The Duke's Affair

II

She had borrowed a dress from her flatmate at the last minute, and it didn't quite fit, but with a few quick stitches here and there she had managed to make it look acceptable. It hugged her waist and swung about her hips; the effect was pleasing for a borrowed dress, and she knew her legs looked great. She was blessed with her mother's delicate bones, and her ankles were slim and becoming. If she hadn't been so sure of her legs she never would have worn such a short skirt, especially not to meet George and Emily, or to go to the Dorchester, for that matter.

"Lauren!" Emily, bronzed and glowing from the honeymoon, rushed over and embraced her friend. Her enthusiasm was over-flowing. George joined them and kissed Lauren's cheeks, telling her how pleased he was to see her, and that he hoped she was well. Lauren saw that he knew just how 'not well' she was; there was something of pity in his eyes that made her want to shy away from him.

They chatted for a few minutes before Emily glanced up at the clock and suggested they move to the bar, where George ordered champagne.

"Where is he?" asked Emily, tapping her foot impatiently whilst sipping on her champagne. She was glancing back towards the entrance anxiously.

"He'll be here."

"Who?" asked Lauren, surprised that anyone else would be joining them at all.

"Henry."

Lauren's heart fluttered at the name. Could it be the same Henry she had met at the wedding? She hadn't thought she would ever see him again, and although he had seemed cool, even arrogant, she had fantasised about him ever since. Their brief meeting had filled her with such desire that she felt ashamed; she felt like a schoolgirl with a crush on a celebrity.

The sound of his voice, his jaw, his tan and his gorgeous green eyes and sensual lips had played on her mind ever since. Everything about him had been beguiling. If she had found out that he had sold his soul to the devil for that face she wouldn't have been remotely surprised. Even though he had never even introduced himself or asked her name, even though he had been positively rude, she couldn't stop thinking about him. She had felt haunted by the mere idea of him and, now that she had conjured up her own dreamlike version of him, the idea of meeting him in the flesh again filled her with horror.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she hissed.

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Lauren, you look very pale. Are you alright?" asked George, leaning towards her and pressing his fingertips to her arm, his eyebrows pulled tightly together as he looked at her.

"You do look rather odd Lauren." Emily tilted her head to look at her friend. "Let's sit down, shall we? I'm sure they'll let us go to the table a bit early."

George took Lauren's arm and Emily led the way through to the restaurant, her fox fur stole wrapped casually about her shoulders, slipping down over her toned arms. She seemed, thought Lauren, much older, much more sophisticated, than a woman in her early twenties had any right to be. But then Emily was a child of money. Entitled. Confident. She was what Lauren had aspired to be at university and, having early on discovered that a girl from Essex could never achieve that insouciant ebullience, had decided that being friends with a girl like Emily was the next best thing. It made her feel special.

Lauren was grateful for her friends' attentiveness, and as soon as she was seated she felt much better. The second glass of champagne was helping too, she thought, sipping at the crystal flute, letting her body relax and the alcohol flood her brain.

She looked around the room; there were only a small number of tables, mostly round with pressed white table cloths. Everything else seemed pale grey, or silver and the windows that looked out onto Park Lane were partially frosted so she couldn't see the cars as they passed by.