Conflict Of Hearts

by Liz Fielding

  She stared at the envelope. How on earth could she have been so careless? She had tucked the letter safely away in her handbag. ‘Yes. He wanted me to meet him.’

  ‘Why? What did you threaten him with?’

  Her brows drew together in a frown. ‘“Threaten”? What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘It can’t have been easy for him to get away. He would hardly have taken such a risk willingly.’

  Lizzie’s mind was racing at top speed. It had been difficult enough to convince Peter that she had dumped him for a rich husband—he knew her too well. But if Noah discovered that it was Peter doing the chasing, that she was the innocent party, he might decide that he didn’t need to marry her after all. For Fran and her baby she wasn’t prepared to take the risk.

  She crossed her fingers behind her back. Getting married had been Noah’s bright idea, although she was no nearer to working out his motive. It no longer mattered. Whatever it was, she didn’t feel the least bit guilty about hijacking it for her own reasons.

  ‘He still loves me,’ she said, with every appearance of mutiny, defying him with her eyes. ‘I know he does.’

  Noah erupted from his seat and dragged her to her feet, his fingers biting into her arm. ‘How can such a lovely face hide such selfishness?’ She flinched from fierce, ransacking eyes, appalled at the reaction she had provoked. ‘When I first saw you, I thought—’ He stopped, apparently to gather himself before he said something that they would both regret, but she wasn’t about to let him off that hook.

  ‘Just what did you think, Noah? Why don’t you tell me and put us both out of our misery?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘What I thought doesn’t matter one bit. And, to answer your earlier question, we’ll be seeing the registrar some time this morning. I’ll phone you when I’ve arranged a time, so if the urge for fresh air overcomes you again resist it. No more little walks, Elizabeth.’

  ‘I’ve more than enough to keep me occupied here organising dinner with Mrs Harper for our guests on Thursday.’ She pulled ineffectually at her arm, regarding him with loathing. ‘Would you like me to organise a three-tier wedding cake while I’m at it?’

  ‘Why stop at three? You can have as many damned tiers as the fancy takes you.’ Then he yanked her close and kissed her hard upon the mouth before finally releasing her. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said a little gruffly.

  For a moment she was stunned into silence. Then as he straightened she saw that Mrs Harper had come into the room. The kiss had been for her benefit.

  ‘I can’t wait,’ she murmured, the forced smile trembling on her lips.

  Did Noah really believe that a kiss over the breakfast table would convince Mrs Harper that they were love’s young dream? If they had been living in a small house without staff it would have been possible to keep up the pretence for the outside world, but they would never be able to hide the true state of their marriage from the housekeeper. She crumpled back onto her chair as the full impact of what she had done began to sink in.

  ‘What are you going to do with yourself for the rest of the day?’ Noah asked a little stiffly after they had visited the registrar to make the arrangements for their wedding. He was being very formal, very civilised. Numbingly so. Was that what she had condemned herself to for the next six months? she wondered miserably. She almost preferred the insults, the rows. At least when she was fighting with Noah she felt alive.

  ‘I thought I’d shop for my trousseau.’ She chose to be deliberately provoking.

  He refused to be provoked, opening the car door for her without the slightest change in his expression. ‘In that case I’d better organise some money for you, since your credit card has been cancelled.’

  ‘There’s no need. I’ve already organised a replacement. I’m picking it up from the Piccadilly branch of my bank this morning.’ He raised his brows in somewhat sardonic admiration of her efficiency. ‘In view of last night’s little fiasco, they were terribly keen to be as helpful as possible,’ she explained.

  ‘And no doubt you gave them the strong impression that you might take your business elsewhere if they weren’t?’

  ‘I didn’t have to threaten them, Noah. I simply explained that as I was getting married this week I would be needing to use it rather...enthusiastically.’

  He half smiled. ‘So, you’re not just a pretty face.’

  ‘Not even a pretty face, surely?’

  ‘The face, Elizabeth, is quite extraordinarily beautiful,’ he said, so intently that it brought a blush flooding to her cheeks. ‘Unfortunately in your case the beauty is only skin-deep.’

