Wedding-Night Baby

“Did you ever intend telling me?” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN Copyright

“Did you ever intend telling me?”

“It’s none of your business,” Georgina said stubbornly.

“My child is none of my business?” His blue eyes glittered ferociously.

“Biologically you’re the father,” she admitted hoarsely. “But your part was over a long time ago. What we had was casual; a brief moment of madness.”

Callum’s head jerked as though she’d struck him. “You can’t really think I’m willing to let you deny me contact with my child?”

“I want this child and you’re not going to take him from me!”

KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in rural Anglesey, Wales. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing. It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons and the various stray animals that have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!

Kim Lawrence is a bright new talent in Harlequin Presents^®. She loves creating strong, sexy heroes and spirited, lively heroines to tame them!

Look out for future books by Kim in Presents.

Wedding-Night Baby

Kim Lawrence

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

GEORGINA TRIED the deep-crowned straw hat once more before discarding it in favour of the cream silk creation which looked for all the world like an oversized mushroom. It did amazingly kind things to her heart-shaped face. She was experimenting with tucking her long chestnut hair into the crown when the doorbell rang. Apprehension shadowed the clear depths of her thickly fringed hazel eyes.

This would be him! With a deep breath that was meant to go some way towards making her appear calm and collected, she went to answer the door of her flat. She opened the door with a flourish, but as her eyes travelled upwards to the face of the man on her threshold her studied smile faltered and died, to be replaced by a frown that drew her dark, well-defined brows into a straight line.

There had to be some mistake! Her heart sank as she took in the teak-skinned, hawkish face; this wasn’t what she had been expecting at all! How would this creature conduct himself at a social function? He hardly looked house-trained! And besides, he wasn’t even wearing morning dress, after she had specifically stated... She’d never believe any recommendation of Bea’s again!

Indignation made her draw herself up to her full, but unimpressive, height. Just for a split second she had had the strangest notion she had seen him before, which was absurd, of course—this wasn’t the sort of man a person forgot! Not the sort of man she needed at all. But the odd electrical spasm of recognition that had prickled along her nerve fibres was too definite to ignore totally. Rather than analyse the disconcerting sensation, she found it easier to concentrate on the aggravation his physical appearance might well cause her.

‘Miss Campion...?’ She noted with some indignation that the tall stranger looked almost as taken aback as she felt. His blue eyes were running over her pink suit with a bemused expression. The narrowing of those eyes was a frown without any other movement of his rock-hard features; this was probably as near to disconcerted as his features went.

Suddenly she wished she’d opted for a longer skirt-length, and whilst she had thought at the time that combining pink with her hair was a statement meant to break down stereotypical colour co-ordination it now seemed a major error. This was foolish, because aside from the fact that all her hair was concealed a man in his line of work who didn’t even possess morning dress was no great arbiter of good taste.

‘I asked for tails,’ she informed him sternly. The blue eyes blinked, but he didn’t exactly look stricken by this information. ‘Still, it is optional and that suit isn’t too bad,’ she admitted grudgingly; the fabric and cut made it almost appear a designer creation, though his long-limbed body would probably make most things look better than average. Her eyes travelled the length of his body and she swallowed—a lot better, she conceded grudgingly. Common sense told her that a man who made his living this way couldn’t run to designer labels. ‘You’d better come in.’

‘You are Miss Georgina Campion?’ He was very tall, she realised as he ducked to avoid a low light-fitting in her tiny hallway. His voice was gravelly, deep and held a vague twang which she couldn’t immediately identify; it was slight and she couldn’t place it.

She felt flustered and ill at ease as she confirmed her identity. His composure was a stark contrast as he looked around curiously—but then, she reminded herself, for him this was a commonplace situation. No wonder he seemed remarkably at ease. Still, all the better if he was professional, she told herself soothingly.

‘Have we met before?’ The frown returned to his penetrating eyes and the query had a vaguely accusing note to it.

‘I have the sort of face that reminds people of their distant cousins,’ she said, realising with a start that her instantaneous reaction had not been unilateral. Unless, of course, this was the man’s clumsy attempt at being agreeable. It didn’t seem likely; nothing else about him suggested that he was going out of his way to be more than basically polite. ‘Under the circumstances you’d better make it Georgina. My family call me Georgie, but I hate it,’ she warned him sharply.

