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

“Good morning,” she said as she entered the shop. She picked up a Flake bar, shrugged and added a Dairy Milk, and set them on the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

The Indian woman behind the till nodded but didn’t look up from her well-thumbed copy of Hello!.

Alexa studied the racks of publications. Klaus von Richter, the German designer, had assaulted a store clerk. The Sun caught her eye. ‘Natalie’s New Mystery Man?’ the headline read. Curious, she picked it up.

The grainy photo showed Natalie sitting on a park bench next to a tallish man in sunglasses. Although his back faced the camera, he definitely wasn’t Rhys. And they were kissing.

“Oho,” Alexa murmured, surprised. “Rhys isn’t enough for you, then, Nat?”

She tucked the Sun under her arm and scanned the other tabloids. When she saw the Daily Mirror, time ground to a halt. She picked it up with an unsteady hand. The photo showed Natalie sitting on the same park bench, her head bent forward in conversation with the same tall, brown-haired man. This photograph, however, was much sharper than the others.

The newsprint slipped from her nerveless fingers. She felt the baby move in her abdomen, and she let out a short, startled gasp. It couldn’t be. Yet there was no mistake.

The man in the photo with Natalie was her husband. Ian.

“Are you all right, miss?” the clerk asked, clucking with concern as she put aside her magazine and hurried over.

“I’m fine. I had a…contraction. It was probably one of those Braxton-Hicks things.” Alexa took the tabloid the clerk handed her. Methodically, she grabbed every tabloid with a photo of Natalie and Ian and carried them to the till.

The woman rang everything up. “Will this be all?”

“Yes,” Alexa said grimly. “This will be quite enough.”

Just before noon, Natalie arrived at Phillip Pryce’s atelier on Great Portland Street and went up to his workroom. Phillip was marking a bias-cut skirt with tailor’s chalk as the Scissor Sisters played at full volume.

He looked up as Natalie entered. “Well, hello, chickpea! I see our friend Klaus is in the news this morning.” He set aside his tailor’s chalk and lowered the stereo volume.

“Yes, he’s in a bit of hot water, isn’t he?”

“More like a vat, and it couldn’t happen to a nicer prick,” Phillip agreed. “But he’s not the only one who’s all over the tabs this morning. You are, too.”

Dismayed, Natalie set her handbag down atop a teetering pile of bolts of fabric. “I am? Why, what have I done now?”

“You’ve been a naughty girl. You were caught snogging a man on a park bench…not Rhys, either.” He raised his brow. “Tall, dark haired chap, looks quite dishy from what I saw. Do spill the details, please.”

Her heart sank. “Do you have a copy?”

“Look on the cutting table, that’s where I saw it last.”

She picked up the latest issue of the Sun, and on the cover was a photo of her with Ian, his back to the camera, just as he’d pressed his lips to hers. How on earth had anyone got a picture of them? There’d been no one around…

…no one, that is, except for the woman walking her dog and talking on her mobile. She’d used her phone’s camera to snap a picture, of course.

Natalie remembered Rhys’s remark, the first time they’d had lunch together.

You never know when a photographer might be around, or someone with a camera phone.

“So?” Phillip prodded as she stared at the tabloid. “Who is he?”

“A friend,” Natalie said, hoping her voice sounded sufficiently casual, and tossed the Sun aside. “His wife’s pregnant, they’ve been trying for a baby for a long time. He was so happy that he got a bit carried away and kissed me. That’s all.”

“Hmm.” Phillip didn’t look particularly convinced. “Well, if that’s your story… What can I do for you today?”

“It’s about the clutch you’re making for the dress I’m wearing in the fashion show. I wondered…can you make an opening, in the lining? So I can slip something in behind it?”

“I could,” he said doubtfully, “but why? Planning on hiding your vial of ecstasy in there? I didn’t think you were an ‘E’ sort of girl.”

“I’m not! I just thought it might be a handy way to stash some extra cash. Or to hide one’s credit card if one’s in a dodgy neighbourhood.”

Phillip raised a brow skeptically. “And does one often frequent dodgy neighbourhoods?”

“One never knows,” Natalie said evasively.

“I’ll do it for the sample,” he agreed, “but not for the production line. If I do, costs will triple, and Rhys Gordon will have my arse.” He smirked. “Ooh, now there’s a visual…”

“You’re an angel – tarnished, but an angel.” She threw her arms around his neck. “Thanks. I love you, Phillip.”

“Careful,” Jacques called out from the adjoining room, “I might get jealous.”

“What size for the opening?” Phillip asked.

She held up her mobile. “About this size, actually.”

He nodded, a straight pin in his mouth as he readied a side seam for stitching. He removed the pin and thrust it in place. “You’re not telling me what this is really about, are you?”

“No, Phillip. I’m not. I can’t.”

“You’re not a spy, are you? Not concealing a Luger or a Walther PPK in there, perhaps?”

“I’m not Lara bloody Croft. You have an overactive imagination.”

“It keeps our dull lives interesting,” Jacques remarked.

“Come in here, please,” Phillip called out to him. “I want you to alter the sample clutch for Nat’s cocktail dress.” Briefly he explained to Jacques what Natalie wanted.

“So much for the House of Holland party tonight, then,” Jacques groused. “Instead, I’ll be up to my elbows in grape leather.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can do it tomorrow. We’re not missing Henry’s party tonight.” Phillip winked at Natalie. “Not even for you, chickpea.”

At seven that evening, the door buzzer echoed through Natalie’s flat. She got up from her laptop – damn Rhys and his damned budgeting spreadsheet – and went into the front hallway to press the button. “Yes?” she inquired.

“It’s Alexa.”

Nat gazed at the intercom in dismay. “Oh! Come on up.”

As she pressed the button to let Ian’s wife in downstairs, Natalie wondered uneasily if she’d seen the photographs of Ian and her in the tabloids. Of course she had. You couldn’t walk past the newsagents without seeing the lurid headlines.

Natalie swung the door open a few minutes later. “Hello, Alexa. It’s great to see you! Due soon, aren’t you?”