The Accidental Mistress Read online

  Izzy sat there with him, collecting contributions, bagging up purchases and making a list of the addresses of subscribers. He was nice to her, too. Only he never once met her eyes or touched her, even by accident. And yet she was aware of him with every breath she took.

  We’ve come a long way since the nightclub, she thought. Heck, we’ve come a long way since the bungee jump.

  She remembered her first recoil when she saw him in combat gear. How could she have been so stupid? As if clothes said anything about the man underneath!

  Had he seen the way she flinched? Sensed her retreat? For the first time it occurred to her that he might have seen it as a challenge. Maybe that was why he had been so determined to pursue her. Or pursue Jemima, Izzy reminded herself, depressed.

  Her reaction had been pure instinct—he had looked like her nightmare—but it was not a reaction he would have been used to. Maybe he’d taken it personally. And that was why she was here now.

  She looked at him. No, the man certainly did not look as if he had ever been a woman’s nightmare before. On the contrary, he had the ease, the charm, the sheer animal magnetism of a man that women walked barefoot over the faces of their friends to get at. And several women at the fête were showing signs of doing just that. The man was a chick magnet.

  Oh, yes, a long, long way since the nightclub and the bungee jump.

  That was when she thought—This is our third date!

  The third date. The sex date. The date she had started to run away from. Only this time she didn’t want to run. She wanted to…

  Izzy began to feel slightly light-headed.

  ‘Why don’t you write a proper book, just about you?’ said one breathy blonde, pouting her bosom at him.

  He gave her a smile that Izzy, too, would have put in a good deal of barefoot mileage for.

  ‘Not my scene. I’m the muscle, not the brains.’

  Izzy sat bolt upright, as if she had touched live electricity.

  She had heard that tone of voice before. She heard it in herself when she said, ‘I’ve never been the pretty one.’ It said—This is true and I wish it wasn’t. I wish I didn’t care, either, but I do. So I’m trying hard to pretend I don’t.

  When the voluptuous blonde left, Izzy said idly, craftily, ‘Yes, why not a book of your own? You must have had plenty of offers.’

  That made Dom look at her at last. It was not a particularly friendly look.

  ‘Why do you care?’

  She knew that tone, too. She used it herself. It said, Don’t Corner Me. It said, Keep Out!

  So she shrugged. ‘I don’t. Just intrigued. That’s all. Surely a book deal would solve the funding problem? Then you wouldn’t have to send posses of under-age water fowl to mug the residents of Gloucestershire.’

  There was a pause. Then he laughed. But it was reluctant.

  ‘I ask myself why,’ said Izzy in her best indifferent tone.

  She stuffed her hands in her pockets and propped herself up against the side of the booth. On the rough stage, some terrifyingly well-drilled little girls were dancing over swords, kilts swirling, chins rigid.

  Dom said nothing. Izzy held herself quiet, though her every sense was alert.

  And then, very quietly, he said, ‘I can’t.’

  ‘What?’

  He said baldly, ‘I can’t write.’

  She was so astonished she forgot that she mustn’t corner him. She whipped round.

  ‘Can’t write?’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Not properly. I can do the basic stuff if I put my mind to it and don’t rush. Well, you’ve just seen me. I can sign autographs.’ He paused. Then added with an effort, ‘Now.’

  So that explained the glacial pace of the queue! And the long, friendly conversations as he traced out his name!

  Izzy sat down rather hard. The camp stool rocked.

  At once, a strong arm shot out and he brought it to rest, steady as a rock. He let it go. His smile twisted.

  ‘I’m dyslexic,’ he said baldly. ‘A really bad case, apparently.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Oh, I can do lots of other things. My reflexes are white-hot and I play a mean game of chess. Apparently I’m what’s called an “action-oriented extrovert”. No thinking involved. Just plenty of Boys’ Own adventures.’

  The bitterness was searing.

  Izzy said, ‘How long—?’

  ‘Have I known?’ He shook his head. ‘Not long enough. School just wrote me off as stupid, and the family thought I was a hell-raiser who refused to work.’

