Unexpected Engagement

By JESSICA STEELE

HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO

A Christmas surprise!

Lysan was miles away from home at this special time of year. She missed her family and friends, but found it all too easy to forget that she was engaged to a man she could never love. And the longer she spent with Dante, her Latin host, the more she knew she was marrying the wrong man.

Lysan's dilemma became ever more clear: should she carry out her duty to her fiance and family, or follow her desire for the only man she had ever truly wanted? One thing was certain this Christmas would be one to remember!

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460878941

JESSICA STEELE

Jessica Steele started work as a junior clerk when she was sixteen but her husband spurred Jessica on to her writing career, giving her every support while she did what she considers her five-year apprenticeship (the rejection years) while learning how to write. To gain authentic background for her books, she has travelled and researched in Hong Kong, China, Mexico, Japan, Peru, Russia, Egypt, Chile and Greece.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

LYSAN paced her room. It was early yet, but she did not wish to go downstairs. Nor could she stay in her bed. After a very troubled night she was still no further forward. What was wrong with her?

Was she just plain frigid? She had never thought so. But then, up until last night she had never thought about the possibility that she might be frigid at all! Nor would she have, she was fairly certain, if ...

She could hear sounds of the rest of the household stirring but still had no mind to leave her room. Instead she went and sat in her bedroom chair and went over again the worries that had plagued her during the night, as if hoping that this time she might find some answers.

She was Lysan Hadley—fact. Aged twenty-two—fact. Virgin of the parish of Luscombe in Berkshire—fact. And had been engaged to Noel Whitmore for almost three months. That too was a fact. Though the way in which she must have agreed to marry him still seemed to be a trace confusing.

She had known Noel all her life. His father and her father had been partners in a prosperous wine-importing business. In fact they all worked in the firm of Hadley and Whitmore, her father now heading the company, her brother Todd heading retailing, Noel warehousing, while she did her bit on the administration side.

Lysan had known for years, as had Noel, that the two families would be delighted if she and Noel were to marry. But she had never thought of Noel in that way. And then three months ago tragedy had struck when Noel’s parents had died, his father piloting the light aircraft that had crashed, killing him and his wife instantly.

They had all been close to Susan and Vernon Whitmore and were as shocked as Noel by his patents’ deaths. Noel had no other relatives and had all but lived at their home as they each grappled with their shock and grief.

He had returned to his own home on the day before the funeral, and after the small, private funeral Lysan, noticing he had been missing for quite a while, had gone looking for him.

She had found him seated at his father’s desk in his study, and had been hard put not to weep with him when she’d observed the tears on his face. But before she’d had time to wonder if she should tiptoe away and leave him to the privacy of his grief he had looked up. ‘Oh, Liz,’ he had cried in torment, and she could no more leave him than fly.

Swiftly she had hurried to him, her arms going out to his seated figure to hold him in what comfort she might give, her soft heart bleeding for him. He had turned in his chair and had held onto her, his arms around her waist, and for quite some minutes she had held him, until she’d heard him give a shaky sigh. ‘All right?’ she asked as a precursor to letting go of him.

‘I’ve no one now,’ he mumbled brokenly.

‘Oh, love, you have,’ she denied. ‘You’re part of our family!’

He looked up. ‘Am I?’

She gently dried his eyes. ‘You always have been,’ she smiled, hating to witness his distress.

‘We’ll be married soon?’

She stared at him wordlessly, his question a bolt out of the blue. Marriage had never been under discussion, but—he was so distressed—what could she say? Somehow, feeling emotionally torn by what he was going through, she could not at once tell him no, he had got his wires crossed somewhere.

Then she realised he must have read her consent to his ‘We’ll be married soon?’ in her non-answer, for a moment later her father appeared in the doorway and, ‘Lysan had just agreed to marry me,’ Noel announced. And if on top of his heartbreak Noel was not to be made to look foolish there was no way then that she could say otherwise.

With her parents and brother delighted at her engagement, and with her feelings for Noel never more tender in those early days of him losing both his parents, Lysan began to think she was worrying needlessly. Noel was a super person, and any female would be thrilled to be engaged to him.

Days had turned into weeks, and... Her thoughts drifted off and she had to snatch her thoughts back when she found she was again remembering the tall Chilean who, a month ago, had paid them a visit. Dante Viveros had his own wine business just south of Santiago and...

