Rescued by the Brooding Tycoon

CHAPTER SEVEN

SUDDENLY Darius’s face lit up at something he’d seen over Harriet’s shoulder. ‘Jackson, you young devil. Where have you been?’

The young man approaching them was sufficiently like Darius to be his brother, yet better looking. His features were more regular, less interesting, she thought. Most women would have called him handsome.

He greeted Darius with a friendly thump on the shoulder and stood back to survey him with pleasure.

‘I’ve been abroad,’ he said. ‘I just got back yesterday to find that nobody had seen hide nor hair of you for ages. Where did you vanish to?’

‘Herringdean. I’m the unexpected owner of an island off the south coast. This lady-’ he drew Harriet forward ‘-lives there and has been kind enough to be my guide and friend.’

Jackson beamed and engulfed her hand in his. ‘I don’t know how you put up with him,’ he said.

‘Neither do I,’ she said, liking him immensely.

‘Did I hear right? Herringdean? The Herringdean?’

‘I don’t know of any other,’ she said.

Delight broke over his face. ‘You’ve got fulmars there, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, plenty of them. They’re beautiful.’ Light dawned. ‘Hey, I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? On television?’

‘I’ve done a programme or two,’ he agreed. ‘But never one about fulmars. Could you and I have a talk some time soon?’

‘Of course we can.’

‘Then you can really have a deep discussion about fulmars,’ Darius observed. ‘I don’t know how you can bear the suspense.’

Laughing, the other two turned on him.

‘They’re birds,’ Harriet said. ‘Very big and lovely. They look like gulls but they’re really petrels.’

‘Fascinating!’ said Darius, who wouldn’t have known a gull from a petrel if they’d attacked him together.

‘They nest high up on cliffs,’ Harriet continued, ‘and they’re one of the beauties of Herringdean.’

Darius regarded her with comic irony. ‘And I’ve owned these fabulous creatures all this time and you didn’t tell me?’

‘Nobody owns fulmars,’ Harriet said. ‘It’s they who own the world, especially that bit of it called Herringdean.’

Jackson looked at her with appreciation. ‘I see you’re an expert,’ he said. ‘Don’t waste yourself on this fellow. Let’s go and have that talk now.’

‘Yes, be off while I make some duty calls,’ Darius said.

She was briefly afraid that the exchange might have offended him, but he kissed her cheek, saying, ‘Take care of her, Jackson.’

Now she remembered Darius saying that his brother was a naturalist. ‘Not an academic. He just works a lot with animals and charities. Does TV a bit, goes off on expeditions. You’d find him interesting.’

And she did. Jackson knew his stuff, and as she also knew hers they plunged into a knowledgeable discussion that pleased them both.

Darius did his duty, going from acquaintance to acquaintance, saying the right things, avoiding the wrong things, smiling mechanically, performing as expected. Nothing in his demeanour revealed that he was intensely conscious of Harriet and Jackson sitting at a side table, their heads close together, each so absorbed that they seemed to have forgotten the rest of the world.

Gradually, he managed to get near enough to eavesdrop but what he heard brought him no comfort. He couldn’t discern every word, but Jackson clearly said, ‘It depends whether you’re talking about northern fulmars or southern fulmars…’

His last words were drowned out, but then Harriet said, ‘It’s a pity that…any old rubbish…almost makes you want to…’

Jackson asked a question and she replied eagerly, ‘That’s always the way with Procellariidae, don’t you think?’

‘What?’

Jackson looked up and grinned. ‘Here’s my brother. Perhaps you’d better return to him before he goes out of his mind.’

He touched Darius on the shoulder and departed. Darius drew Harriet’s arm through his, saying, ‘I hardly dare ask what you were talking about. What the blue blazes are procellar-whatever?’

‘Procellariidae. It’s just the name of the family that fulmars belong to, just like crows and magpies are Corvids-’

‘Are they really? You’ll be telling me next that wrens are dinosaurs.’

‘Oh, no, wrens are Troglodytidae.’ Her lips twitched. ‘There, and you thought of me as a silly little creature who didn’t know any long words.’

