скачать книгу бесплатно
In fact, Olivia thought, it would have been downright cruel to force anyone to wear such a garment. With its heavily embroidered top, totally smothered in pearls and rhinestones, over a vast crinoline skirt composed of tier upon tier of heavy, brilliant white lace flounces, dotted with bows and posies of flowers—and yet more pearls and rhinestones—it had been a complete nightmare!
‘I’ll look dreadful—like some huge snowball!’ Sarah had wailed in despair. ‘Please help me, Olivia. You must try and make my mother see that I’m far too short to wear something like that And that hard, bright white is absolutely the wrong colour for my skin.’
Eventually Olivia had managed to persuade Mrs Turnbull that ‘less is more’—and to concentrate on elegance rather than magnificence. And the older woman had eventually agreed that maybe Sarah and Olivia’s choice of wedding gown wasn’t so bad, after all.
And now, as she gazed at the bride in her sophisticated, fluid sheath of pale ivory satin, a simple diamond hairband holding back her long black hair beneath the hood of her velvet cloak, Olivia realised that, despite the battles with Mrs Turnbull, it had all been worthwhile. Sarah looked not only stunningly beautiful, but also extremely elegant and thoroughly soignée.
‘It was a great idea of yours to have the twins as my bridesmaids,’ Sarah murmured, the battles she’d had with her mother all forgotten now as, wearing exactly the outfit she’d always wanted, she watched Olivia handing the tiny posies of red and pale cream roses to the two small girls.
‘Don’t they look adorable, Dad?’ she asked her father as she smiled happily down at the dark-haired, five-year-old twin daughters of Mark’s much older sister. Dressed in simple ivory velvet dresses, with wide crimson satin sashes tied at the back in a large bow, they looked enchanting.
‘Aye, they do, lass,’ Robert Turnbull agreed, nervously straightening his tie and wishing himself miles away.
Not that he didn’t love his only daughter, he told himself firmly. But he was a plain-speaking Yorkshireman, and never happier than when running his large textile business. Although he got on right well with Mark’s father, who seemed a sensible enough man, the sooner he could get back up North the happier he’d be.
‘Hey—have you had a chance to get a good look at Mark’s best man?’ Sarah asked Olivia as the other girl bent down to straighten one of the little bridesmaid’s ivory-coloured tights.
‘Er...yes...’ Olivia muttered, inwardly cursing the flush she could feel rising over her pale cheeks as she tried to concentrate on retying the bow of the little girl’s red ballet shoes.
‘Is he drop-dead gorgeous—or what?’ Sarah giggled. ‘At least half of the female guests invited to the wedding seem to be his old girlfriends, while the other half are intending to seriously chat him up at the reception!’ she added with a grin, before nervously taking her father’s arm as the organ began thumping out the first, loud chords of the ‘Wedding March’.
Waiting until the bride and her retinue had begun walking slowly up the aisle, Olivia slipped into a seat at the back of the church.
But, despite the long length of the nave between them, she was still acutely aware of the broad-shouldered, dark figure of Dominic FitzCharles, standing beside the groom as the vicar began the wedding service, joining Sarah and Mark together in holy matrimony.
Despite the many other large, prestigious London hotels which were often chosen for wedding receptions, Claridge’s Hotel was far and away Olivia’s favourite venue. Together with its wonderful Art Deco, nineteen-thirties’ style of decoration, the hotel’s vast experience in handling functions—from simple dinner parties to grand balls attended by English royalty and the few remaining crowned heads of Europe—meant that she could safely leave all arrangements in the capable hands of the hotel’s staff.
And she’d been quite right. It was now an hour since the bride and groom had arrived at the hotel following their marriage, and everything seemed to be going with a swing.
The large reception room looked magnificent. The crystal chandeliers were casting a sparkling glow over the smartly dressed guests; the many huge flower arrangements filled the air with a delicious perfume; and an army of waiters were making sure that the champagne was flowing like water. All perfect ingredients for a great party!
However, as she now stood in a far corner of the large reception room, quickly glancing down at her watch as the happy couple circulated amongst their guests, Olivia knew that there were still some hours to go before she could relax.
With the groom only returning to Britain just a few days before his marriage, it hadn’t been the easiest of weddings to arrange. Especially as Sarah had had some firm ideas about the reception.
‘I want to have some sort of dinner-dance,’ she’d said, before adding with a frown, ‘But what do we do with the all those elderly relatives and friends of my parents? They’re going to simply hate the idea of dancing, since most of them will just want to sit around, catching up on the family gossip.’
