The Million Pound Marriage Deal

‘My mother’s mother left me a bit of land that borders Bodmin Moor. It’s not much...but it has a run-down stables and I thought...’ She trailed off with a shrug.

He had to fight the urge to lean in towards her. ‘You’re riding again?’ It had been her enduring passion since he’d met her as a pudgy eleven-year-old.

‘I never stopped riding, Will.’

She hadn’t?

‘After Peter died I thought I should give it up. It felt wrong to still enjoy anything.’

He knew what she meant, but... ‘He wouldn’t have wanted you to.’

She stared down at her plate. Please don’t cry again.

A moment later she lifted her chin and sent him a game smile. ‘I haven’t been riding as much these past couple of years as I normally would. Riding and hangovers don’t mix.’

She was choosing riding over hangovers? Excellent choice!

‘If I had a million pounds I’d turn those stables into a riding school—an equestrian centre. There are a few acres down there so perhaps I could offer agistment as well.’

‘How many acres?’

‘Seventeen and three quarters. There are fields and a stream but no house.’

Ah.

‘My million pounds would buy me a modest cottage.’

It would buy more than that if she had a fancy for grander living, but before she could make any of that a reality, she’d need start-up funds.

She set about demolishing the rest of her lamb. When she was done—and true to her word she cleaned her plate—she set her cutlery onto the plate at a neat angle and dabbed her lips with her serviette. ‘Will, for the last five minutes straight you’ve been staring at me without saying a word. I can’t imagine that watching me eat is that fascinating. I really would prefer it if you simply said what was on your mind.’

Her words made him jerk back in his seat. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I was thinking.’

‘About?’

‘I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.’ He pushed his plate away and folded his arms on the table in front of him.

She grimaced, but her chin didn’t drop. ‘Okay.’

‘But what makes you think you could stick to this hypothetical plan of yours? I mean, running a stables and riding school isn’t precisely glamorous. It’s hard work and...’

‘And hard work isn’t something I’ve been known for these past couple of years.’

She nodded, evidently not the least offended. And that was what got to him about Sophie. She never reacted the way he expected. She could take criticism on the chin.

Unless it came from her father.

She stared up at the ceiling and wrinkled her nose. ‘Needs must, Will. I’m losing myself. Playing the party girl isn’t the answer—it’s left me feeling hollow...ashamed.’

Whoa! He chose his words carefully. ‘I think you’re being a little too harsh on yourself.’

‘No, you don’t.’

He blinked.

‘And being my father’s hostess with the mostest is shredding what little self-respect I have left.’

He could see that was true, even though he didn’t understand it.

She pushed her hair back from her face, pulled it momentarily into a tight ponytail that highlighted the exhausted lines fanning from her eyes, and Will’s gut gave a sick kick. Hell, he’d be happy to just give her a million pounds, though he knew her pride would forbid her from accepting it.

‘Of course, the million pounds is a pipe dream.’ She let her hair go and it fell back down around her shoulders in a blonde cloud. ‘But my plan is to get a job in Cornwall and save madly until I can do something with my little property.’

‘What kind of job are you looking for?’ Was she hoping to land another gallery job? He didn’t like her chances.

‘Events management. I know to the outside gaze it’d look like I’m just continuing with my party-girl ways. But running an event is very different from attending as a guest. I used to run all the gallery’s events. And, even if I say it myself, I have a knack for pulling together a halfway decent party, ball, charity luncheon or any other kind of get-together you’d like to name.’

He sat up straighter. She’d be perfect at it. Lord Collingford demanded the best when he entertained. She not only had a name and experience, she had connections. ‘You’ve really thought about this.’

‘Doh!’ But she smiled as she said it to soften the sting.

‘If you were really willing to marry me for a million pounds, Sophie, how would you see that marriage working?’

It was his turn to have the satisfaction of seeing her jaw drop. The waiter chose that moment to clear their plates. ‘Would you like to order dessert or coffee?’

‘Chocolate cake,’ Sophie said, not taking her eyes off Will. ‘Please.’

‘And champagne,’ Will said, holding her gaze. ‘A bottle of your best.’