‘Anyone would,’ he observed in a soothing manner. A slight spasm around his mouth seemed to indicate that he found this admission amusing. ‘Georgina is a charming name.’

She viewed the gravity in his face with suspicion but only gave a small grunt in reply. ‘Come in. I’ve left your buttonhole in the fridge. If we don’t get a move on we’ll be late.’

She fetched the white carnation from its resting place and returned to her sitting room to find her escort casually flicking through her books. He glanced up as she entered. With him beside her she was certainly going to be conspicuous, she decided, not sure whether this was desirable or not.

‘I suppose, under the circumstances, I’d better know your name,’ she said, handing him the flower and pinning on her own corsage of delicate Singapore orchids.

‘It’s Callum.’ Struggling with her corsage, she didn’t see the sudden decisive narrowing of his alert eyes. ‘Callum... Smith,’ he finished smoothly, moving forward as she pricked her finger with the pin. The minor manipulation of the truth didn’t cause him any qualms.

Despite the jet lag and the will-reading he’d had to attend Callum suddenly felt less tired. He had already decided that Miss Georgina Campion must be an unusually astute young woman. The size of the personal bequest which his uncle had left instructions for him to deliver personally made that much obvious, but she wasn’t what he’d expected at all.

It might be worth his while finding out what it was about her that the old fox, Oliver, had found so appealing—beyond the obvious, he thought with a cynical twist to his lips. He didn’t actually begrudge her the money, just the way she’d got it.

So far the trip hadn’t gone as smoothly as he’d anticipated. He had hoped to find an heir apparent already installed on his uncle’s throne. It had become immediately obvious to him that this wasn’t so. He was irritated that he would have to spend more time in London than he had originally intended. He wasn’t anxious to become embroiled in business which didn’t interest him.

Since he’d got here he’d found the same name cropping up, first of all at the solicitor’s and then once again when he’d reached Mallory’s. It was highly suspect that she seemed to be the only person privy to essential information. Coming face to face with his uncle’s lady-friend had been something of a shock, but he wasn’t about to be misled by a pair of wide eyes and an air of innocence.

‘Let me,’ he offered smoothly, taking the flowers from her fingers. Her youth and innocent appearance must have appealed to an elderly though still robust man. No doubt she knew exactly how to manipulate all her advantages, he thought, distaste filling him as he smiled brilliantly. His interest was piqued—more than piqued, if he was honest.

How his family and friends would stare if they knew he was ready to act on impulse and embark on this bizarre blind date—Callum Stewart, whose behaviour was always governed by cool, clear logic. He justified his actions by telling himself he’d find out more about her if she didn’t view him as a danger.

Georgina stuck her bleeding thumb in her mouth and remained stationary whilst he fixed her corsage against the bodice of her jacket. It was the sort of top that was meant to be worn with nothing underneath, and whilst the neckline was respectable the deep V did hint at the cleavage it only just concealed. Georgina wished she knew just what those blue eyes could see with the advantage of height.

‘There, all done.’ He took a step back, not lingering over his task. The waft of his breath on her cheek was warm and fragrant and the tip of his forefinger as it grazed her neck felt slightly calloused, although his long, shapely fingers were neatly manicured. Georgina was annoyed to find she’d been holding her breath whilst the task was accomplished.

Hiring an escort for the day suddenly seemed a less sensible decision than it had before she’d actually met him. Callum Smith wasn’t the sort of man she had wanted at all. Beneath the well-cut suit was a body that looked lethally powerful. He looked quite out of place in the suburban setting—impressive, but not at all domesticated. The strong-boned face was in no way pretty but it was fiercely commanding, with all the confidence and hauteur of a hawk.

She gave herself a mental shake. Hawk indeed! She was being fanciful; the tan was probably nothing more than overexposure to a sunbed, and the impressive build the result of many narcissistic hours in a gym, pumping iron.

He was what she’d got, and he’d have to do for the day. All that stark, unrelenting masculinity was going to be tough to take for an entire day; she preferred a slightly more subdued appeal in her men.

Not that I actually have any, she reminded herself stoically, ignoring the emotional tightening in her throat as she acknowledged her solitary state.

