The Right Bride? (31 page)

Kneeling beside Karyn, Fiona accepted a dog biscuit and
pushed it between the bars. “Come on, boy, you can do it,” she coaxed, then smiled at Karyn. “Don’t you think a nice tasty biscuit’s worth the risk of leaving the cage?”

“Very funny.”

“I don’t mean to be funny—it takes a lot of guts to change things that went deep.” She clucked at Toby as he sidled forward. The dog grabbed at the biscuit and retreated to chew on it. Then he came forward more confidently for another one. Within five minutes Toby was standing outside the kennel, with Fiona very gently massaging his shoulders. Karyn said softly, “He trusts you.”

“Of course he does,” Fiona said with a gamine grin. “Why wouldn’t he?”

Why indeed? Fifteen minutes later, the mongrel was outdoors in the little field behind the clinic, sniffing at the grass and wagging his tail. Rafe would like to hear about Toby, Karyn thought.

She could tell him. On Saturday.

Had she really committed herself to visiting Droverton for the second time?

On Saturday afternoon Karyn landed at Heathrow. The plane was twenty minutes early; even so, she didn’t have a lot of time to catch her train north. After going through customs in an agony of impatience, she hurried through the exit doors, tugging her wheeled suitcase.

An elderly couple stepped out of the crowd and approached her. The man was tall with a thatch of salt-and-pepper hair and bright blue eyes; his suit was unexceptional, although the trouser legs were tucked into blindingly red socks. The woman, short, rail-thin, was wearing an Indian cotton skirt and an old T-shirt; her eyes were almost black in a face that blended character and beauty to startling effect.

The man said bluffly, “You’re not Fiona, so you must be Karyn. Reginald Holden, m’dear, pleased to meet you.”

As he almost crushed her hand in his, the woman said, narrow-eyed, “Are you here to see Rafe?”

“I’m on my way to Stoneriggs, yes—I’m in a hurry, I have to catch the train. Are you his mother?”

“He’s not at Stoneriggs. He’s here in London. Are you going to marry him?”

“Now, Joanie,” said Reginald, “that’s not your question to ask.”

“Yes, it is, Reg. She’s making our son miserable.”

“Irascible, I’d have said.”

“Same thing. Answer the question, girl.”

Karyn said coolly, “My name’s Karyn. I’m not a girl, I’m a woman. I don’t know if I’m going to marry Rafe.”

Reginald gave a bark of laughter. “She’ll do,” he said to his wife. “That’s what Rafe needs, someone to stand up to him.”

“He needs someone who loves him.”

“Can’t expect him to be as lucky as you and me, m’dear.”

Reginald enveloped his wife in a bear hug; when she smiled up at him, Karyn’s breath caught in her throat. She exclaimed, “You’re so lucky to love each other like that!”

“We’re Rafe’s parents, so we’re scarcely objective,” Joan announced. “But we couldn’t have a better son. If I’m not falling all over you, it’s because you’ve hurt him deeply, and it makes me crazy not to be able to fix it.”

“My husband wasn’t a nice man,” Karyn said with careful understatement.

“We’re all entitled to the occasional mistake,” Reginald said breezily. “Jolly good thing the chap’s out of the way.”

Karyn raised her brows. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

Joan said fiercely, “You’re breaking Rafe’s heart. You’ve got to choose one thing or the other—waste your life in fear and regret, or get on with it.”

“Wallow in the mud,” Reginald said cheerfully, “or climb back on the horse that threw you.”

“I packed my jodphurs,” Karyn said.

“Then you’re all set,” Reginald replied. “After all, she’s here, isn’t she, Joanie? That’s got to count for something. She doesn’t live in the next county, you know.”

“Do you love my son?” Joan asked in a voice like a steel blade. A voice that reminded Karyn strongly of Rafe.

“I don’t know,” she replied, refusing to drop her eyes. “But I’m willing to try and find out. Providing you’ll tell where in London I can find him.”

Joan passed her a crumpled invitation. “He’s got a gala opening of a new hotel tonight—here’s the address. You could attend. If you wanted to.”

“I’ll do that,” Karyn said. “You could wish me luck. If you wanted to.”

