The Impetuous Bride. Caroline Anderson

      She’d been particularly interested in the space under the worktop in the side of the island nearest the Aga.

      ‘It’s a dog bed,’ Jake had explained.

      She’d blinked and looked at it, then at him. ‘It is?’

      ‘Potentially. I’ve had to spend more and more time in London, though, and the dog wouldn’t have fitted in,’ he’d explained economically.

      ‘Oh, how sad. Our dog would love it, so near the Aga. What a clever idea. Still, maybe one day you’ll be able to have your dog.’

      Jake had done the only thing he could—he had smiled and nodded and tried not to grind his teeth too loudly.

      And now, finally, they were gone, after one last look round the upstairs, and he was on his own. He went into the drawing room, dropped into his favourite chair and sighed.

      Why the hell had she had to come back?

      Lydia wasn’t at all sure about going out that evening. She’d fallen into bed at three-thirty, and to her surprise she’d slept soundly till seven. Now Mel was sitting on her bed shoving a cup of tea in her hand and telling her to get up and come out, it would do her good and they had so little time left before she was married.

      That wasn’t how it felt to Lydia. The week ahead stretched away into the hereafter, as far as she was concerned, and she couldn’t see any way round it. That being the case, she might as well get used to it. She threw the bedclothes off, slid out of bed and put the tea down to cool.

      ‘I’ll come,’ she agreed. ‘How dressy is it?’

      ‘Anything—I’m wearing a casual silk trouser suit.’

      Lydia rolled her eyes. ‘I have shorts—that’s about it.’

      ‘You have loads of clothes!’

      ‘And none of them will fit. I’m thinner, Mel.’

      ‘Not that much thinner. Let’s see—here, look, this is nice and it fits where it touches. Wear that.’

      Jake’s favourite dress. Oh, hell. She sighed, dropped the dress on to the bed and headed for the bathroom. ‘OK. Give me five.’

      It took longer, of course, because her hair needed washing, but luckily the tan covered the shadows round her eyes, so she slapped on a bit of smoky eyeshadow, a flick of mascara and a dash of soft pink lipstick, and then shimmied into the dress.

      It still looked good. It was long and soft and floaty, and she just hoped that Jake wouldn’t remember it was what she’d been wearing when he’d proposed to her.

      It was that dress. Damn. Of all the things she could have worn, it had to be that one. He’d had fantasies about her in it, standing with the wind blowing it against her body and lovingly outlining every curve.

      Not that she’d have many curves to outline now, he thought, studying her critically. Without the baggy T-shirt he could see the slender arms and narrow waist, the small, high breasts and, when she moved, the angle of her hipbone.

      She wasn’t wearing a bra. She usually didn’t—with the breasts that she scornfully described as two grapes on a chopping board she hardly needed to, but the cool night air had pebbled her nipples and he wished she’d put a jumper on before he disgraced himself.

      ‘Right, are we ready?’ Tom asked, hugging Mel to his side, and Lydia nodded.

      ‘I’m starving. I hate aeroplane food.’ She yawned hugely, and then laughed. ‘Sorry. I was in bed. Mel dug me out half an hour ago.’

      In bed. Wonderful. Just what he needed. Between that and her pert little nipples, he was going to make an idiot of himself for sure. He tugged his heavy cotton sweater down and just prayed that it wouldn’t get too hot in the restaurant.

      The atmosphere was dreadful. Mel and Tom did their best to keep the mood light, but Lydia was too tired to join in really and Jake, working his way steadily through the wine, was grimly silent.

      Until the coffee was served, that was, and then he sprawled back in his chair, one arm coiled round the back, and regarded her levelly as he stirred his sugarless black coffee with unwarranted determination.

      ‘So, Lydia, do tell—did you “find yourself” on the hippy trail?’

      ‘Hippy trail?’ she said, trying not to wince at the coldness of his tone. ‘I met a lot of very interesting people—very nice people. I made some wonderful friends, and learned a great deal about trust and team work and sharing. And you? What have you done in the last year?’

      ‘Oh, turned over a few more companies, stripped a few assets, trashed a few lives—you know the sort of thing.’

      ‘Nothing worthwhile, then,’ she quipped, hating herself even while she knew it was just self-defence.

      He laughed coldly. ‘Absolutely not—not compared to dumping my fiancé just before the wedding and disappearing off round the world like an irresponsible child. I’m amazed you haven’t come back reeking of patchouli and covered in multiple body piercings.’

      She closed her eyes briefly, reeling from the shock of his unwarranted attack. Well, maybe not unwarranted, but totally out of character—wasn’t it? Tom seemed to think so. He jerked upright and glowered at his old friend. ‘Hell, Jake, that’s a bit harsh,’ he said.

      ‘Is it? The woman jilts me two days before our wedding and you say I’m harsh? I don’t think so.’

      Lydia felt hot colour scorch her cheeks. Her heart was pounding and she thought she was going to be sick. She just had to get out of there, away from him and his bitterness and hatred before it destroyed the crumbling veneer around her and exposed her pain. She looked round desperately at Mel.

      ‘If you don’t mind, I think I’ll get a taxi home. I don’t really want this coffee, and I’m tired.’ She stood up, conscious that Jake, who last year would have stood up without fail, was still sprawled in the chair scowling into his cup. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

      ‘Tom, take her home,’ Mel said hurriedly.

      ‘No, we’ll all go,’ Jake said, standing up abruptly and pulling his wallet out. ‘There’s no point pretending we’re having fun.’ He dropped a handful of notes on the table, nodded to the waiter and headed for the door, his coffee untouched.

      ‘Is everything all right?’ the waiter asked anxiously, fluttering round them, and Tom soothed him.

      ‘It’s fine. We’re just rather tired. Thank you.’

      He put a proprietorial arm around Lydia’s shoulders, and led her out of the door. Mel was ahead of them, steaming after Jake and giving him hell, if Lydia’s guess was right. Oh, damn. She should have stayed at home in bed and not come out with them. It was foolish to expect that they could be civil.

      It might be water under the bridge by now, as Tom had said, but it had been a tidal wave, and the bridge was damaged beyond repair.

      He seemed so angry still. That puzzled her, because for all she’d felt she didn’t really know him, she’d known that much about him, and he wasn’t a vindictive or unkind person.

      So why, then, was he so angry? Unless it was because he still cared about her. And if he still cared that much, if he was still so angry, then maybe he really had loved her. It might just have been wounded pride, of course, but if not, was it really too late, or was there still a chance for them to mend the bridge?

      Lydia didn’t know. All she knew was that she had a week in which to find out—a week that only hours ago had seemed to stretch on for ever, and now seemed nothing like long enough…

      CHAPTER TWO

      JAKE was standing by the front passenger door of Tom’s car, but Mel elbowed him out of the way.