Falling for His Stand-In Fiancée
Auteur·e
Nina Milne
Lectures
19,9K
Chapitres
15
CHAPTER ONE
THE HONOURABLE ADRIANA MORRISON looked up as she heard the sound of her name being called. Damn! She’d been sure that she’d be alone for the next few hours. Swiftly she covered the easel and moved it out of sight into a small alcove, pulled the curtain across. Glanced down at herself—thankfully she’d only just got started, so there was no paint on her as yet.
She glanced round the room for any tell-tale signs of her artistic endeavours and, once satisfied there weren’t, she walked to the door and pulled it open, smiled at her elder sister with the familiar mix of love tinged with the tiniest hint of envy that, try as she might, Adriana couldn’t shift. However much she loved Stella.
And she did try, understood that it wasn’t Stella’s fault that she was beautiful, smart, vivacious and all-round perfect. Nor was it her sister’s fault that she was the loved one, the child who could do no wrong, the daughter her father adored, in so much as Lord Salvington was capable of adoring anyone.
Whereas their father literally couldn’t bear the sight of Adriana, the daughter who should have been the son he longed for. The son he had been promised—the gender scan had been sure she would be a boy. Sometimes Adriana tried to picture the moment Lord Salvington had been told he had a second daughter, the bitter disappointment, the anger and rage etched on those sneering features. Compounded by the fact her mother had suffered such complications during the birth that she would never fall pregnant again.
The all too familiar stab of guilt pinched at her and she shook her head to dislodge the thoughts. Her brain knew it was not her fault she was a girl, that she deserved her father’s love regardless of her sex, that she hadn’t intended to put a stop to future pregnancies. But years of witnessing her father’s disappointment, years of watching her parents’ marriage disintegrate, years of her father’s constant putdowns and her mother’s sadness told her that it was her fault. Because, unwittingly or not, she was the cause, the catalyst that had led her family down a path strewn with misery and bitterness.
And, unwittingly or not, she was the reason that Salvington could pass to some distant cousin who knew how many times removed. A man called Bobby Galloway, an American who had no interest at all in being ‘lumbered’ with the responsibilities of an estate and had been clear he would sell Salvington to the highest bidder.
Adriana understood her father’s deep sadness, frustration and anger that this should happen, all due to an archaic, outdated system that insisted on male primogeniture, decreed that the estate and title pass down the male line. To give him his due he had fought tirelessly to try to change that system, so that Stella could somehow inherit. That had been Strategy A. His Strategy B had been a disaster, a cold-hearted affair, a ‘try before you buy’ attempt to get another woman pregnant that culminated in a scandal that rocked their house. Because when a scan revealed the sex to be a girl, Lord Salvington had rejected the woman, who went public with the story. Adriana could still feel the sear of sorrow and shame and misery. Made worse when the woman had lost the baby. After that for some reason her father’s dislike of his second daughter had intensified. As if the failure of Strategy B was her fault.
Thank goodness for her mother and her sister, who both loved her and did their best to protect her. Though Stella was always careful not to show love or kindness to her sister in front of their father. The sisters had learnt early on that that was the way to infuriate Lord Salvington and trigger the caustic edge of his tongue against both Adriana and their mother. That the best course of action was for Adriana to be as invisible as possible.
But that didn’t stop them from forging a real bond, and now worry touched Adriana as she took in the pallor of her sister’s face, the panic that clouded the beautiful blue eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘And what are you doing here?’ Stella was supposed to be on her way for her first date with Rob Wilmington, Viscount Rochester, heir to the Earldom of Darrow.
A different type of envy, a different type of guilt threatened to surface and Adriana pushed it down. The fact that she had once harboured some sort of foolish crush on the man destined to marry her sister was a secret she planned to take to the grave. Even more so as the whole thing had been toe-curlingly stupid, the only saving grace being she was sure Rob had never suspected. In truth it was extremely unlikely that Rob even remembered her.
‘I can’t go through with it.’ Stella’s voice was low, the words so utterly unexpected that Adriana was sure she must have misheard.
‘Sorry?’
‘You heard me.’ Stella came in, started to pace in front of the battered mahogany desk.
‘What do you mean? It’s all arranged; you’re the one who planned the whole thing.’
‘I know,’ Stella wailed. ‘And I meant to do it, Ria, I really did. I wanted to do it.’