  The silence that followed this remark could have been cut with a knife.

  As they reached the gallery Noah turned to her. ‘Keep the car for the rest of the day; Harper will look after you. Olivia uses him all the time, so he’s bound to know just where to take you shopping. You can pick me up at about four.’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll just ask him to take me to Stratford for a little sightseeing,’ she replied stonily.

  His face tightened. ‘You could try it. He would, of course, check with me first. Four o’clock.’

  ‘Noah?’ she called as he strode across the pavement towards the gallery.

  He turned. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I was wondering,’ she asked a little huskily, well aware that Harper was listening to every word, ‘what kind of nightgowns you prefer? Black lace? Slinky satin? Or perhaps you’d consider scarlet more appropriate?’

  ‘Don’t bother for me, darling,’ he drawled. ‘I never wear the things.’ And his chilling smile warned her that any attempt to embarrass him would be a two-edged weapon.

  Harper was indeed a mine of information. Lizzie joined him in the front of the car, and after a discussion with him, and with the help of the car phone, her first port of call was a hair salon where a diminutive cockney used a pair of scissors with lightning efficiency to strip away hair by the yard.

  ‘There you are, duchess,’ he said eventually, with a soft chuckle. ‘What d’you think?’ Tentatively she raised her hand to her hair. Shoulder-length, her hair bounced into a curve she had never suspected it capable of, the skilled cutting giving it a fullness that her own efforts at styling had never achieved. ‘Well?’ he prompted.

  Lizzie swallowed, hardly able to believe that such a transformation was possible. Then a slow smile spread across her face. ‘I love it. Thank you.’

  When she emerged from the salon Harper was waiting to take her to her next appointment. A facial and a lesson in cosmetic art followed, then it was on to a series of boutiques.

  She emerged from the last with her voile print dress folded in a bag, and wearing instead a pair of wide trousers with a matching cardigan jacket in a soft cream crepe de Chine over a loose roll-neck silk overblouse, the colour of very dry sherry to echo the lights in her hair.

  She checked her watch. It was three-thirty—too late for any more shopping—so she asked Harper to drive straight to the gallery. The receptionist, a rather superior blonde, came forward. ‘Can I help you, madam?’

  ‘Is Mr Jordan about?’ she asked.

  It gave Lizzie considerable pleasure to realise that the girl was unable to decide whether Lizzie was a possible client or one of Noah’s girlfriends. Until today, she thought, suppressing a desperate desire to giggle, she wouldn’t have considered either option a possibility. ‘He’s engaged at the moment,’ she said carefully. ‘Would you care to wait until he’s free, or can I make an appointment for you?’

  ‘There’s no need. He asked me to pick him up at four.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ The girl relaxed and smiled more easily. ‘I’ll let him know you’re here.’ She reached for a phone.

  ‘No, don’t disturb him. I’m early. I’ll just look around for a while, if I won’t be in the way.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid the upstairs gallery is closed this week—it’s being rehung for an exhibition—but help yourself to the ground floor. Would you like some coffee whil
e you’re waiting?’

  Lizzie declined, and moved into the ground-floor gallery space. It was white—totally white—and the paintings stood out like exclamation points—vivid, brilliant slashes of colour and texture. Lizzie became totally absorbed as she moved from canvas to canvas.

  ‘You seem fascinated by that painting. Can I tell you about the artist? We’ve more of his work downstairs, if you’d care to see it.’ She had heard him come down the open-tread stairs, promise his companion that he would have lunch with him soon, then excuse himself, crossing the dark polished oak floor towards her, and she assumed that he had noticed her waiting for him.

  ‘Do you invite all the young women who come into your gallery down to the basement, Noah?’ She turned, smiling a little to tease him for not recognising her. ‘I warn you that it will have to stop—’ But the shock that widened his eyes, darkened the skin across his cheek-bones, brought her to a halt.

