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She glanced down at Rufus trotting happily at her side and groaned inwardly. Why had she let him off the lead? Aunt Joan had been specific and she’d ignored her advice—and not for the first time in her life, she added miserably. But she wasn’t going to think of William Patterson now. She had enough problems right at this moment as it was, the most immediate being—what was she going to wear tonight? She would have to do some emergency shopping because she hadn’t got a thing that would pass in Templegate’s fabled surroundings.
As her feet quickened in time with the swirly butterflies in her stomach, Rufus had the most energetic walk he’d had for some time, and by the time the pair of them reached Cory’s aunt’s house they were both panting.
‘Are you all right, dear?’ her aunt asked mildly as she opened the door. ‘You look a little warm.’
Warm would be great. Just being over-warm would be heaven right now. ‘I did a silly thing,’ Cory said miserably as she stepped into the cool hall. ‘A very silly thing as it’s turned out.’
‘Really?’
She nodded.
‘Ooh, lovely,’ her aunt said happily. ‘I’m always doing silly things and it’s so reassuring when someone as together as you does too. The coffee pot’s on, come and tell me all about it.’
Rufus settled in his basket, gnawing frenziedly at an enormous hide bone, and with a mug of fragrant coffee and a plate of chocolate digestives in front of her Cory felt a little better as she related the events of the morning. There was something terribly homely and nice in sitting in her aunt’s farmhouse-type kitchen with a dog at their feet and bright sunlight picking the colour out of a bunch of marigolds in a vase on the windowsill.
When she’d finished explaining, her aunt was beaming. ‘But that’s wonderful,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘You’ll have a wonderful meal in the most wonderful place and this man sounds—’
‘Wonderful?’ Cory interrupted wryly. There had been a sight too many wonderfuls as far as she was concerned. She was terrified, and here was her aunt acting as though she had just won the lottery or something.
‘I was going to say very reasonable,’ her aunt said reproachfully. ‘He could have shouted or caused a fuss after all. Lots of people would have, and in this day and age of everyone suing everyone else at the drop of a hat…’ She sighed, wagging her head in despair at the current trend. ‘And all this Mr Morgan did was to ask you out to dinner at the most fabulous place. I mean, what’s the problem?’
Put like that there wasn’t one, but then her aunt hadn’t seen Nick Morgan. Cory swallowed hard. ‘I don’t have a thing to wear,’ she prevaricated, but even to her own ears it sounded weak. ‘Not something that carries a million dollar label anyway.’
‘Is that all?’ The complacency was now most certainly of the Cheshire cat variety as Joan’s smile widened. ‘Darling go and see a friend of mine, Chantal Lemoine of Mayfair. She’ll fix you up.’
This wasn’t comforting. Cory loved her aunt—since her parents had died within a year of each other when she had been at university, her aunt was the only close relative she had—but Joan had never married and had made her career her life before she’d retired early at the age of fifty after a heart attack scare. She’d had a high-powered position in the world of fashion and hadn’t thought anything of spending an exorbitant amount on a simple skirt or top. Since leaving university four years ago Cory, on the other hand, had felt drawn to work in the sector of social care, something which involved long hours, stress and a merely adequate salary. A salary which didn’t lend itself to designer establishments.
Whether her aunt sensed what she was thinking Cory wasn’t sure, but the next moment the older woman had picked up the telephone saying, ‘I’m ringing Chantal, all right? It’s your birthday in a few weeks’ time and I didn’t have a clue what to get you. This is the perfect answer. You go and choose something absolutely outrageously expensive. You’ve been an angel to me since my fall and I want to thank you.’
‘I couldn’t, Aunty.’ Cory’s cheeks were pink.
‘You could and will.’ And then Joan’s expression and voice changed as she said softly, putting her hand on Cory’s arm, ‘Please, darling. For me. You’re the daughter I never had and you never let me spoil you. Just this once indulge me, eh?’
Cory wriggled uncomfortably. It was true she looked on her aunt more as a mother than anything else. In spite of being an only child she hadn’t been close to either of her parents, who had been so wrapped up in each other they hadn’t needed anyone else, not even their daughter. It had been a lonely and not particularly happy childhood in many respects, and her Aunt Joan had often been an oasis in the desert. Whether because of her childhood or perhaps just the way she was made, she’d always been reserved and independent, preferring to help rather than be helped and to give rather than receive.
‘Hello, could I speak to Miss Lemoine, please?’ Her aunt had taken her hesitation as a yes. When Cory went to speak Joan waved her to silence with a raised hand. ‘Chantal? Darling, how are you? It’s Joan.’ A few seconds and then, ‘Yes, we must as soon as this wretched leg of mine is better. Perhaps lunch at Roberto’s? Look, the reason I’m calling is to ask a favour. I’m sending Cory to you—you remember she’s my niece? She has a very special occasion tonight—at Templegate. Yes, I know, it’s very exciting. The thing is, she needs something really gorgeous and I thought you might be able to help. Could you see to her personally? Advise her on what suits her best? I’d come myself but with this leg…Oh, you’re a sweetheart. Two o’clock will be fine. Thanks so much, darling. And put it on my account, would you, this is a little birthday treat. Bye-bye, Chantal.’
