Читать книгу His Marriage Ultimatum - Helen Brooks - Страница 6

LIBERTY told herself she shouldn’t have been surprised when the rest of the afternoon turned into a maniac merry-go-round, mainly due to an extensive power cut just after she returned from lunch. One of her father’s favourite sayings was that it never rained but it poured, and with all the practice computers rendered helpless and irate clients at every turn, the day just got worse and worse.

By six o’clock she felt a frazzled wreck, and if it had been anyone else but her father she was seeing that night she would have rung and made her excuses, the thought of a long hot bath and an early night taking on the appearance of heaven.

She was one of the last to leave the offices in Finsbury, east London, but that wasn’t unusual. She was aiming to become a junior partner within the next five years, and that wouldn’t happen without dedication and hard work. Normally she caught the tube to and from work, but owing to her lunch date with her mother she had decided to use the car that morning. As she stood and stared at it in the practice car park, she reflected that it hadn’t been one of her better decisions.

But she couldn’t think about booking the car into a garage just now. She had the evening to get through and then a long day in front of her tomorrow; the car could wait.

She drove home very carefully, conscious that she was tired and that another accident was the last thing she needed. Her mood lifted as she drew into the tree-lined street in Whitechapel where she had recently bought her first home. After leaving law college, she had spent two years serving articles with her present firm whilst still living at home with her father, but once she had been offered a permanent position had felt the time was right to leave the nest for a rented bedsit. Another rented property, this time a one-bedroomed flat, had followed three years later, but at the beginning of the year she had come across the small, one-bed seventeenth-century almshouse—originally built for ‘decay’d’ seamen or their widows, according to the estate-agent blurb—being advertised in the local paper. She had felt good about the house even then.

The ground floor consisted of a living room and bedroom, with a kitchen, dining room and separate bathroom in the basement and a Lilliputian garden at the rear just big enough to hold a garden table and two chairs and a selection of flowering potted shrubs grouped round a stone bird table and bird-bath.

The lady owner had been retiring and moving to live with a sister in Cornwall after twenty-five years in the house and, against all the advice she would have offered someone else, Liberty had immediately declared herself to be in love with the place and offered the full asking price. She had been installed in her quaint little home within the month, complete with a hefty mortgage which meant she would have to tighten her belt for the forseeable future.

But it was worth it. As she exited the car a shaft of cold autumn sunlight caught the tiny panes in the living room window, causing them to twinkle and glow. Oh yes, it was worth it all right, she thought, mounting the eight walled steps leading up to the stout front door with renewed vigour. She was autonomous, self-sufficient and self-supporting and she would never, ever be beholden to any man to get her the things she wanted.

Liberty did not consciously think of her mother at this point, but the woman who had had such an adverse effect on her personality and her life was under the surface of her mind nevertheless.

The front door opened straight into the living room, which was warm and cosy and comforting. After kicking off her shoes, Liberty flung herself down onto one of her two plump two-seater sofas, which were covered in a vibrant shade of terracotta. She stretched before relaxing her limbs, eyes shut. She loved this room. The oyster curtains and carpet which she’d bought along with the house had been a perfect backdrop for the sofas she had acquired a year or so before seeing her home, and the bookcase behind her and old original fireplace gave a permanence to the surroundings which was wonderfully cheering.

But somehow, tonight, the usual magic wasn’t working. She sat up, frowning slightly. Carter Blake. The wretched man was demanding her attention as he had all through the long afternoon. She might just as well phone him now.

She reached for her handbag and extracted the card. She had glanced at it earlier, expecting a formal business card or something of that nature, but instead there had just been his name with a couple of numbers, one designated as a mobile. Was the other his home? She stared at it, the frown deepening as she resolutely ignored the quickening of her heartbeat.

She would phone him and, if he didn’t answer, leave a message before she began to get ready. She glanced at her watch. She’d order a taxi for tonight first though.

The taxi booked, she felt both annoyed and perplexed with herself when she realised her heart was thudding like crazy at the thought of making the second telephone call. ‘Get a grip, Libby.’ She spoke out loud into the quietness. ‘He’s just a man. Two arms, two legs and no doubt a very inflated opinion of himself.’ The last few years in the market-place of life had shown her that men like Carter Blake—attractive, forceful men who wore arrogance like a second skin—always had an inflated opinion of themselves!

