Passionate Nights: The Mistress Assignment / Mistress of Convenience / Mistress to Her Husband
challenged him when the silence had made her skin start to prickle. ‘I expect you feel that when a person doesn’t exploit their … talents to the best possible financial advantage, then—’
‘On the contrary,’ Brough interrupted her firmly. ‘I feel extremely sorry for anyone who feels obliged to accept a way of life, a means of living, that doesn’t make them happy.’
‘But you can’t believe that earning money isn’t of prime importance to me,’ Kelly insisted.
‘What I can’t believe is that a woman holding the views you’ve just expressed would in any way consider a man like Julian Cox to be a good partner for her,’ Brough corrected her.
‘I … I didn’t come here to discuss my relationship with Julian,’ Kelly told him tautly, handing the plate back to him as she did so, giving it a last lingering look of regret. There was nothing she would have loved more than to copy the design and replace the missing pieces of the teaset, especially under the circumstances Brough had outlined to her. But she couldn’t do anything that would bring her into closer contact with him. There was too much risk involved in far too many different ways.
But before she could vocalise her decision, Brough himself was speaking, telling her coolly, ‘We don’t have much time left before my grandmother’s birthday, so I’ve arranged for us to visit the factory on Wednesday. They told me when I was there that you’d need to collect the unpainted china from them and get supplies of paint.’
‘Wednesday? But it’s Monday today; I can’t possibly …’ Kelly began.
But he was already overruling her, telling her, ‘I know what you’re going to say and I’ve asked Eve if she will stand in at the shop for you for the day. She’s agreed. And before you say anything you needn’t worry—she did a stint at Harvey Nicks during her last year at school.’
‘Harvey Nicks?’ Kelly exploded, adding pointedly, ‘This isn’t Knightsbridge …’
‘No, it isn’t,’ he agreed. ‘We’ll need to get a pretty early start, so if I pick you up at, say, eight I can drop Eve off at the same time.’
‘Just a minute,’ Kelly objected. ‘I haven’t agreed that I’m going—’
‘What’s wrong? Are you afraid that Cox might object to you spending the day with me?’
‘This has nothing to do with Julian,’ Kelly told him angrily.
‘Good. So I’ll pick you up at eight on Wednesday, then,’ Brough repeated cordially as he walked over to the door and held it open for her.
There was no way she was going to be able to make him understand that she wasn’t going to Staffordshire with him, Kelly recognised, irritably marching straight past him and heading for the front door, where he caught up with her and commented dulcetly, ‘I take it you’ve decided to accept my word about the colour of my bedroom walls …’
Kelly shot him a fulminating look. ‘The colour of your bedroom walls, be they puce, chartreuse or vermilion, is totally and absolutely of no interest to me,’ she told him.
‘Vermilion,’ Brough mused. ‘The colour of passion. Interesting that you should suggest it …’
‘Suggest it? I did no such thing.’ Kelly seethed. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded as, instead of opening the front door, he very gently and totally unexpectedly placed his hands on her upper arms and turned her round.
‘I’m going to make you a cup of cocoa before you go home,’ he told her, adding suavely, ‘It warms the blood and soothes the passions. The Aztecs used to believe it had aphrodisiac powers, as did the Regency bucks. There’s no point in you rushing back. Julian is out with Eve.’
‘What’s that got to do with me? I’ve got a deskful of paperwork needing attention, and anyway, I loathe cocoa,’ she told him pettishly.
‘A glass of wine perhaps, then,’ he suggested.
Kelly started to shake her head, and then for some reason found that she was nodding it slowly instead.
‘This way,’ he told her, directing her further down the hallway and into another room, which was a cross between an office and a study, comfortably furnished with a couple of deep armchairs and a huge desk which dominated the space in front of the window.
‘For Christmas the year before last, Eve rented for me a row of vines in France. The idea is that you get the wine from your own vines and you can, if you wish, take part in some of the preparation of the wine. Surprisingly, it’s rather good …’
‘So you’ll what?’ Kelly asked him. ‘Buy the vineyard?’
An unexpected smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
‘Not this particular one,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s certainly an idea. I wouldn’t have an objection to a life of viticulture and semi-retirement … Tuscany, perhaps, close to one of those unbelievably visually breathtaking medieval towns …’
‘It sounds idyllic,’ Kelly responded enviously, without thinking, and then bit her lip, telling him curtly, ‘Look, I really can’t stay. Paperwork isn’t really my strong suit and …’
‘I understand,’ Brough accepted. His face was in the shadows but there was no mistaking the stiffness in his voice. Quite patently he was angry with her again, Kelly decided, suppressing a soft sigh. So why should she care either what he thought or what he felt? This time, as she headed for the front door, he made no attempt to persuade her to stay, simply opening it for her and formally thanking her for her time.
As he watched her until she was safely inside the car, Brough wondered what on earth had possessed him to reveal that long-held dream of his to her. What possible interest could it be to her, and, more disturbingly, why should he want it to be?
She was an enigma, a puzzle of unfathomable proportions, and he was a fool for even beginning to think what he was thinking about her.
As he went upstairs and switched on the light in his puce-walled bedroom, his glance rested on the neat white line of his bed. He had been lying when he had told her that it was his bedroom he had been inviting her to see and not his bed. Already, with remarkably little effort at all, he could picture her lying there in it, tucked securely beneath its protective sheets as they outlined the warm curves of her body, holding out an invitation which she mirrored as she held out her arms to welcome him.
Eve hadn’t had a good night. She and Julian had had an argument, a small altercation which had blown up out of virtually nothing, simply her innocent comment that Kelly was a very attractive and vivacious woman and that she and Julian were obviously very good friends. But Julian had reacted as though she had accused him of some crime, exploding into a rage so intense that he had actually frightened her.
Shocked and in tears, she had run from his flat, ignoring his demands to her to come back as she’d fired the engine of her car, and here she was now, her car parked in the town centre as she walked unhappily along the riverbank, desperately trying to avoid looking at the entwined pairs of lovers enjoying a romantic stroll along the river path.
‘Eve … Eve …’
Instinctively, she stopped as she heard the male voice calling her name, her breath catching in her throat as she recognised Harry hurrying towards her.
‘I saw you as I walked over the bridge,’ Harry told her with a warm beam as he indicated the bridge she had just passed, his smile fading as he saw her miserable expression. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ Eve fibbed, but his concern, his sympathy and most of all his sturdy male warmth and reassurance were too much for her already shaky composure, and as she spoke she gave a small hiccuping sob and a tear ran betrayingly down her face.
‘It’s Cox, isn’t it?’ Harry guessed, revealing an intuition which would have surprised his relatives, who considered