The Bride's Secret

Marianne worked all day and cried most of the nights, and by her last evening at the hotel—Keith and the others having left Tangier that afternoon as soon as the shoot was finished—she felt like a limp rag, and would have given the world just to go home to England and her little fiat rather than embark on the proposed trip round Morocco's cities. But something deep inside, a feeling compounded of pride, self-preservation and a strange kind of fortitude that wouldn't let her creep away and hide, kept her to her original plan.

And it was this same feeling that drove her downstairs to the dining room that evening, rather than ordering a meal to be sent up to her room, although she knew Hudson would probably be eating there—if Tie wasn't already out with the redhead.

It had become apparent over the last few days that his girlfriend wasn't staying at the hotel, but the tall, voluptuous female figure had cropped up with monotonous regularity in the evenings—Hudson either dining with her and his other friends at the hotel, or a crowd of them going elsewhere to eat after meeting in Reception. And it had become increasingly hard to take.

Idris and Fatima had been in the group once or twice, both of them waving and nodding to her on the occasion when—the night before—they had caught her eye, and, ridiculously, it had somehow seemed to make things worse.

So now, as Marianne left the lift and walked purposefully into the dining room, she carried her head high and held her back straight in spite of the trembling in the pit of her stomach that threatened to communicate itself to her legs. He could have a whole bevy of females dancing attendance for all she cared, she told herself viciously. It was nothing to her. He was nothing to her.

'Hi there.'

She had just been seated at a secluded table for two in a discreet, quiet corner of the dining room by her favourite waiter, after explaining that the rest of her party had left earlier, when Hudson's deep, husky voice caused her eyes to freeze on the menu before she nerved herself to raise her head.

'Hello.' She was eternally grateful that he was alone—the way she had been feeling all day, she might well have burst into tears if his girlfriend had been with him, which would have been the ultimate humiliation. She even managed a fairly normal smile to match her cool voice.

'Are you dining alone?' he asked softly.

Her heart had given the most incredible lurch as her eyes had registered the dark, latent power in the big, immaculately clothed male body and powerfully handsome face, and now all she could do was nod weakly in answer to his enquiry, not trusting her voice.

'Then do you mind if I join you?' he asked with easy confidence.

'I… That is… '

'Why don't I just sit down while you make up your mind?'

It was the cool arrogance that put steel in her backbone, and she found herself saying, in tones that could only be described as tart, 'Because I might not want you to.'

Too late.' He smiled, but the glittering gaze was intent on her face. I'm seated now, and it really wouldn't do to cause a scene on your last night, would it?' he suggested mockingly.

'I don't care.' And at that moment she didn't; she really didn't.

'Ah, fighting talk.' He leant back in the chair, stretching slightly as he surveyed her with narrowed eyes, before saying, 'Then take pity on the other diners if nothing else. They are just out to have a pleasant meal in comfortable surroundings. Don't deprive them of what is—after all—just a passing pleasure.' He looked very satisfied with himself and it rankled unbearably.

'And you are an authority on passing pleasures.' The moment the words had left her lips she could have kicked herself. The last thing—the very last thing—she wanted him to think was that she was bothered, in any way, by his relationship with the redhead; the probability that he would assume she was jealous was not to be borne. She had to think before she spoke!

'Retract those claws, pussycat,' he murmured drily. 'I'm suggesting we share a table for dinner, that's all.'

The appearance of a smiling wine waiter, who was all white teeth and slicked-down black hair, stopped the angry retort she was about to hiss at Hudson, which was probably just as well, she reflected wryly as Hudson ordered a superior bottle of wine from the wine menu. This situation needed coolness, composure and calm control. But knowing it and doing it were two vastly different things.

'And where is the gentle, good-natured Keith?' Hudson drawled lazily, parodying her earlier description of Keith with a cruel smile, once the wine waiter had departed with an attentive bow.

She glared at him, biting back the furious retort hovering on her tongue with extreme difficulty. She didn't want to reveal that the others had already left Tangier because that would involve an explanation as to why she had stayed on, and suddenly the fact that she was taking a holiday alone was… embarrassing. She could have asked any one of a number of friends to accompany her—in fact several had suggested it when they had heard of her plans—but she hadn't wanted company. However, Hudson might assume she was alone through necessity—not choice—and the image of a tall, slim female with flaming red hair made that possibility unbearable.

She shrugged carefully, forcing herself to think before she spoke. 'Keith? Why should I know where he is? I told you before, I work for him, that's all. He certainly doesn't have to answer to me for his whereabouts.'

'I don't see any of the others around either.' He moved casually in his chair, glancing round the dining room with narrowed eyes before turning back to her. 'Are they joining you later?'

'No.' She tried, very hard, for a languid nonchalance as she said, 'I was looking forward to eating alone for once, as it happens,' with a pointed lift of her fine eyebrows.

'Oh, you do know where Keith is, then?' he asked easily.

'Hudson, I don't care where Keith is.' There, she had gone and bitten back when she had wanted to do just the opposite, she thought tightly. But as always his casual coolness had hit her on the raw. He was so—so irritating.

'Charming,' he drawled softly with infuriating censure. 'Is that really the way a devoted employee should refer to her boss? Especially when he's brought you to such a beautiful part of the world. Some would consider it the height of ingratitude.'

'I happen to be working,' Marianne snapped angrily. 'This is not a holiday, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'Of course it isn't,' he murmured, his voice coolly patronising.