‘I’m sure,’ she said huskily. ‘I love Mark. We love each other. And he deserves this chance. My parents are just prejudiced against him for nothing. They don’t really know him.’
‘Then improving their acquaintance must clearly be a priority,’ Angelo said lightly. ‘Now, finish your lunch, Sophie, or William will be angry with us.’
Her chicken had cooled rapidly, but she didn’t care. She felt so exultant that she could have eaten sawdust and tasted only ambrosia. In the end, it had been easy, she told herself. He had remembered, after all, and he was going to keep his word.
He had also, she realised regretfully, kept the little unicorn, which she hadn’t intended at all.
William reappeared, with offers of dessert which Sophie refused, opting for coffee alone. She sat impatiently, watching Angelo peel himself a peach, the strong brown fingers moveing deftly. She wished that lunch was over and she could make an excuse and leave. She wanted to get back to Bishops Wharton, and tell Mark the fantastic news.
When William had served the coffee and brought Angelo a cognac, he departed, and they were alone once more.
Sophie cleared her throat. ‘So—how will you go about it then? Convincing my parents, I mean?’
He shrugged, watching the swirl of cognac in his glass. ‘I haven’t decided yet, but naturally, I wish to meet your Mark. I should only be a fool if I urged your marriage to someone I had never seen in my life. Will he be at the anniversary party, or has he been forbidden the house?’
‘Oh, no,’ Sophie said. ‘I’m allowed to see him. It’s just the idea of marriage that they’re so against.’
‘It is hardly surprising.’ His tone was dry. ‘Why not be patient, Sophie? Why not wait until you are twenty-one as your grandfather’s bequest states?’
‘I can’t. If we wait much longer, Craig Jefferson’s going to find himself another partner, and Mark will have missed out on the chance of a lifetime.’
‘On the chance of a partnership, certainly,’ Angelo agreed. ‘But, does it have to be that? Are there no other positions with the company? A different starting point, perhaps, from which he can make his own way without the help of his bride’s legacy.’ He paused. ‘I presume you have told him about the Ralston money?’
‘Naturally. I have no secrets from Mark.’
‘Admirable,’ he said sardonically. ‘And was it his idea to approach me for help, once you’d told him of the rash promise I gave you with the unicorn?’
‘Er, no.’ Sophie had to tread warily again. Mark’s actual suggestion had been far more direct and basic. ‘The guy’s loaded, sweetie. Couldn’t you persuade him to lend you the money?’ A suggestion she had flinched from. It had only been afterwards that she’d remembered the glass unicorn, and wondered if it might be a way out of their difficulties. ‘Actually, it was all my own doing. Mark hasn’t the least idea that I intended to approach you.’
‘And presumably, if he had known of your intentions, he would have moved heaven and earth to stop you.’
She hated that undertone of sarcasm. ‘Why should he?’
Angelo shrugged. ‘Perhaps—because I am not noted for offering favours. And perhaps because he might be frightened I might take—advantage of you.’
There was another silence, and Sophie’s discomfort deepened. Mark had frowned when she’d tried to explain about her fraught relationship with Angelo.
‘For heaven’s sake, Sophie,’ Mark had exclaimed impatiently. ‘Don’t you know you can’t afford to upset men in his position. If you’d played your cards right, you could have had him eating out of your hand by now. He’s not exactly immune to beautiful girls, you know.’
Snapping her attention back to the present, she said quickly, ‘I don’t suppose it even crossed his mind. Mark trusts me implicitly.’
‘He sounds a paragon,’ Angelo murmured. ‘I shall be interested to see who has managed to awaken such a passion of devotion in you, if nothing else.’
Sophie set down her coffee cup with an indignant rattle. ‘What do you mean by that?’
He smiled faintly, his eyes lingering in the wide eyes, then down to the vulnerable curve of her mouth. ‘That in spite of your protests, you are still very much a child, Sophie, and that marriage is a drastic way to achieve maturity. Why don’t you enjoy your first love for what it is, and forget marriage for a while?’
Sophie bit her lip as she rose to her feet, reaching for her jacket. ‘That’s exactly the sort of cynical remark I’d expect from you. I hope you’re not suggesting that I should follow your example, and have one affaire after another.’
‘On the contrary.’ Angelo had risen too. He was standing, his head thrown back slightly, watching her, his face speculative. ‘But I hope in turn that you have not fallen in love with this young man because he is the first one to have kissed you. That is hardly a sound basis for matrimony.’
Sophie’s face burned as she struggled into her jacket. ‘That’s none of your business.’
He said flatly, ‘You have made it my business.’ He walked round the table towards her. ‘And the least I can do, Sophie mia, is provide you with grounds for comparison.’
She wanted to run, but the chair was behind her, blocking her way, and as she tried to thrust it from her path, Angelo reached her, his long arms pulling her effortlessly against him.
She said hoarsely, ‘Don’t you dare to …’ but the remainder of her words were lost beneath the pressure of his mouth on hers.
He was very strong, some part of her brain acknowledged numbly. Under the elegant suit, his body was like whipcord, and the kiss should have been hard too. But it wasn’t. Instead his lips were warm and devastatingly sensuous as they explored her own, coaxing them apart to provide him with a more intimate access to her mouth.
Her mind was repeating ‘No’ over and over again, but her mouth was surrendering, her body melting against his, here in this sunlit cage of a room.
He wasn’t even holding her any more. His hands were caressing her instead, stroking the nape of her neck under the smooth fall of her hair, tracing the curve of her spine beneath her jacket, his fingers scorching her flesh through the thin material of her blouse.
She could have stepped back away from him, only she didn’t, because suddenly she wanted the kiss to go on. And she knew too that she wanted him to go on touching her too. That she wanted to know how his hands would feel on her bare skin.
Sanity returned like a drenching with cold water, shattering the sensual dream world which had so insidiously enfolded and enticed her. She wrenched herself free, a hand going instinctively to cover the aroused fullness of her parted lips.
A voice she hardly recognised as her own, said, ‘You had no right to do that.’
He shrugged, his eyes bright and merciless as they studied her. ‘What right did I need? You are not this Mark’s wife, Sophie, not yet.’
She said unsteadily, ‘But I will be. And if I tell him what you’ve done …’
‘Ah.’ He smiled. ‘But you won’t tell him, will you, cara? Or, if you do, you won’t tell the whole truth. Just as you didn’t share the secret of the unicorn with him.’
His shrewdness appalled her. She flung back her head. ‘I would never lie to Mark.’
His brows rose. ‘So—what will you tell him? That it began with a kiss, and ended with both of us wanting more—much more.’ He added softly.
Colour flared