‘Josie knows all my weak spots and then some,’ Conan favoured her with a long, lingering perusal, his dark eyes roaming over her face and down to the firm swell of her breasts beneath the fine red wool of her dress, then slowly back to her face. ‘And I certainly know all of hers,’ he opined with a sensual smile. ‘Don’t I, darling?’ The other man was left in no doubt that they shared a very intimate relationship.
She wanted to slap Conan, but instead she snuggled under his arm. Two could play at that game, she thought furiously. ‘He is so naughty,’ she simpered, giving Bootsy a wide smile. ‘But so romantic. Would you like to see my ring?‘ Conan had no choice but to let go of her hand. She held it out over the table. ‘It was his grandmother’s. Isn’t that the most wildly romantic gift?’ and, turning a sickly-sweet smile on Conan, she added, ‘My hero.’
Bootsy shot an alarmed glance at Conan, then looked at Josie and tried to smile. ‘Yes, well, very nice. Congratulations. Now, what can I get you to eat? The steak pie is perfect, but then everything I serve is perfect.’
Conan ordered for both of them and Bootsy could not get away fast enough.
‘You realise, Josie, the man thinks I’m marrying a simpering idiot,’ Conan said dryly.
‘Serves you right,’ She shrugged off his arm, but couldn’t prevent a chuckle escaping her. ‘He did look a bit shocked.’ Her violet eyes sparkling with amusement clashed with Conan’s, and for a moment they were in complete accord.
‘Josie, you’re a witch!’ he said with wry amusement. ‘But if this relationship is going to work,’ he added, suddenly serious, ‘we’ve both got to at least try to be civil to each other.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she conceded. ‘But in future could you please ask me first before you arrange things?’
Surprisingly the evening turned out much better than Josie expected. Conan was a good conversationalist, the food was simple but perfectly cooked and they discussed music, books, and finally ended up having a heated debate over the best film ever made.
Josie said Casablanca and Conan insisted he liked The Graduate better.
‘You can’t be serious!’ Josie cried. ‘Bogart made a truly noble sacrifice for the woman he loved.’
‘True, but personally I would leave nobility to the fool, and take the girl and run, as in The Graduate.’
‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.’ She grinned, caught the predatory gleam in his eyes, and knew he was not joking.
They drove home a little after ten, and they parted on a sober note.
‘Tomorrow, at the funeral, you won’t do anything foolish,’ Conan insisted as they walked up to the door. ‘Like having hysterics or throwing yourself on the coffin.’
‘No,’ she said simply, tilting her head back to look up coldly into his shadowed face. ‘I am well aware that to the world at large Charles was simply a friend to me, and the brother of my fiancé. Why do you think I went to work today? I am as capable as you are of playing my part in this marriage of convenience. You have nothing to worry about’ On that note she opened the door, and closed it behind her in his face.
The next day, in Beeches village church, Josie only half listened to the vicar’s eulogy for Charles. The biological father of her child was being buried, and the tears on her cheeks were no more than she would have cried at any friend’s funeral. Her feelings for Charles had been fleeting at best, and she felt swamped by guilt. She glanced sideways at her companion. Conan was dressed in a long black cashmere overcoat, a black suit beneath, black tie, the brilliant white of his shirt only serving to emphasise his sombre attire. His face was equally grave, and he stared impassively ahead, not a flicker of emotion on his granite features.
She shivered, and immediately his large hand found hers and squeezed her cold fingers.
‘Not long now,’ he murmured without turning his head.
However, the shiver had not been caused by emotion for Charles, but by a sudden realisation that she had agreed to share her life and unborn child with the man at her side. A man who looked like some dark fallen angel.
Later, at the graveside, when the six soldiers from Charles’s regiment who had acted as pallbearers fired a salute, Josie nearly jumped out of her skin.
Only Conan’s arm around her shoulder prevented her stumbling. ‘Steady, Josie; you’re doing fine.’
‘No histrionics, you mean,’ she whispered angrily.
