by Maggie Cox
This was no small undertaking she was embarking on, and Seth needed to know that. More important, she didn’t want him to believe that her agreement to marry him meant that he would have everything his own way. Whatever happened, she was determined to make her own needs important, too...
CHAPTER EIGHT
TO IMOGEN’S SURPRISE, Seth drove them to a heliport just a few miles away. Whilst she’d guessed they would be flying somewhere, she’d assumed they’d be going to an airport to board a plane. But confronted with the reality of this alternative form of transport, she felt her insides catapulting with excitement. She’d never experienced travelling in a helicopter before and viewed it as an unexpected bonus.
But as soon as the silver-haired pilot had lifted off she clutched her hands in her lap and fell silent. She wasn’t nervous about the flying. Even the noise of the whirring blades and the sudden jolting ascent didn’t bother her. It was just that the scenario she found herself in was so far away from her usual day-to-day experience that she had to pinch herself to believe that it was really happening.
The most surprising thing of all was that she was accompanying a wealthy and supremely confident businessman who’d barely been in her life five minutes, and that somehow she’d agreed to become his wife in a marriage of convenience...
‘It’s a good feeling to be on our way,’ Seth commented, turning in his seat to glance at her. ‘With no obstacles to delay us. It’s been my experience in my career that something usually comes up at the last minute.’
Imogen screwed up her face. ‘Don’t say that. It might be unlucky.’
‘Are you telling me that you’re superstitious?’
‘I’ve been known to avoid the number thirteen and walking under ladders—that kind of thing.’
Amused, he shook his head. ‘Well, nothing’s going to spoil our trip. Trust me.’
Inexplicably, and going against all her usual instincts, she did. ‘Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?’
He smiled. ‘I suppose I ought to. You’ve done well not to press me for answers so far. Women’s curiosity usually gets the better of them, I’ve found. We’re going to Scotland. I hope you took my advice and packed some clothes for inclement weather?’
‘I did. I even packed a pair of sturdy boots in case we went walking. You can probably tell I was in the Girl Guides. My motto is Be Prepared.’
A painful reminder that she hadn’t been remotely prepared for being jilted at the altar made her insides tighten disagreeably. Quickly corralling the emotion, she quelled it, knowing that it would only spoil things.
‘But I never guessed we might be going to Scotland. What made you choose that for our destination?’
‘Wait until we get there and I’ll explain. In the meantime why don’t you just kick back and enjoy the ride? You’re going to see some amazing scenery en route.’
‘Okay, I will.’
The views over England were stunning enough, but as they left them behind and travelled further north her gaze encountered a proliferation of mountains, woodlands and reed beds in abundance. It was magical to see the narrow rivers that wove in and out through the differing habitats, the glint of diamond-bright sunlight on the shimmering water clearly marking them out.
The further afield they travelled, the more the colours of the land changed, too. She’d never realised before how many different shades of green there were. And every now and then the verdant shades were interspersed by acres of stunning purple heather.
In what seemed like hardly any time at all the pilot told them to prepare for landing. Keeping her sights fixed on the scenery as the helicopter descended, Imogen saw a flat, rugged landscape, with the most stunning backdrop of mountains rising up behind it, and a rush of pleasure soared through her.
The sensation was deliciously heightened when Seth curled his hand round hers. ‘Put your coat on,’ he advised. ‘It’s bound to be cold.’
The pilot turned to address them. ‘Here we are, Mr Broden. If you’d like to disembark, I’ll bring out your luggage.’
‘Thank you, Patrick.’
As soon as they were outside the helicopter a raw and icy wind made Imogen’s breath catch. Seth had been right about the drop in temperature. It was absolutely freezing. Arranging the hood of her parka with its faux fur edging more closely round her face, she felt her teeth chatter helplessly.
In contrast, he didn’t look remotely put out by the icy temperature. He had merely thrown a Burberry mackintosh over his immaculate suit, and he had the look of a suave male model about to be photographed to promote a very exclusive brand of cologne.
‘I hope that you and your young lady have a wonderful time here.’ Patrick warmly shook Seth’s hand and then Imogen’s.
Had she imagined it, or had there been a distinct twinkle in the man’s eyes when he’d glanced back at her? Did he perhaps know something that she didn’t?
There was no time to ponder, because suddenly a uniformed young couple were upon them—the man expertly arranging their luggage on a wheeled trolley as his pretty companion warmly welcomed them, announcing that her name was Nina. Then she asked them to follow her to the hotel.
Suddenly Imogen found that she had a myriad of questions to ask Seth. She still couldn’t fathom why he’d chosen Scotland for their first trip together. But he was looking straight ahead, as if he had more than enough on his mind to occupy him and wasn’t up for answering questions.
Then, as if intuiting that she was a little unsettled, he lightly touched his hand to her back as they walked towards the gracious nineteenth-century building that was their hotel.
‘If you’d like to come with me into Reception, the staff will check you in, and then I’ll show you and Miss Hayes to your suite, Mr Broden. In the meantime a porter will take your luggage up to the rooms.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re most welcome,’ Nina replied.
