First-Class Seduction

by Lee Wilkinson

  When Bel relayed his rider to Andrew, he said evenly, ‘Believe me, I’m looking forward to meeting my future father-in-law.’

  The words themselves were mundane enough, but surely there was a shade, a nuance, of something not so innocuous?

  Oh, don’t be a fool! Bel told herself impatiently. Unlike most men, Andrew’s reactions were rarely simple or straightforward. His smile, his voice, often held a touch of irony.

  But this seemed to be something different, something darker, almost threatening…

  Having watched her face for a moment, he began to kiss and nuzzle the side of her neck, sending her uneasy thoughts flying.

  When she shivered in response, he murmured, Tm also looking forward to the first of our lessons, but I propose it takes place in bed.’

  ‘Yes, Teacher.’ He rose and, taking her hands, pulled her to her feet. ‘You go ahead. I’ve one quick call to make first.’

  By the time he joined her in the big, luxurious bed she was comfortably drowsy, despite the promise of delight, and almost ready to slip into sleep.

  Brushing a strand of silky hair away from her flushed face, he kissed her mouth and asked gently, ‘Tired?’

  ‘Yes.’ Turning into his arms, she whispered, ‘But not too tired.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BY SIX O’CLOCK the following evening Bel was weary, but reasonably satisfied with her day’s shopping. After trying on and rejecting more than a dozen wedding gowns she had finally found one that was all she could have hoped for.

  Made of ivory silk, with a fitted bodice and full skirt, it relied on the beautiful medieval style for its romantic impact. Plain silk slippers and a filmy veil on a narrow diadem completed the picture.

  Her excitement rising, she had also bought a black chiffon dress to wear that evening, and a mink-coloured silk suit with tangerine accessories.

  There had been no mention of a honeymoon, but after the wedding she would need something to change into, and the suit would be perfect.

  She owed it to Andrew to be well dressed, and there were quite a few things she still needed to complete her trousseau.

  Still, there was all the next day at her disposal, and if Andrew had finished the business he’d mentioned he might well come with her. He was the kind of man who would have more than a passing interest in what his wife wore.

  Bel had asked for her wedding clothes to be delivered straight to Dunbarton Street, but the rest she had with her as she made her way through the earlyevening throng, looking for a taxi.

  That morning, after they had both slept late and breakfasted together, she had accepted Andrew’s offer to drop her off in Knightsbridge, saying, ‘I’ll get a cab back. It will be easier than taking my own car, and probably quicker in the long run.’

  But now with taxi after taxi sailing past occupied, she was beginning to have doubts.

  It had been a long, dry summer, and it was hot and dusty in the city, the air full of fine grit and exhaust fumes and the smell of melting tar.

  A pigeon swooped between a coach and a van and hobbled along the gutter like an old lady with bunions until it reached a squashed ice-cream cone which it began to peck vigorously.

  Well, at least it was happy.

  Sighing, Bel glanced at her watch. Nearly six-fifteen, and she could still be standing here in another half an hour. But the buses were packed and she didn’t fancy the idea of the Underground at rush hour.

  She had almost given up hope of getting back in time to shower and change without being late when a taxi pulled into the kerb nearby to drop a fare, and she climbed in thankfully.

  ‘Where to, miss?’

  With a strange feeling of unreality, Bel gave the driver Andrew’s Park Lane address.

  The uniformed doorman recognised her from the morning, and as she entered the foyer said a courteous, ‘Evening, Miss Grant.’

  ‘Good evening, Rogers.’

  Looking gratified that she had remembered his name from Andrew’s brief introduction, he relieved her of the various packages and, having called the lift, accompanied her up to the penthouse.

  When she had opened the door with the key Andrew had provided, Rogers put everything on the couch before hurrying back to his duties.

  There wasn’t a sound, and the apartment, still not familiar enough to seem like home, had a curiously empty feel. But Andrew would certainly be back by now. He must be showering or getting changed.

