Prada and Prejudice (Dating Mr Darcy - Book 1) (7 page)

“Yes, please do. Dinner’s almost ready. Go wash up, and tell Hannah to come down.”

As he disappeared upstairs, Cherie rinsed her hands and wondered why she hadn’t told Alastair about Hannah’s failed attempt to lose her virginity, or Neil’s phone call.

Surely there was no need to trouble her husband with a litany of Hannah’s misdeeds. He had enough on his plate with the company’s finances in turmoil; he didn’t need to fret over his daughter’s budding sexuality as well.

And there was no reason for her to feel guilty for having a chat with Duncan’s father, she told herself firmly.

No reason at all.

“Why didn’t you return my messages?” Natalie’s mother reproved her at dinner that evening.

“I couldn’t, I was at lunch with Rhys Gordon. He wanted to discuss the store and the problems we’re facing.”

Celia Dashwood’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not having sex with that man, are you?”

Natalie nearly choked on her water. “Mum, honestly! No, I’m not. We don’t even like each other.”

“It looks as though you like each other well enough, judging from those photos in the tabloids.”

Natalie nudged at a bit of chicken with her fork. “It’s only publicity. And those pictures…they were taken out of context. They were innocent.”

“Innocent?” her mother echoed, and raised her brow. “Is that what you call it? You were pressed against that man in full view of the world, twined round him like a garden hose!”

Natalie dropped her fork to her plate with a clatter. “Mum, please! I can’t bear any more. It’s mortifying.”

“Oh, very well. Tell me about Rhys Gordon,” her mother said, her face alight with curiosity as she took a sip of wine. “Is he as difficult as they say?”

Natalie felt a renewed wave of humiliation as she remembered his comments to the man on the phone. “He’s worse.” She could still hear Rhys’s words, could see him leaning back in his high-backed chair, could hear his throaty chuckle as he discussed her with his friend.

Probably quite a hellcat in bed, not that you’ll ever find out, mate…

“He’s ruthless and crude and sneaky,” she went on. “I despise him.”

“My word, you make him sound dreadful, like Machiavelli,” Lady Dashwood said mildly.

“Picture Machiavelli on a motorbike, and you’re there.”

“I’m sorry I missed the board meeting, I wanted to meet him.” She glanced out the window. “At least those reporters are gone.” She stood up. “I’ll go and fetch our pudding.”

Natalie stood. “I’ll get it.” She’d do anything to escape her mother’s questions about Rhys.

As she entered the pantry and grabbed a serving spoon from the drawer, her mobile rang. She frowned. She didn’t recognise the number. She hoped it wasn’t a reporter… “Hullo?”

“Natalie? It’s Rhys.”

She froze, spoon in hand. “What do you want?”

He paused. “I called to see if everything’s all right. You never came back. Gemma said you were upset.”

“I’m fine,” she said, her words chilly. “You needn’t worry.”

“Why did you leave so suddenly?”

“Something came up. Sorry, I have to go.” She pressed ‘end call’ and set it to vibrate.

Almost immediately it began to buzz like an angry bee. Rhys again! Stubborn, pushy, awful man… Furious, Natalie tossed the mobile on one of the pantry shelves.

…there’s no affair, just media speculation. Not that I’m complaining, mind. It’s great publicity for Dashwood and James…

“Natalie,” her mother called out, “are you bringing the trifle?”

“Yes, sorry.” She picked up the bowl and hurried back into the dining room.

As they settled down to dessert, Natalie fumed. Rhys must’ve got her mobile number from Gemma, the interfering cow. She scowled and pushed the trifle around on her plate, creating aimless chocolate swirls on the china.

“Darling,” her mother said in exasperation as she laid her fork aside, “what’s wrong? You barely touched your dinner; now you’re playing with your trifle! Don’t you like it?”

She smiled wanly. “I love it. I just…had a difficult day.” She pushed her plate away. “I think I’ll go home and turn in early—”

The throaty roar of a motorcycle engine pulling up outside interrupted her.

Before Natalie could do more than exchange a startled glance with her mother, the doorbell rang. Then someone pounded on the door.

“Who in heaven’s name is that, and at this hour?” Celia Dashwood harrumphed. “If it’s another reporter—”

“I’ll get it,” Natalie said, her words grim. She rose and tossed her napkin down. “It’s probably Machiavelli.”

“What—?”

