His voice was quiet, measured, concerned. She turned and sent him what she hoped was a smile. ‘I’ve become a firm believer that what we do with our bodies affects us emotionally.’

He widened his stance. ‘You’re going to need to explain that.’

She moistened suddenly dry lips. ‘All of this touching...it’s nice.’

He leaned towards her, a frown in his eyes. ‘And?’

‘I just don’t want either one of us getting the wrong idea and imagining that it means something more.’

He reared back as if she’d struck him. ‘If you think I can’t control myself—’

‘I’m not just talking about sex,’ she snapped at him. ‘I know you think that we can just breeze in and play these parts and that nothing will change and everything will be hunky-dory and...and tickety-boo!’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Hunky-dory?’ His voice grew even more incredulous. ‘Tickety-boo?’

She glared at him. ‘I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.’

He paced away from her, paced back. ‘Sorry.’

That didn’t look like what he really wanted to say.

His lips thinned. ‘So can I assume you don’t think this is going to be easy?’

‘In my experience nothing is ever as easy as we hope it’ll be. And despite what you think, we’re playing a dangerous game here. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.’

His eyes throbbed into hers. ‘You’re talking about hearts and emotions now?’

She nodded.

He leaned down so they were eye to eye. ‘I can assure you that my heart is in absolutely no danger. You should know me better than that.’

Yes, but she was Peter’s little sister. And she didn’t know how or why, but in his eyes that made her different from other women.

He straightened. ‘Are you telling me your heart is in danger?’

‘Absolutely not.’ Not as long as she remained on her guard. And she had no intention whatsoever of letting her guard slip. ‘But what about Carol Ann and your grandfather?’ They could become invested in this fake marriage.

He stilled. ‘You’ll always be Carol Ann’s friend, won’t you? You’re not going to dump her the moment we get our divorce.’

‘Of course not!’

‘Then I think she’ll be fine. Thank you for considering her well-being. I appreciate it.’

But she noticed he made no mention of his grandfather’s well-being. She didn’t pursue it. ‘Fine. That leads us to the next topic.’

* * *

Will stared at her. He wanted away from the cloying heat of the room. Mind you, it had only become cloying in the last few minutes.

‘You’re supposed to ask me what topic?’ she prompted.

‘What topic?’ he growled.

She sent him a falsely sweet smile that scraped through him like fingernails on a blackboard. ‘Kissing.’

He rocked back on his heels. He couldn’t help it. He was simply grateful he managed to stop himself from striding from the room altogether.

She glanced away, her lips pressed into a tight white line that still couldn’t hide the luscious curve of her bottom lip. A fact he desperately didn’t want to notice.

‘Did you really think we’d manage to get through this weekend without the odd peck?’

He let the air out of his lungs, slowly. A peck? He could manage that. Her lips twisted as if she’d read that thought in his face and he knew what message he was sending her—that he found her unattractive. And he could tell she was doing her best to try and not let that bother her...hurt her.

Damn it! He needed this weekend to go smoothly. He needed to convince his grandfather that he and Sophie were serious. He tried to bring Carol Ann’s face to mind, but it was Sophie’s wounded eyes that kept appearing there instead.

Damn it! Letting her think that he didn’t find her attractive provided him with a measure of protection, but a real man wouldn’t let her continue operating under the misapprehension, wouldn’t let her take the blame for his own weakness. If it were any other woman...

But it wasn’t any other woman. It was Sophie.

Will you keep an eye on her? Be there for her if I can’t be?

He’d promised Peter.

He slammed his hands to his hips. ‘I don’t find you unattractive, Sophie.’

She turned from surveying the fire. ‘You don’t need to pander to my vanity and make excuses or apologise, Will. These things can simply be a matter of taste or chemistry or—’

He held up a hand, holding her gaze. ‘You’re lovely...beautiful.’ His gut clenched as he said the words.

She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing. ‘But?’

Her chin didn’t drop, the light in her eyes didn’t fade, and she suddenly appeared indomitable. Where he’d fancied he’d seen fragility, now there was only strength. It made his mouth go dry though he couldn’t fully explain why. Except the realisation that what he thought of her physically maybe didn’t matter to her one jot. Which was how it should be, of course. But it left him feeling at a distinct disadvantage.

