by Karen King
Chapter Nineteen
Her head was throbbing. Hattie opened her eyes, blinked at the harsh sunlight, then quickly closed them again. She hadn’t meant to drink so much wine, but it had been such a lovely day, the photographs had gone well, she’d had another couple of queries about commissions. And she’d danced with Marcus. She remembered that dance, his strong arms around her, holding her close, the tangy scent of his aftershave, his mouth brushing against her ear, trailing down her neck then kissing her slowly, deeply, making her heart race and her knees weaken underneath her.
Then another memory flashed across her mind, Marcus bending over the bed and kissing her. Surely they hadn’t . . . ? She opened one eye tentatively and shot a glance at the space beside her. Empty. And thankfully there were no dents in the pillow where a sleeping head had lain. Marcus’s head. She must have been dreaming. God, did she fancy him that much that she was actually dreaming about him now?
She rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock. Almost ten. She had totally zonked out. Good job it was Sunday. She yawned and sat up. Her throat was parched. She could do with a cup of coffee. She pushed the sheet back – it was too hot for a duvet – and set off downstairs, stopping off at the bathroom to go to the loo first.
‘Bugger off!’ Buddy squawked as she walked into the lounge. He was climbing up the bars of the cage, watching her.
‘Nice to see you, too!’ She walked over to the cage; it had been cleaned out and he’d got fresh food and water. She couldn’t remember doing that. ‘Morning, grumpy,’ she said.
Buddy eyed her, cocking his head to one side. She really thought he was getting used to her. She’d do a piece of toast and marmalade and give him some, that would win him over. She walked into the kitchen, reached for the kettle, then paused as she saw a note propped against it. She squinted as she read the loopy blue writing:
You looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake you. Thanks for a fantastic night. And for agreeing to partner me for Lord Thomwell’s birthday party this afternoon. See you later.
‘Thanks for a fantastic night!’ Oh God! It hadn’t been a dream: she’d spent the night with Marcus. What the hell had she been thinking?
She needed a coffee – strong and black – then to get her head together. She couldn’t believe that she’d actually slept with Marcus and couldn’t remember any of it. Had she been that drunk? Had it been that uneventful?
And what was this birthday party she’d agreed to accompany him to? And for a Lord at that!
She put the kettle on and spooned coffee into a mug, her mind going back to yesterday evening as she poured in hot water, then added some cold to cool it down. She needed to get sober fast! She remembered dancing with Marcus at the wedding reception but nothing past then. She couldn’t even remember getting home. She hoped that she hadn’t shown herself up; she’d only just moved here.
She took the mug of coffee over to the table and sat down. She had to get her head straight. How could she face Marcus if she didn’t remember what had happened between them? Then panic seized her. Had they taken precautions? What had she been thinking?
That’s the trouble, you weren’t thinking, you were drinking.
She groaned and put her head in her hands. This wasn’t the first time she’d had a bit too much wine and done something she regretted. The trouble was, wine went to her head. One minute she was fine, and the next, that was it, total blackout. She had been determined to stick to two glasses but must have relaxed, and let her guard down because the photography session had gone well, so had an extra glass or two. Had Marcus encouraged her? Taken advantage of her? She shook her head, the memory of how it had felt to have his arms around her, of them kissing passionately, proving to her that whatever she had done, she had done willingly.
Well, now she’d have to man up and face him. Thank goodness she’d stayed on the mini pill after splitting up with Adam, because it helped regulate her heavy and irregular periods.
It would have been nice to actually remember the event though.
It couldn’t have been that earth shattering if she couldn’t recall a thing.
She took a huge gulp of her coffee, the bitter taste making her grimace. Well, it was no use sitting here moping, she needed to get a shower, then go and see Marcus, and find out exactly what they had done and what she had let herself in for today.
