Marriage on Trial Read online

  Panic-stricken, she reminded herself that she was a mature woman now, no longer young and susceptible, and no longer on her own. She had Richard. If the need arose, he would be a rock she could cling to.

  Though surely it wouldn’t arise? Judging by Quinn’s distant civility, he’d forgotten her entirely, so she was safe, thank God.

  Or was she? Could he be playing some deep dark game? Well, if he was, she had little option but to go along with it.

  Somehow, she managed a husky, ‘How do you do?’ before withdrawing her hand.

  ‘Have you been engaged long, Miss Cavendish?’

  The question startled her, and as she gaped at him stupidly Quinn added, ‘Only I notice you’re not wearing a ring.’

  Turning to a thin-lipped Richard, he smiled a shade tauntingly. ‘It made me wonder if perhaps you had a special reason for wanting the Van Hamel diamond?’

  Quinn had always had a brain as sharp as a razor, she thought with reluctant admiration.

  Pointedly ignoring the question, Richard said curtly, ‘Will you excuse us?’ He took Elizabeth’s elbow. ‘If we don’t get moving we’ll have a job to find a taxi.’

  Continuing to block their way, Quinn enquired, ‘Where are you heading?’

  ‘Park Lane.’ Obviously Richard was finding it an effort to remain civil.

  ‘As it happens, I’m going that way myself…’

  Sensing what was to come, and desperate to get away, she froze.

  ‘I have a car, so I’ll be happy to drop you.’

  Tension making her hold her breath, she glanced at Richard’s face, and was cheered to see that he was about to refuse.

  Before he could speak, however, Quinn went on urbanely, ‘If you’re still interested in owning the Van Hamel, maybe we could talk about it on the way?’

  By her side, Elizabeth felt Richard tense. He badly wanted the diamond. Would he be willing to sink his pride and negotiate?

  But why should Quinn be disposed to?

  If it was true that he’d come over from the States specially to get the Van Hamel, why should he be prepared to part with it to a rival?

  There was something disturbing about the offer, something that put her in mind of, “‘Will you walk into my parlour?” said the spider to the fly…’

  She repressed a shiver, and with every ounce of her concentration willed Richard to reject it.

  But, after an endless few seconds, to her consternation, he agreed, ‘Very well.’

  Her stomach churning, she moved to rejoin the straggle of people still discussing the evening’s events.

  As they headed for the main exit, she noticed two women pause in their conversation to glance covertly at Quinn. Without being conventionally handsome, he had the kind of tough, dynamic good looks that attracted and held the attention of most females.

  Outside the fog had thickened. On the apron, car doors slammed and engines purred into life as they accompanied Quinn to a silver-grey Mercedes parked nearby.

  He produced a key and opened the doors. Before Elizabeth could form any kind of protest she found herself being helped into the front passenger seat, while Richard, looking anything but pleased, was forced to climb into the back alone.

  A moment later Quinn had slid behind the wheel and was querying, ‘Quite comfortable, Miss Cavendish?’

  In the light from the dashboard his green eyes met and held hers. Just for an instant she fancied both his question and his glance held derision, as if he was well aware of how very uncomfortable she was. But then it was gone, leaving just a polite enquiry from a stranger.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered flatly.

  Their headlights like searching antennae in the foggy air, they joined a stream of vehicles following each other through the gates and into Belham Place.

  Beyond the quiet square the streets were busy, and as they negotiated the Friday-night traffic Quinn asked, ‘What do you do for a living, Miss Cavendish? Or perhaps you don’t need to actually work?’

  Disliking both the question and the way it had been phrased, she hesitated before responding stiffly, ‘I’m Lady Beaumont’s secretary.’

  ‘Really? Well, if the position is a live-in one—’

  ‘It isn’t,’ Richard broke in brusquely. Then, with barely masked annoyance, he said, ‘You indicated that you were prepared to talk about the diamond?’

  ‘Ah, yes, the diamond…’ Quinn mimicked the other man’s cut-glass accent. ‘For a stone of its size it aroused a fair bit of interest.’

