Читать книгу The Valentine Child - JACQUELINE BAIRD, Jacqueline Baird - Страница 7

ZOË knocked on the heavy oak door, turned the handle, opened it and entered the study. Justin was sitting behind the huge mahogany desk in what used to be Uncle Bertie’s chair, his broad shoulders hunched, his head buried in a mass of papers.

He had removed his jacket and tie, and his white shirt was open at the neck, the sleeves rolled back to reveal sinewy forearms sprinkled with a downy covering of dark hair. He looked stern and somehow remote. She moved silently across the room but he sensed her presence, his proud head lifting.

‘Yes?’ he said distantly.

‘It’s eight—dinner is ready.’ She shook her head in disgust at his vacant look, her long blonde hair floating around her shoulders in a silvery cloud as she moved to his side and leant against his broad shoulder. Placing one slender arm around his other shoulder, she added, ‘You work far too hard, Justin, and it has got to stop.’ She pressed a swift kiss on the top of his head. ‘Come and eat.’

‘I have to work hard if I expect to keep my beautiful wife in the manner to which she is accustomed,’ he retorted, his sensuous mouth curving in a brief smile, and, getting to his feet, he spanned her tiny waist with his strong hands and swung her high in the air, as one would a child. ‘And that’s my mission in life.’

She grinned down into his handsome face, thrilled by the compliment. ‘Not any more, you don’t, if what Judge Master said about my trust fund is correct,’ she teased.

Justin looked up at her, all trace of amusement deserting his hard features, and abruptly he lowered her to the ground. ‘Yes, of course. Apparently I’ve married a woman of means,’ he drawled, stepping back and rolling down the sleeves of his shirt. ‘The tax man will certainly see it that way,’ he added with dry sarcasm, hooking his jacket with one hand as he headed for the door, and flinging over his shoulder, ‘Let’s eat.’

She stared at his retreating back for a moment, hurt by the obvious sarcasm in his tone. Was it possible that Justin was disappointed not to have received more in the will? No, he couldn’t be. He was a comfortably wealthy man in his own right.

Later, sitting opposite each other across the small table in the breakfast-room, sharing a simple, almost silent evening meal of beef goulash and rice followed by icecream, the thought haunted her, and by the time they were sipping their coffee she could contain herself no longer.

‘Justin, are you upset by the will?’ She had to ask. Absolute honesty was essential to a good marriage—or so all the books said—and she wanted their marriage to be perfect.

His black head lifted, his eyes capturing hers across the table. ‘No, certainly not. But why do you ask?’ he demanded, the hard tone of his voice jarring on her sensitive nerves.

‘Earlier, in the study, you didn’t seem too amused when…’

His mouth compressed. ‘Today is hardly a day for amusement; we have just buried your uncle,’ he prompted, in a voice he usually used to destroy some unsuspecting witness.

‘Please, Justin, you don’t have to remind me. I just thought…Well, maybe you felt left out.’ How could she tell him of the conversation she had overheard? Her own doubts…?

‘No, I assure you,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘as far as the will is concerned, it was exactly as it should be. Bertie was my guide and mentor all through my career and before, and I am greatly honoured that he left me his law books.’

Zoë believed him; she knew his sentiment was genuine and she wanted to say so, but, as often happened though she was reluctant to admit it, her brilliantly clever husband left her tongue-tied. She only had to look into his deep brown eyes, or note the curve of his mouth as he spoke, and his effect on her was immediate. After two months of marriage her pulse still raced at the sight of him. Tonight a lock of black hair had fallen over his broad brow and unconsciously she reached across the table and brushed it back with her fingers.

Justin caught her hand in his and pressed a quick kiss to her palm, his glance flashing knowingly to her face. ‘You’ve had a long, hard day, Zoë. Leave the worrying to me and go to bed, hmm? I’ll join you later.’ He squeezed her hand before letting it go to resume drinking his coffee.

