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‘But it’s different for the girls.’
Sexism? From Alex? Now that she hadn’t expected. ‘Since when did you turn into a chauvinist?’
He frowned. ‘I’m not. It’s got nothing to do with gender. Just that…’ he lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug ‘…I’m not like them.’
‘So this marriage business—you’re looking for someone you like, someone who shares your interests, and who’s not going to tie you down.’
‘I’m not planning to have a string of girlfriends or be unfaithful to my wife, if that’s what you’re asking.’
Alex dated a lot. Which meant he had a lot of sex. If he was giving that up…did that mean he was planning to have sex only with his wife?
With her?
Oh, Lord.
The last twelve years suddenly unravelled, back to when she’d been eighteen and Alex had kissed her. Just once. But what a ‘once’ it had been. He’d actually taken her breath away. For one mad moment she’d thought that Alex had noticed her—that instead of seeing her as just his little sister’s best friend, the girl he’d known for years, he’d seen her as a soul mate. Someone who shared his interests. Someone he was attracted to. And then she’d realised he was being kind. Showing her that just because her rat of a boyfriend had dumped her, it didn’t mean that she’d never be kissed again.
He’d even said as much. Said that she’d soon find someone else. Added that she had a whole world to conquer.
That kiss hadn’t meant the same thing to him as it had to her. And Isobel was pretty sure things hadn’t changed since then. Alex saw her as a friend—a close friend, but just as a friend.
So no way would this marriage work.
She couldn’t do it.
She’d already ended up in one loveless marriage, and she really couldn’t face starting another on the same basis. She dragged in a breath. ‘I’m sorry, Alex. I can’t marry you.’
CHAPTER TWO
ALEX schooled his features into neutral. ‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s wrong to get married without loving each other.’
He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Of course I love you, Bel.’
‘But not in that way, Alex. And I’m not putting myself through that again.’
Alex stared at her. ‘Hang on. Are you telling me Gary didn’t love you? That he was unfaithful to you?’
She shook her head. ‘He didn’t break his marriage vows, no. Let’s just leave it that our marriage turned into a mess.’
She looked uncomfortable, and Alex knew Isobel wasn’t telling him the whole story—but he also knew not to push her. She’d talk to him when she was ready. She always had.
‘Though it didn’t take him very long to find someone else.’ Isobel dragged in a breath. ‘His new partner’s just had their first baby.’
That had clearly hurt her. He’d never asked Isobel why she’d split up with Gary—because it wasn’t any of his business and he didn’t want to rake open any painful wounds—but he’d always supposed that Gary had wanted a baby and she hadn’t been prepared to make any compromises with the career she loved.
So had his guess been completely wrong? Was Isobel the one who’d wanted children?
No, of course not. She adored Saskia’s daughter, Flora— her god-daughter and Alex’s niece—but Alex had always assumed that it went with the territory of being Saskia’s best friend. Isobel liked children, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to do her job—but she really, really loved what she did. A museum interpreter who worked with hands-on exhibits, dressing up as a Roman matron during school holidays or at weekends and giving cookery demonstrations and showing people what everyday life was like in Roman Britain, as well as working behind the scenes as a curator on the exhibitions that toured other museums.
So if it wasn’t the baby, maybe she was upset because the baby signalled that things were well and truly over between her and Gary. That they could never go back to how things were.
According to his sister, Isobel had rarely dated since her marriage ended two years ago, so maybe she was still in love with Gary. Alex had never thought Gary was good enough for her—for starters, the man had a feeble handshake and no imagination—but he also didn’t like seeing Isobel hurt and miserable. ‘Come here.’ He slid his arms round her and held her close. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘That it didn’t work out for you. That he let you down.’ He stroked her hair. ‘I know it’s probably not what you want to hear, but he was never good enough for you.’
‘But he didn’t ask me to marry him just because I’m staid and sensible.’
Alex pulled back slightly and looked her in the eye. ‘I asked you because I want this job and being a married man is going to give me the edge I need.’
