But Jack had wanted to own her—just as her father had wanted to own her. And, just like her father, Jack had turned cold and distant when she’d refused to submit to his will. And then he’d left.

Five years later a small voice inside her still taunted her with the sure knowledge that she’d have been happier with Jack on his terms than she was now on her own terms, as her own woman. She waved a hand in front of her face. That was a ridiculous fairytale—a fantasy with no basis in reality. She and Jack were always going to end in tears. She could see that now.

Very gently, Paul reached out and placed the photograph facedown on the table. ‘I’m sure there must be a nice photograph of you and your mother somewhere.’

She snapped back to the present, trying to push the past firmly behind her. ‘See if you can find a photo of me and Barbara.’

Paul rolled his eyes in a most un-butler-like fashion and Caro laughed and patted his arm.

‘The things I ask of you...’

He smiled down at her. ‘Nothing’s too much trouble where you’re concerned, Miss Caro.’

She glanced up the grand staircase towards the first-floor rooms.

‘I’ll keep an eye on Mrs Fielding,’ he added. ‘I’ll try to dissuade her if she wants to go out. If she insists, I’ll send one of the maids with her.’ He glanced at the grandfather clock. ‘They’re due to come in and start cleaning any time now.’

‘Thank you.’ She didn’t want Barbara doing anything foolish—like trying to sell that snuffbox if she did have it. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

* * *

Despite the loss of the snuffbox and all the morning’s kerfuffle, it was Jack’s face that rose in her mind and memories of the past that invaded Caro, chasing her other concerns aside, as she trudged across Westminster Bridge.

The sight of that photograph had pulled her up short. They’d been so happy.

For a while.

A very brief while.

So when she first saw his face in the midst of the crowd moving towards her on the bridge, Caro dismissed it as a flight of fancy, a figment of her imagination. Until she realised that blinking hadn’t made the image fade. It had only made the features of that face clearer—a face that was burned onto her soul.

She stopped dead. Jack was in London?

The crowd surged around her, but she couldn’t move. All she could do was stare.

Jack! Jack! Jack!

His name pounded at her as waves of first cold and then heat washed over her. The ache to run to him nearly undid her. And then his gaze landed on her and he stopped dead too.

She couldn’t see the extraordinary cobalt blue of his eyes at this distance, but she recognised the way they narrowed, noted the way his nostrils flared. She’d always wondered what would happen if they should accidentally meet on the street. Walking past each other without so much as an acknowledgment obviously wasn’t an option, and she was fiercely glad about that.

Hauling in a breath, she tilted her head to the left a fraction and started towards the railing of the bridge. She leaned against it, staring down at the brown water swirling in swift currents below. He came to stand beside her, but she kept her gaze on the water.

‘Hello, Jack.’

‘Caro.’

She couldn’t look at him. Not yet. She stared at the Houses of Parliament and then at the facade of the aquarium on the other side of the river. ‘Have you been in London long?’

‘No.’

Finally she turned to meet his gaze, and her heart tried to grow bigger and smaller in the same moment. She read intent in his eyes and slowly straightened. ‘You’re here to see me?’

His demeanour confirmed it, but he nodded anyway. ‘Yes.’

‘I see.’ She turned to stare back down at the river. ‘Actually...’ She frowned and sent him a sidelong glance. ‘I don’t see.’

He folded his tall frame and leaned on the railing, too. She dragged her gaze from his strong, hawk-like profile, afraid that if she didn’t she might reach across and kiss him.

‘I heard about your father.’

She pursed her lips, her stomach churning like the currents below. ‘You didn’t send a card.’

He didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘You send me a Christmas card every year...’

He never sent her one.

‘Do you send all your ex-lovers Christmas cards?’

She straightened. ‘Only the ones I marry.’

They both flinched at her words.

In the next moment she swung to him. ‘Oh, please, let’s not do this.’

‘Do what?’

‘Be mean to each other.’

He relaxed a fraction. ‘Suits me.’

She finally looked at him properly and a breath eased out of her. She reached out to clasp his upper arm. She’d always found it incredibly difficult not to touch him. Through the fine wool of his suit jacket, she recognised his strength and the firm, solid feel of him.

