Master of Passion

by Jacqueline Baird

  'My mother is in the Royal Free Hospital in London. She thinks we are engaged.' His tone remote, Luc continued, 'I promised I would take you to visit her. I had the announcement printed in The Times simply as an alternative if I did not find you at home. I considered the formal announcement would be some reassurance for Mamma. She is very ill and I do not want her upset or worried,'

  So that was it... Instantly, Parisa believed him. Of course, it made sense. Why else would he bother tracking her down? Certainly not because he had any feelings for her. He had made that very plain...

  'I'm sorry about your mother. What's wrong?' she asked courteously. It was as though an invisible barrier had slid between them. They spoke as two polite strangers, and that suited Parisa perfectly.

  'She had a slight heart attack a few weeks ago. On Thursday she is to undergo a bypass operation.'

  'I see.'

  'Enough to come with me to visit her tomorrow?'

  Parisa was sorry Signora Di Maggi was ill, but she had no intention of getting involved with Luc or his family again; once was quite enough. 'Yes, well, I'm afraid I can't,' she said coolly.

  Luc straightened. 'You owe me... and I collect on my debts.' His dark eyes burned with a deep-seated anger as he moved purposely towards her.

  Parisa turned the door-handle, intent on escape, but was foiled as Didi entered.

  'I thought I'd better tell you.' The elderly lady smiled at Luc. 'Your chauffeur has returned and he is waiting in the kitchen.' So now she knew, Parisa thought, why she had never seen a car in the drive when she had arrived home. 'And I've booked your table for seven,' Didi continued, turning her attention to Parisa. 'That will give you plenty of time to show Mr Luc around the house. Tomorrow, when you go to visit his mother'

  'Didi, I'm not going to dinner or to London- '

  'Rubbish, girl, of course you are. You can't let Master Luc and your future mother-in-law down.'

  'But...' Parisa should have known after a lifetime with Didi that there was no way she was going to win this particular argument. Ten minutes later she was pointing out the various portraits in the large entrance hall and then leading Luc up the wide staircase, still wondering how it had happened. 'Mind the carpet,' she said automatically as they reached the worn part.

  She stopped in front of a massive oil-painting in an ornate gilt frame, and turned as Luc stood by her side. 'Hardcourts have lived here since the twelfth century. The local baron gave the manorial rights to an ancient ancestor, for fighting for him—there was no such thing as pay in those days. The house has been rebuilt over the centuries, the last time in 1850. This is Lady Penelope, one of the earliest portraits.' It was a picture of a woman in seventeenth-century clothes, who looked rather like Parisa, with the same distinctive white-blonde hair.

  'Her husband was a sea captain, and died at sea. Rumour has it he was actually a pirate. She was left with a baby daughter and the house. In those days it would have passed to the next male in the family, but as it happened the next male was a distant relative, who was an earl in his own right. He very graciously allowed the entail to be altered so the property could be passed to the first-born child of the family, irrespective of sex. A very unusual entail in those times, and the manor has passed down through both the male and female line ever since. That is why some of the portraits bear different hyphenated names, the only constant being the Hardcourt.' She sounded like a tour guide, but didn't care.

  'Interesting. I did wonder why the surname on the portraits varied.'

  'Yes, it is quite unusual.'

  'She was very lovely; you look rather like her.' Luc turned his head, glancing down at her.

  Parisa felt the colour rise in her cheeks. He was much too close and, to her chagrin, her intense awareness of him was suddenly rekindled. But then it was his nature to flirt with anything in a skirt, she told herself firmly.

  'It was lucky the house was entailed so progressively. It has been the curse of the Hardcourt men to get themselves killed in a haphazard fashion.' She pointed at the next portrait, of an elegantly dressed Regency buck. 'Hubert Hardcourt. He was on a tiger hunt in India, and was eaten by the beast he set out to trap. The next male member of the family managed to get lost in Africa. And as for the women,' she went on, 'they all seem to marry rogues and adventurers; She moved along, pointing to yet another portrait of a lady, who was dressed in nineteen-twenties style.

