His Untamed Innocent

She could have done without that particular judgement, that lingering blue gaze that seemed to treat her towel as if it had somehow ceased to exist.

‘Of course,’ he went on more slowly, ‘We could always give the party a miss and stay here together instead. There’s champagne in the fridge, so we’d be able to relax while you tell me all about yourself, including how you lost your last job.

‘And then you wouldn’t need to change. You could stay looking as delightful as you do now, give or take an adjustment or two,’ he added silkily. ‘And subject to negotiation, naturally. Maybe I could persuade you to let that towel slip a little further next time—or even a lot. What do you say?’

‘I say,’ Marin returned between gritted teeth, aware that she was not only blushing but that her heart was thudding erratically, and resenting him on both counts. ‘That on reflection I’d prefer to go to your bloody party.’

His grin made her long to hit him. ‘A wise decision, sweetheart. And I’ll wait dutifully, if reluctantly, here while you carry out the necessary transformation.’ He paused pensively. ‘But if you need any help don’t hesitate to call me.’

‘Count on it,’ she said with poisonous sweetness. ‘The moment I can think of a name bad enough.’

And, still clutching her towel, Marin beat a strategic if not wholly dignified retreat.

Chapter Two

‘I MUST,’ MARIN muttered under her breath, ‘be completely out of my mind.’

She looked at her reflection with disfavour. Even with the aid of Lynne’s cosmetics, she still looked—ordinary. And no one was ever going to believe she was Jake Radley-Smith’s girl of choice, even for five minutes, let alone an entire evening.

But at least her favourite dress—a silky, olive-green wraparound, knee-length with cap sleeves, and a long sash that tied on the hip—was wearable. Probably because, unused during her time in France, it had been the last thing she’d taken from the wardrobe and had been packed on top of everything else.

She could only hope it would build her confidence once she had it on, as it usually did. Except that nothing was usual about this particular evening.

She had seriously considered making a dash for it, but Mr Radley-Smith would have seen her passing the living-room door, and she didn’t relish the idea of him making a dash for her in return.

Like being stalked by a black panther, she thought with a sudden shiver.

Besides, in practical terms, if she was about to lose her job then she really needed the money he was apparently prepared to pay her for doing him this favour, plus the place to stay. Although the thought of being beholden to him grated on her severely.

The incident in France had been a nightmare, but some instinct she hadn’t realised she possessed warned her that any involvement with Jake Radley-Smith had the potential to be infinitely worse.

And she couldn’t rely on her lack of glamour to be her safeguard any more, as she’d found to her cost.

She sighed softly, almost despairingly. But some cash in hand would be more than welcome, she reminded herself. In fact, it could be essential.

And, although she might not like parties, she knew what to do at them—grab a soft drink from the tray and become invisible in some corner until it was time to leave.

She was retying her sash in a bow, her fingers having unaccountably turned into thumbs, when he knocked on the door.

‘How much longer are you planning to be?’

The dossier was building up nicely, she thought grimly. Too many girlfriends. Far too manipulative. Not enough patience. Plus an excessive amount of—what?—charisma? Sex appeal? She wasn’t sure what to call it. Only that she was afraid of it, and would be extra-careful in consequence.

‘I’m ready,’ she called back, slipping her feet into the waiting high-heeled pewter sandals, and picking up the small bag on its long chain that matched them and her cream-fringed shawl.

She’d expected some comment when she emerged from the bedroom, but he just flicked her with a glance and nodded abruptly.

Not that she wanted his approbation. God forbid. But still…

She said, ‘I didn’t know what to do with my hair.’ She touched its shining fall, reaching, straight as rain water, to her shoulder blades with a self-conscious hand. ‘Whether or not I should try to put it up, perhaps.’

‘It looks fine.’ He walked to the door. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Whose party is this?’ she asked, eventually breaking the silence as she sat beside him in the black cab he’d summoned with such irritating ease. ‘Or is it strictly on a need-to-know basis?’

‘It’s being given by the boss of Torchbearer Insurance, a major client of ours,’ he said after a pause.

‘And is your agency doing a good job for them?’

‘The best,’ he nodded.

‘Then you should be among friends,’ she said. ‘So why trail a strange girl along with you?’

