Читать книгу Marriage On Command - Lindsay Armstrong, Lindsay Armstrong - Страница 6

DAMIEN MOORE looked at his watch, then glanced around the colourful pavement café impatiently. He had another appointment at two o’clock, now only fifty minutes away, and Lee Westwood was late.

He reached for the menu. She might eat like a rabbit but he didn’t, and he had no intention of bolting down his lunch. So he signalled the waitress and ordered a steak for himself, a Caesar salad for his guest, and a pot of coffee.

‘She’ll be here shortly, I assume,’ he told the waitress, ‘and she always orders rabbit food so I can’t go wrong with a salad.’ He smiled at the girl but felt his teeth set on edge at being on the receiving end of a coy, simpering smile in return. Which prompted the thought that Lee Westwood might be highly exasperating at times, but at least she never simpered over him or batted her eyelashes at him.

Then he saw her approaching from way down the block. Her long auburn hair was flying, and so was the green scarf she had round her neck, as she loped along the pavement with her trademark stride in a pair of short leather boots worn with faded jeans, a large cyclamen T-shirt and a bulging string bag hanging from her shoulder.

Sartorially a disaster, Damien Moore mused, as so often—although he supposed he should count himself fortunate she wasn’t wearing the black crocheted hat she often favoured, crammed onto her head.

OK, it was a pavement café, he told himself, but it was an extremely chic one, with its striped awnings and potted trees—which she would have known. And so was the clientele chic. Most of the women here looked as if they’d stepped straight out of Vogue. But when had that worried this girl, he thought amusedly, who could turn herself into the height of glamour on a whim? And, more to the point, what was it she possessed that still made her turn heads as she got closer?

Wonderful hair? Yes, he conceded. Long-lashed sparkling green eyes? Definitely a plus. Otherwise? That hint of freckles? He thought he knew enough about women to know they’d rather not be freckled—so a minus on the part of the beholden as well as the beholder, although he himself didn’t mind Lee’s freckles for some strange reason. A thin figure? Another minus, surely? Mind you, very long shapely legs…

But it wasn’t any of the above plusses or minuses, he decided in the last moments before she arrived at the table. It was her sheer vitality and the aura that she didn’t give a damn about what anyone thought of her. It was, after all, that force within her that had persuaded him to take on her legal battles when he’d known—and told her—she was barking up the wrong tree, and when he’d strenuously doubted that she could afford his fees.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said breathlessly as she looped the string bag over the back of the chair and plonked down onto it. ‘The traffic was unbelievable!’

‘Has it never occurred to you, Lee, that a bit of forward planning might relieve you of the tiresome business of having to apologise for being late?’

‘Oh, dear!’ She looped her hair behind her ears and glinted a laughing look at him out of those green eyes. At the same time she took in his severely tailored navy suit, pale blue shirt and discreet tie. ‘Have I seriously offended you?’

He shrugged. ‘Being late can make things difficult for other people. For instance, I now have only forty-five minutes to brief you.’

She gestured. ‘That’s only fifteen minutes less than you would have had if I’d been on time, not exactly an eon. I’m sure you can pack a powerful lot of briefing into three quarters of an hour, Damien, although I can’t imagine what you need to brief me about anyway—oh!’ She looked up as a huge Caesar salad was placed in front of her. ‘You ordered for me!’

Damien studied the steak he was presented with, observed from the pink juices running from it that it was rare, as he’d requested, and picked up his knife and fork. ‘If you’d been on time you could have ordered for yourself. Isn’t that the kind of meal you generally go for?’

‘Well, yes,’ Lee conceded, but not in a conciliated manner. ‘I would have asked for a much smaller one than this, though. I would have requested no anchovies, which I hate, and—’

‘Don’t eat the anchovies and leave half of it,’ he recommended dryly.

‘You don’t understand,’ she murmured, favouring him with irony in her eyes. ‘The sheer size of a meal, however delicious, can be off-putting and take away your appetite.’

He swore. ‘It’s only a salad, for crying out loud! I’m not trying to force feed you a gargantuan serving of…of roast beef and baked potatoes. It wouldn’t hurt you to eat a bit more either.’

‘Is that designed to make me feel uncomfortable about my figure? If so, may I enquire what it has to do with my lawyer?’ She looked at him haughtily.

Damien Moore breathed deeply—and counted to ten for good measure. Neither of these devices helped, however. For a twenty-four-year-old girl she often packed quite a punch, and was capable of needling him with the best. ‘Nothing on earth,’ he said coolly—and pointedly.

