Required To Wear The Tycoon's Ring

‘You could say that fate stepped in and took them down a very different path from the one they expected...’

Seth Broden’s voice was huskily pitched and his gaze held hers unflinchingly. It was becoming very evident that he was in no hurry to reveal what he knew about the Siddons family, and Imogen quickly intuited that she’d have to tread carefully if she wanted to learn the truth about the note in her book.

‘That holds true for a lot of us, I’m sure. The dreams we have don’t always come to fruition.’

‘I take it that’s been your own experience, Miss Hayes?’

His comment took her aback. But she wasn’t ready to share the events of her life that had taken her down an ‘unexpected path’ with a complete stranger—no matter how much his seductively handsome face and glittering blue eyes might compel her to. She should know by now the dire consequences of trusting people too easily, and if she didn’t, she really was in trouble...

‘Like most people, my life hasn’t always gone smoothly.’

There was a flash of what looked to be empathy in Seth Broden’s eyes. Folding his arms across his impeccable wool coat, he sighed. ‘But you’re young enough not to become cynical about the cards you’ve been dealt and you can move on. At least you have that in your favour.’

Surprised by the remark, Imogen shrugged. For a long moment it was hard to duck the beguiling blue gaze that suggested he would have no trouble in persuading any woman to share her innermost secrets. Just who was this man? If it was true that he owned the mansion, he had to be someone important. There was an air of exclusivity about him that said if a situation called for it he would be the one taking charge.

If only she’d thought a bit longer about giving in to her impulse to look at the house. But after talking to the assistant at the charity shop she hadn’t been able to resist. Having viewed it, she’d found the imposing and beautiful facade had piqued her curiosity even more.

‘I’m sure you’re right. Trouble is that’s harder to do than you might imagine...’

‘Then, my advice to you, Imogen, is to focus on the things that you can do and not worry about the rest. Now, are you going to tell me the true reason for your visit, because I sense that researching the family who lived here isn’t the real reason why you’re here.’

Seth Broden had stopped Imogen in her tracks on two counts. First by so familiarly using her name, and second by instinctively seeming to know that the reason for her interest in the Siddonses’ family history was specific.

She realised she’d become more than a little possessive about the note, and didn’t easily want to relinquish it. That was, not until she found out who its author was. She was uneasy. She realised she would have to tell him about it, even if it meant he demanded she return it.

‘The other day I bought something from a local charity shop,’ she began. ‘I was told it had come from here. They’d taken delivery of a box of books from the house.’

Not commenting, Seth walked across to the window next to the door with a distinctly unhurried gait and stared out. What was he thinking about? He was still not saying anything, and his closed-off demeanour hardly suggested he was eager to break the silence.

The formidable quiet that ensued started to worry her. She was just about to ask if anything was the matter when he suddenly snapped out, ‘So you found a book...? Care to tell me the title?’

With a helpless shiver Imogen hugged her arms over her coat. ‘It’s a book of love poems by William Blake.’

‘Is it, indeed? You admire his work, do you?’

When Seth turned to face her she was mesmerised. The carved contours of his face might have been fashioned out of marble, they were so still. There was no expression in them whatsoever...none. And yet the burning blue of his eyes was fierce...

‘Yes, I do...very much.’

‘I once knew someone else who was fond of his poetry.’

The admission came out of the blue, and stunned Imogen because she hadn’t expected it.

‘Was it someone who lived at the house?’ The question was out before she could check it.

‘It might have been. Wasn’t the owner’s name in the book?’

‘No, it wasn’t. There was only—’

The man in front of her raised a dark eyebrow interestedly. ‘You were going to say, Miss Hayes...?’

Fearing she’d said too much too soon, Imogen parried the question with another one of her own. ‘Was the person who enjoyed Blake’s poetry a woman?’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

Her companion’s lightly lined forehead warningly grew tighter, and it was easy to sense the shield that had slammed down into place. But no shield—however strong and impenetrable—could hide the truth. It was right at that instant when Imogen remembered the initials that had signed off the note—SB.

The person who’d written in such beguiling and heartfelt tones was Seth Broden himself...

