on earth for?’
‘I refused to marry a man of his choosing.’
Iain shook his head in bemusement. ‘You wouldn’t marry the man he picked for you and he took the hump?’
‘I wouldn’t marry any man he picked for me. And if by taking the hump you mean he was offended—he was furious.’ Cordelia cast the broken pen on to the desk. ‘I know it sounds mediaeval, but he really could have ensured that all doors were closed to me if I’d given him the pleasure of trying to open them.’
Iain stared at her in horror. ‘Your own flesh and blood! Who does he think he is—some sort of god?’
‘One of my other sisters calls him a puppet master,’ Cordelia said wryly.
‘So they don’t condone what he did? But you said the eldest two...’
‘Celia and Cassie. It’s not that they condone it exactly, but to respond to any overture of mine would require them to keep it secret from their husbands. I have never met Cassie’s husband, and Celia’s but once, but the code of honour with desert princes is strong. No matter what they may think of the circumstances, my father’s will must be respected. That is the ace he was going to play, I suspect,’ Cordelia finished contemptuously.
Iain shook his head in disgust. ‘I can’t believe he would stoop so low. To keep your own sisters from you, and him your father.’
‘Which is exactly why he does not see it as anything other than his natural right, to order my life,’ she replied bitterly. ‘Cressie—my middle sister—used to say that we were his pawns in the game of matrimonial chess. She was right, Iain, believe me.’
‘And unless you do as he says, you won’t get to see your sisters in Arabia?’
‘I don’t know. I had hoped today that I could persuade him to—but that was before he came up with this ridiculous idea. Now—I simply don’t know.’
She shook her head, biting her lip and screwing shut her eyes, and Iain cursed himself for being so blunt. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’ve nothing to apologise for.’
‘He’s a right wee shite, your father.’
She laughed tearfully. ‘I have no idea what that means, but I suspect you’re right.’
‘Aye, sorry about the language. You can take a man from the docks, but you can’t take the docks from the man.’
She smiled at this quip, but seemed suddenly at a loss. ‘I’d better be off.’
‘You’re not staying here?’
She shuddered theatrically. ‘Good heavens, no. I have rooms at Milvert’s on Brook Street. I suppose this is goodbye. I wish you luck with your contract.’
‘We’ve both got too much to lose to turn our backs on this. I’ll walk with you.’
He was not fooling himself. That day over a year ago had been in every way extraordinary. He had never, before or since, experienced that instant of certainty, that deep connection that had led them both to believe they’d met before, that had transformed into the most intense attraction he’d ever known. Circumstances had colluded to put them together on the docks at the Broomilaw at the same time in the same frame of mind. Since then, he had thought of it as a day—and night—out of time. It had not occurred to him that they would ever meet again, but now they had done so, under the strangest of circumstances, Iain couldn’t help thinking that fate must have taken a hand. Not that he believed in fate, though his mother had been a great one for it.
‘I beg your pardon?’
He realised, as he took his hat and gloves from the footman, that he’d spoken his mother’s words aloud. ‘What’s for you won’t go by you,’ he repeated tersely, as they ascended the steps into Cavendish Square.
‘You think that fate has brought us together?’ Cordelia asked.
She had a smile that did things to his insides. Provocative, that was the word for it. Iain never spoke of his mother. His memories of his family were so painfully tarnished that he rarely allowed himself to remember the few happier times when Jeannie was still alive. His heart felt as if it were being squeezed, and he automatically closed his mind to that memory. He had always been driven, but this last year, he had immersed himself in his work to the exclusion of all else. He hadn’t realised he’d missed Cordelia until he saw her today. It didn’t matter that their entire acquaintance spanned less than twenty-four hours either. At some elemental level, he and she were the same.
Iain took her hand and tucked it into his arm. ‘You want to know what I really think?’ he said, smiling down at her. ‘I think we should tell your father we’re getting married.’
* * *
Cordelia’s rooms at Milvert’s exclusive hotel were on the corner of the second floor. Pushing open the window of her sitting-room, she gazed out on to the busy street, her head whirling. With the Season starting to get into full swing, there was a steady flow of carriages and horses making their way past Grosvenor Square to Hyde Park.
‘You haven’t said what you thought of my suggestion,’ Iain said, throwing his hat and gloves on to the table.
She pulled the casement closed and began to wander disconsolately about the room, tidying her notebooks, folding her cuffs, wiping her pen, absent-mindedly straightening the various objects which sat on the tables, the mantelpiece, the hearth, before finally taking a seat opposite him. ‘I don’t know what to think.’
‘Do you have an alternative plan?’
She shook her head, pursing her lips. ‘Though I am more determined than ever to act, despite the fact that my father could make things very difficult. What’s more, now that he has set his heart on this ridiculous idea of us marrying, he will not listen to any alternatives.’
‘Which is all the more reason to pretend to give him what he wants.’
‘Pretend we are engaged, you mean?’ Cordelia asked, for she was still unsure about how serious Iain had been. ‘Lie to him, make him think we are doing exactly what he wants, so that we get exactly what we want, and then, when we have succeeded, tell him it was all a ruse?’
‘Strictly speaking, it would not be a lie. “Ally yourself with my daughter” is what he said, not “marry her”.’
‘Semantics.’
Iain shrugged. ‘He’s a diplomat—or he was. Don’t they trade in semantics?’
‘When you put it that way...’ He really was serious, Cordelia mused. It really was a scandalously attractive idea. She really could not believe he meant it. ‘But I thought—you said it yourself, Iain, you are a plain-talking man, an honest man. I can’t believe you are contemplating this. You are so—so straight.’
‘Unlike your father, who is as crooked as a bent pin,’ Iain said with a grin.
She spluttered. ‘No, no. Devious, scheming, but never criminal.’
‘He deserves to be locked up for the way he treated