Just over an hour later, having eaten breakfast – cornflakes, as she had no bread for toast so couldn’t do some for Buddy either – showered, and pulled on some denim shorts and a vest top, she went around to see Marcus. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. Just be casual, she told herself, tell him you can’t remember the details of the birthday party, enquire about the dress code. Don’t ask him outright what happened last night, be subtle.
She knocked and waited. And waited. Then knocked again. No one opened the door. Where was Marcus? Had he gone back to bed to sleep off his hangover? She wracked her brains trying to remember if he was at work today but doubted it. Especially after working all day yesterday. Should she phone him or send him a text? She needed to find out if she’d agreed to go to some posh event where everyone wore dinner jackets and designer dresses. Well, she’d have to be the odd one out because she didn’t possess a dress, never mind a designer one!
‘Morning. Are you looking for me?’
She turned around at the sound of Marcus’s voice. He opened the gate with his left hand, and had a carrier bag in his right hand, from which a sliced white loaf and some eggs peeked out.
‘Want some breakfast?’ he asked.
Her stomach rumbled. ‘Thanks, but I’ve had some,’ she replied, her eyes feasting on the eggs. She’d bet he had some bacon in there, too, and she would really love a bacon and egg sandwich. Her dish of cornflakes hadn’t really soaked up the wine she’d drunk.
‘What did you have, because all I could find in your cupboards was cornflakes?’ He was almost at the front door now and must have noticed the expression on her face because he added, ‘I was looking for bread to toast for Buddy. I cleaned his cage and gave him some fresh food this morning.’
‘Mali and Lou ate me out of house and home and I didn’t get round to doing a shop yesterday.’
‘Well, come in and let me do you a decent breakfast. It’s the least I can do.’ He opened the door and stepped inside, leaving it open for her to follow.
The least he could do for what? For having sex with her? For persuading her to agree to accompany him to some posh dinner party later when she was too much under the influence of alcohol to refuse? She shook her head at both these thoughts, again remembering the way his eyes had looked into hers, how their bodies had moulded perfectly together when they’d danced, the heat up her spine when he had kissed her. She would definitely have consented to whatever they had done, although, yes, the alcohol would have clouded her judgement, weakened her ability to resist the effect Marcus had on her, especially when he already had a girlfriend. The effect he was having on her now.
She stepped inside. ‘About this birthday party . . .’
‘I hope you’re not going to back out? I’ve told Lady Thomwell that I’m bringing a guest now.’
‘The thing is . . . I can’t remember anything about it and, well, I doubt if I’ve got anything suitable to wear to a posh party. I don’t wear dresses. Don’t even possess one.’
Marcus bent down and took a frying pan out of the cupboard. ‘It’s not that posh, it’s a garden party. A pair of smart trousers will do.’
The only smart trousers she had were the smart black ones she wore for work. She bit her lip.
‘No smart trousers either, eh? Well, I’m in the same boat. Estelle – that’s Lady Thomwell’s daughter – hired a dinner suit for me when she wanted me to accompany her to a do the other night. I’ve told her that I’m wearing my own clothes today, though. I’ve got a pair of cream chinos that look decent enough with a black shirt. I’m an artist, they can’t expect me to dress up like a banker.’
That must be the posh woman she’d seen him with. Was he saying it was a platonic arrangement? Yet she’d seen her leaving Marcus’s house the next morning.
‘Two rashers or three?’ he asked, pouring oil into a frying pan then cutting open the pack of bacon.
Her stomach rumbled. She couldn’t resist saying, ‘Two, please.’
He grinned. ‘Do you mind putting the kettle on and making a couple of coffees?’
‘Sure.’ She filled the kettle and switched it on. Then asked the question that had been in her mind since she’d first seen him with the older woman in the sports car. ‘Is Estelle the one you went out with the other evening? I thought you were . . . together.’
