His Untamed Innocent

Chapter Three

MARIN HAD LEARNED to make coffee in all kinds of ways, for all kinds of people, using all kinds of equipment, so once in the kitchen she was able to switch easily to auto-pilot and begin her preparations without scaldings or spillages, however much she might be shaking inside. As she undoubtedly was.

As the tantalising aroma of the rich, Colombian blend began to fill the air, she arranged white porcelain cups and saucers on a beech tray then leaned against the marble counter top, staring into space.

Something else to add to the dossier on the minus side, she thought without pleasure. Jake Radley-Smith had turned out to be a mind reader.

But then it didn’t take too much perception to recognise all the implications of a weekend house-party in the country. Not when they’d been invited, and would presumably be treated as a couple.

He must have known that, she thought wildly, when he accepted the invitation. I suppose he imagined two thousand pounds would buy my compliance, but he’s wrong.

And if the prospect of being left to Diana Halsay’s tender mercies during the day while Jake was shut up with his host talking business chilled Marin’s blood, the thought that she’d almost certainly be expected to spend her nights with him was infinitely worse.

I don’t even want to contemplate that, she told herself. Or—my God—discuss it with him, either. I hoped he’d simply take no for an answer and opt for someone—anyone—else.

Because I’m not prepared to let myself be trapped into another situation that is none of my making, or made to appear as something I’m not. I—I can’t. Not again.

But it was becoming painfully and worryingly obvious that, in addition to the rest of his flaws, Jake Radley-Smith was not someone who cared to have his wishes opposed.

Drawing a deep breath, Marin put the coffee jug on the tray and carried it into the living room.

Jake was occupying one of the sofas, coat and tie discarded and his waistcoat unfastened along with the top buttons on his shirt. A cut glass goblet containing his brandy was on the pale wooden table in front of him, and he looked casual, relaxed and—as if she needed any reminder—very much at home.

Whereas she felt as if she was treading over broken glass.

She put the tray down on the table next to the brandy, poured the coffee then sat down opposite him, feet together and hands folded in her lap.

‘You look,’ he said softly, ‘as if you’re about to be interviewed for a job, and if it makes you feel better, we’ll play it that way. So let’s move straight to pay and conditions. I’m offering two thousand pounds for you to continue to play the role of my girlfriend as you did tonight, but this time from mid-afternoon on Friday next to some point after lunch on Sunday. That’s the deal on the table, and it won’t change.’

She said bitterly, ‘How simple you make it sound.’

‘Because, unlike you, I’m not looking for complications,’ he drawled.

‘But it is complicated,’ she said. ‘It has to be. If we go there together, they’ll think—that we are—together,’ she finished lamely.

‘In other words, we may end up sharing a bedroom and a bed.’ He shrugged. ‘You must have done so before. It’s no big deal.’

He’d said earlier that night that she looked untouched, but presumably he believed that was only skin deep. That a girl of her age and generation was experienced enough to shrug off any potential awkwardness. Maybe even to find it amusing.

Only he couldn’t be more wrong, she thought, swallowing down the bubble of hysteria threatening to rise in her throat. Yet she was reluctant to let him suspect her total innocence in case it amused him, although being laughed at might be the least of her worries.

‘But in the past, it’s always been my choice.’ She made herself speak steadily. ‘That—might not be the case this time.’

‘So, what’s the matter, darling?’ he asked, the blue eyes narrowing as he reached for his coffee. ‘Scared I may not be able to spend two nights in your company without being overcome by lust?’

He shook his head. ‘You really don’t have to worry. I never make a serious move on a woman unless I receive a very definite invitation first. And I can’t imagine anything of that kind coming my way from you. Right?’

Her face was burning. ‘Absolutely right.’

‘Said with true feeling,’ he murmured. ‘However, if it’s any reassurance, in the past when I stayed at Queens Barton with a lady, admittedly in pre-Diana days, we were always given adjoining rooms. Mrs Martin, the housekeeper, is the old-fashioned kind.’

He paused. ‘Naturally, I never bothered at the time to check if the communicating door locked, but I’m sure there’ll be a chair you can wedge under the handle if you’re worried I might sleepwalk.

‘In fact,’ he added, musing. ‘I might even take the same precaution myself, in case your dreams send you wandering in the small hours.’

‘They don’t,’ Marin said curtly. ‘And I won’t.’ She picked up her own coffee. Drank. Braced herself. ‘But there’s also the question of “window dressing,” as you call it,’ she added, her blush deepening. ‘I—I’d want that kept to a minimum.’

‘Agreed,’ he said promptly. ‘Even a peck on the cheek, arranged in advance and signed for in triplicate.’

She sent him a bitter look. ‘It really is just a game to you, isn’t it?’

