Englishman's Bride (9781460366332)

by Weston, Sophie

  It was like being free.

  So when she said, ‘I’d really like to have dinner with you. Thank you,’ he silenced his uneasy conscience.

  ‘Wonderful. Beach barbecue or the terrace restaurant?’

  She pulled a face. It was clear that she had been to both and not liked either.

  ‘The terrace is a bit much. All those waiters.’

  He agreed. ‘I ate there the night we arrived. There were more waiters than people eating. Marie Celeste time. All those empty tables set for people who weren’t going to come. Unsettling.’

  She shuddered reminiscently. ‘And the way the waiters whisper all the time. As if they’re in a library or something. Makes me feel as if I shouldn’t be there. As if they know I’m not really grand enough.’

  His eyebrows rose.

  She pulled a face. ‘Anyway, I thought it was creepy!’

  ‘Right. Barbecue it is.’

  But she still looked dissatisfied. Philip cocked an enquiring eyebrow.

  ‘No?’

  ‘We-ell, that’s a bit grim too. Lots of middle-aged men eating in double-quick time so they can get back to their computers. It’s not—you know—relaxed.’

  Philip winced. That was exactly what he would have done tonight if he had not caught sight of her. ‘Yes, I can see that.’

  He thought. A picture presented itself—of the two of them calling Room Service and eating on his terrace above the ocean. They would look at the moon. And then they would—

  He rejected it. He had never taken an unknown woman back to his room. He was not going to start now. It would be unfair to both of them. And a betrayal of those eyelashes, he thought wryly.

  So he said briskly, ‘All right. What about this? We get Room Service to pack us a picnic and we take it on the beach.’

  She nodded excitedly. ‘Or the cascade.’

  Philip was blank. ‘What?’

  She picked up one of the little folded pieces of paper and flicked it open. ‘Moonlight walks,’ she said, tapping her finger on the little sketch map under his eyes. ‘There’s this wonderful waterfall round the cliff. They’ve got a place you can sit and watch it. I’ve been there every day. But at night it would be amazing.’

  Philip felt a dark trap open in front of him. Oh, those eyelashes!

  She did not seem to have any natural wariness at all. She seemed serenely confident that he was to be trusted. But was he?

  ‘Do you think that’s such a good idea?’

  She looked blank for a moment. Then she nodded. ‘Oh, you mean it might be closed because the hotel is so empty. Lisa was saying that they’ve cancelled a lot of their services. But surely a path is a path?’

  ‘They may not have kept it in good repair,’ said Philip, seizing the excuse gratefully. ‘It might not be safe.’

  He knew damn well it wasn’t safe, not for either of them. Why didn’t she?

  Or did she, and didn’t care? Had she had second thoughts about her flight from him the other night, perhaps? Did she recognise the chemistry between them, after all? And was this her way of telling him that she wanted to explore further?

  Or was she completely unaware of the sizzling attraction?

  To Philip it was electric. His head buzzed with it. But she gave no sign of feeling the same. It could be that she was just exactly what she seemed on the surface. Friendly and naïve and too gorgeous for her own good!

  She said, ‘Well, then, ask.’

  Ask? For a moment his thoughts whirled wildly. Ask what? Something like: do you know the risk we’re running here, you and I? We’re strangers. You don’t know it but this is no time for me to get personally involved with anyone. You haven’t even asked my name. Why haven’t you asked my name?

  And then she leaned confidentially towards the barman and he realised that he had misunderstood totally.

  ‘Is the path to the cascade safe at night?’

  The barman looked from her to Philip’s shuttered face and back again. He grinned.

  ‘Very beautiful. Very sweet.’

  Thank you, thought Philip ironically.

  He wanted to go. He wanted to go so much. He could not remember when he had last wanted anything so strongly.

  But, quite apart from the distraction she presented, there were the bodyguard’s warnings. If he took her on this moonlit picnic, would he be putting her in danger? For himself he would be glad enough to meet Rafek again. It would be a chance to persuade him back into the talks. But this girl was another matter altogether.

