The Blackmail Marriage

by Penny Jordan

  The maid, round-eyed and pink-cheeked, took one look at him, dipped a nervous little curtsy and fled, leaving Carrie to glare unwelcomingly at him and to curse the fact that she had not seen fit to pack something to sleep in!

  The beautifully soft towelling robe she had found in her bathroom and left last night on the chair beside the huge six foot square bed she was now occupying had already been removed—no doubt by the attentive maid!

  A little unexpectedly Luc was wearing a body-hugging white tee shirt, a pair of easy fitting jogging bottoms and running shoes.

  She remembered that he had always been insistent on adopting a healthy lifestyle. His own private suite of rooms included its own indoor swimming pool, and he was a virtually championship class skier and an Oxford Blue.

  Carrie well remembered the intoxication of crewing for him on board his racing yacht, and recalled that he had even played polo for a while, whilst at university in England.

  But though he might work to keep healthily fit, it was Mother Nature who had originally given him his superbly muscled and even more superbly male body, Carrie decided grimly. She was the one who was responsible for the havoc that Luc created, the desire and wanton longing he aroused so easily in Carrie’s own sex.

  Put Luc in any kind of clothes and any kind of setting, no matter how humble, and he would immediately stand out and catch women’s eyes.

  Of course she wasn’t the least bit impressed by the air of arrogant superiority that cloaked him—quite the opposite. Nor was she susceptible enough to have her heart almost stop beating at the very thought of him wearing the dress uniform that denoted his position as the Commander of the country’s small military force, never mind actually seeing him doing so!

  Her days of feeling her insides melt with a hot rush of desire brought on by the thought of seeing Luc dressed in a pair of shiny top boots, tight-fitting trousers, white trousers and a military-style jacket of rich blue with yards of heavy gold braid were long since over!

  She could still remember, though, how Luc had teased her by offering to prove to her that the impressive jacket was worn next to bare skin.

  However, there was nothing remotely teasing in his voice now as he told her sharply, ‘Our betrothal is to be announced at noon today, in the castle square, along with the date of our wedding…Oh, and my cousin Jay has invited us to join him on his yacht this evening, for an informal celebration of our betrothal. The press will be informed that, in view of the rekindling of our passion for one another, we could not bear the thought of a lengthy engagement.’

  ‘So you still intend to go ahead with this farce?’ Carrie challenged him fiercely. ‘I should have thought that a night of sensible reflection would have shown you—’ she went on loftily, only to be stopped as Luc advanced towards the bed.

  ‘You haven’t changed, have you, Catherine? You still like playing dangerous games. When you were a teenager it was obvious what you hoped to achieve, but I do not understand just what it is you expect to gain by baiting me now. Unless, of course…’

  As he waited Carrie felt her face begin to burn. It was true that when she was younger she had innocently attempted to provoke a masculine reaction of desire from him, but for him to throw that at her now—!

  ‘You are despicable, Luc,’ she threw at him, enraged. ‘Totally and utterly despicable!’

  Although he shrugged her comment aside, Carrie could see the glint in his eyes.

  ‘You have, I trust, something suitable to wear? A formal business suit, perhaps, in view of your career? You know, Carrie, I must say how surprised I was to learn what an excellent degree you obtained, in view of the lifestyle you led at university. You obviously have your father’s flair for economics, although I suspect from the tone of your articles that you are more in sympathy with the views of certain young hotheads amongst my own people than those of the establishment. But then you always were an intensely passionate creature.’

  ‘No, Luc,’ Carrie corrected him bitterly. ‘What I was was a foolishly vulnerable young girl. But fortunately I had the good sense to realise how empty and…and valueless the relationship we had was.’

  Carrie watched as his mouth thinned. It surprised her that he actually knew so much about her, but presumably her father had informed him of what she was doing.

  ‘Be careful,’ he warned her silkily, ‘otherwise I might be tempted to show you that there could be certain aspects of a relationship between us that you—’

  ‘No way! Never!’ Carrie denied vehemently. ‘I might once have been foolish enough to…but I was very quickly cured of that error of judgement, Luc.’

