Powerful Greek, Housekeeper Wife

by Robyn Donald

  ‘You need not be so concerned,’ he said abruptly. ‘I have no need to steal her—I prefer to do things legally.’ He waited a moment and added, ‘Unlike my son. You can tell him this fake marriage isn’t going to win him anything but everyone’s mockery.’

  To Iona’s huge relief one of the bodyguards appeared in a silent rush through the wavering shadows of the palms and headed purposefully towards them.

  Thank heavens the housekeeper had warned him. She said, ‘I’m sorry you’ve come all this way to no avail. I must ask you to go now.’

  ‘And if I do not want to go?’

  Calmly, in the voice she’d use to a child having a tantrum, Iona said, ‘The bodyguard will see that you do. I imagine you’d rather leave with dignity.’

  He made a gesture that hinted at disdain and frustration before turning and limping away towards the palms. Iona watched him out of sight, and then drew in an uneven breath, filling starved lungs with the fresh sea air. She blinked, and set off swiftly for the house.

  A kind of worried relief flooded her when she found Chloe ensconced in the kitchen, a glass of coconut milk in front of her, chattering away in what sounded like a mixture of English and French to the housekeeper.

  Her face lit up when she saw Iona, but she looked past her to the doorway and asked apprehensively, ‘Did the bad man go away?’

  ‘He’s not a bad man,’ Iona corrected, because there was just a chance that some terrible lack in the justice system would see Chloe eventually delivered to Aristo Michelakis’s custody. ‘He’s a grumpy man, because his leg hurts.’

  Then Chloe bounced to her feet, announcing, ‘Lukas is home,’ and ran through the door.

  After thanking Moana for caring for the child, Iona followed, catching the moment when Luke put Chloe down after her exuberant greeting.

  He said to her, ‘Go back to Moana now and help her make us some coffee. Iona and I want to talk to each other.’ When she’d gone he transferred his gaze, hard and clear as topaz, to Iona. ‘We’ll go to my office.’

  No tenderness in his tone, nothing but cool authority. Chilled, Iona asked sweetly, ‘Is that an order?’

  His brows drew together for a taut moment, then relaxed as he gave a reluctant smile. ‘A request, of course.’

  Iona walked into the office, trying to bolster her spirits with sturdy common sense. For heaven’s sake, what had she expected—that one night of passion would turn Luke into the lover she so desperately wanted?

  It wasn’t going to happen. The sex was a bonus, one enjoyed by both her and Luke, but their marriage was for strictly practical reasons—and, having now met Aristo Michelakis, she fully understood why Luke had taken such a step. After that first glance he hadn’t bothered to look at Chloe, much less acknowledge her.

  Lukas glanced downwards. As always, Iona seemed calm and self-possessed. Except when she was in his arms. Then the wildly passionate woman was revealed, sensual and erotically charged, while she gave him everything he wanted from her—more than any other woman ever had.

  ‘What did you think of my father?’ he asked.

  She said, ‘I was sorry for him.’

  Sorry for him? ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Unabashed, she shrugged, the fine cotton of her shirt tightening around her breasts. Lukas dragged his mind away from the sudden urgent pressure in his groin and back to the matter of his father’s unexpected and extremely unwelcome arrival.

  ‘Just that,’ she said, meeting his gaze without a tremor. ‘He’s alone, and lonely, and he hates it.’

  ‘It is his own fault.’

  She said, ‘I don’t suppose that ancient Greek king was particularly happy after he’d ordered his son killed and then found he was innocent.’

  Surprised, Lukas let his brows shoot up, but she went on. ‘When I watched your father limp away he looked old and defeated and sad.’

  Lukas said abruptly, ‘Ironic, isn’t it? My father calls the story the doom of his house. Of course it doesn’t necessarily play out the same down the years. Hippolytus’s stepmother killed herself after he’d rejected her. My father’s second wife only pretended to commit suicide—her overdose was carefully calculated so it would scare the hell out of everyone but not actually kill her.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  Without attempting to hide his scorn he told her, ‘She sank into deserved obscurity after he divorced her.’