‘You look good, Jack—really good. I’m glad.’

‘Are you?’

‘Of course.’ She squeezed his arm more firmly. ‘I only ever wanted your happiness.’

‘That’s not exactly true, though—is it, Caro?’

Her hand fell away, back to her side.

‘My happiness wasn’t more important to you than your career.’

She pursed her lips and gave a nod. ‘So you still blame me, then?’

‘Completely,’ he said without hesitation. ‘And bitterly.’

She made herself laugh. ‘Honesty was never our problem, was it?’ But the unfairness of his blame burned through her. ‘Why have you come to see me?’

He hauled in a breath, and an ache started up in the centre of her. ‘Hearing about your father’s death...’ He glanced at her. ‘Should I give you my condolences?’

She gave a quick shake of her head, ignoring the burn of tears at the backs of her eyes. Pretending her relationship with her father had been anything other than cold and combative would be ridiculous—especially with Jack.

‘You don’t miss him?’

His curiosity surprised her. ‘I miss the idea of him.’ She hadn’t admitted that to another living soul. ‘Now that he’s gone there’s no chance that our relationship can be fixed, no possibility of our differences being settled.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I didn’t know I still harboured such hopes until after he died.’

Those blue eyes softened for a moment, and it felt as if the sun shone with a mad midday warmth rather than afternoon mildness.

‘I am sorry for that,’ he said.

She glanced away and the chill returned to the air. ‘Thank you.’

The one thing the men in her life had in common was their inability to compromise. She couldn’t forget that.

‘So, hearing about my father’s death...?’ she prompted.

He enunciated his next words very carefully and she could almost see him weighing them.

‘It started me thinking about endings.’

Caro flinched, throwing up her arm as if to ward off a blow. She couldn’t help it.

‘For pity’s sake, Caro!’ He planted his legs. ‘This can’t come as a surprise to you.’

He was talking about divorce, and it shouldn’t come as a shock, but a howling started up inside her as something buried in a deep, secret place cracked, breaking with a pain she found hard to breathe through.

‘Are you going to faint?’

Anger laced his words and it put steel back in her spine. ‘Of course not.’

She lifted her chin, still struggling for breath as the knowledge filtered through her that just as she’d harboured secret hopes of reconciling with her father, so she had harboured similar hopes where Jack was concerned.

Really? How could you be so...optimistic?

She waved a hand in front of her face. The sooner those hopes were routed and dashed, the better. She would never trust this man with her heart again.

She lifted her chin another notch against the anger in his eyes. ‘You’ll have to forgive me. It’s been something of a morning. We had the reading of my father’s will yesterday. Things have been a little...fraught since.’

He rubbed a fist across his mouth, his eyes hooded. ‘I’m sorry. If I’d known, I’d have given you another few weeks before approaching you with this.’ His anger had faded but a hardness remained. His lips tightened as he glanced around. ‘And I should’ve found a better place to discuss the issue than in the middle of Westminster Bridge.’

She had a feeling her reaction would have been the same, regardless of the where or when. ‘You’ve just been to my flat?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘I was going to catch the tube up to Bond Street.’ It was the closest underground station to where she worked. ‘But...’

‘But the Jubilee Line is closed due to a suspicious package at Green Park Station,’ she finished for him. It was why she was walking. That and the need for fresh air. ‘I’m on my way to the flat now. We can walk. Or would you prefer to take a cab?’

* * *

Jack didn’t like Caro’s pallor. Rather than answer verbally, he hailed a passing cab and bundled her into it before the motorists on the bridge could start tooting their horns. The sooner this was over, the better.

Caro gave the driver her address and then settled in her seat and stared out of the side window. He did the same on his side of the cab, but he didn’t notice the scenery. What rose up in his mind’s eye was the image of Caro when he’d first laid eyes on her—and the punching need to kiss her that had almost overwhelmed him. A need that lingered with an off-putting urgency.

He gritted his teeth against it and risked a glance at her. She’d changed.

It’s been five years, pal, what did you expect?