‘I wasn’t serious when I said I’d marry you for a million pounds,’ she whispered, when the waiter had melted into the background again.

‘I know. You were being flippant. But if we were to speak hypothetically...’ He let the rest of the sentence dangle and watched her mind race behind the perfect blue of her eyes. ‘I’d put a million pounds into your bank account... What would I get in return?’

‘A million pounds...?’

Her eyes glazed over and he could feel his lips start to lift. ‘I believe that was the price you put on it.’ A million pounds...and then she could live the life she’d just outlined to him.

She shook herself. ‘We’re playing hypotheticals?’

He nodded.

‘Well, if that were to ever happen...it’d have to be a strictly business arrangement. A paper marriage—no sex, no children, no complications.’

He nodded. So far so good.

‘You’ve never wanted to marry.’

The ugliness of his parents’ marriage had cured him of ever wanting to trade in his bachelorhood for the vagaries of matrimony. He wasn’t inviting that kind of acrimony and spite into his life. The very thought made him break out into a cold sweat.

‘But you’ll do just about anything to keep Carol Ann healthy and happy,’ she continued.

She knew him better than the women he dated. He should find that reassuring considering the conversation they were having, but he didn’t. It took a force of will not to run a finger around the collar of his shirt.

She smiled at the waiter as he brought their champagne and slid her chocolate cake in front of her. ‘Thank you.’

The waiter’s lips lifted and his eyes lit up. ‘You’re very welcome, madam.’

That was one of the things Will had always liked about Sophie. She didn’t just have impeccable manners, but genuine manners. She made people feel valued.

‘You’d be in London most of the time and I’d be in Cornwall most of the time, so I don’t see any reason why we should even have to live together.’

Better and better.

‘If you needed me to host the odd dinner party or event I could certainly do that.’

He didn’t entertain often but every now and again business demanded it. And he could see how having a ‘wife’ at those events could be an advantage. Sophie had a talent for ruffling the waters when she had a mind to, but she had an even greater ability for smoothing them.

‘Though I’d expect notice. You couldn’t just spring events on me at the last minute.’

That was reasonable. ‘And if you want me to attend anything you need only let my PA know and—?’

She shook her head. ‘In this hypothetical situation you’re giving me a million pounds, Will. Nothing more will be asked of you.’

He frowned. That didn’t seem fair somehow.

She ate a huge piece of chocolate cake and then nodded and pointed her dessert fork at him, her tongue sweeping out to check for crumbs, leaving a shine on her bottom lip that made something inside him clench tight.

No! Don’t do that. Don’t look at Peter’s little sister like she’s a woman, for God’s sake.

‘I know how much you value your...independence.’

Her words hauled him back, and he glanced at her to find her staring at him expectantly. A frown built through him. It wasn’t like her to mince her words. ‘What are you driving at?’

She shrugged, almost reluctantly...and as if in resignation. ‘I know the thought of being monogamous to one woman fills your little bachelor heart with fear and loathing.’

He stiffened. ‘It’s not fear. It’s just... Why the hell would anyone want to do that?’

Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Whatever. What I’m trying to say is that I’m not expecting you to abstain sexually during this hypothetical paper marriage of ours. You could continue to have as many lovers as you wanted. But...’

His heart started to thump. ‘But...?’

‘You might want to consider being discreet.’

Ah. ‘I’d have no intention of making you look like a fool or a stooge, Sophie.’

She dabbed at her lips with a napkin. ‘While that’s a relief, it’s not really what I was getting at. I’m assuming we’d have to put on a convincing show for your grandfather.’

‘Only until we were married. I’d have legally binding contracts drawn up. He could do whatever the hell he wants with his title and money, but the deeds to Ashbarrow Castle would pass to me the moment I married.’

‘Well, in that case, once we’re hypothetically married you can be as indiscreet as you want.’

Would it really not bother her? ‘And you?’

‘You can be assured of my discretion.’

Her answer left him unsatisfied, though he didn’t know why.

‘We would have to agree to a minimum duration for this paper marriage too,’ she added. ‘Eighteen months, perhaps?’

