The Billionaire's Convenient Bride

by Liz Fielding

  KAM WALKED DOWN to the beach just before seven. Agnès was already there, sitting on a rock, a decent-sized sea trout beside her.

  ‘I hope you’ve got a licence for that,’ he said.

  ‘I have a licence that covers all castle guests.’

  ‘And there was I, thinking I was reliving my bad-boy past.’

  ‘We all have to grow up, Kam.’

  ‘Do we? Children aren’t constrained by the needs of adults. They are free to live in their imaginations. If I’d been a proper grown-up, I’d have been worried about paying the rent, the mortgage like Raj, just grateful to keep things on an even keel. I wouldn’t have taken the risks I did.’

  ‘I was stubborn,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t take any risks. I didn’t have your courage.’

  ‘What would you have done differently?’

  ‘Followed you. Hunted you down and made you listen to me.’

  What? He was just staring at her like an idiot and she shook her head, turned away to pick up something on the rock beside her, which she tossed to him.

  He caught it more by reflex than skill and found himself holding an ancient leather gauntlet, the kind used by falconers. It was cracked with age, another attic find that Agnès had given him when he wanted to train an osprey he’d found with a broken wing and nursed back to health.

  He’d left it behind on his bedroom floor, telling himself he’d wanted nothing of hers. A lie. He’d once been asked which of his possessions he’d grab in a fire and had instantly said it would be his guitar.

  He’d had dreams of owning an electric guitar like his heroes in the posters that decorated his walls, but Agnès had gifted him a fine acoustic guitar that he fell in love with the moment he felt the silk of the wood beneath his fingers, touched the strings and heard a different kind of music.

  She’d told him that she’d found it in an attic, that no one would miss it, but he’d seen the case propped up in a corner of the music room and a label on the inside of the case bore her father’s name. It had been a gift of pure love from one child to another.

  ‘What is this?’ he asked, holding the glove.

  ‘Ozzie was my only link with you.’ She picked up the fish and offered it to him. ‘Whistle and she’ll come.’

  ‘Ozzie?’ He looked stunned. ‘She’s still alive?’

  ‘Ospreys can live for twenty years,’ she said. ‘The river warden caught me fishing for her once but, when I told him it was for your osprey, he wrote me out a special permit that lasts for her lifetime.’

  ‘What a sweet smile will get you,’ he said, flippantly, turning away so that she would not see the emotion threatening to engulf him. While he had been filled with anger, she had been all about love, and at that moment all he wanted to do was hold her, tell her how much he’d missed her. How much he wished he’d come back sooner.

  Instead he pulled on the gauntlet that had once been loose on his hand, but now fitted as snugly as if it had been made for him, took the fish and, holding it high above his head, he let out a long, low whistle.

  For a moment there was nothing, but then he heard the thin, high answering call that dipped suddenly and then, with a rush of white breast, grey and black barred wings, she was there, talons reaching for the fish as she snatched it from his hand. As he took a step forward to watch her soar away with it, she dipped, turned and flew over him once and then again a second time as if to confirm that it was him, that he was back, before heading back up the creek to where he knew she would be raising her chicks.

  Home.

  Not just hers, but his. He wanted to whoop like a boy but when he turned to Agnès he saw that there were tears in her eyes and, still wearing the gauntlet, he put his arms around her, drawing her close enough to smell the rosemary in her shampoo.

  They stood like that for a long time, just holding one another, his lips brushing her hair and every cell in his body urging him to go for broke and say the words. Just say the words...

  He fought the impulse. She had no earthly reason to believe that he had, in the last few days, come to realise what should have been blindingly obvious; that it wasn’t anger that had kept her at the forefront of his mind. Anger would have long been blown away by his success. To feel that much passion there had to be something far stronger, more powerful, unchanging.

  One day she would know. He would work to show her in every way possible. But for now, she’d laid down the rules of engagement. He had accepted her terms and only she could change them.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, after a while when holding her without breaking down and kissing her was straining him to breaking point. ‘I don’t know about you, but I could do with some breakfast.’

  The only answer was a little sniff.

  Tears were good. They were an emotional valve and breakfast together would be a chance to become closer before their visit to the registrar. At least it would have been but Jamie was in the kitchen, leaning against the dresser, a mug of coffee in his hand.

  ‘Guests normally eat in the breakfast room,’ he growled.

  Kam held his temper in the face of the man’s rudeness.

  ‘Agnès and I are getting married as soon as it can be arranged,’ he replied, determined to leave the chef in no doubt that whatever hope he had in her direction was history. ‘I’m kitchen company.’

  ‘Married, is it? So why’s the lass got tears in her eyes?’

  ‘Kam just had an emotional reunion with Ozzie,’ Agnès said, before he could tell the man it was none of his business.

  ‘If ye say so.’ He poured the remains of his coffee down the sink and placed the mug in the dishwasher. ‘I’m to m’work. Ye know where I’ll be if ye need me, Agnès.’

  ‘Jamie...’ Agnès took a step after him, but he was gone.

  ‘Your chef seems very at home in the castle. Does he have a room here?’

