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Madge looked as close to sheepish as he’d ever seen her. ‘Right. Well, it’s being held in the ballroom of the Chelsea Hotel, and it’s to raise funds for the women’s refuges in the inner-city area. There’s a sit-down dinner before the auction, which I’m assured will have quality food and which should raise a good sum of money since it costs a small fortune per head. I gather the place is going to be full of society’s finest. Kenneth was to be the auctioneer, the last prize being the privilege of the winning bidder having their name used as a character in his next book. It’s been done before, of course, by other authors. But never by Kenneth. The poor fellow is quite disappointed, as well as worried about letting Alice down. She’s the girl who’s organised everything. Anyway, I told him that you would do it in his stead.’
Jeremy pretended to look displeased. ‘Oh, you did, did you?’
For a split second, a worried frown formed on Madge’s high forehead. But then she smiled.
‘You’re just joking, right?’
Jeremy grinned.
Madge flushed with relief and pleasure. She adored Jeremy, envying his mother for having such a warm and wonderful son. He might be a devil where the ladies were concerned—or so she’d been told—but he was a good man and a great boss. Smart, sensible and surprisingly sensitive. She didn’t doubt that one day he’d fall in love and settle down.
‘You are a teaser,’ she said. ‘Now, do you want me to ring Alice and tell her you’ll do the job as auctioneer? Or do you want to ring her yourself?’
‘What do you think, Madge?’
This was another thing she liked about her boss. He often asked her opinion. And usually took it.
‘I think you should ring her yourself,’ she said. ‘It would put her mind at rest. She seemed rather stressed. I gained the impression she was new at this job.’
‘Right,’ he replied, nodding. ‘You’d better get me her number, then.’
Madge already had it in hand, of course.
‘You are a very devious woman,’ he said as she gave it to him.
‘And you are a very sweet man,’ she returned with a smug smile before turning and leaving him to it.
Jeremy found himself smiling as he keyed Alice’s number into his phone.
‘Alice Waterhouse,’ she answered immediately, her voice crisp and very businesslike, its cut-glass accent betraying an education at one of those private girls’ schools that turned out girls who invariably worked in jobs such as PR or fund-raising for charities before marrying someone suitable to their class.
Jeremy wasn’t overly keen on girls from privileged backgrounds, which was rather hypocritical of him, given his own background. There’d been a time when he hadn’t cared about such things. If a girl was pretty and keen on him, then he didn’t give their character—or their upbringing—much thought. He bedded without bias or prejudice. But nowadays, he found the girls he dated who’d been born rich were seriously boring, both in bed and out. He disliked their innate sense of entitlement, plus their need to be constantly complimented and entertained. Perhaps it was the attraction of opposites, but there was something very appealing about girls who had to work for their living, who didn’t have the fall-back position of Daddy’s money.
He imagined that the plummy-voiced Alice Waterhouse was just such a daddy’s girl.
‘Jeremy Barker-Whittle,’ he replied, well aware that whilst his own voice wasn’t overly toffee-nosed, it was deep and rich and, yes, impressive. Alex and Sergio used to tell him he could have made a fortune on the radio. People who first met him over the phone were often surprised by the reality of him in the flesh. They clearly expected someone older, and possibly more rotund, with a big chest and stomach. Like an opera singer.
People did make the wrong assumptions at times.
He wondered if he was wrong about Alice Waterhouse. Then decided he wasn’t.
‘I’m the publisher of Kenneth Jacobs’s books,’ he informed her. ‘It seems I’m to be your stand-in auctioneer tonight.’
‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ she said, not gushing but obviously relieved. ‘Madge said you might do it. I have to confess I was beginning to panic. Thank you so much.’
Against his better judgment, Jeremy found himself warming to her.
‘It’s my pleasure,’ he said. ‘Truly.’ Jeremy had always fancied himself a bit of a showman. He would actually enjoy playing auctioneer tonight.
