His Independent Bride: Wife Against Her Will / The Wedlocked Wife / Bertoluzzi's Heiress Bride

CHAPTER FOUR

THE NOISE and movement around them faded to some unknown distance. Darcy could hear nothing but the echo of his words in her head. Could see nothing but the watchful blue eyes.

From somewhere, she found her voice. Made it work.

‘No. No. Of course not. Obviously. You—you couldn’t possibly think…’

She drew a breath. Moved her hands in a quick, angry gesture. ‘My God, no.’

He nodded. ‘You don’t think you should give the proposition some reasoned consideration?’ His tone was almost meditative.

‘Reasoned?’ she echoed derisively. ‘I think my father, and you, must have taken leave of your collective senses.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Isn’t it apparent?’ She took a quick breath. ‘I loathed you on sight, Mr Castille, and first impressions count with me. And, of all the women in the world, I must be the last one you’d ever seriously consider as a wife. So why don’t you simply tell my father so, and put a final end to this nonsense?’

‘On the other hand,’ he said softly, ‘why don’t you tell him the grounds for your dislike of me? I’m sure he’d be fascinated.’

There was a tense silence, then Darcy said, ‘Are you daring to blackmail me, Mr Castille?’

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘Just pointing out that your continued hostility could lead to explanations we’d both find awkward.’ He paused. ‘Your aunt already has her suspicions.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘to you.’

There was an enforced pause while one waiter brought the water to the table, another arrived with a wine cooler and someone else came with a basket of home-made bread.

Darcy drank some of her spritzer, hoping vainly it would ease the dryness of her mouth, or, at least, calm her whirling thoughts.

This is a bad dream, she thought. One of those waking ones that leaves you with a headache for the rest of the morning. And, presently, I shall open my eyes and find I’m still in bed in Chelsea, and if that happens I’ll happily take aspirin for the next week.

But then the flurry of activity round the table ceased, and she was once again alone with her tormentor.

She put her glass down, hoping that he hadn’t noticed that her hand had been shaking.

She said, ‘Who thought up this sick joke?’

‘It evolved. Your father’s a realist, and he knows that his decision to bring me into the company hasn’t met with universal favour. The board might decide it prefers another outsider. Someone less inclined to upset the status quo. But as Gavin’s son-in-law, a member of the family, I’d be in a much stronger position when he finally stands down.’

He gave her a level look. ‘Think about it. Your father entrusts not only his company to me, but also his precious only child. That indicates a certain amount of faith, wouldn’t you say? And it might tip the balance in my favour, if it came to a showdown.’

He paused. ‘And our marriage could have other positive advantages, too.’

‘Really?’ The query was taut. ‘I’m unable to think of a single one.’

Joel drank some water. ‘He was telling me at the weekend that you’d once had an idea about going to university.’

‘Did he also tell you he’d made sure it didn’t happen? That he warned me he’d block any application I made for a student loan—tell the banks I was a bad risk?’ Her voice was bitter. ‘As far as my father’s concerned, all I’m fit for is to act as his hostess, on occasion. My God, he’d prefer me to have a career as a table decoration.’

His tone was laconic. ‘You do it well.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, quivering with temper.

‘In between,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘you’ve filled your time with a series of dead-end jobs that pay peanuts. Not that it matters, because you get an allowance, approved by the board, for your services. You also have the use of the house in Chelsea.’

He rearranged his cutlery. ‘But that happy state of affairs is about to end. Your father is retiring, which leaves you out of regular work, and out on a limb.’

‘On the contrary.’ Darcy lifted her chin coldly, ‘I have every intention of getting a full-time job. Even without a degree.’

‘In London?’

‘Perhaps.’

He nodded meditatively. ‘And where do you plan to live?’

‘I’ll continue to live in Chelsea. It’s just as much my home as Kings Whitnall.’

‘Actually, no.’ His eyes met hers. ‘The Chelsea house is owned officially by Werner Langton. A glamorous London pied-à-terre for the chairman, reflecting his status, as well as somewhere to entertain clients, especially those who dislike hotel life.’

He paused. ‘Of course, that’s never really mattered while your father’s been managing director, and chairman. He’s treated it as a second home, and allowed you to do so. I can see where the confusion has arisen.’

He smiled at her. ‘But once he stands down as chairman, that will no longer apply. It will revert to being a company residence. And I don’t think you can afford the rent, especially without your allowance. And I’m not sure I want a lodger, anyway.’

She sat motionless, staring at him, as their first courses arrived.

I didn’t know, she thought. I assumed it was our house. Why did my father never tell me the real situation?

