Required to Wear the Tycoon's Ring

‘And where is she now? Does she live close by?’

 ‘No. She eventually remarried and went to live in Spain with her new husband. He’s a good man and I’m glad she’s with him. She waited a long time to be happy.’

 ‘But that can’t have been easy for you?’

 ‘No, it wasn’t. I did miss her when she left. She agonised about going at all, but when she heard that me and Greg were getting married she felt reassured that I’d be all right. Shame he went and ruined things.’

 So not only had Imogen’s slimy fiancé abandoned her, but her once devoted mother had, too—albeit for a good reason. It wasn’t hard to see that she’d had a tough deal where relationships were concerned. She had good cause to be wary...

 ‘Was she there when he left you high and dry at the wedding?’

 Swallowing hard, she looked immediately uneasy. ‘She was, but she and her husband were booked on an early-morning flight the next day, so we didn’t have a lot of time to talk things over. I was glad that she was there to help explain things to the guests and tell them that there wouldn’t be any celebrations. She also helped me cancel the party at the church hall and tidy up. She and my stepfather sat up half the night, offering me consolation, but in the morning he was eager to take her home. I don’t blame him. My mum has had enough disappointment in her life without dealing with any more.’

 ‘What about you, Imogen? It must have been tough to deal with your own hurt and disappointment when she left.’

 She grimaced. ‘I managed. I told you—I’m resilient.’

 The morning light that stole through the blinds was getting brighter, and suddenly Seth realised that she ought to have her space back. It wasn’t easy to open up to someone and explain such a devastating situation—especially someone you’d only met just a few short hours ago. The funny thing was, he didn’t feel as though they were strangers anymore...

 Mentally shaking himself, he quickly brought himself back to the present. ‘I think I should make myself scarce. I’ve already taken up way too much of your time. Can I get my coat?’

 ‘Of course.’ Startled, Imogen stood up and went outside.

 In a matter of seconds she was back with him, the garment he’d asked for still pristine from being hung carefully on the coat stand.

 He slipped it on. ‘Thanks. It’s been good meeting you, Imogen.’

 ‘You, too.’

 Her expression suddenly looked shy as he leaned forward to brush her cheek with his lips and he discovered that her translucent complexion was even softer than it appeared. The thought disturbed him more than it should.

 He was still thinking about her when he got into his car and drove back to the hotel...

CHAPTER FOUR

 IT HAD BEEN a strange few hours. Seth couldn’t have predicted the uncanny events that had unfolded on his arrival back in England. He had spent a long and fruitful decade away and, whilst he’d known it would take some degree of adjustment to acclimatise, nothing could have prepared him for what had happened.

 To be presented with that heartfelt letter he’d written to Louisa all those years ago at the height of their ill-fated romance had really shaken him up. To have it delivered by a beautiful young stranger who was curious about the writer just because she longed to know how things had worked out had been stranger still.

 That afternoon he rang his PA in New York, needing to anchor himself with the familiar.

 Returning to his country of birth had made him feel a little off-kilter. And the memory of his encounter with Imogen Hayes inexplicably clung to him. Somehow he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her.

 Trusting that he wasn’t a threat, she’d allowed him to spend the night on her landlord’s couch rather than wake him up when he’d fallen asleep. In his world, kindness like hers was a rarity—if it even existed at all. Nobody did anything without hoping to make some kind of gain. But in his opinion the pretty brunette was far too innocent in the ways of the world—dangerously so—which was probably why she’d fallen prey to a louse like her ex-fiancé.

 What he’d give for just five minutes with the man. He’d soon set him straight.

 Morgan, the dependable PA who’d worked for him for the past five years in New York, answered her phone. When the preliminary enquiries about how he was doing and the usual niceties were over she relayed his messages. There was one that stood out above all the rest. It was from his old friend Ashraf Nassar—commonly called Ash.