Mistress Of The Groom

by Susan Napier

Especially with Ryan Blair handing her the modern equivalent of the Black Spot—a red-flagged credit-rating.

  ‘So I’ve lowered my sights and lined up a few interviews for office jobs, sales, temping...the kind of thing that requires a certain manual dexterity, or at least an ability to write...’

  ‘You can still use a keyboard—’

  ‘Not very efficiently.’ She shrugged. ‘If I was doing the hiring I probably wouldn’t give me a job. You don’t take on someone if there’s a chance they’ll be applying for sick leave before they even get started!’

  ‘What about Social Welfare; will they help?’

  She sighed, beginning to think that pride was another luxury she would have to learn to do without. ‘I’m involved in some heavy-duty financial wrangling...I’m not eligible for any government assistance until it’s straightened out.’

  ‘You’re certainly eligible for support payments if your injury prevents you from working,’ said the doctor, scribbling on his pad. ‘They’ll pay you a percentage of your weekly earnings averaged out over the past year. I’ll get the receptionist to give you an application form before you leave...’

  Jane muttered an agreement as she accepted the prescription he had scrawled out, not wanting to get into a prolonged discussion of her depressing situation. The problem was she hadn’t earned any income in the last twelve months. So desperate had been the situation at Sherwood Properties that she had waived her salary and ploughed it back into the business, living off her various platinum credit cards in the expectation of better times ahead.

  Over the next few days Jane saw several opportunities that she had managed to set up slip out of her bandaged grasp, just as she had predicted to the young doctor. She had done everything right—dressing smartly, if incredibly slowly, getting Collette to put her hair into its customary sleek roll, checking out the buses to make sure she wouldn’t be late for the widely dispersed interviews and presenting a pleasant, quietly confident demeanour no matter what the provocation. From her shrewd observations two of the rejections were genuine declines, the other three were because of her identity.

  On the way back to the city bus terminal one lunchtime, aware of an empty afternoon stretching ahead of her, Jane impulsively called into the first employment bureau she had registered with, and the owner—a bluff, straightforward woman whom Jane knew slightly from her former life—was quietly blunt.

  ‘I’m telling you this, Jane, because I think it’s unfair for you to waste any more of your time...but I’ll deny every word I say outside this office. A bureau like mine depends on a lot of repeat business from the big companies. If we don’t deliver what the clients want and cater to their every whim someone else will get the business. The truth is, if I place Jane Sherwood in a job right now I risk losing several lucrative contracts, and I’m not prepared to do that. It’s probably the same at other agencies. There’s a lot of influence at work. I’m afraid you’re very much on your own...’

  So what else is new? thought Jane that night as she decided on an omelette for dinner. The harsh reality was that she had always been more or less on her own. Even when her father had been alive their relationship had been more competitive than supportive.

  A job wasn’t even her top priority any more. She had to move out in three days and she still hadn’t found a place to live.

  There was a knock on the door and she nearly dropped an egg. It was the mousey man from the flat on the other side of Collette.

  ‘Telephone for you.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’ She gave him a grave smile and nipped out into the hall, still holding the egg, to where the receiver dangled on its long grimy cord from the battered wall-phone. Eagerly she tipped the egg into the shallow cup of her bandaged hand and picked up the gently swinging receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Miss Sherwood?’

  Only one man said her name with that particular blend of menacing sibilance.

  Jane looked down at the raw egg slithering out of its splintered shell on the top of her shoe.

  ‘Mr Blair. What a pleasant surprise.’ She, too, could be insultingly polite. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Extremely well, thank you. And you?’

  Jane instinctively hid her broken hand behind her back. ‘Oh, absolutely spiffing! Never been better!’

  There was a small silence. Jane could hear him breathing and unconsciously regulated her own so that he wouldn’t know that her heart and lungs felt as if she were running a marathon.

  ‘I’m calling to ask whether you’d like to have dinner with me at the Lakepoint Hotel tomorrow evening? I have a business proposition I’d like to put to you, one that could be of considerable financial benefit to us both...’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘AH, YES, madam, Mr Blair is already at the table—please follow me.’

