Rescued by the Brooding Tycoon (13 page)

He’d been about to kiss her. She knew it beyond a shadow of doubt. It had been there in his face, until he changed his mind, probably remembering that other time on the beach when she’d told him to back off. How could she have known then that by now she would feel so differently?

So much had changed tonight. She’d been practically the belle of the ball, surrounded by admirers, seeing herself through their eyes but trapped inside her ivory tower. But it was she who, only yesterday, had slammed shut the door of that tower, and she could blame nobody but herself.

Not so much Cinderella as the Sleeping Beauty.

‘Except that nobody could consider me a beauty,’ she mused wryly.

But Darius had thought so, perhaps only for a brief moment but a little feminine strategy might have transformed that moment into long-lasting joy. Had retreating into the tower, protecting her safety at the expense of life’s joy, really been the right thing to do?

‘Curses!’ she muttered. ‘Why did this have to happen now?’

Brooding thus, she snuggled down in the huge bed, wishing it was smaller. Its size seemed to demand two people and she was attacked by a feeling of loneliness.

It was still dark when she awoke. The illuminated clock showed that three hours had passed since they had parted and she had the feeling that something strange was happening. After a moment she realised that a phone was ringing.

It seemed to come from the other side of the wall, so surely Darius would answer it soon. But it went on and on. Nobody was going to answer it.

Perhaps the sound came from somewhere else? She slipped out of bed, threw on her wrap and went out into the dark corridor. Now there was no doubt. It was Darius’s phone and there was nobody to answer it.

He wasn’t there. He was spending the night with someone else. And she was a fool not to have realised that it was bound to happen. In London there would be a hundred women he could turn to. Returning to her own room, she had to stop herself slamming the door. She had no right to feel insulted or neglected, but that didn’t help.

So, who? Freya? Perhaps he really needed his father’s money that much. Or one of the numerous females who’d made eyes at him that evening?

She threw herself back down onto the bed but sleep was impossible, and now she wondered how she could get through tomorrow. How could she look at him without an accusation in her eyes, however illogical?

Restlessly, she jumped up and began to pace the room. From the street outside came the sound of a car and she drew aside the curtain to look down.

Then she grew still as she saw the passenger get out. It was Darius, and he was weighed down with baggage. Three large suitcases were offloaded onto the pavement and collected by the porter, then they disappeared into the hotel.

Harriet scurried to her door, listening. She heard the elevator arrive, the doors open and the sound of a trolley being wheeled across the floor, stopping outside the room next to hers. Only then did she look out.

Darius was opening his door, indicating for the porter to take the luggage in. When the man had departed he seemed to notice Harriet.

‘Sorry if the racket disturbed you.’

‘It didn’t. I happened to see you arrive downstairs. You look worn out.’

‘I’ve been to my apartment to collect a few things. At least, it was meant to be a few things, but once I started I couldn’t stop.’

‘You mean—that’s where you’ve been all this time?’ she breathed.

‘Yes, I decided I couldn’t be in London without going home for a few hours. I’ve had someone going in to collect any mail that arrived, but there was still plenty of stuff on the mat. I didn’t mean to stay so long but things built up. What’s the matter? What’s funny?’

‘Nothing,’ she said in a trembling voice.

‘Then why are you laughing?’

‘I’m not—not really.’

‘Yes, you are. What’s so funny at this hour?’

‘You wouldn’t understand. Go to bed quickly. I’ll see you in the morning.’

She escaped before she could give herself away any more. It was vital to be alone to throw herself on her bed, to laugh and cry, and marvel at where the path was leading her.

Now for the big one.

That was her thought as she sat before the mirror next morning, watching as her make-up was again applied by an expert.

Today her clothes were less ostentatiously glamorous, although no less costly, a matching dress and jacket in light grey heavy silk. Around her neck she wore the diamond pendant.

Now the attendants had gone and there was just time for one last important job. Quickly, she dialled her neighbour’s number.

‘Hi, Jenny, is everything all right?—Lovely—he’s not off his food, is he?— Oh, good, they’re his favourite bones but I was afraid he might pine—oh, please fetch him.’

