Part 9 (1/2)

Her glance trailed freely over his head and shoulders as he spoke. He looked stunningly attractive, if casually dressed. The white high-necked cashmere sweater, with his leather jacket draped loosely over his broad shoulders, somehow made him seem more of a foreigner to Parisa, and very Latin. She glanced around. Every other man in the restaurant wore a tie, and yet Luc still managed to look the most elegant. She had listened to his proposition and knew he did not really want her as his wife, and she would be a fool to think otherwise. But in the circ.u.mstances, wasn't that a plus factor in the deal? she argued with herself.

'A fortnight of my life for a fortune, that's all... ?' she prompted with a trace of sarcasm, her blue eyes clas.h.i.+ng with enigmatic black ones, as bravely she held his gaze.

'Yes, that is all. According to Didi, you have almost three weeks of the Easter vacation left; our little arrangement will not affect your work. It will be completed in time for you to return to school for the summer term. It couldn't be more convenient. Think, Parisa- all your money problems solved, Didi and Joe a.s.sured of a happy retirement, and yourself free of the constant worry of trying to maintain the manor house. I am an extremely wealthy man and I am prepared to pay a lot for my mamma's peace of mind.'

The way he spoke, cool and business-like, did much to persuade her he actually meant what he was saying. 'No strings attached?' she queried. He was right; she would never get a better offer to put her house in order, both literally and metaphorically speaking. She rubbed her damp palms surrept.i.tiously on the smooth velvet of her skirt, under the table. Finally she would be able to pay Didi and Joe a pension.

'None at all. You have my word. We get married in the register office on Thursday. We stay in my hotel suite and visit the hospital daily, say ten days or so, which is when the consultant believes my mother will be fit enough to return to Italy. But, whatever happens, you can return to Hardcourt Manor in time to go back to work.'

'Won't your mother find it odd, my vanis.h.i.+ng after such a short time?' she asked, completely missing the flash of triumph in Luc's dark eyes at her unconscious acceptance.

'Not in the least. We'll tell her about the refurbishment of the manor, and obviously, as the mistress, you will be needed to oversee everything. I will be coming to England much more frequently now I own a company here. So there is no reason for Mother to suspect anything wrong between you and I.'

'You appear to have thought of everything,' Parisa said musingly, and drank some more champagne. 'But eventually your mother is bound to want to see me.'

'The prognosis for my mother is not great, even with the operation. A year or two at most. Afterwards, a quick divorce for you and I.'

Compa.s.sion softened Parisa's blue eyes. 'I'm sorry...I didn't realise her condition was so bad.'

'Why should you? She is little more than a stranger to you. But if you agree, it is in your power to make the rest of her life much happier.' Parisa knew he was telling the truth. The sincerity in his black eyes was unmistakable as he held her wary gaze. 'Say yes...

'Why me?' she murmured softly. Luc knew lots of women, any one of whom would jump at the chance of being his wife, without it costing him a fraction of what he seemed to be prepared to pay her. Once- again he seemed to read her mind.

'You forget my mother already believes you and I are engaged. Personally I have no more desire to get married than you have, and, flattering though it is that you imagine I can marry any woman at will, Parisa, consider: if I produce a total stranger tomorrow as my prospective bride it is hardly likely to rea.s.sure my mother,' he commented cynically.

Determined to decide with her head, logically, Parisa picked up her gla.s.s and drained it, carefully replacing it on the table. What he said made a lot of sense. Except it was Luc Di Maggi saying it... No, it was impossible. Wasn't it?

'You can't lose, Parisa. I noticed everyone around here uses your t.i.tle. What are you going to tell them, that you are no longer a Lady? That t.i.tle is reserved for the woman I marry.'

'That is no argument. I couldn't care less about the t.i.tle-I wouldn't have sold it if I did,' she replied bluntly. But the odd pain in the region of her heart at the thought of Luc married to someone else she swiftly dismissed as indigestion.