She made a face. That being the case, she wouldn’t rush to phone him after all. She would leave it for a day or two, or at least until tomorrow. She barely had time to shower and get ready for her father’s big night as it was.

By the time the taxi hooted its arrival outside, Liberty had bathed, creamed and coiffured herself into quite a different creature from the smart and rigidly formal Miss Fox of daytime hours. She rarely let her hair down—both metaphorically and literally—but, ever since a pair of granite-grey eyes had given her a cool once-over, a spirit of rebellion seemed to have taken hold. And the Phoenix did require something that bit special.

Her normally sedate hair was now framing a fully made-up face in a silky shoulder-length bob, the classic black evening dress she was wearing giving the illusion of restraint until one noticed the thigh-length slits either side of the pencil-slim skirt. Gerard had urged her to buy the dress for a forthcoming dinner-dance they had been supposed to attend before his liaison with the kittenish Alexia, and she was glad now she had insisted on paying for it herself. It would have been a shame to get rid of such a gorgeous gown but she would have if he had contributed so much as a penny towards it.

There was a lump in her throat as she checked her reflection one last time as the taxi hooted again. And then she swallowed it away, her brown eyes darkening to ebony as she lifted her chin. Gerard wasn’t worth one tear. He was a liar and a cheat and she was well rid of him.

Once in the taxi she pulled her coat more closely around her and tried to ignore the fact that everyone outside the window seemed to be in twos. It must have rained a little while she was getting ready because the pavements were glistening and wet, circles of muted gold here and there where the street lights banished the darkness.

She’d been so stupid to let Gerard Bousquet become more than a casual acquaintance, to let him persuade her that she didn’t have to be alone in the years ahead and that she could share her life with someone else. Although he hadn’t quite convinced her of that, if she was being truthful. She had never been able to fully believe in the plans for their future on which he’d waxed eloquent now and again.

Liberty gazed out into the swirl of activity outside the window but without really seeing it, lost in her thoughts. She had berated herself often in the months she’d been seeing Gerard for her lack of faith in the permanence of their relationship, telling herself the years of seeing her mother go from man to man had made her cynical, but it hadn’t been that.

She frowned slightly as her mind searched for the key to her scepticism and doubt. Gerard was undeniably handsome, sexy, amusing, wealthy and fun to be with, but he had a weak mouth, a mouth that suggested life had been one easy ride for him. It hadn’t dawned on her until this moment but now she realised the knowledge had been at the back of her mind for the last few hours, ever since she had gazed into Carter Blake’s ruthlessly hard face, in fact. The two men were poles apart.

She twisted on the seat, suddenly immensely irritated with herself. Was she going doolally here? What on earth was she doing, comparing the one with the other anyway? Carter she didn’t know from Adam, and Gerard was simply a socialite first and foremost. They both might be socialites for all she knew. Maybe Carter Blake hadn’t done a day’s work in his life either. Anyway, she certainly didn’t want either one of them in her life and why she was wasting one thought on them she didn’t know. This night belonged to her father and Joan.

There was even a buzz on the pavement outside the Phoenix; it was that sort of place. A great nightclub with wonderful food, dancing and a floor show—the Phoenix got everything right. Liberty had been to plenty of nightclubs in the past but all too often she found if the band and floor show were good, the food was mediocre, and vice versa.

She had only put one foot onto the pavement when her father appeared like a genie beside her, his face flushed with excitement and his eyes bright. He looked ten years younger. ‘Wow!’ He took her into his arms, hugging her tight for a moment. ‘You look beautiful.’

‘You look pretty good yourself,’ she said once he had let her breathe again. It was true, he did. The hair which had once been brown was now completely grey but just as thick as ever, and the tall broad-shouldered body was slim and fit. The sum of money her mother had spent to remain looking young and attractive must be into six figures by now, but her father was just getting better and better naturally. Like fine wine.

‘Come and meet Joan,’ David Fox said after he had paid the taxi driver and taken Liberty’s arm in his, leading her through the open front door of the Phoenix with a nod to the two doormen on duty there.

Joan was sitting at the cocktail bar situated just outside the main eating and dancing area, and she left her seat as she caught sight of them. Liberty had almost persuaded herself that her recollection of the woman who had stolen her father’s heart must be clouded by a child’s vision, but no. Joan was still small, dumpy and ordinary, her rosy cheeks free of make-up and her hairstyle dated. Her father was looking at his old love as though she was Julia Roberts, Catherine Zeta-Jones and Gwyneth Paltrow rolled into one. Suddenly Liberty had a lump in her throat.

