Wife By Approval

Momentarily paralysed by shock, she was sitting motionless when the driver’s door was jerked open and a male voice demanded urgently, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes…Yes. Quite all right…’ Her own voice seemed to come from a long way away.

The car had stalled when her foot slipped off the clutch but, even so, he reached inside and felt for the ignition key to turn everything off.

‘Then I suggest you stay where you are for a minute while I assess the damage.’ He closed the door against the rain.

Though she felt dazed, part of her mind registered that his voice was low-pitched and pleasant, a cultured voice and not one she recognised.

But that attractive voice had said, ‘while I assess the damage’…She groaned inwardly. From what little she could see, his car appeared to be a big expensive one. And, though he had hit her, she was to blame. If she had been concentrating, instead of thinking about where she was to stay, it might not have happened.

She had just managed to gather herself and was about to unfasten her safety belt and climb out, when the door opened and he was back.

‘How bad is it?’ she asked fearfully.

‘The original impact was only a glancing blow, so there’s hardly a mark on my car…’

She could only be thankful for that.

‘But I’m very much afraid that the damage caused when your nearside front wing hit the wall will make your car undriveable.’

After the kind of day she’d had, it was the last straw and she gave way to a crazy impulse to laugh.

His face was in deep shadow and she couldn’t see his expression but, sounding concerned and obviously wondering if she was about to become hysterical, he asked, ‘Sure you’re all right?’

‘Quite sure…’

A shade apologetically, she explained, ‘I was just seeing the funny side. It’s been an awful day and I’m afraid I’d reached the stage where I either had to laugh or cry.’

‘Then you made the right decision.’

As he held the door against the wind, a scattering of rain blew in.

Suddenly realising that he was standing getting wet when, but for her, he would no doubt be on his way home to his wife, she made to clamber out, favouring her bad ankle.

He stepped back and put a steadying hand beneath her elbow.

Startled by his touch, she said jerkily, ‘I’m really very sorry about all this…’

‘As my car hit yours, I’m the one who should be apologizing,’ he told her.

Honesty made her insist, ‘No, it was my fault. My mind was on other things and when I started to back out I hadn’t realised there was anyone else about.’

‘Rather than stand in the rain arguing,’ he said dryly, ‘I suggest that, for the moment at least, you allow me to accept the blame. Later, if necessary, we can always agree on six of one and half a dozen of the other.’

Opening the door of what, at close quarters, she could see was a top-of-the-range Porsche, he added briskly, ‘Now, before you get wet through, suppose you jump in and I’ll take you home.’

‘That’s very good of you, but I…’ Her words tailed off as, in the glow of his headlights, she recognised the dark, powerful face she had thought never to see again.

When, her wits scattered, her heart starting to race, she stood rooted to the spot, he said, ‘Is there a problem?’

When she didn’t immediately answer, he suggested, ‘Perhaps you don’t trust me?’

‘No…No, it’s not that.’

‘Then what is it?’

She blurted out the first thing that came into her head. ‘I—I was just wondering if I should try and move my car.’

‘Leave it where it is,’ he told her decidedly. ‘It shouldn’t be in anyone’s way and first thing tomorrow morning I’ll get my garage to tow it in and do the necessary repairs.

‘Now, is there anything you need out of it?’

‘A small case on the back seat.’

‘Jump in and I’ll get it.’

He had left the engine running and in a moment she was installed in the warmth and comfort of the most luxurious car she had ever been in.

Not even Maurice De Vere had a car in that class.

She found herself wondering what a visitor—and, as she had never seen either him or his car before, the dark-haired stranger must be a visitor—was doing in Cartel’s car park so late in the evening…

Her case deposited in the boot, he slid in beside her and reached to fasten both their seat belts. That done, he turned to her and, in the light from the dashboard, studied her face.

Embarrassed by his close scrutiny and only too aware that with wet, bedraggled hair and a shiny nose she must look an absolute fright, she felt her cheeks grow warm.

As though sensing her discomfort, he moved away a little and asked, ‘Where to?’

‘I—I don’t know,’ she stammered.

He raised a dark brow. ‘Amnesia?’

Knowing he was making fun of her and vexed with herself for losing her usual calm composure and acting like a fool, she took a deep breath and said crisply, ‘Certainly not.’