He nodded again.

‘As for how we got married, that’d be entirely up to you—a quickie Vegas wedding, a big London society do, or something in between.’

His lip curled. There’d have to be a wedding. Nothing else would satisfy his grandfather, but he couldn’t face the thought of some big society affair. ‘Could you face a quiet family affair at Ashbarrow?’

She stared at him, and her soft laugh tripped down his backbone. ‘The real question, Will, is can you?’

It didn’t fill him with a shred of enthusiasm, but if it meant securing Carol Ann’s future...

She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing. ‘But I have to ask, hypothetically speaking, of course. If you were to embark on this paper marriage for real, why would you choose me? There has to be someone more suitable.’

Sophie might have a certain reputation in the tabloids but... He knew a lot of women—all more than happy to keep him company whenever he wanted—but he wouldn’t be able to rely on a single one of them to stick to an agreement like this.

Was he really considering this? His gut churned. Was he crazy? Or was this the answer he’d been searching so desperately for?

He drummed his fingers against the linen tablecloth. Beneath the table his foot began to bounce. ‘You know me and you know that I don’t want to give up either my freedom or my independence. I know you and what you want—money for a fresh start. We’d go into this arrangement with our eyes wide open. You wouldn’t be expecting a husband in the real sense of the word. I know you wouldn’t ever misconstrue our situation. Besides, you’re Peter’s little sister and, regardless of anything else, I don’t believe you’d try and take advantage of being married to me.’

She folded her arms, her chin angling up. ‘Are you sure about that?’

Positive. ‘You haven’t tried putting your price up to two million pounds, have you? Even though you know I’m considering a more than hypothetical arrangement here.’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t need two million pounds.’

Exactly.

If he married Sophie, it would secure Carol Ann’s future. He recalled those few weeks he’d brought her to London to live with him and acid burned his throat. He’d had such high hopes, but she’d become so distraught. She’d become so ill. And he’d been helpless to ease her homesickness and her grief at being torn from her home.

Peter had always felt responsible for Sophie in the same way Will felt responsible for Carol Ann. And if anything were to happen to Carol Ann...

His hands clenched. He couldn’t bear the thought, but it reminded him of all the unspoken promises he’d made to Peter when he’d sworn to keep an eye on Sophie—promises to help her wherever and whenever he could. And here was the perfect opportunity to do exactly that.

‘I trust you, Sophie.’ And there weren’t too many people he did trust.

She pursed her lips. ‘I’ve been in the papers a lot recently—always linked with a different guy. I know how much you hate any kind of tabloid attention.’

‘Do you mean to continue appearing in the gossip pages?’

‘God no!’

He believed her. ‘Which makes it a non-issue.’

She stared at him for a long moment. ‘If you were serious about this, we’d need lawyers to draw up pre-nup agreements. I couldn’t take you for anything more than that million pounds.’ The blue in her eyes started to dance. ‘And you couldn’t take my little property in Cornwall.’

‘Every word is music to my ears, Sophie.’

He poured out two glasses of champagne, and handed her one before raising the other in the air. ‘I’m game if you are.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘READY?’

Sophie swung from where she stood in front of a gently crackling fire that was more for show than warmth, and nodded across the room to an unsmiling Will. ‘Absolutely.’

It was only four days since their crazy lunch in Soho, four days in which they’d signed their names to a contract to seal this crazy deal. Four days in which to consider pulling out.

She pushed her shoulders back. It might be crazy but she wasn’t pulling out. All she needed to do to send determination rippling out to every near and far-flung part of her being was to think of Carla. They would make this work.

She glanced at Will again. He made no move to lead her downstairs.

They’d been given a suite at the castle—two bedrooms with a shared sitting room and bathroom. It had taken her less time to freshen up than it had him. Which indicated his enthusiasm for the task at hand. She clapped her hands together and tried to look not terrified. ‘Ready whenever you are.’

The housekeeper had ushered them to these rooms when they’d arrived. Lord Bramley had not greeted his grandson at the door. Nor had Carol Ann.

If either event had disconcerted or disappointed Will, he’d not betrayed the fact by so much as a flicker of an eyelash.