However, after carefully going through the proposed list of guests, and noting that many of Sarah and Mark’s friends worked in the City of London, Olivia had put forward a suggestion that the wedding should take place in one of the ancient City churches on a late Friday afternoon.
‘I know it’s slightly unusual,’ she’d told Mrs Turnbull and her daughter. ‘But it will make it a lot easier for busy men and women to attend the wedding at the end of a working week before going on to a reception in a hotel such as Claridge’s. And if you start with a champagne reception—including the usual speeches and cutting the wedding cake—those who wish to do so can then leave, with the younger guests staying on to enjoy a buffet dinner and dance.’
‘That’s a brilliant idea!’ Sarah had exclaimed. And even Mrs Turnbull had grudgingly agreed that it did seem to cater for just about all their guests.
However, now, despite being busily engaged in making sure that the reception was proceeding smoothly, Olivia was only too well aware that she still had a major problem on her hands.
Right from the moment he’d arrived at the hotel with the bride and groom, she’d been acutely aware that Dominic FitzCharles—clearly unused to being thwarted in any way—was still determined to find an answer to the puzzle which had been troubling him since his arrival at the church.
The damn man’s as stubborn as a mule, Olivia had told herself grimly, doing her best to ignore the granite-hard, clear grey eyes regarding her intently as she’d moved about the room, making sure that the influx of guests were being properly looked after. Luckily, Dominic had been forced to stand in the receiving line, together with Sarah and Mark and their parents—so she’d been quite safe for a while.
However, after all the guests had arrived, and Dominic had at last been able to leave the receiving line, Olivia had found herself beginning to panic. Maybe she was just being paranoid, but it had seemed that he was deliberately ‘stalking’ her through the crowded throng of guests, smoothly greeting his friends and acquaintances while all the time firmly keeping her tall, slim figure in view.
He’d almost caught up with her as she’d been checking over the timing of the speeches with the Toastmaster, hired for the occasion. Luckily, she’d managed to quickly make her escape by hurriedly taking refuge in the ladies’ powder room.
Suddenly feeling exhausted by the stress and strain engendered by Dominic’s totally unexpected appearance as Mark Ryland’s best man, she’d sunk down onto a padded stool, removing her wide-brimmed black hat and gazing helplessly at herself in the mirror.
‘Come on! For heaven’s sake, pull yourself together—and get a grip on the situation!’ she’d muttered grimly under her breath, grimacing at the sight of her pale cheeks and the tense, strained lines around the wide green eyes staring back at her, cloudy with fear and apprehension.
While she couldn’t, of course, have stayed hidden in the powder room for very long, it had at least given her the opportunity to do something about her hair. And, there was no doubt, after vigorously brushing her long hair before once again winding it into a neat coil at the back of her head, that she had felt a whole lot better.
Leaving her large hat in the care of the cloakroom lady, and confident that she was once again maintaining her normal ‘strictly business’ appearance, she’d cautiously made her way back to the reception.
Now, following her signal, the Toastmaster gathered together the chief members of the wedding party at the far end of the room, before calling for silence to enable an elderly relative of the bride to propose the health of the happy couple.
So used to wedding speeches—which could occasionally go on for an inordinate length of time!—Olivia wasn’t really listening to what was being said at the far end of the room. Until, to her complete astonishment, she caught the sound of her own name.
Quickly jerking to attention, she gazed over the heads of the crowd towards where, most unusually, she saw that the bride had seized hold of the microphone.
‘...and we’re so happy to see you all here today.’ Sarah gave the guests a broad grin. ‘I’ve already thanked my parents, and everyone else connected with our marriage, but I do want everyone to know that without the help of Olivia Johnson and her firm Society Weddings, which took all the strain out of what could have been a tense time before our wedding, Mark and I might well have run off on our own and eloped to Gretna Green!’
Oh, Lord! It looks as if Sarah has really hit the champagne bottle, more than somewhat! was the first thought to enter Olivia’s head, as a ripple of laughter and applause rang around the room.
And then, as she saw Dominic give a quick snap of his fingers—the gesture accompanied by an expression of triumph and satisfaction flickering briefly across his handsome face—Olivia realised that any hope of her remaining anonymous as far as Dominic was concerned was now a complete waste of time. A fact emphasised as, in his role of best man, he stepped forward to make the final speech of the day, before once more proposing the health of the bride and groom.
