The Bride's Secret. HELEN BROOKS
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A photographer’s dream. And normally Marianne would have enjoyed the hectic pace, the laughter, the razzmatazz that went hand in hand with such a showy display. But not today.
Today she caught herself glancing back at the harbour all the time they worked, her eyes searching the quay for a tall, dark figure, even as her mind berated the stupidity of it. She had seen the stunning redhead, hadn’t she? Why on earth did she think Hudson would be remotely interested in following up on their lunchtime encounter? She was nothing to him now. Her life had moved on—and his had always moved at a rate which had left her breathless.
Was his presence in Tangier down to business or pleasure? she asked herself as she stepped off the boat in the heat of late afternoon. And was that woman his girlfriend, his mistress—perhaps even his wife? The thought hit her in the solar plexus and she paused on the quay as Keith and the others stood admiring a huge ocean liner coming in to dock. He could be married or engaged. He was thirty-seven years old now—twelve years older than her—and had to be the catch of the century in the circles he moved in.
‘Taxi or gig?’ Keith asked as he joined her, indicating the row of light, two-wheeled, horse-drawn carriages lined up and waiting for customers.
‘I don’t mind; what are the others doing?’ she asked quietly, her thoughts still a million miles away. ‘There was talk of a market?’
‘Marjorie and June are going shopping with Guy, but beyond that I don’t know. We could perhaps—’ He stopped abruptly, looking at something over Marianne’s left shoulder, his face slowly darkening in uncharacteristic anger. ‘What the hell is he doing here?’ he asked grimly. ‘The cheek of the man.’
She knew, even before she turned to follow the direction of his gaze, who it was. Only Hudson de Sance could put that look on someone’s face. It was an ability of his she had noticed before.
Hudson was at their side within seconds, his loose-limbed, easy walk covering the space before she had time to think or feel. ‘Hello again.’ He spoke to them both, his iron-hard gaze sweeping across their faces with such condemning coldness that Marianne found herself blushing as though she had been caught doing something immoral, rather than standing on a busy quayside in the bright Moroccan sunshine of a May evening. ‘Finished for the day?’ he asked coolly, with a flick of his head at the others who were departing in various directions, before his eyes fastened on Marianne’s hot face.
‘Yes.’ Her tone of voice was as cryptic as his had been, but more to disguise the effect his sudden appearance had had on her equilibrium than anything else. He had changed from the smart business suit he’d been wearing that lunchtime, and now the big, powerful frame was clothed in an open-necked pale blue shirt that showed a tantalising glimpse of tightly curled dark body hair, and well-worn black jeans, tight across the hips. His flagrant masculinity was even more intimidating than she remembered, and it stopped her breath.
‘Then I would like to speak with you.’ It was as formal, and as constrained, as if he’d been in court. ‘Privately,’ he added, with a cold glance at Keith, who was bristling like a giant porcupine. ‘I’m sure Mr Gallaway can spare you for a while.’
‘I really don’t think we’ve anything to say to each other.’ How she managed it she didn’t know, but her voice sounded quite calm, composed even, which was at odds with her galloping heartbeat and churning stomach.
‘I disagree,’ he said with a smooth self-assurance that grated like metal on fine porcelain. ‘So, if you don’t mind...?’
‘Now look, de Sance, if Marianne doesn’t want to speak to you...’ Keith’s voice died away as the full force of a pair of menacingly ruthless grey eyes homed in on his before narrowing to laser-like slits. Hudson could express more with one glance than any man she knew.
‘This is nothing to do with you,’ Hudson said softly. ‘So let’s keep it that way, okay?’ It was more intimidating than any brazen threat, and Marianne saw Keith gulp slightly before his eyes wavered and fell, and she felt a dart of anger break through the fright.
‘Well?’ Hudson turned to Marianne again, his voice icy. ‘We are staying at the same hotel, so I can give you a lift back there and we can talk on the way. Is that civilised enough for you?’
‘I’ve said no, and please don’t threaten my friends—’
‘Marianne is with me.’
Keith spoke at the same time as Marianne, but this time Hudson’s glare was accompanied by a quick turning movement of his body that had Marianne clutching his arm before she realised what she was doing. ‘Don’t! Leave him alone,’ she said breathlessly as Keith stumbled backwards so quickly, he almost fell. ‘Don’t bully him.’
Hudson was very still for a long moment as he looked down at her small hand on his arm, and then he raised his eyes to her face and stared at her for several heart-stopping seconds before saying, ‘There’s the easy way, and then there’s the hard way, Annie. Which is it to be?’
‘I’ll ride back to the hotel with you,’ she said weakly, her heart thudding anew at the relentless hardness on his face. He frightened her, this new Hudson de Sance. In fact he scared her to death. There was nothing left of the man she had known.
‘Good.’ Just one word, but it was chilling, and increased her nervous tension.
‘I’ll see you later, Keith. Don’t...don’t worry,’ she added quickly, seeing the agonised indecision in his worried little face. He was only a few years younger than Hudson in actual fact, but his slight stature, coupled with naturally boyish good looks, made it difficult to believe he was a day over twenty-one—something he capitalised on in his day-to-day work.
The models found him comfortingly non-threatening, especially when he turned on the little-boy charm, and this attribute, added to the brilliance of his work, had made him the toast of his profession, and enabled him to achieve the sort of results others only dreamed of. She didn’t have a chance to say any more; Hudson had taken her by the elbow, his grip bruising, and she found herself being whisked along the quayside at a speed that left her breathless.
‘Here.’ He stopped beside an elegant sports car that was all sleek lines and gleaming red metal and opened the passenger door for her, watching her with a cool, all-encompassing gaze as she slid carefully inside the beautiful vehicle without saying a word.
He joined her immediately and at once her senses registered the elusive smell of the aftershave he had specially made for him, its perfume evoking memories she could well have done without in the circumstances, and doing nothing to alleviate her panic.
‘How long are you staying in Tangier?’ he asked quietly, his voice seeming to be without real interest.
‘Just a few days more.’ It wasn’t quite true, but she had no intention of revealing that she had arranged to combine the business trip with a holiday, and that she was staying on when the rest of the troupe left. She planned to join a tour which took in the five major cities of Morocco on the day Keith and the others flew home. ‘It’s...it’s quite a coincidence meeting you like this, after all this time...’ She came to a stumbling halt as her voice failed her.
‘Isn’t it?’ he agreed flatly, before pulling off in a great growl of powerfully honed engine.
It was only a few minutes later that Marianne realised they weren’t travelling on the road which led up into the hills to their hotel. She would have noticed it even sooner but for the fact her senses were battling with the close proximity of the big masculine body at the side of her.
She hadn’t dared look at him, but now, as they travelled along a broad avenue lined with modern stores and houses, her eyes flashed to his grim profile. ‘This isn’t the way back to the hotel,’ she challenged hotly. ‘It isn’t, is it?’
‘No?’ His voice was too innocent to be taken seriously.
‘You know it isn’t. Where...where are we going?’ she asked nervously, real fear in her voice as she realised her vulnerability.
‘Relax,