Convenient Brides

by Catherine Spencer

  Emily was speechless. She stood there, the wine glass almost falling from her nerveless fingers.

  ‘I can’t believe you’d be so…so…’ She struggled to find the words.

  ‘So what, Emily?’

  ‘So…so inhuman.’

  ‘Who’s being inhuman now? You’re the one who wants to write a parcel of lies about a fragile old lady who never got a chance at happiness.’

  Emily felt a wave of guilt rush through her.

  ‘Tell me, Emily, did you ever consider the outcome of the sort of book you write?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Of course you didn’t,’ he cut across her. ‘You just sit at that computer of yours and tap away at someone’s life as if it means nothing but increased sales. The more scan-dal, the more sales—isn’t that right?’

  There was nothing she could say. A lot of what he’d said was true. In the past she’d done exactly that: written any-thing with a hint of scandal in it to boost the interest in her work. It had definitely worked with her book about Raife Norton-Floyd, even if her own name had subsequently been dragged through the mud along with his. She’d thought by working on Rose Margate’s biography she could somehow resurrect her reputation, but Damien’s involvement in her life had changed all that. She was caught like a fly in a spider’s web, the intricate fibres wrapping around her, tying her invisibly to him. She couldn’t get away if she tried.

  ‘Call her now,’ he commanded, handing her the cordless telephone. ‘Tell Clarice Connor that you’ve had second thoughts. Tell her anything. Unless you do I will be making my own legal moves in the morning.’

  Emily took the telephone from him, her hand almost shaking as she did so. ‘I’ll never get another contract,’ she said desperately. ‘I’ll be blackballed.’

  His expression was resolute. ‘You’re now under contract to me. Cancel the book indefinitely. I’ll deal with any counter-suits personally.’

  She dialled Clarice’s number and waited for her to answer. The answering machine cut in after the fifth ring and Emily hesitated. Damien stood in front of her, his arms folded against his chest in an indomitable pose, and she began to speak in a cold, detached voice, as if it were not her writing career she was destroying but somebody else’s.

  She handed him back the telephone once she’d finished and snapped, ‘Happy now?’

  He put the phone back on its recharging cradle and reached for his wine. ‘Once you get to know my aunt you won’t regret doing that.’

  ‘So you do intend for me to meet her some time?’ she asked. ‘What changed your mind? I must be a better lay than I thought.’

  He frowned as he twirled the contents of his glass. ‘Don’t cheapen yourself like that.’

  ‘You said it, not me.’

  ‘I’m sorry—it was inappropriate. I was uptight and angry.’

  It was a gruff apology but an apology for all that. Emily huddled herself into a corner of the sofa and sipped her wine.

  ‘I’m going to get myself something to eat,’ he said at last. ‘Would you like something?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  He gave an exasperated sigh and left the room. Emily pushed her wine away and buried her head in her hands. How had she got herself into such a mess?

  Chapter Nine

  DAMIEN came back to the sitting room some time later with two omelettes on a tray and set them down in front of the sofa. Emily eyed the appetising food and shifted herself as far away as possible.

  ‘Are you expecting someone?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I thought you might be hungry by now.’ He handed her one of the plates and she hesitated.

  ‘I told you, I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Emily, you can’t not eat. You’re way too thin as it is. I can’t have people thinking I don’t feed you.’

  She took the plate resentfully and poked at the omelette with the fork he’d handed her.

  ‘It’s not poisoned,’ he assured her.

  ‘I didn’t think it was.’

  He sat down beside her and picked up the remote control for the television.

  ‘More wine?’ he asked.

  She shook her head, prodding at the food once more. She tasted a small mouthful and was surprised at how hun-gry she felt once she’d sampled it. A short time later the plate was empty, and she pushed it almost guiltily on to the coffee table in front of them.

  ‘There’s a good movie on the other channel.’ He eyed her empty plate with approval. ‘Or would you like to watch the documentary on Four?’

