‘Sebastian!’ Posy gasped. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ Sebastian snapped. He held out an imperious hand. ‘Come on, I haven’t got all day.’

Posy could have done without being rescued by Sebastian, of all people. She was quite capable of rescuing herself, but she grabbed hold of his hand and let him haul her out of the coal-hole into the fresh air with a very unflattering grunt like she was some kind of heffalump.

‘How could you?’ she demanded as soon as she was back on the blessed cobbles of Rochester Mews. ‘How could you send that vile man to do your dirty work!’

‘I didn’t send anyone to do anything!’

‘Then what was Piers doing here?’

There was a large bang from inside the shop and they both turned to see a tsunami of grey paint splatter across the window as if it had been tossed there by an angry sea, then slide inexorably down the glass so the inside of the shop was suddenly hidden from view.

‘What the hell!’

‘What the ever-loving hell!’

Posy closed her eyes, because she couldn’t bear to look. Then she opened them again and no, this wasn’t some awful living nightmare. It was really happening. Her hands flew to her face in horror. ‘My shop! It’s ruined! Why would he do something like that?’

‘I have a pretty shrewd idea why!’ Sebastian declared, his face almost as grey as the paint that dripped down the window to gather in a puddle on the wooden floor. ‘Don’t worry, Morland, I’m going to kill him!’

And with that, Sebastian dashed through the door into the shop, Posy staring after him. She’d said the shop was ruined, but she hadn’t realised the half of it. It wasn’t only the window. There was paint everywhere, except where it was supposed to be. Paint on the floor. Paint over the counter. The boxes of books. On the display table at the centre, the photo of Lavinia and Perry obscured – which of all the terrible things was the terrible thing that made Posy want to burst into tears.

The one thing not covered in paint was Sebastian as he came towards Posy, dragging a squirming, swearing Piers with him.

‘Caught this wanker trying to escape out the back,’ Sebastian panted, because Piers was struggling to free himself from the headlock that Sebastian had him in. ‘Like the despicable coward that he is.’

Piers shouted something but it was muffled by Sebastian’s arm against his windpipe.

‘Look what you’ve done!’ Posy couldn’t even muster a shout. Her voice was a tiny, broken thing. ‘What have I ever done to you?’

‘Get off me, Thorndyke!’ Piers twisted free of Sebastian’s grip and stood there, loathsome and sweating. ‘Nothing personal, Posy, except, actually it was personal because you told Nina to have nothing more to do with me after I’d taken her out for two very expensive meals and didn’t get so much as a blow job to show for it.’

‘You are disgusting!’

Piers preened as if it were a compliment. ‘And as for you, Thorndyke. You haven’t changed from the wretched little sneak who ratted me out and almost had me expelled from Eton. I was willing to let bygones be bygones, be the bigger man—’

‘You know absolutely nothing about being the bigger man. It will come as no surprise to hear that Brocklehurst used to torture the lower boys who fagged for him,’ Sebastian told Posy, fingers flexing and his hand back on Piers’ windpipe.

‘I have no idea what that means.’ Posy glanced upwards. God, there was even paint on the ceiling. ‘I thought you two had buried the hatchet. That you were going into business together to demolish Rochester Mews and turn it into a gated housing development for the filthy rich?’

‘I was never going to do that!’ Sebastian insisted furiously, as if he were offended at the very suggestion. ‘I’m looking at various options for the mews and I was curious to see if Brocklehurst had changed for the better when he got in touch. Evidently not, as we can see.’

‘Don’t give me that. I drew up plans, told you who to pay off at the council.’ Piers clenched his fists and threw Sebastian a look of such pure, unadulterated hatred that Posy felt something twist in her belly, as if Piers had plunged a knife into her guts. ‘I had a member of the Saudi royal family all ready to sign on the dotted line for a five-million-pound penthouse apartment. Have you any idea how much sucking up I had to do? And then you decide to back out with some bullshit about the site being Grade Two listed? You’re nothing but a pretentious wanker, defending the rights of people who are too lame to stick up for themselves.’ Piers puffed out his chest. Posy was surprised that he didn’t ping his horrible red braces while he was at it. ‘Haven’t you heard of survival of the fittest? I don’t know why you’re so keen on protecting Posy like some poncing knight on a white horse. Even you, Thorndyke, could do better.’

