‘Believe what you like—frustration, lust; take your pick; I don’t care,’ she said bluntly. She just wanted him to get dressed and go. Go, before she gave in to the temptation to fling her arms around him and haul him down beside her again.
‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’ Casually he pulled on his trousers and stared down at her, studying the violet eyes that looked too big for the small oval of her face, the love-swollen lips. ‘Charles still haunts you, I think.’ His cold eyes slid assessingly over her slight form. ‘Amazing—’ he shook his dark head ‘—how a beautiful, intelligent woman can be so tricked by a man and the myth of love.’
‘Thanks very much.’ Josie did not need Conan to tell her that. She had realised it for herself this afternoon. But months too late.
CHAPTER FIVE
CONAN chuckled, a humourless sound, and, fastening the zip of his trousers, he glanced back down at her. ‘Surely you don’t imagine for a moment that Charles would have remained celibate and grieved over you if the position had been reversed?’
‘That’s a rotten thing to say,’ Josie shot back. Conan would not listen to her, would not let her explain her flash of fear. So let the swine think what he liked. If he thought she still loved Charles all the better. At least Charles had said he loved her. Conan had made no such pretence.
‘Rotten but true,’ Conan drawled cynically. ‘You didn’t know him at all, Josie. He didn’t care a damn about you. I’d hazard a guess the first time he asked you out was the first time we met, simply because he saw I was interested.’
‘No,’ Josie denied automatically. But Conan was right; how had he known?
‘Charles was always like that, even as a boy. Anything I had or showed the slightest interest in he took or destroyed. The irony of it was, when I was younger I actually looked up to him, but I soon learned. He took my toys, my first girlfriend, and eventually my heritage.’
‘No, I don’t believe you. Charles wasn’t like that.’ It couldn’t be true, but deep down she had a nasty feeling it was. Remembering the church fête, Charles could have introduced her to his half-brother then. But he’d dismissed him as a virtual stranger.
‘Believe what you like. But your knight in shining armour was a louse. He never had the slightest intention of marrying you.’
Josie watched him pull his shirt back on, and had the oddest feeling Conan was enjoying telling her this. Did he want to shame her completely?
‘I forced him to get engaged to you, because I thought it was appropriate under the circumstances.’
‘No. No, Charles asked me. He said he loved me,’ she argued.
‘I’m sure he did, but it was a ploy to get you into his bed, nothing more.’ His chiselled mouth tightened. ‘He always delighted in destroying beautiful things.’
Josie shivered and pulled the sheet up around her chin, an icy dread seeping into her bones as she listened to Conan’s cold explanation of her affair with Charles.
‘He agreed to marry you only when I insisted on telling Father. You know why? Money.’ He answered his own question with blunt cynicism. ‘The estate has been badly managed for years, always in the red, and my dear half-brother never lived on his army salary. I bailed the Major and Charles out over and over again. I only had to mention the quarterly accounts that night and Charles fell in line. It was I who got him to agree to marry you,’ he said callously. ‘Maybe I should have let you find out for yourself what he was truly like. Instead he’s enshrined in your memory like some hero—’
‘He did die a hero,’ Josie cut in defiantly.
One dark brow arched sardonically. ‘Sorry, no, Josie; even that was a sham. My father invented the story to save his pride. It was all handled very discreetly. Why do you think there was nothing in the press, no commanding officer and no great military funeral?’
Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown. The funeral in the local church had been small, but it had never occurred to her to question the speed of it or the lack of publicity surrounding the affair.
‘Charles was actually killed by a landmine, but not on duty. He was out with his commanding officer’s wife at the time. Charles and the lady had taken a Jeep and driven into the countryside for an illicit night of passion. The deserted road they took had not been cleared of landmines and their passion cost them their lives. She had been his mistress for over a year. You probably met her. A redhead. She was at the party the night Charles got engaged to you. As I said, he liked other people’s possessions,’ he told her with a cool smile.