He hadn’t expected to want her with the same ferocity now as he had back then.

He swallowed. She’d developed more gloss...more presence. She’d put on a bit of weight and it suited her. Five years ago he’d thought her physically perfect, but she looked even better now and every hormone in his body hollered that message out, loud and clear.

After five years his lust should have died a natural death, surely? If not that then it should at least have abated.

Hysterical laughter sounded in the back of his mind.

Caro suddenly swung to him and he prayed to God that he hadn’t made some noise that had betrayed him.

‘I hear you’re running your own private investigation agency these days?’

‘You hear correctly.’

Gold gleamed in the deep brown depths of her eyes. ‘I hear it’s very successful?’

‘It’s doing okay.’

A hint of a smile touched her lips. She folded her arms and settled back in her seat.

‘Calculating the divorce settlement already, Caro?’

Very slowly her smile widened, and his traitorous heart thumped in response.

‘Something like that,’ she purred. ‘Driver?’ She leaned forward. ‘Could you let us out at the bakery just up here on the right? I need to buy cake.’

Cake? The Caro he knew didn’t eat cake.

The Caro you knew was a figment of your imagination!

CHAPTER TWO

‘JACK, I FIND myself in a bit of a pickle.’

Caro set a piece of cake on the coffee table in front of him, next to a steaming mug of coffee. She’d chosen a honey roll filled with a fat spiral of cream and dusted with glittering crystals of sugar.

Jack stared at it and frowned. ‘Money?’

‘No, not money.’

He picked up his coffee and glanced around. Her flat surprised him. It was so small. Still, it was comfortable. Her clothes weren’t cheap knock-offs either. No, Caro looked as quietly opulent as ever.

She perched on the tub chair opposite him. ‘You seem a little hung up on the money issue.’

Maybe because when they’d first met he hadn’t had any. At least not compared to Caro’s father.

Don’t forget she was disinherited the moment she married you.

She hadn’t so much as blinked an eye at the time. She’d said it didn’t matter. She’d said that given her and her father’s adversarial relationship it was inevitable. And he’d believed her.

He bit back a sigh. Who knew? Maybe she’d even believed the lie back then.

‘Perhaps we should clear that issue up first,’ she continued.

‘You didn’t have to buy cake on my account, you know.’

He wished she hadn’t. Her small acts of courtesy had always taken him off guard and left him all at sea. They’d oozed class and made it plain that she’d had an education in grace and decorum—one that he’d utterly lacked. It had highlighted all the differences between them. He’d lived in fear of unknowingly breaking one of those unknown rules of hers and hurting her.

You hurt her anyway.

And she’d hurt him.

He pushed those thoughts away.

Caro gazed at him and just for a fraction of a second her lips twitched. ‘I didn’t buy cake on your account.’

She forked a mouthful of honey roll to her lips and while she didn’t actually close her eyes in relish, he had a feeling that deep inside herself she did.

‘This cake is very good. Jean-Pierre is a wizard.’

That must be the baker’s name. She’d always taken pains to find out and then use people’s names. He’d found that charming. Once. Now he saw it for what it was—a front.

‘But if you don’t want it please don’t eat it.’

He leaned towards her, his frown deepening. ‘You never used to eat cake.’

‘I know! I can’t believe what I was missing.’ Her eyes twinkled for a moment and her lips lifted, but then she sobered and her face became void of emotion. ‘But people change. Five years ago you wouldn’t have been at all concerned with the threat of me taking you for half of all you owned.’

He’d worked hard during the last five years to make a success of his security and private investigation firm. Such a success, in fact, that if he were still alive even Caro’s father would sit up and take notice. He sat back. It seemed he’d been making money while Caro had been eating cake. It summed them up perfectly.

‘Five years ago I didn’t have anything worth taking, Caro.’

She looked as if she might disagree with him, but after a moment she simply shook her head. ‘Let me waste no further time in putting your mind at rest. I don’t want your money, Jack. I never did. You should know that yesterday I was named as my father’s sole beneficiary.’

Whoa! He straightened. Okay...

‘As we’re still married I expect you could make a successful claim on the estate. Do you wish to?’