Sebastian paused to consider it for longer than was necessary because Posy obviously hadn’t suffered enough for one day. Not that Posy needed protecting and it wasn’t as if she was under any illusion that she was in the same league as the women Sebastian preferred, but still.

‘Depends what you mean by better,’ Sebastian conceded. ‘But she’s my Posy and you shut her in the coal-hole, which is so twenty years ago. And you’ve ruined the shop, which Posy loves, so now I’m going to ruin you.’

‘Ha! I’d like to see you tr—’ Piers got no further because Sebastian charged at him, head down like an angry bull so they both went flying out of the door.

They rolled about on the cobbles for a bit then staggered to their feet. Piers shouted, ‘En garde!’ and then they both lunged at each other with an outstretched arm ending in a rigid fist.

Because they were posh boys. Their only knowledge of fighting came from fencing lessons at Eton. Posy rolled her eyes as Piers and Sebastian danced around each other, occasionally reaching out to try and jab, then retreating. There seemed little danger that they might actually hurt each other, which was a pity because Piers really deserved a good arsekicking.

‘Pathetic!’ she muttered. ‘This isn’t helping anyone.’

Then Piers somehow managed to manoeuvre his way around so that he had Sebastian against the shop window and was in a perfect position to pummel him mercilessly while Sebastian shouted inarticulately and tried to fend him off.

When Piers grabbed Sebastian by the lapels, Sebastian’s shouts became clearer: ‘Not the suit! Don’t touch my suit!’

Posy had had enough and she wouldn’t be responsible for her actions if they crashed through her window. She darted back into the shop, circling the small lake of grey paint on the floor, and ran to the back office where she picked up Verity’s big, heavy Roget’s Thesaurus that she always had to hand for when she was writing letters of complaint.

Then she ran outside again, where Piers still had Sebastian pinned to the shop front and was just about to take a swing at his face. Not Sebastian’s beautiful face! Posy sent the book crashing between Piers’ shoulder blades with all the force that she possessed. Which was a lot of force. She hauled boxes of books about for a living, after all.

It felt very satisfying, so Posy did it again.

‘That’s for my shop!’ she shouted, as Piers cowered away from her and Sebastian was able to stagger free. ‘And that’s for trying to punch my Sebastian, and that’s for putting your grubby hands on Sebastian’s suit, and this one … this one is for Nina and this one is for my shop again, and this one is …’

‘Enough! Get this mad bitch off me!’ Piers was hunched over, his arms up to protect his face.

‘Ugh! And that’s for calling me a bitch!’ Posy whacked Piers on the back with the Thesaurus one more time then Sebastian put a tentative hand on her arm.

‘I come in peace, Morland!’ he said, because it was obvious that Posy’s blood was up and one wrong word, one black look, and he’d know the business end of the Thesaurus too. ‘I hate to interrupt, I really do, but you should probably stop now.’

Posy stopped, after one more whack ‘for pushing me in the coal-hole’, then stood panting and paint-splashed. She could also tell from the way her cheeks felt as though they’d been put through a blast furnace that she was redder than she’d ever been in her life.

Piers took a step back. He was panting and when he straightened up, he winced. He was red-faced too but shot Posy the blackest look. ‘I’m going to have you for assault.’

‘Whatever!’ Posy put her hands on her hips. ‘I’m going to have you for criminal damage.’

‘Assault, maybe even GBH, trumps criminal damage every time,’ Piers said, and he was already pulling his phone out of the pocket of his stupid posh boy red jeans. Posy felt afraid. Very, very afraid.

