Marriage On The Agenda. Lee Wilkinson

I have a career I enjoy and—’

      ‘It shouldn’t be necessary for you to work. Your father could easily afford to give you an allowance—’

      ‘I’m twenty-four, not fourteen.’

      Ignoring her daughter’s protest, Isobel rushed on, ‘Seriously, I’d never have married him if I’d known he’d turn out to be such an old skinflint.’

      It was a familiar complaint, and one that Loris had learned to studiously ignore.

      ‘He’s even talking about giving up the London flat and semi-retiring to Monkswood.’

      ‘A lot of people work from home these days, and it would make it a lot easier to run the estate.’

      ‘Well, I don’t want to be stuck in the country the whole week. I’d go mad. But your father only thinks of himself, never of me. Weekends are bad enough—’ Isobel continued to complain ‘—unless we’re having a house party… By the way, I hope you remembered to bring some things?’

      Loris and Mark were joining the weekend house party at Monkswood, the Bergmans’ country estate which bordered on the village of Paddleham.

      ‘Yes, I remembered.’

      As the dance ended and the floor cleared, both women looked for Mark’s tall, thickset figure, but he was nowhere to be seen.

      ‘There’s still plenty of food on the buffet if you want to eat?’ Isobel suggested.

      Loris shook her head. ‘I had a sandwich before I went to keep my appointment.’

      ‘Well, I could do with something. This latest diet is much too severe…’

      At forty-seven, Isobel waged a continuous, and mainly losing, battle against the extra pounds that middle-age had piled onto her once-slim figure.

      ‘And I’m convinced the pills they gave me with it are making my migraines worse,’ she grumbled, as she disappeared in the direction of the buffet.

      A waiter approached with a tray of champagne and, accepting a glass with a word of thanks, Loris sipped the well-chilled wine while her gaze travelled over the assembled company.

      As she scanned the crowd, instead of Mark’s heavy, slightly florid face, with its thick black brows and dark eyes, she found herself looking for a stranger’s lean, tanned face, with clear-cut features and light, penetrating eyes.

      A sudden fanfare called for the assembled company’s attention, and Loris watched as her father, her fiancé, and a thin, balding man, went up onto the dais in front of the band. Sir Peter Bergman, stocky and tough-looking, with shrewd blue eyes and iron-grey hair, stepped forward and held up his hand for silence.

      ‘Most of you already know that Bergman Longton and the American giant, Cosby, have been planning to amalgamate. I’m delighted to announce that that has now taken place, and William Grant—’ he drew the thin, balding man forward ‘—one of Cosby’s top executives, is here with us tonight to celebrate the event.’

      There was a burst of applause.

      ‘This merger will make us one of the largest and, we confidently expect, one of the most successful companies in our particular field. We have decided to rename the UK part of our combined companies BLC Electronics.’ He raised his glass. ‘May BLC go from strength to strength.’

      There was more enthusiastic applause, and the toast was drunk.

      As the three men left the dais they were momentarily swallowed up by a surge of people wanting to shake their hands and offer congratulations.

      When the excitement had died down and the crowd began to disperse, Peter Bergman and William Grant walked away together, talking earnestly.

      Mark glanced towards where Loris was standing, striking in an aquamarine dress that clung to her slender figure. She smiled and moved in his direction, but his face was cold, and he turned away to join the woman he’d been dancing with earlier.

      Stunned by the rebuff, Loris stopped in her tracks. Admittedly she was very late, but she had warned Mark in advance that she might be.

      Still, she felt a certain amount of guilt, and if it hadn’t been for the blonde, who was laughing up at him, she would have gone over and apologised.

      But uncertain of his reaction—Mark could be very unforgiving when something displeased him—she hesitated, having no wish to be humiliated in front of the other woman.

      As she stood wondering how to retrieve the situation, a special St Valentine’s waltz was announced. ‘…at the conclusion of which, gentlemen, you may kiss your partner.’

      Surely Mark would come over to her now?

      But without hesitation he offered his hand to the blonde.

      Biting her lip, Loris was about to walk away, when a low, attractive voice, with just a trace of an American accent, asked, ‘Will you dance with me?’

      Turning, she found herself looking into a lean tanned face, with a straight nose, a cleft chin, and a mouth that was firm, yet sensitive. A very masculine mouth that sent tingles through her, a mouth she could only describe as beautiful.

      Again she got that illusory feeling of having once known him, a haunting sense of recognition, without being able to place him.

      His thickly lashed eyes, she saw at close quarters, were sea-green rather than the silvery-grey she had thought them to be. Their impact was just as devastating, making her pulses start to race and her breath come faster, so that it took a moment or two to steady herself.

      Though part of her wanted to dance with this fascinating stranger, Loris was well aware that accepting his invitation would only serve to exacerbate things.

      Despite the fact that Mark had a roving eye himself, since she’d agreed to marry him he’d proved to be both jealous and possessive, hating her to so much as look at any other male.

      Bearing that in mind, she was seeking a polite way to refuse when, noting her hesitation, the man by her side asked sardonically, ‘Scared that Longton won’t approve?’

      So he knew who they both were.

      ‘Not at all,’ Loris denied crisply. ‘I…’ She broke off as Mark and his partner circled past, close as Siamese twins.

      Catching her companion’s eyes, she saw the unspoken derision in their clear, green depths.

      To hell with it! she thought with a spurt of anger. Why should she refuse? Mark had chosen to dance with someone else, and what was sauce for the gander…

      She knew by now that if anyone failed to stand up to him he simply walked all over them and, though she hated any kind of discord, she had no intention of being a door-mat when they were married.

      ‘I’d love to dance with you,’ she finished firmly.

      He smiled at her, a smile that lit his eyes and made little creases at each corner of his mouth. His teeth were excellent, white and healthy and gleaming.

      She judged him to be around thirty years old and, wondering why such a relatively young, attractive man appeared to be here alone, she moved into his arms.

      His hold light, but far from tentative, he steered her smoothly onto the floor. He was a good dancer, and they danced well together, their bodies fitting.

      Mark, heavily built and well over six feet tall, dwarfed her slight five feet four inch frame, but this man was about six inches taller than herself, and her high heels brought their eyes almost on a level.

      Meeting those brilliant eyes made her strangely breathless and, needing to say something, she remarked, ‘You’re aware that I’m engaged to Mark, so you must know who I am?’

      ‘I do indeed. You’re Loris Bergman.’

      Something about the way he spoke made her say coolly, ‘As I don’t know your name,