He ran a critical eye over her now, raising gooseflesh on her arms. ‘You look perfect.’

Her lips twisted. She did.

His eyes narrowed. ‘What?’

‘If there’s one thing I can do right it’s to wear the appropriate clothes whatever the occasion.’ And when one got right down to it, it was an utterly pointless talent—so trivial.

She wore black three-quarter-length capris, a silk vest top in cream and a cashmere blend long-line cardigan in a shade of dusky pink. Complementing the outfit was a pair of pink and rose-gold sandals, light make-up and a loose ponytail. She didn’t need to glance into the mirror above the mantelpiece to know she looked the epitome of casual country chic.

‘What are you afraid you can’t do? Pull this charade of ours off?’

He wore a pair of navy chinos, loafers and a lighter blue button-down shirt that moulded itself to his chest in such a way that it took an enormous amount of effort on her part to not notice. Or, at least, to appear not to notice.

‘You look perfect too. We look perfect together.’

‘You didn’t answer the question.’

No wonder his start-up company was so successful—he was dogged, persistent when he sensed a problem, and, she suspected, ruthless. Not that she had any intention of hiding her current concerns from him. For heaven’s sake, the man had promised her a million pounds! She had to do her absolute best here for him. She had no intention of letting him down—for his sake, for her own sake, but mostly for Carla’s sake.

And Peter’s.

‘Sophie?’

‘We look perfect.’ She twisted the ring on the third finger of her left hand, before holding that hand up. ‘We have the ring to prove it. But we need to act perfect too.’

He lowered himself to the edge of the sofa. ‘Explain.’

She remained right where she was, too keyed-up to take a seat. ‘Look, everyone is going to assume we’re lovers, right? There are certain...intimacies we need to—’

‘We’re not having sex! We agreed.’

He remained seated, but it felt as if he’d leapt to his feet and stabbed a finger at her. Her heart gave a sick thud. ‘Wow! I don’t know whether to be offended that you’re so repulsed at the thought of sleeping with me or not.’

This time he did shoot to his feet. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘Well, it’s by the by and totally unimportant for the current conversation. Sex is not the only kind of intimacy couples in love share.’ She planted her hands to her hips to hide how awkward she felt. ‘Or has that fact passed you by?’

He dismissed that with a single wave of an imperious hand. ‘We’ll play it by ear—wing it. Make it up as we go along.’

Did he really think that’d work? An unwelcome thought shuffled through her. She wanted to swat it away, but... ‘Are you hoping we succeed? Or that we’ll fail?’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

She couldn’t take his money. Not if this were a farce. She searched his face.

‘I want this to work. It has to work.’ His nostrils flared. ‘What is your problem?’

Her problem was his absolute lack of enthusiasm for her company. On their flight to Inverness he’d buried himself in paperwork, barely exchanging two words with her. And at the moment it seemed he could barely stand being in the same room with her. It was some kind of Peter hang-up. She recognised it because she had a few of those of her own.

‘My problem is that you can barely bring yourself to touch me.’

He scowled. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

She held out her hand. ‘Then hold my hand.’

His scowl deepened but he took her hand. She immediately felt less alone.

Oh, but that scowl!

She tugged him closer and turned him so they could survey their reflections in the mirror above the mantelpiece. ‘Now there’s a lover-like expression if I ever saw one.’

He tried to smooth his face out and she was seized with a sudden urge to giggle.

‘This isn’t funny.’

But his eyes lightened as he said it and her smile widened. ‘It’s hilarious. You’re just too tense to admit it. You’re always tense when you mention Scotland, so I suppose it only makes sense that you’re tense now we’re here.’

His eyebrows rose.

‘It’s true. It’s always been true. There’ll be reasons for it—good ones, I expect—but I think it’ll help our cause somewhat if you pretend that I’ve helped you to un-tense a little on that front, don’t you?’

He stared down at her and it made her aware of their unusual proximity. Her pulse started to race.

‘You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?’

‘Of course I have!’ His surprise stung. ‘You’re paying me a ridiculous amount of money to help you pull this off. I mean to do my best.’

