Mediterranean Tycoons: Reckless & Ruthless: Husband on Trust / The Greek Tycoon's Revenge / Return of the Moralis Wife. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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come to a private agreement, I shall of course present the evidence of your deception to a court of law.’ A shrug of his broad shoulders, and Marcus’s mouth curled in a cynical smile, apparently registering a supreme masculine indifference either way that made her blood run cold. ‘The decision is yours, but you no longer have until tomorrow. I want your answer tonight.’
Eloise swallowed hard, smoothed the fine fabric of her dress down over her hips with damp palms, and wondered what had happened to the Marcus she had first met. The Marcus who had valued her innocence, and then later the lover who had made her initiation into womanhood a magical experience. Was she really such a dim-wit that, for a few short hours, a few kind words and sweet caresses, she forgot what life had taught her? Men could be swine, and worse…
She would never make the same mistake again. Imperceptibly her shoulders straightened, and the ability to disguise her inner thoughts, developed with years of practice, slid back into place in her mind, like a steel trap door closing. She had vowed once never to trust another man as long as she lived, and for a brief space of time she had forgotten, but never again.
‘What’s it to be, Eloise?’
‘First I want to see the so-called proof,’ she demanded quietly and shivered at the cold implacability in his saturnine features.
‘The evidence is at my apartment, ten minutes’ drive away.’ His arm closed firmly around her shoulders. ‘We can continue this conversation better there, I’m sure you will agree.’
He had an apartment in Paris? Why not? A hysterical laugh fluttered in her throat. The man had everything. Marcus was a powerful, ruthless operator, a legend in the financial markets. Where lesser men made the occasional loss, what he had he kept, be it money, women or property. His nature was obviously possessive; he was a taker, not a giver.
But, held close to him, she could smell the faint musky masculine scent of him, and her traitorous skin heated where he touched. Dear heaven, if he did but know it, he could have had her and everything she was and owned for the asking three months ago—but not any more, she thought with the glimmer of an ironic smile as she agreed. She, more than most, did not appreciate being manipulated by a man—any man…
The apartment was small, more a pied-à-terre, tucked away at the top of one of the classic Napoleon-styled buildings overlooking the Seine. It was clearly designed with a bachelor in mind. A living room that was elegantly furnished and with what looked like a selection of original cartoons displayed on one wall, probably worth more than the apartment. A tiny kitchen area, obviously not meant to be used for anything other than making coffee or heating up a croissant for breakfast. A closed door led to what Marcus indicated was the bedroom, with an en-suite shower and toilet.
Eloise walked over to the ornate dormer window, and looked at the glittering lights reflected with the moonlight on the dark waters of the Seine, and wondered by what trick of fate she had ended up in this mess.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Marcus asked, standing much too close.
Eloise spun around. ‘No. I want your so-called proof and an explanation fast,’ she flashed back, disturbed by the intimacy of the place. ‘It’s not every day one is accused of being a thief.’
‘So be it.’ She watched as Marcus crossed to a desk in one corner. He opened a drawer, took out a folder, and placed it on the desk, and then laid a document on top. Switching on a desk lamp, he straightened up. ‘Feel free to peruse them at your leisure,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘I need a drink.’
Eloise marched across to the desk, and picked up the document and read the first line. She raked a shaking hand through her hair forgetting her elaborate coronet of curls, in the process. It appeared to be a contract between Chloe Baker, her late mother, and Theo Toumbis, selling Theo a half share in Chloe’s latest business venture in designer jewellery for five hundred thousand pounds—“Eloise By Design,” to be situated in London.
Slowly, with mounting horror, she read on and there at the foot of the page were the three signatures to the contract: Chloe Baker, Theo Toumbis, and last Eloise Baker.
Eloise stared, transfixed. It was an excellent copy of her handwriting, but in fact it wasn’t even her real surname.
‘I never signed this.’ She cast a wild look over her shoulder at Marcus. ‘You must believe me, I have never seen it before. My name is Smith,’ she cried.
‘So, five years ago you were not masquerading as Chloe’s sister, you were not on Rykos, and you know nothing about the contract?’ he drawled sardonically. ‘Please spare me the lies. I was there, remember?’
‘No, yes—no.’ Eloise glanced back down at the paper in her hand. ‘Chloe must have forged my signature,’ she murmured in stricken disbelief at her mother’s deceit, and her heart sank as she realised the futility of trying to explain.
Marcus was right; she had been acting as Chloe’s sister on the island. A good lawyer would make mincemeat of her claim to be innocent of any knowledge of the affair. She let the document flutter from her hand to the desk and in the process saw the blue folder.
‘Oh, no!’ she exclaimed, wide eyed with horror she stared at the folder. She knew exactly what it contained before she even opened it. But she made herself open it. She had to have her worst fear confirmed.
‘Oh, yes, Eloise.’ Marcus appeared at her side, and handed her a crystal glass. ‘I think you might need this now,’ he said with a grim smile.
She took the glass and took a hasty swallow. Brandy or whisky, she wasn’t sure—but, coughing violently, she brushed past Marcus and slid down onto the sofa in a movement singularly lacking in grace. The glass clasped in her hand, every vestige of colour drained from her face, and not even the alcohol could replace it. How could her own mother have done that to her?
Not only had Chloe forged her signature on the contract, the folder contained a copy of the project Eloise had completed for college. The only difference was Chloe had named herself as architect of the plan instead of Eloise. It was a complex business plan including the costings and all the design work, publicity etc, in setting up Eloise By Design, aimed at the top end of the market. It had been Eloise’s ambition and dream career. She had received top marks for the assignment.
Later, when Chloe had appeared and Eloise had rather shyly shown her prize-winning project to her mother, she’d been thrilled when for the first time in her life Chloe had taken an interest in what she was studying. Chloe had told her she was very talented, very clever, and she was very proud of her. Naturally, when her mother asked if she could keep it as a memento, Eloise had said yes.
She took another mouthful of the fiery spirit; she needed it. Never in a million years would it have crossed Eloise’s mind that her mother would use her assignment as a means to get money out of a man. But, from the little she had seen, that appeared to be exactly what her mother had done. Reeling with shock and the cringing sense of shame and humiliation she felt at her mother’s actions, she drained the glass in her hand.
The alcohol kicking in, Eloise leant back against the high-backed sofa, and closed her eyes for a second, the enormity of her mother’s deception almost impossible to bear. Slowly she opened her eyes, and cast a covert look at Marcus beneath the shadow of her long lashes. He had shed his jacket and tie, and his shirt lay open at his tanned throat. He was leaning negligently against the fireplace, twirling a glass of whisky in one hand, as though he had not a care in the world.
Well, bully for him, she thought bitterly, aggression taking over from humiliation. Marcus was not getting away with blaming her. ‘So my mother apparently conned your uncle into investing in a mythical company. Big deal! That was his mistake.’ And she offered a grudging explanation, though she did not think the arrogant jerk deserved it. ‘As for the business plan she used, yes, it was mine. My end of year’s assignment at art college, nothing more. My mother kept it as a memento. But KHE is not the same company, and your uncle’s problem has nothing to do with me,’ Eloise declared defiantly and, picking up her purse, she stood up. ‘And given they are both dead I very much doubt the dead can sue anyone,’ she ended