She tilted her head to one side, her silver-gilt hair falling in a swathe over her shoulder; she had left it loose tonight. Not because Luc preferred it that way... She had simply been in a hurry. She rested her elbow on the table and twisted a strand of pale hair around her finger, while openly studying Luc. She could read nothing from his rugged, if somewhat gaunt features; a bit tired, maybe, but his cool dark eyes seemed honest enough as they met hers. Dared she trust him, and did it matter for only two weeks... ?

'Yes, all right. I agree; it's a deal.' And, stretching out her slender hand, 'Shake on it.'

Luc caught her hand in his much larger one and said very gravely, 'A deal, Parisa.' And then to her astonishment he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, his mouth warm on her soft flesh. ”Thank you.'

She couldn't respond. Instead, she was trying to rub the tingling feeling from the back of her hand, under the cover of the table, and wondering if she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.

Luc didn't give her time to change her mind, as over dessert and coffee he talked non-stop. Parisa wasn't very sure what about, and when they finally stood up to leave she was beginning to wonder if she had imagined agreeing to marry him.

She walked out of the restaurant in a daze, but was brought back to the present by the sound of Luc crying out.

'Ouch!' She swung around, and saw him sway, then straighten. Parisa couldn't help it: she burst out laughing. He had his eyes closed and was dramatically holding a hand to his head.

'This is a very old establishment, and the oak beams and low ceilings part of its charm. You should be more careful. It does say in very large letters over the dining room door: ”Mind your Head”.'

His 'Ha, ha...' ended in a groan.

'Are you OK?' Parisa walked back to Luc and placed a hand on his arm. 'You hurt yourself?' He looked very pale. At that moment the chauffeur walked out of the adjoining bar.

'No, I'm fine.' And Luc, straightening his broad shoulders, took her arm and led her out to the car.

Seated in the back seat of the limousine, she moved close to the window, putting as much s.p.a.ce between herself and Luc as humanly possible.

'You have nothing to fear, Parisa...' He cast her a sidelong glance, one brow arched sardonically. 'I have no burning desire to leap on you, or, at present, the energy. Our marriage will be strictly business.'

'I wouldn't agree otherwise,' she replied firmly, but some imp of mischief deep down inside her queried the truth of her comment.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

The car stopped outside the oak double doors of her home. Parisa cast a sidelong glance at Luc. His head was back against the seat and his eyes were closed. The dim light of the car cast a greyish tinge over his taut features. For a moment she wondered if the knock on the head had hurt him more than he wanted to admit. His long lashes fluttered on his cheeks and his eyes opened. For a second they did not seem to focus, but with a grunt he straightened up in the seat.

His dark head bent towards her as he reached across to open the car door. 'You will excuse me if I don't get out, but the chauffeur will see you to the door, and pick you up again in the morning around ten. I will meet you at the hospital and together we can tell Mamma the good news.'

'Yes-yes, fine,' she stuttered, the husky male scent of him, his nearness making her uneasy!

'Parisa.' He caught her hand as she swung her long legs out of the car. 'No second thoughts. I expect to see you in the morning. Our deal stands...'

'Yes, OK.'

There was something distant about him, and he seemed to be slurring his words. Parisa slid out of the car, and looked back.

'Get in the house,' he commanded curtly.

Turning, she walked up the steps and let herself in the front door. She locked the heavy door behind her, and tiredly walked across the hall to the stairs, the portraits of her ancestors smiling down at her. She had the oddest feeling that they were laughing at her. She shook her head to dispel the fanciful notion and wearily climbed the grand staircase.

She stopped at the antiquated bathroom next door to her bedroom, and, stripping off her clothes, had a quick wash, and, taking her old towelling robe from the back of the door, gratefully made her way to the bedroom. Shrugging out of her robe, she climbed into the welcoming softness of the huge old bed. She didn't want to think, just sleep.

