Diamonds are for Deception: The Carlotta Diamond / The Texan's Diamond Bride / From Dirt to Diamonds

‘Then you’ll marry me?’

‘What will your grandfather say?’

‘Don’t worry, he’ll be pleased. He took an instant liking to you.’

‘I’m glad… I like him.’

‘Good. But you still haven’t answered my question. Will you marry me?’

She should have said she needed a clear head, time to think. Instead, under his spell, she found herself agreeing, ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’

His little smile was that of a conqueror as he tilted her face up to his and kissed her.

The stubble of his beard rasped her lips and, her stomach clenching, she opened her mouth to his searching tongue.

While he deepened the kiss, forcing her head back against the pillows, his hands found the rounded curves of her breasts and the pink nipples firmed under his touch.

With a stifled gasp she ran her fingers into his thick blond hair, holding him to her, while desire rose inside her. It flowed from the centre of her being like red-hot lava, swamping everything but her need for him.

Slipping the shirt from her shoulders, he tossed it aside and eased her onto her back, kissing her closed eyelids, her cheekbones, her throat, while one hand slid down over her ribcage and stomach to the silky skin of her inner thighs.

She was shivering, but it had nothing to do with the cool air of the room, as she abandoned herself to his experienced fingers. When his mouth took the place of his fingers she had to bite her lip to stop herself crying out.

His lovemaking was infinitely skilled and gentle, coaxing the maximum sensation from her body while he kept her just on the brink.

Finally, unable to stand any more, she begged huskily, ‘Please, oh, please…’ and felt his weight with gratitude.

This time, showing a steely control over his own body and hers, he moved with maddening slowness. Drawing shuddering thrills from her, he withdrew to the very tip before pressing back again, creating a slow spiralling need that built into a white-hot molten core of tension.

Only when her body instinctively began to urge his did he move faster, driving deeper, until the tension exploded like a volcano. She cried out at the intense pleasure, and heard his low, answering groan.

When their heart-rate and breathing returned to normal he lifted himself away, and, gathering her up, brushed her damp, tangled hair away from her cheeks and kissed her.

Totally at peace and engulfed by a kind of languid sweetness, she fell asleep in his arms, her face against his throat.

When Charlotte awoke for the second time she was alone in the bed. Logs flamed and crackled in the grate and a welcome smell of coffee was drifting in from the scullery.

She was about to get out and pull on the shirt before fetching her clothes, when the door opened and Simon came in carrying a large wooden tray. He was fully dressed, his blond hair, still a little damp from the shower, parted on the left and tidily combed. ‘Hungry?’ he asked.

‘Starving.’

‘The best I can manage is black coffee followed by tinned sausages and baked beans. Not very exciting, I’m sorry to say, but as we’ve expended so much energy,’ he added wickedly, ‘I thought we’d better go for it.’

Trying hard not to blush, she said composedly, ‘It smells wonderful.’

‘As it’s still none too warm out here, I suggest you have yours in bed.’

With a feeling of being cherished and cared for, she pushed herself upright and leaned back against the pillows.

Balancing the tray dexterously on one hand, he removed the candlestick and matches from the bedside table before setting it down.

She noticed that the stubble had gone from his jaw, to be replaced by a slight rawness and a drying trickle of blood. Feeling a sudden rush of tenderness, she said, ‘You’ve cut yourself.’

‘It’s just a nick.’ Wryly, he added, ‘I’m out of practice with the kind of cutthroat razor Ben has. The only time I’ve used one of those was at college, and then I did it for a bet.’

‘I’m surprised you bothered shaving.’ She spoke the thought aloud.

‘I wouldn’t have done, but bristles play havoc with a delicate skin like yours—the bits I can see are still pink from last time—and I was overcome by a strong desire to kiss you all over.’

Before she could protest he drew back the duvet and, taking her hips, pulled her flat on her back. Then, growling softly, he nuzzled his face against her breasts, alternately nibbling and sucking.

While she laughed and squirmed helplessly, he worked his way down her ribcage to her slender waist. His mouth was hovering over her navel when she gasped, ‘Stop…’

‘I’ve scarcely started. I haven’t even got to the really interesting bits.’

‘Please stop.’

‘You mean you don’t like it?’

