What have you done now?
The foreboding gripped her tighter, even though she hadn’t done anything that would cause her father grief, not recently at least.
That kiss maybe?
She swallowed. No, surely not? Who would have told him? No one else had been at the lake, she was sure of it. And anyway, what did that kiss have to do with the Duke of Audley?
‘Audley and I went to university together,’ her father said. ‘This was before I married, but he’d just come home from Greece with his new wife, and she was pregnant. They knew it was a boy. We were celebrating his impending fatherhood and he suggested that if I was to ever have a daughter, then she could marry his son. I...confess I’d had more than a couple of pints and I was a little worse for wear. I agreed that it was a fine idea and so we shook on it. He never mentioned it again and neither did I, and soon I forgot about it.’
Willow blinked in surprise. She couldn’t imagine her father drinking let alone being ‘a little worse for wear’. He was famously abstemious and hated rowdiness of any kind. He also wasn’t the type to indulge in drunken gentlemen’s agreements either.
‘I see,’ she said, puzzled. ‘So why are you mentioning this to me now?’
‘Because the Duke of Audley’s son, now the current Duke of Audley, has asked me to make good on my promise.’
Willow’s surprise deepened. An arranged betrothal between the children of two friends lost in the mists of time? The idea was so ridiculous, so utterly preposterous, it had to be a joke. ‘Dad, are you sure this isn’t a scam? Is the letter legitimate?’
‘Yes, of course it’s legitimate and I know a scam when I see one.’ His mouth thinned. ‘The Duke wishes to see you tomorrow night at Thornhaven so he can put his proposal to you.’
She opened her mouth. Shut it again. She didn’t know whether to laugh at the insanity of the situation or be outraged by it. But, since she didn’t display any extremes of emotion these days, she settled on a tight smile. ‘I appreciate the invitation obviously, but he can’t possibly think that I’m going to agree to it.’
But Clarence only stared at her. ‘He has offered certain...financial incentives.’
Oh. No wonder her father was taking this so seriously.
She was very conscious all of a sudden that her palms were damp and her heartbeat had quickened. ‘What kind of financial incentives?’ she asked, pleased by how level she sounded.
‘I don’t know,’ her father said, his gaze still sharp and direct. ‘His letter was very brief. I assume he’ll tell you more when you meet him.’
She stiffened. ‘What do you mean, “when”? I’m not going to Thornhaven—’
‘I want you to hear him out, Willow,’ Clarence said flatly. ‘We can’t keep going on the way we have.’
‘But I’ve taken on extra shifts—’
‘That’s not going to help either of us and you know it.’ Her father’s expression became hard, the way it always did when he thought she was disobeying him. ‘The house needs to have money spent on it, or we need to sell it. I’ve been looking into treatment for myself too. There are a couple of options that would improve my quality of life immensely, but they’re expensive. And I’m tired of waiting. This could be the answer, Willow.’
It was true. Depending on what kind of ‘financial incentives’ the Duke was offering, it could mean the solution to all their difficulties.
And all she’d have to do was marry a complete stranger.
You wanted to fix this. You’re the reason you’re in this mess in the first place, after all.
That was also true. Her father might have been a world-renowned surgeon if her mother hadn’t wanted a baby and hadn’t talked her father into it; he hadn’t been keen on the idea. And if her mother hadn’t then died six months later in a car accident, leaving her grieving father to bring up a child he hadn’t wanted in the first place. An overly emotional, stubborn and headstrong child, whom her reserved and self-contained father had no idea what to do with. And whose behaviour had been a contributing factor in the stress that had triggered his stroke.
She swallowed down the guilt, forced it aside along with all the other unwanted emotions that still seethed inside her, no matter how many years she’d spent ignoring them. Once, she’d thought that they’d go away altogether, or at least she wouldn’t feel them so very deeply, but that day hadn’t come yet.
When she’d been very young and her father’s disapproval and cold distance had been too much for her, she’d used to escape into the woods and the Thornhaven estate, where she could shout and sing and even scream to herself and no one would tell her to be quiet or to go away, or that she was a damn nuisance.
But she didn’t go into the woods often these days, because these days she was much better at controlling herself. She wasn’t that difficult child any more.
‘In that case,’ she said without inflection, ‘Of course I’ll see him.’
Her father gave her another of his sharp, assessing looks, as if he’d somehow picked up a note of protest in her tone, though there hadn’t been even the faintest hint of one. ‘You don’t have to marry him, Willow. No one’s going to force you. It’s not the Middle Ages after all. But the logical thing to do is to get all the information so you can make an informed decision.’
She didn’t know how he’d managed to pick up on her reluctance, not when she’d barely acknowledged it herself. Or perhaps it wasn’t reluctance, only surprise due to the unusual nature of the request.
Whatever, her father was right. She needed to gather all the information before making a decision, in which case accepting the Duke’s invitation was the logical thing to do.
Really, she was viewing this with far too much emotion, especially when she didn’t even know what kind of proposal the Duke was going to put forward.