CHAPTER TWO

SETH IMMEDIATELY SAW what he took to be dawning realisation on Imogen’s face. He didn’t know why, but his heart started to pound.

‘Do you have the book with you? I’d like to take a look if you have,’ he said.

The sigh that escaped her was no more than a whisper but he heard it easily. The melting brown eyes before him were fused to his for the longest moment, and he wondered the reason behind it. Then, delving down into her shoulder bag, she produced a compact yellow book without a jacket. Flicking through the pages, she carefully extracted a piece of paper. Not knowing why, he caught his breath.

Crossing the floor, she handed him the note.

‘What’s this?’

‘It was inside the book when I bought it.’

Seth’s insides clenched hard as a painful sense of knowing gripped him. Seconds later his glance fell upon the words he had written all those years ago.

The realisation that Louisa had kept his message inside the pages of her favourite poetry book was bittersweet. He hardly knew what to think, what to feel.

He had sent the note to her at the university, to make sure she received it. They hadn’t met since that humiliating meeting with her father.

She’d been utterly distraught when she had realised there was no hope that he’d consent to them being together—‘not even if World War III is threatened!’ That was how intransigent the man had been.

As all her hopes had seemingly turned to dust she hadn’t been able to hide her sorrow. Before Seth had been able to reassure her that nothing would break them apart, she’d mouthed a forlorn I’m sorry, then quickly fled upstairs. He’d hardly known what to do.

After that, things had just gone from bad to worse. Once again he’d tried to get Siddons to relent and see sense but it had been useless. The man had been about as flexible as an iron wall. There had been no ‘give’ in his heart whatsoever.

Seth had slammed out through the door in a temper, vowing again that no matter what he and Louisa were going to be together. The pompous banker could do his worst, but Seth would find a way.

The next day he’d left Louisa this note at the university, because before he’d left the house her father had cruelly declared that he was confiscating her phone. To leave her a note had been Seth’s only means of reaching her until he’d figured out something better. One thing was for sure: Siddons would burn the missive if he found it first.

But a few days later his whole world had shifted on its axis and been demolished, all his hopes and aspirations turned to rubble. A friend of Louisa’s had knocked on his door in the early hours of the morning to inform him tearfully that she’d been killed in a hit-and-run accident. Seth had wanted to die, too. Just how was he going to carry on without her?

Now, tightly clutching the note, he walked across to the staircase and sank down onto one of the steps. He knew that it should comfort him to know that Louisa had read the message before she died and briefly treasured it, but he had been waiting too long to find that out, and in the meantime the damage had been done.

All that seeing it had done was reaffirm the fact that he should have tried harder to be with her, much harder... Even if her unrelenting father had come up with some trumped-up reason to prosecute him and had him thrown into jail.

Feeling enraged, he muttered a furious curse.

Watching Seth, Imogen felt two things hit her at once. The man was distraught. The repercussions that she had been wary of had come to pass. The muscle that flickered at the side of his lean, carved jaw immediately informed her that he was having significant trouble in containing his emotions. One thing was certain—seeing the note hadn’t given him any pleasure.

That led to her next realisation. He and his loved one hadn’t stayed together. No matter how much she’d hoped, true love hadn’t sustained them after all. She felt like crying.

But her deep sense of disappointment was quickly overridden by her concern for the man sitting on the stairs. Leaning towards him, she gently laid her hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

Even as the words left her lips Imogen knew the question was futile.

Turning his haunted blue eyes towards her, Seth Broden’s mouth twisted grimly. ‘Meaning, am I still breathing and alive despite the fact that I probably should have gone to hell for my part in what happened?’

Contemptuously jerking his head, he stood up and shook off her hand.

‘I need a drink.’

Imogen turned pale. Outside, the fierce wind battered against the leaded windows as if it would break through the glass. Suddenly she felt as though freezing jagged ice had invaded her veins. What did he mean by such a statement? Had something terrible happened?

Why hadn’t she really thought about the wisdom or lack of it in contacting the note’s author? Because now that she had found him it seemed to have delivered anything but happiness to him. Not meaning to, she’d blundered in regardless and brought pain to this man. As to what she’d achieved for herself—she’d just smothered another longed-for dream.