‘Hello, Liberty,’ Joan said quietly.

Joan’s wide smile couldn’t quite hide the anxiousness in her soft brown eyes, and on the spur of the moment Liberty ignored the other woman’s outstretched hand and hugged her instead, her voice warm as she said, ‘I’m so pleased to meet you again, Joan, especially now I know what you mean to Dad.’

‘You…you don’t mind?’ It was wary.

‘Mind?’ Liberty smiled, her gaze including her father as she said, ‘You’re just what he needs. It’s high time he had a little happiness.’

‘Thank you, Libby.’ Joan had taken her hands and now pressed them, tears glittering in her eyes. ‘I can’t tell you what it means for you to say that.’

It set the tone for the evening. By the end of the first course of a meal which was truly superb, Liberty found she had totally relaxed and was enjoying herself. She had forgotten—or perhaps, as she’d only been a child when she had first known Joan, she hadn’t realised—that Joan had a terrific sense of humour along with a wit that was positively wicked at times. Within a few minutes of being in the other woman’s company Liberty could perfectly understand why her father was so captivated by her. And she was the absolute antithesis of Miranda.

It was as Liberty was finishing the last mouthful of her baked scallops with cured back bacon and thyme that her attention was drawn to a table a short distance away. She didn’t know quite what had attracted her gaze—maybe it was because the four people about to be seated had caused something of a minor stir, one of the women being a well-known supermodel—but as her mildly enquiring eyes met grey-granite she felt the impact down to her fragile but wildly expensive silver sandals.

Of all the people to see tonight—Carter Blake! As he smiled at her she managed to force a fairly normal smile in return, glad of the three or four tables between them as her heart pounded so hard she was sure he would have noticed if he’d been a little nearer. The contact only lasted a moment or two and Carter was the one to break it, turning to the elegant woman at his side and saying something as they all sat down.

Liberty took a hefty gulp at her wine before she became conscious that her father—in the gregarious way he had with people—was speaking in an undertone to a man at the next table who had also been looking across the room. ‘Should we all know who they are?’ David Fox asked mildly as the head waiter appeared at Carter’s table with a distinctly ingratiating smile.

The other man grinned at him, clearly amused. ‘The woman in the red dress is Carmen Lapotiaze,’ he said softly, ‘the famous—or perhaps it should be infamous—model, and the other woman is an actress, quite well-known.’

‘Not by me,’ David Fox said cheerfully. ‘And the men?’

‘The good-looking brute with Carmen is Carter Blake; he owns this place and half of London. The other guy I don’t know.’

‘He owns this nightclub?’ It was Joan who was speaking now and she leant forward interestedly. ‘That explains all the scurrying about of the staff then.’

The other man nodded. ‘He’s one big fish,’ he said quietly. ‘Rumour has it he has his thumb in umpteen pies; not bad for a man who started with next to nothing a decade or so ago, eh? That’s if all the gossip about him can be believed, of course.’ He smiled again before turning to the woman with him, a voluptuous brunette who positively dripped diamonds.

‘Well, ladies, looks like we chose the right night for a bit of excitement.’ David beamed at Joan and his daughter, clearly pleased with himself.

Liberty didn’t want to puncture his bubble but she felt she had to say something. ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ she said with a smile to soften her words. ‘The man who ran into me—I’ll give you three guesses who it was, but his name begins with B and ends with E.’

‘Never!’ Her father stared at her. ‘You don’t mean…’

‘And he was driving the most beautiful Mercedes,’ Liberty said ruefully. ‘Or at least it was until my little car had the temerity to jump out in front of it.’

‘Oh, Libby.’ Her father had clearly told Joan about the accident because now the other woman put her hand on Liberty’s arm. ‘Was he okay about it? He isn’t going to be awkward, is he? We can leave if you feel uncomfortable.’

‘No, not at all,’ Liberty said hastily. ‘He was very good, actually.’ Apart from making her feel two inches tall. Which she had probably thoroughly deserved, she admitted silently, but that didn’t make it any easier to take. ‘And we couldn’t possibly leave without dessert anyway,’ she added brightly.

‘I do love my puddings.’ Joan pulled a face. ‘As is pretty obvious. I’d love to be as slim as you but even from a small child I’ve been this shape.’

