had smiled, at least for a moment or two. She had smiled when the engagement was announced. And she had smiled today when they had set out for the church and this wedding that meant so much to her.
‘I wanted to marry him,’ she managed stiltedly.
‘Oh, I’ll just bet you did. After all, the Honourable Rafe St Clair had so much more to offer you than an apparently penniless photographer trying to earn a living in Las Vegas.’
‘Apparently?’
She’d caught the unexpected word and looked up, turning a puzzled face in his direction. But Guido offered no hint of explanation. Instead he lifted one hand in an arrogantly dismissive gesture, brushing aside her question as if it were a buzzing fly that annoyed him.
‘But this won’t solve our immediate problem. The paparazzi outside won’t wait for ever. They want a story and the sooner the better. We should give them one—’
‘The one we should give them being that we are still a couple,’ Amber interjected, the cynicism and disbelief in her intonation making it plain just what she thought of that.
‘That we are back together again,’ Guido corrected smoothly. ‘They’ll love that!’
‘They might, but I most definitely won’t. And I can’t think why you should even imagine that it would work.’
‘Your English Press adore a love story—they want to write about that perfect ending where two people live happily after all.’
‘Happily ever after,’ Amber corrected automatically, the unwanted thought—if only it could be true—slicing at her from deep inside. ‘And you know only too well that I didn’t mean it wouldn’t work for them—but that there’s no way it would work for me!’
‘It doesn’t have to work for you,’ Guido dismissed scornfully. ‘It only has to work for the Press. And if we convince them that you were not thinking clearly when you agreed to marry Rafe, because you were broken-hearted…’
‘At losing you?’ Amber scoffed, needing to put the scorn into her voice to hide the way that unease twisted her nerves so painfully. Guido’s fictional scenario was coming way too close to the truth for comfort. ‘Tell me about it!’
‘But now that we’ve met up again—no matter under what circumstances…’ Guido persisted, blatantly ignoring her cynical interjection. ‘We…’
‘Don’t tell me—we looked into each other’s eyes and realised that we still cared so desperately for each other that we fell into each other’s arms…’
That was something she could dismiss without hesitation. At least she thought she could, so it was doubly disconcerting to feel those already twisted nerves tighten even more painfully as she spoke.
‘Something like that. It does not matter how we word it. Anything, so long as we go out of this church together to face that rat pack out there and give them a story with a positive spin on it that they can print in tomorrow’s editions.’
‘And you really believe they’ll run with it?’
She had to admit that she was tempted. For all sorts of reasons.
When her world had come crashing down with Guido’s explosive arrival at the aborted wedding ceremony—was it really barely half an hour ago?—she hadn’t been able to think beyond the immediate moment. All she had wanted then was to be left alone and to find a hole—the tinier the better—into which she could crawl to hide herself. Somewhere that she could lick her wounds, wait for the world to stop spinning in the sickening way it had been doing ever since that horrific interruption, and pray that one day things would quieten down so that she could dare to venture out again.
But that wasn’t going to happen. There wasn’t anywhere she could go; no one she could turn to.
Except Guido.
She had burned her boats with Rafe, that much was obvious. The sheer hatred in his eyes when he had turned to her, the venom with which he had spat the brutal insult at her, had made that only too plain. And who could blame him?
With Rafe had gone all his family, of course. The St Clairs were never likely to forgive the insult to their family honour that they believed she had inflicted today. What were they to expect from the Wellesley family? they would be saying. Like mother like daughter, after all. They’d always known it.
Her mother, too, would never forgive her for the public humiliation. That would be just one more thing to add to the long list of faults for which she could never atone, this one being the last and the worst in Pamela’s eyes. It would leave a stain that could never be erased. So there was no hope of help there, or comfort, or support.
There was no one in the world she could turn to.
Except Guido.
For the first time in the long-drawn-out minutes since she had taken refuge in the narrow wooden pew, Amber made herself look straight at Guido. She saw the way that the long, powerful body was leaning back against the heavy oak church door, behind which she could still vaguely hear the murmur of voices from the crowd. Every now and then someone would rap hard on that door, destroying her hope that the reporters and photographers might have given up in boredom and gone home.
Even as the thought entered her mind, another of those loud, aggressive knocks came from outside, making her flinch inside at the sound. And this time it was accompanied by an even louder voice calling her name, and asking for, ‘Just a word, Miss Wellesley—a few questions! You have to come out of there some time!’
Fearfully Amber let her eyes fly to Guido’s face, seeing there nothing of her own nervous apprehension. Instead, he seemed totally relaxed, his proud head flung back so that it rested on the edge of the door, muscular arms folded over the width of his chest. Long legs crossed at the ankles were stretched taut, pulling the fine material of his trousers tight against narrow hips and muscular thighs in a way that made her mouth dry in basic, sensual response.
His face too was totally calm, the strong jaw relaxed, the dark eyes only slightly hooded as he met her assessing stare with cool composure. He was between her and the ‘enemy’ outside—and so he seemed like a protector—but were appearances deceiving her? Was Guido the only real enemy?
She couldn’t begin to guess at the answer, only knowing that right now, in the situation in which she found herself, he seemed like her only possible hope.
‘Put it this way,’ Guido said at last. ‘I think that this is the only way for you to walk out of here on any sort of a positive note. You can leave this church with me—as my wife—or you can take your chance with the vultures outside.’
‘I think that’s what they call being caught between a rock and a hard place.’
Amber tried for an airy laugh and failed miserably, succeeding only in sounding cold and cynical even to her own ears. And it earned her another of those dark, glowering frowns, anger flashing in the deep-set eyes.
‘Then I am to take it that that is a no?’ he questioned harshly, levering himself away from the door so that he stood upright.
Amber knew it was impossible that he could have grown even half an inch taller in the time that he had been leaning back like that, but even so she had the