Joan nodded, as though Karyn’s answers had pleased her. “Something dies inside us when we don’t take risks,” she remarked. “You probably know that, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“Are you going to the gala?” Karyn asked.

“We’ve got a sick dog at home, so we have to get back—we commandeered Rafe’s helicopter so we could meet you.”

Karyn said, smiling for the first time, “I’m honored you left the dog just to see me.” Then a blur of movement caught her eye; Fiona, wearing a pretty blue suit, was pushing through the crowd toward her. Karyn said in happy surprise, “Fiona, how lovely to see you.”

Fiona stopped dead, gaping at Rafe’s parents. “What are
you doing here?” she said tactlessly. Her eyes widened. “You were asking about Karyn last night—picking my brains. I just hope you haven’t been giving her a hard time.”

“Came to check her out,” Reginald said.

“She’s not a prize filly,” Fiona said crossly and gave Karyn a distracted kiss on the cheek. “So you know Rafe’s in London? I only found out this morning. I was so afraid I’d miss you and you’d be on your way to Droverton…although I wouldn’t have worried if I’d known Reg and Joan were planning to be here,” she finished, frowning at them.

“We knew you wouldn’t want us interfering,” Joan said briskly. “So we didn’t tell you.”

“This is getting much too complicated,” Fiona complained. “Karyn, I didn’t bring John with me because I thought you’d be in a tizzy. You can meet him when you come home with Rafe after the gala.”

“It’s not a tizzy, it’s a funk,” Karyn said, “and you’re making one heck of a big assumption about Rafe and me.” She hugged her sister fiercely. “No matter what happens, I’m so glad to see you, and thanks so much for coming all this way—it’s getting to be a habit, rescuing me like this.”

“I won’t have to do it any more, because once you see Rafe you won’t need rescuing,” Fiona said triumphantly.

“How is he, Fiona?” Karyn burst out.

“I talked to him this morning at the hotel—he didn’t sound in a very gala mood. But he’ll feel a million percent better when he sees you,” Fiona said. “How’s Toby?”

“He has new owners—a wonderful couple who live in the country and love him to bits. He’s a different dog.”

“He’s a walking metaphor, that dog,” Fiona said with a sideways grin.

Karyn hoped so. But even if she herself had changed
enough to come in search of Rafe, what if he didn’t want to see her? What if he was so angry with her that he turned his back on her? Wouldn’t that serve her right?

Worse, what if he’d changed his mind? It was fine for Fiona and Joan to insist Rafe was still in love with her. But what did they know? Maybe all those feelings he’d talked about had been brought on by too much Greek sunshine and an overdose of sex.

Then there were her own feelings. Was she in love with him? Or would she have to rebuild trust before she’d know?

All her doubts and fears must have shown in her face. “Karyn, it’ll be fine. With Rafe, I mean,” Fiona said forcefully.

“Maybe,” said Karyn, “and maybe not. But I have to see him, no matter what. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.” She hesitated. “Fiona, I don’t want to send you away. But I’ve got to do this on my own…do you understand?”

“Of course I do! You don’t need the whole darn family tagging along…by the way, I booked a room for you at Rafe’s hotel. It’s next door to some incredible boutiques, in case you didn’t bring anything to wear.”

Tears on her lashes, Karyn said, “You’ve thought of everything.”

“The rest is up to you,” Fiona said. “You can do it.”

Reginald interjected, “Fiona, you could come back with us in the ‘copter. You’ll be home in no time.” He gave Karyn a courtly bow. “Best of luck, m’dear. Drop by the castle for tea, why don’t you?”

Joan kissed Karyn on the cheek, a gesture that felt like an accolade. “That way you can meet the dogs.”

“I’d like that,” Karyn said.

She hugged Fiona again, then watched as the three of them disappeared through the jostle of other passengers.

Her first step was to get a taxi to the hotel, where she was going to gate-crash a very fancy gala.

Hosted by Rafe.