‘I mean I’m hungry, and the beans and sausages will be getting cold.’

He straightened with a sigh and helped her sit up. ‘What a very practical woman. I can see that in future I’m going to have to feed you before I indulge my lascivious cravings.’

Reaching for the shirt, he put it carefully around her shoulders. ‘Coffee first?’

‘Please.’

When their mugs were empty, he spread a clean tea towel over the duvet and put a heaped plate and a knife and fork in front of her. ‘Tuck in.’

Then, sitting down companionably on the edge of the bed, he reached for his own plate and began to eat with a healthy appetite.

Watching him, Charlotte saw that, without looking anything but entirely masculine, he ate with a kind of neat precision.

Unlike some big men, all his movements were easy and graceful, and whatever he was doing he seemed to have complete control over his own body. The thought brought vivid memories of his earlier lovemaking, and made her breath come faster and her pulses race.

Leashing his own needs, he had been ardent, tender, skilful and wonderfully generous. She had never, in her wildest fantasies, imagined having such a lover.

She wanted to pinch herself to make sure that all that had happened since they’d come to Owl Cottage hadn’t been just a dream.

For instance, had she really agreed to marry a man she had known for barely two days?

Incredibly, she had.

What on earth had made her do it?

She was head over heels in love, it was as simple as that. Somewhere she had read that you first fell in love with your eyes, then your emotions, then your mind. But she hadn’t done it in stages, and she hadn’t called it love.

Instead she had labelled this bolt from the blue physical attraction, only now realising it was love. A fierce, all-consuming love that had lit a torch and sent her up in flames…

CHAPTER SIX

‘I TAKE it that, like me, you’d prefer a traditional church wedding to the register office?’ Simon’s voice broke into her thoughts.

‘Yes, I would,’ she agreed unhesitatingly.

‘Good.’ Putting their empty plates on the tray, he went on, ‘It shouldn’t take long to get everything organised. We’ll need a special licence. But my godfather, as well as being an old friend of the family, happens to be an archbishop, which ought to facilitate matters. If I talk to him as soon as we get back, we should be able to get married in a few days’ time.’

‘A few days!’ She was staggered. ‘Oh, but I—’

‘Grandfather doesn’t have much longer, and I’d like him to live to see us married.’

‘But there’s the shop and—’

‘Couldn’t you ask your assistant—Margaret, did you say her name was—to take care of things for the moment?’

‘I suppose so, but—’

‘Then surely there’s no problem? With regard to your flat you can just leave everything where it is until the wedding’s over. Then, when you’ve moved your personal possessions, give your landlord notice and return the keys.’

‘I don’t think I’ll need to do that. I’m sure Sojo will want to stay on,’ she said.

‘Sojo?’

‘Sojo Macfadyen. My flatmate.’

Looking momentarily startled, he said, ‘I didn’t know you had a flatmate.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Male or female?’

‘Female, of course.’

He grinned briefly. ‘It’s hard to tell with a name like Sojo.’

‘Her name’s Sojourner. Though she’s liable to get violent if anyone calls her that.’

‘How long has she been with you?’

‘Almost two years.’

‘What does she do?’

‘She works for a travel company.’

‘I see. Presumably you get along well?’

‘Very well.’

‘In that case, despite the short notice, perhaps she’ll be your bridesmaid?’ he suggested.

Recalling Sojo’s words, Charlotte was about to say, I’m sure she will, when, bearing in mind the traditions accompanying weddings, she suggested, ‘Shouldn’t we ask your sister first?’

Brusquely, he said, ‘Earlier this year Lucy was badly injured in a car crash. Part of her spine was crushed. Since then she’s been bedridden and in considerable pain.’

Charlotte was shocked. ‘I—I’m so sorry. How dreadful for you all.’ Even as she spoke she was aware of how inadequate the words were.

As he saw her stricken face, his own face softened. ‘It’s been a trying time, particularly for Grandfather, who’s always been very fond of her. He was extremely upset when the hospital warned us she might never walk again. However, Lucy’s got plenty of courage, and she’s a fighter. Now, after a couple of operations, she’s back home and starting to make some positive progress. But to return to the question of a bridesmaid…’

‘I’m sure Sojo will be thrilled to bits,’ Charlotte assured him. ‘As luck will have it, she’ll have no problem getting time off work. When I get back to the flat I’ll—’

‘When were you thinking of going back?’ he questioned sharply.

