Revenge by Seduction Page 3

  ‘It…it’s rather nice in here, isn’t it?’ she said, making a desperate stab at conversation. ‘I pass this place every day but it’s the first time I’ve ever been inside.’ Oh, God! If that was the best she could do she might be better keeping her mouth shut.

  One dark eyebrow rose in obvious interest. ‘You live here in Chelsea, do you?’

  ‘Yes. Palmerston Court. It’s only a few minutes’ walk from here.’

  He nodded. ‘I know it. A very exclusive and desirable property. I’ve been thinking of buying a flat there myself. I’m needing some place permanent. And you would definitely recommend it—as an investment, say?’

  She was beginning to recover her scrambled wits. Could it really be possible that this gorgeous man was actually interested in her? It seemed unbelievable, and yet… She reviewed the past few minutes since they’d met. One moment she’d been strolling home, minding her own business, and the next she’d been thrust in-elegantly into his arms. It had been a highly unlikely start to a meaningful relationship, yet stranger things had happened. He could simply have smiled politely, released her and let her go without another word. But he hadn’t. He’d held her tightly, expressed concern, brought her here for a drink, asked her her name, paid her a compliment and found out where she lived. Now he was asking her advice! Oh, there was no doubt about it. This was Mr Right and no mistake. If this wasn’t love then why did she feel six inches off the ground?

  He was still waiting for her answer and she gave a tentative self-conscious smile. ‘I don’t know much about property. You’d be better asking an expert.’

  The suggestion brought a cynical smile to his lips. ‘There’s no such thing as an “expert” in the property business these days. I’ve always found that it pays to get your information from the people on the ground, as it were. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to show me over the place some time? Do you have a flatmate or…parents you’d have to ask?’

  ‘My parents live in Scotland,’ she said quickly, then added a little defensively, ‘I’m old enough to look after myself.’

  He seemed amused. ‘I’m sure you are, Catriona. I admire a spirit of independence. So you live in London all by yourself, do you?’

  At the moment, while Madge was on holiday, she did, and some devil within, urging her to project an image of maturity and self-reliance, made her keep silent about Madge. Thankfully she was spared the necessity of an outright spoken lie by the arrival of the waiter with their order.

  Forestalling any further questions on that subject, she busied herself by daintily topping up her whisky from the bottle of mineral water.

  The grey eyes watched her with amused interest, then he said with approval, ‘I’m impressed and pleased to see that you didn’t order some ghastly cocktail garnished with a paper umbrella. A nice malt whisky instead. You’re obviously a lady of discernment.’

  The compliment gave her a warm glow. He said the nicest things…and with such sincerity. She was a lady. A lady of discernment, no less! And he had such lovely white teeth when he smiled. Oh, it was too much. He was bound to have a girlfriend somewhere. Quickly pushing that unwelcome thought aside, she raised her glass and sipped far more than she’d intended. Immediately she felt it go to her head. At least the water had quenched the fire of the spirit and she was mercifully spared the embarrassment of having a coughing fit.

  ‘Do you have many friends in Chelsea?’ he asked casually. ‘An attractive girl like you surely has a boyfriend or two.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ she assured him quickly. Perhaps too quickly. She paused and assumed an air of nonchalance. ‘At least nothing to write home about.’

  ‘So there’s no one special in your life?’

  She shrugged. ‘Not really.’ Her heart was hammering away inside her chest.

  ‘London can be a very lonely place,’ he commented quietly. ‘You must have some kind of social life, surely?’

  She didn’t want him getting the idea that she was some kind of stick-in-the-mud, a stay-at-home, so she said blithely, ‘Well, there’s the usual round of parties. You know what Chelsea is like. There’s always something going on.’

  He grinned and seemed satisfied. Suddenly he glanced at the expensive gold watch on his wrist and she felt the stab of cold disappointment. He was going to finish his drink, make some excuse, then be on his way—and she’d never see him again. Was it because of something she’d said? Had he seen through her lies…even if they had just been little white ones?