Adriana tried to think; she truly had not seen this coming. The proposed marriage had been welcomed by Stella as the ‘grand alliance’ she’d always been destined for. Always wanted. A duty she welcomed. For this was Strategy C. Although the Salvington estate and title could not pass directly to a daughter, due to a legal quirk set back in the history of time, it could pass on to the male offspring of a daughter, provided that offspring was born ‘in wedlock’ and was born whilst the existing Lord was alive. So it had always been essential, if Strategies A and B failed, that Stella would marry and have a son and heir. In addition their father expected a ‘good’ marriage, wanted his heir to be worthy, with the correct blood running through his veins.
Stella had been happy to go along with that, bound by a duty to her ancestral home. In the past weeks she’d surrounded herself with bridal magazines and pictured her life as the future Countess of Darrow. Her only stipulation that, although the marriage was to be one of convenience, it would appear to be a love match. She and Rob would be the fairy-tale aristocratic couple, present the celebrity magazines with interviews and photographs, attend balls and dinners. Stella had surely been looking forward to bridal glory and today should have been the first sweeping step towards that. A romantic lunch in one of Oxford’s most expensive restaurants. Champagne and a discreetly alerted journalist in attendance.
‘I don’t understand. What’s happened? What’s changed?’
Stella twisted her hands together. ‘I’m pregnant.’
‘What?’ Shock conflated with confusion. ‘But if you and Rob are...’
‘It’s not Rob’s. He and I haven’t even kissed.’ Stella gave a strangled laugh. ‘I had that planned for date number three in full view of the press. We were going to hold hands at date two. A peck on the cheek was scheduled for today—date one.’
‘But...’ Adriana’s brain desperately tried to compute the information. ‘Then who is the father?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes, it does. It matters a lot, given our situation. Are you going to marry him?’ That way, at least, if the baby was a boy there would be an heir.
Stella’s strides increased. ‘No. That is not an option. But neither is marrying Rob. I can’t pretend the baby is his.’
Adriana studied her sister. ‘But you thought about it?’ she asked, keeping all judgement from her voice. ‘Is that why you’ve left it this late to pull out of this date?’
‘I only did the test today. I know that was stupid, but I thought... I hoped I would be wrong. I even thought if I were to be pregnant it wouldn’t matter. I’d have an abortion. But now...’ She rested her hand on her tummy. ‘Now...now I know it’s a disaster but I want to keep the baby.’ She stopped. ‘Please don’t give me a hard time. I know I’ve messed up, messed up our whole plan, but I’ll make it right somehow in the future...’
‘Whoa. Slow down. I’m not going to give you a hard time—I would never do that. You’re my sister and you’ve always been the best sister I could wish for.’ The plan had been concocted when they were young, when they’d vowed to save their ancestral home somehow and to share it.
It was decided that one day Stella would be Lady of the Manor, carry out all the high-society duties, be the public face of Salvington, whilst Adriana would do what she loved most: look after the land and manage the estate.
‘As for the plan, you don’t need to worry about that right now. Because we have far bigger worries. If you don’t go through with marrying Rob, Father is going to go ballistic.’
Her own fear was reflected on Stella’s face, a fear that she had lived with all her life, an underlay of darkness that clouded the brightest day. Fear of her father’s anger.
Though once, apparently, her father had been a different man. Kind and loving; their parents’ marriage had been a love match and often Lady Salvington would look back, tell Adriana of their happiness, their courtship, had described a man Adriana could not imagine as her father.
Because disappointment over the lack of an heir had curdled love with bitterness; and slowly, slowly, as the barren years had passed love had morphed into dislike and a need to belittle; vitriolic words that put his wife and daughter ‘in their place’. Stella and Adriana had often begged their mother to leave but she had refused, too scared that she would lose custody. Known too how much both sisters loved their ancestral home—felt too that it would be wrong to take them from it even if she did.
So, life continued and Adriana kept herself as invisible as possible. Spent hours away from the family, roaming the estate or shut away painting. Painting landscapes of Salvington, trying to capture the beauty and reality of a place she loved, a place she felt she had in some way let down. Her art, the silver lining to her cloud, a means of expressing her feelings, a hobby she loved and told no one about. Refused to expose something precious to her to the sneers and derision of her father.
But now there would be worse than derision—and when Lord Salvington discovered his favourite child had failed him, that Plan C was down the pan, there was no strategy that would stem the tide of his anger.
‘What are we going to do?’
