Wife By Approval. Lee Wilkinson
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her own account, she told herself wryly. But, for once in her life, she hadn’t been thinking straight, otherwise she would have looked for somewhere inexpensive and booked before she’d left the office.
Her left ankle had stiffened up and she was finding it painful to use the clutch, so it would be as well if she could find somewhere comparatively close.
As she started to turn, it occurred to her that there used to be a smallish hotel a couple of streets away. Now, what was it called…? Fairfax? Fairhaven? Fairbourn? Yes, that was it. She couldn’t remember noticing it lately, which might mean that it had closed down, but—’
From behind there was a sudden dazzling blaze of headlights and a glancing rear impact sent the front of her car swerving into the wall with a grinding of metal and a tinkling of broken glass.
Momentarily paralysed by shock, she was sitting motionless when the driver’s door was jerked open and a male voice demanded urgently, ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes…Yes. Quite all right…’ Her own voice seemed to come from a long way away.
The car had stalled when her foot slipped off the clutch but, even so, he reached inside and felt for the ignition key to turn everything off.
‘Then I suggest you stay where you are for a minute while I assess the damage.’ He closed the door against the rain.
Though she felt dazed, part of her mind registered that his voice was low-pitched and pleasant, a cultured voice and not one she recognised.
But that attractive voice had said, ‘while I assess the damage’…She groaned inwardly. From what little she could see, his car appeared to be a big expensive one. And, though he had hit her, she was to blame. If she had been concentrating, instead of thinking about where she was to stay, it might not have happened.
She had just managed to gather herself and was about to unfasten her safety belt and climb out, when the door opened and he was back.
‘How bad is it?’ she asked fearfully.
‘The original impact was only a glancing blow, so there’s hardly a mark on my car…’
She could only be thankful for that.
‘But I’m very much afraid that the damage caused when your nearside front wing hit the wall will make your car undriveable.’
After the kind of day she’d had, it was the last straw and she gave way to a crazy impulse to laugh.
His face was in deep shadow and she couldn’t see his expression but, sounding concerned and obviously wondering if she was about to become hysterical, he asked, ‘Sure you’re all right?’
‘Quite sure…’
A shade apologetically, she explained, ‘I was just seeing the funny side. It’s been an awful day and I’m afraid I’d reached the stage where I either had to laugh or cry.’
‘Then you made the right decision.’
As he held the door against the wind, a scattering of rain blew in.
Suddenly realising that he was standing getting wet when, but for her, he would no doubt be on his way home to his wife, she made to clamber out, favouring her bad ankle.
He stepped back and put a steadying hand beneath her elbow.
Startled by his touch, she said jerkily, ‘I’m really very sorry about all this…’
‘As my car hit yours, I’m the one who should be apologizing,’ he told her.
Honesty made her insist, ‘No, it was my fault. My mind was on other things and when I started to back out I hadn’t realised there was anyone else about.’
‘Rather than stand in the rain arguing,’ he said dryly, ‘I suggest that, for the moment at least, you allow me to accept the blame. Later, if necessary, we can always agree on six of one and half a dozen of the other.’
Opening the door of what, at close quarters, she could see was a top-of-the-range Porsche, he added briskly, ‘Now, before you get wet through, suppose you jump in and I’ll take you home.’
‘That’s very good of you, but I…’ Her words tailed off as, in the glow of his headlights, she recognised the dark, powerful face she had thought never to see again.
When, her wits scattered, her heart starting to race, she stood rooted to the spot, he said, ‘Is there a problem?’
When she didn’t immediately answer, he suggested, ‘Perhaps you don’t trust me?’
‘No…No, it’s not that.’
‘Then what is it?’
She blurted out the first thing that came into her head. ‘I—I was just wondering if I should try and move my car.’
‘Leave it where it is,’ he told her decidedly. ‘It shouldn’t be in anyone’s way and first thing tomorrow morning I’ll get my garage to tow it in and do the necessary repairs.
‘Now, is there anything you need out of it?’
‘A small case on the back seat.’
‘Jump in and I’ll get it.’
He had left the engine running and in a moment she was installed in the warmth and comfort of the most luxurious car she had ever been in.
Not even Maurice De Vere had a car in that class.
She found herself wondering what a visitor—and, as she had never seen either him or his car before, the dark-haired stranger must be a visitor—was doing in Cartel’s car park so late in the evening…
Her case deposited in the boot, he slid in beside her and reached to fasten both their seat belts. That done, he turned to her and, in the light from the dashboard, studied her face.
Embarrassed by his close scrutiny and only too aware that with wet, bedraggled hair and a shiny nose she must look an absolute fright, she felt her cheeks grow warm.
As though sensing her discomfort, he moved away a little and asked, ‘Where to?’
‘I—I don’t know,’ she stammered.
He raised a dark brow. ‘Amnesia?’
Knowing he was making fun of her and vexed with herself for losing her usual calm composure and acting like a fool, she took a deep breath and said crisply, ‘Certainly not.’
Pulling a mournful face, he observed, ‘Oh, dear…now you’re mad with me.’
For an instant she wavered between annoyance and amusement. Amusement won and she smiled.
Smiling back, he observed, ‘That’s better.’
His smile increased his charm a thousandfold and she found herself thinking that a lot of women would find him irresistible…
Suddenly becoming aware that he’d asked a question she hadn’t caught, she pulled herself together and said, ‘I’m sorry?’
‘I asked why don’t you know?’
Trying to be brief and succinct, she explained, ‘Well, the house I live in is being refurbished, which means my flat is un-inhabitable, and I’m staying with a friend…’
He listened, his dark eyes fixed on her face.
Thrown by the intentness of his gaze, she momentarily lost the thread.
Then, realising he was waiting, she carried on a shade distractedly, ‘Her boyfriend is in London and expecting to stay with her. But her flat is really only a bedsit, so you see I have to find a hotel.’
It seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity and, his thoughts racing, he said, ‘That shouldn’t be a problem. There are plenty of hotels in London. You don’t have any particular preference?’
‘No, anywhere