  He found he wanted to keep his unicorn-girl safe quite desperately.

  Playing for time as he weighed the risks, he said, ‘It’s properly lit? No dark corners where we could fall into the sea?’ Or where enterprising guerrillas could hide? Though of course he did not say that. ‘No hidden hazards on the pathway?’

  The barman reassured them in some detail. The girl turned wide eyes on him.

  There I go again. Sounding like a schoolmaster, thought Philip in acute self-disgust. She’ll think I’m a complete wimp.

  Something in him revolted at the idea. It might not be sound and sensible. It might be out of character. It might be criminally irresponsible, even. But she had said it herself, hadn’t she?

  I don’t want a nice, safe anything. What’s the point of coming to a tropical island and playing safe?

  For once, he wanted to forget he was a calm, judicious negotiator. Just for tonight he wanted to behave like a man.

  Philip bowed to the inevitable. ‘All right. All right. I’ll buy it. The path is lit like Times Square and as smooth as an airport runway,’ he said ruefully. ‘Can you arrange some food for us to take? My companion fancies some exercise.’

  But Sariel could do better than that. He would get the food delivered to the grotto.

  ‘Grotto?’ echoed Philip, all his misgivings leaping back.

  The girl laughed.

  ‘It’s just a few rocky bits for people to sit on while they picnic,’ she said. ‘Not exactly a romantic hideaway.’

  Philip looked down at her and found her face so full of genuine amusement that he thought, Of course she knows what she’s doing. Of course she does. I’ve just been out of the game too long. I’ve stopped reading the signs properly.

  He smiled back. ‘Then let’s go.’

  The path was as beautifully lit as the barman had promised. There was a neat line of light bulbs set along the edge of the path. Each one was encased in a protective hood. The path itself was covered by well-raked flakes of bark, except for a couple of places where the underlying stone broke through. Roots of a couple of massive banyans were traversed by boards. The moment the slope got too steep, steps had been constructed. The most distracted honeymooners would not have missed their footing on that path.

  ‘Sariel was right. This has been very well done,’ Philip acknowledged, climbing steadily.

  The girl ran lightly up a few steps to an outcrop, looking out to sea.

  ‘Haven’t you been up here before?’ she said, surprised.

  He pulled a face. ‘No time. I’ve been working continuously, I’m afraid.’ He drew a long breath and told the truth. ‘I’m one of those middle-aged men who bolt their food at the beach barbecue,’ he admitted ruefully.

  She looked down at him. The stars seemed to wheel about her head.

  ‘You’re not middle-aged,’ she said in that husky voice.

  ‘Oh, I am. Older than middle-aged. I sometimes think I’m older than Methuselah. Hatred ages a man,’ Philip said harshly.

  He stopped, shocked at himself. He had not realised he felt so bitter.

  She did not seem shocked, though.

  ‘Hatred?’ she said slowly. ‘Who do you hate?’

  ‘Me?’ He was curt, instantly regretting his slip. ‘No one.’

  ‘Who hates you, then?’

  He shrugged, not wanting to answer. Not wanting even to think about the answer.

  To stop thinking about it, he said, ‘Just look at that moon.’r />
  It was enormous, and seemed very close, as if it was closing in on the earth deliberately to examine its handiwork. It was fuzzy at the edge, like a gossamer puffball. The sea breeze drove fast little clouds across it.

  ‘Witches are riding tonight,’ he said softly.

  She was disconcerted. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s what my nanny used to say. When there’s clear night and a strong wind. Low cloud can look like figures on broomsticks, I suppose.’

  They resumed climbing. The girl did not answer for a moment. When she did, he was surprised.

  ‘Did you have a nanny, then?’

  ‘Several.’

  He thought of the succession of nannies, the stern, angry ones; the young, anxious ones; the ones who taught painting and the ones who made him learn spelling for hours; the ones who forbade him to go beyond the nursery wing and the ones who played games of tag with their lonely charge round the empty, echoing rooms at Ashbarrow.

  ‘Oh.’

  He sensed withdrawal.

  ‘Do you have moral objections to nannies, then?’

