‘Tell me about this job you’d like me to do for you.’

He didn’t owe her for her signature on their divorce papers, but if by doing this he could end things between them on a more pleasant note then perhaps he’d find the closure he so desperately needed.

‘And, yes, you have my word that I will never reveal to another soul what you’re about to tell me unless you give me leave to.’

She stared at him as if trying to sum him up. With a start he realised she was trying to decide whether to trust him or not.

‘You don’t trust my word of honour?’

‘If you were after any kind of revenge on me, what I’m about to tell you would provide you with both the means and the method.’

He didn’t want revenge. He’d never wanted revenge. He just wanted to move on with his life.

And to kiss her.

A Deal to Mend Their Marriage

Michelle Douglas

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MICHELLE DOUGLAS has been writing for Mills & Boon since 2007 and believes she has the best job in the world. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero, a house full of dust and books and an eclectic collection of ’60s and ’70s vinyl. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website www.michelle-douglas.com.

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Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE FIRST PRICKLE of unease wormed through Caro when the lawyer’s gaze slid from her to Barbara and then down to the papers in front of him—her father’s will, presumably. The lawyer picked up a pen, turned it over several times before setting it back to the table. He adjusted his tie, cleared his throat.

Even Barbara noticed his unwillingness to start proceedings. Turning ever so slightly, her stepmother reached out to pat Caro’s hand. ‘Caro, darling, if your father has disinherited you—’

Caro forced a laugh. ‘There’ll be no if about that, Barbara.’

It was a given, and they both knew it. Caro just wanted all the unpleasantness over so she could put it behind her. Her father was about to utter the last words he ever would to her—albeit on paper. She had no expectation that they’d be any kinder in death than they had been in life.

‘Mr Jenkins?’ She prodded the lawyer with the most pleasant smile she could muster. ‘If you’d be so kind as to start we’d both appreciate it. Unless—’ she pursed her lips ‘—we’re waiting for someone else?’

‘No, no one else.’

Mr Jenkins shook his head and Caro had to bite back a smile when the elderly lawyer’s gaze snagged on the long, lean length of Barbara’s legs, on display beneath her short black skirt. At thirty-seven—only seven years older than Caro—Barbara had better legs than Caro could ever hope to have. Even if she spent every waking hour at the gym and resisted every bit of sugar, butter and cream that came her way—which, of course, she had no intention of doing.

The lawyer shook himself. ‘Yes, of course, Ms Fielding. We’re not waiting for anyone else.’

‘Come now,’ she chided. ‘You’ve known me my entire life. If you can’t bring yourself to call me Caro, then surely you can call me Caroline?’

He sent her an agonised glance.

She made her smile gentle. ‘I am prepared, you know. I fully expect that my father has disinherited me.’

She didn’t add that the money didn’t matter. Neither Mr Jenkins nor Barbara would believe her. The fact remained, though, that it had never been money she’d craved but her father’s approval, his acceptance.

Her temples started to throb. With a superhuman effort she kept the smile on her face. ‘I promise not to shoot the messenger.’

The lawyer slumped in what had been until recently her father’s chair. He pulled off his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘You have it all wrong, Caro.’

Barbara clasped her hands together and beamed. ‘I knew he wouldn’t disinherit you!’

The relief—and, yes, the delight—on Barbara’s face contrasted wildly with the weariness in Mr Jenkins’s eyes. Cold fingers crept up Caro’s spine. A premonition of what, exactly...?

Mr Jenkins pushed his spectacles back to his nose and folded his hands in front of him. ‘There are no individual letters I need to deliver. There are no messages I need to pass on nor any individual bequests to run through. I don’t even need to read out the will word for word.’

‘Then maybe—’ Barbara glanced at Caro ‘—you’d be kind enough to just give us the general gist.’

He slumped back and heaved out a sigh. ‘Mr Roland James Philip Fielding has left all of his worldly goods—all of his wealth and possessions—to...’

Caro braced herself.

‘Ms Caroline Elizabeth Fielding.’

It took a moment for the import of the lawyer’s words to hit her. When they did, Caro had to grip the arms of her chair to counter the roaring in her ears and the sudden tilting of the room. Her father had left everything...to her? Maybe...maybe he’d loved her after all.

She shook her head. ‘There must be a mistake.’

‘No mistake,’ the lawyer intoned.

‘But surely there’s a caveat that I can only inherit if I agree to administer my mother’s trust?’

Her father had spent the last twenty years telling her it was her duty, her responsibility...her obligation to manage the charity he’d created in homage to her mother. Caro had spent those same twenty years refusing the commission.

Her father might have thought it was the sole reason Caro had been put on this earth, but she’d continued to dispute that sentiment right up until his death. She had no facility for figures and spreadsheets, no talent nor desire to attend endless board meetings and discuss the pros and cons of where the trust money should be best spent. She did not have a business brain and had no desire whatsoever to develop one. Simply put, she had no intention of being sacrificed on some altar of duty. End of story.

‘No caveat.’

The lawyer could barely meet her eye. Her mind spun...

She shot to her feet, a hard ball lodging in her chest. ‘What about Barbara?’

He passed a hand across his eyes. ‘I’m afraid no provision has been made for Mrs Barbara Fielding in the will.’

But that made no sense!

She spun to her stepmother. Barbara rose to her feet, her face pinched and white. Her eyes swam but not a single tear fell, and that was somehow worse than if she’d burst into noisy weeping and wailing.

‘He doesn’t make even a single mention of me?’

The lawyer winced and shook his head.

‘But...but I did everything I could think of to make him happy. Did he never love me?’ She turned to Caro. ‘Was it all a lie?’

‘We’ll work something out,’ Caro promised, reaching out to take Barbara’s hand.

But the other woman wheeled away. ‘We’ll do nothing of the sort! We’ll do exactly as your father wished!’

Barbara turned and fled from the room. Caro made to follow her—how could her father have treated his young wife so abominably?—but the lawyer called her back.

‘I’m afraid we’re not done.’

She stilled and then spun back, swallowing a sense of misgiving. ‘We’re not?’

‘Your father instructed that I give you this.’ He held out an envelope.

‘But you said...’

‘I was instructed to give this to you only after the reading of the will. And only in privacy.’

She glanced back at the door. Praying that Barbara wouldn’t do anything foolish, she strode across and took the envelope. She tore it open and read the mercifully brief missive inside. She could feel her lips thinning to a hard line. She moistened them. ‘Do you know what this says?’

After a short hesitation, he nodded. ‘Your father believed Mrs Fielding was stealing from him. Valuables have apparently gone missing and...’

And her father had jumped to conclusions.

Caro folded the letter and shoved it into her purse. ‘Items may well have gone missing, but I don’t believe for one moment that Barbara is responsible.’