‘I’ll have to tell Father,’ Stella said. ‘And there’s another problem,’ Stella said. ‘Rob will be in the restaurant by now.’
‘You need to tell him. We can’t leave him stranded.’
‘I know.’ Stella frowned, resumed pacing. ‘The problem is, I’ve got press all lined up to catch us. I’ve dropped all the right hints and I’m pretty sure there will be at least one celebrity journalist in that restaurant to scoop us. So they will see him take my call, or get my text.’ Her stride increased. ‘I can’t think straight. But if the press get even a glimmer of suspicion about my condition, then...’
‘We are up the creek without a paddle or a stick.’
‘More than you know. I can’t risk the paternity of this baby coming out. I can’t.’ Stella’s voice broke. ‘But there is one thing we could do...’
Rob Wilmington, Viscount Rochester, heir to the Earldom of Darrow, glanced surreptitiously at his watch. Where was Stella? He could only assume she was planning a grand entrance. Not for the first time he questioned the idea of a public ‘romance’.
He understood that a positive, happy spin would hopefully undo the horrible negativity of scandal for both families. Even now, two years later, he could taste the bitter tang of his own humiliation. Recalled seeing Emily, his fiancée, the woman he’d loved, splashed across the tabloids locked in a passionate embrace with her ex-boyfriend.
So he’d agreed to Stella’s suggestion, understood, too, her point when she’d said, ‘I have no wish for true romance but I would like to enjoy the trappings of it.’ So she’d planned a campaign, laid a trail so that their first date would garner some publicity, had the whole next few weeks mapped out.
As for Rob, he had no interest in romance whatsoever. Would never be fool enough to make the mistake of believing in love again.
He’d risked everything for Emily; at one point his parents had even threatened to disinherit him, they had been so dismayed by his declaration of love for a girl so far ‘below them’. But Rob truly hadn’t cared, hadn’t thought her background mattered a jot. So what if she came from a rough council estate, so what if her father and brother had done time in prison, so what if her past boyfriends left a lot to be desired?
And he still didn’t believe any of that mattered. What had mattered was the fact that, whilst he loved Emily, that love hadn’t been reciprocated; Emily had been taking him for a ride, had joined the train because she expected glamour and riches, had been dazzled by his title and position. Shades of his parents in a way. They loved him because he was an heir, and would ensure the Darrow line remained unbroken for at least another generation. Before his birth they had all but given up hope of having an heir, after years of miscarriages and failed treatments, and then he’d come along, late in their lives, a ‘miracle baby’. They had never seen him as an individual in his own right, he was a treasured commodity to be moulded to continue in the traditions of all the Earls of Darrow. As a result, in the name of love and duty they had tried to control his life. Decided it was too risky for him to ride a bike, had sent him to boarding school, but with the diktat that he wasn’t allowed to play rugby, go swimming, do anything in case he got injured.
But at least they loved him in their own way. Emily hadn’t. When his back was turned, she’d hooked up with her ex, fresh out of prison and more than happy to make a quick legitimate buck from the press. Once it was out in the open and Rob had wised up, the ex convinced Emily to jump on his bandwagon and they milked the scandal for all it was worth.
When he recalled some of the ‘truth’ Emily had revealed, the intimate details, hot anger still welled up, not only with her but also with himself for falling for her act. The pretence of passion, the fakery of love. When in fact, as she had so cheerfully admitted to all and sundry, she’d been ‘lying back and thinking of her ex’, although she’d felt so bad. ‘I tried, I really did,’ she explained, ‘because Rob is a decent man, a man who was trying so hard.’ Pause and a small, cheeky smile. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
Enough. Not now. It was over. He’d been a fool once...he wouldn’t be again. After Emily he had decided to take control of his life, wouldn’t let anyone call the shots any more. He would do his duty because it was the right thing to do but on his own terms. First he’d brokered a deal with his parents. That he would go away for two years, but then he would come back, settle down, create an heir, take over the running of the estate, so his parents could semi-retire, spend more time in their villa in Portugal, stand down after a lifetime of dedication to Darrow.
But he knew he wanted more than to continue in their footsteps, knew he wanted to forge his own path. The knowledge was reinforced in his two years away. Because he had revelled in the freedom of being plain Rob Wilmington. He’d enrolled on a business course, a creative design course, a web design course and somewhere along the way an idea had germinated for a business. An idea he’d run with, with the help of a fellow student, Fleur Hardcastle, and for which he’d got funding, and he knew Easel Enterprises would be a winner—he knew it in his gut.