  ‘I don’t mind. You choose,’ she said, settling back into the sofa. Her shoulders were starting to relax and her mind was becoming fuzzy from the wine she’d consumed.

  Damien flipped through the channels and she stared sightlessly at the images in front of her, her mind taking her elsewhere. It was hard to see anything in her head other than the image of herself and Damien in the throes of passion together. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and he turned briefly to look at her.

  ‘We can watch the other channel if you’d like?’ he offered.

  ‘No—sorry—I was thinking about…about something else.’

  She settled back down and forced herself to concentrate on the screen in front of her, all the while conscious of the strong male thighs within centimetres of her own. One of his arms was lying along the back of the sofa, so close to her head that if she so much as leant backwards she’d en-counter his long fingers. Just knowing they were there made it torturously tempting to do so. Her head felt heavy; her neck ached with the need to lean back and be supported by the caress of his hand. She shut her eyes and concentrated on the muffled words coming from the television. If she could just think about something other than him!

  She woke some time later, her eyes springing open in shock, and found herself draped across Damien’s knees with one of his hands entwined in the weight of her hair.

  He felt her stir and removed his hand. She sat upright and brushed at her sleepy eyes, her cheeks flushing at the way she’d virtually thrown herself across him in sleep.

  ‘I’m sorry. I must have drifted off.’

  ‘At least we can accurately say you’ve slept with me now, can’t we?’ he said, flicking off the TV with the remote control.

  ‘But you weren’t asleep,’ she pointed out.

  ‘No.’ He brushed a fine strand of her hair out of her face as he looked at her. ‘That’s true.’

  ‘Was it a happy ending?’ she asked, moving out of his reach.

  ‘What? The movie?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Happy enough, I guess.’

  ‘You’re not a romantic, then?’ she asked.

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  She shrugged one slim shoulder. ‘A hunch.’

  ‘Don’t measure me against other men’s standards, Emily. I’m not completely without feeling.’

  ‘I didn’t suggest you were.’

  ‘You don’t like me, though, do you?’ he asked.

  Emily gnawed at her bottom lip, caught off guard by his question. ‘Am I supposed to?’

  ‘A few years ago you’d have been under oath to do so, but the Women’s Movement put paid to that. You don’t have to obey me, but I’d like to think you had some sort of respect for me.’

  ‘Respect is earned.’

  ‘I can see I have some work to do,’ he commented wryly.

  She didn’t reply, but somehow his arm resting along the back of the sofa encountered her hair once more. She sat silently as his fingers threaded their way through the loose strands, her flesh tingling as he coiled the silky ends around one finger. She leant her head back to intensify the sensa-tion of his touch and turned her head towards him, her eyes meeting his. She stared at his mouth; the firm line of his lips was relaxed into a half-smile and his hand left her hair to cup her chin.

  ‘What am I going to do with you, Emily, wife of mine?’ he asked.

  Emily swallowed, not trusting herself to
answer.

  ‘You’re so sweet when you’re not hurling insults at me,’ he mused. ‘You sleep like a little child, curling up in my lap so trustingly.’

  ‘I dribbled on your trousers.’ She pointed to the damp patch on his knee in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. The air seemed to be tightening around them, pulling them even closer than they already were.

  He glanced down at his knee and smiled. ‘So you did.’

  Emily tried to move out of his hold but his fingers tight-ened fractionally on her chin.

  ‘No, don’t pull away from me. I want to talk to you.’

  ‘You don’t have to pinch my face off to do so.’

  His fingers loosened, his thumb moving across to softly caress the smoothness of her cheek instead. Her breath caught in her throat at his nearness, his gentle touch stirring her blood into fervent life. His eyes locked with hers, their dark depths a whirlpool of mystery to her.

  ‘For someone who claims to dislike me so intensely, your body insists on giving the opposite message,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  His mouth twisted into a half-smile, his thumb moving to brush over the fullness of her bottom lip.

