Merger By Matrimony

If Stephanie was returning for some more words of comfort, then Destiny had no objection. Comforting people was something she did well. She had enough experience of it, comforting mothers with sick children and the occasional new recruit to the compound pining for what they had left behind.

She looked expectantly at the door and blanched when she saw who her visitor was.

‘I thought you’d gone back to London.’ She had half stood in shock, but now subsided back into her chair, still cradling her glass of port. The drowsy inertia induced by lots of food and the alcohol disappeared at the speed of light and was replaced by a jumpy edginess that made her breathing jerky and painful and dried out her mouth.

‘Forgot something,’ he informed her, prowling into the room and circling her chair before sitting down on the sofa and stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘What are you drinking?’

‘Port.’

‘First wine? Now port? Not getting used to the finer things in life, by any chance, are you?’ There was an antagonistic edge to his drawl and it occurred to her that he was looking for a fight. And why not? He had probably got halfway to London, more than enough time to think about what had happened between himself and Stephanie. More than enough time to work out that his fiancée’s sudden and uncharacteristic behaviour had only seen the light of day since she, Destiny, had been on the scene. Stephanie might well be relieved that it was all over and, who knew, maybe she had really believed that the feeling had been mutual, but it was evident that Callum was far from a happy man. In fact, he was in a foul mood.

‘What did you forget?’

‘Oh, I forgot that I was supposed to spend tomorrow showing you around all these extensive acres of land.’ He made a sweeping, lazy gesture with his hand while he continued to look at her from under his lashes.

‘I think I would have been capable of showing myself around.’

‘And leave you with the impression that I’m anything less than the perfect gentleman?’ He gave a short, harsh laugh and her jumpy nerves became even more jumpy. ‘Now, why don’t you go and get me a glass of port? It’s been one helluva night, as I’m sure you know.’

‘The bottle of port is in the kitchen, and if you want me to feel sorry for you then you’re not going the right way about it.’

‘Why should you feel sorry for me? No, don’t answer that one. Not until,’ he said, getting to his feet and heading for the door, ‘I have a glass of port in my hand.’

Instead of savouring the few minutes he was gone to try and relax, Destiny found that her nerves were stretched to breaking point by the time he came back with a glass in one hand and the bottle in the other.

‘So,’ he said, resuming his position of indolence on the chair, ‘you were saying…’

‘I’m sorry that things didn’t work out between you and Stephanie,’ she said evenly.

‘Are you? Why?’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she mumbled defensively, allowing her guilty thoughts to surface.

‘I never said that it was.’ But it damn well was, he thought savagely. She’d moved into his complacent life, which had been running quite smoothly, and blown the whole thing to smithereens. Yes, he’d had misgivings about Stephanie, and, yes, he would have ended the whole thing—which, he’d been relieved to discover, had been met with similar feelings of relief. But he would not now be sitting with a drink in one hand with his well-oiled life in pieces around his ankles.

He’d left the house intent on making it back to London, but in fact had made it only to the nearest pub, where he had drunk far too much for his own good. It was just as well that the pub in question had only been twenty minutes’ drive away and there had been a taxi to get him back to the estate.

It was all right and dandy for her to sit there with those bewitching green eyes and look at him as if he was a madman, but she turned him into one. He’d closed the door on one woman, a long overdue closure, and in the process another door had blown open and he had realised, with the sadistic help of a few glasses of whisky, that what he had considered a harmless enjoyment of this woman’s conversation had somehow turned into an addiction. He was falling in love with her, and the mere fact that he’d admitted as much to himself was enough to make him realise that he’d probably gone past the point of no return.

He was not only invigorated by her but she had lodged in his soul and he wanted her out. He wanted his control back. He didn’t want to sit at his desk with a stack of files in front of him while his mind played games and sabotaged his every effort to work. To work, to sleep, to think clearly.