  Jane nervously smoothed her palms down the sideseams of her dress as she trailed the maitre d’ across the room. The Lakepoint Hotel restaurant was justifiably famous for its elegance, and she had resigned herself to wearing the black dress again. In her former life she would never have dreamed of wearing a dress twice in a row in public, and she knew that Ryan Blair, with his ruthless eye for detail, would recognise the gown and draw the obvious, humiliating conclusion.

  However, when she had approached Collette for a second loan of her shoes, the other woman had thrown open her bulging wardrobe as well, and Jane had been unable to resist the opportunity to thumb her nose at her enemy by selecting something that would bolster her bravado.

  Now she was beginning to have second thoughts about her boldness. The dark green beaded synthetic minidress might be the current height of fashion but it wasn’t Jane’s style at all; it was too trendy, too attention-grabbing, too...young. Although the sleeveless scoop neckline of the bodice was relatively modest, the stretchy fabric hugged her full-bodied curves and revealed more of her long legs than she had displayed since she was a teenager.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have let Collette persuade her to leave her hair loose and do her make-up, but the other woman had been very persuasive when she realised that Jane was meeting the man with whom she’d had her highly-publicised fight. Collette’s condescending pity had turned to admiration when she had realised that it was Jane who’d done the hitting, rather than the other way around, but she had been highly sceptical when Jane had insisted that the new meeting was strictly for business reasons.

  The maitre d’ rounded a bank of ferns and Jane spied a familiar dark head at a table in the centre of the room. Oh, God! Every cell in her body registered its usual instant antagonism and the apprehension that had trickled down her spine now became a raging torrent. She must have been mad to come here, to believe that Ryan Blair’s tantalising hint of an end to his vendetta meant anything but trouble. Why bother to offer her a helping hand when he knew he had her on the ropes? By accepting his invitation wasn’t she revealing herself as desperate enough to clutch at any straw?

  Her pride balled in her throat and briefly she entertained the idea of turning tail, but then the dark head swivelled and she felt the laser-bum of his vivid blue stare. Trapped, her defiance blazed back into being. Oh, hell, who was she trying to kid? She was desperate enough to clutch at straws.

  Fighting down her nervousness as they approached the table, Jane’s fingers curled reflexively into her palms and she winced, glancing down at her left hand. Another weakness she had to hide. She had taken off the bandage and tape and tried to use make-up to conceal the mottled bruising, but the purple and yellow ripening on her skin had been too vivid and she had been forced to borrow yet another item of clothing from Collette—a pair of short black satin gloves, frilled at the wrist.

  A couple of hours out of its strapping wouldn’t affect the healing of her bones, she had told herself, not if she was careful to avoid putting any undue pressure on the outside of her hand. She didn’t want to be accused of playing on Ryan Blair’s sympathies—if he had any— any more than she desired to see him gloat over the backfiring o
f her grand gesture of contempt.

  There was no evidence that her blow had had any lasting effect on him, she noted sourly as he rose to greet her. His sculptured mouth and hard jaw were unmarred by any blemish, a testimony to his apparently unassailable physical superiority.

  She noticed with a small sting of satisfaction that his blue eyes had dilated at the sight of her dress. He appeared momentarily transfixed by the beads, which were sparkling brilliantly under the light from the chandelier immediately overhead. The knowledge that she had managed to surprise him was a fillip to her battle-scarred spirits. Score one for Collette! Jane allowed herself a tiny smile of triumph as she inclined her head in a dignified greeting and sank down into the padded velvet chair drawn out by the mâitre d’.

  ‘Dressing the part?’ he murmured, a quizzical light entering the intense blue gaze as it returned to her face.

  She tensed, sensing an insult in the cryptic, barely audible remark. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said haughtily.

  He sat down, smiling at her in a way that made her skin prickle all over.

  ‘You’re looking delightfully...bold and adventurous this evening,’ he rephrased smoothly, signalling for drinks without taking his eyes off her wary expression.