  ‘Your mother didn’t realise?’

  ‘My mother was ill most of my childhood. And then she died.’

  Izzy wanted to hold him. She knew it would be fatal. She sat on her hands.

  ‘So when did you find out?’ she asked in a friendly, neutral voice.

  Dom pushed aside the desk of souvenir stickers and other people’s books and stood up. He did not look at her. But at least he didn’t sound bleak and bitter any more.

  ‘That was really weird. I have this friend—he’s an Arab sheikh. Really dashing, but a scholar, too. A sort of Gulf Leonardo da Vinci. Well, he and I did an expedition on horseback across the Gobi, and one night he was showing me some Arabic script. I realised that I found it no more difficult than I found ordinary letters. I could make out the words with about the same amount of effort. And he said— “That’s very unusual. You need to get that tested.” So when I came back, I did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And there are therapies. I’ve done them. I still do, when I have time. So these days I can sign my name and fill out a tax return. Even write the odd note, if I have to.’ He paused. ‘But there’s no point asking me to woo you with poetry. That’s way, way out of my league.’

  Izzy was thinking. ‘Can you dictate?’

  Dom was startled into laughing. ‘Dictate a sonnet? I shouldn’t think so.’

  Izzy was impatient. ‘No, I mean a book. A diary of the South Pole, or whatever. Couldn’t you dictate it?’

  ‘You don’t give a publisher three months of tapes,’ he pointed out.

  She subsided. ‘No, I suppose not. Damn!’

  ‘But thank you for your concern,’ he said gently.

  She half turned, thinking, He’s got to touch me now.

  But a stout child wrapped in a black legal gown that was six sizes too big for it and wearing an aggressive beak and flippers was bearing down on them. And the moment passed.

  It was like that for the rest of the afternoon. Even when they went back to the house to get ready for the evening dance, even when he was helping her pack her stuff for the expedition to the children’s bathroom, Dominic did not touch her.

  Would he come to her there? Make love to her among the rubber ducks and the friendly battered furniture? Izzy hoped he would. She even hesitated about locking the door. But in her heart of hearts she knew he wouldn’t come. She turned the key with a sense of loss that she could hardly believe.

  When she went back to their shared room he was already in his formal black trousers and pristine white shirt. He talked as easily as if they had known each other for ever while she fluffed up her hair, trying to make it look like Jemima’s, and applied careful make-up. He was friendly, funny and sexy as hell. And a No Entry zone. He could not have made it clearer if he’d pinned a notice on a sign above his head. He did not even ask her to fix his bow tie. He did not ask her anything.

  So it was a subdued Izzy who went downstairs with him for the engagement party.

  It was, as Dom had said, very grand. The Duchess was wearing a magenta crinoline and some truly amazing rubies. At least three of the younger women were in the sort of gowns that Izzy had come to recognise as serious designer labels. Jemima’s slinky number from Delys held its own—but only just. And of course Izzy’s borrowed jewellery was all fun costume stuff.

  She hesitated, standing beside Dom at the top of the stairs, looking at the froth of diamonds and silks below.

  ‘I�
��m not up to this.’

  He said with sudden harshness, ‘You can do whatever you have to. Remember?’

  She was startled. ‘I said that?’

  ‘To me. This afternoon.’ He sent her an odd look. ‘I’m still waiting for the explanation.’

  She shivered. ‘Maybe one day.’

  He nodded gravely, as if he’d expected nothing else.

  ‘Not too long. Like I said, I’m a patient man. But even my patience has its limits.’

  It wasn’t a threat. But there was something in his eyes that said he meant it. Izzy’s heart lurched.

  ‘You’re very determined, aren’t you?’ she said slowly.

  Dom stared at her in amazement. ‘Of course I am. It’s part of the job description.’

  And they both laughed.

  It eased the tension enough for her to look round and say teasingly, ‘And where does all this fit in to the job description?’

  ‘This?’

  She waved a hand around the seething hallway. ‘Family. Engagement parties. White wedding on the lawn. Children dressed as penguins.’

  He steered her towards the terrace, where there was champagne and laughter.