Right, so that’s new, is it?

He ignored the sarcastic voice as best he could, and thrust out his jaw. ‘But,’ he ground out, ‘you’re different from the women I date. With them I...’

‘Scratch an itch and then move on?’ she offered when he hesitated.

It was crude but accurate, and everything inside him rebelled at it. ‘We have fun, enjoy each other’s company.’

‘Yes.’

He shifted under the steadiness of her gaze, shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Are you saying it’s different for you and the guys you date?’

‘No.’

If he’d been hoping to put her on the defensive he’d have been sadly disappointed.

‘The itch I’ve been scratching, though, is grief, and I finally figured out that the partying, the drinking, the dating an endless parade of guys—having fun and enjoying their company—hasn’t helped.’

He pulled his hands from his pockets and then didn’t know what to do with them. He moistened his lips. ‘Has it made it worse?’ How could he help?

She made an impatient movement. ‘Not worse. It’s just...pointless, and not how I want to spend the rest of my life.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘I wonder what itch you’re scratching? I think it’s a big one.’

He realised then that she wasn’t judging him. Lots of women did, and found him wanting. Not that he blamed them. He wasn’t cut out for commitment and the long haul. But Sophie was simply trying to work him out. Some of the tension that had him wound up tight eased. When you had parents like his, when you watched them do their best to tear each other apart—and succeed—you promised to never let yourself fall into that same trap, to never get embroiled in the same predicament.

But he didn’t want to talk about his parents. ‘Is it really so incomprehensible for a guy to simply want to keep his freedom, to not want to be tied down?’

One of her shoulders lifted in a graceful shrug.

‘What I’m trying to say, Sophie, is that you’re not like the women I usually date and that...’ He bit back a curse. ‘I can’t treat you the way I would them.’

She nodded. ‘Because I’m Peter’s little sister.’

Exactly.

‘And I can’t treat you like the guys I’ve been dating.’

‘Because I’m Peter’s best friend.’

Very slowly she shook her head. ‘Because I like you.’ Her eyes grew shadowed. ‘And because of who you were to Peter—yes, that too. It means I want you as a part of my life for...’

Things inside him clenched up tight. ‘For?’

‘Forever. Permanently. I know I’m a trial to you. I know you probably don’t even like me all that much.’

What the hell...?

‘But it means I don’t want to mess things up between us.’

Where had she got that idea—that she thought he didn’t like her?

‘You’re one of the few links I have left to Peter and I can’t bear the thought of losing it.’

Her grief went so deep and he intended to do whatever he could to help her over it. ‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘It will if we mess this up. If we lose our heads and forget ourselves...just once...then we’re not going to want to see each other again.’

Her words were like a punch to the gut. Because they were true.

‘It’s what I meant when I said we were playing a dangerous game.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘If you found me unattractive that would be—’ She broke off. ‘But you don’t.’

And he realised then what she’d made explicit but had left unsaid. She didn’t find him unattractive either. The knowledge made his blood roar.

Hell.

He ground his back molars together and counted to three, pulled in a breath. ‘You have my word that I won’t lose my head.’

He would not let her down.

‘And you have my word.’

They had to be cautious, circumspect. He couldn’t let himself feel too comfortable with her...and yet they both had to cultivate an appearance of tranquillity with each other for outside eyes. She was right. This could be trickier than he’d first envisaged. But not impossible.

Her lips lifted and she rolled her eyes.

‘What?’

Before he knew what she was about she’d leaned in, stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

His heart crashed in his chest. His cheek burned where her lips had touched him.

She eased back, adjusted her cardigan. ‘Right. Your turn.’

She was trying to make kissing him as natural as possible, and he had to do the same. ‘Believe it or not,’ he said, ‘it’s my pleasure.’

He pressed a kiss to her brow and tried not to notice how soft and warm and vibrant she felt beneath his lips.

She huffed out a laugh. ‘Well, in that case I choose to believe it. Right, sit.’