‘I don’t suppose you have a car. We’ll use mine,’ she added as he didn’t contradict her. ‘We should start now; I have to nurse her on the motorway,’ she explained, gathering her handbag.

‘Where are we going?’

She shot him an exasperated look. ‘To my cousin’s wedding in Somerset. Doesn’t that agency tell you anything?’ she grumbled. She was being freshly assailed by doubts about this scheme. Bea had been so convincing and she had scoffed at Georgina’s rather prim enquiries as to how respectable these escorts were. Georgina had wanted to make it quite clear at the outset that all she wanted was a piece of window-dressing for one day.

‘Maybe you should go over the details just in case they’ve forgotten anything else,’ he suggested as he followed her down the steps she shared with the four other tenants of the old Edwardian semi.

‘I probably should,’ Georgina agreed. The battered Beetle was where she had left it in the shared parking space. About to duck in through the door, she thought better of the operation and took off her hat, laying it carefully on the rear seat. ‘It’s open,’ she told her companion, who was staring, quite rudely, at her hair. It was thick and glossy, a deep shade of russet, her best asset—her only asset, she sometimes thought. It fell, river-straight and glossy, to her waist.

With ill-concealed amusement she watched him attempt to fold his long, lean frame into the passenger seat.

‘Doesn’t this blasted thing adjust?’ he asked as he finally managed to squash himself in. ‘No wonder you leave it open; no one in their right mind would steal this death trap.’

‘It did adjust once, but it’s stuck. You’d better put your seat belt on; I wouldn’t want your neck on my conscience. If it’s any comfort I have a legitimate MOT.’ What was he used to—chauffeur-driven limousines?

‘You’ll have more than my neck on your conscience if I have to travel far in this thing. Couldn’t you get a cab?’

She laughed as she started the engine. ‘All the way to Somerset? I’m not made of money. Don’t worry,’ she added, in case he got the wrong idea. ‘I can pay your fee.’

‘I’m relieved,’ he observed drily. ‘I could drive,’ he added tensely as she negotiated a bend.

‘I wouldn’t have thought you could afford to be chauvinistic in your line of work,’ she shot back, ruffled at the implied criticism of her driving. Then, in case she’d wounded his feelings, she added, ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with your line of work.’

Work of any sort was hard enough to come by these days. Perhaps the man had family responsibilities, or he was out of work. Casting a sidelong glance at his profile, she had to admit he didn’t look like someone harassed by domestic detail. She was anxious in case she’d sounded prudish and judgemental.

‘Have you used the agency often?’ he enquired casually.

‘Never before, but my friend Bea has several times. Lots of women are too busy to have a relationship and certain social occasions can be uncomfortable without a male escort.’ She darted a glare at her companion, daring him to contradict her, uncomfortably aware that she was trying to convince herself as much as him.

The blue eyes were fixed on her profile and she swiftly averted her gaze to the road, finding the intensity of the startling blue glare disorientating.

‘I’m sure you’re right, but I doubt if that state of affairs would continue for long... You’re a very attractive lady.’

Georgina gritted her teeth. ‘I’m sure you have a very nice line in insincere compliments,’ she hissed, ‘but I’d like to make it quite clear that I require an attentive, presentable escort, nothing more.’

‘Just an observation.’ He’d seen more attractive women, known truly beautiful women, experienced instant attraction and sometimes done something about it, but never before had he experienced such an immediate and urgent desire to touch, to claim a woman in a profoundly primal way.

This visceral reaction had been triggered by the briefest touching of eyes. The muscles in his belly still contracted as he recalled the blind bondage of that fleeting instant before his brain had started to function with its usual clarity. Callum frowned; he had every intention of keeping his hormones in check.

Georgina made a disgruntled sound of disbelief in her throat. She’d have to make it quite clear from the outset that she was not some pathetic female who had to hire a man to flatter her. He was window-dressing and he’d better remember it, she thought grimly.

‘What’s your cousin’s name? I really should have a little background information, to make things look realistic. I have my reputation to think of,’ he observed reasonably, entering into the spirit of the thing.