Josie closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look at Conan. She knew instinctively he was telling her the truth. Heavens! She had even met the woman. Charles’s mistress! She’d thought at the time they seemed rather close.
Josie had accepted she’d been foolish in her relationship with Charles almost immediately he had gone to Bosnia. Now she cringed in shame at how blind she had been. All the signs had been there for her to see, and she had ignored every one. But at least with Charles she could blame it on drink. With Conan she had no such excuse.
‘Nothing to say, Josie? No jumping to Charles’s defence? ’ Conan demanded dryly.
‘Yes,’ she started to argue, but, looking up at the hard, ruthless planes of his face, she thought better of it. ‘No, I think you’ve said it all,’ she managed to answer steadily.
‘Very well.’ With a dismissive shrug of his broad shoulder he added, ‘I’ll wish you goodnight.’ He walked out.
Josie watched the door close behind him, and shivered. She snuggled back down in the bed, pulling the sheet firmly around her. She was dog-tired, but sleep eluded her. She burned with frustration and anger—at herself as well as Conan. She buried her head in the pillow, but the lingering scent of Conan tormented her senses, and restlessly she rolled on her back to stare with sightless eyes at the ceiling.
In the long, lonely hours before dawn she finally faced up to herself, and she did not like what she saw.
How could she have behaved with such wanton abandon? She did not know. The only thing she was sure of was her shameless desire to have Conan back in her bed, to finish what he had started. If that made her wanton, then she was. And Conan—what of his feelings? He had been right when he had accused her of encouraging him. She had...and she could not blame him for being furious when she had so abruptly stopped him, even though she wished she hadn’t.
He was a virile man who by his own admission had been too long without a woman. Obviously because his mistress, Angela, had been in America. Tonight Conan had spent the evening in the company of the woman he loved but for propriety’s sake he had had to watch Angela leave with her brother. It was not surprising he had made love to Josie. It must have been frustration at not being able to have his girlfriend; sheer lust.
Josie groaned, disgusted with herself, and finally admitted what her subconscious mind had known all along. She had been attracted to Conan from the first day she met him. The sophisticated stranger with the outrageous comment. But she had never expected to see him again and had quite happily gone out with Charles. How wrong she had been. But it was too late now for regrets.
Josie caught her breath, a slow, grim smile curving her mouth. There was one good thing to come out of this evening. She no longer doubted that what Conan had said about Charles was true, even if he had been trying to hurt her with his revelations.
Conan had inadvertently lifted the weight of guilt she had borne for ages, thinking Charles had loved her, and knowing if he had lived she could never have returned the feeling. The thought of Charles touching her again made her flesh creep. Secretly she had been relieved, after the shock of his death had worn off, that he never would.
She had willingly accepted Conan’s offer of marriage, sure she could handle a marriage of convenience for the benefit of her child, conceited enough to think she could live with a man like Conan and feel nothing. But during all these weeks living with him she had got to know the man beneath the expensive suits and, unfortunately for her, fallen
in love with him. The last man in the world who could ever love her in return. She had no illusions on that score.
Heavens! He had virtually caught her in bed with his half-brother—the father of her child...
Tonight Conan’s reaction had been that of any red-blooded male to a more than willing woman. Love did not enter into it. Conan was a-businessman; he-had quite simply made a deal with her—the Manor in exchange for giving his name to her unborn child.
No matter what happened in the future, the child she was carrying would always come between Conan and herself, an ever-present reminder. She had to face facts and get on with her life. From this moment on, Josie vowed, she would be strong. She linked her fingers over the soft mound of her stomach, fiercely protective of her unborn child. Her baby was innocent and deserved all her love, and she was going to make sure her child wanted for nothing.
Tomorrow she would go back home; it would be nice to see her father again. She had read somewhere that the first few months of pregnancy were the worst, with massive hormonal changes to the female body. Maybe she could blame her behaviour tonight on that, put the past firmly behind her, and begin to make a life for herself and her child that did not include Conan or any other man.