  ‘No.’ She sounded subdued.

  ‘My parents were away a lot of the time,’ he offered, as if he needed an excuse. ‘My father was a diplomat. He was posted to some unhealthy places. My mother went with him but she wanted me safe at home.’

  ‘A diplomat,’ the girl said in a hollow voice. ‘Weren’t you terribly lonely?’

  Philip was puzzled. ‘The nannies were quite kind,’ he said comfortingly.

  She didn’t say anything.

  He said teasingly, ‘That sounds as if you suffered from an ogre nanny.’

  She gave a snort. ‘Not in this lifetime.’

  He was even more puzzled. ‘Well, then—’

  She stopped in the middle of the path and looked at him, hands on hips.

  ‘No nannies. No diplomats in the family. No father, to be honest. My mother has worked hard all her life but, frankly, we lived in a slum until my sister turned out to be a financial genius. She’s married a man with—oh, with ancestors and furniture and stuff. But basically Lisa and I—we’re trash.’ She stuck her chin in the air. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea.’

  He was shaken. Not so much by what she said as the ferocity with which she said it.

  He said quietly, urgently, ‘No one is trash.’

  She looked at him with hot eyes. ‘Would you say that if a member of your family was marrying me?’

  ‘If a member of my family was marrying you I’d probably poison him,’ Philip said coolly. Deliberately.

  She had not seen it coming. It stopped her dead in her tracks.

  ‘Oh!’

  She was enchanting in her astonishment. Oh, those eyelashes.

  This time he could not help it. The temptation was too great. He put his arm round her. She did not resist.

  ‘Come on,’ he said gently. ‘Let’s get to this grotto of yours. Then you can tell me all about it.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘THE path is steeper than it seems by day,’ said Kit. ‘But it doesn’t seem to be so far. I know that tree. We’re nearly there. How odd.’

  ‘When you come here during the day you must keep stopping to look at the views,’ the man said quietly.

  He had said he was as old as Methuselah but he was not even breathing hard after that steep climb. Kit was.

  And by day you’re not holding my hand.

  She did not say that, of course. He already thought she was enough of a fool. She had seen his wariness when she’d mentioned the moonlight path. He had thought she was contriving some phony romantic interlude until she put him straight. He had nearly not come up to the waterfall with her. She knew that.

  And then her riff about nannies back there! What was she thinking of? Fool, she castigated herself silently.

  This is a grown-up man, Kit. Why should he be interested in you? Or your hang-ups? Get a hold on yourself.

  He was not holding her hand because he had been swept away by the beauty of the moonlight. He was helping her up the steep path. And if she was breathing hard, that was all the more reason for him to think he had to keep on helping her.

  Catch twenty-two, thought Kit with grim amusement.

  Here was the first man to make her heart beat faster in years. And if he knew the effect he was having he would head back to base at light-speed, just like Johnny had. It was as plain as the nose on your face. So she had to keep these feelings under control. She had to.

  Struggling for normality, she said in a practical voice, ‘Do you realise I don’t know your name?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the man unhelpfully.

  Kit stopped dead. It gave her an excuse to remove her hand from his. Which helped her breathing but not her well-being. She suddenly felt appallingly lonely. It was ridiculous, of course. But the loneliness hit her like a tidal wave.

  To disguise it, she said disagreeably, ‘Are you going to tell me or not?’

  He seemed to hesitate. Then he said carefully, ‘I’m Philip Hardesty.’

  Kit recognised the care. She bridled. ‘Is that supposed to mean something to me?’

  ‘No.’

  But she did not believe him. ‘You’re famous, right? What do you do? Climb mountains? Save apes?’

  He was startled. ‘No. Why do you ask?’

  Kit began to climb again. ‘Because that’s what my brother-in-law does. He’s here on some save-the-rainforest kick. He said everyone else in the hotel was at the conference too.’

  ‘He’s right in a way,’ Philip said. ‘At least, there is a series of what you might call interlocking conferences. We talk to each other but we’re not exactly doing the same thing.’

