The Prince's Bride Page 15

  Hope had trusted him. And he’d failed her. Worse than that, he’d betrayed her trust. And she found out in the most horrible way possible. It had been all been public.

  “Oh my God.”

  Ally just nodded and took the cool bag from his resistless fingers. She gave him a friendly buffet to the upper arm. “Good luck.”

  She walked off to work, leaving him staring at the trees, appalled at how much damage he had already done. Would he ever be able to put it right?

  Chapter Eleven

  Hope was sitting with three weary bridesmaids discussing the colour of ribbons when Jonas called. She almost sent it to voicemail. But then she thought, no, better to take this first call in a public place with people she knew on the horizon. That way she could keep it together.

  So she made apologetic gestures and took herself off to the corner of the dressmaker’s workroom.

  “Hello, Jonas.” It came out friendly enough but professionally brisk. “I’m with a client.”

  “Tomorrow, eleven o’clock,” he said. “Meet me at the Monument. I’ve found the route and my notes. If we do the whole walk it’s two to three hours. Can you manage that?”

  She consulted her calendar. “Eleven’s fine. I have a meeting in West London at four, so I may have to leave before your tour is over.”

  “Your call.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you then.”

  “Looking forward to it.” He rang off.

  Such a short exchange to make her shake convulsively.

  The Chief Bridesmaid saw it. “Bad news?” she asked in concern.

  Hope shook her head. Her teeth were actually chattering. “A challenging meeting tomorrow.”

  They were so sympathetic, they forgot their squabbles over the shade of their ribbons.

  “Oh let’s just make a decision and go and have some tea,” said the youngest bridesmaid impatiently. “Toss a coin?”

  But Hope persuaded them to write down their first and second choice on two pieces of paper and one absolute veto on another. Then she set them out on a table. One colour had two second favourites and no veto.

  “Done,” they all said, with great sighs of relief and Hope finalized the order with the dressmaker.

  “You make decisions seems so easy,” said the Chief Bridesmaid. “I bet you’re super organized.”

  “I wish,” said Hope, who hadn’t the faintest idea what she was going to say to Jonas on the following day.

  She tried writing options down on Post-it notes, to study what her reaction was to them. All that achieved was that she got thoroughly hot and bothered and couldn’t eat anything for supper.

  The real issue, of course, was whether she demanded at least an explanation, and preferably an apology, for his deception in San Michele. Part of her thought there was no point in holding a post-mortem on a dead love, especially an unacknowledged one. Part of her thought she had a right to know. None of her wanted to broach the subject. And all of her didn’t want to risk opening that particular wound again.

  She still hadn’t decided when she caught the underground to meet him.

  She was early at the meeting place but Jonas was earlier. She recognized him with a little shock. She had seen him in Ranger work clothes, a jacket and jeans when he took her out to dinner and the chillingly elaborate military uniform at that terrible ball. And, of course, she had seen him naked. But she had never seen or imagined him in an immaculate city suit, with a perfectly cut waistcoat and a jacket lined with olive silk. He looked very handsome, of course, but also alien and rather intimidating.

  Well, she wasn’t going to let his city suit intimidate her, whatever other stupidity she might find herself committing.

  “I didn’t realize you were a dandy,” she said as a greeting. The remark also neatly solved the problem of whether to shake hands, kiss or shuffle awkwardly round each other.

  Jonas pulled a face. “My current major client thinks a prince should look like a prince,” he said with great deliberation, watching her carefully.

  So the issue was going to be out in the open, Hope thought. After last night’s decision failure and her seriously troubled dreams it was almost a relief to have the decision taken out of her hands. But she didn’t know what to say.

  When she didn’t answer, he said, “I’m sorry, Hope.”

  She stared and saw, to her surprise, how difficult he was finding this.

  “I mean, I’m really, really sorry. About not telling you the full story of who I am. About everything I said and did at that damned ball. I thought I had more time –” He bit it off. “But that’s no excuse. There is no excuse. I just got everything wrong.”

  Hope became aware of a real, physical pain in her chest, impeding her breathing. Any moment now the tension was going to close off her lungs completely and then she’d be gasping and then she’d be weeping and then ... She couldn’t bear it. She flung up a hand.

  “Not now.” Her voice was so harsh, she hardly recognized it.

  But Jonas just nodded, as if that was what he’d been expecting. “If that’s what you want, of course.” He brought out his phone and brought up a document. “Then let’s get on with the tour.”

  “Thank you,” Hope said in a small voice.

  “Starting with The Monument, itself. Built to commemorate the Great Fire of London in 1666. It’s as tall as the fire stretched. Probably designed by Robert Hooke, though Christopher Wren signed off on the drawings. The fire lasted from Sunday to Wednesday and wiped out everything between here and Pudding Lane.”

  They both looked up. It was a simple enough column but to Hope it seemed immensely high.

  “It’s bigger than it looks in photographs. I’ve never seen it in real life before.”

  “My grandmother brought me here when I was about seven. She loved London and history, both.”

  “You grandmother?”

  “My grandmother is English,” he said levelly. “After my mother died, she brought us up. Probably before, too, come to think of it.”