  'Even the women who didn't marry had a propensity for getting into hot water. This one, Patricia, tied herself to the railings outside Downing Street. She was a suffragette and ended up in gaol. Though to give her her due, after her brother was killed in the First World War and his wife died, she was left in charge of a nephew and niece, and before the young Hardcourt of the day managed to get his hands on what was left of the family fortune she had a trust set up for the maintenance of the manor. Unfortunately the covenant attached insists it must remain a family home.

  'That explains a lot,' Luc said with a chuckle.

  Parisa looked up at him, not in the least amused. When she was a small child her grandmother, a thoroughly sensible lady, and not a Hardcourt by birth, had told her all the family history. Then it hadn't bothered Parisa that her ancestors were impulsive and prone to crazy adventures. She had loved her parents, and her mother had been as adventurous as the man she married. Consequently, as a child Parisa had often been left behind, while they set off on some crazy escapade. She had never been conscious of it worrying her until after their death. Then her grandmother had made a point of impressing on her how important it was not to get involved in reckless escapades as her parents had. She had a duty to look after the manor and its inhabitants. When she lost her grandmother as well, Parisa had consciously tried to squash the mare extrovert side of her personality, seeing it as an inherited flaw in her nature. Now she disliked the least hint that she was impulsive or prose to reckless acts,

  'I do not find it funny,' she said bluntly. "If any of them had bad the least bit of business sense, I wouldn't be stuck with this huge house I can't sell and I can't afford to keep.' 'What happened to the trust?' he queried. 'A few thousand may have seemed a lot in the nineteen-twenties, but today the income from it just about covers the wages of Didi and Joe, but only because they work for next to nothing. As for the house, the original entail forbids it being sold and the covenant forbids it being used for business,' 'Surely the covenant could be broken?' 'Don't think I haven't tried. With twelve bedrooms, if I could turn it into a guest-house or something it might pay, but Mr Jarvis informed me it isn't possible. But now, thanks to you and your status seeking, she sniped sarcastically, 'I will be able to repair the roof and maybe the heating.'

  Luc, ignoring her sarcasm, responded in a businesslike tone, "That's not a long-term solution, Parisa. Take it from me—it will cost double what I've paid you for running repairs alone.' He caught her arm, and she flinched. Something sinister dickered in his dark eyes, hot his hand dropped abruptly from her arm,

  'It really isn't any of your business.' She moved away. She hated to admit it, but be was probably right about the money and repairs as well... 'Oh, I don't know. As the new Lord——' 'You may own the title, but you'll never be my lord and master, whatever you told Didi,' she snapped.

  'Who said I wanted to be?' he queried silkily. 'As for Didi, presenting her with a red garter belt was proof enough for the lady that you and I were involved.' And with a casual glance at his watch he added, 'It's almost six. Do you want to freshen up?'

  Blushing as scarlet as the damned belt he had mentioned, she said, 'Yes, I'm sure you can find your own way downstairs,' and stalked off to her room. She had forgotten all about the garter belt she had left behind in the observatory, and trying to explain that away to Didi was going to be a mammoth task, she thought woefully. Didi had very strict ideas on how a lady should behave, and leaving one's garter belt in a man's bed was the equivalent of a lifelong commitment to the man, in her housekeeper's eyes. No wonder Didi had accepted Luc so readily...


  Parisa leant against the bedroom door and took a few deep breaths, dragging the air into her lungs and holding it in an effort to restore her shattered nerves to some semblance of calm. Luc here in her home. The new Lord of the Manor. It was too incredible to believe. Slowly she crossed to the bed and sat down. She wasn't such a fool as to believe he had done it for her. Five days she had waited in London for him. Even if he could not leave Italy he could certainly have picked up a telephone and called her. He was here because of his mother. She could appreciate his dilemma, and in a way she felt partly responsible. After all, she had convinced Signora Di Maggi she was going to marry her son. Added to which, a cheque for thousands was in her bank account, and the knowledge that it was Luc's money was very hard to take. She had a sinking feeling that Luc would not agree to take the money back and restore the title to her. Why should he? The money was nothing to a man of his wealth, but his mother's health meant a lot to him. She wanted to refuse to go and visit the old lady, but her conscience wouldn't let her. She had taken his money, plus the ring, and felt some obligation...

