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Rafael drew up outside the cottage, took the key from her nerveless fingers and sprang gracefully out to unlock the door for her.
Caught unprepared by the smooth dexterity and speed with which he carried out those manoeuvres, Harriet scrambled out less fluidly in his wake.
‘I enjoyed myself very much.’ Golden eyes veiled, Rafael bent his handsome dark head and pressed a non-committal kiss to her cheek, much as though she was a maiden aunt.
‘Me too…’ Watching him stroll back to the Lamborghini, Harriet went very pink: she was mortified by the conviction that he was giving her the brush-off.
Just before Rafael swung back into the driver’s seat, he paused to say casually, ‘Next weekend I’ll be at my stud farm in Kildare. I’ll take you to the races at Leopardstown on Friday. I’ll be in touch about the arrangements.’
Like a marionette with a stiffly wired neck, Harriet nodded and backed slowly indoors. When the door closed, he drove off. She wanted to punch the air and shout. Yet at the same time she felt weak and tremulous with relief, as though some great and terrifying danger had passed, leaving her unscathed. He could take her high and the very next minute send her spirits flying down into a sudden low. She had not a clue where she was with him. But wasn’t that supposed to be part and parcel of the excitement that supposedly went with having a fling? So why had he made no attempt even to kiss her?
Even Rafael was surprised by his own restraint. Having sensed her doubts in her preoccupied silence, he had immediately wondered if she was thinking about her ex-fiancé. It was extraordinary how much that suspicion had annoyed him, for he was not a possessive lover. He had never cared whether or not a woman’s thoughts were centred on him. After all, it was the passion he went for, not the emotional connection. But a stubbornly perverse part of him was determined that Harriet should want him so much that she had no reservations whatsoever, and no spare mental energy to waste on the past…
*
Determined to give Rafael no reason to regret his invitation, Harriet made an enormous effort to dress up for the races. She drove all the way down to Cork to visit an exclusive little boutique where she purchased a smart dress in tobacco-brown and pink, and a hat that flattered. In between times she worked endless hours preparing the tack shop for opening. Although she planned to initially sell only basic supplies, she was a touch dismayed by the amount of time that was swallowed up by the ordering, delivery and setting out of stock.
Una called her only once, and was so uncommunicative that Harriet became concerned and tried to find out if something was worrying the teenager. She was guiltily grateful that she had not yet mentioned her dinner date with Rafael, and relieved when Una finally grudgingly divulged that she had exams the following week. Ringing her back a couple of days later, Harriet did her best to cheer her up by reminding her that school would soon be breaking up for the summer.
On the day of the races a helicopter landed on the purpose-built pad at Flynn Court to pick up Harriet. Leopardstown racecourse was about six miles out of Dublin. Feeling like royalty, she boarded with Samson—Rafael had assured her that the little dog was allowed to come too. While she admired the breathtaking aerial views of the Irish countryside, she wondered a tad nervously if she was quite up to the challenge of seeing a guy who used air travel as casually as other people used buses. When she clambered out again, with Samson tucked in a capacious handbag from which only his bright eyes and perky ears showed, Rafael was waiting a few yards away with a limousine, and all of a sudden she felt as though the sun had risen inside her: all light and bright and shining.
In the limo she found it hard to drag her attention from his lean, darkly handsome face, and as a distraction she asked him about the racecourse. While Samson danced across the leather seat to introduce himself to their host with all the panache of a little dog who had regained his confidence, Rafael told her that Leopardstown had been modelled on the Sandown course in southern England, and built in 1880.
‘I like the dress.’ Although conservative in style, the garment enhanced her lush figure with a quiet good taste that impressed Rafael. The silk organza feathered hat was so feminine it charmed him. The colours she wore set off the glossy fall of her rich copper hair and creamy skin to perfection. ‘I’ll enjoy introducing you to the rest of my party.’
Her smile tensed a little, for she had not appreciated that she would be spending the day as one of a crowd. ‘Business guests?’
‘And society acquaintances. It was arranged weeks ago, to return the hospitality I have enjoyed abroad.’
Samson once again settled in her bag, Rafael took her into the Pavilion, a vast glass-fronted building, which offered a selection of entertainment venues as well as private suites for the use of the crème de la crème of racegoers. From the instant she emerged from the limo and stood by his side she was aware that she was attracting notice, in terms of downright stares and sidelong glances.
‘Do you get photographed by the press at even
ts like this?’ she asked him abruptly.
‘If one of my horses wins. Will you enjoy that?’ Rafael spoke with an innate cynicism that expected a positive answer, for he had yet to meet a woman who did not relish seeing her face in the newspapers.
‘No, I wouldn’t. If you don’t mind, I’d much prefer to stay in the background.’ Harriet was very reluctant to risk attracting the interest of the paparazzi, because she knew they would not rest until they had identified the mystery redhead and her miniature dog on Rafael Cavaliere’s arm. Unfortunately that could prove to be a very embarrassing development, she thought worriedly. Her broken engagement and her half-sister’s part in it might well be dug up and aired to enliven her otherwise boring history; Alice was very photogenic, and did at least enjoy a public profile. Unfortunately, that kind of muck-raking publicity would offend and embarrass Harriet’s entire family.
An ebony brow quirked. ‘Ashamed of me?’
‘Don’t be silly!’ Harriet laughed, and explained her concern. But for some reason what had seemed so simple appeared to become very complicated when voiced beneath the questioning onslaught of Rafael’s cool, dark scrutiny.
‘I can read you like a neon sign…and the message is sad.’
Harriet gave him a look of astonishment. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You are reluctant to be photographed in my company because you don’t want Luke to know that you’re with me now,’ Rafael framed with icy derision.
‘That’s total nonsense!’
‘I don’t think so. You’re still hoping to get your ex-fiancé back—’
‘Of course I’m not!’
‘I don’t believe you, a mhilis,’ Rafael admitted very drily. ‘But let’s leave it there. I see no need to involve myself with your private concerns.’
Squashed by that lofty assurance of uninterest, Harriet breathed in deep, annoyed that she had been denied the chance to rebut his suspicions, but concerned that a too robust defence would make her look very uncool and unduly keen to please. At the precise moment that she was inwardly wrestling with such uneasy concerns they entered the private suite he had hired to entertain his guests. Within twenty seconds of their entrance a crowd was jostling for his attention, with waves, loud greetings and a physical pushiness that saw Harriet elbowed out of the way so fast she found herself sidelined by the wall without quite knowing how she had got there. Resigned to being ignored, or at the very least overlooked in that excited melee, she was not the only person surprised when Rafael swung round in patent search of her and waited pointedly for her to move back to his side.