Mr Jenkins glanced away, but not before she caught the expression in his eyes.

‘I know what people think about my father and his wife, Mr Jenkins. They consider Barbara a trophy wife. They think she only married my father for his money.’

He’d had so much money. Why cut Barbara out of his will when he’d had so much? Even if she had taken the odd piece of jewellery why begrudge it to her?

Damn him to hellfire and fury for being such a control freak!

‘She was significantly younger than your father...’

By thirty-one years.

‘That doesn’t make her a thief, Mr Jenkins. My father was a difficult man and he was lucky to have Barbara. She did everything in her not insignificant powers to humour him and make him happy. What’s more, I believe she was faithful to him for the twelve years they were married and I don’t believe she stole from him.’

‘Of course you know her better than I do—but, Miss Caroline, you do have a tendency to see the best in people.’

She’d been hard-pressed to see the best in her father. She pushed that thought aside to meet the lawyer’s eyes. ‘If Barbara did marry my father for his money believe me: she’s earned every penny of it several times over.’

Mr Jenkins obviously thought it prudent to remain silent on the subject.

‘If my father’s estate has passed completely to me, then I can dispose of it in any way that I see fit, yes?’

‘That’s correct.’

Fine. She’d sell everything and give Barbara half. Even half was more than either one of them would ever need.

* * *

Half an hour later, after she’d signed all the relevant paperwork, Caro strode into the kitchen. Dennis Paul, her father’s butler, immediately shot to his feet.

‘Let me make you a pot of tea, Miss Caroline.’

She kissed his cheek and pushed him back into his seat. ‘I’ll make the tea, Paul.’ He insisted she call him Paul rather than Dennis. ‘Please just tell me there’s cake.’

‘There’s an orange syrup cake at the back of the pantry.’

They sipped tea and ate cake in silence for a while. Paul had been in her father’s employ for as long as Caro could remember. He was more like an honorary uncle than a member of staff, and she found herself taking comfort in his quiet presence.

‘Are you all right, Miss Caroline?’

‘You can call me Caro you know.’ It was an old argument.

‘You’ll always be Miss Caroline to me.’ He grinned. ‘Even though you’re all grown up—married, no less, and holding a director’s position at that auction house of yours.’

In the next instance his expression turned stricken. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mention that bit about you being married. It was foolish of me.’

She shrugged and tried to pretend that the word married didn’t burn through her with a pain that could still cripple her at unsuspecting moments. As she and Jack had been separated for the last five years, ‘married’ hardly seemed the right word to describe them. Even if, technically, it was true.

She forced herself to focus on something else instead. ‘It’s not my auction house, Paul. I just work there.’

She pulled in a breath and left off swirling her fork though the crumbs remaining on her plate.

‘My father has left me everything, Paul. Everything.’

Paul’s jaw dropped. He stared at her and then sagged back in his chair. ‘Well, I’ll be...’

His astonishment gratified her. At least she wasn’t the only one shocked to the core at this turnaround. To describe her relationship with her father as ‘strained’ would be putting it mildly. And kindly.

He straightened. ‘Oh, that is good news Miss Caroline. In more than one way.’ He beamed at her, patting his chest just above his heart, as if urging it to slow its pace. ‘I’m afraid I’ve a bit of confession to make. I’ve been squirrelling away odd bits and pieces here and there. Things of value, but nothing your father would miss, you understand. I just thought... Well, I thought you might need them down the track.’

Good grief! Paul was her father’s thief?

Dear Lord, if he knew her father had written Barbara out of his will, thinking her the guilty party... Oh! And if Barbara knew what Paul had done...

Caro closed her eyes and tried to contain a shudder.

‘Paul, you could’ve gone to jail if my father had ever found out what you were doing!’

‘But there’s no harm done now, is there? I mean, now that you’ve inherited the estate I don’t need to find a way to...to get those things to you. They’re legally yours.’ His smile faded. ‘Are you upset with me?’

How could she be? Nobody had ever gone out on a limb like that for her before. ‘No, just...frightened at what might’ve happened,’ she lied.

‘You don’t have to worry about those sorts of what-ifs any more.’

Maybe not, but she still had to find a way to make this right. ‘It’s only fair that I split the estate with Barbara.’

A breath shuddered out of him. He glanced around the kitchen pensively. ‘Does that mean selling the old place?’

What on earth did she need with a mansion in Mayfair? She didn’t say that out loud. This had been Paul’s home for over thirty years. It hit her then that her father had made no provision in his will for Paul either. She’d remedy that as soon as she could.

‘I don’t know, Paul, but we’ll work something out. I’m not going to leave you high and dry, I promise. Trust me. You, Barbara and I—we’re family.’

He snorted. ‘Funny kind of family.’

She opened her mouth and then closed it, nodding. Never had truer words been spoken.

‘Will you be staying the night, Miss Caro?’

Heavens, where Paul was concerned, Miss Caro was positively gushing—a sign of high sentiment and emotion.

From somewhere she found a smile. ‘Yes, I think I’d better.’ She had her own room in the Mayfair mansion, even though she rented a tiny one-bedroom flat in Southwark. ‘Hopefully Barbara will... Well, hopefully I’ll get a chance to talk to her.’

Hopefully she’d get a chance to put the other woman’s mind at rest—at least about her financial future.

* * *

‘Mrs Fielding refuses to join you for breakfast,’ Paul intoned ominously the next morning as Caro helped herself to coffee.

Caro heaved back a sigh. Barbara had refused to speak to her at all last night. She’d tried calling out assurances to her stepmother through her closed bedroom door, but had given up when Barbara had started blasting show tunes—her father’s favourites—from her music system.

‘You will, however, be pleased to know that she did get up at some stage during the night to make herself something to eat.’

That was something at least.

‘Oh, Miss Caroline! You need to eat something before you head off to work,’ he said when she pushed to her feet.

‘I’m fine, Paul, I promise.’ Her appetite would eventually return. Although if he’d offered her cake for breakfast...

Stop thinking about cake.

‘I’m giving Freddie Soames a viewing of a rather special snuffbox this morning.’ She’d placed it in her father’s safe—her safe—prior to the reading of the will yesterday. ‘After that I’ll take the rest of the day off and see if I can’t get Barbara to talk to me then.’

As a director of Vertu, the silver and decorative arts division at Richardson’s, one of London’s leading auction houses, she had some flexibility in the hours she worked.

She glanced over her shoulder at Paul, who followed on her heels as she entered her father’s study—her study. ‘You will keep an eye on Barbara this morning, won’t you?’

‘If you wish it.’

She bit back a grin, punching in the combination to the safe. Ever since Paul had caught Barbara tossing the first Mrs Fielding’s portrait into a closet, he’d labelled her as trouble. ‘I do wish it.’

