The Mistress Bride

'And because I refuse to hide like you I am to be punished, is that it?'

Put like that, he had a right to sound offended, Evie wearily acknowledged. 'You're a man,' she said dryly. 'Bedding one of England's most eligible females only adds to your standing, whereas I get called a cheap little slut.'

'The woman in the awful lilac dress!' Raschid recognised instantly. 'The words match her sour expression.' Despite her heavy mood, Evie couldn't resist smiling at his caustic description of dear Great-Aunt Celia. 'To be fair,' she tw

isted around to say to him, 'she did call you a womanising barbarian.' A sleek, superbly drawn black eyebrow arched in enquiry. 'And you agree with her?'

'Oh, yes,' she admitted. 'But then,' she added softly, 'I like you barbaric.'

The darkening look in his eyes set her stomach fluttering.

'I have to go,' she murmured, turning away what that fluttering sensation was tempting.

'More evasion?'

'I'll see you later,' was all she replied, and walked gracefully away.

Stepping out from beneath the sultry-aired canopy was like stepping into another world. The sun was bright, the air crystal-clear, and the sights and sounds of celebration were everywhere.

The bridal party was posing for photographers in front of a perfectly placed beech tree that looked as if it had been standing there for at least a thousand years, All about them their guests stood around in small groups watching them. A small army of white-jacketed waiters wove in and out with silver trays laden with fluted champagne glasses, trying to avoid the children who were running about like swirling dervishes and letting off steam. The band was still playing, and it seemed odd to Evie that she hadn't heard a single note while she had been with Raschid. But then, Raschid had that kind of effect on her. When he was there her world began and ended with him alone. Which was why this other world out here felt so very strange and alien.

Julian caught sight of her and called out, then waved his hand in an imperious command for her to come and join them. Evie nodded her head in acknowledgement but took her time making her way over there. Her brother didn't know it, but she had no intention of appearing with them on any photograph. So she stopped a waiter to collect a champagne glass, paused then to chat lightly to the first group of people she came to. Saw, from the comer of her eye, her brother's attention become claimed by more pressing duties that made him forget all about her, and kept her social smile fixed firmly in place as she wandered from group to group-the only group she carefully avoided being the Arab contingent.

Someone appeared at her shoulder and tentatively touched her arm. She turned her head, the social smile still fixed firmly in place, found herself looking into the ruefully smiling face of an attractive man with brown hair, grey eyes and a shy disposition.

And instantly her expression mellowed into true tenderness. 'Harry,' she greeted softly. 'How lovely to see you.' It was purely instinctive for her to go up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lean cheek.

From not very far away several people stood observing the exchange from completely different perspectives. Her mother observed with unmasked satisfaction, Raschid with grim speculation as he watched Evie's face, saw that smile as the one he'd always believed was reserved exclusively for him and discovered that it hit him rather hard to know another man warranted such tenderness.

He knew, of course, who the guy was, and what he had once been to Evie. They had been childhood friends, sweethearts in their teenage years but never lovers, he reminded himself as he watched the Marquis of Lister place hands that most definitely coveted around Evie's slender waist.

'He's still in love with her,' a cold voice murmured beside him. 'She broke his heart when she left him for you. Will you break her heart, Sheikh Raschid, when it's time for you to let my daughter go?'

'I wonder what appeals to you more, Lady Delahaye,' Raschid smiled tightly. 'The prospect of your daughter receiving that broken heart or my leaving her?'

'I love Evie,' Evie's mother declared stiffly.

'Really?' he drawled. 'Then I beg leave to inform you that it doesn't show.'

'She has a right to be able to stand alongside the man she loves with her head held high in pride, not to avoid his presence at all cost!'

'And whose fault is it that she does avoid me?' Raschid challenged. 'Certainly not mine,' he denied.

'She doesn't look well,' Evie's 'mother stated tightly. 'She most certainly doesn't look happy. And that smile she is offering Harry is the first genuine smile I've seen from her today.'

'I know .. .' Raschid acknowledged quietly, his mind locked on something else Lady Delahaye had said that had managed to strike at the very heart of him. Because, he realised, Evie didn't look well. He knew she was unhappy that much had been patently obvious to him for several weeks now. But ill, as in sick? A chill went whipping though him. 'Excuse me,' he said curtly, and walked away, leaving Lucinda Delahaye to follow his long, lean, graceful approach towards her daughter with angrily resentful eyes. Resentment that turned to grim satisfaction when she saw her son and his new bride waylay Sheikh Raschid before he could reach his target. She could see his frustration behind the smile of congratulation he had fixed on his lean dark face. And she could see Evie, so engrossed in whatever Harry was saying to her that she wasn't aware that her lover stood not ten feet away.

Thank goodness for Julian, Evie was thinking as she pretended to listen to Harry enthuse about the innovative breeding programme he was using at his racing stud, while her real attention was fixed on Raschid, and the disturbing fact that he had been striding purposefully towards her. She'd seen her mother speak to him, seen by both their expressions that the short meeting had not broken any ice. Whatever her mother had said to Raschid it had made him excuse himself curtly and make directly for Evie, which could only mean one thing.

Her mother was stirring trouble.

'You should come down some time and see what we're doing there,' Harry was saying. 'You won't believe the changes since you last visited, Evie.'

Laughter suddenly exploded into the afternoon air, Julian and Raschid sounding deep and hearty, Christina's lighter laughter like the tinkling of fairy bells, sweet and delicate and undeniably happy.

And once again Evie was glad of her wide-brimmed gauzy hat that was hiding her envious wish to be with them instead of standing here with Harry. Harry, whom she had once thought she loved to distraction but now couldn't even remember what that love felt like since it had been so thoroughly overwhelmed by what she felt for Raschid.

'But your mother tells me you don't get down to Westhaven much any more.' Harry's voice reached out to her from what felt like a long, long way off. 'Is that because you didn't fancy running into me?'