so worried, Kit,’ he bit out between clenched teeth. ‘I’m not the type to make a scene.’
She hadn’t for a moment thought that he was—it was that he had just thought about making one that bothered her!
But perhaps the fact that Andrea was here with another man had made him realise he didn’t want the woman out of his life, after all? What other possible reason could there be for him making a scene…?
But Marcus’s attention seemed to become distracted as he looked around them, that frownline back between his eyes. ‘There’s something odd going on here,’ he muttered harshly.
Surely he hadn’t just noticed! Her ex-boss was here, someone she had hoped never to see again, and the current woman in his life was here with another man, and as for—
‘Look around you, Kit,’ he said.
She gave him a startled look. ‘Look—?’
‘Just look,’ Marcus encouraged gruffly.
Kit looked, seeing twenty or so other guests: all of the men looked rich and confident, the women beautiful and glamorous.
But when she looked closer, at individuals, she realised that she recognized quite a number of the men, that several of them had either met with Marcus on business, or she had actually seen their photographs—including Mike Reynolds’s!—in the business newspapers in connection with one successful deal or another.
‘Exactly,’ Marcus pronounced as he saw the dawning realisation on her face. ‘It seems I’m not the only one to have heard the rumours. Or that Desmond isn’t averse to actually using those rumours to his own advantage,’ he added knowingly.
Kit instantly saw what he meant by that remark. Bring together a group of a dozen businessmen, supposedly on a social basis, but with the real object of picking up a bargain on a business deal—like sharks circling one of their own injured species!—and the price on those deals was sure to go higher than if business had been done with those individuals on a private basis.
She gave a rueful smile. ‘He could even have started them.’
Marcus turned to give her an admiring look. ‘You’re turning out to be amazingly astute, Kit,’ he said appreciatively.
She felt the blush in her cheeks at this unexpected compliment. ‘It was just a guess,’ she admitted. ‘I could be completely wrong.’
He gave her a teasing smile. ‘I’m not sure that—well, well, well,’ he said consideringly as something over her left shoulder caught and held his attention, his expression once again enigmatic.
Kit stiffened. ‘What is it?’ she asked as he continued to look at something—or someone!—behind her.
‘Hmm?’ he murmured distractedly. ‘Let’s go and say hello to our esteemed host, shall we?’ He didn’t wait for her reply before grasping her arm with his free hand and directing her across the hallway.
Kit almost came to a full stop again as she saw their host chatting amiably with a number of people, easily recognizing several of them; Mike Reynolds had joined them, since she and Marcus had left him a couple of minutes ago.
Marcus turned to give her a curious glance as he sensed her reluctance to join the group. ‘How about we have a little chat about—your friend, later, hmm?’ he suggested.
She gave him a sharp look before replying, ‘Mike Reynolds is no friend of mine!’
‘I already gathered that,’ Marcus replied. ‘But I have a feeling that he was once,’ he added speculatively.
‘No way!’ Kit denied heatedly. ‘Mike Reynolds is nothing but a—’
‘Later, Kit,’ Marcus advised tersely as they reached their host. ‘And don’t forget what I told you: observe and listen.’ He turned a socially bright smile on Desmond Hayes. ‘Quite a crowd you have here, Desmond,’ he greeted the other man jovially, releasing Kit’s arm to shake the other man’s hand.
‘Marcus!’ The other man’s face lit with recognition. ‘So glad you could make it,’ he welcomed with the smooth charm for which he was renowned. He was a tall, attractive man in his late fifties, his dark hair sprinkled with silver, his lined face handsome, his smiling blue eyes sharply intelligent.
Kit stood slightly behind the two men as they greeted each other, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. ‘Observe and listen,’ Marcus had told her—when all she really wanted to do was blend in with the velvet-embossed wallpaper, disappear into it if that were at all possible!
How much longer was this torture to go on before she could escape to the bedroom she had been allocated and actually give herself time to think—and breathe? Because she was sure she had all but stopped doing the latter a good five minutes ago!
‘And this is Kit. Kit…?’ Marcus called sharply, having turned to introduce her only to find her lurking behind him.
She moistened dry lips, keeping her gaze down on the carpeted floor as she held out her hand to the other man. ‘Mr Hayes,’ she greeted shyly.
‘Desmond, please,’ the older man encouraged with warm invitation, holding onto her hand to pull her slightly forward as she would have released it. ‘And just where has Marcus been hiding you?’ he queried.
Kit swallowed, still not looking up, but very much aware that the group around them had grown silent now as they listened to the exchange. Exchange? It could hardly be called that when Desmond Hayes was the one doing all the talking! In a flirtatious way he had. And, to add to her confusion, he still hadn’t released her hand!
She moistened her lips once again. ‘I—’
‘Careful, Desmond,’ Marcus told the other man with lazy derision, his arm moving casually about Kit’s shoulders as he did so.
‘Private property, eh, Marcus?’ the older man said regretfully.
Kit found this whole conversation distasteful—and attention-drawing. Which was what she most certainly didn’t want at this particular moment!
‘Something like that,’ Marcus returned noncommittally.
‘Can I offer the two of you glasses of champagne?’ Without waiting for their answer, Desmond Hayes plucked two flutes off the tray that a passing waiter was carrying.
Kit accepted the glass he held out to her, taking a much-needed sip of the bubbly liquid it contained. Getting drunk certainly wouldn’t help this situation, but hopefully she would become too numb to care!
Marcus held up the two bags he was carrying. ‘Are you going to tell us where the two of us are to sleep so that I can get rid of these, or do we just go upstairs and take our pick of bedrooms?’ he prompted.
‘I’ll have Forbes take your luggage upstairs,’ Desmond Hayes murmured apologetically, giving Kit’s hand one last familiar squeeze before releasing it to turn and signal to the butler standing unobtrusively down the hallway. The elderly man immediately came over to relieve Marcus of the two bags.
Not that Kit was taking too much notice of these proceedings, still caught up in Marcus’s
