conversational faux pas, she quickly moved away and, looking around, said, ‘I was hoping to find Pam. I don’t suppose you know where she is?’
‘Why? What do you want her for? If you’re in a hurry, maybe I can help.’
She hesitated, clearly reluctant to say, which no doubt meant it had something to do with this wretched Wedding Fayre. He thought he was hard-nosed when it came to business, but using her own wedding as a promotional opportunity seemed cold even to him.
But, choosing to demonstrate that he was quite as capable as her when it came to covering the awkward moment—at least when he wasn’t causing them—he said, ‘The truth is I was looking for you in order to apologise for my “sackcloth and ashes” remark. It was inexcusable.’
‘On the contrary. You had every excuse,’ she said quickly. ‘I really should have made more of an effort to stop Geena before she got totally carried away.’
‘You might as well have tried to stop a runaway train.’
‘True, but even so—’
‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘I should have done it myself, preferably without the crash barrier technique. I’m not normally quite so socially inept, but I’m sure you will understand that you were the last person I expected to see at Longbourne Court.’
And, confronted with the growing evidence of her impending motherhood which, two months on from seeing her on the cover of that hideous magazine, was now obvious, he was trying hard not to think about just how pregnant she was.
Trying not to wonder just how soon after that lost moment with him she’d found the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Someone who was a world away from him. Someone she’d known for ever …
‘That makes two of us,’ she said. ‘You were the very last person I expected to see. Candy told me you disliked the country.’
‘I dislike certain aspects of the country. Hunting, shooting,’ he added.
‘Me too. My great-grandfather banned all field sports from the estate. He said there had been too much killing …’ She paused for a heartbeat and then said, ‘You did get my letter?’
He nodded and turned away. He should apologise, explain that he hadn’t meant it the way she’d taken it. She’d earned every penny of her fee. But what would be the point?
In truth, six months spent thinking about what had happened, about her—whether he’d wanted to or not—had left him with a very clear understanding of his responsibility for what had happened.
He’d known what he was doing when he’d called her to his office.
Had known what he was doing when he’d kept her there, forcing her to go through that wretched account, when, in truth, it had meant nothing to him.
Convinced that she had somehow sabotaged his future, he’d wanted to punish her. The truth was he’d sabotaged his own plans, had become more and more distant from Candy as the wedding had grown nearer, using the excuse of work when the only thing on his mind had been that moment when he’d walked into Sylvie Smith’s office and she’d looked up and the smile had died on her lips …
And he’d blamed her for that too.
Then, for just a moment, instead of being a man and woman locked in an ongoing argument, they had been fused, as one, and the world had, briefly, made complete sense—until he’d seen the tears spilling down her cheeks and had known, without the need for words, that he’d got it wrong, that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.
What good would it do to say any of that now? She had her life mapped out and to tell her how he felt would only make her feel worse. Better that she should despise him than feel sorry for him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘For everything.’
She turned away, a faint blush of pink staining her cheeks as, no doubt, like him, she was reliving a moment that had fired not just the body, but something deeper—the mindless heat of two people so lost to sense that nothing could have stopped them.
Or maybe he was just hoping it was that. It was, in all likelihood, plain guilt.
The fact that just six months later she was visibly pregnant with another man’s child demonstrated that as nothing else could and he’d done his level best to forget her.
From the first moment he’d set eyes on her he’d done his best to put her out of his mind.
That he’d felt such an immediate, powerful attraction to this woman at their first meeting when Candy, the woman he was about to marry, was standing next to him, had been bad enough and he’d kept his distance, had avoided anything to do with the wedding plans. Had buried himself in work and done his best to avoid thinking about her at all.
He’d made a fair fist of it until she’d waved her presence in front of him with that damned invoice.
If she hadn’t added that handwritten ‘Personal’ to the envelope—no doubt in an attempt to save him embarrassment—his PA would have opened it, dealt with it, would have put through the payment without even troubling him.
Instead, it had been left on his desk to catch him on the raw when he’d opened it. Raw, angry, he had been determined to look her in the eye and challenge her. Challenge himself.
Well, he’d won. And lost.
Twice. Because, face to face with her now, he knew that she was the one. The One.
Then, because that was the last thing he wanted to think about, he said, ‘What did you want Pam for?’
She stared at him for a moment, then raised a hand, swiping at the air as if to clear away something he couldn’t see, then crossed distractedly to the desk as if she might find her.
‘I just wanted to ask her if I could go up into the attics to look for something that belonged to my great-grandmother. To borrow for a little while.’
‘Your great-grandmother?’ he repeated, grateful for the distraction. ‘How long has it been there?’
‘Since I put there. Before I left.’ She turned back to face him. ‘Unless you’ve already started to clear things?’ She made it sound as if he was destroying something beyond price.
Maybe, for her, he was.
‘Apart from instructing Mark Hilliard to put in an application for outline planning, I’ve done nothing,’ he assured her, ‘and, as far as I can tell from my tour of the place with Mark this morning, nothing appears to have been touched.’
‘Oh. Well, that’s hopeful.’
She’d begun to soften as they’d talked about her family and for a moment he’d forgotten the barrier between them as, apparently, had she. It was back in place now and it wasn’t that edgy barrier with which she’d fought the attraction between them but something colder. Angrier.
‘Was this the great-grandmother who married the boy in the photograph?’ he asked, using what he’d learned about her. That people, her family, were more important than possessions. Hoping, against all reality,