  What did a woman do at a moment like this? she asked herself desperately. Simply shrug off her disappointment? Console herself with the thought that he wasn’t meant to be the one, after all? Perhaps fate had someone else in mind for her, and that was a pity because she was quite willing to settle for him here and now. Given such a short acquaintance it might be foolish to imagine that she was hopelessly already in love, but how else could she explain this wild beating of her heart?

  He still had that oddly penetrating and quizzical look in his eye when he asked suddenly, ‘Are you sure you’ve quite recovered, Catriona?’

  She managed a bright smile. ‘Yes. I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it.’ He gave a sigh of regret. ‘I’d love to sit here and chat all day and get to know you better, but I’m afraid I have to leave. I’m meeting a client back at my hotel in fifteen minutes.’

  She knew it had been too good to be true. Somehow she contrived another cheerful smile. ‘Please don’t let me keep you from your work. You’ve been very kind and I appreciate it, Mr Hind.’

  ‘Good. Then perhaps you’d like to show that appreciation by having dinner with me this evening?’

  She replaced her glass on the table, stared at it stupidly for a moment, then looked up to see if he was serious.

  ‘Th—this evening?’ she stammered.

  ‘In two hours’ time, to be exact,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But if that’s too short a notice for you I can arrange it for later.’

  ‘No!’ she said quickly. ‘I mean…I’m sure I can manage that.’

  ‘Good,’ he said briskly. Then with a devastating smile he added, ‘It’s been one of those days. Dinner with you will make up for everything.’

  Her mind was racing ahead. What would she wear? Did she have anything remotely suitable for a dinner date?

  ‘I’ll leave the choice to you, Catriona,’ he said gallantly. ‘I usually dine at Cardini’s but perhaps you’d prefer French…or Italian?’

  ‘Cardini’s will do fine, Mr Hind,’ she answered lightly. She had no idea what Cardini’s was like, but if a man with his grooming and style ate there regularly it was sure to be first rate. He’d probably be wearing a dinner jacket and bow tie, and God knows what she was going to wear but she’d think of something.

  He flashed another smile. ‘Enough of the Mr Hind. Call me Ryan.’

  She hoped she didn’t look as flushed as she felt when she smiled back. ‘Very well…Ryan.’ Seeing him glance at his watch again, she hurriedly finished her drink then said, ‘I, too, will have to be going.’

  His hand claimed her arm lightly as he escorted her outside. At the doorway he paused. ‘I’ll send a car to pick you up at seven-thirty. Will that be all right, Catriona?’

  ‘Yes…’ Her voice had gone husky with excitement. ‘I…I’ll tell the security man in the foyer to look out for it.’

  He smiled again, then turned, and she watched him stride off. For a moment she simply stood there, hardly daring to believe what had happened. Something was bound to go wrong. He’d change his mind. She’d get all dressed up and sit waiting for a car which would never show up.

  But then again perhaps he really did mean it, and he would send a car, and she’d damn well better be ready just in case. But what was she going to wear?

  With a sudden flash of inspiration she hurried back to the shop and let herself in. Telling herself that Madge would understand, she made straight for the reject corner in the stock room.

  She found t
he dress she wanted and held it at arm’s length, then swallowed nervously. Would she dare wear this? Strapless, in pale green Chinese silk, it carried a top designer name and a price tag that would have bought a good second-hand car.

  To the casual observer it was a sublime creation and worth every penny, but to eagle-eyed Madge who’d spotted the tiny imperfection in the hemline, it was worthless. As in all such cases she’d immediately got in touch with her supplier, who invariably told Madge to get rid of the items in any way she saw fit. Madge usually donated them to the charity shops in the East End. It tickled her sense of humour to think of some poor old cleaning lady going to work in a five-hundred-pound coat she’d bought for next to nothing.

  Catriona found a matching silk stole, then she wrapped them up, let herself out of the shop and rushed back to the flat.