Marcel and Jackson, knocking on their brother’s door, found it opened promptly.

‘I’m honoured,’ he said ironically.

‘Not you, her,’ Jackson informed him. ‘Do you think we’re going to miss the chance to be seen with the most gorgeous girl since—? Is this her door? Good.’

All three of them raised their hands, but before they could knock they heard Harriet’s voice inside.

‘Oh, darling, do you miss me? I miss you so much. I’ll be home soon. I love you more than anyone in the world.’

Jackson and Marcel stared at their brother.

‘A
ménage à trois
?’ Marcel demanded, aghast. ‘You?’

‘Not in a million years,’ Darius declared. ‘I leave those kind of shenanigans to you.’

‘But she was talking to the one she loves
more than anyone in the world.
’

‘She was talking to her dog,’ Darius said, grinning. ‘She does that a lot. She left him with a friend and she called him as soon as we arrived.’

Jackson nodded. ‘She’s probably had him since she was a child.’

‘No, he belonged to her husband who died a year ago.’

‘Ah!’ Enlightenment settled over Marcel. ‘Then perhaps it is the dead husband whom she loves more than—’

‘Shall we be going?’ Darius interrupted him, knocking. ‘Harriet, are you ready in there?’

‘Coming!’ She opened the door and stood basking in their looks of admiration.

Instantly, Marcel and Jackson extended their hands to her, but Darius stayed firm.

‘Back off, you two,’ he said, drawing her hand into the crook of his elbow. ‘She’s mine.’

And Harriet thought she detected a note of pride in his voice, if only she could allow herself to believe it.

Heads held high, they went downstairs to where the ceremony would take place. It would be a civil ceremony, but the venue had been done up to emulate the grandeur of a church. There were flowers everywhere and chairs laid out in rows, while at the far end a choir was assembling.

It was almost time to begin. Ken took his place and stood waiting, his eyes fixed on the door through which his bride would come.

At last Mary appeared and began to walk slowly towards him. She was magnificently dressed in a long gown of saffron coloured satin, a diamond tiara on her head. Behind her walked Frankie and Mark.

What would Darius be feeling now, she wondered, as his one-time beloved married another man and his children became part of another family? He was between her and the procession, so that his face was turned away, and she could only wonder about his expression. But she guessed it would reveal nothing.

As the children passed she saw that Frankie wore a frilly bridesmaid dress and Mark had a page’s costume, also frilly. How he would hate that, she thought.

As if to confirm it, he glanced up at her and made a face of helpless resignation. She made a face back, conveying sympathy. By chance, Darius happened to turn his head in time to see them both.

‘Poor Mark,’ she murmured.

The procession was slowing down, bringing Mark to a brief halt. Just a couple of seconds but it was enough for Darius to put his hand on his son’s shoulder and grunt, ‘Don’t give up, lad.’

Then they were on their way again, with only the memory of Mark’s look of amazed gratitude at his father.

Slowly, the ceremony advanced until the moment when the bride took her groom’s hand, looking up into his face and saying fervently, ‘You are mine, and I am yours. We will be together for always, and no other man will ever live in my heart.’

Conventional words for a wedding, but how did they sound to the man who had once been her husband? Carefully, Harriet turned her head, hoping to catch a sideways glimpse of his face, only to find it turned towards her. He wasn’t looking at the couple swearing their love. His gaze was fixed on her, and something in it made her turn quickly away.

A few feet away, Amos and his family were seated, their chairs at an angle that enabled Amos to see Darius and Harriet clearly. His eyes narrowed, an expression that Jackson recognised with a sigh and that made him exchange a glance with Marcel.

They knew that look on their father’s face, and it didn’t bode well.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A
S THEY
walked out afterwards Amos fell into step beside Jackson, speaking in a low voice. ‘What do you know about her?’

‘Only that she’s delightful, and a very good influence on Darius.’

‘And just what does that mean?’

‘I’ve been watching them together.’ Jackson fell silent.

‘And?’ Amos demanded.
‘And?’

‘He was laughing.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘It’s true. Darius was laughing.’

