CHAPTER ONE

      The London Chronicle Monday 4th February

      JAMES BOSWELL’S SOCIAL DIARY

      MARRIED BLISS...?

      FOLLOWERS of the social scene will be interested to hear that glamorous, wickedly attractive Leo Hamilton (pictured right at a polo match) has finally met his fate...and is set to many Fiona Bliss, 26, heiress of the ‘Bliss Margarine’ fortune.

      Mega-rich banker Leo, 31—who gained a silver medal for fencing in the last Olympics, and is the son of society hostess Lady Lucas by her first marriage to the late Hon. Jack Hamilton—has up to now successfully avoided the clutches of matrimony, despite being linked in the past with so many beautiful women.

      However, I am reliably informed that the happy couple will announce their engagement at next week’s St Valentine’s Ball—organised by Lady Lucas in aid of the National Society for Orphaned Children.

      Leo and Fiona were unavailable for comment, but Fiona’s mother, Ethel Bliss, is said to be ‘delighted and very happy’.

      The silver-grey Porsche made its way carefully through the crowded streets of the City of London, before coming to a halt outside a large, old Victorian building, currently the headquarters of the Hamilton banking empire.

      ‘She’s all yours, Benson,’ the tall, dark-haired man drawled, unfolding his long limbs from the low-slung vehicle and tossing the car keys to the commissionaire, before visibly wincing at the sound as he slammed the door shut.

      ‘Had a hard night, Mr Hamilton...?’

      ‘A real blinder!’ Leo agreed with a tired grin, before striding quickly up the steps and into the building.

      ‘Ah, there you are, Mr Hamilton,’ his personal assistant called out, hurrying to meet him as he exited the lift on the first floor. ‘Your uncle would like to see you at ten o’clock.’

      ‘Did he say why?’

      His assistant shook her head. ‘Lord Hamilton’s sacretary merely passed on the message. Although it may have something to do with the press conference, which is now scheduled for eleven-thirty,’ she said, almost running to keep up with his long stride as she consulted the notepad in her hand. ‘Your mother has phoned, and is most anxious to contact you. And...and I’d like to offer my own warmest congratulations. I’m sure you’ll both be very happy.’

      ‘Mmm...?’ Leo shot her a brief, puzzled glance as he entered the blessed sanctuary of his office. Throwing his briefcase onto a black leather sofa, he sank down into the large, comfortable chair behind his desk.

      ‘OK, Dora—hold all phone calls until I’ve had at least two cups of black coffee. On second thoughts,’ he added with a tired smile, ‘maybe you’d better just keep the black coffee flowing until further notice. And if you can find my dark sunglasses I’ll promise to love you for ever!’ he groaned, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes.

      ‘It looks as though it was some celebration party last night,’ Dora said some minutes later, placing a cup and saucer on the desk in front of him.

      ‘You’re so right,’ Leo agreed with a heavy sigh, and wondering—not for the first time—why on earth he’d agreed to attend Alan Morton’s stag night which, starting on Friday night, had continued for most of the weekend. It was beginning to look as if his mother had been right when she’d accused him of getting too old for all-night rave-ups chiefly composed of wine, women and song. Maybe it really was time that he settled down to a life of quiet domesticity...?

      ‘Are these what you’re looking for?’ his assistant asked, handing him a pair of dark glasses.

      ‘Dora-you’re an angel! What would I do without you?’

      Gazing down at the tall, handsome, lounging figure with a fond smile, Dora reflected that even now, when clearly suffering from a massive hangover, Leo Hamilton was far and away the most good-looking man she’d ever worked for.

      Well over six feet tall, his lean, broad-shouldered figure was only part of his dark attraction. Recently returned from a skiing holiday, his tanned features were emphasised by the thick black wavy hair sweeping down over his well-shaped head to curl over the edge of his collar.

      Although he was only aged thirty-one, there were several strands of silver amongst the dark hair at his temples. While the green eyes beneath their heavy lids, set above an aquiline nose, only hinted at the sensuality which was clearly evident in the curved line of his wide mouth, she had no doubt that he was just about every red-blooded woman’s dream hero.

      And