“Bronte, how
are you?” the man said.
Bronte’s smile
did not reach her eyes.
“Good evening,
Jonathan, Annabel.” Her voice was too stiff, the tone too
polite.
Jonathan beamed
a smile in the general direction of the group and introduced his
wife who did not look particularly comfortable.
Jonathan moved
towards Bronte with a calculating look in his eye.
“May I have
this dance? For old times sake?”
Bronte
hesitated, shrugged and moved towards the dance floor, ignoring
Jonathan’s outstretched hand.
Standing there
feeling helpless Nico fought the urge to plant a fist in Jonathan’s
smooth, handsome face.
Bronte narrowed her
eyes at Jonathan’s triumphant smile, but did not resist as he led
her on to the floor.
His pregnant
wife had caught her off balance and although she was aware of the
speculative glances and murmured voices, she chose to ignore them.
Two babies within eighteen months, Jonathan was a busy boy.
Although it occurred to her that poor Annabel didn’t look a happy
bunny. Bronte found she genuinely felt sorry for the girl.
“You’re looking
particularly gorgeous.” Jonathan’s cold blue eyes slid over her
dress, missing nothing.
She wasn’t in
the mood for small talk.
“What do you
want?”
The feel of his
hand on her back did nothing for her, no chemistry, no shiver of
awareness, nothing.
She noticed he
had the grace to blush, even as his eyes flicked to Nico.
“I hear you’re
selling The Dower House.”
She blinked in
surprise. Her brows met as she leaned back to study him.
“I don’t know
where you heard that piece of gossip. But I can tell you
categorically it is not true.”
“Come on,
Bronte. You know in my business I hear about the decent properties
coming onto the market.” His family owned an estate agents and
auction house. He also had a cousin in the planning authority. Yes,
she remembered Jonathan always kept his ear close to the
ground.
“I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”
He flicked
another unpleasant look towards Nico.
“You should
speak to your new boyfriend.”
“Excuse me?”
Why had she never noticed his weak mouth before? Or the sly look in
his eye? What on earth had she been thinking to even have
considered marrying this creep? “You’re talking in riddles this
evening, Jonathan. I find it quite tedious.” He wasn’t used to her
speaking to him in that tone. By the clench of his jaw, she could
tell he didn’t like the change.
“He’s been
asking questions about planning permission for a landing strip to
be built on your land and changes to the house. He said it was
hypothetical, since he doesn’t own it yet. Before you accept an
offer, you should get independent valuations. I’d give you a good
price for it. It’s the perfect family home for us.”
Bronte’s pulse
thundered in her ears. What the hell was this? Had Nico’s apology
meant nothing? Her tired brain was finding it hard to compute. Nico
knew she wasn’t selling. He still wanted the house? The sense of
betrayal almost floored her.
And as for
Jonathan, she wondered why she was so shocked? Both of them had
their own agendas and were prepared to walk over her to achieve
them. The room tilted and then she remembered to breathe.
Nausea hit her
like a tsunami.
She needed to
get out here.
Jonathan
watched her reactions like a coiled snake and utter fury hit her so
hard her hand made a fist. Before she made a scene and actually
struck him, Bronte pushed him away.
“Go to
hell!”
She spun on her
heel and almost ran from the room.
“Uh oh, looks like
trouble.” Rosie moved to intercept Bronte but Nico put a hand on
her arm.
“Let me.”
Rosie looked at
his hand and then up at him.
“Take care of
her.”
“I will.”
Since she’d
disappeared in that general direction, he headed for the ladies
powder room. The ache in his heart as he watched her dancing with
her ex-fiancé was nothing compared to the pain he felt at the
absolute certainty Bronte was still in love with the man. Her
reaction when he arrived and the upset now proved it.
“Is Miss Ludlow
in there?” He asked the attendant. She shook her head.
“I think she
left, sir,” she said pointing towards the entrance.
Frowning, Nico
picked up speed and exited in time to see the car she’d arrived in
glide down the driveway.
