Читать книгу Required To Wear The Tycoon's Ring - Maggie Cox - Страница 9
ОглавлениеSETH IMMEDIATELY SAW what he took to be dawning realisation on Imogen’s face. He didn’t know why, but his heart started to pound.
‘Do you have the book with you? I’d like to take a look if you have,’ he said.
The sigh that escaped her was no more than a whisper but he heard it easily. The melting brown eyes before him were fused to his for the longest moment, and he wondered the reason behind it. Then, delving down into her shoulder bag, she produced a compact yellow book without a jacket. Flicking through the pages, she carefully extracted a piece of paper. Not knowing why, he caught his breath.
Crossing the floor, she handed him the note.
‘What’s this?’
‘It was inside the book when I bought it.’
Seth’s insides clenched hard as a painful sense of knowing gripped him. Seconds later his glance fell upon the words he had written all those years ago.
The realisation that Louisa had kept his message inside the pages of her favourite poetry book was bittersweet. He hardly knew what to think, what to feel.
He had sent the note to her at the university, to make sure she received it. They hadn’t met since that humiliating meeting with her father.
She’d been utterly distraught when she had realised there was no hope that he’d consent to them being together—‘not even if World War III is threatened!’ That was how intransigent the man had been.
As all her hopes had seemingly turned to dust she hadn’t been able to hide her sorrow. Before Seth had been able to reassure her that nothing would break them apart, she’d mouthed a forlorn I’m sorry, then quickly fled upstairs. He’d hardly known what to do.
After that, things had just gone from bad to worse. Once again he’d tried to get Siddons to relent and see sense but it had been useless. The man had been about as flexible as an iron wall. There had been no ‘give’ in his heart whatsoever.
Seth had slammed out through the door in a temper, vowing again that no matter what he and Louisa were going to be together. The pompous banker could do his worst, but Seth would find a way.
The next day he’d left Louisa this note at the university, because before he’d left the house her father had cruelly declared that he was confiscating her phone. To leave her a note had been Seth’s only means of reaching her until he’d figured out something better. One thing was for sure: Siddons would burn the missive if he found it first.
But a few days later his whole world had shifted on its axis and been demolished, all his hopes and aspirations turned to rubble. A friend of Louisa’s had knocked on his door in the early hours of the morning to inform him tearfully that she’d been killed in a hit-and-run accident. Seth had wanted to die, too. Just how was he going to carry on without her?
Now, tightly clutching the note, he walked across to the staircase and sank down onto one of the steps. He knew that it should comfort him to know that Louisa had read the message before she died and briefly treasured it, but he had been waiting too long to find that out, and in the meantime the damage had been done.
All that seeing it had done was reaffirm the fact that he should have tried harder to be with her, much harder... Even if her unrelenting father had come up with some trumped-up reason to prosecute him and had him thrown into jail.
Feeling enraged, he muttered a furious curse.
Watching Seth, Imogen felt two things hit her at once. The man was distraught. The repercussions that she had been wary of had come to pass. The muscle that flickered at the side of his lean, carved jaw immediately informed her that he was having significant trouble in containing his emotions. One thing was certain—seeing the note hadn’t given him any pleasure.
That led to her next realisation. He and his loved one hadn’t stayed together. No matter how much she’d hoped, true love hadn’t sustained them after all. She felt like crying.
But her deep sense of disappointment was quickly overridden by her concern for the man sitting on the stairs. Leaning towards him, she gently laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’
Even as the words left her lips Imogen knew the question was futile.
Turning his haunted blue eyes towards her, Seth Broden’s mouth twisted grimly. ‘Meaning, am I still breathing and alive despite the fact that I probably should have gone to hell for my part in what happened?’
Contemptuously jerking his head, he stood up and shook off her hand.
‘I need a drink.’
Imogen turned pale. Outside, the fierce wind battered against the leaded windows as if it would break through the glass. Suddenly she felt as though freezing jagged ice had invaded her veins. What did he mean by such a statement? Had something terrible happened?
Why hadn’t she really thought about the wisdom or lack of it in contacting the note’s author? Because now that she had found him it seemed to have delivered anything but happiness to him. Not meaning to, she’d blundered in regardless and brought pain to this man. As to what she’d achieved for herself—she’d just smothered another longed-for dream.