  Her thick black eyebrows lowered. ‘Thank you,’ she grated, the polite words simmering with resentment.

  ‘My pleasure...Jane,’ he responded, with a hard glimmer of amusement which goaded her into forgetting that she had vowed to be cool and conciliatory, no matter what the provocation.

  ‘You’re looking rather exquisite yourself, Ryan,’ she bit back with insulting sweetness.

  Unfortunately, the flattery was no more than truth. In a white linen jacket that emphasised the breadth of his shoulders, a dark blue silk shirt and black trousers, he looked the epitome of male elegance, and his blunt, handsome features, alive with the aggressive energy which infused his personality, had an impact that even Jane was unable to deny.

  He knew it, too, damn him! The man oozed self-confidence as he settled back in his chair, looking even more amused at her ungracious response to his remark.

  ‘Quite a mutual admiration society, aren’t we?’ he drawled. ‘What would you like to drink? I’m going to have a vodka martini, with a twist.’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse anything alcoholic—she was going to need a completely clear head to deal with this devious swine—but his innocent question acquired the insidious flavour of a challenge as it filtered through her suspicious mind.

  ‘I’ll have the same,’ she told the hovering wine waiter coolly.

  ‘I was beginning to wonder whether you were coming,’ Ryan commented as their drinks were being fetched.

  She hadn’t been late on purpose. A friend of Collette’s had given her a lift, and the slick, streetwise young man had had a very flexible interpretation of time, but she had no intention of letting Ryan know the agonies she had gone through when she had realised that she wasn’t going to arrive at the appointed time.

  She lifted a taunting brow. ‘Unused to being stood up?’

  ‘Except at the altar, yes,’ he replied, punishing her temerity with a bluntness that sliced through her composed front with dismaying ease.

  Jane’s face paled as she met the fierce blue gaze. ‘You weren’t...stood up,’ she choked.

  ‘No, but the result was the same, wasn’t it? A bridegroom rejected at the altar...’

  Jane swallowed. ‘You—could have tried again—married someone else...’ she said feebly. Surely a man with Ryan Blair’s raw charisma would never have, to be alone—except by choice.

  ‘And who do you think I should have taken as a substitute bride?’ he sneered. ‘My secret lover, perhaps?’

  It was a measure of how far she was off balance that Jane was momentarily confused. ‘You were having an affair?’ she gasped in horror. It had never even occurred to her that Ava might have had genuine grounds for calling off the wedding. Oh, God, had she put herself through all this agony for nothing...?

  ‘Why, yes, I thought you knew,’ he purred.

  Her stuttering thoughts came to a crashing halt and colour flooded back into her pale cheeks as she suddenly ralised what he had meant.

  ‘If you think that I—that I—’ She floundered, at a loss for words.

  ‘Expected me to make an honest woman of you?’ he finished helpfully. ‘Well, it fits the scenario. Were you trying to provoke me into doing the honourable thing, darling? Is that why you did it?’

  ‘No! Of course not,’ she uttered raggedly. ‘You—I—we never—Don’t be disgusting.’

  ‘You think the honourable and holy estate of marriage is disgusting?’ he enquired. ‘What fascinating hang-ups you have, my dear Jane.’

  She felt like a moth squirming on a pin. ‘I’m not your dear anything,’ she said severely, grappling for her vanished poise.

  ‘Oh, but you are.’ he contradicted her, his voice silky with menace. ‘You cost me very dear, Jane. In fact, you’re the most expensive woman I’ve never slept with. After our non-existent affair I was left with precious little to offer any other woman... I had to fight tooth and nail to pull myself out of the financial quicksands.’

  She knew it would be a waste of breath to plead that she had never intended him to be financially crippled.

  ‘Money isn’t everything. If a woman loved you—’

  ‘Like Ava did, you mean? For richer for poorer, against lies and calumny... Oh, yes, love is the ultimate guarantor.’ He laughed harshly, bitter cynicism in every line of his face.

