the stairs to meet him looking a little pale, though still her poised, beautiful self. She was wearing a stunning dress, the structured soft grey material framing her curves in a way that made it impossible for him to drag his eyes away from her. There was something sharply stylish about the cut of it, even though the design was simple, giving the impression of confidence and effortless style. He had to hand it to her, she was a class act, even in the face of such a challenging situation.
In fact after what he’d witnessed in the last twenty-four hours it seemed he’d done her a disservice by assuming he’d have to handle the fallout from this all by himself. Instead of shying away from it, she’d stepped right up when it had become clear he needed her in this with him, and without one murmur of protest.
‘My friend Sophie loaned it to me,’ she said, following his gaze and fluttering her hands across the front of the dress. The strap of the handbag she was wearing over her shoulder slipped down her arm at the movement and dropped to the floor before she could catch it. As she bent down to pick it up something slipped out of the neck of her dress and flashed in the light as it twisted and swung around. He stared at the slim sliver chain. And the ring that was looped through it.
With a lurch of astonishment he realised he recognised it.
Her wedding ring.
She still wore it. Close to her heart.
Following his gaze, Emma looked down to see what he was staring at and when she realised what it was, she tried to stuff the necklace hastily back inside her dress again.
‘You still have it,’ he said, the words sounding broken and raw as he forced them past his throat.
‘Of course.’ She was frowning now and wouldn’t meet his eye.
‘Why—?’ He walked to where she was standing with her hand gripping her handbag so hard her knuckles were white.
‘I’m not very good at letting go of the past,’ she said, shrugging and tilting up her chin to look him straight in the eye, as if to dare him to challenge her about it. ‘I don’t have a lot left from my old life and I couldn’t bear to get rid of this ring. It reminds me of a happier time in my life. A simpler time, which I don’t want to forget about.’
She blinked hard and clenched her jaw together and it suddenly occurred to him that she was struggling with being around him as much as he was with her.
The atmosphere hung heavy and tense between them, with only the sound of their breathing breaking the silence.
His throat felt tight with tension and his pulse had picked up so he felt the heavy beat of it in his chest.
Why was it so important to him that she hadn’t completely eschewed their past?
He didn’t know, but it was.
Taking a step towards her, he slid his fingers under the thin silver chain around her neck, feeling the heat of her soft skin as he brushed the backs of his fingers over it, and drew the ring out of her dress again to look at it.
He remembered picking this out with her. They’d been so happy then, so full of excitement and love for each other.
He heard her ragged intake of breath as the chain slid against the back of her neck and looked up to see confusion in her eyes, and something else. Regret, perhaps, or sorrow for what they’d lost.
Something seemed to be tugging hard inside him, drawing him closer to her.
Her lips parted and he found he couldn’t drag his gaze away from her mouth. That beautiful, sensual mouth that used to haunt his dreams all those years ago.
A lifetime ago.
‘Jack?’ she murmured and he frowned and shut his eyes, taking a step away from her, letting go of the chain so that the ring thumped back against her chest, breaking the strange sensuous connection between them. This was crazy; he shouldn’t be giving in to his body’s primal urges, not with her. Not now.
It was too late for them. They were different people now. There was no point trying to rehash the past.
‘We should go,’ he said, giving her a reassuring smile, which faltered when he caught the look of pained confusion on her face. ‘We don’t want to be late.’
* * *
Jack had arranged for his driver to pull up right outside the house and he and Emma—who had hidden her face behind a pair of Clare’s old sunglasses and the brim of a baseball cap—practically sprinted to the car and flung themselves inside, determinedly ignoring the questions that were hurled at them from all sides.
Once safely in the back seat, Jack shouted for his driver to hit the gas and they left the pack of journalists behind them, scrambling for their own transport. Luckily his driver was able to shake them all off by taking a convoluted route through some back streets and when Jack checked behind them ten minutes later, there still wasn’t anyone obviously tailing them.
They sat quietly, not speaking for the first part of the journey, and Jack took the opportunity to check work emails and calls. After he’d satisfied himself that everything was running smoothly without him, he sat back and looked out of the window, finally allowing his mind to dwell on the situation with Emma again, his thoughts whirring relentlessly.
Something had been bothering him since the phone call with his father, and it suddenly struck him what it was.
They’d be fools to think that trying to get divorced quickly would make all their problems go away. The press would be far more interested in them if they suddenly announced they were splitting up after their marriage had only just become news. His father would be sure to drag Emma’s troubled past into the spotlight again, especially if he thought it would add weight to the Westwood’s side of the claim in the divorce settlement. The man was capable of doing whatever it took to protect the family’s estate.
He hated the idea of Emma having to go through the torture of being hounded by photographers again, having them hiding in her bushes and jumping out at the most inopportune moments. It would be incredibly stressful, especially if she had to cope with it on her own. At least when she was with him he could protect her from the majority of it, using the vast resources he had to hand.
The more he thought about it, the more an idea began to take shape in his mind. What if they stayed married, at least for the time being, and made out to the world that they were happy together? The press would soon grow bored with that—there wouldn’t be any conflict in the story to get excited about. His father would be forced to leave her alone too if she retained the Westwood name.
Surely they could deal with being around each other for a while longer, just until the interest in them had died down.
‘Emma?’
‘Hmm?’ She turned to look at him with an unfocussed gaze as if she too had been deep in thought.
‘What if we stayed married?’
Her gaze sharpened up pretty quickly at that.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean what if we pretend our marriage is solid? To everyone. Including our parents. That would give them time to get used to it and for the press interest in us to die down, then we could get divorced quietly
