almost drown me? You have a bloody nerve, you know that?’
‘I repeat…what do you want from me? Do you want me to reimburse you for the shoes or pay for your dry-cleaning? What? Tell me quickly so I can be on my way. I have already wasted valuable time standing here listening to you scream at me like a fishwife.’
He had some kind of accent, Sophie realised from his clipped speech. Dutch perhaps? But, more than that, she was reeling that he should dare to call her a fishwife just because she’d stood up for herself and hadn’t let him simply get in his car and be driven away without making her feelings known.
Seeing him take out his wallet and extract some notes, she all but blanched. ‘I don’t want your damned money! Didn’t it even occur to you that a simple gracious apology would do? I feel sorry for you…you know that? Driving around in your expensive car, hiding behind your tinted windows, acting like you run the world! Well, go on your way, Mister Whoever-you-are, and God forbid you’re as late for your precious appointment as I’m clearly going to be for mine! But if you are—just remember the reason why, huh?’
About to turn on her unaccustomed high heel, Sophie was shocked into speechlessness by the blond giant’s hand clamping suddenly around her more fragile wrist.
‘If you don’t want my money then perhaps a lift to wherever you are going would be more appropriate? Louis can drop me off at my own destination, then take you on to yours. Will that suffice?’
Knowing that it probably almost choked him to offer her a lift, and because her anger made her feel perverse, Sophie snatched her hand free and glared back at him with a distinct challenge in her large blue eyes. ‘In the absence of an apology then a lift will have to suffice under the circumstances.’ Biting her lip to prevent the more polite ‘thank you’ which threatened to follow her little speech, Sophie folded up her dripping umbrella and, at his instigation, preceded her reluctant host into the opulent hide-seated interior.
Feeling mutinous when her folded umbrella dripped muddy water all over the floor, she deliberately pursed her lips and stared out of the window while he settled himself as far away from her as possible at the other end of the seat. Perhaps he thought he might catch something contagious?
As the door slammed he said in a terse, reluctant voice, ‘You may tell Louis where you are going when I get out.’
Not believing a reply to be necessary, Sophie glanced down at the time on her watch, then back out of the tinted glass window at the rainy London street. She couldn’t help wondering if Diana was ever going to forgive her for turning up to her wedding late, and not only that, but looking like something the cat dragged in, too.
Minutes later, when the Rolls Royce purred to a halt outside a familiar-looking building, with wide curving steps leading up to its twin front doors, Sophie knitted her brows in confusion. She hadn’t yet told Louis where she was going, so how come he’d just pulled up outside the same register office where Diana was getting married to Freddie? As she saw the blond Adonis beside her open the passenger door next to him, she frowned again. ‘Wait a minute. This is where I need to be dropped off. I’m going to my friend’s wedding.’
Cool green eyes assessed her confusion with the kind of haughtiness that was normally associated with royalty. It made Sophie bristle, as well as causing hot, indignant colour to flood into her cheeks.
‘You are going to Diana Fitzwalter’s wedding?’ he demanded.
Now, how did he know that? And, more to the point, how did he know Diana? Sophie froze, as though she’d just lost her nerve on a tightrope walk, as the most obvious conclusion seeped slowly into her brain. Was he going to Diana’s wedding, too?
‘You know Diana?’ she queried, her shock barely allowing her vocal chords to function.
‘She is my personal assistant so, yes, obviously I know her.’
He was Dominic Van Straten? The billionaire property developer Diana worked for? The man who, according to her, found it hard to raise a smile even when the value of his stocks and shares had just shot through the roof and made him even richer? But why on earth would Diana invite him to her wedding when Sophie and one of Freddie’s friends were supposed to be the only witnesses because the couple wanted to keep the whole thing low-key?
Even her confident, outgoing friend had admitted to Sophie that the man just plain intimidated her, and the only reason she stayed working for him was that her salary far exceeded most personal assistants’, thereby allowing her a very comfortable lifestyle indeed.
Her legs feeling drained of strength, Sophie climbed out of the car behind him to finish speaking. ‘Well, I’m Diana’s friend…Sophie.’
Dominic didn’t smile. Neither did he introduce himself. The light grooves bracketing his forbidding mouth stayed obstinately still, without the merest suggestion of a surprised or conciliatory gesture such as a rueful smile. Well, what did she expect? The man was about as warm as a frozen joint of beef straight out of the freezer.
Pushing her fingers through the short damp strands of her hair, Sophie glanced down at her watch, barely registering that they were five minutes late for the ceremony already because she was suddenly feeling drained of every bit of pleasure or hope of an enjoyable afternoon. She visibly shivered, and Dominic Van Straten’s glacial glance flicked across her face with a flash of impatience before he turned and negotiated the wide concrete steps which led to the entrance of the building with an imposing long-legged stride.
In the vestibule they were greeted by a radiant-looking but anxious Diana, and her relieved and handsome fiancé, Freddie Carmichael.
‘Sophie! Thank God! What on earth happened to you?’ Diana’s eyes widened in disbelief as she took in the dark greying stains on Sophie’s fawn coat and the mud splashed up her cream hosiery and shoes.
Glancing briefly at her brooding and so far silent companion, Sophie shrugged. ‘Car broke down and I had to walk. I’ll tell you all about it later. Is it time to go in?’
‘It is. Oh, God, I’m feeling nervous! How nice to see you, Dominic. I’m so glad you could come at such short notice. Trust Freddie’s best pal to come down with flu! So good of you to act as stand-in. Shall we go in? I believe the registrar is waiting for us.’
All through the touching ceremony, it seemed to Sophie that Dominic expressed very little emotion of any kind. Not even a smile. His presence unnerved Sophie tremendously, she had to admit. When they both had to sign the marriage certificate as witnesses afterwards, he bent his blond head to the task as gravely as though he were signing someone’s death certificate.
Diana had told Sophie that they were all going to lunch at the Park Lane Hilton where other friends were joining them, and Sophie found herself praying hard that Dominic wouldn’t be accompanying them. Having to maintain a pretended civility towards a man she instinctively disliked would be like being forced to wear a tight Victorian corset that constricted her breathing for the afternoon.
She hadn’t prayed hard enough. Half an hour later, holding a glass of crystal champagne in the foyer of the plush hotel to toast the bride and groom, her stained coat at last relegated to an obliging assistant in the cloakroom, and Dominic standing beside her, she gulped down her champagne too quickly and had an immediate coughing fit. The hand that clapped down on her back to try and ease her discomfort was surprisingly Dominic’s.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘let me take your glass until you compose yourself.’
‘Oh,