But the mention of bed reminded her of another problem she had. The house! Because of Uncle Bertie’s ill health when they had married there had been no honeymoon; Justin had simply moved in with them, here at Black Gables.

It was a massive old house, totally impractical and virtually impossible to heat. It contained fifteen bedrooms and several reception-rooms, plus a ballroom and a dozen attic rooms. In the extensive grounds were two cottages and a range of outbuildings, some with commercial use but long since left derelict.

Her uncle had insisted on having the master suite decorated for them, but unfortunately for Zoë it was built on the old-fashioned lines of two bedrooms joined by a dressing-room and bathroom. She would have much preferred to share a bed with her husband. Instead, she found that after making love Justin invariably went back to his own room…

‘About the house, Justin,’ she burst out. ‘Judge Master suggested we sell it and I’m inclined to agree.’

She was a thoroughly modern girl, having spent the first fourteen years of her life living at home in California and boarding-school in Maine. She had once before broached the subject of separate rooms to Justin, but he had fobbed her off with, ‘Best to leave things as they are. There’s no point in upsetting Bertie,’ and, as a new bride and still in some awe around her dynamic husband, she had let it go. But now…

‘I mean the separa—’

‘It’s your house—you can do what you like with it, but I had thought you felt something for the old place. Obviously I was wrong.’ He rose from the table, threw down his napkin, and turned to leave.

‘I simply meant it’s far too big for us, and you have to travel to London every day.’ She jumped up, hurrying after him. She did love Black Gables but she loved her husband more, and she could not bear him to be angry with her.

“Zoë.’ He spun round, his hands falling on her shoulders, gripping them tightly. ‘Shut up and go to bed; now is not the time to discuss these things. Neither of us is thinking straight.’ He looked down into her flushed, puzzled face and sighed, his gaze moving from her sapphire eyes to the long, soft fall of her silver-blonde hair, and finally settling on her wide, soft mouth.

‘Are we having our first fight?’ She tried to joke, but could not hide the tremor in her voice. The events of the day were finally getting to her, and her self-control was perilously close to breaking.

‘No, no, of course not, little one,’ he hastened to reassure her. ‘I’m a bit tense, that’s all. It’s been a sad and difficult few weeks for both of us.’ He lowered his head.

She trembled at the first brush of his lips and all rational thought deserted her, and when Justin carefully turned her around and pointed at the stairs she meekly walked up them.

Slipping out of her clothes, she walked into the dressing-room, and, replacing the black wool dress in the wardrobe continued to their shared bathroom, where she placed her undies in the wash-basket.

She pulled on a shower-cap and stepped into the double shower stall. Turning on the water and adjusting it to a pleasant temperature, she tilted back her head and closed her eyes, welcoming the soothing spray. It had been a long, sorrow-filled day and she was tense and tired. Justin was right as usual. Picking up the soap, she lazily lathered the fragrant cream into her naked body.

Her hands stilled on her small, firm breasts. How much nicer it would be if they were Justin’s hands. The sensual thought brought a brief smile to her small face. Justin sharing the shower—dream on! She smiled wryly.

Justin was a magnificent lover, as she had discovered on Valentine’s night, but she had also discovered in the weeks before her wedding that he possessed a monumental self-control, refusing to make love to her again until they were married, however much she had tried to tempt him.

Then, on her wedding night, he had, with skill and patience and a sensitivity she could only marvel at, turned her into a molten mass of pure sensation, leading her to an ecstatic explosion of the senses and emotions that she had never imagined in her wildest fantasies. Plus, he had repeated the miracle almost every night since.

But he was conservative with a small C. They only ever made love at night—in bed! The shower was certainly not Justin’s scene.

A frown marring her smooth brow, Zoë stepped out of the shower and wrapped a large, fluffy towel around her slender form. Why, tonight, did the thought of Justin’s restraint worry her? It never had before. Surely she wasn’t letting the bitchy Sara Blacket’s comments get to her? Justin loved her; he had said so, hadn’t he?