‘Probably does,’ Sebastian said, brushing down the lapels of his suit. Posy didn’t know how he’d managed it, but Sebastian didn’t have a drop of paint on him, he looked as box fresh as ever. ‘But in the time it takes you to call the police, I can have your bank accounts emptied and any unsavoury images on your computer emailed to your mother. Hacker friend of mine, you see. Lives in Mumbai. Lovely chap, but you don’t want to get on the wrong side of him. How is your mother, by the way? Does she still live in Cheam?’

Piers stilled and then shoved his phone back in his jeans. ‘Bastard!’ he spat, but he was lumbering away at a sharp pace. ‘Bitch!’

It almost killed Posy to let Piers have the last word, but everything she wanted to yell after him involved obscenities and several suggestions as to what he could do with various parts of his body, so she stayed silent and watched as Piers broke into a run as he turned the corner.

‘Of course, I could have handled Brocklehurst all by myself, but who knew you had such a violent streak, Morland? I certainly won’t be doing anything to incur your wrath ever again.’

‘Can I have that in writing?’

‘I never sign anything without my lawyer present.’

With Piers gone, Posy had only Sebastian to deal with.

Only Sebastian. Posy missed the carefree days when Sebastian had been a very annoying, but mostly infrequent visitor. Since Lavinia’s death, he was always underfoot, always making it impossible for Posy to sink back into her old inertia. Even in his absence, he’d continued to take centre stage in Ravished by the Rake. Which meant that Posy was constantly thinking about him. About the two of them, in all sorts of compromising positions, bodices getting ripped, mouths being plundered … She was glad it was dusky enough to hide her inevitable blushes, but not dusky enough to hide the carnage inside Bookends.

‘I don’t know where to start,’ she said, mostly to herself because Sebastian was now uncharacte‌ristically silent, probably because all his attention was focused on his phone. ‘Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me to give up.’ She sighed. ‘You win. You can have the shop.’

There was a silence that stretched before them until Sebastian finally raised his head and looked around him. ‘Sneaky plan there, Morland. Trying to stick me with this mess, but it’s not going to work. Have you got any paper towels?’

As usual, Posy was struggling to follow. ‘What?’

‘Paper towels, absorbent rags, that kind of thing. Look, I’ve googled it.’ Sebastian shoved his phone in Posy’s face. ‘It says here that it’s imperative that we clean up as much of the paint as possible before it dries. Come on, Morland, time is of the essence.’

It really was. Posy didn’t even have time to laugh when Sebastian climbed into the overalls that Nina had insisted on wearing so she wouldn’t get paint on her jeans and T-shirts. They were far too short on him – a good ten centimetres of leg protruded from the bottom.

Instead she gathered supplies and got to work. It was amazing what could be done with warm water, Fairy Liquid and pretty much every towel that Posy possessed.

Of course, there were casualties. The books that had been on the centre display table. One of the light fittings seemed to have shorted. And one box of books was ruined, but it was only one box of books, it could have been so much worse. They’d already had plastic sheeting down on the floor and over the sofas, on account of previous incidents of paint splattering when Posy had tracked grey matt emulsion into the main shop when she’d been called to deal with a customer.

They worked steadily for over an hour, Posy steeled the whole time for the inevitable sarcastic remarks from Sebastian. About how she could never do anything right, how she was a fool for letting Piers throw her into the coal-hole. But nothing. Deathly, intense silence.

At one point she asked him: ‘Is the mews really Grade Two listed?’

‘Of course it isn’t! But I had to tell Brocklehurst something to get him off my back.’ Sebastian became very interested in the slick of paint he was removing from the counter. ‘And to allay your fears that I was going to turn the mews into a car park or some such. You’re always determined to think the worst of me.’

‘Yes, but … I don’t always think the worst of you.’

Sebastian refused to be drawn in, though. It was very disconcerting. As Posy mopped up the last of the paint from the blessedly empty shelves, she stole a look at Sebastian, who was wiping the paint off of the framed photograph of Lavinia and Perry. He did look rather out of sorts, his hair in disarray, but he’d been fighting and he was currently swathed in a white boiler suit from B&Q, which left even Sebastian sartorially challenged.