The receiver replaced, her aunt beamed at her. ‘That’s settled then. Sweetheart, you’re going to have a perfectly lovely time and you’ll look beautiful. Chantal will guarantee it.’
Cory smiled but said nothing. The day wasn’t going at all as she had planned.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS five to seven and Cory was panicking big time, not least because she barely recognized the girl staring back at her out of the mirror. When she’d left Chantal earlier that afternoon, the little Frenchwoman’s parting encouragement had been, ‘Chérie, make up your mind to enjoy a night on the tiles in haute couture style! Yes? You will look enchanting. As the late Gianni Versace once said: ‘‘If you make an entrance and nobody turns to look at you, my dear, find a back door and leave. And then find a new dress.’’ I promise you, chérie, you will not have to find the door,’ Chantal had said with great satisfaction. ‘Not in that dress.’
It was beautiful. Cory’s gaze left the frightened eyes in the mirror and travelled downwards. And in this case the clothes did definitely maketh the woman. The midnightblue silk just missed being black, the cap-sleeved bodice with flattering collar-bone-skimming neckline topping a skirt with the same leaf transparencies and beading, and, as if all that wasn’t enough to catch the eye, the skirt had vertiginous side slits. These had caused Cory to protest that she couldn’t possibly wear the dress out before she had tried it on, but once Chantal had zipped her up she’d had to admit that it did something to her figure and skin that was riveting.
‘This is the one,’ the little Frenchwoman had cried. ‘This is the dress that makes you a goddess.’
Goddess was going a bit far, Cory thought, her gaze returning to check her make-up for the umpteenth time. But the dress did do something for her that was amazing. She dreaded to think how much it had cost her aunt. None of the clothes in the exclusive shop had had anything so vulgar as a price label. Presumably if one couldn’t take the heat one stayed out of the kitchen!
When she’d made noises about the cost, Chantal had merely tapped the side of her small nose and shook her beautifully coiffured head in disapproval. ‘This is the gift, yes?’ she had scolded, making Cory feel terribly unsophisticated. ‘Your aunt will know and this is enough. Now…’ She had gone on to recommend another couple of establishments where Cory could purchase suitable accessories but, although she’d thanked the older woman, Cory had known she wouldn’t be stepping through their doors. Shoes and bags at several hundred pounds a go just wasn’t an option on her salary.
Instead she had looked round various high street shops and market stalls, eventually finding delicate strappy sandals in just the right shade with a little purse to match in Covent Garden. Racing home to her flat in Notting Hill—the purchase of which had taken every last penny of her inheritance, but which had been supremely worth it—she had showered, washed her hair and set about moisturising and perfuming for the night ahead.
Should she have left her hair down? She glanced again at the silky smooth chignon she’d persuaded her shoulderlength waves into. It had seemed too fussy somehow, the dress being so stunning, but her hair had been up and down three times before she had made up her mind.
‘Stop it.’ She breathed the words out loud into the quiet, pastel-coloured bedroom. ‘It’s just a nightclub, they’re just people like everyone else, he’s just a man.’ And he’d reduced her to talking to herself already after one brief meeting!
An authoritative buzz from the lobby entry intercom brought her hand to her throat before she breathed deeply, willing the panic to subside. Walking through into the small square hall she steeled herself to press the button situated to the side of her front door. ‘Yes, who is it?’ she asked with a breathlessness she could have kicked herself for.
‘Nick Morgan.’ Succinct and to the point.
‘I’ll be right down, Mr Morgan. If you’d care to wait in the lobby…’ She pressed the building’s door release before flying back into the bedroom in a tottering scramble which warned her that the sandals didn’t lend themselves to anything other than dignified sedateness, not unless she wanted to end up on her rear end, that was. And that was unthinkable in front of Nick Morgan.
Snatching up her purse, which was just large enough to hold her keys, lipstick, two twenty pound notes for emergencies—in case he didn’t intend to see her home for example—and a few tissues, she walked carefully back to the hall, opening her front door and then making her way down the wide staircase which led to the lobby.
The old Victorian house had been converted to three fairly large flats, one on each floor. The ground floor flat was owned by a retired couple with a massive German Shepherd called Arnie who had a howl like a wolf’s. This was the biggest apartment, having three bedrooms and its own tiny garden. Cory’s flat and the one above each had two bedrooms and a large balcony off the sitting room French windows. The young married couple above her had made their balcony into a miniature garden, but Cory’s contained a small table and two chairs and a large lacy palm in a big pot and that was all. Her work sometimes involved excruciatingly long hours for a couple of weeks or so and if a problem occurred in one of the families she was assigned to the last thing she wanted to worry about was watering plants.
