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She’d leaned up on tiptoe, closed her eyes and waited for him to kiss her. And waited. And waited.
But of course he hadn’t.
Even though Audrey had been tipsy on both occasions, and a part of her knew Lucien had done the honourable thing by rejecting her clumsy advances, another part of her—the female, insecure part—wondered if any man would ever be attracted to her. Would any man ever want to kiss her, much less make love to her? She was twenty-five and still a virgin. She hadn’t been on a date since she was a teenager. Not that she hadn’t been asked a few times but she’d always declined because she could never tell if guys wanted to go out with her for the right reason. Her first date at the age of sixteen had been a disaster—an ego-smashing disaster she would do anything to avoid repeating. She’d only been asked out because of who her mother was. It had nothing to do with her whether the boy liked her or not. It was about her celebrity mother.
It was always about her celebrity mother.
Audrey picked up her keys and the overnight bag she’d packed earlier. ‘I’m heading out of town for the weekend.’
Rosie’s eyes twinkled like they belonged on a Christmas tree. ‘Am I allowed to know where you’re going or is it a state secret?’
It wasn’t that Audrey didn’t trust her flatmate, but even Rosie with her down-to-earth nature could at times be a little star-struck by Audrey’s mother. ‘Sorry, Rosie. I have to keep the press out of this if I can. With Mum and Harlan in hiding, the first person the paps will come looking for is me.’
Please, God, not again. The press had followed her relentlessly after her mother had gone to ground. At Audrey’s flat. She’d stayed for three weeks and had taken three overdoses, not serious enough for hospitalisation but serious enough for Audrey to want to prevent another marriage between her mother and the hard-partying Harlan Fox.
‘What about Lucien?’
‘What about Lucien?’ Even saying his name made Audrey’s spine tighten and her scalp prickle as if a thousand ants were tugging on the roots of her hair.
‘What if Lucien wants to know where you are?’
‘He won’t. Anyway, he’s got my number.’
Not that he’d ever used it in the last three years. Or the last six. But then, why would he? She was hardly his type. His type was tall and blonde and sophisticated, women who didn’t drink too much champagne when they were feeling nervous or insecure and out of their depth.
‘Gosh, how lucky are you to be on Lucien Fox’s speed dial.’ Rosie’s expression had gone all dreamy. ‘I wish I had his number. I don’t suppose you’d—?’
Audrey shook her head. ‘It’d be a waste of time if I did. He doesn’t date boring homespun girls like us. He only dates size zero supermodels.’
Rosie sighed. ‘Yeah, like that one he’s been dating now for weeks and weeks—Viviana Prestonward.’
Something slipped in Audrey’s stomach. ‘H-has he?’ Her voice came out scratchy and she cleared her throat. ‘I mean, yes, yes, I know.’
‘Viviana’s amazingly beautiful.’ Rosie’s expression became one part wistful, three parts envious. ‘I saw a picture of them at a charity ball last month. Everyone’s saying they’re about to become engaged. Some girls have all the luck. They get the best looks and the best guys.’
‘I wouldn’t call Lucien Fox a prize catch.’ Audrey couldn’t keep the bitter edge from her tone. ‘He might be good-looking and rich but his personality needs a serious makeover. He’s so stiff and formal you’d think he’d been potty-trained at gunpoint.’
Rosie tilted her head again in her studying-an-exotic-creature manner. ‘Maybe he’ll ask you to be the bridesmaid at his wedding too, I mean, since you’re going to be step-siblings again.’
Audrey clenched her teeth hard enough to crack a coconut. ‘Not if I can help it.’
* * *
Audrey drove out of London and within a couple of hours pulled into the country lane that led to the secluded cottage in the Cotswolds. Her mother had bought the house when she landed her first role on television. It often amazed Audrey that her mother hadn’t sold it by now, but somehow the cottage remained even though several husbands and their houses had not.
It was too small to be the sort of place the press would expect to find Sibella and Harlan, so it was the first place on Audrey’s list. Her mother had left a hint in the note on her doorstep, along with the invitation:
Gone to smell the daffodils with Harlan.
