Claiming His Wedding Night. Lee Wilkinson

adding, ‘So it could have been worse. I only hope he’s not in too much of a hurry to really listen to me.’

      ‘Amen to that. Well, if you want to get off, I’ll lock up.’

      ‘Thanks. See you sometime tomorrow.’

      The phone call had temporarily driven thoughts of Jared from the forefront of Perdita’s mind but, as she started to walk home, memories of the past came flooding back in a relentless tide.

      She had been born in the States, but her American mother had died soon after and her distraught father had taken her back to England with him.

      After she’d left school, in order that she should see something of the country of her birth, her father had taken her over to California for a prolonged visit.

      Elmer, who owned a large house near Silicon Valley, had insisted that the pair of them stay there with himself and Martin.

      Perdita had been in San Jose for only a matter of days when she and Jared had met at a party. She had fallen in love with him at first sight—love like a deep, fast-flowing river that she had plunged straight into without stopping to ask herself if she might drown.

      Right from the start, it had been like sharing a self with him. They had completed each other, filled each other’s lives and hearts. She had thought of them as soulmates.

      But in the end that whole concept of closeness, of belonging together, had proved to be just an illusion. A lie.

      He was tall, dark and handsome—a hackneyed phrase but a true description—a charismatic man who had always attracted the opposite sex like buddleia attracted butterflies.

      But, with eyes only for her, he had never seemed to notice them. Even so, in the early days of their relationship she had had to struggle hard to hide her jealousy when one of them had touched him or smiled at him.

      When one day she had admitted as much, he had kissed her and said, ‘There’s no need to be jealous, my love. I’m a one woman man, and you’re that woman. There’ll never be anyone else for me.’

      Wanting desperately to believe him, she had almost succeeded, until that awful night in Las Vegas and the nightmare that had followed.

      She remembered his tight-lipped silence when her father—who was still recovering from his recent heart attack—had called him a swine and a heartless Casanova, and peremptorily ordered him out of the house in San Jose.

      Remembered only too well how Elmer Judson and Martin, both big, heavily built men, had advanced on him threateningly when he had refused to leave without her.

      But, even then, Jared hadn’t said what she had dreaded him saying, the one thing that would have shocked her father and stopped the other two men in their tracks.

      Perhaps he had expected her to say it.

      But she hadn’t.

      And a melee had ensued.

      Jared was young and fit and more than able to defend himself, she knew, but, with a bruised cheek and a split lip, he had never once hit back.

      Even so, it had taken the combined efforts of both Elmer and Martin to throw him out, while she had stood like a statue, tears spilling out of her eyes, and watched, ignoring his repeated pleas of, ‘Come with me, Perdita.’

      The final blow had been when her father had reneged on a promise to help finance Dangerfield Software through a crisis.

      That last minute failure to honour an agreement that had been previously signed and settled had forced Jared into near bankruptcy.

      Even then he hadn’t stopped trying to get her back. After weeks of unanswered letters and phone calls, he had appeared in the Silicon Valley offices of Judson Boyd and asked to speak to her in private.

      Still raw and bleeding from his betrayal, and knowing only too well that there was nothing he could say that would alter things, she had shaken her head and asked him to leave.

      Standing his ground, he had once again sworn he was innocent and accused her of refusing to listen to him, of lack of trust, of never really loving him.

      The latter had brought stinging tears to her eyes. But, fighting against the surge of emotion, and flanked by her father and Martin, she had told him that he was wasting his time, that she never wanted to see him again.

      When he would have argued further, he had been ‘escorted’ from the premises.

      The last few bitter words they had exchanged had been over the phone.

      When she had felt able to, she had rung him to repeat that everything was over between them, that she wanted to be free of him, and that she and her father were leaving the States for good.

      It was then he had warned, ‘Don’t think I’m letting you go so easily. Sooner or later I’ll find you, wherever you are.’

      Now, just thinking about it, made her shiver.

      But, though it was still so vivid in her mind, it had been almost three years ago. Surely after this length of time he would have moved on?

      In all probability he was married. When they had once talked about their future together, he had said he wanted children so he might even have started a family.

      She could only hope that his life was now settled and stable, and that he had forgotten the past.

      But suppose he hadn’t? Suppose he was here in London because of her? Suppose he had finally managed to track her down?

      Becoming aware that her unhappy thoughts had gone full circle, she brought herself up short. It was high time she stopped thinking about Jared and started to concentrate on tomorrow, and what was bound to be the most important meeting of her life.

      The next morning, after a virtually sleepless night when she had spent hours lying awake trying not to think about the past, Perdita was up at five-thirty.

      Her head throbbed dully and she felt like death warmed up—an expression of her father’s that until that minute she hadn’t fully understood.

      Glancing at herself in the bathroom mirror, she grimaced. Just when she had wanted to look her best and radiate an air of efficiency and confidence, she looked like something the cat had dragged in.

      Oh, well, she would just have to see what ravages a spot of make-up could hide.

      Showered and dressed in a smart charcoal-grey business suit, small chunky gold hoops in her neat lobes, her blonde hair taken up into a fashionable knot, she checked her appearance in the cheval glass in her bedroom.

      Her skin was flawless, so normally she needed very little in the way of cosmetics. Now, just a light coat of foundation hid the slight shadows beneath her eyes, while a pale lip gloss and a hint of blusher bestowed a healthy glow.

      Her brows and lashes were naturally darker than her hair and needed only a touch of mascara to define them even more.

      After a critical survey could find no real fault with her appearance, she picked up her bag and headed for the stairs, just as Sally’s voice called, ‘The car’s here now.’

      ‘Coming.’

      The housekeeper, who had insisted on getting up to see her off, was waiting in the hall. With a quick hug, she said, ‘I only hope everything goes well.’

      Then, looking oddly flustered, she added, ‘I really do have your best interests at heart.’

      Returning the hug, Perdita said, ‘Thanks. I’ll give you a ring and let you know how it goes.’

      A little awkwardly, Sally told her, ‘I won’t be home. I promised I’d pop over and have breakfast with your dad. I thought it might help to take his mind off things. Or, at the very least, give him someone to talk to. I hope you don’t mind?’

      Touched by her concern, Perdita said warmly, ‘Of course I don’t mind. On the contrary, it sounds like