  Iona said, ‘If your father calls the myth the doom of your house, why didn’t he take in the lesson it taught?’

  ‘Presumably for the same reason Theseus believed Phaedra, his wife—because he resented his son.’ He shrugged, watching her absorb that.

  ‘He should have been proud of you.’

  Lukas said, ‘He was, until about a year before he accused me. Then we quarrelled, and continued quarrelling until he had an excuse to send me away.’

  ‘One alpha male feeling his potency diminish while his son’s increases,’ she said dryly, meeting his gaze with rueful sympathy. ‘You men!’

  Lukas returned coolly, ‘I’ve seen it happen with women too; a beauty who resents her daughter’s growing loveliness while hers is fading.’

  ‘Even if it is part of the human condition, that doesn’t excuse your father’s lack of faith.’ Iona knew she wasn’t getting anywhere, but she wanted to know as much about the rift as she could persuade Luke to tell her.

  ‘Nothing would have given him greater pleasure than to see me sink into contemptible mediocrity. In fact, he banked on it,’ Luke said, his tone bored. ‘He was quite certain that without his backing I’d go under—and he did his best to make sure I did just that.’

  ‘He doesn’t know you very well.’

  Luke showed his teeth. ‘He learned. I set myself against him—and I won.’ He paused. ‘And by now he should understand me well enough to know that nothing and nobody will take Chloe from me if I can possibly prevent it.’

  ‘He knows you well enough to be convinced that our marriage is a fake,’ Iona said bleakly.

  He smiled at her and came across the room. ‘Then we’ll just have to show him—and anyone else who’s watching—that it’s not, won’t we.’ It was not a question.

  Iona angled her chin, met gleaming tawny eyes, and hid an odd chill in the region of her heart with a gallant smile. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly, and let herself be drawn into his arms.

  And then all thought stopped as Luke’s hard, possessive kiss submerged her in a tide of erotic promise.

  Eventually, when he lifted his head and surveyed her face with a fiercely kindling gaze, she gazed up at him.

  ‘I’m going to enjoy being married to you very much,’ he said, his voice unexpectedly raw.

  She said, ‘Remember how the myth ended? Theseus was reconciled to Hippolytus as he lay dying.’

  Releasing her, Luke said with cold finality, ‘That will not happen. And if there was ever any truth in that legend, the sentimental deathbed scene probably didn’t happen either. Now, I have things to tell you.’

  The civil ceremony had been organised and would take place early in the morning before the traditional wedding. ‘It will be informally formal,’ he said. ‘This afternoon a woman will bring a selection of clothes for you to choose from.’

  She blinked, but saw the point. Her wedding dress had been chosen for a romantic beach ceremony, not for one in a mayor’s office.

  ‘What on earth does one wear to an informally formal legal ceremony in the town hall?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m wearing a grey silk suit.’ He gave her a swift, reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry—you’ll look good no matter what you wear, and the boutique owner will be able to guide you in your choice.’ His tone altered. ‘From the moment of signing in the mayor’s office we will be legally married, but the traditional ceremony will still be held here. The gazebo will be a suitable setting, but if you want a different place tell Moana so they can decorate it.’

  ‘I thought it was to be on the beach?’r />
  He said curtly, ‘The media have arrived. I have done what I can to make sure we are not interrupted, and have the local authorities’ full co-operation, but there is a chance we could be overlooked.’ He glanced at her. ‘Do you want to take it?’

  ‘No,’ she exclaimed, horrified at the prospect of flashing paparazzi cameras. ‘Of course not.’

  He nodded. ‘Is there anything you need? Any arrangements? Anything I have neglected to take into consideration?’

  In spite of the passion in that kiss he had retreated into a cool aloofness that set her teeth on edge. ‘I can’t think of anything.’

  ‘I would like us to feel that we can be completely honest with each other,’ he said, still watching her.

  How could she be honest when she was holding back the biggest truth in her life—that she loved him?

  Taking a tangent, she said, ‘Somehow I thought that a wedding here would be easier to organise.’