  The internal phone buzzed at seven-thirty precisely. She answered it breathlessly, then rushed over to the window and saw the long black limousine drawn up in the forecourt below. Then, breathing deeply to calm herself, she took one last look at herself in the mirror.

  When she’d first tried on the dress she’d eyed her reflection in despair. She’d never have the nerve to go out in this! She couldn’t wear a bra—not that that was a problem with the way it clung to her figure—but the amount of flesh and cleavage on display could only be justified in front of a husband or doctor. But it certainly looked stunning. She’d turned this way and that, getting used to the idea.

  Now she completed the outfit with the stole and one of Madge’s coats, borrowed for the occasion, then took the lift down to the foyer where Charlie, the security man, had to look twice before grinning and wishing her a pleasant evening.

  In the back of the chauffeur-driven car she glanced at herself in the vanity mirror. Although she wore no make-up except for a touch of lipstick, her colour was high. It was nerves, she told herself. High as a kite. She’d have to relax.

  She’d have to try and be smart and sophisticated, like the women who came into the shop. They drawled their words and called everyone ‘dahling’ and…well, perhaps she needn’t go that far…they had what she supposed was style.

  Could she carry it off or was she going to blow it? Was she just going to sit throughout the evening overawed and tongue-tied until he got bored to death with her company?

  She scowled at her reflection, then felt gooseflesh on her neck as she imagined she heard the voice of Morag whispering in her ear— ‘I’ve never met a McNeil yet who’s afraid of a challenge.’ She blinked and drew a deep breath. Voices in her head? That was all she needed! Still, Morag had been right. This was a challenge, and win or lose she was going to give it her best shot.

  The traffic in the West End was in its usual state of chaos, but soon enough the limousine drew up outside the restaurant. The chauffeur opened the rear door for her and as she stepped on to the pavement the restaurant doorman came over and tipped his hat. ‘Miss McNeil?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Mr Hind is expecting you.’

  He led her into the foyer, where a cloakroom attendant took charge of her coat and stole, then on into the restaurant proper, where the dignified head waiter took charge and escorted her through the length of the room towards a table in a quiet, exclusive corner.

  Her stomach began to flutter nervously as she took in her surroundings. The hushed, refined dignity of the place was almost intimidating. Silver, gleaming under candlelight…the subdued murmur of conversation…the discreet clink of bottles against wine glasses…the plush Victorian decor…

  Suddenly there he was, resplendent in dinner jacket, just as she’d imagined. He rose to his feet with a welcoming smile. ‘Catriona.’ He looked her over with approval. ‘You look stunning in that dress!’

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, glowing inwardly at the compliment. Encouraged by his reaction, she smiled as she sat down. ‘I’m glad you like it. It was a problem making up my mind what to wear. I only decided on this at the last moment.’ Oh, you wicked little liar! she thought. She could hardly believe she’d said that.

  The waiter handed her a menu but she brushed it aside. ‘I’ll leave the choice to you, Ryan. What would you recommend?’

  His mouth twitched in humorous acknowledgement of her faith in his judgement and he said promptly, ‘Duck in orange sauce. It’s the chef’s speciality.’ When the waiter had gone with the order he continued, ‘I took the liberty of ordering a decent wine before you arrived. If it’s too dry for your liking I’ll have them bring something else.’

  She wouldn’t have cared if it was cold bathwater, she thought as she watched him pour a glass. Raising it to her mouth, she took a delicate sip, savoured it for a moment, then nodded and dabbed daintily at her lips with her napkin. ‘Very nice,’ she murmured. ‘Just the way I like it.’ Would you just listen to her? She, who wouldn’t know the difference between claret and cooking sherry!

  She took comfort from the fact that she wasn’t really deceiving him. It was just that since she’d accepted his invitation she was obligated to see that she didn’t spoil his evening. She had to make an effort to make herself sound agreeable and interesting. And it was working! She could tell by the way those eyes of his seldom left her face.

  There was one sticky moment, when he asked her whereabouts in Scotland her parents lived.