‘Well, if I was foolish enough to think that you’ve made me sorry. I feel as if I’ve been walked over by hobnailed boots.’

‘Good,’ she teased. ‘Serve you right.’

She was looking up at him with gleaming eyes, and he couldn’t have stopped himself responding, however much he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to take her hand and follow her into the world where only she could take him-the world of laughter and good fellowship that had been closed to him before but now seemed to open invitingly whenever she was there.

A few yards away Jackson watched them, unnoticed, a curious expression on his face. After a while he smiled as though he’d seen something that satisfied him.

Harriet had tried to prepare herself to cope among Darius’s family. She told herself that she was ready for Mary, for Freya, even for Amos. But it was the children who surprised her. After doing their social duty, Frankie and Mark effectively took her prisoner, corralling her into a corner and sitting one each side, lest she have ideas of escape. Like all the best hostage-takers, they provided her with excellent food and drink, but there was no doubt they meant business.

First she had to tell the story of Darius’s rescue, suitably edited for their childish ears. Then they wanted to hear about other rescue trips, listening in awed silence, until Mark said breathlessly, ‘But aren’t you scared?’

She thought for a moment. ‘Not really.’

‘Not even when it’s terribly dangerous?’ Frankie persisted.

‘There isn’t time to be scared. There’s always so much to do.’

Frankie looked around before leaning forward and whispering, ‘It’s more fun when it’s dangerous, isn’t it?’

Harriet hesitated, aware of a yawning pit at her feet. She must be careful what she said to children. Especially these two. Frankie’s gleaming eyes showed that she already had her own opinion of the joys of danger.

‘No,’ Harriet said, trying to sound firm. ‘And that is a very irresponsible point of view. Danger has to be taken seriously.’

‘Yes, Mrs Connor,’ Frankie said, straight-faced.

‘Harry. My friends call me Harry, like yours call you Frankie.’

United by the bond, they shook hands.

She liked them both enormously, but with Frankie she also had the connection of like recognising like. As a child, she too had felt that danger could be fun. Truth to tell, she still often found it so, as long as it was only her own. Other people’s peril had to be taken seriously, but there was a ‘ping’ about fighting for one’s own survival that most people wouldn’t understand, and certainly not sympathise with.

Her father had lectured her about being sensible. Now she had passed on the lecture to the next generation, just as she would have done with a child of her own, she thought wistfully.

But she had no children and probably never would have. Darius’s offspring would have to be her consolation.

‘Go on about Herringdean,’ Mark begged. ‘Why did you join the lifeboats?’

‘I followed my father. He taught me to love being on the water. I’ve got a little yacht that I sail whenever I can. Every year Herringdean has a regatta, and I compete in a lot of the races. I win some too.’ She added proudly, ‘I’ve got all sorts of trophies.’

‘Tell, tell,’ they demanded.

They were as sailing-crazy as she was herself but, living in London, had fewer chances to indulge their passion.

‘Mum takes us on holiday to the seaside,’ Frankie said, ‘and she gets someone to take us out in a boat, but then we have to come home.’

‘What about your father?’ Harriet asked. ‘Does he go out in the boat with you?’

‘He’s never been there,’ Frankie said. ‘He was always too busy to come on holiday.’

‘That’s very sad,’ Harriet said, meaning it. ‘He misses so much.’

‘He nearly came once,’ Mark recalled. ‘We were going to have a wonderful time together, but at the last minute he got a call and said he had to stay at home. I overheard him on the phone-he was trying to stop some deal from falling apart. He said he’d join us as soon as he could, but he never did. It was soon after that he and Mum split up. Now we don’t go at all.’

Frankie took a deep breath. ‘Harry, do you think-?’

‘Ah, there you are, you two,’ came Mary’s voice from nearby. ‘I’ve got someone for you to meet.’

They groaned but got up obediently. Harriet felt a pang of dismay, wondering if Mary had deliberately sought to separate her from the children. And had she heard Frankie call her Harry? If so, was she resentful at their instant bond?

But the smile Mary gave her before hurrying away was unreadable.

Socially, she knew she was a success. Janine and Freya spoke to her pleasantly, Marcel and Jackson claimed her company, while Amos looked on. When he did address her, his manner was courteous but distant, as though he was reserving judgement.

