'No, listen, Didi. I've seen Mr Jarvis, and the deed is done and the cheque is in the bank.' She paused for breath, and also because she was not sure how Didi would take what she had said...
'Never mind that old fool, girl. But why -'
Parisa, getting her second wind, cut in. 'Sixty thousand, Didi. Just think—we can have a new roof.'
'Impulsive as ever, Parisa, darling.' The deep, mockingly familiar voice sounded in her head.
Parisa shook her head. God, was she hearing voices now? She looked across the top of Didi's grey curls, and froze. Outlined in the sitting-room door, the light behind him masking his features, was the tall—very tall—figure of a man...
'That is what I was trying to tell you, Miss Parisa,' Didi said disgustedly. 'Your fiancée arrived hours ago, and I do think you might have told me... I didn't know what Master Luc was talking about at first. It was only after he explained about the holiday and I remembered seeing that lovely ring that I realised Luc was telling the truth, and then the telephone has never stopped ringing all day.'
"He told you we're engaged?' Parisa could not believe what she was hearing.
'Yes, and you should have done so. Hmph! Engaged to be married, and not once did you tell your old nanny, but then I'm just a servant around here. Who takes any notice of me? I was horrified at the idea of your selling the title; you could have told me who was buying it and saved me all that worry.' Parisa silently groaned. Didi was upset. 'Thank goodness your fiancée is more open about his dealings than you are. I'm going to make a pot of tea. You can answer the telephone yourself.' And, still muttering, she left.
Parisa, barely registering Didi's words, clutched the hall table with one hand, to help support her trembling legs. Luc, casually dressed in a black leather blouson jacket hanging open to reveal a white roll-necked cashmere sweater, a lean waist and belted black pleated trousers, was striding towards her. For a second she had the wild thought that she had conjured him up out of her imagination, but as she bravely looked up into his handsome face she knew he was all too real. Blue eyes locked with black, and for a long moment there was complete silence.
It was Luc, but a different image to the one she remembered. He was thinner, his handsome face gaunt, and his bronzed skin held a grayish tinge. His clothes hung loose on his huge frame, and his hair...his beautiful, thick, glossy black hair that she had delighted in running her fingers through...
'What happened to your hair?' she exclaimed involuntarily. It was cropped short, a dark, barely inch-long stubble over his arrogant head.
'I had it cut,' he said flatly. 'But you must have realised it would be.'
'What?' She did not know what he was talking about, and, tearing her gaze away from his, she forced her chaotic emotions under some kind of control. He was here in her home, and what had Didi said? Her fiancée. The swine had told Didi they were engaged.
'How dare you come into my home and tell my housekeeper an outright lie? We are not engaged and never have been. I'm afraid I must ask you to leave.' And, with a regal if somewhat dramatic gesture, she indicated the front door, silently amazed that her voice sounded cool and authoritative, even as her mind spun in crazy disbelief at Luc's presence.
'You did that very well, Parisa. Every inch the Lady of the Manor,' he drawled cynically. 'What a shame the title is no longer yours.'
He must have heard what she had told Didi! 'My personal affairs are hardly your concern, Mr Di Maggi,' she said with an arrogantly arched eyebrow.
'As I was your first personal affair only weeks ago I think I am entitled to be curious.'
Parisa turned scarlet in the face of his open reference to the night they had spent together. Her blue eyes clashed with glittering black and she wanted to throw good manners to the wind and scream at the man to get out, and he knew it. She could see it in the taunting, cynical smile as he glanced at her small hands clenched around the edge of the table.
'A one-night stand does not constitute an affair,' she said bitingly. 'And if you were anything of a gentleman '
'But then you never thought of me as a gentleman, did you, Parisa? You considered me as some kind of low-life,' he snarled, his temper showing. 'What was it, Parisa? The hooray Henries not men enough for you? You fancied a bit of rough for your initiation? Or perhaps it was the ring you wanted to hang on to. Obviously you needed the money.'