Nat strode to the door and flung it open. Rhys Gordon, his hand raised to knock again, stood on the doorstep. Anger suffused his face.

“I’m not leaving this doorstep,” Rhys told her with grim determination, “until you tell me what the hell’s going on.”

Chapter 9

Natalie glared at him. “What do you mean?” She remained in the doorway but drew the door shut behind her. “And how’d you know I was here?”

“Gemma told me. Never mind that – what the hell’s going on?” Rhys snapped. “And don’t say ‘nothing’,” he warned, “because something’s obviously wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong! And Gemma’s an interfering cow.”

“Something happened after lunch today,” he said grimly. “And whatever it was, it got your knickers in a twist.”

“Ah, yes, my knickers…that’s a subject that really fascinates you, isn’t it?” Natalie flung back. Her fists were clenched at her sides.

He stared at her. “What?”

“I heard you myself,” she accused him, “when I came back to your office. You were talking about me on the phone.”

He frowned. “I talked to my brother for a few minutes. And we didn’t talk about you…or your knickers.” He cast his mind back over their chat – football scores, Jamie’s promotion to sous chef…and Alastair James’s party. “We didn’t talk about anything objectionable. And you shouldn’t have been eavesdropping,” he added pointedly.

“I could hardly help but overhear you, could I? You were speculating about how good I’d be in bed! You don’t consider
that
objectionable?”

“You’re mistaken.”

“I know what I heard,” Natalie insisted, her voice undercut with fury. “Don’t add lying to your sins. You were so kind after Dominic dumped me at the party, you even offered to take me home. But you had an ulterior motive. You were making the most of the publicity, and you used me to do it!”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“No? How was it, then?” she demanded. “And don’t tell me it doesn’t boost your male ego, seeing photos of us in the tabloids, adding another affair to your long, sordid list—”

“It’s preferable to seeing photos of you tossing wine on Dominic Heath.”

Her lip trembled. “You used me. You knew I was drunk, and you took advantage—”

“Used you? Really?” he asked, incredulous. “Because unless you were too inebriated to remember, you asked me to have sex with you, not once, but several times.”

She squeaked in outraged mortification.

“I could’ve given you what you wanted,” Rhys went on, fuelled by his rising anger. “I could’ve shagged you in your flat, or on the Triumph, or on the pavement, for that matter—”

Natalie paled. “You’re the crudest, most disgusting man—”

“But I didn’t! I fucking well didn’t, precisely because—” he stepped closer and lowered his voice “—I didn’t want to take advantage of you. I know Dominic humiliated you at Alastair’s party.” He scowled. “And I know you think I’m a heartless bastard with no redeeming qualities. Maybe I am. But I did
not
take advantage of you.”

Natalie sniffed, only partially mollified. “You made it look like we were having an affair—”

“I used the situation, Natalie. Not you.” He looked at her, his eyes intense. “It was damage control. I turned what might’ve been a bad situation to advantage. I did it to protect Dashwood and James from a lawsuit, and to protect you. I won’t apologise for that. I’d do it again.”

“You told your brother I wasn’t your type.” She dropped her gaze from his and fiddled with her wristwatch. “And when he asked if I were any good in bed, you said he ought to ask Dominic. And that you imagined I was probably a…hellcat.”

To her utter amazement, he began to laugh.

“It isn’t funny!” she sputtered.

“Oh, but it is.” He shook his head. “You’ve got the wrong end of the stick. That’s what happens when you eavesdrop.”

“I didn’t eavesdrop!” she protested. “I couldn’t help but overhear your crude comments. Don’t deny it – I
heard
you.”

He held up a hand in surrender. “I did say those things, it’s true. And they weren’t very gentlemanly, I suppose.” He paused. “But I wasn’t talking about you.”

She gazed at him with mingled distrust and confusion. “You…weren’t? Who were you talking about, then?”

“Keeley.”

“Keeley,” Natalie repeated.

He nodded. “When I told Jamie that Dominic had dumped you for his ex-wife, Keeley whatsit—”

“Oh, it’s just ‘Keeley’,” Natalie supplied. “No last name. Like Madonna. Or Posh.”

“—he was over the moon with excitement that I’d seen her at the party. According to Jamie, she’s the hottest pop singer in Britain. He’s had a crush on her since he was twelve.”