None of the other men there reserved judgement. Admiring glances followed her everywhere and when the dancing started she had her pick of partners. Jackson was at the head of the queue, finally yielding to Marcel.

‘Whatever is Darius thinking of to leave you alone?’ Marcel asked as they hot-footed it around the floor.

‘Darius has urgent things to attend to,’ she said primly. ‘I don’t get in his way.’

‘Sacre bleu! You talk like that?’ he demanded, aghast.

‘Sometimes I do,’ she said mischievously. ‘Sometimes I don’t.’

‘You keep him guessing?’

‘Definitely.’

‘So you believe in ill-treating him?’

‘It has its uses.’

‘Well, then, you must do this. In the end he will rebel, the two of you will quarrel, and it will be my turn.’

Harriet couldn’t have said what made her choose her next words. She’d never been a flirt or a tease, but a delightfully wicked impulse made her say, ‘Oh, you’re going to wait your turn?’

‘If I have to. Does brother Darius know you tease other men?’

‘Darius knows exactly what I want him to know.’

‘I see. I must remember that. I wonder what he did to be such a lucky man.’

She seemed to consider. ‘I think he’s still wondering that too. Some day I’ll tell him.’

That made him roar with laughter. She joined in, relishing the experience of flirting on the edge of indiscretion, a pleasure she’d never known before. Suddenly the world was full of new delights, and she felt herself becoming slightly dizzy.

No doubt it was coincidence that made Darius appear at that moment. Marcel made a resigned face and yielded, kissing her hand before he departed.

‘Until the next time,’ he said.

‘Do I get a little of your company at last?’ Darius asked. ‘I seem to be the only person you’re not spending time with.’

‘Just trying to do you credit,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t want to be known as the man who accompanied a little brown mouse, would you?’

‘I don’t think there’s much fear of that,’ he said. ‘I’m beginning to think I’ve never really known you.’

‘Is that so surprising?’ she asked. ‘We met only a few weeks ago. Neither of us really knows anything about the other.’

‘No, we don’t,’ he said slowly. ‘You’ve taken me by surprise so many times… You’d think I’d realise by now…’

‘Maybe we never realise,’ she whispered.

The evening was drawing to a close. The bride-and groom-to-be embraced each other for the last waltz, and other dancers joined in. Darius took her hand and held it gently for a moment.

‘My turn,’ he said. ‘Unless you object.’

‘No,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t object.’

No words could express how much she didn’t object to dancing with Darius as he took her into his arms. Suddenly the most vibrant sensation she’d ever known was the light touch of his hand on her back, drawing her close but not as close as she would have liked. His hand holding hers seemed to whisper of that other time when he’d clung to her in a gesture that had transformed the world.

And then it had been transformed again, and yet again, with how many more to come? Once she would have wished she knew the answer to that, but now she was content to let the path lead where it might, as long as it ultimately led to him. In the enchanted atmosphere of tonight that didn’t seem as crazily impossible as it normally would.

There was warm affection in his smile, but was it real or only part of tonight’s performance? Or could she make it real? Was Cinderella’s power great enough for that?

The music was coming to an end. The ball was over.

But there would be another ball tomorrow, and Prince Charming might yet fit the glass slipper on her foot.

Darius? she thought. Prince Charming?

Well, it took all sorts.

‘Is everything all right?’ he asked, searching her face.

‘Yes,’ she said contentedly. ‘Everything’s all right.’

As they went upstairs he said, ‘You were wonderful. Everything I hoped.’

‘I floundered a bit.’

‘No, you didn’t. My kids love you, even Mary thinks you’re terrific. You’re a star.’

‘So I really have helped you?’ she asked hopefully.

‘More than you’ll ever know. And tomorrow’s going to be even better.’

‘Would you like to come in and talk about it?’ Harriet ventured to suggest. ‘You can give me my instructions for tomorrow.’

For a moment she thought he would agree, but then a wry look came over his face.

‘I’d love to but…things to do. You know how it is.’

‘Yes,’ she said a touch sadly, ‘I know how it is.’