It clearly wasn’t going to be a real marriage, not when they’d never met. Perhaps it was because of some legal difficulty? Not that it mattered. Marriage—whenever she thought of it, which she seldom did—seemed to work well for some people, but it required a certain amount of emotional involvement that she wasn’t willing to give.
She would have to inform the Duke of that when they met so he was clear. She certainly wouldn’t want to mislead anyone.
‘No, you’re right,’ she said in the same cool tone. ‘You can tell the Duke that I’d be happy to accept his invitation.’
Her father was pleased, she could tell, and that gave her a certain satisfaction. And, since she wasn’t going to get anything done if she thought about it too much, she put it out of her mind.
At least until the next day rolled around and she couldn’t put it out of her mind any longer.
She told herself that she wasn’t in the least bit nervous as she surveyed her very meagre wardrobe, trying to decide on what to wear. She never went out anywhere, so she didn’t have any nice dresses apart from a summery cotton thing in white. She liked the dress, but putting it on made her feel as though she was making an effort and some stubborn part of her didn’t want to be seen to be making an effort.
The same stubborn part of her that had refused to look up anything about the current Duke of Audley on the web. There was bound to be something about him—some photos at least—to give her an idea about what to expect, but something inside her absolutely refused.
She knew that giving in to her stubborn streak wasn’t a good idea, since it had caused her problems in the past, but she rationalised it, by telling herself that she didn’t want to go to Thornhaven with any preconceived ideas.
Besides, she’d find out about him soon enough, and there was always the possibility that the whole ridiculous situation was a joke. Or something her father had misunderstood, or some other easily explicable thing that would become apparent the moment she arrived.
It wouldn’t have anything to do with her actually marrying some man sh
e’d never met, and a duke at that.
So she didn’t make an effort. She wore jeans and a serviceable shirt in plain white and she didn’t even touch her very likely out-of-date make-up. She made sure her father had everything he needed for the evening, double-checked his phone was within reach so he could call her if he had to, and then she stepped outside and walked across the lawn to the little path that would take her to Thornhaven.
It was a beautiful evening, the long summer twilight lying over the moors beyond the woods lighting the grey stone of the large, Georgian manor house. Ivy covered the walls, softening the stark, square lines and the austere front entrance.
While Willow loved Thornhaven’s grounds—its wild wood and large ornate gardens—she’d never actually been in the house itself.
But she’d always been curious about it. When she’d been much younger and wilder, she’d made up stories in her head about the reclusive Duke who lived there, fairy tales where the Duke became a dark and dangerous prince who was rescued and led to redemption by the girl who lived next door, who was also a princess with super-powers.
Those were ridiculous stories though, and ones she’d left behind long ago.
Now as she approached the front entrance, her footsteps crunching over the gravel of the driveway, she wasn’t thinking about fairy tales, but why the old Duke had been a recluse. And why his son hadn’t visited him. Why that son had been in touch with her father to call in this ridiculous gentleman’s agreement. Not to mention why he hadn’t contacted her directly.
Nerves fluttered inside her as she stopped in front of the big front door and pressed an incongruously modern-looking button for the doorbell set in the door frame.
The door was immediately opened by a slightly cadaverous-looking man who was clearly one of the Duke’s staff. He greeted her, requested that she follow him, then, without waiting for a response, stalked off, leaving Willow no choice but to do what he said.
She wasn’t given time to look around, though she caught a glimpse of high ceilings and ornate plasterwork, and paintings in heavy gilded frames. The floor was worn parquet and her footsteps scuffed as she hurried after the staff member who was obviously doing butler duties.
He opened a door to her left and ushered her into a very comfortable sitting room with a huge fireplace down one end, where a collection of couches and armchairs were arranged in front of it. Bookshelves stood against the white panelled walls, piled high and untidily with vast amounts of books. There were occasional tables scattered about and littered with various knickknacks, piles of papers, more abandoned books, plus a few cups and saucers. Old silk rugs covered the floor, softening the stark feel of the place, but nothing could mask the faint smell of must and damp. The scent of an old, neglected house that had been shut up and abandoned for far too long.
Despite that, the sitting room gave the impression of a room well lived-in, and it was warm, and Willow found herself relaxing somewhat.
‘The Duke will be with you directly,’ the man said and left without another word, closing the door behind him.
Willow stood a moment, the silence of the house settling around her. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a small painting near the fire that looked suspiciously like a Degas, but surely couldn’t have been. And she was just starting towards it to have a closer look, when she heard the door open again behind her, then close just as quietly.
And all the hairs on the back of her neck lifted in a kind of primitive awareness.
‘Hello Diana,’ a deep, rich and very familiar male voice said.
Willow Hall, daughter of his father’s old friend Clarence Hall, stood near the fireplace with her back to him, her hair flowing down her spine just as wild and glorious as it had it been beside the lake the week before.
Though this time there were less leaves in it.
Achilles waited, anticipation gathering tightly inside him.