She regarded him with scepticism. “You must’ve lived in a cave for the last ten years if you’ve never heard of Keeley.”

He shrugged. “I left home at seventeen. I was working, going to school at night, so I didn’t keep up with that sort of thing. I didn’t have time.”

“So…you weren’t talking about me,” Natalie said in a small voice.

“No.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have said those things about Keeley, about anyone. But I was talking to my brother, bloke to bloke.” He eyed her accusingly. “And I didn’t know
you
were listening.”

“Is everything all right?” Natalie’s mother inquired suspiciously as she opened the door.

“Fine,” Natalie said quickly, and turned to her mother. “Mum, this is Rhys Gordon. We were just discussing…a problem.”

Rhys leaned forward and thrust out his hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Lady Dashwood.”

“Mr. Gordon.” She took his hand in her best queenly manner and cast Natalie a keen glance. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“None of it good, I’m sure,” he said equably.

“Very little,” she agreed. “But I prefer to make up my own mind. I’m sorry I missed the board meeting. Please, come in. I’ve just made coffee.”

He shook his head. “Thank you, I can’t stay. I’m working tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow’s Saturday!” Natalie objected.

“Yes, and the offices are closed. But I’ve a lot to tackle and I get more done when no one’s there.” He gave Nat’s mum a warm smile. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Dashwood.”

She smiled and toyed with the pearls at her throat. “Celia, please. I enjoyed meeting you as well, Mr. Gordon. I must say…you’re not at all what I expected.”

Natalie eyed her mother in amazement. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost think mum was flirting with Rhys.

“Can I give you a lift?” Rhys asked Natalie as he turned to leave.

“Thanks, I drove.” She grabbed her handbag and keys and turned to kiss her mother goodbye. “Goodnight, mum.”

“Goodnight, darling.”

As Lady Dashwood returned to the drawing room to gather up the cups and saucers, she heard a buzzing sound coming from the pantry. Mystified, she set the plates down and pushed open the pantry door. “What on earth—?”

Natalie’s mobile lay on a shelf, buzzing madly away.

“Oh, dear.” She snatched the phone up and hurried back to the front door, but Natalie and Rhys were gone.

She looked at the caller’s name.
Rhys Gordon
. Should she answer? She didn’t like to think of Natalie driving home at this hour without her mobile. Suppose her car broke down?

“Mr. Gordon? Yes, it’s Celia Dashwood. No, she left her mobile in the pantry.” She paused. “Would you mind? Silly of me, but it’s late, and she’s without it. Thank you so much. Yes, call and let me know she got home safely. Goodnight.”

“I can’t believe it.” Natalie thumped her fist on the steering wheel in frustration. Halfway home, the car just…stopped. She eased the Peugeot off the road, and stared at the gauges to assess the situation.

Oh. Crikey. She was out of petrol.

She groaned. The petrol gauge’s needle was in the red, pointed firmly at ‘empty’.

“My mobile,” Natalie muttered, and grabbed her purse. She’d call mum.
Where is it?
she wondered as she scrabbled through her handbag,
I know it’s in here somewhere—

Suddenly she remembered. Rhys and his infuriating, persistent calls…she’d thrown her mobile on a shelf in the pantry. She closed her eyes. Bloody hell! Would this endless, endless day never end?

She couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t that late, and she was more than halfway home, but it was too far to walk. She eyed the dark street uneasily. There was a petrol station nearby, wasn’t there?

Natalie bit her lip. She’d lock up her car and walk. Even if the station was closed, they’d have a phone box, and she could ring mum to come and fetch her. She couldn’t stay here.

Resolutely, she got out and locked the door. She gripped her handbag and began to walk quickly down the street. She heard the echo of her high-heeled footsteps, and the distant swish of cars on the A4.

Somewhere behind her, growing closer, a motorcycle approached. She walked a bit faster. The low growl of the engine grew louder, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the motorbike slowing down, until it drew up alongside her.

Natalie looked back nervously but kept walking. She couldn’t see the rider’s face; a visored helmet obscured it.

Her legs turned to jelly. Should she run? Scream? Dial 999? No, scratch that, she couldn’t call for help – she didn’t have her bloody mobile.
Stupid, stupid—

“Natalie?”

She came to a stop, her heart beating wildly. “Rh-Rhys?”

He lifted the visor. “I saw your car abandoned back there,” he said, concerned. “What happened?”