The Ultimate Surrender. PENNY JORDAN

in the dining room, gleamed with crystal and silver, and the conservatory itself was illuminated by the dozen or more heavy floor-standing candelabra which Polly always lit for such occasions.

      The simple muslin drapes which had been unfastened to cover the windows added to the wonderful delicacy of the room creating a glimmering, misty, low-lit effect which, as Polly already knew, did wonders for female complexions and—so she had been reliably informed—male libidos!

      As she’d come upstairs she had congratulated herself with amused tenderness that Briony was bound to be pleased with her efforts, but it seemed now that she had congratulated herself a little too soon.

      ‘What on earth do you mean?’ she responded. ‘I always wear this dress for dinner parties.’

      ‘Exactly,’ Briony agreed. ‘It’s the kind of dull, anonymous thing that all fifty-something women play safe with.’

      ‘Er…well, yes,’ Polly agreed. ‘That’s why I bought it.’

      ‘But, Mum, you aren’t fifty-something, and anyway if Marcus sees you in it he will go mad. He told me the last time you wore it that I ought to burn it.’

      ‘Oh, he did, did he?’ Polly said grimly. ‘Well, in that case…’

      ‘Oh, help, I shouldn’t have said that, should I?’ Briony yelped. ‘What is it with you and Uncle Marcus these days, Mum? You know, when I was little I used to pretend that Uncle Marcus was my father and I used to close my eyes and make a wish that you and he would get married.’

      ‘Never,’ Polly told her instantly. ‘Never. I…’

      ‘Mmm; that’s exactly what Uncle Marcus said too,’ Briony murmured, adding, ‘Anyway, never mind about all that now…Look what I’ve got for you.’

      Triumphantly she produced the bag she had been holding behind her back and, with a flourish, removed its contents.

      ‘You can’t possibly be expecting me to wear that,’ Polly protested faintly as she saw the tiny tube-like piece of fabric her daughter was holding in front of her.

      ‘Oh, but I am,’ Briony grinned.

      ‘It won’t fit me,’ Polly told her positively.

      ‘Yes, it will; it stretches,’ Briony informed her smugly, proving her point by gently pulling out the sheer black fabric with its delicate sprinkling of small jet beads.

      ‘Briony, there’s no way I can wear that.’ Polly gasped in shock as she saw how see-through the fabric actually was.

      ‘Relax, Mum,’ Briony laughed. ‘There’s an underslip that goes with it. It’s perfectly respectable, I promise you. Come on, take that horrid old thing off and let me see this on you.’