After Jane had informed him of the will bombshell, he’d spent an intense and very expensive couple of days with his legal team examining every inch of the document and its codicils, trying to find any loopholes. But there were none. His father had left nothing to chance. The Thornhaven estate could only legally be owned by him if he married and had a son.
Really, he should have expected more hoops to jump through, but he’d thought his father would have long since forgotten his existence, since Achilles had purposely forgotten his. A stupid thought, clearly. Or perhaps his father expected him to be grateful?
Regardless, he’d spent the past fifteen years of his life making sure the world and everyone in it knew that Achilles Templeton was his own man and had nothing to do with his historic lineage. That he was vastly successful and a force to be reckoned with, in his own right.
He’d built a billion-dollar high-risk venture-capital firm from nothing, using only his excellent brain and his business skills and, not only that, but was the scourge of the elite party circuit as well. He worked hard, played harder, and if his life was one of excess, it was an excess he’d earned.
And if he took a great amount of satisfaction that the name ‘Templeton’ had become synonymous with a certain dissolute lifestyle, then what of it? Achilles didn’t care. His father certainly wouldn’t, because his father had never cared what Achilles did.
But apparently his father had cared. In the last few years of his life he’d somehow remembered he had a son and that said son was going to inherit the title when he died, so naturally enough, in a last, spiteful gesture, old Andrew Templeton had made sure that inheritance was as difficult for Achilles to get his hands on as possible.
Because of course, in his father’s eyes, it wasn’t Achilles’ inheritance at all.
It was his brother’s. Who’d died years ago.
Perhaps the old man was expecting Achilles to give up and let him have the last laugh. Achilles certainly didn’t need the money or the title, or the austere, gloomy manor house that went with it. He’d bought property in Greece, his mother’s country, and spent most of his time going from one country to another, following his business interests and the parties that went along with them, and certainly didn’t have any ties to his father’s country. He had no loyalty to the title, felt no need to settle down and continue the bloodline. Domestic bliss was the last thing he wanted. And there was a comfortable, reassuring emptiness in his heart where sensations of an emotional nature should have been, and weren’t, that he was in no hurry to fill.
Yet the moment Achilles heard about the will’s requirements, it was as if someone had flicked a switch on inside him. That emptiness in his heart had rippled and shifted, currents moving inside him, and he realised that yes, he in fact did care about this. And no, his father would not have the last laugh.
The house and the title were his and he would have both, and if his father thought that marriage and fatherhood would be enough to put him off, the old bastard was wrong.
Then after the codicil had been discovered, his lawyers had found something else in amongst his father’s documents.
Written down on a very old piece of paper and signed by both parties was an agreement that promised the Seventh Duke of Audley, one year and two months old at the time, to the yet-to-be-born oldest daughter of Dr Clarence Hall. The agreement was dated long enough in the past that it was clear the Seventh Duke of Audley was, in fact, Achilles’ dead older brother, Ulysses, who’d died of meningitis when he was fifteen.
His older brother who somehow in death was more alive than Achilles had ever been in life.
It was clear from the will that his father hadn’t wanted Achilles to inherit everything that should have been Ulysses’. Which meant, of course, that Achilles had to do everything in his power to take what should have been his older brother’s and make it his own.
Including Ulysses’ intended bride.
His father would have turned in his grave if he knew Achilles wa
s intended to step into precious Ulysses’ shoes, but Achilles didn’t care. That was what he wanted. The old man had denied him everything as a child and he could pretend that didn’t matter to him now, that he was long since over the neglect and pain caused by both his parents. But it did matter. He was over the pain, but maybe the anger was still there.
So he’d got his legal team to look into the document and to research this Clarence Hall, and, sure enough, they’d turned up a daughter. Except she’d been born many years after Ulysses’ death and a good ten years after his own birth, too. Clearly his father had forgotten about the agreement and had done nothing about it since, but it appeared that the girl—or rather woman now—lived with her father and had remained unmarried.
Which had been all to the good. And then his team had handed him a photo of Miss Willow Hall, and it had felt as if he’d been struck by lightning.
Because it turned out that the woman he’d kissed by the lake the week before was the same woman.
Which made everything crystallise in his head.
That lovely, lovely woman would be his wife and together they would make the most beautiful child. He would have the inheritance his father had denied him, and she would make it a pleasure to do so.
Ulysses’ intended bride would be his, the final repudiation of everything his father stood for.
The old Duke had thought to leave him a curse, but instead he’d given Achilles a gift.
So he took it.
He’d pored over the information his team had provided for him, investigating every aspect of Willow Hall’s life. Which wasn’t much. She worked at the cafe in the village while caring for her father, who’d had a stroke nine years earlier. Her finances—because of course he investigated those—were in a terrible state, since she didn’t get paid much and obviously couldn’t get work elsewhere because of her father’s health.
She was in dire straits and, as he was a man who’d built his business empire by taking advantage of every opportunity that came his way, he would take advantage of this one too.
The World's Most Notorious Greek (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 3
