The From Paris With Love And Regency Season Of Secrets Ultimate Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

my lead.’

      Charlotte didn’t stand a chance against a pleading Greyson Tyler. Charlotte straightened. Charlotte turned. Greyson’s mother stood waiting by the sliding door into the house. Maybe intimidation came naturally to her. Or maybe Charlotte was just oversensitive when it came to mothers and wanting to impress them and knowing instinctively that she wasn’t going to. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, summoning a smile. ‘Slight moment of panic on my part. I hadn’t really thought through my intentions towards your son. Nothing to worry about though. I’m pretty sure I only want him for the sex.’ Nothing but the truth.

      Olivia blinked, and turned her gaze on her son.

      ‘What?’ he said blandly and ushered Charlotte through the door. ‘It’s a start.’

      There were more people inside. Neighbours and family friends, Greyson’s father. Half a dozen faces in all. Someone handed Charlotte a frosty glass of white wine, and Greyson a beer.

      ‘Thank you,’ murmured Charlotte, and promptly drained half of hers. Greyson was far more restrained. He only took one mouthful of his.

      ‘I hope you’re not lactose intolerant or allergic to seafood,’ said Olivia, offering up what looked to be trout dip with rosemary flatbread on the side. ‘Grey didn’t seem to know.’

      ‘I eat almost anything.’ Charlotte tried a mouthful of bread and dip. Nodded as she chewed and swallowed, with every eye still firmly fixed upon her. Perhaps they were assessing her manners. Perhaps they’d overheard the sex comment. ‘This is delicious. Thank you.’

      Grey’s mother smiled warily and moved on, offering the plate around to all her guests. Conversation resumed. Gazes drifted away. Charlotte took a deep breath. Follow his lead, Greyson had told her, only Greyson was now being talked at by a grey-haired gent who seemed wholly disinclined to include her in the conversation. Charlotte sipped at her drink more cautiously now and surveyed her surroundings. Large covered deck, an array of comfortable chairs. Stainless-steel gas barbecue groaning with sizzling seafood kebabs. Lots of older couples and one other younger woman around Charlotte and Greyson’s age, standing a short distance away. A beautiful buttoned-down blonde with forest-green eyes and an air of quiet suffering.

      Probably Sarah.

      Bohemian, Greyson had requested of Charlotte. Free-spirited. Now she knew why. The contrast between herself and the lovely Sarah couldn’t have been more extreme.

      Sarah smiled tentatively at her. Charlotte smiled back.

      Awkward.

      ‘Hi, I’m Sarah,’ said Sarah, in the absence of anyone else willing to make the introduction. ‘The ex-fiancée.’

      ‘Charlotte,’ said Charlotte. ‘Greyson’s … friend.’

      ‘I know,’ said Sarah quietly, and that was that. Or maybe not, because Sarah was still speaking. ‘How long have you known him?’

      ‘A few months.’

      ‘Not long.’

      ‘No, not long.’ Not when compared to a lifetime.

      ‘Long enough to fall in love with him?’ Sarah asked next.

      ‘Sarah …’ said Charlotte, helpless to reply in the face of the other woman’s pain. Where the hell was Greyson? When did it become her job to break this woman’s heart?

      ‘It’s okay,’ said Sarah. ‘Heaven knows he’s easy enough to love.’

      ‘Oh, not at the moment,’ murmured Charlotte. ‘At the moment I’m more of a mind to wring his neck. You?’

      Sarah looked startled. Then a tiny smile appeared. The shrug of an elegant shoulder. ‘Now that you mention it …’

      ‘Exactly.’ Charlotte smiled in full. ‘The man’s a menace.’

      The man in question looked up from his discussion with the white-haired patriarch. The man in question paled a little when he saw them together. Kudos to him when he rapidly excused himself and headed their way.

      About damn time.

      ‘He minds you,’ said Sarah. ‘He’s nervous.’

      ‘How can you tell?’ asked Charlotte.

      ‘Shoulders,’ said Sarah. ‘His carriage. The way he keeps glancing at you. He can’t read you. He doesn’t know what you want.’ Greyson’s ex glanced back at Charlotte. ‘That’s interesting.’

      ‘No, I’m pretty sure that’s just me,’ said Charlotte. ‘Hard for Greyson to know what I want when I hardly know myself. I really can’t blame him for that one.’

      ‘Blame who?’ said Greyson, reaching them.

      ‘You,’ said Charlotte and smothered a smile when his eyes narrowed upon her. ‘It’s okay though. I’ve decided not to. For now.’

      ‘Good of you,’ he murmured.

      Sarah was watching them closely. Sarah the psychiatrist who’d known how to read Greyson since childhood and who in the space of a three-minute conversation had already unearthed Charlotte’s greatest flaw. ‘Sarah and I have been getting acquainted.’ Charlotte bestowed on him a very level look.

      Greyson bestowed on the lovely Sarah a very level look. Sarah blushed and looked away.

      ‘I might go and see if Olivia needs any help with serving the food,’ said Sarah finally, after a long and awkward pause. ‘Nice meeting you, Charlotte. Grey.’ And then Sarah was gone.

      ‘Nice manners,’ murmured Charlotte.

      ‘What did she want?’

      ‘I guess she wanted to meet me. Get it over and done with.’

      ‘Don’t underestimate her, Charlotte.’ For a moment Greyson looked troubled. Concerned, and not for Sarah. ‘For all Sarah’s good points, she’s not without claws.’

      ‘Greyson. Sweet man.’ Did he really think he was telling her something she didn’t know? Charlotte smiled, really smiled at him and had the pleasure of seeing Greyson relax and smile back. ‘No woman is.’

      ‘So …’ he murmured. ‘You know what you’re doing, then.’

      ‘Hardly,’ she murmured. ‘Do you?’

      ‘Sometimes. Right now, for example, I’m about to introduce you to my father. He’s the one over there captaining the barbecue.’

      But Charlotte hung back. ‘Is he a Sarah fan too?’

      ‘He’s very fond of her, yes.’

      Great.

      ‘Relax. He’ll be fine,’ said Greyson as if reading her mind. ‘And so will you.’

      For an Associate Professor of Archaeology, with all the staidness the position implied, Charlotte Greenstone didn’t hold back when it came to playing the part of free-spirited bohemian. She could tell a story of old bones and bring to life the heat and the dust and the excitement along with it. She could open a person up and rifle around inside until she found something they could both discuss with passion and verve. She had manners, and a great deal of charm, some of which was polished, and some of it innate.

      Grey watched Charlotte bespell his father within minutes of her starting up a conversation with him about the vagaries of catapults versus castle walls. He watched her as she talked oysters with his father’s fishing buddy and recipes with his wife. He watched his mother’s friends tread carefully with her, wanting to find fault with her manners or her demeanour, and discovering to their consternation that they could not.

      His mother remained aloof, never mind Charlotte’s many attempts to initiate conversation and find common ground.

      Chillingly, publicly unimpressed.

      The meal came and went and