‘No,’ he said with sudden harshness. ‘It bloody well isn’t. I am deadly serious about keeping Graham and Torchbearer on side, even if it means negotiating my way through a fairly tricky forty-eight hours, and the rest.’

His smile did not reach his eyes. ‘And the great advantage of having you beside me, instead of some more accommodating companion, Miss Wade, is that, as I told you before, you’re a total unknown.

‘You said just now that you hadn’t fooled Diana. Yet why else did she come flying over to accuse you of gate-crashing? Because you were a complete stranger, and it threw her. So she tried to find out who you were and what you were. And she’s still no wiser, so you need to be prepared to answer some questions at your next encounter.’

‘And what,’ she said, ‘am I supposed to tell her?’

He shrugged. ‘As much or as little as you wish—apart from the fact that you’re only with me because you’re being paid.’ He added thoughtfully, ‘Tonight’s air of shy mystery went down pretty well with most people.’

‘Perhaps because it was perfectly genuine,’ Marin said huskily. ‘I am shy, and the real mystery was, what the hell was I doing getting mixed up with someone like you?’ She shook her head. ‘I think that things would have been a great deal easier if you’d just—married her as she wanted.’

‘Not easier in any way that appeals to me,’ he said drily. ‘Besides, Miss Wade, I’m not the marrying kind. Has Lynne never mentioned that?’

She said too quickly, ‘She doesn’t talk about you.’

‘What a paragon.’ His tone was ironic. ‘I must raise her salary.’ He finished the rest of his brandy. ‘So, what about it, sweetheart? What’s your final answer? I’m offering honest pay for a couple of days of dishonest work, and you can’t pretend you don’t need the money.’

It galled her to acknowledge inwardly that he was right. ‘I’m going to have you fired, you treacherous little slut,’ had been Adela Mason’s parting threat; if she succeeded, Marin would be in real trouble. The Ingram Organisation was built on trust; it had to be, when its staff spent so much time travelling with clients or staying in their homes. If Wendy Ingram believed she’d betrayed that trust so deeply and fundamentally, then Marin would be out in the cold with heaven only knew what kind of a reference.

And the search for another job could be long and arduous.

So could she really afford to turn down this offer, however loaded? And knew what her answer must be.

She gave a small, defeated sigh. ‘Yes,’ she muttered unwillingly. ‘We have a deal.’

‘Good.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll be in touch during the week about the final arrangements. But before I go…’ Reaching for his jacket, he took a cheque book and pen from an inside pocket. He wrote swiftly, signed his name and handed the cheque to her.

‘For services already rendered,’ he said.

She looked down at it. She said numbly, ‘Five hundred pounds?’

‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘More than enough.’ She made a helpless gesture. ‘All I did was stand there.’

‘But you did it very decoratively,’ he said. ‘No one in the room would have dreamed it was just a business transaction.’ He smiled at her. ‘At times, I found it hard to remember that myself.’

So, Marin thought with sudden breathlessness, had she. Just once, and only for a moment when standing in the curve of his arm, she’d found herself fighting the temptation to lean back and rest her head against the strength of his shoulder. A brief battle he was totally unaware of and which, thankfully, she’d won.

And something she could not allow to happen again.

He shrugged on his coat and walked to the door. ‘Until next weekend,’ he said. His faint smile seemed to graze her skin. ‘Goodnight, Miss Wade.’ And went.

Leaving her staring after him, his cheque still clutched in her hand.

‘So,’ Lynne said, smiling, ‘You’ve heard all about my weekend. How did yours go? I’m sorry I had to leave you in the lurch, honey, but if you had to be miserable at least it was in comfort.’

She gave Marin a long look. ‘But you don’t seem to have found your surroundings particularly restful,’ she added candidly. ‘On the contrary, you look as if you’ve barely slept. Are you still brooding over the sudden demise of the dream job?’

Marin bit her lip. ‘And its possible repercussions,’ she admitted.

‘Come and tell me all about it while I get supper.’ Lynne got to her feet. ‘Mike’s mother, the lovely Denise, sent me back with one of her home-made chicken and mushroom pies.’

‘Don’t you want to keep it to share with Mike?’ Marin asked as she trailed after her into the kitchen.

‘Certainly not,’ said Lynne. ‘He didn’t offer me any of the leftover joint of beef she gave him.’ She handed Marin a pack of French beans, a colander and a knife. ‘Sort these out while I peel some potatoes.’

They worked for a few minutes in silence, then Lynne said gently, ‘I’m listening, my lamb, so start talking.’

Marin bent her head. ‘At first everything was fine. The weather was glorious and the house was beautiful, right on the edge of the village, with its own swimming pool. She—Ms Mason—told me to call her Adela, and even though she set quite a pace with the work I could cope easily. I was in seventh heaven.’

‘But then?’ Lynne prompted gently when she paused.