His hands clenched to fists. ‘Absolutely not!’

She shrugged and ate more cake. ‘You haven’t changed that much, then. Earlier today I’d have staked the entire estate on you not wanting a penny.’

Damn straight! But her odd belief in him coupled with her utter lack of concern that he could have taken her for a financial ride pricked him. ‘So, this pickle you’re in?’

She set her plate down, clasping her hands to her knees. ‘Jack, I’d like to hire you for a rather...delicate job.’

He tried to hide his shock.

‘But before we continue I’d like an assurance of your discretion and confidentiality.’

‘You wouldn’t have asked me that once.’ She’d have taken it for granted.

‘True, but when you walked away from our marriage you proved my trust in you was misplaced. So I’m asking for an assurance now.’

He glanced down to find his knuckles had turned white. He unclenched his hands and took a deep breath. ‘I should warn you that if this “delicate” matter of yours involves murder or threats of violence then I’m honour-bound to—’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! Of course it doesn’t. Don’t take me for a fool. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a fool.’

He bit back something very rude. Bending down, he pulled the divorce papers he’d had drawn up from his satchel and slapped them onto the coffee table.

‘I don’t want to do a job for you, Caroline. I simply want you to sign the divorce papers and then never to clap eyes on you again.’

Her head rocked back, hurt gleamed in her eyes, and that soft, composed mouth of hers looked so suddenly vulnerable he hated himself for his outburst.

She rose, pressing her hands to her waist. ‘That was unnecessarily rude.’

It had been.

She glanced at her watch. ‘As interesting as this trip down memory lane has been, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I have to be somewhere shortly.’ She picked up the papers. ‘I’ll have my lawyer read over these and then we can get divorce proceedings underway.’

‘And you’ll draw the process out for as long as you can to punish me for refusing this job?’ he drawled, rising too.

Her chin came up. ‘I’ll do nothing of the sort. You can have your divorce, Jack. The sooner the better as far as I’m concerned.’

A weight pressed down on him, trying to crush his chest. It made no sense. She was promising him exactly what he wanted.

With an oath, he sat again.

Caro’s eyes widened. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Finishing my coffee and cake. Sit, Caro.’

‘Really, Jack! I—’

‘It’s hard, seeing you again.’

Her tirade halted before it could begin. She swallowed, her eyes throbbing with the same old confusion and hurt that burned through him.

The intensity of emotion this woman could still arouse disturbed him. It was as if all the hard work he’d put in over the last five years to forget her and get his life back on track could be shattered with nothing more than a word or a look. He couldn’t let that happen. He straightened. He wouldn’t let that happen.

‘No woman has ever made me as happy as you did.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Or as miserable. I wasn’t expecting the lid to be lifted on all those old memories. It’s made me...testy—and that’s why I said what I said. It was a mean-spirited thing to say. I’m sorry.’

Finally she sat. ‘It doesn’t make it any less true, though.’

‘It’s not true. Not really.’ He didn’t look at her as he said it. ‘I expect things will be more comfortable once we put this initial meeting behind us.’

‘I expect you’re right.’

She frowned suddenly and glanced a little to his left. With a swift movement she reached down and picked up... His cufflinks!

Jack bit back a curse. They must have fallen from his case when he’d pulled out the divorce papers. He could tell from the way her nostrils suddenly flared that she recognised the box. They’d been her wedding present to him when he’d said he’d prefer not to wear a ring—rose gold with a tiny sapphire in each that she’d claimed were nearly as blue as his eyes. He’d treasured them.

His glance went to her left hand and his gut clenched when he saw that she no longer wore her wedding ring.

Without a word she handed the box back to him. ‘You really ought to be more careful when you’re pulling things from your bag.’

He shoved the box back into the depths of the satchel. ‘Tell me about this job you’d like me to do for you.’

He didn’t owe her for her signature on their divorce papers, but if by doing this he could end things between them on a more pleasant note, then perhaps he’d find the closure he so desperately needed.

‘And, yes, you have my word that I will never reveal to another soul what you’re about to tell me—unless you give me leave to.’