‘You’re a perfect shape,’ her father cut in before Liberty could say anything. ‘Don’t you dare change a thing about yourself, you hear me? I can’t abide women who exist on a lettuce leaf all day. My surgery is full of them all saying they’ve got stress or nerves or whatever, when what they really need is a few suet puddings and a dumpling or two.’

‘Oh, David.’

Joan was giggling now, but even as Liberty joined in their laughter she found she was envying the older woman with all her heart. To be loved utterly for yourself by your partner in life—how many women were ever lucky enough to find that? Her work brought her into contact with masses of women who had been dumped for a younger model by their husbands, and it worked the other way too. Her own mother was proof of that. She had made up her mind years ago that true love was a fantasy, something which was warm and comforting and wonderful in novels and fairy tales, but not part of the real world. But now, looking at her father and Joan, she was forced to admit there could be exceptions to the rule. But then her father was special; she’d always known that.

Liberty was very careful not to let her eyes stray to that other table while they continued with their meal, but she found herself draining three glasses of wine for Dutch courage. It was delicious wine—everything was delicious—but as she stood up to go to the ladies cloakroom before their coffee and brandy was served, she realised it was also very potent.

Aware that her vertiginous sandals were more than able to tip her over if she didn’t concentrate hard, she made her way to the cloakroom with decorous sedateness, every muscle in her body under rigid control. Wouldn’t he just love it if the dopey lamebrain—as she was sure he thought of her—ended up in a pile at his feet, proving she was just as dizzy and empty-headed as he suspected, she told herself bitterly.

Once in the luxurious marble surrounds she gazed about her. She remembered the awe she’d felt on her first visit here and now this was compounded by the knowledge that Carter Blake owned it all. He must be loaded, utterly loaded. Was Carmen Lapotiaze his lover?

She caught at the thought, angry with herself for speculating even as she answered; of course she would be. Probably one of many. Sexual magnetism had literally oozed from the man and there had been a wealth of experience in that rugged face. A tiny shiver curled down her spine and she resolutely banished all further conjecture. Carter Blake was absolutely nothing to do with her and his sex life even less so!

She fiddled with her hair and applied a touch of lipstick before leaving the cloakroom, delaying the moment she had to re-emerge even as she berated her cowardice. She hated to admit it, but every mouthful of food and sip of wine had been accompanied by an almost painful awareness of the tall, dark figure sitting some distance away, and even when she had been conversing with her father and Joan her ears had been tuned in for the laughter which emanated from his table now and again. That was bad enough, but it was all the more galling because he had, no doubt, put her out of his mind immediately after that one brief polite smile. Certainly she didn’t think he’d looked her way again.

Her toilette completed, she shut the clasp of her evening bag with a little snap and squared her shoulders. She had already told her father she needed to be at the office early the next morning—which was perfectly true—and that she would be leaving shortly after coffee was finished. The main reason for this was to leave the two lovebirds alone to dance and enjoy themselves, but since Carter had appeared on the scene wild horses wouldn’t have kept her in the nightclub.

She opened the door of the cloakroom, stepping out into the thickly carpeted foyer and then nearly jumping out of her skin as a hand closed over her wrist.

‘I’m sorry,’ Carter said at the side of her. ‘Did I startle you?’

‘Of course you startled me,’ she said crisply, pulling her arm away and refusing to be intimidated by the height and breadth of him. She also refused to reflect on the fact that, attractive and compelling as he had been earlier that afternoon, he was doubly so in the white tuxedo which sat on the big body with designer ease. ‘I’m not used to people creeping up behind me.’ She frowned at him to make sure he knew she was serious.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever crept in my life,’ he answered with a silky amusement which immediately caught her on the raw.

‘Really.’ She surveyed him through unfriendly brown eyes. ‘Look, if you’re hoping I’ve got my details on me, forget it. This bag holds a lipstick and comb and little else.’

He didn’t spare the silk purse a glance. Instead he continued to observe her with a scrutiny which was unnerving before he said, ‘The accident was your fault, not mine. We’ve already established that. That being the case, why are you so hostile, Miss Fox?’

Liberty stiffened. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about. I am most certainly not hostile.’

‘No?’ The dark face was overtly mocking.

‘No.’ It was a sharp snap.

She glared at him, and then was further annoyed and taken aback when he laughed softly, his firm mouth curving to reveal even white teeth. ‘I blame the hair.’

‘What?’ He had completely lost her and it showed.

