Kay Thorpe - Bride On Demand

“Physically, no,” he agreed. “I’m counting on your sense of duty toward our son. He needs a stable environment. The kind money alone can’t provide. For a start, think of what it would mean to him just to have you there when he gets home from school.”

“You’re still talking as if it’s a foregone conclusion,” Regan said jerkily.

“I’m still counting on that sense of duty,” he returned. “Along with one or two other incentives.”

She kept her voice steady by sheer effort of will. “Such as sex, for instance?”

Liam gave a faint smile. “It’s a factor. A very vital factor.”

KAY THORPE was born in Sheffield, England, in 1935. She tried out a variety of jobs after leaving school. Writing began as a hobby, becoming a way of life only after she had her first completed novel accepted for publication in 1968. Since then, she’s written seventy books and lives now with her husband, son, German shepherd and lucky black cat on the outskirts of Chesterfield in Derbyshire. Her interests include reading, hiking and travel.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

GLIMPSED across a crowded room, the man was too far away for Regan to be wholly certain, but every instinct told her she was right. Liam Bentley! Of all the people in the world, he was the last she would have expected to see here—the last she would have wanted to see anywhere!

‘Your glass is empty,’ observed one of the men in the group she was with, in body if not in spirit, at the moment. ‘Let me get you a refill.’

Regan released the glass with a smile and a word of thanks, finding it easier to accept the offer than decline on the grounds that she had had enough to drink. Alcohol was the lifeblood of these affairs, stimulating even the blasé to enjoyment of a kind. Not her kind, she had to admit. Any more than the majority of these people were her kind. It had been a mistake to come at all.

Where Hugh was at present she had no idea. He had asked her to accompany him because his wife was out of town; though for all she had seen of him since they had arrived, a partner hardly seemed necessary.

She caught another, clearer glimpse of the dark-haired man between shifting heads, and knew she hadn’t been mistaken; those hard-hewn, handsome features were only too distinctive. Seven years hadn’t dulled the memory, hard as she had tried to school herself to forget. More than ever she wished she hadn’t come tonight.

‘Gin and lime, wasn’t it?’ asked the man who had taken the glass from her, handing it over brimming once more. ‘Cheers!’ he added, lifting his own glass.

Regan repeated the toast but took only the barest sip, aware of the frank appraisal he was giving her. Dennis something or other, she believed his name was.

‘Long hair is supposed to be passé this year, by all accounts,’ he commented lightly, ‘but it still appeals to most men.’ He grinned. ‘So does red hair and green eyes, if it comes to that.’

‘Auburn, if you please,’ Regan corrected with mock severity, making every effort to keep her party face going. ‘And I never follow trends.’

‘An individualist, eh? You’ve a lot in common with our hostess. She doesn’t exactly run with the crowd either.’

‘I haven’t met her yet,’ Regan admitted. ‘Which is she?’

He turned to view the throng. ‘Way over there, with that tall dark chap. Her latest. A banker, I believe. Loaded, naturally. Our Paula would hardly settle for anything less.’

The somewhat caustic note wasn’t lost on Regan. A thwarted suitor himself, maybe? she wondered. The tall dark chap was Liam Bentley. Paula herself was a blonde; whether natural or assumed it was impossible to tell from this distance. Whichever, she was certainly good-looking. Not that Liam would be likely to settle for anything less either. Running her own highly successful PR company, the woman obviously had a good business head on her shoulders too. They should make the perfect pair—other partners disregarding.

Dennis had angled himself so that the two of them were cut off from the rest of the group. ‘What say we go and find ourselves somewhere quieter to get to know one another?’ he suggested now. ‘There’s still time to have dinner.’

‘I’m not really hungry,’ Regan prevaricated. ‘The canapés they keep passing round are too tempting.’

‘Just a drink, then?’

Obviously not one to take a hint, decided Regan resignedly. She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, thanks. I’m quite happy here.’

‘You don’t look it,’ he insisted. ‘In fact you—’

‘I’m with someone,’ she broke in. ‘I don’t think he’d be any too thrilled if I walked off with another man. Anyway, it’s time I started mingling a little more.’

‘Whoever he is, he’s not exactly attentive,’ came the parting shot as she moved away.

Almost as if he had overheard the remark, Hugh appeared at her elbow, the unfairly rakish features wearing an apologetic expression.

‘Sorry to leave you like that,’ he said. ‘I got tied up. Did you get to meet our hostess yet?’

‘No,’ Regan was bound to admit, adding hastily, ‘It isn’t really necessary.’

Hugh either didn’t hear the protest or took no heed of it. Sliding an arm about her slender waist, he steered her round the intervening groups to where the woman was holding court.

‘I thought it time we paid our respects, Paula,’ he announced. ‘This is Regan Holmes.’

The other woman’s regard held a certain speculation though little warmth. ‘Hallo.’

Regan returned the greeting, vibrantly aware of the man on Paula’s far side. She forced herself to meet the steel-grey eyes square on as Paula performed introductions all round, uncertain whether relief or chagrin held the upper hand when he showed no sign of recognition, even of the name. He looked, she had to admit, very little different from when she had last seen him. Obviously more than could be said for her. But then, she’d only known him a few weeks. Hardly surprising if he failed to remember just one of his many past conquests. Best in the circumstances anyway.

Duty done, Paula turned an intimate little smile on him. ‘Liam, darling, would you be an angel and freshen my glass for me?’

‘Surely,’ he agreed in those deep-timbred tones Regan recalled so well. ‘You’re in no urgent need at the moment?’ he added, with obvious reference to her own barely touched glass.

She shook her head. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

Paula turned her attention back to the group at large as he moved off. Engrossed in animated discussion, neither Hugh nor anyone else appeared to notice when Regan slipped quietly away. What she needed was a breather—somewhere to be on her own for a few minutes. If it weren’t for Hugh, she would cut out and head for home right now, but he wouldn’t let her go alone and she hated to drag him away before he was ready.

She found her privacy in the bedroom where they had all deposited their outdoor wear. The early May evening was cool, and the bed was piled high. There would be a regular scrimmage if everyone decided to leave at the same time, she reflected. Like the rest of the house, the room itself was beautifully furnished and decorated. Money was no object to people in Paula Lambert’s position.