Old Desires/A Stranger's Kiss (2-in-1 edition) (35 page)

But she didn’t waste time congratulating herself on her luck, which was just as well. While the rest of the bars were dispensed with easily enough, her problems were far from over. The nursery was on the second floor and there was the better part of fifty feet between her and freedom.

It was a pity, she thought, that she had taken so much trouble dressing to create the right impression. Jeans and a pair of Doc Martens would have been far more practical for climbing down the ornate drainpipe than the elegant linen dress and high-heeled shoes she had decided would convince her father that she was serious. Her father, she knew, would never have taken her seriously in jeans, and it was desperately important that he be convinced that she was in earnest. Unfortunately she had achieved her objective rather too well.

She considered the problem for a moment, then took off her shoes and dropped them out of the window onto the rose border below. She peeled off her stockings and, lacking a pocket in which to stow them, she stuffed them into her bra, because her high-heeled shoes would rub against her feet in five minutes without them and the last thing she needed right now were blisters.

She didn’t have a handbag; she’d left it in the study when her father, brushing aside her declaration that she intended to marry a penniless artist with or without his blessing, had asked her to give her opinion on some old toys that had been found in the attics during recent roof repairs.

After completing her fine arts degree, she had taken a job in an auction house where she had become fascinated with old toys. Her father had been furious that she had chosen to take any kind of job, even one that any well brought up young heiress might covet. After her last escapade, he had wanted her to stay at home where he could keep an eye on her until he found her a suitable husband.

Although she recognised the device as being in the “if we don’t talk about it, it will go away” category, she had been sufficiently touched that he should have brought himself to acknowledge her expertise to fall for it.

She wasn’t usually so gullible where her father was concerned but, with the lure of a lost hoard of Victorian toys, she had walked into the nursery without a suspicious thought in her head. That was when he had slammed the door and locked it behind her.

Pride, Emmy thought ruefully, always came before a fall. And of course there weren’t any toys. If there had been, he would have summoned a real expert; he would certainly never have consulted his tiresome daughter.

She gave the door a look that should have incinerated it then, in an attempt to slow down discovery of her flight she jammed the solitary chair beneath the doorknob. That done, she hitched up her skirt and swung one leg over the window-sill.

‘I’ll expect to hear from you within twenty-four hours that this matter has been settled, Brodie,’ Carlisle said, as he walked with him down the steps. ‘I want no delay.’

Brodie considered whether to mention the possibility that the lovebirds might already have flown, probably to one of those romantic destinations where weddings could be arranged in a matter of days, in which case it was already too late. But as they reached the bottom of the steps he decided against it. What clinched it was the sight of Emerald Carlisle, her dress hitched up about her waist, clinging just above head height to an ornate lead drainpipe about twenty feet behind Gerald Carlisle’s back.

Brodie knew that he should draw his client’s attention to what was happening behind him. Something stopped him. It might have been a pair of large pleading eyes. Or the deliciously long legs wrapped about the drainpipe. Or even, heaven forbid, the glimpse of something white and lacy peeping from beneath her tucked up dress.

Or maybe it was just simple distaste that any father could conceive of locking up a fully grown woman simply because her idea of what made a good husband did not coincide with his own. Whatever it was he decided to take Carlisle at his word. Emerald Carlisle, he had been told, was no concern of his. And when the girl let go of the pipe with one hand and urged him, with an unmistakable gesture that left her swinging in the most perilous fashion above a well-tended rose border, to get her father inside the house, he didn’t hesitate. Patting at his jacket pocket he turned and headed back up the steps. ‘I think I left my car keys on your desk, sir.’ The “sir” almost choked him.

Carlisle glared after him. ‘Oh, for goodness sake,’ he said, irritably, but followed Brodie back into the house.

Emmy’s heart, already beating an adrenalin-charged tattoo as she eased herself down the drainpipe, had gone into overtime at the sudden appearance of her father. But the moment her gaze had collided with the dark-eyed stranger standing with him she had known instinctively that she had an ally. He hadn’t batted an eyelid at the sight she must have made, not given her away by so much as a twitch of an eyebrow. Instead he had quite coolly considered his options.

He could have informed her father that he appeared to have an incompetent cat burglar clinging to his drainpipe.

Or he could have ignored the situation, pretend he hadn’t seen her and hope she didn’t fall into the roses.

What the dark-eyed stranger had done was create a diversion.

That kind of swift thinking was so rare she thought. Poor Kit would have dithered and blushed and quite given the game away. He was sweet and wonderfully talented, but not in the least bit decisive which was why she had to get to him before her father’s henchman. As she searched amongst the lavender and roses for her shoes she felt a moment of regret that she wouldn’t be able to stay and thank Dark-eyes for his chivalry. Were they grey, she wondered. Or brown? Distance and the dusky light had made it impossible to tell.

Unfortunately she didn’t have time for politeness, but she was sure he would understand her need to put the maximum distance between herself and her father before he discovered her escape. If only she could find her other shoe!

She spotted it at last, half buried behind the tall lavender that edged the border, filling the air with sweet scent as she brushed against it. The roses were not so kind, snagging at her bare arms as she reached for her shoe, catching and tangling her hair with their thorns. She didn’t have time to worry about it, or take time to extricate herself carefully, and tugged herself free. The rose retaliated by whipping back and catching at her neck with its thorns. She scarcely noticed. All she knew was that it was taking far too long.

But there was no way she could make her escape barefooted. Her feet would be cut to ribbons on the gravel by the time she had sprinted around to the old coach house where her car had undoubtedly been stowed after her incarceration. She could just hear her father. “Miss Emerald has decided to stay for a few days. Put her car away will you, Saunders?” All perfectly natural. She made a rude noise as she tipped the dirt out of her shoes and slipped her feet into them.

