by Kalia Lewis
She groaned. “You’re going to make me pay with mega interest aren’t you?”
He grinned. “I would like to have full media coverage. It will be a one off specialist event at Blickling Hall Ballroom since the history of the Boleyn sisters and it will bring in a frenzy of interest.”
Teasingly, she slapped her thigh and tried to copy Cara’s Texan drawl. “Well now, I’m sure miss billionaire piranha Boone will just love all the attention!”
Laughing at her terrible accent, Daniel grabbed his coat. “Okay sweets, that’s the main work done. The only other important task is to pin Cara down for the name of her fiancé and their guests and get the invitations moving.” He winked mischievously. “So, how about we go and celebrate at that new Italian restaurant on the river and order a bottle of their best.”
Annabelle beamed. “Give me a minute to check in with mum and April.”
****
Tristan drove the hire car into the village of Edingthorpe. The familiarity of the place struck him deeply and he felt a flutter in his chest. Very little had changed apart from the greengrocer’s shop, which was now a little café bistro that looked out over the pond in the village green. Relaxing his shoulders a little, he sighed with relief. That could be a sign that Annabelle and her family had moved away. A rush of guilt overcame him. This visit was meant to be kept as simple as possible - complete the wedding preparations, see his grandfather and get the hell out. No re-visiting the past and absolutely no bumping into Wade or Annabelle. Bitterness and any awkward explanations were just not on his agenda.
Edingthorpe Hall sat on the outskirts of the village. It was an 18th century Norfolk grey flint stone house with large Georgian windows. Pulling into the semi-circular drive he parked the car next to a black limo and immediately gritted his teeth. The limo could only mean that Cara was already here. During this last week her constant demands and the pressure of the wedding had put a wall between them and he felt they were dancing on egg-shells. He would have preferred a quiet ceremony at his ranch in Mount Vernon, Texas, where only close family and friends would gather, but she was pulled by his aristocratic English heritage and nothing he said would stop her from having a full blown parade.
The door to the Hall opened and his grandfather, Lord George Hemsley-Ford VIII, was waving at him from the steps. Smiling widely, Tristan jumped out of the car and moved excitedly towards him.
With his stick in one hand, his grandfather opened his arms and beamed at him. “Tristan, you are a sight for sore old eyes!”
Tristan wrapped his arms around the ageing form and hugged him deeply. “Hi Gramps, it’s so good to see you.”
Being an only child, his childhood had been dominated by his ruthless and emotionally distant father, whose sole interest was in preparing Tristan to handle power, business and prestige. The six years he had been granted to stay with his grandfather and finish his education in the UK, had given him an insight into what it meant to have warmth and someone to confide in. Coming here had been his lifeline and he had found refuge. The only time he’d seen his grandfather in ten years was three years ago when Tristan had insisted that he spend Christmas with him at his ranch.
Gramps leaned on his stick and pulled Tristan inside. “That young woman of yours is tireless. She has sent my household into a dither!”
Tristan laughed just as Cara was coming down the stairs.
“Darling, thank God you’re here. Things are just not going well.”
The look of disgust she threw at Gramps made Tristan wince.
“Your grandfather wouldn’t let me share your suite, so I’ve had to move rooms twice! Both rooms had a view of that awful church with a funny round tower.”
Raising his stick at Cara, Gramps warningly replied, “There will be no sharing of rooms under my roof until after the wedding.”
Grinning, Tristan knew full well that Gramps’ own wedding was of the shotgun variety. “Cara, this is Gramps home and we will respect his rules.”
Pouting her bottom lip, Cara moaned, “Well, his rules are a little too old-fashioned for my taste!”
Gramps shook his head and looked at her over the rim of his glasses. “Now young lady, I may be ‘old-fashioned’, but that does not stop you from having some respect.”
Tristan watched as Cara’s face lost some of its colouring.