  ‘I heard you came over specially for the sale?’ Apparently Richard also had doubts.

  ‘Did you?’ Quinn, it seemed, was giving nothing away. Slipping neatly between a bus and a taxi, he added conversationally, ‘In the event, I almost missed it. Due to some last-minute technical fault, our landing was delayed. I only just managed to change, pick up a hire car, and get to Belham House in time.’

  If only he hadn’t, Elizabeth thought with a sigh.

  Sounding distinctly sour, Richard remarked, ‘I’m surprised you didn’t bid by phone.’

  A slight smile tugging at his lips, Quinn responded trenchantly, ‘Bidding by phone tends to be rather tame, don’t you think? I get more of a buzz from actually being there. Especially when there’s some action.

  ‘I must admit I was expecting rather more excitement in regard to some of the earlier lots…’

  Elizabeth knew well that Quinn wasn’t a man for small talk, and, staring straight ahead, listening to his low-pitched, slightly husky voice analyzing the sale, she wondered what he was up to.

  It was a little while before it dawned on her that rather than actually getting down to discussing the diamond he was employing delaying tactics.

  But why?

  When they reached Park Lane, with a glance in the rear-view mirror at his back-seat passenger, he broke off what he was saying to enquire, ‘The Linchbeck, isn’t it?’

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned into the fore-court and drew to a stop outside the entrance to the quiet, exclusive hotel.

  Aware that just by knowing the exact address Quinn had gained a subtle advantage, Elizabeth bit her lip as he came round to open her door.

  Richard climbed out, and, his face expressing his annoyance, asked shortly, ‘Perhaps we could make an appointment to talk about the Van Hamel? Would any particular time and place suit you?’

  ‘There’s no time like the present,’ Quinn suggested, his voice bland.

  Elizabeth felt sure that in the circumstances, and after the evening’s debacle, Richard would choose to wait until he’d fully regained his cool.

  But to her surprise he agreed. ‘Then perhaps you’ll join us in the bar for a drink?’

  ‘Your suite would be preferable,’ Quinn said smoothly. ‘Rather more private.’

  So there was the answer to her question, Elizabeth thought uneasily. For some reason of his own, Quinn wanted to see the other man’s apartment.

  Convinced now that Richard was being manipulated, she found herself praying that he would tell his tormentor to go to the devil.

  But before he could speak the doorman said a cheerful, ‘Nasty evening,’ and held open the heavy glass door.

  Richard nodded abruptly and, his jaw tight, led the way inside and across the luxuriously carpeted foyer to the lift.

  Elizabeth was five foot seven, fairly tall for a woman, but sandwiched between two men who both easily topped six feet she felt dwarfed, loomed over.

  When they left the lift at the top floor, she took care to keep Richard between herself and Quinn until they reached the apartment.

  The sitting room, with its plum-coloured curtains and carpet, its leather suite and sporting prints, was handsome, comfortable, and undoubtedly masculine.

  After slipping her coat from her shoulders and hanging it in a recessed cupboard, Richard moved towards a small but well-stocked bar. ‘What would you like to drink, darling?’

  She half shook her head. ‘I’d prefer a coffee later, tha
nk you.’

  Motioning his unwelcome guest to take a seat, Richard picked up the whisky decanter and queried, ‘Durville?’

  ‘I’m driving, so I’ll stick with coffee.’

  Clearly in need of a drink, Richard poured himself a stiff whisky and swallowed a mouthful.

  As he turned towards the kitchen, Quinn asked casually, ‘Mind if I take a look around? At one time I had a service flat in the Brenton Building, but I gave it up…’

  Recalling her own brief stay there, Elizabeth shuddered. What should have been the happiest night of her life had turned into a nightmare.

  ‘Now I’m considering having a pied-à-terre here, for the times I’m in London,’ Quinn was going on, ‘rather than staying at hotels.’

  His interest open, undisguised, with cool effrontery he began to prowl, peering first into a small study and then into a good-sized bedroom and bathroom.

  Tense and ill at ease, Elizabeth perched on the edge of a chair and watched him warily. Oh, why had he come back into her life just when she was about to make a new commitment?