‘Harriet She’s marrying a solicitor, Alex Taylor, who, as you’ll no doubt hear, dumped me about eighteen months ago.’ Chin high, she crunched her gears noisily at a junction. ‘Hence the need for an attentive escort. You, Mr Smith, are a face-saving device,’ she told him, making a clean breast of the matter. In one way it was a relief to have someone she didn’t have to keep up appearances with; it didn’t matter what Callum Smith thought of her.

‘You couldn’t take all the sympathetic glances and whispers? ’ He was silently congratulating himself on his decision to follow his instincts where this woman was concerned. She didn’t feel obliged to employ any artifice with him; he was only the hired help. If she knew who he was he would be seeing quite a different picture; of that he was sure.

‘Precisely,’ she replied, relieved he was quick on the uptake. ‘I suppose you’ve been in similar situations before.’

‘Not precisely like this,’ he observed truthfully. ’But I’m quite resourceful,’ he added with almost languid confidence as she cast him a look of alarm.

‘I hope so,’ she said fervently.

‘Couldn’t you have got a friend to help you out today?’

‘Meaning I don’t have any friends or I wouldn’t have resorted to hiring you?’

’Now there’s an interesting thought.’

Georgina flicked him a brief, fulminating glare before gritting her teeth. ‘I come from a small village where the fact that my cousin is marrying provides hours of entertainment. I don’t want to expose a friend to that sort of curiosity. I need someone who can disappear without trace. Someone presentable, but—’

‘Forgettable?’

She grudgingly nodded her agreement. ‘You’ll stick out like a sore thumb,’ she complained, her mobile mouth pursing as she considered her ill luck.

‘Why’s that?’ he enquired, evincing interest.

‘We’ve had about two days’ insipid sun so far this summer; you look too tanned,’ she said critically. The fact was that he was far too arresting to fade into the background, but she wasn’t about to feed his ego; she felt sure he knew perfectly well what she meant. Under normal circumstances a man like him wouldn’t be seen with a girl as ordinary as her. ‘Don’t you know sunbeds are bad for the skin? Skin cancer!’ she elaborated darkly.

‘I’m touched by your concern but I’ve been working overseas, outdoors.’

‘Manual work?’ That would explain the splendid physique.

‘Don’t worry, it’s not catching.’

The disdain in his voice made her flush angrily. ‘I don’t give a damn if you’re an itinerant labourer or a brain surgeon so long as you don’t blow this for me. There’s nothing wrong with manual work.’

‘I feel better already.’

‘I’m glad one of us does,’ she said grimly. She’d had enough of the objectionable Callum Smith and the day had hardly begun!

CHAPTER TWO

THE VILLAGE CHURCH was the same one in which she had imagined herself walking down the aisle with Alex, and now she’d have to smilingly watch her cousin make that journey she’d so longed for. I don’t care any more, she told herself firmly as the constricting waves of emotion rose to suffocate her. She had no intention of wallowing in self-pity even though the temptation was strong.

She started as Callum held the door open for her; she hadn’t noticed him get out of the car.

‘Thank you, Mr Smith,’ she said, ignoring his outstretched hand.

‘I think you’d better make that Callum, in the interests of authenticity,’ he observed drily. ‘Don’t forget the hat.’ Slightly narrowed eyes had taken in at a glance all the tiny details of stress in the face of the girl beside him. She was hiding it well, but the tautness about her mouth and the rigidity of her usually mobile features gave away the inner turmoil. He found his eyes strangely reluctant to leave her slightly parted pink lips.

Flustered and mildly resentful because he appeared to be taking charge, Georgina grabbed the silky mushroom and crammed it on her head, tucking strands of her hair into the crown. ‘How’s that?’

‘You missed a bit.’ He took hold of a strand that had slithered down her neck and slid it under the fabric rim, recalling as he did so that he’d heard her referred to as ‘Miss Efficiency’ in scornful tones very recently. At the moment she looked very young and quite appalling vulnerable. Was that how she’d got to the old fox? he wondered cynically.

His fingers were very long, Georgina noticed as she gave a small, delicate shiver. The slight touch of faintly calloused fingertips against her throat was distracting, though not exactly unpleasant, she conceded. In fact, it was quite nice to be distracted from the ordeal ahead. ‘Charming. I’m sure the groom will be consumed with regret,’ he said, his lips twisting cynically.