‘I think we’re done,’ Posy said, at last. ‘It’s ironic, isn’t it, that we’ve just had to clear spilt paint off shelves that needed to be painted anyway?’

Sebastian didn’t reply, which was unprecedented. But it was the look on his face that gave Posy cause for alarm. His brow was furrowed, lips pushed out in a ferocious pout – when he wasn’t opening his mouth then closing it again, as if all his words had deserted him.

‘Are you all right?’ Posy asked with some concern. ‘Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? Do you want to sit down?’

‘I’m not all right.’ Sebastian slid down the nearest bookcase until his arse made contact with the now-clean floor. ‘I’m far from all right.’

There couldn’t be that much wrong with him if he was capable of acting like a drama queen, Posy thought to herself as she perched on the arm of the sofa across from where he was sprawled on the floor. ‘So, what’s up?’

‘I think you know the answer to that already.’ Sebastian folded his arms and his head sank so low that his chin was resting on his chest. ‘I’m very confused, Morland.’

‘Really? I’d say you’re the least confused person I’ve ever met.’ It was Posy’s turn to frown. ‘You’re decisive. A man of action. I wouldn’t ever describe you as confused.’

He raised troubled eyes to her. ‘It’s the only word that sums up how I feel after reading that Bookseller piece and—’

‘You read The Bookseller?’ Posy asked incredulously. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘I told you I’d subscribed.’ Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Sometimes, I think you don’t listen to a word I say, Morland. It’s very disheartening.’

Posy rolled her eyes. ‘Right back at you.’ She took a deep breath and moved from her perch to kneel in front of Sebastian. ‘I don’t want to argue with you any more. Proper arguing, where we don’t speak for days and days; that was awful and I don’t want it to happen again. But I really did try to tell you more than once that I was opening a specialist romance bookshop. I was quite clear about it. But I am sorry that I lied to you and pretended to go along with your plans for The Bloody Dagger just so I could take advantage of having a project manager. You have to believe me when I say I’m sorry, because I can’t stand this awful silence between us.’

‘I can’t stand it either. And it is possible that I might have overreacted once you finally confessed, but I never dreamed that all that time you were …’ Sebastian shook his head as he found that, once again, his words were inadequate for the task at hand. ‘You were …’

‘A great fat liar?’ Posy prompted.

‘Machiavellian.’ There was a hint of a smile playing around Sebastian’s lips now. ‘Duplicitous. Sneaky. I rather underestimated you, but you have to admit, Morland, The Bloody Dagger was an amazing idea,’ Sebastian grumbled.

Clearly he wasn’t about to let this go any time soon. ‘I hate crime novels, Sebastian. I hate them.’ Posy found herself taking Sebastian’s hand and lacing her fingers through his to take the sting out of her words and Sebastian was obviously off his game, caught off guard, because he let her, though he watched her with wary eyes as if he doubted her intentions. ‘They always start with a murder, a body, something awful happening, and I’ve had too many awful things happen in my life to want to read about them in my spare time. Do you understand?’

‘I do,’ he said quietly, and he leaned forwards, so for a moment their foreheads were touching and it seemed as if they were breathing in the same perfect rhythm. Posy couldn’t have said how long they stayed like that until Sebastian broke the spell. ‘But romance, Morland. Those books are preposterous,’ he spluttered, but he hadn’t let go of her. His thumb was rhythmically stroking the back of her hand, which was oddly soothing. ‘They give women this false hope that one day they’ll meet a knight in shining armour, when there’s no such thing. It’s an impossible ideal and you’ll only be disappointed, if you insist on looking for a man that’s like one of your romantic heroes.’

‘I know real-life isn’t like a romantic novel,’ Posy said, and Sebastian’s hand tightened around hers. ‘My God, how I know that, but I still want to believe it’s true. Maybe that’s why I get a vicarious thrill from reading novels about two people overcoming all these obstacles, mostly of their own making, so they get to have their happy ever after. I know I should be getting myself out there and dating, but since my parents died, I’ve been stuck.’