  ‘Oh, you’ll never have heard of it,’ she said casually. ‘It’s called Kindarroch. In the Western Highlands. Nothing much goes on up there.’

  ‘And that’s why you decided to come and live in London?’ he suggested with an understanding smile. ‘You certainly don’t look like one of the hunting, shooting and fishing set. I somehow can’t see you tramping over the estate in gumboots with the Labrador at your heels.’

  Estate, she thought? Who’d mentioned anything about an estate? Still, if he wanted to believe that she was one of the minor Scottish aristocracy that was fine by her. When they got to know each other better they’d laugh about it together. But it only went to prove that she seemed to have ‘style’ after all.

  He had lovely hands, she thought as she watched him refill her glass. Well-formed and well-manicured, sensitive, yet strong and competent-looking. He had a thick gold ring set with a ruby on his little finger.

  There was something else she was beginning to notice about him, and that was the aura of power and unspoken authority evident in the relaxed way he conducted himself. His mere presence seemed to dominate the room. The hovering waiters were always ready with a fresh bottle or a clean napkin at his slightest gesture. And she doubted if there was a woman in the place who didn’t keep glancing towards him.

  Looking back on it now, she still wasn’t clear how she’d ended up back in his hotel suite. It was true that the wine had gone to her head, but she remembered agreeing enthusiastically with him when he’d said that the night was still young and that it would be a pity to end their new-found friendship when the meal was over. It had been words to that effect, anyway, but the undeniable fact was that she had been out of her depth and completely under his spell. She’d been captivated…enthralled…enraptured… And the thought of the consequences had never entered her head.

  It had only been when they were in his spacious, luxurious lounge, and he’d removed his jacket and tie and invited her to kick off her shoes and make herself comfortable, that she’d had the first stirrings of doubt about the situation she’d landed herself in.

  Well, it was too late now, wasn’t it? she’d thought. And, anyway, the man was a gentleman—anyone could see that. If he became over-amorous she would make it quite clear to him that she wasn’t that kind of girl and he wouldn’t push the matter. He’d probably respect her all the more, wouldn’t he?

  As he’d poured a couple of drinks at the built-in bar he’d pressed a remote control. The lights had dimmed and soft music came from hidden speakers. Looking around, she hadn’t failed to be impressed by the size and sheer luxury of the place.

  ‘Do you always stay in hotels like this?�
�� she asked with a frown. ‘It must be terribly expensive. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to have a flat of your own?’

  ‘Cheaper, yes,’ he agreed. ‘But not nearly so convenient.’ He handed her a glass, then raised his hand to stroke and feel the soft texture of her hair. ‘A man only needs a house if he feels the desire to put down roots, Catriona. But that only happens if he’s lucky enough to find a very special woman. Some woman to share his life and his dreams of raising a family.’

  The backs of his fingers were lightly brushing the soft, tender skin of her neck and the glass trembled in her hand. ‘I…I’m sure you will, Ryan,’ she said with the breath catching in her throat. She suddenly needed to sit down…badly…but his eyes were holding her with an enervating magnetism.

  ‘Yes…’ he breathed softly. ‘Perhaps I already have, Catriona. I was giving up hope until now.’

  ‘W-were you?’

  ‘Why do you think I asked you about the flats in Palmerston Court?’

  She gulped. ‘As…as an investment, you said…’

  He smiled at her innocence. ‘Let’s just say that the instant fate thrust you into my arms I knew my dreams hadn’t been in vain.’ He gently removed the drink from her shaking hand and placed it beside his own on the coffee table, then he took her by the shoulders and looked down into the depths of her wide blue eyes.

  Her mind was a chaotic mess of emotions. Was he truly telling her that she was that ‘special’ woman? Well, why not? Love at first sight was a fact of life, wasn’t it? It might be the stuff of romantic dreams and fairy tales but it did happen. It had happened to her, so why shouldn’t it happen to him? Those impossibly clear and luminous grey eyes were filling her vision now, and all sense of critical judgement was swamped by her desire to believe him.