‘I didn’t know that the note would upset you so much,’ she stated huskily. ‘The message was so heartfelt. I just wanted to find out if—if the people involved had been reunited?’
‘And what...? Prove that happy-ever-after really exists?’
Feeling as though she’d been whipped, Imogen flinched. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
Seth stared. ‘I don’t mean for you to come crashing back down to earth with a bang, sweetheart...but it’s probably better if you don’t delude yourself.’
‘I’m guessing that you wrote the note?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘I don’t mean to intrude more than I’ve done already, but will you— Can you tell me what happened?’
He moved down the stairs to stand in front of her, his expression a mixture of anger and resignation, and she didn’t know why he didn’t demand she leave.
‘The lady died...end of story.’
But Imogen saw that it wasn’t the end of the story. How could it be?
‘I’m so sorry.’
She meant it with all her heart. It was only natural that she’d commiserate with his loss. It honestly grieved her that fate had intervened and stolen the couple’s happiness. God knew it was hard enough to come by.
Seth Broden wore the scars of that loss as if they were physical ones. They weren’t easy to hide in such a compellingly carved face. Amidst such perfection the smallest irregularity couldn’t fail to show.
‘How did it happen?’
‘It was a hit and run. The bastard didn’t waste his time waiting to see what he’d done. Just left her lying in the road.’
‘Dear God...’ The shock ricocheted right through her.
Seth’s tormented glance seared hers. ‘No amount of condolence or sympathy is going to bring her back, so don’t get upset on my account. Is your car outside?’ he added sharply.
‘I didn’t drive. I walked here.’
‘I take it you must live in town, then? That’s about five miles away. Clearly a long walk doesn’t faze you?’
Imogen shook her head. ‘Not at all... I love it. It helps to keep me fit.’
‘Even so, I’ll give you a lift home. It’s getting late as well as becoming dark.’ He briefly glanced down at his watch. ‘I never meant to stay here so long.’
She wasn’t going to argue. She felt strangely reluctant to leave him. Perhaps on the way he might relent and tell her a little bit more about the woman he’d lost?
‘So long as you’re sure you’re ready to leave?’
‘I am. I was checking things over, but I’m finished now.’
‘Are you going to move in here soon?’
‘I haven’t decided.’
‘Oh. Well, I’m ready to go when you are, then.’
She swept back her silky brown hair and pulled the collar of her coat more snugly round her neck...not that it would give her much added protection against the wind that was howling outside. It sounded as if it was brewing up a cyclone!
They hurried out to his car. When they were ensconced in the sumptuous leather of Seth’s comfortable sedan, he turned to her and said, ‘Where to?’
As soon as Imogen gave him the directions he nodded in acknowledgement. ‘I know exactly where you mean.’ His expression failed to tell her whether the knowledge pleased him or not.
Leaving the impressive Gothic building behind them, they headed out through the tree-lined lanes towards the centre of the town. During the journey they were both silent. Imogen didn’t feel quite brave enough to question him again, and she wanted to respect his need for what must be quiet reflection.
Just twenty minutes later they arrived, and Seth negotiated the roads that took them to her address. As instructed, he pulled up in front of a neat black door with a gilt number one on it. It was dusk, and a lone street lamp helpfully illuminated the small row of terraced houses. Apart from the ethereal soughing of the wind, all was quiet. Most of the town’s workforce had departed for home.
Turning towards her companion, Imogen breathed out a sigh. Seth’s expression was as implacable as ever, but his strong, lean hands gripped the leather-clad steering wheel as though it was a much-needed anchor.
She was sorry they hadn’t had more time to talk. But, clutching at yet another straw, she said quickly, ‘Can I offer you a drink...in payment for the ride home, I mean?’
‘You think the age-old remedy of a cup of tea might help to set things right?’
The tone of his voice registered his scorn.
Pushing his fingers agitatedly through his hair, he continued, ‘I don’t want payment, but if you’re going to offer me a drink, then I’d prefer something stronger than tea.’
