The Innocent's One-Night Confession: The Innocent's One-Night Confession / Hired to Wear the Sheikh's Ring

She was wondering how to respond to this when she was diverted by the waiter’s arrival with two flutes of pale wine, fizzing with bubbles.

‘Champagne?’ She drew a breath. ‘But why?’

He shrugged. ‘You think it’s just for celebrations? It isn’t. Tonight, treat it simply as the world’s best tonic.’

She accepted the flute uncertainly. ‘Well—thank you.’

‘We should have a toast.’ He touched his glass lightly to hers. ‘Health and happiness.’

She repeated the words softly and drank.

The cool, dry wine seemed to burst, fizzing, in her mouth, caressing her throat as she swallowed.

She said with a little gasp. ‘You’re right. It’s wonderful.’

And the food which arrived shortly afterwards was just as good—fillets of salmon wrapped in prosciutto, served on a bed of creamy tarragon pasta with asparagus, peas and tiny broad beans.

The dessert was a platter of little filo pastry tartlets filled with an assortment of fruits in brandied syrup.

All of it enhanced accompanied by the chilled sparkle of the champagne.

And by conversation, starting with books and moving on to music, quiet, entertaining, and always involving, so that, in spite of her initial forebodings, Alanna found she was relaxing into enjoyment. Savouring his company almost more than the delicious supper.

Yet, at the same time, becoming increasingly aware of the potency of his attraction. How his slow smile and the quiet intensity of his silver gaze made her nerve-endings quiver and set her pulses racing—reactions which bewildered as much as they disturbed her.

She wasn’t a child for heaven’s sake. She’d enjoyed a satisfactory social life at university and since her arrival in London. But liking had not so far ripened into passion and none of the young men she’d dated had ever come close to persuading her into a more intimate relationship.

That, she’d told herself, was because casual relationships had little appeal for her, and, anyway, she was far more interested in concentrating her emotional energy on the development of her career.

Or was it just because she’d never been seriously tempted to abandon her self-imposed celibacy.

Not that she was now, of course, she added hastily.

And, thankfully, the evening would soon be over, and no harm done.

After all, the conversation, however enjoyable, had remained strictly impersonal. They hadn’t even exchanged surnames, she reminded herself, which made it very much a ‘ships that pass in the night’ occasion.

And she should put out of her mind the sense of comfort and security she’d experienced in the taxi when he’d held her in his arms as she wept. Once again, he was just being kind. Nothing more. And far better—safer—to believe that.

The arrival of the coffee, however, prompted a move back to the sofa. And it had also, she realised, signalled the departure of the serving staff, leaving them alone together.

She made a thing of looking at her watch. ‘Heavens, I didn’t realise how late it was. I should be leaving. I—I’ve already taken up too much of your time.’

‘I think we both know that isn’t true.’ He paused, then added, ‘Have some coffee,’ filling one of the small cups from the tall silver pot. ‘Then I’ll call the desk and order a cab for you.’

As he passed her the cup, their fingers brushed and she felt the brief contact shiver through her senses.

It was so quiet in the room that it seemed the swift uneven pounding of her heart must be audible to them both.

She pushed back a strand of hair from her forehead and saw him watching the swift, nervous movement of her hand and stared down, trying to calm herself, concentrating her attention on the dark swirl of coffee in her cup.

She thought, This is madness...

When she’d finished the last rich drop, she returned her cup to the tray.

She said too brightly, ‘That was delicious. But now I really must be on my way.’

‘Of course,’ he said, and picked up the telephone. He gave the order for the taxi and listened, nodding, to the response.

‘It may be a few minutes,’ he said, as he replaced the receiver. ‘Apparently it has begun to rain.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ she said quickly, rising to her feet and reaching for her jacket and bag. ‘I—I’ll wait in the foyer. There’s no need for you to come down.’

His brows lifted but all he said was, ‘As you wish.’

At the door, Alanna turned. ‘Thank you again—for everything,’ she said and held out her hand.

But instead of the brief handshake she’d expected, Zan’s fingers closed round hers, carrying them to his lips and kissing them gently.

At her sharp indrawn breath, he paused, smiling down into her widening eyes, then turned her hand, letting his mouth caress the soft hollow of her palm.