  Jane looked guiltily away but he wouldn’t allow her to evade him so easily.

  ‘What’s the matter, Jane?’ he asked grimly. ‘Did you think I was going to let us pretend that it didn’t happen? It is, after all, the reason that you’re here...’

  Her head snapped back. ‘I’m here because you said you had a business proposition—’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ He sat back again, his smile wolfish as the drinks were set before them. ‘My proposition. And you’re so eager to hear it that you’re prepared to dine with your worst enemy. I am your worst enemy, aren’t I, Jane?’

  He seemed to relish the idea so much that she couldn’t resist puncturing his self-importance. ‘I look on you as an obstacle rather than an enemy,’ she said stonily.

  ‘A toast, then.’ He lifted his glass. ‘To obstacles.’ His eyelids drooped, giving him a deceptively sleepy, sensuous look. ‘May they soon be mounted.’

  ‘Surmounted,’ Jane corrected, reluctantly raising her drink.

  He touched the rim of his glass delicately to hers, like the salute of a duelling foil. ‘I think I prefer my version,’ he murmured, and, holding her suspicious eyes with his, quaffed half his martini in a single swallow.

  Distracted from his cryptic words by that smug masculine challenge, Jane followed suit, forgetting her intention to cautiously nurse her drink. The slug of potent alcohol exploded in her empty belly, making her blink, infusing her with an instant all-over warmth. The icy core of fear inside her melted a little. Hell, what more could he do to her that he hadn’t done already?

  ‘Amazing, the things that one will consider doing when one is floundering in the murky depths of despair, isn’t it, Jane?’ he mused

  ‘What sort of things?’ asked Jane warily, twisting her martini glass between the finger and thumb of her right hand, her left lying protectively in her lap.

  His mouth stretched in a charming smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  ‘Oh...the principles once ardently defended that one is prepared to compromise, the dangers ignored, the traps that one can be lured into out of the desperate need to feel back in control...’

  With a jolt Jane noticed the thread-like mark bisecting his lower lip, only noticeable when the corner of his mouth tilted at that particular sardonic angle. A tiny scar, almost healed and scarcely detectable—except to the person responsible for putting it there—and the victim himself.

  ‘I think
I’m quite aware of the pitfalls of business, thank you,’ she said, taking another sip of the clear, frigid liquid.

  ‘If you were, I doubt you would find yourself in your present untenable position,’ he pointed out succinctly. ‘Your lack of qualifications and inexperience probably had a large part to do with your failure.’

  As usual the accusation of failure hit her like a blow upon a wound. Her spine straightened. ‘I might not have any formal qualifications but I had practical training that’s worth any number of theoretical diplomas...nearly ten years involved in almost every aspect of Sherwood’s—’.

  ‘My goodness, that long...?’

  His mockery stung. How dared he dismiss her achievements so lightly? ‘My father would never have allowed me to take over if he hadn’t known I had the ability—’

  ‘Since he didn’t have a son, he had no choice, did he?’ Ryan interrupted. ‘How that must have stuck in his craw. Mark never did have much respect for women.’

  With a few brief sentences Ryan made her feel like a little girl again, desperately trying to win the unqualified approval that she knew would never be forthcoming, no matter how good, how clever, how worthy she proved herself to be.

  Jane glared at him. ‘I was the best person for the job!’ she said icily. ‘I knew that company inside out.’

  And loved it. She had felt more at home in her cosy office than she had done in the huge, ostentatious, designer-decorated house that Mark Sherwood had built as a monument to his success. After her father’s enforced retirement, work had become even more of a refuge from the tensions at home. In her office Jane had felt safe, strong, empowered by the respect accorded her position, insulated from the doubts and uncertainties that plagued her as soon as she stepped over the threshold of her father’s house and faced the daily barrage of complaints and criticisms.

  ‘If you have such a low opinion of my professional capabilities I don’t understand what I’m doing here.’

  ‘Oh, you will,’ he murmured, his gaze sliding past her shoulder.