Julia James - Innocent Cinderella

‘Then we’ll have to be rather more convincing next time.’

‘There isn’t going to be any next time.’ She glared at him. ‘There can’t. I’m sorry Mrs Halsay apparently finds you so irresistible, but this ludicrous bargain of ours was strictly a one-off. You had no right to accept an invitation to this house party without consulting me first. For all you know, I might have my own plans for next weekend.’

‘Forgive me,’ he said, the blue eyes merciless. ‘But as you gave me the impression that you had nowhere to live and very little money, it never occurred to me that your social diary would be bursting at the seams.’

‘It isn’t,’ she said. ‘ But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to spend two days out of my life pretending we’re in a relationship in order to keep your ex-mistress at bay.’

He said, on a note of polite enquiry, ‘And presumably you also wish to forego the two thousand pounds I’m prepared to pay you to do exactly that?’

When Marin could speak, she said, ‘You must be crazy.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Merely totally determined.’

‘But your girlfriend will be over her virus by the weekend,’ she protested. ‘Surely you should be taking her?’

‘Not,’ he said, ‘when the invitation was quite definitely extended to you.’

He paused. ‘Now, I suggest you make that coffee, and when you come back we’ll talk about what’s really on your mind.’

He added softly, ‘Which of course will be the sleeping arrangements.’ And he smiled at her.

MARIN HAD LEARNED to make coffee in all kinds of ways, for all kinds of people, using all kinds of equipment, so once in the kitchen she was able to switch easily to auto-pilot and begin her preparations without scaldings or spillages, however much she might be shaking inside. As she undoubtedly was.

As the tantalising aroma of the rich, Colombian blend began to fill the air, she arranged white porcelain cups and saucers on a beech tray then leaned against the marble counter top, staring into space.

Something else to add to the dossier on the minus side, she thought without pleasure. Jake Radley-Smith had turned out to be a mind reader.

But then it didn’t take too much perception to recognise all the implications of a weekend house-party in the country. Not when they’d been invited, and would presumably be treated as a couple.

He must have known that, she thought wildly, when he accepted the invitation. I suppose he imagined two thousand pounds would buy my compliance, but he’s wrong.

And if the prospect of being left to Diana Halsay’s tender mercies during the day while Jake was shut up with his host talking business chilled Marin’s blood, the thought that she’d almost certainly be expected to spend her nights with him was infinitely worse.

I don’t even want to contemplate that, she told herself. Or—my God—discuss it with him, either. I hoped he’d simply take no for an answer and opt for someone—anyone—else.

Because I’m not prepared to let myself be trapped into another situation that is none of my making, or made to appear as something I’m not. I—I can’t. Not again.

But it was becoming painfully and worryingly obvious that, in addition to the rest of his flaws, Jake Radley-Smith was not someone who cared to have his wishes opposed.

Drawing a deep breath, Marin put the coffee jug on the tray and carried it into the living room.

Jake was occupying one of the sofas, coat and tie discarded and his waistcoat unfastened along with the top buttons on his shirt. A cut glass goblet containing his brandy was on the pale wooden table in front of him, and he looked casual, relaxed and—as if she needed any reminder—very much at home.

Whereas she felt as if she was treading over broken glass.

She put the tray down on the table next to the brandy, poured the coffee then sat down opposite him, feet together and hands folded in her lap.

‘You look,’ he said softly, ‘as if you’re about to be interviewed for a job, and if it makes you feel better, we’ll play it that way. So let’s move straight to pay and conditions. I’m offering two thousand pounds for you to continue to play the role of my girlfriend as you did tonight, but this time from mid-afternoon on Friday next to some point after lunch on Sunday. That’s the deal on the table, and it won’t change.’

She said bitterly, ‘How simple you make it sound.’

‘Because, unlike you, I’m not looking for complications,’ he drawled.

‘But it is complicated,’ she said. ‘It has to be. If we go there together, they’ll think—that we are—together,’ she finished lamely.

‘In other words, we may end up sharing a bedroom and a bed.’ He shrugged. ‘You must have done so before. It’s no big deal.’

He’d said earlier that night that she looked untouched, but presumably he believed that was only skin deep. That a girl of her age and generation was experienced enough to shrug off any potential awkwardness. Maybe even to find it amusing.

Only he couldn’t be more wrong, she thought, swallowing down the bubble of hysteria threatening to rise in her throat. Yet she was reluctant to let him suspect her total innocence in case it amused him, although being laughed at might be the least of her worries.

‘But in the past, it’s always been my choice.’ She made herself speak steadily. ‘That—might not be the case this time.’

‘So, what’s the matter, darling?’ he asked, the blue eyes narrowing as he reached for his coffee. ‘Scared I may not be able to spend two nights in your company without being overcome by lust?’

He shook his head. ‘You really don’t have to worry. I never make a serious move on a woman unless I receive a very definite invitation first. And I can’t imagine anything of that kind coming my way from you. Right?’

Her face was burning. ‘Absolutely right.’

‘Said with true feeling,’ he murmured. ‘However, if it’s any reassurance, in the past when I stayed at Queens Barton with a lady, admittedly in pre-Diana days, we were always given adjoining rooms. Mrs Martin, the housekeeper, is the old-fashioned kind.’

He paused. ‘Naturally, I never bothered at the time to check if the communicating door locked, but I’m sure there’ll be a chair you can wedge under the handle if you’re worried I might sleepwalk.