Sensations began to uncurl inside her—pleasure and a kind of yearning that she had not experienced before but which she found strangely, even dangerously, beguiling.

So much so that when he took her in his arms, she went unresistingly, swaying against his body, feeling herself enveloped by the heat of his skin, as if the layers of clothing between them had ceased to exist.

His hands tangled in her hair, framing her face as he brought her mouth to his. As his lips slowly, almost wonderingly, explored the contours of hers, then coaxed them apart to allow the dark, sweet invasion of his tongue.

As she yielded—responded—to this new intimacy, she found her hands gripping his shoulders as if they were her only security in a suddenly reeling world, where her legs seemed no longer able to support her.

Their mouths clung, as his kisses deepened from gentleness to urgency and an open hunger that she could neither ignore nor deny because she shared it.

Even when she realised his fingers were releasing the zip on her dress and pulling the loosened fabric from her shoulders, she made no protest, melting into him as his lips caressed a slow path down her throat.

She was absorbed, lost in bewilderment—in the soft, hot ache of desire—when the sudden insistence of the telephone ringing intruded violently, like a whiplash across her senses.

Zan said something under his breath and released her, striding across to the phone, responding to the caller with a curt ‘Very well’ before replacing the receiver.

He looked back at Alanna. ‘Your taxi is here.’

Even without that, the brief interruption had been enough, bringing her starkly back to the reality of what she was inviting. And telling her that it must end.

She said shakily, ‘Yes—yes, of course.’

Clumsily, she pulled her dress into place and closed the zip, then reached down for her bag and jacket which had slipped from her grasp to the floor.

Zan came back to her side as she was fumbling with the door handle.

He said laconically, ‘There’s a trick to it,’ and demonstrated.

‘Yes, I see now.’ She forced a smile. ‘Well—goodnight.’

‘Wait.’ His voice was husky. ‘Don’t leave.’

‘I—I must...’

‘No.’ He stared down at her, the silver eyes brooding. ‘Let me send the cab away.’ He drew a harsh breath. ‘Oh, God, Alanna. Stay with me tonight. Sleep with me.’

‘I—can’t.’ She looked away, fixing her gaze on the open door and the empty corridor beyond it. ‘I—I don’t—I’ve never...’ She was stumbling over her words, embarrassed at what she was revealing. ‘Please—let me go.’

There was a pause, then he said quietly, ‘If that’s what you want,’ and stood aside to let her pass.

She walked the few yards to the lift, trying not to run. Instinct telling her that he was still there, watching her from the doorway.

And, even as she pressed the button for descent, found she was whispering over and over again under her breath, ‘Don’t look back—don’t look back...’

CHAPTER FOUR

AND THEN...

No, Alanna told herself almost violently. Nothing more. I will not—not go there. Never again.

Chilled and cramped, she found she’d almost curled into a ball, her arms wrapped protectively round her body, and straightened slowly, inwardly cursing her own stupidity at allowing past mistakes to impinge on her again.

On the other hand, she argued to herself, it could have been very much worse. Supposing Zandor had spent this weekend elsewhere, as he’d clearly been expected to do, and she’d remained in ignorance of his connection to the Harringtons. She might well have found herself embarking, if tentatively, on a serious relationship with Gerard.

Imagine, she thought, her mouth twisting, how that would have crashed and burned when I eventually discovered the truth, and that particular skeleton came tumbling out of the woodwork.

As it is, I can ease myself out of the situation, with no broken bones—alive or dead.

A knock at the door brought her to her feet. ‘Who is it?’ She kept her voice steady.

‘Joanne. I have coffee, if you don’t mind black without sugar.’

‘Sounds great.’ She crossed to the door, the key grating in the lock as she turned it.

Joanne, a steaming mug in either hand, gave her an astonished look. ‘You’re safety conscious,’ she commented. ‘If you’re worried about the abbot’s ghost, it’s only supposed to haunt the cloisters.’

‘I didn’t even know it existed,’ Alanna returned, waving Joanne towards the only chair before she returned to the window seat with her own coffee. ‘And aren’t ghosts supposed to walk straight through doors and walls anyway?’ She hesitated. ‘But I guess locking myself in is a habit dating from my bedsit days.’

Joanne giggled naughtily. ‘Poor Gerard, if he risked Grandam’s eagle eye to come visiting.’

