Wish For The Moon
Carole Mortimer
Carole Mortimer is one of Mills & Boon’s best loved Modern Romance authors. With nearly 200 books published and a career spanning 35 years, Mills & Boon are thrilled to present her complete works available to download for the very first time! Rediscover old favourites - and find new ones! - in this fabulous collection…He will claim her…as his wife!Elizabeth Farnham has learned that there’s a fine line between love and hate¬—once she had loved dynamic Quinn Taylor, now she despises him! How could she not when he seems responsible for the death of her cousin?But thanks to her grandfather’s matchmaking scheme, Quinn has returned to claim Elizabeth for his own. The attraction between them is as sizzling as always. And Elizabeth soon discovers that, no matter what the cost, Quinn is determined to have her as his wife!
Wish for the Moon
Carole Mortimer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#udc98c3b8-054c-5a8f-aa00-7e178aee0289)
Title Page (#u3c9e681e-e8b5-5eed-951a-cffe5bb610cd)
PROLOGUE (#u6f057232-9014-55d0-8f16-b28540cb6dfc)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
SHE felt a little like Cinderella must have done when she had her first glimpse of Prince Charming.
Not that the circumstances were quite the same: she didn’t have two wicked stepsisters, only her cousin Fergus, but he could definitely be wicked! And although she had been orphaned at birth, her Aunt Madge was nothing like a wicked stepmother, and Uncle Hector could be very kind. Nevertheless, she had always known she was an interloper in the family, taken in because she was the daughter of Uncle Hector’s sister, although no one had ever been cruel to her.
It had been a pleasant life, if uneventful, Uncle Hector making a meagre living tenant-farming on the Farnham estate.
It was because of who Quinn Taylor was that she suddenly felt as if she had been thrust into the midst of a fairy-tale.
With that ebony-dark hair, and those deep, deep-blue eyes, he had to be every woman’s idea of a Prince Charming. And she hadn’t even realised what sensuality was until she gazed upon Quinn Taylor. It surrounded him like an invisible aura, all the more potent because he seemed unaware of it. He was a lazily charming man who had had success after success singing about what he seemed to love best; the people he cared about, and the mountainous beauty that surrounded his Canadian home.
Canada’s John Denver, he had been called, but from the moment Lise saw him she knew he was unique!
It was a fairy-tale that he was here in her aunt’s and uncle’s home at all. Her cousin Fergus had written a song that Quinn Taylor had been interested in recording for his next album. Fergus had been over the moon about the breakthrough, the biggest he had had since deciding to make song-writing his career, even more thrilled when the recording star asked him to sit in on the sessions at the London studio. Fergus’s telephone conversations for the next week had been full of how wonderful the other man was, what a professional he was, and despite the fact that the other man was at least ten years older than Fergus’s twenty-two the two of them seemd to have formed a friendship. Then had come the telephone call that had sent the Morrison household into an uproar.
Quinn Taylor had been staying at a hotel for the making of his next album, but somehow the Press and fans had found out where he was staying and besieged the place. Fergus had offered him the use of the spare bedroom at the Morrison farm, and to everyone’s amazement he had accepted.
Aunt Madge had been in her element during the preparations for the star’s arrival, having the whole house in turmoil during the two days, which was all the notice she had received from Fergus, paying little heed to her son’s request for secrecy, telling everyone and anyone that Quinn Taylor was going to be a guest in her house. People had seemed slightly sceptical, but once the word got around that he had been seen at the house…! Lise had a feeling his request for privacy was going to be short-lived.
The two men had arrived from the recording-studio shortly before dinner, Fergus’s girlfriend Terri with them, Quinn Taylor very polite to them all, if slightly withdrawn during the meal.
Lise hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him, knowing she was gawping like a schoolgirl, but unable to stop. Quinn Taylor was here, in her home, sitting at the dinner-table eating with her family.
Suddenly he looked up and met her gaze, smiling gently as he saw the guilty blush in her cheeks. ‘I hope our late arrival hasn’t made you too tired for dinner,’ he smiled encouragingly.
Lise gave a pained frown. He thought she was still a child! Oh, she knew her tiny appearance often gave people that impression, and her Alice-in-Wonderland hair, secured in a single braid down her spine tonight, didn’t detract from the impression. But she liked having her hair long, and—and she wasn’t a child, damn it!
Her resentment deepened as she sensed Terri’s mocking glance on her. She and Terri had been at school together, Terri, at just twenty, her senior by three years, and she had never been able to understand what Fergus saw in the other girl. Apart from the obvious attractions, that was! Terri had begun modelling as soon as she left school at sixteen, and was relatively successful at it, a fact she never let anyone forget.
Lise knew that her own body still tended to run a little towards puppy-fat, but it was starting to go, her curves much more defined than they had been six months ago. She was just a late developer, her Uncle Hector had assured her when she voiced her concern to him. She had never wanted so desperately to appear older than her seventeen years than when she met Quinn Taylor, had worn the sun-dress that emphasised the fact that she was finally getting breasts and successfully hid the fact that her thighs were still a little more chunky than she would have wished. And it had all been for nothing; he thought she was a child up past her usual bedtime!
As if sensing that he had somehow committed a gaffe his smile deepened, and Lise stared at him in fascinated wonder.
‘Fergus mentioned something about showing me his music-room after dinner.’ Even his voice was sensual, deep and rich, the Canadian accent very attractive. ‘Perhaps you would like to join us?’ He quirked dark brows.
She glanced uncertainly at her aunt and uncle, knowing she had to help clear away after the meal, that it was one of her daily chores. But oh, how she longed to go with the other three to the loft over the cow-barn that had been converted into a music-room where Fergus could go and write without disturbing anyone.
Her uncle had converted the loft years ago, and when Fergus left to live in London three years ago he had told her she could use the room if she wanted to. It had become one of her favourite places, somewhere where she could be alone to think. And for the last two nights she had sat up there playing all her Quinn Taylor records, hardly able to believe that today he would be coming to stay with them. And now he had requested more of her company. Maybe she had misunderstood his last question; he certainly couldn’t regard her as a child if he wanted to spend more time with her!
‘Go ahead, love,’ her uncle was the one to encourage. ‘Your aunt and I can clear away here.’
‘Oh, but—–’
‘Let the girl have some fun, Madge,’ her uncle cut in firmly. ‘It isn’t as if she has much around here to distract her normally,’ he added drily.
The farm was part of the thousands of acres owned by the Farnham family, part of the Hampshire estate, and with no close neighbours Lise usually spent her evenings reading in her room or listening to records. Occasionally she would go into town and go out with a couple of her friends, but mainly she just stayed at home.
