Wicked Surrender: Ruthless Awakening / The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress / The Timber Baron's Virgin Bride

‘It’s time you went out to work, my girl,’ Miss Trewint declared harshly. ‘Started contributing to your upkeep.’

In the meantime, almost as soon as the school gates closed, she found Rhianna a job for the season at Rollo’s Café. The hours were long, it was poorly paid, Mrs Rollo was a witch and by the time her board and lodging had been extracted Rhianna was left with little to show for each week’s hard work.

And this, she supposed, was to be her future. Or some dead-end office job, using the computing and word processing course from school, bolstered by weekend and evening work during the summer.

The only bright spot on the horizon was the anticipation of Carrie’s eighteenth birthday, which was going to be marked by a major party at Penvarnon House.

And for once Simon was expected to be there.

He’d pretty much faded out of the picture since he’d gone up to Cambridge two years ago. He still came to Polkernick sometimes in the summer, when his parents were there, but they were fleeting visits, and often he was accompanied by friends from university, his time occupied with them. Sometimes, too, the friends were female.

Instinct told Rhianna, suffering her own pangs, how much Carrie must be hurt by this, and by the fact that her regular letters to Simon had been answered so infrequently since he left for university.

‘He’s frantically busy, of course,’ she’d said once, her clear eyes faintly shadowed. ‘With work and all the other stuff he’s involved in. Because it’s a different world. Everyone says so. Three years of complete whirl.’ She’d paused. ‘Besides, everything changes. We all move on, and I shall too.’

But Rhianna wasn’t convinced. And her own dream image of Simon the Golden wasn’t quite as perfect as it had been once, its gold just a little tarnished.

She wondered if he was bringing anyone to Carrie’s party, and hoped devoutly that he wasn’t.

She’d been invited, although naturally she wouldn’t be attending the dinner that would precede the dancing. Judging by Carrie’s obvious embarrassment, it was clear her mother had vetoed any such idea.

Carrie had the world’s loveliest dress, in aquamarine chiffon, and Rhianna couldn’t hope to emulate that. However, a charity shop in Truro had yielded a simple black slip of a dress in a silky fabric, cut on the bias with shoestring straps, nearly new, in her size and affordable. They’d even found her a pair of high-heeled sandals to match—which, the helper had confided, had proved too narrow-fitting for most of their customers.

‘Might have been made for you, my handsome,’ she’d said cheerfully, as she’d wrapped them.

And they did look good, Rhianna thought as she gave herself a last critical once-over before the party. She was just turning from the mirror when her door opened abruptly and her aunt marched in.

‘They’re going to be a waitress short at the dinner tonight,’ she said, her eyes sweeping scornfully over Rhianna’s slim figure. ‘One of the girls is sick, so I told Mrs Seymour you’d take her place.’

Rhianna gasped helplessly. ‘But I can’t do that. Carrie’s invited me to the dancing as a guest,’ she protested. ‘You know that. And I bought this dress specially.’

‘Yes, and a rare waste of money too. Good job you have it to burn.’ Miss Trewint tossed the dark button-through dress and frilled white apron she had over her arm onto Rhianna’s bed. ‘Well, you won’t be parading yourself like a trollop tonight, madam. So get changed and over to the house, and sharp about it. People will be arriving. And tie your hair back.’

The door banged behind her. Throat tight, eyes burning, Rhianna hung the black dress back in the wardrobe and put on the navy uniform. It was a size too big, but she tied the apron more tightly round her waist to give it more shape. She dragged her hair back from her face and plaited it quickly, her fingers shaking, then changed her sandals for the low-heeled pair she wore at the café.

The hired help, she thought bitterly, and looking just as drab as Aunt Kezia could have wished.

Carrie met her with a look of utter consternation. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she said furiously. ‘Your aunt—my mother—what the hell are they playing at?’

‘Teaching me my place, I think.’ Rhianna gave her a swift hug. ‘Don’t worry about it. We can exchange above and below stairs viewpoints afterwards.’ She wanted to add, I really don’t mind, but it wasn’t true. She minded like blazes.

It was a very long evening. Rhianna carried round trays of drinks, platters of canapés, and later stood at the dinner, helping to serve the poached salmon and carve the turkey.