  ‘What? Oh, no. He has a flat down on the quay. I imagine he came over to check with Suzanna about craft guest numbers this weekend. He uses this kitchen to prepare dishes that we can pop in the oven for them,’ she added, responding to his raised eyebrows.

  ‘Is that part of your contract with the caterers?’ he asked. Having read it, he knew the answer.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think it sounds like another of your under-the-counter arrangements. Like the heating engineer,’ he added when she looked blank.

  ‘I...yes. Sounds like, I mean. It’s not the same at all.’

  ‘I realise you’ve been under financial pressure, Agnès, but once I’m involved everything has to be above board and accountable. Whatever private arrangements you have must stop right now. Private arrangements of any kind,’ he added.

  ‘He does it in his own time,’ she protested. ‘I provide the ingredients and he adds the magic.’

  ‘For which you pay him.’

  ‘Oh, I see. You’re worried that he doesn’t pay tax.’ She shook her head. ‘It isn’t like that. He’s a long way from home and I think he’s lonely.’

  ‘Lonely?’

  ‘Suzanna was talking about a favourite dish from home that she was missing and he offered to try and cook it for her. It grew from there. I think he enjoys working in a kitchen where no one is telling him what he can or can’t cook.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s the kitchen that’s the attraction.’

  ‘Then what...? Oh...’ She sat down rather suddenly. ‘How could I have been so stupid?’ The question wasn’t addressed to him, but rather to herself. ‘How on earth could I have missed...?’ She shook her head, surprised, but apparently not horrified to discover the chef had feelings for her.

  ‘If his company find out what he’s doing he could lose the job he so desperately needs,’ he said, sharply.

  ‘That seems harsh.’

  ‘You may not be paying him but you are selling the food he prepare
s. I think they would take the view that under the terms of their contract they should be being paid for that.’

  ‘If they cooked food anyone wanted to eat, I’d gladly pay them,’ she replied, clearly irritated. ‘In the meantime, since you are now kitchen company, I’ll leave you to help yourself to breakfast while I go and shower off the smell of fish.’

  He sighed. They’d been on the point of turning a corner this morning. Instead they were having an argument about that damn chef and, since his appetite had deserted him, he filled a mug with coffee and then called his mother to tell the news.

  * * *

  ‘Do you have to inform anyone before I place an announcement in the broadsheets?’ Kam asked, as they left the register office, later that morning.

  Agnès shook her head.

  ‘Not even Pierre Prideaux?’

  ‘I have no doubt he’s got someone keeping him informed about the situation at the castle. He’ll know the minute the notice is posted and he’ll be checking you out in the hopes of finding something that will give him cause to challenge the wedding. A wife in London, or a live-in lover with half a dozen children...?’

  ‘I’ve been a bit busy for a secret life of any kind, Agnès. It would be a kindness to tell him not to waste his money.’

  ‘What about your mother?’

  ‘I called her this morning. She was happily unsurprised. Asked me what had taken me so long.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘She sent you her love. She has classes booked in for the next couple of weeks but she’ll call you and she’ll be over in plenty of time for the wedding.’

  ‘Did you explain—?’

  ‘We don’t have to explain ourselves to anyone but, since the registrar is watching us out of her office window, I do think it might be a good idea if I kiss you before I get in my car. You were so nervous I thought she was going to take you into her office and ask if you were being coerced.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought it would be just a formality. Answer a few questions, sign a form, but the hugeness of it overcame me.’

  ‘I’m glad you felt that way.’ He raised his hand to cradle her cheek, long fingers tangling in her hair, resting against her temple as he looked down at her. ‘It is a huge thing we’re doing and it’s only natural that you’d have reservations.’

  ‘No...’ Her heart was hammering in her chest and she forgot to breathe. ‘No reservations.’

  At least their first kiss wasn’t to be in the street, with people walking past, just to convince the registrar, who had commented on her nervousness, that this was the real thing.

  If the woman could see the way her legs were shaking, feel how her heart was pounding, the ache low down in her belly at the thought of even this very public kiss, she would have no doubt that this bride-to-be could not wait for her wedding night.

  As her head was filled with images of how that night could be, Kam took her in the lightest embrace and brushed his lips against hers. It was no more than a touch, in much the same way as a lightning bolt was no more than a touch that left the earth scorched and smoking with heat. It lasted for three shatteringly brief heartbeats and as he drew back a soft, betraying moan escaped her.

  For a split second nothing happened, then he hauled her close and this time his mouth came down on hers with the impact of a meteor strike. The world continued to spin around her, traffic passed, someone whistled but her entire world was concentrated in the mind-altering experience of his kiss.

  Seconds, minutes. She had no notion of how long it had lasted, only that she didn’t ever want it to stop.

  But then she was clinging to him and he was looking down at her, eyebrow raised in a silent query, asking her if she was all right.

  She nodded, speech utterly beyond her.

  ‘Is there anything you would like me to bring you from London?’ he asked. ‘Apart from an engagement ring.’

  A ring...?

  ‘Would you prefer a diamond or a coloured stone?’