‘I wouldn’t dream of leaving you to clear away,’ Quinn Taylor spoke smoothly. ‘Perhaps Lise and I can do the dishes for you?’
She blushed as he smiled at her encouragingly, loving the way he said her name, almost making it a caress. She wouldn’t in the least mind doing the boring chore if she were going to be alone with Quinn Taylor in the kitchen!
‘I wouldn’t hear of it,’ her aunt refused lightly. ‘You all go on, Hector and I can manage here.’
Lise was well aware of the fact that it was only their guest’s presence that was excusing her from doing the work; her aunt was usually very strict about the chores she had to do during the day, and washing-up after the meals was the least of them.
Given the unexpected freedom, Lise was the first one out of the house, all the time aware of the warm sensuality of the man who walked along behind her talking quietly to Fergus.
‘Only another hour until your bedtime, isn’t it?’
Lise’s eyes flashed deeply green at the taunting voice of her cousin’s girlfriend, turning to glare at her. ‘The fact that I’m petite merely gives the illusion of my being young,’ she returned, looking pointedly at the other girl’s height, Terri being almost six feet tall.
Terri’s mouth twisted. ‘Try not to drool all over the poor man,’ she mocked in a bored voice. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t want his shirt wet!’
Lise’s cheeks were flushed at the barb, and she glanced uncomfortably behind them to see if the two men had heard their conversation; they were some way behind, still talking softly together.
Was her fascination with Quinn Taylor that obvious, or was Terri just being her usual bitchy self? Maybe it was a little of both, she realised ruefully, but could she help it if the man made her feel weak at the knees?
She had sat and gazed at one of his album covers last night, a close-up of his face as he smiled warmly into the camera. But the photograph hadn’t been able to do justice to the silky thickness of his hair, or the sensual slumbrousness of those deep-blue eyes. And without the make-up that had obviously needed to be worn beneath the hot lights of the camera his skin was more rugged, his jaw square and firm. In the photograph he had been wearing a thick jumper but tonight he wore a royal-blue shirt unbuttoned at the throat to reveal the start of the dark hair that no doubt covered most of his chest, his denims snug to his hips and thighs; Fergus had obviously warned him there would be no dressing up for dinner in the Morrison household, no matter who their guest was. He looked as if he were more comfortable in his casual clothes than he could ever have been in a formal suit, anyway.
Could she help it if he was much more devastating in the flesh than he was on an album cover or on television? And couldn’t she be excused for staring at him a little? Damn Terri for making her so self-conscious that she was afraid even to glance at him now!
The loft ran the whole length of the cow-barn, the roof reinforced to take the weight of the piano that stood near the floor-length window, the other end of the room converted to a lounge, with a stereo system wired up there.
Quinn grinned at Fergus as he picked up the top three albums in the pile. ‘I can’t fault your taste in music,’ he drawled, all three albums his.
Fergus grinned back, as sandy-haired as his father, although happily neither had the freckles that often went with that colouring. His laughing blue eyes were warm with laughter. ‘All the Quinn Taylor albums you’ll find there are Lise’s,’ he admitted softly. ‘I only became a fan because she played your music so much it was either that or go insane!’
Lise blushed uncomfortably as Quinn turned to her questioningly. ‘Your songs are so—real,’ she said awkwardly. ‘They often make me cry.’
His expression gentled. ‘I’m sorry. I never like to be responsible for making a lovely lady cry.’
She shrugged. ‘I only cry because the songs are so beautiful.’
‘Thank you,’ he accepted huskily.
Lise stared at him, mesmerised. And somehow she knew that not all of the lines beside his eyes had been caused by laughter, that he had known his share of sadness too.
Of course he had known sadness, she mentally rebuked herself, hadn’t his wife often years left him last summer, taking their daughter with her? For a long time there had been rumours of a reconciliation, but now those rumours were suggesting there would in fact be a divorce instead. Considering some of Quinn’s best songs were about the happiness he had known with his family this had to be a deep blow to him.
‘How about we make our own music?’ Fergus lightly cut in on the awkward moment, acknowledging Lise’s grateful smile with a conspiratorial wink. ‘Quinn?’ he indicated the piano as he picked up his guitar for himself.
‘And what do we play?’ Terri drawled as she leant gracefully against the piano.
‘You can use Lise’s guitar.’ He handed it to her with a grin, patting the stool beside his. ‘And Lise can share the piano with Quinn.’
She swallowed hard as Quinn moved accommodatingly along the bench stool, sitting gingerly beside him, her pulse racing at his proximity.
But her awkwardness left her after several minutes, as she struggled to keep up with Fergus as he moved from one sing-along song to another, the sensuously slender hands that moved along the keys beside her own distracting her from paying full attention to what she was doing. Quinn had lovely hands, long and thin, with tiny dark hairs covering the backs of his fingers. He made her own tiny hands look childlike, making her fully aware of how forcefully muscular he was.
And she was fascinated as he sang a rowdy song with Fergus, able to recognise that his voice was as true now as it was on his albums.
Suddenly he turned and once again caught her staring at him, sharing a grin with her before turning back to her cousin. Lise felt as if someone had struck her in the chest.
She was in love! Fully, completely, utterly, in love with Quinn Taylor. And now that he knew she wasn’t a child he seemed to like her too!
She, Lise Morrison, who had never had a boyfriend in her life, was in love with Quinn Taylor, a man who was known worldwide for his wonderful singing talent, who grossed millions every year in revenue from his songs and albums. It was incredible. Wonderful. It was impossible!
She was seventeen, he was thirty-two; he was still married, even if he was getting a divorce.
She felt so deflated she could have cried. As it was she played all the completely wrong notes, breaking off apologetically as Quinn turned to her with gentle enquiry.
Fergus broke off too as he sensed her distress. ‘Terri and I will go over to the house and get some beers,’ he suggested lightly. ‘We need it after all that singing.’ His arm was about Terri’s shoulders as they left to go over to the house.
Lise knew she should move away from Quinn, that her emotions were too vulnerable sitting this close to him.
He turned towards her, leaning his arm on the top of the piano. ‘I’m sorry if I embarrassed you earlier,’ he spoke gruffly. ‘Fergus had mentioned his little cousin to me,’ he shrugged. ‘And I—–’
‘It’s all right,’ she hastily dismissed. ‘I am little.’
His lips curved into a gentle smile. ‘How old are you?’
