Part 8 (1/2)

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Parisa's temper boiled over as soon as Didi closed the door behind her. 'What the h.e.l.l do you think you're playing at?' She jumped to her feet, her face pale, her slender body shaking with the force of her anger. 'Coming into my home, telling my housekeeper you are the new Lord of Hardcourt and my fiancee. What kind of fable is that?' she raged.

'No fable. The announcement of our engagement was in this morning's Times and I am Savion Holdings. By a strange coincidence, the estate agent you used to sell the t.i.tle happens to be part of the property company I recently acquired. When I saw the name Hardcourt I couldn't resist the temptation and purchased the t.i.tle. It seemed rather fitting, I thought.'

It was true; she could tell by the triumphant glitter in his black eyes. But what about the rest? 'David... The papers...' she spluttered. Suddenly the enormity of what Luc had done hit her. Oh, my G.o.d! She realised everyone in the county would know.

She had no idea how magnificent she looked, standing in the middle of the room, her blue eyes flas.h.i.+ng fire, the soft red wool-knit dress she wore clinging to every curve of her slender form.

'Dial You have the face of an angel, the body of a temptress, and a heart as hard as nails .'

Luc's deep voice cut into the tense silence.

Parisa flushed scarlet, then paled at his final comment. If anyone had a heart as hard as nails it was Luc, she thought bitterly. But before she could open her mouth to repudiate him, he had got to his feet and covered the distance between them. He grabbed her by her shoulders. She stiffened, shooting a furious glance at his dark countenance, and seething at the arrogant contempt she saw in his black eyes.

His cold, cynical gaze roamed her infuriated face. 'Your poor sod of a boyfriend is well rid of you. Did you bother to tell him you had already been in my bed?' She flushed even brighter. 'No. I thought not.' His sensuous mouth curved in a hard sneer. 'It is time you faced up to your selfish actions, and I am going to make sure you do.'

He was much too close. His aggressive masculinity threatened her in ways she refused to admit, but his words incited her fury. How dared he call her selfish, the swine? And, without thinking, she raised her hand to strike him. But her arm was caught in mid air, and with embarra.s.sing ease Luc twisted it behind her back, hauling her tight against his huge frame.

The anger, the tension crackled between them like an electric storm. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were flattened against his broad chest. Her mouth opened to demand her release, but she never uttered a word. His hand slid from her shoulder to tangle in her long hair, tightening till the pain almost made her cry out, but his mouth silenced her, grinding against hers in a savage, bruising a.s.sault. She could not believe it was happening. The rage, the pent-up violence in the thrusting force of his kiss was shocking in its intensity, and to her horror all her fight deserted her as she went limp in his arms.

He released her so abruptly that she almost fell. Her tongue licked involuntarily over her swollen lips. Her head still tilted back, she stared numbly up at Luc, too shocked to speak.

'Don't ever raise your hand to me again, Parisa.' His face grey beneath his tan, his black eyes sliced into her. 'I have no desire to hurt you. That is not why I'm here.'

He could have fooled her! she thought, the painful throbbing of her lips all too real. He turned and walked across the room. She stared at his broad back, the tightness of his wide shoulders, too stunned by the explosion of raw pa.s.sion to move.

'Then why?' she asked, fighting to regain control of her chaotic emotions. She didn't understand; her brain just would not function. Her legs trembling, she sank back down on the sofa, closing her eyes for a moment. It had to be a nightmare. Any second now she would wake and her life would be back to normal. Slowly she opened her eyes, but it wasn't so. Luc had moved and was now standing with one arm leaning against the ornate oak-carved fireplace, his interested gaze roaming around the room and finally settling on Parisa.

'I can see why you need money, Parisa. It's a lovely old house, but it does need cash spending on it. I'm surprised you can afford an apartment in the city, but then a London address must be convenient for you to hand out to unwanted friends...' he prompted cynically.

'Something like that,' she snapped. 'But it obviously didn't work in your case.'

'Liar. It isn't your apartment. It belongs to your friend Moya.'

'So what?' Suddenly she remembered the day they bought the ring. No wonder he had insisted on driving her home to find out her address... the original blackmailer knew where Moya lived. What an idiot she had been not to realise it at the time, and she could have spared herself an awful lot of heartache. 'You wouldn't be here if I hadn't put the t.i.tle up for sale.' She unconsciously spoke her thoughts out loud.

'Is that your idea of an explanation for your actions?' Luc laughed-a harsh, humourless sound.

'I don't owe you an explanation,' Parisa said bluntly. It was the other way around, she thought mutinously. But a tiny flicker of something very like hope stirred in her breast. How had Luc discovered the apartment was not hers, unless he had called there looking for her? But immediately she squashed the feeling. Yes, but weeks later, she told herself cynically, and, shooting Luc a poisonous glance, she demanded, 'You have yet to explain why you are here, and the ridiculous a.s.sumption that I am your fiancee.'

'Not a.s.sumption. Fact, Parisa, and you have a very expensive ring to prove it.'

'That bauble served its purpose for you.' She responded with icy politeness to cover her deep resentment. He had certainly got his money's worth out of that piece of costume jewellery in the two days they had spent together in Italy.

'I would hardly call a brilliant blue-white diamond a bauble. You were good in bed, but not that good, and I am not in the habit of paying out a small fortune for a one-night stand,' he drawled mockingly. His black eyes caught and held hers, and she could not hide the shock his words had caused her.

He was saying the stone was real. She couldn't believe it-a brilliant blue-white, she knew, was one of the most expensive diamonds in the world.