Much later she lay naked in her bed, trying to keep her eyes open, waiting for him. It had crossed her mind to go to his bed, but, as a relative novice at lovemaking, she somehow found the thought of taking the initiative with her formidable husband oddly intimidating.

Her eyes flew open as she heard Justin entering his room, then the sound of running water in the bathroom. She pulled herself up the bed, tucking the sheet around under her arms, and switched on the bedside light. She waited until the noise from the bathroom stopped, then called his name. She needed him tonight, even if only to hold her and reassure her that she was not alone. He was all the family she had left; he was her world…

‘What is it, Zoë?’ Justin demanded, walking into the room, a small towel riding low on his hips his only covering. ‘I thought you’d be asleep by now.’ He crossed to the bed, to look soberly down at her small frame outlined beneath the covers then up to the pure, pale oval of her lovely face.

Her heart turned over in her breast at the sight of him. His night-black hair, damp from the shower, was swept severely back from his broad forehead, throwing his rugged features into prominent relief. His deep brown eyes, the cast of his high cheekbones and his slightly olive-tinged complexion revealed his father’s Spanish ancestry, though he never spoke much about his family. She knew his parents were dead, and he had a stepsister who was living with some tribe of Indians in the rainforest on a four-year anthropology study.

‘I was waiting for you,’ she told him softly, stretching out a slender hand to touch his forearm, her sapphire eyes roaming over him in undisguised want.

His wide shoulders gleamed like gold satin; a thick mat of hair covered his broad chest, and arrowed down in a fine line past his navel to disappear beneath the towel. His long, muscular legs were planted slightly apart, a lighter dusting of hair shading them darker.

‘I thought you were never coming,’ she murmured, trailing her hand from his arm to thread her fingers through his curling chest hair.

Justin caught her wrist and, easing her hand back behind her head, lowered his big body down beside her and bent his dark head towards hers. ‘Oh, I think I will, and very quickly, my darling girl,’ he drawled with mocking amusement, but his eyes flashed for an instant with what, to Zoë, looked suspiciously like anger just before his lips brushed over hers in a kiss as light as thistledown.

‘I should go to my own bed and let you rest.’ He whispered the words against her mouth.

‘No. Please, Justin. Don’t leave me alone tonight. I need you.’

‘Do you? I wonder if you know what it means to actually need someone. You’re so hopelessly young,’ he said enigmatically, standing and slipping the damp towel from his hips. She was in no doubt that he would stayhe could not hide his state of arousal from her and did not try to as, with a deft flick of his wrist, he flung the covers back, revealing her naked form to his glittering eyes.

‘You were waiting for me,’ he husked, his heated gaze sweeping over her from where her long hair trailed across the pillow, lingering on her softly parted lips, then again on the pale, round orbs of her perfect breasts, then moving down to the tiny waist and softly flaring hips, and the soft blonde curls at the juncture of her thighs. ‘God, but you’re beautiful, Zoë. Perfection in miniature,’ he growled.

She could feel her whole body blush but she didn’t care; he was her husband. ‘Not so much of the miniature,’ she teased, and stretched out her arms to him in a female gesture as old as time.

He gave her one long look, his face wearing an oddly restrained expression in the shadowy light. Then he dropped to his knees by the side of the bed.

‘Justin?’ she queried tentatively. Then his hand circled her ankle and his black head bent and his lips brushed a trail of kisses from her ankle to her knee, then her thigh.

She trembled with exquisite emotion as his other hand stroked slowly up over her flat stomach and higher, to close over one firm breast. He rolled the aching tip between his long fingers with delicate eroticism, and she moaned her delight. She felt like some Eastern slave girl, spread on the bed for her master’s delectation, but surprisingly she didn’t care…

But soon the hedonistic pleasure was not enough. She wanted to kiss him, touch him, rouse him to the same all-consuming need that engulfed her.