Pulling a mournful face, he observed, ‘Oh, dear…now you’re mad with me.’

For an instant she wavered between annoyance and amusement. Amusement won and she smiled.

Smiling back, he observed, ‘That’s better.’

His smile increased his charm a thousandfold and she found herself thinking that a lot of women would find him irresistible…

Suddenly becoming aware that he’d asked a question she hadn’t caught, she pulled herself together and said, ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I asked why don’t you know?’

Trying to be brief and succinct, she explained, ‘Well, the house I live in is being refurbished, which means my flat is un-inhabitable, and I’m staying with a friend…’

He listened, his dark eyes fixed on her face.

Thrown by the intentness of his gaze, she momentarily lost the thread.

Then, realising he was waiting, she carried on a shade distractedly, ‘Her boyfriend is in London and expecting to stay with her. But her flat is really only a bedsit, so you see I have to find a hotel.’

It seemed like a heaven-sent opportunity and, his thoughts racing, he said, ‘That shouldn’t be a problem. There are plenty of hotels in London. You don’t have any particular preference?’

‘No, anywhere will do…So long as it’s not too expensive,’ she added hurriedly.

But, judging by his clothes and his car, he wouldn’t have to consider expense, so he was hardly likely to know any of the cheaper places. And she couldn’t expect him to go touring London on her behalf when he’d already been held up and inconvenienced.

Recalling her earlier thought, she said, ‘I’m not sure if it’s still there, but there used to be a small hotel quite close to here, on Mather Street…I think it was called the Fairbourn…’

His well-marked brows drew together over a straight nose. ‘If it’s the place I’m thinking of, I wouldn’t say it was particularly prepossessing.’

So long as it was clean and respectable, she wasn’t in a position to be over-fussy. ‘As it’s only for three nights, I can manage.’

Three nights suited his purpose even better, he thought jubilantly.

Things had been going smoothly, but the business trip he’d been forced to take had cost him precious time and they had managed to trace her much faster than he’d anticipated.

Hence the sudden need for drastic action.

Which had worked so far, he reminded himself. But with so much at stake, he simply couldn’t afford to mess things up.

‘As the Fairbourn may well have closed down,’ he said smoothly, ‘and it’s hardly the sort of night to be touring the town in search of accommodation, I suggest you come home with me.’

CHAPTER TWO

WHEN, staggered, wondering what he had in mind, Tina simply stared at him, he repeated evenly, ‘Come home with me.’

Knowing what kind of woman she was, he hadn’t expected much in the way of opposition and was shaken when she said, as if she meant it, ‘I couldn’t possibly do that.’

‘Why not? There’s a perfectly good guest room standing empty.’

Though she was reassured by the mention of a guest room, there were other considerations. A mature man in his late twenties or early thirties, he might well be married. ‘Thank you,’ she began, ‘but I—’

‘It makes sense to come for tonight at least,’ he broke in decidedly. ‘Then tomorrow, if you want to move into a hotel, you’d have all day to find somewhere suitable.’

Rather than ask if he was married, she said, ‘What on earth would your wife say?’

‘As I don’t have a wife, not a lot.’

He hadn’t a wife. Her spirits rose with a bound.

Then common sense took over. If he hadn’t a wife, he would almost certainly have a live-in lover.

‘But you must have…I mean there must be…’

‘A woman around?’ he supplied quizzically.

‘Well…yes.’

‘Oh, there is.’

Though she had half expected it, her heart sank.

‘Thank you,’ she said carefully. ‘It’s very kind of you to suggest it, but—’

He sighed. ‘Now I’ve put you off and I thought you’d feel easier, knowing there was another woman around the place.’

She shook her head. ‘I really think I should go to a hotel. It’ll be far less trouble for—’

‘Oh, Gwen won’t mind,’ he said easily.

If she was living with him she wouldn’t be too happy if he brought a woman home he didn’t even know. Decidedly, she began, ‘I’m quite sure your girlfriend would—’

‘Oh, Gwen’s not my girlfriend. She’s my housekeeper. A very upright woman,’ he added solemnly. ‘A pillar of the church and so forth.’

Feeling as though she was on a roller coaster and with the disturbing impression that he was enjoying teasing her, Tina frowned.

