Phoebe sighed, threw her hands up and gave in. ‘Well, on your head be it. But don’t make the mistake of thinking you’ll be able to change him.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, and, in any case, I’m not sure I’d want to.’
‘That’s what they all say,’ said Phoebe darkly.
‘Ah,’ said Bella with a smile as her heart thumped, ‘but the difference is, I mean it.’
‘They all say that too.’
From the shadows Will watched Bella deep in conversation with Phoebe, and wondered when exactly he’d lost his mind.
In theory, his plan to wear her resistance down had been perfect. Faultless, even, and utterly beautiful in its simplicity. All it had taken was one quick phone call when he’d returned home from the restaurant all those weeks ago, and that had been it.
At the time, he’d ignored the little voice inside his head insisting that the stake he was gambling with was too high. Just as he’d ignored the stab of guilt at laying the blame at Caroline’s door. As far as he’d been concerned the end would justify the means.
Not only had his strategy given him the ideal opportunity to stay in touch with Bella and embark on his war of attrition, it had also solved the problem of what to do about the dodgy jewellery. Plus, as he received emails or phone calls pretty much every week with a request to exhibit the collection, it had been the ideal way to get people like the director of the Grayson Museum off his back.
That his plan might have failed, might still fail, didn’t cross his mind. For one thing he didn’t fail. Ever. For another Bella was a perfectionist and he’d been certain she took far too much pride in her work to allow the finished result to be anything other than flawless.
And OK, there had been that brief moment when he’d got to her flat that Sunday morning and been hit by such a strong bolt of desire that he’d wanted to scoop her up in his arms and demand to know the location of her bedroom, which had definitely not been part of the plan. Neither had the surge of white-hot jealous fury when he thought she’d gone round to Sam’s nor the relief when he realised she hadn’t, or the overwhelming urge to gather her in his arms and kiss the life out of her just before he’d left.
But by and large things had gone exactly as he’d intended.
So why, over the course of the last week or so, had he found himself doubting the wisdom of his strategy? Where had the feeling that things weren’t quite right sprung from? And what was the thing that had been stabbing at his conscience for the past few days?
Surely it couldn’t be guilt, could it?
Will rubbed his chest and frowned. But what else could it be, when it had appeared right after she’d told him how much she valued honesty, annoyingly hammering home the point that he’d been less than truthful with her? Why else had he stopped dropping by her shop when previously he’d gone there almost every day?
He stifled a sigh. Yup. That definitely sounded like guilt. And it was probably guilt too that was preventing him from going over to her and saying hello.
Now his conscience had been roused it wasn’t holding back, and questions and doubts began to attack him from all sides. What on earth gave him the right to persuade Bella into having an affair with him anyway? She’d said she didn’t want one so he ought to respect that. Since when had he started disregarding other people’s wishes in favour of his own?
And as for attrition, what had he been thinking? When exactly had his common sense, his integrity—such as it was—deserted him?
He glanced over at her, met her eyes head on, caught the expression on her face and his entire body tightened with need. Well, his body could forget it because he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that an affair with Bella was the worst idea he’d ever had.
And actually not simply because he was being battered by a guilty conscience. When he’d set out on his attrition mission he’d never intended to get so personal. He’d planned to go easy on the chat and heavy on the innuendo. To bombard her with smouldering smiles and gratuitous touches and seduce her into his bed.
So what had happened? When exactly had things changed? How had he ended up telling her all about his life and his plans for the dukedom? And when exactly had he started liking her as well as wanting her?
Liking her—and so much—hadn’t been factored into his plan. Nor had the notion that he might be more susceptible to her charms than he’d envisaged.
That his plan hadn’t been quite so perfect left him feeling oddly unsettled. As did the dawning realisation that if he let things go any further he could well be at some sort of risk. What if she wasn’t the only one who could be hurt by an affair? What if he got in too deep and couldn’t get out?
As a bolt of alarm shot through him Will ran a finger around the inside of his collar, feeling as if it were strangling him. God, that really didn’t bear thinking about. Never mind that it hadn’t happened before. He wasn’t naive enough to think that it couldn’t happen eventually. It was just lucky he’d caught it early enough to think about throwing up some defences.
Which, he thought as he watched Bella heading towards him, were undoubtedly about to come in extremely useful. Because she wasn’t just heading. She was sidling, only pausing to pluck a glass of champagne off a tray, a sexy smile curving her lips and a determined look in her eye. Something about the way she moved had all the tiny hairs at the back of his neck leaping up in alarm. Every instinct he possessed yelled at him to get as far away from her as he could. And he would have done exactly that had his feet not appeared to have taken root.
‘Hi,’ she said, coming to a standstill far too close for his comfort and sending a thousand shivers scurrying over his skin.
Will fought the instinct to take a step back and shoved his hands in his pockets instead. ‘Hi,’ he said, his voice a lot calmer than he felt. ‘You look spectacular.’
That was a bit of an understatement. In a short, tight, shimmering coppery dress that brought out the highlights in the hair that was tumbling over her shoulders, and with the endless legs, she looked good enough to eat.
‘Thank you.’ She ran her gaze over him and a thick sluggish heat began to seep along his veins. ‘So do you.’
‘Thank you.’