she liked her chosen career and had worked hard to gain the knowledge and the eye that had put her on the road to success, it had always taken second place to her dream of being part of a close and happy family.
But it wouldn’t be fair to Charles to marry him. He deserved a wife who would love him passionately, rather than a woman who felt merely affection for him.
In no doubt of her answer now, she took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m sorry…more sorry than I can say…but I can’t.’
‘Is it the age difference?’
‘No,’ she answered truthfully. If she’d loved him enough age wouldn’t have mattered.
He hung the tea towel up carefully, and pushed back the lock of fair hair that fell over his forehead. ‘I had hoped, in view of how well we get along, that you might at least consider it. But perhaps you don’t like me sufficiently?’
‘I both like and respect you, in fact I’m very fond of you, but—’
‘Surely that would be enough to make it work?’ he broke in, his blue eyes eager.
She half shook her head. ‘Fondness isn’t enough.’
‘I’m prepared to give it a try. A lot of marriages must be based on less.’
‘No, it wouldn’t be fair to you…’
Seeing the discomfort on her face, he patted her hand and said firmly, ‘Don’t worry. I promise I won’t bring it up again.
‘But don’t forget I love you. I’d do anything for you… And if you should ever change your mind, the offer’s still open.’
He was a wonderful man. A man in a million. She wanted to love him. But love was something that could neither be ordered nor controlled.
She knew that to her cost.
Seeing the dangers, she had tried not to love Ryan… Without success.
But she wouldn’t think about Ryan.
As though amused by her decision, Ryan’s dark face with those blue-violet eyes smiled back at her mockingly.
Her only coherent thought on first meeting him had been that never before had she seen eyes of such a fascinating colour on any other person…
Damn! there she was doing it.
Gritting her teeth, she closed and locked the window, then gathering up her shoulder bag, made her way down the uncarpeted rear stairs and out of the green-painted staff door onto the cobbled street.
Kenelm Mews, with the backs of buildings on one side and the iron railings of Kenelm Park on the other, was filled with slanting sunlight and the summer-in-the-city smell of dust and petrol fumes and melting tarmac.
Instead of turning the corner into the main road and either looking for a taxi or heading for the bus stop, as she usually did when Charles didn’t drive her home, she hesitated.
With its sun-dappled flower beds and shady trees Kenelm looked green and pleasant. If she walked home across the park, it might help to clear her head and relax some of the remaining tension.
Suddenly impatient with her glasses, she stuffed them into her bag and set off through wrought-iron gates that stood open invitingly.
Passing the Victorian bandstand, and the velvety smooth bowling greens where sedate cream-clad figures were standing in little groups, Virginia took a path that skirted the small boating lake.
She walked briskly as though trying to outpace her thoughts. But try as she might, they kept returning to Ryan and his reason for coming into the gallery. Why did he want Wednesday’s Child?
So he had an image of her? Something to metaphorically stick pins into?
The thought of so much pent-up anger and hatred directed towards herself, frightened her half to death. Her legs starting to tremble, she sank down on the nearest bench, staring blindly across the lake.
She had hoped that time would lessen the animosity she guessed he must feel towards her.
But why should it?
Time hadn’t lessened the way she felt.
The bewilderment, the sense of betrayal, the resentment, the hurt…
Without warning, hands came over her eyes and a low, slightly husky voice, a voice that would have made her turn back from the gates of heaven, said close to her ear, ‘Guess who?’
Her heart seemed to stop beating, robbing her brain of blood and her lungs of oxygen. Faintness washed over her, swirling her into oblivion…
As the mists began to clear, she found herself held securely against a broad chest, her head resting on a muscular shoulder, the sun warm on her face.
Gathering her senses as best she could, she tried to struggle free.
An elderly woman walking past with a liver-and-white spaniel on a lead, gave them a quick, curious glance and, deciding they were lovers, walked on.
When Virginia made a further, more determined, effort, the imprisoning arms fell away, allowing her to sit upright.
Her heart pounding like a trip hammer, her breath coming in shallow gasps, she stared into Ryan’s tough, hard-boned face. A face she knew as well as she knew her own. A face she had often looked into while they’d made love.
The thick dark hair that tried to curl was cut fairly short, but by no means the shaven-headed look she so disliked; his chiselled mouth was as beautiful as she remembered, as were those long-lashed eyes, the colour of indigo.
Eyes that would have made the most ordinary man extraordinary. Except, of course, that Ryan was far from ordinary. Even without those remarkable eyes he would have stood out in a crowd…
He put out a hand, and with a proprietary gesture brushed a loose tendril of brown curly hair back from her pale cheek.
She flinched away as though he’d struck her.
His expression pained, he protested, ‘My dear Virginia, there’s no need to act as if you’re afraid of me.’
‘So you did catch sight of me in the gallery,’ she said hoarsely.
‘Just a glimpse before you bolted. Running away seems to be your forte.’
Biting her lip, she asked, ‘Why didn’t you say anything to Charles?’
His voice ironic, he told her, ‘I thought I’d surprise you.’
He’d certainly succeeded in doing that. Though the air was balmy, she found herself shivering. ‘How did you know I’d be in the park?’
‘I waited in the mews until I saw you leave the gallery, then I followed you.’
‘Why did you follow me?’ she demanded.
White