‘Rubbish. You can talk your way into anything.’
‘Apart from getting you to marry me, you mean,’ he parried. ‘And you didn’t let me finish. Whatever I said about you being sensible—which you are—the main reason I asked you is because you’re my friend. I’ve known you for years and years. I enjoy your company and I trust you. And that’s a much, much stronger basis for a marriage than being “in love” with someone.’ Thinking of Dorinda, Alex curled his lip. She’d been his biggest mistake ever. And she’d taught him all about the misery of love. A lesson that meant he wasn’t going to repeat that mistake. ‘Being “in love” is just temporary. It’s hormonal. Whereas what we’ve got has a much more solid foundation and it’s not going to change.’
‘Isn’t it? Because that’s what worries me, Alex.’ She bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to lose your friendship when it all goes pear- shaped.’
He sighed. ‘Apart from the fact that it’s not going to go pear-shaped, things aren’t going to change between us.’
‘How do you know? Unless you’re talking about a marriage in name only—and as you said you weren’t planning to have a string of girlfriends, I have to assume you’re…’ Her voice tailed off and she actually blushed.
He’d never seen her colour like that before.
And even though he knew he wasn’t playing fair, he couldn’t resist teasing her. ‘Assume what, Bel?’
‘That getting married means having sex with each other.’ Her flush deepened.
Alex felt as if his skin were suddenly burning, too. Sex with Isobel. Right now, he was holding her. Loosely, admittedly, but he was still holding her. All he had to do was move forward a fraction, dip his head, and he could kiss her.
His mouth went dry.
He could remember the last time he’d kissed her, other than the usual peck on the cheeks that accompanied their welcoming hugs when they hadn’t seen each other for a while. The night she’d come round to their house, crying her eyes out because her boyfriend had dumped her for someone more glamorous and less studious, and he’d answered the door. Saskia had been out, so he’d taken Isobel into the summer house in their garden for a heart-to-heart. He’d told her that the boyfriend was an idiot and it didn’t matter because there was a whole world out there just waiting for her to conquer it.
And he’d kissed her.
Just once.
Before remembering that Isobel was eighteen to his twenty-three, much less worldly-wise, and he really shouldn’t be kissing her like that.
Now he wondered what would’ve happened if he’d kissed her a second time. Would they have ended up making love in the summer house? Would he have been the one to introduce her to the pleasures of love-making?
And what shocked him even more was that his body was reacting even now at the thought of it.
Making love with Isobel.
He became aware that she was speaking.
‘And besides, I’m not your type.’
‘I don’t have a type,’ Alex protested.
‘Yes, you do. You always go for tall, skinny brunettes with legs up to their armpits.’
‘You have dark hair.’ The colour of a chestnut that had just slipped out of its prickly case, it was soft and silky when he ran his fingers through it. ‘And you’re not short.’ She was curvy rather than skinny, though with three younger sisters he knew much better than to discuss a woman’s weight or body shape.
‘I’m five feet four. That makes me slightly shorter than the average woman.’
He smiled at her. ‘It also makes you two inches taller than the average Roman woman in the fourth century.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Trust you to know that.’
He laughed. ‘Actually, you were the one who told me. When you were researching your first talk about Roman women.’
She stared at him in obvious surprise. ‘You remember that?’
‘Course I do. We must have sat up half the night talking about it. Well, after I’d bored the pants off you with all those photographs of the dig I’d just come back from.’
‘I wasn’t bored.’
‘See? We have things in common. Lots of things. And we like each other. Getting married would work, Bel.’
The colour was back in her cheeks, even deeper this time. ‘Supposing we’re not, um, compatible?’
‘Compatible?’
‘In bed,’ she muttered. ‘What if I’m rubbish at sex?’
