A Rumoured Engagement

by Catherine George

  “You mean come and live in your new house?”

  “Just until your tenant moves out. Or until we come to blows. Whichever happens soonest.” He looked at her astonished face in silence. “Are you ever going to say anything, Sassy?”

  “Do you mean this, Luke?” she said hesitantly. “Wouldn’t I be.well.rather in the way sometimes?”

  “When, exactly?”

  She eyed him balefully. “When you say ‘Your place or mine?’ and the lady chooses yours, Luke Armytage. As you know perfectly well.”

  “Two relatives sharing a house is not exactly front-page news, Sassy. No one would be surprised.”

  CATHERINE GEORGE was born in Wales, and at a young age developed a passion for reading, which eventrally fueled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years living in Brazil, but on his later travels the schooling of their son and daughter kept her in the U.K. Instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings she began to write the first of her romance novels. When not writing and reading, she loves to cook, listen to opera, browse in antique shops and walk the family’s Labrador dog.

  Look out for Catherine George’s next book, The Baby Claim (#2048), available in August, wherever Harlequin books are sold.

  A Rumoured Engagement

  CATHERINE

  GEORGE

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE bright Tuscan sunlight was almost gone. When it became too dark to read Saskia let her book fall gently to the flagged floor, turned on the ‘hot’ tap with her toe until the water was warm enough, and sank back in surroundings picturesque enough to tempt any lingerer. The crimson roll-top art nouveau bath had a white interior and white claw feet, its eighteen-nineties elegance harmonising well with the ancient stone walls of the bathroom. Piles of white crimson-bordered towels lay near the bath on a gilt and wicker stool, and on the far wall a large, dim mirror in an ornate gilt frame reflected the last glow of sunset.

  Saskia roused herself eventually to wash her hair, kneeling with the spray attachment turned on her head until the water ran clear, then stood up, thrusting the streaming hair from her face. And froze, arm upraised, as the door opened and a man stopped dead on the threshold, as though he’d walked into glass. He stared in shock for a split second, muttered an appalled apology and slammed the door shut. Heart hammering, Saskia let out a long, shaky breath, and leapt from the bath to wrap herself in a towelling robe. She swathed a towel turbanwise round her hair, then breathed in, squared her shoulders and sallied forth to confront the intruder.

  He was outside on the terrace, tall and loose-limbed in jeans and a thin cotton shirt, tawny hair lit by the last glow of sunset, familiar in every detail. He turned from contemplation of the landscape to greet her with the wry, lopsided smile which most women, other than Saskia, found so irresistible.

  ‘Hello, little sister. I apologise humbly. I had no idea you were here.’

  ‘Likewise.’ Saskia eyed him militantly. ‘Mother didn’t say you were in the neighbourhood.’

  ‘Or you’d have given Tuscany a wide berth?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she retorted. ‘You frightened me out of my wits, that’s all. I thought you were an intruder.’

  ‘Which I am, of course. I should have checked with Marina.’ He looked over her shoulder into the large sparsely furnished room. ‘I take it Lawford is with you?

  ‘No, he’s not’

  ‘No?’ He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I thought you two were more or less joined at the hip these days. During my last visit to Oxford, Marina seemed to think you’d found Mr Right at last.’

  ‘At last?’ Her eyes glittered coldly.

  He leaned on one of the archways, arms folded. ‘You can’t deny an impressively long line of hopeful contenders for your fair hand in the past, Sassy. But I heard Francis Lawford was thought to be the lucky man.’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic,’ she snapped.

  His green eyes opened in mock surprise. ‘I meant it quite literally, little sister. The man you choose will be fortunate indeed.’

  Saskia eyed him suspiciously. ‘I never know when you’re being serious, Lucius Armytage.’

  ‘I know,’ he agreed affably. ‘All part of the Armytage charm. Now, before you cast me out into the night, would you mind very much if I had the bath I was after earlier on?’

  ‘You’ve as much right to a bath and bed here as me,’ she said grudgingly. Then, abruptly, as much to her own surprise as his, offered to provide supper. ‘I’ve made some pasta. There’s enough for two. You can share it, if you like.’

