The Accidental Bride (6 page)

‘I suppose so.’

‘I know so,’ he said, adjusting his laptop back to face him. ‘Ah well, back to work if nookie is off the menu.’ He was joking, but there was the shadow of a frown across his forehead.

Oh no, he wasn’t worrying about that, was he?

‘Look, John, what you told me last night, about your experience in prison. It doesn’t put me off you, you know. It doesn’t make me want you any less than I did before. It’s just something that happened to you. It doesn’t make you a different man to me. I still think you’re the sexiest thing on two legs, and the best fuck a woman could ever have. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Thank you. You’re an angel, Lizzie, a true angel.’ The smile was wide now, unsullied by any doubt. ‘I did worry … about that … but you proved to me last night that it wasn’t an issue. Several times, in fact.’

They’d made long, tender love after his revelation on the terrace, coming together again and again, touching, kissing. At first it had seemed important to Lizzie to allay any fears of his, but very quickly, she’d simply started enjoying John’s body and his fabulous technique, just for the sheer joy of it.
She couldn’t imagine any man being more of a man than he.

There were still one or two things she wondered about, but somehow, this wasn’t the time, or the place, to explore them. When they were back at home, tucked up in the sitting room, relaxing with a cup of tea, and maybe a slice or two of Mrs Thursgood’s lemon cake, well, maybe then she’d ask more questions, but not before.

‘Well there you are. No problemo. So, get on with sussing out whatever it is you’ve got in the cross-hairs today.’ She nodded at the laptop. ‘What is it? Trying to work out how to persuade Elon Musk to sell you a bit of the SpaceX action? Now that you’ve got yourself some jets, space rockets and satellites are obviously the next desirable items on the agenda.’

He gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Don’t laugh, madam. I’ve got interests in several telecoms companies so I already own part shares in a satellite or two.’

‘Why does that not surprise me? You filthy plutocrat, you.’

‘But I like what you say about rockets. I’ll put them on the to-do list.’

They lapsed into a companionable silence for a while, John perhaps mulling over how he might obtain his rockets for a competitive price, and Lizzie reading the bunch of emails she’d downloaded before they boarded, and reconnecting with life as she now knew it. Which was full, fuller than it had ever been, and consisted of living at Dalethwaite Manor with John, and working with Marie Lanscombe at the New Again Dress Agency, doing alterations and now a little bit of designing too, special projects for one or two of the shop’s most long-standing
and high-spending clients. She was also doing her utmost still to be the best friend she could to Brent and Shelley, who’d been her house-mates up until a few weeks ago.

She frowned. That was the hard thing. The three of them had been so close, their lives practically interwoven, but now, no matter how assiduously she tried to maintain the integrity of the bond between them, she could feel it faltering.

Perhaps I’m just being arrogant? Perhaps they don’t need me as much as I thought they did? Perhaps I’m just too different now … now that I live with a multi-millionaire?

She’d made a point of dropping in at St Patrick’s Road a couple of times before she and John had set off for this holiday, but each time, she’d barely had chance for the briefest of chats with her friends. She’d extended a dinner invitation, regaling Brent and Shelley with the glories of Mrs Thursgood’s cookery, but in the days prior to her trip to the south of France with John, there had never seemed to be an evening when everybody was free.

Well, I’ve got a new man, so why shouldn’t you two be all swept up in your new men too?

Especially Shelley, who seemed to have found a kinky hunk all of her own, even though Lizzie still wasn’t sure whether or not her friend was paying for the privilege. Sholto Kraft was an escort, just had Brent had once been, and as Lizzie had pretended to be, the first night she’d met John. Shelley claimed she was just having fun with a guy she liked, but even though she was seeing her friend less than before, Lizzie could sense there was more to the Shelley/Sholto relationship than just a bit of BDSM experimenting.

And as for Brent … Happy as she was for him, Lizzie couldn’t for the life of her work out quite why her friend
was so cagey about the hot new man in his life. Brent hadn’t had a boyfriend for a long, long time, not since his serious lover Steve had been killed; but before then, he’d always loved to dish every last fruity detail about his dates and their prowess. This time, though, he was as close-mouthed as a very close-mouthed thing. Lizzie would have been frantic with concern, but for the fact that she’d never seen Brent so happy before. Which was a bit insulting in a way, because he seemed in far better spirits now than he’d ever been when he’d briefly dated her.

