Redemption of a Ruthless Billionaire

Sybella couldn’t help thinking about her marriage as she drove back home.

If she’d had that time over she might not have come back to Simon, and she certainly wouldn’t have married him until she’d felt secure in their relationship. She’d been so young, and maybe that was partly why she’d stayed faithful to his memory, perhaps for too long.

Simon had never not been her friend, but Nik was something more. He was her lover.

Nik’s SUV was parked outside her house when she pulled up.

As she walked towards him his eyes told her everything she wanted to hear.

He reached into his pocket and produced a bracelet that slithered through his hand.

‘I thought this would look well on you.’

He draped it over her wrist. The stones were small white diamonds. Sybella gave a soft gasp.

‘Nik, I can’t accept this. Diamonds?’

But he was trying to work the delicate silver catch with his big, blunt fingers and there was something about his lack of response and the concentration of his expression and his complete inability to finish the job that made her heart melt. This man who ran an empire was defeated by a delicate catch on a woman’s bracelet. God help her, she didn’t want to give it back, not when he was being so genuine.

‘Here,’ she said, handing him her evening bag, ‘let me fix it.’

She carefully gathered both ends between the fingertips of her right hand and slid the catch closed. Then she held up her arm to inspect its beautiful drape to the top of her forearm. It was exquisite.

‘You like it?’ He asked as if it mattered.

‘It’s beautiful. I don’t know what to say, Nik. No one’s ever given me such an expensive gift.’ She made a face. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned that, should I, the cost?’

‘I want you to be yourself, Sybella, and I want you to wear it, if you will.’

She stroked her bracelet and wished she had the courage to stroke his face and kiss him and take him upstairs to her new bed, but her newfound confidence of this afternoon seemed to have deserted her. Instead she took a deep breath.

‘Didn’t Marla say something about a party?’

* * *

Lark House was lit up like Christmas. It was also the closest stately home to Edbury Hall.

The owners were apparently happy to entertain the elusive Russian oligarch who was their nearest neighbour on such short notice.

Sybella loved this house. It had all the charm Edbury Hall did not, but, while it was open to the public for functions, it didn’t require the services of the Heritage Trust. It was very much a family home, even if that family consisted of two socialites and their grown-up children and was open to weddings and functions on weekends.

All the lights were on, an assortment of cars filled the drive and were planted in odd positions under the oaks, and there were fairy lights strewn along the paths that led to the back terrace, where the party-goers were a blur of colour behind glass.

It was a freezing night and Sybella huddled in her wool coat as Nik put his arm around her and propelled her up those steps.

She hadn’t felt this excited or nervous in years, but as soon as she stepped into the warm conservatory the number of people gave her a welcome feeling of anonymity. She was just one of many women in gorgeous bits of nothing. If anything she felt a little overdressed in her backless, knee-length pink silk georgette frock. But she could feel Nik’s hand resting lightly above her waist, against her bare skin, and she felt a renewed surge of confidence.

Everyone wanted to talk to them, and then Nik left her alone with their hostess, Emma Eastman, a former model who had married a celebrity agent and was one of the locals who arrived on weekends and whose food bills for her guests helped keep Edbury’s local food producers very happy.

‘How can it be that you’re local and I’ve never met you?’ Emma asked bluntly.

Sybella considered mentioning she’d actually applied to Lark House for work experience but decided the wise course was to smile and say, ‘It does seem odd.’

‘Of course, we’re delighted to get Nik here. He’s so elusive. When Marla said he’d agreed to come we were over the moon.’ She leaned close and said sotto voce, ‘I have to say, my husband’s line of work means I’m always entertaining performers, TV personalities, big egos, but Marla Mendez takes the cake. She just rang Benedict and invited herself.’ Emma suddenly pulled a face. ‘Oh, heck, have I spoken out of school? Do you know Marla well?’