His Rags-to-Riches Bride. Susan Stephens

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СКАЧАТЬ The latest, of course, being the imprint of Daniel without his clothes that was now permanently etched into her brain.

      Oh, God, how I needed that, she thought with irony.

      Perhaps a walk would help? she decided, gingerly testing her ankle. A brief visit to some of her favourite haunts might re-establish the fact that she was back in London. Make her feel more grounded.

      Not that she’d ever really wanted to live in the city, but after the end of her marriage her options had been limited, particularly as there had been no Abbotsbrook to return to. Her entire life had had to change, right there and then.

      So, as the Beaumonts had decided to give up their tenancy of the Mannion Place flat in favour of a retirement apartment on a golf course complex in Portugal, it had seemed the obvious—the only—answer to move in there with Jamie. Especially when a job as an assistant in a fashionable West End art gallery had been frankly wangled for her by Celia’s father, who had some financial interest in the place.

      Which meant, on the face of it, she had everything she could possibly ask for, as she consistently and monotonously reminded herself, while she tried desperately to pretend at the same time that there was no great black hole of loneliness and misery at the centre of her little universe.

      But she couldn’t pretend any more. Nor could she tell herself that Daniel belonged in the past, when here he was—right at the centre of the present.

      And neither could she run away again, no matter what the provocation might be.

      This time she would stay and face the pain.

      It was early evening when she got back to the flat, to discover Daniel was there before her, his briefcase tossed onto one of the sofas and his door firmly closed.

      After a brief hesitation, she walked across to his room, and knocked. There was a much longer pause, then the door was flung open and he confronted her unsmilingly, tying the belt of a dark blue silk robe around him.

      ‘Do you have some in-built radar that lets you know when I’ve just come out of the shower?’ he asked caustically.

      ‘I’m sorry.’ She wished to heaven she didn’t sound so flustered. Or that she didn’t remember the last occasion quite so clearly. Although this time he was at least wearing a covering of sorts, she told herself, furious to find that she was blushing. ‘I—I need to speak to you, but later will do.’

      ‘Say what you have to say now,’ Daniel directed crisply. ‘I’m going out later.’

      And staying out all night again? The question was bitten back before she was betrayed into asking it aloud.

      It seemed infinitely safer to look down at the floor instead, she thought, aware of the flurry of her pulses. ‘Actually—I have a favour to ask.’

      ‘Have you, indeed?’ In spite of everything, she was aware that he was looking her over sardonically, taking in the primly buttoned blouse and the discreet length of her black skirt. ‘Shouldn’t you be dressed rather more seductively, in that case? Or have I mistaken the kind of favour?’ He paused. ‘But then it would hardly be the first mistake I’ve made where you’re concerned—would it, sweetheart?’

      ‘Dan—please.’ She took a deep breath, still avoiding his gaze. ‘Can we not.? I mean—you—you’re not making this very easy for me.’

      ‘Easy—for you?’ His laugh was brief and harsh. ‘Is that supposed to be a consideration here? Do you think it was easy for me to go to my lawyers and tell them I’d been rejected by my bride after less than twenty-four hours of marriage?’

      Laine heard the corrosively angry note in his voice, and flinched.

      ‘No,’ she said, swallowing. ‘No, I don’t think that. And I realise, of course, that I have no right to ask for your help, and I apologise.’

      ‘Wait,’ he said, as she turned away. ‘What is it you wanted?’

      She lifted her chin. ‘I found a job today, but it involves working in people’s homes when they’re not there, so I need a character reference.’

      He was frowning. ‘What kind of a job?’

      ‘With a company called Citi-Clean,’ she said, bracing herself. ‘They provide daily maid services to blocks of private flats.’

      ‘My God,’ he said softly. ‘The wheel comes full circle.’

      It was the reaction she’d expected, and she accepted it without wincing. ‘But at least this time I’ll be paid the market rate,’ she said. ‘I even get a uniform.’ She paused. ‘But I do need a recommendation. Actually, I need two, but Fiona at the gallery where I used to work is supplying the other. I think she was just thankful I wasn’t there to ask for my old job back.’ She realised she was babbling and stopped, adding only, ‘So—could you?’

      ‘And what am I supposed to say?’ Dan asked softly. ‘To swear that you’re entirely to be trusted and give complete satisfaction at all times? But then I’d be committing a kind of perjury—wouldn’t I, darling?’

      ‘If that’s how it seems.’ Pain lashed out at her, but she forced herself to stand her ground. To speak steadily even though her face was warming helplessly again under his jibe. ‘But I think the company’s main concern is thieving, and you can’t say I’ve ever stolen anything from you. Maybe you could simply mention that? Give things a more positive spin, perhaps?’

      ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘For a moment there I wondered if you were expecting me to play the knight in shining armour again, and come to your rescue. Because that would be absurdly optimistic, even for you.’

      She was turning to go, but she spun round to face him, her eyes blazing. ‘Let’s get something straight, shall we?’ she said, her voice husky. ‘Dispel this damned myth once and for all. I am not Elaine, the Lily Maid of Astolat, and I never thought of you as Sir bloody Lancelot—not even for a moment.’

      ‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ he said coolly. ‘According to the poem he was more than twice her age.’He allowed her to assimilate that for a moment, then added, ‘But I’m still capable of the occasional act of chivalry, so leave the address of this cleaning company where I can see it, and I’ll get my secretary to write to them.’

      She bit her lip. ‘I—I’m very grateful.’

      ‘Thanks for the assurance,’ he said. ‘But I already know the limits you impose on your gratitude, along with all your other warmer emotions. So let’s leave this favour as the first and last—shall we, my sweet?’

      And he stepped back into the room and closed the door, leaving her standing outside, staring at the closed panels, her arms folded almost protectively across her body.

      As if, she thought with bitter self-mockery, she was still attempting some useless defence against a threat that clearly no longer existed. If indeed it ever had.

      But as she went slowly back to her own room she found herself remembering that note of anger in his voice. Anger, she realised, mixed with something else much less easy to define. And she shivered.

      CHAPTER SIX

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