His mouth twisted. ‘Call it—a different kind of insurance,’ he said. ‘Personal liability. And perhaps I should ask you a few questions before we get there—for a start, how old are you?’

‘Twenty.’ Telling him straight seemed better than some coy evasion.

‘You look younger.’

So the carefully applied make-up hadn’t supplied one atom of sophistication after all, she thought, and stifled a sigh.

‘And what do you do for a living—when you’re in work?’

‘I’m a secretary,’ she said. ‘I do agency work here in the UK and Europe. I’m good with computers, and I speak French and a smattering of Italian. I also book restaurant tables, make excuses on behalf of my employer, send flowers, organise travel and collect dry-cleaning.’

‘My God,’ he said. ‘You sound like a wife.’

She played with the chain on her bag. ‘Doesn’t Lynne do all that for you?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But she’s actually going to be a wife, probably thanks to my specialised training.’

Somehow the outraged gasp she’d intended turned into a giggle. ‘I wouldn’t let her hear you say that.’

‘Neither would I,’ he said, and grinned back at her. ‘So, what happened to the job? Was the restaurant overbooked? Did the flowers fail to arrive?’

Her throat tightened; she didn’t look at him. ‘There was a—misunderstanding which couldn’t be resolved.’

There was a pause, then he said drily, ‘I see.’

No, she thought, you don’t. But it’s still too new, too raw for me to talk about. And, even if the memory is still capable of making me feel sick to my stomach, you are the last person in the world I could ever confide in anyway.

She hurried into speech. ‘Maybe you should tell me how I’m supposed to address you this evening. I can hardly go on saying—“Mr Radley-Smith.”’ She hesitated. ‘Do I call you Rad, as Lynne does?’

‘That’s for working hours,’ he said. ‘In my more private moments, I prefer Jake. So make it that, please.’

She bit her lip, thinking the last thing she wanted was to be part of any of his private moments. She said tautly, ‘I’ll—try to remember.’

And when all this is over, she thought, I’ll try even harder to forget.

The party was being held at the Arundel Club, just off Pall Mall. The entrance hall was like a grand foreign church, complete with classical statues, and Marin, self-conscious about the clatter of her heels on the wide marble staircase, wondered if she ought to tiptoe instead.

At the top of the stairs, they turned left into a wide corridor carpeted in dark blue. There were alcoves at intervals along the entire length, some with a small, gilded table displaying either a large and elaborate piece of antique ceramic or a flower arrangement, while others were occupied by small armchairs upholstered in gold-and-ivory stripes.

Jake Radley-Smith indicated a door on the right-hand side. ‘The women’s cloakroom,’ he said laconically. ‘You might want to check your wrap.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you. I probably should.’

As she stepped inside, Marin was engulfed in a high-pitched chatter, and a clash of expensive perfumes. Handing over her shawl, she was aware of two girls next to her glancing at it, and then looking at her, before exchanging faintly derisive smiles.

No, she told herself. They’re quite right. I don’t belong here. I’ll just have to keep thinking of the money and that will get me through.

She fussed with her hair for a minute or two and applied a touch more lipstick, waiting for the crowd to clear.

When she emerged into the corridor, Jake Radley-Smith was standing a few yards away, frowning at a large, predominantly brown landscape occupying the wall between two alcoves.

She made herself walk towards him and forced a smile. ‘I’m ready.’

‘Somehow,’ he said, ‘I rather doubt that.’ As she reached him, he took her by the shoulders, spun her into the nearest alcove and kissed her very slowly, and extremely thoroughly, that astonishing mouth moving on hers with an expertise that turned her legs to water, and almost—almost—had her clinging to his shoulders to steady herself.

‘What the hell,’ she said furiously when she could speak, ‘was all that in aid of?’

‘Window dressing,’ he told her calmly. ‘Nothing to get uptight about. But I’m not usually seen with anyone who looks quite so untouched, and people might wonder.’

‘You,’ she said, her voice shaking, ‘don’t have to be seen with me at all. This was your idea. Not mine.’

He said, ‘Then consider the kiss an afterthought.’ He smiled at her. ‘And it’s worked. You look just ruffled enough for people to wonder.’