But it was not so easy. Had she really agreed to marry Luc on Thursday? It made sense financially, she knew, but what about emotionally? Could she live with the man even for two weeks without resurrecting all the hurt and pain she had already suffered at his hands? Did she have the strength of will, or even the acting ability to play the part he wanted from her? A million questions swirled around her tired mind, and she wasn't capable of answering them.

Perhaps, she thought, turning restlessly on the bed, it was all a joke. Tomorrow Luc would ring and tell her it was all off. She half hoped he would. He had told her to use her head, have a bit of business sense, and she could see the advantages of his offer very clearly. True, she did feel sorry for his mother, and felt some slight obligation as she had led the lady to believe she was engaged to her son. Didi as well would be delighted at the thought of Parisa marrying Luc. But basically, what did it make her; Parisa Hardcourt-Belmont, going through a marriage ceremony mainly for money... A harsh, humourless laugh escaped her. Mercenary! But then, was that so strange? In the history of her family there had been plenty of arranged marriages, and no doubt some strictly for money. Why should she balk at the thought?

Love was for fools; she had learnt that lesson the hard way. Luc Di Maggi had taught her. She remembered when he had first broached the subject of her going to Italy with him, and he had said he would never marry, but he didn't mind getting engaged to keep his mother happy. Maybe that was Parisa's guarantee. He was a ruthless, dynamic businessman, who had, from the humble beginnings of a bakery, built a vast empire. He took what he wanted without a thought for other people. How many people had he used and cast aside along the way, herself included? she wondered.

She might despise the man. The five days she had waited in London for him to get in touch with her had been the most painful period she had ever endured. She had deluded herself into believing Luc must love her simply because she loved him. Then, the final day, she had seen the newspaper article, and realised Luc had lied to her, that the man she had thought she was in love with, the man she had even been prepared to accept was a criminal at the cost of her own conscience, was a stranger to her. Parisa had given herself to a man who had simply been playing a joke on her as some petty revenge for a supposed insult of years ago. When she had realised the extent of her naivete, she had vowed that no man would get the chance to make a fool of her again.

Could she be as hard and cynical as Luc was? Yes... She would take his money, she told herself with bitter certainty. Why not? Who more appropriate? After all, he had bought the t.i.tle, and the thought really rankled. She grumbled about the old building, but in reality she loved her home and could not imagine living anywhere else. Her childhood memories of running wild around the five acres of parkland... playing hide-and-seek with her father in the many rooms... sliding down the banister ... She cherished her memories, but from now on, for the rest of her life, she would have to live with the ever present knowledge that Luc was the Lord of the Manor.

She deserved the money, she told herself, and there was no denying it would be much easier for her personally. Legally, as Luc's wife, if only in name and for a short duration, her position would remain the same and there would be no need for her to reveal to friends and acquaintances that she had actually sold the t.i.tle.

Cowardly, perhaps, but she had not relished the thought of exposing her monetary problems to all and sundry. But the deciding factor was that it would enable her to pay Didi and Joe a decent pension for the rest of their lives. But it was still a long time before she finally slept, and when she did her dreams were full of a tall tanned man, black eyes gleaming with devilish humour, laughing down at her.

Parisa awakened the next morning and almost convinced herself the previous day had been a dream or, more likely, a nightmare. Luc had stormed back into her life, announcing to the world at large that she was his fiancee. She had no illusions about him caring for her... He had made it brutally obvious yesterday afternoon, with his cutting remark about the night he had made love to her. So why was she being stupid enough to go along with his crazy plan to get married, even if it was only for a couple of weeks? she asked herself. Deceiving Didi! Wearing his ring! She had no answer. Well, none she was prepared to admit to.

She did not love him... Her trip to Italy had been stupid, even though her reason for going had been compelling at the time. But a fortnight in London, a strictly platonic relations.h.i.+p, for a fortune... Surely it was common sense to accept... ?