LITMIR.BIZ

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the last two weeks showing these people the sights and sounds of Italy. They trusted her. She owed it to them to at least make sure they got home safely. Maybe, that way, their memories of this holiday wouldn’t just be of a total disaster.

      No one actually relaxed at her words, but at least they looked slightly less terrified, which Faith figured was the best she could hope for, given the circumstances. Now for the hard bit.

      ‘So, let’s start at the top. Does everybody have travel insurance?’

      It took a full two and a half hours, four cups of coffee, twenty phone calls, and plenty of sweet-talking, but eventually Faith had everyone either rebooked on other flights or safely ensconced in a hotel room until their insurance could organise their return home.

      Everyone, that was, except for her.

      Dropping down to sit on one of the airport benches, ignoring the guy asleep with his head on his backpack next to her, Faith pulled out her phone and tried Marco’s number again.

      Thank you for calling the Roman Holiday Tour Company! There is no one available to take your call right now...

      She jabbed the end call button, dropped her phone into her lap, and closed her eyes. Okay, so, time to review the situation. Where was she?

      She was in Rome! Centre of history, romance and really great pizza. She knew her way around, she had, ooh, twenty euros in her purse, she...was unemployed, homeless and stuck.

      Faith sighed, and opened her eyes again, looking around the busy terminal. Everybody there seemed to know exactly where they were going, and how they were going to get there. She didn’t even know where she was going to sleep tonight.

      She could call Antonio, she supposed. Except for the part where she really, really couldn’t. Ex-boyfriends weren’t generally inclined to be hugely helpful when her life fell apart, she’d learnt the hard way, and the one she’d left in a fit of anger only two weeks earlier would probably throw her out on her ear. Or worse.

      And since everyone else she knew in Rome was either part of Antonio’s ridiculously extended family or related to her missing employer, or both, that pretty much exhausted the local options.

      Which left her with...home. She should be back in London by now, ready to pick up her next group and embark on a tour of the Italian lakes. She guessed that was off, too. She’d barely seen more of the homeland than the cheapest airport hotel at Heathrow since she left Britain a year and a half ago, and even if she hadn’t cut all ties with the friends she’d had before that, how could she just call up and say, Hey, I’m kinda stranded. Want to buy me a plane ticket?

      No, the only people anyone could do that to were family. And she really didn’t want to have to call them, either.

      She had no doubt that dear old Mum and Dad, the Lord and Lady Fowlmere, would welcome her back into the bosom of the family in no time. After all, the publicity of the wild child heiress returned to the Fowlmere estate would make great copy, and her father always loved anything that made him look good in the press.

      Faith had left home three years ago, ready to be herself for once, not an aristocratic relic to be trotted out for charity galas and other occasions, or a standing joke in the society pages. Going home now would undo all that hard work. Not to mention bring up the reasons she’d had to leave in the first place.

      But it didn’t look like she had an awful lot of choice.

      Rubbing a hand across her forehead, Faith straightened her white blouse, then ripped off the hideous orange and red necktie that Marco insisted on his guides wearing and shoved it in her bag. It meant that the neckline of her blouse was a little more revealing than was entirely appropriate, but she didn’t care. If she was going to have to call her family, she needed a drink first. And perhaps flashing a little cleavage as she walked into the airport bar would mean that she didn’t have to waste any of her precious twenty euros buying it herself.

      * * *

      ‘Explain to me again how this happened.’ Lord Dominic Beresford looked at the icy-cold bottle of Italian beer sitting on the bar in front of him with longing. He’d spent all day in meetings, worked in the cab all the way to the airport, and was just ready to switch off and relax before his late-night flight back to London, when Kevin, the Temp from Hell, called.

      Dominic’s beer would have to wait until he’d fixed whatever Kevin had screwed up now.

      On the other end of the phone line, he could hear Kevin frantically turning pages in one of the many files Dominic was sure he had stacked on his desk. Stupid Shelley and her stupid maternity leave anyway. Wasn’t keeping him sane a higher calling than a baby?

      Dominic swept a finger down the beads of water on the neck of his beer bottle. Even he had to admit, probably not.

      ‘Um, best I can tell, sir, your secretary booked in the tour guide with your usual company some months ago. And then...’ Kevin trailed off nervously.

      And then, Dominic filled in mentally, the owner of that usual company, Lady Katarina Forrester, also known at the time as his fiancée, had been caught on camera in a rather compromising position, leading to a media storm that had threatened his family’s reputation.

      So he’d called off the engagement. And in retaliation she’d cancelled their professional relationship, too.

      Which left him with six American businessmen and -women flying into London tonight, expecting entertainment and tourism to go with their meetings. And probably, now he thought about it, hotel rooms, too. Kat had always taken care of the accommodation for his business guests.

      The fact that this was almost entirely his own fault for getting involved with a business contact in the first place didn’t make Dominic want that beer any less. He should have known better.

      ‘I think I can remember what happened next,’ he told Kevin drily. ‘But I’m more interested in what happens now. Here’s what I need you to do. First—’

      ‘Um...’ Kevin said, the way he always did when he was about to ruin Dominic’s day. Surely Shelley didn’t need a full year off with the baby. What if she didn’t come back at all?

      ‘What?’ Dominic bit out.

      ‘The thing is, it’s nearly eight o’clock, sir. I’m supposed to finish work at five-thirty.’ Kevin sounded more whiny than apologetic about the fact. How had Shelley ever thought he’d be a fitting replacement for her? Unless her mothering instinct had kicked in early. Kevin certainly needed taking care of.

      ‘Add the hours onto your time sheet,’ Dominic said, attempting reason. ‘I’ll make sure you’re compensated for your time.’

      ‘Thank you, sir. Only it’s not just that. I’ve got a...commitment tonight I can’t break.’

      ‘A date?’ Dominic tried to imagine the lanky, spotty Kevin with an actual woman, and failed.

      ‘No!’ The squeak in Kevin’s voice suggested he had similar problems with the idea. ‘Just a group I belong to. It’s an important meeting.’

      The thing with temps, Dominic had found, was you couldn’t just threaten them with the sack. They always had something new to move onto, and no incentive to stay.

      And, it was worth remembering, Kevin had screwed up almost every simple job Dominic had asked him to do in the last week. Sometimes, if you wanted a job done properly...

      ‘Fine. Go. I’ll fix it.’

      The scrambling on the other end of the line suggested Kevin was already halfway out of the door. ‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’ He hung up.

      Dominic gave the beer another wistful look. And then he called Shelley.

      The wailing child in the background wasn’t a good sign. ‘Dominic, I am on maternity leave. I do not work for you right now.’

      ‘I know that. But—’

      ‘Are you sure? Because this is the

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