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The thought, silly as it was, was immensely gratifying, but after the comment about her expressive face she should have been on her guard, because in the next moment Flynn said, ‘OK, let’s have it. What’s amused you?’
‘Amused me?’ she prevaricated weakly, hastily wiping all satisfaction from her face. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
He shrugged easily. ‘Have it your own way. So, who’s the guy and is he still in the background somewhere?’
‘I didn’t say there was a man,’ she objected sharply, any lingering smugness gone in an instant.
‘Ah, but you didn’t say there wasn’t, which is more to the point.’
One more ‘ah’ and she’d throw her glass at his arrogant head, Marigold promised herself, before thinking, Oh, what the heck? She was never going to see him again once she was out of here, so she might as well humour him.
‘The man was my fiancé,’ she said abruptly, ‘and at present he is on what was supposed to be our honeymoon with his new lady friend. OK? Does that satisfy you?’
If nothing else she had surprised him again but somehow it gave her no pleasure this time.
Flynn had sat up in his seat as she had spoken, expelling a quiet breath as he looked at her taut face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said very softly, astonishing her with the deep sincerity in his voice, which was smoky warm. ‘The guy is a moron but of course you are already aware of that.’
She blinked at him. She’d received various words of comfort and condolence since she’d thrown Dean’s ring at him and sent him packing, but not quite like this.
She relaxed a little, her voice steady as she said, ‘Apparently, if one or two mutual friends are to be believed, she probably wasn’t the first. We were together for three years and I never suspected a thing.’ She gave a mirthless smile. ‘What does that make me?’
‘Lucky.’ It was very dry. ‘That you’re now rid of him, I mean. You could wait around all your life for him to grow up and die waiting. Let someone else have the job of babysitting him while you have a life instead.’
She’d never heard it put so succinctly before but Marigold realised he was absolutely right. Even when they had still been together, she thought suddenly, she had carried Dean and been the source of strength for them both. She had never been the sort of girl who couldn’t say boo to a goose and expected the man in her life to make all the decisions, mind you, but with Dean she had found herself constantly making the decisions for both of them simply because he wouldn’t. It had been a flawed relationship in every sense of the word, and the main problem had been—as this stranger had just pointed out—that Dean hadn’t grown up. He was still a Jack the lad and not ready for a permanent relationship. Perhaps he never would be; some men were like that.
She raised her head now and looked at Flynn, and the mercurial eyes were waiting for her, their depths as smoky as his voice had been. ‘Her name is Tamara, the resident babysitter,’ she said with a small smile. ‘Apparently she’s five feet ten, blonde and blue-eyed, and has legs that go right up to her neck—so I’ve heard.’
‘The mutual friends again?’ he asked quietly.
Marigold no
dded.
‘Seems to me you could do with some new friends, too.’
She’d been thinking along the same lines; hence the increasing urge for a change. She was still too closely linked with Dean in London. They had had the same group of friends for years, went to the same restaurants and pubs, even their places of work were within a mile of each other. As yet she hadn’t bumped into him but it was only a matter of time, and this whole thing—Tamara and the broken engagement—had brought about some deep introspection. And as she had examined her mental and emotional processes she’d discovered several things.
One, she could survive quite well in a world in which Dean wasn’t the be-all and end-all. Two, there were only a handful of their so-called friends who were what she would really term friends. Three, if it wasn’t for Dean and their marriage plans she would have spread her wings and gone self-employed ages ago, and probably moved away from the big city now she had enough contacts within the business world to have a healthy shot at working for herself. Four, she needed to do something for herself right now, and, whether she succeeded or failed in the world’s eyes, the doing would be enough for her. It was time to move on.
Marigold’s thoughts had only taken a few moments but when her eyes focused on Flynn again she saw that his gaze had narrowed. ‘About to tell me to mind my own business?’ he asked mildly, surprising her.
‘Not at all.’ She hesitated a moment, and then told him exactly what she had been thinking, including the change in her working lifestyle. The whole evening had taken on something of a surreal quality by now; whether this was due to the painkillers making her light-headed or the fact that somehow she’d found herself in this palatial house with this extraordinary man, Marigold wasn’t sure. Whatever, she could talk quite frankly and he was a good listener—probably partly due to his line of work, she supposed.
He had folded his arms over his chest and settled himself more comfortably in the chair as he studied her earnest face, and when she had finished he nodded slowly. ‘Do it,’ he said softly, just as the housekeeper opened the door, holding a pair of metal crutches.
‘Here we are,’ Bertha said brightly. ‘These will do the trick. And dinner’s ready, if you’d like to come through to the dining room.’
Marigold found it a bit of a struggle as she made her way out of the drawing room and into a room at the end of the hall. Like the magnificent drawing room, this room was a mix of modern and traditional but done in such a way the overall effect was striking. Pale cream voile curtains hung on antique gold poles. The maple-wood floor complemented the intricately carved table and chairs, which were upholstered in a pale cream and beige, with a splash of vibrant colour here and there in the form of a bowl of scarlet hot-house roses and a magnificent five-foot vase in swirling cinnamon, coral and vermilion hues.
The table was large enough to accommodate ten diners with ease, but two places had been laid close to the roaring fire set in a magnificent fireplace of pale cream marble. Marigold eyed the two places with trepidation as it suddenly dawned on her she would be eating alone with Flynn. ‘This really wasn’t necessary…’
‘I always eat in here when I’m home.’ Flynn’s voice was just behind her. ‘Bertha has merely set another place.’
Did that mean he normally ate alone? Marigold didn’t like to ask outright but it appeared that was what he had meant, and she found it curiously disturbing. This massive house and all the luxury that went with it, and yet he ate alone. But she hadn’t for a moment assumed he was married, she realised suddenly. Why was that? She frowned to herself as she carefully sank down onto the chair Flynn had pulled out for her.
‘You are allowed just one glass of wine with those pills.’ Flynn indicated the bottle of red and the bottle of white wine in front of them. ‘Which would you prefer?’
‘Red, please.’ Marigold answered automatically because her brain had just informed her why she’d sensed Flynn was a bachelor. There was an innate aloofness about him, a cool detachment that spoke of autocratic autonomy, of non-involvement. He would have women, of course, she told herself as she looked into the dark, handsome face. His need for sexual satisfaction was evident in the sensuous mouth and virile body. But he was the sort of man who always kept something back; who gave just enough to keep his lovers satisfied physically but that was all.