‘You can bring a partner, if you wish,’ Alice offered. ‘I allocated two places for Mr Jacobs at the main dining table. He said he didn’t have anyone to bring so I was going to sit with him.’
‘I won’t be bringing anyone with me, either,’ Jeremy admitted. He might have brought Ellen, a lawyer he dated on and off, and whose company he enjoyed. But she was overseas in Washington, working, at the moment. ‘I’m a crusty old bachelor too,’ he added, amused by this description of himself. ‘So perhaps you would do me the honour of sitting next to me at dinner tonight.’
‘That would be my pleasure,’ she returned.
‘I presume it’s black tie?’
‘Yes, it is. Is that a problem?’
Jeremy smiled wryly. ‘No. No problem.’ If there was one thing for which Jeremy could be relied upon it was to show up at social functions, properly attired. He loved fashion, and took pride in his appearance. His wardrobe held a wide array of clothes from casual to formal. His dinner suits were the best money could buy, the one he’d worn to Sergio’s wedding made by one of the top tailors in Milan. He’d wear that one tonight.
When she started thanking him again, he cut her short by asking when and where they could meet up tonight. Once he had the details in hand, he said goodbye, hung up then called out to Madge.
She popped her head through the door straight away.
‘Everything settled?’ she asked.
‘Fine. Just tell me one thing. Have you actually met this Alice?’
‘No. I only talked to her over the phone.’
‘So what PR company does she work for?’
Madge looked puzzled. ‘She doesn’t. I mean...didn’t I tell you? She works as a counsellor at a couple of the women’s refuges.’
‘No, Madge, you didn’t mention that.’
‘Sorry. Bit flustered today. Anyway, Alice explained when she first rang that they couldn’t afford the fees of professional fund-raisers so she was doing it all herself. Not an easy job, I can assure you.’
‘No,’ Jeremy said thoughtfully. Damn, but he hated it when he was wrong about someone. He supposed it wasn’t impossible that the daughters of wealthy men could be born with social consciences, plus the desire to make a difference to those less fortunate than themselves. But in his experience, it was rare.
Jeremy was impressed, and resolved to do everything in his power to make tonight’s auction a success.
‘I’d better get back to work,’ he said, but his mind remained elsewhere. He was definitely looking forward to finding out tonight all about the enigmatic and intriguing Alice Waterhouse.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_14db1966-f0b1-5ba0-8c46-be2e4ad24ebb)
‘THANK YOU FOR lending me this lovely cocktail dress, Fiona,’ Alice said as she inspected herself in the cheval mirror. The dress was black and sleek and strapless, with a matching coat that would protect her from the chill night air till she could get inside the air-conditioned hotel. Despite summer being just over a month away, London was in the grip of a cold snap.
‘My pleasure,’ her flatmate replied, the words reminding Alice of the conversation she’d had earlier today with Kenneth Jacobs’s publisher. What a nice man he was. And what a lovely voice. He would make a much better auctioneer than Mr Jacobs.
‘I seriously wish I was going to your do tonight instead of having dinner with Alistair’s parents,’ Fiona added. ‘But it’s his mother’s birthday...’ Her voice trailed off as she shrugged resignedly. ‘Never a good idea to get on the wrong foot with one’s future mother-in-law.’
‘I would imagine not,’ Alice agreed, glad that she’d never have to worry about such matters. No way was she ever going to get married.
‘You look lovely,’ Fiona said. ‘I wish I had your figure. And your height. And your hair.’
Alice was taken aback by the compliments, thinking there wasn’t anything special about her figure, though she did have nice hair, naturally blonde and easy to style. As for her height, she wasn’t that tall. Just under five eight. Admittedly, Fiona was on the short side. Despite that, she was a strikingly attractive girl with thick dark hair, big brown eyes and the kind of voluptuous body that men lusted after. Not that Alice wanted to be lusted after. It was the last thing she wanted.
‘That dress looks much better on you than it did on me,’ Fiona went on. ‘When I wore it, my boobs spilled out over the top. I had men gawking at them all night. Alistair said I was never to wear it again, so if you want it, sweetie, it’s yours.’