  She got to her feet and quickly dressed. She slipped on the blue velvet dress, not because she wanted to remind Luc of the first night in Italy, but because she needed to present a sophisticated image, she told herself. The ring, at least, she could give back and, picking up the small jewel box with the ring inside, she dashed downstairs, but headed for the kitchen. She had to speak to Didi and explain it was a mistake; she did not want the old lady hurt. Unfortunately she was foiled in her aim by Didi herself, who insisted there was no time to gossip and chased her into the drawing-room.

  Parisa, her hostility exacerbated by Didi's blind acceptance of Luc, strode purposefully up to where he was standing, and without hesitation thrust the ring box into his hand.

  'Yours, Mr Di Maggi. I'm sure you will have no difficulty in finding someone to wear it.'

  'Parisa, cara, I never realized you were such a romantic.' And, to her horror, before she could stop him he had opened the box, removed the ring, and, dropping on one knee at her feet, gazed languidly up into her furious face. 'You will marry me, won't you, Parisa?' And, in front of a grinning Didi, he slipped the ring on her finger.

  Her hoarse 'No!' went unheard as Didi exclaimed, 'What a one you are, Mr Luc.' While Parisa, her cheeks washed pink with a mixture of embarrassment and fury, found herself sitting down on the sofa, her small hands clenched in fury.

  'I'll go and tell the chauffeur you're ready to leave,' was Didi's parting shot.

  Parisa, her nerves screaming with tension, waited until the old lady had left. Then, turning ice-blue eyes on the man opposite, with a degree of iron control she had not thought herself capable of, she told him, 'I will wear this ring for one day only. I will go with you to visit your mother. But let me make this absolutely clear: I am doing it for two old ladies, not you... In return, in a few days you will place a repudiation in the newspaper, and you will never come to my home again. Agreed?' she demanded.

  His arrogant head tilted back. 'If that is what you want, I agree. But let's discuss it over dinner.'

  What she wanted was to step back in time a couple of months, she thought wryly, and never to have met Luc again. Unfortunately, that was impossible...

  The Old Forge in Magum Down was a picturesque old English sixteenth-century forge that had been converted in the nineteen thirties into a small, privately owned hotel, and the restaurant was known for miles around for its excellent cuisine.

  Parisa watched Luc break a piece of bread from the hot roll on his plate and pop it into his mouth. How was it that Luc could make the simplest act somehow sensual?

  He caught her staring, his lips tilting at the corners in a brief, very masculine grin before saying, 'Eat your meal, Parisa, before it gets cold.'

  'Mmm,' she mumbled, disconcerted by the quick stab of awareness that made her hand tremble slightly as she abruptly lowered her gaze to her plate and forked a tender piece of veal scallopine to her mouth. She wondered for the hundredth time why she was here, and what it was about Luc that meant that, even as she despised the highhanded way he had treated her, her body responded to his potent masculinity with a frightening intensity. 'More potatoes?' She offered him the dish in an attempt to get her mind back to the more mundane, but it didn't work.

  'You remember my appetite... I'm flattered,' he said with a harsh laugh, accurately reading her mind. 'But do you recall everything, I wonder?' He leant back in his chair, eyeing her with cold disdain. 'Your body beneath mine, your hands clinging to me.' His low, deep- timbred drawl, the memories he awakened brought a flush of heat to her cheeks. 'No, you didn't care enough even to tell me where you lived.'

  For a second she felt light-headed. Perhaps he had wanted to see her again, did care about her. But one glance at his set, angry expression, and she cursed herself for being a fool. She had waited in London for him to call, and he had never bothered. He wanted her now for his mother's sake.

  'For heaven's sake keep your voice down,' she hissed, ignoring his provocative comment. 'This is a public restaurant.'

  'So sorry, I wouldn't dream of embarrassing you.'

  Liar... She wanted to scream her frustration to the heavens, but one glance at Luc's face, and she lowered her eyes. Why was he so angry with her? Surely it should be the other way around...?

