Кэтти Уильямс – Wicked Surrender: Ruthless Awakening / The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress / The Timber Baron's Virgin Bride (страница 15)
She rose in silence and followed him to the dining area, realising with chagrin that she would not be facing him from the opposite end of the long table, but had been seated instead at his right-hand side. Almost close enough to touch.
An altogether too cosy, too intimate placing, but presumably done according to his instructions.
But, whatever game Diaz Penvarnon was playing, she would be a match for him, she told herself with determination.
He held the chair for her courteously, and she sank on to it with a murmured word of thanks, sending him a glancing smile.
This was how to play it, she thought, however much it might hurt. So for the next hour or so Diaz would find himself dining with none other than Lady Ariadne—’the Tart without a Heart’, as one tabloid had christened her. Television’s favourite Bitch Queen, never more dangerous or desirable than when she was planning something.
She would eat and drink whatever she was offered. She would keep up her side of any conversation and be charming. She might even flirt a little, letting her eyes under the long fringe of lashes offer him all kinds of possibilities. Knowing she was unreachable. Untouchable.
And once the meal was over she would yawn prettily, excuse herself, then leave.
Because first thing in the morning, wedding or no wedding, she would be inventing some dire emergency that required her elsewhere immediately, and catching the next available train out.
Which, she told herself, would finally be the end of it. She could not afford to look back. Or to hope. Not again. Not ever.
Although London wouldn’t necessarily be her first destination of choice, she thought wearily. It was hardly a sanctuary for her these days. Even now there were going to be issues to be dealt with before she could attempt to get her life back on track.
And there was also Daisy to consider. Daisy, her friend, whose husband had left her, and who would be shocked and frightened, needing all the comfort and support Rhianna could give her.
But at least, she told herself, that would force her to put the sorrow of her own rejection, her own loneliness and fear, to the back of her mind until she was somehow strong enough to deal with them. Whenever that might be.
She stifled a sigh as she shook out her linen table napkin.
In this whole, reeling, unhappy mess, her only certainty was that it would not be soon. That it would take every scrap of courage she possessed even to survive.
And that the campaign was starting here and now, at this table, with this man.
If the circumstances had been different, she would have openly revelled in the food a beaming Enrique brought to them.
The first course was an array of
It was a delicious and leisurely performance, with Diaz suddenly transformed into the perfect host, and Rhianna found, to her own surprise, that she was perceptibly relaxing her guard as the evening went on. Which could be dangerous.
‘Goodness,’ she said, half-laughing at one point. ‘All this, plus Juan and Enrique too. Is this some reversion to your Spanish ancestry?’
He shrugged. ‘It’s pointless to deny it exists, and just occasionally over the generations it comes roaring back.’ He drank some wine. ‘We were all pirates at the time of the first Elizabeth, the Spanish and the English alike,’ he went on reflectively. ‘All raiders and looters, feathering our nests in the name of patriotism. Taking what we wanted when we saw it, and to hell with the consequences. And my many times great-grandfather was certainly no different. Before his ship went down Jorge might even have been the man lighting the torch that fired Penzance.
‘And then he met Tamsin and married her,’ Rhianna said quietly.
‘Met her and seduced her,’ he corrected. ‘A fairly high-risk initiative in those days. Her father might as easily have slit his throat as said, “Bless you, my children. The wedding’s on Thursday.”‘
‘But it worked out well,’ she persisted. ‘He stayed on in an enemy country so he must have loved her.’
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But don’t forget she was an heiress, and he was then a younger son with his way to make in the world. A few lies about his origins, and a crash course in English may not have seemed too high a price at the time. His own good fortune came later.’
‘What a cynical point of view,’ Rhianna said lightly. ‘I prefer the romantic version.’
His mouth hardened. ‘With true love triumphant, no doubt? I can see why that would appeal. Unfortunately real life rarely supplies neat endings.’
‘So I’ve discovered.’ Her smile was brief and taut. She needed to change the subject, and quickly. She looked down at her empty plate. ‘But Enrique is a gem. Surely he can’t be content to hang around on your boat simply waiting for you to show up? He must get bored while you’re in South America, or doing your global thing. Isn’t he ever tempted to spread his wings—open his own restaurant, perhaps?’
‘He’s never said so.’ Diaz refilled their glasses. ‘Why not ask him?’
She flushed. ‘Don’t be absurd. After all, it’s none of my business.’
‘I think he’d be flattered,’ he said. ‘But probably not tempted. He likes his life, and so does Juan. Maybe they’ve found the recipe for happiness, and want to hang on to it.’
‘While for the rest of us the search goes on.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Heavens, it’s nearly midnight. I should be getting back.’
Diaz also consulted the time, brows lifting. ‘Why? The party at the hotel surely won’t be over yet.’
‘Indeed it will,’ she said briskly. ‘Carrie has to be home by twelve. You’ve forgotten the old superstition about the groom not seeing his bride on the wedding day until they meet in church.’
‘In all the other excitement it must have slipped my mind. Nor am I particularly superstitious, except when it comes to mines.’ He paused. ‘I can’t persuade you to have coffee, then?’
‘Thank you, but not this late,’ she said. ‘It would keep me awake.’
‘And naturally you wish to be at your brightest and best tomorrow,’ Diaz commented silkily. He paused. ‘However, to use a coy euphemism, would you like to freshen up before you go? If so, I’ll get Enrique to show you to one of the staterooms.’
‘Yes,’ she said, reaching for her purse. ‘That would be—most kind.’
At the door she hesitated, looking back at him for a moment, at ease in his chair, studying the rich colour of the wine in his glass. Knowing that this was probably the last time she would ever see him and that this was the image she would take away with her, imprinted on her mind—the dark, intelligent face, with its high cheekbones and those amazing long-lashed eyes, and the lean, long-legged muscular body.
Another companionway led down to the sleeping accommodation. The stateroom that Enrique showed her with obvious pride made her jaw drop. The fitted wardrobes and dressing table were made of some pale, expensive wood, while the bed, the widest she’d ever seen, was made up with cream linen, a bedspread in vibrant terracotta folded across its foot. The same colour was echoed among the piled-up pillows, and a small sofa, similarly upholstered, stood against one wall.
Or perhaps they were called bulkheads, she thought. She couldn’t remember, and it didn’t really matter anyway. It wasn’t something she’d ever need to know.
The adjoining bathroom was all gleaming white and azure, with a walk-in power shower, a vanitory unit with twin basins, and a bidet as well as a loo.
‘The
Thoughtful, Rhianna decided with faint amusement, as she waited to hear the outer door close softly. But unnecessary.
Probably Enrique was more accustomed to women guests who spent longer than just one evening on board with his boss, and who shared far more than dinner.
Whereas I, she thought, swallowing, have to go and put the remains of my life back together.
She dried her hands, and dropped the used towel into the laundry basket, then ran a comb through her hair, wondering whether to renew her lipstick and deciding against it.
As she was doing so, she noticed the toiletries grouped together on the tiled top by the mirror, realising they were all her favourite brands—from the moisturiser to the perfumed body lotion, and even the shampoo.
Odd, she thought, and walked back into the other room, where she checked, her eyes narrowing. Because something else had suddenly appeared on the bed. A woman’s nightgown, exquisitely fanned out.
Rhianna took a deep breath, telling herself that it was some weird trick of her imagination, or more likely that she’d had too much of that wonderful Rioja.