He turned her into his arms, as if comforting her, and only Josie saw the wicked glint in his dark eyes as his arms held her trapped against him. ‘Now, now, darling,’ he said, drawling the endearment so the people beside them could hear. ‘I know it’s tragic, but I’m certain Charles wouldn’t have wanted us to delay our wedding, because of his untimely death.’
‘If you say so,’ Josie agreed. She could not do much else, as Conan had so cleverly sown the seed of an early marriage among the mourners at the funeral without even trying.
‘Not as bad as you thought, hmm?’ Conan remarked as he drove the sleek BMW car the short journey to her home.
Her guilt at her own lack of deep feeling for Charles made her lash out at Conan. ‘If burying your bother can be considered not bad, I suppose so,’ she said witheringly.
‘I forgot he was the love of your life. Right?’ He shot her an angry glance as he stopped the car outside her house.
‘Right,’ she lied, and slid out of the car.
Conan did not bother getting out but simply said, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ and drove off in a squeal of tyres.
The next day was even worse. Josie sat at her desk, trying to read the document in front of her. Usually she enjoyed her job as a legal secretary, but with all that had happened in her life lately she was having trouble concentrating. It did not help at all when Conan strode into the office of Brownlow Solicitors as if he owned the place.
Josie jumped to her feet, knocking a coffee cup off the edge of her desk to the floor. ‘What are you doing here?’ she cried, her eyes skating over his long body casually dressed in blue jeans and a heavy navy blue sweater.
‘Hello, darling.’ He walked towards her and planted a brief kiss on her startled lips.
‘What’s going on?’ A deep voice intruded as Mr Brownlow, the senior partner, walked in. ‘Oh, Conan. Nice of you to call, but I hope you’re not going to make a habit of distracting my secretary.’
‘I certainly hope I am,’ Conan quipped, and the two men shared a very masculine laugh.
Josie looked from one man to the other, and then at the floor to hide her angry colour. Spying the cup, she bent to pick it up, and, on straightening, caught the end of the conversation.
‘I was in town on business, and thought I would check Josie had given you her notice. She’s so excited, she can hardly remember her own name.’ Conan placed an arm around her waist and hauled her hard against him.
‘Of course the death of my brother has complicated things a bit. But the wedding is going ahead as arranged in just over two weeks time. It is unfortunate—I know how much Josie loves working here—but with my commitments in London and overseas, you can see it would be impossible for her to continue once we’re married.’
Josie glanced wildly around the room. Zoe was sitting at her desk opposite staring at Conan as though he were the only man on the planet. Mr Brownlow, usually the most reserved of men, was smiling broadly at Conan.
‘Of course, old chap; that will be fine. We will be sorry to lose her, but I understand perfectly. A woman has to follow her husband.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Josie began, about to argue, but was stopped by Conan’s fingers digging sharply into her side. She immediately tensed; his close proximity had that effect on her. Plus if he kept grabbing her to control her in this way, she thought furiously, she was going to end up black and blue.
‘And I couldn’t bear to be without her for even a day,’ Conan said huskily, turning his head to smile down meltingly into her eyes, but Josie saw the warning in their glinting depths, and remained silent.
Anyway, what could she say? she thought sombrely. She had agreed to marry Conan; she was wearing his ring. She had made her choice and now she must live with it. She just wished he weren’t so super-efficient at arranging everything.
She knew she should be thanking him, not trying to hinder him. But she felt as if she had been deposited on a rollercoaster ride against her will, and there was no stopping.
‘Er, yes.’ Mr Brownlow coughed. ‘Well, back to work. Take an early lunch, Josie; you must have a lot to do.’ And he went back to his own office.
Twenty minutes later, sitting opposite Conan in the local wine bar with a plate of spaghetti in front of her, she listened in tight-lipped anger as he outlined the details of the wedding.
‘Is Beeches church okay with you?’
‘Why can’t we simply go to the registrar?’ she demanded. ‘Anyway you have to book the church weeks in advance.’
