condition. Of course they’re a collector’s item, and rare, which is reflected in the price,’ Charlotte commented.
‘Apart from some historical detail I doubt if they would be of much interest to anyone but the Farringdon family or a collector,’ he replied.
‘I must admit I’m curious to know how they came to be written.’
‘In March 1744 Claude Bayeaux, writer and poet, married Elizabeth Farringdon, and, discovering that there were strong French connections—several of the Farringdon men had taken French wives—began to research the family history. Apparently he found it absorbing, and those six volumes—which took him practically twelve years to write—trace the fortunes of the Farringdons from the 12th century up until the 18th…’
‘The title Par le Fer et la Flamme suggests they were fairly militant,’ Charlotte murmured.
‘How very diplomatic,’ Simon mocked, with a glinting sideways glance. ‘In truth, going to war was their way of life. They changed allegiance whenever it suited them and fought for the highest bidder, tactics that made them rich and powerful, not to mention feared. The Farringdon women made their mark in other ways. Many of them, noted beauties with strong characters, married into other powerful families, and wielded influence rather than swords. With one notable exception. In the 15th century, Nell Farringdon is said to have killed her elderly husband, the Earl of Graydon, with his own sword, because he had betrayed one of her brothers…’
Charlotte was still listening, fascinated, as they drew up outside Carmichaels. In a privileged position overlooking Hyde Park, it was quietly discreet on the outside, openly opulent on the inside.
The latest smart society venue, it smacked of money and privilege—public school, Oxbridge, skiing in the winter, taking the family yacht to Monte Carlo in the summer.
In such a setting Charlotte could easily have felt under-dressed and overwhelmed, but strangely enough she didn’t. With Simon Farringdon’s hand at her waist, she felt supremely confident.
When they had been greeted with deference and her coat had been whisked away, they were shown to a table on the edge of the dance floor.
Most of the other tables were occupied, and a few couples were already dancing to an old Jerome Kern tune played by a six-piece orchestra.
As soon as they were seated, and had been handed gilt-edged menus, the wine waiter appeared with a bottle of Bollinger’s Recemment Degorge in an ice bucket. Having eased out the cork, he poured the sparkling wine, and waited for Farringdon’s nod of approval before moving away.
Smiling at Charlotte, Simon lifted his glass in a silent toast.
She smiled back and took a sip. It was the finest champagne she had ever tasted, and she said so.
‘I hoped you’d like it.’ He looked straight into her long-lashed eyes, eyes of a clear dark grey with an even darker ring round the iris.
His look was so direct it was more like being touched than looked at. After a moment, her head spinning, she dragged her gaze away and tried to concentrate on the menu.
God, but she was lovely, he thought, studying that haunting heart-shaped face with its wide mouth and delicately pointed chin, the neat little ears tucked close to her well-shaped head and that long, graceful neck…
Now he knew what poets meant by swan-like.
And though she might have neither morals nor scruples, she had class. She wasn’t the kind of woman he could have paid off, even if the Carlotta Stone hadn’t been rightfully hers. So that left him with only one alternative. To seduce her away from Rudy.
Which would be no hardship.
Glancing up, she was shaken afresh to find that Simon was still studying her closely, a lick of flame in his eyes that made her stomach clench.
‘Seen anything you fancy?’ he asked smoothly, indicating the menu.
‘Lots. I just can’t decide.’ To her annoyance, she sounded breathless.
‘Do you like fish?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Then may I suggest Sole Veronique, followed perhaps by the blackcurrant cheesecake?’
‘Sounds delicious, she agreed.
His glance brought the waiter hurrying.
When their order had been given and they were alone once more, he asked, ‘Is there a current boyfriend?’
Taken by surprise, she stammered, ‘N-not exactly.’
He waited, his eyes on her face.
When she made no attempt to elaborate, he said, ‘Tell me about yourself. What made you decide to keep a bookshop?’
‘I’ve always liked books, so it seemed the right thing to do, especially as I had quite a lot of stock that I’d inherited from my mother.’
He raised a brow in tacit enquiry.
‘She used to run a second-hand bookshop in Chelsea before she remarried and went to live in Australia,’ Charlotte explained. ‘I’d hoped to take over her business when I left college, but the premises were due for demolition, so when I was offered a lease on the shop I have now and the accommodation above it, which was quite nicely furnished, I snapped it up.’
‘And it’s worked well?’
‘Yes, very well indeed. At first I had a bit of a struggle financially, but now sales are up and I’m able to afford an assistant.’
‘How long have you been in business?’
‘About two and a half years.’
‘Not bad going,’ he said admiringly.
As the orchestra started to play a quickstep, he rose to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Would you care to dance?’
The mere thought of being held in his arms made her go funny all over, and as she hesitated he added with the faintest hint of derision, ‘Or perhaps you only disco?’
‘I’d love to dance,’ she said coolly. Rising to her feet, she put her hand in his and quivered as shock waves ran through her.
CHAPTER THREE
DRAWING her into his arms, Simon held her firmly, but not too tightly, nor too closely. Even so her pulses began to race and her knees turned to jelly.
She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that although she was shaken, and hadn’t danced for some time, she had enough experience not to miss a step or stumble.
Which was just as well, as he proved to be an extremely good dancer, light on his feet and innately graceful, with a natural sense of timing and rhythm.
Though Charlotte was five feet eight inches in her stockinged feet, the top of her head was just on a level with his mouth. Used to being as tall as her partner, if not taller, she found this heightened her newly awakened sense of femininity.