'I'm surprised you haven't sold it as you need money so badly. Or have you?' Luc's cynical query made her stiffen in her seat.

'No,' she snapped, still digesting his other comment. He had not found making love to her much good! Why did that hurt? She had realised weeks ago that Luc had obviously not been as bowled over by the one night of pa.s.sion they had shared as she herself had. What had been the most marvellous experience of her life had been just s.e.x to him. She raised her head, and with a curious detachment surveyed the man leaning negligently against the fireplace as though he were a total stranger. But her attention was caught as he pushed one hand into the pocket of his elegant black trousers, pulling the fine wool cloth over his powerful thigh. She turned her head defensively. There was no mistaking his virile masculine appeal. It radiated from every line of his large body, but she refused to acknowledge that he could still affect her.

Luc didn't make love to women; the word wasn't in his vocabulary. He hadn't made love to Parisa. He had practised his mastery of the s.e.xual act, nothing more. He had used her for amus.e.m.e.nt in revenge for a childish prank. He had covered it with sweet talk and a semblance of caring, which only made it worse. Now the final insult-he thought he had paid far too much for the privilege. Hadn't he just said so...?

'What do you want, Luc?' she said flatly. 'The ring back?' She got to her feet, her blue gaze remote on his still figure. Every inch the lady, she walked, head high, towards the door. 'I'll get it for you and then you can go.'

'No. Stay.' His curt command stopped her. She turned with her hand on the doork.n.o.b.

'There is something more?' she queried with icy politeness. 'You do surprise me. You already own the t.i.tle of the manor, but the house is not for sale. You and your mother will have to content yourself with a piece of paper and a coat of arms.' And much good may it do the pair of them, she thought bitterly. Anna Gennetti had been right. The Di Maggis were status seekers, something she could not abide.

Puzzlement then anger flashed in his dark eyes, as the impact of her words struck home. He searched her cool, composed features, his glance skimming insultingly over her rigidly held body, lingering for an instant on the firm outline of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, before returning to her face. It took all her self-control to hold his gaze without blus.h.i.+ng. Antic.i.p.ating his furious response, she was mystified as his saturnine features resolved into a bland mask to match her own.

'My mother is in the Royal Free Hospital in London. She thinks we are engaged.' His tone remote, Luc continued, 'I promised I would take you to visit her. I had the announcement printed in The Times simply as an alternative if I did not find you at home. I considered the formal announcement would be some rea.s.surance for Mamma. She is very ill and I do not want her upset or worried,'

So that was it... Instantly, Parisa believed him. Of course, it made sense. Why else would he bother tracking her down? Certainly not because he had any feelings for her. He had made that very plain...

'I'm sorry about your mother. What's wrong?' she asked courteously. It was as though an invisible barrier had slid between them. They spoke as two polite strangers, and that suited Parisa perfectly.

'She had a slight heart attack a few weeks ago. On Thursday she is to undergo a bypa.s.s operation.'

'I see.'

'Enough to come with me to visit her tomorrow?'

Parisa was sorry Signora Di Maggi was ill, but she had no intention of getting involved with Luc or his family again; once was quite enough. 'Yes, well, I'm afraid I can't,' she said coolly.

Luc straightened. 'You owe me... and I collect on my debts.' His dark eyes burned with a deep-seated anger as he moved purposely towards her.

Parisa turned the door-handle, intent on escape, but was foiled as Didi entered.

'I thought I'd better tell you.' The elderly lady smiled at Luc. 'Your chauffeur has returned and he is waiting in the kitchen.' So now she knew, Parisa thought, why she had never seen a car in the drive when she had arrived home. 'And I've booked your table for seven,' Didi continued, turning her attention to Parisa. 'That will give you plenty of time to show Mr Luc around the house. Tomorrow, when you go to visit his mother'

'Didi, I'm not going to dinner or to London- '

'Rubbish, girl, of course you are. You can't let Master Luc and your future mother-in-law down.'

'But...' Parisa should have known after a lifetime with Didi that there was no way she was going to win this particular argument. Ten minutes later she was pointing out the various portraits in the large entrance hall and then leading Luc up the wide staircase, still wondering how it had happened. 'Mind the carpet,' she said automatically as they reached the worn part.

She stopped in front of a ma.s.sive oil-painting in an ornate gilt frame, and turned as Luc stood by her side. 'Hardcourts have lived here since the twelfth century. The local baron gave the manorial rights to an ancient ancestor, for fighting for him-there was no such thing as pay in those days. The house has been rebuilt over the centuries, the last time in 1850. This is Lady Penelope, one of the earliest portraits.' It was a picture of a woman in seventeenth-century clothes, who looked rather like Parisa, with the same distinctive white-blonde hair.

'Her husband was a sea captain, and died at sea. Rumour has it he was actually a pirate. She was left with a baby daughter and the house. In those days it would have pa.s.sed to the next male in the family, but as it happened the next male was a distant relative, who was an earl in his own right. He very graciously allowed the entail to be altered so the property could be pa.s.sed to the first-born child of the family, irrespective of s.e.x. A very unusual entail in those times, and the manor has pa.s.sed down through both the male and female line ever since. That is why some of the portraits bear different hyphenated names, the only constant being the Hardcourt.' She sounded like a tour guide, but didn't care.

'Interesting. I did wonder why the surname on the portraits varied.'

'Yes, it is quite unusual.'

'She was very lovely; you look rather like her.' Luc turned his head, glancing down at her.