‘Later today.’

‘Not a chance,’ he told her decidedly. ‘I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’re well and truly married.’

She felt a little thrill of excitement at this show of male possessiveness.

Still, common sense insisted that she should make a stand. Shaking her head, she said, ‘I’ll need to go back to get some clothes, and I must—’

‘I’ve a better idea. As Miss Macfadyen has some time off work, when we get home we’ll ring her up and invite her to stay with us. If you ask her to bring whatever clothes you need to tide you over, I’ll send a car for her.’

The thought of inviting Sojo to Farringdon Hall was a welcome one, but there were other considerations. ‘I have to talk to Margaret about the shop…’

He leaned forward to brush his lips down the side of her neck, making her shiver with delight. ‘My heart’s darling, couldn’t you do that by phone?’

Seduced by the caress and the endearment, she admitted, ‘I suppose I could.’

‘That’s my girl,’ he said jubilantly, and planted a series of soft baby kisses along her jawline, before his mouth covered hers.

Gladly she abandoned herself to his kiss. Simon loved her. He didn’t want to be parted from her for even a short time. If she had harboured any faint doubts as to his feelings, that fact alone should have been reassuring.

Having kissed her into a state of mindless bliss, he queried, ‘Then everything’s settled?’

She nodded.

‘And you’re happy?’

‘Yes.’ The sober answer reflected hardly anything of the joy that filled her and made her cup of happiness overflow.

Touching her cheek with a single finger, he said, ‘Though I’m very tempted to stay and make love to you all morning, I’d better fetch my coat and get moving. Otherwise Grandfather will be wondering what’s happened to us.’

‘Is there any chance of getting the car started?’ she asked when he returned almost immediately, shrugging into his coat.

‘A faint one, possibly, but if I have no joy I’ll start walking back.’

‘If you wait until I’m dressed I’ll come with you.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s a long way, and, though the weather looks to be reasonable this morning. it’s bound to be bad underfoot.’

Remembering the previous night, and how difficult even a comparatively short distance had seemed in high heels, she gave in gracefully.

‘While I’m gone, you can get a shower of sorts, and there are plenty of books.’

‘I’ll find something to do.’ She looked at the tray and the rumpled bed.

Following her glance, he said, ‘Don’t worry about the dishes or the bed; I’ll get one of the servants to come in and set the place to rights.’

He tossed another couple of logs on the fire, and a moment later the door closed behind him.

Struggling against the sense of loss his departure caused, she went along to the bathroom and, discarding the shirt, stepped into the bath, pulled the plastic curtain into place and turned on the shower unit.

The water was a comfortable temperature and the shower gel fresh and tangy, but instead of enjoying it she found herself thinking of Simon, wishing he had kissed her again before he’d left.

Perhaps he didn’t really love her?

Her father had always kissed her mother before he went out, even if he was only going to the local shop to buy a paper.

But she was just being silly, she scolded herself. Simon did love her. He’d said so.

All at once, in spite of the hot water, she went cold inside. He hadn’t actually said he loved her. He had said his heart stood still, that she was exquisite, that he wanted her, but he had never mentioned the word love.

Though why would he be rushing her into marriage if he didn’t love her? If it was only because of the risk of her being pregnant, it would have done no harm to wait and see, before he proposed.

Perhaps, when the chance arose, she would ask him exactly how he felt about her.

No, she would do nothing of the kind. The last thing she wanted was to become one of those insecure women who needed so much reassurance that they became pathetic, a burden to the man in their life.

After all, he hadn’t asked if she loved him. So either he took it for granted, or he didn’t care.

Neither was ideal, she thought as she towelled herself dry. But though she didn’t want her feelings taken for granted, it had to be better than him simply not caring.

After the steamy heat of the shower the air struck chill, and, shivering a little, she reluctantly donned yesterday’s undies, skirt and top and, her jacket over her arm, returned to the warmth of the fire.

She had combed the tangles out of her hair and was just knotting it loosely in the nape of her neck, when the door opened and Simon walked in.

Her spirits rising with a bound, she queried hopefully, ‘How did you get on?’