She sensed her cheeks flush heatedly as his intense blue eyes roamed her face. It made it doubly hard to form a reply. ‘I—I have some brandy that a friend bought me for my birthday. Will that do?’
‘Yes, it will—but only if you agree to join me. I won’t be making any more revelations, if that’s what you’re thinking, but a companionable silence might be welcome.’
Flushing again, Imogen nodded. ‘All right, then. Why don’t you park the car and come in? I’ll leave the front door open. My flat is on the ground floor.’ The words were out before she could stop them.
After unlocking the door, she entered the house. The small apartment she rented was easily accessible and the door opened onto a cosy, compact living room. She was putting a match to the tinder in the wood burner when she sensed Seth coming in behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his interested gaze scan the room.
As was her habit, she’d left everything tidy that morning. The task helped her to get clear about the day ahead. But strangely the ability seemed to elude her now, as her glance collided with Seth’s. Suddenly she didn’t feel clear about very much at all. And ever since she’d laid her hand on his shoulder to comfort him the oddly intimate sensation of warmth and strength hadn’t left her. It didn’t help that she still sensed his agitation. The note she’d found had clearly been a great shock to him.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she invited. ‘I’ll get you that drink.’
‘Sure...’ he murmured, shrugging off his coat.
He draped it over the arm of a nearby easy chair as though it was nothing, but she glimpsed the Italian designer label attached to the silk lining. The garment was both exclusive and expensive, and it said much about the taste of its owner.
She watched thoughtfully as he dropped down onto the battered brown leather couch that had serviced several other tenants before Imogen. Even though she’d personalised it with the flowing red-and-gold Indian shawl that she’d draped over the back, it was still more ‘shabby chic’ than smart. Positioned next to the couch was a pile of hardback books on a maple-wood coffee table, and he picked up the top one to examine it.
‘Interesting,’ he murmured, reading the flyleaf. ‘I can see that you like a mystery.’
‘Thrillers aren’t really my thing, but a friend lent it to me,’ she explained. ‘She said the story was terrific.’
‘Would that be the same friend who gave you the bottle of brandy?’
‘Yes, it was, as a matter of fact...though I rarely drink that stuff at all. She was hoping I’d let my hair down and celebrate for once.’
Imogen stared at the fire and felt her cheeks heat. Why had she told him that?
‘And did you?’
‘I did—but not with brandy. I stuck to orange juice that night.’
Checking that the flame had taken hold in the wood burner, she straightened and dusted her hands down her jeans.
Her companion was studying her intently and, feeling strangely as if she’d been put under a spotlight, she said, ‘Give me a minute and I’ll go and get you that drink.’
The tiny kitchen was adjacent to the living room. It wasn’t particularly well-appointed, but it had a fairly new gas stove, an original butler’s sink that was still in good order, a plum-coloured granite worktop and a couple of sturdy pine shelves on which she’d stacked some blue-and-white crockery. The bottle of brandy was located next to the stoneware bread crock.
Pouring a proper drink for a man wasn’t something she was remotely used to. Her ex-fiancé, Greg, had been teetotal. That was until she’d found out that he wasn’t. It had been another lie amongst the many that he’d told her. But dwelling on the thought was apt to remind her of his shocking betrayal and make her mood plummet. She was determined not to let that happen. After all, she’d vowed to make a fresh start, hadn’t she? From now on she wanted to believe that good things did and could happen, despite the evidence to the contrary. How else was she going to turn her life around?
But her hand visibly trembled as she reached for the bottle of brandy and she had to take a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. Seth Broden was the first man she’d ever invited back to the flat and she shouldn’t forget that he was neither a friend nor a colleague. He was practically a stranger. And such was the contrast between the awe-inspiring mansion he owned and the modest flat she rented that it was bound to make her conscious of the difference between her life and his.
She reached up to the overhead shelf and retrieved a couple of glass tumblers and, taking the bottle of brandy with her, returned to the living room. Handing one of the glasses to Seth, she set the brandy down on the table beside him.
‘Please help yourself. I’m just going to hang up my coat. Want me to do the same for yours?’
He quirked what looked to be an amused eyebrow and said, ‘Thanks.’