‘Then her husband arrived, blond, smooth and younger than her. He’d been in Germany, apparently, discussing some kind of business deal. I got the impression it hadn’t gone too well, because there was a bit of an atmosphere. I was glad to get away.

‘I was in a small flat that she’d recently had converted from some outbuildings. As she said, privacy for both of us.

‘We always had a break after lunch, so the following afternoon I’d just got back from a swim when he, Greg, turned up. Said he wanted to have a look at the place and make sure the builders had done their job properly.

‘I didn’t want to let him in, but I couldn’t very well refuse. So he wandered round, peering at the window frames and examining all the kitchen and bathroom fittings.’

She flushed. ‘And he went into my room, which was awful, because the clothes I’d taken off earlier were on the bed, including my underwear. And he looked at me and grinned, and made some remark about me being untidy but that he wouldn’t report me to the boss—this time.’

‘I see.’ Lynne’s tone was grim. ‘And when did this charmer make his move? Right then and there?’

Marin finished the beans and pushed the colander to one side. ‘No. But I could feel him watching me all the time. I never gave him the least encouragement—I swear it.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Then, a few days ago, Adela announced after lunch that she was driving to the supermarché. I—I thought he’d gone with her, so I went for my usual swim.’

She shuddered. ‘When I went back to the flat, he was waiting for me in the bedroom. He said “Alone at last,” and called me “sweet pea”. I told him to get out, but he pushed me down on to the bed and started trying to undo my bikini top and kiss me at the same time. I—I realised he’d unzipped his trousers.

‘I was struggling and trying so hard to scream that, when it started, for one crazy moment I thought it was actually me. Then Greg let me go, and I saw Adela standing in the doorway with her mouth open, making these dreadful sounds.

‘I can remember thinking, “Oh, poor thing. She’ll never forgive him for this.” Then he got up and fastened his trousers, and started accusing me. Said I’d asked him over because the shower wasn’t working properly and started flirting with him, but he’d thought it was a joke until I undid his zip, and said, “She’s shopping. We’re safe”. And pulled him down on to the bed.

‘He said I’d been coming on to him from the day he arrived, that I’d asked him to guess the colour of my underwear and then shown him it was white with pink roses.

‘He said, “For God’s sake, Del, look at her. She’s no bloody oil painting. Who the hell would want to start anything with such a pathetic little object?”

‘He said he hadn’t told her about it because he felt sorry for me. He just never believed I’d go this far.’

Lynne gasped. ‘Didn’t you tell her what really happened?’ she demanded.

Marin closed her eyes. ‘I tried, but she didn’t want to know. He’d got his story in first, and she believed him.

‘Meanwhile, Adela was calling me foul names—“skinny little tart” being the most repeatable—and at one point I thought she was going to hit me, but by then Greg seemed to be in control because he stopped her. Said I wasn’t worth it, and she should just get rid of me.’

She lifted her chin. ‘So that’s exactly what she did. I had to pack and get out. I’d have been stuck down there in the middle of nowhere but for Cecile, the housekeeper, who brought me some supper and told me her nephew would take me to Toulouse in his lorry first thing next morning if I wanted. I gathered that I hadn’t been Greg’s only victim.

‘At Toulouse, I got on a flight thanks to a no-show, and here I am,’ she added, trying a smile which collapsed.

Lynne said quietly, ‘Bastard! Complete and utter bastard! And let’s hope La Mason’s next book’s a stinker.’

She was equally upbeat about Marin’s future prospects over supper.

‘Up to this point you’ve had clients singing your praises. And if the worst happens you can stay on here while you’re job-hunting.’ She paused. ‘I’ll have to clear it with Rad, of course, as it’s his flat and he’s letting me camp here as a favour. However, there shouldn’t be a problem.’

Marin hastily swallowed some chicken and was about to say, ‘Actually…’

But Lynne was going on, ‘Of course, I won’t be here myself for much longer. Mike and I are starting to look for a flat to buy next week.’ Her sudden smile was rapt and tender. ‘We’re planning the wedding for next year, and you have to be bridesmaid.’

She paused, frowning a little. ‘And I shall also have to find my successor and train her up.’

‘You’re going to leave the agency?’

‘Not immediately. But a married assistant will never do for Rad. He requires total commitment, and my priority is going to be Mike.’ She cut herself another sliver of pie. ‘I know you weren’t keen a couple of years back,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘But you might consider working for Rad yourself, if push comes to shove.’

Marin drew a deep breath, telling herself that she had to break the news at some point. ‘Oddly enough,’ she said, trying to sound casual, ‘I’m doing precisely that—in a manner of speaking.’

There was a silence, then Lynne put down her knife and fork, her eyes narrowing. ‘Explain,’ she said. ‘Speaking in a manner I can understand.’

Marin considered and rejected a number of openings, and was left with the unvarnished truth.

She said baldly, ‘He’s hired me to be his girlfriend.’

