A Scandal Made in London

‘Okay, fine,’ she said with a careless shrug that somehow stung even more. ‘But only when we’re out together.’

‘I don’t mind what you do when you’re on your own,’ he said. ‘As long as you remember your role when we’re out in public.’

‘I’m unlikely to forget with this on my finger.’

As was he. Which was, after all, the point. ‘And speaking of which,’ he said, dismissing as ridiculous the inexplicable urge to demand she put it on now, ‘tomorrow night we’re going to the opening of a new wing at the National Gallery that my company has funded. And this time, Kate, don’t keep me waiting.’

* * *

A fortnight later, Kate eased off her shoes after yet another function, and with a grateful sigh flopped onto her bed.

To call the last two weeks a whirlwind of activity was an understatement. She’d attended eight events, one antenatal appointment and a hospital scan. She’d been to see her sister to explain the engagement and the pregnancy as best she could without going into detail, and had been relieved when Milly had accepted without question that she was going to be an aunt. In fact, her sister had been delighted, had immediately announced that she was going to take up knitting. Their WhatsApp chat channel was now filled with pictures of tiny bootees, hats and cardigans in various stages of progress and Kate’s heart squeezed at every one.

She’d also been getting used to not going into work. Being at home on a weekday felt very odd; however, she hadn’t really had any option. Once the news of her engagement had broken, her astonished colleagues had initially swooned but then backed off, as if any office gossip might reach Theo’s ears at which point they could all well be fired. She’d come to the swift conclusion that things would only get worse and had promptly handed in her notice, after which her entire floor had seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

What she’d do about work in the future she had no idea. Discriminatory or not, she couldn’t see a prospective employer jumping for joy about her condition. The hole in her bank account was still pretty big and any maternity benefit she might receive would hardly fill it. But she’d figure something out, maybe by reigniting the freelance bookkeeping she’d started, because she had no intention of ever touching Theo’s money.

That he was going to set up a fund as he’d promised she had no doubt. Not so long ago he’d told her that there was barely a problem that couldn’t be solved by throwing money at it and he clearly considered both her and their baby just such a problem.

As she sat up, it struck Kate once again that the way Theo had no interest in their child was strange. Weren’t men, especially the alpha males among them, pre-programmed to instantly claim possession of their offspring, as a sign of their supremacy or virility or continuation of the bloodline or something? Wasn’t it in some way evolutionary?

Well, Theo w

as as alpha and male as they came, yet he appeared to buck the trend. It was as if he was determined to distance himself from the very idea of it, and she couldn’t help wondering why. Was it simply inconvenient? An obstacle en route to global domination? Was he really just too busy? Or did he genuinely not want a baby? She remembered thinking at one point, when she’d first delivered the news, that she’d caught a glimpse of pure terror in his eyes, but she must have been mistaken because she’d never met anyone less afraid of anything, so what was it?

However much it intrigued her, she could hardly ask. She’d already tried once, the afternoon he’d pitched up at her flat and filled her space with his dominating, disturbing presence, and had been firmly shut down. He didn’t do personal and he didn’t share anything other than the most superficial of information. The conversations they’d had over the last fortnight through necessity had been desultory at best, and, really, she didn’t need to know.

To her surprise, though, he had taken on board her comments about his lack of participation when it came to faking their engagement. At the events they’d recently attended, he’d left no one in any doubt about his supposed intentions towards her. He no longer glowered in her direction. He even managed the occasional smile that flipped her stomach every time he bestowed it on her. He focused wholly on her, which was heady stuff, and ensured the ring he’d given her did not go unnoticed. And even though she knew it was all for show, that she shouldn’t feel a million dollars when she was with him, her poor battered self-esteem lapped it up.

But she had to remember that this whole thing was nothing more than an elaborate charade, that the attention Theo paid her wasn’t real, she told herself for the billionth time as she levered herself off the bed and unzipped her dress. He continued to show no remorse, no regret for the way he’d blackmailed her, and she couldn’t fall again into the trap of crediting him with traits he didn’t have. She had to stop drifting off into daydreams where every touch, every smile, was real. And she had to stop secretly putting the ring on at home, turning her hand this way and that so the beautiful stone caught the light and cast dancing sparkles on her walls, and pretending she had a man who loved her. The wave of longing she felt every time she succumbed to temptation did her no good at all.

Oh, how she wished she’d insisted on a time limit. There’d still been no word for Daniel Bridgeman and she didn’t know how much longer she could keep it up. The pressure was immense. The battle between her head and her body was exhausting. And what was taking so long anyway? Their appearances in public had been noted, although thankfully with considerably less vitriol than experience had warned her to fear, and their performance had been entirely credible.

What if Mr Bridgeman had no intention of ever signing? Would she be locked into this absurd charade until Theo decided to release her? How would she bear it? She should never have agreed to it in the first place. She should have been tougher. She should have called his bluff and—

Her phone buzzed and she turned from the wardrobe where she was hanging the dress to reach down to fish it out of the evening bag that lay on the bed.

A message flashed up on the screen. From Theo.

Where was she to be paraded next? A charity ball? Business drinks?

No.

Italy, according to the text. On Friday. For the weekend. Because Daniel Bridgeman had finally, at long flipping last, been in touch.

CHAPTER NINE

‘I CAN SEE why you like to travel by private jet,’ said Kate, yanking Theo’s attention from the document he’d been perusing for the past ten minutes with zero idea of its contents. ‘I haven’t bashed my knees once. It’s heavenly.’

No, he thought grimly, watching her settle on the sofa as the plane climbed to thirty thousand feet and stretch her endless legs out. What was heavenly was the way she looked. And smelled. All the damn time.

Today she was wearing a pair of wide silky white trousers that clung to her legs whenever she moved and a blue top that matched her eyes. She looked fresh and lovely and she was immensely distracting. And even though he ought to be used to it after two weeks of outfit after incredible outfit and enforced proximity, he wasn’t, because everything about her seemed to demand attention, whether she was with him or not, which was plain ridiculous.

His decision to give their fake engagement a hundred per cent had undoubtedly been the right one, but that didn’t mean it had been easy. Keeping Kate’s no kissing, no inappropriate contact condition at the forefront of his mind had required more strength than he could have possibly imagined. Every time he touched her elbow or her back, he wound up wanting to touch a whole lot more and wondering how far he could go before it became unacceptable. And then there was the ring, blinding him at every opportunity it got. With hindsight he should have gone for something smaller but at the time, for some unfathomable reason, he’d wanted there to be no doubt whatsoever that she was his.

All in all, the last fortnight had been a more gruelling experience than he’d expected, and Daniel Bridgeman’s invitation could not have come at a better time. Because while he had no intention of ever giving up on his goal, he’d found himself seriously considering his options on more than one occasion, which was disturbing in itself because once he’d embarked on a course of action he never doubted it.

‘I’m delighted you approve,’ he said, deciding he might as well give up on work and park the perplexing nature of his response to Kate in order to sit back and admire the view.