Puffing out her chest she huffed at them. “Well, I'm suffering from jetlag after the awful flight I’ve had with rude attendants, screaming children and endless waiting. You’d think that flying first class meant better treatment, but it was dreadful, so you’ll be glad to know I’m retiring to my room…alone!” She turned to shimmy up the stairs and then stopped to shoot them a parting look. “Don’t forget Tristan, the meeting with the wedding planner is at nine sharp in the morning.”
Shocked into silence they watched her disappear around the corner and then Gramps squeezed Tristan’s arm and winked at him. “Now my boy, how do you fancy a tot of brandy in my study?”
Tristan nodded. “Lead the way Gramps.”
After a light supper and a few brandies Tristan headed for his old suite of rooms. Upon entering, he found the lamps switched on low and the balcony doors wide open, letting in a cool breeze. The room was exactly the same as it was when he’d left nearly ten years ago. Looking down at the silk rug, a vision of making love to Annabelle whacked him in the gut and he couldn’t breathe. Angrily, he turned and yanked open the bedroom door, strode out and slammed it behind him. There was no way he was sleeping in there. Tomorrow he would call a team of decorators and have it completely refurbished.
Chapter 3
Annabelle paced the floor nervously. Dread had settled in her stomach and her lip was sore from the constant gnawing that she’d done over the last hour. What kind of man puts up with a woman like Cara Boone? Most likely a billionaire who sees women as a decorative commodity.
It was ironic that she chose to focus on planning weddings when she herself wasn’t married. Creating other people’s dreams in order to celebrate their love filled a romantic gap in her. Relationships had rarely made it past the kissing stage. Only once had she reached the level of heavy petting, but she’d stopped it before it went any further. It seemed to lack that certain chemistry that she’d felt for Tristan. When you have tasted the best wedding cake made with the finest fruit ingredients and edged with laced icing, a basic sponge cake just isn’t in the same league.
She wondered if Tristan had ever married and what his wedding would have been like? Gramps had never spoken about him, but he did go there for Christmas a few years back. Maybe Tristan got married then using a winter wonderland theme? An unexpected lump formed in her throat as her eyes watered. Feeling silly, she dabbed the corner of her eyes with her fingers. This is not the time or the place to be seen as a snivelling wreck over a sexual relationship that lasted no more than a few hours!
The clock on the wall read five to nine and through the bay window she saw a black limo pull up outside. Running to her desk she quickly touched up her lip gloss and sat down to read a letter in front of her as though fully composed. This morning she’d virtually thrown everything out of the closet looking for the one outfit that was going to make her feel like a professional. Finally, after making the bedroom floor look like she was holding a jumble sale, she settled on a deep green trouser suit that matched her eyes. The jacket had a superb cut that outlined her tiny waist, but its main attraction was the large gold buttons down the front. To finish off her outfit she complemented it with a pale green and gold chiffon scarf tied to the side around her neck. Desperately, she’d tried to tame her unruly auburn locks by holding them back in a gold clip at the nape of her neck, but they had refused to co-operate and wisps of curls kept escaping around her face. With a little black mascara and lip gloss, she felt spruced up enough to take on Miss Cara Boone!
The doorbell went and Annabelle looked up. Cara entered first and she was about to stand up as composed and serenely as she could in greeting when
from behind Cara emerged her worst nightmare. Her hand went to her mouth in shock and her stomach plummeted to her feet. Blackness closed in from either side of her vision and she couldn’t breathe. No matter how rapidly she blinked, she couldn’t wipe off the vision from the screen of her pupils. It wasn’t working. Surely this was not happening.
“What are you doing here?” A deep male voice boomed at her and within a few short seconds a tall, muscular figure had managed to stride over to her desk, seize her by the arms and lift her out of the chair.
Absolutely flabbergasted, she peered into two magnificent cobalt blue eyes that were blazing daggers of molten fire into hers. She went weak at the knees. “Erm…um…hi Tristan, welcome to Wedding Belle Planners,” she squeaked.
Squeaked! She never squeaked and what was she thinking! After waiting ten years to see him again was that all she could muster? Why had all sense of intelligence left her mind at such a crucial moment!