Alice hated the way Fiona called her sweetie, as if she were a kid when in fact they were both the same age. She also didn’t want to be treated as if she were still the girl who’d first come to London and shown up, broke, on the doorstep. Still, it was an understandable hangover from when Alice had first come to London and shown up, broke, on the doorstep of Fiona’s flat, mainly because she was the closest thing to a friend that Alice had ever had at boarding school. Not that they moved in the same circles, but they did share crushes on the same movie stars. Alice had only known Fiona’s address because Fiona had told everyone at school when her billionaire father had presented her with the keys of a Kensington flat for her eighteenth birthday.
To give Fiona credit, she’d taken Alice in and let her have a room, rent-free, till Alice had been able to earn some money. Then, when Alice had said she would be moving out a few weeks later, Fiona had begged her to stay, saying she enjoyed her company. Over the seven years they’d lived together, they’d become quite close, sharing confidences the way girls did. Fiona understood why Alice was anti-men, but she still hadn’t given up hope that one day Alice would meet a man she could trust—and love.
‘Did I tell you that Kenneth Jacobs pulled out of doing the auctioneer job at the last minute?’ Alice said as Fiona sprayed her with perfume. ‘He came down with a head cold.’
‘Oh, no!’ Fiona exclaimed. ‘What did you do?’
‘I panicked at first.’
Fiona laughed. ‘You? Panic? Never! You would have sorted something out.’
Fiona’s blind faith in her organisational skills amused Alice. Still, anyone would seem cool, calm and collected in comparison with Fiona, who could be quite scatter-brained. And very messy. It crossed Alice’s mind that Fiona might have originally asked her to stay because she did most of the housework.
‘I was lucky. Kenneth put me onto this lovely lady at Barker Books and before I knew it, the owner of the company rang me back and offered to take Mr Jacobs’s place.’
‘That was lucky.’
‘You’ve no idea how lucky. He has this absolutely gorgeous voice. He’s going to make a great auctioneer. Now no more of that perfume, Fiona. I have to get my things together. The cab I ordered will be here any second. I’ve made arrangements to meet Mr Barker-Whittle in the foyer of the hotel at seven.’
‘What?’
‘I said I—’
‘I know what you said,’ Fiona broke in sharply. ‘I hope we’re not talking about Jeremy Barker-Whittle here.’
Alice frowned. ‘Yes. That’s how he introduced himself. Why? What’s the matter with him?’
‘He’s just one of the most infamous playboys in London—that’s what’s the matter with him. Handsome as the devil, with more charm than any man has a right to. My sister dated him once for about five minutes, and she hasn’t stopped raving about him ever since. She claims that after being with Jeremy no other man could possibly compare. Lord, but I’d never have lent you that sexy dress if I knew who you’d be sitting next to tonight.’
Whilst momentarily thrown by this news, Alice also felt peeved that Fiona would think for a moment she would fall victim to some playboy’s dubious charms. Surely she knew her better than that. Now that she’d been warned about Mr Barker-Whittle, he had not a hope in Hades of snaring her interest, no matter how handsome and charming he was. And he was charming, she conceded, thinking of how much she’d liked him over the phone. And yes, he was a right royal devil, calling himself a crusty old bachelor like that!
‘Forewarned is forearmed, Fiona,’ she pointed out. ‘Now that I know he’s a player, I will be on guard against any attempt by him to seduce me. Though you, of all people, should know I am immune to men of his type.’
Even as she said the words, Alice knew she was lying. She’d always found handsome devils attractive. In the movies mostly, but also in real life. There was something wickedly appealing about good-looking men of a certain reputation. She’d gone out with one once, and it had cost her dearly. Whilst still not totally immune to finding such men attractive, she felt confident she had learned her lesson. It was a pity, however, that her stand-in auctioneer was coming alone. Still, if Jeremy Barker-Whittle decided after meeting her that she would provide him with some after-auction entertainment, then he was sadly mistaken.
