Will was struck once more by the need to remedy the situation and shot upright.
By now, he reasoned, frowning as he pulled his phone from the pocket of his coat, Bella would be on her way home, and who knew where that was? So all he could do was give her a call to apologise and thank her profusely for her help this afternoon, and hope she’d accept his grovelling.
And, with any luck, that would be that, he thought, his head beginning to ache as this afternoon’s unexpected string of events ricocheted around his brain. His conscience would be clear, the weirdly distasteful notion that Bella might think him arrogant would be appeased, and today, thank heavens, would be over.
Scrolling through his list of contacts to find her number, Will glanced out of the window at the driving rain and hoped she’d managed to find a taxi, because frankly he didn’t think his conscience could cope with the idea of her having to battle the weather on top of everything else.
And then out of the corner of his eye he caught the flash of fuchsia pink and as his stomach plummeted he realised she hadn’t and it was going to have to.
Because there she was, striding along the pavement, holding her equipment case on her head, bending forwards against the rain, glowering at the ground and looking as if she was muttering to herself.
Narrowing his eyes as he watched her and feeling another stab of guilt attack his conscience, Will abandoned his phone and stuffed it back in his pocket. He couldn’t ignore her. Not again. Not when he still owed her an apology.
Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward to tell Bob to slow down and pull over, because offering her a lift home was the least he could do.
It would have to be raining, wouldn’t it? thought Bella glumly, trudging along the street to the nearest Tube stop and trying to avoid the puddles.
If only she’d brought her umbrella. If only she’d been wearing a mackintosh and wellies instead of a cashmere coat and brand-new suede boots. If only she’d been able to find a taxi. But free taxis in central London when it was pouring with rain were as rare as pink diamonds.
As, apparently, were manners in peers of the realm.
The wind flapped at the bottom of her coat, chilling her knees, and the indignation that had surged through her the minute she’d found herself alone in the vault flooded back.
How could Will have just left her there without so much as a ‘thank you for your help’ or a ‘would you mind seeing yourself out?’ How could he have forgotten about her quite so comprehensively the second something more interesting and important had come along? So clearly Caroline had been up to no good, and of course Will would have wanted to get to the bottom of it, but he could have said something.
But had he? No. Once she’d served her purpose he’d barely spared her a second thought. He’d simply marched off, Caroline in tow, on top of everything else depriving her of the showdown she’d been looking forward to.
Rain trickled down her collar and she swore beneath her breath. Huh. What exactly had he expected her to do? Hang round like some sort of minion until he deigned to come back? If he’d deigned to come back? Or hadn’t she even crossed his mind?
She scowled down at the shiny wet pavement. It was so rude. And OK, so Will was a duke, but that didn’t give him the right to dismiss lesser mortals with quite such ease.
But perhaps that was typical of someone like him, she thought darkly, hopping to one side to avoid a puddle the size of the Mediterranean as her mind ran over the events of the afternoon.
He hadn’t exactly asked if she’d been free to accompany him to the bank, had he, the arrogant man? He’d just assumed. Commandeered her entire afternoon and then once he’d got what he wanted had unceremoniously ditched her.
At some point this afternoon she’d clearly lost her mind. Because what on earth had she been thinking, dropping everything she’d been planning on working on today and following Will like some kind of soppy smitten fool?
Usually she worked to a strict timetable. Usually she prioritised. Usually she never pushed things aside when something better came along. She liked to think she was more professional and better organised than that.
But what had she done this afternoon? Let herself be carried away by a very well-packaged man with an intriguing jewellery problem.
And to think that up until the point he’d stormed out, she’d actually been finding all that pent-up iciness, all that glowering and glinting and frowning, attractive. To think that Will had been exuding unyielding alpha maleness from every pore and she had been a hair’s breadth away from swooning. God. She’d always believed she’d abhorred that kind of attitude, yet there she’d been, quivering with lust and wondering what it would be like to have all that passion directed at her. So what kind of a perverse idiot did that make her?
Catching sight of the Tube sign, Bella quickened her pace, her heart thumping wildly with every step.
And who was this Caroline woman with her frozen face and fabulous wardrobe anyway? Will hadn’t bothered to introduce them so for all Bella knew she could be his wife. Stumbling on a loose paving stone and accidentally planting her foot in a puddle, she felt water seep through to her toes and her resentment tripled.
Oh, she’d be sending him a bill all right, she thought, shivering as a chilly gust of wind slapped rain at her stinging cheeks. Make no mistake about that. In fact, she’d be charging him double. For the urgency of the job and the lack of notice he’d given her. And she’d also be adding extra for the damage done to her coat and boots. So that would probably triple the bill, but who cared? She doubted he’d even—
‘Bella?’
The familiar deep voice cut through her thoughts and Bella jerked to an abrupt halt, her insides leaping all over the place as she blinked the rain from her eyes and swung round.
At the sight of the outrageously gorgeous, abominably rude and unfairly dry head sticking out of the window of the car that was purring alongside her, her heart, the treacherously pathetic organ it was, skipped a beat even as her indignation soared.
Oh, this was great. Just great. He would have to turn up now, wouldn’t he, looking all cool and relaxed and sexy when she was doing an excellent impression of a drowned rat? An extremely cold, extremely stroppy drowned rat.
‘What do you want?’ she said, too fed up with everything to care that she was the one now sounding rude.
‘Would you like a lift?’
Yes. ‘No, thanks,’ she said mutinously. ‘I’m fine.’
‘It’s pouring.’
‘I had noticed,’ she said, aiming for withering but finding withering annoyingly hard to do when her hair was plastered to her face, her arms ached from trying to protect her head with her weighty equipment case and her feet squelched in her boots.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