A
S THE
cab wound through the London streets in a series of jerky stops and starts, Karyn could hear, far in the distance and overriding the sound of traffic, the grumble of thunder. The sky between the tall buildings was heaped with purple-edged clouds; the trees were whipped by a wind that whirled dust from the gutters and tossed scraps of paper into the air. If she were back home, she’d say they were in for a storm. She was trying very hard not to see this as a bad omen.

She was wearing her expensive linen slacks with a blue linen blazer and an ivory silk blouse; as the taxi lurched forward, she did her best to repair her makeup. In her case, carefully packed in tissue, was the delphinium-blue dress Rafe had given her in Greece. She’d brought it hoping that he’d strip it from her body and make love to her, just as he had once before in their big bedroom that overlooked Cape Sounio. But instead she’d be wearing it to the most momentous confrontation of her life.

The crumpled piece of paper Joan had given her said the gala began with cocktails at seven. Karyn was already praying she wouldn’t bump into Rafe before it began; she wanted him to see her first in the midst of the invited guests. That way he’d have more time to cool down. Less time to consider homicide, she thought wryly. He couldn’t very well send her packing in front of everyone. Could he?

He could try. It didn’t mean she had to obey him.

Lightning flickered between two office towers. The cabbie slipped through an opening in the traffic, the meter
clicking with monotonous regularity. Her eyes scratchy from lack of sleep, because she’d been up since four that morning, Karyn gazed out at crowded pavements and red double-decker buses, at stone and brick architecture rooted in history. She might be scared to death of meeting Rafe; but she was also unable to quell a tremor of excitement that she was finally in London, a city that for her had always been wreathed in romance.

Briefly her overstretched nerves loosened. Perhaps she’d come home, she thought. Maybe England was where she belonged, with a man as civilized as this great city, as unyielding as the granite crags of his estate, as wild and powerful as the windtorn sky. Were he to love her, were she to allow that love to permeate her, and were she to return it, strength for strength…was that why she was here? To find out what that would be like?

With one final jolt, the cab drew up in front of an elegant Edwardian stone building, lights gleaming from its myriad windows. Quickly Karyn paid the fare, added a generous tip and got out. Trundling her bag behind her, she walked toward the huge arched entranceway, where a uniformed doorman greeted her as though she was royalty, took her bag and indicated the front desk.

For a moment, awestruck, her steps faltered. She was standing under a domed ceiling centred with a magnificent gold chandelier; the ivory walls were outlined in gilt, the ceiling a baroque marvel of swirled gold and exquisite murals. A bouquet of tropical lilies rested on a marble pedestal; the floors were pale marble, the carpets handloomed. With all the dignity at her command, she approached the desk and within moments was being whisked in the elevator to her room on the fifth floor.

She hadn’t seen Rafe.

She had two hours to get ready.

Staying even one night in this room was going to wreck her budget for the next twelve months; all the more reason to enjoy it while she was here. Recklessly Karyn ordered afternoon tea to be brought to her room, even though according to her it was only lunchtime. When it came on a mahogany trolley with immaculate linens, she tucked into tiny sandwiches and luscious little cakes, pouring Prince of Wales tea from an antique silver pot.

Perched on her bed, she looked around her. Silk-damask upholstery and drapes, a deeply piled carpet in forest-green, dark cherry furnishings, two delicate prints of dancers: every detail was perfect. She’d already checked out the marble bathroom with its fleecy robe and lavish toiletries.

Having consumed every scrap of food, she soaked in fragrant bubbles in the whirlpool tub, painted her nails, and took her time making up her face. When she was finally ready, at quarter past seven, she took one last look at herself in the mirror.

A glamorous stranger looked back at her, a woman with delicately flushed cheeks and brilliant blue eyes, her hair in soft tendrils around her face. Crystal earrings twinkled at her lobes; the blue dress encased her like the petals of a slender flower.

The only thing missing was the gold chain with the teardrop diamond that she’d sent back to Rafe.

She tilted her chin. She was going downstairs, she was going to find Rafe, and she was going to fight for him. In fighting for him, she’d be fighting for her own life. Defeating Steve, once and for all.

Freeing herself to be with Rafe. If he’d have her.

She tucked her door card in her silver clutch purse, and left the room. Five minutes later, she was standing at the entrance to the lobby bar. A group of guests was ahead of her, giving her a moment to get her bearings.