Lee grimaced. ‘Then perhaps you’d like to tell me why you’re in such a bad mood? Incidentally, I didn’t just drive across town for lunch. I came up the Pacific Highway, which is undergoing considerable roadworks, hence the build-up of traffic and the delays.’

Something even more irritated flickered in his dark eyes, but almost immediately gave way to a form of self-directed irony. He eased his shoulders and said ruefully, ‘Sorry. How’s it going “down on the farm”?’

Lee’s eyes lit up. That little phrase ‘down on the farm’ encapsulated the miracle that Cyril Delaney’s will had brought to her life. For the most bizarre reason he had left a property—Plover Park, its twenty-five acres and registered wholesale nursery—to her and Damien jointly, on the condition that they didn’t attempt to dispose of it within twelve months. At one stroke it had not only brought her life’s dream within her grasp but also, because of the income the nursery generated, it had solved her grandparents’ immediate cash-flow problems.

The other part of the miracle was that Plover Park was ten minutes’ drive from her grandparents’ home—it was in the area where Lee had grown up and gone to university. It had been like going home for her. And her still active grandfather was more than happy to work the nursery with her.

‘It’s…fantastic,’ she said glowingly. ‘Sometimes I have to pinch myself! We’re almost into full production now.’

He looked impressed.

‘So what did you want to see me about so urgently?’ Lee asked blithely as she inspected her salad and removed the anchovies.

Damien paused and wondered if there was any kind way of breaking the news to this glowing girl. ‘There’s been a complication,’ he said slowly, and decided it was best to get it over fast. ‘The will is to be contested.’

Lee gasped and paled. ‘You’re joking!’

He shook his head.

‘On what…on what grounds?’

‘On the grounds that we may have exerted undue pressure on Cyril to force him to make the bequest.’

‘But we didn’t! We had no idea it was going to happen,’ she protested.

‘You know that and I know that, Lee. Unfortunately Cyril is no longer with us to corroborate it.’

‘And you…you set aside an hour of your precious time to break this news to me!’ Lee stammered.

He shrugged. ‘I’m extremely busy at the moment. And so, you gave me to understand, are you.’

‘But this is terrible! It could be catastrophic!’

‘It could indeed,’ he agreed. ‘For you.’

Lee stared at the Caesar salad she now definitely didn’t want and swallowed. ‘So what’s your considered opinion? As a lawyer? Have they got a leg to stand on?’

Damien ate in silence for a while, then pushed his empty plate away and reached for the coffee pot. ‘In general terms you’re allowed to make bequests in your will as you see fit, provided your legal heirs are taken care of. One of Cyril’s legal heirs,’ he said significantly, ‘has decided that he wasn’t sufficiently taken care of and that Plover Park is rightly his.’

‘Which one?’

‘His brother. One of his contentions is that Plover Park belongs in the Delaney family. It was originally owned by their grandfather and has been in the family all that time. Whereas the only use we have for it is to sell it when the twelve months are up and divide the profits.’

‘He…well, he’s right—hard though that’s going to be,’ Lee said unguardedly, ‘but how can he be so sure?’

Damien studied her searchingly for a long moment. ‘Cyril wrote a letter that is on public record explaining this unusual bequest.’

‘Try bizarre,’ Lee suggested. ‘But, whatever, I was completely stunned.’

‘It was the last thing I expected. Nor did either of us, I would imagine—’ he looked at her sardonically ‘—anticipate the explanation he left in the letter: that he had formed the opinion we were well suited and his dearest wish was that owning this property jointly would encourage us to marry and enjoy the benefits of Plover Park together.’

‘You’re not wrong,’ Lee agreed in a heartfelt way. ‘I nearly fell off my chair all over again. But—’

‘Because we have given no indication that we intend to enjoy Plover park together, Lee,’ Damien interrupted deliberately, ‘Cyril’s brother contends that we misled an old man who was virtually on his deathbed into leaving the property outside the family—do you understand?’

Lee blinked several times, then with a heartfelt sigh poured herself a cup of coffee. ‘I had the feeling this was just too good to be true. That must be why I feel like pinching myself so often.’

‘You perceive yourself to be morally wrong in the way you’ve interpreted Cyril’s bequest?’ he enquired with a lift of an eyebrow.

‘I…’ She paused. ‘I will never know why he made the bequest in the first place, for one thing.’

