A Second Chance For The Millionaire. Nicola Marsh
She knew it beyond a shadow of doubt. It had been there in his face, until he changed his mind, probably remembering that other time on the beach when she’d told him to back off. How could she have known then that by now she would feel so differently?
So much had changed tonight. She’d been practically the belle of the ball, surrounded by admirers, seeing herself through their eyes but trapped inside her ivory tower. But it was she who, only yesterday, had slammed shut the door of that tower, and she could blame nobody but herself.
Not so much Cinderella as the Sleeping Beauty.
‘Except that nobody could consider me a beauty,’ she mused wryly.
But Darius had thought so, perhaps only for a brief moment but a little feminine strategy might have transformed that moment into long-lasting joy. Had retreating into the tower, protecting her safety at the expense of life’s joy, really been the right thing to do?
‘Curses!’ she muttered. ‘Why did this have to happen now?’
Brooding thus, she snuggled down in the huge bed, wishing it was smaller. Its size seemed to demand two people and she was attacked by a feeling of loneliness.
It was still dark when she awoke. The illuminated clock showed that three hours had passed since they had parted and she had the feeling that something strange was happening. After a moment she realised that a phone was ringing.
It seemed to come from the other side of the wall, so surely Darius would answer it soon. But it went on and on. Nobody was going to answer it.
Perhaps the sound came from somewhere else? She slipped out of bed, threw on her wrap and went out into the dark corridor. Now there was no doubt. It was Darius’s phone and there was nobody to answer it.
He wasn’t there. He was spending the night with someone else. And she was a fool not to have realised that it was bound to happen. In London there would be a hundred women he could turn to. Returning to her own room, she had to stop herself slamming the door. She had no right to feel insulted or neglected, but that didn’t help.
So, who? Freya? Perhaps he really needed his father’s money that much. Or one of the numerous females who’d made eyes at him that evening?
She threw herself back down onto the bed but sleep was impossible, and now she wondered how she could get through tomorrow. How could she look at him without an accusation in her eyes, however illogical?
Restlessly, she jumped up and began to pace the room. From the street outside came the sound of a car and she drew aside the curtain to look down.
Then she grew still as she saw the passenger get out. It was Darius, and he was weighed down with baggage. Three large suitcases were offloaded onto the pavement and collected by the porter, then they disappeared into the hotel.
Harriet scurried to her door, listening. She heard the elevator arrive, the doors open and the sound of a trolley being wheeled across the floor, stopping outside the room next to hers. Only then did she look out.
Darius was opening his door, indicating for the porter to take the luggage in. When the man had departed he seemed to notice Harriet.
‘Sorry if the racket disturbed you.’
‘It didn’t. I happened to see you arrive downstairs. You look worn out.’
‘I’ve been to my apartment to collect a few things. At least, it was meant to be a few things, but once I started I couldn’t stop.’
‘You mean—that’s where you’ve been all this time?’ she breathed.
‘Yes, I decided I couldn’t be in London without going home for a few hours. I’ve had someone going in to collect any mail that arrived, but there was still plenty of stuff on the mat. I didn’t mean to stay so long but things built up. What’s the matter? What’s funny?’
‘Nothing,’ she said in a trembling voice.
‘Then why are you laughing?’
‘I’m not—not really.’
‘Yes, you are. What’s so funny at this hour?’
‘You wouldn’t understand. Go to bed quickly. I’ll see you in the morning.’
She escaped before she could give herself away any more. It was vital to be alone to throw herself on her bed, to laugh and cry, and marvel at where the path was leading her.
Now for the big one.
That was her thought as she sat before the mirror next morning, watching as her make-up was again applied by an expert.
Today her clothes were less ostentatiously glamorous, although no less costly, a matching dress and jacket in light grey heavy silk. Around her neck she wore the diamond pendant.
Now the attendants had gone and there was just time for one last important job. Quickly, she dialled her neighbour’s number.
‘Hi, Jenny, is everything all right?—Lovely—he’s not off his food, is he?— Oh, good, they’re his favourite bones but I was afraid he might pine—oh, please fetch him.’
Marcel and Jackson, knocking on their brother’s door, found it opened promptly.
‘I’m honoured,’ he said ironically.
‘Not you, her,’ Jackson informed him. ‘Do you think we’re going to miss the chance to be seen with the most gorgeous girl since—? Is this her door? Good.’
All three of them raised their hands, but before they could knock they heard Harriet’s voice inside.
‘Oh, darling, do you miss me? I miss you so much. I’ll be home soon. I love you more than anyone in the world.’
Jackson and Marcel stared at their brother.
‘A ménage à trois?’ Marcel demanded, aghast. ‘You?’
‘Not in a million years,’ Darius declared. ‘I leave those kind of shenanigans to you.’
‘But she was talking to the one she loves more than anyone in the world.’
‘She was talking to her dog,’ Darius said, grinning. ‘She does that a lot. She left him with a friend and she called him as soon as we arrived.’
Jackson nodded. ‘She’s probably had him since she was a child.’
‘No, he belonged to her husband who died a year ago.’
‘Ah!’ Enlightenment settled over Marcel. ‘Then perhaps it is the dead husband whom she loves more than—’
‘Shall we be going?’ Darius interrupted him, knocking. ‘Harriet, are you ready in there?’
‘Coming!’ She opened the door and stood basking in their looks of admiration.
Instantly, Marcel and Jackson extended their hands to her, but Darius stayed firm.
‘Back off, you two,’ he said, drawing her hand into the crook of his elbow. ‘She’s mine.’
And Harriet thought she detected a note of pride in his voice, if only she could allow herself to believe it.
Heads held high, they went downstairs to where the ceremony would take place. It would be a civil ceremony, but the venue had been done up to emulate the grandeur of a church. There were flowers everywhere and chairs laid out in rows, while at the far end a choir was assembling.
It was almost time to begin. Ken took his place and stood waiting, his eyes fixed on the door through which his bride would come.
At last Mary appeared and began to walk slowly towards him. She was magnificently dressed in a long gown of saffron coloured satin, a diamond tiara on her head. Behind her walked Frankie and Mark.
What would Darius be feeling now, she wondered, as his one-time beloved married another man and his children became part of another family? He was between her