by Lucy Ellis
She waited.
‘All my life people have put my success down to natural gifts, and, yeah, I’ve got some talent. But I’ve worked damn hard to get where I am. When you told me about your accident I knew we were alike. I understood you’d worked hard at your sport. I assumed you’d given it up. But when I saw you’d turned your dream into something better—something outward, for other people—I recognised what I already knew. You’re a special woman, Lorelei St James. Then I did some phoning around. Why in the hell didn’t you tell me those debts were your father’s legal fees?’
Lorelei swallowed. ‘I didn’t tell anyone. I was ashamed.’
‘You should be bloody proud. Your father is a lucky man. I kept telling myself you were like Jack—I’d overwhelm you, wreck your life—but the truth is you’re strong. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. Stronger than me. You overwhelm me.’
Stunned by this outpouring, Lorelei didn’t know what to say. Nash, who never said more than he had to, hadn’t stopped talking, and he was calling her special and strong and all the things she’d always wanted to be to someone but somehow never had been.
But all of this praise, all of this putting her on a pedestal, frightened her.
‘Please don’t turn me into a trophy. I’m flesh and blood—prone to mistakes, to overreacting…’
‘No.’ He shook his head vigorously, taking hold of her. ‘No, I’ve never seen you as a trophy, Lorelei. I only said that because I didn’t want it to be any different than what I’d known before. But it already was. From the moment we met. And that passion of yours—I never want you to lose it.’
‘You broke our date!’ She knew it was a small thing, but suddenly it assumed the huge dimensions it had always held inside her head and heart. Because she hadn’t completely trusted him after that, and when he’d let her down she’d been half expecting it.
She needed to know why.
‘Call it a last-ditch attempt to throw myself across the track. I knew even then I would love you to distraction. That night when I was coming out of that bar, and you were going in, I was on my way to see you.’
He loved her to distraction?
‘You were?’ Lorelei felt a rush of warmth dispelling the last of the coldness that had been dwelling within her these last two days. ‘I wish you’d told me. I wish this had all been different….’
‘It is different. God, Lorelei, I can’t lose you. Nothing matters to me if you’re not there to share it with me. It was never so clear to me as it was today. That race—I was numb. And then I saw you, and suddenly it was clear as light.’
Her heart thrummed and started beating to a slower, truer beat.
‘You were right—what you said that night in Mauritius. The racing was never the point, I was empty, and I found you, and the emptiness went away. I knew I loved you. Deep down I knew it. Every which way I tried to figure it, I kept coming back to this selfish need I had to keep you with me. I kept telling myself you wouldn’t cope, but it was me.’
He lowered his voice. ‘I was so afraid of building a life around you and you walking away. I wasn’t prepared to risk it.’
Lorelei laid her hand over his heart.
‘All I want is to love you,’ she said softly, sincerely. ‘If you’ll let me.’
He caught her up fiercely in his arms and for a long time just held on to her. Lorelei thought about the little boy who had craved love, the man he had grown into who had avoided it and its painful associations, and the man standing before her now, holding her so tightly, as if she were as vital to him as the blood in his veins, the air he breathed.
As he was to her.
He loved her for who she was, not who he wanted her to be.
It was a miracle.
Suddenly sobbing for breath, she framed his face tightly with her hands. ‘Wherever you go, wherever you are, that’s where I’ll be. I won’t leave you, I won’t betray you and I won’t stop loving you.’
Nash wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. She could feel him shaking slightly, feel the groundswell of feeling behind the sensual motion of his mouth against hers.
He rested his temple on hers.
‘Just let me love you,’ he said simply, his deep voice shaking with the force of his emotion.
‘Ah, oui,’ she whispered. ‘I can do that, too.’
*
It was on a rare sunbathed morning in April when Lorelei stepped out into the gardens of the villa.
A great deal had changed in these parts in six months. A ridiculous amount of money had been poured into restoring the Spanish villa to its original grandeur, and its gardens once more lay in variegated parterres. The fountains sprang to life as the bride joined her father at the top of the steps. Lorelei held one section of her long ivory skirts aloft as she laid her other hand in the crook of her father’s arm.
‘Are you certain, ma chère? Nothing is set in stone.’
Lorelei smiled. ‘But it is, Papa. It was the moment I set eyes on him.’
Raymond sighed. ‘I suspected as much. So it is l’amour and I gain a very rich son-in-law.’
Lorelei’s laughter sang them down the steps. She paused only to pluck a spray of her grandmother’s lavender and tuck it into Raymond’s lapel.
He had been released from prison shortly before Christmas, and was living quietly in Fiesole with wife number five—an older Italian widow with far too much money and a very good accountant. Lorelei was fairly sure Raymond was safe from his own light-fingered proclivities.
Nash waited restlessly with a small congregation of friends and family on the lawn of the old villa. Beyond was the view of Monaco made famous the world over in a much-loved film and the blue curve of the Mediterranean sea.
For the first time in months he hadn’t slept in their bed here at home. He’d been relegated to a suite at the Hotel de Paris, which held special memories for them both.
