the castle.
‘Just one more picture,’ the photographer begged, ‘the two of you leaning against the car-could you put your hand around her waist? That’s right-draw her a little bit closer-’
Jarvis obliged, trying to put his mind elsewhere so that he wasn’t so conscious of her slim waist under his fingers, the swell of her hips pressed against him. She was warm and soft, but he wouldn’t think of that. Nor would he let himself breathe in the scent of flowers that whispered from her, so faint and elusive that he couldn’t be quite sure…
‘Look into each other’s eyes,’ the photographer called.
Turning, she had to slip her arm behind him, the hand resting against his back. Of course, he told himself, she was adept at putting on smiles for show. But in her face he saw sunshine and laughter, and a wicked gleam of mischief. Somehow the sun was in his eyes, and when the photographer called, ‘Just one kiss,’ he bent his head instinctively and laid his lips on hers.
To Meryl the feel of his mouth was a shock. The kiss was like the man himself, firm, unyielding, intensely masculine. It invited her on and warned her off, and she felt herself helplessly accepting the invitation and ignoring the warning. She’d wanted this-only now did she know how much-and she wasn’t giving up now. It was her moment of triumph, and she was completely overcome, defeated, conquered, routed and exhilarated.
‘Jarvis.’ She barely knew that she spoke his name, but somehow her lips moved enticingly against his, and his own answered with purpose. His arms tightened around her, so that she had no choice but to melt against him while the world dissolved into nothing.
For a long moment neither of them moved, while the photographer danced about gleefully getting shot after shot until he finally yelled, ‘OK, that’s lovely.’
She felt the world come back into place, a subtly different shape.
Jarvis lifted his head just enough to see her face and know that she was as stunned as himself. Her eyes, raised to his, were vulnerable, giving him a silent message that he wanted to hear. If they’d been alone…
The voice in his head was so real that he almost thought Sarah was there. Then the mist cleared and he was saying goodbye to the press as though nothing had happened. But everything had happened. Everything that mustn’t happen had happened. And it was too late to stop it.
‘I’ll see you inside,’ he said curtly, and strode away.
‘Will you be needing the car, or can I take it?’ Meryl asked next morning.
‘You don’t need to ask,’ Jarvis said politely. ‘You bought it.’
‘But if I’d used it without checking with you, you’d have thought me very rude,’ she pointed out. ‘I can’t win, can I?’
Jarvis ran his hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said sincerely. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to my manners.’
In fact, it wasn’t his manners that had deserted him, but his wits. And they’d all gone a-wandering from the moment he kissed her. He might try to deny the truth to himself, but it was hard when, as now, she reminded him that he could hurt her. And even harder when she said gently, ‘Try not to resent me so much, Jarvis.’
‘Nonsense,’ he said quickly. ‘Of course I don’t.’ To make amends he asked, ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘No, thank you. I’m going to meet Benedict at the airport.’
He’d half stretched his hand out to her, but he drew it back again.
A few minutes later she left. Jarvis summoned Andrew Carver for a meeting to discuss his changed circumstances, and in that way he managed not to follow her with his thoughts.
If Larry Rivers caused interest, Benedict Steen was a sensation. It was late afternoon when they arrived, and as he jumped down from the heavy vehicle the sun caught his thick fair hair, giving him the look of a young Greek god. Together he and Meryl made a glorious couple as she seized his arm excitedly and they went, laughing, into the castle.
Hannah bustled forward to offer him refreshment. Jarvis, who’d watched his arrival from an upper window, took his time about descending.
When he finally did his duty it was to find his library strewn with the most gorgeous white fabrics, silks, satin, brocades. Hannah was gazing admiringly at Meryl, who stood wrapped in a swathe of glittering material. It had tiny flashing jewels sewn all over it, and even Jarvis, who knew ‘sweet Fanny Adams’ about fashion, could see the staggering luxury.
‘It would be fantastic with this to hold the veil in place,’ Benedict said, opening a black box and revealing a magnificent diamond tiara. ‘You must look like a goddess,’ he declared expansively. ‘When you walk down the aisle your diamonds will glitter, your dress will sweep out, and your veil will stream behind you-’
Jarvis coughed. They all turned to look at him.
‘I’m sorry, I was detained,’ he said politely.
Meryl tossed aside her finery. ‘Jarvis, this is my friend Benedict, who’s making my wedding dress.’
Jarvis said what was proper, but he was studying the young man with disfavour. As Larry had said, Benedict had the looks of a film star. He was almost tall enough to look Jarvis in the eye. His shoulders were wide, his skin tanned, his mouth finely chiselled and his eyes deep blue and expressive.
And this was the man that Meryl valued at millions, plus enduring a charade of marriage with another man. What, apart from his looks, did Benedict Steen have to make a level-headed woman-?
But this wasn’t a level-headed woman. This was Meryl, who flew off to challenge a stranger at a moment’s notice, who nearly got herself drowned and laughed it off, who scribbled all over her hand and had windmills in her head. If anybody needed protecting, she did. But who would protect her from Benedict Steen?
If it came to that, who would protect her from himself?
He kept this first meeting as short as was compatible with courtesy, informed them that he would see them at dinner, and hurried away to call Ferdy and demand his presence, and Sarah’s, that evening. He didn’t feel that he could endure it alone.
Everyone dressed for dinner, which was in the great dining room. This was Larne at its grandest, with walls covered with weapons in circular patterns, armour at every corner, the walls bearing portraits of Larne ancestors.
Benedict was in seventh heaven. ‘Such splendour! This is what I want to convey in the dress. I saw the grand staircase in the hall. Tomorrow, Meryl, I must see you
Jarvis caught Ferdy’s hilarious expression and his lips twitched. He would have shared the joke with Sarah too, but somehow his eyes met Meryl’s instead and he realised that she too was amused at Benedict’s expense.
She looked glorious in a gown that he would have described as ‘something floaty in green and blue’ but which was actually one of Benedict’s most delicate creations in silk chiffon. All Jarvis could say for certain was that it enhanced the colour of her eyes in a way that made him watch her closely. Sarah had to speak to him twice before he noticed her.
It made a pleasant start to the evening, but from then on he grew more depressed. Benedict turned out to be the perfect dinner companion, able to listen to others with interest, and to talk knowledgeably on a variety of subjects. He was witty and charming, instantly at ease with Ferdy, and even making the severe Sarah laugh at his jokes.
With Meryl his manner was theatrically flirtatious. He kissed her hand, he praised her beauty, he called her ‘goddess’. But he didn’t actually do anything to which her fiance could object without looking absurd. Confound him!
Then he remembered that Steen was her true fiance. He could gather her into his arms without having to release her just when he wanted to explore further…
‘You’re knocking it back a bit, aren’t you?’ Ferdy muttered in his ear.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You don’t usually drink so much. I hope it’s going to be Seth who ferries us over tonight. I’m not sure how steady your hand is.’
‘Seth’s gone to bed,’ Jarvis growled. ‘You’ll have to take your chance with me.’
‘And leave your bride entertaining another man?’ Ferdy observed with a grin.
‘You can swim if you like,’ Jarvis told him in a low, savage voice.