  ‘You’re asking me how I’ve managed to avoid the marriage trap,’ he interpreted. There was just a touch of smugness in his tone.

  Izzy shook her shoulders with irritation. ‘Why would anyone want to trap you?’ she said frostily.

  ‘Because I’m clean, good company and handy about the house,’ he said promptly.

  Izzy choked down a laugh. ‘But too determined to fall into the trap,’ she said, shaking her head with mock sadness. ‘What a loss!’

  He gave her a blinding smile. ‘No, you’re wrong there. Just determined enough to hold out for the best.’

  Izzy thought she had not heard right. ‘What?’

  ‘You,’ he said with mock disapproval, ‘have a stereotypical view of the explorer.’

  ‘I don’t have a stereotypical view of anyone,’ objected Izzy.

  ‘Oh, yes, you do. You think we’re wild men who love ’em and leave ’em and spend our time in full flight from commitment.’

  She folded her arms across Jemima’s turquoise silk plunge neckline like a baker’s wife squaring up for an argument. ‘Oh, that’s right,’ she said sardonically. ‘Whereas you’re a fully paid up sensitive soul, just waiting for Miss Right!’

  ‘Maybe not waiting much longer,’ he murmured wickedly.

  She refused to hear that, though she could feel the blush beginning. I bet it’s turning my ears red, she thought. If he points it out, I’ll deck him.

  ‘In fact,’ he said, manoeuvring her cleverly so that she had her back to the column of the terrace and could look nowhere but at him, ‘I’m glad you brought the subject up.’

  Not just her ears, her whole face and neck must be incandescent.

  ‘I didn’t,’ howled Izzy. ‘What subject? Oh, you can be so irritating.’

  ‘I have strong opinions on marriage.’

  ‘I just bet you have,’ she muttered.

  ‘Let me tell you about explorers and marriage.’

  She stared, ‘What?’

  ‘Matthew Flinders. He was the man who mapped the coast of Australia.’

  She knew that note in his voice. Suddenly she forgave him his mock vanity and his teasing. ‘Another of your heroes?’ she said, with tender amusement.

  He laughed back at her. ‘Got it in one. He married his childhood sweetheart. The bureaucrats wouldn’t let him take her with him so he wrote to his Anne every day. He told her to tell him what she wore, what she dreamed—anything as long as she talked to him about herself. And when he went home ten years later she was still waiting.’ He said softly, not laughing at all, ‘That’s what I want.’

  Izzy was uneasy. ‘You don’t want much,’ she said in a teasing voice.

  But for once it fell flat. Dom was deadly serious, she saw.

  ‘When I was eighteen there was a girl I wanted to marry. Only I went off to the Indonesian jungle and she made a determined play for my elder brother.’

  Izzy could have wept for him. But she knew sympathy would be a killer. She said in a judicial voice, ‘You don’t seem to be great judges of women in your family.’

  That startled him. Dominic gave a great crack of laughter. ‘You are so right. You should see the harridan who is my father’s second wife. In fact she’s the reason the expedition is in this funding muddle in the first place. She talked my father into pulling his company’s contribution.’

  He sounded almost light hearted about it. Izzy could not understand such insouciance.

  ‘Aren’t you furious?’

  ‘A certain amount of aggro went down at the time,’ he acknowledged. ‘But it’s had its compensations. If it hadn’t been for that, I wouldn’t have met you.’

  His eyes were warm. Warmer than they had been all evening. Had the No Entry zone notice come down, then?

  Hardly daring to ask herself, much less Dom, Izzy said, ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘The wonders of PR,’ he pointed out. ‘Totally loopy, but the side benefits are interesting.’

  ‘I am not,’ announced Izzy wrathfully, ‘a side benefit.’

  That was when he touched her. It was a bear hug of a touch. It lifted her off the floor and nearly cracked her spine and she wanted it to go on for ever.

  ‘You certainly aren’t,’ he said. ‘Definitely the main attraction from now on.’