This morning he’d dressed in a cutaway coat and striped tie, and had had his shoes polished whilst his brother Jack ribbed him about those who stood tallest falling hardest. At ten o’clock he’d climbed into the vintage Bugatti and took off up the hill.
This was the most important date of his life, and after every stumbling block he’d faced getting her here the sight of Lorelei coming towards him beneath a fine veil of valenciennes lace almost overwhelmed him.
Nash felt Jack’s hand grip his arm briefly.
He nodded and blew out a deep breath.
He reached out his hand as Lorelei approached and she took it. Her fingers were trembling, but his were sure.
The officiant took them through the vows, pronounced them man and wife, and as he took Lorelei in his arms he knew exactly what all the fuss was about.
‘Why, Nash, you’re trembling,’ she said with a little smile just for him.
‘Just wait until I get you alone, Mrs Blue,’ he replied.
‘I can hardly wait,’ she whispered.
Nash grinned. Yeah, that was one way of putting it.
And that was when the kissing started.
*
Keep reading for an excerpt from Playing the Royal Game by Carol Marinelli
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CHAPTER ONE
SHE was better off without the job, Allegra told herself.
No one should have to put up with that.
Except that walking in the rain along grey London streets
, taking the underground to various employment agencies, the anger that her boss could make such a blatant a pass at her and then fire her for not succumbing started to be replaced with something that felt close to fear.
She needed that job.
Needed it.
Her savings had been obliterated by the bottomless pit that was her family’s excess spending. At times it felt as if her lowly publishing wage supported half the Jackson family. Yes, she was the boring reliable one, but they didn’t mind her dependability when their erratic ways found them in trouble. Just last week she had lent her stepmother, Chantelle, close to five thousand pounds in cash for credit card debts that her father didn’t know about. It was laughable to think that she might now have to have her family support her.
It was a miserable day, with no sign that it was spring; instead it was cold and wet, and Allegra dug her hands deeper into her trench coat pockets, her fingers curling around a fifty-pound note she had pulled out of the ATM. If her boss refused to put her pay in tomorrow it was all she had before being completely broke.
No!
She’d been through worse than this, Allegra decided. As Bobby Jackson’s daughter she was all too used to the bailiffs but her father always managed to pick himself up; he never let it get him down. She was not going to sink, but hell, if she did, then she’d sink in style!
Pushing open a bar door, she walked in with her head held high, the heat hitting her as she entered, and Allegra slipped off her coat and hung it, her hair dripping wet and cold down her back. Normally she wouldn’t entertain entering some random bar, but still, at least it was warm and she could sit down and finally gather her thoughts.
There had been a confidence to her as she’d stalked out of her office with dignity. With her track record and her job history, a lot of the agencies had called over the years offering her freelance work.
It had been sobering indeed to find out that they were hiring no one, that the financial crisis and changes to the industry meant that there were no causal jobs waiting for her to step into.
None.
Well, a chance for a couple, but they added up to about three hours’ work per month.
Per month!
Allegra was about to head to the bar but, glancing around, saw that it was table service so she walked over to a small alcove and took a seat, the plush couch lined with velvet. Despite its rather dingy appearance from the street, inside it was actually very nice and the prices on the menu verified that as fact.
She looked up at the sound of laughter—a group of well-dressed women were sipping on cocktails and Allegra couldn’t help but envy their buoyant mood. As her eyes moved away from the jovial women they stilled for a fraction, because there, sitting at a table near them, lost in his own world, was possibly the most beautiful man ever to come into her line of vision. Dark suited, his thick brown hair was raked back to show an immaculate profile, high cheekbones and a very straight nose; his long legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankle. But despite his rather languorous position, as he stared into his glass there was a pensiveness to him, a furrow between his eyebrows that showed he was deep in thought. The furrow deepened as there was another outbreak of laughter from the women’s table, and just as he looked up, just as he might have caught her watching, Allegra was terribly grateful for the distraction of the waitress who approached.
‘What can I get you?’ Allegra was about to order a glass of house wine, or maybe just ask if they could do her a pot of tea and a sandwich, because she really ought to try a couple more job agencies, but hell, a girl could only take so much rejection in one day and she may well be living off tea and sandwiches for a long while yet!
‘A bottle of Bollinger please.’ It was an extravagant gesture for Allegra, an unusual one as well. She was extremely careful with her pay cheque, saving twenty percent to put towards her first mortgage before it even hit her account, determined never to be like her family—but where had that gotten her?
The waitress didn’t bat an eye; instead she asked how many glasses.
‘Just the one.’
She was given a little bowl of nuts too!
‘Celebrating?’ the waitress asked as she poured her drink.
‘Sort of,’ Allegra admitted, and then, left alone, she decided that she was. For months she had put up with her boss’s thinly veiled leers and skin-crawling comments. It was worth celebrating just to finally be past all that, so she raised her glass to the window, in the general direction of her old work place.
‘Cheers!’
