Authors: Sara Wood

The Impatient Groom (2 page)

BOOK: The Impatient Groom

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âThank you.'

Astonished that he felt annoyed because he hadn't been able to speak to the blissfully unaware Madonna, Rozzano brought his interest under control, rose and strolled at his usual leisurely pace into Luscombe's office. As the elderly solicitor greeted him, he heard the secretary add sneeringly, dismissively, âOh, and you're to come in too, Miss Charlton.'

He swivelled on his heel, startled. The serene, dreaming Madonna had indeed followed him in! What the hell had she to do with the DâAntiga millions?

âWould you like coffee, Your Highness?' suggested the secretary, in a sickeningly unctuous voice.

He shot her a hard look. âIn my country,' he said softly, pained that he felt driven to make the rebuke, âwomen take priority over men.'

âYes, Jean, bring coffee for everyone!' The solicitor's glare at his secretary said it all.

And then Luscombe turned his attention to the seraphic woman behind Rozzano. As the solicitor drew her forward and welcomed her, the anger in his face inelted away and he was all smiles.

So was Rozzano, though he wasn't sure why. Smiling hadn't been in his repertoire of expressions for a long time, but when he looked at the Madonna it just happened. While she solemnly shook the solicitor's hand, he reflected that her very presence seemed to have a balmy effect on his seething brain.

As Frank Luscombe completed the introductions,
Rozzano took Sophia Charlton's slender and graceful hand and, on a totally uncharacteristic and flamboyant impulse, bent low to kiss it.

He looked and smelled gorgeous, she thought, staring at the top of his smooth, dark head and still trying to recall where she'd heard his name before. Since he was a prince, she supposed that she must have read about him attending some jet-set party or a film premiere. How glamorous!

And then his eyes lifted to hersâwarm, inky-black and magnetic. Sophia was startled. This was no playboy. He had depth. Intelligence.

A glow relaxed all her muscles, the same inner glow she'd felt when he'd first walked into the waiting room and she'd heard his rich, chocolate-syrup voice and its intriguing accent.

His arrival had prompted her to dream of meeting her prince one day, falling in love and having his children. Even if that âprince' turned out to be a farmhand or an estate agent, he'd be a prince to
her
!

And they'd have children. Four would be perfect. Sophia sighed. She longed for a baby. The desire had grown more urgent as her biological clock had begun to tick away. Although she'd always made the best of whatever situation she was in, a family would make her life complete.

Humour and common sense dragged her back to reality. Out here in this quiet country setting, white horses bearing spare bachelor princes, farmhands or estate agents were thin on the ground. Especially ones who'd fall madly in love with a thirty-two-year-old spinster in a terminally ill brown cardy!

Amused, she imagined Prince Rozzano leaning down
from his white stallion and hooking her up to sit in front of him. He'd unbutton her demure cardigan and fling it away in a fit of unbridled passion.

She stifled a giggle and paid attention, her face as sombre as she could make it.

âSo please, take a seat. And I must apologise for Jean,' Frank was saying. âShe's a temp. My own secretary is on maternity leave.'

âHow lovely!' she said, suppressing her envy. âBut I'm sure it's been difficult for you,' Sophia sympathised.

She sat down and tried to make her too short skirt cover a bit more thigh. The prince had already given her legs a couple of glances. Unfortunately she couldn't tell if he'd disapproved or enjoyed the experience.

The secretary knocked on the door and placed a tray on the solicitor's desk, her hands clumsily knocking against the phone as she did so. Simpering, she handed the prince a cup, looked disappointed when he coolly declined her further services via milk and sugar and stalked out in a sulk, leaving Sophia and Frank to reach for their own less than pristine mugs.

Frank sighed. âI give up!'

Sophia's eyes were laughing at his mock despair. âIf you're stuck any time in the future, I could always pop in and give you a hand,' she offered. âI used to do Father's typing and accounts for him.'

Frank looked bemused. âI thought you ran a day nursery before you stopped working to care for him?'

Her face grew soft with the happy memories of those days. âI did. I adored it, too,' she admitted. âBut I helped Father in my spare time. Frankly, I'd do anything nowâso long as it doesn't involve night or daylight robbery, pushing drugs orâ' She stopped, realising she'd gabbled
on without her usual sense of caution. This definitely wasn't the place to mention prostitution!

âOr?' prompted the prince.

âAnything illegal.' She made the words as prim as possible.

âAh.'

From the look in his eyes, it was plain that he knew exactly what she'd meant! Demurely she continued. âApart from the voluntary work I do at the school, I've been out of work since Father died.' She grimaced. âYou know what it's like finding a job here, Frank. If I lived in a town it would be easier, but I can't afford to move.'

A low laugh escaped when she remembered her last attempt at finding employment.

âShare it, please, Miss Charlton,' murmured the prince, the expression in his eyes veiled by his impossibly long lashes.

Both men seemed interested, so she gave a shrug and shared. âI was desperate for any kind of work,' she told them solemnly, âso last week I applied for a job as a bin manâ
person
,' she corrected, remembering to be politically correct.

âBin...person?'

The prince's English was amazing, but obviously aristocrats didn't know about such things. Solemnly she explained. âRefuse collector.'

The prince's only response was a millimetre lift of his eyebrows. Not a man to wear his humour on his sleeve, then. She was seized by a wicked desire to shock him, or to force a smile to crack that composure.

Frank was more forthcoming. âAnd?' he queried, grinning.