‘And besides, you don’t need any instructions from me. You’ve got it all sussed. Now, go and have a good sleep.’

She smiled up at him. ‘Goodnight.’

He didn’t reply at first, just stood looking down at her with an expression more gentle than she had ever seen before and the faintest smile on his lips. But then the smile faded, became tight and constrained.

‘Goodnight,’ he said, and moved away.

For a moment Harriet was too dazed to know where she was or what was happening to her. Hearing her door close, she realised that she had entered her room without even being aware of it. As if from a great distance, she heard his own door being closed.

He’d been about to kiss her. She knew it beyond a shadow of doubt. It had been there in his face, until he changed his mind, probably remembering that other time on the beach when she’d told him to back off. How could she have known then that by now she would feel so differently?

So much had changed tonight. She’d been practically the belle of the ball, surrounded by admirers, seeing herself through their eyes but trapped inside her ivory tower. But it was she who, only yesterday, had slammed shut the door of that tower, and she could blame nobody but herself.

Not so much Cinderella as the Sleeping Beauty.

‘Except that nobody could consider me a beauty,’ she mused wryly.

But Darius had thought so, perhaps only for a brief moment but a little feminine strategy might have transformed that moment into long-lasting joy. Had retreating into the tower, protecting her safety at the expense of life’s joy, really been the right thing to do?

‘Curses!’ she muttered. ‘Why did this have to happen now?’

Brooding thus, she snuggled down in the huge bed, wishing it was smaller. Its size seemed to demand two people and she was attacked by a feeling of loneliness.

It was still dark when she awoke. The illuminated clock showed that three hours had passed since they had parted and she had the feeling that something strange was happening. After a moment she realised that a phone was ringing.

It seemed to come from the other side of the wall, so surely Darius would answer it soon. But it went on and on. Nobody was going to answer it.

Perhaps the sound came from somewhere else? She slipped out of bed, threw on her wrap and went out into the dark corridor. Now there was no doubt. It was Darius’s phone and there was nobody to answer it.

He wasn’t there. He was spending the night with someone else. And she was a fool not to have realised that it was bound to happen. In London there would be a hundred women he could turn to. Returning to her own room, she had to stop herself slamming the door. She had no right to feel insulted or neglected, but that didn’t help.

So, who? Freya? Perhaps he really needed his father’s money that much. Or one of the numerous females who’d made eyes at him that evening?

She threw herself back down onto the bed but sleep was impossible, and now she wondered how she could get through tomorrow. How could she look at him without an accusation in her eyes, however illogical?

Restlessly, she jumped up and began to pace the room. From the street outside came the sound of a car and she drew aside the curtain to look down.

Then she grew still as she saw the passenger get out. It was Darius, and he was weighed down with baggage. Three large suitcases were offloaded onto the pavement and collected by the porter, then they disappeared into the hotel.

Harriet scurried to her door, listening. She heard the elevator arrive, the doors open and the sound of a trolley being wheeled across the floor, stopping outside the room next to hers. Only then did she look out.

Darius was opening his door, indicating for the porter to take the luggage in. When the man had departed he seemed to notice Harriet.

‘Sorry if the racket disturbed you.’

‘It didn’t. I happened to see you arrive downstairs. You look worn out.’

‘I’ve been to my apartment to collect a few things. At least, it was meant to be a few things, but once I started I couldn’t stop.’

‘You mean-that’s where you’ve been all this time?’ she breathed.

‘Yes, I decided I couldn’t be in London without going home for a few hours. I’ve had someone going in to collect any mail that arrived, but there was still plenty of stuff on the mat. I didn’t mean to stay so long but things built up. What’s the matter? What’s funny?’

‘Nothing,’ she said in a trembling voice.

‘Then why are you laughing?’

‘I’m not-not really.’

‘Yes, you are. What’s so funny at this hour?’

‘You wouldn’t understand. Go to bed quickly. I’ll see you in the morning.’

She escaped before she could give herself away any more. It was vital to be alone to throw herself on her bed, to laugh and cry, and marvel at where the path was leading her.

Now for the big one.

That was her thought as she sat before the mirror next morning, watching as her make-up was again applied by an expert.

