Heiress on the Run (Harlequin Romance) (16 page)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

G
ETTING
THE
WHOLE
group of them across the road and into the park was quite an operation. Dominic would happily have left them to find their own way there—they all knew their jobs, after all—but Faith was in full tour guide mode again, shepherding them all across and stopping traffic just by standing in the middle of the road. It made Dominic’s heart clench just to watch.

But finally they were all through the gates of St James’s Park and the last, most important part of the plan was in motion. Maybe the first part hadn’t gone quite as well as he’d intended when he’d described his plans to Sylvia; her storyboard for the afternoon—which Dominic fully intended to frame and give to Faith on their first anniversary—had included Faith swooning into his lap with delight before he’d even started driving.

This part, though, he had faith in. How could she resist pelicans, the perfect ring, and the most romantic, embarrassing proposal of all time?

* * *

This was weird. This was officially the weirdest thing any man had ever done for her. And she still wasn’t entirely sure what exactly was going on. All she knew was that she was walking around St James’s Park with the man she loved, and fifty total strangers, looking for pelicans.

Totally normal.

‘There’s one!’ one of the tourists yelled out, and suddenly everyone was crowded around the edge of the lake, staring at it. Faith hung back, Dominic beside her, and watched. Then, without warning or any obvious sign, the whole group turned back to face them, grinning manically.

‘What’s going—’ Faith started, then stopped as she heard music. Impossible, lilting music coming from some sort of sound system somewhere. She looked around, trying to spot where it was coming from, to figure out what everyone was looking at—

‘It had to be you,’
Dominic sang, his voice strong and sure and only slightly off-key.

Faith froze, even as he smiled at her. And then he started to dance. Faith clapped a hand to her mouth as Dominic foxtrotted around her with an imaginary partner as he sang. It was, by far, the most surreal moment of her life.

Around her, the tour group picked up the tune to the classic song and supported Dominic as he dropped to one knee. And then, like some sort of crazy dream, they started to move, stepping in perfect unison to the side, then into pairs, clearly rehearsed and planned and anticipated by everyone who wasn’t her.

Their dance, choreographed to the last step, swirled around them, the words coming clean and strong in sopranos, altos, tenors and basses. Faith blinked with disbelief, even as she watched. Crowds were forming on the paths beyond, staring as the bus of people she’d tried to tell about the Tower of London foxtrotted in perfect time through the park, singing as they went. Bystanders were joining in now, and right by the lake Faith spotted Sylvia, hand to her mouth with excitement. Even the pelicans seemed to be enjoying themselves.

And there, at her feet, was Dominic, holding out a ring box.

‘Too much?’ he asked.

‘Um...’

‘Only I wanted you to know. You’re worth any embarrassment. Any story in any paper. I can ignore any of it if I have you with me.’ He sounded so earnest, so open. Faith couldn’t remember ever seeing him like that, except in this place. And one precious night when he’d let himself go, only to have everything ruined.

‘Even if I’m a scandal?’ Because she was. And probably always would be. If he wanted her, he had to want all of her, even the parts that were too brash, or showed off too much cleavage, or walked up to strangers in airport bars and demanded a job.

‘I don’t care,’ he said, so swiftly she couldn’t help but believe him.

‘I suppose no one is going to ever find anything to laugh at you for more than this,’ Faith mused as the performers reached the climax of the song.

‘Unless you say no,’ Dominic pointed out.

‘I should, you know,’ Faith said. ‘Just to be sure you can really take the humiliation.’

Dominic flipped open the ring box, letting the sunshine sparkle off a diamond that could probably fix the roof of the west wing at Fowlmere. ‘Are you going to?’

Faith looked down at him, into his warm eyes, his raised eyebrow, and thought,
How I love this man.
He was, by turn, ridiculously stiff and unyielding, then hilariously open and embarrassing. She might never get a handle on him completely. On how to make him open up when he needed to, and how to know when something was too much.

She’d probably embarrass him a thousand times over, and he’d probably drive her crazy at least once a day. The society pages would talk of nothing else for weeks. He’d want to interfere in everything she did at Fowlmere, then forget to ask her advice at Beresford.

But they’d sneak off to Lola’s once a month, and book a suite at the Greyfriars when they needed to get away from it all. She’d get to be herself, not Lady Faith, not Faith Fowler, just her. Because she knew, beyond anything else, that was who he loved most.

There was a lot they’d need to figure out. But they’d get there. She had faith.