  She had found it impossible to forget him, but she had almost succeeded in leaving the past behind, in convincing herself he no longer mattered.

  But the past had suddenly caught up with her, and he did matter. Even though she feared and resented his presence, just the sight of him took her breath away and left her full of the bitter-sweet longing he had always effortlessly aroused in her.

  Glancing in her direction, Quinn met her eyes.

  Terrified of what he might read in them, she looked hurriedly away. It seemed he had blotted out both her and the past, and the last thing she wanted to do was remind him.

  He came and sat down opposite, his ease mocking her lack of it. After a thoughtful scrutiny, one dark brow raised, he observed, ‘I take it you don’t live here, Miss Cavendish?’

  Wanting to consolidate her position as Richard’s fiancée, she was loath to admit it. ‘What makes you think that?’ She strove to sound dismissive, even slightly amused.

  ‘There are no signs of female occupancy, and if you had lived here I’m fairly sure you would have made the coffee.’

  ‘A male chauvinist, I see,’ she said sweetly.

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘But you consider a woman’s place is in the kitchen?’

  His smile mocking, he said, ‘I can think of a better place for a woman to be.’

  Her colour rising, she looked anywhere but at him.

  ‘So where do you live, Miss Cavendish?’

  Her impulse was to say sharply that it was none of his business. Common sense warning that overreacting might make him suspicious, she stayed purposely vague. ‘At the moment I’m living in a small cottage.’

  ‘A mews cottage?’ It was as though he could read her mind.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In the West End?’

  Whatever his motives for wanting to know, it was clear that he wasn’t going to be put off.

  ‘Hawks Lane,’ she said, hoping against hope that he hadn’t the faintest idea where that was. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she added coldly, ‘I’ll see if Richard needs any help.’

  At that precise moment their host reappeared, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee.

  When they had each been handed a cup, a slightly belligerent look on his face, Richard swallowed the rest of his whisky and, still standing, turned to the other man. ‘I was hoping to have an early night, so if we can discuss the diamond without further delay?’

  ‘Of course,’ Quinn agreed, his tone equable.

  A moment or two passed in silence.

  When it became obvious that the ball was in his court, a touch of angry colour appearing along his cheekbones, Richard suggested shortly, ‘Perhaps you’ll be good enough to name your price?’

  ‘Before I do, I’d like to know why you’re so keen to have that particular stone.’

  There was another taut silence before, clearly at the end of his patience, Richard admitted, ‘You were right earlier. I was hoping to have it set into an engagement ring. If that puts the price up—’

  ‘Just the opposite,’ Quinn broke in. ‘In fact I’ll let you have it for the exact amount I’m paying for it.’

  Elizabeth was once again besieged by doubts and misgivings. Why was he willing to part with a diamond he’d taken so much trouble to acquire, without making a profit?

  It simply didn’t make sense.

  CHAPTER TWO

  RICHARD said slowly, ‘That’s very decent of you.’ Then, proving he had the same kind of doubts as Elizabeth, he asked, ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘Call it a wedding present.’ Quinn’s smile was sardonic. ‘I’ll be in touch tomorrow to complete the transaction.’

  ‘I’m in Amsterdam for the weekend. I fly back Monday morning.’

  ‘Say Monday afternoon, then?’

  ‘Fine. I’ll be at Lombard Square.’

  Quinn put down his untasted coffee and rose to his feet. ‘Now, you mentioned that you wanted an early night, so I’ll get moving.’

  Elizabeth drew a deep breath. He was going, and with a bit of luck she’d never have to see him again.

  The evening had been a great strain, but she should be thankful for two things at least: Quinn hadn’t recognized her and, for whatever reason, he’d made no attempt to hold Richard to ransom over the diamond.

  ‘Let me see you out.’ Failing to hide his relief, Richard turned to lead the way to the door.

  Standing where he was, Quinn said, ‘I’ll be happy to see you home, Miss Cavendish.’

  His quiet announcement shook her rigid.