She stretched her hand to his shoulder, her slender fingers clawing his hard flesh. ‘Please, Justin.’

But Justin knew exactly what he was doing to her, the burning fire he was igniting in her body, and refused to be rushed. With hands and mouth he kissed and caressed while withholding from her the ability to reciprocate, until she was whimpering, crying out her need…

Then and only then did he rise and, nudging her legs further apart, eased his length between them. As he supported his weight on his elbows either side of her head, his mouth sought hers again. The kiss was a passionate statement, his tongue moving in her mouth, echoing his masculine possession…

Her eyes flew open and she saw his rugged face, the skin flushed and taut across his cheekbones, his lips curled back in a feral grimace as he fought to stay in control. Then he moved deeper and deeper inside her, harder, faster, and her eyes closed again as every part of her clenched around him then exploded in a surging tide of shattering pleasure. She felt his great frame shudder and the fierce, pulsing heat of him filled her as he found his own release.

For a long time the only sound in the room was their erratic, rasping breath; neither was capable of speech, until eventually Justin rolled on to his back and curved an arm around her shoulders, tucking her into his side.

‘Justin, my love.’ She sighed, turning her head to press a soft kiss to his sweat-dampened chest.

‘Enough, Zoë. Lie still,’ he ordered raggedly.

They were the first words he had spoken in ages, she realised, but, lying satiated beside him, she didn’t mind. She loved her silent lover…Anyway, she made enough noise for both of them, she thought, slightly shocked at how Justin always managed to get her to beg for his possession. But then why shouldn’t he? He was an experienced, sophisticated lover, and he was only making sure that she was satisfied, she rationalised contentedly. But her contentment plunged five minutes later…

‘I’ll leave you to sleep now, darling,’ Justin murmured. Removing his arm from her shoulder, he swung his feet to the floor.

‘Stay,’ she drawled huskily.

But Justin stood up. Unselfconscious in his nudity, he turned to look down at where she lay in the rumpled bed. She gazed languidly up at him; her blue eyes, slumberous and dark with loving, met his. Then, as she watched, she saw his iron self-control reassert itself. His heavy lids dropped over his half-closed eyes as he moved slightly, avoiding her gaze.

‘Much as I’d like to, it isn’t sensible; I have to be up at six in the morning to be in London for eight. I would only disturb you, Zoë, and you need your rest.’ He was talking to somewhere over her left shoulder—as usual! The thought was frightening…

Zoë sat up in bed and reached out a detaining hand, placing it on his naked thigh. ‘I could come to London with you.’ His hand lifted hers from his thigh and she had the oddest notion that he resented her touch. ‘We

could move to your apartment n-now—’ she swallowed

the lump that formed in her throat “—now Uncle Bertie’s gone.’

Suddenly it seemed imperative to her that they discuss the future, and she didn’t know why. ‘We can put this house on the market—it’s far too big; it’s an anachronism in this day and age. Never mind one child—we would need a dozen even to begin to fill it—’

‘So that’s what this is all about?’ Justin cut in. “I thought we agreed—no babies for a year or two. You would not be trying to blackmail me into changing my mind by threatening to sell the house?’ he demanded hardly. ‘Because, if so, you can forget it.’

‘No, no, nothing like that,’ she quickly denied. But as she searched his face he looked so cool and remote that once more Sara Blacket’s words echoed in her brain, filling her with a dawning fear that she did not want to recognise. Instead she continued, ‘I simply thought that the house could be a conference centre or a nursing home—something like that. It is very expensive to keep up; Judge Master said so himself.’ She knew she was babbling but she wanted to keep Justin with her.

He leant forward, brought her small hand to his lips and brushed her knuckles with a kiss. ‘You’re probably right and if you want to sell it I’ll arrange it, but it’s not something one can do in five minutes.’ And, pressing another kiss on the back of her hand, he added, ‘And let me worry about the expense, little one. You try and get some sleep.’