‘But I don’t get it,’ Fiona said. ‘Jeremy’s in banking, not books.’
‘Well, he’s in books now,’ Alice said ruefully whilst wishing that he weren’t. What a pity Kenneth had to come down with a cold.
‘Strange,’ Fiona mused. ‘Still, I suppose he can afford to be in anything he wants to be in. The Barker-Whittle family is seriously loaded. They’ve been in merchant banking forever.’
‘You seem to know a lot about them.’
‘Yes, well, as I said, Melody became obsessed with the man for a while and made it her business to find out everything she could.’
‘Anything else I should know about him before tonight?’ Alice asked.
‘Not really. Just don’t believe a word the silver-tongued scoundrel says. And don’t go agreeing to go out with him.’
Alice almost laughed. As if.
‘That’ll be my cab,’ she said when her phone pinged. ‘Now you have a nice time tonight, Fiona, and don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Jeremy Barker-Whittle won’t even get to first base.’
Fiona didn’t look so sure. Alice recalled her friend’s worried expression when she walked into the foyer of the hotel a couple of minutes past seven. Fiona had a right to be worried, came the instant stomach-tightening thought.
Jeremy Barker-Whittle was already there, sitting on one of the guest sofas, talking to someone on his phone. She knew it was him, despite the presence of several other males in the foyer. None of them, however, was wearing a black dinner suit. And none fitted the image she’d already formed in her mind of what one of London’s most infamous playboys would look like. When Fiona had been talking about him, Alice had automatically pictured one of her favourite movie stars who’d made his reputation by playing rich bad boys. Jeremy Barker-Whittle was almost a dead ringer. Very handsome with an elegance to his face and clothes that could not be feigned. He had money written all over him, the kind of man whom other men envied and women craved.
Alice didn’t crave him, but his looks certainly set her heart racing. She scooped in a deep breath, glad that he hadn’t noticed her yet. It gave her the opportunity to gather her wits and her defences. And to look him over without being observed. His mid-brown hair was slightly wavy; it fell from a side part to his collar, a single lock flopping sexily across his high forehead. His nose was strong and straight and his eyes a sparkling blue. Yes, they actually sparkled. At least they did when he glanced up and spied her standing there, looking at him. He immediately put his phone away and stood up, smiling as he came over to her, bringing her attention to his mouth, with its sensual lower lip and dazzlingly white teeth. Now her stomach did a little flip-flop, reminding her starkly of her vulnerability to men who looked perfect but invariably were not.
‘Please tell me that you’re Alice,’ he said with that incredible voice of his. Like rich dark chocolate, it actually made her name sound sexy. Which was a minor miracle. She’d always hated her name, thinking it girlish and old-fashioned.
It was difficult not to respond to his practised charm, but she managed to control herself, tapping into the reserved façade that she always used around men of his ilk.
‘I am,’ she admitted coolly, having resisted the unwise impulse to smile back at him. ‘And I presume you’re Mr Barker-Whittle?’
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1c3a62de-e225-550d-a7e6-919e7c97b180)
WHOA! THOUGHT JEREMY. He wasn’t used to women being this cool to him, especially women who looked like Alice. It rattled him for a moment. But only a moment, his mind searching for some reason why she might be in a negative frame of mind where he was concerned. All he could think of was the way he’d described himself as a crusty old bachelor. Maybe she didn’t like being deceived. She’d been warm enough to him over the phone, whereas now she was all ice.
The corner of his mouth twisted at his own pun on her name. Alice. All ice. Very funny, Jeremy. Now see if you can use some of the infamous Barker-Whittle charm to warm up Miss Ice Princess a bit, or the evening ahead is not going to be as enjoyable as you anticipated.
Which was a shame, given that he was partial to slender, cool-looking blondes, especially ones with gorgeous blue eyes and mouths just made for sin.
