She would never wear that dress now. Not even for the sort of marriage of convenience that she and Adnan had agreed on, eyes wide open, knowing that what they planned would suit them both—and help everyone else involved.
Now she couldn’t even get in touch with her ex-fiancé. She didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. She had tried to ring him again and again through the night and had only ever got voicemail.
‘Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.’
He hadn’t, of course. Her own phone had remained stubbornly silent, except the one time when it had rung and it had been a call from Ciara.
Imogen shook her head as she recalled the stilted, difficult conversation with her sister. It had been like going back a couple of years to the time of their very first conversation, when her sister hadn’t been too sure she wanted to meet up, to reconnect with the family she knew so little about. Imogen had thought—hoped—that they’d got past that and were on their way to creating a real family relationship. But last night had changed everything. Ciara wouldn’t be here to support her through the misery of cancelling everything involved with the day. Wherever Adnan was, her sister was there with him, but the younger girl had refused to tell her where they could be found.
‘He doesn’t want to talk to you,’ she’d said, her voice sounding strange and alien, the unusual echoes around it making it almost eerie, and totally unlike her sister’s usual warm tones.
‘But I have to explain to him. I’ll come to the manor.’
A long pause. She could hear Ciara’s breath at the other end of the line, and the silence had worried her.
‘We—he’s not at the manor and he won’t be for some time. He’s not coming back, Immi—and really, after what happened, you shouldn’t expect him to.’
And then the phone had been switched off, confusing her even more. She’d assumed that Ciara had gone after Adnan last night to try to make him see reason and obviously that had failed. But…
Just what did that ‘we’ mean? Why was Ciara still with Adnan? And where were they?
The truth was that that last comment had had a clear note of reproof in it. A note that made Imogen realise that, even though they’d made great strides in getting to know each other after the distance their parents’ split had put between them, there were still areas of her sister’s life where she didn’t really know Ciara at all.
‘I knew I’d find you here.’
It could only be one person’s voice. Only one man had those deep, slightly husky tones, that sexy, lilting accent. Immediately her spine stiffened, tension taking over every muscle.
‘I came here because I wanted to be alone,’ she managed from between lips that felt like wood.
‘And I knew you’d say that,’ he added, the tiny hint of amusement setting her teeth on edge.
‘Then will you please do me a favour and leave me alone?’
‘No.’
It was almost pleasant, but it was still the most determined, adamant refusal she had ever heard.
‘Raoul!’
She turned to scowl at him, adopting the most determined look she could manage. But somehow it didn’t work, that glare bouncing off his expressionless face with no effect. It was impossible not to think that she had hoped to face him today looking her very best, with her hair and make-up done, wearing that beautiful silk dress and her grandmother’s Brussels lace veil. Instead, her worn jeans and a plain blue tee-shirt had been the only things she could think to pull on this morning, knowing most of the day was going to have to be spent cancelling things, apologising…
‘Ma belle.’
‘Don’t!’ Her hands came up in front of her face. ‘I’m not your—your anything. Certainly not your…’
‘Ah, but there you are wrong. You are beautiful—I’ve always thought that.’
Beautiful on the outside at least. Raoul had to fight with himself to keep his face from showing how the memories of the day he’d found out about her visit to the London clinic still burned in his mind. He’d been on a wild seesaw ride ever since he’d been told about it, even more since he had seen her again for the first time in years.