To Marry a Prince - By Sophie Page Page 0,44

night to themselves. And they didn’t talk about the diary, or the dangers of being found out, or friends, or family, or anything but the moment and what they wanted next.

It was their last night together for nearly two weeks. There were no more evenings in front of Lottie’s fire, not even curtailed ones. They spoke during snatched moments on the phone, several times a day. Although they went on to radio silence, at Bella’s request, when her mother came up to Town for a day of exhibitions, shopping and pampering.

‘I can’t face standing next to her and talking to you on the phone,’ Bella told Richard frankly. ‘She’d be over the moon if she knew. I couldn’t bear it. I know that. But not telling her feels so underhand, somehow.’

‘I can relate to that. OK, silent running on Thursday. We can have a nice long call after midnight to make up for it.’

They did. But in all that time they only met face to face twice: once in a sandwich shop, with Richard disguised in jeans and a Millwall supporter’s scarf; once at a literacy fund-raiser for which Lottie’s company was doing the PR. Richard was guest of honour, of course, very princely in tuxedo and all the trappings, monogrammed cuff links included. He and Bella had a sedate dance. She did her usual trick of falling over her feet. He managed to stay looking regally courteous and kept her at a decent distance, but a muscle worked in his cheek, and she knew it was no easier for him than for her.

‘This is torture,’ Bella muttered.

‘I know. I’m sorry. You’ve been very patient. And at least we’ve got dinner next week.’

‘A whole evening! Do you think you can stick to it this time?’

‘Definitely. I’ve told everyone on my staff that nobody, nobody, interferes with my night off. If they try to put anything in my diary that evening, I’ll send them all on an endurance team-building exercise in Sutherland in December.’

Bella laughed up at him. ‘That should scare them.’

His arm tightened. ‘Too right.’ He looked down at her searchingly. ‘How are you doing, my love?

‘Fine. Great. I’m seeing Neill tomorrow. He’s come up to London for some teachers’ bash and we’re having a quick meal before he gets the train home.’

‘Sorry I can’t meet him.’

Bella shifted uncomfortably. She was coming to realise that Richard didn’t understand why she didn’t want to tell her family. He was fine with keeping their relationship secret from the media. But it was increasingly obvious that he minded not telling his own family, especially his brother George. And he’d said more than once that he would like to meet various members of her family. He didn’t press it but it was there, undiscussed, like so much of this relationship.

She said now, ‘Maybe some day.’

‘I’ll hold you to that.’

Bella thought he probably would. God, this thing was going so fast.

She said defiantly, ‘Anyway, you haven’t got a window to meet anyone new for months. Don’t forget I’ve seen the diary.’

He laughed. ‘Have you studied it so closely?’

‘Ian more or less told me to eat it after I’d read it, so I thought I’d better. You know I’ve only got hard copy? He refused to let me have a memory stick. Said I might lose it.’

‘He’s a careful man.’

She harrumphed. ‘He went on as if it were a state secret.’

He laughed aloud. ‘Bits of it probably are state secrets.’

‘Oh, God, I keep forgetting.’

He looked as if he wanted to kiss her. ‘Carry on forgetting. I like it.’

So Bella went to meet her brother next day wearing a big fat smile that she could not get rid of, no matter what she did.

Waiting for her in their favourite Covent Garden wine bar, Neill, not normally the most observant of men, saw it at once. ‘You look cheerful.’

‘I am.’ She hugged him.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Do I need to congratulate you?’

At once she was wary. ‘What? Why? What have you heard?’

‘Francis proposed, has he?’

‘What?’

‘Ma thinks that you’ve left the island so Francis would miss you, see the error of his ways and propose.’

Bella snorted. ‘Ma is delusional,’ she said, settling herself on a tall stool and inspecting the cocktail list. ‘Francis is history. Except for whiny texts when he can’t find something, of course. And even those are tailing off.’

She could feel her brother studying her. ‘And that’s OK?’

She shrugged. ‘I get pissed off when I have to give him a step-by-step guide to find something for

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