  One black brow lifted. ‘Marriage is too important an occasion not to be hedged about with formalities and ceremony in all societies. The wellbeing of the next generation is paramount.’

  The reminder of the reason for their wedding flicked her on the raw. Foolishly, she felt like demanding, But what about this generation?

  It was too late for second thoughts, for asking for the stars. She’d already decided that if this was all she had, it would have to be enough.

  And if she didn’t stop worrying the situation like a dog with a bone, she’d wreck any chance of happiness and possibly jeopardise Chloe’s future.

  Besides, meeting Aristo Michelakis had only reinforced Luke’s decision for her; lonely and self-absorbed and spiky with bitterness, Chloe’s birth father was no fit person to be guardian of any child.

  ‘You must agree with that,’ Luke said, his voice hardening, ‘or you would not have consented to marry me.’

  ‘Of course I agree with you,’ she said briskly, hoping he couldn’t hear the thin, forlorn undernote to the words.

  He did, but fortunately he attributed it to the wrong reason. ‘Yet you still feel sorry for my father?’

  ‘I’m afraid I do.’

  He caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. ‘You have a tender heart,’ he said with satisfaction.

  Then he said, in an entirely different voice, one so flinty and uncompromising it made her flinch, ‘My father chose his own path. Possibly he regrets it now, but it is too late—he has said too many harsh things, shown too much rage, connived too long to destroy me. There will never be a reconciliation.’

  When she said nothing, he finished curtly, ‘It is better that way.’

  ‘How did he get onto the beach?’

  Luke frowned. ‘Easily enough—he told the gatekeeper he was expected. I had given no orders that he was to be denied, and my resemblance to him meant he was given access as of right. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Did you know he’d had you watched?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said indifferently.

  Struck by another thought, Iona felt her skin crawl.

  Had Aristo Michelakis learned that she and Luke had made love last night and come to see if he could frighten—or buy—her off?

  Luke guessed what she was thinking. ‘It’s all right. I trust my staff, and he has no chance of finding out what happens here. And you needn’t fear that we’ll be under constant scrutiny from him. He keeps a distant eye on what I’m doing. This is the first time he’s ever come onto my property or anywhere near me.’

  Unconsciously she bit her lip, stopping guiltily when he said, ‘Each time you do that I shall have to kiss it better.’ He followed suit, pulling away far too soon, and said with a glinting smile, ‘So from now on remember that whenever you chew on your lip you’re asking for a kiss.’

  She laughed and left it at that, but the knowledge that Aristo was having them watched was like a cold hand on her shoulder. Until it occurred to her that perhaps it was the lonely old man’s way of having some connection with the son and daughter he’d abandoned.

  Somewhat comforted by that, later Iona chose a sleek silk dress to wear to the mayor’s office, glad that no prices were mentioned. Tahiti might be on the opposite side of the world from Paris, but the clothes she was shown were pure designer chic with a twist of tropical bravura. And had prices, no doubt, that would make her gasp.

  The slim garment, pale blue and ethereal as a summer dawn, draped her body without being blatantly sexy, and high heels in the same colour meant she wouldn’t look quite so short beside Luke’s tall frame. The matching fascinator added a touch of frivolity and fantasy.

  ‘You know how to pull your hair back into a chignon?’ the boutique owner asked, touching her own sleekly sophisticated hair. She gave a wide smile. ‘It will show off the hat better. And your beautiful skin.’

  Iona nodded, and, after practising in her bathroom with both style and fascinator, decided she agreed with the owner and would wear it like that on her wedding day.

  She didn’t sleep much that night. The words wedding day kept echoing in her head, locking her into thoughts of a different wedding, which had been planned for New Zealand amongst family and close friends.

  Gavin was now a loved memory, he and her parents no longer a source of anguish, yet she felt an aching emptiness as she lay in the luxurious room listening to the trade wind rustle through the leafy crowns of the coconut palms.

  The arrival of Luke’s father had upset her. She couldn’t stop herself from feeling an immense sorrow for both the old man and the son he’d rejected.