‘I really couldn’t give a damn,’ she said haughtily. The implied criticism made her bristle defensively.

‘What a little trouper.’ The mockery was even more apparent this time, but before she had time to put him firmly in his place she found that one of his arms had snaked around her waist, his dark, tanned face was close to her own, and he was laughing huskily as though she’d just said something wildly witty.

‘What the...?’

‘Wedding guests at ten o’clock, closing fast,’ he hissed close to her ear. For good measure he nibbled said orifice. For some reason her eyes closed and a shiver went right down to her toes.

Blinking, she stared into the intense blue eyes. Deep tramlines radiated from the corners, and his lashes, whilst dark and thick, were straight. They weren’t just arresting eyes; they gave the impression of intelligence and humour, and a certain implacability shone clearly in the azure depths. He wasn’t just a physically overpowering person; intellectually, even on the briefest of acquaintances, he gave the impression of being a force to be reckoned with.

Escort could not have been the first choice of career for him. What personal circumstances had reduced him...? It’s none of my business, she told herself, closing this line of speculation as a familiar voice broke her trance.

‘Georgie, is that you, darling? I didn’t recognise you. Did you, George? We were just talking about you...so brave. Still, better to find out these things early on.’

Georgina bit her lip as she nodded placidly at this trite observation. ‘Aunt Helen, Uncle George,’ she said quietly. The arm around her waist was suddenly very welcome. ‘This is Callum,’ she said triumphantly, much with the manner of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. But there the similarity ended. If Callum was to be likened to anything in the animal kingdom he was much more like a large, sleek, predatory cat.

Callum took the scrutiny of her relations in his stride. In fact, he seemed to have adopted a certain air of authority that made them look away first.

‘I meet some of Georgina’s relations at last,’ he said, enveloping her uncle’s hand in a grip that made the older man wince slightly. The kiss he planted on her aunt’s cheek made her blush and look as flustered as any teenager. ‘Charming church,’ he observed, glancing at the square stone building. ‘Norman, isn’t it?’ He took Georgina’s hand and intertwined his fingers with her own. ‘Am I speaking to the parents of the blushing bride?’

‘Indeed you are,’ Georgina agreed, bringing forth her very best not-a-care-in-the-world smile.

Blushing bride! Her dear cousin was far too hard-baked ever to blush. Harriet had awaited her opportunity and stalked Alex with all the cunning and guile of a jungle animal. Georgina had always known her cousin coveted her boyfriend. It was the fact that her unassailable belief that Alex would never even look at another woman had been proved false that made her inwardly cringe. Had she ever been that naive? When it came to the crunch he’d done a lot more than look!

But it’s useless to go over old ground, she told herself as she felt the familiar sensation of impotent fury rise. With my family history I should have known better. Well, I do know better now, she thought, her chin lifting.

Callum held the lych-gate to the churchyard open and waited for the older couple to pass through. ‘Smile,’ he hissed as they followed, still hand in hand. ‘You look like you’re on your way to the scaffold,’ he added.

Georgina’s eyes glittered with wrath and she struggled to withdraw her fingers. ‘I thought you were here to butter me up?’ she breathed angrily. This man had forgotten his passive role very thoroughly. He had no right to make personal comments.

He stopped in his tracks and jerked her around to face him. ‘I didn’t think you liked insincere compliments?’

‘I’m not too keen on insults either.’

‘I have my professional pride to consider,’ he told her gravely. ‘I would appreciate a little co-operation. Unless you relish the role of early Christian martyr?’

This question made her bite her lip. He was right, of course. She had to act a part in order to salvage her battered pride. ‘I’m not a professional,’ she reminded him. ‘And I find it strange...your being a total stranger.’

‘Live your part, Georgina; we’re a hot item,’ he contradicted her. His lips brushed hers, gently, but with a confident familiarity. ‘I thought all girls could fake it?’ His lips quirked in a deeply cynical smile.

‘I’m sure the girls you know can,’ she responded acidly. ‘Do you think you could limit that sort of authenticity to the basic minimum?’ she added, drawing away, her colour noticeably heightened. She summoned a distracted but brilliant smile for the usher, a boy she’d known since school.