When Imogen returned from hanging the garments on the coat stand the fire in the burner was nicely warming the room and, having helped himself to brandy, Seth had set down the book he’d been perusing. He’d also settled himself more comfortably on the couch. His hard-muscled legs were noticeably long in the smart black chinos he wore, she saw, and the width of his shoulders was impressive.
She would have had to be blind not to notice that fact. His girlfriend must have loved the sense of strength he exuded. No doubt it had made her feel protected.
‘I’ve poured you a drink,’ he said as she sat down in the chintz-covered armchair. ‘Perhaps you’ll make an exception tonight and join me?’
‘Sure.’ Taking a tentative sip, she felt the slow burn of alcohol register in her gut as she swallowed it down. It was so powerful it immediately brought tears to her eyes.
‘You’re not used to drinking at all, are you?’ His tone was gently teasing.
Imogen felt like an idiot. A sophisticated woman she was not. Setting down her glass, she curled some of her hair round her ear. ‘No...I’m not.’
Thankfully, her guest didn’t pursue the topic. ‘So, tell me, how long have you lived here?’ he asked instead.
Trying to relax, she somehow found a smile. ‘About a year.’
‘And you work in the area?’
‘Yes, I do.’
Still cradling his drink, Seth leaned forward. The movement stirred the air with the scent of his arresting cologne. She didn’t know what made it smell so alluring but she didn’t have to... It had got her attention.
‘And what is it that you work at?’
‘I’m a secretary. I work for a legal practice.’
‘And you enjoy it?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do. I’m lucky enough to work for a very nice woman, and the work is genuinely interesting.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. I think if everyone enjoyed their work the world would go a long way to being a better place. I recently read that eighty per cent of the population hate their jobs. Thank God I’m not one of those. It’s bad enough having to deal with all the other challenges that can come at you.’
‘What do you mean, exactly?’
‘I mean like pain and disappointment and the death of loved ones. Yes, all that can grind even the most stoic person down.’
He took a generous swig of brandy, and to Imogen’s surprise she saw a sudden flare of pain in his diamond-bright eyes. His doleful words reminded her of the reason they had met—why he happened to be sitting there in her flat. Her heart squeezed in sympathy.
‘I agree. Life can seem unbearable sometimes. But we should never lose hope that things can get better.’
‘I admire your optimism, Imogen. Long may it last.’
Her guest looked to be candidly assessing her, and she suddenly found herself transfixed by him. What would it be like to have such a charismatic man’s regard? she wondered.
Fearing she was becoming too entranced, she said quickly, ‘Anyway, you said that you appreciated a companionable silence and I’ve already been talking too much...’
‘Not necessarily. Your voice is actually very soothing.’
Taken aback by the compliment, she said quickly, ‘I’ve just remembered I’ve got a couple of things to do in the kitchen. Do you mind if I leave you on your own for a while?’
‘Not at all... That is, unless you’d prefer to stay and talk to me?’
Such a simply put invitation shouldn’t make her insides flutter with the most intoxicating pleasure but it did, and her reaction warned her to tread very carefully where Seth Broden was concerned.
‘I don’t have a preference, but I perfectly understand if you want some time on your own for a while. Just call me if you need anything.’
Seth blinked and glanced away. ‘As tempting as that offer sounds, sweetheart, there’s nothing I really need right now other than the brandy.’
‘I’ll leave you in peace, then.’
His gaze immediately found hers again and he looked far from reassured. ‘Not possible—but I appreciate the sentiment.’
Even as she left the room Imogen remembered the note he’d left for his girlfriend.
You’re the only one who can calm the lightning in my soul and help me find peace.
That last remark he’d made confirmed he’d lost all faith in ever experiencing such an elusive concept again, and once more her foolish heart ached. Not just for Seth but for herself, too. No one could know the emotional wreckage that was left behind when faced with the loss of the person you loved...the hopelessness that ensued. A person had to experience it for themselves before they could even begin to understand.
* * *
It was blissfully quiet and oddly comforting as Seth sat in front of the wood burner, sipping brandy in Imogen’s simple front room.
