The Impatient Groom. SARA WOOD

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СКАЧАТЬ made the words as prim as possible.

      ‘Ah.’

      From the look in his eyes, it was plain that he knew exactly what she’d meant! Demurely she continued. ‘Apart from the voluntary work I do at the school, I’ve been out of work since Father died.’ She grimaced. ‘You know what it’s like finding a job here, Frank. If I lived in a town it would be easier, but I can’t afford to move.’

      A low laugh escaped when she remembered her last attempt at finding employment.

      ‘Share it, please, Miss Charlton,’ murmured the prince, the expression in his eyes veiled by his impossibly long lashes.

      Both men seemed interested, so she gave a shrug and shared. ‘I was desperate for any kind of work,’ she told them solemnly, ‘so last week I applied for a job as a bin man—person,’ she corrected, remembering to be politically correct.

      ‘Bin...person?’

      The prince’s English was amazing, but obviously aristocrats didn’t know about such things. Solemnly she explained. ‘Refuse collector.’

      The prince’s only response was a millimetre lift of his eyebrows. Not a man to wear his humour on his sleeve, then. She was seized by a wicked desire to shock him, or to force a smile to crack that composure.

      Frank was more forthcoming. ‘And?’ he queried, grinning.

      ‘Looking around at the competition, I thought I had a good chance,’ she said, keeping her expression deadpan. ‘Then in came a guy with a shaven head, tattoos and a vest, bursting at the seams with Herculean muscles. I knew all was lost. Given an hour or two I could manage the first three of those, but not the last!’

      Frank laughed. She thought the prince was smiling, but she kept her eyes firmly ahead. For some reason he was making her feel edgy. What could he possibly have to do with her?

      ‘I think,’ Frank observed, still chuckling, ‘you’ll soon have better things to do than to collect other people’s rubbish.’

      The prince leaned forward a fraction. Sophia treated herself to a quick glance. From the slight lift of his shoulders she deduced that he was tense, even though no such emotion showed on the perfection of his smooth, oliveskinned face.

      But as a vicar’s daughter she’d had practice in reading small gestures. Perception came with the job. How else did you know when a widower was being brave but really wanted to talk and weep over his bereavement? Or that the jar of home-made jam, which one of the parishioners had brought in, was only an excuse for needing a heartto-heart about their wayward daughter?

      Her wandering mind suddenly snapped back, to focus on the present situation. And suddenly she was tense too, wondering how an Italian nobleman fitted in with Frank’s mysterious phone call, which had promised she would hear something to her advantage.

      ‘Like...the offer of a job as a nursery nurse?’ she had asked hopefully.

      ‘Much better,’ was all Frank would say at the time.

      But that was what she wanted—to return to the career she’d adored, surrounded by children, loving them, mothesring them.

      ‘Sophia?’

      Her hand went to her mouth in dismay and then she gave a small laugh of apology, used to missing conversations when she retreated into her inner fantasy world.

      ‘sorry! I’m a terrible drifter!’ she said amiably.

      ‘Thinking of Hercules and his vest?’ suggested the prince.

      Her eyes twinkled Beneath that cool exterior lurked a decent sense of humour! She felt irrationally pleased.

      ‘I was thinking of children,’ she told him, with unconscious tenderness. ‘I wish I could find work with them.’

      Frank coughed meaningfully but his eyes were smiling at her in a kindly way. Reluctantly she pushed back the memories of the blissful times she’d spent with the kiddies in her care.

      ‘Yes, I’m listening!’ She sat very calmly, her hands in her lap. ‘Go ahead.’

      The solicitor fussily squared the sheaf of papers in front of him. ‘Let me see...Where to start?’

      She sensed that the prince had become unnaturally still. Her glance flicked across to him again. He had a strong and hard profile, which suggested a ruthless determination.

      In her judgement, he was ruthless with himself, too. The line of his hair at the nape of his neck was unnaturally neat, his collar too dazzling, the set of his tie so exact that it might have been glued in place after careful positioning with the aid of a set square and ruler.

      Then she spotted that a small, wayward curl was flick ing around his ear in defiance of his attempted perfection. She felt a wicked pleasure at its mutiny. This man was so immaculately turned out, he might have been carved in marble—clothes and all!

      He looked at her then. To her delight his mouth winened into a broad smile in response to hers. She was totally disarmed, as if he was awarding her a rare privilege.

      She felt an almost irrepressible urge to tousle his hair. It would look marvellous streaming back from his face in the wind. She could see him now, on nearby Barley Hill, the sun highlighting that incredible bone structure.

      ‘Are you as impatient as I to know what strange quirk of fate should bring us together in this office?’ he asked her.

      His mellow, cultured voice slid deliciously through her. She wallowed in the sensation while pretending to be considering his remark. It was a rarity having a prince turn her insides to treacle and she meant to enjoy every melting second.

      ‘Not impatient. I’m sure Frank will tell us in his own good time,’ she said good-naturedly. Anyone who’d sat through vicarage teas with long-winded parishioners knew the meaning of patience. ‘But it does seem extraordinary!’

      ‘My thoughts entirely.’

      More than extraordinary, she decided. Improbable! They were from different planets. His clothes certainly were. They fitted his superb body so well that they must have been made for him. The neat line of his broad shoulders was a work of art in itself. More set squares and rulers, she supposed.

      His carefully groomed hair and manicured nails suggested a man who had time to spend on himself—or he paid others to take care of his appearance for him. All that and a title too. Other than chalk and cheese, how different could you get?

      Sophia leant towards him and whispered on impulse, ‘I think Frank’s got his files mixed up, to be honest.’

      He smiled, his eyes softening in a way that made the breath catch in her throat. ‘That had crossed my mind.’

      ‘Won’t be long,’ Frank muttered, preoccupied with his papers. ‘Just looking for something...’

      He looked excited. Sophia frowned. When ever did solicitors lose their cool? Frank’s tension communicated itself to her and a sudden attack of nerves made her fill the painful silence and blurt out to the prince, ‘Do you think I might be your long-lost sister?’

      His СКАЧАТЬ