To Claim His Mistress. Sara Craven

Cat focused on him, her brows snapping together as recognition followed.

      Oh, God, she thought. It’s Tony, the best man.

      ‘This is just so great.’ He was smiling happily, oblivious to her sudden pallor as shock and disappointment kicked in. ‘Have you been here before? One of the guys at work recommended it. Our table’s ready, so we may as well go in,’ he added eagerly. ‘We can have a drink while we’re ordering. Better than standing at the bar.’

      But then, anything was better than standing at this bar.

      ‘Yes.’ It didn’t even sound like her voice. ‘Yes, of course.’

      As she followed him, putting one foot somehow in front of the other, like a mechanical doll, she risked one swift glance at Liam.

      He had turned, probably to see what all the excitement was about, as Tony had not lowered his voice. The world shrank suddenly to enclose them in some echoing void, and their eyes met in one stunned, coruscating flash.

      I thought it was you. She wanted to shout the words aloud in her despair. It should have been you.

      But she said nothing, making herself look straight ahead, her silence drowning Tony’s chatter.

      Then they were moving under the archway into the restaurant, but Cat could still feel Liam’s gaze burning into her back every step of the way, until, at last, she was safely out of his range of vision.

      CHAPTER SIX

      ‘DID you like the flowers?’ asked Tony.

      Cat, who’d been sitting gazing unseeingly at the menu, started. ‘Thank you—they were amazing.’ She thought of the long stiff stalks, and the still tightly furled, scentless crimson buds. ‘But why didn’t you sign the card?’

      ‘Cheryl was always complaining I wasn’t very romantic.’ He spoke defensively. ‘I thought I’d try a touch of mystery—and it worked.’ He smiled at her, flushing slightly. ‘Because here you are.’

      ‘Indeed I am.’ And wishing that she could be anywhere else in the world, she thought wretchedly.

      Oh, God, she whispered inwardly. How can this be happening to me? How could I have jumped to the conclusion that the flowers had to be from Liam? And the message.

      Well, wishful thinking was the short answer to that. She’d wanted it so badly to be him that she’d suspended rational thought. Ignored the bitter rancour of their parting. And poor Tony, of course, had simply passed through her consciousness without touching the edges. She hadn’t given him a single thought, or anyone else either. Had never doubted her own conviction for a moment.

      But she could have borne the disappointment somehow if only Liam had not been here—waiting, she’d thought, for her.

      Oh, why—why should he choose to visit this particular restaurant out of all others on this particular night? Cat wailed silently. It was crazy—impossible. Cruel.

      On the other hand, there wasn’t the slightest reason for him not to patronise Mignonette. It was high-profile and popular. The date of his visit was just one of life’s bitter ironies.

      She supposed in a perverse way she should be thankful for Tony’s intervention. Otherwise she would have walked straight to Liam and probably suffered a crushing humiliation in the process.

      And now she had to sit here, pretending to take an interest in food and wine when in truth she was wired up, every sense in overdrive, as she waited for Liam to enter the restaurant itself.

      Mignonette was a series of rooms, opening out from each other, all decorated in cool pastels and divided into booths. The lights were shaded, the conversation hushed, and a pianist just inside the archway was softly playing a medley of romantic standards.

      All in all, it was an ideal place for lovers, but not so good if you were here with entirely the wrong man.

      And downright bad when you knew the man you really wanted was going to walk past your table at any moment.

      It was like knowing a gun was about to go off, she told herself. You were excited and scared all at the same time. And hoping against hope that you wouldn’t receive a fatal wound.

      ‘I got your address from Freddie at the reception,’ Tony went on, a faint note of self-congratulation in his tone. ‘He was tickled pink at the thought of us getting together.’

      But we’re not together, she thought. And we never would be in a thousand years, even though you’re good-looking, well-dressed, pleasant and a serious earner. And if Belinda doesn’t murder bloody Freddie, I might have a go.

      She sipped her dry martini. She said lightly, ‘Then that makes everything all right.’

      ‘Freddie and Belinda will be great,’ he said after a pause. ‘He can be a bit of a fool sometimes, but she’ll make him toe the line.’

      I bet she’s already started, Cat thought drily, remembering her cousin’s set face as she departed on honeymoon.

      She heard approaching footsteps and tensed, knowing beyond all doubt who it was. She began to concentrate so furiously on the à la carte section that the words blurred and danced in front of her eyes.

      He walked past without even a glance in her direction. He was not alone, and of course she had not expected him to be. But, all the same, she’d hoped so badly…

      The girl with him was tall and slim, with long chestnut hair confined at the nape of her neck with a bow of black ribbon. Her skirt was black too, and the silk tunic she wore over it was striped in black and white. She had good legs, and moved well. And Cat didn’t have to get a direct look at her face to know that she would be strikingly beautiful.

      She would also have known her again anywhere, even if she was blind and in the dark. The image of them walking together into the adjoining room was etched with razor sharpness into her mind.

      But at least they weren’t sitting at the next table, and she had to be thankful for that, at least. Her voice was over-bright as she told Tony she would have the queen scallops, followed by poulet Normande.

      Tony ordered cassoulet. ‘Peasant food,’ he said with satisfaction.

      Very rich peasants, if they can afford these prices, thought Cat wearily, wondering how soon she could make an excuse and leave.

      The food was delicious, but she ate embarrassingly little, simply pushing it round her plate. She barely touched the wine either, confining herself to sips of mineral water.

      I should have done the same the other night, she thought wearily. Then I wouldn’t be sitting here with a knife twisting inside me.

      Although it was wrong to blame alcohol for her passionate surrender to Liam. It had been sheer, stark animal attraction that had brought them together. Fusing them into an explosion of physical desire which she’d never experienced before and had been unable to resist.

      I made my choices, she thought flatly, and now I have to live with the consequences.

      Tony, she noticed, had none of her reservations about the wine. He quickly finished off the first bottle and asked for a second.

      The wine loosened his tongue, too. When they’d first sat down they’d talked about work, which Cat had found infinitely preferable to discussing more personal matters. But a chance remark of hers about lawyers had opened the floodgates, and she found herself being treated to a blow-by-blow account of divorce in the twenty-first century. He was clearly labouring under a strong sense of injury, and before too long Cat wanted to scream.

      ‘Somebody’s making Cheryl do this,’ he kept declaring truculently. ‘She doesn’t need the money.’

      By the time the second bottle was only a memory his speech was slurred, and he was beginning to get amorous, and a little maudlin.

      Not an ideal combination, Cat