A Bride For His Convenience. Lindsay Armstrong
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‘On the contrary, I would have been quite happy to let you sleep on, Miss Galloway,’ he drawled. ‘Your party had other ideas. They want you there at the barbecue and celebrating their last night at Camp Ondine. I don’t know if they’re prepared to riot about it but I thought I shouldn’t take the chance.’
Caiti stared up into his eyes. Then she looked down at herself. ‘I feel terrible!’
‘This is only a small dereliction of duty so far, I wouldn’t feel too badly,’ he advised.
‘No.’ She swallowed. ‘I mean I feel leaden and lumpen and as bad as you only can after a deep, wrong-time-of-the-day sleep.’
‘I see. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for you to feel lumpen,’ his gaze flickered up and down her slender lines beneath her wrap, ‘but I think I could remedy all the rest. Wait here.’ He turned away.
Wait here, she repeated beneath her breath. Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir! How autocratic could you get?
She had to eat her thoughts not much later when he returned with a tall, frosted glass and put it into her hand.
‘What’s this?’ she asked suspiciously.
‘Don’t ask. It’s a fantastic pick-me-up. On top of a shower and,’ his lips twisted, ‘a more formal state of dress, you should be fine. You have half an hour; I’ll hold the fort in the meantime.’ This time he closed the door before departing.
Caiti stared at the door then at the drink in her hand, and took a sip. It was divine whatever it was and definitely had mango and other juices poured over crushed ice with some slivers of lime in it.
She took a bigger sip and could have sworn it was her imagination, but suddenly she no longer felt like something the cat had dragged in.
In fact, she glided into the bathroom, had another quick shower, donned her undies then sat down at the dressing table with approaching enthusiasm. Several minutes and a few more sips later, her light make-up was perfect and even her hair was behaving itself. She drew it back in two wings, secured with a pretty silver and enamelled butterfly on a clip, and allowed the rest of it to cascade down her back loose.
Clothes, she thought then, and decided to go with her aubergine trousers, low silver sandals and a silver knit tank top. Simple but chic, she decided as she posed in front of the mirror and twirled so her hair belled out. Then she paused suddenly and regarded the half-empty glass on the dressing table.
Could it be as innocuous a brew as he’d intimated? Was it possible to go from feeling quite dreadful to feeling on top of the world in the space of about twenty minutes without being a little drunk? Which led on to her wondering just what kind of man Rob Leicester was.
She blinked several times and came to one decision. She would not be having any more of his pick-me-up.
The fish was just ready to be served when she arrived at the barbecue beside the pool, and she received a rousing welcome.
She offered her apologies but they were brushed aside and, somehow or other, she ended up as the guest of honour. She couldn’t help wondering what effect this status was having on Rob Leicester, who had actually done the cooking.
But there were staff members to do the serving, several colourfully clad waitresses with flowers in their hair, and it was a feast every bit worthy of Camp Ondine’s reputation.
Not only that but some fine wines were also flowing and earning the respect of her tour party. Caiti didn’t indulge herself but beneath a marvellous array of stars, with flaming braziers lighting the barbecue area, she felt happy and fulfilled to see the guests really enjoying themselves.
It must have something to do with me, she assured herself, and sent a swift little prayer heavenwards that the rest of this tour would be as successful.
Then, when the guests began to sing the ‘Marseillaise’, she joined in with gusto, and perfect pitch, but insisted that since they were in Australia they should at least be able to sing ‘Waltzing Matilda’.
There followed an hilarious half-hour while she tried to translate but finally, although with some very strange pronunciation, she got a not bad rendition of a couple of verses, helped along by Rob and the staff who joined in.
Finally she glanced at her watch and decided it was timely to mention that they had an early start in the morning. Everyone groaned but gradually they took themselves off to bed.
‘A successful evening, Miss Galloway.’
Caiti looked up from the paperwork she was checking at the reception desk; she was determined to leave all the correct vouchers so there could be no confusion in the morning. ‘Thanks to you and your wonderful food, Mr Leicester,’ she replied formally. ‘It’s also a marvellous spot.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ He folded his arms and leant back against a wall.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ A tinge of sharpness overlaid some of her formality.
‘I’ve revised an opinion or two.’
She shrugged. ‘I’m sure it’s good for one to shake up one’s opinions now and then. Which ones?’
He took his time. In other words he looked her over thoroughly as he had an uncanny habit of doing before he said, ‘I think you could charm the birds out of the trees.’
Their unsmiling gazes locked until Caiti said slowly, ‘Why do I get the feeling that’s not exactly a compliment?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Then I’ll tell you,’ she returned swiftly. ‘I’m quite sure “charm” is not a commodity you value.’
‘What gave you that idea?’
‘Oh, come on!’ She closed her eyes briefly. ‘Let’s not beat about the bush. You don’t like me, you’re quite sure I’m trading on “charm” to get this job done, and by the way—what did you put in that drink you brought me?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Nothing alcoholic bar a dash of Grenadine. Are you saying I tried to get you drunk?’
She paused and bit her lip. ‘It…certainly revived me.’
‘So I noticed.’ His eyes glinted with a tinge of mockery. ‘I can assure you there was nothing more to it.’
‘Well,’ she hesitated, feeling as if she’d had the wind taken out of her sails, ‘well, even if you didn’t try to get me drunk, I’m sick and tired of your continuous disapproval.’
‘It’s not all disapproval, Miss Galloway.’ He straightened and stepped forward.
Caiti’s eyes widened and she rather hastily moved a few steps so the desk was between them at the same time as she shook a finger at him. ‘Now, now, Mr Leicester, none of that!’
Rob Leicester stopped dead, and started to laugh softly.
Completely disconcerted, Caiti blinked several times. ‘It’s not funny!’
‘No, but you are. Is that how you fight them off?’
‘Off? Who?’
‘All the men on your tours who fancy you rotten,’ he suggested.
‘It might interest you to know that that problem has never reared its ugly head,’ she replied tartly.
‘Only a matter of time.’
Caiti felt herself beginning to lose her temper completely. ‘Will you just go away, Mr Leicester, and stop tormenting me?’
‘Sure,’ he said easily. ‘But just so as there is no misunderstanding, Miss Galloway, I may not approve of you entirely but I do,’ he leant over the desk and took her chin lightly in his fingers, ‘fancy you.’
Their eyes locked, and the gold-flecked