The Marriage Proposition. Sara Craven
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Ensuring work took her far away, to the other end of the country, on the infrequent occasions when he was due to stay at the house.
‘You could make more of an effort,’ Toby had grumbled on the last occasion. ‘It means Denise has to entertain him, and he scares her witless.’
That, Paige thought scathingly, mentally reviewing her sister-in-law’s vacant blue eyes and pouting ever-present smile, would not incur a great deal of effort on Nick’s part.
She had said crisply, ‘She’s the wife of the managing director, Toby. It comes with the territory.’
‘But she doesn’t understand what’s going on. Why you’re never around.’
And with very good reason, Paige had supplemented silently. Total discretion had been insisted on from both sides when the original deal was struck. However, it was tacitly acknowledged in the family that Toby’s wife was an airhead who could gossip for Britain. One whisper of the raison d’être for Paige’s unconventional marriage and she would be up and running with the story.
She had said, ‘Well, I’m sure you can come up with some plausible explanation, brother dear. Because there’s no way I’m going to share a roof with Nick just to protect Denise’s sensibilities.’ She’d paused. ‘And Nick would be no more keen to spend time in my company, believe me.’
And she’d spoken no more than the truth. She was sure of it. So why had he sought her out tonight? she asked herself with shaken bewilderment. Implied the things that he had? She’d kept the terms of their agreement meticulously, yet now, with freedom in sight, Nick appeared to be about to chuck a spanner into the works.
Except she wouldn’t allow it to happen. And being a member of the Harrington board wasn’t necessarily a job for life. Anyone could be voted off. And just because that had never happened, no guarantee was offered that it never would. If the company could just find an alternative source of financing, she thought broodingly, Maitland Destry might be history.
Back at Les Roches, she accepted Angie’s concerned offer of paracetamol, and went up to her room.
Most of her packing was actually already done, she thought, looking around her with a critical eye. And what was left could wait until the morning. So she might as well take a shower and get an early night.
She walked over to the dressing table and sat down wearily, pushing back her hair. It was a pale, strained face looking back at her, she realised with a sigh, then tensed, her hand flying to her throat, as she realised her pearl pendant was missing.
She groaned under her breath.
I must have snapped the chain when I was fiddling with it on the beach, she thought, distressed. Something else to hate Nick for.
Sadly, she unhooked the drops from her ears. Pearls were supposed to symbolise tears, weren’t they? she thought. Maybe the loss of her necklace was a signal to her not to waste any more time in mourning for the past.
From now on she would look forward, not back. And she’d kickstart the new regime with a good night’s sleep, she told herself, biting her lip.
But that was altogether easier said than done. The air in the room was hot and heavy, defeating even the efforts of the ceiling fan, and Paige found herself tossing and turning, trying to find a cool place on the bed, her gown adhering clammily to her skin.
For the first time she was glad to be going home. Nick’s arrival had ruined everything, and she could only be thankful that he’d turned up at the end of her holiday rather than the beginning.
‘I haven’t finished with you.’ Those had been his words, so there was every chance that he might come looking for her again. And it was only a fleeting satisfaction to know that he wouldn’t find her. Not this time.
St Antoine was not big enough for both of them, she told herself with bitter humour. But back in Britain there would be more places to hide. And backup from the rest of the family. Her father, in particular, had always been uneasy about this unholy alliance, so she could count on his support if Nick started making a nuisance of himself.
But it’s all my own fault, she thought bleakly. I should never have got involved in the first place. Should have dismissed the idea of such a marriage as madness. And to hell with family solidarity.
Nor should she have allowed herself to be sweet-talked into taking her current job. She’d been happy where she was. She’d had a life. Whereas now all she seemed to be doing was sorting out one mess after another.
That was two strikes, she reminded herself grimly. She’d have to make damned sure there wasn’t a third.
Sighing, Paige turned on to her back and stared up at the ceiling.
She needed to get back into control, and fast. But it was the sheer unexpectedness of the thing that had thrown her. Looking up—and seeing Nick’s face in the crowd.
Reminding her, painfully, of the first time she’d ever seen him. It was one of the memories she’d tried so hard to suppress, she thought wretchedly, yet there it was, taunting her. As vivid in her brain as if it had happened yesterday. Or even—tonight.
It had been a hen party. One of the girls on the magazine had just got engaged, and a few of them had arranged to meet in a local wine bar to celebrate the august event. Paige had had some work to finish, so she’d arrived last to find the other three well ahead of her on champagne, flushed, slightly rowdy, and looking for mischief.
‘We’re scoring the local talent out of ten,’ Becky declared loudly. ‘So far none of them have risen above two.’ She giggled. ‘And half of them look as if they couldn’t rise at all.’
Paige groaned inwardly. This was clearly not going to be her kind of evening, but she was there, and for Lindsay’s sake she was going to make the best of it.
Already their corner table was attracting a certain amount of attention from the bar’s predominantly male clientele—some amused, some predatory, and some definitely contemptuous.
And, of those, one in particular stood out. He was at the long bar counter with another man. He was tall, and very dark, impeccable in his City suit. An interesting face, too, all planes and angles, with a cool sardonic mouth. Yet it wasn’t his looks, Paige thought, touching the tip of her tongue to suddenly dry lips. Not altogether. There was something about him, not easily defined, which would always draw the eye wherever he was. A sense of power. Of a control that was almost tangible even across the crowded room.
None of which took into account the evident disdain in the hooded glance being aimed at Paige and her companions. But even as she registered what was going on his gaze switched suddenly, making her momentarily the sole focus of his attention, then, as she felt her throat muscles tightening involuntarily, he looked away, his entire stance registering complete and utter indifference.
As she choked back a gasp, Paige felt a nudge from Becky. ‘Who’s your haughty friend?’
Paige shrugged. ‘You tell me.’ She made a business of picking up her glass and sipping from it.
‘Well, he’s the best of a bad bunch.’ Becky pulled a face. ‘God, what a deathly place.’
‘Let’s lighten it up, then.’ Rhona, blonde and chirpy, filled all their flutes to the brim again. ‘On the count of three we empty our glasses, and the last one to finish does a forfeit. How’s that?’
Paige groaned inwardly. She couldn’t even drink water at speed, so she was bound to lose, but it was clear that if she objected she’d be the only dissenting voice. Easier to go with the flow, she thought resignedly, picking up her glass and waiting for the signal.
Just as she’d expected, she finished last, amid giggles and barracking.
‘So what’s her forfeit going to be?’ Lindsay demanded eagerly. ‘Walk round the room without touching the floor? Mime a full strip?’
‘Better than that.’ Becky’s smile was calculating.