Abruptly Lysan cut her thoughts off. Grief, she should be worrying about her and Noel, not some South American whom she barely knew, and would never see again.

Hurriedly she put the intrusive memory of the fair-haired, blue-eyed Latin from her, and gave all her powers of concentration to the most important of matters—what was wrong with her?

Noel, dear Noel. She loved him; of course she did. Yet, although she had been kissed before, and many times, by Noel, when last night the intensity of his kisses had changed to passionate, and demanding, instead of being thrilled by his passion, as any engaged woman should have been, she had felt nothing but—embarrassment!

A quick glance at her watch showed that, having been up and dressed for ages, she had sat so long she was in danger of being late down to breakfast.

Lysan left her room and went down the stairs no further forward in her quest to know what was the matter with her. She entered the breakfast room unhappily recalling how astonished Noel had looked last night when she had pushed him away and in no uncertain fashion had told him to ‘Cut that out!’.

Oh, grief! ‘Good morning, Dad,’ she greeted her father. ‘Morning, Todd.’

Her father had his head buried in his mail which he was sorting through. ‘Morning, poppet,’ he answered absently, Marjorie, his wife, preferring her bed to such an early morning start to the day.

Lysan received a brotherly grunt from Todd who was scanning the headlines in his paper, and she took her place at the table with her mind back on the problem that had plagued her since parting from Noel last night. She felt not a whit further forward as their housekeeper, Mrs Mason, brought fresh toast to the table, and Lysan greeted her and at that moment felt an urgent need to get away for a few days in order to get her head together.

She’d had barely any holiday this year but with Christmas only about five weeks away, the Christmas rush taken care of on her side of the business, she could take some time off. Noel was due some time off too, she realised—and when she really needed some time by herself she had an idea that if she said she was going away for a few days he would want to come too.

She had to dismiss the notion to go away, and had no chance to give her problem any more thought when Todd suddenly put down his paper and asked, ‘Are you driving in with Noel, or coming with us?’

Oh, heck! Noel, who lived at the other end of the village, had taken to stopping by on his way through to give her a lift into London. But she did not feel ready to see him again so soon.

‘I’ll drive myself, thanks, Todd,’ she answered. ‘I’ve an appointment at the hairdresser’s late this afternoon. I may be late.’

‘Suit yourself,’ he replied equably. ‘Ready, Dad?’

Lysan smiled as the two men bade her goodbye, but as soon as they had left the room so her smile too departed. Oh, Lord, now, if she didn’t want to be a liar, she had to find time to visit the hairdresser.

A minute later and she was realising that if she did not get a move on she would still be there when Noel arrived. In the next instant she was on her feet and heading in the same direction as her father and brother.

‘Oh, if Noel stops by would you tell him I’ve already left?’ she asked on meeting Mrs Mason, their treasure of many years, in the hall.

‘I’ll tell him,’ Mrs Mason agreed, and Lysan sent her a smile of thanks and went swiftly to get her car out of its garage while conscience pricked that she should perhaps have picked up the phone to tell Noel not to call. But that would have involved explanations and, since she did not have an explanation, would have meant lying to him too. Lysan salved her conscience when she recalled that if Noel was to pick her up in the morning they always mentioned something of the sort the evening before. Her thoughts were glum again as she recalled that very little had been said between them last evening after she had forthrightly told him to ‘Cut that out!’.

Lysan was glad that since her job was no sinecure she was fully occupied that day. She managed, however, to fit in a visit to the hairdresser’s, where, to keep her ‘lie sheet’ clean, she had about half an inch trimmed off her shoulder-length ash-blonde hair.

She had thought that Noel might try to phone her, but that he had not indicated that he was having a bit of a sulk. She knew he was seeing some people that night in connection with his side of the business, and felt uncomfortable within herself that she felt a tinge of relief that she would not see him herself that evening.

She drove home feeling very much out of sorts and still wondering what on earth the matter with her was that when the man whose engagement ring she wore should suddenly become more ardent than she had ever known him—something inside her should cause her to freeze over.

Alleviation from the worry that was starting to get her down came that evening at dinner when, having just passed her mother the potatoes, she overheard her father and brother discussing a letter that had arrived that day from Chile.

