after The Kiss which Hugo Cantrell had inflicted on the kicking and struggling Mariana, they’d been interrupted by the sound of feet thundering up the rickety stairs and furious voices baying for blood. And, instead of using her as his shield, Hugo had inexplicably picked Mariana up in his arms and strode with her to the window.
‘Here.’ He pushed a leather purse heavy with coins into her hand. ‘My winnings. Now, go while you can, because they won’t spare either of us.’
And, before she could scream in protest, he’d pushed her slender body through the narrow casement, dropping her into a hay-wagon passing below.
And as she lay, winded but otherwise undamaged, she heard from the inn the crashing of splintering wood and the chilling sound of a man shouting in pain.
That, at least, was what she’d originally planned.
Well, maybe even the nastiest pieces of work had their moments of weakness, Tallie conceded reluctantly. As Mark Benedict had surprisingly demonstrated last night.
But even if she’d let Hugo slip out of character for a few minutes, and she wasn’t sure why that had happened, he was still the villain of the piece and nothing was going to change that.
And Mariana was definitely not going to return at some point, to find him broken and bleeding, so that she could bandage up his injuries with her torn-up petticoat and nurse him back to health in some remote barn.
Because any spare petticoats she had would be devoted to William, wounded during his gallant actions at Salamanca, probably by a sabre cut during Le Marchant’s charge, she thought. Because he was the hero, and she must make sure the reader knew it.
But it was last night’s decision that was still at the forefront of her mind as she showered and dressed. The flat seemed deserted when she emerged from her room, and for a moment she thought Mark had already left to pursue whatever he’d got planned for the day, but then she detected the murmur of his voice from behind the closed door of his office.
She was in the kitchen, just finishing her tea and toast when he came striding in, dark brows drawn together in a frown and his mouth set grimly.
Not a good sign, thought Tallie with sudden apprehension. Maybe she wasn’t the only one having second thoughts about their new agreement. And it might be better to jump before she was pushed.
She said quietly, ‘If you’ve changed your mind about letting me stay, I quite understand.’
‘What?’ He seemed to become aware of her for the first time. ‘God, no. I’ve something else on my mind entirely.’ He refilled the mug he was carrying from the percolator and leaned back against the counter top. He was wearing beautifully cut jeans and a plain white shirt, open at the throat, its sleeves turned back over his tanned forearms.
He said abruptly, ‘I hadn’t intended to ask so soon, but I rather need that favour I mentioned last night. It seems my stepmother is paying me a visit.’
‘And you want me to cook lunch for her?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Just to be here. She claims she’s coming on a business matter and I need backup.’
She hesitated. ‘What do you mean exactly?’
‘I mean I’d prefer not to be alone here when she comes calling.’ His tone was blunt.
‘Oh,’ she said, as unwelcome light dawned, ‘so that’s what …’ And stopped, flushing guiltily.
‘That’s what Penny was undoubtedly about to tell you when I interrupted,’ he supplied, his face lightening into amused resignation. ‘Are there any details of my life my dear cousin has withheld? For instance, did you get a recital of my childhood ailments, including how she gave me chickenpox when I was thirteen?’
‘No—’ Tallie’s own mouth quivered into amusement ‘—but she might be saving that for another time.’ She put her used breakfast things carefully into the dishwasher. ‘So you want me to play gooseberry, is that it?’
‘Not exactly,’ he said carefully. ‘I want you to pretend that you’re my girlfriend, and that we’re sharing a damned sight more than just our living space.’
She bit her lip. ‘But surely you shouldn’t be asking me. It ought to be … Miss Randall, or someone …’
‘Actually, no.’ A sardonic note entered his voice. ‘I’ve no wish to send out misleading signals to Miss Randall—or anyone.’ He paused. ‘And as you and I have nothing going for us apart from an uneasy truce, that makes you the ideal choice.’
He looked at her. ‘So, will you do it?’
‘I … don’t know.’ She glanced down at the workaday jeans and top she was wearing. ‘I hardly look the part of anyone’s live-in lover, least of all yours.’
‘That can be fixed.’
‘And I’m not a very good actress.’
‘Pretend it’s a scene from this book of yours,’ he said casually, and Tallie bit her lip, wondering if that wasn’t a little too close for comfort.
‘Very well, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll do my best. What time is she getting here?’
‘Mid-morning, she tells me.’ His mouth twisted. ‘And, as she appears to want something, she may even be on time.’
‘Fine.’ She summoned a smile. ‘Then I can get some work done while I’m waiting.’
But an hour later she couldn’t pretend she was satisfied with what she’d produced. Even while hurling himself on the French lines, William still seemed oddly remote. Maybe he would become warmer, more human, when Mariana came back into his life, she thought, and the sooner the better.
But maybe she was just tired. She hadn’t slept very well the previous night, her mind invaded by disjointed words and images. ‘Mark, of course, is a total commitment-phobe’ … Mariana struggling in the arms of a man she hated, and, more than once, Mark’s voice asking, ‘Why don’t you … stay on here?’ And herself, fighting to find a reason and put it into words.
She was reluctantly saving what she’d written when there was a rap at her door.
‘Come in.’ She got to her feet, wondering apprehensively if she was being summoned because Veronica had arrived ahead of time.
But Mark walked in alone. ‘I’ve brought you something.’ He tossed a couple of carrier bags emblazoned with the name of a well-known department store on to her bed. ‘I hope it all fits. I’m not intimately acquainted with your measurements, so I had to guess.’
Tallie opened the first bag, extracting a deceptively simple cream skirt and a scoop-necked silky top the colour of horse chestnuts. The second held a pair of high-heeled cream sandals.
When she could find a voice, she said, ‘You bought these—for me?’
‘I hardly plan to wear them myself. I suggest you change into them now. Practise walking in those heels.’
She gasped. ‘I’ll do nothing of the kind.’ She tried to stuff everything back into