Tears were suddenly streaming down her face. Sebastian delved into his overalls and pulled out his pocket square. With a gentleness that Posy wouldn’t have believed he was capable of, he dried her eyes. ‘Now blow your nose,’ he instructed her.

‘I don’t want to get snot on your handkerchief,’ Posy said, because he was right, life wasn’t the least bit like a romantic novel. ‘There’s probably quite a bit of soot up my nostrils too from the hours I spent in the coal-hole.’

‘I’d rather you ruined it than sat there with a runny nose,’ Sebastian said. ‘Not a good look, Morland. You’re not a pretty crier, so I suggest you stop right now. And by the way, you weren’t in the coal-hole for hours. I saw Brocklehurst push you in as I came into the Mews. You were down there for a minute. In fact, it barely qualified as a minute.’

‘It was hours,’ Posy protested. ‘I stared death in the face. That takes longer than a minute.’

They were back on familiar ground. Posy glared at Sebastian who looked utterly unrepentant, then she snatched the hankie from him and blew her nose loudly and wetly and tried to ignore the horrified face Sebastian pulled when he caught sight of the streaks of black snot on his previously pristine pocket square.

‘Thank you,’ Posy said. He really was the most annoying man, but there was so much more to him that that. ‘You know, I have been stuck, but these last few months I’ve felt like I’m finally getting unstuck, moving forward. And actually you’re a huge part of that.’

‘I am?’

‘Of course you are!’ Posy gestured at the shop. ‘You might not believe in Happy Ever After …’

‘The name alone makes me want to retch …’

‘Oh, give it a rest, Sebastian! I couldn’t have done all of this without you,’ Posy told him, but Sebastian simply shrugged as if unmoved by her vote of confidence. ‘If you hadn’t been constantly badgering me and bombarding me, I’d never have got going. I’d have kept on making lists and fretting whenever Verity told me that we had no money.’ She shuffled around so she was sitting next to Sebastian, because all that kneeling on a hard floor wasn’t very comfortable. ‘It feels like I’ve been sleepwalking for years, but you … you’re like a really rude alarm clock: “Morland, wake up, you lazy slut!”’

Sebastian huffed his annoyance. ‘I don’t sound like that – and I have never called you a slut.’

‘You called me a slattern,’ Posy reminded him. ‘It’s the same thing.’

‘I’m sure it isn’t. It just means your housekeeping skills are practically non-existent. You should think about getting a cleaner, Morland. It can’t be good for you and Sam to have so much dust clogging up your lungs. Why are you smiling? I wasn’t being funny.’ He nudged her with a sharp elbow. ‘I’m deadly serious.’

‘I’m smiling because I’ve finally figured you out,’ Posy said.

‘I doubt that too. I’m an enigma, a puzzle, a mystery, a paradox—’

‘Well, you certainly love the sound of your own voice. But you’re right, you are a paradox. You say the meanest things, Sebastian. You say rude, hurtful things, but I’ve decided that they don’t count for anything when the things you do are so kind, so thoughtful.’

‘If you lapse into cliché and say actions speak louder than words, I will walk out or cry, I haven’t decided which,’ Sebastian said, but actions did speak louder than words and he didn’t leave so Posy decided it was about time that they had a drink.

She went to get the emergency bottle of Pinot Grigio from the office fridge. Sebastian took a swig when she passed it to him and didn’t even bitch about backwash. Though he did have a few choice things to say about the quality of any wine that came in a screw-top bottle.

Then, fortified by a good few gulps of Pinot Grigio, Posy said, ‘Since Lavinia died, apart from when you’ve been insulting everything from my hair to my taste in literature, you’ve been there for me. You’ve helped me, loaned me staff, done all sorts of male bonding and techy things with Sam that I can’t do, and you bought him a whole new wardrobe – though I’m still a bit cross about that. Even that whole business with Lavinia’s sofa was you trying to be nice.’