Small gold lamps cast a warm glow on the deep red walls, giving the polished walnut trim a lovely sheen. Intricately woven carpets were scattered on an expanse of gleaming parquet. The room was already crowded with men in tuxedos, the women’s gowns a mingling of hues like a midsummer garden. White-jacketed waiters moved smoothly among the guests.

Rafe was standing with his back to her, talking to several men and one woman, a brunette whose beauty and sophistication Karyn couldn’t hope to emulate. Even from here she could see diamonds in a sparkling cascade around the woman’s throat. For a moment Karyn quailed. What if Rafe had indeed put her behind him? A regrettable interlude, the sooner forgotten the better.

What if this woman was his new partner? Or even his partner for the evening?

She’d been a fool to come.

You’re breaking his heart…
so Joan had said and so Fiona had suggested. As he laughed, bending his head to hear what the woman was saying, he didn’t look as though his heart was broken.

“Your name, madam?”

The doorman, in a scarlet jacket and a high starched collar, was addressing her. “Dr. Karyn Marshall,” Karyn said clearly. She rarely used her title; but this seemed an occasion that called for it.

He ran his eyes down the list in his hand. “I don’t believe your name is here,” he said delicately. “Could there have been some mistake?”

Gate-crashers. Jewel thieves. Unwanted interlopers. Of course there’d be security for an event of this size. “I flew in at the last minute from Canada,” she said. “If you mention my name to Mr. Holden, I’m sure he’ll be delighted to welcome me.”

“Certainly, madam.”

The doorman made an unobtrusive gesture to one of the waiters and whispered instructions in his ear. The waiter walked across the parquet toward Rafe, discreetly got his attention and spoke to him very briefly. For a split second Rafe’s body went utterly still. Then he said something to the waiter and turned back to his guests.

Not once did he look Karyn’s way.

All right, Rafe, she thought in a wave of fury. If that’s your game, I can play it, too.

The waiter returned and the doorman said with impeccable courtesy, gesturing her into the room, “Enjoy your evening, madam.”

She planned to. Her blood up, Karyn helped herself to a chilled martini from one of the waiters and took the first sip, its bite almost making her choke. A man standing nearby said, with amusement, “They’re extremely good martinis.”

He was handsome and gray-haired, with that indescribable polish that generations of wealth can confer. Karyn introduced herself, and soon discovered he was laird of a vast estate in Scotland and had a keen interest in sheepbreeding. As they talked animatedly, he said, “Let me introduce you to those three gentlemen over there…they’d like to hear your views on Cheviots.”

The three men were standing close to Rafe. Sipping her martini with caution, for she needed all her wits about her, Karyn crossed the room and joined the three men. Even then Rafe paid her no attention whatsoever. We’ll see about that, she thought, waited for a gap in the conversation and said pleasantly to her companions, “Would you excuse me, please? I want to speak to Mr. Holden.”

Holding herself very tall, she closed the gap until she
stood at Rafe’s elbow, then said clearly, “Good evening, Rafe.”

He turned, his glance flicking over her face. “Dr. Marshall,” he said. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“They’re the best kind, don’t you think?” she said, and smiled at the other guests. She was damned if she was going to show that his use of her last name had flicked her like a lash.

Rafe said imperturbably, “May I introduce Dr. Karyn Marshall.” He reeled off the others’ names, not one of which Karyn could have repeated, although she did catch that the brunette was the wife of the handsome aristocrat standing across from Rafe.

Calling on every ounce of her poise, she talked and laughed and smiled until she thought her jaw would crack. Then Rafe said, “Ah, the ambassador’s party has arrived…please excuse me. Karyn, I’ll see you later.”

Briefly his eyes rested on her with a such a blaze of emotion that she almost dropped her glass. So he wasn’t indifferent to her. Far from it. She said coolly, “Perhaps.”

“It’s not a suggestion, it’s an order.” His smile impartially included the whole group. “Karyn and I have some unfinished business,” he remarked, took her hand, kissed her palm with lingering pleasure and walked away from her.