‘I’ve seen that too,’ Marcel put in. ‘And you know what makes him laugh? She makes fun of him.’

‘She makes fun of him? And he likes it? Rubbish.’

‘They share jokes,’ Jackson agreed. ‘I’ve seen them and heard some of the things they say. Daft remarks tossed back and forth, things that wouldn’t make any sense to other people, but they understand each other, and they laugh together. I’ve never seen that in Darius before. She’s transformed him.’

Amos didn’t answer this, but he strode on ahead and waited for Darius to appear. He nodded briefly at Harriet and jerked his head for his son to follow him.

‘What is it, Father?’ Darius asked.

‘We need to talk.’

‘Right now? They’re just starting the reception.’

‘It won’t take long.’

He walked away without stopping until they’d both entered a little side room and closed the door. Then Amos turned on him.

‘I gather things are getting worse.’

Darius hesitated a moment before saying, ‘Financially, they’re not going well but in other ways—’

Amos brushed this disclaimer aside. ‘I was speaking financially.’

‘Of course,’ Darius murmured.

‘You can’t raise the loans you need, and when you put property up for sale it won’t raise the asking price.’

‘May I ask how you know these details?’ Darius said grimly.

‘You don’t imagine there are any secrets, do you?’

‘Not from you.’

‘You ought to be here in London, working things out. Instead, you waste time on that island that can hardly be worth—well, what
is
it worth?’

‘You mean in money terms?’ Darius asked in a strange voice.

‘Don’t play games with me. Of course I mean money. How much could you raise from it?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘But you’ve been living there for weeks; you must have investigated.’

‘In a sort of way,’ he said carefully. ‘But it’s too soon to form conclusions. I don’t want to rush things.’

‘I suppose that’s the influence of the young woman you brought with you. I hope you’re not taking her too seriously.’

‘As seriously as a man takes a woman who saved his life.’

‘Don’t make too much of that. It means nothing to her. It’s just her job.’

‘But it’s not,’ Darius said fiercely. ‘She isn’t employed by the Lifeboat Institution, she’s a volunteer. She has an ordinary job, but night and day she’s ready to drop everything for the people who need her, even if their cries for help come at awkward moments. She doesn’t think of herself, she thinks of them.’

‘All right, all right, spare me the speech,’ Amos said in a bored voice. ‘I get the point. Naturally, I expressed my gratitude and of course you’ve shown your own gratitude by bringing her here. I hope she enjoys herself. But let it end there. She’s no real use to you. She doesn’t have a penny and she won’t understand your way of life.’

‘And how do you know what she has and hasn’t?’ Darius demanded harshly. ‘Have you been having her watched, because if you’ve dared—’

‘No need to be melodramatic. I’ve merely made a few enquiries. She seems a decent sort, lives a quiet life.’

‘As you’d expect from a widow grieving for the husband she loved, and who loved her.’

Amos’s smile was coldly self-satisfied. ‘Ah, so you don’t know. I wondered.’

‘Know about what? What the hell are you talking about?’

‘Did she ever take you to see her husband’s grave?’

‘Of course not. Naturally, she prefers to keep it private.’

‘Have you known her visit that grave at all?’

‘How could I know?’

‘How could you indeed since she takes such care to hide the truth? But you’ll find the answer here.’ He thrust a sheet of paper in Darius’s hand. ‘Read it and find out just how cunningly she’s been keeping her secrets. Then see how much of a heroine she looks.’

Darius took the paper and read its contents. Then he grew very still, trying to control his mounting outrage.

His eyes were hard as he looked up at his father, then down again at the paper in his hand. ‘Los Angeles,’ he murmured.

‘Brad Connor died in a car crash in Los Angeles, and he’s buried out there,’ Amos said.

‘And you read something into that? He was in the tourist industry, so he probably travelled a lot.’

‘He wasn’t there to work; he was living with the woman he planned to marry as soon as his divorce came through.’

‘You can’t know that,’ Darius declared. But he knew as he spoke that Amos could find out anything he liked. It had always been one of the things that inspired admiration for his business abilities, but now Darius could feel only a horror that he’d never known before.