  He stared at her blankly for a moment, then smiled. ‘I’d like that very much, Sass-Saskia,’ he amended hurriedly at her scowl. ‘Give me half an hour to wash off the picturesque dust of Tuscany and I’ll be the perfect supper guest.’ He sketched a mocking bow. ‘And provide the obligatory bottle, of course. I left a fair selection here on my last visit.’

  Saskia shrugged. ‘It’s a pretty ordinary meal, oh, Master of Wine. Not fit for your finest Barolo, or whatever.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll find something appropriate.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘Now I come to think of it, we’ve never shared a meal alone together before, little sister. Which calls for something special to mark the occasion.’

  Saskia watched him go, frowning, then took off the towel and shook out her hair, gazing at the stars piercing the twilight sky. She had run away to the Villa Rosa to lick her wounds in private. But after three days of her own undiluted company she found she quite welcomed the prospect of a guest for dinner. Even in the shape of Luke Armytage.

  In her uncluttered bedroom on the upper floor, where pale curtains moved gently at the open window, Saskia dried her hair, brushing it into the chin-length bell-like shape she’d paid a small fortune for the week before in London. Her departure had been hurried, with only a large canvas hold-all for luggage, which meant that her choice of clothes was limited. And because Luke had a maddening habit of looking just right at all times, Saskia discarded the jeans and sweatshirt she’d had ready in favour of a short, clinging dress in dark brown jersey with a plunging V-shaped neckline.

  After three long days spent in Tuscan sunshine her olive skin was the colour of honey, and to show off her tan she thrust the sleeves up to her elbows, slid her bare feet into gilt thonged sandals, and added a few deft touches to her eyes and lips. When she went downstairs Luke was waiting for her on the terrace, dressed in pale trousers and a yellow shirt, his wet hair slicked back. Two large glasses and an opened bottle of wine waited on one of the tables.

  ‘I thought we might have some of this beforehand,’ he said, half filling the glasses.

  Saskia took one from him with a word of thanks. ‘What shall we drink to?’

  ‘To us,’ he said promptly, and swirled the wine in his glass, sniffing deeply. ‘Not bad,’ he pronounced, after tasting it.

  She copied the process mockingly, took in a little air with the wine, and savoured the taste on her tongue. ‘Delicious. Not that I’m an expert like you. What is it?’

  ‘You mentioned pasta, which is what I meant to cook for myself tonight, so I looked out a local table wine. This one’s particularly good-note the fresh crimson tint. How would you describe the flavour?’

  Saskia took another mouthful and waited for the aftertaste, which lingered long enough to tell her the wine was a good one. ‘Cherries?’

  Luke nodded. ‘Clever girl. Juicy, bitter cherries, at that.’ He raised his glass again. ‘To my good fortune.’

  ‘You’ve run something really special to earth today?’

  ‘In a way.’ He gave her a leisurely top-to-toe inspection. ‘I meant I’m pleased to have an unexpected companion for dinner. And you look very special indeed, S
assy. Am I allowed to pay you compliments?’

  ‘The “special” part’s all right,’ she retorted, ‘but not the name.’

  ‘All right, Saskia. I won’t tease.’ He held out the bottle, but she shook her head.

  ‘I’ll leave it until we eat. Otherwise you’d have to cook the dinner.’

  ‘I can, easily,’ he assured her.

  ‘I know. You can do everything,’ she said, resigned. ‘Tonight, however, you’ll have to put up with my cuisine.’

  ‘Gladly!’

  She eyed him suspiciously. ‘You’re being very nice to me tonight, Luke. Why?’

  ‘Does there have to be a reason?’

  She looked away. ‘I thought my mother might have said something.’

  He shook his head. ‘I haven’t spoken to Marina for some time. r’ve been on my usual treasure hunt. I only hope the business isn’t grinding to a halt in my absence.’

  Lucius Armytage was a wine merchant, with two London-based shops and a mail-order service, all of them specialising in quality wines for the connoisseur. Although only in his mid thirties, he was a Master of Wine, a successful businessman, and the author of a book dedicated to bringing the pleasure of wine to a wider audience. And in the ten years since his father had married her mother he had always managed to rouse resentment in Saskia Ford.