'How dare you come to my home...?' She was livid. She had waited in London five days for his call, and now, two months later, he had sauntered back into her life and had the gall to suggest she had slept with him for the sake of a bit of costume jewellery.
'Tea, Miss Parisa.' Didi walked into the hall pushing an antique wooden trolley loaded with the best family china and the silver tea service, plus a plate of homemade biscuits.
Parisa was silenced by the old lady's interruption, but the ring of the telephone, only inches from her hand on the hall table, made her jump. Automatically she picked up the receiver.
Her pale face turned scarlet and back to white in a few seconds, as she listened in horror to the ravings of a demented David, who had just read the announcement of her engagement in The Times.
'You could have told me. I deserved better than that, Parisa. No wonder you said we could only ever be friends when I was going to ask you to marry me. How could you? But then the man is filthy rich'
'You were going to marry me?' Parisa parroted, and turned scarlet as a nasty swear-word echoed down the line as the receiver was replaced at the other end. She swung around, blue eyes flashing dangerously, but the object of her anger was disappearing into the drawing- room opposite. Parisa stormed after Luc. 'Just what the...?' She stopped. Luc had sat down in a large, shabby, wing-backed chair and was smiling benignly at Didi, as the old lady proceeded to pour out two cups of tea.
'Sit down, Miss Parisa, and enjoy your tea. I know you and Mr Luc must have lots to catch up on.'
'Thank you, Didi,' Luc responded smoothly.
Parisa's mouth hung open in shock. Nobody called Mrs Trimble 'Didi' except herself, and she could not believe Luc had charmed the old lady so quickly, but one look at Didi's simpering smile and she knew yet another woman had fallen for Luc's distinctive charm.
'My pleasure, sir.' And, handing him a cup of tea, she turned to Parisa. 'After tea' she held out the cup
and saucer and Parisa automatically took it '—why don't you show Mr Luc around the house and tell him the history? As the new Lord of Hardcourt Manor, it will be fascinating for him.'
'That was David on the telephone, and he is...' Then what Didi had said registered through her anger. 'The new Lord! Oh, my God!' she exclaimed. She collapsed on the sofa and gulped down the tea, almost burning her mouth. The shock of Luc's unexpected arrival had thrown her thoughts into complete confusion. Half an hour ago she had been congratulating herself on finally beginning to get over him, on getting her life back in gear, and now... A horrible sinking sensation settled in her stomach. She had signed the title over to a company. What had Jarvis said? The company had bought it intending to use the coat of arms on the letter headings or something. Could it possibly be Luc's... ?
'Yes. You're right, Parisa.' He read her mind again.
In her own home, with generations of history to back her up, she responded with cool hauteur. 'You may have bought the title, but your lawyer should have explained that it does not give you the right to visit this house.'
'Miss Parisa, remember your manners,' Didi scolded.
Parisa could feel the anger building inside her, but she forced herself to stay calm, to think, and slowly, as she drained her cup, she began to get her thoughts into some kind of order. It infuriated her to think the sixty- thousand-pound cheque she had been ecstatic about a couple of hours ago had come from Luc. So what if his company had bought the title? It was nothing to do with her, she tried to tell herself. As far as she was concerned it was just a useless bit of parchment that, by selling, meant she was able to struggle on a bit longer in her old home. Th
ere were other such houses dotted around the country, the owners left with little money and great mansions that only the incredibly wealthy could maintain. Some were changed to hotels or retirement homes, but she had not had that option.
But why Luc had called was a mystery. And why claim he was her fiancée and tell the world in The Times newspaper? What machiavellian scheme was he plotting now? she asked herself warily. Surreptitiously, she studied him beneath lowered lashes. His long body was casually at ease in what had been her father's favourite chair, his dark eyes smiling at Didi as he accepted a biscuit from the plate she was proffering. Parisa was caught once again by the sheer animal magnetism of the man.
Once he had smiled at her that way, and pain, unexpected and quite devastating, hit her. Her stomach churned and for a second she thought she was going to be physically sick. Whatever he wanted, it didn't matter. She wanted him out of her house, out of her sight, out of her life... She despised him...