  “How old were you?”

  “When my mother died? Four. But she’d been ill for a long time. I don’t remember much about her. I’ve seen her on film, of course.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” But something was niggling at the back of her brain. Surely she had known? Or suspected, at least.

  But Jonas was waving it away, giving her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course you didn’t. I didn’t tell you. No need to be sorry. My fault entirely. Shall we walk?”

  It was like that for the rest of the walk. He was informed, helpful and endlessly patient. He took her to see small enclosed courts, with Georgian fountains; narrow cobbled alleys, where bow-windowed shops faced each other and old gas lamps presided over the footway; run-down Victorian railway arches and refurbished eighteenth-century factories; even a disused church.

  Hope took photographs and made notes. Jonas waited without complaining as she did so.

  Eventually she closed her phone, with an air of finality. “Right. I’ve taken in as much as I can for now. It’s given me lots to think about. Thank you. That was a revelation.”

  This time the smile did light his eyes. It felt good. Even better, Hope found she was smiling back.

  “You don’t realize how much everyday history is left until you go looking,” he agreed.

  She looked at her watch. “May I give you lunch to say thank you?”

  He hesitated. “I thought you had a meeting?”

  “Client cancelled.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” She paused. “Well, with a tiny amount of encouragement from me, to be honest. When it became clear that the bridegroom couldn’t make it.”

  Jonas raised an eyebrow.

  “His mother had volunteered to represent him. The bride sounded frantic.” Her tone was carefully neutral.

  He laughed, then. “Sounds like a major diplomatic dispute.”

  “It was for the bride. Not me. I just said it wa
s company policy and offered to go over to see them any evening when the bridegroom is home. He’s going to text me.”

  “I’m impressed. So – lunch, then.”

  Jonas sent a quick text and then took her back to a small Italian place they had already passed on the walk. Whether by accident or design, they were shown to a discreet alcove table. Hope suspected design.

  The waiter brought menus but Hope had already started looking at her notes, flicking through the photos she had taken on her phone.

  “Shall I order for us both? You’re too wired to concentrate. What sort of thing would you like?”

  “Anything. Just lots.” She looked up and grinned then.

  For a moment his face, his whole body, went absolutely still.

  Hope raised an eyebrow. “Why are looking like that? I’m starving.”

  “Glad to hear it. And this is my shout, by the way. I enjoyed our walk. It got me out of the office when I really needed it.”

  She went back to her notes, frowning and muttering. Jonas took her at her word, ordered olives and wine first, then a pasta dish to be followed by cutlets and every vegetable on the menu. She absently helped herself to an olive when it arrived and carried on zipping between shots on her phone.

  “You know what I think might work? If we took over a whole Victorian alley. We’d need to persuade the shopkeepers to co-operate, of course. It wouldn’t work anywhere that Saturday is the major shopping day of the week. Nowhere central. But somewhere a bit off the beaten track ...” She finished the olives. She hadn’t touched the wine. “What do you think?”

  “It’s your area of expertise, not mine.”

  “Well, what would you think if you were a guest?”

  “I’d think it was original and fun,” he said honestly.

  She nodded. “Me too. I might really have something here.”

  “Let’s drink to it,” he said, taking her hand and curving it round the stem of her wine glass. “It’s better than San Michele Supermarket Red.”

  For a moment she didn’t understand him. Then she remembered their night in the hut, the rough wine in the mugs, the firelight ... She flushed to the roots of her hair and dropped her phone.

  Jonas raised his glass to her, locking eyes. “Congratulations on a working hypothesis.”

  “Er – thank you,” she said, breaking the eye contact to retrieve the phone.

  The waiter brought their pasta alla Norma.

  “So how have you got into the wedding business?”

  She told him, between squeaks of appreciation at the perfectly crisped aubergine.

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “Not to begin with,” she said honestly. “I was out of my depth and anyway I was way out of love with coupledom.”

  “Yes, I can see that you might be.” His voice was dark with regret.

  She wasn’t up to dealing with that, yet. She said bracingly, “But then I got to see that it was just like organizing anything else. You don’t have to buy into the hearts and flowers side. You just need a budget and a deadline and an agreed brief.”

  There was a pause. Jonas seemed troubled. Hope looked at him levelly.

  At last he said, “That doesn’t sound very romantic.” He was half amused, half reproachful.

  Her eyes skidded away from him. She shrugged.

  “What’s the most difficult thing about it?”

  “Getting people to make up their mind. And then sticking to it, I suppose. But just getting them to shut the door on all the other options can be a nightmare.”

  “Is that what you thought I was doing when I didn’t tell you what I was?” It seemed to burst out of him. “Not making up my mind?”

  Hope looked away. “Maybe.”

  Jonas shook his head. “No. It wasn’t like that. You have to believe me, Hope. It was never that.”

  “No foul if it was. Neither of us was talking commitment, were we? Hell, we were hardly talking at all.” Hope heard the brittle words with dismay. She sounded so hard, so careless. She almost called them back. But then she thought of where that might take her, and clamped her lips shut. She wasn’t ready for this yet. If she ever would be.