She was concentrating so hard on descending gracefully, balanced as she was on her giddily high, needle-thin heels, that she didn’t lift her head until she’d reached the safety of the tiled floor of the small entrance lobby.
‘Wow.’
The deep male voice brought her head turning. Nick Morgan was leaning against the far wall, hands thrust in his pockets and black hair slicked back from his brow. He looked like something every red-blooded woman from the age of sixteen to sixty would love to find in their Christmas stocking. An exquisitely cut dinner jacket sat on shoulders broad enough to satisfy even the most demanding female, and the smile lighting up his blue eyes was electric.
Cory forgot to breathe as he walked towards her, only managing to mumble, ‘Hello,’ at the last moment.
‘You look sensational.’
‘Do I?’ Oh, come on, you can do better than that. She wasn’t totally without the ability of social repartee. She took hold of herself, adding, ‘Thank you, you look pretty good yourself,’ with a coolness she hoped he didn’t know was completely feigned.
His gaze moved over her hair, eyes made up to look huge, and carefully painted lips, and there was a faint note of surprise in his voice when he said, ‘You’ll set tongues wagging tonight. They’ll all want to know where I found you.’
He made it sound as though she was a stranded puppy he’d brought in from the cold. She forced a smile, saying lightly, ‘I think it was the other way round, don’t you? Or rather, it was Rufus who did the finding.’ And then, because his comment really had caught her on the raw for some reason, she added sweetly, ‘Perhaps it would be better if we didn’t explain I had to pick you up from the floor.’ She hadn’t, not exactly, but if ever there was justification in stretching a point, Cory felt this was it.
He blinked, just once, but she knew she’d taken him aback. The smile dimmed a little for one thing. ‘Quite.’ He took her elbow. ‘Shall we go?’
That had set the boundaries quite nicely; at least she hoped so. There was no way she was going to let this man patronise her, even if he did have the clout to take half of London to Templegate as his guests. Wealth did not equate to lordship, not in her book.
Once outside, even the heavily laden city fumes couldn’t obliterate the beauty of a perfect June evening. The air was soft and warm, the buzz of the city lazy and evocative. Cory felt a little thrill of anticipation she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of just minutes before.
Instead of the taxi she’d been expecting, she found herself led to a chauffeur-driven Mercedes. After seating her inside the vehicle, Nick Morgan joined her. ‘Templegate, please, George,’ he said easily, before settling himself more comfortably beside her. She could feel the imprint of a hard male thigh against her hip but didn’t dare move. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he bothered her in any way—if he was thinking along those lines, which he probably wasn’t, of course.
Burningly aware of the way the slits in the dress revealed a tantalising amount of leg, Cory tried to think of something else. Nothing came to mind.
Too late she realised he’d said something and she’d missed it. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said politely.
‘I asked you if you’d been to Templegate before.’
It was slightly stiff as though he was offended about something. Cory suddenly wondered if he usually had to repeat himself when he was taking a woman out for the evening. She rather doubted it.
The surge of adrenalin this caused enabled her to say quite airily, ‘No, I haven’t as it happens although I’ve heard about the place, of course. One goes to see and be seen, I understand?’
‘I wouldn’t know about that.’
Oh, no. Right.
‘The chef there is second to none, however.’ He looked her full in the face as he spoke, forcing her to meet his gaze. The blue of his eyes was like the deepest ocean, something to drown in. ‘And the guy in the cocktail bar, Luigi, is a master of his art. His drinks carry a sting in the tail that have made many a grown man wake up with the mother and father of a hangover the next morning.’
‘Thanks for the warning,’ she said tightly. He was too close. The confines of the luxurious car were too intimate. Her dress was too revealing. She turned her head to look out of the window.
There was a long pause when the air between them hinted at the delicious sensuality of his aftershave.
‘Relax, Cory.’
It was the first time he had called her by her Christian name and it acted on her overwrought nerves like a cattle prod. ‘Relax?’ Her gaze shot to meet his again. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I’m perfectly relaxed.’
‘Yeah?’ He glanced meaningfully at her lap and for the first time she realised her hands were tight fists.
‘Look, you won’t be expected to do anything tonight,’ he said quietly. ‘Just enjoy yourself, okay? There are no hostess duties, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
She wasn’t sure exactly what was worrying her but playing hostess was only part of it. She managed a little bounce of her head which could have passed for a nod. ‘Your girlfriend,’ she said awkwardly. ‘She’s not going to get the wrong idea about this?’
‘Girlfriend?’ Dark brows furrowed and then cleared. ‘Oh, you mean Miranda? The model? No, she’ll be fine. And, incidentally, she’s a friend without the girl in front of it, if you get my meaning.’
