To Have A Husband

Her sister Andie usually took over this role at the Summer Fête, and loved every minute of it, but this morning her sister had woken with the beginnings of flu. Everyone else, it seemed, already had their role to play at the fête, and so it had been left to her to—reluctantly—become Gypsy Rosa.

Until the last few moments, it hadn’t been too difficult. She’d lived in the village most of her life, and knew all of the people who lived here, so it wasn’t too hard to predict romances, weddings, even births in some cases, and the rest of what was said she just made up to make it sound more interesting.

Until the last few moments…

Because even in the subdued lighting of the tent, she knew she had never seen this man before!

Although she could obviously see he was tall. And dark. And his physique seemed to imply he was muscular as well as handsome. He was certainly a stranger, of that she was sure!

‘Please sit,’ she invited in the husky voice she had adopted for her role of Gypsy Rosa, indicating the chair opposite hers at the table, surreptitiously putting her mug down on the grass at her feet before wiping her wet hand on her skirt beneath the table—otherwise she would be crossing his hand with tea!

Close up she could see him a little better; he had dark hair and light-coloured eyes, either blue or grey. His face all hard angles, his chin square and determined, he wore a dark suit and a white shirt. Well, she could tell one thing just from looking at him—the way he was dressed, he had no more expected to be at a village fête this afternoon than she had expected him to walk into her tent to have his fortune told!

‘It started to rain again,’ the man drawled, looking across at her, his brows raised derisively.

Ah. In other words, he wouldn’t be in here at all if he hadn’t needed to step inside out of the rain that had dampened a lot of the afternoon!

She held back a smile at this disclosure: at least he was honest.

‘I’m afraid it takes a little more than silver nowadays,’ she murmured throatily. ‘The board outside tells you it costs a pound.’

‘That’s inflation for you,’ he acknowledged dryly as his hand went into his trouser pocket to pull out a pound coin and place it on the table between them.

‘Would you pass it to me, please?’ she invited—for what had to be the fiftieth time this afternoon!

It was amazing how many people, even though they knew it wasn’t a real ‘Gypsy Rosa’ inside this tent, still came in here hoping she would tell them some good news. Although it seemed rather sad to her that it appeared to be the lottery most people hoped to win nowadays rather than wishing for anything else good that could possibly happen to them.

He raised his brows even further as he complied with her request, although his mouth twisted mockingly as, instead of taking the money, she took his hand into both of hers to look down intently into his palm.

She knew absolutely nothing about palm-reading, but as the afternoon had progressed she’d realised you really could tell quite a lot about a person from their hands. And this man was no different. For one thing, his hand was quite smooth, meaning he didn’t physically work with his hands. It was also his left hand he had brought forward, a left hand bare of rings.

She glanced up at his face beneath lowered lashes. It was a hard, indomitable face, with a touch of ruthlessness if it should prove necessary to his plans.

No, she decided, that lack of a ring did not, in this man’s case, mean that he was unmarried; he was just a man who would resist any show of ownership, even that of a wedding ring.

But while he obviously didn’t do physical labour with his hand, it was nevertheless a strong hand. The nails were kept deliberately short; if he was a musician he certainly wasn’t a guitar player. She remembered quite vividly from her youth having to keep the nails on one hand long so that she could pluck at the guitar strings!

Well, she had decided what he wasn’t—now all she had to try and work out was what he was!

Quite honestly, she didn’t have a clue. Wealthy, from the cut of his suit, and the silk material of his shirt. And, as she knew from his entrance, he was possessed of a mocking arrogance that spoke of a complete confidence in himself and his capabilities. Wealthy, then, she decided.

But that only made his presence at a small village fête all the more an enigma!

Or did it…?

Perhaps not, if her guess was correct.

She moved further over his hand, frowning down as if in deep thought. ‘I see a meeting,’ she murmured softly.

‘That tall, dark, beautiful stranger?’ he taunted mockingly.

She shook her head slowly. ‘This is with another man. Although he is a stranger to you,’ she continued, frowning. ‘This meeting will take place soon. Very soon,’ she added as she felt the sudden tension in the hand she held in hers.

‘And?’ he prompted harshly.

Yes—and? She had worked out by a process of elimination who this man might possibly be, and it seemed from his reaction to what she was saying that she was probably right, but what did she say to him now?

At this moment she felt, with the rain teeming down outside, as if only the two of them existed, that the rest of the world were a long, long way away. It was almost as if—

She blinked dazedly as the tent-flap was thrown back suddenly to admit the light—and a young lady who looked very like a drowned rat at this moment, with her red hair plastered over her face from the deluge of rain still falling outside.

She glared at the man sitting opposite ‘Gypsy Rosa’. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you,’ she muttered accusingly, pushing the wet hair from her face.

The man stood up, smoothly taking his hand back as he did so. ‘Well, now you’ve found me,’ he drawled unconcernedly, although his eyes—now identifiable as aqua-blue—were narrowed coldly.

The young woman nodded. ‘I’ve come to take you up to the house.’ She indicated the umbrella in her hand—something she obviously hadn’t taken the time to use on herself on her run over here! ‘If you’ve finished here, that is?’ she added with a derisive twist of her lips.

The man glanced back at ‘Gypsy Rosa’, those strange-coloured eyes gleaming with mocking humour. ‘Yes, I believe I’ve finished here,’ he said dismissively.

They’d barely begun, but as ‘Gypsy Rosa’ really had nothing else to tell him, perhaps it was as well this particular fortune-telling had been interrupted!

She stood up, holding out his pound coin. ‘I believe you’re a man who makes his own fortune,’ she murmured dryly.

He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head, although he made no effort to take back the money she offered him. ‘Keep it to put in the fête’s funds; I believe it goes to a good cause.’

A party for the village children, where great fun was had by all. But she was surprised he’d bothered to find that out…

‘Thank you.’ She dropped the money into the jar with all the other pound coins she’d collected through the afternoon.

He turned back to the young woman standing near the entrance. ‘Then I’m ready whenever you are,’ he prompted.

The young woman with the red hair nodded tersely, turning outside to put up the umbrella, her impatience barely contained as she waited for the man to precede her out of the tent.

Uh-oh, ‘Gypsy Rosa’ winced inwardly as she watched the pair hurry across the lawn through the rain to the house. From her sister Danie’s behaviour towards him just then he had already done something to upset her this afternoon, and Danie certainly wouldn’t have kept that rancour to herself!

Which boded ill for the meeting that was about to take place inside the house…!

Talking of which, it was time that Harriet went back to being herself, and for ‘Gypsy Rosa’ to retire…

CHAPTER ONE

QUINN’S fingers tapped restlessly on the arm of the chair he sat in. Quite frankly, he was tired of waiting for the arrival of his host for the afternoon, Jerome Summer. Justifiably so, in his book.

He’d been flown in by helicopter to the Summer estate earlier this afternoon. After landing on the smooth lawn that backed onto the impressive manor house, he’d been informed by the pilot that the man he had come here to meet, Jerome Summer, had been called away elsewhere, but would hopefully be back later on this afternoon.

It had been that ‘hopefully’ that had rankled him the most about that statement. Jerome—Rome—Summer was obviously a busy man, hence this Saturday afternoon appointment in the first place, but Quinn’s time was no less valuable, and hanging around at the country fête that was being held on the estate, for most of the afternoon, was not using that time effectively as far as he was concerned.

Besides, it was one of the most boring afternoons he had spent for a very long time!