  ‘So what are you doing?’ She thought about that first night, when he had had his hands on her and she had wanted—She said hurriedly, ‘You’re a naturalist, right?’

  ‘In a way,’ he said unhelpfully. ‘Now I’ve told you my name, what about yours?’

  She was oddly reluctant. It felt like giving him a bit of herself. And she was not sure she wanted to give him anything more than she had already. Only he didn’t know about that, of course. He did not know he was the first man she had let touch her for two years. He did not know that she wanted him to touch her again. And it scared the hell out of her.

  She said curtly, ‘Catherine Romaine.’

  ‘Catherine? Is that what they call you?’

  Even more reluctantly she said, ‘My family call me Kit.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Kit.’

  She nodded, not speaking.

  They had come to a curve in the path that she particularly loved. It was the last one before the grassy platform from which you viewed the waterfall. You could hear the water but it was hidden by the angle of the cliff. Ahead, the path looked as if it broke off, and there was nothing between you and the sea and sky. Beside you, a wild mango tree leaned against the cliff. And up through the branches of the mango twined the leafless canes of some flower that poured down, blossom upon prodigal blossom, filling the air with heady perfume.

  The flowers were a dark tangle in the moonlight, of course. But Philip Hardesty caught the sweet scent. His head came up and he looked sharply up the cliff.

  ‘Wonderful, isn’t it?’ Kit said softly, forgetting her constraint in sheer wonder. ‘Sometimes I just come up here and breathe it in. Makes me feel I’m purifying my lungs.’

  He expelled a long breath. ‘I thought someone was there,’ he said. To her astonishment, he sounded as if the idea made him uneasy. He took a long sniff. ‘It smells like a woman’s scent. What is it?’

  She showed him the flowers. He lifted one, touching his fingers to it so gently that it seemed as if the bloom was stirring in a breeze rather than being manhandled.

  What would it be like if he touched her like that? The thought came from nowhere, shockingly explicit. Kit trembled and retreated a little. How embarrassing if he picked up her feelings.

  No, more than embarrassing. Excruciat
ing. And she was so bad at hiding them! Lisa, why did you never teach me to put on that bright performance of yours?

  He turned the flower towards him.

  ‘Purple, right? Or a deep lilac? That’s the colour by daylight?’

  She forgot her embarrassment in sheer surprise. ‘Yes,’ she agreed.

  ‘Sangumay.’ He sounded quietly pleased with himself for having made the identification.

  Kit stared. ‘What?’

  ‘One of the most highly scented orchids. Not rare. But the scent makes it really exceptional.’

  Kit made a little noise of exasperation. ‘Why do you have to label everything all the time?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When I was swimming you had to tell me that the phosphorescence came from shellfish. Then the name of those amazing ultramarine birds. Now this. Why can’t you just enjoy something because it’s beautiful?’

  ‘I do,’ protested Philip.

  ‘No, you don’t,’ she said shrewdly. ‘You want to classify it and file it away. I bet you’re really, really tidy.’

  ‘I am, as a matter of fact,’ said Philip, annoyed. ‘It’s not a hanging offence.’

  ‘Then it should be,’ said Kit with intensity. ‘Look around you. You shouldn’t be filing this. You should be living the moment for all it’s worth. Moments like this come round once in a lifetime.’

  She surveyed the scene eloquently.

  The sky was a black setting for the lemon-drop moon and the sharp shards that were the near stars. Beyond them, the great spiral of the Milky Way looked like the crystallised breath of some giant animal. At the horizon, black met black. But the sea was like shot silk where peacock’s-tail viridian and cobalt flickered among the blackness. And, of course, it was a great shifting mirror, so they saw two huge moons, two Milky Ways, two infinities…

  ‘It makes me feel so small,’ said Kit. She was almost whispering. ‘And safe.’

  ‘Safe?’ Philip looked at her in astonishment. ‘Feeling small makes you feel safe?’

  ‘It’s no bad thing to be invisible.’

  ‘That’s an interesting point of view—’

  She held up a hand. ‘Stop it.’

  ‘Stop what?’