Mrs Seymour, she thought, surreptitiously easing her aching feet as she watched Moira’s lavender-clad figure floating radiantly among the guests, is certainly getting her money’s worth. That is if she actually intends to pay me.

One of the first people she’d seen had naturally been Simon.

‘Good God.’ He’d looked her up and down blankly, then started to grin. ‘If it isn’t the lovely Rhianna. Bloody hell, I didn’t realise this was supposed to be fancy dress.’

The friend accompanying him had roared with laughter, his hot brown eyes assessing Rhianna in a way she didn’t like. She’d cared for him even less when she spotted him later, adding the contents of his hip flask to the non-alcoholic punch.

But the next time she’d seen Simon he’d been dancing with Carrie, his lips close to her ear, whispering things that had her blushing, her face radiant with a delight she couldn’t have concealed if she’d tried.

And she wasn’t trying very hard, Rhianna thought ruefully. So much for moving on.

During the course of the evening she’d also seen Diaz Penvarnon arrive late. She’d assumed he wasn’t coming at all. At the sight of him, she’d longed to fade back into the wall, but he hadn’t appeared to notice her, so perhaps the waitress gear had made her temporarily invisible.

Although there was no reason why he should care if she was there as friend or servant, she reminded herself.

Whenever he visited Penvarnon House he always spoke to her, but as if, she thought sometimes, he was taking care to be pleasant. Yet, while there’d naturally never been any repeat of that wonderful birthday dinner, he’d invariably remembered to send her a card when the anniversary came round.

It was getting on for midnight when Simon approached her again. ‘Going to dance with me?’ he asked, bending towards her, his face flushed.

‘For goodness’ sake, Simon, I can’t,’ she muttered. ‘I’m here to work, and Mrs Seymour’s watching me.’ She raised her voice a little. ‘Is there something I can get you, sir?’

‘Absolutely. Dance with me and I’ll tell you.’ He grinned at her.

‘Simon,’ she said. ‘This isn’t funny. Please go away.’

‘Poor Cinderella,’ he said. ‘But they can’t keep you slaving all night. You deserve some fun. And you can at least have some champagne to toast Carrie’s birthday, like everyone else. She’d want that.’ He paused. ‘Tell you what—I’ll get a bottle, and we’ll meet you round by the stables in ten minutes. How would that be?’

She bit her lip. ‘Well, OK. But I can only stay a few minutes.’

When he’d gone, Rhianna glanced round her. She probably wouldn’t be missed at this stage, she thought. No one wanted any more food, at least not until the eggs and bacon were to be served very much later on. And Aunt Kezia’s eagle eye was now superintending the clearing-up operation in the kitchen. She probably could slip out for a little while. And if she was spotted then she would have Carrie to defend her.

Apart from the moon, there was no light in the yard. It was cooler now, too, after the heat of the house, and Rhianna hugged herself, shivering a little.

She called softly, ‘Carrie?’

‘Over here.’ Simon’s voice reached her from one of the disused loose boxes.

He was standing just inside, leaning against the wall, a dark shape among the shadows. As her eyes adjusted Rhianna realised he was alone, his tie loosened, and that he was clasping an open bottle of champagne, which he held out to her.

‘So,’ he said, his voice slurring a little. ‘Here we are at last. Let’s party.’

‘Where’s Carrie?’

‘Being the obedient daughter and perfect hostess.’ He said it with a laugh that was almost a sneer. ‘Where else?’

‘Then I should get back to being the perfect waitress,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got time to party—or not without Carrie, anyway.’

‘She won’t miss you. Come on, Rhianna, loosen up.’ Putting down the bottle, he pushed himself away from the wall and came over to her. ‘Neither of us is on the A list tonight, so we may as well drown our sorrows.’

Judging by the alcohol on his breath, Simon’s troubles were already well submerged. She drew back. ‘No, thank you.’

‘Oh, come on, sweetheart. What’s your problem?’ He looked her up and down. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t fancy me. You have done for years. I heard all about it from a girl at your school. Only I didn’t feel like following it up—then. But things—and people—change with time.’ He paused. ‘Who’d have thought it, eh? From scrawny kid to hot totty in one blink of the eye.’

She was getting more uncomfortable by the second. ‘Simon, I have to get back—really.’ She turned towards the house. ‘People will be wondering where I am.’