Cinderella’s Wedding Wish

But Miranda had dug in her heels about that, too. ‘Not if the agency can find me a job. I’m not giving up work just to sit around and wait for you to go out in the evenings.’

Rafe regarded her with frustration. ‘But you won’t need to work,’ he said. ‘That’s why I’m paying you twenty- five thousand pounds!’

‘Yes, and how long will that last if I have to live in London on no salary?’ Miranda retorted. ‘That money is for Whitestones. I’m not wasting it. No, I’m going to keep working until I’m ready to go to Whitestones and not before.’

Rafe had sighed. ‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a very stubborn woman, Miranda Fairchild? You’d better come back and work at Knighton’s, then. Ginny can ring the agency and request you for another temporary assignment.’

‘But that’s ridiculous!’

‘No more ridiculous than the fiancee of one of the richest men in the country insisting on doing some tedious office job,’ he pointed out.

‘It’s not ridiculous to want to work for a living,’ said Miranda, exasperated by him. ‘Obviously I’d give up working in the evenings,’ she told him. ‘I’ll need to be available to go out so people can see us together.’

‘Big of you,’ said Rafe, who was feeling oddly disgruntled. ‘I was beginning to wonder whether you’d insist on keeping that job, too!’

Infuriatingly, Miranda refused to rise. ‘Being seen out with you at social events was part of the deal,’ she said coolly. ‘Giving up my day job wasn’t.’

‘I’m hardly going to see you if you’re not at Knighton’s,’ he grumbled. ‘Perhaps you’d better move in with me. At least we might spend more than five minutes together then.’

In fact, that was an excellent idea, he decided. He should have thought of that before.

Miranda clearly didn’t think it was such a good idea.

‘Move in with you? What on earth for?’

‘This is the twenty-first century, Miranda. Nobody is going to believe I would marry someone I wasn’t sleeping with.’

‘Who said anything about sleeping with you?’ she demanded, glaring at him. ‘That wasn’t part of our agreement either!’

Rafe looked at her flushed face, and found himself remembering that kiss with an intensity that took him unawares. He had sensed the warmth and passion simmering beneath her cool surface, but the reality had been so much more exciting than even he had imagined. And if she kissed like that, what would it be like to make love to her?

‘Perhaps we should renegotiate,’ he suggested, but Miranda wasn’t having that.

‘Perhaps we should stick to what was agreed,’ she said crisply. ‘You wanted me to turn up to a few events on your arm and look suitably besotted, and that’s all I agreed to!’

‘You agreed that you would do your best to convince people that we were really engaged. What kind of engagement are they going to think we have if it gets out that I’m driving you chastely home every night?’

Rafe dragged a hand through his hair. Why was nothing ever easy with Miranda?

‘Look, you can have your own room,’ he offered. ‘I’m not suggesting that we spend every night making mad, passionate love!’

He had thought about it, though, hadn’t he? He pushed the thought aside.

‘It’s not as if I’m short of space,’ he went on, thinking about the house he had inherited along with the company from his father. ‘My housekeeper is very discreet. Nobody else need know that we’re not actually sleeping together.’

Miranda hesitated. The thought of living with Rafe was enough to set her prickling with nerves, but, having got her way about working, it was her turn to compromise. Besides, it made a kind of sense.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll move in-on condition that I have my own room.’

‘Since we’re talking about conditions…’ said Rafe, surprised at how triumphant he felt at having convinced Miranda to come and live with him. It wasn’t even as if they were going to be sleeping together! He must be losing his touch.

She looked at him suspiciously. ‘What?’

‘You need to do something about your clothes. Octavia can take you shopping after we’ve bought a ring.’

‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’ Miranda bristled immediately.

‘We’re going to be going out in the evenings a lot and you can’t wear those awful suits you insist on,’ he told her. ‘Or your waitressing outfit, come to that,’ he said before she could suggest it. ‘Unless you’d like to wear that cat suit again?’ The dark eyes gleamed with the memory of how revealingly it had clung to her figure. ‘That would get you noticed!’

Faint colour tinged Miranda’s cheekbones. ‘I couldn’t possibly wear that again,’ she said. ‘The tail was so last season!’

Mentally, she reviewed her limited wardrobe. She had never been much of one for clothes, even before Fairchild’s had collapsed. Belinda and Octavia had always been obsessed with fashion, but Miranda had stubbornly resisted all their attempts to smarten her up. She wore suits for work, and the rest of the time she was happy in jeans and a T-shirt. They were fine for going to a film, or having a drink with Rosie, but she might have to make more of an effort for the kind of occasions Rafe clearly had in mind.

‘I suppose I could get something for the evenings,’ she said grudgingly, ‘but I don’t need Octavia. Her taste is quite different from mine.’

Rafe looked at her with amusement. ‘You have lots of wonderful qualities, Miranda, but style is not one of them,’ he told her frankly. ‘Your sister, on the other hand, has it in spades.’

‘Why not pretend to be engaged to her, then?’ Miranda asked snippily. ‘Why bother with me if I’m such a mess?’

‘I prefer you,’ said Rafe.

There was a tiny pause. I prefer you. Hardly the most romantic declaration, but Miranda felt suddenly hot as her eyes met his, and the silence seemed to sizzle around the edges.

With an effort, she wrenched her gaze away. ‘Why can’t you prefer me as I am, then? Why do I have to be tricked out like everyone else?’ She felt scratchy and cross. ‘I can’t stand all that prinking and preening,’ she grumbled. ‘I hate pretending to be something I’m not.’

‘But that’s what you do every time you put on one of those dark uniforms of yours,’ said Rafe, gesturing at what she was wearing and barely able to contain his frustration. ‘That’s pretending. It’s pretending you’re not warm and intelligent and attractive and interesting and sexy. It’s pretending you’re just a dowdy mouse, terrified someone is going to notice you and make you live a little!’

At the time Miranda had stared at him in stunned silence for a moment before blustering that he was talking rubbish, but now as she looked down at the emerald sparkling on her finger she thought again about what he had said. She had nice hands. They were slim, with slender fingers and nails that were short but well shaped and very clean, but she had never drawn attention to them with jewellery or polish, just as she never drew attention to herself with stylish clothes or make-up.

Was Rafe right? Was she afraid to seize life with both hands? She had always been so used to her sisters and parents grabbing the attention that she had grown accustomed to not being noticed. Miranda had told herself that she didn’t need the limelight the way they did, but could the truth have been that she was scared to compete with them because she knew she would fail?

Miranda didn’t like to think of herself like that. She wanted to believe that she was cool and capable, not terrified, not scared, not afraid.

She wasn’t afraid, of anything, and she would prove it, to Rafe and to herself. Instinctively, she squared her shoulders. This pretend engagement had made her stupidly jittery, but that was silly. It was a straightforward arrangement. Rafe hadn’t forced her into it. She had made the choice on her own, and now it was up to her to make a success of it.

She would keep her side of the bargain, Miranda vowed. She would be a fiancee Rafe could be proud of, and when she left everyone would understand why he was sorry to see her go. Nobody would even suspect that it had all been planned.