Still…

Marina thought of the clothes she’d brought and wondered if they’d do.

‘Don’t worry,’ Lord Winterborne said when she glanced up at the sky. ‘We have good heating inside. August can be like this. Very unpredictable. It will probably be fine and warm tomorrow. Ahh, here’s William with the car.’

A large and stately-looking dark green saloon pulled into the kerb with a properly uniformed chauffeur behind the wheel. He looked about fifty, with a full, florid face and a few too many pounds around his stomach.

‘Don’t get out, William,’ his employer called out, on opening the back door. ‘Just hand me the keys and I’ll put the luggage in the boot. This is Marina, by the way, all the way from Sydney, Australia.’

‘How do you do, miss?’ the chauffeur said, lifting his cap in greeting as she climbed in and settled in the most comfy brown leather seat.

They exchanged a smile in the rear-vision mirror. ‘His Lordship was over the moon when he found out you were coming, miss. It’s ever so good of you to do what you’re doing.’

‘That’s nice of you to say so, but I’m only doing what anybody would do, under the circumstances.’

‘I wouldn’t say that. I wouldn’t say that at all.’

‘What wouldn’t you say, William?’ the man himself asked, on joining them and handing back the keys.

‘That not everyone would do what this pretty lady is doing for Rebecca. Or come this far to do it.’

‘You’re quite right. I wholeheartedly agree with you. Straight to the apartment, William.’

‘Very good, My Lord.’

His Lordship stayed well over on his side of the roomy back seat, Marina noted, which was a relief. There was something about being confined in a car with him which was even more disturbing than ogling him from behind, or conjuring up erotic little scenarios in her head. Their enclosed closeness meant she could not only see him. She could smell him.

No matter how often Shane showered he still smelt slightly of sweat and horses. This man smelt of something very expensive. An exotic, spicy scent which teased the nostrils and made you think of crisp clean air and pines covered in snow, of cool white sheets and freshly washed bodies and…

Oh, my God, I’m doing it again!

Marina wrenched her mind back from the abyss, turning her head away from the inspiration of her erotic thoughts and that damned cologne he was wearing. She stared out at the suburban London street and the rows of identical houses, and tried to pull herself together.

‘You mentioned your mother died of cancer…’

Darn it, he was speaking to her. She would have to turn her head back and look at him.

She did so. Slowly. Nonchalantly. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said, and their eyes met. He really did have riveting eyes, she thought. The blue was as intense as their expression.

‘Was it leukaemia?’ he asked.

‘No. She died from skin cancer. A couple of months back. Melanoma. It took her fairly quickly after it was diagnosed. Though it’s never quick enough, is it?’ she added, her heart contracting at the thought of her mother’s suffering.

‘And your father? How is he coping?’

‘My father died when I was just a baby. A horse he was breaking in threw him into a fence. Snapped his neck. That’s why I have no brothers or sisters.’

‘Your poor mother.’

‘Oh, Mum coped. Mum always coped. She was very strong. Very brave.’

‘Her daughter takes after her.’

Marina shook her head. ‘I wish I did. But let’s not talk about me. I want you to tell me about Rebecca and her background.’

‘What would you like to know?’

‘Oh…everything, I guess.’ She was very curious about the child, plus how she came to have such a young great-uncle.

‘It’s only a half-hour drive to Mayfair at this time of day,’ he said a touch ruefully. ‘I doubt I can fit the Winterborne saga into such a short space of time. But I’ll try. Though I’ll keep it down to the relevant details and leave whatever family skeletons I can in the closet. I want you to think well of us.’

‘I already think well of you,’ she said, before she could bite the words back.

But it was true. Aside from the unfortunate physical attraction, she did think well of him. This was no selfish man sitting across from her. A selfish man would not have personally taken himself in to Heathrow airport at five in the morning. A selfish man would not have given a hoot if his chauffeur had arthritis. A selfish man would not love a little girl as he obviously loved his great-niece.

His smile was ironic. ‘You don’t really know me, Marina.’