She should have been reassured, but somehow she wasn’t. Maybe it was the way he avoided her eyes, or perhaps the way he allowed her hand to fall from his, but she had the strangest notion that he was simply pacifying her as he would a troublesome child.

‘I will if you stay with me,’ she said slowly. She was testing him, and hated herself for it, but the events of the day had severely dented her confidence in her husband’s love and she needed some sign from him, freely given, to allay her doubts and fears.

‘I need my sleep even if you don’t. I’m a lot older than you, remember.’

‘Please, Justin, I need you tonight, simply to hold me. What with the funeral…’ She didn’t want to plead, but somehow it had become essential to her peace of mind and her trust in him that just this once he stayed all night. To her relief and delight he agreed.

‘Let me dispose of the protection.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll be back in a second.’

And he was. Zoë yawned widely and snuggled into the hard warmth of her cautious husband’s arms. ‘You’re not old,’ she whispered, a smile twitching her swollen lips. It was ridiculous—a more virile, powerful man than her husband would be hard to find, and yet somehow the fact that he should worry about his age made him seem touchingly vulnerable. It never bothered her.

Justin, true to his word, had the house valued by a prestigious estate agent with a view to selling the place. But to Zoë’s amazement Justin informed her, before they actually put it on the market, that she was to have her twenty-first birthday party at Black Gables. It was all arranged; the guests had already been invited.

Apparently Justin had done it at Bertie’s request. It had been his last wish that the party go ahead whether he was there to see it or not. Zoë was not absolutely convinced that it was the right thing to do only three weeks after her uncle’s death, but, as usual, she gave in to her dynamic husband’s wishes.

The next few weeks she passed in a kind of limbo, torn between grief for her uncle and her inability to get really close to her husband.

Justin was very busy as the new head of chambers, and she saw less and less of him. She tried to tell herself it was natural—he had more work to get through. But sometimes in the evening, after yet another solitary dinner, a devilish, tiny voice from the deeper reaches of her mind would rise up to taunt her with the thought that he had married her to please Bertie and get the firm. He had the firm and Bertie was no longer around to see if he neglected his wife. She found it more and more difficult to dismiss her suspicions, however much she tried.

Justin was no help. He rarely talked about his work but he did inform her that he would be staying in town on Monday evenings. He had taken over the job of boxing coach with a group of young offenders at an East End boys’ club. Very laudable—and she believed him even as she missed him. But her inability to dismiss completely the conversation she had overheard on the day of her uncle’s funeral was a constant source of unease.

She was a practical girl—with egotistical film-star parents she had had to be from a very young age. She knew she was being silly, letting Sara Blacket’s catty remarks get to her. Justin loved her. They were married for heaven’s sake!

But, however much she tried to convince herself, the doubt lingered. It didn’t help that Justin seemed to spend longer and longer in London. He was working far too hard, but nothing she said could make him change.

She was smiling as ‘she spun the wheel of her Mini Metro and headed up the drive to come to a halt, with a screech of brakes, outside the front door of the house. She had spent the day in London, and had had the rare pleasure of lunching with her husband at an exclusive restaurant before raiding Harvey Nichols. The baglying on the passenger seat contained the most exotic gown she had ever owned.

She picked up the carrier-bag and chuckled as she dashed out of the car and into the house. She could not wait to see Justin’s face when he saw her new dress. She wouldn’t give a cent for his iron control tomorrow night—her birthday party. The gown was guaranteed to knock him dead. But why did she need to? The question hovered on the fringes of her mind, undermining her confidence.

Not bad—not bad at all, she thought, posing naked in front of the mirrored wall of the bathroom, sucking in her stomach, her small breasts rising enticingly. Were they bigger than usual? she wondered idly. Probably Justin’s expert massage was to blame. She giggled and, with a happy smile illuminating her small face, spun round as the object of her thoughts strolled in.