‘I didn’t know that the note would upset you so much,’ she stated huskily. ‘The message was so heartfelt. I just wanted to find out if—if the people involved had been reunited?’

‘And what...? Prove that happy-ever-after really exists?’

Feeling as though she’d been whipped, Imogen flinched. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

Seth stared. ‘I don’t mean for you to come crashing back down to earth with a bang, sweetheart...but it’s probably better if you don’t delude yourself.’

‘I’m guessing that you wrote the note?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘I don’t mean to intrude more than I’ve done already, but will you— Can you tell me what happened?’

He moved down the stairs to stand in front of her, his expression a mixture of anger and resignation, and she didn’t know why he didn’t demand she leave.

‘The lady died...end of story.’

But Imogen saw that it wasn’t the end of the story. How could it be?

‘I’m so sorry.’

She meant it with all her heart. It was only natural that she’d commiserate with his loss. It honestly grieved her that fate had intervened and stolen the couple’s happiness. God knew it was hard enough to come by.

Seth Broden wore the scars of that loss as if they were physical ones. They weren’t easy to hide in such a compellingly carved face. Amidst such perfection the smallest irregularity couldn’t fail to show.

‘How did it happen?’

‘It was a hit and run. The bastard didn’t waste his time waiting to see what he’d done. Just left her lying in the road.’

‘Dear God...’ The shock ricocheted right through her.

Seth’s tormented glance seared hers. ‘No amount of condolence or sympathy is going to bring her back, so don’t get upset on my account. Is your car outside?’ he added sharply.

‘I didn’t drive. I walked here.’

‘I take it you must live in town, then? That’s about five miles away. Clearly a long walk doesn’t faze you?’

Imogen shook her head. ‘Not at all... I love it. It helps to keep me fit.’

‘Even so, I’ll give you a lift home. It’s getting late as well as becoming dark.’ He briefly glanced down at his watch. ‘I never meant to stay here so long.’

She wasn’t going to argue. She felt strangely reluctant to leave him. Perhaps on the way he might relent and tell her a little bit more about the woman he’d lost?

‘So long as you’re sure you’re ready to leave?’

‘I am. I was checking things over, but I’m finished now.’

‘Are you going to move in here soon?’

‘I haven’t decided.’

‘Oh. Well, I’m ready to go when you are, then.’

She swept back her silky brown hair and pulled the collar of her coat more snugly round her neck...not that it would give her much added protection against the wind that was howling outside. It sounded as if it was brewing up a cyclone!

They hurried out to his car. When they were ensconced in the sumptuous leather of Seth’s comfortable sedan, he turned to her and said, ‘Where to?’

As soon as Imogen gave him the directions he nodded in acknowledgement. ‘I know exactly where you mean.’ His expression failed to tell her whether the knowledge pleased him or not.

Leaving the impressive Gothic building behind them, they headed out through the tree-lined lanes towards the centre of the town. During the journey they were both silent. Imogen didn’t feel quite brave enough to question him again, and she wanted to respect his need for what must be quiet reflection.

Just twenty minutes later they arrived, and Seth negotiated the roads that took them to her address. As instructed, he pulled up in front of a neat black door with a gilt number one on it. It was dusk, and a lone street lamp helpfully illuminated the small row of terraced houses. Apart from the ethereal soughing of the wind, all was quiet. Most of the town’s workforce had departed for home.

Turning towards her companion, Imogen breathed out a sigh. Seth’s expression was as implacable as ever, but his strong, lean hands gripped the leather-clad steering wheel as though it was a much-needed anchor.

She was sorry they hadn’t had more time to talk. But, clutching at yet another straw, she said quickly, ‘Can I offer you a drink...in payment for the ride home, I mean?’

‘You think the age-old remedy of a cup of tea might help to set things right?’

The tone of his voice registered his scorn.

Pushing his fingers agitatedly through his hair, he continued, ‘I don’t want payment, but if you’re going to offer me a drink, then I’d prefer something stronger than tea.’