‘All taken care of. I got a special licence and the vicar is quite happy.’
It took every bit of self-control she possessed not to tip the spaghetti over his arrogant head. He had done it again. He’d arranged everything without discussing it with her.
‘Something wrong?’ Conan asked as the silence between them lengthened.
‘No, no, of course not.’ What was the point in fighting with him? She had agreed to marry him; where and when was of little importance.
‘Good, because I have to leave soon, and I won’t be back until the day before the wedding. If you need to get in touch, here is my home phone number in London. But I’ll give you a call anyway.’
When Conan finally left her at the entrance to her office, she heaved a sigh of relief. He was a puzzling, powerful, autocratic male, and it took all her energy simply to survive in his presence. How she would survive being married to him she did not dare dwell on.
A little over two weeks later Josie scrambled into the passenger seat of Conan’s car and momentarily closed her eyes. The wedding was over, and right at this moment she didn’t care what the future would bring.
‘I think that went quite well,’ Conan remarked as he slid in behind the driving wheel and put the key in the ignition.
‘As farces go it was probably one of the best,’ Josie muttered.
Conan’s sharp dark eyes rested on her face. ‘It is only a farce if you make it so, Josie. We can behave as mature, civilised adults, or—’
‘You’re right,’ she cut in. ‘Please just start the car.’
He half turned in his seat. ‘Have I told you you look beautiful today.’ His dark eyes skimmed over her small body, elegantly clothed in a pale blue designer suit. ‘Mrs Zarcourt.’ Leaning forward, he brushed his lips lightly over her own, before starting the car.
Josie raised startled eyes to his, and let herself really look at him for the first time that day. His long body looked powerful clad in a superb grey silk suit. His jet-black hair, combed severely back from his broad forehead, only intensified the effect of his firmly chiselled profile. He was a very attractive man and she had married him.
It was dark when the car stopped outside a tall three-storeyed Georgian terrace house in the heart of Mayfair. Conan urged her into the house with a hand in the centre of her back, her suitcase in his other hand.
‘Would you like a drink or something to eat?’ he asked, dropping her suitcase on the floor and straightening to his full height, his dark eyes curiously impersonal on her small face.
‘No, thank you.’ Josie was suddenly struck by an attack of nerves. What had she done?
‘Then perhaps a quick tour of the house?’
‘Yes, yes.’ They were talking like two complete strangers, Josie thought, and almost laughed.
But she lost all trace of humour when he showed her into the master bedroom.
‘You look tired,’ Conan murmured clasping her shoulders in his large hands. She stiffened her back ramrod-straight, and glanced warily up into his hard face. ‘Get ready for bed and I’ll be back in ten minutes with a hot drink for you.’
A hot drink, and what else? Josie glanced around the room. There was only one bed...
‘My bed is next door in the dressing room,’ Conan said dryly, accurately reading her thoughts. ‘You have nothing to fear.’
The following morning the smell of ground coffee led Josie downstairs to the kitchen. Conan was standing by the counter, a box of cornflakes in his hand. ‘Good morning, Josie. I didn’t expect you so early.’ He smiled, and she gave him a cool smile back. ‘Would you like some breakfast? ’
‘You make your own?’ she asked, surprised. ‘I thought you’d have a housekeeper.’
‘I do—Jeffrey. He arrives at nine and leaves at six, and nothing I say will persuade him to live in.’
‘Well, let me make your breakfast,’ she offered, walking across the room to where he stood. ‘I always did for my father.’
‘I’m not your father.’ He stared down at her, an enigmatic expression on his dark face.
‘I know, but I am a good cook,’ she said firmly. She was determined to assert herself from the beginning and preserve a formal but polite relationship between them.
‘Yes, okay. At least that’s one wifely duty you can perform.’
She glanced suspiciously at him. What kind of crack was that? But he gave her a bland smile and sat down at the table. She could feel his eyes following her around as she searched the cupboards and prepared ham and eggs.