‘It was a business event. And no, we aren’t together, although she would like us to be.’ He placed the slices of bacon in the pan. ‘Lady Thomwell commissioned me to do a painting for her husband’s birthday – which is today at three by the way. The painting will be unveiled for the first time, so she invited me to be there. Estelle wants me to be there too. So, I asked if I could bring a guest.’ He looked over his shoulder at her. ‘To be honest, I asked her if I could bring my girlfriend.’ He grimaced. ‘Estelle’s a bit full on, and won’t take no for an answer, so I thought if I invented a girlfriend it might get the message across to her.’
Ah, now things were slipping into place. ‘So, you want me to come along and pretend to be your girlfriend?’
He glanced at her. ‘Sort of. I did explain all this last night.’ He frowned. ‘What do you remember about last night?’
Should she confess? She might as well, at least she’d know what went on then. ‘Not a lot after our dance, to be honest. I was . . . er . . . surprised to see your note this morning. What time did you go?’ That sounded vague enough, didn’t it? Didn’t let on she didn’t know whether he’d gone last night or this morning.
Was that amusement she saw in his eyes? ‘About one thirty. You were a bit . . . tipsy . . . so I thought I’d better see you home. I cleaned out Buddy and give him some food. Whilst I was doing that, you disappeared. I finally found you in the attic room fast asleep on the bed.
On the bed. Naked? But what about her dream of them kissing?
‘I covered you over and you gave me a kiss goodnight, then I left you a note and went home,’ he explained. ‘Did you think I’d stayed the night and taken advantage of you when you were drunk?’
She folded her arms and looked straight at him. ‘I wasn’t that drunk.’ She’d let him decide whether she meant ‘drunk enough to sleep with him’ or ‘drunk enough to forget it’.
He raised an eyebrow, then reverted his attention to turning over the bacon that was sizzling away in the pan. ‘How many eggs?’
‘One please.’ She hunted in the cupboard for two plates, then opened the bread and placed two slices on each plate. ‘Now, back to the dinner party. I really don’t have anything suitable to wear. My wardrobe consists of work clothes, casual clothes and party clothes. Nothing suitable for a party on the lawn with a Lord and Lady. I think you should probably ask someone else to go with you.’
‘There isn’t time now and you promised.’ He put the two slices of bacon on her bread then placed an egg on top. ‘I’ve told you, it doesn’t matter what you come in. We won’t stay long. Wear whatever you want.’
‘Biker leathers.’
He cut the bread in half and handed the plate to her. ‘Sure, if you want to.’
It looked like she wasn’t getting out of this. She took the sandwich and sat down at the table. ‘Thanks.’
Marcus joined her with his own sandwich.
‘A couple of hours and that’s it, right?’
‘I promise. And Hattie . . .’
She took a bite out of her sandwich and chewed it, waiting for him to finish his sentence.
‘Can you sort of play up the “being my girlfriend” bit? Make it look really convincing.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Do I need to cling onto your arm and gaze lovingly into your eyes?’
‘Nope, but a bit of affection now and again would be good.’
‘Especially around Estelle?’
‘Definitely around Estelle. The woman is a cougar.’
Hattie giggled, nearly spluttering out her sandwich. The afternoon might turn out to be fun after all.
Chapter Twenty
She’d handled that well, Marcus thought, after Hattie had gone. Not the slightest bit of coyness or embarrassment about whether they had spent the night together, yet he was pretty sure she couldn’t remember if they had, she had been practically comatose when he’d left. The image of her sprawled naked on the bed flashed across his mind. After cleaning Buddy out, he’d gone up to check that she was okay, worried about her falling down those rickety, narrow attic stairs, and had been surprised to find the attic-room door wide open and Hattie lying on the bed. He’d tried not to let his gaze linger on the beautiful curves of her body, and had quickly covered her up, then gone back down and let himself out.