‘Seventeen,’ she supplied reluctantly,
His eyes widened, and she realised she had surprised him. How old had he thought she was, for goodness’ sake!
‘Two days ago,’ she added heavily.
Again his eyes widened. ‘I had no idea… I should have brought you something,’ he shrugged.
‘Why?’ She blinked up at him, fascinated by how clear a blue his eyes were this close, his lashes thick and dark.
He frowned slightly, staring back at her, both of them suddenly breathing very shallowly. ‘Lise—–’ He began to shake his head.
She moved slightly closer to him on the bench-seat. ‘If you really want to give me a present…’ she prompted breathlessly.
‘Yes?’ The slightly up-and-down movement of his chest as he breathed almost brought him into contact with her breasts.
She blinked once, closer still. ‘You could kiss me,’ she encouraged huskily.
He moved back slightly. ‘No, Lise, I—–’ He couldn’t protest any more because she had launched herself into his arms, her arms about his neck as she kissed him with all the love inside her she had just discovered for him.
It was wonderful, his lips warm and firm beneath her own. She clung to him mindlessly, totally unprepared for the way his hand dug into her nape as he threaded his fingers into her plait there and dragged her painfully away from him.
His eyes glittered down into hers, his mouth a taut line. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he rasped.
Consternation washed over her as she became completely aware of exactly what she had done. This man was here as Fergus’s guest, had shown her politeness but nothing else, and she had just thrown herself at him!
His expression softened as he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. ‘You should have waited for the invitation, little one,’ he told her softly. ‘This is the way I like to kiss.’ He gently parted her lips before lowering his head to hers, the way he kissed so much more than the tight-lipped caress she had given him.
As his lips continued to move against hers she felt as if she had become a part of him, melded to him, following his lead, realising that until this moment she had known nothing about a kiss at all. She felt as if she were being consumed!
He moved back abruptly as Fergus and Terri could be heard returning up the stairs. ‘Happy birthday,’ he murmured gruffly, standing up to move away from her, his hands thrust into his denims pockets as he stared out across the countryside.
‘Think you’ll be able to stand the quiet for another couple of weeks?’ Terri drawled, moving to stand next to him, handing him an open can of beer.
He turned to her slightly. ‘I was brought up in Alberta, on a wheat farm my parents refuse to leave. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being a country boy,’ he added a little wistfully.
Lise just sat and watched him, his profile firm and dominant in the last of dusk’s shadows. Her heart was pounding, her hands trembling. Quinn Taylor had just kissed her. Oh, she had asked him to, and the first time she had taken the initiative, but that last kiss Quinn had controlled completely. If Fergus and Terri hadn’t returned when they had…
‘Here you are, Squirt.’ Fergus handed her a can of Coke, sitting beside her on the piano bench. ‘Mum says you ought to be going in,’ he added regretfully. ‘You have an early start in the morning.’
She looked uncomfortably at Quinn, but he was still staring out into the rapidly darkening night. Maybe he hadn’t heard her being ordered to bed as if she were still a little girl; she certainly hoped so!
But her aunt was right about the early start. She had been helping her uncle with his summer crops during her break between finishing school and starting college when the new term began. Farm work was long and hard, but her uncle needed the help, and the money he was able to pay her was more than welcome. Just last week she had bought another Quinn Taylor album with some of her wages.
‘I’ll go in now,’ she nodded, smoothing down her dress as she stood up. ‘Goodnight, Terri,’ she called to the other girl. ‘Goodnight—Quinn.’ She refused to call him Mr Taylor after he had kissed her so thoroughly.
The bleakness left his eyes as he turned to her. ‘Goodnight, Lise,’ he returned gruffly.
She smiled at him shyly. ‘I—I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He nodded abruptly, his expression giving away none of his thoughts.
‘How about a kiss goodnight, Squirt?’ Fergus teased as she would have turned to leave.
For a moment she looked at Quinn blankly, and then she realised Fergus wanted her to kiss him goodnight, not the other man.
‘Of course.’ Embarrassed colour darkened her cheeks as she bent to kiss her cousin on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, Fergus.’ She smiled at him shakily.
‘’Night, button.’ He returned the smile.
She and Fergus had always been the best of friends, her cousin feeling none of the resentment towards her that so many other children might have done when a new baby suddenly invades their home, especially as that baby wasn’t actually a brother or sister. Or maybe it was because of that, because he had always realised she would never usurp his place with his parents. Whatever the reason Fergus had always loved her, always protected her. He couldn’t possibly realise that he had just introduced her to the biggest danger she had ever known in her young life!
She was in love, irrevocably, and Quinn hadn’t kissed her as if he hated her either.
Her aunt and uncle were still in the lounge, and she bade them a dreamy goodnight, making her way slowly up to bed, glancing longingly towards the closed door of the guest bedroom that she knew Quinn would be occupying later tonight. Only a wall would separate them, her room next to his. Would he think of her, and that kiss they had shared, as she thought of him?
Quinn Taylor, the man she had fantasised about for years, had kissed her, actually kissed her, Lise Morrison.
No one would ever believe it. She didn’t believe it!
She danced around her bedroom in delight, as light as a butterfly, for once not minding that she was so tiny, and not quite as slim as she might have been. Quinn hadn’t seemed to mind, so why should she?
Of course, if he wanted her to slim, she would. She would do anything he wanted her to, anything. She belonged to him now, wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. And he wanted her too, she was sure of it.
She danced around the bedroom again, singing to herself, feeling as light as air, discarding one nightdress after another as she realised each was too childish for her to wear. She wasn’t a child any longer, she was a woman, and in future she was going to act and dress like one.
The first thing she was going to do was throw out all her old clothes, she couldn’t go around looking like a child when a man like Quinn Taylor wanted her.
As a first step towards changing the clothes she wore she wasn’t going to wear anything to sleep in in future; sleeping nude certainly ought to be mature enough!
She came to an abrupt halt as she wondered if Quinn slept nude too, her heart pounding in her chest as she envisaged him lying beneath a sheet, his nakedness clearly defined beneath the flimsy covering. His skin would be dark; the little she had seen of it had been. He would be tanned all over, firm flesh, taut muscles, with a feline beauty. She had goose-bumps just thinking about Quinn lying in bed!
She moved to the window, her bedroom overlooking the yard, staring across at the music-room, able to see Quinn as he laughed and talked with Fergus and Terri. He would be coming to bed soon himself, for the three of them were even now clearing up the debris from the evening.