Patting his
pockets for his keys, he sprinted for his car.
Nico drew his car to a
halt at the rear of the Dower House.
The light was
on in the kitchen.
Tapping the
steering wheel, for a moment he wondered if he was doing the right
thing. Perhaps it would be better to let her lick her wounds in
private? But that was complete cowardice. The point was she needed
him, even if she did not know it.
After a couple
of knocks, he turned the handle. And as usual Bronte hadn’t locked
the door.
He entered.
To see her
standing there, shaking as she sipped what appeared to be cognac,
her eyes huge and dazed with shock, broke his heart.
“Bronte?”
He moved fast.
Gathering her close his hands ran up and down her back.
It took him a
moment, but he realised something was off. She held herself too
stiff in his arms.
He drew back to
study her face. It wasn’t heartbreak Nico read, but pure undiluted
rage.
He let his
hands drop to his sides.
She turned,
walked towards the sink and spun to face him.
Her eyes shot
scorching darts of emerald fury.
Bronte gulped
the cognac and threw the glass at him.
Nico ducked
just in time as it smashed against the wall behind his head.
“You son of a
bitch,” she snarled. “Bronte, do not interfere in my business.” She
mimicked his accent and moved towards him. She looked
murderous.
He shook his
head, totally at a loss.
What had he
done?
“Did you query
the local planning department about a landing strip on my land and
structural changes to my house?” She held up a hand as he winced,
his throat suddenly dry as his pulse kicked. “I’ll take that as a
yes, shall I?”
“I can
explain.”
“I’ll just bet
you can, you snake.”
“You are upset.
I could see how he hurt you,
cara
. Believe me you will get
over him.”
Her chin
whipped up.
Stormy emerald
eyes met his and narrowed into icy slits.
“How he hurt
me? Compared to you, Jonathan is a rank amateur.” She circled
around him. “It doesn’t matter to you what my home means to me does
it?”
“Of course it
does.”
“When did you
speak to the planning department?”
His pulse
jerked simultaneously with the lurch in his gut.
Nico licked his
bottom lip and had the dizzy sensation of standing on the edge of a
precipice.
“Yesterday, but
I can explain ...”
She held up her
hand like a traffic cop.
“I don’t want
to hear it.”
Desperate now,
voice pleading, he tried again. “Bronte, I care for you.”
She whirled
around and leaned on the sink and took a deep breath, her head
bowed.
Keep calm, Nico
told himself. She was a reasonable woman. Or she would be once she
cooled down.
She turned to
him her face bone white, anger leaking out of her like a deflated
balloon.
“As a matter of
interest, since you care for me. Where was my business supposed to
go? Where was I going to live or had that thought not occurred to
you?”
Hope sprang in
his chest. She was going to listen to him.
He kept his
voice soft, the tone friendly. “I have already found the perfect
place for the business to re-locate, just outside town, where
...”
Eyes huge,
Bronte merely shook her head and studied him with unconcealed
amazement.
Nico
immediately realised his mistake, but if he could only get her to
listen to him and his plans to live with her here in the Dower
House.
He moved
towards her.
“Stay back!”
Chin high, she drew herself up to her full height, pure steel in
those magnificent eyes. “You care for no one and nothing except
yourself.” She took a step forward and he stepped back. “Do you
have any idea what you’ve done? Jonathan made me an offer tonight.
He told me this house would be the perfect place to bring up his
family. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
A hot, hard
lump lodged in his gut as she stepped forward again, eyes filled to
the brim with pain and longing. “You can live anywhere, why does it
have to be here?”
At last, she
was going to listen to him.
“I need a base,
a home and this would be perfect ...” She flinched as if he’d
slapped her and he hesitated. It is time I settled down with you,
he desperately wanted to add. But he spoke with his head instead of
his heart. “I can see you are still in love with him.”
For an instant
her eyes widened in stunned surprise, before she sank into a
chair.