She saw Lynne’s expression turn to horror and added hastily. ‘Well, pretend to be, anyway. He needed someone to take to a party. His real girlfriend couldn’t go, and you were away, so he picked me.’

‘Then he can just unpick you again,’ Lynne said grimly. ‘And I shall tell him so. When is this party?’

Marin bit her lip. ‘Last Friday.’

Lynne closed her eyes. ‘Dear God.’

‘No, it’s all right,’ Marin assured her. ‘It was business. It was fine. Nothing happened.’

Give or take a kiss, she thought uncomfortably, the memory of his arm around me and the warmth of him near me.

‘Fine?’ Lynne echoed derisively. ‘After what’s just happened in France?’ She snorted. ‘I’d say it’s out of the frying pan into a very hot fire. Oh God, I could murder Rad for this.’

‘If you really want to kill someone,’ Marin said, ‘Try a woman called Diana Halsay.’

There was a silence, then Lynne said wearily, ‘Oh, bloody hell. Just when you think it’s safe to go back in the water…’ She sighed. ‘I thought she’d finally abandoned the chase where Rad was concerned.’

‘She has, in a way.’ Marin pushed away her empty plate. ‘Now she’s trying to convince her husband that Ja…’ She swallowed. ‘That Mr Radley-Smith is chasing her instead.’

‘So that the agency loses the Torchbearer business,’ Lynne said grimly. ‘My word, she must want her revenge very badly.’ She looked at Marin. ‘And, of course, Friday was the Torchbearer reception. It’s been in the diary for weeks. I should have remembered.’

She paused. ‘But I assumed Jake would be taking Celia Forrest.’

‘She was ill.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’ Lynne pulled a face. ‘A condition brought on, no doubt, by the realisation that her application for the post of Mrs Radley-Smith, like so many others, has not been successful. She added cynically, ‘But she’ll get over it. One of his girlfriends told me that falling for Jake was rather like catching a virus—except that it was much easier to recover from once you’d got out of bed.’

Marin’s face warmed. She said, ‘I can’t imagine why any woman would want him. He’s far too fond of his own way.’

Lynne gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Well, he managed to persuade you to go to his party,’ she commented. ‘Why didn’t you say no, and go on saying it until he got the message?’

Marin had a sudden memory of blue eyes lazily scanning her half-naked body. A voice saying, “We could always stay here together instead.”

She thought—Because the alternative would have been so very much worse.

Aloud, she said lamely, ‘He said he’d pay me. Very generously.’ She tried to smile. ‘It seemed like an offer I couldn’t refuse.’

‘As long as it was the only one.’ Lynne smiled back, but her eyes were serious. ‘And forget I suggested working for him. Once was clearly enough.’

Marin moved restively. ‘Except it won’t be,’ she said in a low voice. ‘The Halsays have invited us to their house in the country next weekend, and this time he’s paying me four times as much to go with him, to keep up the pretence.’

There was a silence, then Lynne said softly and succinctly, ‘Over my dead body.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Marin, you can’t afford to get involved with Jake, believe me. He’s out of your league, just as he was always out of mine.’

She shook her head. ‘When I first started working for him, I could have gone overboard so easily, and don’t think I wasn’t tempted, but I saw the danger just in time and pulled back. Because I didn’t want to be one more notch on his bedpost, and you mustn’t settle for that, either. You’re worth so much more.’

‘But it’s not like that,’ Marin protested. ‘The whole thing is strictly business, I promise. Separate rooms, everything. It couldn’t possibly be anything else. I mean, look at me,’ she added, Adela Mason’s strident insults echoing in her mind.

‘I’m looking,’ Lynne said flatly. ‘And I see a sweet and conspicuously innocent girl. Who should not be spending even a moment, let alone two days and nights, with a major predator like Jake Radley-Smith.

‘Separate rooms?’ She shook her head again. ‘I’d prefer you in a separate universe. Because you would not be dealing with a fumbling amateur like that idiot in France.’ She paused. ‘Sweetheart, if you’re worried about money, then stop. I’ll match whatever he’s offering, and you can pay me back as and when you can afford it.’

‘When you’re saving for a deposit on a flat and a wedding?’ Marin bit her lip. ‘Lynne, it’s lovely of you to think of it, but he—Mr Radley-Smith’s already given me five hundred pounds and promised me another two thousand after the weekend.’ She saw Lynne’s eyes widen. ‘If Mrs Ingram fires me, I shall need it. And you couldn’t possibly spare that much.’

‘No,’ her stepsister admitted ruefully. ‘Probably not.’ She sighed. ‘But I still don’t like this—any of it.’ Her eyes glinted wrathfully. ‘And I shall have a few things to say to my esteemed boss tomorrow morning.’

‘No—please.’ Marin was aghast. ‘I made the agreement with him, and I can handle it. There are—ground rules in place.’