Conan had been good to her, helping her when she needed it, but now she could return the favour by getting out of his life and giving him a clear field with Angela, even though the thought of them together broke her heart. Her mind was made up. She would leave tomorrow when Conan was at work, and if the world saw her as a coward for running away, so be it. She knew it was for the best, and finally she fell into a restless sleep.
However, when Josie walked into the kitchen the next morning, a little after ten, she froze, and her plan flew out of the window. Conan was standing by the cooker, unaware of her presence. Why wasn’t he at the office? For a long moment she feasted her eyes on him. His broad back was clad in a soft grey sweater, his long legs clearly defined in snug-fitting faded denim jeans. Then he turned.
‘Josie. I expected you to sleep in this morning. Jeffrey has the morning off and I was about to bring you breakfast in bed,’ he said coolly, then grinned, taking in her rumpled appearance at a glance. The baggy, faded black tracksuit was comfortable but did nothing to enhance her femininity.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, then nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as the smile left his face to be replaced with a hard-eyed stare.
‘I live here, remember?’ he prompted sarcastically.
‘But you should be at the office.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m the boss.’ His eyes narrowed on her face. ‘You look terrible—trouble sleeping, no doubt. Sit down before you fall down; I’ll get you a coffee.’
‘Thanks very much,’ she snapped, irked that he had known at a glance she had not slept properly all night, whereas he looked disgustingly fit. His black hair, slicked back, still damp from the shower, curled gently on the nape of his neck. It was obvious he’d had no bother sleeping.
‘Sarcasm does not become you, Josie. Do as you’re told and sit down,’ he commanded, and she did. Placing a steaming mug of coffee in front of her, he ordered, ‘Drink that and you’ll feel better.’
Josie grasped the mug in both hands, raised it to her lips and took a huge swallow, almost scalding her mouth in the process. She shot a wary look at Conan through the cover of her thick lashes. His back was half turned towards her as he deftly arranged scrambled eggs and toast on two plates. Suddenly her stomach turned over at the smell.
He swung around, a plate in each hand, and caught her watching him. She felt the shaming colour flood her face and hastily took another gulp of coffee. A plate of food appeared on the table in front of her. She was aware of him sliding into the seat opposite, but was incapable of lifting her head. It was worse, much worse than she had ever imagined. Last night had made her even more intensely aware of him, if that was possible.
‘Eat, Josie; you’ll feel a whole lot better. Then we’ll talk. I always think there’s nothing like a good breakfast for starting the day. Don’t you agree?’ he asked, and proceeded to tuck into the food on his plate with obvious pleasure.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Josie mumbled in reply and, lifting her fork, made herself eat. Every mouthful tasted like sawdust. His, ‘Then we’ll talk,’ had her nerves stretched to breaking point. She didn’t dare look at him, but kept her eyes fixed on the pine boards of the breakfast table.
‘You can look at me, Josie. I haven’t grown two horns and a tail since yesterday,’ he drawled mockingly.
She lifted her head; his golden-brown eyes were very bright. He knew exactly how embarrassed she was.
‘I didn’t think you had,’ she rejoined, sounding much more confident than she felt.
‘Good. Last night—’
‘Please,’ she interrupted. ‘Can we forget about last night?’ But he was not about to let her off so lightly.
‘No, Josie, we can’t. You can’t bury your head in the sand for ever,’ he said quietly. ‘However much you may like to.’ Pushing the plates to one side, he caught her small hand in his much larger one. His touch sent every sensible thought out of her head. Helplessly she stared at him. She had thought he would be as reluctant as she was to mention last night, but that was obviously not the case.
‘Last night happened, Josie, and you can’t pretend it didn’t. What we have to decide is where we go from here.’
She paled at his words, and, apprehensive about what was to follow, she rushed into speech. ‘Last night was a mistake, a rush of blood to the head or something, and it will never, ever happen again, I can assure you.’
‘The blood rushed to a quite different part of my anatomy,’ Conan drawled with wicked amusement, and she blushed scarlet
‘Never again,’ she repeated, at a loss for words.
