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

Alexa regarded her as one might regard a poisonous insect.

“Please…come in.” Nat’s heart quickened as she led the way into the lounge. “Can I get you a cup of tea? Won’t you sit down—?”

“No, I won’t.” Alexa brandished a copy of the Mirror. “And I don’t want a cup of bloody tea. I want you to tell me what the hell’s going on. That’s what I want.”

Natalie took the tabloid Alexa thrust at her and stared at the cover photo for the second time that day. It showed her walking with Ian in the park, their heads close together in conversation.

“Oh, yes…that,” she managed to stammer eventually. Her thoughts raced. “It was nothing. Really—”

“Nothing?” Alexa asked softly. “In the Mirror, you’re having a cosy chat with my husband; in the Sun, you’re sitting on a park bench snogging, and it was nothing?”

“It isn’t what you think.”

“Oh, it is, there’s no question of that. You called Ian not long ago, late on Sunday night.” Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t deny it. I saw your name listed in his mobile.”

“I had a question about work.” Natalie’s throat tightened. This was awful. How to explain without telling Alexa the truth – that her husband planned to divorce her and cast her aside like an empty sweet wrapper?

“A question about work, so late on a Sunday night? Right. You must think I’m not only pregnant, but stupid.” Alexa eyed her with contempt. “You’re screwing my husband, aren’t you?”

“No!” Shock sharpened her voice. “I’m seeing Rhys, and I have been for weeks. I have no interest in Ian, Alexa! You know how the tabloids are, how they distort the truth—”

“It’s hard to argue with a photo, though, isn’t it?” She slapped her hand hard against the picture. “The two of you are kissing, Natalie. Right here in black and white. You slag. You cheap, lying slag.”

Natalie’s eyes widened. “Alexa, please, if you’d just let me explain—”

“I don’t need you to explain that you’re fucking my husband,” Alexa said succinctly. “It’s plain enough, even to a stupid, trusting cow like me.”

“Listen to me.” Natalie reached out to touch her, to try and reason with her. “We’ve been friends for a long time—”

Alexa knocked her hand aside. “No longer. You’re welcome to Ian, because he and I are through. I don’t need him, and this baby doesn’t need him. And I most certainly don’t need friends—” the word was laced with rancour “—like you.”

So saying, she flung the tabloids at Natalie in a wild flutter of newsprint, and left.

Chapter 35 (#ulink_6235698d-3e1a-5d86-8cc1-e3710988aa7d)

After a tense and silent ride home with her father after work, Hannah stormed up the stairs and slammed her door.

“What’s happened?” Cherie asked Alastair sharply as she sat across from him at dinner. “Why has Hannah gone upstairs?”

“I moved her out of the stockroom, away from that Sullivan boy. She’s furious.” He speared a roasted potato. “She’ll get over it.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Cherie retorted. The phone rang, and she got up to answer it. “Hello, James residence.” There was no immediate response. “Who’s calling, please?”

“It’s Jago. Jago Sullivan. For Hannah,” he added.

“One moment.” Cherie glared at Alastair and went upstairs to knock on Hannah’s door. “You’ve a call.”

Hannah edged the door open. “Who is it?”

“It’s Jago. I didn’t tell your father. When you’ve finished,” Cherie added, “come straight down to dinner.”

“I will,” Hannah promised. She hesitated. “Thanks, mum.”