It was an accomplished, smooth performance. Although Olivia could have done without the heavily cynical, distinct emphasis in his voice when welcoming so many ‘old friends’ to the wedding.
However, it looked as though the rotten man must be able to move with the speed of light. Because, only a moment or two after the bride and groom had cut the cake, Olivia suddenly became aware that the tall, broad-shouldered figure of Dominic FitzCharles was now standing by her side.
‘Well, well, how very nice to see you again, Olivia. And after all these years!’ he drawled coolly, smiling sardonically down at the pale-faced, slim figure of the girl who’d been so clearly avoiding him for some hours.
CHAPTER TWO
‘IT’S been a long time since we last saw one another,’ Dominic drawled smoothly.
‘Yes, it has,’ Olivia agreed, thoroughly rattled by his sudden, unexpectedly swift appearance at her side.
‘So... what have you been doing with yourself all these years?’
She shrugged. ‘Not a lot.’
‘Oh, really?’ he murmured. ‘You certainly seem to have been quite busy today.’
‘Well, yes. As you can see, I run a business arranging weddings,’ she muttered, avoiding his eyes as she gazed past him at the crowded throng of guests.
He gave a short bark of dry laughter. ‘Yes—I had rather gathered that fact,’ he told her, not bothering to hide the note of hard irony in his deep voice. ‘Is it a successful business?’
She gave another shrug of her slim shoulders. ‘I make a reasonable living!’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he drawled, his lips twitching with wry amusement and clearly not at all perturbed by the girl’s obvious reluctance to continue the conversation. ‘But what about your private life?’
‘What about it?’ she queried stonily, still avoiding his gaze as her eyes flicked nervously around the room, frantically searching for some avenue of escape from the tall, dark figure now standing so close to her.
‘Well, now...’ he drawled mockingly. ‘I was merely wondering if you are happy and content with your life? Whether you’re married or single? Are you still living in the country—or do you have a home here in London? Nothing very dramatic,’ he added with a grin. ‘Just the normal, boring type of questions that one usually asks at this kind of function.’
‘Yes, I am happy. No, I’m not married—and, yes, I live in London,’ she snapped tersely. ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I really think that I must go and...’
‘Oh, but I do mind,’ he murmured, quickly taking hold of her arm and leading her reluctant, nervously protesting figure to a small alcove in the far corner of the room.
‘No...really...I’ve still got a lot of work to do, and...’
‘It can wait,’ he said, firmly sitting her down on a small padded bench, effectively screened from the rest of the room by heavy velvet curtains.
‘We’ve both been on duty quite long enough. So I feel we’re entitled to a short break, don’t you?’ Dominic continued, not waiting for an answer as he added, ‘I’m just going to get us both a drink. But don’t make the mistake of trying to escape me yet again, hmm?’
Despite the cool smile on his face, there was no mistaking the intimidating, icy note of menace in his voice as he stood staring down at her for a moment, before swiftly turning on his heels and striding across the room in search of a waiter.
As she watched Dominic’s tall, commanding figure smoothly making his way through the crowd, Olivia desperately tried to bring her chaotic thoughts and emotions under some sort of control. To have so unexpectedly met again the man who’d once meant so much to her, and from whom she had parted so abruptly and painfully, was proving to be almost more than she could cope with.
It was ridiculous to be meekly sitting here—doing as she was told and not daring to move, just as though she was a naughty child, she told herself, suddenly irritated with herself for being so weak and feeble. However, as she acknowledged with a heavy sigh, it was obviously pointless to continue trying to evade any contact with Dominic. There were still some hours to go before the end of the wedding reception—and she could hardly keep ricocheting back and forth around this large room, attempting to avoid the man. She would just end up looking totally ridiculous.
In any case, she was damned if she was prepared to let Dominic guess just how devastated she’d been by the abrupt termination of their brief love affair. In fact, if she’d had any sense at all—and hadn’t been so thrown by his sudden appearance by her side a few moments ago—she ought to have lied her head off and told him that she was happily married. Or at least laid claim to a highly active sex life with a whole string of highly glamorous lovers.
Come on...come on! You’ve got to get a grip on yourself. You’re not a teenager any more, she told herself roughly. You’re a successful businesswoman of twenty-eight years of age. So there’s absolutely no reason why you should put up with any nonsense, she was telling herself firmly as she saw Dominic returning back across the room, a glass of champagne in each hand.