She gestured to the sofa and he took a seat. She came from behind. Her arms slid around his shoulders, making him start.

‘You do that downstairs and you’ll give the game away.’

He nodded and gritted his teeth. ‘Do it again.’

She eased back, walked away and then moved towards him again and bent down to slide just one arm about his shoulders. He rested his hand on her forearm and felt a tiny tremor run through her. He pulled in a measured breath and her scent flooded his senses. ‘You smell nice.’

Nice? That’s the best you can manage?

She smelled sensational—fruity and warm, like Christmas. Though Christmas was months away.

‘It’s my body lotion. Frosted cherry. My favourite.’

They broke apart at exactly the same moment. This was exhausting, but he saw the wisdom of it. They needed to give the impression that they were physically comfortable with each other.

When nothing could be further from the truth.

‘Your turn.’ He waved her to the armchair.

She sat, leaned back, crossed her legs—for all the world as if she were completely at ease.

Time for them to get this over and done with.

Her eyes widened when he braced his hands on the arms of the chair and leant down towards her, effectively locking her in and leaving her nowhere to escape. ‘Lips?’

She glanced at his lips and then back into his eyes and nodded. ‘Dry lips,’ she whispered. ‘And we keep it brief.’

Every cell in his body burst to life. He recited, Peter’s sister, Peter’s sister, Peter’s sister, over and over in his mind. ‘I want to tell you something before we do this,’ he murmured, his gaze not dropping from hers.

She swallowed. ‘Okay.’

‘You’re wrong. I like you just fine, Sophie Mitchell.’

Her lips parted as if in shock. He couldn’t resist the pull any longer. His mouth lowered to hers, lips brushing lips—light, teasing and nowhere near enough. She stiffened, but then he felt her force herself to relax. And then she leaned forward a fraction and pressed her lips more firmly against his and kissed him back.

Wind roared in his ears. It took all the strength he had to not deepen the kiss, to not engage lips, mouths, tongues and hands.

Biting back a groan, he pulled back to stare into stunned blue eyes. They were a deeper shade of blue than he’d ever seen before.

She pushed him away and launched herself from the chair like a horse from a starter’s gate. ‘We better keep that to a minimum.’

She was darn right they were keeping that to a minimum!

He’d kiss her cheek, her brow, the top of her head, her hand, but he had every intention of staying as far away from those lips as possible. They were lethal!

CHAPTER THREE

THE MOMENT SOPHIE and Will entered the drawing room, they were greeted with a squeal and a woman with the same dark auburn hair as Will—Carol Ann—launched herself at her brother with a display of such unadulterated joy all Sophie could do was smile.

When had she lost that easy, unselfconscious joy? The answer came swiftly—when she was eleven years old. She glanced at Will and wondered when he’d lost his.

His current delight at seeing Carol Ann, however, was plain to see. He turned his sister towards Sophie. ‘You remember Sophie, don’t you?’

She’d prepared herself for any number of scenarios—from cluelessness as to who Sophie might be, suspicion, perhaps jealousy over Will...and even a studied politeness. What she got though was another whoop of joy and smothered by a hug.

‘Sophie’s my best friend.’

She was?

‘We like the same movies.’

‘We certainly do.’ For one mischievous moment she was tempted to launch into a song from South Pacific or Grease, but she was aware of the other two people in the room...and she had a feeling they might not appreciate her musical prowess as much as Carol Ann and Will.

Not that Will would necessarily appreciate it either, but he’d appreciate the effort of making Carol Ann happy.

‘She sends me the best presents.’ She stared at Sophie expectantly now. ‘Did you bring me a present?’

Will’s head rocked back. ‘Carol Ann, you can’t—’

‘Of course I did.’ Sophie laughed at a thunderstruck Will. Digging into her pocket, she drew out a small velvet box. ‘Here you go.’

Carol Ann opened the box and her eyes went wide. ‘It’s beautiful!’

It was a bracelet of pink and purple crystals, and she’d known Carol Ann would love it.

The other girl danced on the spot. ‘Purple for me! Pink for you!’ she shouted.