Lise was filled with such a longing to be with Quinn tonight, wanted him so badly she trembled at the thought of lying in his arms. But Terri would be sharing her room for the night, and she dared not risk the other woman realising she had gone to Quinn. Perhaps after Terri had gone to Fergus…
She deliberately pretended to already be asleep when the other girl came to bed, keeping her back firmly turned towards the room, knowing that once Terri was sure no one would hear her she would creep across the hallway to Fergus’s room for the night. Her aunt and uncle wouldn’t hear of Fergus sleeping with his girlfriend under their roof, but Lise had known for some time that Terri crept out of their bedroom as soon as she was sure the rest of the family were asleep. And tonight when Terri went to Fergus she intended going to Quinn.
She could hear him in the next room now, not all that well, because the walls of this old cottage were thick, but she knew the man she loved was just through the thickness of that wall. What a surprise he was going to get when she went to him…!
Just over half an hour later all that could be heard in the room was the steady tick-tock of Lise’s bedside clock. Her breathing sounded abnormally loud to her in the silence of the night, but only she seemed aware of it, Terri moving about the room putting on her robe.
‘Lise?’ she prompted softly, testingly.
She didn’t move, although her heart seemed to be pounding very loudly too.
‘Lise?’ Terri called again, sighing her satisfaction as Lise remained turned away from her, seemingly asleep.
She waited only seconds after the door closed behind the other girl before quickly getting out of bed herself, shivering slightly in her nude state; sleeping without clothes on was certainly going to take some getting used to! The coolness of these cottages wasn’t meant for sleeping nude. She gratefully pulled on her robe, belting it before going out into the hallway, moving stealthily to the door next to hers, coming to a freezing halt as she heard Quinn talking to someone inside his room, the door not quite closed properly.
‘—told you in London, this has to stop,’ Quinn was saying firmly.
‘Because of Fergus,’ Terri acknowledged softly. ‘But he doesn’t have to know, does he?’ she dismissed.
Terri was in Quinn’s room. Lise couldn’t believe it. Terri had gone to Quinn, not to Fergus!
She couldn’t move, could hardly breathe, shocked to the core of her being.
Quinn sighed. ‘He’s a friend of mine—–’
‘I won’t tell him if you don’t,’ Terri taunted seductively.
‘He’s expecting you to go to him—–’
‘I’ll just tell him Lise made a little pest of herself by not falling asleep in time,’ Terri said callously. ‘She is a little pest, isn’t she, Quinn?’ she added derisively. ‘The poor little thing can hardly keep her hands off you!’
‘Terri—–’
‘Don’t try and tell me you found her adoration cute—or acceptable,’ Terri dismissed with a throaty laugh. ‘We both know your opinion of star-struck little kids like her. You like a woman in your arms and your bed. And we both know that I’m very much a woman, don’t we, Quinn?’ she prompted huskily.
‘Obviously you’re a woman. But—–’
‘Let me show you how much of a woman I am,’ Terri cut in seductively.
The silence that followed her statement broke Lise out of her horrified trance as she realised exactly how Terri must be showing Quinn.
She couldn’t get back to her bedroom fast enough, leaning weakly back against the door, her breathing ragged.
Terri and Quinn. Quinn was making love to the other woman while his friend, and Terri’s lover, slept unsuspectingly across the hallway!
She had believed Quinn was attracted to her because he let her kiss him, because he had shown her what a proper kiss between a man and a woman could be, and all the time he was sleeping with his friend’s girlfriend behind his back. Maybe Terri’s presence here as Fergus’s girlfriend had even been the reason he had been so agreeable to the suggestion that he stay here.
As for Quinn finding her attractive, that was laughable. Maybe he and Terri would indeed laugh later when he told her how Lise had thrown herself at him in the music-room!
She gave a sudden shiver, realising how cold she was standing here in just her robe, and, taking one of the cotton nightgowns that buttoned to the throat from her drawer, she pulled it on quickly, no longer eager to become a woman.
Oh God, Quinn wasn’t a Prince Charming at all, he was the Prince who woke Sleeping Beauty with a single kiss, who opened her eyes to all that was ugly in the world.
She might not want to be a woman any more, but she knew for certain that she would never again be that trustingly naïve child who believed in fairy-tales. In men like Quinn Taylor…
CHAPTER ONE (#u121807fd-c176-54ce-9086-0e7fddebdf84)
‘MISS ELIZABETH?’
She looked up from the letter of acceptance she had been writing in answer to a dinner invitation for next week, nodding coolly to the maid. ‘Yes, Mary?’ she prompted distantly.
‘Cook just wanted to be sure that the number for lunch is still four.’ The young maid looked at her eagerly.
Elizabeth put down her pen, smiling ruefully. ‘Assure Cook that so far my grandfather’s guests haven’t cancelled their luncheon appointment,’ she drawled, glancing at the gold watch her grandfather, Gerald Farnham, had given her for her twenty-first birthday two years ago. ‘And as it’s after eleven now I think we can all safely assume that they aren’t going to either,’ she added teasingly.
Mary blushed. She was only four years younger than her mistress, but so much younger in her outlook on life. ‘Fancy Quinn Taylor coming here for lunch,’ she breathed ecstatically, her eyes glowing with anticipation.
Elizabeth gave a dismissive shrug. ‘One assumes he still has to eat like us lesser mortals,’ she derided, glancing down at the half-finished letter. She didn’t particularly want to go to the Prestwicks’ for dinner, but Giles, the man she was currently dating, would want to go.
‘But he’s actually coming here,’ Mary repeated excitedly, in no hurry to return to the kitchen.
Elizabeth was well aware of the fact that the singer was coming here, that even now the west lawn of the estate was having a stage and lighting erected on it in preparation for the concert her grandfather had agreed to let Quinn Taylor perform there.
A pop concert wasn’t the sort of thing her grandfather would usually have agreed to, but the amount of money offered in return for the use of Farnham Hall for the televised concert had been too good for him to turn down. And her grandfather was all for making money where possible, she acknowledged ruefully. Besides which, he had tied the Quinn Taylor organisation up in so tight a contract that the west lawn and surrounding estate would probably be in a better condition when all the people and equipment were gone than it had been before they arrived! Her grandfather was nothing if not a good businessman.
Entertaining the pop singer and his manager for lunch wasn’t something Elizabeth exactly relished doing, but her grandfather had believed it would make for good relations between them. She had a sneaking suspicion he might also be a Quinn Taylor fan!
Apparently the singer had arrived in England late last night and expected to begin rehearsing the show this afternoon; her grandfather had decided that the least they could do was offer him lunch before he began. She just hoped she didn’t have to suffer through having him ask the entertainer for his autograph!
