His Independent Bride: Wife Against Her Will / The Wedlocked Wife / Bertoluzzi's Heiress Bride. Catherine Spencer
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scream the truth. Exorcise this ghost from her past, once and for all. But he’d accepted Harry’s version before. Why should he believe her now?
She said tautly, ‘Perhaps I felt he didn’t take them very seriously either.’
‘Just as long as you know now that he’s strictly out of bounds,’ Joel said curtly. ‘I won’t have Emma’s peace of mind troubled, particularly at a time like this. Understood?’
‘Yes.’ She controlled the shake in her voice. ‘I understand perfectly.’
‘As for this sudden attack of scruples,’ he went on, ‘you don’t have to worry. I won’t keep you tied to me longer than strictly necessary.’
‘Forgive me if I don’t find that particularly reassuring.’ ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’re here to negotiate. What assurances do you require?’
She drew an uneven breath. ‘I have one, main condition. You have to accept that I will not, under any circumstances, sleep with you.’ She met his gaze directly. ‘Do you agree?’
He shrugged. His voice was level. ‘If that’s what you want. It’s really not that important.’ He paused. ‘However, I also require your assurance that during the term of the marriage, you won’t sleep with anyone else either.’
She went on staring at him. ‘Agreed. But why should that matter to you?’
‘It wouldn’t,’ he said. ‘But I’m investing quite heavily in you, Darcy, and your future.’ His smile was thin-lipped. ‘And I’d really hate to be made a fool of over an investment.’ He allowed that to sink in, then added, ‘In every other way, of course, I shall expect you to behave as if the marriage was a real one, instead of a sham.’
‘You mean I’m to keep my true feelings under wraps?’ She traced the grain of the wooden table with a forefinger. ‘Not easy.’
‘Nothing less will do. Meaning that if I have reason to touch you or kiss you in public, you’ll kindly remember that we’re newlyweds, and passionately in love, and not flinch from me as if you’d been attacked with an electric cattle prod.’
She said with difficulty, ‘My God, you don’t expect much.’
‘I could,’ he said slowly, ‘demand a great deal more. But I haven’t. And surely the ultimate reward is worth the inconvenience of a little public pretence? In private, of course, you can do as you like. And you can comfort yourself with the reflection that I shall be away a great deal on company business. Our paths may hardly cross.’
He paused. ‘And now shall we order some food?’
Reluctantly, she glanced back at the menu. ‘I’ll have the moules marinières to start with.’
‘So will I,’ he said. ‘And after that, shall we share a Châteaubriand? They’re intended for two people.’
‘If you wish.’ She stared at him. ‘What is this—an exercise in togetherness?’
‘Why not?’ Joel countered silkily. ‘God knows we need the practice.’
She could probably think of a hundred reasons, with more to follow, but it seemed pointless to voice them.
She’d agreed to marry him, and now she had to get on with that as best she could. It’s a business arrangement, nothing more, she reminded herself. A short-term contract that will eventually come to its end. And at least she’d had a chance to establish the small print.
When the mussels arrived they were in one big tureen, and even a few minutes’ mutual delving into the delicious white wine and shallot broth to remove the succulent contents from their shells totally scuppered any chance of maintaining an aloof distance for the rest of the evening.
It was clear that she was being treated to a crash-course in intimacy.
But then, he said he’d been here before, so he must have known how it would be when he placed the order, Darcy thought, resentment simmering quietly within her.
And for a brief, uncomfortable moment, she found she was wondering who his companion had been. And how the evening had ended…
None of my business, she told herself, firmly slamming the door on that kind of unhelpful speculation.
‘Here.’ Joel was proffering the largest mussel in the bowl. ‘My contribution to world peace.’
‘A sacrifice indeed,’ she said as she discarded the empty shell. ‘Or did you hope I’d say no?’
‘It would have been more in character,’ he agreed with faint amusement. ‘But will you also make a sacrifice now, and drop this Mr Castille nonsense? I’m beginning to feel that I’m taking part in some costume drama. If I start wearing knee breeches, and taking snuff, you’ll only have yourself to blame.’
Her lips twitched in spite of herself. ‘Actually, I think you might do rather well.’ She saw his answering grin, and checked herself, continuing more stiffly, ‘But, if you insist, I’ll try and remember in future to call you Joel.’
The name felt awkward on her lips, and she couldn’t imagine that using it would ever become second nature to her. Better, maybe, she thought, to call him nothing at all. Distance herself that way. Somehow.
The Châteaubriand when it came was perfectly cooked, and meltingly tender, served with platters of sauté potatoes, and mixed green salad, and a superb cabernet sauvignon from Chile.
Later, however, as she regretfully put down her knife and fork, Darcy shook her head at the idea of dessert.
‘Just coffee, please.’
‘And cognac?’
‘No, thank you.’ She bit her lip. ‘I hardly think there can be any more shocks in store for me.’
‘Cognac,’ he said, ‘can be drunk for pleasure alone. Have you considered that?’
No, she returned silently, because I don’t want to think of you and any kind of pleasure in the same context.
‘As for shocks,’ he went on, ‘brace yourself for one more.’ He took a small jeweller’s box from his pocket and slid it towards her, opening the lid as he did so.
The coruscating flame from the enormous solitaire it contained almost dazzled her.
She looked at it. Swallowed. ‘Is this—really necessary?’
‘Absolutely essential.’ His tone was sardonic. ‘Aren’t you supposed to calculate your lover’s regard by the number of carats?’
Her lips moved. ‘You are not my lover.’
‘Silly me. I keep forgetting. But no one else will know that, especially with this thing on your finger.’ He took the ring from its satin bed. ‘I think it will reassure your father that I’m very much in earnest. Give me your hand.’
She found she was praying that it would not fit. That adjustments would be needed, and she’d be spared, even for a little while, from wearing this alien, meaningless symbol.
But no one was listening to prayers that night, it seemed, and the ring slid smoothly over her knuckle into its designated place. And stayed there, glittering in the candlelight. Ice, she thought, and fire.
There was a silence, then she said quietly, ‘It’s very beautiful.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Naturally, I’ll return it to you in due
course.’
‘On the contrary,’ he said softly, ‘keep it as a souvenir.’ And signalled to the waiter to bring coffee.
Did he really think she needed such a tangible reminder of his invasion of her life? she wondered in a kind of agonised bewilderment as she stared sightlessly down at the table. Didn’t he realise that all she longed for was to be able to forget him utterly?
Yet,