‘Not so loud,’ Will admonished, though he couldn’t hide his smile.

‘Put it on me,’ Carol Ann demanded.

Will did and Carol Ann rushed to show it to Ms Grant and her grandfather.

‘What did she mean about the colours?’ Will asked, drawing her further into the room.

‘Purple is Carol Ann’s favourite colour and pink is mine.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘She told me.’

Carol Ann swung back to them. ‘Because we talk lots and lots on the phone.’

His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. She’d thought he knew. She’d thought Carol Ann would’ve told him. She’d never mentioned it to him herself because he’d never raised the topic. So rather than look at Will, Sophie grinned at Carol Ann. ‘Because we’re best friends.’

The pressure of his fingers on her arm informed her he’d be following this conversation up when they were alone. ‘Do you remember Miss Grant?’ He gestured to the other woman. ‘She came to London with Carol Ann when they visited.’

She did. Esther Grant was Carol Ann’s carer. The two women smiled at each other. ‘Of course I do. How’s your father doing, Esther?’

‘Coming along nicely, thank you, Sophie.’

‘He had a hip replacement last month,’ she explained to Will.

Will stared at her with narrowed eyes. ‘And are you and my grandfather in regular correspondence too?’

She turned to the stocky man who surveyed her from the largest armchair she’d ever seen. ‘I don’t believe Lord Bramley and I have ever met.’

‘Grandfather, I’d like you to meet Sophie Mitchell.’

For a moment she thought the older man wasn’t going to rise from his chair, that he meant to snub her completely, but eventually he lumbered to his feet and briefly clasped her hand. ‘Your reputation precedes you.’

Ouch! She refused to let her chin drop. ‘As does yours.’ She meant it in exactly the same way as he did, and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen.

He briefly clasped Will’s hand. He wasn’t as tall as Will, but he was broader. Without another word he installed himself in his chair again. Flicking a glance at her left hand, he grimaced. ‘I don’t need to ask why you’ve decided to grace us with your presence.’

Carol Ann bustled up between them. ‘You’re here to visit me, aren’t you, Will?’

‘That’s right,’ he agreed.

He met Sophie’s eyes over the top of Carol Ann’s head and she sent him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. It was nice to see him with his sister, but there was no denying the tension that had him coiled up tight.

‘And to tell you that Sophie and I are going to get married.’

Carol Ann’s eyes widened.

‘As long as that’s all right with you,’ Sophie added.

More squealing and jumping up and down ensued, especially when she realised Sophie wouldn’t just be her best friend but also her sister, until Esther broke in and told Carol Ann that it was time for her Zumba dance class at the local community centre.

The room grew quiet when it was only the three of them left. Dark undercurrents she didn’t understand swirled about the room.

‘So you’re not going to congratulate us?’ Will finally said, though his tone implied he didn’t care one way or the other if his grandfather approved of the match or not, was happy for him or not. It was all she could do not to wince.

The older man’s gaze turned to her. ‘I noticed you asked Carol Ann’s permission, but you didn’t ask mine.’

A myriad different retorts sprang to her lips, but she sensed hurt behind the belligerence so she swallowed them all back. She sensed similar retorts on the top of Will’s tongue too, but she rested her hand on his arm to keep him from replying.

Will’s grandfather glanced at that hand and then back into her face and pursed his lips.

‘Carol Ann is a darling,’ she said. ‘But Will marrying has the potential to impact on her significantly. We didn’t want her security to feel threatened.’

He thrust out his jaw. ‘What about my security?’

The muscles under her fingers clenched and she tightened her grip. It took a ludicrous amount of willpower not to let her hand explore the intriguing line of that arm further—to test the solidity of the flesh that quivered beneath her touch. ‘Forgive me, sir, but you’re a man of the world and you don’t need mollycoddling. May we sit?’

She needed to sit before her knees gave out. She didn’t wait for an answer, but dragged Will to the sofa and all but fell down into it.

The older man grunted but for a moment she swore she detected a flash of humour in those eyes.

She glanced at Will in her peripheral vision. Why didn’t he say something? She gave a surreptitious nudge to his ribs.

