Bridesmaid with Attitude

‘Should I take my shoes off?’ she asked, he suspected only half jokingly.

‘No need. Let me show you the rooms down here first.’

He led her through to the drawing-room, then the morning room, pointing out the odd period feature, then the library—his favourite place after the workshop, which smelled like history—then finally the comfortable converted kitchen-diner.

‘Very nice, Theo. I can see why Lula’s so keen to have her reception here. All this dastardly scheming is definitely going to be worth it,’ Emily said as she gazed around at the oak cupboards and bifolding doors leading out to a large tiled terrace which looked over the extensive gardens.

‘Speaking of which—we ought to get on with it,’ he said, aware that they had a lot to cover in a short amount of time.

She nodded. ‘Yeah, if we’re going to make this work we need to keep our stories simple.’

‘Agreed.’

He gestured for her to follow him back out into the hallway.

‘How about we met in London?’ she said, walking to the bottom of the staircase and propping her elbow on the highly polished oak banister. ‘Through a friend from university, perhaps?’

‘That would work. I used to have a job in the City, so she’d buy that.’

‘And we’ve been seeing each other on and off for a year?’

‘Yes. The on and off thing is good. It adds credence to me not mentioning you already. We could have been “off” when I’ve seen or spoken to her in the past.’

‘Okay. Good.’

He nodded towards the sweeping staircase. ‘Come on upstairs with me while I change, and then I’ll show you the bedrooms and bathrooms up there.’

‘Lead on,’ she said, and he felt her following close behind him as he mounted the stairs.

He stopped at the first door off the landing. ‘This is me. I’ll only be a minute.’

‘Okay,’ she said, surprising him by following him inside.

He turned and gave her a questioning frown.

‘I should probably know what your room looks like,’ she said with a pseudo-innocent smile. ‘Just in case.’

He raised his eyebrows but decided not to kick her out.

She had a point.

Emily stopped in the middle of the enormous woodpanelled bedroom and watched Theo disappear through a door on the far side, which she guessed must lead to his en-suite bathroom and dressing room.

‘Take a look around if you want. I removed all the dead bodies yesterday, so I don’t have anything to hide.’

His voice sounded muffled, as if he had his head in a wardrobe. Then she heard the sound of the shower being turned on.

She smiled and did as he suggested, walking around the room and peeking into a couple of his drawers, finding only some paperbacks and a handful of pens in them.

His bed was enormous and comfortable-looking, and made up with what looked like Egyptian cotton sheets and a large duck down duvet. She walked over and picked up one of his pillows, holding it to her nose and breathing in the manly scent of him. It had some kind of exotic undertone, like lemongrass or lime—something fresh and clean like that.

Something delicious.

Her whole body flooded with hot longing as she thought about getting close enough to him to smell it on his body.

The shower was turned off.

Tossing the pillow back onto the bed, she crept over to the door of the en-suite bathroom to see whether she could catch an illicit peek at him as he dried and changed, her nerves humming with anticipation.

‘Find anything of interest?’ he asked loudly, and she took a couple of quick steps away in case he came out and caught her spying on him.

‘Not a thing—you’ve been very thorough,’ she called from the safety of the middle of the room.

There was a pause, then a bang like a door closing, and then he spoke again. ‘You know, I think our biggest obstacle in making this thing work is that my mother’s a snob, and that means any girlfriend I have needs to come from a family good enough to meet with her approval.’

His voice was clearer now, as if he was standing right on the other side of the door.

She’d just opened her mouth to reply when he strode back in, wearing a pair of antique wash jeans and a slim-fitting black shirt, left open at the neck, exposing the deep hollow of his throat.

‘Er … we … er … don’t need to lie about that,’ she managed to utter through a mouth that appeared to have stopped working properly.

He’d been gorgeous in his work clothes but he was absolutely glorious in urban chic, with his damp hair all mussed and falling into his eyes.

He raised a questioning eyebrow and she realised she was staring at him with her mouth hanging open.

‘I mean, I actually do come from a good family and I was sent to all the “right” schools.’ She made the quotes sign in the air with her fingers. ‘Plus, my father’s the CEO of a very well respected accounting firm in the City.’

He nodded. ‘Good, that will make a difference.’

She looked down and kicked at a bit of fluff on the carpet with her toe. ‘Of course I haven’t spoken to him in ages—or my brother, for that matter. He’s been living in Australia for the last six years, so we’re not exactly on great terms. And I guess I need to tell you that my mother’s dead.’

She no longer felt the throb of brutal torment whenever she said those words. They just rolled off her tongue, unencumbered.

It worried her some days how numbed she felt to it now.

‘I’m sorry.’

She looked back up to meet his concerned gaze and gave a twitch of her nose and a shrug of her shoulder to intimate that she was unbothered by it. ‘Don’t be. I’m not some delicate little flower that needs protecting. I can look after myself. Been doing it for years.’

He held her gaze, his brow furrowed as if he was trying to work her out. She stared back at him, determined not to be the one to look away first.

Finally he gave her a sharp nod. ‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked abruptly.

Clearly she’d passed some kind of test. Either that or she’d freaked him out by getting a little too personal and he was backing the hell off. ‘I could murder a vodka and tonic,’ she joked, flashing him a cheeky grin.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I was thinking coffee. Very strong coffee.’

‘Very strong coffee would work too,’ she said, giving another indifferent shrug.