you at least going to kiss me?’
Tightly, he said, ‘If I do I might not be able to keep my hands off you.’
Standing on tiptoe, she brushed her lips across his. ‘Who said I wanted you to?’
With a kind of groan he pulled her against him. His mouth had just closed over hers when there was a tap at the door. With a muttered oath he released her and moved away.
When Patrick O’Brien came in to remove the trolley they were standing several feet apart, the picture of decorum, though constraint stretched between them like invisible threads.
The steward cleared his throat. ‘If you can spare a minute, sir, Captain Drummond would like a word with you.
With a nod, Andrew followed the man out.
He was gone for what seemed an age, and Bel found herself wondering if he was staying away deliberately, to give them both time to cool down.
When he finally returned it was to inform her that they would be landing in about twenty minutes. Then, with distant politeness, he began to talk about their immediate plans.
‘As soon as we get back to London I’ll make the necessary arrangements for us to be married. A special licence—in other words permission to be married without the need for banns to be called—should enable the ceremony to take place in two or three days’ time…I presume that in the circumstances you have no objection to a small, quiet wedding?’
Thrown by his aloof manner, the formal way he was consulting her, she pulled herself together and said quietly, ‘No.’
‘I thought St Giles’s Church, Shoreland Square. The vicar there is a friend of mine…Unless you have any other preference?’
‘No,’ she said again.
Then, recalling what in-depth and prolonged discussions had taken place between herself and Roderick on the same subject, she thought with a kind of wry amusement that this time she and her fiancé could have been discussing what kind of filling she fancied in her sandwich.
Except that that might have taken more deciding.
But somehow, with Andrew, the wedding and where it was to take place seemed relatively unimportant What was important was the man himself. Their marriage. Their future together.
If only he loved her…She shook herself mentally. It was no use repining. He wanted her, and for the moment at least that would have to be enough.
But would it be enough? Suppose he got tired of her? She had always wanted to have a marriage that would last, to fall in love with a man who would return her love and give her a lifetime’s commitment, especially if there were to be children.
However, fate, it seemed, had made the choice for her, and, though gambling on a one-sided love like this surely had to be a kind of insanity, there was no going back.
And perhaps if she did her best, gave him all she had to give, her own love might strike an answering spark…?
All at once she became aware that Andrew was watching her, waiting for an answer to a question she hadn’t even heard. ‘I—I’m sorry?’
‘I asked if you will be having any bridesmaids?’
She shook her head. ‘It would be awkward. The ones I intended to have all knew and liked Roderick. And if I’m just wearing a suit…’
‘But you won’t be just wearing a suit.’ His voice was adamant ‘Even though the wedding party will be small, I want a traditional bride with a white dress and a veil.’
Face half averted, looking down at her hands clasped together in her lap, Bel agreed, ‘Very well.’
His eyes admiring the pure line of her profile, the long sweep of lashes that almost brushed her cheek, he asked crisply, ‘Is there anyone, apart from your immediate family, that you’d care to invite?’
T’d like Dad to be there, of course, and Ellen, if she’s home. But no one else, really. What about you?’
Andrew’s jaw tightened. ‘My mother and stepfather are both dead, killed in a hotel fire.’ Surprising her, he went on, ‘I’ve a stepbrother, Jonathan, I’ll ask to be my best man. But there’s no one else apart from Jonathan’s wife, Penny. Perhaps she could act as your matron of honour?’ Then he added abruptly, ‘Will your father give you away?’
‘I hope so. Though of course he won’t be expecting…I mean, the whole thing will come as a surprise to him.’ Not to say shock.
‘Incidentally, what have you told him so far?’
‘Only that my engagement to Roderick is over.’
‘What was his reaction?’ he asked, then added with a slight edge, ‘I understand he thinks the world of you?’
On the surface both questions seemed innocent enough, but, sensing disturbing undercurrents, Bel answered only the first. ‘As you might expect, he was staggered and, I think, upset He liked Roderick and thought we were well suited.’
‘But he didn’t attempt to change your mind?’
‘No.’ Stiffly, she added, ‘If he had, in the circumstances it would have been useless.’
‘Did you tell him the circumstances?’
Shaking her head, she said with a tinge of bitterness, ‘I was hardly proud of them.’
‘So he knows nothing about me?’
‘No. I’ll have to explain things this evening. I don’t know how he’ll feel about it’
But she did know. He would be convinced that she’d taken leave of her senses when he discovered that within three days of her engagement ending she was planning to marry a virtual stranger.
Picking up her anxiety, Andrew frow
ned. ‘Perhaps I should come with you?’
‘I think it would be better if I went alone. I’d like to give him time to get used to the idea before he meets you.*
‘Very well.’ He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘The flat you rent—is it a furnished one?’
‘Yes.’
‘So it won’t take you too long to clear it?’
‘You mean after we’re married?’
‘I mean today. I want you to move in with me.’
‘Oh, but I—’
‘Don’t worry, there are several guest rooms. I won’t ask you to share my bed until we’re man and wife.’
‘It isn’t that,’ she admitted honestly. ‘I just hadn’t got round to thinking about moving.’
‘What is there to think about? Surely all you have to do is pack your personal possessions and hand in the key?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘Then why not get it done? You’ll need the remaining time to buy your wedding dress and shop for a trousseau.’
Before she could form any further protest, he added, ‘I’ll drop you off there. Leave the luggage you’ve got with you in the car. I’ll give you a couple of hours, then send Bridges round to collect the rest of your things. What time do you intend to go to your father’s?’
‘As soon as he’s home from the office.’
‘Will you want Bridges to take you?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll use my own car.’
‘Very well. I’ll expect you for dinner…shall we say seven-thirty? I have the penthouse apartment in the Lambeck Building.’
Once again his choice of a home surprised her. The Lambeck Building was quiet and select and unobtrusive, a haven for wealthy aristocrats rather than the nouveau riche.
‘There’s an underground car park and my bay is number three on the left, next to the lifts. Tell Bancroft, the security guard, that I told you to come straight up.’
Bel drew a swift, shaky breath. Until three days ago she had thought of herself as a modern young woman with a mind of her own, capable of making her own decisions and running her own affairs.
Nothing in her experience had prepared her for a man of Andrew’s calibre, for the way he had blown into her life like a whirlwind and taken her over.
First-Class Seduction Page 9