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‘Why?’ I was too taken aback to be angry this time. He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t. ‘You can’t want to marry me, Con. You’re engaged to Olivia.’
‘Olivia is now out of the picture.’ His gaze snapped to the door as a quiet tap announced the arrival of one of his staff, carrying a tray. ‘Over here, if you please.’
A smiling, grandmotherly older woman came over and set the silver tray down on the little table positioned between Con and I. On it were eggs and toast, plus a bowl of porridge topped with cream and brown sugar. There was butter and jam, a pot of tea, and a small white china espresso cup full of what smelled like the thickest and darkest of coffees.
‘There you are,’ the woman said in a thick Scottish brogue. ‘Breakfast.’ Then, somewhat shockingly, she laid a hand on one of Con’s broad shoulders and gave it a gentle pat, as if he was a horse in need of soothing. ‘Enough for you too,’ she added. ‘See that you eat. I won’t have any of this “not hungry” nonsense.’
I stared at the woman in surprise, part of me tensing in anticipation of the cold, sweeping look of disdain that Con would no doubt direct at her.
Except he didn’t.
‘This looks excellent. Thank you, Mrs Mackenzie,’ he said, scrupulously polite. Then he nodded at me. ‘This is Jenny Grey. Jenny will be staying with us for a while. Please make sure that she is comfortable.’
Mrs Mackenzie gave me a big smile and patted him again. ‘Don’t you worry, laddie. I’ll look after her.’
‘N-nice to meet you,’ I said, stammering slightly at the shock of Con being called ‘laddie’.
‘And you, lass.’ Mrs Mackenzie gave a satisfied nod. ‘Right. I’ll leave you both to it.’ Then she bustled out.
‘Mrs Mackenzie is the housekeeper here,’ Constantine said. ‘If there is anything you need, tell her and she’ll accommodate you.’
I nodded, distracted by the divine smell of the food and the coffee, and my stomach growled yet again, reminding me of how empty it was. No wonder, considering I’d emptied most of it on Con’s shoes the night before.
Ugh. That was not a good memory.
Not that I should be remembering that, or even concentrating on the food, not when he’d just told me that Olivia was ‘out of the picture’.
‘You mentioned Olivia,’ I said. ‘What do you mean that she’s “out of the picture”? How? And why?’
‘The hows and whys are irrelevant,’ he said. ‘Eat your breakfast. I’ll give you the details.’
CHAPTER SIX
Constantine
JENNYWASGIVINGme a mulish look, which was unlike her. Normally there was never any argument between the two of us. This stubbornness she was directing at me was new and I didn’t like it.
I’d spent at least an hour downstairs, waiting for her to get up, and while I could have woken her myself, I’d wanted to make sure she had as much sleep as she needed.
Being patient was a strength of mine, and I hadn’t thought waiting would be a hardship, yet I’d found myself pacing around and glancing towards the doorway, wanting her to be up so I could see her, talk to her.
I didn’t want to admit that I’d missed her these past four years, but I had. Her lack was a constant ache deep in my heart, made worse by those moments in the grass three months ago. And now she was here I wanted to...
But no. Now she was here the question of a marriage between us needed to be sorted out as quickly as possible so that arrangements could be made. Then I could get back to dealing with the Valentin issue. I’d anticipated our discussion would be straightforward, because while she’d clearly have questions, she wouldn’t refuse me.
I’d ensure she’d have the best medical care for herself and the baby, and obviously finances would not be a problem. She’d also be protected legally by taking my name, as would the child.
As to the practicalities, we would work something out. I was prepared to negotiate on our living arrangements. If she wanted to live in London I had no problems moving, since the Silvera mansion in Madrid wasn’t a home to me. I’d been planning to leave it anyway, so we’d find a house together that would suit us both and the child. It wouldn’t be a problem.
And apart from anything else, she loved me. That was what she’d told me that night in the garden, so surely marrying me would not be a bridge too far.
Except you can’t love her back.
That thought tugged at me, but it was inconvenient, so I ignored it.
Jenny, however, didn’t look as if she was desperate to marry me. Sitting opposite, her black dress creased beyond all hope of an iron, with her hair in snarls over her shoulders, she looked tired and dishevelled and extremely cross.
She also looked so beautiful she stopped my heart.