I’m going to prise some intel out of both of you when I get home, if it’s the last thing I do. You two were both nosy enough when it came to me telling you about John and his peccadilloes.

But today, there wasn’t a single email from either of them amongst the downloaded stuff. It was all newsletters from Amazon and suchlike. Lizzie frowned, about to close the program, but then noticed something that she’d missed amongst all the tempting offers for books and clothes and tech toys.

It was an email from Marie, her boss at New Again. It’d probably be some nice chatty updates on the shop and the expansion they’d been discussing. The two women had rapidly become fast friends since Lizzie had started working at the dress agency. She’d sensed that Marie had been marking time with New Again, and that her own arrival had energised the other woman’s interest in the business, suggesting new horizons. With someone on hand who could not only do expert alterations quickly, but also make garments from scratch, the shop could be so much more; a prime example was their unexpected plunge into making bridal gowns. Admittedly, it was just one finished dress so far, with two more on the books and several strong
enquiries, but it was all very exciting and could end up being a very big thing indeed!

The title of Marie’s email –
You won’t believe this!
– was a bit ominous, though. Lizzie opened the message.

After the usual salutation, the other woman was ecstatic.

The little shop on the Kissley Magna village green … I think we’ve got it! I thought it’d been sold, but suddenly it was back on the market again with another agency, to lease. I thought, what the hell, I’d apply for details again … and blow me if they’d dropped the terms way, way down … I can’t believe it. It’ll cost us next to nothing, really. I kept asking them if they’d made a mistake, but they said no. And the place is just perfect. Barely anything to do, just a bit of fitting out. We’ll need some more stock, but I’ve got my rainy day savings … and maybe if your bloke John would like to invest a bit, we could go into a proper, formal partnership? If you’d like that, of course. I think he should invest in you as a big-time designer, but being selfish, I’d love it if you’d come in with me, you know?

It was a long, rambling email, happiness in every bit and byte. Lizzie smiled, but sighed silently too.

Here we go again
, she thought, recognising a familiar pattern in the suddenly available property at a bargain price.

It was a perplexing situation, and she still didn’t quite know how to handle it. But she’d have to find a way. Because it would keep happening, and she couldn’t keep getting in a state about it, and becoming confused and irritated.

It wasn’t Marie’s fault. Lizzie’s employer and friend was in seventh heaven, relishing the next exciting step
for the business that was suddenly right within her grasp. Something Lizzie really wanted for both of them too …

No, it was the way it had been done that was troubling. Unsettling. Because she, Lizzie, knew exactly how it had come about. Exactly. She’d been manoeuvred, again, by the man she loved. Just as she was previously when the house she’d shared with Brent and Shelley at St Patrick’s Road had been purchased by a ‘mysterious new owner’, who’d promptly dropped the rent to a ludicrously minimal level.

Across the cabin, John’s head snapped up, and he gave her a long, shrewd look. She’d never known anyone like him, anyone who could pick up on another person’s vibes the way he did. She could swear he’d read her mind. Or maybe it was just because he’d simply been waiting for her to discover what he’d done … and to react. She wondered how long this had been in the works.

Crikey, that’s fantastic!
she typed in a draft email to Marie, ready to send when they landed.
Totally brilliant! Let’s talk about it in detail as soon as I get back, but yes, I’d love to be in on this with you, as a partner, if you think I’m up to it. I don’t think there’ll be any doubt whatsoever about the fact that John will invest, or loan me some money. That’s a given. I can’t wait!

There was no use being mulish about this. He did what he did. Even when he’d said he wouldn’t do it, the devil. And just as before, there was no point fighting, or spoiling things for other people. After all, his motives were benign, and it was what she wanted too.

But it was another of his pre-emptive strikes and she was going to give him the mother of all bollockings about that; for the way he’d done it rather than what he’d done. He was going to have to learn to consult her about things first, especially big stuff like this.