‘If that’s what Gary said, he clearly wasn’t doing it right— and his ego made him blame you.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Look at me, Bel,’ he said softly. She had huge brown eyes that had topaz glints when she laughed, and a perfect rosebud mouth. Why had he never really noticed that before? ‘I think we’d be…’ he paused as his heart gave an unexpected kick ‘…compatible.’
‘I can’t believe we’re even discussing this!’ She pulled back from him. ‘So why didn’t you ever get married, Alex?’
He let her go. ‘Because my job meant a lot of travelling— and that meant either living apart from my wife most of the time, or dragging her around the world with me. Neither option’s a fair one.’
‘And you never met anyone who made you want to stay in one place?’
Once, but that had been a long time ago. In the days when he’d still worn rose-coloured glasses. Before he’d discovered that Dorinda was a liar and a cheat and had played everyone for a fool, including him. Since then, he’d never quite been able to trust anyone. He’d held back in his relationships, unwilling to risk his heart again and have it ground beneath a stiletto heel. Keeping things light and fun had worked for him, until now. ‘I told you, I don’t believe in love. But I do believe in friendship. In honesty. And if you marry me, Bel, I’ll be a good husband to you.’ A much better one than Gary had been.
‘I can’t get married. Ask someone else.’
There wasn’t anyone else he’d trust enough to marry. He shrugged. ‘Look, forget I asked. Come on, I’m taking you out to dinner.’
‘Why?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not an ulterior motive. You’ve said no and I’m not going to bully you into saying yes. Bel, you’re putting me up for a few days, so taking you out for dinner to say thank you is the least I can do.’
‘Alex, you don’t need to do that. You know I never mind you staying here.’
He smiled. ‘I know. But I like having dinner out with you. I like talking history and arguing over interpretations and laughing too much and eating half your pudding—because I’m greedy and you’re always nice to me.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re impossible.’
‘Uh-huh.’ But to his relief she was smiling and relaxed with him again. ‘Is that Moroccan place we went to last time still open?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good. Let’s go.’
* * *
It always surprised Isobel slightly that Alex liked taking the tube rather than a taxi. Then again, on the tube people were careful not to catch anyone’s eye, so although he’d probably be recognised it was unlikely that someone would ask for an autograph or a photograph with him taken with the camera on their mobile phone. Besides, without the hat, people were more likely to think he was a guy who just happened to look like the archaeologist from the show, rather than being the man himself.
It was practically impossible to talk on the tube; there were just too many people squashed onto the train. During late spring and summer, rush hour seemed to last a lot longer; the office workers crushing onto the train were quickly replaced by tourists.
Isobel wasn’t sure whether it made her more relieved or uptight—or both at the same time. Relieved, because she didn’t have to make eye contact or conversation with Alex. And uptight, because it gave her time to think about what he’d said.
Getting married—to Alex.
Having sex—with Alex.
Oh, Lord.
She’d enjoyed her friendship with Alex. She always had.
And she’d married Gary because she’d loved him.
But a little bit of her had always wondered: what if Alex hadn’t had his string of glamorous girlfriends? What if he’d repeated that kiss when she was twenty-one? What if she’d ended up with Alex instead of Gary?
Panic skittered through her. She had to be insane even to be considering this. Marriage wouldn’t work. She’d had one serious relationship before Gary, so she was hardly experienced— whereas Alex had practically had a girlfriend at every dig, not to mention the ones in between. She’d never be able to live up to his expectations.
His words echoed in her head. I enjoy your company and I trust you. And that’s a much, much stronger basis for a marriage than being ‘in love’ with someone.
Was he right? Were friendship and trust a better basis for a marriage than love and desire? Should she have said yes?
A note appeared in front of her eyes. In Alex’s spiky, confident handwriting.
‘Stop brooding. “Dinner” means dinner.’
The last word was in capitals and underlined three times.
She faced him. Sorry, she mouthed.
He smiled, and it gave her a weird sensation—as if her heart had just done a somersault. Which was anatomically impossible and completely ridiculous. Especially as, at the age of thirty, she was way, way past the teenage heartthrob stage.
