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Daisy felt her whole body grow rigid.

Now they all seemed to be gazing at her and Rollo.

‘Relax. You look beautiful.’

His voice was soft, and she felt his fingers tighten around hers as she glanced down at her dark blue dress.

‘Maybe it’s too much?’

His gaze flickered over her bare shoulders. ‘Any less and I don’t think I could be held responsible for my actions.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t worry about everyone else. They’re just curious. They don’t bite.’

‘You make them sound like goats,’ she muttered.

He laughed out loud. ‘Now you come to mention it, there is a certain resemblance.’

At the start of the evening Daisy had been anxious that she would feel out of place. Many of the guests were recognisable from television and the newspapers. But it was surprisingly easy to feel confident with Rollo’s arm wrapped loosely around her waist. What was harder was remembering that she was there as part of some elaborate deception.

Not that anyone else would have known that was what she was thinking. She smiled and nodded and made small talk. But she was barely aware of anything except the steady pressure of his hand, and of how her body was responding to it, to him, to his charm and the sound of his voice.

Her pulse jumped. Surely that was a good thing. After all, she was supposed to be acting as though she was hopelessly in love with him. So act, she told herself firmly. And, leaning in towards him, she let her arm brush against the hard muscles of his chest.

‘Shall we go and have a look around?’ she said softly.

Despite never really having understood art, she found the paintings both interesting and beautiful. One in particular was mesmerising: a rippling wave of green and red and black done in oils.

‘Striking, isn’t it?’

A slim, elderly woman was standing beside her, gazing critically at the canvas.

Daisy nodded. ‘They’re all incredible. This is the one I’d buy though.’

But only in her dreams. According to the catalogue, the painting cost more than she’d earned last year.

Next to her, the woman who’d spoken held out her hand. ‘Bobbie Bayard.’

Daisy blinked. ‘Daisy Maddox.’

‘Which Maddox? Farming or finance?’

Daisy gazed at her in confusion.

‘Neither.’

It was Rollo. Sliding his hand into Daisy’s, he leaned forward and kissed the silver-haired woman on both cheeks.

‘She’s not from one of the old families, Bobbie, so you can stop digging.’

‘Good.’ Bobbie beamed. ‘The old families are like me. Obsolete and withering away.’

Rollo shook his head. ‘Ignore her,’ he said to Daisy. ‘She’s not even close to withering. She was sitting in the front row at New York Fashion Week just three days ago. And she’s got a sixth sense when it comes to picking up-and-coming artists.’

‘I think I might have just met my match. Your girl’s got a good eye.’ Glancing approvingly at Daisy, Bobbie moved on to the next picture.

Your girl. Rollo’s girl.

An electric current snaked across Daisy’s skin. Looking up, she blinked. His eyes were fixed on her face, so dark and green and intent that she felt a cool, juddering shiver slip down her spine, like water dropping over rocks.

‘So why do you like it?’ he said finally.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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