Wincing at the harsh grasp of his fingers she tried to pull away, yet at the same time the smell of him and his warmth made her want to fling herself into him and hold on to him for dear life. It was a powerful magnetic mixture of sheer heart-pumping happiness and absolute horror that he was right here in the flesh.
Coming to his senses, Tristan registered her pull and immediately let go of her and watched as she dropped back into the chair like a rag doll. The last person he ever expected to see here was her and he was shocked to the core of his being. Drinking her in, he noticed her flushed face and the innocent look that she still had about her, but now there was an underlying strength and damn him if she weren’t as sexy as hell. Remembering where he was and that Cara was just behind him, he released his pent up breath, composed himself and took a step back.
A moment of silence ensued as Annabelle slowly stood up, testing her weight on her knees. Nothing had prepared her for this kind of bolt from the blue. Bringing her breathing under control, she bought herself some time for her raging nerves to calm down by carefully brushing her hands down the arms of her jacket and straightening the creases. Aiming for lightness and to ease the tension in the atmosphere, she gave a wobbly smile and looked him full in the face. “So, I guess you’re the fiancé?”
“And you’re the wedding planner?” Amusement glinted in his eyes.
“Obviously,” she replied tartly as she met his gaze with a challenge.
Tristan didn’t know whether to shake her or throw her over his shoulders and carry her out of the shop to his cave like a primordial barbarian. A mixture of anger and elation darted across his face and ten years melted away as he flashed his eyes at her. “If I’m the fiancé and you’re the wedding planner, then that must mean you’re at my beck and call for the next three months?”
Teasing her as he’d always done, she took the bait, “Hardly, your royal lowliness!” She put her hands on her hips ready for battle.
“Still as stubborn as ever,” he smirked.
“Still as arrogant,” she retorted.
Everything around her seemed to slow down and fade away, she cocked her head. “You seem…bigger somehow.”
He laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And you seem to have left behind the tomboy look.” He wanted to say more and tell her how beautiful she was, but the shock had made him feel awkward.
Clearing her throat, she caught Cara’s questioning look. “So, erm, you’re getting married then…to each other?” What a stupid question, but she never thought any meeting between them would be one where she was organising his wedding to someone else!
She waited with baited breath as Cara stepped forward and possessively took hold of his arm. “Darling, let me introduce you, although it appears to be unnecessary.”
Annabelle watched her as she smiled up at him like a Cheshire cat.
“This is Miss Annabelle Summers our wedding planner.”
Turning that same gaze to her, she noticed how the smile mutated into becoming one of a smug cat after it had licked the bowl clean of thick double cream.
“And this, Annabelle, is my fiancé, Tristan Hemsley-Ford, in line to be Lord Hemsley-Ford the tenth and I am to be Lady Hemsley-Ford.”
Did she actually just say that with her nose in the air? Annabelle laughed. This was utterly unbelievable! Here was miss social climber and Tristan, the man who had haunted her dreams since she was thirteen, standing together in her shop talking about titles and weddings!
The laugh was in danger of becoming full hysteria. No way could she let that happen. At full explosion she would run the risk of snorting spittle all over the Cheshire cat! Reigning in the bubble of mirth, she looked expectantly at Tristan, noting how his raw virile masculine energy and the sheer size of his powerful lithe body made her shop shrink in size.
“Damn it Cara! I know who she is. She’s my old best friend’s little sister. ” Gone was the teasing mood, as he sneered at the word ‘sister’.
Remembering the humiliation from ten years ago, she recoiled, but she wasn’t going to be beaten. Holding out her hand for him to shake, she decided to muster as much professional calmness as she could and treat him as she would any other client. “Well, it’s nice to see you again Tristan, it’s been a long time. How have you been?” Hiding how much this meeting was affecting her behind a wall of courteous pleasantry made her feel better, but somehow she knew he’d seen straight through her.
Ice cold steel flashed in his eyes, challenging her cool façade. Ignoring the outstretched hand, he folded his arms and smirked. “It’s been ten years actually. Ten years since I last saw you and Wade, and look at you now, all grown up with your own business. Is there a Mr. Summers on the scene?”
