‘It’s the society wedding of the month, Fergus,’ she chided him teasingly.
‘Hmm.’ He grimaced his distaste in recognition of that fact. ‘Well, to answer your question, it went well. Or, as well as any wedding can be expected to,’ he amended.
She raised dark brows. ‘You don’t like weddings?’
Once again he frowned across at her. ‘You aren’t a reporter, are you?’ he prompted suspiciously. ‘I’m not going to see my less-than-sober remarks splashed across the front page of a newspaper in the morning, am I?’
Hardly; she was no more enamoured of reporters than he appeared to be. They had already helped ruin her life once…
‘No,’ she assured him with certainty. ‘I was interested, that’s all.’
Struggling for a topic of conversation probably more accurately described it, she acknowledged ruefully. This was certainly heavy going.
‘Well, as I’ve already told you, it was fine,’ Fergus said abruptly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me?’ He put down his glass, sliding over to the end of the seat in preparation of standing up. ‘It’s time I got myself a taxi home.’
Chloe stared across at him in dismay. He couldn’t go! She hadn’t even begun to talk to him yet. If he left now, she might never get the chance to talk to him again. This was—
‘Oh, hell—!’ Fergus McCloud groaned as, having attempted to stand up, he suddenly found himself sitting back down again. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. ‘I don’t suppose you would like to do me a favour, would you?’ he asked Chloe very carefully, his eyes still closed.
Anything! As long as it meant he wasn’t about to just get up and walk away from her. Although, for the moment—thankfully!—he didn’t seem able to do that.
‘Yes?’ Chloe responded breathlessly.
He continued to breathe deeply, looking across at her with those warm brown eyes. ‘I seem to find myself temporarily unable to stand up. Actually, I’m drunk!’ he amended with forceful self-disgust. ‘Legless. Literally! I can’t remember the last time I— Yes, I can,’ he groaned. ‘It was when I graduated from Oxford fourteen years ago. I couldn’t get out of bed for two days afterwards!’
Her own graduation from university had only been a couple of years ago and, as she easily recalled, everyone had let themselves relax and had a good time; after three years’ hard work, they had needed to.
‘What would you like me to do?’ she offered.
‘Could you help me outside and put me in a taxi?’ He grimaced. Obviously he wasn’t a man accustomed to asking anyone for help.
She could do better than that, and it would suit her purpose much better. But she would keep that to herself for the moment…
‘Of course.’ She stood up smoothly, securing the strap of her evening bag on her shoulder before moving lightly round the table. ‘Just stand up and lean on me,’ she encouraged.
He eyed the slenderness of her frame with obvious scepticism. ‘I don’t think I had better “lean” too heavily,’ he observed. ‘Or we’ll both fall over!’
He was a good foot taller than Chloe, even in her three-inch heels, and probably weighed twice as much as her too. But she was stronger than she looked, helping him to his feet without too much difficulty, her arm about his waist, his across her shoulders as the two of them began to walk towards the exit.
‘This is so embarrassing,’ Fergus muttered grimly when they had crossed half the distance to the door without mishap.
Chloe turned to grin up at him unsympathetically. ‘Just think of it as practising for your old age!’
He gave a disgusted snort. ‘I feel a hundred now!’
He didn’t look it. In fact, he looked rather boyish, younger than the thirty-five years she knew him to be, his expression one of dazed disbelief at his own inability, dark hair falling silkily across his brow.
Chloe made no effort to put him into any of the waiting taxis once they were outside. Instead she helped guide him over to the green sports car in the adjoining car park, pressing the remote button on her keys as they approached to release the locks, swinging open the passenger door before helping him inside.
‘This isn’t a taxi,’ Fergus finally realised, looking around him dazedly, the fresh air outside obviously having done nothing to clear his head. In fact, the opposite.
‘No, it isn’t,’ Chloe confirmed as she got in behind the wheel to turn the key in the ignition.
Fergus looked ready to protest, and then thought better of it, leaning his head back weakly against the cream leather seat, his eyes once again closed. ‘Whatever,’ he accepted dismissively. ‘Do I need to tell you my address—or do you know that too?’
Chloe turned sharply to look at him. Had she given herself away so completely?
Fergus opened one eye at her lack of response. ‘Well?’ he prompted impatiently.
She gave a slight inclination of her head. ‘I know that too,’ she conceded huskily, accelerating the car out of the car park and into the flow of late night traffic.
‘Remind me, some time, to ask you how you know,’ Fergus murmured drowsily. ‘I have a feeling I’m not going to remember too much about this evening when I wake up tomorrow!’
Chloe sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case…!
CHAPTER TWO
FERGUS woke slowly, totally disorientated for several long moments as he moved his head gingerly to look around what he recognised as the comfort of his bedroom, his head feeling as if it were full of cotton wool.
How had he got here?
Damned if he knew!
He glanced at the bedside clock. Nine-thirty. He lay back on the pillows, his eyes once again closed.
What day was it?
Logan and Darcy’s wedding had been yesterday, he remembered that. So today must be Sunday, he decided. No need to worry about getting up just yet. He didn’t have anywhere else to go, no one to see, and Maud, his housekeeper, always had Sundays off. He usually worked all day on a Sunday, grabbing a sandwich to eat if he felt hungry, so there was really no need for Maud to be here—
Then why could he smell coffee?
Champagne delusions? Because coffee was what he most felt in need of? As he had hoped, he didn’t have a hangover, but his mouth felt as if it were full of sandpaper. A cup of coffee was very much on the agenda. He—
No, there was no doubt about it, he could definitely smell coffee. Strong, rich, reviving coffee.
But how—?
‘Wakey, wakey, Fergus,’ chirruped a bright female voice from somewhere over near the bedroom doorway. ‘I’ve brought you up a mug of coffee.’
Fergus frowned, unmoving, eyes still closed, aware that the smell of coffee was much stronger now, but completely uncertain about the plausibility of that first statement. He couldn’t possibly be awake. There was a woman in his bedroom.
Not that it was unknown for a woman to be in his bedroom; he had spent some very pleasurable hours with women in this four-poster bed. Just not last night. Not just champagne delusions, then, hallucinations, too!
‘Come on, sleepyhead,’ that female voice continued teasingly. ‘Sit up and drink your coffee.’
Fergus