The door to the safe swung open and—Caro blinked, squinted and then swiped her hand through the empty space.

Her heart started to pound. ‘Paul, please tell me I’m hallucinating.’ Her voice rose. ‘Please tell me the safe isn’t empty.’

He moved past her to peer inside. ‘Dear God in heaven!’ He gripped the safe’s door. ‘Do you think we’ve been burgled?’

Something glittered on the floor at her feet. She picked it up. The diamond earing dangled from her fingers and comprehension shot through her at the same moment it spread across Paul’s face.

‘Barbara,’ she said.

And at the same time he said, ‘Mrs Fielding.’

She patted her racing heart. ‘That’s okay, then.’

‘She’ll have been after those jewels.’

‘She’s welcome to those jewels, Paul. They’re hers. Father gave me Mother’s jewels when I turned twenty-one.’

He harrumphed.

‘But I really, really need that snuffbox back—this instant.’

She sped up to Barbara’s first-floor bedroom, Paul still hot on her heels. She tapped on the door. ‘Barbara?’

‘Not now, Caro. Please, just leave me in peace.’

‘I won’t take up more than a moment of your time.’ Caro swallowed. ‘It’s just that something has gone missing from the safe.’

‘That jewellery is mine!’

‘Yes, I know. I’m not referring to the jewellery.’

The door cracked open, and even the way Barbara’s eyes flashed couldn’t hide how red they were from crying. Caro’s heart went out to the other woman.

‘Are you accusing me of stealing something? Are you calling me a thief?’

‘Of course not.’ Caro tried to tamp down on the panic threatening to rise through her. ‘Barbara, that jewellery belongs to you—I’m not concerned about the jewellery. Yesterday I placed a small item in the safe—a silver and enamel snuffbox about so big.’ She held her hands about three inches apart to indicate the size. ‘I have to show it to a potential buyer in an hour.’

Barbara tossed her hair. ‘I didn’t see any such thing and I certainly didn’t take it.’

‘I’m not suggesting for a moment that you did—not on purpose—but it’s possible it was accidentally mixed in with the jewellery.’ Behind her back she crossed her fingers. ‘I’m really hoping it was. Would you mind checking for me?’

Barbara swept the door open and made a melodramatic gesture towards the bed. ‘Take a look for yourself. That’s what I took from the safe.’

The bed didn’t look as if it had been slept in. Caro moved tentatively into the room to survey the items spread out on the bed. There was a diamond choker, a string of pearls, a sapphire pendant and assorted earrings and pins, but no snuffbox. Her heart hammered up into her throat.

‘It’s not here,’ Paul said, leaning over to scan the items.

Caro concentrated on not hyperventilating. ‘If...if I don’t find that snuffbox I’ll...I’ll lose my job.’

Not just her job but her livelihood. She’d never get another job in the industry for as long as she lived. In all likelihood legal action would be taken. She’d—

Breathe! Don’t forget to breathe.

Barbara dumped the contents of her handbag onto the bed and then slammed her hands on her hips. ‘Once and for all—I haven’t taken your rotten snuffbox! Would you like to search the entire room?’

Yes! Though of course she wouldn’t.

Her gaze landed on a tiny framed photograph of her father that had spilled from Barbara’s bag. An ache opened up in her chest. How could he have treated Barbara so badly? She understood Barbara’s anger and disappointment, her hurt and disillusionment, but she would never do anything to intentionally hurt her—of that Caro was certain. She just needed to give the other woman a chance to calm down, cool off...think rationally.

‘Did you not sleep at all last night, Barbara?’

Barbara’s bottom lip wobbled, but she waved to the chaise lounge. ‘I didn’t want to sleep in the bed that I shared with...’

Caro seized her hands. ‘He loved you, you know.’

‘I don’t believe you. Not after yesterday.’

‘I mean to split the estate with you—fifty-fifty.’

‘It’s not what he wanted.’

‘He was an idiot.’

‘You shouldn’t speak about him that way.’ Barbara retrieved her hands. ‘If you’re finished here...?’

‘Will you promise to have dinner with me tonight?’

‘If I say yes, will you leave me in peace until then?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Yes.’

Caro and Paul returned to the study to search the room, in case the snuffbox had fallen during Barbara’s midnight raid on the safe, but they didn’t find anything—not even the partner to that diamond earring.

‘You didn’t take it by any chance, did you, Paul?’

‘No, Miss Caroline.’

‘I’m sorry. I thought I’d just check, seeing as...’

‘No offence taken, Miss Caroline.’ He pursed his lips. ‘She has it, you know. I’m not convinced that the second Mrs Fielding is a nice lady. I once saw her throw your mother’s portrait into a closet, you know.’

Caro huffed out a sigh. ‘Well... I, for one, like her.’

‘What are you going to do?’

She needed time. Pulling her phone from her purse, she rang her assistant.

‘Melanie, a family emergency has just come up. Could you please ring Mr Soames and reschedule his viewing for later in the week?’

The later the better! She didn’t add that out loud, though. She didn’t want to alert anyone to the fact that something was wrong—that she’d managed to lose a treasure.

Her assistant rang back a few minutes later. ‘Mr Soames is flying out to Japan tomorrow. He’ll be back Thursday next week. He had asked if you’d be so good as to meet with him the following Friday morning at ten o’clock.’

‘No problem at all. Pop it in my diary.’

Friday was ten days away. She had ten days to put this mess to rights.

She seized her purse and made for the door. Paul still trailed after her. ‘What do you mean to do, Miss Caroline?’

She wanted to beg him not to be so formal. ‘I need to duck back to my flat and collect a few things, drop in at work to pick up my work diary and apply for a few days’ leave. Then I’ll be back. I’ll be staying for a few days.’

‘Very good, Miss Caroline.’

She turned in the entrance hall to face him, but before she’d swung all the way around her gaze snagged on a photograph on one of the hall tables. A photograph of her and Jack.

For a moment the breath jammed in her throat. She pointed. ‘Why?’ she croaked.

Paul clasped his hands behind his back. ‘This house belongs to you now, Miss Caroline. It seemed only right that you should have your things around you.’

Her heart cramped so tightly she had to fight for breath. ‘Yes, perhaps... But...not that photo, Paul.’

‘I always liked Mr Jack.’

‘So did I.’

But Jack had wanted to own her—just as her father had wanted to own her. And, just like her father, Jack had turned cold and distant when she’d refused to submit to his will. And then he’d left.

Five years later a small voice inside her still taunted her with the sure knowledge that she’d have been happier with Jack on his terms than she was now on her own terms, as her own woman. She waved a hand in front of her face. That was a ridiculous fairytale—a fantasy with no basis in reality. She and Jack were always going to end in tears. She could see that now.

Very gently, Paul reached out and placed the photograph facedown on the table. ‘I’m sure there must be a nice photograph of you and your mother somewhere.’

