Titanic: A Date With Destiny. Marguerite Kaye

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      About the Author

      Born and educated in Scotland, MARGUERITE KAYE originally qualified as a lawyer but chose not to practise. Instead, she carved out a career in IT and studied history part-time, gaining a first-class honours and a master’s degree. A few decades after winning a children’s national poetry competition, she decided to pursue her lifelong ambition to write and submitted her first historical romance to Mills & Boon. They accepted it and she’s been writing ever since.

      You can contact Marguerite through her website at www.margueritekaye.com.

      Titanic: A Date

       with Destiny

      Marguerite Kaye

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      AUTHOR NOTE

      The sinking of RMS Titanic on her maiden voyage is one of those rare iconic events that resonates with everyone. It’s a tragic story that is also heroic, heartwarming and symbolic, a harbinger of change heralding the end of the glamorous Edwardian age.

      The blockbuster film starring Kate and Leo brought the Titanic to a whole new generation and added a vital ingredient to the mystique, romance. So when I was asked to write a story to commemorate the Titanic’s centenary, I was understandably a little daunted. To come up with something that was true to the spirit of the event, that was authentic and at the same time different from THAT film, was going to be a real challenge.

      Then the next challenge hit me. I was writing a romance, but somehow I’d have to find a way to give my hero and heroine a happy ever after that didn’t trivialise the tragedy itself, the dreadful combination of events and circumstances which led to the loss of over fifteen hundred lives. As I got deeper into my research, I realised that the ship itself was a floating microcosm of society, carrying as disparate a collection of people as you can imagine, from the old world to the new. I wanted to make sure that my story reflected this. As a result, I tried very hard to portray the Titanic accurately, right down to the food served in the restaurants.

      I hope that I’ve written a story that manages to be both romantic and true to the spirit of the ship and her passengers. Whether I’ve succeeded or not in doing them justice – that’s for you to decide.

      For Catriona, who gave me the inspiration for this story, and who took the time to précis the film for me. Thank you, and love.

      Chapter One

      RMS Titanic, Southampton dock, Wednesday, 10 April, 1912

      As the tugs began the delicate manoeuvre of easing the stately liner out of her berth, the dockside erupted in a cacophony of sound, the music of the brass band drowned by the cries of the crowd calling ‘Good luck, Titanic.’ Passengers and many of the crew were lining the boat deck. Others leant out over the covered promenade decks, and still more crowded the poop and aft decks, waving and throwing streamers.

      Jennifer Spencer edged her way through the first class passengers on A Deck, entering each of the cabins in turn. As one of only eighteen stewardesses on board, she had volunteered to make these final checks, grateful to have something to occupy her time. She was probably the only person on board who didn’t have a friendly face waving her off from the dockside, she reflected sadly. More than two weeks had passed since she had written to her sister, and there had been not a single word from Maud. Quelle surprise!

      Swallowing hard on the lump that rose in her throat as she wondered when she would see her infuriating, flighty, thoughtless, irresponsible sister again, Jennifer gave a cursory knock on the door of Stateroom A20 and entered without waiting for a reply. Casting a critical eye over the opulent sitting room, she was moving the bowl of flowers a fraction more towards the centre of the table when the door leading to the bedroom opened, revealing the cabin’s occupant.

      He was tall and quite extraordinarily handsome. Mid-thirties, she guessed, with cropped, glossy black hair, melting brown eyes and one of those mouths that looked as if it were always on the verge of a smile. He had obviously been in the process of changing, for his shirt was open and his collar missing, giving her a glimpse of tanned torso.

      Which she should not be staring at, even if he did have an edge of glamour that made him seem as if he’d just stepped out of a moving picture. Mortified, Jennifer stammered, ‘P-pardon me, I assumed you’d be up on deck.’

      The passenger raised a brow and gave her a half-smile. She was not surprised to notice that his teeth were even and perfectly white, but she was annoyed to discover that his smile did strange things to her breathing.

      ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ he asked. He was standing beside her now. He really was very tall. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d be on board?’

      American, she noted abstractedly. Nice voice. Soft but deep. Jennifer shook her head, confused by his words. ‘I think you’ve mistaken me …’

      He smelled of expensive soap. Before she could back away, he caught her wrist. ‘What are you doing?’ she spluttered, her voice sounding more breathy than panicky.

      ‘Don’t be coy with me. When you promised me another kiss if our paths ever crossed again I didn’t think for a moment that they would. But here you are. So kiss me,’ he said, locking his lips on hers.

      She was too stunned to move. For a few timeless seconds Jennifer relished the taste of his lips, the shocking proximity of him. She had forgotten how delightful a kiss could be. She had forgotten what it was like, that connection, the thrilling jolt of desire, mirrored in the sharp intake of his breath. She had forgotten how easy it was to get carried away….

      Chapter Two

      Shaken, Max Blakely broke away from the bewitching girl abruptly. What he had meant to be the lightest of brush-off kisses had transformed into something else entirely. Far from turning the tables on her, he had been well and truly turned on by that kiss. He stared down at the woman in his arms, frowning in puzzlement. ‘What the hell is going on?’

      She glared up at him. ‘Let me go!’

      She had a very English face. Creamy skin, dark brown hair. Dark eyes, too—wide-spaced, with an extremely forthright gaze. Not a trace of coquetry today. And unlike last night, the colour of her lips and cheeks owed nothing to lipstick or rouge. He’d thought her merely pretty then. In daylight, stripped of artifice, there was experience in her eyes, in the tiny lines at the corners of her mouth. She looked like a woman who took life far too seriously. She looked interesting.

      Max released her, taking care to keep himself between her and the door, his mind working furiously. ‘Last night in the pub, why didn’t you mention you’d be on board?’

      ‘In the pub?’

      She