‘I didn’t hear you,’ she said delightedly. She had not seen him since last night and her eyes drank in the sight of the large, splendid bulk of him, clad in a plain black towelling robe that stopped mid-thigh, the deep V of the front exposing his broad, hairy chest. Her heart jumped in her breast as, eyes shining, she walked towards him, ‘You must have got back when I was in the shower.’

‘Mmm,’ Justin grunted, his gaze sweeping slowly over her silver-blonde hair, the perfect oval face, the finely arched brows, the huge, thick-lashed eyes, the small, straight nose and the wide full-lipped, rosy mouth, curved in a warm smile of welcome. His gaze lingered on the lips, then moved almost as if against his will down to the high, full breasts, the tiny waist and flat stomach, the softly flaring hips, his eyes darkening to black in the process.

Zoë, seeing his reaction and thrilled by it, moved closer and slipped a hand under the lapel of his robe. ‘Thank you for the card and the roses. I love them,’ she husked, thinking of the magnificent bouquet of red roses that had been delivered to the house earlier.

‘My pleasure, birthday girl’ he drawled none too steadily.

She felt him tense as her fingernail scraped supposedly accidentally over a small, pebble-like male nipple. Perhaps she had been wrong about Justin; perhaps her fantasy of them in the shower was not so unlikely, she thought, excitement sizzling in her veins.

‘Shall I help you to shower?’ she asked throatily, glancing up at his tough face through the thick veil of her lashes in what she hoped was a seductive fashion.

His eyes flashed gold lightning as his arm swept around her waist and hauled her into his hard body, while his other hand caught her wandering one beneath his robe. ‘You little devil,’ he rasped, before covering her mouth with his own in a long, hard kiss.

When he finally released her she was dazed and breathless and aching. ‘Justin…’ She sighed his name. But, to her chagrin, he spun her round, patted her naked bottom, and almost pushed her out of the door.

‘Tempting though the offer is, it’s late. The guests will be arriving any minute. Get dressed and allow me to do the same.’

‘Spoilsport,’ she shouted back cheekily, regaining her equilibrium and shooting him a flirtatious glance over her shoulder.

Justin tossed back his black head and laughed out loud. ‘Hold the thought till later, darling, when I have time to do it justice, hmm?’

His parting words filled her with confidence as she stood in front of the cheval-glass, turning this way and that, a complacent grin lighting her face. So much for a Dresden doll, she thought triumphantly. Tonight no one would be in any doubt she was all woman.

The black dress was like nothing she had ever owned before—a sophisticated designer original with tiny, narrow straps supporting the pure silk bodice. She wore no bra because the back was non-existent except for a very broad, sequin-encrusted belt in gold, which nipped her tiny waist and pushed her firm breasts higher— almost empire-style—revealing the curve of the milky white orbs and a tantalising shadowy cleavage.

The skirt was straight to her ankles and figure-hugging, with a teasing fish tail at the back. Matching four-inchheel satin sandals on her feet gave her an illusion of height, as did the heavy sweep of her blonde hair piled up on the top of her head in a chignon, a few strands of hair pulled free to curl enticingly around her face and the back of her neck.

She did not need foundation, simply a good moisturiser and the lightest trace of blusher to add colour to her fine pale skin. She had paid more attention to her eyes, and, with the careful use of a coloured eyeshadow and the addition of a brownish-black mascara to her long lashes, she knew she had never looked better.

‘My God! What on earth are you wearing?’

Justin’s horrified cry broke into her reverie. She turned slowly around and spread her arms wide. ‘Don’t you like it?’ she asked as she pirouetted again, then stopped in front of him, grinning wickedly up into his stunned face.

He looked magnificent in a black dinner-suit, white silk shirt and black bow-tie—all elegant, sophisticated male—and for once Zoë thought she matched him. But, if the look in his dark eyes was anything to go by, maybe she was wrong. She saw the muscle in his strong throat move as he swallowed hard. ‘Justin?’ she queried.