And he took pride from the fact it had been set up by plain Rob Wilmington, only Fleur had known that he was an English aristocrat. And soon the company would launch properly, taken forward by Fleur. He’d decided to remain in the background, as a consultant for now. Because it was time to keep his promise to his parents, time to take on the mantle of duty. Because he understood his parents’ need for continuity. They were in their early seventies, they wanted to see a next heir, to know the Earldom would continue.
But once he’d got married, once he’d got the hang of the estate, Rob intended to also have a life of his own. Intended to take Easel Enterprises to great things.
But that was in the future; first the marriage. A marriage of convenience, as he would never give any woman power over him again, the power to inflict hurt or humiliation. This would be a partnership, a mutually beneficial arrangement, part of his aristocratic life.
So here he was. The question was, where was Stella? Unease touched him as he resisted the urge to pull out his phone and check for messages. Where was she? Here he was, ready to play Romeo—all he needed was the other half of the duo.
He looked up as the glass revolving door of the on-trend Oxford restaurant swung open, allowing in a blast of air and the noise of the shoppers that thronged outside. His gaze landed on the woman who came in. Not Stella—the hair not blonde, the clothes not right.
Instead this woman had shoulder-length light-brown hair, with an overlong fringe, her shoulders were ever so slightly hunched and she looked more than a little apprehensive. Realising that his gaze had lingered on her way too long, he looked away and then back again as a definite sense of familiarity struck him. He knew who she was—of course he did.
And it wasn’t only him who had worked out her identity; he sensed the interest of a couple sitting at an adjoining table, wondered if they were from a paper.
Before he could work out what to do, she brushed her fringe from her eyes, straightened up and hurried towards the table.
‘Rob.’
On automatic, he rose to his feet, the welcoming smile stuck in place. What the hell was going on? Just as she stumbled. Instinctively he moved to catch her, and as his arms went round her waist he felt a sudden unmistakeable jolt of awareness, so unexpected he froze. Recovered himself, gently steadied her and stepped back, saw heat tinge her skin, and as his gaze met hers he saw an answering response before she looked down.
‘Adriana? Is Ste—?’
Before he could finish the sentence she rushed into speech. ‘Hello, Rob, I am so sorry I am late—and on our first date as well. But I am so glad to be here now.’
Rob blinked. Right. The options were that he was going nuts and had mixed up the sisters. This seemed unlikely. But there had to be some reason for Adriana to be here. Another brush of her fringe showed large grey eyes that now surveyed him with a hint of apprehension and an unmistakeable plea. All too aware of the glances from the neighbouring table, he decided he’d play along. Though an underlay of anger rippled inside him; he didn’t like being manipulated and this stank to high heaven of exactly that. Even worse, it was in full view of the press.
‘Don’t worry at all—I’m glad you made it.’ He kept his voice smooth, saw her small exhalation of relief.
As she sat down he took the opportunity to study her properly; he hadn’t seen her recently—for one reason or another she hadn’t attended the family dinner that had been part of the pre-romance campaign. But he did remember their encounter from a few years back. It had been a party at Salvington Manor, perhaps a birthday party for Stella. He’d spotted her then, intrigued by how different the sisters were. Unlike Stella, Adriana shunned the limelight, seemed to flit about in the shadows, tidying up, almost as though she wished to render herself invisible.
He’d found her in the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry, Stella isn’t in here,’ she’d said.
‘Don’t be sorry,’ he’d said. ‘I’m more than happy to find you.’
That had elicited a smile, one that spoke of disbelief but also appreciation. ‘That’s kind of you,’ she said.
‘I didn’t say it to be kind. Why don’t I help you with this?’
And for the next fifteen minutes he had done exactly that, chatted as he helped tidy away glasses, loaded the dishwasher, watched as she restocked the fridge, put snacks and canapes on trays.
‘So how come you are doing all this?’ he asked. There were hired caterers and he was sure there would be additional staff available.
She shrugged. ‘I’m not really a party person. I prefer to have something to do and then it’s not so obvious I’m not socialising. And anyway...’
She broke off as her sister entered the kitchen, a wide smile on her face, blonde hair rippling past her shoulders. ‘There you are, Rob. We’ve been looking for you. We’re about to start a game of Jenga.’ Stella turned to her sister. ‘Rob is apparently king of the wooden blocks. Come on, Ria—join us.’