  ‘Against your will, and probably against your better judgement, you really are attracted to me, aren’t you?’

  Emily felt cornered. ‘You’re rich and powerful,’ she said glibly. ‘Most women find that attractive. But it’s a shallow sort of attraction; it won’t last.’

  ‘You seem very sure of that,’ he observed, dropping his hand from her face.

  ‘I can guarantee it. I’d give it six weeks, tops. After that the thrill of the chase fades and it all becomes a boring routine.’

  ‘Want to put it to the test?’ he challenged.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Let’s see if your theory is true. I challenge you to spend the next six weeks with me as a proper wife.’

  ‘You mean do your washing and ironing? Forget it! I’ve got better things to do with my—’

  ‘No. You know I don’t mean that. I mean sleep with me, be my lover and partner, not just on paper but in real life.’

  ‘You can’t be serious!’ She got to her feet and moved agitatedly across the room.

  ‘Of course I’m serious. I bet by the end of six weeks you won’t be bored. I can guarantee it.’

  ‘What if I am? What if you lose the bet?’

  ‘I won’t lose the bet.’ His tone was confident. ‘But if at the end of six weeks you want to move on I won’t stop you.’

  ‘You mean I can leave?’ She stopped and stared at him. ‘Get a divorce?’

  ‘If you feel it’s necessary.’

  ‘Of course it will be necessary. You can hardly want to spend the rest of your life tied to me any more than I want to be tied to you.’

  ‘Let’s not look too far ahead. Six weeks will do for now. As for the future, who knows?’

  Emily bit her lip. This was getting way out of her control. She’d thought it was just her book she was relinquishing, but what about her heart?

  ‘I’m not doing the cooking and cleaning,’ she sniped at him. ‘And I absolutely insist on sleeping on the right-hand side of the bed. I have a thing about it.’

  He crossed one ankle over his knee and, leaning back into the sofa, surveyed her defiant face. ‘Anything else?’

  She pressed her damp palms against her thighs, wondering if she should tell him the truth. It had been months since she’d taken a birth control pill.

  ‘Emily?’

  ‘Yes, there is one other thing,’ she said firmly. ‘From now on I want you to wear a condom.’

  ‘If you insist, but you have my assurance that during the next six weeks I will remain exclusively yours, so to speak.’

  ‘I do insist.’

  There was a tiny pause.

  ‘And what about you, Emily?’ he asked. ‘Will you remain faithful to me during that time also?’

  She found it difficult to meet his probing gaze.

  ‘Naturally.’

  He got to his feet and came to stand in front of her, his towering presence instantly eroding her courage.

  ‘If you are unfaithful there will be hell to pay. You do realise that, don’t you?’ he asked.

  Emily stood her ground even though inside her stomach had turned to jelly at the light of warning shining in his eyes.

  ‘I realise you want to make me suffer as much as possible, and won’t let any opportunity pass that affords you the chance to do so,’ she said valiantly.

  ‘Your opinion of me seems to be disintegrating more each day,’ he reflected ruefully. ‘Who knows what it will be at the end of six weeks?’

  ‘I can tell you now,’ she said. ‘I’ll still loathe and detest you.’

  His sardonic laugh irritated her beyond belief.

  ‘Are you sure, sweet Emily?’ His hand caught her uptilted chin once more, forcing her defiant eyes to meet his. ‘Don’t go staking your life on it, now, will you?’

  She ground her teeth and pulled out of his grasp.

  ‘You’d just love it if I fell at your feet in lovelorn worship, wouldn’t you? But it’s just not going to happen. You’re everything I most dislike in a man. You’re arrogant, controlling and have an ego the size of a continent.’

  ‘You’re not quite my idea of a perfect partner yourself,’ he bit back. ‘Since we’re trading insults: you’re a promiscuous little madam who’d do anything for a good story. You’ve already proved it by hooking up with Danny, only to discard him to marry me because you thought it would throw you directly into Rose’s path. But your little scheme didn’t work, did it?’