‘You got to him in the end, Lee. He obviously admired you.’ A humorous glint lit his dark eyes. ‘Despite the number of times you camped out on his doorstep waving placards impeaching his integrity.’

‘If that’s so,’ she retorted, ‘why didn’t he bequeath Plover Park directly to me? Why did he have to involve you?’

Damien shrugged. ‘He was dying, he was a bachelor—perhaps he regretted not having children like us to leave his wealth to. Who knows what his thoughts were in those last days? Or…’ He paused and gazed at Lee narrowly. ‘He genuinely did believe you and I were made for each other and we simply required a shove in the right direction.’

‘How could he have formed that opinion?’ she asked, looking baffled. ‘There was nothing remotely lover-like between us.’

Damien put his head on one side and his lips twitched. ‘How right you are. I spent most of my time trying to shut you up.’

Lee bit her lip. ‘I thought—well, you know what I thought, and how much I love my grandparents.’

Something softened in Damien Moore’s eyes for a moment but he said nothing.

‘How do you feel about it all now, Damien?’ she asked at length.

He took his time, then shrugged. ‘The same as you. A sense of mystification. But we both felt that Cyril left something unsaid that day, didn’t we?’

Lee’s mind flew back as she sipped her coffee, and she nodded.

‘Well,’ he went on, ‘Cyril Delaney had quite an impressive record, not only as a property developer but also as a philanthropist. It’s become my considered opinion that he saw the bequest as a means of solving your grandparents’ plight as well as making sure I was on hand to steer you through the pitfalls of it all.’

Lee’s eyes widened. ‘He did say…look after her…didn’t he?’

‘He did,’ Damien agreed—rather dryly, Lee thought. ‘Unfortunately that is only a theory, and not something I could prove in a court of law.’

‘So…’ Lee’s hands trembled around her coffee cup and those marvellously expressive green eyes were bleak and sad. ‘So it was all too good to be true.’

He watched her for a long, intent moment as she blinked urgently to hold back the tears. ‘Not necessarily,’ he said at last. ‘There is one sure way to hold on to Plover Park.’

‘What’s that?’ she asked without much hope.

‘We could get married.’

I’ve died and gone to heaven. Her lips parted incredulously as the thought shot across Lee’s mind. Then sanity prevailed. ‘Not a real marriage, I take it?’

‘Would you like it to be?’

She licked her lips, her eyes huge and stunned. ‘We…we barely know each other,’ she stammered. ‘Uh…there’s no way you’d even suggest this if it weren’t for the circumstances, I’m sure! I think you must have been joking,’ she added, with a mixture of dignity and a tinge of annoyance. ‘Not in very good taste, if you don’t mind me saying so, Mr Moore.’

He looked amused. ‘You haven’t answered the question.’

Lee opened her mouth, closed it, then said, ‘Definitely not, thank you all the same.’

‘In that case, would a marriage of convenience be out of the question?’

She eyed him cautiously.

‘Your convenience,’ he added pointedly.

Lee swallowed some coffee and looked nervous. ‘It could only be supremely inconvenient for you, though,’ she suggested.

He shrugged. ‘If we both know where we stand, I don’t see that it should. In fact, in one aspect it could be quite convenient for me at the moment.’

‘What aspect is that?’ she asked, feeling a lot like Alice when she had just fallen down the rabbit hole.

‘It would suit me to move into Plover Park for a time.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m due for a break, but I also have plans to open a branch office in Byron Bay. I could combine the two and—’ he smiled faintly ‘—keep an eye on my half of the deal at the same time.’

This time Lee knocked over her coffee cup, although fortunately it was empty. Byron Bay was half an hour’s drive from Plover Park.

‘For the almost ten months left until we’re allowed to dispose of Plover Park?’ she asked weakly.

He righted her cup and poured her some more coffee. ‘No, for as long as it takes. Long enough to quash any doubts that we are at least giving Cyril’s dreams for us a go,’ he said with a touch of irony.

‘I…I don’t know what to say.’

‘Then let me point out the alternative, Lee. Legal battles which I would not be able to conduct myself since I would be subject to litigation as well as you. Even if we won—and there’s a grey area here that could be open to interpretation—it would be a long, uncomfortable road.’

This silenced Lee effectively and she tried to sort it all out in her mind. Then she frowned mightily and spoke—unwisely, as it happened. ‘This all seems to dovetail together so well I’m…suspicious!’

Damien lay back in his chair and studied her comprehensively.