The young female concierge blushed as she met Seth’s arresting blue eyes, and Imogen completely understood why the woman suddenly appeared flustered.
As they travelled in the elevator up to their suite she deliberately avoided Seth’s examining gaze. She was suddenly struck dumb by what she was about to do.
Even though the kisses they’d shared were the most arousing she’d ever experienced, and had reassured her that she would have no trouble being turned on by him in bed, she was understandably apprehensive because she’d never spent the night with a man before. To some degree it helped that her handsome companion was aware of that, but still it didn’t dispel the nervousness she felt about taking things much further.
When the charming concierge had been duly thanked and tipped, she smilingly departed. Turning together, Imogen and Seth surveyed their luxurious surroundings.
‘So this is how the other half live?’ she quipped.
A smile touched her companion’s lips but he didn’t comment.
The suite door opened on to a gracious sitting room decorated in tastefully muted tones of cream and mint green. It was furnished with two generous-size spruce-coloured velvet sofas and a pair of cream armchairs arranged round an art deco coffee table.
Murmuring that it was all lovely, Imogen saw that Seth was already moving into the main bedroom to examine it. She followed him more slowly. When she arrived, for a disconcerting moment she couldn’t take her eyes off the large four-poster bed that dominated the room, draped with sumptuous cranberry and lilac silks and an array of vintage-style cushions. It came to her that it wouldn’t look out of place in a sheikh’s harem.
‘You can sleep in here tonight. I’ll take the spare bed next door,’ her companion announced casually.
Glancing up at him, Imogen frowned. ‘It doesn’t seem right that I should have it all to myself.’
‘It’s only for tonight. You
won’t be on your own tomorrow.’
‘No?’
Holding her gaze, Seth went still. ‘We’re getting married... Tomorrow night we’ll be husband and wife.’
At the realisation that she would be losing her virginity sooner than she’d thought, Imogen couldn’t seem to find the wherewithal to reply. Once again a powerful sense of unreality washed over her.
‘You mean that we’re going to be married here?’ she asked, the words catching in her throat.
Lifting a gently mocking eyebrow, Seth nodded. ‘This is Gretna Green. It’s what the place is famous for.’
‘I didn’t realise... I think—I think I need to sit down.’ Dazed, she moved across the room to an armchair.
Her companion followed her. ‘It’s all been arranged, Imogen. This is the surprise I promised you. I’ve even arranged the dress that you’ll be wearing. You said you like vintage, so that’s the style I’ve chosen for you. The designer will be joining us later, so that you can try it on and she can make any last-minute adjustments.’
‘What about the witnesses we’ll need for the ceremony? Have you organised them, too?’
‘Yes. The hotel’s manager and our female concierge Nina have agreed to help us out. Do you mind that you won’t have any personal friends or family present? Only I had to organise things quickly...’
Breathing out a sigh, Imogen undid her parka and took it off. Then she dropped down into the wing-backed armchair behind her. Exceptionally comfortable, it made the one she had at home seem particularly old and worn. ‘I don’t mind. It’s probably best that they won’t be here.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I suppose I don’t want to face their judgement or disapproval—particularly my mum’s. Like I said, she’s had so much disappointment in her life. And I seem to have acquired a reputation for not exactly making the best decisions. She wouldn’t fail to remind me of that.’
‘Then, I’m glad your people won’t be joining us.’
Frowning, Seth followed her example and undid his jacket. He deposited the expensive-looking garment onto the lavishly covered bed.
‘What about you? Don’t you have any friends or family who might be interested in the fact that you’re getting married?’
His jaw visibly clenched. ‘No. I don’t.’
Imogen couldn’t help but challenge his answer. ‘Would they be interested if this marriage was for real?’
Flinching as though struck, he rubbed a hand round his jaw. ‘By that I take it you mean if we were in love?’
There was no mockery in his tone, but she couldn’t fail to hear the note of derision at the concept that was there, and her throat cramped painfully. It hurt to remember that their proposed union was certainly no love match but merely one of convenience. She should never forget that.
‘Anyway...’ Forcing a smile to save him from stating the obvious and convince him that she wasn’t disturbed that their marriage wouldn’t be for real, she asked, ‘What time will the designer bring my dress?’
‘She’ll be here soon—in about an hour.’
‘One more question. Where exactly will the ceremony take place?’
A flash of pleasure lit the compelling blue irises as he told her, ‘It’s going to be conducted in the ancient Chief’s Room situated in a five-hundred-year-old Peel Tower. I’m told that the stone walls are decorated with portraits of previous lairds, like Robert the Bruce. There’s also a valuable and historic Persian rug covering the flagstone floor.’
It sounded beautiful and romantic—just the kind of atmospheric venue where a woman in love might enjoy being married, Imogen thought with a pang. ‘I get the feeling that you love history?’
‘I do. I’ve loved it since I was a boy. In another life I might have studied it. Anyway, I’d like to take a shower now—how about you?’
‘I—I...’ Her head throbbed in alarm.
