LITMIR.BIZ

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was,’ he sighed, a faraway look in his eye. ‘This was our real home. We held every birthday party here. I had my first kiss in this very room with Victoria Embleton-Jones. She was taller than me and a lot more sure of herself. I was in love for a whole week and then she dumped me for an older man with less sweaty hands and a car. I was devastated.’

      ‘My heart’s breaking. How old were you?’

      ‘Fourteen. It took me a whole month to get over her. I still get nervous shakes when I meet anyone called Victoria.’ His face was solemn but he couldn’t hide the gleam dancing in his eyes.

      Clara resisted the urge to snort. ‘No wonder this place is so special to you, filled with such poignant memories.’ She looked around at the bustling, chattering, spending throngs. ‘I used to come here when I was a child.’ It felt oddly like a confession. ‘Afternoon tea was always a highlight of the holidays. I felt so sophisticated.’ She sighed at the memory of delicate porcelain teapots and plates filled with cakes. Clara put a hand to her suddenly hollow stomach; it had been a long morning. ‘Is that why we’re here?’ She tried not to sound too hopeful.

      ‘It’s not time for a tea break yet, Miss Castleton.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, can’t get the staff these days. First we work and then we reward ourselves with as much cake as you can manage.’

      ‘Work?’ Heat washed over her; how had she misread the situation so badly? ‘If you need a PA I can certainly supply one.’

      ‘I have a perfectly good if rather terrifying PA. She disapproves of me almost as much as you do.’ Raff grinned at her flushed and confused denial. ‘No, it’s time we went shopping.’

      ‘Shopping? I do grocery shopping, as you know, presents as well, but I contract out personal shopping and interior designing...’ She was babbling again but couldn’t seem to stop.

      ‘Look around, Clara. You’re in the world’s most famous department store. I could click my fingers and summon a personal shopper for almost anything you could imagine. No, we are going to get you some clothes.’

      She gaped at him. ‘I have clothes!’

      Raff looked her over, sweeping her up and down assessingly. Clara had to fight every individual muscle to make it stay still; the urge to cover herself protectively, shield herself from those keen eyes, was almost overwhelming.

      ‘You have suits,’ he said finally. ‘Sharp, businesslike suits. Which is great for the office but no use when you’re with me. You have jeans and T-shirts and you have a few pretty dresses like the one you are wearing. That’s all fine but none of that will do for black-tie dos, for cocktail parties or any of the other dull but apparently necessary events Polly wastes her free time at.’

      ‘Cocktail parties?’ The nearest Clara got to a cocktail party was trying to decide between red or white wine at Sunday lunch. ‘I didn’t expect...’

      ‘I told you it would be time consuming.’ His gaze was steely now. ‘I also said I would pay you handsomely and make it worth your while in any way necessary. Unfortunately Rafferty’s needs to be present at these events. Grandfather can’t and Polly won’t, until I track her down and beg her to come home. So it’s down to me.’

      He looked as if he would rather be sitting alone with Mr Simpkins.

      ‘But you, Clara Castleton, are both my secret weapon and my shield. Your very presence will hopefully steer conversation away from dull topics like where I have been and what my plans are whilst simultaneously saving me from match-making mothers and their eager daughters. For that you need clothes. And luckily for you I am temporarily running an establishment that supplies pretty much any outfit you desire.’

      ‘Wait a minute.’ She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Have you been sneaking through my things?’ Raff’s assessment of her wardrobe had been depressingly close to the mark.

      Raff took another step closer and took her arm, the touch sending a jolt of electricity shooting up, settling at the base of her stomach, his proximity making every nerve buzz. ‘I don’t need to. I started working here when I was fourteen and spent at least six months in every department.’ He shot her an amused grin. ‘I was very successful in ladies’ wear.’

      ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ she muttered.

      ‘So if you’re ready...’ he ignored the interruption ‘...let’s shop.’

      * * *

      ‘You will make someone a very good husband one day.’ Clara eyed the rail of clothes that Raff and Susannah, the personal shopper he had co-opted to help them, had picked out. ‘Forget the name and fortune, any man who can shop like you will be snapped up.’

      Raff leant back against the wall. In a stark contrast to the opulence of the outer store the private changing rooms, exclusively for the use of those rich or lucky enough to secure the services of a personal shopper, were a study in sleek minimalism. The walls were a steely grey, the sofas chic, uncomfortable-looking studies in white and black; in this environment the clothes were the stars.

      ‘It’s a good thing one of us showed some interest,’ he said. ‘Poor Susannah certainly earned her commission today. I don’t think she’s ever met anyone who dislikes clothes as much as you do.’

      Clara bit just as he knew she would. ‘I like clothes well enough,’ she said indignantly. ‘I’m just not into fancy clothes or fancy designers or fancy prices.’

      Raff suppressed a smile. He might be playing fairy godfather but this Cinderella wasn’t at all interested. She’d probably be far more comfortable cleaning the hearth and making the pumpkin into pies than going to the ball.

      ‘Or fancy shoes...’ he said provocatively.

      ‘If feet were supposed to be that elevated...’ Clara began.

      ‘Then our bone structure would be quite different,’ he finished. ‘I know, you told me at least three times and poor Susannah twenty. Normally women weep with gratitude after she supplies them with shoes, not lecture her about osteology. Come on, Cinders, enjoy the glass slippers.’

      ‘Cinderella probably almost broke her neck rushing down those stairs in just one shoe.’

      She wasn’t giving an inch. He shook his head, his grin wide. ‘Fairy tales must be a barrel of laughs at your house. It’s important that you play the part well and that means dressing the part too. You don’t have to keep any of it after we’re finished: sell them and give the proceeds to charity, turn them into bunting. They’re yours. Personally I’d say enjoy them. There must be a huge demand for sequinned shifts in Hopeford.’

      Her mouth tilted upwards. Her smile was irresistible; maybe it was a good thing she didn’t unleash it often. ‘Oh, there is. Perfect for a quiet drink at The Swan.’

      ‘We don’t have to take them all,’ he pointed out. ‘I think you need about six cocktail dresses, the same amount in day dresses and shoes and bags as well. Come on, Cinders, the sooner you try them on and make some decisions, the sooner you can have that cake.’

      ‘I think I preferred the mud,’ Clara said, but she unhooked the silver sequinned shift and began to carry it to the curtained-off area at the back. She paused at the curtain and turned back, her eyes lowered, cheeks flushed. ‘I feel really uncomfortable about this, Raff, you buying me these clothes. It’s one thing paying me for my time but this feels a step too far.’ She raised her eyes, meeting his with obvious difficulty. ‘I can’t begin to offer to pay you for them. I’m sure that I can manage with what I have.’

      Raff found himself short of breath, unable to formulate any kind of reply. He had been out with enough women to consider that he had a pretty good grip on the feminine mind even if he had been thrust into a single-sex school long before puberty, but he hadn’t seen this coming.

      Not one ex, from the trust fund socialite to the vegan gardener, had ever turned down a free outfit from Rafferty’s.

      He

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