‘You’re not afraid I’ll run away?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ll take the chance. Besides, I don’t care where you go, as long as you always come back to me.’

The song finished and the dancers crowded round them, panting slightly, not adding anything at all to the romance.

‘So. What’s your answer? Are you going to say no to test my humiliation level?’

‘Yes,’ Faith said.

Dominic’s brow crumpled. ‘Yes, you’re going to say no? Or yes, you’ll marry me?’

Faith laughed, her hair blowing in the breeze, and reached down a hand to pull him to his feet. ‘Yes, I’ll marry you. Even though you hijacked a bus and proposed to me by flash mob.’

His arms were around her waist in less than a second, before the crowd even started cheering.

‘It was the only way I could think of to convince you,’ he murmured as he leant in to kiss her.

‘Well, it worked,’ Faith said, stretching up on tiptoe. ‘Remind me not to let you search for wedding speeches on the Internet?’

‘Will do.’ And then he kissed her and she forgot her sister-in-law-to-be, filming everything from the side, forgot the flash mob, forgot the crowds; she even forgot the pelicans.

She only knew she’d never need to run away again.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from THE SUMMER THEY NEVER FORGOT by Kandy Shepherd.

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CHAPTER ONE

O
N
S
ANDY
A
DAMS
’
S
thirtieth birthday—which was also the day the man she’d lived with for two years was getting married to another woman—she decided to run away.

No. Not run away.
Find a new perspective
.

Yes, that sounded good. Positive. Affirming. Challenging.

No way would she give even a second’s thought to any more heartbreak.

She’d taken the first step by driving the heck out of Sydney and heading south—her ultimate destination: Melbourne, a thousand kilometres away. On a whim, she’d chosen to take the slower, scenic route to Melbourne on the old Princes Highway. There was time, and it went through areas she thought were among the most beautiful in the state of New South Wales.

Alone and loving it
, she repeated to herself as she drove.

Say it enough times and she might even start to believe it.

Somewhere between the seaside town of Kiama and the quaint village of Berry, with home two hours behind her, she pulled her lime-green Beetle off onto a safe lay-by. But she only allowed herself a moment to stretch out her cramped muscles and admire the rolling green hills and breathtaking blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean before she got back in the car. The February heat made it too hot to stay outside for too long.

From her handbag she pulled out her new notebook, a birthday present from her five-year-old niece. There was a pink fairy on the cover and the glitter from its wings had already shed all through Sandy’s bag. It came with a shocking-pink pen. She nibbled on the pen for a long moment.

Then, with a flourish, she headed up the page ‘Thirtieth Birthday Resolutions’ and started to scribble in pink ink.

1. Get as far away from Sydney as possible while remaining in realms of civilisation and within reach of a good latte.

2. Find new job where can be own boss.

She underscored the words ‘own boss’ three times, so hard she nearly tore the paper.

3. Find kind, interesting man with no hang-ups who loves me the way I am and who wants to get married and have lots of kids.

She crossed out ‘lots of kids’ and wrote instead ‘
three kids’
—then added, ‘
two girls and a boy’
. When it came to writing down goals there was no harm in being specific. So she also added,
‘Man who in no way resembles That-Jerk-Jason’.

She went over the word ‘jerk’ twice and finished with the date and an extravagant flourish. Done.

She liked making lists. She felt they gave her some degree of control over a life that had gone unexpectedly pear-shaped. But three goals were probably all she could cope with right now. The resolutions could be revisited once she’d got to her destination.

She put the notebook back into her bag and slid the car back onto the highway.

An hour or so later farmland had made way for bushland and the sides of the road were lined with eucalypt forest. Her shoulders ached from driving and thoughts of a break for something to eat were at the front of her mind. When she saw the signpost to Dolphin Bay it took only a second for her to decide to throw the car into a left turn.

It was a purely reflex action. She’d planned to stop at one of the beachside towns along the way for lunch and a swim. But she hadn’t given sleepy Dolphin Bay a thought for years. She’d adored the south coast when she was a kid—had spent two idyllic summer holidays at different resort towns with her family, revelling in the freedom of being let off the leash of the rigorous study schedule her father had set her during the school year. But one summer the family had stayed in Dolphin Bay for the first time and everything had changed.

At the age of eighteen, she’d fallen in love with Ben. Tall, blond, surfer dude Ben, with the lazy smile and the muscles to die for. He’d been exciting, forbidden and fun. At the same time he’d been a real friend: supportive, encouraging—all the things she’d never dreamed a boy could be.