  He did not leave hold of her for the rest of the evening. They ate holding hands. They toasted each other, looking into each other’s eyes as if they were the only people in the room. They danced. Wild and wanton or close and dreamy, it made no difference. They belonged. And everyone in the great panelled ballroom knew it.

  ‘Bed,’ he said at last. He did not even bother to lower his voice.

  And Izzy, smiling, said, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  SHE’LL tell me now, thought Dom. She won’t keep lying to me when we make love. She couldn’t. She’ll remember the first time when we danced, when we kissed. And she’ll tell me the truth.

  Outside the bedroom door he turned her into his arms and began to kiss her. Not her mouth, but her eyelids, her nose, her shoulder; the tremulous, treacherous pulse in her throat; her ears, which went such an enchanting pink when he teased her. The tender valley between her breasts.

  She gave a sharp intake of breath, as if he had shocked her. Though that couldn’t be true. No modern woman would be shocked by a simple kiss.

  Except that it wasn’t a simple kiss. And it set them both trembling like birch trees in a high wind.

  ‘A new experience,’ he said, his words muffled against her skin.

  ‘What?’

  But he did not answer. Or not in words. Instead, his arm tightened round her body like a vice. Not taking his mouth from hers, he turned the doorknob behind her back and walked her backwards into the room.

  She was already hauling his dinner jacket down his arms, panting slightly.

  He kicked the door shut and ran his hands the length of his body, holding her against him, breathing in the scents of her.

  She made a husky sound and ripped open his shirt.

  All the little things went wrong, just as they always did the first time. It didn’t seem to matter.

  They fell onto the bed in a tangle of desire and wrenched clothes. He heard her shoes hit the floor. She lost interest in the shirt and began to trace the shadowed musculature of his torso, crooning as he stroked the sweet curve of her shoulder, the soft and vulnerable nape under the silky hair, her swelling breast…

  Then he heard her give a little exclamation of pain.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded, shocked out of his hot, fierce world of need for a moment.

  A strand of silky hair was caught in his watch.

  He gave a laugh that was half a groan of desire. ‘Stay still for a moment.’

  But she didn’t want to wait
while he unwound it. She wanted to writhe herself around him, tease him as he was teasing her. In the end she broke the thread impatiently and went back to rubbing her cheek against his hair roughened chest.

  Dom drew a gasping breath. His head fell back.

  ‘Careful…’

  But she was not the careful type, his lady in red, and she did not want him wearing anything. His shirt hit the opposite wall in a crumpled bundle. She applied herself to the expensively discreet fastening at the waist of his dress trousers without much success.

  ‘What is wrong with simple poppers?’ she muttered direfully. ‘Give me jeans any day. How do these things work?’

  He gave a shaken laugh. ‘I’ll give you a crash course,’ he promised. ‘Let me.’

  But in helping her he got sidetracked. Inevitable, really. For all her obligingly abandoned neckline, she was wearing too many clothes. He tried to release her from the turquoise draperies and found that she was encased in underpinnings that were quite beyond him.

  ‘This would challenge a court armourer,’ he said, trying to concentrate. Not very successfully. She was making voluptuous kissing noises which made his blood thrum in his ears. ‘How does it work?’

  She wriggled herself onto her back and flung her arms up among the pillows.

  ‘No idea.’

  He sat up, laughing. ‘Okay. Do it yourself.’

  She tipped her chin at him. Her eyes were warm with wicked laughter and the wonderful hair spread wide.

  ‘Can’t you handle it?’ she taunted mischievously.

  But behind the laughter there was a profound question.

  Dom recognised it. He bent over her, a hand on ether side of her head, and looked deep into her eyes.

  ‘As long as you want me to, I can handle anything,’ he said with soft gravity.

  For a moment she stared at him, as if she could not believe what he was saying. Could not believe that they were here, in this bed, together.

  Then she made a strange sound, almost like a sob, and grappled him down to her. Her hands were convulsive, her breath fast.

  ‘Love me,’ she demanded in a voiceless whisper. Her eyes were wide, staring. ‘Love me now.’

  Hang on, thought Dom. This is wrong. She shouldn’t look like that. She should have told me the truth by now…