Then he took her hand and walked her briskly to the end of the corridor, where a pair of double doors stood ajar, and ushered her into the room beyond before she could think of a crushing remark—or anything to say at all, for that matter. Because ruffled was hardly the word to describe the welter of emotion churning inside her.

The President’s Room was vast, ornate, brightly lit and full of people, all of them talking above the efforts of a string quartet to play Mozart.

Almost as soon as they got inside, a male voice called, ‘Rad—good to see you. I’ve been wanting a word.’

For a moment, they were surrounded, then suddenly her companion was gone, drawn forward on a wave of greetings into a group of other men and hidden behind a wall of suits.

Which meant, thankfully, that she now had her hand back, so all she needed to do was try to recover her breath, along with some much-needed composure. And not touch a finger to her tingling mouth to see if it was really as swollen as it felt.

Mr Radley-Smith was clearly someone who intended even the least of his kisses to be remembered, she thought, swallowing. And his casual riposte of ‘window dressing’ was also going to linger in her mind for some time to come. As would ‘afterthought’.

More than time for Operation Camouflage, she decided, unclenching her fists in order to take a glass of fresh orange juice from a proffered tray and looking round for sanctuary.

The crowd seemed to be drifting in the direction of the long buffet tables, where chefs in tall, white hats were waiting to carve from an enormous turkey as well as joints of beef and ham, for a moment, Marin’s stomach lurched in longing. But she resisted temptation, telling herself she could still cook the pasta supper she’d originally planned when she got home.

She headed instead for one of the long windows which had been left open to the warm evening air, stepping out on to a tiny balcony with a wrought iron balustrade.

With a bit of luck, Mr Radley-Smith might think she’d taken advantage of his momentary inattention to disappear completely, she told herself, relishing the coolness of the orange juice against her dry throat.

But escaping from him out here was not proving as successful as she’d hoped. Instead, Marin found she was reviewing everything Lynne had ever said about him.

She knew for instance that, even without the company, he was a millionaire in his own right with a place in the country as well as a flat in Chelsea.

‘Is he married?’ she’d once asked, and Lynne had laughed.

‘No, my pet, nor ever likely to be. Rad seems to have a sixth sense that warns him whenever the lady of the moment starts hearing wedding bells and—bingo—suddenly he’s not really around any more. It’s invariably done with a great deal of charm, but it’s still over.

‘And, of course, he spends quite a lot of time abroad, which helps.’

Before Marin had gone to work for the Ingram Organisation, Lynne had offered to see if there was anything suitable going at the agency.

‘You might find it more interesting than being a glorified temp,’ she’d urged, but Marin had shaken her head with determination.

‘No,’ she’d said. ‘It’s not for me.’

So, perhaps I have a sixth sense too, she thought as she finished her orange juice. Although it had seemed to go on the blink outside in the corridor, just now, or she’d have dodged.

Her haven was suddenly not as warm as it had been, either. A slight breeze had got up since sunset, and with a faint shiver she turned to go back inside.

Only to find her path firmly blocked.

The tall woman confronting her might be wearing the ubiquitous black, but her dress screamed French design, its severe lines relieved by the virtual collar of diamonds round her creamy throat. In her late twenties, she was reed-slim, like most of the other females in the room, and her blond hair was swept up into the kind of careless style that takes hours to achieve.

She was beautiful, with green eyes under impossibly long, mascaraed lashes, but there was no warmth in the glance surveying Marin.

And her tone was equally cold. ‘Excuse me, but do you mind telling me who you are? I wasn’t aware you were on our guest list for the evening.’

‘She’s with me, Diana,’ Jake said easily as he appeared out of nowhere, walking to Marin’s side and sliding an arm round her waist to draw her closer against him. ‘Her name’s Marin Wade. Darling, this is our hostess, Mrs Halsay.’

‘I should have known, of course.’ Mrs Halsay gave a musical laugh. ‘Jake’s invitations always say “and partner.” His social life changes so rapidly, it’s safer that way. So do forgive my lack of recognition.’ She favoured Marin with a smile as radiant as it was brief, then turned back to Jake. ‘Tell me, my sweet, where did you find this charming child?’

Jake shrugged. ‘Let’s just say that we found each other.’

Diana Halsay pouted at him. ‘But how wicked of you to let her wander off alone, with so many potential predators hovering.’