She stared at him, as if trying to sum him up. With a start he realised she was trying to decide whether to trust him or not.

‘You don’t trust my word of honour?’

‘If you’re after any kind of revenge on me, what I’m about to tell you will provide you with both the means and the method.’

He didn’t want revenge. He’d never wanted revenge. He just wanted to move on with his life.

And to kiss her.

He stiffened. Ridiculous! He pushed that thought—and the associated images—firmly from his mind.

‘I have no desire to hurt you, Caro. I hope your life is long and happy. Would it ease your mind if I didn’t ask you to sign the divorce papers until after I’ve completed this job of yours?’

She leaned back, folding her arms. ‘Why is this divorce so important to you now?’

‘I want to remarry.’

She went deathly still. ‘I see.’

She didn’t. It wasn’t as though he had a particular woman in mind, waiting in the wings, but he didn’t correct the assumption she’d obviously made. It was beyond time that he severed this last tie with Caro. He should have done it before now, but he’d been busy establishing his company. Now it was thriving, he was a self-made success, and it was time to put the past to rest.

If Caro thought he’d fallen in love again, then all well and good. It would provide another layer of distance between them. And while he shouldn’t need it—not after five years—he found himself clinging to every scrap of defence he could find.

‘Well...’ She crossed her legs. ‘I wish you well, Jack.’

She even sounded as if she meant it. That shouldn’t chafe at him.

‘Tell me about this job you want to hire me for.’

He bit into the cake in an effort to ignore the turmoil rolling through him and looked across at her when she didn’t speak. She glanced at the cake and then at him. It made him slow down and savour the taste of the sweet sponge, the smooth cream and the tiny crunch of sugar.

He frowned. ‘This is really good.’

Finally she smiled. ‘I know.’

He’d have laughed at her smugness, but his gut had clenched up too tightly at her smile.

She leaned forward, suddenly all business. ‘I’m now a director at Vertu, the silver and decorative arts division at Richardson’s.’

‘Right.’ He didn’t let on that he knew that. When they’d married she’d been only a junior administrator at the auction house.

‘Yesterday I placed into my father’s safe a very beautiful and rather valuable snuffbox to show to a client this morning.’

‘Is that usual?’

She raised one elegant shoulder. ‘When selected customers request a private viewing, Richardson’s is always happy to oblige.’

‘Right.’

‘When I went to retrieve the snuffbox this morning it wasn’t there.’

He set down his now clean plate, his every sense sharpening. ‘You have my attention.’

‘I put it in the safe myself, prior to the reading of my father’s will.’

‘Which took place where?’

‘In my father’s study—the same room as the safe.’

He remembered that study. He nodded. ‘Go on.’

Her expression was composed, but she was twisting the thin gold bangle on her arm round and round—a sure sign of agitation.

‘The fact that I am sole beneficiary came as a very great shock to both Barbara and I.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Your father and Barbara have remained married all this time?’

‘Yes. I believe she loved him.’

Jack wasn’t so charitable, but he kept his mouth shut.

‘When Barbara retired to her room, the lawyer gave me this letter from my father.’ She rose, removed a letter from her purse and handed it to him. ‘More cake?’

He shook his head and read the letter. Then he folded it up again, tapping it against his knee. ‘He thought she was stealing from him.’

Knowing Roland Fielding, he’d have kept a very tight rein on the purse strings. What kind of debts could his lovely young wife have accrued that would have her risking being caught red-handed with stolen goods?

‘He was wrong. It wasn’t Barbara who was pilfering those bits and pieces. It was Paul.’

‘Paul is still working...?’ He blew out a breath. ‘Shouldn’t he have retired by now?’

She pressed her hands together. ‘My father wasn’t a man who liked change.’

That was the understatement of the year.

‘And, to be fair, I don’t think Paul is either. I suspect the thought of retirement horrifies him.’

The bangle was pushed up her arm and twisted with such force he thought she’d hurt herself.

‘He and Barbara have never warmed to each other.’

‘And you’re telling me this because...?’

‘Because Paul was putting all those things he’d taken—’

‘Stolen,’ he corrected.

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