‘Is that a problem?’ he asked, straight faced. ‘Do you have anything against religious women?’

‘Of course not,’ she began. Then, seeing the wicked gleam in his eye, she stopped speaking and gritted her teeth.

‘In that case it’s all settled,’ he announced calmly and let in the clutch.

He had managed it so smoothly that they had pulled out of the car park and joined the evening stream of traffic that flowed down Lansdale Road before she could gather her wits enough to assess the situation.

Though she was very attracted to him and wanted to be with him, the voice of caution warned that to meekly go off with a man she knew nothing about was reckless in the extreme.

Just because he was well-dressed and well-spoken and had a big expensive car, it didn’t necessarily mean that he was trustworthy.

As her mother would have phrased it, he might have designs on her.

Though why should he?

She was tall and slim with good skin and neatish features, but she was nothing to write home about, certainly not the sort to drive men wild.

And a man with his looks and charisma wouldn’t be short of lady friends. In fact, with so much going for him he wouldn’t need to lift a finger to have eager females queuing up.

But, apart from that, there was something about him, she felt, a kind of basic integrity that was oddly reassuring. And this might well be her one and only chance to get to know him. If she insisted on being dropped off at a hotel, in all probability she would never see him again.

The thought was like a hand squeezing her heart.

It didn’t seem possible for a quiet, self-contained woman like herself to feel so strongly about a man she had only just met and didn’t know.

Yet she did.

Throwing caution to the wind, she asked, ‘Where do you live?’

His build-up of tension relaxing, he smiled. ‘I’ve a house in Pemberley Square, close to St James’s Park.’

‘Oh…’A far cry from Mather Street and the Fairbourn Hotel.

‘As we’ll be spending the night…’ He paused. ‘I was about to say together…but, as that might be misconstrued, I’ll say under the same roof, I think we should introduce ourselves, don’t you? My name’s Richard Anders.’

‘Mine’s Tina Dunbar.’

‘Tina?’ He sounded surprised.

‘Short for Valentina,’ she explained reluctantly.

He gave her a sideways glance and, his voice casual, asked, ‘Is Valentina a family name?’

‘No.’

‘Born on February the fourteenth?’

She nodded. ‘That’s right. Though these days Valentine is used for either sex, unfortunately my mother preferred to stick with the feminine form.’

‘Unfortunately?’

‘Valentina is a bit of a mouthful.’

‘I like it.’

‘Oh…’ She felt a little warm glow.

As they headed for the West End, the wipers rhythmically swishing, the wet, almost deserted pavements reflecting back the brightly lit shop windows, he said, ‘So you’re with Cartel Wines…What do you do, Valentina…?’

Very conscious of him, of the handsome, clear-cut profile, the closeness of his muscular thigh to hers, the faint male scent of his cologne, she tried to drag her mind away from the man himself and focus on the question.

‘Are you a buyer?’

‘No. I’m responsible for public relations and sales promotions.’ Then, with a sinking feeling, ‘Or, rather, I was.’

‘You’re leaving?’

‘I’ve no choice. I learnt this afternoon that Matterhorn, the group who have taken over Cartel’s, have their own promotional team coming in next week, which makes me redundant.’

‘So you won’t be going back?’ he pursued.

‘No. I’ve cleared my desk.’

‘Have you been working for Cartel Wines long?’

‘Ever since I left college,’ she answered without thinking.

He gave her a quick sideways smile. ‘As you look about sixteen…’

Wishing fruitlessly that she looked her usual cool, composed self, she said quickly, ‘I’m twenty-three,’ and was aware that she had sounded indignant.

‘That old!’

Now he was laughing at her openly. But it was in a nice way, a way that invited her to join in.

With a smile, she said, ‘I suppose in a few more years being told I look about sixteen will seem like a compliment.’

Then, keen to remove the spotlight from herself and wondering what he’d been doing at Cartel Wines, she changed the subject by remarking, ‘You’re not employed by Cartel?’

‘No.’

‘I didn’t think so. But I wouldn’t have put you down as a visitor. Or certainly not an ordinary one.’

‘Is that a complaint or a compliment?’

‘A comment. Ordinary visitors use the front car park and the main entrance and always leave before the staff.’