That could only mean Bramble Cottage. At this time of year the rambling garden was full of daffodils. Along the lane, in the fields, under the trees, along the bank of the stream—the swathes of yellow had always delighted Audrey.
Bramble Cottage was a perfect hideaway as it was on a long country lane lined with hedgerows and lots of overarching trees, creating a leafy tunnel. The lane had a rickety bridge over a trickling stream that occasionally swelled enough with rainwater to be considered a river.
When she came down to the cottage with her mother as a child, Audrey had been fascinated by the trees along the lane because they looked as if they were reaching down to hug her. Going through that shady green tunnel had been like driving into another world, a magical world where it was just her and her mother. A safe world. A world where there were no strange men coming and going from her mother’s bedroom.
No press lurking about for candid shots of Sibella’s painfully shy daughter.
Audrey couldn’t see any sign of activity at the cottage when she got out of her car but she knew her mother and Harlan would have covered their tracks well. On closer inspection, however, she realised the cottage looked a little neglected. She’d thought there was a caretaker who kept an eye on things. There were often months and months or even a couple of years between her mother’s fleeting visits. The garden was overgrown but in a way that was part of the charm of the place. Audrey loved how the plants spilled over the garden beds, their blooms filling the air with the fresh and hopeful fragrance of spring.
Audrey left her car parked in the shade of the biggest oak tree a short distance away so as to keep her car from being seen if any paparazzi happened to do a drive-by. She did a mental high-five when she saw the marks of recent tyre tracks on the pebbled area in front of the cottage. She bent down so she could inspect the tracks a little more closely. A car had come in and gone out again, which meant her mother and Harlan hopefully weren’t far away. Probably picking up supplies or something. ‘Or something’ being copious amounts of alcohol most likely.
She straightened and glanced up at the suddenly darkening sky. That was another thing she loved about this place—watching a spring storm from the cosy shelter of the cottage. The spare key was under the left-hand plant pot but Audrey gave the door a quick knock just in case either her mother or Harlan was still inside. When there was no answer, she unlocked the door just as the rain started to pelt down as if someone had turned on a tap.
She closed the door and looked around the cottage but it didn’t look as though anyone had been there in months. Disappointment sat on her chest like an overstuffed sofa. She’d been so certain she would find them here. Had she misread her mother’s note?
She glanced at the cobwebs hanging from a lampshade and suppressed an icy shiver. There was a fine layer of dust over the furniture and the air inside the cottage had a musty, unaired smell. So much for the caretaker, then. But Audrey figured this would be a good test of the hideously expensive therapy she’d undergone to rid herself of her spider phobia. She pulled back the curtains to let more light in but the storm clouds had gathered to such an extent the world outside had a yellowish, greenish tinge that intensified with each flash of lightning. She turned on the sitting room light and it cast a homey glow over the deep, cushiony sofas and the wing chair positioned in front of the fireplace.
Audrey was battling with an acute sense of dismay that her mission to track down her mother and Harlan had come to a dead end and a sense of sheer unmitigated joy she had the cottage to herself during a storm. She figured she might as well stay for an hour or two to set the place in order, maybe even stay the night while she thought up a Plan B.
She reassured herself with the possibility that her mother and Harlan would return at any minute. After all, someone had been here—she’d seen the tyre marks. All she had to do was wait until they got back and sit them down and talk them out of this ridiculous third marriage.
Audrey glanced at the fireplace. Was it cold enough to light a fire? There was kindling and wood in the basket next to the fireplace, and before she could talk herself out of it she got to work setting a fire in the grate. It would come in handy if the power was to go off, which was not uncommon during a storm.
As if by her just thinking of a power cut, the light above her head flickered and a flash of lightning rent the sky outside. A sonic boom of thunder sounded, and it made even an avid storm-lover such as she jump. The light flickered again and then went out. It left the room in a low, ghostly sort of light that reminded her of the setting of a fright flick she’d watched recently. A shiver scuttled over her flesh like a legion of little furry feet.
It’s just a storm. You love storms.
For once the self-talk wasn’t helping. There was something about this storm that felt different. It was more intense, more ferocious.
Between the sound of the rain lashing against the windows and the crash of thunder, she heard another sound—car tyres spinning over the pebbled driveway.
Yes!
