The Impatient Groom. SARA WOODЧитать онлайн книгу.
How else did you know when a widower was being brave but really wanted to talk and weep over his bereavement? Or that the jar of home-made jam, which one of the parishioners had brought in, was only an excuse for needing a heartto-heart about their wayward daughter?
Her wandering mind suddenly snapped back, to focus on the present situation. And suddenly she was tense too, wondering how an Italian nobleman fitted in with Frank’s mysterious phone call, which had promised she would hear something to her advantage.
‘Like...the offer of a job as a nursery nurse?’ she had asked hopefully.
‘Much better,’ was all Frank would say at the time.
But that was what she wanted—to return to the career she’d adored, surrounded by children, loving them, mothesring them.
‘Sophia?’
Her hand went to her mouth in dismay and then she gave a small laugh of apology, used to missing conversations when she retreated into her inner fantasy world.
‘sorry! I’m a terrible drifter!’ she said amiably.
‘Thinking of Hercules and his vest?’ suggested the prince.
Her eyes twinkled Beneath that cool exterior lurked a decent sense of humour! She felt irrationally pleased.
‘I was thinking of children,’ she told him, with unconscious tenderness. ‘I wish I could find work with them.’
Frank coughed meaningfully but his eyes were smiling at her in a kindly way. Reluctantly she pushed back the memories of the blissful times she’d spent with the kiddies in her care.
‘Yes, I’m listening!’ She sat very calmly, her hands in her lap. ‘Go ahead.’
The solicitor fussily squared the sheaf of papers in front of him. ‘Let me see...Where to start?’
She sensed that the prince had become unnaturally still. Her glance flicked across to him again. He had a strong and hard profile, which suggested a ruthless determination.
In her judgement, he was ruthless with himself, too. The line of his hair at the nape of his neck was unnaturally neat, his collar too dazzling, the set of his tie so exact that it might have been glued in place after careful positioning with the aid of a set square and ruler.
Then she spotted that a small, wayward curl was flick ing around his ear in defiance of his attempted perfection. She felt a wicked pleasure at its mutiny. This man was so immaculately turned out, he might have been carved in marble—clothes and all!
He looked at her then. To her delight his mouth winened into a broad smile in response to hers. She was totally disarmed, as if he was awarding her a rare privilege.
She felt an almost irrepressible urge to tousle his hair. It would look marvellous streaming back from his face in the wind. She could see him now, on nearby Barley Hill, the sun highlighting that incredible bone structure.
‘Are you as impatient as I to know what strange quirk of fate should bring us together in this office?’ he asked her.
His mellow, cultured voice slid deliciously through her. She wallowed in the sensation while pretending to be considering his remark. It was a rarity having a prince turn her insides to treacle and she meant to enjoy every melting second.
‘Not impatient. I’m sure Frank will tell us in his own good time,’ she said good-naturedly. Anyone who’d sat through vicarage teas with long-winded parishioners knew the meaning of patience. ‘But it does seem extraordinary!’
‘My thoughts entirely.’
More than extraordinary, she decided. Improbable! They were from different planets. His clothes certainly were. They fitted his superb body so well that they must have been made for him. The neat line of his broad shoulders was a work of art in itself. More set squares and rulers, she supposed.
His carefully groomed hair and manicured nails suggested a man who had time to spend on himself—or he paid others to take care of his appearance for him. All that and a title too. Other than chalk and cheese, how different could you get?
Sophia leant towards him and whispered on impulse, ‘I think Frank’s got his files mixed up, to be honest.’
He smiled, his eyes softening in a way that made the breath catch in her throat. ‘That had crossed my mind.’
‘Won’t be long,’ Frank muttered, preoccupied with his papers. ‘Just looking for something...’
He looked excited. Sophia frowned. When ever did solicitors lose their cool? Frank’s tension communicated itself to her and a sudden attack of nerves made her fill the painful silence and blurt out to the prince, ‘Do you think I might be your long-lost sister?’
His eyes flickered over her from head to toe and a heat followed his leisurely appraisal, coursing down her body as if a blazing torch had blasted it.
‘I think that’s unlikely, don’t you?’ he murmured, staring at her ankles as if they alone proved she had no aristocratic bones in her body.
‘It was a joke,’ she mumbled, disconcerted by what was happening to her.
The dark chocolate eyes lifted to hers languidly. ‘I know.’
He stared harder, frowning, examining in detail her face and mouth. Then he drew in a harsh breath and jerked himself to the edge of his seat as if something amazing had suddenly occurred to him.
‘Mr Luscombe!’ he shot out abruptly, all princely charm vanishing with a startling suddenness. ‘You told me on the telephone that you had news concerning my father’s friend D’Antiga. Are we talking about his daughter?’
‘In a way,’ said Frank, flustered. ‘But—’
‘She’s dead, I presume.’
Frank frowned, obviously taken aback by the prince’s suddenly curt manner. ‘You’ve guessed right, but if I may—’
‘Was there a child?’
Frank shifted uncomfortably and looked as if he’d been put on the spot. ‘Please, let me break this as gently as I can—’
‘Break what?’ Sophia cried in sudden alarm. ‘Why do you have to be gentle? And what’s the connection between Prince Rozzano and me?’ she insisted, beginning to panic.
As she spoke, she remembered where she’d heard his name before. Some time ago, there had been a picture of him on the front page of every tabloid in the newsagent’s. It had been an image of utter grief. His harrowed face had roused pity in her, she recalled.
The memory of that photo haunted her but the reason remained elusive. What had it been? And did it have any bearing on why he was here?
‘Sophia, my dear.’
‘Yes? Oh. Sorry.’ Her wavering attention was caught by the solicitor’s kindly tones. That increased her anxiety. He was about to tell her something unnerving. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’ she asked, her face pale with apprehension.
‘It’s now eleven months since your father died.’
‘Yes, Frank, I know—’
‘For the prince’s benefit, I need to say this.’ Frank turned to the prince to explain further. ‘He suffered from multiple sclerosis. Sophia was his full-time carer for the last six years.’
The prince looked grave, his eyes remaining on hers for several seconds as if he found the information interesting. That’s a long time.’
She looked from Frank to Rozzano, afraid of the reason for their concern. ‘Please get on with it!’ she begged, her lips dry and stiff.
Frank sat back in his chair with a smug expression. ‘Probate of your father’s will is now complete, Sophia,’ he said, excitement threading through every word. ‘It was unusually complicated.’ Frank cleared his throat. ‘Sophia...he kept