An Exception to His Rule(72)

                ‘Ah, but Penny runs this spy ring, MI55. She’s actually M in disguise, or—’ he raised an eyebrow ‘—is she Miss Moneypenny?’

                Harriet went from bristling to calming down to smiling involuntarily. ‘I still don’t understand how it came up,’ she said, though.

                ‘We were worried that you seemed to be down in the dumps.’

                She took a breath and sat back. ‘I don’t know how I feel. I—it’s terribly sad actually, isn’t it?’

                He didn’t agree or disagree. He posed a question instead. ‘So what is it?’

                ‘What is what?’

                ‘If it’s not Simon Dexter, what’s making you look as if your heart’s breaking?’

                Harriet swallowed. ‘I didn’t know I was. Look, it’s probably just my ankle, bound up with feeling like a fool and...’ She tailed off.

                He raised his eyebrows. ‘In what way?’

                Harriet sighed. ‘Surely I don’t have to spell it out for you?’

                He rubbed his jaw. ‘You’re regretting knocking back my offers of marriage?’ Sheer irony glinted in his dark eyes.

                ‘I’d be a fool to want to be married to you after...after what happened with your first wife—and how it affected you,’ she said slowly. ‘No. I feel stupid, that’s all.’

                Damien studied her thoughtfully. Her hair was clipped back to within an inch of its life—no wavy tendrils today, as there’d been on the night of Charlie’s birthday party, no discreet make-up to emphasise her stunning eyes, no shimmering lipstick rendering those severe lips doubly inviting.

                No gorgeous dress that showed off those amazing legs—not only tracksuit trousers today but a cast on her ankle... So what was it about her that made how she looked a matter of indifference to him?

                It struck him suddenly that she was the most unaware girl he’d ever known. She certainly didn’t flash her legs. She didn’t bat those long eyelashes except when she was thinking seriously and tended to blink.

                Was that why it didn’t matter whether she was dressed up or down—he still fancied her? Then he was struck by a thought.

                ‘You’re not,’ he said at last, with his eyes suddenly widening, ‘pregnant, are you?’

                Harriet opened and closed her mouth. ‘No.’

                ‘I’m sorry,’ he said dryly. ‘That wasn’t a very good way of phrasing things, but if you are—’

                ‘I’m not,’ she broke in.

                ‘Sure?’

                Harriet eyed him. ‘Yes.’

                They stared at each other for a long moment, she with a spark of anger in her eyes, he suddenly completely inscrutable.

                ‘Harriet,’ he said, ‘there’s no point in hiding it from me.’

                ‘I’m not hiding anything from you!’ she protested. ‘It was—unlikely, anyway.’

                ‘That has been a trap for the unwary since time immemorial,’ he said dryly. ‘We both stand convicted of thoughtlessness there, however.’ He shrugged and a glint of humour lit his eyes. ‘Could we blame Charlie?’