‘Georgie?’ he said, a note of doubt in his voice. He flushed as she gave him a quizzical look, and continued hurriedly, ‘Bride or groom? Silly question; you’d hardly be with the groom, would you?’ The expression of ludicrous dismay that spread over his face made Georgina feel almost sympathetic.

‘We’ll find our own way, thank you, Jim,’ she said crisply, sweeping past him. ‘That’s my mother,’ she said to the man beside her in a hushed undertone as they entered the dim, ecclesiastical atmosphere of the old building. She nodded in the general direction of one of the front pews.

‘Pink hat?’ Callum had bent his head to catch her hissed words.

Georgina nodded. ‘We’ll clash marvellously; she’ll be furious,’ she observed fatalistically. ‘I should have known; Mother’s a pink sort of person.’ She led him selfconsciously to the front of the church.

‘Georgie, what possessed you to wear pink with your hair?’ Lydia Campion was a beautiful woman whose stern features had been softened by the years. As always she looked stunningly elegant. Georgina knew she could never achieve that degree of polish—the lie of the silk scarf, the tilt of the chin. To Lydia it was as simple as breathing; to her it took hours of painstaking consideration, and even then she was only halfway there.

Georgina shot her companion a tiny I-told-you-so look, before sitting down on the pew.

‘Mrs Campion, I have to take full responsibility for the outfit. Georgina was humouring me.’

The look of shock on her mother’s face as Callum, all eighteen-carat charm and charisma, bent forward across her and extended his hand made Georgina, despite the gravity of her situation, want to giggle. This was not the type of man her mother or anyone else expected good old Georgie to be with. For the first time since she’d seen Callum Smith she felt that her decision to employ a little face-saving artifice had been justified. Might as well utilise his slightly dangerous air for what it was worth. She was the only one to know how fake the glamour was.

‘He’s colour-blind,’ Georgina added with a faint quiver in her voice.

This frivolous comment earned her a swift frown from her parents. ‘Who is this, Georgina? Where are your manners?’

‘This is Callum Sm—’

‘Delighted to meet you, Mrs Campion.’

‘Do call me Lydia. You’re a friend of Georgie’s? She is so secretive.’

‘A little more than that, eh, sweetheart?’ Callum’s impossibly deep blue gaze was fixed on her face with teasing affection. The warm, rich, bitter-chocolate tones just hinted at unspoken intimacies. He was so incredibly convincing that she found herself blushing deeply.

At that moment a figure on the periphery of her vision rose from the row of pews just opposite her. Her head turned as if pulled by invisible strings and her stomach muscles clenched painfully.

The first time she’d seen him she’d been blind to everything else, but now she was uncomfortably conscious of the man beside her. Disturbingly she wanted to turn her head and look at him. The memory of the fleeting sensation she’d experienced when she’d first seen him washed over her. Had Alex ever made her feel like that? What a ridiculous time to admit how physically attractive she found her escort, she told herself crossly.

Alex was an extremely good-looking young man, tallish, athletic. His features were regular, his expression sincere and forthright. The teeth were standard toothpaste-advert stuff and his naturally blond hair was highlighted with exquisite restraint.

The loss and bitterness she felt were suddenly physical. When Alex’s eyes passed over her without any sign of recognition she didn’t know whether to be glad or devastated. The city gloss she’d worked hard to achieve obviously worked. Pity she was still the same girl underneath the expensive clothes and make-up.

The large hand that suddenly clasped her jaw woke her from the short, intense abstraction. As her head turned life flowed back into her body, and it hurt, like icy fingers when the circulation in them began to move once more. ‘I take exception when a woman with me looks at another man like a drooling idiot.’ Low, conversational, his words made her blink. His face had come in close, the whole incident having the appearance of intimacy.

‘How dare you?’ she spat. The arrogance of the man was breathtaking. ‘So long as you’re paid, it’s no concern of yours what I do. Don’t get carried away with your role,’ she advised tartly. She felt humiliated at being caught out in the sort of behaviour she’d sworn to herself she’d not indulge in. Her anger, perfectly logically, was aimed at the only person who’d noticed her momentary weakness and who had had the tasteless effrontery to mention the fact.

‘It’s a waste of time to spend money on a love-struck swain if you behave with the discretion of an adolescent. Why should I waste my time and effort to act the lover if you aren’t going to co-operate?’