She cleared her
throat and studied a fingernail for an endless moment.
“What gave you
the idea I am in love with him?” Her voice was hoarse, filled with
pain. She looked too pale, too fragile.
His heart
wrenched in his chest.
“You almost
broke my fingers when you saw him this evening.”
She said
nothing, just continued to stare at her fingernail.
He didn’t miss
the hectic pulse in her throat or the rapid blinking of her
eyes.
Nico narrowed his own
as he studied her.
In his
business, timing was everything.
Running a
frustrated hand through his hair, around his neck, he knew for
certain Bronte was in love with another man.
She’d not
denied it, which meant she needed time to heal.
Time for him to
draw back, to re-group. They had a deep connection. He did not
believe it was only a physical attraction on her part. Everything
between them had happened too fast, burned too hot and too intense.
Patience, he told himself. He would give her time and take her
advice to see his father, get to know his brother. Show her she was
right.
But his heart
waged a bitter war between fury and grief.
And he wondered
if he would ever get over this night.
Bronte sat, fingertips
rubbing her forehead.
For the first
time she looked totally defeated.
The need to
pull her into his arms, offer her his heart, his life, made Nico
light-headed.
He pulled up a
chair and sat opposite her.
Elbows on his
knees, hands clasped, he leaned forward.
“I have handled
this badly.”
She licked her
top lip as her eyes, empty now, met his.
“That is an
understatement.”
“I am leaving
for Rome tomorrow, but I shall return in a couple of days.”
She took a
breath, nodded, as they rose in unison.
“Nico?” He
turned to her. “I want you to leave me alone.”
If he wanted
her to trust him then they needed the truth between them.
“I cannot do
that.”
“What do you mean
you will not be available for the next two weeks?”
Bronte wore a
black business suit and sat in front of Nico’s desk with a
spreadsheet of wedding functions between them.
He looked put
out she thought, ruthlessly ignoring the pang in her heart. He
treated her as if she was a friend rather than an ex-lover these
days. Don’t go there, she ordered herself. But after four hellish
weeks, she still missed him desperately.
He’d been the
perfect gentleman at their twice weekly meetings, easy to work with
and the consummate professional. He took frequent trips to Rome,
usually over the weekend. The insight into how he ran his business
had been illuminating too. He ran a tight ship with capable people.
In fact, he didn’t need to see her at all since his PA was
super-efficient and could easily take the meetings, but he’d
insisted.
Twice he’d
asked her out to dinner and twice she’d said no. So he’d stopped
asking and Bronte told herself she wasn’t disappointed. He’d tried
to talk to her about The Dower House, but she refused to discuss it
with him. It was all for the best. Alexander was due back tomorrow
and she expected Nico to move on.
“I’m taking a
break from this Friday,” she told him. “Rosie has the team
well-organised.”
He gave her a
level look, cocked his head as he studied her.
“You look
tired. A holiday will do you good.”
She was about
to say it wasn’t exactly a holiday, but caught herself in time.
They didn’t talk about personal things these days. Then her eye
spotted the black photo frame to the right of the desk that held
her drawing. He’d framed it? She picked it up with a hand that
wasn’t quite steady. In the bottom left hand corner it said - drawn
by Bronte - and the date.
Her eyes met
his. Her chest felt tight with an emotion she didn’t want or
need.
“You framed it?
But ... why?” She placed it carefully on the desk.
“It reminds me
of one of the best days of my life.” His voice, soft and husky,
sent shivers up her spine.
Bronte kept her
eyes on his, fascinated by what she saw in them. Oh no, she wasn’t
going to do this, not now.
On shaky legs
she rose to leave.
Nico moved around the
desk and took her hand for the first time since the scene in her
kitchen.
He held her
fingers in a comfortable, friendly manner and his eyes twinkled as
heat soared into her cheeks along with a flood of awareness.
“Two weeks
seems a long time for a workaholic like you. Where are you going?”
His thumb ran across her knuckles and her mind went blank.