A Husband Of Convenience. JACQUELINE BAIRD
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Her mother had died when she was ten, and right now Josie would have given anything to have her mother to talk to.
What she got was dozens of calls all day Saturday, congratulating her on her engagement. On Sunday, when news of Charles’s death appeared in the newspaper, quite a few of the calls congratulated her and then offered condolences too, saying the timing was unfortunate, but could not be helped.
By Monday evening Josie was spitting nails. She had spent a terrible day at work; Zoe had insisted on hearing the whole story, and Josie hated lying. Everyone in the Cheltenham law firm had congratulated her, including Mr Brownlow himself, and she had felt a complete fraud, especially when sympathy for the death of Charles was expressed.
When the doorbell rang at seven-thirty she stormed across the hall and flung open the door, ready to give Conan a blasting.
‘You! I’m surprised you dare show your face,’ she snarled, and almost slammed the door in his face.
‘Is that any way to greet your fiancé?’ Conan mocked. His dark eyes swept over her slender form with studied male appreciation, taking in her flushed, angry face and the tumble of black curls falling around her shoulders. His gaze lingered on her simple red sweater dress that clung to her every curve, then moved down to her shapely legs, to her feet encased in three-inch high-heeled black shoes, and then back to her face. ‘Very nice and very sexy,’ he murmured softly, a slow sensual smile tilting his firm lips.
She had forgotten how dynamic he appeared in the flesh. He exuded a raw animal magnetism which his casually tailored black suede jacket and hip-hugging moleskin trousers seemed designed to enhance. She had always thought him attractive, but tonight, with his black hair tussled by the evening breeze, there was a sense of power about him, a vitality that sent a frisson of fear down her spine.
‘Josie, either ask me in or let’s go.’
She blinked and, lifting her eyes, she caught the amusement lurking in the depths of his. He knew very well she was mad, and thought it funny.
‘Go...? I’d like to tell you where to go! What did you mean—?’ she began.
‘Josie, Josie, please. Not on the doorstep.’ And, brushing past her, he picked up her jacket and purse off the chair where she had placed them, and, with a hand at her back, urged her down the path to where his car was parked. ‘Here, put this on. November nights can be cold.’
She allowed him to slip her jacket over her shoulders and took her purse from his outstretched hand. ‘I want an explanation.’
‘Later.’ He opened the passenger door and gestured for her to get in the car. ‘I don’t believe in arguing and driving at the same time.’ Walking around to the driver’s side, he slid in behind the wheel, and started the engine.
Josie knew what he said made sense, so, silently fuming, she watched him drive the car along numerous country roads until he pulled up outside a small country pub called The White Swan.
‘This is the first pub I had a drink in as a boy,’ Conan remarked, turning in his seat to look at her in the dim light of the small car park. ‘I think you’ll like it; the food is good.’
‘If you say so,’ Josie said grudgingly, and felt for the car door.
‘Wait,’ Conan commanded, and caught her hand in his. ‘Say what you have to before we go inside.’ He was idly stroking her palm with his thumb as he spoke. ‘I have no intention of arguing with you while we eat.’
His touch was sending tiny quivers of sensation over her sensitive flesh and it took a supreme effort of will not to tear her hand away. But she could not afford to show him any sign of weakness. Conan would try any trick in the book to get his own way—and some he had personally invented, Josie was sure.
‘All right. Explain to me how the announcement of our engagement got in the newspaper so fast, and don’t bother lying, because I know.’
‘If you know, why ask?’ he mocked.
‘You know damn well what I mean.’
‘Don’t curse, Josie; I don’t like that in a lady.’
‘Tough, because you’re enough to make a saint curse,’ she shot back.
‘All right, I admit it. My father had prepared the announcement of your engagement to Charles on Thursday. He asked me to deal with it, and I did.’
‘He had no right to,’ Josie snapped, unaware of what she was revealing.
Conan’s hand grasped hers tighter. ‘You didn’t know; he didn’t ask you?’
‘No. Well... What does it matter? You must have changed the name and entered it on Friday morning at the latest, before even asking me. I might have said no.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘That is not the point.’
‘Josie, there is no point.’ Turning her hand over in his, he added, ‘We are engaged; we are to be married in a couple of weeks. Accept the fact and let’s eat.’
Josie was still seething with resentment as he virtually marched her into the pub with his hand at her elbow. She glanced around. It was a typical old coaching inn, all dark oak and low ceilings, a few oak tables and chairs, and along one wall were small dining alcoves. Not the sort of place she would have expected Conan to frequent. But hey! What did she know about pubs? She had a small circle of good friends she socialised with, and if they went for a drink it was usually to a wine bar in Cheltenham. Anyway, Josie wasn’t much of a drinker—except at that fatal party, she thought bitterly.
‘Sit down, Josie, and try to look less like you’re being led to the gallows.’ Conan urged her into a small banquette made for two and slid in beside her.
‘Do you have to sit next to me?’ she snapped. He was crowding her, his long leg resting against hers.
‘In your present mood, yes,’ he bit out. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you to run away.’
‘Well, what do you expect? You had no right to put the announcement in the paper without telling me.’
‘I had every right.’ He turned sideways, his dark eyes narrowed on her mutinous face. ‘Let’s get one thing straight here and now.’ His strong hand grasped hers and lifted it to within inches of her own face.
‘See that ring? That gives me every right and don’t you forget it.’ His savage undertone sent icy fingers of fear walking up her rigid spine.
The gloves were off with a vengeance, Josie thought. The suave sophistication Conan portrayed to the world was a thin veneer to mask the ruthless predator beneath. ‘We are not married yet,’ she snorted inelegantly. But the glitter in his piercing dark eyes sent a shiver of apprehension through her body. ‘Engagements are easily broken,’ she continued. Why she was carrying on baiting him Josie did not know.
His grip on her hand tightened and she had to bite down a whimper of pain. ‘Not this one, lady,’ Conan drawled with silken emphasis on ‘lady.’ ‘No one makes a fool out of me.’
‘You do that perfectly well for yourself!’ Josie snapped back. ‘And let go of my hand.’
‘Well, if it isn’t Conan, my old mate.’ A booming voice interrupted their heated exchange.
Conan ignored her request and glanced across at the man standing at the opposite side of the table.
‘Bootsy!’ he exclaimed. ‘I might have guessed you would still be drinking here.’
Josie looked at the short, red-haired, blue-eyed man who had spoken and then back at Conan, and was surprised to see a smile of genuine pleasure lighting up his rugged features.
‘Not drinking... I own the place. But what about you? I heard on the Beeches bush telegraph that you’re about to be married.’ It was Josie’s turn to get the full power of twinkling blue eyes. ‘And this must be