‘Miss Smith?’ Wolf said softly in answer to Gerald’s introduction.
Colour warmed her cheeks at his unspoken implication. She knew to what he was referring, of course; the last time they had met it had looked as if she was about to marry Roger Collins.
‘A case of “always the bridesmaid, never the bride,” I’m afraid,’ she returned lightly, meeting his gaze with an effort now.
Why was he continuing to behave as if the two of them had never met before? Why didn’t he just tell Gerald Harcourt that he knew exactly what her friends called her—her enemies too?
If he was surprised at her never having been married after all, then he didn’t show it. ‘Then forgive me for asking,’ he rasped in a completely unapologetic voice. ‘But if that’s the case, by what experience do you claim to be able to organise other brides’ weddings for them, especially one like Rebecca’s?’
He was meaning to be insulting—and he succeeded! He knew very well about her own working-class background, the distaste she had for so-called ‘society’, and he was taunting her with that knowledge.
‘Oh, come on, Wolf,’ Gerald dismissed lightly, still unaware of the undercurrents to the conversation taking place between Cyn and Wolf. ‘You don’t have to have been knocked over by a bus to know what the consequences will be. In my mind there isn’t much difference between getting married and being run over,’ he explained with a rueful grimace as everyone turned to look at him because of the simile he had used. ‘Both knock you off your feet and leave you completely disorientated!’
‘I hope none of my brides ever gets to talk to you on the subject.’ Cyn shook her head, unable to hold back a smile. ‘Otherwise I’d be out of a job!’
‘Talking of that job...’ Gerald frowned now. ‘I’ll go and have another look for Rebecca,’ he told them absently before leaving the room.
Cyn had never been so grateful for Janie’s pleading to come with her that morning than she was at this moment. Otherwise she would have been left alone in the room with Wolf. And by the time Gerald returned the room could have been reduced to bloody carnage. No, that was an exaggeration. Wolf didn’t look as if he had ever needed to be physically violent; he could probably fatally wound with the rapier-sharpness of his tongue when crossed, reduce an adversary to a quaking mass with the coldness of his gaze.
The silence that descended on the room after Gerald’s departure was oppressive—or was it only Cyn who saw it that way? She chanced a glance at Wolf and saw he was still watching her with those coldly narrowed eyes, and quickly looked away again. Janie, sweet, kind Janie, who could calm the mother of the bride with so little fuss it was hardly noticeable that there had ever been anything to calm, was gazing at Wolf with an infatuated glow in her pale green eyes.
Cyn felt angry on her behalf for the way in which Wolf didn’t even acknowledge that adoration, even though he must be aware of it: Janie was a little too obvious for him not to be! No doubt he was used to having girls finding him attractive, but that was no reason for him to be so damned blasé about it!
She wasn’t used to seeing him quite so formally dressed as he was today. His dark three-piece suit and snowy white shirt were austere in their impeccable tailoring; a grey silk tie was knotted severely at his throat. He wore no jewellery; he had always deplored the use of it by men, and his only adornment was a plain gold watch strapped to his left wrist above one long sensitive hand. His hands, Cyn saw with a fascination of her own, were just the same, long and artistic, nevertheless as strong as a vice when they needed to be, the nails kept deliberately short.
Wolfram James Thornton. She had expected to hear more of the name over the last seven years, but the only thing she had heard it used in connection with was Thornton Industries. The business section of the newspapers often carried articles about the rapidly expanding company; it seemed the family business had prospered under his guidance. Strange, she had never thought of Wolf as a businessman. But then seven years ago he hadn’t been...
‘So—Cyn, wasn’t it?’ he drawled hardly, challengingly, ‘you’re going to wave your magic wand and make this wedding perfect for Rebecca?’
Her cheeks felt warm at the insult behind his taunt. ‘I hope so, yes,’ she confirmed tautly.
He strode further into the room, at once dominating the intimacy of his surroundings. ‘A flowing white gown, a cake with little cupids decorating it, a horse and carriage to drive the bride and groom from the church to the wedding reception?’
Cyn paled as he used his words like sharp barbs to wound her; he hadn’t forgotten a thing! She drew in a shaky breath. ‘The latter might be a little difficult to organise in the middle of London,’ she dismissed sharply, her hands clenched so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her palms.
‘I’m sure it could be arranged—if that’s what the bride would really like,’ Wolf returned harshly.
She swallowed hard, deliberately turning away from the cold implacability of his face to look at Janie. ‘I seem to have forgotten to bring my notebook in with me—do you think you could go out to the van and get it for me?’ she requested warmly—the notebook in question feeling as if it were burning a hole through her handbag into her hip as she told the lie!
But this barbed conversation with Wolf, of which no one else seemed aware, just couldn’t continue. Much as she hated the idea, if he was a very good friend of the Harcourt family, a frequent visitor to the house, maybe she should just withdraw from being involved in this wedding at all. She could save herself an awful lot of work if she established that fact right now!
‘Of course,’ Janie agreed readily, shooting Wolf a longing look as she sidled past him and then out of the door.
‘Well...Cyn-to-your-friends,’ Wolf grated contemptuously as soon as they were alone, his golden gaze raking over her with slow insult, ‘just how long have you been a “friend” of Gerald’s?’
She drew in a sharp breath at the deliberate provocation of the remark. ‘I—’
‘It can’t have been for very long,’ Wolf added scathingly. ‘He only dropped his last mistress a matter of weeks ago.’
‘I’m not his mistress!’ Cyn hissed the denial, wondering if these heated spots of colour—through anger this time—were going to remain a fixture in her cheeks while she spoke to this hateful man. ‘We only met for the first time on Saturday!’
Wolf’s mouth twisted derisively, those lines grooved into his cheeks intensifying. ‘No, possibly you can’t be classed as a mistress yet; give it another few weeks or so! But don’t give yourself any false hopes where he’s concerned; you heard Gerald’s views on marriage,’ he added harshly.
She gave a weary sigh. ‘I don’t have any “false hopes”, or indeed hopes of any other kind, where Gerald Harcourt is concerned; I barely know the man.’ She shook her head dismissively.
‘It’s obvious he has more in mind than just a business arrangement between the two of you,’ Wolf rasped coldly, his eyes narrowed speculatively.
Taking into account that initial dinner invitation she had received from Gerald, he was no doubt right. But even if he was, it was none of his business if she and Gerald Harcourt should choose to go out together. Or if, indeed, they should become lovers. Just because he was a friend of Gerald’s, there was no reason for him—
‘It will never happen, Cyn,’ Wolf told her softly, his sharp gaze easily able to read her resentful thoughts. ‘Believe me.’
Her head went back challengingly—rather like a kitten putting itself up against a wolf!