She snapped back to the present, trying to push the past firmly behind her. ‘See if you can find a photo of me and Barbara.’

Paul rolled his eyes in a most un-butler-like fashion and Caro laughed and patted his arm.

‘The things I ask of you...’

He smiled down at her. ‘Nothing’s too much trouble where you’re concerned, Miss Caro.’

She glanced up the grand staircase towards the first-floor rooms.

‘I’ll keep an eye on Mrs Fielding,’ he added. ‘I’ll try to dissuade her if she wants to go out. If she insists, I’ll send one of the maids with her.’ He glanced at the grandfather clock. ‘They’re due to come in and start cleaning any time now.’

‘Thank you.’ She didn’t want Barbara doing anything foolish—like trying to sell that snuffbox if she did have it. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

* * *

Despite the loss of the snuffbox and all the morning’s kerfuffle, it was Jack’s face that rose in her mind and memories of the past that invaded Caro, chasing her other concerns aside, as she trudged across Westminster Bridge.

The sight of that photograph had pulled her up short. They’d been so happy.

For a while.

A very brief while.

So when she first saw his face in the midst of the crowd moving towards her on the bridge, Caro dismissed it as a flight of fancy, a figment of her imagination. Until she realised that blinking hadn’t made the image fade. It had only made the features of that face clearer—a face that was burned onto her soul.

She stopped dead. Jack was in London?

The crowd surged around her, but she couldn’t move. All she could do was stare.

Jack! Jack! Jack!

His name pounded at her as waves of first cold and then heat washed over her. The ache to run to him nearly undid her. And then his gaze landed on her and he stopped dead too.

She couldn’t see the extraordinary cobalt blue of his eyes at this distance, but she recognised the way they narrowed, noted the way his nostrils flared. She’d always wondered what would happen if they should accidentally meet on the street. Walking past each other without so much as an acknowledgment obviously wasn’t an option, and she was fiercely glad about that.

Hauling in a breath, she tilted her head to the left a fraction and started towards the railing of the bridge. She leaned against it, staring down at the brown water swirling in swift currents below. He came to stand beside her, but she kept her gaze on the water.

‘Hello, Jack.’

‘Caro.’

She couldn’t look at him. Not yet. She stared at the Houses of Parliament and then at the facade of the aquarium on the other side of the river. ‘Have you been in London long?’

‘No.’

Finally she turned to meet his gaze, and her heart tried to grow bigger and smaller in the same moment. She read intent in his eyes and slowly straightened. ‘You’re here to see me?’

His demeanour confirmed it, but he nodded anyway. ‘Yes.’

‘I see.’ She turned to stare back down at the river. ‘Actually...’ She frowned and sent him a sidelong glance. ‘I don’t see.’

He folded his tall frame and leaned on the railing, too. She dragged her gaze from his strong, hawk-like profile, afraid that if she didn’t she might reach across and kiss him.

‘I heard about your father.’

She pursed her lips, her stomach churning like the currents below. ‘You didn’t send a card.’

He didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘You send me a Christmas card every year...’

He never sent her one.

‘Do you send all your ex-lovers Christmas cards?’

She straightened. ‘Only the ones I marry.’

They both flinched at her words.

In the next moment she swung to him. ‘Oh, please, let’s not do this.’

‘Do what?’

‘Be mean to each other.’

He relaxed a fraction. ‘Suits me.’

She finally looked at him properly and a breath eased out of her. She reached out to clasp his upper arm. She’d always found it incredibly difficult not to touch him. Through the fine wool of his suit jacket, she recognised his strength and the firm, solid feel of him.

‘You look good, Jack—really good. I’m glad.’

‘Are you?’

‘Of course.’ She squeezed his arm more firmly. ‘I only ever wanted your happiness.’

‘That’s not exactly true, though—is it, Caro?’

Her hand fell away, back to her side.

‘My happiness wasn’t more important to you than your career.’

She pursed her lips and gave a nod. ‘So you still blame me, then?’

‘Completely,’ he said without hesitation. ‘And bitterly.’

She made herself laugh. ‘Honesty was never our problem, was it?’ But the unfairness of his blame burned through her. ‘Why have you come to see me?’

He hauled in a breath, and an ache started up in the centre of her. ‘Hearing about your father’s death...’ He glanced at her. ‘Should I give you my condolences?’

She gave a quick shake of her head, ignoring the burn of tears at the backs of her eyes. Pretending her relationship with her father had been anything other than cold and combative would be ridiculous—especially with Jack.

‘You don’t miss him?’

His curiosity surprised her. ‘I miss the idea of him.’ She hadn’t admitted that to another living soul. ‘Now that he’s gone there’s no chance that our relationship can be fixed, no possibility of our differences being settled.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I didn’t know I still harboured such hopes until after he died.’

Those blue eyes softened for a moment, and it felt as if the sun shone with a mad midday warmth rather than afternoon mildness.

‘I am sorry for that,’ he said.

She glanced away and the chill returned to the air. ‘Thank you.’

The one thing the men in her life had in common was their inability to compromise. She couldn’t forget that.

‘So, hearing about my father’s death...?’ she prompted.

He enunciated his next words very carefully and she could almost see him weighing them.

‘It started me thinking about endings.’

Caro flinched, throwing up her arm as if to ward off a blow. She couldn’t help it.

‘For pity’s sake, Caro!’ He planted his legs. ‘This can’t come as a surprise to you.’

He was talking about divorce, and it shouldn’t come as a shock, but a howling started up inside her as something buried in a deep, secret place cracked, breaking with a pain she found hard to breathe through.

‘Are you going to faint?’

Anger laced his words and it put steel back in her spine. ‘Of course not.’

She lifted her chin, still struggling for breath as the knowledge filtered through her that just as she’d harboured secret hopes of reconciling with her father, so she had harboured similar hopes where Jack was concerned.

Really? How could you be so...optimistic?

She waved a hand in front of her face. The sooner those hopes were routed and dashed, the better. She would never trust this man with her heart again.

She lifted her chin another notch against the anger in his eyes. ‘You’ll have to forgive me. It’s been something of a morning. We had the reading of my father’s will yesterday. Things have been a little...fraught since.’

He rubbed a fist across his mouth, his eyes hooded. ‘I’m sorry. If I’d known, I’d have given you another few weeks before approaching you with this.’ His anger had faded but a hardness remained. His lips tightened as he glanced around. ‘And I should’ve found a better place to discuss the issue than in the middle of Westminster Bridge.’

She had a feeling her reaction would have been the same, regardless of the where or when. ‘You’ve just been to my flat?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘I was going to catch the tube up to Bond Street.’ It was the closest underground station to where she worked. ‘But...’