‘Not together.’ Good humour returned, Seth grinned. ‘At least not yet. Do you want to take one first?’
Garnering all her courage, she squarely met his gaze. ‘You can go first. I think I’ll start my unpacking.’
His contemplative glance lingered a little too long for it to be remotely comfortable. Was he perhaps regretting his decision to ask her to marry him?
As if suddenly realising that he was staring, he declared, ‘Okay. I won’t be long.’ Turning, he disappeared through one of the maple-wood doors to the luxurious bathroom and shower the concierge had shown them.
When he had gone Imogen fully intended to go and unlock her suitcase, but she found herself slumping back in the chair instead. Staring at nothing in particular, she reminded herself that she was getting married tomorrow—to a man who had wealth, charisma and generosity in spades, but whose heart was frozen in time because he’d pledged it when he was young to a girl who had tragically lost her life...
* * *
Leaning his hands against the white marble surround that housed the generously sized bathroom sinks, Seth didn’t immediately undress for his shower.
On this, the day before his marriage, memories of Louisa were inevitable. For a while he became lost in them. Old feelings stirred. He recalled how he had loved everything about her—from her long red hair and haunting green eyes to her courage in standing up to her peers when they’d mocked where he came from because it was a notoriously ‘lowly’ part of town.
He had been quite capable of putting them straight himself, but he had known such confrontations would inevitably spark his temper and likely end in somebody getting a bloody nose, so by and large he’d avoided the possibility.
Even when his mood had been morose Louisa had always found a way to make him smile. Most of all she had made him feel loved and accepted, and had helped ease the ache in his soul brought about by his father’s cruel and drunken behaviour.
He had regularly sworn at Seth, telling him that he was a mistake and his mother was a whore. How he would have loved to have had the physique he had now, to square up to him and throw him out of the house. He had attempted to do just that on a couple of occasions but had ended up in A&E for his troubles, with his distraught mother begging him never to try it again. As fate would have it, shortly after Louisa had died his father had died suddenly from a heart attack.
Years later, when Seth had started to make substantial amounts of money from his endeavours in America, he had sent his mother the money to buy a house. These days she lived quietly, deep in the Welsh countryside. And she professed to love the peace and quiet over being with another man. Who could blame her?
His thoughts returned to Louisa. Seth knew he would have married her if she’d lived. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, and noting one or two strands of grey in his hair, he thought about how frighteningly fast the years had passed. Then, as if waking from a dream, his thoughts turned to this ‘marriage of convenience’ that lay ahead of him.
His ensuing sigh was heavy. What he’d believed was the obvious solution to ending the soulless existence he’d long endured without a female partner to ‘humanise’ him was starting to appear more complicated than he’d envisaged. For a start, he found himself more attracted to Imogen than was entirely sensible. And—dare he say it?—he’d discovered that he cared what she thought about their arrangement a little too much.
Yes, he brought some attractive assets to the table—like his wealth and position—but would that be enough to satisfy her? He was quickly beginning to realise that she shared some of the same appealing qualities Louisa had had, in that she didn’t appear to be driven by the material things in life.
The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel pressured into marrying him. The woman had already been hurt beyond measure by her ex-fiancé. Yet when those soulful dark eyes of hers glimmered with delight at some inconsequential thing he said or did, and she smiled up at him as
if he’d hung the moon, Seth forgot everything but his desire to hold her tight and make love to her.
Was that how she had looked at her faithless ex? he wondered.
More irritated than he cared to own at the thought, he pushed his fingers irritably through his hair. Deciding it was best if he kept his mind on the rules he and Imogen had agreed about their upcoming partnership—that it was to be a union forged out of mutual convenience and not one where they engaged their emotions—Seth turned on the shower and hastily stripped off his clothes...
* * *
He’d come down to the lobby to meet the designer he had hired to deliver and fit Imogen’s dress for the wedding. Celia Bamford was an attractive middle-aged woman, with flashes of hot pink amongst the silver of her stylish short hair, and she had an impressive clientele that included some of the younger royals.
Whilst Seth would have preferred to have had a dress made exclusively for his wife-to-be, time and circumstance had prevented it. Consequently he had had to choose from a select array of garments that the designer had already created to show to potential customers. Fortunately he’d found one that in his opinion perfectly complemented Imogen’s delicate frame and features.
He had done well to get Celia Bamford’s services at such short notice, even though he was well aware that his name and reputation had clinched the deal.
After the introductions were over Seth was eager for his guest to meet Imogen and, instructing a porter to bring the ornately boxed dress to the suite, he accompanied Celia up to their floor in the elevator.
Wearing skinny jeans that lovingly clung in all the right places and an emerald-green T-shirt that highlighted the alluring curve of her breasts, Imogen answered the door when Seth knocked. Seeing that she’d washed and dried her hair in his absence, he noted how the chestnut-brown ringlets cascaded delightfully down over her shoulders like a magical waterfall from a fairy tale.
A jolt of disturbing awareness ricocheted through his insides as he registered how young she looked. Young, innocent and perhaps too easily taken advantage of...
