Her fingers unfurled slowly and curled around his, as if she were grateful for the warmth and strength of him. He eased his breath out gently and said, ‘Have you considered that although your mother wants to go back, or thinks she does, she might find the memories too painful to bear if it actually happened?’
‘Oh, no.’ She seemed quite adamant about that; there was even a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. ‘Two years after Dad died we heard that Studley was empty again. Fabian’s wife was suing for divorce, was living in France, and he’d moved back to London. When my mother heard that, it was as if she’d come to life again. She travelled up to see him—she had such plans. I’d left school, and was wondering how to make money fast and legally, and she wanted to go back—believed she and I could start a small nursery in the walled garden, make a go of it. And sure, Fabian told her, we could move back to Studley, do as we pleased with it—provided he got regular “visiting rights”. He’d always fancied her, thought her too good for his useless wimp of a brother.’ Allie shrugged fatalistically. ‘So that was that. No dice.’
She looked him full in the face, her deep blue eyes glittering. ‘Fulfilling the conditions of his will now would serve two objectives. Giving Laura back her lost happiness, the joy of being where she wants to be, doing what she wants to do. And getting the better of Fabian for once. That,’ she told him firmly, ‘is why I have to go back to the solicitor within the next three weeks with a husband on my arm.’
‘Why me?’
She looked at him blankly, then slowly withdrew her hands from his, as if only now becoming aware of how tightly she’d been holding on to him. ‘Because I don’t know of any other man who’d consent to the sort of marriage I have in mind,’ she told him honestly. His compassion had eased something between them, allowing her to slough off the earlier tension, open up. ‘And I figured you might find the money handy.’ Dimples appeared at the corners of her mouth. ‘You could even buy yourself new transport. Heaven knows, you need it.’
‘And what sort of marriage do you have in mind?’ He thought he knew, and she confirmed it.
‘Nominal. You pick up the money and we put on a united front in public until Studley’s legally mine. But behind closed doors it’s separate rooms, separate lives. Then, after a decent interval—twelve months, say—you leave me, or I leave you. Irreconcilable differences.’
Twelve months of being bought and paid for, living with her and yet not living with her, knowing there was no way he could make her change her mind about the separate rooms angle because she liked her bread buttered on the other side. It would drive him crazy.
But her desperate need to do what she could to make her mother happy had touched him. She and Laura had had it tough, and he knew exactly what he was going to suggest. Which meant coming clean about who he was.
But first there were a couple of things he had to ask her.
‘If you don’t marry I take it the property will be sold? If that’s the case, why don’t you buy it? The money you offered me could go a long way towards a deposit. You could repay the mortgage from your earnings. Top models don’t get paid in Monopoly money.’
‘True,’ she acknowledged tautly. The way he was going round the houses, refusing to give her a definite yes or no, was beginning to wind her up. ‘But look at it realistically. At the moment I’m flavour of the month—and it took me years to get there—tomorrow I could be back to catalogue work. I can’t risk it. The manor and land could fetch close to a million if it went to auction.’
He dipped his head in silent acknowledgement. In a moment he’d explain what he meant to do: buy this Studley Manor estate when it came on the open market. After all, property was a no-lose investment. He would install Laura, charge a peanut rent. No strings. No outpourings of gratitude. Nothing. Finis.
But first he had to hear confirmation from her own mouth. He had no reason to disbelieve what Laura had said, and one or two remarks Allie had made had reinforced it for him. But he had to hear it from her. Only then could he really get her out of his mind.
‘Allie—are you gay?’
Her eyes went wide and dark as she stared at him disbelievingly, then her cheekbones bloomed with colour. ‘You conceited bastard! Just because I made it clear I wasn’t interested in dating you, and wouldn’t have sex with you if we were married, you automatically assume I have to be gay!’ She collected her bag, slung the strap over her shoulder and shot to her feet, glaring at him furiously. ‘I’m as straight as you are; I just don’t happen to fancy you. All I want from you is a piece of paper to prove I’m married.’ Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightened, and she said through her teeth, ‘And as you obviously have no intention of obliging me, I’ll say goodbye!’