‘But the Jubilee Line is closed due to a suspicious package at Green Park Station,’ she finished for him. It was why she was walking. That and the need for fresh air. ‘I’m on my way to the flat now. We can walk. Or would you prefer to take a cab?’

* * *

Jack didn’t like Caro’s pallor. Rather than answer verbally, he hailed a passing cab and bundled her into it before the motorists on the bridge could start tooting their horns. The sooner this was over, the better.

Caro gave the driver her address and then settled in her seat and stared out of the side window. He did the same on his side of the cab, but he didn’t notice the scenery. What rose up in his mind’s eye was the image of Caro when he’d first laid eyes on her—and the punching need to kiss her that had almost overwhelmed him. A need that lingered with an off-putting urgency.

He gritted his teeth against it and risked a glance at her. She’d changed.

It’s been five years, pal, what did you expect?

He hadn’t expected to want her with the same ferocity now as he had back then.

He swallowed. She’d developed more gloss...more presence. She’d put on a bit of weight and it suited her. Five years ago he’d thought her physically perfect, but she looked even better now and every hormone in his body hollered that message out, loud and clear.

After five years his lust should have died a natural death, surely? If not that then it should at least have abated.

Hysterical laughter sounded in the back of his mind.

Caro suddenly swung to him and he prayed to God that he hadn’t made some noise that had betrayed him.

‘I hear you’re running your own private investigation agency these days?’

‘You hear correctly.’

Gold gleamed in the deep brown depths of her eyes. ‘I hear it’s very successful?’

‘It’s doing okay.’

A hint of a smile touched her lips. She folded her arms and settled back in her seat.

‘Calculating the divorce settlement already, Caro?’

Very slowly her smile widened, and his traitorous heart thumped in response.

‘Something like that,’ she purred. ‘Driver?’ She leaned forward. ‘Could you let us out at the bakery just up here on the right? I need to buy cake.’

Cake? The Caro he knew didn’t eat cake.

The Caro you knew was a figment of your imagination!

CHAPTER TWO

‘JACK, I FIND myself in a bit of a pickle.’

Caro set a piece of cake on the coffee table in front of him, next to a steaming mug of coffee. She’d chosen a honey roll filled with a fat spiral of cream and dusted with glittering crystals of sugar.

Jack stared at it and frowned. ‘Money?’

‘No, not money.’

He picked up his coffee and glanced around. Her flat surprised him. It was so small. Still, it was comfortable. Her clothes weren’t cheap knock-offs either. No, Caro looked as quietly opulent as ever.

She perched on the tub chair opposite him. ‘You seem a little hung up on the money issue.’

Maybe because when they’d first met he hadn’t had any. At least not compared to Caro’s father.

Don’t forget she was disinherited the moment she married you.

She hadn’t so much as blinked an eye at the time. She’d said it didn’t matter. She’d said that given her and her father’s adversarial relationship it was inevitable. And he’d believed her.

He bit back a sigh. Who knew? Maybe she’d even believed the lie back then.

‘Perhaps we should clear that issue up first,’ she continued.

‘You didn’t have to buy cake on my account, you know.’

He wished she hadn’t. Her small acts of courtesy had always taken him off guard and left him all at sea. They’d oozed class and made it plain that she’d had an education in grace and decorum—one that he’d utterly lacked. It had highlighted all the differences between them. He’d lived in fear of unknowingly breaking one of those unknown rules of hers and hurting her.

You hurt her anyway.

And she’d hurt him.

He pushed those thoughts away.

Caro gazed at him and just for a fraction of a second her lips twitched. ‘I didn’t buy cake on your account.’

She forked a mouthful of honey roll to her lips and while she didn’t actually close her eyes in relish, he had a feeling that deep inside herself she did.

‘This cake is very good. Jean-Pierre is a wizard.’

That must be the baker’s name. She’d always taken pains to find out and then use people’s names. He’d found that charming. Once. Now he saw it for what it was—a front.

‘But if you don’t want it please don’t eat it.’

He leaned towards her, his frown deepening. ‘You never used to eat cake.’

‘I know! I can’t believe what I was missing.’ Her eyes twinkled for a moment and her lips lifted, but then she sobered and her face became void of emotion. ‘But people change. Five years ago you wouldn’t have been at all concerned with the threat of me taking you for half of all you owned.’

He’d worked hard during the last five years to make a success of his security and private investigation firm. Such a success, in fact, that if he were still alive even Caro’s father would sit up and take notice. He sat back. It seemed he’d been making money while Caro had been eating cake. It summed them up perfectly.

‘Five years ago I didn’t have anything worth taking, Caro.’

She looked as if she might disagree with him, but after a moment she simply shook her head. ‘Let me waste no further time in putting your mind at rest. I don’t want your money, Jack. I never did. You should know that yesterday I was named as my father’s sole beneficiary.’

Whoa! He straightened. Okay...

‘As we’re still married I expect you could make a successful claim on the estate. Do you wish to?’

His hands clenched to fists. ‘Absolutely not!’

She shrugged and ate more cake. ‘You haven’t changed that much, then. Earlier today I’d have staked the entire estate on you not wanting a penny.’

Damn straight! But her odd belief in him coupled with her utter lack of concern that he could have taken her for a financial ride pricked him. ‘So, this pickle you’re in?’

She set her plate down, clasping her hands to her knees. ‘Jack, I’d like to hire you for a rather...delicate job.’

He tried to hide his shock.

‘But before we continue I’d like an assurance of your discretion and confidentiality.’

‘You wouldn’t have asked me that once.’ She’d have taken it for granted.

‘True, but when you walked away from our marriage you proved my trust in you was misplaced. So I’m asking for an assurance now.’

He glanced down to find his knuckles had turned white. He unclenched his hands and took a deep breath. ‘I should warn you that if this “delicate” matter of yours involves murder or threats of violence then I’m honour-bound to—’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! Of course it doesn’t. Don’t take me for a fool. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a fool.’

He bit back something very rude. Bending down, he pulled the divorce papers he’d had drawn up from his satchel and slapped them onto the coffee table.

‘I don’t want to do a job for you, Caroline. I simply want you to sign the divorce papers and then never to clap eyes on you again.’

Her head rocked back, hurt gleamed in her eyes, and that soft, composed mouth of hers looked so suddenly vulnerable he hated himself for his outburst.

She rose, pressing her hands to her waist. ‘That was unnecessarily rude.’

It had been.

She glanced at her watch. ‘As interesting as this trip down memory lane has been, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I have to be somewhere shortly.’ She picked up the papers. ‘I’ll have my lawyer read over these and then we can get divorce proceedings underway.’

‘And you’ll draw the process out for as long as you can to punish me for refusing this job?’ he drawled, rising too.

Her chin came up. ‘I’ll do nothing of the sort. You can have your divorce, Jack. The sooner the better as far as I’m concerned.’