‘Red always makes for fireworks,’ he drawled easily.

Always? Always? He was comparing her to other women he had known, probably even bedded? She drew herself up to her full five feet eight inches, which unfortunately wasn’t as commanding as it would have been with a man of lesser height, and said coldly, ‘What is it that you want, Mr Blake?’

The black eyebrows rose a fraction. ‘What is it you are offering, Miss Fox?’

Irritating man! ‘You know what I mean,’ she said primly.

‘I’m not sure I do,’ he murmured, studying her angry face with hidden fascination. He had been right about the hair—it was glorious. Rich and glowing with a sheen on it like pure silk. And the way it framed her face, bringing out the porcelain quality to that perfect skin and the darkness of her eyes. How could he have thought for a moment she was in any way ordinary?

‘You were obviously waiting here for me. Why?’

‘You don’t think it possible I was passing through to the men’s cloakroom and noticed you?’ he asked blandly, indicating a door at the far end of the foyer.

She stared at him, suddenly feeling a complete idiot. Again. Something she was getting used to when she was round this man. Why on earth would he be waiting for her when he was with Carmen Lapotiaze? She must have been mad to think it for a second and even crazier to say so. She took a deep breath and prayed her face wasn’t as fiery as it felt. Then she didn’t know what to say.

Carter decided to put her out of her misery. ‘Actually, you were right; I was waiting for you.’ He watched her eyes narrow ominously and added hastily, ‘I’ve checked my car and the damage is minimal. If you let me buy you dinner some time we’ll forget about insurance companies. And I have a guy who can fix your car for next to nothing, incidentally.’

‘I don’t understand.’ And then the frown of confusion cleared. Dinner. He’d suggested dinner but it would probably be spelt bed if he was like most of his kind. As her face scorched again, she said icily, ‘I think I would prefer to let this go through the right channels, Mr Blake.’

‘Why?’ he asked in a tone which suggested mild interest.

Well, as he’d asked…‘Because I wouldn’t have dinner with you if you were the last man on earth. This might sound like an old cliché, but I’m not that sort of girl. I suggest you get back to your dinner companions, Mr Blake.’

Just a flicker of something she couldn’t quite read crossed his face before his features cleared of all expression. ‘I said dinner and I meant dinner,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve never yet bought a woman, Miss Fox. Surprising as it clearly appears to you, I haven’t had to.’

She could believe that. And she knew immediately she had made another huge mistake. Liberty groaned inwardly. ‘I’m sorry.’ She held his razor-sharp gaze even though she felt like bolting back into the cloakroom. ‘I had no right to assume…It’s just that most men…’ She didn’t know how to continue.

‘Take advantage of any opportunity to get to know a woman as lovely as you?’ A brief smile touched his lips and then disappeared. ‘I will plead guilty to that but not the rest. I am not “most men” as you’ll find out.’

Over her dead body. She wasn’t having anything to do with this man. He was dangerous. In fact, he made poor little Gerard look like a schoolboy in the seduction techniques.

Liberty forced a smile. ‘My father’s waiting; I have to go,’ she said quickly. ‘But I will phone and arrange for things to be sorted out.’

‘When?’ It was immediate, his eyes narrowing.

‘What?’ The nerve of the man, to try to tie her down like this!

‘When will you phone?’ he persisted silkily.

She had to get a handle on this, bring it back into the normal sphere of things. She called on all her training to keep cool and objective, or at least to give the appearance of being so. ‘Within the next twenty-four hours or so,’ she said evenly, refusing to be drawn further. ‘Now, as I said, my father is waiting, so if you’ll excuse me.’

‘There’s no rush; it isn’t as if he is sitting there alone. Is that your mother with him?’ For the first time since his teens Carter found himself trying to make conversation with a woman who clearly wanted shot of him. It astounded him. He half-expected her to tell him to mind his own business or to go to hell, but she did neither, merely staring at him with big brown eyes. Brown eyes as soft and velvety as a doe at bay.

‘No,’ she said finally. ‘She is not my mother.’

His lips twitched. Polite but firm, even though every line and curve of her body suggested she would rather be anywhere else than here. He ignored the screaming body language, saying quietly, ‘I didn’t think so. I couldn’t see any resemblance between you.’

Liberty shrugged. ‘There’s none between my mother and I, as it happens. She’s a small, blue-eyed blonde.’