Alanna forced a smile in return. ‘No, the rules were explained to me in advance.’

And if anyone dared to ignore them, it certainly wouldn’t be Gerard, she thought, her throat tightening. Just someone who was strictly a law unto himself.

‘Well the pair of you must make sure you get some time alone today and prepare yourselves for this evening. Repeating silently that it will all be over by this time tomorrow works for me.’

Alanna looked at her, this time with genuine amusement. ‘Joanne—that’s absurd. It’s just a birthday party.’

Joanne sighed. ‘It’s never “just” anything with Grandam. Witness her invitation to Lord Bradham.’

Alanna remembered Mrs Dennison had mentioned the name with foreboding.

‘Don’t you like him?’ she asked.

‘He’s lovely. Local landowner. Very rich. Life peer for services to conservation.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’

‘Ah, so Gerard hasn’t told you.’ Joanne pulled a face. She lowered her voice. ‘The problem is that he was engaged to my aunt Marianne. Date fixed and everything. She went off to Paris to stay with her godmother who was buying her wedding dress, and was invited to some party at the embassy. One of the other guests was a guy called Timon Varga. A bit of a mystery man with plenty of looks and charm, but a bit short on background.

‘A week later, Marianne walked out of the house with her passport, and the wedding dress which had been delivered the day before, leaving a note to say she was marrying this glamorous unknown.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Naturally, all hell broke loose. I mean—a week for God’s sake. She must have been meeting him on the sly, but no one had suspected a thing.’

She shook her head. ‘Grandam was raving that he was nothing but a con man and a gipsy who thought Marianne had money, and she wanted to start a police hunt, but Grandfather talked her out of it. He said Marianne was over eighteen and free to choose for herself, however mistakenly that might be.

‘And if Grandam was right and she did come back abandoned, destitute and pregnant, they would look after her.’

‘What about her fiancé?’ Alanna asked. ‘How on earth did they tell him?’

‘They didn’t have to. Marianne had already written to him apparently. Naturally, he was desperately upset—so much so, he closed up his house and went off to Canada. When he came back two years later he was also married—to a girl called Denise that he’d met in Montreal.’

She gave a sudden giggle. ‘Grandam loathed her on sight, and when he got his life peerage and Denise became Lady Bradham, she was fit to be tied, muttering it should have been Marianne.’

Alanna cleared her throat. ‘Who was not, presumably, abandoned and destitute?’

‘Far from it,’ said Joanne. ‘When Grandfather insisted they should be invited down to the abbey, my mother says Marianne was wearing a diamond like the Rock of Gibraltar. It turned out that her husband was absolutely loaded and that they adored each other.

‘Grandam, of course, wouldn’t accept that. She did her damnedest to find out where he came from and how he’d made his money, but she never did, so she told the rest of the family, he must have bad blood and was probably a criminal of some kind and Marianne would be lucky if he didn’t end up in jail with her alongside him.’

Alanna almost choked on her coffee. ‘How could she?’

‘Quite easily. After Zan was born, Ma says she used to refer to him as the gipsy brat, even when he was old enough to understand.’

‘I...see,’ Alanna said slowly.

‘Anyway, that’s why Lord Bradham, who’s now a widower, has suddenly been invited. To remind Zan that, to Grandam, he’s still an outsider and that’s the man his mother should have married.’ She paused rather awkwardly. ‘Among other things.’

So much for the smiley, white haired old lady, thought Alanna.

She finished her drink and handed Joanne the empty mug. ‘Thank you for that.’

‘No problem. When Gerard brings you down here without the rest of us, shove a kettle and a jar of instant in your bag. The kitchen’s out of bounds before breakfast which is served at nine o’clock sharp.’ She winked. ‘Another company rule.’

Alanna forced another smile. ‘I’ll remember.’

And not just the coffee...

She now had even more reason to ease herself out of the situation, she thought, as she took her shirt, jeans and boots from her bag. The sun was out now and most of the mist had dispersed, so presumably she and Gerard would be going riding and spending the rest of Saturday as planned.

Maybe as Joanne had said, remembering her stay would be over in twenty-four hours might work for her too.

And when they were back in London, she could tell Gerard that she felt things were not working out between them.

And wished she felt more disappointed.