Scorched by the contact, her cheeks flaming, Karyn said, “He’s exaggerating and he’s much too used to having his own way. I need another martini.”

The brunette, whose name was Lydia, signaled the waiter. “Rafe is never indiscreet,” she said, “how interesting. Where did you meet him, Karyn?”

Karyn had no intention of sharing a convoluted story about separated twins and a picnic on a faraway beach. “By
chance,” she said, and to her great relief heard the doorman announce that dinner was ready to be served.

Now was her opportunity to leave with some degree of dignity. But hadn’t Steve destroyed every vestige of her fighting spirit? Was she going to run away from Rafe and that blaze of emotion he’d banked as swiftly as if it had never occurred; or was she going to match him, thrust for thrust, parry for parry? His opponent and his equal.

Steadily she walked with Lydia and her husband toward the dining room. Its gold-framed mirrors reflected the dazzle of chandeliers and gold-leaf tracery on walls of a soft moss green. An array of crystal glasses shot little rainbows on the circular tables with their bouquets of roses and tall gold candelabra. At the door, the maitre d’ took her name and said politely, “Ah yes, Dr. Marshall…you’re on Mr. Holden’s right at the head table.”

She said with the utmost composure, “Thank you,” winked at Lydia and crossed the room toward the long table flanked by twin marble fireplaces. Her heart was fluttering in her breast; so this was Rafe’s next move. He’d outguessed her; she’d expected to be seated in a corner as far from him as possible.

On her other side was a charming French count whose passion, she soon found out, was horse racing. From the corner of her eye she saw Rafe approach. “Mr. Holden,” she said with edgy mockery, “what an unexpected pleasure.”

“I thought I could keep an eye on you here,” he said.

“Do you like my dress?” she asked provocatively.

“A pity you don’t have a gold chain to go with it.”

“Flinging down the gauntlet—what a romantic gesture that is.”

“I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now, but romantic doesn’t cut it.”

She widened her eyes, aware that she was thoroughly enjoying herself. “So I shouldn’t pin my hopes on having had my hand kissed?”

His gaze lingered on the soft curve of her mouth. “It depends what your hopes are. We’ll discuss them later—when we’re alone.” Turning to the woman on his left, he said, “Countess, may I introduce Dr. Karyn Marshall?”

Valiantly Karyn held up her end of the conversation, working her way through Beluga caviar, delicately flavored bouillon, flame-roasted quail, and pastries shaped like swans surrounded by plump raspberries. Rafe made a speech notable for wit and brevity, then everyone moved to the baroque splendor of the ballroom, where the orchestra was tuning their instruments.

Karyn, by now, was light-headed with fatigue, wine, repressed sexuality and suspense. Rafe led off the dancing, taking her into his arms and sweeping her around the floor in an old-fashioned waltz. His arm around her waist, his fingers clasping her own to his shoulder, the closeness of his determined jaw and unfathomable dark eyes all worked their magic. Her body yielded in his arms in a way that spoke volumes. He said harshly, “So that hasn’t changed.”

“Did you expect it to?”

“I’ve given up knowing what to expect from you.” His fingers were now splayed over her hip in overt possessiveness. How important was Steve likened to the elemental simplicity of Rafe’s embrace? It was Rafe who matched her, body and soul. Rafe who from the beginning had shown her that passion could be coupled with integrity, willpower with trust.

What a fool she’d been to compare him to Steve. In all the ways that mattered, there was no comparison. How could she have forgotten the first time Rafe had made love to her, in the bungalow in Maine? He’d put his own needs
on hold in order to soothe her fears and bring her to fulfillment. He’d been breathtakingly generous.

Yet she’d run from him like a terrified sheep.

Not paying attention, she stepped on his toe. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“Only another three hours,” he said heartlessly. “I have to circulate…I’ll pass you over to the count.”

Soon Karyn was whirling around the dance floor with a succession of partners young and old. Normally she would have enjoyed this immensely. But as the minutes and hours passed, the knot in her belly tightened. Rafe hadn’t danced with her again. Nor did she have any idea what she was going to say to him when, as he’d promised, they found themselves alone.

Promised or threatened, she wondered with a shiver along her spine.