She picked up her spoon, and began to eat her soup. It was very hot, and subtly spiced, helping to dispel some of the growing chill inside her. Some, but not all.

‘This terrine is delicious,’ he commented, breaking the taut silence. ‘Like to try some?’

Mutely, she shook her head.

He studied her with faint amusement. ‘Cheer up,’ he said. ‘You’re not going to be made to starve in the gutter. When we’re married, your upkeep will become my responsibility.’ He paused. ‘I think you’ll find me reasonably generous,’ he added lightly.

She put down the spoon. She said thickly, ‘You talk as if this—thing was a done deal.’

‘Oh, we’re a fair way from that,’ he said. ‘But I live in hope.’

The waiters returned to clear away their plates, and bring the next course. Darcy sat with a forced smile as her fish was removed from the bone, wine was poured and vegetables handed.

When they were left to themselves again, she said, ‘Disregarding personalities, why on earth should you wish to get married at all? You seem to me to be a perennial bachelor.’

‘Based, naturally, on your vast experience of men.’ His tone was cutting. ‘But all husbands were single once. That’s how it works.’

He paused. ‘I’ve spent a lot of my time travelling—working in the field. Now that I’m putting down roots, maybe I’ve begun to realise the value of a well-run home.’

‘But you’ll have that,’ she said swiftly. ‘I presume Mrs Inman is also a Werner Langton employee, who goes with the house, and, as you’ve already discovered, she’s a treasure. You’ll hardly let her go.’

‘Certainly not. But I think she prefers receiving orders to acting on her own initiative. And I have little time for domestic minutiae. I need someone who knows how the household works, and what instructions to give. Who can deal with sometimes difficult and demanding people.’

Darcy lifted her eyebrows. ‘Do you include yourself in that category, Mr Castille?’ she asked caustically.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘If I don’t get my own way. But I’m sure you’re already accustomed to that in your family circle,’ he added silkily.

‘And there is another consideration,’ he went on, ignoring her mutinous glare. ‘Mrs Inman is a worthy soul, but I wouldn’t want to look at her on the other side of my table every night.’

‘And that’s important,’ she said, ‘is it?’

‘Naturally.’ His voice slowed to a drawl. ‘A man likes his wife to be beautiful, and you, Miss Langton, are an exceptionally lovely girl.’ His gaze rested briefly on the creamy skin exposed by the neck of her sweater. ‘As I’m sure you’re aware.’

To her annoyance, she felt her face warm slightly. ‘Flattery from you, Mr Castille, is almost an insult.’

He had the gall to grin. ‘And insults from you, Miss Langton, sound exactly what they are.’ He paused. ‘You don’t think we might find it easier to negotiate with each other if we were on first-name terms?’

‘No,’ she said baldly. ‘There can be no negotiation. I don’t want to be married. Not to you, or anyone else.’

‘You prefer other women’s husbands?’ There was a sudden note of steel in his voice.

She lifted her chin scornfully. ‘I suppose you’re thinking of Harry Metcalfe again.’

‘Drew Maidstone,’ he said, ‘also seems to be in the frame, according to your father.’

‘Then he’s mistaken.’ As badly wrong as you are about Harry. ‘Besides, I don’t think Drew stays married long enough to count as anyone’s husband.’

‘He has a bad reputation, and so does that yacht of his. I don’t blame your father for being concerned.’

‘Heavens,’ she said. ‘How censorious. You, of course, have always been Sir Galahad.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Not even remotely.’ He paused. ‘So, again disregarding personalities, what are your objections to marriage?’

She drank some wine. ‘You made it sound very cosy and domestic,’ she said. ‘But it involves other obligations, which I, frankly, have no wish to fulfil. With anyone.’ And with you least of all, ran frantically through her head.

He gave her a measuring look. ‘Isn’t it a little late for you to be playing the frightened virgin?’

‘It has nothing to do with being scared,’ she said, examining the colour of the wine with minute attention. ‘My experience of sex showed me that it was undignified, painful and messy, but mercifully over very quickly. And certainly nothing since has caused me to change my mind.’

She looked at him, defying him to laugh. But there wasn’t the faintest trace of amusement in the blue eyes.

There was a silence, then he said quietly, ‘I’m sorry you felt like that about it.’ He paused carefully. ‘However, I think you may have been unfortunate in your choice of partner.’

‘A common male viewpoint, I’m sure,’ Darcy said with cold derision.

‘And what’s the next line, I wonder? “It will be different with me, darling”?’