‘Please, call me Jeremy,’ he insisted as he subtly looked her up and down. ‘No one calls me Mr Barker-Whittle, not even Madge. Especially not Madge,’ he added with a laugh. ‘By the way, Madge said that we should offer two character names to auction off, not just one,’ he invented. ‘If that’s all right with you.’
‘What? Oh, yes. Yes. That would be...great. Thank you.’
He’d thrown her a little, which was exactly what he’d wanted to do. For a split second she was the Alice he’d talked to on the phone. Sweet and grateful. But then that chilly mask slipped back into place.
Not that Jeremy was giving up. He had all evening to accomplish the thawing of Alice. If nothing else, he would enjoy the challenge. After all, it wasn’t every day that a member of the opposite sex challenged him, especially single ones. He’d duly noted the lack of rings on either hand, a sure sign that she was neither married nor engaged. Of course, that didn’t mean she didn’t have a boyfriend or a partner. Though surely any boyfriend or partner worth his salt would have accompanied her here tonight. If one existed and he’d made a deliberate choice not to come, then the fool deserved to lose out. On second thought, however, Jeremy doubted there was some man waiting in the wings. That air of touch-me-not that she had about her would not encourage the average modern male.
Jeremy smiled wryly at the knowledge that he was far from average, or in the slightest deterred in his pursuit of the gorgeous Alice. She’d sparked curiosity in him from the first moment he’d heard that cut-glass voice of hers. Now that he’d met her, his curiosity was joined by desire, Jeremy resolving not to rest till she agreed to go out with him.
‘You were going to show me the layout in the ballroom,’ he reminded her. ‘But first, let me take your coat...’
* * *
Panic churned in Alice’s stomach at the thought of taking her coat off, of exposing more of herself to this man’s far too sexy gaze. If he thought she hadn’t noticed the way he’d looked her over, he was sadly mistaken. Alice knew men found her attractive. It was a burden most blondes with nice figures and pretty faces had to put up with. Fortunately, these days, she didn’t attract too much male attention, always going to work with her hair pulled back, no make-up on and wearing jeans. Tonight, however, she was looking her very best. Silently, she cursed Fiona for lending her this revealing dress, plus spraying her with all that expensive perfume. The make-up she only had herself to blame for. But at the time, she hadn’t known she’d be spending the evening in the company of a man who could make her want to be different from the woman she’d become.
At least she’d put her hair up, though not into its usual scraped-back ponytail. It was fashioned into a sleek sophisticated bun, worn slightly on one side, the latest style for formal occasions. Still, better than it being down. Pity about the dangling diamanté earrings she’d chosen to wear, however, and which swung against her bare neck when she walked. Alice contemplated telling him she would keep her coat on but he was already moving behind her and, really, she could hardly go all night with a calf-length coat flapping around her legs. Without glancing over her shoulder at him, she reached up to push the coat back off her shoulders—it wasn’t the kind that had buttons—sucking in sharply when she felt his fingertips brush over the nape of her neck. A shiver ricocheted down her spine as the coat slid down her arms, presumably into his waiting hands. She was too shaken to turn and look. Too shocked.
What kind of power did this man have to make her feel like this? So swiftly and so surely. Alice had felt sexual attraction before; she hadn’t always been so wary of it. She’d found the thought of sex fascinating from the time puberty hit, spending a lot of her teenage years indulging in romantic fantasies over various handsome actors. Then there’d been that charmer at college, the tall dark and handsome one she’d been attracted to despite everything, the one who’d convinced her he returned her feelings. And so she’d agreed to go out with him. More fool her!
But the attraction she’d felt on that occasion paled into insignificance compared to this highly charged feeling that was currently sweeping through Alice. It was madness, this urge she had to throw caution to the winds, to forget all the lessons she’d learned about men, to ignore Fiona’s warnings and just let Jeremy Barker-Whittle have his wicked way with her. Which, of course, was what he wanted to do. He was a playboy, wasn’t he? That was what playboys did.
But not with me, Alice decided as she marshalled all her willpower. Not tonight. Not ever.