You say I’m your equal in all things, John. Well, treat me like one. Equals keep other equals in the picture, don’t they? They don’t leave them to discover what they’ve done after the fact
.

She held John’s gaze for a moment, watching him wait for her to say something. Instead, giving him the faintest smile, she returned to her messages.

Chew on that, control freak.

She added another sentence to the email.
This new leasing company … it wouldn’t happen to be called ‘Oldacre Holdings’ by any chance, would it?

She’d absolutely no doubt what the answer to that one would be.

Dalethwaite Manor felt both strange and familiar to her. This was the new reality of her life. Before they’d gone away, she’d been ill, then there’d been the kerfuffle of moving her stuff – well, most of it – from St Patrick’s Road. Then there’d been catching up with Marie at New Again, not to mention a ton of various ‘official’ things to sort out with respect to living in a new home. John had offered her the services of one of his cadre of personal assistants and secretaries, but Lizzie had insisted on doing as much of it herself as she could.

I love you, but I don’t want to depend totally on you. As long as you insist on benignly manipulating my life, beautiful man, I’m going to insist on maintaining at least some semblance of feminine independence.

But arriving home from the airport was like the king and queen arriving at their palace.

Mrs Thursgood was on the steps to greet them. There were flowers everywhere. A new minion of John’s, called Martin, swept forward, reeling off a list of phone calls, meetings and critical messages to be dealt with, and requesting
instructions. John’s principal personal assistant Willis was now his liaison at his London headquarters, with newly promoted Martin his right-hand man up here in the north.

Even Alice the cat was waiting in the hall too, milling around Lizzie’s and John’s legs, and graciously accepting the stroking and affection of her human underlings, although as a determinedly independent creature herself she’d quickly wandered off again.

Used to just plonking her holiday luggage somewhere or anywhere for the time being, and then unpacking it haphazardly over a period of days or even weeks, Lizzie found the idea of handing it over to someone else slightly alarming. Alarming but also seductively tempting. She hated unpacking with the power of a thousand suns, which was why it usually got left so long.

‘Er … OK then, thanks ever so much,’ she said as Mrs Thursgood took charge. ‘Everything’s a bit mixed up. But the … um … worn stuff is on the top.’ God, nice as it was to hand off the chore, it was also embarrassing too.

‘Don’t worry, Miss Aitchison. Leave everything to me. Just relax and rest after your journey. Mary is in helping us today, and she’ll bring you some tea. I’m sure you could do with some. It never tastes right abroad. Perhaps you’d like it served in the orangery? It’s lovely in there this afternoon.’

Feeling helpless, Lizzie glanced across at John, who was deep in conversation with Martin. He met her look immediately and grinned. He knew this was all odd to her, and he mimed,
Don’t worry!

‘Yes, tea in the orangery would be great. I’m dying for a proper English cuppa. It’s been lovely on holiday, but you’re so right, tea anywhere else but here just doesn’t taste as it should.’

John smiled approvingly at Lizzie, as Mrs Thursgood took control of Lizzie’s cases, and the very willing Martin, who clearly didn’t stand on official roles and ceremony, lent a hand taking the luggage upstairs.

‘Come on, sweetheart, let’s have that tea. I’m dying for a cup too.’ John slid his hand into hers and led her to the orangery.

Lizzie still had vivid memories of their fun in the orangery that first day, when they’d been viewing the house. The sunny room would always be an evocative space for her. But right now, it was just warm and golden and welcoming. She flung herself down on one of the inviting, pale, deeply upholstered sofas and, as John settled beside her, they heard the sound of a cheery voice singing and, miraculously quickly, Mary, one of Mrs Thursgood’s several daily helpers, appeared with a laden tea tray.

‘Oops, sorry about that,’ Mary said with a grin, setting down the tea things on a low table. ‘This is such a lovely house. I always feel like singing when I’m here. Did you have a nice holiday, Miss Aitchison, Mr Smith?’

‘Brilliant, thanks,’ said Lizzie. Yes, it was a lovely house, if a bit daunting. When she really settled in, she could imagine herself singing all the time too. ‘But it’s lovely to be home, too.’