‘Well, as I did none of those things, I plead guilty to being out of the ordinary…’

It occurred to her that she still didn’t know why he’d been at Cartel Wines, but, before she could pursue the matter, he remarked, ‘Incidentally, I caught sight of you earlier in the day…’

So he’d recognised her.

‘Yes, I’d slipped out to buy some lunch.’

To give her no chance to ask the question that he wasn’t yet ready to answer, he went on, ‘I fear it came to a sad end. Did you manage to replace it?’

‘No.’

‘You must be ravenous. But we’ll soon be home and Gwen’s sure to have dinner waiting.’

Wondering how the housekeeper would cope when he turned up with an unexpected guest, Tina began, ‘I’m afraid it—’

‘Don’t worry,’ he broke in, ‘there’ll be no problem.’ Then, deciding to stick with a safe topic, at least for the moment, he went on, ‘As a young woman, Gwen had a family of six boys to feed, so she’s always been used to cooking for what seems like an army. She still does.

‘Her church runs a centre for the homeless and each evening she fills her car boot with food and takes it round there.’

He had just finished telling her about his housekeeper’s charitable activities when they reached Pemberley Square and drew up outside a handsome porticoed town house.

It was still raining hard and he retrieved Tina’s case before escorting her across the leaf-strewn pavement and into a chandelier-hung hall.

As he closed the door behind them, a small, thin, neatly dressed woman appeared.

‘Ah, Gwen,’ he said, ‘we have an unexpected guest.’ He introduced the two women, adding, ‘Miss Dunbar was with Cartel Wines.’

The housekeeper smiled and said, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Dunbar.’

Smiling back, Tina said a little anxiously, ‘I hope I’m not causing you a lot of trouble, Mrs Baxter?’

‘Not at all. The guest room is always kept ready. Now, if you’d like to freshen up before dinner…?’

‘If there’s time?’

‘Plenty of time,’ the housekeeper announced comfortably. ‘Luckily I’d decided on a casserole, which will keep hot without spoiling.’

‘In that case,’ Richard said, ‘I’ll check my emails and when Miss Dunbar comes down we’ll have a quick pre-dinner drink in the study.’

With a glance at his watch, he added, ‘But, so your regulars won’t have to wait too long for their supper, I suggest you leave ours on the hotplate and we’ll serve ourselves…’

Mrs Baxter nodded gratefully, then said, ‘Oh, there’s one more thing…Miss O’Connell has been trying to get hold of you. She said your mobile has been switched off all day. She seemed extremely upset about it…’

Reading his housekeeper’s tight-lipped expression correctly, Richard hazarded, ‘So Helen’s been giving you a hard time? Sorry about that.’

Her face softening, Mrs Baxter said, ‘The young lady would like you to give her a ring.’

‘I’ll do that. Thanks, Gwen.’

Taking Tina’s case, the housekeeper led the way up a long, curved staircase and across a balustraded landing, remarking as they went, ‘Mr Anders is always kind and thoughtful. They don’t come any better.’

Doing her best not to hobble, though her ankle was, if anything, worse, Tina asked, ‘How long have you worked for him?’

‘Just over six years and in all that time I’ve never known him be anything other than even-tempered and pleasant.’

‘That’s praise indeed.’

‘And well earned. He’s one of the most generous people I know.

‘In the two years that it’s been in existence the centre that I help to run must have saved quite a few lives, especially in the winter.

‘They have him to thank. Not only did he buy a big warehouse and have it converted into comfortable living quarters, but he pays all the running expenses out of his own pocket and provides money for food and other necessities.

‘He’s even managed to save a few of the poor souls who come there…Oh, not by preaching to them, but by trusting them and giving them a decent job…’

Tina was about to ask what kind of business he was in when she was ushered into a large pastel-walled bedroom that overlooked the rain-lashed lamplit square, with its central garden and mature trees.

Having deposited the case on a low chest, the housekeeper closed the curtains, remarking, ‘It looks like a nasty wet, chilly night, so I’d best get off and make sure that everyone’s taken care of.’

Her hand was on the latch when she turned to say, ‘Oh, when you come down again, the study is straight across the hall.’