She stalked away, over the lawns, threading her way through the scattered tables, her shoulder bag bumping against her hip.
Jethro watched her, grinning, his white teeth gleaming. Her furious and obviously genuine disclaimer had changed everything. Hadn’t it just!
Laura’s statement that Allie wasn’t interested in men had no roots in her daughter’s sexuality. Wary of men, was more like it. Because of something that had happened in her past? He aimed to find out what it was, and change her attitude.
As for her blistering pronouncement that she didn’t fancy him and would insist on separate rooms should they marry—well, that was something else he intended to change!
Slowly he got to his feet, turned his grin on the openly curious middle-aged couple at the nearest table, dug into his pocket for a handsome tip, dropped it on the tray and casually followed in Allie’s turbulent wake.
He had every intention of obliging the lady!
And no intention whatsoever of expecting anything other than an ecstatically happy outcome!
CHAPTER FOUR
ALLIE stood on the forecourt of the fashionable riverside inn and the sun beat down on her head. The entire morning had been an unmitigated disaster. Not only had Jethro Conceited Cole made it pretty damn clear that he wasn’t interested in her offer, but she had put paid to any hope of being able to persuade him to change his mind because she had done the unprecedented and lost her temper, practically snapping his head off his shoulders! She didn’t know how or why it had happened. Her colleagues didn’t call her Ms Cucumber for nothing!
Any chance she now had of inheriting Studley had gone right down the drain.
She really didn’t know how she was going to face her mother and tell her that there was now no chance of getting Studley back. She shouldn’t have allowed the poor dear to hope. And she shouldn’t have lied to that solicitor in the first place.
Her spine wilting, her spirits as flat as yesterday’s champagne, she dismissed the idea of walking back to town along five or so miles of hot dusty road, turned to go back into the inn to phone for a taxi, and walked straight into the solid wall of Jethro’s broad chest.
Every last gasp of air left her body as she felt his steadying arms go round her, felt the warmth of his body burn through to her skin, making her tremble, every nerve-end suddenly alight with something that felt suspiciously like the tension of high excitement. She put a hand up to push him away, felt the beat of his heart beneath her palm, felt the heat of him, and weakly left her hand precisely where it was, because she’d somehow lost the strength to move it.
‘Ready to go?’
The husky, honeyed softness of his voice, the feather-light caress of his breath against her overheated temple, finally got through to her. Heaven only knew how long they’d been standing like this, like lovers who couldn’t bear to break bodily contact!
As his hands slid down, down to her waist, and showed every indication of going lower, his touch growing ever more intimate, she sprang away and felt her pulse begin a hectic beat at the base of her throat.
‘I’m going—’ Horrified, she realised she sounded like a strangled hen and, worse, he was grinning at her, a particularly piratical kind of grin. She swallowed convulsively as she scrambl
ed for her famous dignity and managed more or less calmly to finish what she’d started to say, ‘I’m going to phone for a taxi. There’s no need for you to waste any more of your time.’
‘My time’s my own,’ he told her lightly, his golden eyes dancing beneath the thick black frame of his lashes, ‘and I’ll use it any way I please.’ He used one hand to push a soft dark lick of hair out of his eyes, the other to cup her elbow. Tightly. ‘My future wife doesn’t ride in taxis while I’m around to drive her.’
Allie felt her feet grow roots through the gravel, felt her breath grow tight and heavy in her lungs. If she’d heard him correctly, and she knew she had, then she should be dragging him back inside, treating him to the best champagne the inn could offer, celebrating having beaten Fabian at his own game.
So why wasn’t she? Why this feeling of deep, paralysing apprehension, as if her future was no longer hers to order and arrange? As if everything that made her life pleasant and predictable had changed, and nothing would ever be the same again.