‘Like it…? It’s indecent. You will give every man in the place a heart attack—me included.’ His dark gaze lingered on her shadowy cleavage. ‘Why not wear the romantic thing you wore on Valentine night?’ he suggested hoarsely.

‘Don’t be so staid,’ she teased, adding, ‘In any case, it’s too late to change now.’ She slipped her arm through his. ‘Let’s go down; we can’t keep our guests waiting.’

‘Wait.’ He closed his large hand over hers and turned her towards him. ‘I have something for you.’ His eyes dipped to her breast and then returned to her face. One dark brow arched sardonically. ‘Though I didn’t have a neckline like that in mind when I bought it,’ he said drily, slipping his free hand into his jacket pocket and withdrawing a long jewel case. He held it out to her.

She opened the box and gasped. ‘It’s unbelievable,’ she cried, her eyes dazzled by the blaze from a magnificent diamond choker set with sapphires falling like tear-drops all around—a perfect match for her engagement ring.

‘Happy birthday, Zoë.’

She looked up into her husband’s dark, serious eyes, her own filling with moisture. How could she have ever doubted that he loved her? she thought wryly.

‘I love it, Justin, as I love you. You darling man.’ And, reaching up, she kissed the highest point she could reach—his chin. He pulled back almost as though he was embarrassed by her show of emotion. ‘ Please put it on for me,’ she said in a voice that was not quite steady as she lifted the necklace from its bed of velvet and held it out to him.

He took it, his smouldering gaze intent upon her small face, then, moving behind her, fastened the necklace around her slender neck. Turning her back to face him, he said with arrogant certainty, ‘I knew they would match your eyes.’

She put a hand to her throat. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, her heart bursting with love.

“There is more,’ he said softly, a tender grin quirking the corners of his sensuous mouth as he delved once more into his jacket pocket and withdrew a smaller case. ‘From Bertie.’

She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. ‘How?’ she whispered, taking the proffered box.

‘He sent for the jeweller two months ago and chose it himself. I promised I would give it to you at the appropriate time.’

She opened the box and lifted out a delicate gold watch of startling beauty. The time markings on the face were etched in diamonds and the surround was encrusted in diamonds and sapphires. ‘I wish he could have been here,’ she whispered, fastening the watch around her slender wrist and raising tear-drenched eyes to her husband.

‘He is in spirit, love.’ Justin pulled her into his arms and gave her a quick hug. ‘Dry your eyes and let’s go.’

Ten minutes later Zoë, once again in control of her emotions, followed her husband into the formal drawingroom. ‘I feel guilty allowing you to arrange all this for me—the party, the caterers.’ She glanced at the watch on her wrist; any moment now the guests would be arriving. ‘The guests.’ And she stopped, her mouth falling open. She had forgotten to tell Justin…

‘Justin, I—er—I hope you don’t mind but—’ She

glanced at him leaning negligently against the French marble fireplace, the epitome of the sophisticated male animal, and hesitated.

‘But what?’ He arched one dark brow enquiringly.

‘You know when I worked at Magnum Advertising? Well, I have kept in touch with some of the staff—an

occasional lunch in town—and—’ she took a deep

breath ‘—a few of them are hiring a minibus and coming to the party,’ she finished in a rush.

‘Why not? Your uncle insisted on inviting everyone from the doorman at chambers to the Lord Chief Justice—a few more won’t matter.’ In two lithe strides he was beside her. ‘Stop worrying. It is your partyenjoy it.’

She took a deep breath to steady her fluttering nerves. ‘I’ll try.’

‘But for God’s sake don’t breathe like that in that apology for a gown!’ he exclaimed irritably, and would have said more, if the thunderous expression on his dark face was anything to go by. But at that moment the doorbell chimed…