  ‘Stop?’ His searching glance took in every detail of her appearance, but the shutters were down now; she would have missed that first raw, exposed moment of stunned surprise if she hadn’t had the advantage of him.

  ‘When we’re married,’ she finished. She tried to maintain the light, teasing tone, but her voice shook too much.

  ‘You expect me to be faithful, then?’

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid I shall have to insist on it,’ she said, with an attempt at a sophisticated laugh. Under Noah’s probing eyes it was little more than a croak. ‘I’m sure you’ll expect no less of me,’ she added somewhat lamely.

  ‘While you live with me as my wife, I too shall expect total fidelity,’ he confirmed, then, seizing her wrist, he led her to a door which he flung open.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To the basement, my dear. Since we have a few minutes to spare, I want you to see exactly what happens when I take anyone down there. No matter how young and pretty.’

  Stairs led down through the workroom, where a couple of men were crating up some pictures. They glanced up, nodded and then continued with their work.

  ‘A few minutes to spare before what?’ she enquired, anxious to change the subject.

  ‘Before our appointment with my solicitor.’ He saw concern pucker her brow. ‘Just a few formalities. Nothing to worry about.’ He switched on a bank of lights and flooded the cool underground area with light. ‘Now, as you can see,’ he began sarcastically, ‘no bed, no sofa. Only a couple of gilt chairs for the creakier of my clients. Nothing, in fact, conducive to seduction.’

  But Lizzie had forgotten all about her teasing. She gazed in wonder at the long racks. ‘But there are hundreds of pictures here.’

  ‘Quite a lot,’ he agreed. ‘Not all the business is done upstairs.’ Sensing that she was genuinely interested, he pulled out a canvas. ‘What do you think of this? The artist is young, but he’s been bringing me his paintings since I saw some of his work at a college exhibition. He’s beginning to make a name for himself. Next year I’ll give him an exhibition. Then there’ll be a waiting list for his work.’

  ‘You have that much power?’

  Noah didn’t reply.

  ‘Is this one of his?’

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘Yes. I’m very tempted to buy it myself, before he gets too expensive. You’ve a good eye for a picture,’ he said as he slid it back into place. ‘Have you ever been to an auction?’

  ‘Only a charity thing at the village fête,’ she said as she walked along the racks, enjoying the tantalising glimpses of vivid colour, the scent of fresh oil-paint. ‘I bought a picture of a pig, for five pounds.’

  ‘A pig?’ His brows drew together in concentration. ‘Surely you don’t mean the one in the hall at Dove Court?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the one.’ She laughed. ‘You’ve obviously seen it. Dad thinks it’s awful, but I just...’ Noah was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘What?’

  ‘If you ever decide to sell it, let me know.’

  ‘Sell it? Why would I...? Good Lord, are you telling me that it’s valuable?’

  ‘On a good day at auction?’ He considered. ‘It should fetch upwards of five thousand pounds.’

  ‘Five thousand...? But it’s not even insured!’ Then her initial excitement was dampened. ‘Damn. I really love that pig.’

  ‘I’ll arrange cover for you if you like,’ Noah offered.

  ‘Would you? It’ll only be temporary, until I can sell it.’

  ‘You love it that much?’ he remarked cuttingly. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s always the ones who declare they would never part with a painting at any price who dash to the salerooms when they scent real money.’

  His contempt was only equalled by her anger. ‘Then I am more than happy to live down to your expectations, Noah. But, since you’re so disapproving, I won’t trouble you with the details of the sale. I’ll ask Dad to send it to one of the big auction houses.’

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t. I’ll handle it. We don’t want people to think you don’t trust me. That would be very bad for business.’ Then he shrugged. ‘Besides, I’ve a couple of clients who might be interested. I’m sure you have no objection to getting the best possible price for the picture?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ she declared furiously. ‘The higher the better. How soon can it be sent to auction?’

  ‘Leave it with me. In the meantime, perhaps you’d like to go to a sale to see how it’s done,’ he offered as they made their way back up the stairs.

  ‘I’d enjoy that. When can we go?’