‘How can you be so sure? You’re a married woman now. Do you honestly want to live the rest of your life like a nun?’
His long fingers idly laced with hers, distracting her, and she was incapable of answering him. She wasn’t feeling the least bit nun-like—in fact quite the reverse.
‘I don’t believe you do, Josie. I think,’ he murmured, his eyes boring into hers, ‘you are a very passionate young woman.’ Her hand jerked under his and she tried to pull free, but he would not allow it. ‘No, Josie, hear me out. Last night I discovered just what a delightfully sensual woman lurks beneath the almost innocent exterior you present to the world, and I wanted you. Still do,’ he admitted casually. ‘And I think at first you wanted me. Am I right?’ he demanded.
‘Yes.’ There was little point in denying it. She had been so obvious.
‘Thank you. I’m glad you’re being honest. I didn’t like believing you were using me as a stand-in for Charles all the time.’ His grip on her hand tightened as he continued in a much harder tone, ‘I don’t know what made you change your mind—a misplaced attack of conscience, perhaps. But I did a lot of thinking last night and decided the only thing wrong between you and me was the timing. It was too soon for you, and I should have realised that.’
Josie could not believe her ears. She looked around the kitchen—anywhere but at her husband. He was sitting discussing sex as though it were a normal breakfast conversation. She had no idea how to cope with this sophisticated, mature male attitude, and it took all her will-power to lift her eyes back to his; but face him she did.
‘Conan, I do not wish to discuss last night. I’m a woman, you’re a man. It was lust, pure and simple. Over, finished with.’ And, wrenching her hand from his, she leant back in her chair.
‘“Pure” is not the word that springs to my mind, but at least you’re seeing me-as a man—a small step forward,’ he—said cynically.
Josie suddenly had a vivid mental picture of Conan standing by the bed, the ultimate male animal, naked, aroused, and in his prime. Oh! If only he knew just how much she wanted him; but it was impossible, and if she had any doubts on that score they were quickly d
ispelled by his next words.
‘I should have remembered you were pregnant. Damn it, it is only a couple of months since Charles died! I don’t know how I could have forgotten that.’ He shook his head in a gesture of frustration, and without meeting her eyes he added, ‘I should not have said what I did about Charles; after all, the poor devil is dead.’
‘It was the truth, though, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t have to disillusion you quite so soon. I could have chosen a better time to tell you.’
‘It’s not important; it’s academic now anyway,’ Josie muttered, and, pushing her chair back, added, ‘I think I’ll go and change.’
‘No, wait,’ Conan commanded, and reluctantly she sat back down, feeling incredibly weary all of a sudden.
‘What I meant to tell you last night before we got sidetracked was that I spoke to your father last week.’
Josie’s brow creased in a worried frown. She spoke to her father every week by telephone, but why should Conan want to talk to him?
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Conan reassured her. ‘As you know the estate hasn’t been run properly for years, but I can’t afford to spend much time there, so I’ve employed an estate manager. He’s a family man, and obviously he’ll need a house. Your father and I have discussed the manager moving into Low Beeches, and then your father can move into the Manor House with the Major.’
‘Give up our home?’ Josie cried. ‘But...but...’ What could she say? Her decision of last night to run back to her father, and quietly withdraw from the Zarcourts’ sphere of influence, had been well and truly wiped out.
‘Surely you can see, business-wise, it’s the ideal solution? That’s why I’m taking you down there today—so you can talk it over with your father.’
‘I don’t think it’s a good idea. A man likes to have his own home; my father likes his independence.’
‘Rubbish. From what I’ve seen of your father, he’s not in the least independent. He’s had you running around after him for years,’ Conan declared, a thread of steel in his tone. ‘And when I suggested it he jumped at the chance. In fact he’s already at the Manor. It was I who insisted he discuss it with you for courtesy’s sake, nothing more.’
A Husband of Convenience Page 9