‘Don’t concern yourself on that score,’ Jake drawled. ‘Our separation was purely temporary, and I was extremely careful not to lose sight of her.’

‘Well,’ she said, sending another smiling glance in Marin’s direction accompanied by the merest flicker of an eyebrow, ‘If you neglect her again, I’m sure she’ll find some delicious way to punish you. Now, take her off and feed her, my darling, and make sure you introduce her to all the people who are dying to meet her.’

For a moment, a slim hand burdened by a platinum wedding-ring and a diamond cluster as spectacular as her necklace rested on his sleeve, then she was gone.

‘“Charming child,”’ Marin repeated woodenly. ‘Not a description ever applied to her, I’ll bet.’

Jake’s mouth twisted. ‘In thirty years’ time, sweetheart, you’ll remember her words with a sigh of nostalgia. And, as hunger seems to be making you peevish, come and eat.’

Marin hung back. ‘I’d prefer to do that at home.’

His brows lifted mockingly. ‘Cocoa and a sandwich?’

She lifted a defiant chin. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘Where would you like me to begin?’ he murmured. ‘Besides, your evening’s work isn’t over yet, so you need to keep your strength up.’

Led over to the buffet and made to choose, Marin found herself with a plateful of poached salmon, lobster mayonnaise and shrimp vol-au-vents, accompanied by a selection of exotic salads. And, in spite of her protests, a glass of champagne.

‘One of humanity’s greatest inventions,’ Jake said, watching with faint amusement as she took a cautious sip. ‘A wine that can be drunk at any hour of the day—or night.’

She said stonily, ‘I’ll just have to take your word for that, Mr Radley-Smith,’ and went on with her supper.

When that was finished, she—met people. It would have been hard not to do so, she reflected, as her companion seemed to know everyone in the room. And all of them, apparently, wanted to know her too.

With Jake’s arm draped casually round her shoulders, her tongue should have been glued to the roof of her mouth, but she actually found herself responding to the friendly overtures coming her way, and making shy conversation instead of feeling as awkward and self-conscious, as she usually did in these situations. She could even withstand the speculative glances from some of the other girls.

My ten minutes of fame, she thought ironically, as Jake Radley-Smith’s latest squeeze. If only they knew!

One of the last people to approach them was the Torchbearer Insurance chairman, Graham Halsay. He was a tall man, slightly overweight, handsome with a florid complexion.

‘Ah—Rad. Good to see you. Yes, very good.’ There was a kind of awkward joviality in his voice. ‘I feel we need to get together over the campaign for Torchbearer’s new household policies, but my diary is full for the whole of next week.’ He paused. ‘However Diana has invited some people down to Queens Barton at the weekend, and I wondered—hoped that you might join us too.

‘The pair of us could hammer out a few things in private, which would also give us a get-out from my wife’s interminable sporting-contests.’

He gave a quick bray of laughter, then looked at Marin. ‘And of course Diana absolutely insists that you bring your Miss—er—Wade with you. She found her quite delightful.’

Marin tensed, and felt the warning pressure of Jake’s hand on hers.

He said, smiling, ‘Thank you, Graham. We’d both be delighted. I’d love Marin to see the house, and the gardens must be looking fabulous.’

‘Well, that’s splendid,’ Graham Halsay said a mite too heartily. ‘First class, in fact. Really look forward to seeing you next Friday evening—both of you.’

Marin stood in silence, watching him go. When he was out of earshot, she said huskily, ‘So what excuse do I invent—summer flu or food poisoning? If I blame the lobster mayonnaise, he may feel too guilty to ask any questions.’

Jake’s mouth was set in a hard line. He said brusquely, ‘No excuse will be necessary. I accepted the invitation on behalf of us both, and we will be spending next weekend at Queens Barton together. Let that be clearly understood.’

‘No way.’ Marin, startled, tried to pull her hand free and failed.

Jake leaned forward, his mouth smiling as he trailed a fingertip down the curve of her cheek, his eyes like chips of ice. His lips brushing her ear, he whispered, ‘This is not up for public discussion, sweetheart. So save the argument until we’re alone.’ He paused. ‘Now, smile back at me as if you have nothing on your mind but bedtime.’

And just how, exactly, do you do that? Marin wondered, producing a dutiful grimace and hoping it would pass. Especially when your bedtimes generally involved pyjamas and a good book.

