had moved. What did it matter whose had moved? Their mouths had almost touched. It was the closest a man’s mouth had ever been to hers.
But he had jerked away as if she had poison on her lips.
The same thing happened at their parents’ next wedding. Audrey had been determined to act as if nothing could faze her. She was going to act as if the previous almost-kiss had never happened. To show him it hadn’t had any impact on her at all. But after a few champagnes to give her the courage to get on the dance floor, she’d breezed past Lucien and hadn’t been able to stop herself from giving him a spontaneous little air kiss. Her mouth had aimed for the air between his cheek and hers but someone bumped her from behind and she had fallen against him. She’d grabbed at the front of his shirt to stop herself from falling. He’d put his hands on her hips to steady her.
And for a moment...an infinitesimal moment when the noise of the reception faded away and it felt they were completely and utterly alone...she’d thought he was going to kiss her. So she’d...
Oh, God, she hated thinking about it even now...
She’d leaned up on tiptoe, closed her eyes and waited for him to kiss her. And waited. And waited.
But of course he hadn’t.
Even though Audrey had been tipsy on both occasions, and a part of her knew Lucien had done the honourable thing by rejecting her clumsy advances, another part of her—the female, insecure part—wondered if any man would ever be attracted to her. Would any man ever want to kiss her, much less make love to her? She was twenty-five and still a virgin. She hadn’t been on a date since she was a teenager. Not that she hadn’t been asked a few times but she’d always declined because she could never tell if guys wanted to go out with her for the right reason. Her first date at the age of sixteen had been a disaster—an ego-smashing disaster she would do anything to avoid repeating. She’d only been asked out because of who her mother was. It had nothing to do with her whether the boy liked her or not. It was about her celebrity mother.
It was always about her celebrity mother.
Audrey picked up her keys and the overnight bag she’d packed earlier. ‘I’m heading out of town for the weekend.’
Rosie’s eyes twinkled like they belonged on a Christmas tree. ‘Am I allowed to know where you’re going or is it a state secret?’
It wasn’t that Audrey didn’t trust her flatmate, but even Rosie with her down-to-earth nature could at times be a little star-struck by Audrey’s mother. ‘Sorry, Rosie. I have to keep the press out of this if I can. With Mum and Harlan in hiding, the first person the paps will come looking for is me.’
Please, God, not again. The press had followed her relentlessly after her mother had gone to ground. At Audrey’s flat. She’d stayed for three weeks and had taken three overdoses, not serious enough for hospitalisation but serious enough for Audrey to want to prevent another marriage between her mother and the hard-partying Harlan Fox.
‘What about Lucien?’
‘What about Lucien?’ Even saying his name made Audrey’s spine tighten and her scalp prickle as if a thousand ants were tugging on the roots of her hair.
‘What if Lucien wants to know where you are?’
‘He won’t. Anyway, he’s got my number.’
Not that he’d ever used it in the last three years. Or the last six. But then, why would he? She was hardly his type. His type was tall and blonde and sophisticated, women who didn’t drink too much champagne when they were feeling nervous or insecure and out of their depth.
‘Gosh, how lucky are you to be on Lucien Fox’s speed dial.’ Rosie’s expression had gone all dreamy. ‘I wish I had his number. I don’t suppose you’d—?’
Audrey shook her head. ‘It’d be a waste of time if I did. He doesn’t date boring homespun girls like us. He only dates size zero supermodels.’
Rosie sighed. ‘Yeah, like that one he’s been dating now for weeks and weeks—Viviana Prestonward.’
Something slipped in Audrey’s stomach. ‘H-has he?’ Her voice came out scratchy and she cleared her throat. ‘I mean, yes, yes, I know.’
‘Viviana’s amazingly beautiful.’ Rosie’s expression became one part wistful, three parts envious. ‘I saw a picture of them at a charity ball last month. Everyone’s saying they’re about to become engaged. Some girls have all the luck. They get the best looks and the best guys.’
‘I wouldn’t call Lucien Fox a prize catch.’ Audrey couldn’t keep the bitter edge from her tone. ‘He might be good-looking and rich but his personality needs a serious makeover. He’s so stiff and formal you’d think he’d been potty-trained at gunpoint.’
Rosie tilted her head again in her studying-an-exotic-creature manner. ‘Maybe he’ll ask you to be the bridesmaid at his wedding too, I mean, since you’re going to be step-siblings again.’
Audrey clenched her teeth hard enough to crack a coconut. ‘Not if I can help it.’
* * *
Audrey drove out of London and within a couple of hours pulled into the country lane that led to the secluded cottage in the Cotswolds. Her mother had bought the house when she landed her first role on television. It often amazed Audrey that her mother hadn’t sold it by now, but somehow the cottage remained even though several husbands and their houses had not.
It was too small to be the sort of place the press would expect to find Sibella and Harlan, so it was the first place on Audrey’s list. Her mother had left a hint in the note on her doorstep, along with the invitation:
Gone to smell the daffodils with Harlan.
That could only mean Bramble Cottage. At this time of year the rambling garden was full of daffodils. Along the lane, in the fields, under the trees, along the bank of the stream—the swathes of yellow had always delighted Audrey.
Bramble Cottage was a perfect hideaway as it was on a long country lane lined with hedgerows and lots of overarching trees, creating a leafy tunnel. The lane had a rickety bridge over a trickling stream that occasionally swelled enough with rainwater to be considered a river.
When she came down to the cottage with her mother as a child, Audrey had been fascinated by the trees along the lane because they looked as if they were reaching down to hug her. Going through that shady green tunnel had been like driving into another world, a magical world where it was just her and her mother. A safe world. A world where there were no strange men coming and going from her mother’s bedroom.
No press lurking about for candid shots of Sibella’s painfully shy daughter.
Audrey couldn’t see any sign of activity at the cottage when she got out of her car but she knew her mother and Harlan would have covered their tracks well. On closer inspection, however, she realised the cottage looked a little neglected. She’d thought there was a caretaker who kept an eye on things. There were often months and months or even a couple of years between her mother’s fleeting visits. The garden was overgrown but in a way that was part of the charm of the place. Audrey loved how the plants spilled over the garden beds, their blooms filling the air with the fresh and hopeful fragrance of spring.
Audrey