A weight pressed down on him, trying to crush his chest. It made no sense. She was promising him exactly what he wanted.

With an oath, he sat again.

Caro’s eyes widened. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Finishing my coffee and cake. Sit, Caro.’

‘Really, Jack! I—’

‘It’s hard, seeing you again.’

Her tirade halted before it could begin. She swallowed, her eyes throbbing with the same old confusion and hurt that burned through him.

The intensity of emotion this woman could still arouse disturbed him. It was as if all the hard work he’d put in over the last five years to forget her and get his life back on track could be shattered with nothing more than a word or a look. He couldn’t let that happen. He straightened. He wouldn’t let that happen.

‘No woman has ever made me as happy as you did.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Or as miserable. I wasn’t expecting the lid to be lifted on all those old memories. It’s made me...testy—and that’s why I said what I said. It was a mean-spirited thing to say. I’m sorry.’

Finally she sat. ‘It doesn’t make it any less true, though.’

‘It’s not true. Not really.’ He didn’t look at her as he said it. ‘I expect things will be more comfortable once we put this initial meeting behind us.’

‘I expect you’re right.’

She frowned suddenly and glanced a little to his left. With a swift movement she reached down and picked up... His cufflinks!

Jack bit back a curse. They must have fallen from his case when he’d pulled out the divorce papers. He could tell from the way her nostrils suddenly flared that she recognised the box. They’d been her wedding present to him when he’d said he’d prefer not to wear a ring—rose gold with a tiny sapphire in each that she’d claimed were nearly as blue as his eyes. He’d treasured them.

His glance went to her left hand and his gut clenched when he saw that she no longer wore her wedding ring.

Without a word she handed the box back to him. ‘You really ought to be more careful when you’re pulling things from your bag.’

He shoved the box back into the depths of the satchel. ‘Tell me about this job you’d like me to do for you.’

He didn’t owe her for her signature on their divorce papers, but if by doing this he could end things between them on a more pleasant note, then perhaps he’d find the closure he so desperately needed.

‘And, yes, you have my word that I will never reveal to another soul what you’re about to tell me—unless you give me leave to.’

She stared at him, as if trying to sum him up. With a start he realised she was trying to decide whether to trust him or not.

‘You don’t trust my word of honour?’

‘If you’re after any kind of revenge on me, what I’m about to tell you will provide you with both the means and the method.’

He didn’t want revenge. He’d never wanted revenge. He just wanted to move on with his life.

And to kiss her.

He stiffened. Ridiculous! He pushed that thought—and the associated images—firmly from his mind.

‘I have no desire to hurt you, Caro. I hope your life is long and happy. Would it ease your mind if I didn’t ask you to sign the divorce papers until after I’ve completed this job of yours?’

She leaned back, folding her arms. ‘Why is this divorce so important to you now?’

‘I want to remarry.’

She went deathly still. ‘I see.’

She didn’t. It wasn’t as though he had a particular woman in mind, waiting in the wings, but he didn’t correct the assumption she’d obviously made. It was beyond time that he severed this last tie with Caro. He should have done it before now, but he’d been busy establishing his company. Now it was thriving, he was a self-made success, and it was time to put the past to rest.

If Caro thought he’d fallen in love again, then all well and good. It would provide another layer of distance between them. And while he shouldn’t need it—not after five years—he found himself clinging to every scrap of defence he could find.

‘Well...’ She crossed her legs. ‘I wish you well, Jack.’

She even sounded as if she meant it. That shouldn’t chafe at him.

‘Tell me about this job you want to hire me for.’

He bit into the cake in an effort to ignore the turmoil rolling through him and looked across at her when she didn’t speak. She glanced at the cake and then at him. It made him slow down and savour the taste of the sweet sponge, the smooth cream and the tiny crunch of sugar.

He frowned. ‘This is really good.’

Finally she smiled. ‘I know.’

He’d have laughed at her smugness, but his gut had clenched up too tightly at her smile.

She leaned forward, suddenly all business. ‘I’m now a director at Vertu, the silver and decorative arts division at Richardson’s.’

‘Right.’ He didn’t let on that he knew that. When they’d married she’d been only a junior administrator at the auction house.

‘Yesterday I placed into my father’s safe a very beautiful and rather valuable snuffbox to show to a client this morning.’

‘Is that usual?’

She raised one elegant shoulder. ‘When selected customers request a private viewing, Richardson’s is always happy to oblige.’

‘Right.’

‘When I went to retrieve the snuffbox this morning it wasn’t there.’

He set down his now clean plate, his every sense sharpening. ‘You have my attention.’

‘I put it in the safe myself, prior to the reading of my father’s will.’

‘Which took place where?’

‘In my father’s study—the same room as the safe.’

He remembered that study. He nodded. ‘Go on.’

Her expression was composed, but she was twisting the thin gold bangle on her arm round and round—a sure sign of agitation.

‘The fact that I am sole beneficiary came as a very great shock to both Barbara and I.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Your father and Barbara have remained married all this time?’

‘Yes. I believe she loved him.’

Jack wasn’t so charitable, but he kept his mouth shut.

‘When Barbara retired to her room, the lawyer gave me this letter from my father.’ She rose, removed a letter from her purse and handed it to him. ‘More cake?’

He shook his head and read the letter. Then he folded it up again, tapping it against his knee. ‘He thought she was stealing from him.’

Knowing Roland Fielding, he’d have kept a very tight rein on the purse strings. What kind of debts could his lovely young wife have accrued that would have her risking being caught red-handed with stolen goods?

‘He was wrong. It wasn’t Barbara who was pilfering those bits and pieces. It was Paul.’

‘Paul is still working...?’ He blew out a breath. ‘Shouldn’t he have retired by now?’

She pressed her hands together. ‘My father wasn’t a man who liked change.’

That was the understatement of the year.

‘And, to be fair, I don’t think Paul is either. I suspect the thought of retirement horrifies him.’

The bangle was pushed up her arm and twisted with such force he thought she’d hurt herself.

‘He and Barbara have never warmed to each other.’

‘And you’re telling me this because...?’

‘Because Paul was putting all those things he’d taken—’

‘Stolen,’ he corrected.

‘He was putting them away for me.’

Jack pressed his fingers to his eyes.

‘He was as convinced as I that I’d be totally written out of the will. He thought that I might need them.’

He pulled his hand away. ‘Caro, I—’

She held up a hand and he found himself pulling to a halt.

‘If Barbara finds out why my father wrote her out of the will and that Paul is responsible, she’ll want him charged. I can’t let that happen—surely you can see that, Jack? Paul was doing it for me.’

‘You didn’t ask him to!’

‘That’s beside the point. I know Barbara has been wronged, and I mean to make it up to her. I intend to split the estate with her fifty-fifty.’