She sensed her cheeks flush heatedly as his intense blue eyes roamed her face. It made it doubly hard to form a reply. ‘I—I have some brandy that a friend bought me for my birthday. Will that do?’

‘Yes, it will—but only if you agree to join me. I won’t be making any more revelations, if that’s what you’re thinking, but a companionable silence might be welcome.’

Flushing again, Imogen nodded. ‘All right, then. Why don’t you park the car and come in? I’ll leave the front door open. My flat is on the ground floor.’ The words were out before she could stop them.

After unlocking the door, she entered the house. The small apartment she rented was easily accessible and the door opened onto a cosy, compact living room. She was putting a match to the tinder in the wood burner when she sensed Seth coming in behind her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his interested gaze scan the room.

As was her habit, she’d left everything tidy that morning. The task helped her to get clear about the day ahead. But strangely the ability seemed to elude her now, as her glance collided with Seth’s. Suddenly she didn’t feel clear about very much at all. And ever since she’d laid her hand on his shoulder to comfort him the oddly intimate sensation of warmth and strength hadn’t left her. It didn’t help that she still sensed his agitation. The note she’d found had clearly been a great shock to him.

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ she invited. ‘I’ll get you that drink.’

‘Sure...’ he murmured, shrugging off his coat.

He draped it over the arm of a nearby easy chair as though it was nothing, but she glimpsed the Italian designer label attached to the silk lining. The garment was both exclusive and expensive, and it said much about the taste of its owner.

She watched thoughtfully as he dropped down onto the battered brown leather couch that had serviced several other tenants before Imogen. Even though she’d personalised it with the flowing red-and-gold Indian shawl that she’d draped over the back, it was still more ‘shabby chic’ than smart. Positioned next to the couch was a pile of hardback books on a maple-wood coffee table, and he picked up the top one to examine it.

‘Interesting,’ he murmured, reading the flyleaf. ‘I can see that you like a mystery.’

‘Thrillers aren’t really my thing, but a friend lent it to me,’ she explained. ‘She said the story was terrific.’

‘Would that be the same friend who gave you the bottle of brandy?’

‘Yes, it was, as a matter of fact...though I rarely drink that stuff at all. She was hoping I’d let my hair down and celebrate for once.’

Imogen stared at the fire and felt her cheeks heat. Why had she told him that?

‘And did you?’

‘I did—but not with brandy. I stuck to orange juice that night.’

Checking that the flame had taken hold in the wood burner, she straightened and dusted her hands down her jeans.

Her companion was studying her intently and, feeling strangely as if she’d been put under a spotlight, she said, ‘Give me a minute and I’ll go and get you that drink.’

The tiny kitchen was adjacent to the living room. It wasn’t particularly well-appointed, but it had a fairly new gas stove, an original butler’s sink that was still in good order, a plum-coloured granite worktop and a couple of sturdy pine shelves on which she’d stacked some blue-and-white crockery. The bottle of brandy was located next to the stoneware bread crock.

Pouring a proper drink for a man wasn’t something she was remotely used to. Her ex-fiancé, Greg, had been teetotal. That was until she’d found out that he wasn’t. It had been another lie amongst the many that he’d told her. But dwelling on the thought was apt to remind her of his shocking betrayal and make her mood plummet. She was determined not to let that happen. After all, she’d vowed to make a fresh start, hadn’t she? From now on she wanted to believe that good things did and could happen, despite the evidence to the contrary. How else was she going to turn her life around?

But her hand visibly trembled as she reached for the bottle of brandy and she had to take a couple of deep breaths to steady herself. Seth Broden was the first man she’d ever invited back to the flat and she shouldn’t forget that he was neither a friend nor a colleague. He was practically a stranger. And such was the contrast between the awe-inspiring mansion he owned and the modest flat she rented that it was bound to make her conscious of the difference between her life and his.

She reached up to the overhead shelf and retrieved a couple of glass tumblers and, taking the bottle of brandy with her, returned to the living room. Handing one of the glasses to Seth, she set the brandy down on the table beside him.