She did. And she wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. Probably a bit of both. Which went with the general craziness of this whole evening.
‘If we’re supposed to be a couple—’ again her eyes shot to his and he smiled innocently ‘—at least as far as my guests are concerned, I should know a bit about you, shouldn’t I? Your work, hobbies, things like that.’
It sounded reasonable. It would have been reasonable if it was anyone but Nick Morgan. Which wasn’t fair, Cory acknowledged silently. She didn’t know him, not in the least, and he might be a very nice person under the arrogance and good looks and blatant wealth. William had been all those things too and she’d given him the benefit of the doubt, more fool her.
She smiled a brittle smile. ‘I’m a social worker, working with disfunctional families on the whole. The hours are long, but when I’m not working I’m either eating, sleeping or preparing to do one or the other. Okay?’
He didn’t say a word, merely continuing to observe her as the Mercedes purred through the evening traffic. Much to her annoyance, Cory found she was the one who looked away first.
She didn’t know why she was loath to reveal anything about herself and her private life to this man, but the check was there, in her spirit. In truth she had lots of friends with whom she socialised and, although she had to do the odd intense stretch at work where she had no time to see anyone, these didn’t occur all the time.
It was a good minute or two before he spoke again, and then his voice was bland. ‘No time for fun then?’
‘Not much, no.’
‘Pity.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He was really annoying her now, not by what he said but the tone in which he said it. But then it was her fault if he was pitying her. ‘I love my work.’
‘I enjoy mine but I still have a life outside it.’
‘Like tonight?’ she asked with a touch of sarcasm.
‘Tonight, I admit, I’m combining work and pleasure.’
He didn’t rise to her bait and Cory found herself feeling somewhat ashamed. She was being awful and she didn’t understand why.
And then he slid shut the glass partition which gave them privacy from the driver, leaning towards her as he said softly, ‘Are you always this prickly or is it me? Have I done something to offend you, Cory?’
She wished he wouldn’t say her name like that, in that deep smoky way. Say something, she told herself. Anything to pass this off. She found she couldn’t, her thought processes seemed to have faltered and died.
She cleared her throat, moistening her lips and then wishing she hadn’t as the piercing gaze followed her tongue. ‘I guess I’m just a little nervous,’ she managed at last. ‘Meeting your guests and so on.’ She waved a vague hand. It wasn’t the people though, just one person and he was sitting right beside her.
‘You are more than a match for them.’
It was dry and she wasn’t quite sure if he was complimenting her or not.
Her face must have revealed her thoughts because his searching gaze was replaced by a smile. ‘You have a very open face,’ he said, the smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. ‘I would have thought that would’ve been a handicap in your line of work.’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘I can be deadpan when I want to be,’ she assured him evenly. It was just that this capability didn’t seem to work around Nick Morgan, although she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting to it.
He settled back in the seat again and Cory breathed an inward sigh of relief as the space between them expanded.
‘So the reason for your single status is down to work obsession?’ he asked smoothly after a small pause.
She didn’t answer this directly. ‘I do not have a work obsession.’
Her voice had been clipped and again the corners of his mouth twitched. ‘What else would you call it when a beautiful woman eats, sleeps and drinks her job?’ he asked mildly.
‘A career?’ She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt so mad with someone.
‘A career doesn’t exclude having friends—’
‘I do have friends.’
‘Or going on dates,’ he continued as though unaware of her interruption.
‘Look, Mr Morgan—’
‘Nick.’ The tone was amiable. ‘Call me Nick or else my guests will think I’ve hired you for the evening.’
He had in a way. She put that fact to one side and concentrated on her main line of attack. ‘I’m sorry but I really don’t see that my lifestyle is any of your business,’ she said hotly. ‘You asked me to stand in for your girlfriend—’
‘She’s not my girlfriend. I thought we’d already ascertained that.’
‘Whatever.’ She put a wealth of disinterest into the word. ‘Anyway, you asked me to stand in for her and I have. I don’t think that that merits the third degree.’
‘You think a little polite social intercourse qualifies as the third degree?’ he asked with reproachful innocence.
Cory swallowed the words she wanted to say. They still had the rest of the evening in front of them and some pretence at togetherness would be required, besides which she was blowed if she was going to rise to his bait. She breathed deeply, counted up to ten and smiled sweetly. ‘One’s definition of politeness can vary so much from person to person, don’t you think, depending on background, upbringing, just how nice someone is?’ she said with saccharine civility.
He knew exactly what she was really saying. Vivid blue eyes held defiant velvet-brown for a few moments and then, to her surprise, he threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’re a formidable lady, Miss Cory James. I have to admit I wondered how a slender young thing like you would be able to take on some big butch parent or other shouting about their rights. Now I know.’
