The Dating Mr Darcy Trilogy: Prada and Prejudice / Love and Liability / Mansfield Lark

Hannah was consumed with jealousy.

“We’re looking for sheet music,” Theo said, and smiled at Hannah. “I’m singing a solo for a vocal competition, so Duncan’s helping me find the proper music.”

“How nice.” Hannah cast Duncan a pointed glance and turned to Jo. “Let’s go. We’ve got shopping yet to do.”

Duncan glanced at her empty hands. “No luck yet?”

“Not yet,” she said breezily, “but something’ll turn up. It always does.”

“You know,” Jo confided later as they boarded the bus to go home, “Theo seemed pretty cool.”

“How can you say that?” Hannah snapped. “She stole my boyfriend, Jo!”

“But you broke up! And they’re not dating, they’re just friends. Duncan’s tutoring her—”

“Oh, I just bet he is.” Hannah flung herself on a seat in the back of the bus as it lurched forward. She clutched her carrier bags on her lap and stared, unseeing, out the window. He’d probably already had sex with Theodora. She was probably on birth control—

“Well, I thought she was nice,” Jo said stubbornly. “You’re overreacting.”

“You don’t know anything about it.”

“Why? Because I don’t have a boyfriend?” Jo asked her sharply. “Well, neither do you, now.”

“Oh, do shut up, Jo. Just leave me alone.”

“No problem.” Jo stood, gathered up her bags, and found a seat near the front of the bus.

When Hannah got home it was nearly seven. She closed the front door, hoping no one heard her come in. She didn’t want to talk, or answer a dozen questions.

But the rustle of the carrier bags gave her away.

Her father appeared in the kitchen doorway and smiled as he saw her bags. “Bought out the store, Hannah Banana?”

“Don’t call me that!” she snapped. “I’m not your Hannah Banana any more, dad, am I? I’m not six years old.”

Alastair, taken aback by her outburst, frowned. “Sorry, pet, I didn’t realise it bothered you so much.”

“I’m sick of everyone treating me like a child.”

“Well, then,” Alastair told her evenly, “perhaps it’s time you stopped behaving like one.”

Hannah glared at him. Wordlessly she grabbed up her bags and stormed past him, up the stairs to her room.

As Cherie came into the hallway, Alastair looked at her in consternation. “I can’t seem to put a foot right where Hannah’s concerned these days.”

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Welcome to my world, darling,” she said dryly.

Rhys took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s nearly nine, Miss Dashwood. It’s time you went home.” He reached for the phone. “I’ll call a taxi.”

“No need, I drove. I even topped up the petrol in the Peugeot before I left this morning.” She got to her feet. “Besides,” she added primly, “taxis are a needless expense.”

“You’re learning,” he said, and smiled in approval. “Go home. And no more £11,000 chandelier purchases, mind.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, and gave him a cheeky smile in return. “I’ve no other weddings on the immediate horizon.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same. My best mate’s getting married soon, poor sod.” He hesitated. “Would you like to come along?”

Natalie gazed at him in mild surprise. He’d actually asked her out. She’d come in to Rhys’s office, ready to thrust a nice, sharp Sabatier between his shoulder blades; now she was contemplating an invitation to go to his best friend’s wedding.

How had that happened?

He added quickly, “I’ll understand if you’re busy—”

“No! I’d love to go,” Natalie said, equally quickly.

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “It’s next Saturday afternoon. I’ll fetch you at two o’clock, if that suits?”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll see you here on Monday, then, nine a.m. sharp. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t. Goodnight, Mr. Gordon.”

“Goodnight, Miss Dashwood.”

After Natalie left, Rhys tapped a few more keys on his laptop, his thoughts elsewhere. On a pair of wide, grey-blue eyes, to be precise, and a pert little bottom encased in nicely-fitted jeans…

He closed his laptop with a snap. Don’t go there, mate, he warned himself grimly.

He’d gone and asked Natalie to Ben’s wedding. What in fuck was he thinking? Now he’d have to introduce her to Ben, and Sophie. At this rate, he’d be taking her round to meet his mum, and then he’d be the next poor sod to walk down the aisle…

Perhaps Ben was right. What he needed was a pint and a pretty distraction. A girl who looked nothing like Cat…

…or Natalie Dashwood.

He punched in Ben’s number. “You’ll be pleased to know I’ve asked Natalie along to your blasted wedding,” he said without preamble. “Let’s go grab a pint.”

“OK.” Amusement coloured Ben’s voice. “Are we celebrating something?”

“The only thing I’m celebrating,” Rhys said as he gathered up his briefcase and gym bag, “is the end of another work week in this financial hellhole. Hurry your arse up. I’ll meet you at the Bull and Feathers in twenty. And if you’re late,” he added as he left the office, “you’re buying the first round.”

Chapter 15 (#ulink_44e56d46-ae7d-586b-9a01-9b8f250c7a8f)

“I’ll put a pair of armchairs there,” Natalie said on Monday morning, pointing to one corner of her new office, “and a desk – Sheraton – here. As for the carpet—” Natalie eyed the beige Berber with distaste “—it’s got to go.”

Rhys appeared in the doorway. “Good morning, ladies. What’s going on in here?”

“Miss Dashwood has decided to redecorate,” Gemma informed him. She lifted one perfectly arched brow. “She wants an antique desk in her office…and new carpet.”