‘Please help yourself. I’m just going to hang up my coat. Want me to do the same for yours?’

He quirked what looked to be an amused eyebrow and said, ‘Thanks.’

When Imogen returned from hanging the garments on the coat stand the fire in the burner was nicely warming the room and, having helped himself to brandy, Seth had set down the book he’d been perusing. He’d also settled himself more comfortably on the couch. His hard-muscled legs were noticeably long in the smart black chinos he wore, she saw, and the width of his shoulders was impressive.

She would have had to be blind not to notice that fact. His girlfriend must have loved the sense of strength he exuded. No doubt it had made her feel protected.

‘I’ve poured you a drink,’ he said as she sat down in the chintz-covered armchair. ‘Perhaps you’ll make an exception tonight and join me?’

‘Sure.’ Taking a tentative sip, she felt the slow burn of alcohol register in her gut as she swallowed it down. It was so powerful it immediately brought tears to her eyes.

‘You’re not used to drinking at all, are you?’ His tone was gently teasing.

Imogen felt like an idiot. A sophisticated woman she was not. Setting down her glass, she curled some of her hair round her ear. ‘No...I’m not.’

Thankfully, her guest didn’t pursue the topic. ‘So, tell me, how long have you lived here?’ he asked instead.

Trying to relax, she somehow found a smile. ‘About a year.’

‘And you work in the area?’

‘Yes, I do.’

Still cradling his drink, Seth leaned forward. The movement stirred the air with the scent of his arresting cologne. She didn’t know what made it smell so alluring but she didn’t have to... It had got her attention.

‘And what is it that you work at?’

‘I’m a secretary. I work for a legal practice.’

‘And you enjoy it?’

‘As a matter of fact, I do. I’m lucky enough to work for a very nice woman, and the work is genuinely interesting.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I think if everyone enjoyed their work the world would go a long way to being a better place. I recently read that eighty per cent of the population hate their jobs. Thank God I’m not one of those. It’s bad enough having to deal with all the other challenges that can come at you.’

‘What do you mean, exactly?’

‘I mean like pain and disappointment and the death of loved ones. Yes, all that can grind even the most stoic person down.’

He took a generous swig of brandy, and to Imogen’s surprise she saw a sudden flare of pain in his diamond-bright eyes. His doleful words reminded her of the reason they had met—why he happened to be sitting there in her flat. Her heart squeezed in sympathy.

‘I agree. Life can seem unbearable sometimes. But we should never lose hope that things can get better.’

‘I admire your optimism, Imogen. Long may it last.’

Her guest looked to be candidly assessing her, and she suddenly found herself transfixed by him. What would it be like to have such a charismatic man’s regard? she wondered.

Fearing she was becoming too entranced, she said quickly, ‘Anyway, you said that you appreciated a companionable silence and I’ve already been talking too much...’

‘Not necessarily. Your voice is actually very soothing.’

Taken aback by the compliment, she said quickly, ‘I’ve just remembered I’ve got a couple of things to do in the kitchen. Do you mind if I leave you on your own for a while?’

‘Not at all... That is, unless you’d prefer to stay and talk to me?’

Such a simply put invitation shouldn’t make her insides flutter with the most intoxicating pleasure but it did, and her reaction warned her to tread very carefully where Seth Broden was concerned.

‘I don’t have a preference, but I perfectly understand if you want some time on your own for a while. Just call me if you need anything.’

Seth blinked and glanced away. ‘As tempting as that offer sounds, sweetheart, there’s nothing I really need right now other than the brandy.’

‘I’ll leave you in peace, then.’

His gaze immediately found hers again and he looked far from reassured. ‘Not possible—but I appreciate the sentiment.’

Even as she left the room Imogen remembered the note he’d left for his girlfriend.

You’re the only one who can calm the lightning in my soul and help me find peace.

That last remark he’d made confirmed he’d lost all faith in ever experiencing such an elusive concept again, and once more her foolish heart ached. Not just for Seth but for herself, too. No one could know the emotional wreckage that was left behind when faced with the loss of the person you loved...the hopelessness that ensued. A person had to experience it for themselves before they could even begin to understand.