Today her clothes were less ostentatiously glamorous, although no less costly, a matching dress and jacket in light grey heavy silk. Around her neck she wore the diamond pendant.

Now the attendants had gone and there was just time for one last important job. Quickly, she dialled her neighbour’s number.

‘Hi, Jenny, is everything all right?-Lovely-he’s not off his food, is he?- Oh, good, they’re his favourite bones but I was afraid he might pine-oh, please fetch him.’

Marcel and Jackson, knocking on their brother’s door, found it opened promptly.

‘I’m honoured,’ he said ironically.

‘Not you, her,’ Jackson informed him. ‘Do you think we’re going to miss the chance to be seen with the most gorgeous girl since-? Is this her door? Good.’

All three of them raised their hands, but before they could knock they heard Harriet’s voice inside.

‘Oh, darling, do you miss me? I miss you so much. I’ll be home soon. I love you more than anyone in the world.’

Jackson and Marcel stared at their brother.

‘A ménage à trois?’ Marcel demanded, aghast. ‘You?’

‘Not in a million years,’ Darius declared. ‘I leave those kind of shenanigans to you.’

‘But she was talking to the one she loves more than anyone in the world.’

‘She was talking to her dog,’ Darius said, grinning. ‘She does that a lot. She left him with a friend and she called him as soon as we arrived.’

Jackson nodded. ‘She’s probably had him since she was a child.’

‘No, he belonged to her husband who died a year ago.’

‘Ah!’ Enlightenment settled over Marcel. ‘Then perhaps it is the dead husband whom she loves more than-’

‘Shall we be going?’ Darius interrupted him, knocking. ‘Harriet, are you ready in there?’

‘Coming!’ She opened the door and stood basking in their looks of admiration.

Instantly, Marcel and Jackson extended their hands to her, but Darius stayed firm.

‘Back off, you two,’ he said, drawing her hand into the crook of his elbow. ‘She’s mine.’

And Harriet thought she detected a note of pride in his voice, if only she could allow herself to believe it.

Heads held high, they went downstairs to where the ceremony would take place. It would be a civil ceremony, but the venue had been done up to emulate the grandeur of a church. There were flowers everywhere and chairs laid out in rows, while at the far end a choir was assembling.

It was almost time to begin. Ken took his place and stood waiting, his eyes fixed on the door through which his bride would come.

At last Mary appeared and began to walk slowly towards him. She was magnificently dressed in a long gown of saffron coloured satin, a diamond tiara on her head. Behind her walked Frankie and Mark.

What would Darius be feeling now, she wondered, as his one-time beloved married another man and his children became part of another family? He was between her and the procession, so that his face was turned away, and she could only wonder about his expression. But she guessed it would reveal nothing.

As the children passed she saw that Frankie wore a frilly bridesmaid dress and Mark had a page’s costume, also frilly. How he would hate that, she thought.

As if to confirm it, he glanced up at her and made a face of helpless resignation. She made a face back, conveying sympathy. By chance, Darius happened to turn his head in time to see them both.

‘Poor Mark,’ she murmured.

The procession was slowing down, bringing Mark to a brief halt. Just a couple of seconds but it was enough for Darius to put his hand on his son’s shoulder and grunt, ‘Don’t give up, lad.’

Then they were on their way again, with only the memory of Mark’s look of amazed gratitude at his father.

Slowly, the ceremony advanced until the moment when the bride took her groom’s hand, looking up into his face and saying fervently, ‘You are mine, and I am yours. We will be together for always, and no other man will ever live in my heart.’

Conventional words for a wedding, but how did they sound to the man who had once been her husband? Carefully, Harriet turned her head, hoping to catch a sideways glimpse of his face, only to find it turned towards her. He wasn’t looking at the couple swearing their love. His gaze was fixed on her, and something in it made her turn quickly away.

A few feet away, Amos and his family were seated, their chairs at an angle that enabled Amos to see Darius and Harriet clearly. His eyes narrowed, an expression that Jackson recognised with a sigh and that made him exchange a glance with Marcel.

They knew that look on their father’s face, and it didn’t bode well.