Wicked Surrender: Ruthless Awakening / The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress / The Timber Baron's Virgin Bride. Sara Craven
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‘Clearly those portraits fascinate you just as much now as they seemed to when you were a child.’
She shrugged. ‘They tell a fascinating story.’ She paused. ‘And that’s an amazing necklace. I wonder why he chose to give her turquoises?’
‘The turquoise is said to represent the connection between the sky and the sea,’ he said. ‘Which makes it an appropriate stone for a Cornishwoman.’
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Well, I was rather hoping you’d lend it to Carrie for her wedding, so I’d get the chance to see it in reality.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, without a hint of regret. ‘It’s to be worn by Penvarnon brides only, as a symbol of constancy and faithfulness in marriage.’ His brief smile was unamused. ‘Which rather puts it out of the running—wouldn’t you say?’
‘I think Carrie would be a loyal and wonderful wife for any man,’ Rhianna said.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I was actually referring to the groom, in this instance, as I’m sure you of all people should realise.’
She didn’t look at him. ‘Whatever. The decision is yours, naturally. And, as I can’t see myself on the guest list when you tie the knot, I’ll just have to resign myself to admiring the necklace only through oil on canvas.’ She paused again. ‘I hope the fan found a good home in the end?’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘With so much else going on I’d almost forgotten about that particular incident. However, I can assure you that it has indeed been well taken care of ever since.’
He walked forward into the room. ‘But I’m forgetting my duties as host, and that will never do,’ he added courteously. ‘May I get you a drink? Some Pimms, perhaps?’
It was the perfect drink for a warm evening, and Rhianna longed to say yes, but common sense warned that she needed to keep her wits about her, unclouded by alcohol.
She said, ‘Thank you, but I think I’ll stick to lemonade.’
There was an odd pause. He looked at her, his mouth hardening, then said, ‘Yes—of course,’ turning almost abruptly to the drinks tray.
Ice cubes chinked in the tall glass as he poured the lemonade and brought it to her.
‘So, what shall we drink to?’ He raised his own glass in a parody of a toast. ‘Our happy couple? Or your continued good health? More necessary than ever now, I should imagine.’
Rhianna’s brows lifted sharply. ‘Why do you say that?’
He shrugged. ‘The shooting schedule for your series must be fairly hectic. You couldn’t afford a lengthy absence for any reason—especially when there must be dozens of other pretty faces manoeuvring to take your place in front of the camera.’
‘Thank you for reminding me. I expect there are hundreds.’ The lemonade, cold and tangy without bitterness, soothed the dryness of her mouth. ‘But I manage to stay reasonably fit. I won’t need a replacement yet awhile.’
‘But there’s bound to come a time when that will happen,’ Diaz countered. ‘The viewing public is notoriously fickle in its affections. So, will there be life after Castle Pride?’
‘I’m touched by your concern,’ she said curtly. ‘However, I’m not ready for the scrapheap in the foreseeable future. Unless you’ve bought a controlling share in the production company, of course, and even then you’d have a fight on your hands.’
‘No,’ he said softly. ‘You’re not the type to go quietly, Rhianna. You’ve made that more than clear.’
There was something in his voice that sent all her antennae quivering again. But as she stared at him, questions tumbling around in her head, the door opened and Carrie came in, face flushed and eyes sparkling. But not with happiness.
‘I don’t believe it,’ she burst out furiously. ‘I just don’t. After everything else—now this!’
‘What’s happened?’ Rhianna moved to her swiftly.
‘Mrs Rawlins,’ said Carrie, in a voice that managed to combine anger with despair. ‘She’s happened—again.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Rhianna said quickly, trying to coax her to smile. ‘She’s found out about the veil and she’s planning to sue.’
But Carrie was not to be cajoled. ‘She informed us before she left that she’d invited Simon’s godparents specially early so that they could come out to dinner with us tomorrow—in order to meet everybody. And said how much they were looking forward to it.’
She spread her hands dramatically. ‘Mother immediately explained that the Polkernick Arms can only seat so many people, but she said that she was sure if we all squeezed up a little they could accommodate two more. But they can’t, and they won’t. I know it.’
Rhianna gave her a comforting hug. ‘Well, Simon will just have to talk to his mother. Make her see reason.’
‘Unlikely,’ Carrie said with unusual brusqueness. ‘She’s already persuaded him that the guest list is heavily loaded in our family’s favour. He’ll say we have to fit them in, even if it means cancelling the Arms and finding a bigger restaurant. Something that’s already been hinted at,’ she added on a note of doom. ‘But there’s nowhere—not at this late stage anyway.’
They were joined by Moira Seymour, looking thoroughly harassed. ‘The manageress won’t budge.’ She addressed Carrie. ‘We’re already at the maximum the regulations allow, as I tried to tell that impossible woman earlier. What on earth are we going to do? We can’t ask other people to drop out to make room for them.’
‘No,’ Diaz said unexpectedly. ‘But in an emergency you can always find volunteers.’ He looked at Rhianna, his mouth smiling coolly. ‘Well, Miss Carlow,’ he said softly. ‘Will you help save the situation for Carrie tomorrow evening by giving up the party and having dinner on your own with me instead? What do you say?’
There was the kind of silence that seemed to last for ever.
Bombshell at the end of Act Two, Rhianna thought, with a kind of detachment. Cast reaction, followed by slow curtain. Old-fashioned, but effective.
For instance, she could see that Carrie’s mouth had formed into an ‘o’ of pure astonishment, while her mother appeared to have turned into an ice sculpture. She found that she herself had become rooted to the spot, bereft of words, but numbingly aware of the mockery in Diaz Penvarnon’s grey eyes as he watched her. Waiting for her response.
Moira Seymour found her voice first. ‘But that’s quite impossible,’ she declared. ‘It’s awfully good of you, of course, Diaz, but you’re Carrie’s cousin. She’s being married from your house. You can’t possibly miss the family dinner.’
‘If you recall, it was by no means certain that I was even coming to the wedding.’ Diaz’s tone was dry. ‘And I doubt I’ll be here for the ceremony even now. But the occasion will still go ahead without me.’ He paused. ‘And I believe Rhianna was a late entry to the guest list too,’ he added gently. ‘Which would seem to make us an ideal pairing.’
‘Except that it’s totally absurd,’ Moira Seymour said angrily. ‘You can’t possibly want…’ She paused, as if realising her next comment might be infelicitous. ‘I mean, I can’t allow you to sacrifice yourself like this, my dear Diaz. Miss Carlow—Rhianna—wouldn’t expect it.’
‘Please don’t regard me as some kind of victim.’ He sounded amused. ‘Perhaps you don’t realise there isn’t a man in England who wouldn’t jump at the chance of dinner à deux with television’s top fantasy woman.’
Isn’t there? thought Rhianna. Isn’t there? Because I can think of one standing only a few feet away right now. So why are you doing this? Why?
‘Besides,