Then there’d been the kisses. The passionate, exciting, first-love kisses that had surprised her for years afterwards by sneaking into her dreams.

Sandy took her foot off the accelerator pedal and prepared to brake and turn back. She’d closed the door on so many of the bittersweet memories of that summer. Was it wise to nudge it open again by even a fraction?

But how could it hurt to drop in to Dolphin Bay for lunch? It was her birthday, after all, and she couldn’t remember the last proper meal she’d eaten. She might even book into Morgan’s Guesthouse and stay the night.

She put her foot back to the accelerator, too excited at the thought of seeing Dolphin Bay again to delay any further.

As she cruised into the main street that ran between the rows of shops and the waterfront, excitement melted down in a cold rush of disappointment. She’d made a big mistake. The classic mistake of expecting things to stay the same. She hadn’t been to Dolphin Bay for twelve years. And now she scarcely recognised it.

Determined not to give in to any kind of let-down feelings, she parked not far from the wasn’t-there-last-time information kiosk, got out, locked the car and walked around, trying to orientate herself.

The southern end of the bay was enclosed by old-fashioned rock sea walls to form a small, safe harbour. It seemed much the same, with a mix of pleasure boats and fishing vessels bobbing on the water. The typically Australian old pub, with its iron lace balconies was the same too.

But gone was the beaten-up old jetty. It had been replaced by a sleek new pier and a marina, a fishing charter business, and a whale-and dolphin-watching centre topped with a large fibreglass dolphin with an inane painted grin that, in spite of her shock, made her smile. Adjoining was a row of upmarket shops and galleries. The fish and chip shop, where she’d squabbled with her sister over the last chip eaten straight from the vinegar-soaked paper, had been pulled down to make way for a trendy café. The dusty general store was now a fashionable boutique.

And, even though it was February and the school holidays were over, there were people strolling, browsing, licking on ice cream cones—more people than she could remember ever seeing in Dolphin Bay.

For a moment disappointment almost won. But she laughed out loud when she noticed the rubbish bins that sat out on the footpath. Each was in the shape of a dolphin with its mouth wide open.

They were absolute kitsch, but she fell in love with them all over again. Surreptitiously, she patted one on its fibreglass snout. ‘Delighted you’re still here,’ she whispered.

Then, when she looked more closely around her, she noticed that in spite of the new sophistication every business still sported a dolphin motif in some form or another, from a discreet sticker to a carved wooden awning.

And she’d bet Morgan’s Guesthouse at the northern end of the bay wouldn’t have changed. The rambling weatherboard building, dating from the 1920s, would certainly have some sort of a heritage preservation order on it. It was part of the history of the town.

In her mind’s eye she could see the guesthouse the way it had been that magic summer. The shuttered windows, the banks of blue and purple hydrangeas her mother had loved, the old sand tennis court where she’d played hit-and-giggle games with Ben. She hoped it hadn’t changed too much.

As she approached the tourist information kiosk to ask for directions on how to get there she hesitated. Why did she need the guesthouse to be the same?

Did it have something to do with those rapidly returning memories of Ben Morgan? Ben, nineteen to her eighteen, the surfer hunk all the girls had had wild crushes on.

Around from the bay, accessed via a boardwalk, was a magnificent surf beach. When Ben had ridden his board, harnessing the power of the waves like some suntanned young god, there had always been a giggling gaggle of admiring girls on the sand.

She’d never been one of them. No, she’d stood on the sidelines, never daring to dream he’d see her as anything but a guest staying for two weeks with her family at his parents’ guesthouse.

But, to her amazement and joy, he’d chosen
her
. And then the sun had really started to shine that long-ago summer.

‘Morgan’s Guesthouse?’ said the woman manning the information kiosk. ‘Sorry, love, I’ve never heard of it.’

‘The old wooden building at the northern end of the bay,’ Sandy prompted.

‘There’s only the Hotel Harbourside there,’ the woman said. ‘It’s a modern place—been there as long as I’ve been in town.’

Sandy thanked her and walked away, a little confused.

But she gasped when she saw the stark, modern structure of the luxury hotel that had replaced the charming old weatherboard guesthouse. Its roofline paid some kind of homage to the old-fashioned peaked roof that had stood there the last time she had visited Dolphin Bay, but the concrete and steel of its construction did not. The hotel took up the footprint of the original building and gardens, and rose several floors higher.

