The Flawed Marriage. PENNY JORDAN
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she’d be living all found. She wanted to ask him exactly what he would be prepared to pay her, but pride—and the look in his eyes—prevented her.
She took a deep breath.
‘I’m interested.’
‘Good.’ He switched on the engine. ‘In that case, I’ll take you up to Lake Fyne now, so that you can meet Paul first-hand.’
She thought about the long journey back to Birmingham, the cold, inhospitable room waiting for her, and then darted a glance at the man sitting beside her.
‘Any objections?’
Without giving herself time to think she shook her head, feeling the powerful surge of the engine as the car pulled swiftly away, and the darkness swallowed them up.
Joel Sinclair had told her that he lived eight miles from the village, but it might as well have been eighty for all the sense of direction Amber experienced on the drive. Mist swirled all around them; the odd sheep materialising in the powerful headlights as they swept the grey blankness of the road, and the now frost-rimed hillsides stretching uproads from the tarmac.
Lake Fyne! She couldn’t remember ever hearing the name before, but then she knew that the Lake District possessed many small lakes whose names were not universally known, and she assumed this must be one of them.
The road curled upwards, a pale grey ribbon, disappearing into the mist.
Sitting on the edge of her seat, gripping the expensive hide cover, Amber was unaware of the fear in her eyes, until Joel turned towards her mockingly, commanding her to relax, telling her there was nothing to fear.
What did he know? she demanded inwardly in a flash of irritation. He had never had to face people with her disability to see the expression in their eyes. She had yet to be accepted by his son and his wife. She could just picture her; a man like him would demand sophistication and elegance in the woman who bore his name; she would be blonde, almost undoubtedly; expensively dressed, an ex-model perhaps, who would raise her eyebrows pityingly when she saw the stray waif her husband had brought home.
They came to an abrupt halt. The mist lifted momentarily and Amber had a brief glimpse of moonlight on water—Lake Fyne?—and then they were driving through huge wrought iron gates which had opened as though at some magic command from Joel to allow the car to move smoothly down a gravel drive towards, the grey granite house slowly materialising ahead of them out of the mist.
Joel, stopped the car. The silence was almost uncanny, heavy, and somehow waiting. There were no lights from the house, and Amber presumed that there must be rooms overlooking the back, where no doubt his wife eagerly awaited his return.
He climbed out of the car, and for one awful moment Amber thought he intended to leave her, but even as she moved frantically towards her door, he was opening it, assisting her to alight, his fingers hard and warm beneath her elbow.
Gravel crunched underfoot. The house was huge, Victorian and austere, and Amber shivered as she waited for Joel to unlock the door.
‘Housekeeper’s night off,’ he told her with heavy irony as the door swung open and he ushered her into a large but cold hall. He saw her shiver and told her, ‘Mrs Downs is Lakeland born and bred and thinks central heating should be kept only for the depths of winter.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s too late for you to see Paul tonight, he’ll be asleep, so I’ll show you to a room, and then in the morning…’
‘But surely your wife will want…’ Amber began, only to be silenced by the look of grim mockery she saw on his face.
‘Ah yes, my wife. Well, you see, my dear Amber, I no longer have a wife, which is why I need you—to take her place.’
The room reeled. Amber placed her hands to her head, telling herself that she was leaping to absurd conclusions.
‘You mean you need someone to look after Paul full time because you don’t have a wife? she said hesitantly, her heart starting to sink when saw him dislodge himself from the wall upon which he had been leaning and come towards her, his hands on her shoulders as he pulled her forward into the harsh overhead light of the hall.
‘What I mean, Amber,’ he said slowly and coolly, ‘is that I need a wife. Not just any wife, but you.’
‘You must be mad!’
He seemed amused rather than affronted.
‘Not mad, just determined. Determined that my ex-wife won’t revoke the custody ruling which gave Paul into, my care. So determined, in fact, that I am prepared to pay you very generously for say, six months of your life… Very generously,’ he repeated significantly, his eyes resting on the tell-tale pulse throbbing in her throat.
‘No!’
‘No?’ Again he seemed more amused than annoyed. ‘I’m going to give you the night to think over your decision, Amber, and don’t forget, will you, that I saw the look on your face in the car when I said I was prepared to be generous.’
Hating herself for the question, but knowing she just had to ask it, Amber ran her tongue nervously across dry lips and asked huskily, ‘How generous?’
She almost missed the surprised contempt in his eyes—it was banished so quickly by mocking satisfaction.
‘Twenty-five thousand pounds!’
Her heart almost stopped beating. Twenty-five thousand pounds—far, far more than she had imagined. Far, far more than she could ever envisage earning in so short a space of time, and more than enough to cover all the expenses of her operation, plus the plastic surgery she would need afterwards.
‘You can’t do it,’ a tiny inner voice warned her. ‘It isn’t right. You’ll have to refuse.’
The words were on the tip of her tongue when she looked down at her leg and all her good resolutions fled. What were six months, after all?
‘It would have to be purely a business arrangement,’ she began hesitantly. ‘I mean…’
‘I think we can take what you mean as read,’ came the smooth rejoinder, ‘and certainly I can assure you that I have no sexual designs upon your person, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
Amber flushed to the roots of her hair. Of course he hadn’t. What man in his right mind would have, never mind a man as stunningly attractive as Joel Sinclair?
Chagrined, exhausted and defeated by her own desire to be restored to what she had once been, she gave in.
‘Very wise,’ Joel Sinclair told her softly. ‘I am glad we were able to reach an agreement. Tell me, the money—do you need it for any special purpose?’
In a moment he might guess about her leg, and Amber couldn’t bear his pity. Quickly she interrupted, ‘No more special than any other woman’s. I want to enjoy life before it’s too late. I’ve always fancied a world cruise…’
‘With the bonus of some gullible male thrown in?’ Joel Sinclair suggested sardonically. ‘Still, why should I complain? In this instance your mercenary greed is furthering my ends as well as yours. I’ll take you to your room now,’ he told her. ‘I have to go out again—some business I have to attend to, but in the morning we’ll talk again.’
They had reached a long landing and he had paused outside a panelled mahogany door, and Amber had almost collided into him before she realised he had stopped.
He opened the door and stood back to allow her to enter the room. It was furnished with timelessly elegant Regency antiques, but despite the expensive furniture, the soft pale green carpet and daintily femine décor the room had a cold almost unwelcoming atmosphere, and Amber shivered as she stepped inside it.
‘The bathroom’s through there,’ Joel Sinclair told her, indicating another door opening off the bedroom. ‘We normally have breakfast about eight. I have business interests in Kendal and try to leave the house by nine, although recently my schedule