“I…erm…no, there’s no Mr. Summers.” Was it possible for her cheeks to burn even more?
He raised an eyebrow. “Ah, that’s a shame. I thought you’d have lured an unsuspecting male into your lair and had a swaddle of children by now.”
She tensed. Was that a joke? Did he know about April? No, that would be impossible. Relief and then spite raised its ugly head. “Oh, I’m so sorry to disappoint you Mr Playboy of the year.” She watched his lips turn into a thin line. “What’s the matter? Only just made enough millions recently to keep one woman by your side for longer than a few weeks?” If he was a horse right now his nostrils would be flaring.
The corners of his mouth curled upwards in a sneer. “Maybe something happened ten years ago that made me believe women were nothing but scheming bitches that go around stamping on hearts?”
Had she stamped on his heart? She felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach. “Ah, but that would require you to have a heart in the first place.” She was dripping with sarcasm, but she just didn’t care.
He pointed his finger angrily at her. “Your actions back then caused untold destruction and loss between my family and friends!”
They were entering into dangerous ground and she could feel Cara’s eyes boring into her, so she blanked his anger and put on her business tone. “Okay, enough about the past Tristan. Nothing can change the past, so let’s get back to why you are both here today.” She took a deep breath and pointedly looked at Cara. “All your requirements for the wedding have been organised. I have typed out a full itinerary. All that remains to be seen is the exhibition tomorrow to confirm the photographer, Katie Sharpe. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty on your behalf to agree to full media coverage, as the ballroom venue is to be a rare event at Blickling Hall.” Even though she avoided his gaze, she could feel the force of his anger in the ether between them and his battle at reining it in. It made her shake inside.
Cara smiled sweetly. “This little friend of yours Tristan is proving to be worth her weight in gold. Media coverage for the future Lord and Lady of Edingthorpe Hall. Oh, it just doesn’t get any better than this!”
Smiling weakly, Annabelle held out the file and Tristan reached for it, but her nerves got the better of her and she let it go a little too soon. They watched helplessly as it fell to the ground
and the contents spilled out across the floor. Feeling flustered, Annabelle bent to pick them up and Tristan dropped down beside her, whilst Cara clicked her phone open to take an incoming call.
They were so close she could feel his body heat and he was wearing the same cologne that he’d worn ten years ago. He stretched over for a sheet of loose paper and she noticed how his shirt tightened across his chest and her body responded to the outline of the muscles underneath. He was broader than she remembered and desire rolled through her veins. Shakily, she reached out for the same bunch of papers as he did and his fingers grazed over the top of hers. A sheer electric thrill overpowered her and she quickly pulled back.
Turning to look at her, he raised his eyebrow questioningly. “Afraid I will burn you?”
“No, but maybe you have a contagious disease which could kill me dead in ten seconds flat,” she snapped back.
“1, 2, 3, 4, 5…”
“You’re so annoying.”
“6, 7, 8, 9, 10…Still alive then?”
She tutted loudly and stood up, leaving Tristan to pick up the remainder of the papers.
Cara finished on the phone and clicked it closed. Looking at Annabelle, she snickered. “I think everything is finished here.”
Tristan got up and plonked the papers on the desk. The close proximity to Annabelle was wrenching at every fibre of his being and he had to get out of the shop, fast. “Everything seems to be in order.” He looked at his watch. “You have our contact details if you need us before Sunday, so nice to see you again Annabelle and thank you for your time.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” she replied sweetly.
“I’m sure it was,” he drawled, dripping with irony.
She quickly looked away.
Taking Cara by the elbow he led her to the door. “Cara, I need to be at another appointment by ten to discuss opening an office branch in Norwich.”
Cara did a final up and down assessment of Annabelle. A look of satisfaction crossed her face. Obviously, she’d come to some sort of conclusion whereby the sight of Annabelle did not appear to pose any real threat and so her final words were pleasantly spoken, “See you on Sunday at Blickling Hall.”