Hotel Harbourside? She’d call it Hotel Hideous.

She took a deep, calming breath. Then forced herself to think positive. The new hotel might lack the appeal of the old guesthouse but she’d bet it would be air conditioned and would almost certainly have a decent restaurant. Just the place for a solo thirtieth birthday lunch.

And as she stood on the steps that led from the beach to the hotel and closed her eyes, breathed in the salty air, felt the heat shimmering from the sand, listened to the sound of the water lapping at the edge of the breakwater, she could almost imagine everything was the same as it had been.

Almost.

The interior of the restaurant was all glass, steel and smart design. What a difference from the old guesthouse dining room, with its mismatched wooden chairs, well-worn old table and stacks of board games for ruthlessly played after-dinner tournaments. But the windows that looked out over the bay framed a view that was much the same as it had always been—although now a fleet of dolphin-watching boats plied its tourist trade across the horizon.

She found a table in the corner furthest from the bar and sat down. She took off her hat and squashed it in her bag but kept her sunglasses on. Behind them she felt safer. Protected. Less vulnerable, she had to admit to herself.

She refused to allow even a smidgeon of self-pity to intrude as she celebrated her thirtieth birthday all by herself whilst at the same time her ex Jason was preparing to walk down the aisle.

Casting her eye over the menu, Sandy was startled by a burst of masculine laughter over the chatter from the bar. As that sound soared back into her memory her heart gave an excited leap of recognition. No other man’s laughter could sound like that.

Rich. Warm. Unforgettable.

Ben.

He hadn’t been at the bar when she’d walked in. She’d swear to it. Unless he’d changed beyond all recognition.

She was afraid to look up. Afraid of being disappointed. Afraid of what she might say, do, to the first man to have broken her heart.

Would she go up and say hello? Or put her hat back on and try to slink out without him seeing her?

Despite her fears, she took off her sunglasses with fingers that weren’t quite steady and slowly raised her head.

Her breath caught in her throat and she felt the blood drain from her face. He stood with his profile towards her, but it was definitely Ben Morgan: broad-shouldered, towering above the other men in the bar, talking animatedly with a group of people.

From what she could see from this distance he was as handsome as the day they’d said goodbye. His hair was shorter. He wore tailored shorts and a polo-style shirt instead of the Hawaiian print board shorts and singlet he’d favoured when he was nineteen. He was more muscular. Definitely more grown up.

But he was still Ben.

He said something to the guy standing near him, laughed again at his response. Now, as then, he held the attention of everyone around him.

Did he feel her gaze fixed on him?

Something must have made him turn. As their eyes connected, he froze mid-laugh. Nothing about his expression indicated that he recognised her.

For a long, long moment it seemed as if everyone and everything else in the room fell away. The sound of plates clattering, glasses clinking, and the hum of chatter seemed muted. She realised she was holding her breath.

Ben turned back to the man he’d been talking to, said something, then turned to face her again. This time he smiled, acknowledging her, and she let out her breath in a slow sigh.

He made his way to her table with assured, athletic strides. She watched, mesmerised, taking in the changes wrought by twelve years. The broad-shouldered, tightly muscled body, with not a trace of his teenage gangliness. The solid strength of him. The transformation from boy to man. Oh, yes, the teenage Ben was now very definitely a man.

And hotter than ever.

All her senses screamed that recognition.

He’d reached her before she had a chance to get up from her chair.

‘Sandy?’

The voice she hadn’t heard for so long was as deep and husky as she remembered. He’d had a man’s voice even at nineteen. Though only a year older than her, he’d seemed light years ahead in maturity.

Words of greeting she knew she should utter were wedged in her throat. She coughed. Panicked that she couldn’t even manage a hello.

His words filled the void. ‘Or are you Alexandra these days?’

He remembered that. Her father had insisted she be called by her full name of Alexandra. But Alexandra was too much of a mouthful, Ben had decided. He’d called her by the name she preferred. From that summer on she’d been Sandy. Except, of course, to her father and mother.

‘Who’s Alexandra?’ she said now, pretending to look around for someone else.

He laughed with what seemed like genuine pleasure to see her. Suddenly she felt her nervousness, her self-consciousness, drop down a notch or two.

She scrambled up from her chair. The small round table was a barrier between her and the man who’d been everything to her twelve years ago. The man she’d thought she’d never see again.