Wedding Fever. Lee Wilkinson
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I . . .’ Fighting down blind panic at the thought of having to come into close contact with Nick on a daily basis, she managed more moderately, ’I’m sorry, Dad, but I won’t have time.’
Hardening her heart against her father’s disappointed face, she went on hurriedly, ‘In fact, I won’t be here. Because the wedding reception is being held in Mayfair, Lady Somersby has suggested that I stay with her in Manton Square until the final seating plan and all the last-minute details have been decided on...’
For the past two weeks Raine had been politely resisting the suggestion, but now it seemed the lesser of two evils.
‘So when Kevin comes tomorrow, I intend to go back to town with him.’
‘You’re running away again,’ Ralph accused her, a kind of anxious irritation in his hazel eyes.
‘I’m doing nothing of the kind,’ she denied. ‘I—I need to be on the spot to help complete the arrangements and cope with any possible hitches...’
Some slight sound made them both look up.
Nick was standing there, his broad shoulders filling the doorway. Judging by his derisive expression, he’d overheard enough to put him in the picture.
When he spoke, his manner was as cool and hard as ice-clad marble. ‘Before you make any further arrangement, we really should have that talk.’
Managing to sound distant and haughty, Raine informed him,—‘I’ve just talked to Dad. It’s kind of you to help him out, and I’m grateful, but...’
Nick’s handsome eyes glinted as he warned, ‘Don’t patronise me, Raine.’
Flushing a little, despite herself, she ploughed on, ‘But it doesn’t involve me, and—’
‘Don’t be too sure about that. Though your father’s put you partly in the picture, you’ll understand much better when you’ve heard what I have to say.’
The eyes of the two men met.
‘If you’ll excuse me.’ Ralph got to his feet. ‘I’d better let Martha know how many there are for dinner, or we won’t be getting any.’
With calm effrontery, Nick said, ‘I was intending to take Raine out for a meal, if that’s all right with you?’
‘Fine by me,’ Ralph agreed genially.
For a moment she was speechless, then, as the door closed behind her father’s tall, spare figure, she turned on Nick furiously. ‘I wouldn’t have dinner with you if you were the last man on earth.’
‘Not a very original remark,’ he taunted.
‘Original or not, I mean it. I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to suggest such a thing after you’ve completely ruined the evening...’
‘The evening’s not over yet,’ he pointed out, a strange note in his voice. Then, watching her involuntary shiver, he added in a bored tone, ‘Now, do go and get ready, there’s a good girl.’
‘This late on a Saturday night you won’t get in anywhere without a reservation.’ She made no attempt to hide the triumph. ‘We’ll end up eating in the local snack-bar.’
He merely smiled. ‘I’ve already booked a table for two at the Priest House.’
The Priest House, a beautiful old building dating from the fifteen-hundreds, was the most expensive and exclusive restaurant in the neighbourhood.
‘How dare you do such a thing without even asking me?’ she burst out. Then, realising that by losing her temper she was playing into his hands, she drew a deep breath and went on more calmly, ‘I’m afraid you’ll be eating alone. I’d rather starve than accept your invitation.’
Nick’s face hardened. ‘My dear Raine, you don’t seem to understand... It isn’t an invitation. It’s an order.’
Furiously, she demanded, ‘What makes you think you can give me orders?’
With a smile that showed the gleam of his white teeth but failed to reach his eyes, a smile that was a danger signal, he said with terrifying confidence, ‘Because I hold the whip hand.’
She wanted to deny his assertion, to protest that he was joking, or mistaken, or mad, but, knowing the man, she was suddenly convinced that he was none of those things. That he somehow did hold the whip hand.
Feeling as though she’d been punched in the solar plexus, Raine stared up at him mutely, her clear green eyes startlingly beautiful.
‘My, what big eyes you’ve got,’ he murmured mockingly.
Finding her voice, she said through stiff lips, ‘If you think I’m going to take orders from you just because you’re helping Dad out...’
But it didn’t need his silence to convince her that his autocratic statement was based on a great deal more than that. In exasperation, she cried, ‘Well, if it isn’t that, what is it?’
‘I’ll tell you after we’ve eaten. Now, suppose you go and get changed?’ Though phrased as a suggestion it was undoubtedly an order. And he wanted her to know it.
As she turned blindly away he cautioned, ‘Oh, and Raine, until you know exactly how things stand, it wouldn’t be wise to worry your father.’
On legs that shook a little, she hurried up the dark-oak crimson-carpeted stairs to the pleasant, lattice-windowed room she’d had since childhood.
“It wouldn’t be wise to worry your father...” While she showered the quiet warning kept ricocheting around her mind, making her wonder if Nick knew something her father was keeping from her.
Well, it was no use getting worked up about it, Raine told herself firmly, but at the first opportunity she’d have a word with Dr Broadbent.
Hands unsteady, she pulled on a silky lilac dress with a matching jacket and, to counteract Nick’s intimidating height, high-heeled sandals.
Too het up to bother with make-up, she pulled a comb through her smooth, glossy, below shoulder-length hair and picked up her bag; she was ready.
Quick as she’d been, Nick was waiting for her in the hall. He’d changed into a well-cut, lightweight suit and a pearl-grey tie, and his thick blond mane was parted on the left and neatly brushed.
Standing arrogantly at ease, head tilted a little, one hand thrust into his trouser pocket, he watched her come down the stairs, long-legged and elegant, her slender body moving gracefully.
‘Full marks for speed...’ he commented with satisfaction. Then, tilting her chin with a proprietorial hand, he studied her exquisitely boned face with its black winged brows and wide-spaced almond eyes, straight nose and generous mouth.
His gaze lingered on her mouth.
‘Don’t!’ she said sharply.
‘You have no lipstick to smudge...’
She froze into immobility and closed her eyes as his mouth moved closer and hovered. But the kiss never came. With delicate cruelty he nipped her full lower lip between his white teeth.
When her lids flew open, he said flatly, ‘Even without make-up you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’
Badly shaken, she tried mockery. ‘In a minute you’ll be telling me Kevin’s a lucky man.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion. Personally, I rate the willingness to trust a great deal higher than looks.’
The chilling put-down was delivered with a complete lack of emotion. Still it stung.
Jerking free, she retorted, ‘Was I the only one who was expected to trust you? Or did you ask your fiancée to trust you too?’
His mouth thinned. ‘I would have explained how things were if you’d