  ‘N-no, really…’ she stammered. ‘I couldn’t put you to so much trouble…’

  The very last thing she wanted was for Quinn to see her home. But neither, she suddenly realized, did she want to stay at the apartment.

  Since she’d agreed to come back with Richard, the whole mood of the evening had altered. So much had happened that both her mind and her emotions were in a whirl. She needed time to think, to get over the shock of seeing Quinn again.

  As it was, she knew it would be impossible to go to bed with Richard tonight without a dark, mocking face coming between them…

  Shuddering at the very idea, she added jerkily, ‘I’ll get a taxi later.’

  She must talk to Richard. Tell him she had a headache… Make some excuse…

  ‘I doubt if there’ll be any taxis willing to venture out.’ Quinn’s level tones penetrated her thoughts. ‘The fog’s getting thicker by the minute.’

  He indicated the windows, where nothing was visible but opaque grey mist. ‘If you don’t leave with me now, you’ll almost certainly be stuck for the night.’

  Suppose he was right? If she was stuck, with only one bedroom it could prove difficult…

  ‘And believe me it’s no trouble,’ he added briskly. ‘I pass the end of Hawks Lane.’

  As though the matter was settled, he strode across to the cupboard, retrieved her coat and held it for her.

  Seeing that a furious-looking Richard was about to intervene, Elizabeth made up her mind. Giving him a speaking glance, she said, ‘In the circumstances I think it would make sense to go.’

  Just for a second he looked ready to protest, then, apparently thinking her decision was because she wanted to observe the proprieties, being a gentleman, he stayed silent.

  Slipping into her coat, she went on a shade awkwardly, ‘It’s been a tiring evening, and I’m more than ready for some sleep.’

  If they’d been alone, Richard would almost certainly have taken her in his arms and kissed her with pleasurable skill and expertise, but, clearly inhibited by the other man’s presence, he gave her a mere peck on the cheek.

  ‘You’re off on Monday, aren’t you?’ His voice was tightly controlled. ‘So I’ll see you Tuesday. Perhaps we can go to Swann Neilson and discuss a suitable setting for the diamond?’

  ‘Lovely.’ She managed to smile at him, while a strange presentiment
made a chill run through her.

  ‘Was that shiver caused by cold or excitement?’ Quinn’s mocking voice asked, as they left the penthouse together.

  Without thinking, she answered, ‘Neither. Just a goose walking over my grave.’

  His heavy-lidded eyes gleaming green as a cat’s between thick dark lashes, he remarked softly, ‘I once knew a girl who used to say that.’

  Elizabeth cursed her careless tongue as, a hand at her waist, Quinn escorted her across the small foyer and into the lift.

  Like some jailer, he stood much too close for comfort, but, afraid to move away in case it was obvious, she made herself stay where she was.

  They descended without speaking, while she tried to convince herself that his remark had just been an idle one.

  But suppose he’d guessed? Her blood ran cold at the thought.

  Oh, why on earth had she left with him? In retrospect it had been a stupid and dangerous thing to do. Like jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire.

  At least she would have been safe with Richard. If she’d simply told him that she didn’t want to sleep with him, he wouldn’t have pressed her.

  Or would he?

  He didn’t take kindly to being disappointed, and nothing had gone as he’d planned.

  Still, he wasn’t an insensitive man, and without knowing the truth about Quinn surely he would have appreciated that the evening’s events had affected her, and forgiven her change of heart?

  But now it was too late.

  Outside, the fog was dense and clammy, enveloping the hotel entrance, obscuring the ornamental façade and turning the wrought-iron lamps into hovering, luminous ghosts.

  There were hardly any pedestrians about, and a lot fewer cars than usual, the normal Park Lane traffic noise muffled and muted.

  ‘Looks pretty bad, sir,’ the doorman remarked.

  ‘Conditions certainly aren’t improving,’ Quinn agreed, dropping a generous tip into his ready palm.

  ‘Perhaps it would be wiser to stay?’ Elizabeth suggested eagerly. ‘They’d almost certainly have a room, and it would save you having to drive in this.’