Deal With the Devil--3 Book Box Set

Oh, yes, she had known then, immediately, that she had fallen in love with him, but she had known with equal immediacy that he did not return her feelings—that in fact, so far as he was concerned, her presence in his life was an inconvenience and an irritation he would far rather have been without.

She had been young enough then to dream her foolish dreams regardless, to fantasise about things changing, about walking into Marcus’s office one day and having Marcus look at her as though he wanted to drag her clothes off and possess her right there and then. She had whiled away many an irascible lecture from Marcus by allowing herself the pleasure of imagining him standing up and coming towards her, taking hold of her and putting his desk, or sometimes his chair, more often than not both of them, to the kind of erotic use for which they had definitely not been designed.

But the reality was, of course, that she was the one who wanted to tear his clothes off. And then one day she had looked at him and seen the way he was looking at her. And she had known that her foolish erotic fantasies and her even more foolish romantic daydreams were just that. Marcus did not either want or love her, and he was never going to do so. That was when she had decided that she needed to find someone else—because if she didn’t one day her feelings were going to get too much for her and she was going to totally humiliate herself by declaring them to Marcus.

A husband and then hopefully a family of her own would stop her from doing that, surely? she’d thought. But she hadn’t even managed to get that right, had she? Her marriage had been a disaster—privately and publicly. Very publicly.

She wasn’t the kind of person who wanted to be alone. She loved children, and had known from a young age that she wanted her own. Although she loved them both dearly, sometimes she felt wretchedly envious of the love and happiness her two best friends had found with their husbands. And one day she knew Marcus would marry—and when he did…A shudder of vicious pain savaged her emotions.

When he did, she made herself continue, she hoped to be protected from what she knew she would feel by the contentment and love she had found with another man and her family. How foolishly and dangerously she had deluded herself.

She couldn’t stay here in the flower room for ever, Lucy realised, and with any luck Marcus might actually have already left by now. Giving her flowers a final tweak, she turned to leave.

As soon as she opened the door into the drawing room the first person she saw was her cousin Johnny, who grabbed her arm and announced eagerly, ‘Great—I’ve been looking for you. More champagne?’ Without waiting for her to respond, he took a glass from a passing waiter and handed it to her.

‘Must say the old girl isn’t stinting with the champers. It must be costing her a pretty penny to put this do on. Champers…waiters. Did you organise it?’

‘Yes,’ Lucy said ruefully, remembering the hard bargain her great-aunt had driven over costs, and how in the end she had given in and suggested she give Great-Aunt Alice the business cost as her birthday present, provided her great-aunt supplied the champagne, the hors d’oeuvres and the waiters’ wages. Which probably explained the lack of any food, Lucy decided.

She tried not to look at Marcus, who was standing the full width of the room away from her but facing towards her, and watching her, she could see, with a very grim look tightening his mouth. She took a quick, nervous, sustaining sip of her champagne, and then another. She couldn’t bear to think about what would happen if Marcus ever got to hear about that idiotic lie she had told Mr McVicar. In the absence of a miracle, she was going have to dispose of her supposed investor as speedily as she had invented him.

‘Actually, Luce, there’s something I need to discuss with you.’

‘What?’ Somehow or other Lucy managed to drag her attention away from Marcus.

‘I need to talk to you,’ Johnny repeated patiently.

‘You do?’ Immediately Lucy was alert to her own prospective danger. ‘Johnny, if it’s a loan you’re after,’ she began warningly, ‘I haven’t forgotten that you still owe me fifty pounds from last time. Even if you have.’

‘It isn’t anything like that,’ Johnny assured her earnestly. ‘Fact is, sweet cos, it just so happens that a business acquaintance of mine has asked me if I would introduce you to him.’

‘He has?’ Lucy said cautiously.

‘Mmm. Have another glass of champagne,’ he added encouragingly, removing Lucy’s half-empty glass before she could refuse or protest and summoning the still-circulating waiter so that he could hand her a fresh glass.

On the other side of the room Marcus’s unwavering focus on her had hardened into a grim-mouthed coldness that caused Lucy’s hand to tremble so much she almost spilt her champagne.

‘If he’s thinking of commissioning Prêt a Party to do an event for him…’ she began, trying to move round so that she couldn’t see Marcus, and failing as he moved too.

‘No, what he’s got in mind is making an investment in Prêt a Party.’

‘What?’ Now she did spill a few drops of her champagne, before managing to take a steadying gulp of it.

‘Oh, yes. He’s a bit of an entrepreneur. He’s made absolutely stacks of money from this turnkey business he owns. You know the kind of thing…’ Johnny enlarged. ‘He employs cleaners, cooks, someone to wait in for the gas man, someone to collect your cleaning—all that kind of stuff—for these rich City types who can’t afford the time to do it themselves. He saw the spread in A-List Life, and heard that you’re my cousin, and he said that Prêt a Party is exactly the kind of investment he’s looking for. So I said I was seeing you today and that I’d sound you out.’

‘Johnny…’ Her head was spinning, and it didn’t occur to her to connect that with her unfamiliar consumption of champagne.

‘Why don’t you let him talk to you and tell you what he’s got in mind himself? I could give him your office phone number…’

When she had reflected that she needed a miracle she’d never imagined she would get one—and certainly not one of this potential magnitude. She felt positively light-headed with relief, almost dizzy.

‘Well, yes—okay, Johnny,’ she agreed gratefully.

‘Great.’ Johnny looked at his watch, announcing, ‘Lord, is that the time? I’ve got to go. His name’s Andrew Walker, by the way.’

She hadn’t finished her champagne, but she put her glass on the tray as the waiter went past, absent-mindedly picking up a fresh glass and wincing slightly as she did so. She knew she shouldn’t have worn these high heels. Shoes were Julia’s thing, not hers, and she had only been persuaded into buying the strappy sandals with their far

too high thin heels because they were the perfect shade of cornflower-blue to wear with one of her favourite dresses.

Unfortunately, though, they were not parquet-floor-friendly—especially when that floor had been polished in the old-fashioned way and was as slippery as an ice rink.

She looked round the room, but she couldn’t see either her parents or her brother, and she was just wondering if she could make her own escape when suddenly Marcus was standing in front of her, announcing grimly, ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’

Enough of what? Lucy wanted to ask him. Enough of loving you? Enough of wanting you and aching for you? Enough of dreaming of you whilst the man I married because I couldn’t have you slept in bed beside me? Enough of knowing that you are never ever going to love me? Oh, yes, she’d had enough of that.

‘Actually, Marcus, no—I don’t.’ The familiar pain was back, and it was intensifying with every second she had to spend in his company. It seared her and drove her, maddening her with its agonising ache so that she barely knew what she was saying.

Marcus was looking at her with familiar contempt and irritation. Lucy gasped in dismay as someone standing behind her accidentally bumped into her. The combined vertiginous effects of stilettos and Marcus-induced heartache was definitely not good for one’s balance, Lucy thought miserably, as Marcus gripped her arm firmly to steady her.

‘Just how much champagne have you had?’ Marcus demanded grimly.

‘Not enough,’ Lucy answered, with a flippancy she didn’t feel.

Marcus was looking at her with a blend of irritation and impatience. ‘You can hardly stand,’ he told her critically.

‘So what?’ Lucy tossed her head. She was defying Marcus—baiting him, in fact! What on earth was happening to her? She was winding him up, and pushing her luck as she did so. She knew that, but somehow she couldn’t help herself. Somehow she needed to see that look of angry irritation mixed with contempt in his eyes just to remind herself of the futility of dreaming impossible dreams.