  ‘One afternoon next week, if you like—’

  ‘You forget, I intend to have a job by next week. We still have a bet and, since I’ll be staying with you rather longer than I had anticipated, it’s all the more important that I win.’

  ‘You’re not going to have much time for job-hunting. Besides, that was yesterday. Things have changed since then. All bets are off.’

  ‘I see. You expect me to stay at home and be a proper little wife for you?’

  ‘You would prefer to be an improper one?’ he offered.

  ‘I would prefer not to be your wife at all, Noah, as well you know,’ she said swiftly, but the colour still rose painfully to her cheeks. ‘But, if you’re defaulting on our bet, I believe I win.’

  ‘I’ll take you to see Aida,’ he promised. ‘And any other show you’d like to see. We’ll have to do something to pass the time.’ He paused. ‘But about clothes. You are going to need rather more than a couple of pairs of jeans. I do a lot of entertaining.’

  ‘I do have a dress or two—’

  ‘I know,’ he said wryly. ‘I’ve seen them. I’ve spoken to the bank about a personal account for you. You’re to call in tomorrow to provide specimen signatures. Until you get your cheque book just keep any bills and I’ll see you’re refunded.’ His eyes flickered briefly over her new outfit. ‘I like that. And your hair. But you don’t need quite so much make-up.’ Then he glanced at the waferthin gold watch on his wrist. ‘I think we’d better go,’ he said, apparently taking her stunned silence for acquiescence.

  He spoke briefly to his receptionist on the way out and then ushered her out to the car. ‘I’ve asked your father to send up your birth certificate, by the way, but when you speak to him about the painting will you ask him to send your passport as well? It’ll need changing to your new name. In fact, I think Harper had better go and fetch them tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Why do you want my passport? Have you decided to take me on some glamorous honeymoon?’

  He regarded her with something close to amusement. ‘Would you like that? A warm, tropical island, perhaps, with days spent under a shady palm, sipping an exotic cocktail through a straw from a coconut? And the nights—’

  ‘Forget the nights.’

  ‘And the nights, dancing under the stars. You know, it’s not such a bad idea. I’d really like to take you to a desert island, Elizabeth,’ he drawled, very softly so that Harper shoul
d not hear. Startled, Lizzie blushed. ‘And leave you there, where you couldn’t do any harm.’

  As a conversation-stopper it was certainly effective. Lizzie withdrew to the far corner of the Bentley and stared out at the passing traffic, her hands screwed into tight little fists until the anger abated. He was insufferable, infuriating.

  She told herself that it wasn’t entirely his fault. Olivia had told him a pack of lies about her and today she had added her own fuel to fire his derision. But however much she told herself that she didn’t care one jot what he thought about her, that it didn’t hurt, she was disquieted to find that it did. It was beginning to hurt rather a lot.

  She glanced across at him. His head thrown back against the leather upholstery of the car, his eyes closed, he looked less threatening, more approachable. The brief glimpses that she had caught of this more human Noah Jordan were tantalising. Any woman he loved, she found herself thinking, would feel like a queen. But he didn’t believe in love. Noah opened his eyes, and for a moment the glance they exchanged was all question.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded. She shook her head helplessly. She didn’t know what it was. Then Harper brought the car to a halt and Noah turned away. ‘We’re here,’ he said abruptly, breaking the spell.

  He helped her out of the car, and by the time they were inside she had herself firmly under control. She was able to smile and shake hands with Noah’s solicitor as if she was indeed the most happy bride-to-be.

  The man settled them in his office, ordered tea and then produced a legal document. ‘Shall I explain this for Miss French, Noah?’ he asked. ‘Or would you prefer to do it?’ Noah indicated by a sharp shake of his head that he would prefer nothing of the kind. ‘Very well.’ And he began to explain.

  The document was a pre-marital contract. Lizzie had heard of such things and listened with interest to the clauses about property, discovering that Noah had a country home as well as the London house, both of which would remain with Noah in the event of a breakdown in the marriage. The business was also to remain untouched. The solicitor asked her if she understood. She glanced at Noah.