Lee fiddled with her scarf and contrived in every way known to her to project unconcern at the scrutiny she was being subjected to. But it was hard going. Because, more than any man she had ever met, Damien Moore was capable of injecting an element of speculation into the way he studied you as a woman, out of those fine dark eyes. Speculation as to what you’d be like in bed, to put it bluntly, she told herself. But it was a curiously disinterested speculation and she hated it!

However, she immediately reminded herself, as she sipped her coffee and tried to look soignée—in spirit if not in grooming—that sadly there was more to the reason she hated it than pure feminine outrage.

There was guilt, for example. Because almost from the moment she’d first met him a certain thought had crossed her mind from time to time—would this dark, clever man, with his wide shoulders, long, strong limbs, his good looks, be dynamite in bed or what?

Guilt also because she was never able to remain unmoved by that speculative study. Even if she managed to hide it, her pulses always started to hammer, mental images of the two of them together plagued her, and it required an almost superhuman effort not to look all hot and bothered.

Then there had been the stage when she’d been sure she’d fallen in love with him, only to have to disabuse herself of the theory—which she had, she assured herself!—because there had never been a glimmer of a similar emotion in him. Sure, he did occasionally look right through her clothes, but only in that speculative way. And how could you go on fancying yourself in love with a man who had proposed a purely platonic marriage?

She grimaced unwittingly. She might try to take a light approach in her thoughts, but underneath there was still a painful little scar to do with Damien Moore. True, the acquisition of Plover Park had helped to take her mind away from him…but now this!

‘Suspicious how?’ he asked at last.

She looked frustrated. ‘I…I don’t know. It’s just too neat and natty.’

‘I am only proposing that we share the same roof, not the same bed, if that’s your concern,’ he drawled.

She shot him a fiery glance and wondered what he’d do if he knew just why that offended her.

Then she flinched visibly as, almost as if he had read her thoughts, he added, ‘Well, not necessarily the same bed—unless you’d like to rethink that bit?’

‘No way, José!’ were the words that sprang to her lips.

He laughed softly, but said, ‘I do admire your pithy turn of phrase, Lee. You never leave anyone in doubt as to your emotions.’

She pinched her lips together, but inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

‘You are also…’ he paused, then shrugged ‘…very refreshing at times.’ His dark gaze drifted to the waitress who had simpered over him, and became tinged with irony.

She frowned faintly as she wondered what he was thinking, then shook her head. ‘Assuming I agree to this—but there’s a very good chance I won’t!—when would you want to move in?’

‘In about two weeks.’

‘So we’d have to…do it…before then.’

‘We would have to…“do it”…before then,’ he agreed. ‘It wouldn’t be akin to going to the electric chair, however.’

‘I didn’t say that.’ She gestured helplessly. ‘I just…I need a bit of time to think about it!’

‘Is there such a lot to think about, Lee?’ he asked impatiently. ‘Have I not represented your best interests up until now?’

She stared at him uncertainly, and it crossed her mind to wonder whether he had any idea what her view of her best interests was—not to allow herself to build up dangerous dreams around this man! How much harder would that be if she was married to him, even platonically?

‘I…’ She stopped.

He looked at his watch and swore beneath his breath—but not, as it turned out, on account of her. ‘I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m just so damn busy at the moment. I have to go—but do think about it, Lee.’

‘It’s not as if there isn’t enough room,’ she said, then looked shocked.

He grinned. ‘At Plover Park? True. But never let it be said I rushed you into anything.’ He stood up. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I really have to go. Why don’t you order something more to your taste? I’ll leave an imprint of my credit card with them. Please let me know your decision in due course,’ he added formally.

Lee stared up at him. ‘OK. Bye!’

He hesitated for a moment, then, ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, Lee Westwood. Goodbye.’ He turned away.

She watched his retreating back. It would be fair to say, she thought darkly, that he cut a swathe through the female population of the café—and the waitress he had eyed earlier tripped over her feet in her eagerness to be the one to deal with his bill.

It would also be fair to say he had it all: an aura of power and wealth, a hint of arrogance, a touch of damning uninterest in the ripples he was creating in many a womanly heart. But it was, curiously, no consolation, she brooded, to know that she was not alone in finding Damien Moore irresistible.

She reached for her coffee cup, then jumped as a voice beside her said, ‘Having lunch with him now and then is not going to do it, you know.’ And a man slid into the seat Damien had vacated.

‘Who on earth are you and what do you mean?’ she asked haughtily.

‘And good day to you too, Miss Westwood,’ he returned. ‘I happen to be Cyril Delaney’s brother—Cosmo.’

