here,’ Silas said as the taxi jerked to a halt. ‘You can explain to me exactly what is going on once we’re on board.’
She could explain to him?
But there was no point arguing as he had already turned away to speak with the taxi driver.
CHAPTER TWO
THE only other occasion when Tilly had travelled in a private jet had been in the company of half a dozen of her male colleagues, and the plane had been owned by one of bank’s wealthiest clients. She hadn’t dreamed then that the next time she would be driven up to the gangway of such a jet, where a steward and stewardess were waiting to relieve them of their luggage and usher them up into luxurious comfort, the jet would be owned by her stepfather-to-be.
Tilly wasn’t quite sure why she found it necessary to draw attention to her large and fake solitaire “engagement ring” by playing with it when she saw the way the stewardess was smiling at Silas. It certainly seemed to focus both the other girl’s and Silas’s attention on her, though.
‘Ms Aspinall.’ The male steward’s voice was as soothing as his look was flattering. ‘No need to ask if you travel a lot.’ He signalled to someone to take their luggage on board. ‘Everyone in the know travels light and buys on arrival—especially when they’re flying to somewhere like Madrid.’
Tilly hoped her answering smile didn’t look as false as it felt. The reason she was ‘travelling light’, as he had put it, was quite simply because she had assumed that this castle her mother’s new man had hired came complete with a washing machine. The demands of her working life meant that she rarely shopped. A couple of times a year she restocked her working wardrobe with more Armani suits and plain white shirts.
But, bullied by Sally, she had allowed herself to be dragged down Knightsbridge to Harvey Nicks, in order to find a less businesslike outfit for the wedding, and a dress for Christmas day. The jeans she was wearing today were her standard weekend wear, even if they were slightly less well fitting than usual, thanks to her anxiety over her mother’s decision to marry again.
Once inside the jet she settled herself in her seat, trying not to give in to her increasing urge to look at her new ‘fiancé,’ who seemed very much at home in the world of the super-rich for someone who needed to boost his income by hiring himself out as an escort.
Jason, the steward, offered them champagne. Tilly didn’t drink very much, but she accepted the glass he was holding out to her, hoping that it might help ease the tension caused by her unwanted awareness of Silas’s potent sexuality. Silas, on the other hand, shook his head.
‘I prefer not to drink alcohol when I’m flying,’ he told Jason. ‘I’ll have some water instead.’
Why did she suddenly feel that drinking one glass of champagne had turned her into a potential alcoholic who couldn’t pass up on the chance to have a drink? Rebelliously she took a quick gulp of the fizzing bubbles, and then tried not to pull a face when she realised how dry the champagne was.
They were taxiing down the runway already, the jet lifting easily and smoothly into the grey sky. Tilly wasn’t a keen flyer, and she could feel her stomach tensing with nervous energy as she waited for the plane to level off. Silas, on the other hand, looked coolly unmoved as he reached for a copy of the Economist.
‘Right, you’d better tell me what’s going on,’ he said, flicking through the pages of the magazine. ‘I was informed that you wanted an escort to accompany you to your mother’s wedding.’
‘Yes, that’s right—I do,’Tilly agreed. ‘An escort who is my fiancé—I did explain it all to you in the e-mail I sent,’ she insisted defensively when she saw the way he was looking at her.
‘E-mails are notoriously unreliable.’ But not, perhaps, as unreliable at passing on information as his dear brother, Silas acknowledged grimly. ‘You’d better explain again.’
Tilly glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were alone in the cabin. This was her mother’s new man’s plane, staffed by his employees. ‘My mother’s husband-to-be is an American. He has very strong ideas about family life and…and family relationships. He has two daughters from his first marriage, both married with children, and my mother…’ She paused and took a deep breath. Why on earth should she be finding this so discomfiting? As though somehow she were on trial and had to prove herself? She was the one hiring Silas, the one in charge, not the other way around.
‘My mother feels that Art’s daughters aren’t entirely happy about their marriage.’
Silas’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Why not? You’ve just said that they’re both married with children. Surely they should be happy to see their father find happiness?’
‘Well, yes…But the thing is…’
Tilly chewed anxiously on her bottom lip—a small action which automatically drew Silas’s attention to her mouth. How adept the female sex was at focusing male attention on it, Silas thought cynically. Mind you, with a mouth as full and soft-looking as hers, Tilly hardly needed to employ such tired old tricks to get a man to look at it and wonder how it would feel beneath his own. His imagination had been there already, and gone further. Much further, in fact, he admitted reluctantly.
How did she put this, Tilly wondered, without being disloyal to her mother? ‘My mother doesn’t think that Art’s daughters feel she will make him happy.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, he’s a widower, and Ma is a divorcee.’
Silas gave a small brusque shrug. ‘So your mother made a mistake? It’s hardly unusual in this day and age.’
‘No…but…’
‘But?’
‘But Ma has made rather more than just one mistake,’ Tilly informed him cautiously.
‘You mean she’s been married more than once?’
‘Yes.’
‘How much more than once?’
‘Well, four times, actually. She can’t help it.’ Tilly defended her mother quickly when she saw Silas’s expression. ‘She just falls in love so easily, you see, and men fall in love with her, and then—’
‘And then she divorces them, and starts over with a bigger bank balance and a richer man?’
Tilly was shocked. ‘No! She’s not like that. Ma would never marry just for money.’
Silas registered the ‘just’ and said cynically, ‘But she finds it easier to love a rich man than one who is poor?’
‘You’re just like Art’s daughters and their husbands. You’re criticising my mother without knowing her. She loves Art. Or at least she believes she does. I know it sounds illogical, but Ma is illogical at times. She’s afraid that Art’s daughters will be even more antagonistic towards her if they know that I’m single.Art was boasting to her about his daughters and their marriages, and Ma lost the plot a bit and told him that I was engaged.’
It was such a ridiculous story that it had to be true, Silas decided. ‘And you don’t know any