‘Shouldn’t you go and assure Cook that so far Mr Taylor hasn’t cancelled the arrangements?’ she drily prompted the young maid.
Mary looked at her consideringly. ‘I’d be a nervous wreck if I were the one shortly to be having lunch with Quinn Taylor,’ she sighed dreamily.
‘Well, you aren’t,’ Elizabeth said more sharply than she intended, sighing as Mary looked hurt by her attitude. ‘I’m sorry, Mary,’ she dismissed. ‘But there are several other things I would rather be doing today than having lunch with Mr Taylor.’
‘I’d give a whole year’s wages just to be able to say I spoke to him,’ Mary said longingly.
Considering that the wages paid to the household staff at the Hall were some of the highest in the area, Mary’s sacrifice wouldn’t be a small one, and all for the opportunity to talk to a man who probably didn’t deserve her hero-worship in the first place.
She gave the young girl a rueful smile. ‘Tell Cook I said you were to help serve lunch today—without sacrifice of wages,’ she added teasingly.
Mary’s face lit up as if the lights on a Christmas tree had just been switched on. ‘Really?’ she gasped disbelievingly.
‘As long as you don’t mind going off for your own lunch now so that you can be back in time,’ she nodded.
Mary’s eyes were wide brown orbs. ‘I don’t mind not having any lunch at all if I can just get to see Quinn Taylor close up,’ she said weakly.
Elizabeth smiled. ‘Run along and get your lunch now. You wouldn’t want to faint at Mr Taylor’s feet, now would you?’ she teased, suddenly sure that the enchanted girl would enjoy nothing better than fainting in Quinn Taylor’s arms. ‘On second thoughts, perhaps you would,’ she acknowledged drily. ‘But don’t, hm?’ she prompted gently.
‘No, Miss Elizabeth.’ The young girl left with a dreamy smile to her lips.
Elizabeth shook her head, gazing out of the window of the morning-room to where she could see the west lawn in the distance as the crew frantically worked to finish the staging in time for the concert at the weekend.
All that work and adoration for a man who undoubtedly had a good voice, but who was still just a man after all. Personally, she didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, although the thousands of Quinn Taylor fans who were said to be going to attend the concert obviously thought that they did.
But she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t exactly overjoyed about the invasion planned for the weekend; Giles was disgusted that her grandfather could even be thinking of allowing such a thing at the Hall. She smiled a little as she remembered that her grandfather hadn’t been too thrilled by the criticism. If Giles had serious thoughts about becoming her husband and Gerald Farnham’s grandson-in-law then he would do well to learn that her grandfather disliked criticism of any sort, was just as likely to do something he wouldn’t normally have done just because someone suggested he shouldn’t.
And she was pretty certain that Giles did have serious intentions of asking her to marry him. What her answer to him was going to be when he did ask she hadn’t yet decided. Oh, he was a nice enough man, quite good-looking with his curly blond hair and dark brown eyes that could look so soulful, but she wasn’t sure yet whether or not she was in love with him. But there was no rush to decide, they had only been going out together for a few months. She was certainly in no hurry to marry anyone.
‘Darling, isn’t it time you changed for lunch?’ her grandfather prompted softly from the doorway. ‘Our guests should be arriving in half an hour or so, and for some reason it seems to take you women at least that long to change a few clothes,’ he added drily.
Elizabeth turned to smile at her grandfather, giving up any idea of being able to deal with her mail any further today. None of it was that important anyway. ‘I thought I looked fine as I am,’ she drawled, standing up to cross the room and kiss him on one leathery cheek.
At almost seventy her grandfather still stood straight and tall at just over six feet, his hair deeply thick and iron-grey, hazel eyes twinkling down at her with affection as he held her at arm’s length to take in her appearance.
‘You look charming—as usual, my dear,’ he said lightly, about the pink floral dress. ‘But I had something a little more—formal in mind, for the mistress of the house,’ he added encouragingly.
‘I doubt a Canadian pop-singer knows the difference between a Laura Ashley and a St Laurent,’ she said drily.
Her grandfather gave her a reproving look. ‘That wasn’t worthy of you, Elizabeth,’ he told her softly.
‘No,’ she sighed heavily, putting her arm through the crook of his as they walked out into the large entrance-hall. ‘I just wish you had excused me from this luncheon as I asked you to,’ she grimaced. ‘I have no idea what we’re going to talk about. It isn’t even as if I’m a fan,’ she shrugged.
‘No doubt the man talks about himself all the time,’ her grandfather derided.
She looked up to return his smile. ‘If he does it will save me having to try and make conversation!’
‘Minx!’ he chuckled.
She ran lightly to the foot of the wide stairway. ‘I promise to try not to embarrass you.’
‘Elizabeth,’ he stopped her as she reached the gallery at the top of the stairs. ‘You could never, ever embarrass me,’ he told her gruffly.
She gave him a warm smile, blowing him a kiss before hurrying to her bedroom.
She and her grandfather were so close, and that closeness was another reason she was in no hurry to think about marriage; she was all her grandfather had now, since his son, her father, had been killed five years ago while racing his car at over a hundred miles an hour. She and her grandfather had been drawn together after the tragedy, their affection for each other something really special. A husband would surely try to intrude upon that special relationship; Giles had already shown signs of impatience at the amount of time she chose to spend at home.
After years of knowing exactly what was right to wear for each and every occasion, she was suddenly at a loss as to what one wore to have lunch with a pop-singer, disgarding one outfit after another in her wardrobe as either too formal or too casual. What could she wear to have lunch with Quinn Taylor and his manager?
It wasn’t like her to be so indecisive. Surely she wasn’t as affected by the man’s expected arrival as everyone else seemed to be? Certainly not, she instantly answered herself, she was just irritated at having to put herself out for the man!
She chose her outfit at random from the row of day clothes in the full-wall-length wardrobe and was just zipping the green skirt over her slender hips when she heard the sound of a car in the driveway; she tucked the matching pale green blouse into the narrow waistband before moving to glance out of the window. If it was Quinn Taylor he was early, but perhaps no one had bothered to explain to him that it was just as rude to arrive early as it was to arrive late.
The Rolls-Royce that had just come to a stop in front of the house was certainly impressive enough—if one were the type to be impressed by such an obvious show of wealth, which Elizabeth certainly was not.
She watched curiously from the window as instead of the chauffeur alighting from behind the wheel as she had expected, a tall dark-haired man in his late thirties, instantly recognisable as Quinn Taylor, stepped out on to the gravel driveway. Even if he hadn’t been, it was obvious that the short, slightly plump man who was getting out of the passenger side certainly wasn’t the singing star, which meant he must be the manager, Bruce Simons.