‘Chile!’ she butted in to exclaim, and, entirely forgetful that they did quite a bit of business with Chile and that the letter could have come from anyone, ‘You’ve had a letter from Dante Viveros!’

‘I’d forgotten you’d met him,’ her father replied, happy to include her in the conversation, and confirming that the letter had been from none other. ‘He’s written thanking us for entertaining him while he was in London. You remember we all stayed in town one night when he was here and invited him to dinner?’

She remembered—vividly. The tall, mid-thirties Chilean was all male and charming with it. She had thought at first that he quite liked her, for he had seemed pleased to meet her. But when her father had expressed regret that her fiancé couldn’t be with them because he was fully employed at home attending to matters in connection with his deceased parents’ estate Dante Viveros had seemed to go distant on her.

‘You are formally engaged to be married, señorita?’ he had enquired.

‘Down to the ring,’ Todd had replied for her, raising her left hand to show the ruby ring on her third finger. And with the casualness of brothers—‘Will you sit here, Dante?’—he’d begun to look after their guest.

And, while she’d been conscious of Dante Viveros’s glance on her from time to time, apart from observing the courtesies of a guest, he’d had little more to say to her. And yet she had been so aware of him. Had thought of him so often since then. Had, she owned, ejected him from her thoughts on many an occasion when she had been out with Noel.

Suddenly then she became aware that her parents and Todd were looking at her and that she had not answered her father’s question. ‘Of course I remember,’ she smiled. ‘Noel couldn’t be with us because he had to find some paperwork the solicitors wanted the next day. Er—it was kind of Señor Viveros to write.’

‘He would think it only good manners,’ her father stated. ‘He’s a most honourable man,’ he added, and went on, ‘In his letter he very kindly suggested that if I, or any member of my family, were thinking of visiting Chile it would give him pleasure to return my hospitality.’

Why her heart should suddenly give a little flutter, Lysan had no idea. ‘Now there’s something for you to think about, Todd,’ she addressed her brother, who, it seemed to her, was always trotting off to visit some vineyard or other.

‘Would that I could fit it in,’ Todd answered seriously, having spent time in France, Italy, Portugal and Spain that year. ‘Perhaps next year.’

He left it there and Lysan went up to bed early that night. She was, she admitted, feeling more out of sorts than she could ever remember. And it wasn’t just Noel who was causing her to feel concerned. For when, later, she lay in bed, she all at once realised that she had been thinking along the lines that if Todd went to South America perhaps she could go with him!

Aghast at the way her thoughts had gone when given free rein, Lysan tried to settle to sleep. But she awoke many times in the night and each time found she was wishing that the blue-eyed Chilean had never written. She felt very much confused, and when she left her bed she discovered she was not only confused but restless too. It was late November, but the next year Todd had spoken of seemed light years away. She wanted to be up and doing something now.

She showered and dressed and, determined to think sensibly, batted away any such ridiculous notion as to try and get Todd to agree to go to Chile now.

Determinedly she put Chile out of her head—and Dante Viveros—and set about solving the problem of her in relation to Noel and to try and banish the suddenly desperate need she felt to go away, to be by herself. Then suddenly she found she was wondering why, when in these days of female emancipation she was free to go anywhere, she should think she had to wait for Todd to be free before she could go to Chile. She could just as easily go on her own!

Oh, for heaven’s sake! she fumed impatiently, and went downstairs to breakfast angry at the disorder in her head that had only come about this past month. Of course she wasn’t going to Chile for goodness’ sake—why in the name of reason should she?

She waited for Noel that morning. ‘Forgiven me?’ he asked.

She didn’t want to talk about it. ‘Of course,’ she smiled, knowing what he was referring to. She spent the rest of the journey into London with her mind only half on what he was chatting about while with the other half she fretted that surely, since they were to be married, she should be able to discuss pretty well anything with him. Yet, just by him referring to the passion that had flared in him, she had again been embarrassed.

‘I’ll see you tonight?’ Noel queried as he walked with her to her office door.

‘Come round for dinner. I’ll tell Mrs Mason,’ she invited, and went into her own office feeling more worried than ever. It shouldn’t be like this, should it? Was it embarrassment she felt or merely shyness at this new turn in their relationship? But how could she feel shy? She had known Noel all her life!

As matters turned out, Noel did not join them for dinner that night. Some major crisis had arisen to do with warehousing in Scotland and he