  ‘In the arms and the beds of the other men you gave yourself to so eagerly when you left here for university?’

  ‘How dare you presume to speak so sanctimoniously about my sexual history? Every summer the glossy magazines carry a new story about your latest piece of ‘‘arm candy’’, Luc—models, actresses, pop singers…’

  ‘The people you are talking about are new tax exile residents to this country. It’s not my fault if the popular press chooses to deliberately misconstrue matters, and besides, it is not—’

  ‘My business?’ Carrie finished for him. ‘No, it isn’t, and neither is my sexual past any business of yours!’

  Not for anything would she have him know of her stubborn insistence on reading each word published in those magazines, describing the beauty of his female companion and his attentiveness towards her. But it had only been to reinforce to herself how much better off she was without him!

  And as for his comments about her clothes! Well, yes, she did have a plain, businesslike designer suit in her case!

  ‘Your sexual past might not be my business, but so far as your sexual present and future is concerned, Carrie, I warn you now—’

  ‘You warn me! You might think you can act however you want in this…this soap operetta of a country of yours, Luc,’ Carrie began furiously, pushing herself up in the bed in a sudden flurry of angry activity, ‘but there is no way—’

  Halfway through gesturing vigorously to underline her point, Carrie suddenly realised that the bedclothes were sliding off her body.

  Automatically she made a quick, protective dive for them. But Luc beat her to it, his lean fingers tanned, nails immaculate but wholly masculine, curling round the edge of the covers and wresting them away from her, holding them flat to the bed.

  His grey gaze on hers pinned her into immobility.

  Carrie could feel the colour come and go in her face as it burned with furious emotions.

  ‘So, the girl I remember slept in a nightshirt printed with puppy dogs and bows. Only a very sensual and sexually confident woman sleeps naked in a strange bed, Carrie.’

  ‘Or one who just happens to have forgotten to pack her nightdress,’ Carrie returned acidly.

  She could feel the warmth of the sunshine on her bare breasts.

  ‘You don’t sunbathe topless.’

  Now Carrie could feel her face really burning. How had he managed to notice that, when so far as she was aware he hadn’t even glanced at her breasts? He had kept his gaze fixed on hers, as though her body was of so little interest to him than it didn’t even merit a brief look!

  ‘My last holiday was in America. They don’t favour topless sunbathing at the resort where I stayed.’

  ‘So your partner was able to enjoy the knowledge that only he was able to fully view your body?’

  ‘My ‘‘partner’’, as it happened, was a woman-friend,’ Carrie told him pithily, her eyes flashing storm signals at him. ‘Not that it would have been any of your business if it had not been.’

  So why had she felt such a furious need to leap to the defence of her virtue? Carrie wondered grimly. It didn’t matter what Luc thought of her any more, did it? And besides, as she had just reminded him, he hardly lived like a monk, did he? At least not if the popular press were to be believed!

  Angrily she tugged hard on the bedclothes, trying to drag them upwards to
cover her naked breasts. When Luc refused to allow her to do so Carrie took refuge in the only protection left to her: the acid sharpness of her contempt.

  ‘I suppose there’s something of the voyeur in all men, a sort of base instinct, but I must say that I’m surprised to see it surfacing in you, Luc. After all, you’ve always made it quite your thing to elevate yourself to a higher and more rarefied plane than everyone else, haven’t you? Your Serene Highness!’

  Luc cast her a narrow-eyed look, and she was satisfied to discover that her words had made an impact as she read the flicker of grim male fury in his eyes. But retaliation was swift and merciless as he dropped his gaze to her breasts and studied them with an insolent thoroughness that made her face burn. ‘You obviously wanted to flaunt yourself in front of me. I didn’t want to—’

  Carrie stopped him angrily. ‘Flaunt myself? You’ve got to be joking.’

  He frowned, suddenly and unexpectedly releasing the bedcovers to slide back his jacket cuff and glance at the elegant gold watch he was wearing.