Ahead of his return to the UK he had booked a suite at a five-star hotel, where he might rest and relax and mull over what he was going to do with the Siddonses’ house. He still hadn’t decided whether he actually wanted to live in it. All he’d known when his estate agent friend had rung to tell him that the house was up for sale was that he simply had to have it. He didn’t really know why, except that it was a significant part of his past and he wanted to right the wrong that had been done there.
But how did you right the wrong of a loved one being taken from the world too soon?
He wouldn’t even have the satisfaction of showing James Siddons that he’d exceeded his wealth, thereby proving that he’d kept his word about becoming successful. Who would have believed that a poor car mechanic would become an exceedingly rich dealer in some of the most desirable cars in the world—and friend to the rich and famous on the way?
But even as Seth reflected on what he’d achieved he couldn’t deny that underneath it all there was still a sense of something missing.
Staring back into the autumn-coloured hues of the burner’s flames, he wondered if Imogen had anyone significant in her life. She was a pretty little thing, and kind, too. He was a total stranger to her, but when he’d declared that he needed a drink she’d had no hesitation in offering him some brandy.
He’d been able to tell straight away that she was a compassionate woman. She was certainly nothing like the majority of well-heeled ‘high-maintenance’ females he usually came into contact with in New York. Yes, he enjoyed the fact that they flocked round him like bees round a honeypot whenever he was socialising, but lately the ability to attract beautiful and sophisticated women had definitely begun to pall.
Maybe that was also why he’d returned to the UK? Hopefully he could move around unremarked. He didn’t have such a glamorous profile here. Except that he might yet have to deal with the curiosity of the media when the citizens of his hometown noted that he’d returned...
The combination of the heat from the fire and the brandy he’d consumed couldn’t help but make Seth’s eyelids droop. Seconds later he’d fallen asleep, with his head resting against a diamond-patterned cushion he’d placed behind him.
He didn’t register Imogen’s return. Nor did he see the generous plate of sandwiches she’d brought with her from the kitchen. He’d fallen into the deepest sleep he’d had in years.
When he eventually stirred he couldn’t believe the time. Evidenced by the morning light that he glimpsed behind the room’s slatted rattan blinds, several hours had elapsed. The cosy fire in the burner had long perished and the room was decidedly chilly, despite the woollen throw that Imogen must have draped over his knees.
It took him aback to realise he must have been asleep for most of the night... How could that be? How could he have let his guard down like that in front of a complete stranger? It just didn’t make sense.
Rubbing his hand round his beard-roughened jaw, he pushed the throw aside and sat up. Maintaining the same position for several hours had inevitably cramped his body. A dull ache that bordered on the painful throbbed through his entire being. Rising to his feet, he stretched his arms up high over his head and rolled his shoulders. His mouth was as dry as a sun-bleached riverbed and he was in dire need of water.
Strolling out into the kitchen, he flicked on the light and immediately saw the cling film–wrapped tray of sandwiches on the worktop. Had Imogen made those to share with him last night? Even as Seth had the thought he realised how hungry he was. What an idiot he was for falling asleep like that!
Pouring a glass of water, he gulped down several mouthfuls. His thirst sated, he helped himself to a couple of sandwiches and hungrily wolfed them down. Then he returned to the living room.
He was just rolling up the blinds when his hostess walked in, wearing lavender-coloured pyjamas and a matching dressing gown, her chestnut hair a mass of eye-catching curls. It stopped him in his tracks to notice that her skin was nothing less than flawless...even at this unearthly hour.
‘Good morning,’ he greeted her huskily.
Her big brown eyes mirrored her astonishment. ‘You’re still here!’
‘I’m afraid I am. You should have woken me and told me to go home.’
Imogen smiled delicately. ‘You were sleeping so soundly when I came back from the kitchen I didn’t want to disturb you. You were obviously very tired. But shock can do that to a person.’
Seth was puzzled. ‘Shock?’
‘The note?’ she reminded him gently.
Finding himself reacquainted with the letter he’d written to Louisa all those years ago and learning that she’d read it before she died must have been responsible for lowering his defences. He would never normally make himself so vulnerable. Undoubtedly the generous glass of brandy he’d drunk had helped...