Just shock, she told herself staunchly. She hadn’t been expecting this, had already resigned herself to failure. So his compliance had stunned her. Nothing odd about that. She’d be fine in a minute.
‘Shall we go?’ He removed his hand from her elbow, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for the ignition keys, and Allie ran the tip of her tongue over parched lips. She felt the warmth of that small physical contact recede, leaving her skin suddenly icy cold.
She shivered convulsively as he led the way to his van, which looked even more decrepit parked amongst the shiny family saloons, one or two nippy-looking drop-head coupés. And she knew she had to find the voice that seemed to have gone missing and say something to show him she was grateful. Surely she should at least be feeling gratitude, instead of this strange sensation of standing on shifting sands?
But he saved her the effort of trying to find something sensible to say because as soon as the engine was running, after a few tired-sounding coughs, he told her, ‘I’ll take you home. I expect you’ll want to break the news to Laura and Fran when they get back from work. You’ll think of something to tell them to explain the suddenness? And I’ll get the ceremony sorted—I take it you won’t want a flashy wedding? There wouldn’t be time to arrange one even if you did,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘A civil ceremony, I would imagine. As our marriage is to be short-lived—twelve months, I think you decided?—it would be hypocritical to make vows we have no intention of keeping in church. Agreed?’
‘Yes, of course.’ His sensitivity took her by surprise and she wondered why it should, because she knew nothing about his character except that he’d been kind to her mother when she’d needed help. So that made two pluses in his favour. She steeled herself to ask the question that could bring it up to three.
Fixing her eyes on the curling road ahead of them, she got the words out. ‘And you do accept that our marriage will be in name only?’
Jethro gave her a sideways glance. She looked nervous, her profile taut, her fingers twisted round her seatbelt as if she were trying for dear life to hold onto something solid. He said easily, ‘Of course. I got that message loud and clear.’ And he added silently, In name only, sweetheart, until you change your mind! And believe me, you will. I’ll make damn sure of that if it’s the last thing I do!
His eyes back on the road ahead, he could sense her begin to relax. But there was a long way to go. This was only the beginning and, fingers crossed, she was taking the first step towards trusting him. Then, trusting him, she would grow to like him, and a whole new ball game could come from that.
‘Thank you,’ she said simply, her fingers loosening their clutch on her seatbelt, and was silent for the remainder of the journey. But Jethro knew her mind was buzzing. Elation at having bested her uncle, having found a way round the condition he’d put on her inheritance, plans for the immediate future, what she’d say to her mother and aunt to explain her headlong rush into matrimony.
He knew what was going on in her mind without her having to say a word. He had never been so tuned in to another human being in his life.
Alissa Brannan was his woman, his other half. Subconsciously he must have known that since the first time he’d seen her. His heart squeezed tight. Hell, it was going to be difficult keeping his hands off her when he only had to look at her and his body went into full mating mode, his heart urging him with every beat to tell her how much he loved her.
Fortunately his mind was still functioning well enough to issue instructions to his body about biding his time. He knew they were a perfect match but she didn’t. Not yet. But she would. And he could wait, because he always got what he wanted in the end.
As the van juddered to a stop outside Fran’s house Allie tried to switch off the thoughts that were flittering around inside her head. She realised ashamedly that she hadn’t said a word to him since he’d put her mind at rest and agreed that their marriage wouldn’t be consummated. He’d sold her a year of his life, and all she had done for the past twenty minutes was ignore him.
‘Come in. I’ll fix us some lunch.’ The strength of her sudden impulse to make amends took her by surprise. She shouldn’t have a guilty conscience, though. Why should she, when she was paying him handsomely for his part in this—this business? And that was what it was. A business arrangement.
Besides, there was so much they had to discuss. ‘We have plans to make—the others won’t be back until around five-thirty, so we’ll have plenty of time. And I can give you that cheque.’
