The Santangeli Marriage. Sara Craven

she repeated, at a loss. ‘You mean—you wish me to come to your hotel?’

      ‘You will not be put to so much trouble,’ he said. ‘I am spending the night here.’

      ‘No!’ The word burst from her. ‘You—you can’t. It’s quite impossible.’ She paused, swallowing. ‘Even you must see that the flat’s far too small.’

      ‘You mean that there is only one bedroom and one bed?’ he queried with faint amusement. ‘I had already discovered that for myself. But it need not be an obstacle.’

      She wrapped her arms defensively round her body. ‘Oh, yes, it is,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘Because I—I won’t…’ She flung her head back. ‘Oh, God, I knew I couldn’t trust you.’