Marriage On Trial

When they left the lift at the top floor, she took care to keep Richard between herself and Quinn until they reached the apartment.

The sitting room, with its plum-coloured curtains and carpet, its leather suite and sporting prints, was handsome, comfortable, and undoubtedly masculine.

After slipping her coat from her shoulders and hanging it in a recessed cupboard, Richard moved towards a small but well-stocked bar. ‘What would you like to drink, darling?’

She half shook her head. ‘I’d prefer a coffee later, thank you.’

Motioning his unwelcome guest to take a seat, Richard picked up the whisky decanter and queried, ‘Durville?’

‘I’m driving, so I’ll stick with coffee.’

Clearly in need of a drink, Richard poured himself a stiff whisky and swallowed a mouthful.

As he turned towards the kitchen, Quinn asked casually, ‘Mind if I take a look around? At one time I had a service flat in the Brenton Building, but I gave it up…’

Recalling her own brief stay there, Elizabeth shuddered. What should have been the happiest night of her life had turned into a nightmare.

‘Now I’m considering having a pied-à-terre here, for the times I’m in London,’ Quinn was going on, ‘rather than staying at hotels.’

His interest open, undisguised, with cool effrontery he began to prowl, peering first into a small study and then into a good-sized bedroom and bathroom.

Tense and ill at ease, Elizabeth perched on the edge of a chair and watched him warily. Oh, why had he come back into her life just when she was about to make a new commitment?

She had found it impossible to forget him, but she had almost succeeded in leaving the past behind, in convincing herself he no longer mattered.

But the past had suddenly caught up with her, and he did matter. Even though she feared and resented his presence, just the sight of him took her breath away and left her full of the bitter-sweet longing he had always effortlessly aroused in her.

Glancing in her direction, Quinn met her eyes.

Terrified of what he might read in them, she looked hurriedly away. It seemed he had blotted out both her and the past, and the last thing she wanted to do was remind him.

He came and sat down opposite, his ease mocking her lack of it. After a thoughtful scrutiny, one dark brow raised, he observed, ‘I take it you don’t live here, Miss Cavendish?’

Wanting to consolidate her position as Richard’s fiancée, she was loath to admit it. ‘What makes you think that?’ She strove to sound dismissive, even slightly amused.

‘There are no signs of female occupancy, and if you had lived here I’m fairly sure you would have made the coffee.’

‘A male chauvinist, I see,’ she said sweetly.

‘Not at all.’

‘But you consider a woman’s place is in the kitchen?’

His smile mocking, he said, ‘I can think of a better place for a woman to be.’

Her colour rising, she looked anywhere but at him.

‘So where do you live, Miss Cavendish?’

Her impulse was to say sharply that it was none of his business. Common sense warning that overreacting might make him suspicious, she stayed purposely vague. ‘At the moment I’m living in a small cottage.’

‘A mews cottage?’ It was as though he could read her mind.

‘Yes.’

‘In the West End?’

Whatever his motives for wanting to know, it was clear that he wasn’t going to be put off.

‘Hawks Lane,’ she said, hoping against hope that he hadn’t the faintest idea where that was. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she added coldly, ‘I’ll see if Richard needs any help.’

At that precise moment their host reappeared, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee.

When they had each been handed a cup, a slightly belligerent look on his face, Richard swallowed the rest of his whisky and, still standing, turned to the other man. ‘I was hoping to have an early night, so if we can discuss the diamond without further delay?’

‘Of course,’ Quinn agreed, his tone equable.

A moment or two passed in silence.

When it became obvious that the ball was in his court, a touch of angry colour appearing along his cheekbones, Richard suggested shortly, ‘Perhaps you’ll be good enough to name your price?’

‘Before I do, I’d like to know why you’re so keen to have that particular stone.’

There was another taut silence before, clearly at the end of his patience, Richard admitted, ‘You were right earlier. I was hoping to have it set into an engagement ring. If that puts the price up—’

‘Just the opposite,’ Quinn broke in. ‘In fact I’ll let you have it for the exact amount I’m paying for it.’

Elizabeth was once again besieged by doubts and misgivings. Why was he willing to part with a diamond he’d taken so much trouble to acquire, without making a profit?

It simply didn’t make sense.

CHAPTER TWO

RICHARD said slowly, ‘That’s very decent of you.’ Then, proving he had the same kind of doubts as Elizabeth, he asked, ‘May I ask why?’

‘Call it a wedding present.’ Quinn’s smile was sardonic. ‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow to complete the transaction.’

‘I’m in Amsterdam for the weekend. I fly back Monday morning.’

‘Say Monday afternoon, then?’

‘Fine. I’ll be at Lombard Square.’

Quinn put down his untasted coffee and rose to his feet. ‘Now, you mentioned that you wanted an early night, so I’ll get moving.’

Elizabeth drew a deep breath. He was going, and with a bit of luck she’d never have to see him again.

The evening had been a great strain, but she should be thankful for two things at least: Quinn hadn’t recognized her and, for whatever reason, he’d made no attempt to hold Richard to ransom over the diamond.