His Mistress Proposal?. Trish Wylie
‘Really?’ Veronica’s stomach gave a little lurch.
Her face must have given her away because Sophie said kindly: ‘They don’t really have much taste, you know, but they’re a bit chewy. If you pick a little one you can swallow it down real quick.’
‘Thanks for the tip, kid.’ She grinned as they walked past the stone pavilion that served as a garage and around by the row of young olive trees at the side of the house.
It wasn’t until they had stepped into sight of the group of people sitting in various casual attitudes around a large table on a sun-dappled terrace that Veronica suddenly registered what it was that she had seen out of the corner of her eye, parked in between two family saloons.
A streamlined silver convertible with red upholstery!
CHAPTER FOUR
‘ROSS and Ashley got engaged four months ago,’ Melanie was saying as she set out a dish of black and green olives, amongst the tomatoes, roasted peppers and cluster of wineglasses on the blue and yellow striped tablecloth. ‘Ross’s in the finance department of a big international bank. He’s expecting a posting to New York or London in the next few months, so we’ll probably be seeing even less of Ashley than we do now.’
‘Oh, really,’ murmured Veronica, struggling to maintain the minimum of polite interest when all her attention was focused elsewhere, on the tall, dark-haired man emerging from the dimness of the house, one arm slung around the thin, wiry figure of Zoe Main, the other loosely carrying an opened bottle of red wine.
She was hardly aware of Ross Bentley’s winning smile as he shook her hand, or the wheat-blond hair and golden eyes that added the gilt to his chunky good looks. Nor did she notice that the clasp of his hand lingered slightly too long as she failed to flatter him with her full attention, but his sharp-eyed fiancée did.
‘Veronica—perhaps it’s only an optical illusion, but you seem to have grown taller since we last saw each other,’ Ashley drawled from her comfortable seat at the far end of the table, the large diamond ring on her finger sparking in the sunlight as she deliberately moved her wineglass out of a patch of shade thrown by the vines twining the overhead lattice.
‘The taller the woman, the more there is to appreciate,’ Ross Bentley said in a suave murmur, which would have made Veronica cringe if she had actually been listening.
‘I understand that Melanie is insisting we observe local custom, so this is obligatory at the first meeting,’ he raised his voice to add with a smooth laugh, putting his hands on her upper arms and making a charming production of bussing her on both cheeks. Since he was several inches shorter than Veronica it made for a slightly awkward manoeuvre as she remained stiffly upright, staring past his head, only vaguely aware of the moist smear of his lips against her pale cheeks.
Visions of mortification danced in her head as she watched the pair moving away from the house. If only she could faint!
But she had a constitution that was as strong as her build, and although it felt as if much of the blood had drained out of her brain she could still pull together a few rational thoughts.
One being that if she toppled over now, she might well take the hovering golden boy down with her, which would give Ashley even more reason to pout.
She could pretend to feel faint, and blame it on the heat, but, knowing Melanie, she wouldn’t be able to simply totter her way back to the cottage, a handkerchief discreetly pressed to her face, but would be instantly sat down and very publicly fussed over.
Besides, it was too late to avoid the confrontation looming out of the old stone farmhouse, for Lucien was looking right at her—or, more precisely, looking at her and Ross Bentley, his eyes narrowing as they flicked back and forth, his features cast into a dangerously unreadable stillness.
‘Luc, I wondered where you’d got to … come over and meet Karen’s sister.’ Melanie removed the bottle of wine from his hand, giving it to Miles to pour while she one-handedly shepherded her mother and her companion over to where Veronica was standing, shoulders squared as if she were facing a firing squad.
She had a sinking feeling that she knew who he was, far too late for it to do her any good.
Veronica’s grey eyes latched onto Zoe’s bright, bird-like gaze and she concentrated hard on blocking out all knowledge of her impending humiliation.
‘H-hello, Zoe.’ She stumbled to get her clumsy tongue around the innocuous words, pushing them out in a rush. ‘Karen told me your birthday was coming up, but not that it was such a milestone one—’ Another black mark against her sister.
Zoe waved her words away with an acerbic laugh. ‘Oh, please, let’s forget about that until next week when I have to think about it!’
‘No one would believe it to look at you, anyway,’ managed Veronica, trying not to feel the searing heat of a concentrated brown stare lasering holes in her wafer-thin composure.
It was true. Melanie had said her mother was a lifelong golfer and gardener, and she looked the part—a spritely, nut-brown, vigorous woman who rarely permitted any concessions to her age. Even her short, no-nonsense white hair seemed to vibrate with energy.
‘I suppose you’re going to tell me I don’t look a day over seventy-four, which is what this silver-tongued rascal had the nerve to say!’ said Zoe, with a fond frown at the man at her side.
Now there was no more avoiding it. Slowly Veronica turned her unwilling gaze to meet that of her erstwhile lover. He was dressed all in white—crumpled pants and a carelessly buttoned short-sleeved shirt—but his aura was pulsing with ominous darkness.
Stay away from me and mine …
‘Veronica, this is my stepson, Lucien Ryder,’ Melanie was saying with an odd mixture of pride and diffidence. ‘Luc lived with us for a few years before Sophie was born—until he went to Oxford University on a scholarship when he was sixteen. He stayed on in Europe after he graduated, doing as brilliantly at business as he did at university—but for all that he still considers himself a Kiwi at heart!’
Oh, God, she had chosen to have her wild, anonymous fling with Melanie’s stepson!
She had speculated that he might be British or Canadian, but never in a million years had Veronica dreamed that her excitingly exotic Frenchman would turn out to be one of her own countrymen—a common-or-garden New Zealander! Veronica felt an absurd sense of betrayal. How he must have been laughing at her in Paris!
Lucien made no pretence of politely shaking her hand. He went straight for the jugular, sliding his arms around her back and drawing her against his chest, kissing her cheeks with leisurely deliberation once, twice, three times, aiming the light brush of his mouth just below her ear lobe in each case, where he knew from experience she was ultra-sensitive to a caressing touch.
As a greeting it might have borne an outward resemblance to a sexless salute between new acquaintances, but the message transmitted to her senses was far from innocent. The lazy, rubbing motion of his jaw was like being scent-marked by a big cat and Veronica gave a little, soundless squeak, emerging flushed and breathless as he dropped his arms, but remained threateningly close.
Zoe coughed as Melanie continued rather uncertainly with her introduction, ‘Luc, this is Karen’s sister, Veronica, who Karen said very kindly leapt into the breach as soon as she heard about my crisis, and insisted on being my substitute right arm while I’m assembling the research for this new book …’
I did? I am? Veronica was too dazed to question this distortion of the facts, while Zoe’s second cough sounded more like a smothered laugh.
‘Bonsoir, M’mselle Veronica.’ The slow and lazy intonation combined with the gleam of malice in the dark brown eyes set alarm signals pinging all over her body, his use of French setting her teeth on edge, particularly the heavily accented version of her name. So what if he made it sound sinfully