The Blackmail Marriage

by Penny Jordan

  The Countess’s face had turned an unpleasant mottled shade of purple.

  ‘You will never marry Luc,’ she told Carrie furiously. ‘Never.’

  Carrie winced as she heard the door slam behind her. She had truly burned her boats now, she recognised shakily. There would be a heavy price to pay for the fury and pride which had driven her to react to the Countess in the way she had, and to make matters worse there was certainly no way she could appear at tonight’s party in her plain black linen dress now!

  Luc had got his way again.

  Carrie sat back on her heels whilst her maid, overcoming the formality she had exhibited when she had first attended Carrie, lovingly hung up the last of the clothes she had unpacked.

  There was nothing quite like mutual female admiration for beautiful clothes to bond two women together, Carrie acknowledged wryly. As they had sorted through the bags together, Benita had quickly responded to Carrie’s questions to her, revealing that she had just finished university and that she had taken this job at the palace for the summer to fund her gap year abroad before settling down to her chosen career in law.

  And what clothes! Reluctantly Carrie had to acknowledge that they were truly beautiful—and carefully chosen. She now had a wardrobe to cover virtually every occasion, from the most exquisite formal gowns right down to two pairs of sexy skinny jeans and an equally stunning denim skirt. Carrie had not been able to resist smiling to herself as she had unwrapped those items. So much for the Countess’s snooty claim that Luc’s wife could not wear jeans! But then, of course, there were jeans and jeans—and there was no way that Luc would have chosen these clothes himself!

  ‘Do you think that perhaps for tonight this gown?’ Benita suggested, very quickly warming to her new role.

  Carrie looked at the gown she was holding in front of her. Heavily beaded and cut daringly low, it was magnificent, but…

  ‘No. I think that for tonight this one will be better,’ Carrie told her, going over to the wardrobe and removing a simple cream silk-satin column dress with a high draped neckline and an elegantly fluted skirt.

  ‘It is very plain, and not at all sexy,’ Benita objected. And then blushed…

  ‘I—I am sorry,’ she semi-stammered. ‘I am being too…I should not…’

  ‘No…I prefer you to be honest with me,’ Carrie told her firmly. ‘And you are right—this gown is not sexy, but it is the one I want to wear.’

  Carrie checked her watch. It was time for her to go downstairs to the Green Salon and meet Luc prior to their departure for Jay’s yacht. He had sent her a message earlier, announcing that he had some work to do and would not therefore be able to join her for dinner, but he had invited some of his closer advisers and their wives to have drinks with them prior to the party so that they could be introduced to Carrie.

  The huge ring on her left hand still felt heavy and strange. Benita had vehemently denied having provided anyone with information as to what size of jewellery or clothes Carrie wore, but someone had made a very accurate guess.

  The dress she was wearing fitted her perfectly, skimming her body to fall in a soft pool of expensive fabric that flared out into a soft fishtail behind her. And, thinking of behind, there was certainly something very skilful, not to say a little bit magical, about the way the tiny row of gathers at the back of the dress just below her waist caused it to fit and flare in an unexpectedly seductive way around her, Carrie acknowledged.

  She had decided to wear her hair up, in a simple and soft style that complemented the gown and also gave her an opportunity to show off the pretty diamond stud earrings her father had give her for her twenty-first birthday.

  Just in case the spring evening turned out to be cool, she was taking the wrap which had come with the gown with her.

  It was seven-thirty. Time for her to go down to the Salon.

  Carrie could feel the small hush that fell on the room as the two footmen threw open its doors for her to enter.

  There were probably about forty people gathered in the room, a mere handful for its size, but Carrie saw only two of them.

  One was Luc, who stood facing her. He was wearing a dinner suit, and to her chagrin Carrie felt her heart twist and turn, almost as though a knife had pierced it with pain.

  The other was the Countess, who was dressed in a heavy satin very formal gown whilst her hands and throat shimmered with diamonds. But not even their icy glare could match the look in her eyes as she stared at her, Carrie acknowledged.

  Ridiculously, she had a sudden compulsion to run to Luc, and indeed discovered that she had actually taken several steps towards him before she could stop herself.