Back at home, he’d sat up for a while, thinking about how it had felt to dance with Hattie, their bodies touching, swaying to the music, her head resting on his shoulder. He’d been longing to kiss her all evening, and had hesitated, trying to assess what her response would be, before he finally had, his heart soaring like a released balloon when she had kissed him back. After a couple more drinks and dances, he had seized the moment and asked her to accompany him to the birthday party today and, to his surprise and relief, she had agreed. He had suspected that it was the influence of the wine that had made her agree so readily, and wondered if she would back out this morning, but no, she’d kept her promise.
He was looking forward to showing up with Hattie by his side. He had never met anyone like her, he thought. She was so uncomplicated, unabashed and beautiful. Another woman would have freaked out that he’d seen her naked on the bed – apart from Estelle, who would have tried to drag him into it with her – or read his note this morning and felt embarrassed wondering if they had slept together. Not Hattie. She was such a free spirit.
The more he got to know Hattie, the more he liked her and realised how wrong his earlier assumptions about her were. He was ashamed of how he had acted when they first met. She hadn’t asked her uncle to leave her his cottage in his will, had she? And if her father wanted to sell his half and she couldn’t afford to buy him out, what could she do? He should make the most of her living next door, she would be gone in a few months and then there would be a stream of holidaymakers coming and going at all hours of the day and night. Gone would be the peace and tranquillity he’d grown to love. Well, it had been good while it lasted.
He had to admit though that it wasn’t losing the peace and tranquillity that bothered him so much as losing Hattie. He was getting fond of her, too fond. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to invite her to Lord Thomwell’s birthday party. Ever since Kaylee, he’d sworn not to have another holiday romance. He’d fallen for Kaylee hard when she’d come down to spend the summer with her grandparents. He’d always known she’d be going back to university but they’d agreed to keep the relationship going – then he’d taken the train up for a surprise visit one weekend and discovered that Kaylee had replaced him. He’d been devastated for quite a time. After that he’d vowed to stay clear of holidaymakers. Not that Hattie was a holidaymaker, but she was only passing through, there was no future for them and he was a bit too attracted to her. Then he thought of Estelle, and the risqué picture she’d sent him. He had to get her off his back, without hurting her feelings if he could, and this was the only way he could think of doing it. Besides, he was a big boy now, not a love-struck teenager. He could handle Hattie moving on.
Hattie uploaded the wedding photos to her laptop ready to edit them. The wedding had been lovely. Ellie and Reece had looked so happy, their faces wreathed in smiles. And Sue had been beaming with pride as she had walked along the red carpet with her daughter on her arm. Hattie smiled with relief as the photos appeared on her s
creen. They were good. Very good. She had even managed to capture the moment when Reece had turned to see Ellie walking towards him and their eyes had met. It had been a perfect wedding, and a perfect reception, and she was going to make sure she did them a perfect album of photographs to match.
Not the sort of wedding she’d want, though. The thought crept into her mind and she stopped to explore it. The only time she’d considered getting married was a couple of years ago when she had found out that she was pregnant. At first she’d been shocked – she and Adam had been so careful – then she had started to feel pleased, imagining a little son or daughter, thinking that maybe she and Adam could get married, build their own little family. But Adam hadn’t been pleased. He’d been cross, spouting off about not being ready to be a father yet, not wanting to give up his freedom. When Hattie had miscarried a couple of weeks later, Adam had hardly been able to conceal his relief, whereas she had been devastated. Seeing how upset she was, Adam had hugged her, tried to console her, told her it was for the best – and she’d known it was, because she and Adam weren’t right together. Even if they had decided to take the plunge and get married, it wouldn’t have worked out and then their child would have been the casualty of a divorce. To be honest, she didn’t know many marriages that had lasted the course; look at her parents, and Mali and Ricki, and Ellie had told her that Reece’s parents were divorced too.
Sometimes Hattie thought of the baby she’d lost. She knew that someday she wanted a child, but only when she had found the right partner. Marcus’s face appeared in her mind and she pushed it away, she suspected he would be just as reluctant to settle down as Adam had been.