* * *

Niamh Harrington was presiding at the breakfast table, still in her riding breeches and silky polo-necked sweater, plus pink-cheeked and twinkly-eyed, even though neither her daughter-in-law nor Zandor had observed the nine o’clock deadline. For which Alanna had to be thankful.

She had politely wished Mrs Harrington a simple ‘Many happy returns of the day’ as Gerard told her that gifts would be presented at dinner that evening, and helped herself to toast and coffee from the sideboard.

‘So, dear girl, you ride, do you?’ her hostess inquired briskly as Alanna sat down. ‘I wish I’d known. You could have come out with me earlier.’

Alanna, staring down at the tablecloth, murmured that she hadn’t been on a horse for some time.

‘No matter.’ Niamh dismissed that with a wave of her hand. ‘We’ll put you on Dolly. She’s quiet and easy paced.

You’ll be fine.’ She paused, her brow wrinkled. ‘And I could always call Felicity. I’m sure she’d be glad to ride over and keep you company.’

Alanna became aware that all other conversation at the table had suddenly ceased.

The silence was broken by Gerard. He said evenly, ‘There’s no need for that, Grandam. I expect Felicity has plenty to do. Anyway, I’m taking Alanna riding.’

‘But not this morning, darling.’ She gave him a tranquil smile. ‘Didn’t I say I wanted you to ride over to the Home Farm for a chat with Mr Hodson? It must have slipped my mind, but he’ll be expecting you.’

She paused. ‘But you’re probably right about Felicity. After all, it’s little enough her father sees of her these days, poor man.’

Alanna saw Joanne and her mother exchanging glances, and hurried into speech.

‘Gerard, I honestly don’t mind about the riding. I can explore the cloister and have a wander round the gardens instead.’

‘No, no,’ said Mrs Harrington. ‘A good canter in the fresh air will do you more good. Put some colour in your face instead of that pale London look.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll tell Jacko, my groom, to go along with you and make sure you don’t get lost.’ And returned to her boiled egg.

Alanna, her cheeks burning, decided bitterly she need no longer worry about her pallor.

If Mrs Harrington was delivering a message that she was out of place here, it was quite unnecessary. And so she would tell Gerard as soon as the first opportunity presented itself. In fact her immediate impulse was to request him to drive her to the nearest station and a train back to London, and to hell with the party, the abbey, and everyone in it.

Except, of course, that Zandor might draw the conclusion that this unexpected departure had some connection with him, and that was something her pride could not risk.

No, she decided grimly, she would stick it out to the bitter end.

Her breakfast finished, she excused herself politely and left the dining room. Gerard, tight-lipped and his eyes stormy, halted her at the foot of the stairs.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To change.’ She indicated her jeans and boots. ‘I’ve decided to save your grandmother’s groom the trouble after all and spend the morning here.’

‘No,’ he said urgently. ‘I must talk to you—and privately. So, I’m going to ride over to the Home Farm and while I’m down at the stables I’ll tell Jacko to take you up to Whitemoor Common, and join you as soon as I’ve finished with old Hodson.’

Alanna hesitated. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’

‘I think it’s essential.’ He paused. ‘Is it agreed?’

She sighed. ‘I suppose—yes.’

After all, she reasoned as she continued to her room, this time to fetch a sweater, this private talk could work both ways.

* * *

Dolly was a dapple grey, sturdy rather than elegant, but with a calm eye and Jacko was on much the same lines, watching critically as Alanna swung herself into the saddle and rode beside him out of the yard and along the track beside the paddock.

He was also a man of few words. ‘Whitemoor Common, is it, miss?’ and her response of, ‘Yes, please,’ being the sum total of their conversation.

Fifteen minutes along a quiet lane brought them to their destination, a wide expanse of scrubby grassland and bracken, studded with pale rocks and the occasional tree.

Jacko gave her a brusque nod and turned his own horse back towards the abbey.

Alanna watched him go, then dismounted, hitching Dolly’s reins over a low branch of a mountain ash. Removing her borrowed hat, she pulled off her sweater, tying it loosely over her shoulders, before seating herself on the short grass at the side of the lane, her back against a white painted stone, announcing ‘Whitemoor’ in faded black letters, and lifting her face to the sun while Dolly cropped contentedly a few feet away.

All in all, she thought, a pretty isolated spot, but she knew that Gerard had set off for Home Farm over an hour before, so maybe she would not have to wait too long.

