Although she no doubt told every bride-to-be that she looked wonderful, Celia Bamford sounded as if she meant every word. It was all a little overwhelming—especially when she referred to Imogen as Seth’s ‘woman’. It gave her a funny feeling inside. For once in her life she felt as if she mattered, as if her feelings were important.
‘Thank you. And I have to agree—Seth has very good taste.’
‘You’re a very lucky woman. But then, he is a very fortunate man.’
Smiling, the designer dropped down to her haunches to arrange the gown’s material so that it fell exactly the way she wanted it to. She rose again to fuss over the lace bodice, ensuring that the fitting met her exacting standards. It did. Imogen couldn’t imagine it being any more perfect.
‘Turn and turn again, so I can make sure it’s shown to advantage from every angle,’ the older woman instructed.
After Imogen had obliged, she asked her to walk away from her and then back again, critically observing every detail of the dress, as though to find even the smallest flaw would herald catastrophe for her reputation and career...
‘Now I’m going to arrange the headdress for you. Will you be wearing your hair down tomorrow?’
Imogen nodded. ‘I’d prefer to wear it loose. It won’t interfere with the design?’
‘On the contrary, my dear, in this case the natural look is most definitely the best.’
She breathed a sigh of relief. Celia’s reaction reassured her that if she thought it the right choice, then it was likely her husband-to-be would, too...
* * *
After finishing the outstanding dinner that had been cooked exclusively for them by one of the country’s top chefs, and having declined inducements to have coffee and brandy, Seth and Imogen exited the discreet art deco–style dining room. The room was allocated to guests who particularly wanted their privacy, and in accordance with Seth’s request they had dined alone.
He had tried to make conversation with Imogen throughout the evening, but she seemed particularly withdrawn tonight. It came to him that she was brooding about something. Alarm bells started to ring. He wouldn’t rest until he found out the reason.
Hadn’t she liked the dress? Perhaps he had trusted Celia Bamford too readily to help him decide what would suit her?
They were both silent as they travelled back up to the suite. The day had been full of new experiences for her, and Seth silently acknowledged that it must have taken its toll. It was quite likely that she was feeling a little overwhelmed. Once or twice at dinner he’d caught her stifling a yawn. No doubt her emotions were running high about what lay ahead tomorrow.
It wouldn’t surprise him if her fears about the wedding possibly not going ahead were getting the better of her. After all, it was only a year ago that she’d suffered the ultimate humiliation by her louse of a fiancé. His fists immediately clenched at the thought. He would have to reassure her that it wasn’t going to happen a second time, that he had no doubts whatsoever that he was doing the right thing in marrying her.
But even as he had the thought Seth uncomfortably shelved the knowledge that his intention to marry hadn’t been prompted solely by his desire to have meaningful companionship in his life. It had also been prompted by his friend Ash’s suggestion that he get himself a trophy wife. If he wanted the chance to be accepted by the elite coterie of classic-car owners and collectors in his father’s kingdom, and add to his list of impressive clientele worldwide, a wife was a must.
On entering their suite, Seth saw that the chambermaid had turned on the contemporary wall fire in the sitting room. Behind the toughened glass it had a realistic open-fire effect that made for a very pleasing ambience. The brocade plum curtains had also been closed, and the lighting in the lamps had been adjusted so that it was intimately subtle.
The atmosphere couldn’t help but turn Seth’s mind to seduction... He was only too aware that his body heat—already on simmer whenever he was anywhere near the brown-eyed beauty who was his fiancée—had just gone up several notches.
‘Why don’t you kick off your shoes and sit down? You need to relax... It’s been a long day,’ he remarked, loosening his tie and moving towards her.
Tonight, despite the fact that she must be a little overwrought emotionally, Imogen was more beautiful than ever. Wearing black palazzo pants and a white silk tunic that skimmed her svelte hips, with her dark hair curling softly against her shoulders, she was an effortlessly elegant ingénue who had no idea of the profound effect she could have on a man.