‘Started first time. I’ve left it just across the bridge with the engine running, so if you’re about ready to go…?’

‘All ready.’ She pulled on her jacket, slid her feet into shoes that felt a little stiff, picked up her bag and followed him outside.

It was a fine, bright morning with not a breath of wind. Sun glinted through the trees, turning a million droplets of water into diamonds and making the saturated ground steam slightly.

When he’d locked the door behind them, they made their way out of the small garden and over the old humpbacked bridge.

A noisy brown torrent was surging through the single arch, carrying branches and loose boulders that battered at the stone foundations. The force seemed to make the whole structure shake, and she was glad to reach the other side.

As Simon helped her into the car she glanced back at Owl Cottage. So much had happened there, it would always be special to her. Though if it hadn’t been for the storm, the cottage wouldn’t have come into the equation, and events would almost certainly have moved at a much slower pace.

But would she have wanted them to?

Before she could answer the question, following the direction of her gaze, Simon asked, ‘No regrets?’

After a moment she replied steadily, ‘No regrets,’ and knew it was the truth.

The road through the woods was littered with storm debris and several times he had to stop the car and get out to move the bigger branches. On one occasion they were forced to leave the track altogether to find a way around a fallen tree. Once they had left the woods, however, and were into smoothly rolling parkland, they made much better time.

When they reached Farringdon Hall, Mrs Reynolds came hurrying to meet them. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said to Simon. ‘Sir Nigel’s been anxious since he asked for you and discovered you weren’t back.’

‘Thanks, Ann. Perhaps you’ll let him know we’re home safely and we’ll be in to see him as soon as we’ve changed.’

A little while later when Charlotte emerged from her room dressed in fresh undies, her oatmeal trousers and mulberry-coloured sweater, Simon was waiting.

After an appreciative glance at her slim trimness, he queried, ‘All set? Then we’ll go and tell Grandfather the good news, shall we?’

She went reluctantly. Though Simon seemed to think his grandfather would be pleased, she seriously doubted it. Why should Sir Nigel welcome a working-class girl into his aristocratic family?

And the whole thing had happened far too quickly. He would probably think that in so short a time she couldn’t possibly have come to love his grandson. He might even think that she was just after his money…

Glancing at her face as they made their way along the corridor to the old man’s room, Simon asked, ‘Feeling nervous?’

‘Scared stiff,’ she admitted.

‘You’ve no need to be,’ he reassured her.

‘But suppose he doesn’t accept me?’

‘He will,’ Simon said with certainty. ‘He took you to his heart the moment he saw you.’

As they reached the sickroom door it was opened by the nurse, who sighed with relief. ‘Thank the good lord you’re back. Sir Nigel’s been on edge since breakfast time waiting for you—’

‘Simon, my boy,’ her patient’s voice cut across the discreet whisper, ‘is everything all right?’

‘Everything’s fine.’

‘Not too long, now,’ the nurse cautioned, and slipped quietly away.

‘We had some trouble with the car,’ Simon explained, ‘and because of the weather conditions we decided to stay the night at Owl Cottage.’

‘Very sensible,’ Sir Nigel approved.

Taking Charlotte’s hand, Simon drew her to the bed. ‘We have some good news, haven’t we, darling?’

Looking even more gaunt and fragile, the old man was sitting propped up by pillows. His dark eyes moving from face to face, he waited.

‘We’re going to be married.’

Any worries Charlotte might have entertained about Sir Nigel’s reception of the news were instantly set at rest. His approval was evident.

Eyes alight with joy, he said, ‘Following the family tradition, eh? I can’t tell you how delighted I am… Charlotte, my dear…’ He held out both hands, long, thin, almost transparent hands, blotched with liver spots.

She took them gently in her strong young hands, and bent to kiss his cheek. His parchment-like skin smelled faintly of eau-de-Cologne.

Shaking hands with his grandson, he queried with undisguised eagerness, ‘How soon?’

‘As soon as possible,’ Simon assured him. ‘We would both prefer a church wedding, so I’m going to give Matthew a ring and see about an Archbishop’s Licence. Hopefully, we can arrange things for Wednesday or Thursday.’

‘You’ll be married at St Peter’s?’

‘I’d like to, though I haven’t yet had time to discuss this with my bride-to-be.’

