His Temporary Cinderella. Jessica Hart

opening the bottle with a flourish, pouring the glasses.

      Caro concentrated on the menu while all that was going on, a little embarrassed by how much she’d blurted out to Philippe. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, she realised. Perhaps it was because he so clearly didn’t care. Or maybe it was knowing that he was so far out of her league she didn’t even need to try and impress him with her coolness or her success. She wasn’t here to be clever or witty or interesting. It didn’t matter what he thought of George, or of her.

      The realisation was strangely exhilarating.

      When they’d ordered, Philippe picked up his glass and chinked it against hers. ‘Shall we drink to our plan?’

      Anything for you, Lotty, she had said once. Still in the grip of that odd sense of liberation, Caro touched his glass back with the air of one making an irrevocable decision. ‘To our plan,’ she agreed. ‘And to Lotty’s escape.’

      Philippe sat back in his chair and eyed her thoughtfully across the table. ‘You’re good friends, aren’t you?’

      ‘Lotty was wonderful to me when my father died.’ Caro turned the stem of her champagne glass between her thumb and fingers. ‘He’d been ill for months, and there was no question of us going on holiday, so Lotty asked me if I wanted to spend part of the summer with her, in her family villa in the south of France.’

      She lifted her eyes and met Philippe’s cool ones. ‘You were there.’

      ‘Lotty said that we’d met once,’ he said. ‘I vaguely remember that she had a friend who was around and then suddenly gone. Was that you?’

      ‘Yes. I hung around with Lotty until my mother rang to say that Dad had had a relapse and was in hospital again. She said there was nothing I could do, and that I should stay in France and enjoy myself. She said that was what Dad wanted, but I couldn’t bear it. I was desperate to see him.’

      The glass winked in the candlelight as Caro turned it round, round, round.

      ‘I didn’t have any money, and Mum was too worried about Dad to think of changing my ticket,’ she went on after a moment. ‘Lotty was only fifteen too, and she was so shy that she still stammered when she was anxious, but she didn’t even hesitate. She knew I needed to go home. She talked to people she would normally be too nervous to talk to, and she sorted everything out for me. She made sure I was booked onto a flight the next day. I’ve no idea how she did it, but she arranged for someone to pick me up at the airport in London and take me straight to the hospital.

      ‘Dad died the next day.’ Caro swallowed. Even after all that time, the thought of her beloved father made her throat tight. ‘If it hadn’t been for Lotty, I’d never have seen him again.’ She lifted her eyes to Philippe’s again. ‘I’ll always be grateful to her for that. I’ve often wished there was something I could do for her in return, and now I can. If spending two months pretending to be in love with you helps her escape, even if just for a little while, then I’ll do that.’

      ‘It must have been a hard time for you,’ said Philippe after a moment. ‘I know how I felt when my brother died. I wanted everything to just … stop. And I wasn’t a child, like you.’

      He set his glass carefully on the table. ‘Lotty was good to me then, too. Everyone understood how tragic it was for my father to lose his perfect son, but Lotty was the only one who thought about what it might be like for me to lose a brother. She’s a very special person,’ he said. ‘She deserves a chance to live life on her own terms for a change. I know this is a mad plan,’ he went on, deliberately lightening the tone, ‘but it’s worth a shot, don’t you think?’

      ‘I do.’ Caro was happy to follow his lead. ‘If nothing else, it will convince George and Melanie that I’ve moved on to much bigger and better things!’

      She shot George a victorious look, but Philippe shook his head. ‘Stop that,’ he said.

      ‘Stop what?’

      ‘Stop looking at him.’ He tutted. ‘When I take a girl out to dinner, I don’t expect her to spend her whole time thinking about another man!’

      ‘I’m not!’

      ‘You’re supposed to be thinking about me,’ said Philippe, ignoring her protest. ‘George is never going to believe we’re having a wild and passionate affair if he sees you sneaking glances at him.’

      ‘He’s never going to believe we’re having a wild and passionate affair anyway,’ said Caro, ruffled. ‘He thinks I’m too boring for that.’

      ‘Then why don’t you show him just how wrong he is?’ Philippe leant forward over the table and fixed Caro with his silver gaze. He really had extraordinary eyes, she found herself thinking irrelevantly. Wolf’s eyes, their lightness accentuated by the darkness of his features and the fringe of black lashes. It was easier to think about that than about the way her heart was thudding in her throat at his nearness.

      ‘How do you suggest I do that?’ she said, struggling to hold on to her composure. ‘We can hardly get down and dirty under the table!’

      A faint contemptuous smile curled the corners of Philippe’s mouth. ‘Well, that would certainly make the point, but I was thinking of rather subtle ways of suggesting that we can’t keep our hands off each other. For a start, you could keep your attention fixed on me, rather than on him! If we were really sleeping together, we’d be absorbed in each other.’

      ‘It doesn’t always have to be about you, you know,’ grumbled Caro. ‘Anyway, I am looking at you.’ She fixed her eyes at him. ‘There. Satisfied?’

      ‘You could make it look as if you adore me and can’t wait for me to drag you back to bed.’

      ‘Oh, that’s easy.’ Caro summoned a suitably besotted expression and batted her lashes at him.

      ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Philippe.

      ‘Nothing’s the matter! I’m looking adoring!’

      ‘You look constipated,’ he said frankly. ‘Come on, you must be able to do better than that.’

      ‘You’re the expert on seduction,’ said Caro, sulking. ‘You do it.’

      ‘OK.’ Philippe reached across the table for her hand, turned it over and lifted it. ‘Watch and learn,’ he said, pressing a kiss into her palm.

      Caro sucked in a breath as a current of warmth shot up her arm and washed through her. Her scalp was actually tingling with it. Bad sign. Willing the heat to fade, she struggled to keep her voice even.

      ‘Oh, that old chestnut,’ she said as lightly as she could. ‘I would have done the hand-kissing thing, but I thought it would be too boring.’

      ‘Kissing’s never boring,’ said Philippe. Now he was playing with her fingers, looking straight into her eyes, brushing his lips across her knuckles until she squirmed in her seat. ‘Not the way we do it, anyway. Or that’s what we want it to look like. We want everyone to think that we’ve just fallen out of bed, don’t we? They ought to be looking at us and seeing that we can’t keep our hands off each other. That we can’t wait until we get home and I can undress you, very, very slowly, until you beg me to make love to you again.’

      The sound of his voice and the tantalising caress of his fingers were doing alarming things to Caro. Heat was uncoiling in the pit of her belly and her mouth was dry. She had to get herself back under control.

      ‘I never beg,’ she said, but not nearly as steadily as she would have liked.

      Philippe looked into her eyes and smiled. ‘You do when you’re with me.’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ said Caro, but his smile only deepened. She could see the candlelight flickering in the silver eyes, and her heart was thumping so loudly she was afraid the other diners would turn round and complain about the noise.

      ‘Yes, you