He hasn’t changed at all, she thought, her mood swinging from firm resolution to nervous misery in the twinkling of an eye; she instantly recognised an old, all too familiar ache m her body at the sight of the most devastatingly attractive man she’d ever known.
There were, of course, a few threads of silver amidst the dark hair at his temples, and his face was now somewhat leaner, with a more stern expression than she remembered. There also appeared to be a more forceful, autocratic stance to his figure. However, that was perhaps not so surprising, since Dominic had inherited both his title, the huge castle in Kent and the management of ten thousand acres on the death of his father some years ago. And with such an inheritance had also come noblesse oblige: the heavy duties and responsibilities of those born to wealth and grandeur.
While she might not have physically laid eyes on him for the past ten years, Olivia was well aware—from both the newspaper columns and glossy magazines—that if Dominic played hard, he also worked very hard as well. He sat on the boards of various large companies involved in farming, he’d been appointed by the Queen as Deputy Lord Lieutenant for the County of Kent, and, as she knew from her own father, who lived nearby, Dominic was also president of many various local charities.
However, as he now handed her a glass of champagne, she realised that while his outward appearance might have changed slightly over the past ten years, he still possessed that glittering aura which instinctively drew people to him: an almost sinister air of stillness and self-control that had always set him apart from anyone else she’d ever known.
‘We’ve a lot of news to catch up on,’ he said, sitting down beside her on the small bench. ‘How is Lord Bibury these days? I haven’t seen him for some years.’
‘Oh, Dad’s all right,’ she muttered, trying to inch away from the tall, broad-shouldered figure, whose hard, muscular thigh was now pressed closely to her own. ‘Actually... actually, my father isn’t too good these days,’ she added, her attention slightly distracted as she realised that it was a waste of time to try avoiding contact with Dominic—since the bench had clearly been designed for midgets!
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he murmured, his lips twitching with wry amusement at the girl’s obvious reluctance to sit too close to him. ‘What’s the problem?’
Olivia sighed. ‘Poor old Dad got totally hammered in the Lloyds of London debacle.’
‘What bad luck.’ Dominic frowned. ‘Did he lose a lot of money?’
‘Just about everything.’ She sighed heavily. ‘We’ve managed to hang onto the house. But I’m afraid all the land was sold some time ago.’
‘And what about your stepmother?’ he queried. ‘I can’t imagine Pamela having been too happy about that sort of situation?’
‘No, she wasn’t!’ Olivia agreed with a snort of grim laughter as she stared down at the glass of champagne in her hand.
A whip-thin, socially ambitious blonde woman, who’d managed to sink her hooks into Olivia’s father only a year after his wife’s death, Pamela had been responsible for making Olivia’s teenage life an absolute misery. So when Pamela—the archetypal wicked stepmother—had been faced with the sudden collapse of her comfortable life, and her role as Lady of the Manor, Olivia hadn’t been in the least surprised by her subsequent actions.
‘When the going gets tough—the tough get going. Literally, in the case of my stepmother!’ Olivia told him with another bark of harsh laughter. ‘Because she quickly dumped my father and is now married to a rich northern industrialist—Reg Plumley. Although, as you might guess, she still calls herself “Lady” Plumley—if and when she thinks she can get away with it!’
Dominic gave a low, soft rumble of laughter. ‘She really was a dreadful woman, wasn’t she?’
‘Oh—absolutely awful!’ Olivia agreed, the past ten years seeming to fade away as she grinned up at him, their mutual sense of humour and appreciation of the ridiculous aspects of life clearly as strong as it had always been.
‘It’s good to see that you haven’t really changed at all,’ he murmured, placing an arm around her slim figure and pulling her closer to his strong, firm body. ‘I’ve missed you all these years.’
It didn’t need the warm, sensual note in his deep voice, or the decided glint in those gleaming grey eyes beneath their heavy lids, to set the alarm bells ringing loudly in her brain. At the first touch of his strong arm about her shoulders Olivia had immediately begun to feel almost sick and breathless. And, with her face now only inches away from his own, every nerve-end in her body seemed to be tingling in response to this man’s extremely dangerous, rampant sex appeal.
Desperately trying to combat the insidious aura of sensuality which had always seemed to surround Dominic—and was still as highly potent today as it had been ten years ago—Olivia made a determined effort to pull herself together.