  Parisa lifted the fluted glass from the table and took a sip of the sparkling champagne, a gift from the proprietor and his wife. They had seen the announcement in The Times. She was a regular customer, and they knew her quite well. It had been a lovely gesture, but it only added to Parisa's feeling of guilt. She could not help feeling a complete fraud. The huge diamond on her finger and the rather large cheque she had paid into the bank that morning, all provided by the man sitting opposite her, did nothing to assuage her guilty feelings. Luc might have played a trick on her, but he had certainly paid very dearly for the privilege.

  'Parisa, I did not bring you here to argue with you; quite the opposite. Will you marry me?'

  Parisa choked on her wine and started to cough. She couldn't believe her ears. With her napkin held to her mouth, she raised watery eyes to her companion.

  Luc, his expression remarkably bland, said smoothly, 'It was a straightforward question. I didn't expect you to choke on it.' His mouth relaxed, curling into a mocking smile as he studied her flushed face. 'But when you can speak I would like an answer.'

  'No,' she spluttered, swallowing hard, her blue eyes wide as saucers in a face now pale with shock. Twice today he had asked her to marry him, and yet if he had asked her two months ago she would have jumped at the chance. But now she was much wiser...

  'Impulsive as ever, Parisa. You haven't considered the prospect at all.' He laughed, a hint of devilment lurking in his eyes, as he reached across the table and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. 'Think about it. All your frustrating... problems solved at one go. I am a very wealthy, legitimate businessman, not—as you seemed to think—a crook. You spend two weeks as my wife, visit my mother, and a large amount of cash will be deposited in your bank account.'

  The sheer arrogance, the conceit. And what did he mean, 'frustrating'... ? Deposit money... As if she would consider for one minute...

  'But you are a liar. You quite happily let me think you were a villain, a member of the Mafia. I was a huge joke to you, nothing more,' she said bitterly. 'It was only by chance I read in a Sunday newspaper you were a businessman and not a criminal.' That still rankled every time she thought of it. 'You had Luigi Reno charged with fraud, but you were not above using his filthy photographs to trick me. In fact you are just as much a blackmailer as he was.'

  'But it didn't stop you going to bed with me, cara,' he reminded her silkily. 'Or enjoying it.'

  'I don't need you to remind me what a fool I was,' she snapped, her eyes spitting fury.

  'You don't know what you need,' she thought she heard him murmur, before he returned his attention to the food in front of him.


  Her mouth curved with a hint of bitterness. How like him to drop a bombshell and then ignore her. Over two months had passed since she had spent the night in his arms, and now he had the nerve... To hide her shock and anger she picked up her glass of champagne and gulped it down.

  'More wine?' Luc said urbanely, and refilled her glass. 'Finish your meal and think about it, Parisa.' And for the next few minutes silence reigned, as Luc cleared his plate with obvious relish, then added, 'Didi was right about this place. The food is superb.'

  'Yes,' Parisa responded mechanically, eating without even tasting the delicious food, her mind in too much of a turmoil to concentrate on the meal.

  'Good. I have a special licence for Thursday. We will marry at eleven and visit Mamma before she goes into Theatre.'

  'No, I meant yes, the food is great,' she spluttered. She was too stunned by the events of the last few hours to think straight, and it did not help at all to realise Luc was laughing at her.

  'Are you sure you have given my proposal careful consideration, Parisa? Earlier this evening you were telling me about your rather reckless ancestors, and decrying the fact none of them had any business sense. Yet here you are turning down an excellent proposition without a second thought.'

  His black eyes held hers, a hint of challenge in their depths, and a wave of something very like fear washed over her. Until that moment she had almost succeeded in convincing herself that nothing Luc did could threaten her, but now she was not so sure.

  'You must have inherited the reckless genes apparent in most of your ancestors,' Luc offered with open mockery.

  I have not...' she snapped back, her brief fear forgotten by his taunt. 'I...' and she stopped. He was right; she had not given her reply any thought. Maybe it was time she got her wandering mind under control and behaved sensibly. Since the moment she had seen Luc today, she had only reacted to him, not thought for herself. It was not like her to rush into anything. She prided herself on her calm logic, didn't she? 'What exactly do you mean by "proposition"?' she asked warily, studying his handsome face, the candle in the centre of the table casting flickering shadows over his rugged features.