Conall watched as she sat bolt upright, her fingers tightening around her glass. Her lips had parted and he could see the moist gleam of her tongue. He thought she looked like a starving dog which had been allowed to roam freely around a kitchen and a quiver of distaste ran through him. He took another sip of his brandy. Had he really thought that the chemistry which sizzled between them was unique? Or was he naïvely pretending that she wasn’t like this with every man she came across, and the higher that man’s status and the fatter his wallet, the better?
And yet surely that would make her perfect for what he had in mind—didn’t they say that Luciano of Mardovia had a roving eye where women were concerned?
‘That’s right,’ he said, his eyes narrowing. ‘I want you to come to the party and be nice to him.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘How nice?’
The inference behind her question was clear and Conall felt a wave of disgust wash over him. ‘I’m not expecting you to have sex with him,’ he snapped. ‘Just chat to him. Dance with him. Charm him. I shouldn’t imagine you would find any of that difficult, given your track record. He will be accompanied by at least two of his aides and he will converse with them in any language except English. Just like you he speaks Italian, Greek and French and he certainly won’t be expecting a woman like you to be fluent in all three.’
A woman like you.
It was odd how hurtful Amber found his throwaway comment, especially when for a minute back then she had been lulled into a false sense of security. Secretly, she had enjoyed the way he’d turned up and taken her away so masterfully. He’d brought her here—to this club, which was the epitome of elegance and comfort—and she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying watching him sitting bathed in flickering firelight, while he sipped at his brandy. He was very easy on the eye.
But she needed to remember that for him she was just a burden. A problem to be dealt with and then disposed of. No point in starting to have fantasies about Conall Devlin.
‘So what you’re saying, in effect, is that you want me to spy on this Prince?’
He didn’t seem particularly bothered by her accusation, for he responded with nothing more than a faintly impatient sigh.
‘Don’t be so melodramatic, Amber. If I asked you to have a business meeting with a competitor, I would expect you to find out as much information as possible. So if the Prince should happen to comment to one of his aides in, say, Greek that the wine is atrocious, then it would be helpful to know that.’
A smile flickered over her lips. ‘You’re in the habit of serving atrocious wine, are you, Conall?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m thinking...no.’
‘Look, I’m not asking you to lie about your language skills, but there’s no need to advertise them. This is business. All I want is to get the best price possible for my client—and Luciano can certainly afford to pay the best price. So...’ His midnight gaze swept over her. ‘Do you think you can do it? Play hostess for me for an evening and stick to the Prince’s side like glue?’
Amber met his eyes. The food and the fire and the brandy had made her feel sleepy and safe and part of her wished she could hold on to this moment and not have to go and face the chill of the outside world. But Conall was clearly waiting for an answer to his question and the expression on his face suggested he wasn’t a man who enjoyed being kept waiting. And deep down she knew she could do something like this in her sleep. Go to some upmarket party and be charming? Child’s play.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I can do it.’
‘Good.’ He nodded as his cell phone gave a discreet little buzz and he flicked it a brief glance. ‘You’ll need to get down to my country house early on Saturday afternoon. Oh, and bring some party dresses with you.’ His eyes glittered. ‘I don’t imagine you’ll have too much trouble finding any of those in your wardrobe?’
‘No. Party dresses I have in abundance—and plenty of shoes to match.’
‘Just wear something halfway decent, will you?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know damned well what I mean.’ There was a pause. ‘I don’t want you flaunting your body and looking like a tramp.’
Amber swallowed, knowing that she should be outraged by such a statement, and yet something about the way he said it made her feel all...shivery. She forced her mind back to the practical. ‘So what time will I expect the car?’
‘The car?’ he repeated blankly.
‘The car which will be collecting me,’ she said, as if she were explaining the rules of a simple card game to a five-year-old.
There was a short silence before he tipped back his dark head and laughed, but when he looked at her again his eyes weren’t amused, they were stone cold. ‘You still don’t get it, do you, Amber?’ he said. ‘You may be about to deal with a prince, but you’re going to have to stop behaving like a princess. Because you’re not. You will catch the train like any other mortal. Speak to Serena and she’ll give you details of how to find the house. Oh, and I’ve got your wages from the nightclub in my pocket. I’ll give them to you in the car. I didn’t want to hand them over in here.’ His eyes glittered. ‘It could be a gesture open to misinterpretation.’
CHAPTER FIVE
AMBER HADN’T BEEN on a train
for years. Not since that time in Rome when her mother’s lover had confessed to having a pregnant wife who had just discovered their affair and was on the warpath. It had been bad enough having to flee the city leaving behind half their possessions, but the journey had been made worse by Sophie Carter’s increasingly hysterical sobs as she’d exclaimed loudly that she would be unable to live without Marco. It had been left to her daughter to try to placate her, to the accompaniment of tutting sounds from the other people in the carriage.
Amber sat back against the hard train seat and thought about the bizarre twists and turns of life which had brought her to this bumpy carriage which was hurtling through the English countryside towards Conall’s country home. She had been corralled into working for the Irish tycoon—the most infuriating and high-handed man she’d ever met.