The firm mouth hardened. ‘While you maintain that attitude, sweetheart, I doubt it would be different with anyone. But that’s your choice.’ He refilled her glass. ‘However, there’s more than one kind of marriage. If you want our arrangement to remain strictly business, that’s fine with me.’

She stared at him. ‘You’re saying that?’ Suddenly she felt bewildered. ‘Yet, only a moment ago, you were telling me I was—beautiful.’

‘And so you are,’ he returned promptly. ‘What do you want me to say? That I don’t find you desirable?’ He shook his head. ‘That would be a lie, and we both know it. I wanted you from the first moment I saw you.’

As she gasped, he shrugged. ‘But what the hell? There are plenty of desirable girls in the world, and most of them, thank God, don’t seem to share your hang-ups. I won’t be lonely, and you most certainly won’t be jealous. It sounds like a perfect deal.’

He leaned forward. ‘And there’s something else. Our marriage wouldn’t have to last forever. Once I’m firmly established as chairman of Werner Langton, we can think again. Even your father can’t force us to find each other compatible,’ he added drily.

‘You want a life and an independent career,’ he went on. ‘Well, I can fix that for you. Go to university if your grades are good enough. Study to be an engineer, if that’s your dream, and I’ll support you. You won’t even need a student loan.’

She stared at him. ‘My father would never agree.’

‘Once you were my wife,’ he said, ‘it would no longer be his decision.’

‘First blackmail. Now bribery.’ There was scorn in her voice. ‘You really have no scruples, do you, Mr Castille?’

‘Something Werner Langton may be glad of, if they’re going to survive through the twenty-first century,’ he came back at her sharply. ‘It’s a hard bloody world out there, and some of the board need to wake up to that.

‘And so do you. I’m offering you a working partnership, Miss Langton. Length—indefinite. Terms—to be established. Take it or leave it. You won’t get a second chance.’

‘You have to give me time to think…’

‘You’ve been thinking ever since you saw me walking towards you,’ he said. ‘You knew exactly what I was coming for. Or did you imagine I simply wanted your delectable body?’ He shook his head. ‘That would have been a bonus, but even without it you’re still a valuable commodity, Miss Langton.

‘And I can also be of service to you. If you let me. You can forget about being a table decoration, and have a career, a life of your own. But it’s marriage first. That’s not a variable.’

He paused. ‘Unless, of course, you’ve had a better offer.’

‘No,’ she said wearily. Her voice rang hollow in her ears. ‘I haven’t.’

In fact, there’d been no offers at all, but that was her own doing. No one had been allowed to get near her. And this man across the table would be no exception.

‘Well?’ His incisive tone cut through her reverie. ‘You’ve worked as an au pair in the past. This time, you’ll be an au pair with a wedding ring. And with a dream you can make come true at the end of it.’

She swallowed. ‘You promise it’s just a temporary arrangement? And when it’s over, you’ll keep your word about my career?’

‘When it’s over,’ he said. ‘Consider the sky your limit.’

She bit her lip. ‘Well, then, I suppose, if I must, I will.’

He sat back in his chair, surveying her from under drooping lids. ‘I’m glad I didn’t offer my heart along with my hand,’ he drawled. ‘I imagine it would be feeling a little bruised by now. However.’ He picked up his glass. ‘To the future.’

Reluctantly, she echoed the toast and drank.

She thought, What have I done? What have I done?

But she knew only too well. Unbelievably, she’d agreed to marry Joel Castille.

I must be crazy, she thought. Certifiable. But Joel made it sound so reasonable, so logical. A direct way for both of us to get what we want, and then move on.

But can it really be that simple?

She looked at the food left on her plate, and put down her knife and fork.

‘Wasn’t the sole good?’ he asked politely.

‘How should I know?’ she said curtly. ‘I haven’t tasted a mouthful.’

‘That’s unfortunate, when we’re destined to eat a lot of meals together—lunch—dinner.’ He paused. ‘And—breakfast, naturally.’

Her head came up. ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

He shrugged. ‘I’d hate to think your loss of appetite might become a permanent feature of our life together.’

‘Understand this, Mr Castille,’ she said with icy clarity. ‘You and I will never have a life together. And breakfast will be one of the many things we won’t be sharing.’

‘Most important meal of the day, I’m told,’ he said mockingly. ‘You don’t plan to send me off to work each morning with hot food and a kiss? Your personal contribution to British industry?’

She said through gritted teeth, ‘I most certainly do not.’

His grin was unruffled. ‘No, I suspect a poisoned chalice might be more in your line. But that’s what marriage can sometimes be, they tell me. At least we’re starting off with no illusions.’ He paused. ‘Shall we discuss arrangements for the wedding over dessert?’