âLooking around at the competition, I thought I had a good chance,' she said, keeping her expression deadpan.
âThen in came a guy with a shaven head, tattoos and a vest, bursting at the seams with Herculean muscles. I knew all was lost. Given an hour or two I could manage the first three of those, but not the last!'

Frank laughed. She thought the prince was smiling, but she kept her eyes firmly ahead. For some reason he was making her feel edgy. What could he possibly have to do with her?

âI think,' Frank observed, still chuckling, âyou'll soon have better things to do than to collect other people's rubbish.'

The prince leaned forward a fraction. Sophia treated herself to a quick glance. From the slight lift of his shoulders she deduced that he was tense, even though no such emotion showed on the perfection of his smooth, oliveskinned face.

But as a vicar's daughter she'd had practice in reading small gestures. Perception came with the job. How else did you know when a widower was being brave but really wanted to talk and weep over his bereavement? Or that the jar of home-made jam, which one of the parishioners had brought in, was only an excuse for needing a heartto-heart about their wayward daughter?

Her wandering mind suddenly snapped back, to focus on the present situation. And suddenly she was tense too, wondering how an Italian nobleman fitted in with Frank's mysterious phone call, which had promised she would hear something to her advantage.

âLike...the offer of a job as a nursery nurse?' she had asked hopefully.

âMuch better,' was all Frank would say at the time.

But that was what she wantedâto return to the career she'd adored, surrounded by children, loving them, mothesring them.

âSophia?'

Her hand went to her mouth in dismay and then she gave a small laugh of apology, used to missing conversations when she retreated into her inner fantasy world.

âsorry! I'm a terrible drifter!' she said amiably.

âThinking of Hercules and his vest?' suggested the prince.

Her eyes twinkled Beneath that cool exterior lurked a decent sense of humour! She felt irrationally pleased.

âI was thinking of children,' she told him, with unconscious tenderness. âI wish I could find work with them.'

Frank coughed meaningfully but his eyes were smiling at her in a kindly way. Reluctantly she pushed back the memories of the blissful times she'd spent with the kiddies in her care.

âYes, I'm listening!' She sat very calmly, her hands in her lap. âGo ahead.'

The solicitor fussily squared the sheaf of papers in front of him. âLet me see...Where to start?'

She sensed that the prince had become unnaturally still. Her glance flicked across to him again. He had a strong and hard profile, which suggested a ruthless determination.

In her judgement, he was ruthless with himself, too. The line of his hair at the nape of his neck was unnaturally neat, his collar too dazzling, the set of his tie so exact that it might have been glued in place after careful positioning with the aid of a set square and ruler.

Then she spotted that a small, wayward curl was flick ing around his ear in defiance of his attempted perfection. She felt a wicked pleasure at its mutiny. This man was so immaculately turned out, he might have been carved in marbleâclothes and all!

He looked at her then. To her delight his mouth winened
into a broad smile in response to hers. She was totally disarmed, as if he was awarding her a rare privilege.

She felt an almost irrepressible urge to tousle his hair. It would look marvellous streaming back from his face in the wind. She could see him now, on nearby Barley Hill, the sun highlighting that incredible bone structure.

âAre you as impatient as I to know what strange quirk of fate should bring us together in this office?' he asked her.

His mellow, cultured voice slid deliciously through her. She wallowed in the sensation while pretending to be considering his remark. It was a rarity having a prince turn her insides to treacle and she meant to enjoy every melting second.

âNot impatient. I'm sure Frank will tell us in his own good time,' she said good-naturedly. Anyone who'd sat through vicarage teas with long-winded parishioners knew the meaning of patience. âBut it does seem extraordinary!'

âMy thoughts entirely.'

More than extraordinary, she decided. Improbable! They were from different planets. His clothes certainly were. They fitted his superb body so well that they must have been made for him. The neat line of his broad shoulders was a work of art in itself. More set squares and rulers, she supposed.

His carefully groomed hair and manicured nails suggested a man who had time to spend on himselfâor he paid others to take care of his appearance for him. All that and a title too. Other than chalk and cheese, how different could you get?

Sophia leant towards him and whispered on impulse, âI think Frank's got his files mixed up, to be honest.'

He smiled, his eyes softening in a way that made the breath catch in her throat. âThat had crossed my mind.'

âWon't be long,' Frank muttered, preoccupied with his papers. âJust looking for something...'

He looked excited. Sophia frowned. When ever did solicitors lose their cool? Frank's tension communicated itself to her and a sudden attack of nerves made her fill the painful silence and blurt out to the prince, âDo you think I might be your long-lost sister?'

His eyes flickered over her from head to toe and a heat followed his leisurely appraisal, coursing down her body as if a blazing torch had blasted it.

âI think that's unlikely, don't you?' he murmured, staring at her ankles as if they alone proved she had no aristocratic bones in her body.

âIt was a joke,' she mumbled, disconcerted by what was happening to her.

The dark chocolate eyes lifted to hers languidly. âI know.'

He stared harder, frowning, examining in detail her face and mouth. Then he drew in a harsh breath and jerked himself to the edge of his seat as if something amazing had suddenly occurred to him.

âMr Luscombe!' he shot out abruptly, all princely charm vanishing with a startling suddenness. âYou told me on the telephone that you had news concerning my father's friend D'Antiga. Are we talking about his daughter?'

âIn a way,' said Frank, flustered. âButâ'

âShe's dead, I presume.'

Frank frowned, obviously taken aback by the prince's suddenly curt manner. âYou've guessed right, but if I mayâ'

BOOK: The Impatient Groom

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