She smiled. “Don't you think I'll make a splendid Princess Consort?”
“Only for him. Not for me. I don't think you should come here again.”
There was no mistaking his meaning. Sophie scowled, understanding that this game, at least, was lost.
“I'll leave you then,” she snapped, snatching up her riding hat and marching out so forcefully that the servant, bringing coffee, was forced to flatten himself against the doorjamb.
Chapter Nine
Left alone with the letter in his hands Randolph clenched his fingers slowly so that the paper was scrunched and only Dottie, love was showing.
It wasn't too bad, he told himself. Mike might have written “My darling,” or something intense. On second thoughts, no. Intensity wasn't his style. For him, “Dottie, love” was the height of passionate abandon. And she would understand it that way.
If he gave it to her.
He shut off the thought at once. She'd already made it insultingly clear that she didn't trust him. This would simply prove her right, and if she didn't know it, he would.
Without further delay he went to her apartments, marching in without waiting to be announced. Dottie had been contentedly munching breakfast, wrapped in a large pink toweling robe. She choked over her coffee and drew the robe more firmly around her. Her movement was just fast enough to leave him in doubt whether she was wearing anything underneath.
Inwardly he cursed the bitter fate that had made her a sexy imp who could get under his skin without trying to. What was a man to do who'd had one glimpse of the loveliest body on earth, and then been haunted by it, day and night, ever since. The sight was there in his dreams, and with it a rich chuckle at some absurdity of life that he'd never noticed before, but would never forget now, because it reminded him of her. He would awaken to find himself trembling, aching in his loins with a deprivation that only one thing could ease. And that was something he couldn't have.
By day it was even worse, for he would be with her, always at a disadvantage, struggling not to let her suspect feelings that shocked him because he couldn't master them. A lifetime of discipline and control, all set at nothing because this exasperating creature had a smile of wine and honey and a wicked gleam in her eyes. But she hadn't overcome him yet, and he would make sure she didn't.
He coped by keeping their meetings brief, businesslike and sometimes harsh on his side. It frustrated him, but it was his only protection.
“Do you mind?” Dottie asked belligerently.
“I shan't disturb you for long. I merely wished to give you this,” he held out the letter, “and to apologize for the error which led to it being opened. It fell in with all the other official correspondence.”
“Oh yeah?” she said, looking at the postmark. “You saw Wenford and assumed it was 'official correspondence'?”
“It was an accident, ma'am, but one for which I wish to apologize.”
Dottie was examining the rest of the packet, which turned out to contain a piece of wedding cake, and some wedding photos.
“He didn't waste much time,” she murmured. “Nice of him to send me some cake.”
“May I suggest that letters from your ex-fiancé are inappropriate?” he said, putting as much frozen propriety into the words as he could manage.
She didn't answer at first. She was studying a picture of the bride and groom, happily lost in each other. Looking over her shoulder Randolph felt nauseated by Mike's gaze of foolish fondness for the commonplace creature he'd preferred to the magical Dottie. It made no difference that he himself had pushed them together. Mike should have treasured his enchanting fiancée, and never looked at another woman, no matter what the provocation.
Dottie's face bore a look of sadness. “They look very happy together,” she said wistfully.
“Would it have been that way with you and him?” Randolph couldn't stop himself asking.
“Oh no, you were right about that. And he was right, too. She suits him better. It's just, they're daft about each other, like people should be on their wedding day,” she added wistfully.
“You speak like someone who's given up on happiness.”
“On that kind, yes. You shouldn't be surprised. You brought me to a place where it doesn't happen anymore.”
He knew his next words were unwise but all the wisdom in the world couldn't have stopped him say ing them. “That's not true Dottie. This can be a happy place.”
“It'll never be happy for me,” she said quietly.
There was an ache in her voice that he couldn't bear. He would have given anything, if only she could smile again. But she was looking into the distance, murmuring, “A cozy little home and a cozy little husband. This place isn't cozy.”
“No, it's not. But as I told you before, you're meant for something bigger.”
“It's all right, I'm not fighting anymore. At least, I'm not fighting my destiny, or whatever you want to call it.”
“Then what?”
“You. I'll always fight you.”
“Because you don't trust me?”
“Because I thought I could trust you, before I discovered that I couldn't. That's worse than knowing from the start. But it doesn't matter, does it? Because feelings don't matter and people don't matter.”
“I never thought I'd hear you talking like this. I don't like it.”
“Well you did it,” she said with a little sigh. “I learned my lesson well, didn't I? But this-” she held up the letter and an edge returned to her voice, “this is out of order. Don't you ever dare read my private letters again.”
Her swift change from wistful to autocratic caused a revulsion of feeling in him. “I did not read your letter,” he said, tight-lipped.
“Oh yeah? You opened it and you didn't read it?”
“I didn't-” He stopped, realizing that the truth would lead to more trouble.
“Didn't what?” Light dawned. “You didn't open it? Then who did.”
“It was an accident.”
“Who opened it?”
“Sophie,” he said unwillingly. “She was trying to help. She didn't know-”
“You let Sophie read my correspondence?”
“I didn't mean it to happen.”
“Oh please!” she said bitterly. “Did I give the pair of you a good laugh?”
“Don't call me a liar,” he said in a dangerously quiet voice. “Don't ever do that.”
“You're saying that you haven't read one word of this letter?”
“Only the first two, which strike me as highly unsuitable for you to receive from your ex-lover and a married man. If that had fallen into the wrong hands-”
“As far as I'm concerned it already has.”
“She only saw the start, I'm sure of it.”
“Yes,” Dottie said in a strange voice, “Now I'm sure of it, too.” She was reading the letter. “I think you should hear this.”
“There's no need,” he said tensely. “I don't want to know what passes between you.” If only this were true!
“Oh, but I think you should hear every word,” Dottie said, with a light in her eye that troubled him. “Then you can tell me how 'unsuitable' it is for me to receive it.” She began to read. “Dottie love, thought you'd like to know the end of the story. Wedding went off great. Hope you like the cake. Garage is smashing. Am definitely pregnant. Love from 'all three' of us. Best, Brenda.”
When she'd finished there was silence. Randolph looked at her while his reactions warred in him. He felt foolish for having been so completely caught out, but greater still was the feeling of joy. She wasn't exchanging love letters with Mike.
But he couldn't read her. He knew Dottie's gift for “seeing the funny side,” but would it rise to this?
“I think perhaps I'll publish this in the court circular,” she said with grim hilarity, “so that everyone can see what an efficient secretary I have.”