With a supreme effort of self-control she finally responded to Didi's prompting. 'Actually, the house is not very interesting, and I'm sure Luc has to get back to London,' she said politely, bravely raising her eyes to meet his. 'It was nice of you to call, but don't let me delay you,' she concluded with dry sarcasm.
But Luc was not so easily dismissal, and Didi's parting comment was no help. 'Now, Miss Parisa, that's no way to talk to the man you are going to marry. I've booked a table for the two of you at the Old Forge for dinner. Remember, this is my bingo night, so if you don't mind I'll go and get ready.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
Parisa's temper boiled over as soon as Didi closed the door behind her. 'What the hell do you think you're playing at?' She jumped to her feet, her face pale, her slender body shaking with the force of her anger. 'Coming into my home, telling my housekeeper you are the new Lord of Hardcourt and my fiancée. What kind of fable is that?' she raged.
'No fable. The announcement of our engagement was in this morning's Times and I am Savion Holdings. By a strange coincidence, the estate agent you used to sell the title happens to be part of the property company I recently acquired. When I saw the name Hardcourt I couldn't resist the temptation and purchased the title. It seemed rather fitting, I thought.'
It was true; she could tell by the triumphant glitter in his black eyes. But what about the rest? 'David... The papers...' she spluttered. Suddenly the enormity of what Luc had done hit her. Oh, my God! She realised everyone in the county would know.
She had no idea how magnificent she looked, standing in the middle of the room, her blue eyes flashing fire, the soft red wool-knit dress she wore clinging to every curve of her slender form.
'Dial You have the face of an angel, the body of a temptress, and a heart as hard as nails .'
Luc's deep voice cut into the tense silence.
Parisa flushed scarlet, then paled at his final comment. If anyone had a heart as hard as nails it was Luc, she thought bitterly. But before she could open her mouth to repudiate him, he had got to his feet and covered the distance between them. He grabbed her by her shoulders. She stiffened, shooting a furious glance at his dark countenance, and seething at the arrogant contempt she saw in his black eyes.
His cold, cynical gaze roamed her infuriated face. 'Your poor sod of a boyfriend is well rid of you. Did you bother to tell him you had already been in my bed?' She flushed even brighter. 'No. I thought not.' His sensuous mouth curved in a hard sneer. 'It is time you faced up to your selfish actions, and I am going to make sure you do.'
He was much too close. His aggressive masculinity threatened her in ways she refused to admit, but his words incited her fury. How dared he call her selfish, the swine? And, without thinking, she raised her hand to strike him. But her arm was caught in mid air, and with embarrassing ease Luc twisted it behind her back, hauling her tight against his huge frame.
The anger, the tension crackled between them like an electric storm. Her breasts were flattened against his broad chest. Her mouth opened to demand her release, but she never uttered a word. His hand slid from her shoulder to tangle in her long hair, tightening till the pain almost made her cry out, but his mouth silenced her, grinding against hers in a savage, bruising assault. She could not believe it was happening. The rage, the pent-up violence in the thrusting force of his kiss was shocking in its intensity, and to her horror all her fight deserted her as she went limp in his arms.
He released her so abruptly that she almost fell. Her tongue licked involuntarily over her swollen lips. Her head still tilted back, she stared numbly up at Luc, too shocked to speak.
'Don't ever raise your hand to me again, Parisa.' His face grey beneath his tan, his black eyes sliced into her. 'I have no desire to hurt you. That is not why I'm here.'
He could have fooled her! she thought, the painful throbbing of her lips all too real. He turned and walked across the room. She stared at his broad back, the tightness of his wide shoulders, too stunned by the explosion of raw passion to move.
'Then why?' she asked, fighting to regain control of her chaotic emotions. She didn't understand; her brain just would not function. Her legs trembling, she sank back down on the sofa, closing her eyes for a moment. It had to be a nightmare. Any second now she would wake and her life would be back to normal. Slowly she opened her eyes, but it wasn't so. Luc had moved and was now standing with one arm leaning against the ornate oak-carved fireplace, his interested gaze roaming around the room and finally settling on Parisa.