  Eager to see him and hear his voice, anticipating his kiss, Bel hurried through to the bedroom. But a quick look confirmed that, apart from herself, the penthouse was empty.

  She was just digesting that fact when the bedside phone rang.

  ‘Bel?’ Above a fair bit of background noise, Andrew sounded abrupt and businesslike. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been held up and I’m running much later than I’d expected. Can you make your own way to the restaurant?’

  ‘Yes, of course. But I-’

  ‘Bridges is with me, so ask Rogers to get you a cab. See you later.’

  Disconcerted, she slowly replaced the receiver, then, gathering herself, she picked it up again and rang down to the foyer.

  ‘I’ll have a taxi waiting for you, Miss Grant,’ Rogers assured her cheerfully, when she’d made her wants known.

  She thanked him and, facing the unwelcome knowledge that she would have to walk into Morro Marengo on her own rather than on Andrew’s arm, went to collect her parcels.

  He couldn’t help being held up, she reminded herself. But it wasn’t that, it was his brusqueness that hurt.

  She had no intention of ever becoming the kind of woman who needed to be handled with kid gloves, but the unwonted prick of tears behind her eyes only served to prove what she already knew: loving Andrew made her vulnerable, made it only too easy for him to wound her.

  By the time Bel had showered and dressed she had regained her composure and was ashamed of her own reaction to what, after all, was only a very minor upset.

  A touch of lipgloss, her hair taken up in a smooth, shining knot and she was ready, her only jewellery the huge emerald that flashed green fire on her finger.

  The black chiffon, she was pleased to see, looked even better than it had in the store. It was the most sophisticated dress she had ever owned. Demurely high at the front, daringly low at the back, its slim skirt slashed almost to the thigh and worn only with a drift of stole, it was stunning in its simplicity.

  Sheer black stockings, high-heeled strappy sandals and a small pochette completed the ensemble.

  Satisfied she wouldn’t disgrace Andrew, and still with a few minutes to spare, she let herself out and went down to the waiting taxi.

  When they drew up outside Morro Marengo, she saw Andrew was waiting beneath the pale green and gold canopy. He stepped forward and paid the driver, before opening her door and handing her out.

  Still holding her hand, his glance travelled slowly over her slender figure from head to toe before returning to linger on her exquisite face.

  The possessive glow in his eyes made her tremble as he raised her hand to his lips and murmured huskily, ‘You look absolutely breathtaking. And I’m not even dressed for the occasion.’

  The well-cut grey lounge suit he’d left home in that morning was smart enough to be acceptable for any but the most formal gatherings. But, without being in any way fussy, he was fastidious about personal hygiene, and she guessed he would have much preferred to shower and change.

  A hand at her waist, he escorted her across the pavement and down the steps that led to the basement restaurant. ‘I’m sorry you had to come alone,’ he said,‘but I’ve only just got here myself. How was your day?’

  ‘Highly successful. How was yours?’

  ‘Somewhat less successful,’ he answered dryly.

  From nowhere came the memory of the previous night’s phone call, that somehow familiar voice saying, ‘.there’s been a slip-up.’ And Andrew answering, ‘…I’ll deal with it.it shouldn’t present any real problem.’

>   Bel was all at once convinced that it had.

  Before she could make any comment, or ask any questions, the sight of her father waiting in the lobby put it right out of her mind.

  Peter Grant came to meet them, tall and spare, a prepossessing man with a thatch of iron-grey hair and a charming smile.

  He was wearing an immaculate dinner jacket, and Bel was pleased to see that he looked quite at home in the understated elegance of his surroundings. Having kissed his cheek, she made the introductions.

  As the two men shook hands Andrew apologised with cool civility, ‘Forgive me for not being here when you arrived.’

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ Peter assured him with equal coolness.

  ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting long?’

  ‘Only a minute or so.’

  ‘I’d expected to complete some business, but it proved to be impossible and made me too late even to change.’

  ‘A bad day by the sound of it,’ the older man commiserated politely.

  Sighing inwardly, Bel visualised two dogs warily circling each other, hackles up. Still, it was early days yet.

