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Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the memories from tumbling back. Sensations, taste, pas
sion, laughter...the feel of his touch skimming her skin... The very thought made her shiver across the nine-month gap.
Rein it in, Kaitlin.
Because clearly Daniel was not walking that path of memory—his expression displayed a cold anger that was not a happy omen for the forthcoming discussion.
Come on, Kaitlin.
It might still be all right—if he’d wanted to create a scene he surely would have done so by now.
‘How about we take this outside?’ he suggested, his voice hard.
Kaitlin shook her head. ‘No. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about us.’
Lord knew she didn’t want anyone to get any idea about them at all—even a glimmer of the truth had the potential to destroy her future.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Bit late to worry about that now, isn’t it?’
‘Shh! For goodness’ sake, could you please keep your voice down? We need to be discreet.’
Her head spun, though she took pride in the knowledge that not a single observer would notice her inner turmoil. All that was on show was the poised, collected Lady Kaitlin Derwent, chatting politely to a wedding guest. Unless, of course, anyone actually overheard the content of the conversation...
He shook his head. ‘Wrong. You need to be discreet. I couldn’t care less. So, if you want discretion I suggest we take this outside. There’s less chance we’ll be overheard or interrupted out there.’
Daniel had a point, and surely there would be some guests outside. The afternoon sun shone down, and what could be more natural than she should show a guest the famed Derwent Manor gardens?
‘OK. Fine.’
They walked towards the entrance of the marquee and somehow, from somewhere, Kaitlin summoned up conversation. ‘So you’re linked with the Caversham Foundation? That’s interesting.’
Daniel’s stride slowed as he stared at her, genuine incredulity etched on the craggy contours of his face. ‘Are you for real? You want to make chit-chat?’
‘For the benefit of the people watching us—yes, I do.’
‘So your image matters that much to you?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was flat. ‘Haven’t you heard? Image is everything.’
To her it truly was. The creation of Lady Kaitlin Derwent’s image had been her own personal version of therapy—the way she’d coped after the kidnap fourteen years before. It had been her way to block out the memories, the fear that lived with her day and night, the coil of panic that lashed round her without warning. Being Lady Kaitlin allowed her to live her life.
‘So, yes, seeing as we are supposed to be engaging in polite conversation, let’s do that.’
He gave one last head-shake of disbelief. ‘Sure. My association with the Caversham Foundation is actually the price your brother requested in return for a wedding invitation. On top of my donation to Derwent Manor—which was your father’s stipulation.’
Keep walking.
‘And you agreed to this just so you could talk to me?’
‘Yes. It’s a good cause, and an association with the Duke and Duchess of Fairfax and their son will be good publicity for my firm. Clients like things like that.’
‘Which firm do you work for?’
‘I’m CEO of Harrington Legal Services.’
Now her footsteps did falter. HLS was huge—a global law firm with offices in every major city in the world.
‘In Barcelona you told me you were a lawyer.’