‘You’re quite wrong,’ she told him as firmly as she could, although she was well aware of the slightly tremulous wobble in her voice as she quickly jumped to her feet. ‘I have changed. In fact, I’m now an entirely different person—and light years away from the silly, immature girl that you once knew. Believe me, she was dead and buried a long time ago,’ Olivia added with a grim smile.
‘As for that ridiculous statement about your having missed me—I’ve never heard such nonsense!’ she continued, calmly handing him her still full glass of champagne. ‘I’ve got eyes in my head, and I can read the newspapers and gossip columns along with everyone else. So, quite frankly, Dominic—’ she gave a short bark of sardonic laughter ‘—I suggest that you save that sort of chat-up line for some other young girl who hasn’t yet cut her wisdom teeth!
‘And now, if you’ll excuse me...’ She quickly straightened her velvet jacket, before brushing some fluff from her skirt. ‘I must go and see how the arrangements for the buffet supper are coming along.’
How she was able to walk away from him with her head held high and with such firm, determined steps, Olivia never quite knew. However, the knowledge that she’d at last had the great pleasure and satisfaction of being able to give Dominic such a well-deserved put-down was definitely a soothing balm for her strained emotions.
She might well regret having been so foolish in the past. But at least she’d now drawn a line under that silly, immature affair which had taken place between them so long ago. Because there was no way a proud, arrogant man like Dominic FitzCharles would ever again try to smooth talk his way into her affections.
However, if Olivia had paused to look over her shoulder, she might well have been surprised to see that far from being dejected and cast down—or, indeed, furiously angry at being given the cold shoulder by an old girlfriend—Dominic was regarding her progress across the floor with a raised, dark quizzical eyebrow and a highly amused smile on his lips.
‘Well, well! Now, that really is very interesting,’ he murmured softly to himself as he rose to his feet, handing the two glasses of champagne to a passing waiter. It definitely seemed as if the once soft, shy young girl had now developed some very sharp claws!
Moreover, he was intrigued to note over the next few hours that Olivia had indeed changed over the past ten years. In fact, it was obvious that a considerable number of men, both married and single, were attracted to the tall and slim tawny-haired girl as she moved confidently and serenely through the crowd of guests, making sure that no one had an empty glass and that all the arrangements went smoothly. Yes...it certainly looked as though the pretty young cygnet had now become an extremely graceful, elegant swan.
As far as Olivia was concerned, while she was doing her best to appear cool, calm and collected, she was actually in a state of utter panic. Where on earth were the bride and groom?
All thought of Dominic had been driven completely from her mind as she hunted high and low for the happy couple. Goodness knows where they’d got to. But since they were due, in five minutes’ time, to open the dinner-dance by taking the floor in a slow waltz, it was imperative that she track them down as soon as possible.
‘Oh—thank heavens! I thought you really had taken off for Gretna Green!’ she exclaimed, beaming with relief as she spotted Mark and Sarah coming out of a lift on the ground floor. ‘Where on earth have you been?’
A flush rose up over Mark’s face as he adjusted his tie and pulled down his waistcoat. ‘Well, the thing is...’
‘The thing is,’ Sarah echoed, her eyes gleaming with laughter, ‘Mark and I decided to nip upstairs to our fantastically luxurious, glamorous bridal suite—to see if the bed was really quite as comfortable as it looked!’
‘Oh, honestly!’ Olivia muttered, unable to repress a grin as she quickly straightened the bride’s dress, adjusting the diamond headband before brushing out the tangles in Sarah’s long black hair. ‘There’s a time and place for everything, you know!’
‘That’s what we thought, too,’ Sarah agreed solemnly, before almost collapsing in a fit of giggles.
‘I’m glad that you’ve had a good time.’ Olivia grinned. ‘However, can you both get yourselves onto the dance floor as soon as possible? Because to tell the truth, Mark, your new mother-in-law looks as if she’s going to blow a gasket any minute!’
‘Oh, Lord! Thanks for the warning,’ Mark muttered, quickly grabbing hold of Sarah’s hand and hurrying towards the ballroom.
‘There was nothing to worry about,’ she assured Mrs Turnbull, who’d clearly been getting up a full head of steam about the temporary disappearance of her daughter. ‘Sarah just needed to make a minor repair to her dress,’ Olivia lied smoothly, well used to coping with new brides and grooms unable to resist an early celebration of their marriage.
Luckily, the remainder of the evening passed without another hitch. Although, as very much a spectator at these sort of events, Olivia was unable to avoid the sight of Dominic, constantly surrounded by a large number of highly attractive women
