‘Non.’ His lips lifted on one side. The cynical half-smile reminded her so forcefully of the boy, she had to stifle a gasp. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked. ‘You look familiar.’
‘No,’ she said, but the denial came out on a rasp of panic as her hand closed over the jeweller’s bag.
Please don’t let him recognise me—it will only make this worse.
She yanked the bag out and thrust it towards him. ‘Your delivery, Mr LeGrand.’
She kept her head bent as he took the package, snatching her hand away as warm fingertips brushed her palm and the buzz of reaction zipped up her arm.
‘You’re shivering. Stay and dry off.’ It sounded more like a demand than a suggestion, but she shook her head.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, drawing out her data console. ‘Sign in the box,’ she added, trying for efficient and impersonal, and getting breathless instead.
He tucked the jeweller’s bag under his arm and took the data-recording device, brushing her hand again.
‘You’re freezing,’ he said, sounding annoyed now and impatient. ‘You should stay until the storm passes.’ He signed his name and handed the device back. ‘It’s the least I can do after dragging you out in this weather on a fool’s errand.’
‘A fool’s errand? How?’ she asked, then wanted to bite off her tongue.
Shut up, Ally, why did you ask him that?
Starting a conversation was the last thing she needed to do. Her heart thumped her chest wall so hard she was amazed she didn’t pass out. To her surprise, though, he answered her.
‘A fool’s errand because I broke off the engagement approximately ten minutes ago...’ The cynical tone reminded her again of the boy.
No wonder Mira Something had been furious. She’d just been dumped.
He ripped open the package and drew out the velvet jeweller’s box, then flipped it open.
Ally’s heart stuttered. The ring was exquisite—a platinum and gold band.
The irony washed through her, as she thought of another ring.
The ring her mother had said his father had offered her all through the summer. A dream that had died that terrible night when Pierre LeGrand had kicked them out, but the loss of which had tortured her mother for the rest of her life.
‘Pierre was the only man who ever really loved me and I ruined it all, baby.’
Her mother had blamed herself, but what had she done to make Pierre so angry?
Dominic snapped the ring box closed, dragging Ally back to the present. ‘Which makes this a rather expensive waste of money.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, trying to swallow down the volatile emotions starting to choke her. Emotions she didn’t want to examine too closely.
‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘The engagement was a mistake. The eighty grand I spent on this ring is collateral damage.’
The offhand remark had the shame and guilt twisting in her gut.
She shoved her data device back into the pocket on her bike bag, her fingers trembling with the effort it was taking to hold back the raw emotions.
What was happening to her? Why was she making this into a big thing, when it really wasn’t? Not any more. Her mother was dead, and so was Pierre. It was all ancient history now.
‘I should go. I’ve got other jobs to get to,’ she said. She just wanted to leave. To forget again. It was too painful to go over all those memories. To remember how bright and vivacious her mother had been that summer, and the hollow shell she had become after it.
‘Come in and have a drink, warm up,’ he said, or rather demanded.
Was he coming on to her? The thought wasn’t as horrific as it should have been, which had the knot of shame in her stomach tightening. But then the clammy feel of the soaked and grubby fabric sticking to her skin made her aware of how much like a drowned rat she must look.
This man dated supermodels and heiresses—women with style and grace and effortless sex appeal. Something she had never possessed, even when she hadn’t spent the last six hours cycling around London’s West End in a monsoon.