‘Thank you but I’m actually a bit tired, and you know how bad I am—I don’t want to ruin it for everyone.’ Rob frowned, watched as Adriana seemed to almost step back into the shadows. Her voice perfectly friendly but it held no hint of regret, her smile for her sister both sweet and absolute.
He hesitated, about to ask again if she was sure, but before he could she’d turned and headed for the door. ‘Thanks for the help, Rob. Enjoy the game. I hope you win.’
But he hadn’t. Had in fact spent the next hour vaguely unsettled, distracted by those large eyes, the sudden sweet smile, the wariness and reserve in her expression.
But that was then and this was now. Odd, though, how clear that memory was. As he studied her he realised in some ways little had changed. There was still the overlong fringe that drew attention away from her face, yet now he could see how striking her features were, wondered why she wore her hair in a way that obscured them. Her grey eyes were large and the colour of a stormy sea. It was a face that would age well, keep its classic cast. Her nose aquiline straight, her lips generous and...as his gaze lingered on them he suddenly became aware of what he was doing. Enough. Why on earth was he checking her out? Noticing her mouth, the gloss of her hair? When she was the wrong sister? Realised too that he’d never checked Stella out at all.
‘So...’ she said. ‘I hope this restaurant is OK for you. It’s one of Stella’s favourites.’ Adriana looked directly at him, picked up the menu. ‘She said to say goodbye as well. She is off to Spain for an extended holiday.’
What? He bit the word back as the ripple of anger returned, threatened to tsunami, and then he saw exactly how tightly Adriana gripped the thick, scripted card. However justified his ire, he would never be guilty of shooting the messenger. So he schooled his features into one of polite interest. ‘I wasn’t aware that she was planning a holiday.’ He put the slightest emphasis on the last word; after all, he’d thought she was planning a wedding.
‘It was a last-minute decision. I left her packing up a storm as she’s not sure how long she’ll be away for. A couple of months at least.’
‘I see,’ Rob said in a voice that he hoped indicated quite clearly that he didn’t.
‘Is Spain somewhere you would like to go?’ The words stumbled out and he sensed her rising anxiety. ‘I mean, not now obviously,’ she added.
‘Obviously,’ he said, realised he’d infused the word with sarcasm, saw the tiniest of flinches from Adriana and the quick glance she shot round the room.
Come on, Rob. Pull it together.
There was press nearby and the last thing he wanted to see splashed the next day was Viscount in Awkward First Date Since Heartbreak and Scandal! or Heir to Earldom Reduces Honourable Adriana Morrison to Tears! He and Stella had been in agreement that their first date had to generate positive spin, be the first step towards good publicity for them both. ‘Because right now I’m here with you and there’s nowhere I’d rather be.’
Adriana looked as though she wanted to flinch again in defence against the sheer cheesiness he’d uttered. ‘How sweet,’ she said softly, and this time it was her voice that held a hint of sarcasm, though her smile didn’t waver. ‘Anyway, Stella sends her best and I’m under strict instructions to tell her how it all goes, seeing as she set us up!’ So that was the story and he had to admire the way she had manoeuvred the conversation.
Before he could respond the maître d’ approached. ‘The champagne, as ordered.’
Rob glanced at Adriana, saw her ever so slight nod of the head, knew it meant that Stella had primed her for this bit of the date. ‘How lovely,’ she said as the cork was expertly popped and the amber liquid poured into the delicate crystal flutes.
He lifted his glass. ‘What shall we drink to?’
‘New beginnings,’ she said, exactly as scripted by Stella, but then added in an undertone, ‘Wherever they take us.’
As they clinked Rob was aware of the woman at the next table taking a photograph, ostensibly of her table, but he had little doubt that the real target was them. Stella’s journalist, no doubt. In the aftermath Adriana leant forward. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered as she rose from the table. ‘I need to pop to the loo.’
Rob watched as she walked away, one hundred per cent sure that the apology had not been because she needed a bathroom break, but for this whole situation. So in the space of ten minutes Adriana had managed to apologise, let him know that Stella was absconding to Spain and that the new story for this date was that it was a set-up. Later he’d demand an explanation but for now he had no wish to generate negative publicity, so he’d go along with it—if the Honourable Adriana wanted a first date, damn it, he’d give her one.