After breakfast Conan insisted on taking her out. To ‘sort her out’, as he put it. He registered her with his doctor in Harley Street, at the same time booking her into a private clinic for the birth of the baby. Any objections she made he quickly overruled. According to the doctor the baby was due in the middle of May.
On returning home in the evening, they were met in the hall by Jeffrey, who had prepared a celebratory meal for them. Josie liked the white-haired old man immediately. But dining alone with Conan was a fraught affair. He said very little, and immediately when they were finished he retired to his study.
A few weeks later Josie pushed her way on to the tube and heaved a sigh of relief. She had spent longer shopping than she had intended to, but finally in a small boutique she had found the perfect creation for herself—an exquisite dress in floating chiffon that cunningly disguised her thickening waistline.
She got off the tube and walked along the pavement towards the house she now called home, thinking of how her life had changed in the past weeks. There was a lot to be said for being a lady of leisure. She had visited all the museums, and quite a few art galleries. As for Conan, she didn’t actually spend much time with him.
In the mornings she made breakfast for both of them before Jeffrey arrived. Conan went to the office for the day and usually at night they shared dinner together and talked about their respective day. Then Conan went to his study and Josie went to bed. It was all very civilised, and if sometimes Josie imagined there was something more in his penetrating gaze, and the way he would drop a soft kiss on her cheek for no reason, she dismissed the notion as a combination of her over-active imagination and the peculiar tension she appeared to suffer from when she spent any length of time in his company.
The weekends were not much different. Conan, it seemed, was a workaholic, as well as being the most even-tempered man she had ever met; he was always coolly polite and that suited Josie just fine. She had had enough trauma to last her a lifetime.
Balancing her parcels in one hand, she inserted the key in the front door, but before she could turn it the door swung open and she was dragged unceremoniously into the hall by Conan’s large hand manacled around her arm.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he snarled, giving her such a shock that she dropped all her parcels on the floor.
‘Look what you’ve made me do!’ she exclaimed, eyeing her scattered purchases. ‘Thank heaven there’s nothing breakable.’
‘Nothing breakable!’ he gritted between clenched teeth. ‘You’re lucky I don’t break your love
ly neck. Do you realise what time it is? Do you?’
Josie lifted her head, her eyes widening in surprise as she met the full force of his angry gaze. He was absolutely furious. ‘It’s only about eight,’ she retorted. And here she had just been telling herself that Conan was the most even-tempered of men. She had certainly got that wrong if the look on his face was anything to go by! Warily she took a step back to put some space between them.
‘Only eight! Are you mad? I was just about to call the police!’
‘I’m sorry, but the tube was crowded,’ she said, though not convinced he deserved an apology.
‘The tube!’ he snarled. ‘Is there no end to your stupidity? ’
‘I am not stupid!’ she shot back. ‘I was simply shopping. ’
‘Don’t take me for a fool, Josie. Unlike America, in England the stores close at six.’
‘Not all stores,’ she cried, her temper rising at his high-handed attitude. He had no right to question her. ‘For your information,’ she added scathingly, ‘I went to buy a dress—for your dinner party tomorrow night. Satisfied?’
‘Satisfied,’ he snarled, and he grasped her hand in his much larger one, dragging her further into the hall.
She winced and stumbled against him. ‘Please, you’re hurting my wrist.’ As her plea registered he dropped her hand as if it were a hot potato.
‘Hurting you!’ he exclaimed incredulously. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word. I’ve been hurting since the first day I set eyes on you.’ And, keeping a tight hold on her arm, he urged her through the open study door, growling, ‘What I have to say to you is best said in private.’
Josie had no time to reflect on his strange comment as she noticed Jeffrey at the end of the hall. Funny; he should have gone home long ago. Maybe that was why Conan was making such a fuss—on Jeffrey’s behalf. But eight o’clock was hardly the middle of the night, Josie thought rebelliously. But she had no more time to think as Conan pushed her into a leather armchair.
A Husband of Convenience Page 5