His mouth opened and then closed. He blinked, and then something in the line of his jaw softened. ‘Thank you.’

She wanted to tug her hand from his. She wanted to bolt across to the other side of the room and put a sofa and coffee table between them. She forced herself to remain where she was. ‘Let’s save the gratitude for later...when we’ve managed to pull this off.’

He gave a hard nod. ‘Right. So...any other tricks besides holding hands that I should know about?’

His smile eased the chafe in her soul. This was a tense, high-stakes game they were playing. It made sense there’d be nerves, and that her every sense would be on high alert.

Carefully she reclaimed her hand and gestured to the mirror. ‘Pretend it’s after dinner and we’ve all adjourned to the drawing room. For a brief moment the two young lovers edge across to the fireplace to exchange a few private lover-like words.’

He grinned, entering into the spirit of things. His head drew down to hers. ‘Sophie?’

His breath stirred the hair at her temples and her heart leapt into her throat. ‘Yes?’

‘You have the most exquisite toenails I have ever seen. They rival every other toenail in the universe. You should’ve been a toenail model.’

She glanced down at her toenails, painted a jaunty pink, and wiggled them. ‘I had them done with you in mind.’

Her voice shook as she said it, and they both burst into laughter.

‘Did we just spoil the effect you were after?’

She shrugged, shaking her head. ‘I have no idea, but I’m pretty certain laughter is good, right?’

He smiled down at her, brushed a tendril of hair from her face. ‘It’s nice to hear you laugh, Sophie.’

Her stomach clenched. She had no right to laugh. She didn’t deserve to have fun. She had too much to make amends for. Once she’d made amends maybe then—and only then—would she have maybe earned the right to some happiness.

‘Hey, where’d you just go?’

Heavens, she needed to keep on track. ‘Sorry, I...’ She shrugged. ‘Sometimes it still seems wrong to be happy when Peter’s not here.’

‘He wouldn’t want you to keep grieving the way you have been.’

Wasn’t that the truth?

But it also wasn’t what Will meant, and it was none of his concern. He was doing enough for her already. She had to play her part here to perfection, and if that included laughing then she’d laugh.

‘Right, next scenario.’

He straightened. ‘Okay, hit me with it.’

‘We’re at a dinner party. There’s milling around before and afterwards. We’re talking to another couple or maybe two other couples. How do we stand?’

He pursed his lips. ‘You were smart to bring this up. If I think of you as Peter’s little sister Sophie, then I stand like this.’ He moved a step away. ‘At a discreet distance where I’d be careful not to invade your personal space.

He’d always been very careful not to do that.

‘But when you’re Sophie, my bride-to-be, then...’ He was silent for a moment and then draped an arm across her shoulders. Staring at their reflection, he frowned. ‘Now we just look like great mates.’

She waited for him to work it out. If she were the one doing all the cosying up it would look wrong. She’d look desperate too. Not that she cared what anyone here thought about her. But she did care about that million pounds, so she had to make sure Lord Bramley didn’t get suspicious.

‘Okay, this is better.’

Will pulled her in closer until she was plastered against his side. She swallowed. Too close. She rested a hand on his chest.

He frowned. ‘That could be a bit much.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘You think?’

‘I’m not appreciating your sarcasm.’

Yeah, well, maybe she wasn’t appreciating how long this was taking for him to get right. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had a lot of practice. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had a girlfriend before. He’d had a lot of them.

An itch chafed through her, followed by a burn.

He squared them off, his eyes turned towards the mirror rather than her, until his arm rested across her shoulders, the weight of it solid and reassuring while their hips bumped against each other’s lightly. ‘That’s good. And this could be good too.’

He moved her in front of him and wrapped arm about her upper chest, just above her breasts, pulling her back against him. She gritted her teeth.

‘Smile, Sophie.’

She met his gaze in the mirror and forced a smile to uncooperative lips. But as she continued to stare at him a ripple of recognition ran though her. This was Will—Peter’s best friend—and while he’d never really approved of her, she’d trust him with her life.

‘That’s better. This is...nice.’