  ‘You have two hours in which to have breakfast and get yourself ready. I have some telephone calls to make.’

  Carrie gaped at him, thrown by his abrupt change in demeanour, only realising as he started to turn away from her that she had not taken the opportunity to cover herself up.

  Pink-cheeked, she quickly did so.

  ‘We shall meet in the Green Salon at eleven-thirty,’ Luc told her coolly. ‘My press secretary is already preparing the announcement of our betrothal.’

  Carrie gave a small sigh of satisfaction as she studied her reflection in the huge floor-to-ceiling mirrors in the dressing room of her suite.

  Her classic tailored suit was perfect for such an occasion, if perhaps a little bit on the formal side.

  A wide grin curled her lips and made her look like a naughty urchin.

  And that was why the suit was still hanging in the closet whilst she was wearing a pair of clean but very old and very faded narrow-fitting jeans topped with a tee shirt cropped just above her waist to display a couple of taut, creamy, warm inches of bare female skin.

  A much heavier application of mascara than she would ever have normally worn, combined with a very pale pink lipstick and enough product in her hair to glue wallpaper, had transformed her from her normal sleek, soignée self into a very passable replica of the kind of hip-swinging, head-turning modern and feisty ladette currently so much in vogue on the celebrity circuit.

  It was the kind of look she would never normally have adopted, and Luc was bound to loathe it, she decided gleefully.

  Twenty-five past eleven. She had timed it perfectly!

  Grinning to herself, she opened the door to her suite and stepped into the corridor.

  The Green Salon was one of the less formal of the palace’s state rooms, if such a description could be applied to a room decorated with enough gilt rococo and plasterwork to make one’s jaw drop. The carpets had been made at the famous Aubusson factory, especially to match the design of the plasterwork ceiling, and the room had two sets of double French doors which opened out onto an elegant balcony which in turn overlooked the beautiful private gardens enclosed by the walls of the castle. On formal occasions liveried footmen were posted either side the elegant double doors, as with the other formal state rooms.

  Carrie was relishing the impact her appearance was likely to have on Luc. Her behaviour might be childish, but it was the only way she had of demonstrating how she felt about what he was doing—the only way she had of rebelling against it and him without hurting her brother.

  She had almost reached the bottom of the flight of stairs that swept down to the impressive oval hall when the double doors to the Green Salon were thrust open and Luc strode out, coming to an abrupt halt as he saw her.

  For a moment neither of them moved. Carrie could see the fury in Luc’s eyes, and a tiny quiver of triumph shot through her.

  It was like watching a storm approach, she acknowledged, and a fine shiver galvanised her flesh. She had that same sense of smelling sulphur in the air, of feeling unmistakable threatening tension and brooding danger; feeling the tiny hairs lifting at the back of her neck.

  ‘Is this some kind of a joke?’

  The question was delivered in tone so flat that it immediately increased the tension by several notches.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Carrie feigned innocent ignorance, but the light of battle was fierily visible in her eyes.

  ‘You know perfectly well what I mean,’ Luc snapped icily. ‘Your clothes—!’

  ‘Are my clothes.’ Carrie stopped him sharply. ‘These are my clothes, Luc,’ she repeated, ‘and this is me. I don’t intend to change either to suit you. You can take me or leave me, as you wish. It was your choice to blackmail me into this abhorrent betrothal and marriage, but how I dress is my choice! Oh, and I still prefer Carrie to Catherine, Luc. It may not be as formal, but it’s a name I’m comfortable with.’

  Carrie watched at his mouth compressed.

  ‘I have seen the photograph accompanying your articles, Carrie, and I know perfectly well that this is not how you normally appear in public. Your hair…’

  Carrie frowned. He had seen her work…read it? Something unwanted and dangerous was trying to flower into painful life inside her. Fiercely she smothered it.

  ‘You don’t like it?’ She threw him a challenging look and tossed her head. ‘It’s the latest thing.’