Her hunch had been spot-on. Her mother and Harlan were returning. Audrey jumped up to peep out of the window and her heart gave a carthorse kick against her breastbone.
No. No. No.
Not Lucien Fox. Why was he here?
She hid behind part of the curtain to watch him approach the front door, her breathing as laboured as the pair of antique bellows next to the fireplace. The rain was pelting down on his dark head but he seemed oblivious. Would he see her car parked under the oak tree?
She heard Lucien’s firm knock on the door. Why hadn’t she thought to lock it when she came into the cottage? The door opened and then closed.
Should she come out or hide here behind the curtain, hoping he wouldn’t stay long enough to find her? The Will I or won’t I? was like a seesaw inside her head.
He came into the sitting room and Audrey’s heart kept time with the tread of his feet on the creaky floorboards.
Step-creak-boom-step-creak-boom-step-creak-boom.
‘Harlan?’ Lucien’s deep baritone never failed to make her spine tingle. ‘Sibella?’
Audrey knew it was too late to step out from her hiding place. She could only hope he would leave before he discovered her. How long was he going to take? Surely he could see no one had been here for months... Yikes. She forgot she had been laying a fire. Her breathing rate accelerated, her pulse pounding as loud as the thunder booming outside. She’d been about to strike the match when the power had gone off and it was now lying along with the box it came from on the floor in front of the fireplace.
Would he see it?
Another floorboard creaked and Audrey held her breath. But then her nose began to twitch from the dust clinging to the curtain. There was one thing she did not have and that was a ladylike sneeze. Her sneezes registered on the Richter scale. Her sneezes could trigger an earthquake in Ecuador. Her sneezes had been known to cause savage guard dogs to yelp and small babies to scream. She could feel it building, building, building... She pressed a finger under her nose as hard as she possibly could, her whole body trembling with the effort to keep the sinus explosion from happening.
A huge lightning flash suddenly zigzagged across the sky and an ear-splitting boom of thunder followed, making Audrey momentarily forget about controlling her sneeze. She clutched the curtain in shock, wondering if she’d been struck by lightning. Would she be found as a little pile of smoking ashes behind this curtain? But clutching the curtain brought the dusty fabric even closer to her nostrils and the urge to sneeze became unbearable.
‘Ah... Ah... Choo!’
It was like a bomb going off, propelling her forwards, still partially wrapped in the curtain, bringing the rail down with a clatter.
Even from under the dense and mummy-like shroud, Audrey heard Lucien’s short, sharp expletive. Then his hands pulled at the curtain, finally uncovering her dishevelled form. ‘What the hell?’
‘Hi...’ She sat up and gave him a fingertip wave.
He frowned at her. ‘You?’
‘Yep, me.’ Audrey scrambled to her feet with haste not grace, wishing she’d worn jeans instead of a dress. But jeans made her thighs look fat, she thought, so a dress it was. She smoothed down the cotton fabric over her thighs and then finger-combed her tousled hair. Was he comparing her with his glamorous girlfriend? No doubt Viviana could stumble out of a musty old curtain and still look perfect. Viviana probably had a tiny ladylike sneeze too. And Viviana probably looked amazing in jeans.
‘What are you doing here?’ His tone had that edge of disapproval that always annoyed her.
‘Looking for my mum and your dad.’
Lucien’s ink-black brows developed a mocking arch. ‘Behind the curtain?’
Audrey gave him a look that would have withered tumbleweed. ‘Funny, ha-ha. So what brings you here?’
He bundled up the curtain as if he needed something to do with his hands, his expression as brooding as the sky outside. ‘Like you, I’m looking for my father and your mother.’
‘Why did you think they’d come here?’
He put the roughly folded curtain over the back of the wing chair and then picked up the curtain rail, setting it to one side. ‘My father sent me a text, mentioning something about a quiet weekend in the country.’
‘Did his text say anything about daffodils?’
Lucien looked at her as if she’d mentioned fairies instead of flowers. ‘Daffodils?’
Audrey folded her arms across her middle. ‘Didn’t you notice them outside? This place is Wordsworth’s heaven.’