Now it was Carter who stared. He had sensed something when she had spoken of her mother—very definite vibes and none of them good. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t ring him, after all; the last thing he needed right now was to get mixed up with a woman who came with baggage. He liked his relationships with women to emulate the way he viewed acquiring and disposing of a car—they needed to be good together while it lasted but once the parting of the ways came it was all straightforward. So it was with some surprise he heard himself say, ‘I’ll escort you back to your table.’

‘No need.’ Liberty was determined the last thing she was going to do was introduce him to her father and Joan. ‘Your dinner companion might get the wrong idea.’

‘Carmen? Oh no, Carmen and I understand each other very well,’ he said nonchalantly.

Funny, but she didn’t doubt that for a minute!

Liberty wasn’t aware her face was revealing her thoughts until the big body bent closer. ‘Carmen and I are just good friends, Liberty,’ he said pleasantly, but with a touch of steel in his voice which indicated he hadn’t appreciated her supposition. ‘If there was anything else between us I wouldn’t have suggested taking you to dinner. I’ve never pretended to be a hearth and home guy, but one woman at a time is more than enough for me. Okay?’ Dark eyebrows rose mockingly.

She felt furious that he had somehow put her in the wrong. He had walked in with that woman draped all over him like poison ivy and now he was blaming her for putting two and two together and making five. She tilted her head back and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Your association with Miss Lapotiaze, or anyone else for that matter, is absolutely nothing to do with me,’ she said clearly. ‘Goodnight, Mr Blake.’ And she left him before he had a chance to react, walking as swiftly as her inordinately high heels would allow into the heart of the nightclub.

She had half-expected him to follow her or to try to catch hold of her again, but she reached the others without incident—apart from almost going headlong across the table as her heel caught in the hem of her dress at the last moment.

Her father and Joan smiled at her with the guilty look of two people who had just been whispering sweet nothings, and she smiled brightly back, wondering how soon she could make her excuses and leave. Why had she allowed Carter to get under her skin like that? she asked herself as she sipped at her coffee. No other man had ever affected her in such a way. Not that there had been many men in her past.

The coffee was burning her throat but she barely felt it, her whole body tuned as tight as piano wire. She had had plenty of dates before Gerard, of course, but she had always kept things casual, and even Gerard hadn’t actually broken her heart. Bruised it maybe, and crushed her pride into the ground, but she couldn’t in all honesty say she was devastated beyond measure by his betrayal.

Her eyes opened wide as the knowledge dawned that she was well and truly over him and it had only taken a matter of weeks. Was that awful? She considered the matter and then decided she didn’t care if it was. She was just so thankful she hadn’t gone the whole hog and slept with him as he had been nagging at her to do for the last couple of months of their relationship. She would have hated to be another notch on his worn-away bedpost. When, or maybe that should be if, she gave herself to a man she at least wanted it to mean something for both of them.

When she made her move to leave, her father insisted on coming with her to the entrance of the nightclub and standing with her while the doorman hailed her a cab. ‘Thanks for being so nice to Joan.’ He hugged her as he spoke, his voice thick. ‘Do you think it would be rushing it if I asked her to marry me soon? And I mean real soon,’ he added somewhat bashfully.

‘After twenty odd years?’ Liberty reached up and patted his face, her touch gentle. ‘Go for it, Dad, if you’re sure.’

‘I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.’

‘Then ask her. Life’s too short to dilly-dally.’

‘You’d come to the ceremony? It’ll only be a register office do, I suppose, but I’d like you there,’ he said urgently.

‘You try and keep me away,’ said Liberty as the black cab pulled up in front of them. ‘Now, go back to her and I’ll give you a ring in the morning. And thanks for a lovely evening.’

He stood and waved her off as he had done on countless occasions in the past, but this time they both knew it was different. The cab got held up at the traffic lights, and as Liberty turned and looked through the back window she saw him bound back into the club like a twenty-year-old.

She smiled to herself, glad for him and for Joan too, but somehow their delight in each other had made her restless. Or was it something else, someone else, who had caused her to feel all at odds with the world tonight? She frowned, loath to admit Carter Blake could have such an influence on her when she had only met him a few hours ago.

It wasn’t him, she had decided firmly by the time the cab had deposited her home. It was the whole day—seeing her mother, the accident, the awful afternoon at work and then encountering Carter again on an evening when her emotions had been running high anyway. A good night’s sleep and everything would be back in perspective again. Anything else was just not an option.