Sara Craven - The Innocent's One-Night Confession - The Innocent's One-Night Confession / Hired to Wear the Sheikh's Ring

Alanna wasn’t too sure of that, just as she was totally certain this engagement idea was a path she didn’t want to follow. Because marriage was out of the question.

Even if she’d fallen in love with him, twenty-four hours at the abbey would have warned her to think again and run for her life. For all kinds of reasons.

But to tell him so bluntly would be unkind.

A bad place. Well, as he’d guessed, she knew all about that. And that was another good reason for letting him down lightly.

She said quietly, ‘This has come as such a total surprise. You have to give me some time. Let me think about it.’

‘Take as long as you need. And as I said, I won’t try to change our relationship—push you into something you’re not ready for. So let’s just see how it goes. Shall we?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose.’ She hesitated. ‘But, Gerard, I’m not promising anything. I can’t. Not yet.’

Not ever...

She added, ‘You must understand that.’

She felt dazed as they returned to the car. If he’d stripped naked and jumped into the stream, she couldn’t have been more astonished, although she supposed it explained the unusually proprietorial attitude he’d shown since the start of the weekend.

Which must have also set Niamh Harrington’s alarm bells ringing.

Well, let her worry, she thought with grim determination. At the party tonight, for the first and last time, she’ll be seeing me in full devoted girlfriend mode. And to hell with the consequences.

CHAPTER SIX

‘THAT,’ SAID JOANNE REVERENTLY, ‘is one gorgeous dress.’

Alanna smiled at her. ‘Glad you like it.’

She had to admit the soft colour glimmered even in the fading light from her window, and it did indeed cling in all the right places.

She remembered thinking when she bought it that the weekend could be a turning point for her. And how right she’d been—even if it wasn’t exactly as anticipated. More twists than a corkscrew, she thought with an inward grimace before adding lightly, ‘I want to make Gerard proud of me tonight.’

‘I should think he’ll burst with it.’ Joanne giggled naughtily. ‘And the Hon. Felicity will burst too—for a different reason.’

‘Felicity?’ Alanna queried. ‘Oh, the girl your grandmother suggested should go riding with me.’

‘That’s the one.’ Joanne nodded. ‘Lord Bradham’s only child—and therefore loaded. Not to say spoiled.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘She and Gerard had a boy-girl thing for a little while in their teens, and Grandam periodically tries to revive it. Fat chance, on his side at least, so you don’t have to worry.’

‘I couldn’t be less worried if I tried,’ Alanna assured her. Although not for the reason you think, she added silently.

‘Besides Dad has always said that if Grandam got her way, she could live to regret it,’ Joanne went on. ‘You see, Felicity runs this very upmarket letting agency for wealthy visitors from abroad.’

She grinned. ‘He reckons that as soon as the ink on the marriage certificate was dry, she’d have Grandam whistled out of here into a purpose-built annexe at the manor with a live-in carer, while she rented out the abbey for megabucks to some foreign oligarch.’

Alanna smiled too, but felt a touch of compunction.

‘I can’t imagine Gerard allowing that to happen.’

‘That,’ said Joanne darkly, ‘is because you haven’t met Felicity.’

She looked at her watch. ‘We’d better go down. People will be arriving soon, and Grandam likes the whole family assembled to greet them.’

Which hardly includes me, thought Alanna. But this is the one and only time so I won’t argue.

Gerard was waiting in the hall below. He looked them both over and said, ‘Wow,’ before offering them each an arm and escorting them ceremoniously into the drawing room.

‘Ah,’ said Niamh Harrington. ‘So here are the latecomers at last.’ She beamed at them. ‘But it’s been worth the wait.’

‘Not,’ Alanna murmured inwardly, catching the steely glint in the cherubic blue eyes. Nor did she miss the imperious gesture summoning Gerard to his grandmother’s side or the low-voiced altercation that followed.

However, the Dennisons were smiling and waving, so she prudently got out of the firing line and went to join them with Joanne, just as the first guests started arriving.

The room was soon full, the extra staff hired for the occasion circulating busily with trays of drinks and canapés. And because the invitees were all local people and already acquainted, the talk and laughter levels rose accordingly.

Alanna, her hand beginning to ache through being vigorously shaken, and her head reeling with names she knew she would never remember, was thankful this was a one-off event and soon to be forgotten.

Although some moments might linger, unwanted, in her memory, like glancing up and seeing Zandor, watching her through the crowd, and raising his glass in a mocking salute.

She turned away abruptly nearly bumping into a tall girl, stick-insect-thin in a pale blue dress, her glossy chestnut hair woven into an ornate coronet on top of her head.

‘Oh, hi.’ Her voice was a high-pitched drawl, her accent cut glass. ‘I haven’t seen you before,’ she went on, looking Alanna up and down. ‘I suppose you’re a friend of Joanne, who seems to have vanished, so tell her, will you, that I’m still waiting to hear from that journo chap of hers. It’s been weeks, so not impressed. Not impressed at all.’

And with a nod, she walked on.

‘And that,’ said Joanne appearing from nowhere. ‘Is dear Felicity.’

Alanna stared at her then began to smile. ‘Were you hiding?’

Joanne grinned back. ‘I’ll say. Ducked down behind the sofa when I saw her coming. She’s apparently campaigning to be nominated Businesswoman of the Decade or something and when she heard I was dating someone from the Chronicle she started pestering me to get him to interview her about her amazing success. Another glass ceiling smashed, etc.

‘Chris’s response was that all advertising has to be paid for, but I don’t relish having to tell her so.’

Alanna nodded. ‘We have the same problem promoting authors. There has to be a story apart from the one they’ve written.’

‘Whereas Felicity’s story comprises one word—“Me”,’ Joanne said gloomily. ‘I can hardly tell her that either.’

‘No,’ Alanna agreed. ‘But how about saying he’s now considering doing a composite piece featuring all the candidates for the award. Equal publicity for all.’

‘Making her just one of a crowd. That will go down like a lead balloon.’ Joanne gave a sigh of relief. ‘Alanna, I can see you’re going to be a real asset to this family.’

Only for a few hours more, Alanna thought, crossing her fingers behind her back.

She’d expected Gerard to return and join her at some point, but seeing him standing, stony-faced behind his grandmother’s sofa, soon convinced her that this was not going to happen. A view substantially reinforced when the places flanking Mrs Harrington became occupied by Felicity Bradham and a tall grey-haired man that Alanna guessed was her father.

The party reached a climax when a large birthday cake was wheeled in on a trolley, and ceremoniously cut by Niamh Harrington so that slices could be distributed to the departing guests.

In its wake came an enormous basket of flowers—‘Paid for by all the locals, including the tenants,’ Joanne whispered. ‘Feudal or what!’—and presented by Lord Bradham, who then led the company in singing, ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow’.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Alanna said silently, reminding herself, as people began to leave, there was now only the family dinner to endure.