Marriage On Trial. Lee Wilkinson
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his cheekbones, Richard suggested shortly, ‘Perhaps you’ll be good enough to name your price?’
‘Before I do, I’d like to know why you’re so keen to have that particular stone.’
There was another taut silence before, clearly at the end of his patience, Richard admitted, ‘You were right earlier. I was hoping to have it set into an engagement ring. If that puts the price up—’
‘Just the opposite,’ Quinn broke in. ‘In fact I’ll let you have it for the exact amount I’m paying for it.’
Elizabeth was once again besieged by doubts and misgivings. Why was he willing to part with a diamond he’d taken so much trouble to acquire, without making a profit?
It simply didn’t make sense.
CHAPTER TWO
RICHARD said slowly, ‘That’s very decent of you.’ Then, proving he had the same kind of doubts as Elizabeth, he asked, ‘May I ask why?’
‘Call it a wedding present.’ Quinn’s smile was sardonic. ‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow to complete the transaction.’
‘I’m in Amsterdam for the weekend. I fly back Monday morning.’
‘Say Monday afternoon, then?’
‘Fine. I’ll be at Lombard Square.’
Quinn put down his untasted coffee and rose to his feet. ‘Now, you mentioned that you wanted an early night, so I’ll get moving.’
Elizabeth drew a deep breath. He was going, and with a bit of luck she’d never have to see him again.
The evening had been a great strain, but she should be thankful for two things at least: Quinn hadn’t recognized her and, for whatever reason, he’d made no attempt to hold Richard to ransom over the diamond.
‘Let me see you out.’ Failing to hide his relief, Richard turned to lead the way to the door.
Standing where he was, Quinn said, ‘I’ll be happy to see you home, Miss Cavendish.’
His quiet announcement shook her rigid.
‘N-no, really…’ she stammered. ‘I couldn’t put you to so much trouble…’
The very last thing she wanted was for Quinn to see her home. But neither, she suddenly realized, did she want to stay at the apartment.
Since she’d agreed to come back with Richard, the whole mood of the evening had altered. So much had happened that both her mind and her emotions were in a whirl. She needed time to think, to get over the shock of seeing Quinn again.
As it was, she knew it would be impossible to go to bed with Richard tonight without a dark, mocking face coming between them…
Shuddering at the very idea, she added jerkily, ‘I’ll get a taxi later.’
She must talk to Richard. Tell him she had a headache… Make some excuse…
‘I doubt if there’ll be any taxis willing to venture out.’ Quinn’s level tones penetrated her thoughts. ‘The fog’s getting thicker by the minute.’
He indicated the windows, where nothing was visible but opaque grey mist. ‘If you don’t leave with me now, you’ll almost certainly be stuck for the night.’
Suppose he was right? If she was stuck, with only one bedroom it could prove difficult…
‘And believe me it’s no trouble,’ he added briskly. ‘I pass the end of Hawks Lane.’
As though the matter was settled, he strode across to the cupboard, retrieved her coat and held it for her.
Seeing that a furious-looking Richard was about to intervene, Elizabeth made up her mind. Giving him a speaking glance, she said, ‘In the circumstances I think it would make sense to go.’
Just for a second he looked ready to protest, then, apparently thinking her decision was because she wanted to observe the proprieties, being a gentleman, he stayed silent.
Slipping into her coat, she went on a shade awkwardly, ‘It’s been a tiring evening, and I’m more than ready for some sleep.’
If they’d been alone, Richard would almost certainly have taken her in his arms and kissed her with pleasurable skill and expertise, but, clearly inhibited by the other man’s presence, he gave her a mere peck on the cheek.
‘You’re off on Monday, aren’t you?’ His voice was tightly controlled. ‘So I’ll see you Tuesday. Perhaps we can go to Swann Neilson and discuss a suitable setting for the diamond?’
‘Lovely.’ She managed to smile at him, while a strange presentiment made a chill run through her.
‘Was that shiver caused by cold or excitement?’ Quinn’s mocking voice asked, as they left the penthouse together.
Without thinking, she answered, ‘Neither. Just a goose walking over my grave.’
His heavy-lidded eyes gleaming green as a cat’s between thick dark lashes, he remarked softly, ‘I once knew a girl who used to say that.’
Elizabeth cursed her careless tongue as, a hand at her waist, Quinn escorted her across the small foyer and into the lift.
Like some jailer, he stood much too close for comfort, but, afraid to move away in case it was obvious, she made herself stay where she was.
They descended without speaking, while she tried to convince herself that his remark had just been an idle one.
But suppose he’d guessed? Her blood ran cold at the thought.
Oh, why on earth had she left with him? In retrospect it had been a stupid and dangerous thing to do. Like jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire.
At least she would have been safe with Richard. If she’d simply told him that she didn’t want to sleep with him, he wouldn’t have pressed her.
Or would he?
He didn’t take kindly to being disappointed, and nothing had gone as he’d planned.
Still, he wasn’t an insensitive man, and without knowing the truth about Quinn surely he would have appreciated that the evening’s events had affected her, and forgiven her change of heart?
But now it was too late.
Outside, the fog was dense and clammy, enveloping the hotel entrance, obscuring the ornamental façade and turning the wrought-iron lamps into hovering, luminous ghosts.
There were hardly any pedestrians about, and a lot fewer cars than usual, the normal Park Lane traffic noise muffled and muted.
‘Looks pretty bad, sir,’ the doorman remarked.
‘Conditions certainly aren’t improving,’ Quinn agreed, dropping a generous tip into his ready palm.
‘Perhaps it would be wiser to stay?’ Elizabeth suggested eagerly. ‘They’d almost certainly have a room, and it would save you having to drive in this.’
‘I don’t see it as a problem.’ Already the car door was open and, a hand beneath her elbow, Quinn was helping her in. ‘I’ve driven in worse.’
As they joined the slow-moving traffic and began to crawl through fog-shrouded streets, tense and nervous, she stared straight ahead, until the amorphous grey mass made her eyes ache.
Needing to break a silence that was lengthening and beginning to get intolerable, she said, ‘This is the kind of fog one reads about in Victorian melodramas.’
Her normally clear, well-modulated voice sounded somewhat hoarse and strained.
‘Don’t tell me you read Victorian melodramas?’ While pretending to be shocked, Quinn’s sidelong glance was tolerant, even a trifle amused.
Relaxing