alight with love.
Her eyes glowed with memories. Deep down he was sensitive. He’d see how upset she was. He’d put Castlestowe to one side and take her in his arms and their differences would be forgotten. Their love would knit them together again.
Slowly she walked out of the courtroom with the famous seamless stride that made her slender body flow within her beautifully cut cerise suit—the stride and sway which had won her the title of Catwalk Model of the Year.
‘Ginny! Over here... Ginny! Give us a flash of yer legs! Where’s old Leo, darlin’? Ginny! Here, Ginny...!’
Knowing that she’d be pestered mercilessly otherwise, she gave the Press a minute or two more, maintaining her serene calm and the same elegant tilt of her blonde head that had prompted the media to dub her ‘the new Grace Kelly’. It had taken her a while to force her own name on the public consciousness but at last she had become the Ginny McKenzie.
Few ever mentioned the fact that she was a Brandon by marriage, Leo being the son of Viscount Brandon. Her refusal to change her name had caused trouble with his family—but how could she have done that when it had taken her so much effort to become recognised? It would have been professional suicide.
‘Here, Gin! Over here! Good girl! Look at me, babe!’
‘They think you’re a dog, or somethin’?’ growled Chas.
‘Their property,’ she said ruefully. And steadied her voice. No outsider must know how she felt. ‘OK. That’s enough. If they can’t get a decent photo out of those shots, they don’t deserve a job. Get me out of here,’ she begged.
And she clamped a hand on her Garboesque brimmed hat as Chas manoeuvred her through the pushing crowds to the waiting limo.
‘Hell,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t know how you stand this!’
Exhausted, she pulled down the blinds to shut out the excited faces outside. Fans and enemies. The envious and the angry. And she wondered how she stood it. And why. Was it worth it?
When the car had picked up a little speed and Sue, the chauffeuse, began to weave in and out of the back streets to throw followers off the scent, Ginny finally let out a long, heartfelt groan and slumped into the white leather cushions.
‘I can’t believe it,’ she said. ‘I’m innocent and I’m being forced to pay the court costs for a disgusting tabloid which printed lies about me!’
Chas took her hand, his blue eyes angry, and leaned close in sympathy. ‘I wish I could help. I’m—Damn!’ he swore as a blinding flash illuminated their faces. ’Stop the car!’ he yelled, clambering over Ginny as Sue screeched to a halt.
Ginny felt her heart sink. Neither of them had noticed that the blind had shot up, that they’d been stationary and waiting for traffic lights to turn green. Or that a photographer had managed to tail them and take a shot of Chas’s kind consolation. Miserably she waited for Chas to return, knowing that the photographer had already vanished and there would be another scoop in the papers.
She shivered, her enormous eyes glistening with unshed tears. Achieving success beyond most people’s wildest dreams had brought with it a load of trouble.
‘I’ll chuck it all in,’ she said shakily to no one in particular.
‘And give them cause to think you’re guilty?’ called Sue indignantly over her shoulder.
‘They already do!’ Ginny drew in a sharp, despairing breath and waited while Chas slid back into the car. ‘I want Leo!’ she groaned.
‘Won’t be long. Come on,’ soothed Chas.
An arm reached across her, pulling down the blind again. And then she was being eased into Chas’s concrete-like chest, where she snuffled and tried to hold back her tears till she heard the sound of iron gates clanging back. St John’s Wood, exclusive and protected. Home. And Leo—perhaps. She stilled her racing pulses ruthlessly because she dared not hope too much.
‘Thanks,’ she said huskily to Chas. He was a dear. Solid, East End decent. ‘Sue, slowly, please. I need a moment to tidy up.’
Butterflies beat themselves against the walls of her stomach when she saw Leo’s car slewed across the driveway ahead. A joy filled her heart. The trial was over. Good or bad, it meant that the pressure on her time was off. She and Leo could spend time together, heal their marriage. The thought of seeing him made her heart pump rapidly.
And she remembered the joyful days they’d spent together, loving and laughing, such good friends, so close, so happy. A frown dipped her arched brows. Once he’d been her rock. Now she felt uncertain as to her welcome.
With trembling, suddenly clumsy fingers, she flicked out the hanging mirror and nervously whisked ash-blonde strands back into the severe chignon, then retouched the mascara on her endless lashes and reshaped her pink mouth. There was a vulnerability and a paleness about her face that hadn’t been there before. Now her cheekbones seemed even sharper, the hollows beneath more pronounced.
Jamming her hat back on her head and shrugging her coat collar up high, she said huskily, ‘OK, Sue. I’m decent.’ And felt like a girl on her first date. Scared. Excited. Quivering.
Disappointment hit her when she saw that Leo wasn’t waiting for her on the mansion steps when they swept up. George, the butler, was, however, with the cook and the maid and the gardener, all with loving concern on their faces. They were fond of her but their sympathy when she swung her long legs from the limo was almost too much to bear.
It crossed her mind that her staff currently cared for her more than her husband did. And they believed she was innocent.
Perhaps he was on the phone. Maybe he’d telephoned the solicitor so that he’d know the verdict before she arrived home—or he was fending off the media. Calmer, she felt glad that she’d chosen the sleek, tailored suit. It was Leo’s favourite.
Warmth flowed through her. They’d cuddle and he’d tell her that he loved her and nothing else mattered. Then they’d go to bed and he’d hold her tightly and everything would be all right. She felt better already.
‘Leo around?’ she asked George eagerly when everyone had said how sorry, how shocked they were and offered their help wherever it might be needed.
‘In the library, Ginny,’ he answered with more than usual tenderness.
‘Fine,’ she lied, suddenly wary. Why was George looking at her like that? ‘And...thanks, everyone, for your support. I do appreciate it. It makes a lot of difference to the way I feel. Bless you all.’
Still smiling, wanting to let her composure go and to give in to the newly arrived apprehension, she wriggled out of her coat, flung her hat on the marquetry table and glided to the library.
But, positioned at the far end of the long room, by the window, her beloved Leo was smiling down at a woman who sat on the window-seat: Arabella Lake, fellow model, rival, and a mean manhunter. And neither of them even noticed her arrival because they were both so engrossed in one another.
Shocked, Ginny clutched the jamb of the door, almost at the end of her tether. Arabella! Her eyes closed in dismay then opened reluctantly at his soft, husky laugh. She wanted comfort. Needed his arms around her. Instead, she’d have to listen to Arabella’s false condolences and know that the malicious woman was delighting in Ginny’s failure to clear her name.
‘Leo!’ she called, her voice low and husky with misery.
He looked up, his eyes brooding, nodded curtly in cold acknowledgement, then continued to smile and chat to Arabella. Ginny walked the long gallery as if she were on hot coals and naked before a jeering audience, her stomach somewhere in her boots, her pulses jittering so badly that she could hardly keep her balance.
It struck her forcibly that it had been a long time since Leo had looked at her with the same smiling affection that he was showing towards Arabella. When he’d glanced towards her just