The shorter man walked around the car to join Quinn Taylor, pointing across the grounds to the west lawn where work was visibly in progress.
Elizabeth observed them curiously, noting that Bruce Simons seemed slightly ill at ease in the brown suit he wore, obviously especially for the occasion, pulling at the restriction of the collar of the tan shirt as it obviously irritated him.
Quinn Taylor turned to grin at him as he said something, wearing his navy blue suit with ease, even from this distance his eyes distinguisable as a deep startling blue. He seemed relaxed, confident, motioning to the other man that they should go into the house now.
Elizabeth stepped back from the window as they turned towards the house; the last thing she wanted was to be caught staring at them like some star-struck idiot!
She should be getting downstairs, her grandfather wouldn’t be pleased if she weren’t downstairs at his side to greet their guests. One thing she had learnt about her grandfather over the years, he granted her every indulgence, but good manners meant everything to him. He was going to expect her to be especially polite to a man he admired so much.
She brushed the shoulder-length bell of her hair with quick strokes, aware that she looked coolly elegant, her eyes sparkling brightly.
Petersham was just showing their guests into the drawing-room as she descended the stairs, and she turned coolly towards them as she sensed someone’s gaze on her, her gaze meeting, and clashing, with that of Quinn Taylor.
His eyes widened speculatively, a slow sensuous smile curving his sculptured lips. And then, as he continued to meet her challenging gaze, puzzlement darkened his eyes.
Elizabeth finished descending the stairs with confident dignity, crossing the entrance-hall to smile politely at their guests. ‘Thank you, Petersham,’ she dismissed the butler lightly. ‘I’ll take our guests through to my grandfather. Would you like to come this way, gentlemen,’ she invited politely, her smile bright—and completely meaningless, sensing that Quinn Taylor’s gaze was still on her. ‘I’m Elizabeth Farnham, by the way,’ she told them distantly as she ushered them into the room where her grandfather stood waiting for them. ‘Mr Simon, I believe you know my grandfather already.’ She smiled at the plump man, aware that he had been the one to do all the negotiating with her grandfather. ‘Mr Taylor, my grandfather, Gerald Farnham,’ she introduced. ‘I don’t believe you need any introduction yourself,’ she added drily, moving slightly away from the group to observe them uninterestedly.
Her grandfather was obviously enthusiastic about meeting the singer for the first time. As she had suspected, he was a secret fan, mentioning several of the entertainer’s songs that he particularly liked.
‘I’m afraid our introduction was a little rushed earlier.’ A silkily soft voice broke into her rueful musings.
She looked up to find Quinn Taylor had left the other two men talking quietly together to cross the room to her side. She met his gaze questioningly, smiling politely.
‘Elizabeth Farnham,’ she provided again as he looked at her searchingly.
‘Elizabeth…’ he repeated softly, shaking his head. ‘No, it doesn’t—fit,’ he murmured slowly.
She gave a lightly dismissive laugh. ‘I can assure you it suits me very well,’ she challenged.
He looked slightly embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘I didn’t mean to appear rude. It’s just… You remind me of someone, it’s almost as if I should know you, and yet the name Elizabeth doesn’t ring any bells in my memory.’ He shook his head, staring at her intently.
‘I’m sorry,’ she drawled dismissively, moving to join her grandfather, putting her arm through the crook of his, glancing back curiously at Quinn Taylor. He still stared at her. ‘Mr Taylor seems to think I may have a double somewhere,’ she told her grandfather with a light laugh.
He turned to the younger man. ‘I refuse to believe there’s another woman as beautiful as Elizabeth anywhere in the world,’ and he gazed down at her proudly.
Quinn Taylor strode fluidly across the room. ‘I didn’t say you have a double, Miss Farnham,’ he bit out, obviously not appreciating her mockery at his expense. ‘I said you remind me of someone.’
‘Surely it’s the same thing?’ she dismissed uninterestedly. ‘I can assure you that if we had met before I would surely have remembered it—even if you are so ungallant as to suggest you can’t remember where you met this woman I look so much like,’ she added challengingly.
Impatience flickered in his eyes, at himself—and her. ‘Perhaps I was mistaken,’ he rasped. ‘You don’t appear to be the sort of woman a man would easily forget.’
‘I certainly hope not,’ she drawled huskily.
It was a most unnerving feeling having someone watch her so closely as she ate, and yet she knew, without acknowledging it, that Quinn Taylor watched her constantly during lunch.
Just as Mary watched him. The poor girl helped serve the meal in a complete daze, even dropping the spoon on the floor when Quinn Taylor turned to thank her for taking his empty soup bowl away. The accident cost Mary a quelling glance from Petersham, making her especially careful throughout the rest of the meal.
She really was star-struck, poor girl, gazing after Quinn Taylor adoringly as they finally left the dining-room to have coffee in the drawing-room.
‘Brandy, gentlemen?’ her grandfather offered, not bothering himself when the other two men declined. ‘Any problems, Quinn,’ he told the other man effusively as he sat down to light himself one of the cigars he so enjoyed and which Elizabeth was always warning him were no good for him, ‘and I want you to come straight to me.’ He puffed on his cigar. ‘I’d be glad to help in any way that I can.’
She could instantly tell that her grandfather didn’t just like the man’s music, he liked the man too. When her grandfather decided he liked some one he would do anything he could to make things easier for them, but woe betide anyone he took a dislike to!
Quinn smiled his lazily charming smile, seeming to be giving her a respite from his constant attention. ‘Everything seems to be running smoothly, thanks, Gerald.’ The two men had quickly come to a first-name basis. ‘Although perhaps there is something Miss Farnham could help me with.’ The two of them hadn’t reached the same easy familiarity!
She stiffened, her gaze cool. ‘Yes?’
‘The perfume you’re wearing,’ he said softly. ‘Perhaps you could give me the name of it before I leave,’ he explained as her brows rose questioningly. ‘I’d like to buy someone some like it as a present.’
‘Of course,’ she agreed distantly, wondering how many ‘someones’ he intended buying the expensive perfume for. Since his divorce several years ago he had gained the reputation of escorting some of the most beautiful women in the entertainment business. ‘I’ll write the name down for you before you leave,’ she drawled.
He gave an inclination of his head. ‘I’d be grateful.’
