The Impetuous Bride. Caroline Anderson

her shorts and T-shirts from the drawer and hastily packed a few lightweight things. Her passport was ready—in her maiden name, still, because they hadn’t thought about it until it was too late.

      Good job, too, she thought, and scrubbed her eyes again so she could see. Shoes—walking shoes, comfy shoes, sandals. She didn’t know where she was going, but somewhere. Somewhere far away.

      ‘Lydia? Darling, what on earth is the matter?’

      ‘Not now, Mum. I’ll ring you.’

      ‘Ring me? Darling, what are you doing? Where are you going?’

      Her voice was rising, verging on hysteria, and Lydia just had to get out.

      ‘I don’t know. I’ll ring you and let you know. I’ll get a standby flight—’

      ‘Flight?’

      The word was laced with panic, and it was too much for Lydia. She scooped up her car keys, her case and her bag, checked for her passport again and kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m sorry. I just—

      ‘Couldn’t do it.’ Melanie spoke from the doorway, her face sad. ‘I’m sorry, love. Want to talk?’

      She shook her head, blinking back the tears. ‘No. Just let me go. I’m fine.’

      She pushed past them, ran downstairs and bumped into Tom in the hall. ‘Where’s Jake?’ he asked softly, and she shrugged.

      ‘Pass. Gone home, I suppose.’ She pulled off her engagement ring and held it out, her hand shaking like a leaf. ‘Could you give him this, please? And, Tom—tell him I’m sorry.’

      She ran past him, her eyes flooding again, smack into her father’s broad and comforting chest. ‘Don’t do anything rash. Have you got enough money?’ he asked her, and she nodded.

      ‘I’ll get by. I’m going to Heathrow Airport to start with. I don’t know where after that.’

      He took the keys gently out of her hand and put them on the hook on the wall. ‘I’ll drive you,’ he said, in that quiet voice that brooked no argument.

      It took two hours. He turned off the mobile phone, turned on the radio and didn’t once try to talk her out of it. It was just as well; he would have been wasting his breath.

      He dropped her at one of the terminals, tucked a handful of notes into her handbag and kissed her goodbye, his brown eyes gentle with understanding. ‘Keep in touch, darling. Love you.’

      She swallowed hard and kissed him back. ‘Love you, too. I’m sorry.’

      She walked into the terminal without looking back, checked out the standby situation at the first desk that caught her eye, and within an hour she was on a flight for Thailand.

      She’d never felt more alone in her life.

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘THANKS.’

      Lydia shut the door of the taxi, hitched her backpack up on to one shoulder and turned towards the house, a mixture of dread and eager anticipation tangling in her chest.

      It hadn’t changed at all. The roses tumbled in cheerful profusion over the Georgian façade, and the windowframes gleamed brilliant white against the soft old-rose of the bricks. A light wind from the river drifted across the sweeping lawns and caressed her skin with the scent of wild honeysuckle, and she looked down towards the soft blue-green haze of the willows on the riverbank and sighed.

      Home, sweet home.

      It was June—just a year since she’d left without a backward glance, and now she was back for Melanie’s wedding. The irony brought a twisted little smile to her lips as she headed down towards the house, her backpack bumping against her thighs.

      Only one thing was different. There was no Labrador bouncing round her, butting her hand for attention and smiling up at her, tongue lolling, because two months ago their beloved Molly had fallen asleep one night and failed to wake. It seemed strange without her—strange and empty.

      The kitchen door was hanging open—just as well, really, as she didn’t have her keys, but the house was usually open and if not there was always a key on the shelf in the old milking parlour.

      She went in through the open door, dropped her backpack by the fridge and pulled open the door. She needed a drink. Everything else could wait.

      He’d known it was going to happen, of course. Known she’d come back for Melanie’s wedding, if nothing else. He’d been prepared for that, been prepared for seeing her again and steeled himself against it.

      Or at least he thought he had. Now, though, his body ground to a halt for an endless moment, then went into overdrive. His heart pounded, his mouth dried, his gut clenched, and need, deep and hot and urgent, ripped through him.

      She was wearing shorts—little skimpy cut-off jeans above skinny brown legs and bare feet in leather sandals. Well, maybe not skinny, but impossibly slender. Thinner than they had been, anyway. Fragile. Her T-shirt was loose and baggy, but even so he could tell she’d lost weight. Had she been ill?

      Concern for her overtook the raging need, and the complex mix of emotions threatened to choke him.

      She’d taken a carton of orange juice from the fridge and was draining the glass when she noticed him. Her hand trembled, and she set it down abruptly. ‘Jake,’ she said simply, and a tentative and rather forlorn smile tugged at her lips. ‘How are you?’

      Not ready for this. Not ready for that voice, soft and low and sexy, that had haunted his dreams.

      ‘I’m fine,’ he lied. ‘How are you? Good journey? We were wondering when you’d arrive.’

      She shrugged, picking up the empty glass, toying with it. ‘OK journey, I suppose. Long flight, delays, and so on. It’s nice to be home.’

      ‘Your parents are in the drawing room with Melanie and Tom. They’ll have my guts if I keep you talking out here. You’d better go and see them.’

      She nodded, put down the glass and headed towards him. He was standing in the doorway, and she hesitated for a moment because he didn’t move.

      He didn’t know why he didn’t move, just that he didn’t—couldn’t, really, until he’d done this one, foolish thing.

      He reached out and cupped her chin, bent his head and brushed a feather-soft kiss across her moist, dewy lips.

      ‘Welcome home, Lydia,’ he said softly, and then dropping her as if she might burn him he pushed past her and went out of the back door and into the sunlight. He dragged in a lungful of the fresh clean air, and closed his eyes. He could taste the sweet citrus tang of the orange juice on her lips, and the white heat of his response shocked him.

      He’d really, really thought he was over her, but he wasn’t. He still wanted her every bit as much as he ever had—maybe more. There was nothing like a bit of abstinence to make the heart grow fonder, he mocked himself. Still, she was back, and he was going to have to deal with it.

      Well, fine. He could. Just so long as he remembered she’d walked away before, and she’d do it again. She was trouble—big trouble, with a capital T, and he wasn’t going to fall for her charms again.

      Ever.

      Lydia stood rooted to the spot for an age, her fingers pressed to her lips, her eyes wide with surprise. She should have expected him to be here, should have expected that he would still have this effect on her.

      She’d known he’d be at the wedding, of course, but it had never occurred to her that he’d be here in her parents’ house—just sitting around chatting, for heaven’s sake!

      Even if he did live just next door.

      Oh, damn.

      Of course he’d be here.