  Jonas shook his head. “It felt as if we were talking all the time,” he said quietly. “Words, no words, it was all the same. To me, anyway. I’ve never felt so – right – with anyone.” He hesitated. Then squared his shoulders and said, “I thought you felt it too.”

  And that floored her. She just stared at him, her eyes filling, her heart pounding in her ears, an inner voice screaming, No, No, NO!

  She stuffed her phone into her bag and jumped to her feet. “I need to go. Thank you for showing me the cobbled places. Very helpful. Thank you for lunch, too. I’ll – Goodbye.”

  And she fled.

  Jonas walked back to the office. It took him an hour. It would have been better to take a cab. But he needed to sort his head out.

  When Hope had called to him in the park, it had not only been a shock, he had felt an instant wave of thankfulness too, so strong that it had almost felt like being drunk. His first thought was: she’s forgiven me! Of course, he’d realized almost at once that it was more complicated than that. But at least she was talking to him, even friendly, in a careful, slightly distant way. And she introduced him to her best friends. He was being given a second chance. He didn’t deserve it but he was so thankful he could have kissed everybody in Green Park for joy.

  But then Hope had slipped away and Ally Parker had laid the situation on the line for him. For the first time he saw what he’d done in San Michele in pitiless perspective.

  He’d failed Hope. Failed her badly. And then today, he had seen, really seen beyond any possibility of doubt, just how he much he’d hurt her. And, worse, what it had done to her.

  He was horrified at himself. How could he have been so blind?

  Hope had changed, in just a few weeks. She’s gone from a free-spirited dryad in shirt and jeans to a well-groomed business woman with guarded eyes.

  Oh, it wasn’t just the smart clothes and the sophisticated manner. Even with her friends, yesterday, Hope had seemed quieter, less spontaneous than he remembered. But today he’d seen real wariness in her eyes, not just towards him, but when she talked about her work. The brave, laughing woman he’d known in San Michele Forest had gone into deep cover.

  And it was his fault.

  So it was his responsibility to rescue the dryad in Hope Kennard. Before it was too late.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jonas took time to think about the next step. It was too important to rush into, he told himself. He had to be sure he was doing the right thing, especially for Hope. Though it was hard to curb his instinct to call her, especially in the early morning when she wasn’t there, her red gold hair a tumble on his pillow.

  He woke up in his discreetly luxurious hotel room every day feeling that something was wrong. Then he remembered. And the ache started. And the restlessness.

  He prowled the room. He went running. He worked like a demon, even replying to the Very Difficult Client’s midnight texts by return.

  “You know, we could do with you here in London permanently,” said the Senior Partner of their London Associates. “Or at least as long as Danilov stays on this seek and destroy mission. You’re the only one he listens to. How would you feel about a longer secondment?”

  It would buy him more time close to Hope. “I’ll talk to my brothers. See if we can work something out.”

  Carlo, when Jonas approached him, was disappointed but philosophical. “I’m not really surprised. And it would be good to stay tight with Penrys. Are you’re sure you don’t mind, though?”

  “It suits me very well at the moment,” Jonas said honestly.

  “Then let’s do it.” Carlo added in a gruff voice, “We’ll miss you. Especially the kids.”

  “Me too,” said Jonas, touched. Carlo had never said they’d miss him before.

  And then, at last, Jonas called Hope.

&n
bsp; “I need advice.”

  She was friendly enough but distant. “What sort of advice?”

  “My secondment’s been extended. I don’t want to stay in a hotel ad infinitum. I need to look for a place to rent.”

  She disclaimed all experience. “You want Ally. She found me my flat.”

  The best laid plans, thought Jonas, laughing at himself in the mirror. But he recovered fast. “Well I really need a second pair of eyes. Someone to double check my decision.”

  “Why?” she sounded curious rather than suspicious.

  “I don’t think I’m very good at recognizing my own instincts,” he said ruefully.

  “Ah.”

  “And you know me better than anyone else in London. What I like, what’s important to me. Things I might forget or overlook. Ally doesn’t.”

  She considered in silence. Jonas waited hopefully.

  “All right,” she said at last. “I’ll be your quality control backup. But no weekends, remember.”

  Jonas agreed a date with her and organized an estate agent to show them half a dozen apartments.

  The June weather had gone from distinctly wet and chilly to blazing hot. Hope came to meet him in the park near Penrys’ building. The grass was full of people stripping down to a decent minimum and splashing bottled water over their pink skin.

  “The trouble is, it doesn’t last,” said Hope watching them with sympathy. “It dries instantly and then you feel hotter than ever.”

  “London is not the best place to experience warm weather,” he agreed.

  She snorted. For a moment she sounded like Dryad Hope again. “Experience warm weather indeed! This is hot, you pampered foreigner. Hot, hot, HOT.”

  “You only think that because it’s so humid.”

  “I think that because it was too hot to sleep last night and I’ve been ratty all day as a result.”

  “Your apartment has no air conditioning?”

  “My apartment is a conversion. Third floor of an Edwardian villa. Its windows open. That’s the air conditioning.”

  “But that is terrible, in this weather. You boil or you’re deafened by the traffic.”