Elizabeth broke the intimacy of his gaze by turning towards her grandfather. ‘Perhaps Mr Taylor would like to go over to the west lawn now and see how the work there is progressing,’ she suggested lightly. ‘I’m sure he must be anxious to see what arrangements have been made.’
‘He’s barely had time to drink his coffee, child,’ her grandfather looked at her in surprise.
She blushed. ‘I only—–’
‘Your granddaughter is right, Gerald,’ Quinn Taylor’s drawling voice came to her rescue. ‘I only have a couple of days’ rehearsal before the concert.’ He stood up, stretching lazily. ‘I don’t feel much like working after that delicious lunch you just gave us,’ he acknowledged ruefully. ‘Maybe I can return the hospitality some time, tomorrow, perhaps?’ He was looking at Elizabeth as he made the suggestion. After angering her grandfather by more or less suggesting it was time for the singer and his manager to leave, she prudently held her tongue about bluntly refusing Quinn Taylor’s invitation. But she certainly had no intention of spending any more time in his company than she had to, she didn’t like the way he kept staring at her.
To her relief it was Bruce Simons who came to her rescue, pointing out to the singer that the schedule was a little tight for tomorrow.
Blue eyes gleamed as Quinn Taylor seemed to know of her relief at the reprieve. ‘Maybe we can make it dinner,’ he murmured slowly. ‘Could I contact you both about it tomorrow?’ he asked her grandfather.
He might contact them, but by the time he did she would make sure she had a legitimate excuse—one that would satisfy her grandfather!—for not attending. Quinn Taylor made her feel uncomfortable, and she wasn’t about to expose herself to any more of his company than she had to.
‘It’s been a delight to meet you, Miss Farnham.’ He took her hand lightly in his as they stood outside. ‘I’m sure I will remember who it is you remind me of,’ he added softly, once again giving her that searching look.
‘Let’s hope that when you do remember, it is a pleasant memory,’ she drawled mockingly.
He smiled, his teeth white and even against his bronzed skin. ‘I’m sure it must be,’ he said huskily.
Elizabeth politely but firmly extricated her hand from within his grasp, knowing by the way his fingers tightened momentarily that he didn’t want to release her. She clasped her hands together in front of her. ‘We mustn’t keep you from your rehearsal any longer,’ she said pointedly.
‘No,’ he acknowledged ruefully, strolling around to the driver’s side of the car with long easy movements. ‘I’ll see you both again soon.’
It sounded more like a threat than a politely made parting comment. But she knew her grandfather would want to accept this man’s invitation, whereas she didn’t believe it was necessary for them to meet again, for dinner tomorrow or anything else, now that they had politely done their duty.
They stood at the top of the steps watching the car as it disappeared in the direction of the west lawn, her grandfather’s arm about her shoulders as they went back into the house.
‘You weren’t very polite to him, darling,’ her grandfather finally reproved, as she had known he would.
‘His approach wasn’t very original,’ she derided. ‘That “you remind me of someone” routine must be years old,’ she dismissed scathingly.
‘It used to work when I was a young man,’ he frowned. ‘OK, point taken,’ he smiled as she gave him a pointed look. ‘But it didn’t seem like an approach to me.’
‘Perhaps not,’ she shrugged. ‘But I didn’t like the way he kept staring at me through lunch.’
Her grandfather smiled again. ‘He did seem rather taken with you, didn’t he?’
‘There’s no need to sound so smug,’ Elizabeth snapped. ‘Quinn Taylor is certainly not my type!’
‘Because he sings for a living?’ her grandfather frowned. ‘Darling, the man is an artist, not some hack who can’t pitch a note!’
Elizabeth knew exactly who Quinn Taylor was, and what he was. The Lise Morrison part of her would never forget that he had taken to his bed the girlfriend of a man who had called him friend.
Or that he had once broken her heart.
CHAPTER TWO (#u121807fd-c176-54ce-9086-0e7fddebdf84)
ELIZABETH didn’t for a moment believe he really remembered that slightly overweight schoolgirl who had once been so infatuated with him that she had thrown herself at him shamelessly.
But she remembered every painful moment of that night six years ago. She had thought she had put it behind her, had believed seeing Quinn Taylor again after all this time would mean nothing to her. But she had been wrong; how could anyone forget the person who had shattered their childhood for ever?
At seventeen she had been extremely naïve, believed everything to be exactly as it appeared to be: Quinn’s kindness to her a sign that he liked her too, his friendship with Fergus just that. Instead it had merely been a cover for something much more sordid. Terri hadn’t returned to her bedroom until early the next morning!
Quinn said she reminded him of someone, but the name was all wrong. Maybe it was just a line to him, but for her it had been a traumatic experience to learn that she wasn’t little Lise Morrison at all but Elizabeth Farnham, heiress to the Farnham estate.
She had been eighteen when the man her Uncle Hector called ‘Master Gregory’, had been killed racing one of his cars much too fast during wet conditions. The people in the area had mourned the loss of the Farnham heir with the elderly man who owned most of the farms and houses they lived in. For days they had been stunned by the death, wondering what Gerald Farnham would do for an heir now that his only son had died, Gregory Farnham never having married himself.
Elizabeth could still remember her surprise—and nervousness!—when the Farnham limousine had arrived at the farm and Gerald Farnham himself had asked to see her.
His son had left a letter to be read in the event of his premature death—and with the reckless way he lived his life that had always been more than a possibility—stating that he and Claire Morrison had been lovers, and claiming Lise’s paternity.
The man who claimed to be her grandfather had shown her the letter, not attempting to shield her from the fact that her father had always known of her existence, that he had scorned her mother when she told him of her pregnancy. It hadn’t been easy to accept that, if Gregory Farnham hadn’t died the way he had, she would never have known who she really was; that the secret of her father’s identity, which her mother had chosen to take to the grave with her, would have remained a secret for ever.
Her mother had gone to live with her brother Hector when their parents died shortly after she was sixteen, and she and Gregory Farnham had met when she was only seventeen. Considering the reputation the Farnham heir had always had concerning women, Lise could only believe that her mother had been as mesmerised by his reckless charm as so many other women had seemed to be. But at only nineteen Gregory Farnham had had no intention of marrying anyone, especially some little country bumpkin who lived on one of the estate’s farms, even if she was pregnant with his child.
Her aunt and uncle had been as stunned by this revelation as she was, and she was sure they had never had any idea who her father was. Her Aunt Madge certainly wouldn’t have remained silent if she had known!
It had been too much for Lise to absorb, and she had run off, needing to be alone, to try to come to terms with the fact that she was Elizabeth Farnham and not Elizabeth Morrison.