Turning to Charlotte, he went on, ‘Our family have been tying the knot at the village church for generations. Grandfather was married there, so were my parents.’

‘That sounds lovely,’ she agreed.

Obviously relieved, the old man asked, ‘What about bridesmaids and a best man?’

‘Charlotte is going to ask her friend and flatmate, Miss Macfadyen, to be her bridesmaid, and, as neither of us have got a brother to act as best man, I thought I might ask—’

Sir Nigel looked up, his jaw tight. ‘Not—’

‘No, no…’ Simon said quickly. ‘I was thinking of Matthew’s son, James.’

‘Good choice,’ Sir Nigel approved.

‘If he can get the time off work, of course.’

‘What about Miss Macfadyen? Presumably she works?’

‘Yes, but as luck will have it, she has some holiday due, so I’ve suggested that we invite her down for a few days,’ Simon said.

‘An excellent idea!’

‘Now all we need is someone to give the bride away. It’s a great pity you’re not well enough.’

‘Who says I’m not? I’ll be only too happy to give Charlotte away if she has no objection, and doesn’t mind a wheelchair at her wedding.’

‘I’d be delighted,’ she told Sir Nigel truthfully. ‘So long as it won’t be too tiring for you.’

‘My dear, this news has given me a new lease of life, so I may as well use it to do something that will ensure me an enormous amount of pleasure.’

‘In that case it’s settled,’ Simon said.

Sir Nigel looked as pleased as Punch. ‘You’re having a honeymoon, of course?’

‘Eventually.’ Simon’s manner was deliberately casual. ‘But we’re in no hurry.’

‘Every new bride and groom should have a honeymoon. It’s part of the tradition.’

‘In the circumstances—’ Simon began.

‘I don’t want you to stay at home because of me,’ Sir Nigel broke in. ‘Couldn’t you have a short honeymoon now and a longer one when I’ve gone?’

‘If that’s what you want.’

‘It is,’ the old man said firmly.

‘Then we’ll fly to Paris or Rome for two or three nights. But obviously, before I can book anything, I’ll need to get the wedding arrangements in place. So if I go and phone Matthew now…’

Taking Charlotte’s hand, the old man asked, ‘Would you be kind enough to keep me company for a little while? I’d like to talk to you.’

A warning note in his voice, Simon queried, ‘Are you sure that’s wise at the moment?’

The two men exchanged glances.

‘Maybe I am being impatient,’ Sir Nigel agreed with a sigh.

‘You’re looking very tired,’ Simon pointed out gently, ‘and there’s no point in knocking yourself up before the wedding.’

‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right. God willing, there’ll be time for Charlotte and I to get to know one another after the pair of you are married. Now, give my warmest regards to Matthew, and do invite Miss Macfadyen to stay at the Hall…’

The nurse, who had just returned, said with frosty disapproval, ‘I really must insist, Sir Nigel, that you get some rest now.’

He raised his eyes to heaven, before agreeing with suspicious meekness. ‘Very well, Nurse.’

Releasing Charlotte’s hand, he told her, ‘You’ve made me very happy, my dear.’

Then to Simon, ‘Perhaps you’ll come up later and let me know how things are going?’

‘I’ll be up after lunch,’ Simon promised.

As they descended the stairs, reaction setting in, Charlotte said shakily, ‘He was so pleased. I thought at the very least he would be upset by the suddenness, the speed… After all, we’ve only known each other two days.’

‘Falling in love at first sight seems to run in the Farringdon family,’ Simon remarked.

So he did love her…

Her heart singing, she asked, ‘Is that what your grandfather meant when he talked about following the family tradition?’

‘Yes. My great-grandparents were married within a few weeks of getting to know each other—though Sophia, my great-grandmother, was Italian and spoke very little English—and Grandfather asked Grandmother to marry him less than six hours after meeting her.’

‘What about your parents?’

‘My father proposed to my mother three days after they met. He had to propose twice more before she accepted him, but the circumstances were different. She was a young widow and still in mourning for her husband, who had been killed by a terrorist bomb. Though my grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ marriages were long ones, and my parents’ marriage tragically short, they were all very happy.’

It seemed a good omen, and, her gladness overflowing, Charlotte slipped her hand into his.