The Secret Life Of Lady Gabriella

She had oddly mixed feelings about that. She concentrated on the ‘oh bother’ variety, and spent the regrettably short ride into the city dwelling miserably on the horrors of flat-hunting.

‘What time shall I pick you up?’ he asked, as he pulled up in front of the Assembly Rooms.

‘What? Oh, there’s no need for that,’ she said, opening the door, then belatedly realising that, while flopping backwards had worked to get into the car, she was going to need rather more help getting out. ‘I’m going on to a meeting next door,’ she said, as he climbed out, walked around the car. ‘At the library. I’m sure someone will give me a lift home.’

Having offered her a hand, he made no immediate move to help her out. Instead he said, ‘How sure?’

Actually, very sure, but with his hand wrapped around hers she seemed to have trouble in breathing.

Taking her hesitation as not-very-sure-at-all, he repeated the question. ‘What time shall I pick you up from the library?’

‘We, um, usually go down the pub afterwards,’ she managed.

‘Your life is one social whirl, Ellie.’

‘What can I say?’

‘If you’re ever going to get out of this car, I’d suggest you tell me what time I should pick you up at the library.’

She was torn between fury at his dictatorial manner and a certain undeniable pleasure at the idea of being collected from the meeting by a dishy man in a seriously good-looking car.

Besides, he was right. She was entirely at his mercy. If he didn’t help her out of the car she’d be stuck there with him all evening. Or, more accurately, he’d be stuck with her.

Oh, the temptation…

Dismissing the idea as unworthy—and because she was already late—she said, ‘Okay, Doc, you win.’

‘Ben,’ he said. ‘Just…Ben.’

‘Ben. Nine, then. At the library.’

Satisfied, he eased her from the car and saw her safely up the steps and inside the Assembly Rooms. It was only then that she allowed herself a self-satisfied little grin. First objective achieved. He’d asked her to call him Ben.

Her next target was a smile. Entirely for his own good, naturally…

CHAPTER THREE

ELLIE’S pleasure was short-lived. The reception was noisy, crowded, and went on well beyond eight. By the time she’d helped clear up and got to the library it was nearly nine, and most of the members had already decamped to the pub.

Diana Sutton, the group’s secretary, who was already locking up, was sympathetic. ‘Bad luck. Never mind, come and have a drink. We’re celebrating. Gary’s sold a short story and Lucy’s sold an article to Women’s World. The one she wrote when we did that magazine exercise.’