Liz Fielding: The Best Man And The Bridesmaid

Bridesmaid says ‘I do’!

Daisy Galbraith has always loved notorious playboy Robert Furneval, but she’s kept that between herself and her diary. He’s clearly not a one-woman man, and she’d rather be his friend than another notch on his bedpost!

Except, glammed up as chief bridesmaid at her brother’s wedding, suddenly best man Robert realises she’s not just a good friend – she’s also a stunningly attractive woman! When he discovers she’s secretly in love, Robert’s shocked…and determined to convince Daisy that he’s the only man for her!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Excerpt Bridesmaid says ‘I do’! Daisy Galbraith has always loved notorious playboy Robert Furneval, but she’s kept that between herself and her diary. He’s clearly not a one-woman man, and she’d rather be his friend than another notch on his bedpost! Except, glammed up as chief bridesmaid at her brother’s wedding, suddenly best man Robert realises she’s not just a good friend – she’s also a stunningly attractive woman! When he discovers she’s secretly in love, Robert’s shocked…and determined to convince Daisy that he’s the only man for her!

Title Page The Best Man and the Bridesmaid Liz Fielding www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

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WEDNESDAY, 22 March. Dress fitting. Me, in frills, as a bridesmaid. It’s my worst nightmare come true. The self-assertiveness course was a complete waste of time; it was utterly impossible to be assertive in the face of Ginny’s sweet pleading. Lunch with Robert first, though. The lovely (and very clever) Janine has dumped him and I am, as usual, the nearest shoulder available. Crocodile tears, of course … but interesting to see how he takes being on the receiving end of the boot for a change .

‘Yellow velvet? What’s wrong with yellow velvet?’

‘Nothing. Probably.’ In its place. Wherever that might be.

‘If being a bridesmaid was high on my list of ambitions.’ It came five hundred and twenty-seventh on hers: right after having her teeth extracted without anaesthetic. ‘Nothing, if I enjoyed the idea of being fitted into a dress that will display all my shortcomings in the figure department.’ She glanced down at her chest, which she suspected would be six inches short of the desired circumference. ‘Or, in my case, not display them.’ Robert’s gaze had followed hers and he was regarding her lack of curves with a thoughtful expression. ‘Nothing,’ she added quickly, to distract him, ‘if I relished the prospect of walking behind a girl who is going to be the prettiest bride this century, alongside a posse of her equally beautiful and raven-haired cousins, all of whom will look ravishing in yellow.’

Was she being petty?

Oh, yes.

‘Maybe you’ll look ravishing in yellow,’ Robert offered. He didn’t sound convinced. Well, he didn’t have to. Just so long as he stopped talking about Janine. She’d heard quite enough about how wonderful Janine was. If she was that wonderful, he should have married the girl.

Her boyish chest clenched painfully at the thought.

‘I’ll look like a duck,’ she said, more to distract herself than because it mattered very much. It was Ginny’s day and no one would be looking at her.

‘Probably.’ Robert, primed to offer at least a token contradiction, instead grinned broadly. Well, that was why he’d asked her to lunch, to cheer him up.

The best man had it so easy, she thought irritably. Robert would be in morning dress and the biggest decision he’d have to make was whether to wear a grey morning coat or a black one. Or maybe not. Ginny’s mother was stage-managing this wedding like the director of some Hollywood epic, and everything was being colour co-ordinated down to the last button, so it was unlikely he’d even have to worry about that.

No. All Robert would have to do was make sure her brother arrived in time for the wedding, produce the rings at the appropriate moment and make a short but witty speech at the reception. She’d seen it all before. Robert was very good at weddings … particularly at ensuring they weren’t his own.

He’d arrange a stupendous stag night for Michael and still deliver him immaculately dressed and sober as a judge at the church in plenty of time for the wedding. He’d produce the rings dead on cue, make the wedding guests chuckle appreciatively with his wit and probably have the prettiest bridesmaid for breakfast.

By the time they’d left the church every female heart would be aflutter and the eyelashes would be following suit. Well, not the bride’s eyelashes, perhaps. And the bride’s mother could be forgiven for being distracted. But the bride’s sister, the bride’s cousins, the bride’s aunts …

Not that Robert needed morning dress for that. Women fell for him wherever he went, whatever he was wearing. Beautiful women. Sophisticated women. Sexy women. And he didn’t have to do a damned thing except smile.