The corner of his mouth twitched into an almost-smile. But then his mouth went back to its firm and flat humourless line. ‘I think we’ve been led on a wild-goose chase—or a wild-daffodil chase.’
This time it was Audrey who was trying not to smile. Who knew he had a sense of humour under that stern schoolmastery thing he had going on? ‘I suppose you got the invitation to their wedding?’
His expression reminded her of someone not quite over a stomach bug. ‘You too?’
‘Me too.’ She let out a sigh. ‘I can’t bear to be a bridesmaid for my mother again. Her taste in bridesmaid dresses is nearly as bad as her taste in men.’
If he was annoyed by her veiled slight against his father he didn’t show it. ‘We need to stop them from making another stupid mistake before it’s too late.’
‘We?’
His dark blue gaze collided with hers. Was it even possible to have eyes that shade of sapphire? And why did he have to have such thick, long eyelashes when she had to resort to lashings of mascara? ‘Between us we must be able to narrow down the search. Where does your mother go when she wants to get away from the spotlight?’
Audrey rolled her eyes. ‘She never wants to get away from the spotlight. Not now. In the early days she did. But it looks like she hasn’t been here in months, possibly a year or more. Maybe even longer.’
Lucien ran a finger over the dusty surface of the nearest bookshelf, inspecting his fingertip like a forensics detective. He looked at her again. ‘Can you think of anywhere else they might go?’
‘Erm... Vegas?’
‘I don’t think so, not after the last time, remember?’
Audrey dearly wished she could forget. After her clumsy air kiss to Lucien—as if that hadn’t been bad enough—her mother and his father had been ridiculously drunk at the reception of their second wedding and had got into a playful food fight. Some of the guests joined in and before long the room was trashed and three people were taken to hospital and four others arrested over a scuffle that involved a bowl of margarita punch and an ice bucket.
The gossip magazines ran with it for days and the hotel venue banned Harlan and Sibella from ever going there again. The fact that Audrey’s mother had been the first to throw a profiterole meant that Lucien had always blamed Sibella and not his father. ‘You’re right. Not Vegas. Besides, they want us at the wedding to witness the ceremony. Not that the invitation mentioned where it was being held, just a date and venue to be advised.’
Lucien paced the floor, reminding her of a cougar in a cat carrier. ‘Think. Think. Think.’
Audrey wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or to himself. The thing was, she found it difficult to think when he was around. His presence disturbed her too much. She couldn’t stop herself studying his brooding features. He was one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen—possibly the most.
Tall and broad-shouldered and with a jaw you could land a fighter jet on. His mouth always made her think of long, sense-drugging kisses. Not that she’d had many of those, and certainly none from him, but it didn’t stop her fantasising. He had thick, black, wavy hair that was neither long nor short but casually styled with the ends curling against his collar. He was clean-shaven but there was enough regrowth to make her wonder how it would feel to have that sexy stubble rub up against her softer skin.
Lucien stopped pacing and met her gaze and frowned. ‘What?’
Audrey blinked. ‘What?’
‘I asked first.’
She licked her lips, which felt as dry as the dust on the bookshelves. ‘I was just thinking. I always stare when I think.’
‘What are you thinking?’
How hot you look in those jeans and that close-fitting cashmere sweater.
Audrey knew she was blushing, for she could feel her cheeks roaring enough to make lighting a fire pointless. She could have warmed the whole of England with the radiant heat coming off her face. Possibly half of Europe. ‘I think the storm is getting worse.’
It was true. The lightning and thunder were much more intense and the rain had now turned into hail, landing like stones on the slate-tiled roof.
Lucien glanced out of the window and swore. ‘We’ll have to wait it out before we leave. It’s too dangerous to drive down that lane in this weather.’
Audrey folded her arms across her middle again and raised her chin. ‘I’m not leaving with you, so you can get that thought out of your head right now.’
His eyes took in her indomitable stance as if he were staring down at a small, recalcitrant child. ‘I want you with me when we finally track them down. We need to show them we are both vehemently against this marriage.’
No way was she going on a tandem search with him. ‘Were you listening?’ She planted her feet as if she were conducting a body language workshop for mules. ‘I said I’m not leaving. I’m going to stay the night and tidy this place up.’
‘With no power on?’