The guest room was pleasant and airy, with a pale deeppile carpet, modern furniture, a large, comfortable-looking bed and walk-in wardrobes, while the en suite bathroom was frankly luxurious.

Feeling grubby and dishevelled, Tina decided to take a quick shower.

While she enjoyed the flow of hot water over her bare skin she thought about Richard Anders.

Any remaining doubts about what kind of man he was had been set at rest by Mrs Baxter’s unstinting praise and she could only be thankful that she had accepted his hospitality rather than turning it down.

Refreshed, she towelled herself dry, quickly found some clean underwear and swopped her suit for a fine wool button-through dress in oatmeal.

Her ankle was distinctly swollen now so, instead of changing into high-heeled sandals, she stayed with her flat shoes.

When she had put on a discreet touch of make-up and brushed and re-coiled her dark blonde hair, she made her way carefully down the stairs.

She felt eager and excited, if a touch nervous, at the prospect of spending the evening alone with Richard Anders and getting to know him better.

For perhaps the first time in her life she found herself wishing that she was clever, beautiful, exciting, alluring—whatever it took to arouse and hold his interest.

But of course she wasn’t. She was just an ordinary girl, unable even to keep the interest of a man like Kevin who, though undeniably tall and handsome, hadn’t been in the same class as Richard Anders for looks and presence.

But perhaps it was wealth that had given him his presence, his force of personality?

No, she was oddly convinced that it wasn’t so. If he’d been a poor man he would still have had those assets and, with them, he wouldn’t have remained a poor man for long.

Arriving at the study door, after a momentary hesitation, she tapped and walked in.

It was a pleasant book-lined room with a rich burgundy carpet and matching velvet curtains. An Adam fireplace and an ornate plaster ceiling with flowers and cherubs added to its beauty.

The lighting was low and intimate and a log fire blazed cheerfully in the grate. A small table and a couple of soft leather armchairs had been placed in front of the fire.

Richard, who had been standing by the hearth, advanced to meet her. He looked coolly elegant and just the sight of him made her heart lurch wildly.

He too had made time to shower and change. Instead of the business suit and tie he’d been wearing, he was dressed in smart casuals. His thick dark hair was brushed back from his high forehead and his jaw was clean-shaven.

‘So there you are. Come and make yourself at home.’

A hand at her waist—just that impersonal touch made her go all of a dither—he ushered her to the nearest chair.

Trying to look cool and composed, she sank into it.

His glance taking in the touch of make-up, he smiled at her and said teasingly, ‘My, now you look all of eighteen.’

That white smile, with its unstudied charm, rocked her afresh and made her feel as though her very bones were as pliable as warm candle wax.

‘I’d just started to wonder if you knew which was the study,’ he went on, ‘or if you were wandering around, lost.’

‘No, I knew. Mrs Baxter told me.’ She was aware that she sounded more than a little breathless.

Indicating a drinks trolley, he queried, ‘What’s it to be?’

Bearing in mind that she’d had nothing to eat since breakfast, she plumped for orange juice.

While he added crushed ice to the glass and poured the freshly squeezed juice, she watched him from beneath long lashes.

In dark well-cut trousers and a black polo-neck sweater, he looked even more handsome and attractive and, in spite of all her efforts, her heart began to pick up speed.

He glanced up and, unwilling to be caught staring, she looked hastily away.

A moment or two later he was by her side. Handing her a tall, narrow, frosted glass, he said, ‘Here you are.’

While she sipped, he leaned against the mantel, a whisky and soda in his hand, firelight flickering on his face, and studied her appraisingly.

He would have expected the sort of life she’d been leading to have left its mark, but at close quarters she looked clear-eyed and healthy and altogether too untouched to be the kind of woman he knew her to be.

He’d known from the start that she was blonde and blue-eyed, had even seen photographs of her, which had convinced him that she was attractive.

But the first time he had seen her in the flesh coming out of De Vere’s office he had realised that the photographs didn’t do her justice.

She was beautiful.

Now, taking in the long-lashed blue-violet eyes that slanted slightly upwards at the outer corners, the lovely silky hair the colour of corn-syrup—and natural too, he’d bet—winged brows and high cheekbones, the straight nose and the mouth that his own suddenly felt the urge to kiss, he revised his earlier opinion.

She was more than merely beautiful.

Much more.