  Her eyes were hot and heavy, and she had a disconcerting urge to let the tears flow. Too late now, she told herself, and determinedly counted her blessings. In two days’ time she’d marry the man she loved, become mother to the child she loved too. She was certain from seeing Luke with Chloe that beneath that authoritative, dominant and very Mediterranean exterior was a man who could be trusted to keep his word.

  Surely that was enough? she asked herself, knowing it wasn’t…

  Then you’re greedy, she scolded, and to escape her thoughts got up and walked across to the doors, pulling back the drapes to look out onto a tropical fantasy, softly silver-gilt and black, the full moon’s rays shafting down between the palms and skimming the tiny waves as they creamed onto the milky sand.

  Why hadn’t Luke come to her tonight? She needed the reassurance of his passion.

  From the corner of her eye she caught a movement and froze, her breath blocking her throat. Only for a second, but she didn’t relax when she recognised Luke walking up from the beach, his head bent as though he was thinking deeply.

  Or regretting deeply?

  Iona let the drapes fall and stepped back into the darkness of her room, listening to the sound of her heart thudding unevenly against the ceaseless murmur of the waves on the reef.

  The following day was so busy she and Luke barely exchanged a private word together. Early in the morning Luke drove in to pick up Angie and her children, and from then it was all noise and laughter as the two boys explored the house and beach, Chloe trotting along with them, Luke in charge.

  In the afternoon more people arrived; Luke introduced her to a gorgeous Spaniard who turned out to have a name several pages long and an ancestry even longer. He was to be best man at the wedding, and although he greeted her with charming courtesy she suspected he was probably wondering how on earth someone as entirely lacking in glamour had caught Luke’s eye.

  A little later two couples—close friends of Luke’s—flew in to celebrate the wedding with him.

  People came and went; she had almost no time to talk to Luke, and in the late afternoon he left with all the guests except Angie and the children—because, of course, the bride and groom could not be allowed to see each other until they met at the wedding ceremony.

  Feeling oddly abandoned, Iona showered and changed, and walked across to the bed. She’d got into it when she saw a parcel deposited on the table.

  Carefully
wrapped, it had her name on the outside, with ‘Delivery By Hand’ written beneath in strong handwriting.

  Luke? She opened the parcel with an eagerness she didn’t try to restrain.

  She couldn’t control the shock of disappointment when she realised it was just a magazine—one that seemed to combine gossip with interviews, and mostly featured celebrities. Titles were scattered through the pages, alongside photographs of impossibly elegant people posing gracefully in superb clothes.

  ‘Who on earth would send me this?’ she muttered, flicking through the pages. Not Luke, that was for sure; she couldn’t believe he’d be interested in anything like this—

  Her gaze stopped on a photograph. Luke. And a woman.

  With an odd detachment Iona realised her hand was trembling. She glanced back to the cover and saw the same woman, smiling with mystery and sultry, slightly mocking invitation.

  Iona dragged in a jagged breath and turned to the page. Luke’s companion was utterly gorgeous, in an ethereal, fine-boned way, and she was very familiar—the newest and most beautiful Hollywood star, with a string of hit films behind her, plus rave reviews for her acting, poised on the verge of a dazzling future.

  Slowly, a dark dread coalescing around her heart, Iona braced herself, turned back to the cover of the magazine and found the date. It was the latest issue.

  All she wanted to do was ignore this poisoned gift from Aristo Michelakis—because of course that was who’d sent it—yet she couldn’t put the magazine down. Something inside her crumpled and died as she examined the picture, noting the way Susan Mainwaring looked up at Luke, the care with which he was helping her down a step.

  The caption told her they were at the opening of a new theatre in London. In what could only be called gushing prose it detailed the dress the film star was wearing, and referred readers to the next pages for an in-depth interview with her.

  Summoning every bit of will she possessed, Iona forced herself to read it, and finally closed the magazine. Nausea gripped her, and a dark despair.

  Not only had Susan Mainwaring made it obvious—without exactly saying so—that she expected to marry Luke, but when asked about combining a family with her glittering career she’d laughed and asserted, ‘Oh, plenty of time for that in the future—if it happens. There’s no room for children in my life right now, and I’m not hearing any clock ticking.’