‘What?’ Lee’s eyes nearly popped out on stalks, then she realised there was a definite resemblance, although this man’s blue eyes were unpleasantly shifty and knowing. ‘You’re the one who’s contesting the will?’

‘The same,’ he agreed.

She gasped. ‘Are you having me followed? Is that why you’re here?’

‘Not at all,’ he denied. ‘This is pure coincidence. I recognised Damien Moore and put two and two together. I also thought it might be a timely opportunity to make it known to you that I intend to fight the bequest my brother was conned into making to you and Moore every inch of the way.’ He bared his teeth unpleasantly.

‘Conned! You’re out of your mind!’

‘Am I? He promised me Plover Park, so as I see it, between the two of you, you must have pitched him some kind of a con to get the place out of him. I certainly see no evidence that you two are the loving couple he hoped you would be!’

Lee stood up and said dramatically, ‘Do your best, Cosmo Delaney. Or should I say your worst?’ And she stalked away.

She was halfway to her car when she began to calm down and think more rationally. Then she fumbled for her mobile phone in her string bag and punched in the number of Moore & Moore. But it took a frustrating five minutes of dealing with receptionists and an over-zealous secretary before she got Damien.

He said coolly, ‘This had better be good, Lee.’

She made a frustrated sound in her throat. ‘It is! I need to talk to you!’

‘I can’t talk now, I’m in a conference. If it’s that urgent we’ll have to meet after work. Damn,’ he added immediately, ‘I’ve been invited to a party tonight, and I’m going to have to work late anyway, so—’

‘Excellent!’ Lee broke in. ‘I’ll come to the party with you—if you’re not taking someone else?’

There was dead silence down the line, then, ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said I’ll come with you if—are you taking someone else?’

‘No, but…’

‘Could this party stand an extra guest at short notice?’ she queried.

‘Uh…well it’s not a sit-down dinner, it’s an al fresco buffet with dancing, so—’

‘Even better!’ Lee pronounced. ‘Sounds like my kind of party. The only thing is I need somewhere to park myself in the meantime. Any chance of using your apartment?’

Another silence.

‘Damien?’

‘You want to get into my apartment?’

‘It beats pounding pavements all afternoon. Besides, I need somewhere to get into my party gear.’

‘I—’

‘Damien, if you don’t let me do this I’ll come and picket your office,’ she warned. ‘This is urgent.’

‘All right. I’ll phone the building manager and tell him to let you in. Uh—do you have party gear with you?’

She thought there was a certain amount of caution with which he asked this, and smiled to herself. ‘No. But I have a credit card—and I’ll endeavour not to embarrass you.’

The beautician in the department store beauty salon was talkative as she did Lee’s nails and gave her a mini-facial. She was also drop-dead gorgeous, with inch-long fake eyelashes and a streak of pink through her hair. She went by the name of Sally.

‘Got to be a guy involved?’ she hazarded. ‘Planning on doing a Cinderella?’

Lee grimaced mentally; she was unable to do so physically because of the mask on her face. ‘You could say so,’ she mumbled. ‘I know I look a bit strange to be in a beauty parlour.’

Sally shrugged. ‘I take it he’s quite some guy?’

‘Well, yes,’ Lee confessed. ‘He’s one of those dark, damn you kind of men. I mean, he’s all proper and correct most of the time, but you get the feeling that underneath he could be quite different.’

‘The kind to drive women wild?’ Sally suggested.

‘Exactly. I must be mad,’ Lee added.

‘No. I always say go for it. Give ’em a bit of their own medicine. You only live once, you’re only young once, and you sure have the hair and the eyes to do it.’

‘Thanks, but I thought there was more to it.’

Sally glanced down the length of Lee. ‘They say you can never be too rich or too thin.’

This time Lee had to laugh, and cracked the mask.

‘Never mind, it’s ready to come off. Have you got a dress in mind?’ Sally enquired.

‘That’s next on my agenda.’

‘Go for black, and go mini, so you can dazzle him with your legs—there’s a dress right here in this store that would be divine on you. I’m due for a break when I finish you—like me to show you it? I’d almost set my heart on it myself, but I can tell this is a worthy cause so I’ll pass.’

‘That’s—I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, but that’s very noble of you!’

‘Wait until you see yourself in it,’ Sally advised. ‘Might just change your mind about yourself. And it might just get him grovelling.’

An hour later, Lee emerged from a cubicle in the dress department of the store and examined herself in the mirror from all angles.

