A Bride for the Runaway Groom. Scarlet Wilson

years—with only an annual charity concert—followed by a brand-new album. And she had to be here, in England, to deal with the last few PR issues. Her quietly building wedding jewellery business would have to be pushed to the side for a few months. She needed time to focus on the final details of the tour.

      The last thing she needed was any distractions. And that was exactly what the Runaway Groom was—a distraction. Even if he did make her arm tingle.

      Rose rolled off the bed. She hated that little feeling at the pit of her stomach. The one that had given a little flutter when her sister had assured her there was nothing between her and Will.

      Nothing at all. Funny how those words were so strangely satisfying.

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE FROZEN PEAS were a godsend. It appeared that Hawksley Castle did have some—even though Rose had doubted. The lump on his head wasn’t quite so big and, as long as he kept them pressed to his head, the bleeding stopped.

      He’d managed to struggle into the T-shirt and jeans that Rose had brought from his bag in Violet’s room. But instead of leaving him alone to get dressed, she’d leaned against the wall with her arms folded.

      ‘What, no privacy?’

      ‘From the guy who was in my bed? You lost the privacy privilege a while ago, mister. Anyway, hurry up. I’ve got things to do today.’

      ‘Really? I would have thought after your sister’s wedding you might want to chill out a bit.’

      She crossed the room as he slid his feet into his training shoes. ‘I’d like to have time to chill out, but I don’t. I’ve got the final touches to make to my dad’s tour, then I need to finish some jewellery for another bride.’

      He looked up. ‘Ready. Do you know where the nearest hospital is?’

      She nodded. ‘I know this area well. Let’s go.’

      They walked down the corridor and out of the front doors of Hawksley Castle. She opened the door of a pale blue Rolls-Royce and nodded at him to get in the other side.

      Will couldn’t hide the smile on his face as he slid into the cream leather seat. ‘Didn’t take you for this kind of car,’ he said in amusement.

      She started the engine and frowned at him. ‘What kind of car did you think I’d drive?’

      ‘Something sporty. Something small. Probably something red.’ He looked thoughtful for a second. ‘Probably one of those new-style Minis.’ He wasn’t revealing that his identical Rolls-Royce was parked a few cars down in the car park.

      She pulled out of the car park and down the sweeping mile-long driveway. ‘This is my dad’s. You forget, I’ve been in New York for the last three years. There isn’t much point in me having a car here right now, so I just borrow one when I’m home.’

      ‘And he lets you?’ Rick Cross’s car collection was legendary. ‘How many does he actually have?’

      She laughed. And it was the first genuine laugh he’d heard from her. It was beautiful. Light and frivolous. Two things that Rose didn’t really emanate. ‘You mean, how many does Mum think he has—or how many does he actually have?’

      Now Will started laughing. ‘Really? How does he manage that? Where on earth can he hide cars from her?’

      She shrugged. ‘He’s a master. We’ve got more than one home. You’ll have seen the garages at Huntingdon Hall. There are eighteen cars there. Four in New York. Three in Mustique. And—’ she glanced over her shoulder as if to check if someone was there ‘—another twelve at an unspecified location in London.’

      ‘Another twelve? You’ve got to be joking.’

      ‘I never joke about my father.’ She shrugged. ‘What can I say? It’s his money. He can spend it how he likes. Same with my mother. They have beautiful homes, there might even have been the odd nip and tuck here and there, and to the outside world they seem like a pretty frivolous couple.’

      He could hear the edge in her voice. Just as he’d heard the same tone in Violet’s voice on a few occasions. He’d met Rick and Sherry. They seemed like regular, nice folks. Polite, well-mannered, and they obviously loved their daughters.

      ‘So, what’s the problem?’

      Her head whipped around. ‘Who said there was a problem?’

      ‘You did. Just now.’

      ‘I did not.’

      He sighed. ‘You and Violet are more alike than you think. She does that, too—starts talking about your parents and then starts to say strange things.’

      ‘She does?’ Her voice was a little squeaky and her knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. It was nothing to do with her driving. And nothing to do with the car.

      The Rolls-Royce was eating up the country roads with ease. It should be a pleasant enough drive. But Rose looked tense.

      ‘You must deal with the press all the time. Why does it annoy you when they describe your parents as frivolous?’

      ‘Because they’re not really. Not at heart. Yes, they spend money. But they also give a lot away. Lots of celebrities do. My mum and dad both support lots of charities.’

      He nodded. ‘Yeah, I remember. I’ve seen her in the magazines and doing TV interviews.’

      ‘That’s what you see. What you don’t see is all the work they don’t let the public know about. My dad does a lot of work for one of the Alzheimer’s charities. He doesn’t tell anyone about it. My mum works on a helpline for children. She sometimes does a twelve-hour shift and then goes out to do her other charity work.’

      ‘That sounds great. So, why are you annoyed?’ He couldn’t understand why either of the sisters would be unhappy about their mum and dad doing good work.

      ‘Because they are so insistent that no one finds out. Sometimes I think they’re working themselves into the ground. To the world they seem quite frivolous. But they’re not like that in person.’

      ‘I don’t get it. Why the big secret? What’s the big deal?’ His arm was beginning to ache from holding it against his head. He might be a millionaire himself, but even he didn’t want to risk bleeding all over the inside of Rick’s precious car.

      Rose turned the car onto a main road, following signs toward the hospital. ‘Because they don’t want people to know. My uncle—my dad’s brother—has Alzheimer’s. He developed it really early. It’s in my dad’s family and he says it’s private. He doesn’t want people knowing that part of his life and invading my uncle’s privacy. Mum’s the same. She says the calls from the kids are all confidential. If people knew she worked there, the phone line would probably get a whole host of crank calls that would jam the lines.’

      He nodded. ‘I get it. Then, the kids that needed to, couldn’t get through.’

      She pulled into the hospital car park. ‘Exactly.’

      ‘So, your parents do something good.’ He waited while she pulled into a parking space. ‘I can relate to that.’

      ‘You can?’ She seemed surprised.

      ‘Yeah. I do a lot of work for one of the homeless charities. But it doesn’t get a lot of good publicity. It’s something I need to think about.’ He gave her a smile. ‘Maybe you could give me some advice? You do PR for your father? Maybe you could tell me what I should be doing to raise the profile of the charity.’

      She gave the slightest shake of her head. ‘Sorry, Will, but this is it for me. I’ve got a hundred and one things to do in the next few weeks. I don’t even know how long I’ll be staying. Once your head is stitched I need to get back to work.’

      He