Reluctant Mistress. Natalie Fox
Liza felt like a voyeur as she watched them embrace each other and then, locked together, turn into the seclusion of the house.
‘That’s Lady Victoria Desprite,’ Carl volunteered as he pulled away from the kerb. ‘Quite something, isn’t she?’
Liza felt as if her body had turned to granite, and yet her brain was functioning, buzzing wildly, uncontrollably. She couldn’t answer Carl, couldn’t comment on the beautiful woman who had such an impact on her heart.
‘Actually, miss, don’t think I’m getting fresh or anything, but you’re not dissimilar, both got that lovely red hair...’
Though Battersea was but a stone’s throw from Chelsea, the drive seemed to take an eternity. Liza wanted the security of her home, needed it badly. She was afraid, terribly afraid of this strange feeling inside her. What was it? Hurt? Jealousy? Perhaps disappointment that he hadn’t insisted on taking her out to dinner? It had been a throw-away invitation, not meant to be taken seriously; after all, that lovely redhead had been expecting him. So what would have happened if she had said ‘Yes, dinner sounds lovely; thank you for asking me—let’s go!’ Would he have cancelled Lady Victoria?
‘God, I’m jealous!’ she cried after slamming her front door after her and slumping back against it breathlessly. ‘I can’t be! It’s bloody impossible!’
Yes, it was impossible, she decided as she soaked in the bath later. Impossible! She was tired, irritable with work today. That business with Nigel and Julia had rattled her. She bit her lip forcibly. She didn’t, she wouldn’t allow her emotions to go one step further. She liked Robert Buchanan, liked working for him. He had a reputation with women and she wasn’t about to appear on his notch-belt of conquests! Suddenly she smiled to herself. Who was she kidding? He wasn’t in the least bit interested in her! Three weeks virtually living in his pocket and not once had he stepped out of line. So what was she worried about? Closing her eyes and sliding down under the foam, she murmured, ‘Nothing, nothing at all.’
CHAPTER THREE
IT SEEMED a cruel coincidence that a gossip columnist ran Robert Buchanan’s relationship with the lovely Lady Victoria as his leader for the next day in Julia’s newspaper.
Julia couldn’t wait to tell Liza. She tossed the paper down on Liza’s desk with a whoop.
‘Brilliant, isn’t he?’ she cried. ‘Don’t you just love all this? Our boss, swanning around with society’s most eligible lady. Look, there’s a picture of them together at Krystals night-club last week. The papers reckon it’s the real thing for them both this time. They’ve both got a hefty track record and...’
Liza pushed the paper aside and studied a sheet of sales figures and tried not to hear any more. Gossip. The newspapers thrived on it. Part of her felt sorry for Robert—hadn’t he told her he was a confirmed bachelor? The rest of her decided it served him right for allowing the Press to hound him so. After all, he’d admitted he enjoyed his publicity. Damn! What did she care anyway?
She changed the subject, and subtly turned Julia’s attention to her work. Julia soon forgot Robert Buchanan’s love-life, and ploughed through a pile of letters Liza dictated to her. Liza, to her profound irritation, found she wasn’t so easily distracted. Throughout the morning she kept bringing back to mind the embrace she had witnessed on the doorstep of that smart house in Chelsea. Fortunately, pressure of work in the afternoon forced all personal thoughts from her head.
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