really won’t be necessary, Noah. I shall be staying with my friend until I find somewhere to live. And I’m quite capable of keeping myself occupied.’
At least money wouldn’t be a problem. She had hardly touched the allowance that her father had given her since she had taken over the running of the house, and her mother had left her some money. A dowry, she had called it. Well, she wouldn’t be needing a dowry now. But she needed somewhere to live as a matter of urgency.
It was impossible to conduct a conversation in an open car travelling at high speed, but even when they reached the end of the motorway and slowed for London traffic Noah seemed disinclined to resume their conversation, deep in his own brooding thoughts. Finally she was driven to break the silence.
‘Islington was that way,’ she pointed out as they passed a road sign.
‘If I ever need a navigator I’ll bear you in mind. But we’re not going to Islington.’
‘You may not be... I certainly am.’ He ignored her. ‘You disabled my car so that I was forced to come with you,’ she went on a little desperately. ‘Now you must take me to my friend’s flat, or drop me at the nearest underground station if you prefer. I can easily make my own way from there.’
‘Must?’ For a moment the word hung between them, then, with the slightest shrug, he let it go. ‘It’s a sunny Saturday evening in August, Elizabeth. Do you suppose your friend is sitting at home on the off chance that you might decide to descend upon her and demand a bed for the night?’
The thought had already crossed her own mind, but she had no intention of admitting it. She would rather stay at a hotel than accept this man’s hospitality. ‘She’s always inviting me to come up for the weekend,’ she protested.
‘But, since she’s not expecting you, you have to address the possibility that she may be out.’
‘She’ll come back.’
‘This is London, Elizabeth, not some leafy country village. Sitting around on doorsteps surrounded by your baggage is not to be recommended. And I did promise your father...’ He clearly wished he hadn’t. ‘Besides, you and I have a date with a lady called Tosca.’
‘I told you—’
‘You told me that you loathe the opera,’ he interrupted a touch acerbically. ‘The collection of records and CDs in your room is simply for decoration?’
She bitterly regretted her impetuous lie as it came back to haunt her. ‘No,’ she admitted.
‘No,’ he agreed, with an assurance that set her teeth on edge. ‘I had planned to take you to see a show, but Olivia said you would much prefer the opera.’
Olivia. How clever of her. But she wasn’t to be won over that easily. As Noah brought his car to a halt Lizzie looked up at the impressive terrace—anywhere rather than face those all-seeing eyes. The façade was as polished as the man. Even the tubs of brilliant flowers that flanked the doorway shone as if they had just been dusted. She distrusted such perfection. ‘I would prefer it if you took me to my friend’s flat,’ she persisted stubbornly.
‘Nonsense. One night in a crowded bedsit, sharing a bathroom with heaven knows how many other people, would drive you mad. You’re simply not used to it. Besides, your invitation was for a weekend. What will you do then? If you think you can go creeping back to Daddy...’
Go back? She could never go back. She might be invited for the odd weekend, or Sunday lunch. But Dove Court would never be her home again. ‘I intend to find a job, somewhere to live in London.’
‘And how long do you imagine that will take? Or do you believe employers will be falling over themselves to offer you work?’ he mocked.
‘No, but...’ But what? Still she didn’t move, unwilling to put her main objection into words. She had seen the heads turn as they’d left the wedding. One or two raised eyebrows. And his kiss was still burned into her memory. And it was his stated intention to convince Peter that he was her lover. It might be ridiculous... It was ridiculous...
Noah had no such inhibitions. He lightly touched her cheek, turning her to face him. ‘If I were in the market for a girl on the rebound, Elizabeth, I can assure you that I would have had you eating out of my hand by now.’
Her blue eyes widened and, ignoring the odd little tremor low in her stomach, which had been provoked by the touch of his hand against her skin, she managed a small laugh. ‘You’re remarkably confident of your attraction,’ she said.
He regarded her solemnly. ‘Don’t you believe I could do it?’
And then he smiled. All the way up until little pouches creased beneath his eyes. Impossible to fake that. And his mouth was bracketed by strong, deep lines carved into his cheeks. She swallowed hard.
‘Just what are you in the market for, Noah?’ she asked, a little shakily, avoiding the need to give him a direct answer.
The smile abruptly disappeared, and he removed his hand from her chin. ‘Nothing. My life is exactly the way I like it. Except for you.’ He got out of the car and came round to open her door. Before she could respond the front door swung open and a middle-aged woman stood in the entrance.
Noah turned. ‘And, as you see, you will be adequately chaperoned. Mrs Harper, this is Miss Elizabeth French,’ he said, his hand in the small of her back propelling her up the steps to the front door. ‘You’d better take her straight up to her room; we’re going out at seven.’
‘Of course, Mr Jordan. This way, Miss French.’
Lizzie hesitated. ‘Noah, this is—’
‘Mr Harper will bring your bags up in a moment,’ he said, not allowing her to finish, his eyes daring her to defy him. She was trapped. At least for tonight. She would have to go through with his horrible plan. But tomorrow she would leave. Nothing would stop her.
‘How did the wedding go?’ Mrs Harper asked as she led the way up the stairs. ‘Such a lovely day for it. I’m sure Miss Olivia must have looked quite beautiful. Your father is a lucky man.’
She chattered on, not waiting for answers to her questions. ‘Now, these are your rooms. This is the sitting room. Your bedroom is through there, and your bathroom. I expect you’ll want a shower after driving with the top down. Miss Olivia always says that she feels as if she’s covered in “essence of motorway” after driving with Mr Jordan.’ She chuckled. ‘I’ll go and fetch you a tray of tea.’
The woman’s endless chatter was oddly comforting—normal in a world that had turned upside down. ‘Thank you, Mrs Harper.’
The woman took the bags that her husband brought to the door and hung Lizzie’s dress over the wardrobe door. ‘Shall I unpack for you?’
‘Oh, no. I can do that. Thank you,’ Lizzie repeated a little belatedly as the woman withdrew.
She stared at the pale pink taffeta dress. It had been bought when she’d had to accompany her father to a formal dinner a couple of years earlier and had been worn only once. It was a little creased, but otherwise fine.
She pulled a face. No, it wasn’t. It was awful. It had been her father’s choice, and had been too young for her even then. But when she had
