Roxy looked at him warily, so many emotions coursing through her. Stupid joy at seeing him, the magnetic pull of attraction, annoyance that she felt either, let alone both—the list went on.
‘What sort of an idea?’ she asked.
‘A good one, of course.’ His smile curled her toes. ‘I’m headed down to Foxglove Hall now to meet the caterers. Why don’t you come with me?’
Common sense said it was a good idea; instinct pointed out it was pants. But Leo was beaming at her as if the prospect of hours together wouldn’t affect him at all. Roxy gritted her teeth. Fine. If Leo could do this, then so could she. There was no reason for it to be problematic. As he said, it was all water under the bridge. She Was Over Him. ‘It sounds like a plan.’
‘Excellent.’
To her annoyance, her heart beat that little bit harder and anticipation bubbled inside her. She might be over him, but she wanted to spend time with Leo and that way danger lay. Because nothing had changed. When they had first met, Roxy hadn’t been aware of Leo’s background, had thought he was ‘just’ another model. The attraction had been instant, and they’d soon been inseparable. But as the weeks went on, she had realised how wealthy and socially connected his family was. She wouldn’t fit. That impression had been reinforced by Leo and his obvious reluctance to keep Roxy from meeting his family.
Yet despite it all she was oh so aware of him on the journey to Surrey, her gaze focused on his hand on the gear lever, the jut of his profile. She sought conversation as a distraction. ‘Tell me about Foxglove Hall.’
‘My great-uncle left it to me a year ago. I hadn’t seen him since I was a child, so it was a bit of a surprise.’
Roxy suppressed a sigh; who got left a country house as a surprise? It was another indication of the different social spheres they operated in. ‘Do you live there?’
‘No. It’s too big for one person. It would make a great family home.’
A sudden image of Leo and some gorgeous high-society wife and a brood of beautiful children jolted into her brain, so clear she caught her underlip between her teeth. Did Leo have a girlfriend, a candidate for chatelaine to Foxglove Hall and mother of his children? The thought was a painful reminder of her own inability to be the mother of anyone’s children.
‘Here we are.’
He turned onto an immense sweep of a gravelled drive lined with laurel trees that must have been planted generations ago. Then around a curve was the house. Roxy caught her breath. Ivy covered the red-brick walls, numerous windows reflected the sunlight, the overall impression one of both splendour and history.
‘What do you think?’
Before she could answer, the front door opened and a svelte, middle-aged woman emerged.
Leo frowned.
‘Who is it?’ Roxy asked.
‘My mother,’ he said.
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