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‘Disobedient mites, aren’t they?’

He nodded. ‘Yours too, I notice.’

It was Alex’s turn to look down and as she stared into the liquid currant of her sherry she realised it matched the colour of the dark rose that Matthew had planted for her on their wedding day. She recalled its name even as Tuscany Superb. He’d explained that it was trim and dark like her and almost thornless like him; that it grew on strong stems, which equated to how their friendship would grow into love. ‘It has a colour so rich it speaks of our combined wealth,’ he’d finished, as he watched the gardener place it deep into the soil of their garden. Alex recalled now how she’d found his explanation corny rather than romantic as he’d intended, as though he were trying far too hard. She remembered how she’d felt slightly embarrassed for him but also ashamed of her attitude, feeling herself to be heartless. But she knew better now – today had changed everything, especially confirming that she wasn’t cold, that her heart was capable of pounding hard with need and desire.

‘What are you thinking?’

‘You dare not know,’ she cautioned.

‘Never dare me. I always rise to the challenge.’ He cleared his throat with a glance at his lap.

Alex tried to smile, managing a small one, but it came with a frown. Was it the heat, the sherry, his ardour, or just his friendship that suddenly threw down her traditional barricades? ‘He doesn’t love me,’ she said to the flames, not ready to meet the gaze that was fixated upon her. She had never uttered such words previously, never permitted herself to even test the thought, and yet she was blurting it out to a stranger. Harry clearly brought out this nakedness in her; it felt right to bare her heart to him in these suspenseful moments, poised between anticipation of love and acceptance that she had genuinely fallen for someone and was prepared to cuckold her husband for him.

‘Why do you say that?’

She shrugged. ‘Intuition and, of course, there’s his regular absences.’ She shook her head miserably. ‘Perhaps there’s another woman . . . or two. What Matthew lacks in stature he makes up for in charm. He could have anyone he wants.’

‘But it’s you who loves him,’ he insisted, as if trying to convince her.

‘I don’t love him,’ she said too hurriedly, whipping around to stare at the man she believed she could love, perhaps already did. ‘I mean, I do love him but not how I feel about . . .’ She took a low breath. ‘I am deeply fond of Matthew, as I might feel about my most dear friend. I’m afraid in this moment of frightening candour I am prepared to accept that I have likely never loved him how a wife should and I realise in this same moment that I am incapable of loving him how I should. We arranged our marriage out of convenience and happy, platonic friendship.’

‘Should you be sharing this with me?’ he wondered, looking concerned for her.

‘Harry, I have no one to talk to about this. I think I’ve obviously bottled it up, hidden it away for years, and it took you to come along and I suppose make a pass at me to unlock the secret. You’ve made me feel desirable. I’m flirting and behaving in a way of which I should be ashamed.’

‘So you’re the one at fault?’

She nodded sadly. ‘I didn’t know how much at fault I was until you and I kissed.’

‘I’m flattered but I suspect you’ve known before then.’

Alex lifted a shoulder in a gesture of regret. ‘I agree but I didn’t hear it, see it, sense it. I really thought I could learn to love him,’ she impressed, making a fist as though to reinforce her point. ‘He certainly convinced me of that. I married him rather desperately because I didn’t want to marry the other men my parents threatened me with.’ She saw him straighten with what was probably irritation and hurried to explain. ‘Don’t judge me. It was either marry Matthew – whom I liked very much – for his companionship, his wit, his conversation, his charm, or be forced into a marriage to someone I couldn’t bear. My mother had three likely candidates lined up – all of them nice enough men but I would make a poor wife to each of them. Each would have crushed me in a different way while not meaning to. I would have been miserable and potentially made their lives miserable too.’ She was talking too much, she knew, but this had to be aired. Harry needed to know her situation. ‘Along came Matthew Britten-Jones into our lives. He showed himself to be kind, generous and especially honest that his parents were putting an identical demand on him. We both needed to be married, you see?’

Harry gave nothing back to her; he stared, waiting for more.

‘I liked his pragmatism; it appealed. We weren’t going into marriage starry-eyed about each other. Instead we were entering a contract that was good for both families and which ensured our private independence. Matthew has encouraged my freedom, my ambition. It was actually his urging that made me realise that I should consider chocolate as my ticket into business and independence, but we both understood the foundation of our union was honesty and friendship.’

‘And now?’

‘We must eat while we talk or we’ll pay a hefty price. Even if you push the food around your plate.’ He obliged, fetched her a plate with a fish cake and a tiny mound of spinach. ‘Thank you.’ She watched him return to the table and serve himself a similarly lean share. He sat down and their gazes met again. ‘Eat,’ she encouraged, and they both began to reluctantly force a few morsels down. Alex knew he expected her to continue and answer his question. ‘Now I’m concerned that Matthew is not being honest as he promised he would be. And . . .’ She stopped, feeling on the verge of tears, which she considered unforgiveable in a new friend’s company. ‘Sorry.’ She swallowed down the rising clog of emotion and took another deep breath. ‘I must gather myself because my parents are barely minutes away now.’ She stood to tip the remains of her plate onto the fire. ‘People are starving out there and I’m burning food.’ The gentle clink of cutlery on china assured her that Harry was doing his best to oblige her.

‘There,’ he said. ‘Impolite to eat that quickly but Norma can’t complain now. Tell me why you think Matthew is seeing others.’

Alex felt her throat constrict a second time but this time out of nervousness. She had barely admitted to herself what she felt she was about to spill to him. Was she ready to confront this?

‘Tell me, Alex. Let me at least help if I can.’

‘How do you help a couple who don’t share a bed?’ There! Her most guilt-ridden and humiliating secret was out . . . aired to this stranger, who startled her for not appearing shocked.

‘I’ll wager your parents don’t,’ he offered. ‘That doesn’t mean —’

She swung around, feeling hot and instantly ferocious; it had nothing to do with the flames she stood near. ‘Harry,’ she growled. ‘We’ve been married for nearly two years and my bed is . . . shall we say . . . rarely warmed by my husband! The last time Matthew was so roaring drunk I don’t believe he remembered much, if anything, about it.’ She clasped her hand to her mouth and the tears came, a fountain of them, and Harry was at her side. ‘Don’t – it makes it harder,’ she gulped. ‘He cried that last time. Kept saying he was sorry because he knew it wasn’t . . .’

Harry simply waited for her to choose whether she wanted to say more.

‘I think he knew it wasn’t . . . how it should be.’ The tears ran freely and still Harry remained silent. Nevertheless, it was his gentle embrace and his fingers that stroked lightly up and down her arm that soothed her. She was glad that he didn’t speak but then Alex was becoming used to his brooding manner, appreciated how he could be silent and yet still communicate droves. She could feel his desire to comfort washing over her in waves of sympathy. He waited out minutes in that tense silence until she felt composed.

‘I’m fine, really I am.’ She sniffed. ‘I have no right to complain.’