He started. Not the reaction she’d been hoping for. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes.

‘I take it, Grandfather, that you’re in good health?’

That jaw jutted out. ‘Fit as a fiddle.’

‘In that case, as you’re the one who demanded I marry, I’m at a loss to explain your appalling lack of enthusiasm at my announcement.’

Well, that was a no-brainer. He obviously had an objection to Will’s choice of bride. But would Lord Bramley say as much in front of her?

She really hoped not because if he did she’d be forced to retaliate. But as the two men’s gazes locked and clashed it occurred to her that maybe this had nothing to do with her at all.

What on earth was this pair’s problem with each other?

She shuffled upright. ‘We were hoping to be married here, at Ashbarrow Castle, if that’s all right with you, sir.’

Her words broke through the silent battle and they both swung to stare at her. ‘When are you planning to marry?’ barked Will’s grandfather. ‘Spring?’

Spring was six months away.

One corner of Will’s mouth lifted, but his eyes remained as cold as chips of ice. ‘We’re getting married in three weeks.’

‘Three weeks!’ The older man glared at them, his jaw working. ‘That’s impossible. There’s too much to organise. People will talk!’

‘People always talk,’ Sophie broke in. ‘But when there’s no baby in nine months’ time they’ll realise they were wrong. I’m not pregnant, Lord Bramley.’

‘Then why the rush?’

‘I believe you’re the one who set the timer, sir.’

If Will ever used that tone with her she might just shrivel on the spot!

‘Then why don’t you just go to some hole-and-corner register office?’ he spat.

‘Because that’s not what I want,’ Sophie inserted with a confidence she was far from feeling, her best hostess smile in place. She didn’t actually know what a hole-and-corner register office might be, or if it even existed, but she caught the tone well enough. Will was going to give her a million pounds. She had to save the situation before Will blew it and told the old man precisely what he could do with his estate.

She refused to let her smile waver. ‘I always swore that when I got married it’d be done right.’ She’d just never envisaged a marriage like...this. ‘I agree that three weeks isn’t much time, but it’s doable. Which is just as well as it’s the timeframe Will has given me.’

Both men stared at her as if she’d grown a second head.

‘Four generations of the Trent-Patersons have been married here at the village church. I happen to think it’s important for Will to be married from here as well. It’s a tradition that should be preserved.’

A different light came into Lord Bramley’s eyes. He leaned back and folded his arms. Sophie held her breath.

‘My grandson doesn’t think so. He thinks tradition a waste of time.’

Will’s hands clenched. ‘When tradition is used as an excuse to force someone to do something unprincipled, when it’s an excuse for bad behaviour and deceit, then it’s empty, worthless and meaningless. And I refuse to have anything to do with it.’

Wow! Will vibrated with barely contained anger. Damage control. ‘I think we might’ve just gone off track.’

Beside her, Will swore. She slipped her hand inside his and he gripped it hard. ‘The kind of tradition I’m talking about is a nice one. One that I’d be proud to be a part of.’

Will met her gaze and she sent him a smile. He stared at her for two beats and then shook his head and sent her a rueful smile in return.

Squaring his shoulders, he swung back to his grandfather. ‘Sophie has her heart set on being married from Ashbarrow. And I want her to have the wedding of her dreams.’

‘What does your father think about this?’

Her stomach clenched at Lord Bramley’s sly question. ‘As soon as I tell him I’ll let you know.’

‘He’ll have his heart set on a London wedding.’

She bit back an inappropriate smile along with an even more inappropriate gurgle of laughter. ‘Nonsense. What he has his heart set on is his daughter mending her wicked ways.’

Lord Bramley remained silent for several long moments. ‘Very well, you can be married from here on two conditions.’

Will stiffened. ‘If I don’t like your—’

She dug her fingernails into the back of his hand. ‘Which are?’

‘That you delay your nuptials for another week. Give me a month to get the place ready.’

She glanced at Will. His lips thinned into a mutinous line. Lips that had touched hers and sent such a jolt through her she still hadn’t recovered. Don’t think about that!

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