Marriage by Deception by Sara Craven Page A

heavenly day. The trees were vivid with new growth, and the lanes they were driving through were lush with cow parsley.
    To Ros’s pleasure, Sam put Delius’s Brigg Fair on the car’s CD player.
    ‘I love this music,’ she sighed. ‘It’s so incredibly English and romantic. I use it a lot when I’m working.’
    ‘You use Delius to sell cosmetics?’
    The astonishment in his voice alerted her to what she’d said, and Ros sat up, guilty blood invading her cheeks at her gaffe.
    ‘Not exactly,’ she said swiftly. ‘I like to play it when I’m giving beauty treatments. It helps—relax the client.’
    ‘It sounds wonderful.’ He slanted a grin at her. ‘Makes me wish I was beautiful.’
    He would never be that, Ros thought. Not even if he grew his hair to a reasonable length. But thoseamazing eyes and the crooked smile which lit them to such devastating effect gave him the kind of attraction that transcended classic good looks.
    This was a seriously sexy man, she told herself with bewilderment, and the last person in the world who needed to advertise for female companions. It was far more likely he had to beat them off with a stick.
    Yet here we are, she thought. And I’m still wondering why. Although there’s nowhere I’d rather be…
    They drove across a narrow watersplash and into a picture-book village, with an ancient church and charming cottages, their walls washed in light pink, clustering round a central green.
    This must be the picnic spot, Ros decided, surprised that he’d chosen somewhere public after all. The occupants of those houses wouldn’t miss much.
    But Sam was merely slowing for the turn, guiding the car up a narrow lane beside the church. Beside them, she saw a high brick wall, its lines softened by the clematis which was just coming into flower.
    Sam turned in between two stone pillars and up a short, curving drive. The house at the end of it was also redbrick, simply and solidly built, and rather square, like a doll’s house Ros had once possessed as a child. Above the porch, a wisteria was showing the first heart-stopping traces of blue, and there were climbing roses and honeysuckle trained round the windows.
    ‘It’s lovely,’ Ros said, puzzled, as Sam parked outside the front door and retrieved a bunch of keys from the glove compartment. ‘Is it yours?’
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘I just know the owners.’
    ‘Oh.’ Relief fought with a kind of disappointment. He’d said nothing before about meeting his friends,although it was flattering—in a way—that he should want her to. And rather a nonsense, too, considering this was to be their final encounter.
    It also occurred to her that she hadn’t expected to share him.
    She said breathlessly, ‘They’re very lucky to live here.’
    ‘They don’t,’ he said. ‘Or not much any more. They spend most of their time in the Dordogne. They bought an old farmhouse there a few years ago, and converted the barns into gîtes .’ He swung his long legs out of the car and came round to open the passenger door. ‘They’re down there now, doing pre-season decorating and maintenance,’ he said casually. ‘So I thought I’d grab the chance to check the place over and sort out the mail.’
    Ros managed another feeble ‘Oh’, swallowing past a sudden constriction in her throat. She paused. ‘You’re sure they won’t mind—that you brought me with you?’
    ‘I promise you,’ he said, ‘they’d be delighted. Now, wait a second while I deal with the security alarm, then I’ll give you the guided tour.’
    Ros stayed by the car, looking at the garden. It was worth savouring with its smooth lawns surrounded by wide borders just coming into flower. In the middle of the grass a stone bird bath was supported by a smiling cherub, and the entire expanse was surrounded and sheltered by the high wall.
    ‘It’s beautifully kept,’ she said when Sam returned. ‘Considering it’s unoccupied.’
    ‘A couple from the village look after