  Perhaps it was as well she couldn’t speak, Agnès thought, because, as if reading her mind, he said, ‘Don’t say you don’t want or need one. That isn’t going to happen.’

  ‘No.’ Her mouth shaped the word but nothing came out. She tried again. ‘For your pride?’

  ‘For my pleasure,’ he said gently. ‘You’ll be wearing it for a long time, so think about what you would like.’

  ‘I was going to wear my mother’s ring.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘People would understand. I’m wearing her wedding dress.’

  ‘You can wear whatever dress makes you happy, but you’re not wearing an engagement ring, no matter how emotionally attached you are to your mother’s memory, that was chosen by another man for another woman.’ He took her hand, wrapping his finger around hers. ‘It’s not about pride, Agnès. I want you to have something precious that is entirely yours. You deserve that.’

  No one had ever said that to her before. That she deserved something. That she was worth anything.

  ‘If you’re not careful I’ll weep all over you again and you’re wearing a very nice suit.’

  ‘I have another one, although I might not have time to go back to my flat and change before my first meeting.’

  ‘And I’m delaying you.’

  ‘You could come with me.’

  She hesitated for just a moment. Wanting to be with him, see where he lived, ask him where he was going, who he was going to see, but then she shook her head. ‘I could, but unfortunately dream weddings don’t arrange themselves. It’s going to take every spare minute of my time to organise everything.’

  ‘About that. You asked me if there was anything I wanted.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t turn it into an advertising feature for the castle, Agnès. Forget the media, the business. What I want is for you to give yourself the dream wedding you’d want if there was no one to see it but the people you love.’

  ‘I’ve never had that dream.’

  ‘It’s never too late to dream,’ he said, ‘and that includes your ring. At least give me somewhere to start.’

  ‘Something simple. A diamond will go with everything. And nothing too big or fancy or I’ll have to take it off when I’m working.’

  ‘A practical engagement ring for a very practical woman.’ He was shaking his head but smiling, if a little wryly. ‘I will do my best.’

  ‘And could you pick up the parure for me?’ She took the receipt from her pocket and handed it to him. ‘People will expect me to wear the tiara and earrings. No one will know it’s fake except us and the auction house and they won’t tell.’

  ‘I’ll see to it. A courier will arrive with credit cards for you some time this morning. Pay Bridges’ account, get your friendly heating engineer over to sort out the boiler and pay whatever it takes to get the roof and guttering repaired before the wedding. The interior will wait until we’re away.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I really do have to go. I have an appointment that won’t keep.’

  ‘Kam...’ He waited. ‘How long will you be gone?’

  ‘A week, ten days, maybe.’ He was still holding her hand and he raised it to his lips, brushing his lips across her knuckles. ‘Take care of Henry for me.’

  He let go of her hand, stepped into his car without a backward glance and in a second was lost in the stream of traffic.

  ‘Drive safely,’ she whispered, raising her hand to her face to catch the last scent of him. ‘Come back soon.’

  * * *

  Kam had been gone a week but he’d texted her often, sent her a dozen photographs of rings, each one more wildly over the top, footballers’ wives flashy than the one before.

  He knew what she liked, simple things like the bracelet she was wearing now and she trusted him to find something that was just right. In the meantime it was fun to be teased a lit
tle.

  Today’s text wasn’t fun, though.

  I had hoped to be back this weekend but something’s come up and I have to go away for a few days. Can you cope with Henry for a bit longer?

  She’d replied.

  I’ll have to cope with Henry on a permanent basis. Where are you?

  On board a plane and about to take off. I’ll explain when I see you. If you need anything, call my office and talk to Michael.

  He’d added a number.

  Where are you going?

  But she’d got no answer and was halfway through tapping in Michael’s number to ask him where Kam had gone when she stopped.

  She wasn’t about to admit to anyone that he hadn’t told her himself.

  The bluebell woods were pulling in the visitors to the gardens, but when she went to the Orangery for a word with Jamie, he was gloomier than usual.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘The repairs to the castle roof mean that the Orangery will be closing at the end of the week. Health and safety issues. I’ve just had a call from head office to say that they won’t be reopening.’

  ‘Won’t...?’

  ‘They’re saying it hasn’t made the kind of returns they’d expected and they’re writing it off. I’d have thought they would have been in touch with you about that.’

  ‘No doubt they’ve written to my lawyers,’ she said. ‘What about your job?’

  ‘They’ve offered me one in Luton, but I’m staying here.’

  ‘Good, because now you’re free, you can cater the wedding for me.’

  ‘I’m not sure your man will be happy with that.’

  ‘My man has told me to do what I like, so start working on ideas for the menu. I’ll let you know about special dietary requirements once I’ve had replies to the invitations. Oh, and, Jamie...’ She smiled. ‘Start planning on how we’re going to run the new Orangery when we’ve got rid of all that orange plastic. Morning coffee with freshly made cookies and cakes, fabulous lunches and destination afternoon teas.’

  ‘Agnès...’

  ‘I’ll want a champagne afternoon tea on the day before the wedding for the guests who will be staying over and the press who will be here to take photographs.’