Page 2 of No Going Back

CHAPTER ONE

Present day

With a gentle roll of the stem between his thumb and forefinger, Sir Guy Somerton held the tulip-shaped glass up to examine the contents more closely. Against the dimmed light on the library wall, the deep-amber cognac acquired a warm, golden heart. On a cool, late spring evening, the spirit was a welcome accompaniment to the heat emanating from the log fire in the hearth.

Lowering the glass again, he inhaled the bouquet, savoured the rich, spicy notes. He took a sip, and allowed the flavours to develop before swallowing.

Superb.

In this very room, more years ago than he liked to recall while sober, he’d taught his niece how to appreciate the fine French spirit. While school had done its best to give her an academic education, he’d taken it upon himself to provide a social one. His instincts had demanded he equip her to hold her own in the elite circles to which he’d anticipated life would take her. The orphaned tomboy had grown into a woman Meg and Oliver would have been proud of.

The clock on the mantel chimed the hour, reminding Guy that Ros and Simon were due to arrive any time now. Following their break in Norway, they had news to share—Guy had a good idea what that news might be. As a couple, they were damn near perfect for each other.

There’d once been a woman who was perfect for him. He only had himself to blame for losing her. He’d been such a monumental fool. In the intervening years, not a day had gone by that he hadn’t thought about her. He’d never told Ros about Liz, and vice versa—they’d been in separate compartments in his life, and he’d seen no reason to change that. Maybe he should have, but it was too late now—much too late. Liz was gone, and all that remained was the mountain of regret for all the things he should have done with her but hadn’t. All these years, and the pain of losing her still flayed his heart.

It was no worse a punishment than he deserved.

Noises of visitors arriving, followed by an enthusiastic greeting, alerted him to the imminent disruption of his too-peaceful evening. With a smile, he set the cognac down on the side table, next to the ashtray in which his double corona smouldered. Ros, no doubt, would give him hell for not giving up the habit yet. As the door swung open, he stood, ready to greet the source of the disturbance.

“Guy!”

The hug his niece gave him was full of energy and happiness. “Welcome home, both of you. Make yourselves comfortable. Did you have a good time?”

They sat together on the sofa that matched his leather armchair. With great satisfaction, Guy noted the way Simon put a protective arm around his niece. He also noted the thong around the other man’s neck, which hadn’t been there when Guy had seen them both off at the airport almost three weeks earlier.

“Better than we ever imagined.” Ros glanced at Simon and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“I asked Ros to marry me, and she said yes. You don’t look surprised.”

“Somehow, I don’t think he is.” She placed a proprietorial hand on her fiancé’s thigh. “Machiavelli could learn a thing or two from uncle dear.”

Guy snorted. “Machiavelli was an amateur. Now, if I’d written The Prince…”

“We’d be in a lot of trouble! Ah, before I forget, Heather said she’d bring us some coffee before she leaves for the day. You work that poor woman far too hard,” Ros scolded.

“And you know very well the only reason she’s stayed late today is to see you,” he parried.

The knock at the library door announced Heather’s perfectly timed arrival with coffee for three and a whole, pristine chocolate fudge cake.

“I see you got Della on the case?” Guy observed, one eyebrow raised.

“Of course. Special occasions only, you said, and I think this qualifies as a special occasion. Is there anything else you need before I go?”

“We’ll be fine, Heather, thank you. And I appreciate your staying late tonight.”

“My pleasure, Sir Guy. I’m just sorry Rob and I are going away tomorrow.”

“Oh no, I wish I’d known. We could have come back earlier.” Ros jumped up and flung her arms around the woman who’d been such a strong maternal influence during her teenage years.

“Nonsense. It’s only for a few days. There’ll be plenty of time to catch up when we get back. And you know you only have to give me the word. I’ll leave the old curmudgeon—” she glanced at Guy “—to sort himself out while I’m helping you with your wedding.”

Guy assumed a mock wounded air. “You told Heather you’re getting married before you told me?”

“I saw Heather before I saw you,” Ros pointed out.

Heather joined in, too. “And I wasn’t about to pretend I hadn’t seen that gorgeous ring!”

Guy’s response was a loud and blatantly fake cough. “Mrs. Tregowan, I believe your better half is waiting to whisk you away.”