her mother footing such a bill—or ever allowing her the use of the household’s only car.
She glanced sideways at him. ‘You look—well,’ she volunteered shyly. ‘Very tanned. I thought it was winter in Australia.’
‘It is, but I stopped off in America on the way back. Some friends have a house on Cape Cod, and I spent a couple of weeks there.’
‘I expect it’s very beautiful.’
‘Incredibly. Lots of beaches to walk on while you think.’
He seemed to want to think now as well, she reflected rather wistfully as he relapsed into silence, or maybe he was just concentrating on his driving on these narrow country roads.
Not that it really mattered. It was enough just to sit beside him and let her mind flicker through a series of small, impossible dreams.
But when at last he turned the car through a pair of imposing wrought-iron gates she sat up swiftly, her enjoyable reverie over. ‘But this is Langbow Manor.’ She sounded shocked. ‘Are we having dinner here?’
‘You’ve got something against the place?’ He looked surprised. ‘It seemed fine when I checked into my suite earlier.’
‘I’ve never been here before. But isn’t it terribly expensive?’
He slanted a grin at her as he slotted the car into a parking space with expert efficiency. ‘That’s not an objection I usually get when I take a girl to dinner.’
‘No, of course not,’ she said, flushing. ‘I’m sorry.’ Candida’s words stung her afresh. ‘It’s just that I’m not really dressed for somewhere quite as grand.’
He walked round and opened the passenger door. ‘I shall be the envy of every man in the place,’ he told her softly, and her flush deepened.
Comfort closed round her as soon as she crossed the threshold. The room he took her to was like someone’s lovely drawing room, with charming chintz-covered sofas, and chairs grouped round small tables, but within a moment a waiter had arrived beside them. ‘For monsieur a vodka martini? Certainement. And, for mademoiselle may I recommend a Kir Royale?’
The drinks were there within seconds, accompanied by a dish of tiny, exquisite canapés, bursting in her mouth with all kinds of delicious and subtle flavours.
‘I shan’t be able to eat a thing later,’ she sighed.
He laughed. ‘I think you will.’
And he was right. Because, however nervous and excited she might feel, the watercress mousse she was served, followed by lobster mayonnaise, was just too wonderful for her to leave even a scrap—especially when accompanied by the crisp white wine Daniel had chosen, and which the sommelier had brought to them with an air of quiet satisfaction.
She found she could even manage the sweet pastry tart filled with tiny strawberries that ended her meal, while Daniel followed his vichysoisse and river trout with a tiny pot of something dark, rich and alcoholically chocolate, of which she sampled a taste.
‘This is a magical place,’ Laine said, looking around her with shining eyes. They had been given a secluded table in the corner of the Manor’s famous conservatory, where the massive vine above their heads was already loaded with bunches of small grapes. Because of the evening’s warmth the doors stood open to the garden, and subdued lights had begun to edge the scented borders outside as the daylight faded.
She added, more stiltedly, ‘I—I’ll remember it always.’ She tried to smile. ‘I don’t think Spain is going to be anything like this.’
‘I don’t suppose so either,’ he said. ‘So why go?’
She stared down at the linen tablecloth. ‘You speak as if I have a choice.’
‘Actually, you do,’ he said quietly. ‘You could stay here in England—with me.’
The world seemed to stop suddenly. She found she was fighting for breath. For the ability to say, in a voice she barely recognised, ‘You’re offering me a job?’
‘Not exactly.’ He smiled at her across the steady flame of the little lamp in the centre of the table. ‘I’m asking you to be my wife.’
There was a silence, then she said, in a tone that wobbled slightly, ‘If that’s a joke, it’s not a very kind one.’
He reached out and took her hand, stroking her slender fingers. ‘Do I make a habit of being unkind?’
Mutely, she shook her head, trying to banish from her mind the memory of that seemingly endless procession of blondes.
‘Well, then.’ There was another long silence, then he said on a note of faint amusement, ‘My sweet, this hesitation on your part is doing my self-esteem no good at all. You see, I thought you liked me.’
‘I do.’ I love you—love you. I always have and I always will.
‘But not enough to marry me—is that it?’
She still couldn’t look at him. ‘I suppose—I’ve never thought of you as—the marrying kind.’
He said slowly, ‘I could say I’ve been waiting for you to grow up, but I doubt you’d believe me—not when you’ve watched me sow a whole series of wild oats.’ And, as he saw her bite her lip, he added more urgently, ‘Is that the problem, darling—my past? Couldn’t we agree to bury it, and simply concentrate on the future instead?’
He paused. ‘Unless you’re determined to marry another virgin? And I really hope that’s not true, for all kinds of reasons.’
She felt her face warm involuntarily, and said on a little gasp, ‘Oh, no, I—I’m not.’ I just don’t know what to say to someone who’s made all my wildest, sweetest dreams come true at once.
‘That,’ he said, ‘is a definite relief.’ He studied her for a moment, then said gently, ‘I’ve startled you, haven’t I, sweetheart? I didn’t intend that. I thought your female intuition would have warned you why I’d whisked you away with me this evening.’
She tried to smile. ‘Perhaps I’m not very female.’
‘Now, that I don’t believe.’ Quite casually, he turned her hand over and began to trace a gentle circle in its soft palm with the ball of his thumb. It was the lightest of touches, but Laine felt it piercing her, transfixing her with a shaft of desire so swift, so intense and so totally unexpected that she almost cried aloud in amazement. And in overwhelming need.
She was suddenly melting, liquid with a hunger she’d never even guessed could exist. Aware, too, that her nipples were swelling, hardening against their flimsy constraints, and that her every sense was on fire with the consciousness of him, and his proximity to her. Knew, at the same time that she wanted to be even closer. To be joined to him. To be part of him for ever, totally and irrevocably. To be a woman—his woman.
His voice reached her in a quiet murmur of sound. ‘Marry me, Laine.’
Her mouth was dry, the breath catching in her throat,