‘Maybe you left your keys in the car, Brodie.’ Her father’s impatient voice carried through the open front door pinning her back against the wall.

‘I might have dropped them in the hall.’

Brodie. The name had a nice, solid ring to it and Brodie, bless the man, was giving her all the time he could, delaying her father, quite` unconcerned at the tetchiness in his voice. Not many men were that brave. Unfortunately his valour would be to little avail. There was no cover within a hundred feet of her exposed position and any second now she was going to be discovered and dragged ignominiously back to the nursery where she would probably be put on a diet of bread and water. Not that she cared about that. But poor Kit...

Of course, she could always throw herself on Brodie’s mercy. In fact the thought of flinging herself into his arms had a definite appeal. She hadn’t been mistaken about the shoulders, or his height. And his character spoke for itself.

But no. He had already done more than enough. To demand he choose between her and her father was more than could be expected of any knight errant. But she was hanged if she was going to give in without a fight. She had mere seconds in which to act before the two men appeared on the steps and she was discovered. She didn’t waste it, flinging herself at the BMW, praying that it wasn’t locked. Her guardian angel must have been listening because the rear door opened to her touch and she dived in, pulling it shut behind her with heartfelt thanks for the superb German engineering that ensured it closed with scarcely a sound.

She didn’t know where her knight errant was going, but at least he was going somewhere. Away from her father, away from Lower Honeybourne. She would throw herself on his mercy and borrow his mobile. It would only take a call to bring some gallant racing to her aid. Meanwhile, she tucked herself down behind the front seats and congratulated herself on her luck.

It might not be the most comfortable way to travel but this way her escape was far more likely to succeed. An attempt to get away in her own car would have been spotted in an instant and by the time she reached the electronic security gates they would have been locked.

She could and would have climbed over them, but then what? She had no phone, no money and would be faced with a very long walk along a deserted country road as night fell. With her father hot on her tail.

Brodie, on the other hand, would drive through unchallenged and, having aided and abetted her escape, he could scarcely turn around and take her back when she popped up on his back seat. In fact, since he was heading for London, he could drop her at her front door.

By morning she would be in France with Kit and then Hollingworth could do his worst.

There was the added bonus that once they were clear of the park she would be able to thank him for helping her. The thought brought a smile to her lips. She was absolutely sure that she and Brodie were going to be friends.

There was a crunch of shoes, the driver’s door was opened and through the gap between the front seats she saw him palm the keys from his pocket.

‘It seems they were on the seat all the time,’ Emmy heard him say as he turned back to her father, almost certainly without a trace of a blush. No one who acted with such swift decisiveness would be fazed by a tiny white lie. ‘I must have dropped them.’

Her father snorted, impatient with such incompetence. ‘I thought you were supposed to be Hollingworth’s bright new man.’ His voice betrayed what he thought of bright new men in general and Brodie in particular. ‘I just hope you’re capable of dealing with this situation efficiently. I don’t want it bungled. I particularly don’t want it all over the newspapers,’ he added.

‘I’ll speak to Kit Fairfax,’ Brodie assured him. ‘If it’s money he’s after it’ll just be a question of haggling.’

‘Haggle all you want. Whatever it costs, it will be cheap if it keeps my daughter out of the hands of some idle layabout who’s only after her money.’

‘And if he’s actually in love with the girl?’

Her father responded with the kind of explosive, disparaging noise she had always assumed to be the colourful invention of nineteenth century novelists. Apparently not.

‘Just use whatever means necessary to ensure they don’t get married, Brodie. I’m holding you personally responsible.’

Emmy froze.

Brodie was being sent to deal with Kit?

Where was Hollingworth? She could deal with that pompous old fool with one hand tied behind her back, but suddenly Brodie’s treasured decisiveness was not so welcome and she gave a little shudder of apprehension.

The beauty of her plan had been in its simplicity. She had been convinced that nothing could possibly go wrong. Which just went to show how dumb one person could be.

Brodie tossed the folder he was carrying onto the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel while Emmy made herself as small as she could. Popping up the moment they were clear of the estate and introducing herself no longer seemed such as good idea.

Brodie might be terribly kind to girls who flashed their knickers when they climbed down drainpipes, but she was very much afraid that he wouldn’t be anything like as soft-hearted when it came to dealing with fortune hunters. Or as easy to mislead as the unimaginative Hollingworth.

Which made it imperative she get to darling Kit before Brodie could talk to him, or she had a feeling the poor lamb wouldn’t know what had hit him.

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Praise for Liz Fielding

“effortlessly engaging” … Julie Cohen

“Witty, heart-warming and totally spellbinding…” Tempted By Trouble - Cataromance.com

“…a beautifully written story full of emotion, with characters I will remember long after finishing it.”  Mistletoe and the Lost Stiletto – Mad About Romance

“A magnificent setting, a feisty heroine and a sexy hero – a definite page-turner…who could ask for anything more?” A Wedding At Leopard Tree Lodge – Still Moments eZine

Reunited: Marriage in a Million is a story that contains everything we’ve come to expected from Liz Fielding – a veteran of romance fiction. Her well-honed expertise is apparent at each and every perfectly-plotted twist and turn of this story. – Romance Reviewed

Liz Fielding’s The Secret Life of Lady Gabriella is charming and funny, but has some dark emotional moments too. A keeper. – Romantic Times

“Fielding’s deft handling is a triumph. The characters are fabulous, the relationship between them complex and nuanced…and keep a tissue handy at the end!”

SOS: Convenient Husband Required – Romantic Times