Seething, she collected her wrap and walked downstairs with him in silence, climbed into the back of the taxi and huddled herself into the opposite corner to him while she tried to marshal her thoughts.

‘So,’ he said at last. ‘What’s the problem?’

She touched the tip of her tongue to her dry lips. ‘I—I don’t want to be involved in this. Not again. Not after this evening.’

Her voice shook. ‘I may look younger than my age, and be called a child by the Queen of Diamonds back there, but that doesn’t make me an idiot. And you were using me tonight as a decoy to fool her husband, because you’re involved with—her. With Mrs Halsay. There’s never an excuse for breaking up a marriage. So, never again, thank you.’

‘Is that the case for the prosecution?’ he asked, and there was a note of amusement in his voice which scraped along her nerve-endings.

She said stormily, ‘It’s all a joke to you, isn’t it? A game with peoples’ lives—peoples’ hearts. You don’t care that there are innocent parties in all this who are going to be hurt.’

‘Actually, I do care,’ he said. ‘Quite a lot. Particularly when the innocent party is myself.’

She gasped. ‘You’re pretending that you’re not having an affair with Mrs Halsay?’

‘I’m pretending nothing,’ he said calmly. ‘Yes, Diana and I were lovers for a time, but that was eighteen months ago, while she was still Diana Marriot. Only she was looking for a rich husband, and I wasn’t interested in marriage, as I made quite clear from the first. She assumed she could make me change my mind; I knew she wouldn’t. She thought if she issued an ultimatum and walked out, I’d come after her. She was wrong about that too.’

It’s done with a great deal of charm, but it’s still over. Lynne’s words, thought Marin. And clearly no idle comment.

‘But she was the reason I was with you tonight,’ she flung back at him. ‘You can’t deny that.’

‘I won’t even try,’ he drawled. ‘You see, when Diana finally realised that I’d meant what I said, she looked around for a replacement and found Graham, who was just getting over a nasty divorce and wanted to prove it to the world with a glamorous new wife. Naturally, I wasn’t asked to the wedding, but after a couple of months she wangled an invitation to a reception she knew I’d be attending.

‘She was perfectly frank with me. Said she’d only married Graham because I wasn’t available, but now could quite understand why his first wife had ditched him for someone younger and more fun in bed. And, on those very grounds, she suggested that our former relationship should be quickly and quietly resumed.

‘She added that we’d need to be ultra-discreet, because Graham, due to his past problems, had a jealous streak, and regarded any of her previous involvements with suspicion.

‘However, when I said a blunt and unequivocal “no” to her flattering invitation, she first of all didn’t believe me. Insisted that she knew I still wanted her.’

Marin’s throat tightened. ‘And did you?’

‘You’ve seen her,’ he said laconically. ‘And I’ve never professed to be made of stone. On the other hand, I’ve always known she could be big trouble. And her offer simply confirmed that.

‘So I stayed politely adamant, and she got angry. Said that no one turned her down a second time, and that she was going to make me sorry for the way I’d treated her.

‘That it would be quite easy for her to make Graham think that I was sniffing round her again, trying to restart our affair, and how would I like to see the Torchbearer Insurance account go up in smoke, as it were, as a consequence.’

He paused. ‘However, she also suggested that under the circumstances I might like to rethink the whole situation, and fast. See sense, as she put it, and remember how good we’d been together.’

He added, ‘Since then I’ve taken damned good care to be accompanied by a female companion at any events where she’s also a guest. And, although it hasn’t the slightest appeal for either of us, sweetheart, that’s why you’ll be accompanying me to Queens Barton next weekend.’

He took out his wallet as the cab drew up at its destination. ‘We’ll discuss the details over a nightcap. I presume you know how the coffee machine works?’

‘You’re—coming up with me?’ She couldn’t keep the dismay out of her voice. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

‘I think it probably will,’ he said. ‘Unless you remembered to put Lynne’s key in your bag before you left. No? I thought not.’

A mistake, she thought as she accompanied him mutinously up to the flat and waited resentfully for him to unlock the door, that she would try not to make again—like so many others.

‘I’m going to have a brandy with my coffee,’ he told her when they were back inside. ‘May I get you one?’