‘What did I tell you?’ Sally said, at the slightly stunned look in Lee’s eyes.

‘You don’t think it’s too—?’

‘No way! Go to it, honey! But I’d put your hair up.’

A couple of hours later she was being ushered into a luxury high-rise apartment at Kangaroo Point, with sweeping views of the Brisbane River and the city centre on the opposite bank.

She thanked the building manager, and as he left dropped several elegant shopping bags onto a claret-coloured settee.

She’d only been in his apartment once before, when he’d asked her to breakfast, but it was equally as impressive today. Acres of off-white carpet, lovely paintings and objets d’art, with touches of hyacinth-pink and blue to complement the claret in the soft furnishings. There was even a bowl of fresh creamy pink carnations on the coffee table.

She looked at her watch and discovered she still had a few hours to kill. Time enough to relax for a bit, so she wandered into the den, turned the television on and lay down on the broad leather couch to watch a movie. In fact, she fell asleep, and it was dark when she woke, although she still had over an hour to prepare herself for the party.

Then she realised her tummy was rumbling so she raided her lawyer’s kitchen, which proved to be a fairly barren experience, but she did find some cheese and crackers, an apple and some grapes. Damien obviously rarely ate at home, although she did notice several bottles of champagne in the fridge. Then she went to look for the spare bedroom. On the way to it she passed the main bedroom, and it crossed her mind to wonder whether her future husband-in-name-only entertained any lovers in it.

She hesitated at the doorway. Common sense told her that Damien would not live like a monk, and ethics persuaded her she should not snoop, so she bypassed the room resolutely. But that spark of curiosity remained.

The spare bedroom had its own en-suite bathroom, she discovered, and, paradoxically, it held all the answers her spark of curiosity cried out to know. Not only was there a full set of a famous brand of luxury cosmetics set out on the marble vanity stand, but there was a robe and matching nightgown hanging from a hook on the wall. A very sensuous robe and nightgown, at that, being fashioned of sheer coffee silk with fine ecru lace inserts.

She raised her eyebrows and tried to picture the girl who owned these telltale items. Tall, she found as she measured the robe against herself. Taller than her five feet four, and a glance at the size on the label told her that this girl was more generously curved, for it was a size larger than the size she took. So, tall and shapely, she decided. Dark or fair? She picked up the brush on the vanity and discovered a couple of long dark strands of hair in it. Definitely a brunette, then. She picked up a tube of lipstick, a deep berry-red, and found a bottle of nail polish that matched it.

OK, she got the picture, she mused. Tall, dark and dramatically attractive—that went without saying when you thought of Damien’s good looks. Not your shrinking violet kind of girl either. Possibly a career girl? Possibly another lawyer?

Then it occurred to her that there might be clothes in the closet owned by this girl—and indeed there were. Not many, but enough to confirm her impressions that this girl was striking and probably a professional career woman. For despite their lovely colours they were severely tailored and very formal.

She looked down at her jeans and boots with a grimace, but then remembered her shopping bags and ran through to the lounge to retrieve them.

The dress she’d bought was uncrushable, which was fortunate because she’d forgotten to hang it up. And as she carried it through to the spare bedroom, along with the shoes, make-up and underwear she’d purchased, she decided that in this dress there was no reason for her not to give any number of striking, professional women a run for their money—despite her chosen career being that of a landscape gardener.

She paused at the thought of her career and swallowed suddenly as Cosmo Delaney swam into her mind’s eye. The surprise acquisition of Plover Park had provided her with the means not only to help her grandparents but also to make the dream of a lifetime start to come true. She and her grandfather had not only been able to maintain the nursery so that a good income was coming in, but she’d also received two commissions to design gardens. She closed her eyes at the thought of losing it all, and reminded herself that was why she was here in Damien Moore’s apartment.

But that posed a question. Was she really prepared to marry Damien Moore to hang on to Cyril Delaney’s bequest?

She sank down on to the bed with her dress in her arms. And where did this tall, dark, striking woman who stored her clothes in his spare bedroom fit in with his proposal to move to Plover Park?

An hour later, she was ready.

Her hair, on Sally’s advice, was up in an elegant twist. The dress fitted like a glove. Her lips were painted to match her nails, and all in all it was a startling metamorphosis from the girl who had sat down to lunch with Damien Moore earlier in the day. She wondered, with a tinge of acerbity, what he would make of her transformation.

She only had to wait a few minutes before his key turned in the lock…