Greek Affairs: The Virgin's Seduction: The Virgin's Wedding Night / Kyriakis's Innocent Mistress / The Ruthless Greek's Virgin Princess. Trish Morey
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go down next weekend and talk to him.’
He nodded meditatively. ‘And how will you explain me? I cannot be the grandson he had in mind.’
‘No,’ Harriet agreed. ‘Quite the contrary, which makes it all the better.’
His glance held faint reproof. ‘In your view, perhaps. But if I may offer some advice,’ he added dryly, ‘you should not gloat too openly over your victory. A man does not like to find himself bested by a woman.’
‘Too bad,’ she said. ‘But it’s hardly that, because I’m doing exactly what he wants. So how can he complain if I interpret that in my own way?’
‘Experience suggests he may complain very bitterly. Does your desire for this pile of bricks and mortar really justify causing such upset?’
Harriet looked down at the table. She said constrictedly, ‘Don’t get me wrong. I love him—I really do. But he doesn’t understand my need to live as an independent woman, and he never has. He has to accept that.’
‘And your parents? What have they to say about this?’
She said, ‘They’re—no longer around.’
He glanced at her frowningly. ‘I am sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve had years to grow accustomed to it.’
‘You are fortunate. My mother died nearly three years ago, and she is still constantly in my thoughts.’ He leaned back in his chair, his gaze watchful. ‘This house you want so much—without marriage, who will be there to inherit it when you are gone?’
She said defensively, ‘I could always adopt a child.’
‘A single woman?’ His brows rose. ‘Does the law allow this?’
‘Why not? After all, I shan’t be poor, and money opens all kinds of doors.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am beginning to see that.’ His smile was ironic. ‘But, as one of those doors has opened for me, I can hardly complain.’ He paused again. ‘You do not think that one day you will meet a man you can love, and wish to have his babies?’
‘No,’ Harriet said shortly. ‘I don’t. And may we please leave my personal foibles to one side, and get back to business? I’d already started on the arrangements when I thought I was going to marry—the other man, but there’s still a great deal to do.’ She looked down at her bare hands. ‘For one thing, I need a ring.’
‘That is usually the bridegroom’s responsibility,’ he said. ‘Therefore, you may leave it to me.’
‘It’s hardly an expense you can afford,’ she returned. ‘Besides, you don’t know the correct size.’
‘I could make an educated guess.’ He looked her over, eyes narrowed. ‘As I could do about the size of everything you are wearing at this moment. Do you wish me to demonstrate?’
She was infuriated to realise that her face was burning again. She said with a snap, ‘No, thank you.’ She got to her feet, and he stood up too, making her aware all over again of how tall he was, and how broad his shoulders were under the cling of his shirt. She added hurriedly, ‘There’ll be things to sign—papers and such. My lawyer will contact you.’
She paused. ‘The date of the wedding—is there any particular day of the week that you’d find inconvenient?’
‘You are most considerate,’ he said courteously. ‘However, I will make quite sure I’m available when you require me to be so.’
‘Then I’ll arrange for Mr Slevin to come to your studio,’ she said. ‘I—I hope the visit goes well. His backing would be such a fantastic boost for you.’
She realised she was babbling again, and stopped, rummaging inside her bag for her wallet instead. She put some notes on the table. ‘That should cover the bill.’ She sent him a bright, meaningless smile. ‘If you want to order anything else, please do so.’
For an instant, there was an odd silence—almost a tension in the air. Then Roan bent his head in polite acknowledgement, and the moment passed.
All the same, her goodbye was faintly uncertain as she took her departure. And as she emerged into the street, she found she was strangely breathless.
But why? she wondered. Because I should be cheering, now that I’ve solved my problem at last.
Except, she reminded herself as she signalled to a passing taxi, that I still have to tell Grandfather.
The week that followed was a busy one. Harriet spent the latter part of it in the Midlands, revisiting the sites she’d targeted on earlier trips, and taking extensive photographs to accompany her redrafted report, when it was prepared, and support its recommendations. Nothing this time would be left to chance, she thought with grim determination. Whatever the questions, she would have all the answers.
However, in spite of this resolution, she seemed to be finding concentration difficult, particularly as she wasn’t sleeping too well at nights.
Clearly the forthcoming confrontation with her grandfather must be preying on her mind rather more than she’d expected, she told herself wryly.
When she got back to London on Friday afternoon, the atmosphere at Flint Audley was festive. Gina, who worked in Accounting, was having a birthday, and a cake, complete with candles, had been cut up and passed around the office at teatime. And after work, everyone was going out for a celebratory drink. Or all except one …
‘We didn’t think you’d be back,’ Gina informed Harriet offhandedly. ‘But you’re welcome to join us—if you want,’ she added, eying Harriet’s serviceable black pants and tunic top with ill-concealed disfavour.
‘Thank you,’ Harriet returned with equal insincerity. ‘But I’m going down to the country this evening.’
‘Off to the stately pile?’ Jon Audley joined them, his smile malicious. ‘Dad always thought it would divide up into great flats, and I’m sure he was right. There’s even enough land to construct a nine-hole golf course as a total bonus. Something to bear in mind when it finally falls into your waiting hands, Harriet dear.’
She looked back at him evenly. ‘Except that Gracemead is not for sale,’ she said. ‘Not now. Not ever.’
‘Always supposing you have the choice,’ he murmured, and walked away, leaving her staring after him, more shaken than she cared to admit. Had rumours of her grandfather’s intentions somehow reached Flint Audley?
If so, it would give her intense pleasure to prove them unfounded.
Because, whether Gregory Flint liked it or not, he would have to accept her unlikely bridegroom.
Her own attitude to him, however, seemed less easy to define.
While she’d been away, she’d found Roan Zandros in her thoughts far more than she wished. She wasn’t altogether sure she hadn’t dreamed about him, but, if so, her memories were thankfully hazy.
She could only be certain that he wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she originally devised her plan.
And in some ways she wished he’d turned her down, and walked away.
Oh, come on, she adjured herself impatiently. That’s defeatist thinking. He’s a means to an end, that’s all. A business deal. And you’ll have a firewall to protect you anyway, with your pre-nuptial agreement.
Back at the flat, she showered quickly and shampooed her hair. She’d intended to wear it up, or braid it, but she was running late, so she decided for once simply to brush it and leave it loose.
There was a beige linen shift dress in her wardrobe, and she changed into it with reluctance, her grandfather’s preferences and prejudices at the forefront of her mind. He preferred her to wear