  ‘What about having a drink in the bar before we go through?’ Andrew suggested.

  ‘Oh, yes, that would be lovely,’ she agreed brightly. ‘Dry sherry for me, please.’

  As they stood in the Poseidon bar, sipping their predinner drinks, Peter looked at Andrew levelly and said, ‘Bel mentioned that you were a banker.’

  ‘I prefer to think of myself as a businessman.’

  Andrew’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘I have a finger in a great many pies. Television, electronics, property development. I’ll take a shot at anything that flies.’

  It was obvious that while they were talking the two men were measuring each other up. Peter openly, as was his custom, Andrew more subtly.

  Proving that he’d done some checking, Peter remarked, ‘I understand your bank backed the prestigious new Calder Development?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And it’s turning out to be a goldmine?’

  ‘Right again.’

  ‘Yet you refused to finance a projected development at Hooton Fen that could have proved just as profitable?’

  ‘There were substantial differences. The former was an inner-city development to resurrect a slum area; the latter was on the edge of a market town and would have meant draining a large area of marshland.’

  ‘An expensive operation, I dare say.’

  Almost curtly, Andrew said, ‘That area was crucial to wildlife. Building on it would have caused a small, but important ecological disaster. If the developers ever come up with a more suitable site, I may reconsider.’

  Recognising that her father had been given the answer he wanted-that Andrew, though a highly successful businessman, was a man who cared-Bel relaxed somewhat.

  Listening, hoping against hope that they would warm to each other, she watched them as they stood together.

  They were both over six feet tall, but her father, nice-looking, uncomplicated, still oddly boyish, his brown eyes bright and intelligent, looked sparer than ever beside Andrew’s broad chest and shoulders.

  Andrew, formidable, unsmiling, his smoky eyes guarded, looked what he was: a tough, complex man.

  An angry man.

  Startled by the notion, Bel studied him. Was that undercurrent of simmering anger left over from a frustrating day?

  No, she couldn’t believe he would allow business aggravations to intrude on his leisure time. His anger, she was oddly certain, was directed against the older man.

  But why? Surely he wasn’t still annoyed that her father wanted to pay for her wedding clothes?

  ‘About ready to go through?’ Andrew’s query cut through her uneasy thoughts.

  ‘Yes.’ She managed a smile and, slipping one hand through Andrew’s arm and the other through her father’s, asked gaily, ‘What’s the betting I’m being escorted by the two handsomest men here?’

  ‘One thing’s a cert,’ Peter said gallantly, ‘we are escorting the most beautiful woman.’

  Monro Marengo, Bel soon discovered, wasn’t one room but a series of interconnecting cavern-like chambers with arched ceilings.

  The decor and lighting had been cleverly, not to say brilliantly done, and gave the most unusual and fascinating effect of an underwater palace lit by multi-drop crystal chandeliers.

  When they’d been welcomed and shown to one of the best tables by dark-haired and dapper Luis Morro in person, Peter said, ‘As this is a celebration, I hope you will allow me to contribute a bottle of vintage Bollinger?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Andrew said smoothly. He turned to Bel. ‘Unless you’re still off champagne?’

  ‘When did you manage to go off champagne?’ her father enquired quizzically.

  ‘At a party one night.’ She swallowed. ‘I-I drank more than I ought to have done and got up next morning with a hangover.’

  The arrival of a waiter with handwritten menus came as a blessed relief. By the time they’d ordered Bel had regained enough composure to steer the conversation into safer channels.

  Throughout the meal, which was superb, the two men talked civilly enough and, her fingers crossed, Bel did her utmost to smooth over any awkward moments.

  In spite of all her efforts there was an underlying tension that grew abruptly worse when Peter innocently mentioned that her wedding things had been delivered to Dunbarton Street.

  ‘Did you forget your new address?’ Andrew’s voice was soft as silk, but beneath that bland veneer she knew he was furious.