She already had the door of the van open, one foot on the pavement, her stomach fluttering with nervous excitement, with the enormity of what was actually happening. She was going to get Studley back for her mother! And Jethro Cole was willing to help her. She owed him a lunch, the best she could contrive—
‘Sorry, but I’ll have to pass on that.’ His drawled refusal to go along with her suggestion had her plopping back in the seat, her head tipped slightly to one side as she looked at him with huge bewildered eyes. The man who had hung around her most evenings last week would have jumped at the invitation, and besides, if he was as strapped for cash as he appeared to be, she would have thought he’d be more than eager to get his hands on the pay-off. The money, after all, was the only reason he’d agreed to help her.
He angled himself in his seat and stamped on the urge to raise his hand and smooth away the slight frown from between those beautiful deep blue eyes with the tips of his fingers. ‘I need to find the registrar’s office,’ he told her evenly, ‘and arrange a date and time for the ceremony. I don’t know how these places work, but we don’t want to run the risk of finding they’re fully booked for the time-span we’re interested in. And I would imagine we’ll need our birth certificates, wouldn’t you? Is yours here, or back in London?’
For a moment she looked as if she didn’t know what he was talking about, as if events were going far too quickly for her to grasp, and then she nodded. ‘It’s here. My mother keeps all the official family stuff in a box in her bedroom.’
He smothered a sigh of relief. Getting his hands on his own would present no problem. He’d contact his senior PA. James Abbott had duplicate keys to his Mayfair home and to the safe where his personal documents were kept. He could hop on an Inter-City and be here in next to no time—quicker than if he came up by road. Had hers been kept back in her London apartment it might have meant a delay to the start of what he fully intended to be their future life together.
‘Then I suggest you fetch it for me. If I’ve got it handy, it could save a lot of to-ing and fro-ing.’
Allie reluctantly did as she was told. She supposed it made sense, but she wasn’t comfortable with it. This was her grand plan, her parade, yet he was the one dishing out the orders.
She ran lightly back down the stairs, clutching the document. This was her wedding, too; she should have a part in fixing the date of the ceremony. She would go with him. Simple. Who had ever heard of the bride not being consu
lted over a decision like that?
She skidded to a halt in the tiny hallway, her face going pink. She wasn’t going to be a bride, not a proper one, and why was she so suddenly wondering what it would be like to be a real one, with a groom as out-and-out sexy as Jethro Cole?
Unsuccessfully willing her overheated skin to cool down, the butterflies to stop attacking her stomach, she went out to where he was waiting in his van. Jerking open the passenger door, she told him, ‘I’m coming with you. We should be together when we fix the date.’
There was a stubborn set to her chin, belied, though, by the look of slightly anxious bemusement deep in her eyes, by the pinkness of her skin that was steadily turning to scarlet. The cool, classy, keep-your-distance woman of a week ago had thawed into someone with feelings, real emotions.
A sting of elation flared inside him, but he reminded himself it was early days. She had shown him a tiny crack in her coolly controlled façade, and it was up to him to widen it until there was no going back. But gently.
Her decision to accompany him was entirely natural, and for a moment he was tempted. But only for a moment. The need to have her with him, never let her out of his sight, was hot, visceral, a fist around his heart, but he told her, ‘It’s best you stay here and work out what you’re going to say to Laura. I can’t think she’d be happy to know the truth—that you’re handing over what probably amounts to your entire savings, tying yourself up with a virtual stranger, just to get her what she thinks she wants.’
He leaned over and plucked the document from her fingers, turned the key in the ignition. ‘So think about it. I’ll drop by this evening, around seven, and we can discuss the fine print. And another thing—never offer payment in advance. You never know, you could be taken for a ride. I’ll take your money, but only after we’ve both signed on the dotted line.’
He drove away, leaving her standing on the pavement, and he hated having to do it. Making arbitrary decisions for other people was part of his successful boardroom technique—second nature. But using it with her left a sour taste in his mouth.
Bought: One Husband Page 4