‘I’m not nice, I’m the rudest man in London,’ Sebastian said defensively. ‘But I couldn’t rest another minute knowing that you risked skewering an internal organ every time you sat down on your old sofa.’

‘Which leads us on to these shenanigans with the shop,’ Posy continued. ‘I get that you thought you were trying to help, that you thought a specialist crime bookshop would be a better business model than a specialist romance bookshop … But, Sebastian, if there’s one thing I know it’s that you can’t have a successful business unless you’re passionate about it. And I am passionate about romance novels. I know the market, I know the readers. And if it does all go horribly wrong – it already has gone horribly wrong – then at least I believed in what I was doing. I went down with a fight.’

‘It hasn’t gone horribly wrong,’ Sebastian said, as he took the bottle she was holding out to him. ‘I won’t ever let that happen. Even if it means I have to buy every last soppy, cloyingly sentimental book in the shop.’

‘There you go again,’ Posy pointed out. ‘Rude and lovely in one sentence. I don’t know how you do it.’

‘Years of practice.’ Sebastian checked himself. ‘Anyway, I’m not lovely. I’m rude. Vile. Horrible. Seducer of virgins and happily married women. Architect of the moral decline of society: that last one was in the Spectator.’

‘Oh, do shut up, Sebastian,’ Posy said. ‘Otherwise my next project will be rebranding you as the Loveliest Man in London.’

‘Don’t go soft on me, Morland,’ Sebastian drawled. Posy was getting rather misty-eyed. Although he drove her absolutely potty, she was rather fond of him. After quite a few gulps of Pinot Grigio, she was fonder still. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever felt quite so fond of him as she did in that moment. It was a relief when Sebastian broke the mood by struggling to his feet. Then he held out his hand. ‘You might as well show me this shop of yours.’

Posy let Sebastian haul her up (though he winced with the effort, but insisted it was because of the after-effects of his fight with Piers) then she gave him the full, guided tour.

It was dark by now, so Posy turned on the rest of the lights and showed Sebastian into the furthest-flung anterooms on the right so he could see what the shelves looked like painted grey, rather than having grey paint flung at them, the names of each section picked out in clover pink. Showed him the boxes and boxes and boxes of books waiting to be shelved. Showed him photos of her vintage display cases, which were still MIA, and the actual stock that would go in them: the candles, cards, notebooks, mugs. Showed him the bookmarks that would be slipped into every book sold and the tote bags and T-shirts. Showed him the tiny bookcase that would house their only crime novels: Dorothy L. Sayers’ Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vine novels, a handful by Margery Allingham and Ngaio Marsh, and a few other select titles. The display table that would always be dedicated to Lavinia’s favourite books, and finally Posy led Sebastian to the doors to the café, which had been cleared out and prepared for painting.

Sebastian had stayed mostly silent the entire time and let Posy talk, though he hadn’t been able to resist teasing her about her obsession with tote bags. Now he looked around the silent, empty shop and said quietly, ‘Not bad. Not bad at all, Morland. I wish I could take more of the credit, but this is all down to you. This is your vision, probably why you insisted on buying those tatty old display cases when you could have got nice new ones, but it does have a certain charm.’

Coming from Sebastian, this was high praise. Posy didn’t know what to do with it, so she ducked her head. ‘Well, the thing is, it’s not going to be finished before the grand opening on Monday. There’s no way. I’ve accepted that, even if I’m not happy about it. If I put my shoulder to the wheel, forget about sleeping, I can get the main room and the rooms on the right done and stocked over the weekend, and everything else will just have to wait.’

Sebastian nodded, and thank God, he didn’t make any smartarse remarks about how Posy went to pieces when he wasn’t around to help. She’d have had to brain him with the wine bottle if that were the case, and just when they’d established a truce too.

Sebastian peered through the glass double doors that led through to the tearoom. ‘What’s happening in here?’

