Cinderella’s Wedding Wish

married.’

‘I thought the ball would be in London,’ said Miranda, frowning slightly.

‘That would be ideal, but, as you pointed out, we’re unlikely to find anywhere if we don’t want to wait until next year now…and I don’t.’

No, Rafe would never want to wait for anything. He was a typical trust fund baby, expecting that he could have whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it, thought Miranda, conveniently forgetting that she had grown up in a family that acted on very similar assumptions.

‘What’s the big hurry?’

The traffic lights chose that moment to turn red, and Rafe pulled up with a little sigh of frustration. Yanking on the hand-brake with unnecessary force, he turned to look at Miranda, sitting straight-backed beside him. ‘Don’t you ever wake up with an idea and want to make it happen straight away?’

‘If it’s a good idea, it’s worth taking the time to make sure it happens right,’ she said, thinking of Whitestones. ‘We can’t always snap our fingers and have exactly what we want immediately,’ she added reprovingly.

‘No, but if we don’t at least try to make it happen, we may never have what we want,’ Rafe pointed out. He might have known she wouldn’t understand. Look at her, buttoned up so tightly it was surprising she could breathe! She didn’t look as if she had ever done anything spontaneous in her life. On the other hand, the seaside had been an interesting choice. He’d have expected her to opt for something dull, like a library or a museum.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said, his eyes on the lights and his foot on the clutch, ready for the off. ‘Maybe it would be best to leave it for another year, but if there’s any chance of arranging something for this summer, I want to make it happen.

‘See what you think about the ballroom at Knighton Park,’ he went on, enjoying the sense of leashed power as the engine revved. ‘It’s not that far from London. It might work. If you don’t think it will, OK. We can look around for a venue for next year, at which point you’ll have organised your way out of a job, but in the meantime we may as well make the most of a day out, don’t you think? You’re getting paid for it, after all.’

Miranda felt the pressure against the small of her back as the lights changed to green and the car accelerated away. They were heading down Park Lane. On their right, Hyde Park looked bright and inviting, with the trees decked out in fresh green. It had been a long, grey winter and an even greyer spring, and now London was unfurling in the sunshine.

This was not the Monday morning she had expected, cocooned in the comfort of a luxurious car, driving out of town for lunch in the country and, as Rafe pointed out, getting paid for it. She didn’t often get a day off, so she might as well make the most of it, just as he’d suggested. Settling back into the leather, Miranda tipped her face to the sunshine, closed her eyes and smiled.

Rafe nearly went off the road. He had been aware of that rigidly prim pose slowly relaxing, and, glancing sideways, was struck afresh by the beautiful skin and the fine brows, by the clean lines of her face and throat. Last week, her hair had seemed dull and brown and straight, but the sunlight turned it to myriad shades of gold and honey, and made him wonder what it would be like if she let it fall around her face, whether it would feel as smooth and silky as it looked if he tangled his fingers in it.

And then she had smiled. She wasn’t even smiling at him. It was just a smile of sheer pleasure in the moment, but Rafe was startled. It was as if he had lifted a curtain, expecting to see a plain, ordinary girl behind it, and instead found himself staring at a lush, sensuous woman.

Had her mouth always been that wide? That sensual? Had it always curled in that tantalising way?

Thrown, Rafe gripped the steering wheel and concentrated fiercely on the traffic. Who would have thought that prim Miranda Fairchild would have a smile like that? And if that was how she smiled at the feel of sunshine on her face, how would she smile if she were happy? In love?

In bed?

Rafe dragged his mind away from the image with difficulty. He was more shaken than he wanted to admit by that brief glimpse of a different side to Miranda Fairchild. He wished he hadn’t seen that smile. He didn’t want her to be attractive and distracting. Although he hadn’t put it into words, he had decided that she would be ideal for this job precisely because he had thought she was neither. She was supposed to be intelligent and practical and unassuming, and nothing else. She wasn’t supposed to smile.

Not like that anyway.

‘Dreaming you’re back at the photocopier?’ he asked, keeping his voice determinedly light.

To his relief, Miranda laughed and opened her eyes. ‘No, I’m not missing that copier at all.’ Straightening, she looked around her. ‘It’s not a bad way to spend a Monday morning, I suppose! This reminds me of when my father used to drive me down to see my godmother in Dorset. He had an open-topped sports car, too.’

How long was it since she had thought about that? Miranda wondered a little guiltily. She ought to remember the good times with her father more often. Much better to remember him when he was the golden, carefree father she had idolised, than to think about the foolish vanity and obstinacy that had brought the entire family to ruin.

She pushed the dark thoughts determinedly aside. ‘It’s hard to believe I’m at work,’ she said brightly. ‘It feels like being on holiday!’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Rafe. ‘We used to drive this way when I was taken to stay with my grandparents at Knighton Park as a kid, so the route reminds me of holidays too.’

Miranda could imagine Rafe as a little boy, dark-eyed and mischievous. ‘Was it a family outing?’

‘Not really. I’m an only child, and my parents were glad not to have me underfoot in the school holidays. Sometimes my mother would drive me down, but more often the chauffeur would take me, sitting in solitary splendour in the back of the car.’

Rafe’s voice was light, but Miranda felt her heart twist. She would never have thought she would feel sorry for Rafe Knighton! Poor little boy.

‘It sounds a bit lonely.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mind as long as I got there. I liked staying with my grandparents. It was more fun at Knighton Park than London. There were lots of places to get lost or get into trouble, or both, and I always seemed to find some other kids to play with.’

He probably started charming at a very early age, Miranda thought. It would have been one way of making sure that he always had a companion.

‘What were your holidays like?’ he asked her. ‘I suppose you always had your sister to play with?’ She seemed so self-sufficient that she could have been an only child too, but he remembered meeting Octavia, with her beauty and her ready smiles. He had been surprised that two such different girls could be related.

Now…He glanced at Miranda and remembered how she had looked when she smiled. If Octavia had closed her eyes and smiled languorously, would he have been as struck? Rafe thought not.

‘Two sisters actually,’ Miranda was saying. ‘I’m the middle one.’

‘Ah, three sisters…like a fairy tale?’

‘Yes, but in the case of the Fairchilds, it’s two beautiful sisters and one ugly one. Belinda looks like Octavia,’ she added, just in case he hadn’t realised who the ugly one was.

‘You’re not ugly,’ said Rafe without thinking. ‘You just dress badly. Every time I’ve seen you, you’ve been wearing a dull little suit like that one.’

That wasn’t quite true, Miranda thought, and the memory of the cat suit sent faint colour creeping into her cheeks. Thank goodness he hadn’t recognised her! It would have been mortifying.

‘A suit’s practical if you’re working in an office,’ she pointed out.

‘There’s nothing wrong with a suit if it’s well cut, or if the colour is flattering, but you seem to go out of your way to pick bad designs and colours that do nothing at all for you,’ he said almost crossly.

‘You sound like my sisters!’

It was none of his business, Rafe knew, and probably deeply inappropriate to boot, but he had always had an eye for good design, and it bothered him that Miranda seemed to care so little about her appearance. It just seemed a waste.

‘You dress as if you don’t want anyone to notice you,’ he grumbled.

Miranda sighed a little. ‘That’s probably true. Everyone else in my family was so flamboyant, and so obsessed with what they looked like, that I suppose I got used to not competing. I knew I could never look like my sisters, so it seemed easier not to even try.’