Darcy didn’t bother to hide her dismay. ‘Already?’ She hesitated. ‘I mean, it can’t be that soon, or my father will start asking questions. He’s expecting a more conventional approach. You said so yourself.’

‘He wants us married.’ There was curtness in his tone. ‘He has a result. How we achieved it is our own business, surely.’ His smile was cynical. ‘Or do you want me to tell him that it was love at first sight, and I swept you off your feet with my ardour?’

‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘But he’ll know this is a put-up job, and, as I happen to be his only child, he might just want me to be happy. Or maintain a pretence of it—for appearances’ sake.’

‘Well, perhaps one shouldn’t judge by appearances.’ He allowed the waiters to clear the table, then ordered the coffee that was all Darcy said she wanted.

He said quite gently, ‘Darcy, this is a pragmatic solution. History is full of them, and your father will know that. He’ll also know that I’ll treat you well.’

He paused. ‘I presume you wish the ceremony to be held in the church at Kings Whitnall?’

‘In a crinoline and veil, with Daddy giving his innocent daughter away?’ she asked ironically, and shook her head. ‘As you once said, white would hardly be appropriate. And I can’t be that much of a hypocrite. Make it a registry office, with a couple of witnesses.’

His mouth hardened. ‘You feel that will make it somehow less binding? That could be a dangerous assumption.’

‘At the moment, I don’t know how I feel about anything,’ she said in a low voice.

‘You seemed pretty certain of your opinions when this conversation began,’ he reminded her drily. ‘If we can’t be friends, can we establish an armed neutrality, perhaps?’

She shrugged. ‘We still have to set out the terms for this arrangement. After that, maybe.’

‘I’ll regard that as progress,’ he murmured, and then, as cups were brought to the table, and coffee was poured, ‘Would you like some cognac?’

‘I think the Chablis was more than enough,’ she said. ‘I should have stuck to water. Then I might not have agreed to this ghastly charade.’

He looked faintly amused. ‘Surely what we both have to gain is worth a few hours of mutual civility a week?’

‘You seem to have an answer for everything,’ she said curtly. ‘Try this for size. What happens if one or both of us meets someone else, after we’re married?’

‘Unfortunate,’ he said. ‘Any new relationship would have to wait for the divorce.’

‘And supposing you fall madly in love?’ Her tone was defiant.

‘Believe me, I shall do my best not to. I hope you do the same.’

Darcy stared at him. ‘But there must surely have been someone, some time that you wanted sufficiently to marry?’

‘Once, yes.’ He spoke lightly, but she saw his mouth tighten. ‘But she had the bad taste to be involved with someone else, and wasn’t interested. End of story.’

Emma, she thought with a sense of shock. It had to be Emma. The girl who’d married Harry Metcalfe and was now carrying his child. The cousin, her father said, who’d been like Joel Castille’s beloved sister. Except it had been more, much more than that, on his side at least.

‘But if you can’t have what you want,’ he continued, ‘you can either waste your life brooding on its injustice, or you can settle for the next best thing.’

His eyes met hers, cool, unsmiling. ‘Believe me,’ he said, ‘we can make this work.’

Can we? she thought, feeling a bubble of sheer hysteria rise inside her. Can we? How is that possible, feeling as we do about each other?

He glanced at his watch, pulled a face. ‘I should return to the battleground. After this, it will seem like heaven.’ He paused. ‘Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night so we can discuss the ground rules?’

‘I suppose it’s necessary.’

‘I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty. Until then I shall count the hours,’ he said mockingly, signalling for the bill. ‘Do you want to stay and have some more coffee, or can I get you a cab?’

‘I’ll stay.’ She had no real intention of doing so, but she needed him to go. She wanted to be alone. To think over what she’d done, and begin counting the cost.

‘Then I’ll see you later.’ He paused. ‘Shall we shake hands on the deal?’

Almost before Darcy knew what was happening, his fingers had closed firmly round hers. And in the next instant, he was raising her hand to his lips, turning it so that his light kiss brushed her palm.

As if, she thought numbly, he was placing some kind of seal upon her. His own personal mark of ownership.

Then she was free, and he was walking away across the room.

It was only when he was completely out of sight that she realised she’d been holding her breath. She released it slowly, aware that her heart rate had quickened, and resenting it.

I—I wasn’t expecting it, she defended herself swiftly. And, anyway, it didn’t mean a thing. He’s half-French, so maybe hand-kissing is in the genes. A reflex action on his part. Nothing to get wound up about.