  Tonight, it seemed, despite the embarrassing incident earlier, Luke was favouring her with the easy charm he normally reserved for the rest of her sex.

  ‘You can stay here and watch the stars come out,’ she said, getting up. ‘Or you can come and watch while I put the meal together.’

  Luke got up at once, and collected the glasses and wine. ‘That’s no choice, little sister.’

  In the kitchen Saskia put a pan of sauce on to heat, and without being asked Luke put knives and forks on the table, found checked cotton napkins and talked easily of his travels in his constant search for quality wine to sell in his shops.

  ‘I’ve been in Piedmont-or Piemonte, whichever you like. Magnificent food, and wine to match.’

  ‘It must be a wonderful thing to have a satisfying job which takes you to such beautiful places,’ she said enviously, and plunged fresh ribbons of pasta into a pot of boiling water.

  ‘Don’t you enjoy your job?’ he said, surprised. ‘I thought life on the trading floor of your smart bank was the ultimate buzz.’

  ‘It was, once.’ Saskia shrugged. ‘Lately I’ve lost the taste for it. But I’ve got a mortgage to pay off, and so on, so I suppose I just have to stick at it. I’m not a City trader with a high salary, remember. I’ve been Charles Harrison’s PA for so long he takes me for granted, keeps delegating more and more to me-but enough of that. This is nearly ready.’

  They sat down to steaming plates of pasta bathed in a tomato sauce perfumed with garlic and basil, and rich with mussels and prawns.

  ‘Ah,’ said Luke, sniffing the air with reverence as he poured the wine. ‘Marina’s special sauce.’ He shot a look at Saskia. ‘Did you make this?’

  ‘Of course. I made the pasta, too.’

  They ate without talking for a while—Saskia’s hunger, for the first time in days, matching that of her unexpected visitor.

  Luke paused to cut hunks off the loaf which lay nearby on a board. ‘Want some of this to mop up?’

  Saskia nodded, wiping the bread round her plate greedily until the last drop was gone, something she would never have done in company with Francis.

  ‘Were you expecting company tonight?’ Luke asked curiously when their plates were empty.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how did you have this ready and waiting?’

  ‘I made the basic sauce and the pasta yesterday, but I haven’t been feeling very hungry lately, so I left it for today and added the mussels and prawns. Which was lucky for you. Your timing was impeccable.’ She got up to take the plates. “There’s some pecorino in the fridge.’

  ‘Perfect.’ Luke watched her as she set the cheese and a bowl of peaches on the table. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Three days.’

  ‘How long are you staying?’

  ‘Eleven more, unless I get bored with my own company.’ Saskia eyed him with sudden hostility. ‘Why? Am I in your way?’

  Luke shook his head, and cut another slice of bread to eat with his cheese. ‘It’s the other way round, surely?

  You were here first.’ His eyes met hers. ‘Did you know that Marina gave me a key to this place years ago? It’s a boon to me on my travels. I get heartily fed up with hotels.’

  ‘I knew you used it occasionally, of course.’ A faint, wry smile touched the corners of her mouth. ‘I didn’t give you a thought on my headlong rush here, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Or at any other time,’ he said dryly, and began peeling a peach with precision, his eyes fixed on the task. ‘Am I allowed to ask why you rushed?’

  Saskia shrugged. ‘I suppose so. Though it’s not very interesting. I was going to spend my holiday in a very different way. But fate had a trick up her sleeve.’

  Luke leaned forward and laid the peach on her plate. ‘I assume this is something to do with Francis Lawford?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then if he’s hurt you in some way I imagine you hold me responsible.’

  Saskia stared at him. ‘Why on earth should I do that?’

  ‘I introduced him to you.’ Luke’s long, flexible mouth went down at the corners. ‘He was damned persistent about it. You remember the occasion?’