  Meeting and holding his eyes, she said steadily, ‘I never got round to telling you, but I’m staying at Dad’s tomorrow night’

  ‘Really? Whose idea was that?’

  ‘Mine.’

  ‘Are you staying there for any particular reason?’

  ‘Because you wanted a traditional wedding, and traditionally the bride should travel to church with her father, or whoever is giving her away, while the groom goes with the best man.’

  Drawing a deep breath, she hurried on, ‘And on the morning of the wedding it’s regarded as unlucky for the bride and groom to see each other until they get to church.’

  There was a pregnant silence, then Andrew said, ‘Well, in that case, I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ A shade sardonically, he added, ‘If it’s a matter of luck, we can’t afford to take any chances.’

  Peter, who had been sitting silently listening to thelittle exchange, made some smiling remark about lingering superstitions, and the tension eased.

  ‘So what time can I expect you?’ he asked his daughter. Then he added judiciously, ‘Or perhaps you could both come to dinner?’

  Realising that might be the best way to work things, Bel exclaimed, ‘Oh, that would be lovely.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to count me out,’ Andrew said evenly. ‘Tomorrow could prove to be another difficult day, and I may not be back until fairly late, but it will save Bel eating alone.’

  He appeared to have accepted the arrangements with tolerable good humour, but the evening hadn’t gone as well as Bel had hoped and, tired and a little dispirited now, she was glad when the meal was finally over and coffee had been served.

  While the men lingered over a brandy she excused herself and went to the pearl and pink powder room, which gave her the subtle impression of being inside a huge, glowing shell.

  The place appeared to be empty, but as Bel dried her hands on a pink towel she was joined at the row of gleaming sinks by a slim, petite, redhead wearing an electric blue mini-skirted sheath.

  Just as Bel realised who it was their eyes met in the mirror, and Suzy went an unbecoming scarlet.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she muttered. Then, with an attempt to brazen it out she said, ‘OK, so it was a rotten thing to do, but all’s fair in love and war.’

  Turning to look at the other girl, Bel asked the first question that came into her head. ‘Is Roderick with you?’<
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  ‘No, I’m with Freddy Baxter.’

  Bel recognised the name. The somewhat effeminate young man was an ‘Honourable’, the son of one of the Bentincks’ aristocratic friends.

  ‘He’s broken up with his girlfriend,’ Suzy went on, ‘and I couldn’t turn down the chance of dining at Morro Marengo.’ Bitterly, she added, ‘The truth is, I was hoping to make Roderick jealous. He hasn’t spoken to me since Saturday.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘Don’t be so damned sanctimonious,’ Suzy snapped. ‘I know you must hate me.’

  Bel shook her head. ‘I’m very sorry about the way it happened, but I don’t hate you.’

  ‘Then you’re a fool. I could have stopped it happening, refused to be a party to it. But I never thought you really loved Roderick. I love him, and one way or another I intend to get him back-’

  She stopped speaking abruptly as Bel moved her hand and the huge emerald on her engagement finger flashed fire.

  ‘My God,’ Suzy breathed, staring at it goggle-eyed. ‘He told me he wanted you for himself, but though he’s a handsome devil, and very charismatic, I never dreamt he’d pull it off this quickly.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Bel said stiffly.

  ‘I’m talking about Andrew Storm. It is his ring you’re wearing?’

  The expression on Bel’s face was answer enough.

  Suzy gave a little crow of laughter. ‘You’ve always looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, but I’m willing to bet he’s already got further with you than Roderick ever did.’

  When Bel said nothing, she added with more than a touch of spite, ‘I’m forced to admit he’s quite a man. But though he wants you now, I should imagine he’s the sort that will ditch you as soon as he’s had his fun.’

  Her mind suddenly ice cold, crystal-clear, Bel asked steadily, ‘When did he tell you he wanted me?’

  ‘The night of the party.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you knew him.’

  ‘I didn’t until that night, though he spoke as if he knew me, so I guess Roderick must have talked about me. The first time I saw Andrew Storm, you and he were dancing together. I watched him kiss you.’