He let the air whistle between his teeth. ‘That’s very generous. You could probably buy her silence for a couple of million.’

‘It’s not generous and I don’t want to “buy her silence”! I want her to have half of everything. Half is certainly far more than I ever expected to get, and I’m fairly certain she won’t begrudge me it.’

Was she?

‘Where does the snuffbox come in?’

She hauled in a deep breath. ‘During the middle of the night Barbara removed the jewellery from the safe. As it’s all hers she had every right to remove it.’

He straightened. ‘Except the snuffbox went missing at the same time?’

She nodded. ‘When I asked her about it she claimed to not have seen it.’

‘But you don’t believe her?’

Her fingers started to twist that bangle again. ‘She was upset yesterday—understandably. She wasn’t thinking clearly. I know she wouldn’t do anything to deliberately hurt me, but my father has treated her so very shabbily and I suspect she panicked. I fear she’s painted herself into a corner and now doesn’t know how to return the snuffbox while still maintaining face.’

‘And you want me to recover said snuffbox without her being aware of it?’

‘Yes, please.’

It should be a piece of cake. ‘What happens if the snuffbox isn’t restored to Richardson’s?’

‘I’ll lose my job.’ She let out a long, slow breath. ‘I’ll never work in the industry again.’

He suddenly saw what she meant by revenge. Her job had been more important to her than starting a family with him. Now he had the potential to help destroy all the credibility she’d worked so hard to gain in one fell swoop. The irony!

‘Worse than that, though...’

He lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Worse than you losing your job?’

Her gaze didn’t waver. ‘Richardson’s prides itself on its honesty and transparency. If I don’t return that snuffbox there will be a police investigation.’

‘The scandal would be shocking,’ he agreed.

‘For heaven’s sake, Jack—who cares about the scandal?’ She shot to her feet, hands on hips. ‘Barbara does not deserve to go to jail for this. And Paul doesn’t deserve to get into trouble either.’

They were both thieves!

‘This mess is of my father’s making. He forces people into impossible situations and makes them desperate. I won’t let that happen this time around. I won’t!’ She pulled in a breath and met his gaze squarely. ‘I mean to make this right, Jack. Will you help me?’

He stared at her. This woman had dashed all his most tightly held dreams. Five years ago she’d ground them underfoot as if they hadn’t mattered one iota. The remembered pain could still make him wake up in a lather of sweat in the middle of the night.

He opened his mouth.

His shoulders slumped.

‘Yes.’

Since when had he ever been able to say no to this woman?

* * *

Caro tiptoed past the disused pantry, and the butler’s and housekeeper’s offices—both of which had been vacant for as long as she could remember. The kitchen stretched all along the other side of these old rooms, with the small sitting room Paul used as his office on the other side of the kitchen. She’d chosen this route so as to not disturb him, but she tiptoed just the same. The man had bat-like hearing.

Lifting the latch on the back door, she stepped out into the darkness of the garden, just as she’d promised Jack she would. She glanced around, wondering in what corner he lurked and watched her from. Feigning indifference, she lifted her head and gazed up at the night sky, but if there were any stars to be seen they were currently obscured by low cloud.

She knew from past experience, though, that one rarely saw stars here—the city lights kept the stars at bay and, as her father had always told her, star-gazing never got anybody anywhere in life.

‘Tell that to astronomers and astronauts,’ she murmured under her breath.

‘Miss Caroline?’

Paul appeared in the kitchen doorway. Caro wiped suddenly damp palms down her skirt. No one was supposed to see her out here.

‘Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.’

She turned towards him. ‘Are you sure there isn’t anything I can help you with?’

‘Certainly not.’

In his youth, Paul had trained as a chef. With the help of an army of maids, who came in twice a week, Paul had kept this house running single-handed for nearly thirty years. Although, as her father had rarely entertained, the position hadn’t been a demanding one.

When she was a child she’d spent most of the year away at boarding school. So for nearly fifteen years—before her father had married Barbara—it had just been her father and Paul rattling around together in this big old house.

Some sixth sense—a hyper-awareness that flashed an odd tingling warmth across her skin—informed her that Jack stood in the shadows of a large rhododendron bush to her left. It took all her strength not to turn towards it. She’d wanted to let Paul in on their plan—his help would have been invaluable, and for a start she wouldn’t be tiptoeing through the house in the dark, unlatching doors—but Jack had sworn her to secrecy.

And as he happened to be the surveillance expert...

She reached Paul’s side and drew him to the right, away from Jack, pointing up at the steepled roofline. ‘Did you know that one night, when I was ten, I walked all the way along that roofline?’

Paul glanced up and pressed a hand to his chest. ‘Good grief!’

‘I’d read a book about a cat burglar who’d made his way across London by jumping from roof to roof.’

‘Tell me you didn’t?’ Paul groaned.

She laughed. From the corner of her eye she saw a shadow slip through the door. ‘Mrs Thomas-Fraser’s Alsatian dog started up such a racket that I hightailed it back to my room before the alarm could be raised.’

‘You could’ve fallen! If I’d know about that back then it would have taken ten years off my life.’

Caro shook her head. ‘I can hardly believe now that I ever dared such a thing. Seriously, Paul, who’d have children?’

He chuckled and patted her shoulder. ‘You were a delight.’

To Paul, perhaps, but never to her father.

‘Come along.’ He drew her into the house. ‘You’ll catch a chill if you’re not careful.’

She wanted to laugh. A chill? It was summer! He was such a fusspot.

‘I don’t suppose I could talk you into joining Barbara and I for dinner?’

‘You suppose right. It wouldn’t be seemly.’

Seriously—he belonged in an England of a bygone age. ‘Oh, I should go and lock the other door.’

‘I’ll take care of it.’

To insist would raise his suspicions. ‘Paul, do we have any headache tablets?’

He pointed to a cupboard.

When he’d gone, she popped two tablets and unlatched the kitchen door—just in case. This sneaking around business was not for the faint-hearted.

* * *

Barbara sliced into her fillet of sole. ‘Caroline, do I need to remind you that if your father had wanted me to inherit any portion of his estate, he’d have named me in his will?’

Caro swallowed. ‘You only call me Caroline when you’re cross with me.’

Barbara’s gaze lifted.

‘I didn’t know he was going to do this, Barbara. I swear. I wish he’d left it all to you.’

Her stepmother’s gaze lowered. She fiddled with the napkin in her lap.

‘And if he had left it all to you,’ Caro continued, ‘I know you’d have made sure that I received a portion of it.’

‘Of course—but that’s different.’

‘How?’

‘This money has been in your family for generations. It’s your birthright.’

Twaddle. ‘I mean to give Paul a generous legacy too. He’ll need a pension to see him through retirement.’

‘That man’s a rogue. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t weaselled enough bonuses out of your father over the years to see him through two retirements.’