  ‘Marriage was your idea, not mine.’

  ‘But it played right into your desperate little hands, didn’t it? I was wondering just how far you’d go and you did exactly as I expected. You sold your soul for money, my money. I heard you confess as much to Danny.’

  There was nothing she could say in her own defence.

  ‘No come-back to flay me with?’ he taunted. ‘No witty pay-back to put me firmly in my place?’

  ‘I wouldn’t waste my breath,’ she spat at him.

  The telephone rang shrilly on the side table and Damien reached out a long arm to answer it. He spoke into it briefly before handing it to her. ‘It’s for you.’

  Emily took the telephone receiver and turned her back on him. ‘Hello?’

  ‘What the hell do you mean, you’re pulling Rose’s Cupboard from the drawing-board?’ Clarice Connor’s voice carried across the room. ‘You can’t do that!’

  Emily took a deep breath. ‘I just did.’

  ‘Emily, you can’t be serious! Is this some sort of pub-licity stunt? I mean, marrying the nephew was good, so good that everyone wants the book! I’ve had everyone on my back for the past week, crying out for a date of completion. You can’t withdraw your proposal now.’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘Who says? This is the big break we’ve been waiting for. You can’t afford to let this go. Damn it! I can’t afford to let this go.’

  ‘This is about me, not you, Clarice,’ Emily said. ‘I’m not writing it. I’ve got no other choice.’

  ‘Well, I’m quitting as your agent,’ Clarice said. ‘I’m not putting up with this any longer. I’m losing all credibility because of you. No one will want to be represented by me after this.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Clarice, but—’

  ‘You’re sorry?’ Clarice’s tone was scathing. ‘I’m sorry I ever took pity on you in the first place. I should’ve known after that Norton-Floyd affair you’d be nothing but trouble. I suppose the lure of the Margate millions has swayed you, has it? I never would’ve thought it of you. I never thought you’d sell yourself so cheaply.’

  Emily flinched as Clarice hung up on her. She was very conscious of Damien’s silent presence behind her as she clutched the buzzing receiver to her chest.

  She felt his hand on her shoulder, and his voice when he sp
oke was deep but gentle. ‘Give me the phone, Emily.’

  She handed it to him, her hands not quite steady. He put the receiver back in its cradle and faced her. ‘I realise this has cost you, but believe me it’s for the best.’

  ‘Best for whom?’ she asked bitterly. ‘For you?’

  ‘For Rose.’

  She brushed at the moisture in her eyes, angry that he was witnessing her professional humiliation.

  ‘I’ll be waiting on café tables for the rest of my life. No one will want to take me on after this—no one.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ he assured her. ‘You can change direc-tion—write something else.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy.’ She sniffed. ‘As if I could walk out there and tap the nearest agent on the shoulder now and say, “Take me on. I’ve had one success, one disaster, and I pulled the plug on my last one, but I’ll try and get it right this time.” As if!’

  ‘What did you do before you wrote your first book?’

  ‘I was a cadet on a local newspaper. I was propositioned by the chief editor once too many times and left.’

  ‘You should have taken him to court.’

  ‘With whose money?’ she asked. ‘And who would’ve believed me?’

  ‘What drew you to write about my aunt?’

  Emily sat back down and took the wine glass he’d re-filled and handed to her.

  ‘I’m not sure. I guess it was the mystery of it all that grasped my attention. Here was a woman with the world at her feet and suddenly she disappeared, never to be seen again. No explanation, no farewell. Just silence.’

  ‘It was her choice.’

  ‘I realise that, but it didn’t make sense. Why throw away all that fame for obscurity? What possible reason could there be for such a dramatic turnaround?’

  ‘People have their reasons,’ he said. ‘Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Some of the most popular celebrities can also be the loneliest.’

  Emily sipped her wine and thought about his words.

  ‘Many people, such as yourself, have concluded Rose has become a reclusive alcoholic, but I can assure you that’s not true.’