so they can make a toast once the speeches start. And introducing people who don’t know each other—that sort of thing.’
‘All this hanging around and waiting is very dull,’ he observed.
‘Then circulate,’ she said lightly. ‘That’s what people do.’
‘I’ve done nothing but circulate,’ he growled. ‘I think I’ll go crazy if I have to endure yet another society matron trying to calculate what my net worth is.’
She tilted her head back and studied him. ‘So how do you usually cope with weddings?’
‘By avoiding them whenever possible.’
‘But you were unable to avoid this one?’
‘It seems I was.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘There must be something very valuable in that bag to make you want it so much.’
‘Right now, I want you far more than anything in that damned bag.’
Willow giggled, feeling a sudden heady rush of excitement which had more to do with the way he was making her feel than the glass of punch she’d drunk. ‘Which was a very neat way of avoiding my question.’
‘I don’t remember you actually asking a question and it’s the only answer you’re going to get. So when can we leave?’
‘After the cake has been cut,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Look, there are the main players getting ready to speak and I’m supposed to be up at the top table. I’ll see you in a while.’
She tore herself away from his arms, aware of his gaze burning into her as she walked across the garden, but at that moment she was on such a high that she felt as if she could have floated over the candlelit lawn.
It didn’t take Flora long to bring her right back down to earth as she joined her in the throng of Hamiltons at the top table.
‘I’ve looked him up on the internet,’ she said as soon as Willow was in earshot.
‘Who?’
‘Who do you think? The man who drove you here today in his flashy red sports car,’ replied her sister. ‘Mr Macho.’
Willow reached for a glass of champagne from a passing waitress and took a sip as her gaze drifted over towards Dante’s statuesque form, which seemed to stand out from the milling crowd. ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ she said, without really thinking.
‘Nobody’s denying that,’ said Flora slowly. ‘And I’m guessing that if you’ve brought him here, it must be serious?’
‘Well, I suppose so,’ said Willow evasively.
Flora lowered her voice. ‘So you’re aware that he’s an international playboy with lovers in every major city in the world who is also known as a complete maverick in the world of business?’
Willow took a mouthful of fizz. ‘So what? I’m not planning some kind of corporate takeover with him.’
‘He’s way out of your league, love,’ said Flora gently. ‘He’s a wolf and you’re an innocent little lamb. You haven’t exactly had a lot of experience with the opposite sex, have you?’
‘Only because my family is too busy mounting an armed guard around me!’
Flora frowned. ‘So what exactly is going on between you?’
There was a pause. ‘I like him,’ said Willow truthfully. ‘I like him a lot.’
It was perhaps unfortunate that Great-aunt Maud should have chosen just that moment to drift past in a cloud of magenta chiffon and gardenia perfume, blinking rapidly as she caught the tail end of their conversation. ‘So does that mean you’re going to be next up the aisle, Willow?’ She beamed, without waiting for an answer. ‘I must say I’m not surprised. He is quite something, that young man of yours. Quite something.’
* * *
Dante listened to the formal speeches which always bored the hell out of him and steadfastly ignored the redhead who was flashing him an eager smile. But for once the sentiments expressed went beyond the usual gags about mothers-in-law and shotguns. The groom thanked all the bridesmaids and told them how beautiful they looked, but he left Willow until last, and suddenly his voice grew serious.
‘I’d just like to say how much it meant to Clover, having Willow’s support. But much more than that is having her here today, looking so lovely. It means...well, it means everything to us.’
Dante frowned as people began to cheer, wondering why the atmosphere had grown distinctly poignant and why Willow’s mother was suddenly groping in her bag for a handkerchief.
But then Willow’s father began speaking and after he had waxed long and lyrical about the bride, he paused before resuming—his eyes resting affectionately on the slender blonde in the bridesmaid dress who was twisting the peachy satin around her fingers and looking slightly awkward.
‘I just want to echo Dominic’s words and say how happy we are to see Willow here today looking, if I might add, positively radiant. We just want her to know how proud we are of her, and the way she handled her illness, when all her peers were running around without a care in the world. And how her recovery has made us all feel very, very grateful.’
The applause which followed was deafening and Dante’s lips froze as suddenly it all made sense.
Of course.
That’s why she looked so fragile and that’s why her family fussed around her and were so protective of her.
She’d been ill.
How ill? It must have been bad for it to warrant a mention in not one but two of the wedding speeches.
He felt momentarily winded. Like that time when a tennis ball hit by his twin had slammed straight into his solar plexus. He had been itching to take Willow away from here as soon as the speeches were over, but suddenly he needed time. And distance. Because how could he now take her to bed in the light of what he had learned?
Did Willow sense where he was in the throng of people? Was that why her grey eyes suddenly turned to meet his? Only this time it was more than desire which pumped through his veins as his gaze connected with hers. It was a cocktail of emotions he was unfamiliar with. He felt sympathy and a flare of something which clenched his heart with a sensation close to pain. The sense that life was unfair. And yet why should that come as a surprise, when he’d learnt the lesson of life’s unfairness at the age of eight, when his entire world had changed for ever?
Why the hell hadn’t she told him?
He watched as the smile she was directing at him became slightly uncertain and she picked up her glass and took a mouthful of champagne. And part of him wanted to run. To get into his car and drive back to London. To fly on to Paris as soon as possible and put this whole incident behind him. Yet he couldn’t do that—and not just because she still had his grandfather’s precious tiara. He couldn’t just turn his back on her and walk away. If she’d known real suffering, then she deserved his compassion and his respect.
He saw all the women lining up and giggling and wondered what was happening, when he realised that the bride was about to throw her bouquet. And he wondered why it came as no real sense of surprise when Willow caught it, to the accompaniment of more loud cheers.
He couldn’t stay here. He could see some of her relatives smiling at him, almost—God forbid—as if they were preparing to welcome him into the fold and he knew that he had to act. Ignoring the redhead with the cleavage who had been edging closer and closer, he walked straight up to Willow and took the empty champagne glass from her hand.
‘Let’s get out of here.’
He couldn’t miss the look of relief on her face.
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she said, sounding a little unsteady.
On