‘Even if he has, he’ll have earned every penny.’

The other woman’s gaze narrowed. ‘You and your father—you never could find any common ground. You didn’t understand each other. You never brought out the best in him. And—you’ll have to forgive me for saying this, Caro, darling—you were never at your best when you were around him either.’

Caro opened her mouth to dispute that, then shot her stepmother a half smile. How could Barbara still defend him after he’d treated her so shabbily? ‘Okay, I’ll concede that point.’

Where was Jack at this very moment? Was he in Barbara’s room, scanning its every hiding place? Had he found the snuffbox yet?

The thought of Jack prowling about upstairs filled her with the oddest adrenaline rush—similar to the one she’d had as a ten-year-old, when she’d inched across the mansion’s roof. It made her realise how boring her life had become.

Not boring! Predictable.

She stuck out her chin. She liked predictable.

‘Caro?’

She snapped her attention back to Barbara.

‘You had the oddest look on your face.’

Jack had always had that effect on her. ‘Just trying to work out the morass that was my father’s mind. And yours.’

‘Mine?’ Barbara set her fork down. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘If our situations were reversed you’d be happy to share my father’s money with me. Why aren’t you happy for me to share it with you?’

Barbara picked up her clutch purse and rose. ‘I find my appetite has quite fled. I really don’t wish to discuss this any further.’

Caro nearly choked on her sole. Jack! If Barbara should happen to find him in her room...

‘Please don’t go! I—’ She took a hasty sip of water. ‘I’m tired of feeling lonely in this house.’

Barbara’s face softened. She lowered herself back to her chair. ‘Very well—but no more talk about your father and his money.’

‘Deal.’ Caro did her best to eat her new potatoes and green beans when all the while her stomach churned.

Please be careful, Jack.

She glanced over at her stepmother. ‘Paul tells me you’ve barely been out of the house lately? Don’t you think you should get out more? Being cooped up like this can’t be good for you.’

Barbara sent her a tiny smile. ‘On that subject we happen to be in complete agreement, darling. Lady Sedgewick has invited me down to their place in Kent this very weekend. She’s having a house party. I thought I might accept her invitation.’

‘Oh, yes, you should! The Sedgewicks are a lovely family. I was at school with Olivia. Do go. You’ll have a lovely time.’

It was beyond time that Barbara started enjoying herself again.

* * *

Caro tiptoed into her room ninety minutes later. ‘Jack?’ she whispered into the darkness, before clicking on the light.

Her room was empty. She tried to crush the kernel of disappointment that lodged in her chest. He hadn’t said that he’d wait for her in her room. She’d just assumed he would. She checked her phone for a text.

Nothing.

Maybe he’d sent her an email?

She was about to retrieve her laptop when a shadow on the far side of the wardrobe fluttered and Jack detached himself from the darkness. Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded. She tried to tell herself it was because he’d startled her, but she had a feeling her reaction was even more primal than fear.

Dressed in close-fitting jeans and a black turtleneck sweater, Jack looked dark, dangerous and disreputable.

Delicious, some part of her mind pronounced.

She wanted to tell herself to stop being ridiculous, but ‘delicious’ described him perfectly. What was ridiculous was the fact that every atom of her being should swell towards him now, with a hunger that robbed her of breath.

But why was it ridiculous—even after five years? It had always been this way between them.

Yes, but five years ago he’d broken her heart. That should make a difference.

She lifted her chin. It did. It made a huge difference. Obviously just not to her body’s reaction, that was all.

She pulled in a breath. ‘Well...?’

She held that breath as she waited for him to produce the snuffbox. She’d get her snuffbox and he’d get his divorce, and then he could marry this new woman of his and they’d all be happy.

He lifted a finger to his lips and cocked his head, as if listening to something.

Actually, she had serious doubts on the happiness aspect. She had serious doubts that Jack was in love.

Not your business.

Jack moved in close, leaned towards her, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. Her heart surged to the left and then to the right, but he merely whispered in her ear.

‘Go and check the corridor.’

His warm breath caressed her ear, making her recall the way he’d used to graze it gently with his teeth...and how it had driven her wild. The breath jammed in her chest. She turned her head a fraction, until their lips were so close their breaths mingled. She ached for him to kiss her. She ached to feel his arms about her, curving her body to his. She ached to move with him in a union that had always brought her bliss.

His lips twisted and a sardonic light burned in the backs of his eyes. ‘Caro, I didn’t come up here to play.’

His warm breath trailing across her lips made her nipples peak before the import of his words hit her. From somewhere she found the strength to step back, humiliation burning her cheeks.

‘You should be so lucky,’ she murmured, going to the door and checking the corridor outside, doing all she could to hide how rubbery her legs had become. ‘All clear,’ she said in a low voice, turning back and closing the door behind her. ‘What did you hear?’

He merely shrugged. ‘It’s better to be safe than sorry.’

She did her best not to notice the breadth of his shoulders in that body-hugging turtleneck or the depth of his chest. ‘Do you also have a balaclava?’

He pulled one from the waistband of his jeans.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, as if having him here in her bedroom didn’t faze her in the least.

‘Did you get it?’ She kept her voice low, even though Barbara’s room was at the other end of the house and Paul’s was another floor up, and he used the back stairs to get to it anyway. Nobody would be passing her door unless they’d come deliberately looking for her.

‘No.’

‘No?’ She moved in closer to whisper, ‘What do you mean, no?’ She had to move away again fast—his familiar scent was threatening to overwhelm her.

‘If it’d been in that room I would’ve found it.’

She didn’t doubt him—not when he used that tone of voice. Damn! Damn! Damn!

She strode to the window, hands clenched. ‘Where can it be?’

‘Did she have a handbag or a purse with her at dinner?’

Caro swung around. ‘A little clutch purse.’ In hindsight, that had been odd. She hadn’t had any plans to go out this evening, so why bring a purse to dinner in her own house?

‘It’s in there, then.’

‘So...what now? You can’t creep into her room with her in it.’

‘It wouldn’t be ideal,’ he agreed, moving to the window and raising it. In one lithe movement he slid outside.

‘So?’

‘So now I go home and ponder for a while.’

She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. She planted her hands on her hips. ‘Jack, you can use the front door. Everyone else is in bed. No one will see you.’

‘But you’ve made me eager to try out your cat burglar method.’

So he’d heard her conversation with Paul about that...

She leaned out to peer at him. ‘Be careful.’

He moved so quickly that she wouldn’t have been able to retreat even if the gleam in his eyes hadn’t held her captive. His lips brushed her hair, his breath tickling her ear again. She froze, heart pounding, as she waited for him to murmur some final instruction to her.

Instead his teeth grazed her ear, making her gasp and sparking her every nerve ending to life.

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