As she turned she caught Mr. Gorgeous watching her—not staring, just idly curious—and she couldn’t blame him for that. After all, she was raising a glass to the window. She gave him a brief smile and then turned back to her thoughts, took out a pen and the notebook and list of contacts that she always carried and set about making copious lists, determined, determined, that by the end of the week she would be back in work.
Halfway down the bottle and she didn’t feel quite so brave. If anything, half a bottle of champagne on an empty stomach had her emotions bubbling and she was dangerously close to tears, especially when the waitress came over.
‘You didn’t sign the register when you came in,’ the waitress said, and even before she continued Allegra knew what was coming and inwardly flinched as realization dawned. ‘You are a member, aren’t you?’ She felt a blush spread on her cheeks. Of course it was a private club that she’d entered, not some bar she’d just wandered into, and just as she was about to apologise and fling down her fifty-pound note and flee, a voice that was as pleasing as its owner saved her the embarrassment.
‘Why are you hiding there?’ A deep warm voice had both Allegra and the waitress turn around and she found herself looking now into the eyes of the pensive stranger—very brown eyes that stayed steady as hers blinked in confusion. He turned and addressed the waitress. ‘Sorry, she’s my guest. I’ll sign her in in a moment.’ The waitress opened her mouth to say something—after all, Allegra had been sitting there alone for a good half an hour or so and he had made no effort to join his guest—but perhaps he was a favourite customer, or maybe it was just his impressive stance, because, without comment, the waitress left them to it.
‘Thanks,’ Allegra said as he took a seat in front of her. ‘But no thanks. I’ll just settle my bill….’ She went to go, but as he moved to stop her, his hand reaching across the table, she shot him a look that told him unwelcome contact would be a very foolish mistake on his part. Given the day she’d had, Allegra had enough pent-up energy to give this stranger a little piece of her mind.
‘As I said, thank you, but no thank you.’
‘At least finish your drink,’ said the stranger. ‘It would be a shame to waste it.’
It would be a crying shame actually.
Maybe she could take it with her, Allegra thought wildly, having visions of herself walking down the street, half-drunk bottle in hand, bemoaning her situation. She found herself smiling at the very thought—not smiling at him, of course, except he interpreted it as such, because he clicked slender fingers in the direction of the bar and summoned another glass. Allegra sat bristling as the waitress poured him a glass of her champagne.
‘I’m just trying to enjoy a quiet drink alone,’ she said pointedly.
‘Then sign in,’ he suggested.
‘Ha, ha!’
‘Or,’ he offered, ‘you can be my guest, which means you sit with me. I wouldn’t hear of it otherwise.’ She couldn’t place his accent. He spoke English terribly well; in fact, his voice was clipped and well schooled, unlike Allegra’s rather more London accent, but there was a slight ring to it, Spanish or Italian perhaps. She was determined not to stay long enough to find out.
‘Anyway,’ he carried on despite her lack of response, ‘you don’t look as if you are enjoying it. In fact, apart from the small salute to the window you seem as miserable as I am.’ She looked at him and saw that the impressive suit he was wearing wasn’t just dark, i
t was black, and so, too, the tie. Not just from the attire, but from the strain on his face, he had clearly come from a funeral. Now he was close, she could smell him—and he smelt nothing like the usual man in a bar. It wasn’t just the delicious hint of cologne that was unusual; he actually smelt of clean—there was no other way to describe it. His eyes were clear and bizarrely she felt herself relax just a little, for this was surely not a man who usually pressed attention, and it wasn’t as if she had anywhere else that she needed to be.
‘Are you usually so invasive?’
He thought about it for a moment. ‘No.’ He took a sip of drink and seemed to think about it some more. ‘Never. I just saw you looking so fed up and then when the waitress came over I thought…’
‘That you’d cheer me up?’
‘No.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘I thought we could be miserable together. Don’t look, but there are a group of women…’ He gestured his head and as instructed she didn’t look, but she knew who he meant. She’d heard their flirting laughter, and had easily guessed it was aimed towards him. ‘One of them in particular seems determined to join me.’
‘I’d have thought you’d have no trouble at all fighting off unwelcome attention.’ Unlike me, she didn’t add, but then she wasn’t particularly used to men vying for her attention—well, not gorgeous ones anyway. But knowing how to deflect unwelcome attention was surely a prerequisite to him stepping out on the street, because wherever he went he surely turned heads.
‘Normally, I have no problem.’ He didn’t say it in arrogance, merely stated the fact. ‘Just today.’ She looked at his suit. ‘I was just trying to have a drink, to think, to have some silence, perhaps the same as you….’ And while she’d have chosen to have some peace, she’d settle for silence too.
‘Okay.’ She gave a begrudging smile. ‘I can manage silence.’
He must be someone, because all she had been given was a small bowl of nuts, but now that he’d joined her she was treated to lots of little bowls of goodies. She didn’t care if she looked greedy; the rumble in her stomach reminded Allegra that she hadn’t eaten since the slice of toast she’d had while dashing to the Underground some seven hours ago.