Nor did she. The warmth was just beginning to make her feel drowsy after her restless night when Dolly gave a soft whinny.

Alanna opened her eyes and sat upright, as she saw a solitary rider on a stylish bay cantering slowly towards her from the opposite side of the common.

It occurred to her, watching his approach, that Gerard was a much better horseman than she would have supposed. But then, she chided herself, what possible justification did she have for making such a judgement about him—apart from his seeming perfectly at home in the city?

Yet, she thought as she got to her feet, lifting a hand to shade her eyes, he was also the heir to the abbey.

Except...

She drew a swift, sharp breath.

Except, now that she was no longer dazzled by the sun, she could see that the new arrival not only had hair as dark and glossy as a raven’s wing, but was also wearing a deep crimson shirt as opposed to the blue that Gerard had been wearing at breakfast. And knew exactly who was getting closer by the second.

To this isolated spot—her own assessment—where every instinct was warning her that it would be too dangerous to be alone with him.

I won’t, she thought. Dear God, I can’t...

Her mouth was suddenly dry, her heart thundering in panic as she stumbled towards Dolly, unhitching her reins with a jerk, then hurling herself up into the saddle and recklessly kicking the startled mare into a gallop.

She heard him shout her name, but ignored it, bending low over Dolly’s neck and urging her on, her breath sobbing in her throat, realising too late that the treacherously uneven surface of the common was the last place to stage any kind of race.

Because Zandor was coming after her. Gaining on her fast, even though Dolly, rudely jolted out of her normal placidity, was now making a fight of it with her stablemate, leaving Alanna to curse her own stupidity.

She tried to pull on the reins, but the mare tossed her head in protest and tore them from her grasp, leaving her clinging desperately to Dolly’s mane.

At the same moment, Zandor drew level with them. He reached an arm across and snatched Alanna from her saddle, his iron grip pinning her to his side and leaving her dangling helplessly as he brought his own horse under control and then to a complete halt.

Alanna began to struggle. She said breathlessly, ‘Let go of me, damn you. Put me down.’

‘With pleasure,’ he returned curtly and dropped her, letting her land on her backside on a tussock of coarse grass with a thud that seemed to jar every bone in her body.

Dolly had slowed too, and was trotting in bewildered circles, apparently realising that the unexpected excitement was over.

Zandor patted his horse’s neck, murmuring something soothing in a language Alanna did not recognise, then dismounted looping his reins round the branch of a small stunted tree, then walked over to Dolly, whistling softly.

At first she shied away, then as he waited, still whistling the same quiet tune, she dropped her head and came to him, allowing him to walk her back and tether her near the bay.

Meanwhile, Alanna, her breathing still flurried, had scrambled ungracefully to her feet, swearing under her breath, as she resisted the need to rub her aching rear.

Zandor observed her, tight-lipped. He said icily, ‘Next time you wish to risk your neck, try jumping off a tall building. Dolly may be past her best, but she doesn’t deserve to end her days with a broken leg or worse.’

He added, ‘I understood you could ride. Don’t you know better than to gallop headlong over unknown country?

‘Especially as there’s marshy ground ahead? And you aren’t wearing a hat.’

The honest answer was ‘Yes, of course I do.’

But Alanna didn’t return it. Instead, she lifted a defiant chin. ‘I had a hat but I left it at the roadside. What are you doing here?’

‘I came to find you.’ He paused. ‘I’m aware you were expecting my cousin, but he will not be joining you after all.’

‘How did you know that?’ she asked sharply.

‘I was in the stableyard when he was talking to Jacko. So, too, was our grandmother, who had other commissions for him after his visit to the Home Farm.’ He gave her a thin smile. ‘So I decided to save you a long, futile wait in the sun.’

Alanna bit her lip. ‘Please don’t expect me to be grateful.’

‘I don’t.’ Zandor shrugged. ‘Besides I also thought it would be a golden opportunity for us to have that talk I promised.’

‘We have nothing to talk about.’

He said quietly, ‘There, once again, we must differ.’ His gaze was steady, the silver eyes intent, making her aware that her sweater had slipped off during that mad, ludicrous dash and that her sweat-dampened shirt was clinging revealingly to her body, emphasising the swell of her rounded breasts. An additional humiliation, she realised angrily.