'I can see why you need money, Parisa. It's a lovely old house, but it does need cash spending on it. I'm surprised you can afford an apartment in the city, but then a London address must be convenient for you to hand out to unwanted friends...' he prompted cynically.
'Something like that,' she snapped. 'But it obviously didn't work in your case.'
'Liar. It isn't your apartment. It belongs to your friend Moya.'
'So what?' Suddenly she remembered the day they bought the ring. No wonder he had insisted on driving her home to find out her address... the original blackmailer knew where Moya lived. What an idiot she had been not to realise it at the time, and she could have spared herself an awful lot of heartache. 'You wouldn't be here if I hadn't put the title up for sale.' She unconsciously spoke her thoughts out loud.
'Is that your idea of an explanation for your actions?' Luc laughed—a harsh, humourless sound.
'I don't owe you an explanation,' Parisa said bluntly. It was the other way around, she thought mutinously. But a tiny flicker of something very like hope stirred in her breast. How had Luc discovered the apartment was not hers, unless he had called there looking for her? But immediately she squashed the feeling. Yes, but weeks later, she told herself cynically, and, shooting Luc a poisonous glance, she demanded, 'You have yet to explain why you are here, and the ridiculous assumption that I am your fiancée.'
'Not assumption. Fact, Parisa, and you have a very expensive ring to prove it.'
'That bauble served its purpose for you.' She responded with icy politeness to cover her deep resentment. He had certainly got his money's worth out of that piece of costume jewellery in the two days they had spent together in Italy.
'I would hardly call a brilliant blue-white diamond a bauble. You were good in bed, but not that good, and I am not in the habit of paying out a small fortune for a one-night stand,' he drawled mockingly. His black eyes caught and held hers, and she could not hide the shock his words had caused her.
He was saying the stone was real. She couldn't believe it—a brilliant blue-white, she knew, was one of the most expensive diamonds in the world.
'I'm surprised you haven't sold it as you need money so badly. Or have you?' Luc's cynical query made her stiffen in her seat.
'No,' she snapped, still digesting his other comment. He had not found making love to her much good! Why did that hurt? She had realised weeks ago that Luc had obviously not been as bowled over by the one night of passion they had shared as she herself had. What had been the most marvellous
experience of her life had been just sex to him. She raised her head, and with a curious detachment surveyed the man leaning negligently against the fireplace as though he were a total stranger. But her attention was caught as he pushed one hand into the pocket of his elegant black trousers, pulling the fine wool cloth over his powerful thigh. She turned her head defensively. There was no mistaking his virile masculine appeal. It radiated from every line of his large body, but she refused to acknowledge that he could still affect her.
Luc didn't make love to women; the word wasn't in his vocabulary. He hadn't made love to Parisa. He had practised his mastery of the sexual act, nothing more. He had used her for amusement in revenge for a childish prank. He had covered it with sweet talk and a semblance of caring, which only made it worse. Now the final insult—he thought he had paid far too much for the privilege. Hadn't he just said so...?
'What do you want, Luc?' she said flatly. 'The ring back?' She got to her feet, her blue gaze remote on his still figure. Every inch the lady, she walked, head high, towards the door. 'I'll get it for you and then you can go.'
'No. Stay.' His curt command stopped her. She turned with her hand on the doorknob.
'There is something more?' she queried with icy politeness. 'You do surprise me. You already own the title of the manor, but the house is not for sale. You and your mother will have to content yourself with a piece of paper and a coat of arms.' And much good may it do the pair of them, she thought bitterly. Anna Gennetti had been right. The Di Maggis were status seekers, something she could not abide.
Puzzlement then anger flashed in his dark eyes, as the impact of her words struck home. He searched her cool, composed features, his glance skimming insultingly over her rigidly held body, lingering for an instant on the firm outline of her breasts, before returning to her face. It took all her self-control to hold his gaze without blushing. Anticipating his furious response, she was mystified as his saturnine features resolved into a bland mask to match her own.
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