  Saskia nodded. Her mother and stepfather had persuaded her to go with them to a wine tasting at one of Luke’s shops. And Francis Lawford, development director of a successful restaurant group, had been among the other guests. He fancied himself as something of a connoisseur, and was a regular customer at Armytage Wines, both for himself and for the restaurant chain. The rest, she thought morosely, was history. Past history now.

  ‘Until recently I was very grateful for the introduction,’ she assured Luke. ‘But I don’t want to talk about that right now. The dinner wasn’t bad, and the wine was wonderful. I don’t want to ruin a pleasant evening.’ Which was true, she realised, with faint surprise. The evening so far had been far more pleasant than expected.

  Luke laughed. ‘I’d take that as more of a compliment if you didn’t look so astonished about it.’

  Saskia smiled suddenly, and he nodded in approval.

  ‘That’s better. The first real smile since I arrived.’

  ‘Since I arrived, too,’ she said lightly. ‘Let me clear this away, then we’ll have coffee on the terrace.’

  ‘Right.’ Luke got up and went over to one of the floorto-ceiling cupboards. ‘There should be some Vin Santo in here to drink with it.’

  ‘Don’t you ever think of anything but wine?’ she said, laughing.

  He turned mocking eyes on her. ‘Indeed I do. But I won’t shock you by giving details of my private life! Besides, Vin Santo is regarded here as the wine of friendship. It might help to stop us fighting.’ He sobered, looking at her searchingly, then turned back to the cupboard. ‘Is Marina perfectly happy about your solitary holiday?’

  ‘Not perfectly, no. What are you looking for?’

  ‘Eureka,’ he said in triumph, and returned to the table with a bottle of Vin Santo and a packet of santuccihard little almond biscuits-to eat with it. He filled two small glasses, and dipped one of the biscuits into his own. ‘Go on. When in Rome, and all that.’

  Saskia dipped a biscuit, and nibbled. ‘I hope I can sleep after all this.’

  ‘Has sleep been difficult lately?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was silence for a moment. Then Luke stretched out a hand and touched hers very fleetingly. ‘Problems, Sassy?’

  She removed her hand, and turned away to the coffee pot on the stove. ‘Nothing I won’t solve. In time.’

  ‘In other words, Mind your own business, Armytage.’

  Saskia shook her head. ‘I didn’t mean that at
all. It’s just hard to admit that I’ve been a fool.’

  ‘Over Lawford?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Luke contemplated her thoughtfully. ‘Is there anything I can do? In my capacity as brother I could go and have a word with him for you, if you like.’

  ‘In which case you might lose his order. I gather it’s pretty substantial. And in any case you’re not my brother.’

  ‘I’m your stepbrother.’

  ‘Just because my mother married your father it doesn’t mean we’re related, Lucius Armytage,’ she retorted.

  Luke’s eyes frosted over. ‘No. You’ve always made that very plain.’ He drained his glass and stood up. ‘The wine didn’t work after all. Don’t bother about coffee, I’m for bed-’

  ‘Please don’t go yet,’ said Saskia urgently. ‘I’m sorry, Luke. I didn’t mean to snap.’ She managed a smile. ‘I’m actually rather tired of my own company. We could play some music, or just count the stars. We don’t have to talk.’

  He looked at her in silence for a moment, then shrugged. ‘We can talk for a while, if that’s what you want’

  Outside, under the pergola, they sat in silence in the starlit darkness at first, then began talking about their respective parents, and the twins, and Saskia’s job as PA to the head of capital markets in one of the City’s merchant banks.

  ‘I’m thinking of making a move,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘Orchestrating the constant changes in my boss’s schedule is quite a challenge. Of course I like the client contact and the project work. And the bank is a prestigious one-looks good on my CV. But the past few days on my own here have given me time to think, take stock. Here in Tuscany the City seems like something on another planet.’ She smiled. ‘Of course, when I get back home I’ll probably be glad of the hustle and bustle. But at the moment I hate the thought of it.’

  Luke’s wicker chair creaked as he stretched out his long legs. ‘I’m fortunate, I suppose. My way of earning my daily bread is unfailingly interesting-to me, anyway-not least because I travel regularly in pleasant places.’