An Exception to His Rule. Lindsay Armstrong

      At the same time, Harriet said, ‘Oh! I wonder where I put my glasses?’

      ‘Here,’ he remarked flatly, picking them up from the dining table and handing them to her. ‘I’ll see you out.’

      Harriet hesitated. ‘I’m sure I could see myself out.’

      ‘Not at all. After you.’

      So it was that Harriet preceded him out of the dining room and out of the house to the driveway. There was only one vehicle parked there: hers.

      Damien Wyatt took one look at it and swore. ‘You’re not still driving that damn tank, are you?’ he asked with furious incredulity.

      Harriet coloured slightly. ‘It just refuses to lie down. Anyway, it’s not mine, it’s Brett’s, my brother’s. It’s very good over rough and sandy terrain.’

      ‘I believe you.’ Damien favoured the vehicle with a lingering look of malice then transferred his gaze to Harriet.

      ‘Well, enjoy your stay at Heathcote, Miss Livingstone.’ A tinge of irony entered his dark eyes. ‘Don’t go about kissing too many men at the same time as you’re happy to remain fancy-free. Oh, and watch out for Charlie. He is, not to put too fine a point on it, a womaniser.’

      Harriet drew a deep breath. ‘Perhaps he takes after you?’ she said quietly, and climbed into her battered old vehicle.

      He waited until she’d driven off before saying to Tottie, ‘What the devil do you make of all that? OK, I know you’re on her side, but I don’t ever recall kissing a girl I’ve—virtually—just met like that.’

      Predictably, Tottie didn’t answer; she only yawned.

      Damien Wyatt shrugged. In fact I haven’t kissed anyone quite like that for a while, he added to himself. Been too busy, been somewhat cynical about the whole tribe of women, to be honest. What I need, if that’s the case, is someone nice and uncomplicated who knows the rules of the game—doesn’t expect wedding bells in other words—rather than importuning an accident-prone, scholarly type who drives a horrible vehicle and has the nerve to suborn my dog!

      ‘That’s you, Tottie,’ he said severely but Tottie remained serenely unaffected.

      ‘Of course you could always kind of...keep an eye on her while I’m away,’ Damien added. ‘Heaven knows what “a left-handed syndrome” could lead her into.’

      ‘Permission to speak,’ a voice said and Charlie strolled onto the drive.

      ‘Don’t start, Charlie,’ Damien advised.

      ‘She’s gone, I see.’ Charlie came to a stop beside Tottie and his brother. He shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Unusual vehicle. For a girl, I mean. Not to mention some kind of an antique dealer, according to Isabel.’

      ‘It’s her brother’s, apparently. Listen, Charlie—’ he explained Harriet’s background and the agreement they’d reached ‘—so leave her alone, will you?’

      Charlie looked offended. ‘Acquit me! Would I try to steal your girl?’

      ‘Yes,’ Damien said flatly. ‘Not that she’s my girl—not that she’s my girl—’ He broke off and swore. ‘But she’s got a job to do here and the sooner it’s done, the better.’

      Charlie frowned. ‘Why do I sense a mystery attached to Miss Harriet Livingstone? Smashing pair of legs, by the way.’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Damien said shortly. ‘How long are you here for?’

      ‘Relax, Bro,’ Charlie said cheerfully. ‘I’m due back at the base in a week. By the way, you are now talking to Flight Lieutenant Charles Walker Wyatt. Which is what I dashed into the dining room to tell you, incidentally.’

      ‘Charlie!’ Damien turned to his brother. ‘Congratulations!’ And he shook his brother’s hand then enveloped him in a bear hug.

      ‘I suspect I got it by the skin of my teeth but, yeah!’

      ‘Come in and I’ll shout you a drink.’

      * * *

      It was just before they were called into dinner that Charlie said thoughtfully, ‘There’s something about that girl, Damien. Easy to run onto the rocks there—take care.’

      Damien Wyatt opened his mouth to deny that there was any possibility of his running onto any rocks with Harriet Livingstone but he closed it.

      And he said musingly, ‘I’m glad to hear you say so because for the last few hours I’ve been wondering what on earth got into me. So what do you think it is?’

      Charlie shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘But some women just have an aura of...reserve, maybe, with a dash of vulnerability, a tinge of heartbreak perhaps, and that—’ he waved his tankard ‘—certain something you just can’t put into words.’

      ‘That je ne sais quoi,’ Damien murmured. He frowned. ‘And you sensed all this about Harriet Livingstone in—roughly two minutes?’

      Charlie looked wise. ‘I once decided to date a girl I saw riding past me on a bicycle. All I saw was the curve of her cheek and all this shiny brown hair floating out behind her but it was enough. I chased her in my car, persuaded her to pop the bike in the boot and have lunch with me. We dated for quite a few months.’

      ‘What broke it up?’ Damien enquired curiously.

      ‘The Air Force. I didn’t get to spend enough time with her. Anyway, getting back to you. After Veronica, well...’ Charlie shrugged as if he didn’t quite know how to go on.

      ‘Veronica,’ Damien repeated expressionlessly.

      ‘Your ex-wife,’ Charlie explained generously. ‘Gorgeous girl, of course, but—tricky.’

      Damien raised his eyebrows. ‘Good at hiding it, though.’

      ‘Met her match when she ran into you, however,’ Charlie declaimed. ‘I—’

      ‘Charlie,’ Damien said gently, ‘the only reason I’ve let the discussion get this far is because I’m feeling rather mellow on account of your promotion but that’s enough.’

      ‘Right-ho! Just don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

      * * *

      ‘Isn’t that the guy you ran into?’

      Brett Livingstone sat in a wheelchair in his pleasant room in the rehabilitation centre but his expression was troubled.

      Harriet sat in an armchair opposite. She’d come straight from Heathcote with the news of the job she’d got—she hadn’t told her brother anything about it before in case it hadn’t come off.

      ‘Yes. But that’s all in the past and it’s not only what I love doing, it comes with accommodation.’

      ‘Are you safe with him?’

      ‘Safe?’ Harriet stared at him. ‘Of course.’

      Brett looked angry. ‘He sounded like a thug and a bully.’

      Harriet bit her lip. ‘It was a very beautiful car. But look; his aunt lives there. So does his brother from time to time, and there’s staff. And he has this marvellous dog. Her name’s Tottie and she’s very highly bred.’

      Brett smiled reluctantly as he studied his sister’s bright expression. ‘Any kind of a dog could get you in, Harry.’

      She grimaced. ‘I suppose so. But really, Brett, it’s the kind of job most people who do what I do would dream about. And—’ she hesitated, wishing fervently she’d never told her brother about running into Damien Wyatt ‘—I’m not a very good waitress,’ she added humorously. ‘Can I stay and have dinner with you?’

      ‘Sure. Hey—’ Brett sat