After her purchases had been rung up and settled into bags the man said, ‘Sure Dermot’s a lucky so-and-so to find a woman like you.’

‘Oh, I’m not his woman! It’s just . . . a business relationship.’ She didn’t want to go into details.

The man laughed. ‘I’ll tell my wife that. She’ll find it very amusing.’

Laura decided not to press the point. She could perfectly understand that the thought of Dermot having a business relationship with any woman younger than Eleanora was a bit hard to credit.

Dermot took the tobacco and the papers from her with a smile that would have melted her heart if it hadn’t already happened. His smile was exceptionally sexy. Knowing that every other woman on the planet would probably share her feelings about this wasn’t encouraging.

‘So,’ he said, putting tobacco into a dark-coloured paper and, having seen it properly disposed, licking the paper and closing it. He didn’t put the cigarette between his lips but just watched Laura, seemingly for ever.

‘So?’ Laura caved in, unable to stand another second of the silence.

‘So was it you who revealed my story to the press?’

She’d known they’d have to have this discussion and felt more or less ready for it. ‘It wasn’t “your story” – it was just the fact that you’d agreed to appear at the festival.’ She was pleased that she sounded so calm. ‘But actually, no, I didn’t. I wouldn’t.’

His narrowed gaze and slightly flared nostrils meant she had to keep up the pretence of calm with slightly more effort. ‘It must have been Eleanora,’ he said, a growl in his voice.

‘No! It wasn’t. And it wasn’t Fenella or Rupert or anyone from the festival. Not even Jacob Stone, who would have dearly loved to shout your name from the rooftops.’ Laura felt a growing sense of irritation. How could he think any of them would do such a thing when they’d promised they wouldn’t? Did he doubt their word?

This evidence of Jacob Stone’s admiration made no impression. ‘It sounds as if you know who it was.’ He was looking as if he might eat her, whole, in one big bite. ‘For God’s sake tell me!’ he demanded.

She was determined not to let his anger faze her. ‘I think it was one of the students,’ she said quietly but steadily. ‘There’s a blog I’m fairly sure was written by one of them.’

‘Who?’

‘Gareth Ainsley.’

‘I’ll kill him,’ he said, standing up, his fist clenched, his face furious.

The piece of internal elastic that had been keeping Laura functioning, doing the right thing, focused on the task in hand, snapped. She turned on him.