The Bride's Secret

She took a long, deep, hard pull of air and counted to ten—and then another ten—before saying, in tones of honeyed sweetness, 'And your friends? They aren't around tonight?'

'Sadly, no.' He smiled lazily. 'So it's just you and me.'

The wine waiter reappeared at that moment, his wide smile bright and ingratiating, and by the time the ritual of tasting and approving had been completed another waiter was hovering for their order. The activity eased the atmosphere a little, but Marianne found her heart was still hammering against her breastbone when Hudson's glittering gaze stroked her flushed face some moments later, once they were alone.

'It must soon be time for you to return to England,' he said idly, his long fingers playing with the stem of his wine glass and his eyes fixed tightly on hers. 'I take it the job's nearly finished?'

'Yes.' She nodded, without elaborating, and said quickly, 'When do you leave for the States?'

'In a few days.' He eyed her impassively. 'I'm in no rush.'

'Oh.' Talk, say something, get the conversation away from departure dates, she told herself agitatedly. 'Back to masses of work, no doubt?' Oh, how banal; couldn't you do better than that, Marianne? she thought caustically. Riveting conversation it wasn't.

'No doubt.' He continued to survey her with intent dark grey eyes for one moment more before straightening in his seat, his expression suddenly clearing and his smile dangerously innocent. 'But tell me some more about your work, Annie,' he said gently. 'It's clearly something that absorbs you and that you're good at.'

She looked at him very hard, trying to appraise whether there was a hidden meaning to the apparent interest, but decided to accept his words at face value—it was safer. 'I love it,' she agreed quietly. 'My father—my real father—was a keen photographer, and he used to take me out at weekends with him when I was a child. Scotland is a photographer's dream. When… when I went down to London it was a case of being in the right place at the right time, and things just… happened,' she finished uncomfortably.

'How fortunate.' It was a slow drawl.

Again she wasn't sure if he was being nasty or not, but valiantly continued, 'Yes, it was. So many employers won't even grant an interview to someone without experience, but Keith was prepared to give me a chance.'

'After he'd seen you,' Hudson said expressionlessly. 'How kind.'

'Yes, and everything just… '

'Happened.' He nodded slowly. 'Well, that's really good, Annie. And you're happy and contented and the epitome of a thrusting nineties woman, yes? Fulfilled, strong, satisfied… '

She went brick-red but she couldn't help it. It was the way he had drawled the last word—as a subtle challenge but something else too, t

he word carrying a dark heat that connected in the pit of her stomach and caused a dull, sweet ache.

'More wine?' Hudson suggested lazily.

Too late she realised she had been sipping rather frantically at the mellow, fruity red wine and that her glass was empty. She watched, mesmerised, as he refilled the crystal with deep red liquid, and warned herself this glass would have to be her last. The deliciously expensive wine was potent and she needed all her wits.

Nevertheless, the alcohol provided welcome stimulation, enabling her to hold her own in the conversation over dinner without too many awkward pauses, and by the time coffee was served—some two hours later—she realised she had drunk more than she had intended.

What was he doing? Softening her up for the big seduction scene? she asked herself grimly as the waiter poured them both a tiny cup of the thick black aromatic coffee the Moroccans favoured. He knew her time in Tangier was drawing to a close. She was alone, he was alone… She might have guessed. That was it.

'Something is wrong, Annie?'

The piercing eyes were too intuitive and she struggled to clear her face and her voice as she said, with a touch too much brightness, 'Wrong? Of course not. Whatever could be wrong? That was a lovely meal—'

'Then perhaps it is the company.' It was said with a smile, his voice teasing and light, but she was still looking at his eyes, and they were cold, their greyness deep and chilling.

Marianne shivered suddenly, an icy awareness flickering over her skin as she realised that for the whole evening he had been playing a part—that of amusing, courteous dinner companion. But he wasn't feeling like that inside. All the clever talk, the light anecdotes with which he had kept her entertained were merely a smokescreen for what was really going on in that ruthless, rapier-sharp brain of his. This was a courtroom situation to him—he would give nothing away and capitalise on any weakness without mercy. Her skin began to tingle and burn, and she felt weak, light-headed.

'No, it isn't the company,' she said quickly. 'It's just been a long day, that's all. The whole schedule has been a tight one. Perhaps I'm just tired.' She smiled nervously and he smiled back.

'Perhaps.' His voice was smooth and soft, like raw silk, and he glanced at the heavy gold watch on his wrist before saying, 'Still, you can have an early night, can't you? It isn't late.'

'Yes… ' She wasn't at all sure where he was coming from but something was putting that glittering coldness in his eyes.

'Unless Keith has lined some work up for you tonight?'

'No—I mean… I don't think so. There's nothing arranged—' Calm down; don't lose it now, she told herself tensely as she heard herself babbling, and stopped abruptly. 'I think everyone will have an early night tonight,' she finished lamely. 'We're all tired.'

'I'm sure they will.' The chill deepened. 'In fact Keith and the others should just be landing by now, shouldn't they?'