Read Online Christmas at His Command by Helen Brooks - Free Book Online

hung on antique gold poles. The maple-wood floor complemented the intricately carved table and chairs, which were upholstered in a pale cream and beige, with a splash of vibrant colour here and there in the form of a bowl of scarlet hot-house roses and a magnificent five-foot vase in swirling cinnamon, coral and vermilion hues.
    The table was large enough to accommodate ten diners with ease, but two places had been laid close to the roaring fire set in a magnificent fireplace of pale cream marble. Marigold eyed the two places with trepidation as it suddenly dawned on her she would be eating alone with Flynn. ‘This really wasn’t necessary…’
    â€˜I always eat in here when I’m home.’ Flynn’s voice was just behind her. ‘Bertha has merely set another place.’
    Did that mean he normally ate alone? Marigold didn’tlike to ask outright but it appeared that was what he had meant, and she found it curiously disturbing. This massive house and all the luxury that went with it, and yet he ate alone. But she hadn’t for a moment assumed he was married, she realised suddenly. Why was that? She frowned to herself as she carefully sank down onto the chair Flynn had pulled out for her.
    â€˜You are allowed just one glass of wine with those pills.’ Flynn indicated the bottle of red and the bottle of white wine in front of them. ‘Which would you prefer?’
    â€˜Red, please.’ Marigold answered automatically because her brain had just informed her why she’d sensed Flynn was a bachelor. There was an innate aloofness about him, a cool detachment that spoke of autocratic autonomy, of non-involvement. He would have women, of course, she told herself as she looked into the dark, handsome face. His need for sexual satisfaction was evident in the sensuous mouth and virile body. But he was the sort of man who always kept something back; who gave just enough to keep his lovers satisfied physically but that was all.
    And then she caught her errant thoughts self-consciously, telling herself not to be so ridiculous. How on earth did she know anything at all about this man? She had never set eyes on him before today, and she wasn’t exactly the greatest authority on men! She had had the odd boyfriend before Dean but they had never got beyond a little fumbling and the odd passionate goodnight kiss, and even with Dean she had insisted they keep full intimacy as something special for their wedding night. She was enormously glad about that with hindsight. Even the degree of intimacy they had shared made her flesh creep now when she knew he had been making love to other women whilst they were engaged.
    â€˜To chance encounters.’ Flynn had filled her glass and then his own, and now he raised the dark red liquid in a toast, a wry smile on his face as he added, ‘And mistaken identity.’
    It was the first time he had referred to her deception since his initial outburst, and Marigold’s cheeks were pink as she responded in like fashion, glad he seemed to be taking things so well.
    He turned out to be a charming dinner companion; attentive, amusing, with a dry, slightly wicked sense of humour she wouldn’t have suspected at their initial meeting.
    Bertha served a rich vegetable soup to start with, which was accompanied by delicious home-made crusty rolls, followed by honey and mustard lamb with celeriac stuffing, and for dessert a perfectly luxurious, smooth and velvety chocolate terrine topped with whipped cream and strawberries. Beans on toast couldn’t even begin to compete with Bertha’s cooking, Marigold thought dreamily as she licked the last of the chocolate off her spoon.
    At the coffee stage her ankle was beginning to hurt again, and she didn’t demur when Flynn insisted on her taking another pill—a sleeping tablet this time, he informed her. She was soon more tired than she had ever felt in the whole of her life, the accumulation of the