  ‘It looks as though you’ve emptied a pot of wallpaper paste on it,’ Luc told her uncompromisingly, ‘and you certainly can’t appear in front of my people looking like that. They would be affronted…insulted…’

  ‘Luc…What are you doing? Luc, let go of me,’ Carrie demanded when he suddenly strode towards her and took hold of her arm, turning her round and almost marching her back up the stairs.

  ‘If you don’t stop it I shall pick you up and carry you bodily, Catherine,’ he warned her, when she continued to struggle.

  Carrie stiffened.

  ‘You—’

  You dare, she had been about to say, but the look he was giving her made her swallow the challenge unspoken.

  By the time they had reached her suite Carrie was out of breath. Luc, she noted resentfully, was not.

  Thrusting open the door, he pushed her inside and, gripping her arm, locked the door.

  ‘You are pushing me to my limits, Carrie,’ he told her, tight-lipped.

  ‘So what? That’s your problem, not mine. I don’t—’

  Carrie gave a small gasp as she was suddenly yanked almost off her feet and into his arms. His mouth covered hers, smothering her furious tirade, and he kissed her with an angry, almost savage ferocity that ignited her own banked-down anger.

  This was a kiss like no other she had ever experienced, Carrie recognised distantly as they fought one another for control, mutual antipathy and resentment fuelling a white-hot passion that burned its imprint into her every bit as much as the feel of Luc’s mouth against her own.

  She could feel her heart racing, thudding as adrenalin poured through her whole body. She was not in flight mode, but quite definitely up for a fight. A feeling she told herself was righteous determination shot through her—a fierce, wild clamour of sensation and urgency that masqueraded dangerously as something perilously close to desire.

  But of course she did not desire Luc, and he did not desire her either—even though she could feel the sudden shocking and familiar hardening of his body against her own. Somehow one of his hands had slid up under her top and was pressed flat against her spine, whilst the other cupped her breast, its thumb rubbing demandingly against her nipple.

  His body might have hardened, but hers now moved closer to him, and the anger that had fuelled her fevered reaction to his punishing kiss began to transmute dangerously into a very different kind of passion.

  Frantically Carrie pulled away from him.

  ‘Have you any idea how much I loathe and despise you?’ she demanded furiously.


  ‘Oh, that’s what you were trying to show me, was it?’ Luc taunted, but Carrie could see that his own chest was rising and falling just that little bit faster than it should have been.

  Not that it really gave her any satisfaction to know that he had been momentarily physically aroused. No, what she actually felt was a sense of disgust. Yes, that was it! Disgust…and shock that she herself could have been vulnerable enough to allow herself to react to him!

  ‘You have half an hour,’ she heard him telling her grimly. Either you go and do something about your appearance yourself or I shall do it for you. And don’t make the mistake of thinking I don’t mean it, Carrie. If I have to dress you myself then I shall, but I promise you that if I do you won’t like it.’

  Trying not to betray her apprehension, Carrie pulled away from him. She could tell that he wasn’t joking.

  In the bathroom, she stripped off her jeans and top and then quickly cleaned off her make-up. Wincing, she tugged a brush through her hair.

  Her hands were trembling as she reapplied a discreet amount of eye shadow and mascara. Thankfully her hair had already settled back down to its normal style.

  Feverishly she glanced at her watch…Ten minutes gone! It wouldn’t take her more than another ten to slip into her suit, and then…

  Her suit…Carrie froze as she realised that her suit was still in the wardrobe—outside the locked bathroom door—and that Luc was also waiting on the other side of the door! Nervously she chewed on her bottom lip until she realised how many minutes she was wasting.

  Grabbing a towel, she wrapped it around her self and unlocked the door, putting her head round it.

  Luc was leaning against the door to the suite, arms folded across his chest.

  ‘Ready?’ he demanded.

  Carrie shook her head.

  ‘I need my suit,’ she told him.

  ‘Where is it?

  ‘In the wardrobe,’ she replied, watching in bemusement as, instead of telling her to come and get it, he strode over to the wardrobe and opened it, removing the suit.