Her poor mother, rejected by the man she had believed loved her. Not even her death had made him relent about acknowledging their child’s birth.
Maybe if she had been able to comfort herself with the certainty that Gregory Farnham had lived his life so recklessly because the woman he had loved, and foolishly hadn’t married, had died giving birth to his child, there might have been something to redeem from the heartache she was now suffering. But that would have been a fairy-tale, and her belief in those had been shattered a year ago.
In which case she had to believe that her father had been a selfish bastard who had never had any intention of recognising her as his daughter while he was still alive. To her he had just been the Farnham heir who occasionally visited the estate, driving about the narrow country lanes in one of his flashy sports cars, usually with some beautiful woman at his side.
She didn’t want him to be her father, hated the thought of that blond-haired devil having sired her. She didn’t have to accept him as her father if she didn’t want to. She knew her aunt and uncle expected her to move into Farnham Hall as her grandfather wanted her to, but she was eighteen now, could go where she wanted, be what she wanted. She didn’t have to be beholden to anyone any more—–
‘He was a bastard, wasn’t he.’
She looked up with resentful eyes, glaring at the man who now claimed to be her grandfather. He had a perfect right to be here, this river was part of his estate, but she didn’t have to stay and talk to him.
He caught her arm as she would have leapt up and run away. ‘Lise,’ he halted her gently. ‘That is what they call you, isn’t it?’ he prompted softly.
Her head went back defiantly, green eyes flashing. ‘It’s the family name for me, yes,’ she acknowledged bitterly.
He nodded his head, a man in his mid-sixties who was obviously finding it difficult to converse with a young woman. ‘If you prefer I’ll call you Elizabeth,’ he said sadly. ‘But I am your family.’ His hand tightened about her arm as she would have pulled away. ‘You know, I used to see your mother about the village and estate,’ he spoke quietly. ‘She was a lovely little thing, just like you to look at.’
‘Perhaps if she hadn’t been quite as lovely your son wouldn’t have ruined her life by leaving her pregnant with his child,’ she stormed at him.
He gave a sad sigh. ‘Gregory was always wild, but—if I had known of your existence I would have acknowledged you years ago!’ he rasped.
‘Even an illegitimate heir is better than no heir at all?’ she challenged contemptuously.
He suddenly looked old, not quite as tall, nor as arrogant. ‘I probably deserved that,’ he said heavily. ‘Having a grandchild has meant everything to me in recent years, I’ve made no secret of that. I’d like to think that Gregory was deaf to my requests that he settle down and have children because he knew there was no reason for him to do so, that he always intended telling me about you some day.’
‘You can live with your dreams if you want to,’ Lise scorned. ‘I happen to think that your son never thought of me again after writing that letter you were to receive after his death. And we both know by the date of that that he wrote it when I was three years old! Any duty he might have felt to me taken care of—and then forgotten!’
Gerald Farnham drew in a ragged breath. ‘I can’t pretend to have understood my son.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘All I do know is that you are my grandchild. And I’d like for us to get to know one another better.’
‘I—–’
‘I never denied you, Elizabeth,’ he cut in softly. ‘I never would have done.’
‘We’ll never know that, will we?’ she scoffed.
His mouth firmed determinedly. ‘I understand that you hate Gregory; I’m not feeling too pleased with him myself at the moment,’ he admitted softly. ‘But,’ he added firmly, ‘we both know the truth now. I think we owe it to each other at least to get to know one another.’
Her eyes flashed. ‘I don’t owe you anything!’
He gave an impatient sigh at her defiance. ‘Did your aunt or uncle ever give you a good spanking for being unreasonable?’ He glared back at her, green sparks visible in his hazel-coloured eyes.
It suddenly occurred to Lise how ridiculous they must look standing beside a river glaring at each other, eyes locked, jaws set. It also occurred to her that there was more than a casual similarity between them, that this man was her grandfather, her own flesh and blood.
She had begun to cry then, held firmly in his arms, offering no resistance when he led her back to the road and helped her into his car, taking her back with him to Farnham Hall.
She had been here ever since, gently guided by her grandfather to be the sort of woman who was capable of running his estate. She had felt strange at first, like the village brat who had accidentally gatecrashed a life she didn’t understand, or particularly want. But her grandfather had shown such pride in her, complimenting her effusively on each new accomplishment she made, until it had become the determination to be his granddaughter that had spurred her on to accept the new life he had provided for her.
After five years she was completely at home here, had become Elizabeth Farnham, Lise Morrison a part of her past that she remembered with affection but had no wish to return to.
She had almost forgotten she had ever known another life besides this one, even the expected arrival of Quinn Taylor back in her life not having disturbed her. She despised the man, saw no reason why she should explain that they had met before. And she had no intention of doing so!
Unfortunately for her grandfather, he seemed to have some sort of match-making idea in mind between her and the entertainer. She found it difficult even to be polite to the Canadian, didn’t feel even a spark of that attraction towards him that had once made her so dizzily ecstatic. And her grandfather was going to realise that after he had tried to throw them together a couple of more times.
She moved to her bedroom window to gaze out at the west lawn, could clearly see the blue-suited figure as he moved about the stage. She had been wrong that night six years ago when she had supposed he was more at home in his casual clothes; he looked just as relaxed and comfortable in the formal suit.
The years had been kind to him, his attraction still devastating, in fact in some ways he seemed more attractive, his features ruggedly virile. His divorce several years ago had left him free to exploit that virility to its fullest, his name constantly linked with one woman or another. Elizabeth hoped he didn’t waste his time by trying to impress her!
* * *
‘I can’t understand what all the fuss is about,’ Giles muttered at her side.
Elizabeth gave a rueful grimace, longing to agree with him, but knowing it would be impolite to their guest of honour to do so.
Her grandfather had completely outwitted her in his effort to throw her into the company of Quinn Taylor, telling her he wanted this dinner party arranged at short notice, omitting to tell her that his guest of honour was going to be the singer.
The Canadian had only been to lunch the day before, and when no dinner invitation had been forthcoming she had heaved a sigh of gratitude. It wasn’t until she descended the stairs earlier this evening to stand at her grandfather’s side to greet their hastily invited guests that she had realised Quinn Taylor was going to be there. She had telephoned round herself and invited the dozen or so other guests, little guessing that her grandfather had personally issued one to Quinn Taylor.
She should have guessed really; as he had with her father before her, her grandfather had started complaining about his lack of great-grandchildren when she reached twenty-one. And he didn’t approve of Giles as the father of those children, claimed he was too weak. She had never met a man yet who was
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