to send determination rippling out to every near and far-flung part of her being was to think of Carla. They would make this work.
She glanced at Will again. He made no move to lead her downstairs.
They’d been given a suite at the castle—two bedrooms with a shared sitting room and bathroom. It had taken her less time to freshen up than it had him. Which indicated his enthusiasm for the task at hand. She clapped her hands together and tried to look not terrified. ‘Ready whenever you are.’
The housekeeper had ushered them to these rooms when they’d arrived. Lord Bramley had not greeted his grandson at the door. Nor had Carol Ann.
If either event had disconcerted or disappointed Will, he’d not betrayed the fact by so much as a flicker of an eyelash.
He ran a critical eye over her now, raising gooseflesh on her arms. ‘You look perfect.’
Her lips twisted. She did.
His eyes narrowed. ‘What?’
‘If there’s one thing I can do right it’s to wear the appropriate clothes whatever the occasion.’ And when one got right down to it, it was an utterly pointless talent—so trivial.
She wore black three-quarter-length capris, a silk vest top in cream and a cashmere blend long-line cardigan in a shade of dusky pink. Complementing the outfit was a pair of pink and rose-gold sandals, light make-up and a loose ponytail. She didn’t need to glance into the mirror above the mantelpiece to know she looked the epitome of casual country chic.
‘What are you afraid you can’t do? Pull this charade of ours off?’
He wore a pair of navy chinos, loafers and a lighter blue button-down shirt that moulded itself to his chest in such a way that it took an enormous amount of effort on her part to not notice. Or, at least, to appear not to notice.
‘You look perfect too. We look perfect together.’
‘You didn’t answer the question.’
No wonder his start-up company was so successful—he was dogged, persistent when he sensed a problem, and, she suspected, ruthless. Not that she had any intention of hiding her current concerns from him. For heaven’s sake, the man had promised her a million pounds! She had to do her absolute best here for him. She had no intention of letting him down—for his sake, for her own sake, but mostly for Carla’s sake.
And Peter’s.
‘Sophie?’
‘We look perfect.’ She twisted the ring on the third finger of her left hand, before holding that hand up. ‘We have the ring to prove it. But we need to act perfect too.’
He lowered himself to the edge of the sofa. ‘Explain.’
She remained right where she was, too keyed-up to take a seat. ‘Look, everyone is going to assume we’re lovers, right? There are certain...intimacies we need to—’
‘We’re not having sex! We agreed.’
He remained seated, but it felt as if he’d leapt to his feet and stabbed a finger at her. Her heart gave a sick thud. ‘Wow! I don’t know whether to be offended that you’re so repulsed at the thought of sleeping with me or not.’
This time he did shoot to his feet. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Well, it’s by the by and totally unimportant for the current conversation. Sex is not the only kind of intimacy couples in love share.’ She planted her hands to her hips to hide how awkward she felt. ‘Or has that fact passed you by?’
He dismissed that with a single wave of an imperious hand. ‘We’ll play it by ear—wing it. Make it up as we go along.’
Did he really think that’d work? An unwelcome thought shuffled through her. She wanted to swat it away, but... ‘Are you hoping we succeed? Or that we’ll fail?’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
She couldn’t take his money. Not if this were a farce. She searched his face.
‘I want this to work. It has to work.’ His nostrils flared. ‘What is your problem?’
Her problem was his absolute lack of enthusiasm for her company. On their flight to Inverness he’d buried himself in paperwork, barely exchanging two words with her. And at the moment it seemed he could barely stand being in the same room with her. It was some kind of Peter hang-up. She recognised it because she had a few of those of her own.
‘My problem is that you can barely bring yourself to touch me.’
He scowled. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’
She held out her hand. ‘Then hold my hand.’
His scowl deepened but he took her hand. She immediately felt less alone.
Oh, but that scowl!
She tugged him closer and turned him so they could survey their reflections in the mirror above the mantelpiece. ‘Now there’s a lover-like expression if I ever saw one.’
He tried to smooth his face out and she was seized with a sudden urge to giggle.
‘This isn’t funny.’
But his eyes lightened as he said it and her smile widened. ‘It’s hilarious. You’re just too tense to admit it. You’re always tense when you mention Scotland, so I suppose it only makes sense that you’re tense now we’re here.’
His eyebrows rose.
‘It’s true. It’s always been true. There’ll be reasons for it—good ones, I expect—but I think it’ll help our cause somewhat if you pretend that I’ve helped you to un-tense a little on that front, don’t you?’
He stared down at her and it made her aware of their unusual proximity. Her pulse started to race.
‘You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?’
‘Of course I have!’ His surprise stung. ‘You’re paying me a ridiculous amount of money to help you pull this off. I mean to do my best.’
His mouth opened and then closed. He blinked, and then something in the line of his jaw softened. ‘Thank you.’
She wanted to tug her hand from his. She wanted to bolt across to the other side of the room and put a sofa and coffee table between them. She forced herself to remain where she was. ‘Let’s save the gratitude for later...when we’ve managed to pull this off.’
He gave a hard nod. ‘Right. So...any other tricks besides holding hands that I should know about?’
His smile eased the chafe in her soul. This was a tense, high-stakes game they were playing. It made sense there’d be nerves, and that her every sense would be on high alert.
Carefully she reclaimed her hand and gestured to the mirror. ‘Pretend it’s after dinner and we’ve all adjourned to