Posy pulled a face. ‘Mattie hopes to open before the end of the school holidays, but we need to get the kitchen up to spec first …’

‘I haven’t been in here since … well, since it was last open.’ Sebastian hadn’t touched her since he’d hauled her up off the floor, but now he took Posy’s hand again. ‘I keep expecting to see Angharad, your mother, suddenly bustle out of the kitchen with a plate of flapjacks.’

They both looked beyond the counter to the kitchen door, but it remained closed. ‘So do I,’ Posy sighed. ‘But no matter how much I wish it, it’s not going to happen.’

Sebastian gave her fingers a squeeze. ‘Like you said, you can’t stay asleep for ever. Lavinia always told me that you simply needed a little more time. It’s been long enough now, Morland, you have to wake up.’

‘Lately, I feel like I’m wide awake.’

‘I never even told you why I came over today,’ Sebastian said, his voice husky as if he were coming down with a cold, or more likely, had inhaled too many paint fumes. ‘It was the piece in The Bookseller. Even though we were on no-speakers, you thanked me. Said I was family. I suppose you see me like an overbearing older brother.’

‘Well, definitely the overbearing part,’ Posy muttered, and she was glad that she was standing in a shadowy spot so he couldn’t see the inevitable flush on her face. Sebastian wasn’t the least bit like a brother to her. You didn’t write Regency smut about men you considered to be an honorary brother. There was wrong, and then there was wrong, wrong, wrong with added bits of wrongness.

Posy steeled herself to look up at Sebastian and he looked down at her. He was silent again, which was always unnerving, and for the life of her, Posy couldn’t think of a single thing to say. They were still holding hands and it was starting to feel awkward. Not exactly awkward but tense, even charged. Posy was suddenly, startlingly aware of her hand when before she’d never given much thought to it just being there on the end of her arm. Now she was terrified it might grow clammy or develop an involuntary twitch and she was on the verge of tugging herself free when Sebastian suddenly let go.

Then he cupped her face and, as her heart started to go pitter-patter, like a Regency lady of good character who’d never known the touch of a man, he pressed his lips to her forehead. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he said.

Posy felt inexplicably shy. ‘It is, isn’t it? I had no idea that you … that I … God, it really is ridiculous. Ludicrous, even.’

Sebastian ruffled her hair in a very big-brotherly and anti-climactic fashion before taking a hasty side-step away. ‘I mean, now that we’re friends again, honorary brother and sister and all that rot, there’s no point in you only getting a half-finished website as well as a half-finished shop. I kept asking and asking Sam if he had the finished artwork. No wonder he was so shifty.’ He gave Posy a disapproving look. ‘I can’t believe you dragged Sam into your subterfuge.’

The tension was broken. Although it seemed the tension had only been one-sided anyway and there was absolutely no reason why Posy should be disappointed. This was Sebastian and he wasn’t the loving kind. He was the shag-them-and-leave-them kind. And, anyway, this was Sebastian! And she was Posy and they were like oil and water, or stripes and polka dots and a whole host of other things that didn’t play well together. Also, he was very rude. He was now clicking his fingers in her face. ‘Stay with me, Morland! Don’t go back to sleep!’

‘Stop it! You’ll have my eye out,’ Posy snapped. ‘And for the record, Sam was appalled with all the subterfuge. I had to use extreme emotional blackmail to stop him from grassing me up.’

‘Good. I’d hate to think that Sam was in league against me too,’ Sebastian said. He clapped his hands together. ‘So, that artwork? Are you going to give it to me sometime before the next Ice Age rolls by?’

‘It’s on one of those USB stick thingies,’ Posy said. ‘Upstairs. I’ll go and get it.’

‘Off you pop then,’ Sebastian said. ‘Judging by the state of your flat, will ten minutes be long enough for you to find it?’

‘I know exactly where it is,’ Posy said, but that was only because Sam had put his foot down and insisted that all thumb drives, USB cables and other computery things must have their own designated drawer.

‘If you’re not back in half an hour, I’ll send up a search party,’ Sebastian warned her.

As Posy marched up the stairs, she still wasn’t sure how they’d moved so quickly from something to absolutely nothing.