  As she hesitated he stepped forward himself, extending his hand to her. The sudden movement of the Countess’s hand momentarily drew her attention, and she recoiled as she saw the hatred and contempt in the older woman’s eyes. Carrie’s chin lifted, and determinedly she walked towards Luc, keeping her gaze on him until she had reached him.

  ‘Carrie.’

  The warm softness she could hear in his voice was not for her benefit, Carrie reminded herself as he drew her hand through his arm and turned her round to the waiting courtiers

  Ten minutes later Carrie told herself that she must be becoming blasé, since she no longer felt the need to stifle nervous giggles when someone bowed or curtsyed to them—or rather, to Luc.

  The people she was being introduced to were the old guard of the Court, she recognised. Men who had been friends of Luc’s father and in some cases his grandfather. These were stiff, stately, old-fashioned gentlemen who wore their medals and their years with pride, accompanied by wives who reminded Carrie dauntingly of her boarding school headmistress.

  There were one or two slightly younger faces amongst their ranks, but Carrie could see how the older group hung together, holding themselves aloof from the younger.

  ‘And, of course, my godmother, the Dowager Countess, needs no introduction to you, Carrie,’ Luc was saying.

  ‘No, indeed not,’ Carrie agreed grimly.

  Ignoring Carrie completely, the older woman turned to Luc and began, ‘Luc, I cannot—’

  Before the Countess could continue, Carrie put her hand on Luc’s arm and leaned towards him, saying softly, ‘Luc, darling. You’ve been so busy introducing me to people that I haven’t had time to thank you for my wonderful gift.’

  Doe-eyed, Carrie leaned closer to him, aware of both the Countess’s fury and Luc’s own look of dark-eyed watchfulness.

  ‘You really are too generous,’ Carrie continued huskily. ‘This beautiful gown and all my other lovely clothes.’ She could feel Luc’s arm stiffening as she gripped it with her hand and reached up to him, cupping her other hand along the slightly rough edge of his jaw as she pressed a pseudo-loving kiss against his skin.

  Out of the corner of her eye she could see the slightly shocked faces of the courtiers, but their shock was nothing, she suspected, to Luc’s. His whole body froze. Normally she would never have behaved in such a way, but it was worth it just to see the manner in which the Countess’s rigidly corseted bosom swelled with fury.

  ‘I shall have to thank you properly…later,’ Carrie breathed, throwing in a look of misty-eyed adoration just for the pleasure it gave her to see both Luc’s hard look of query and the Countess’s inability to contain her bitterness.

  ‘What was all that about?’ Luc demanded ten minutes later, when they were alone.

  ‘What was what about?’ Carrie asked innocently.

  It was very satisfying to see the way his mouth compressed.

  ‘Don’t play games with me, Carrie. You know what I mean.’

  Carrie gave a dismissive shrug.

  ‘I just wanted to thank you for the clothes…’ Carrie continued coyly.

  ‘Luc, I know this isn’t the time, but if I could have a word about today’s demonstration…’

  It was one of the younger courtiers, his look apologetic as he interrupted them.

  ‘I have
heard that this rebel group intend to bring a question to your next open Court, and that they will demand to know whether or not we have allowed people who are in breach of Human Rights laws to hold funds in S’Antander. It is an issue that is bound to attract a good deal of international interest, on both sides.’

  Carrie listened in attentively. She was familiar with the country’s tradition of its ruler holding three-monthly open Court sessions during which any of his subjects could raise any matter they wished with him, but it was her interest as an economist that was focused on what was being said.

  Any changes made to S’Antander’s financial rules would have serious repercussions for its economy, but she also knew that—quite rightly, in her opinion—there was a growing swell of concern and objection amongst right-thinking people about the way in which some of those who had deposited funds in secret in S’Antander and other countries’ secret bank accounts in the past had acquired that wealth.

  ‘There are two separate issues here, Carlo,’ Luc was saying. ‘On the one hand we have our new influx of modern tax exiles, who simply want to avoid paying excess taxes in their own countries and have therefore made their homes here, and on the other we have those who do not live here but who have deposited their wealth in the secret bank accounts that were allowed and encouraged to be opened during my grandfather’s time.

  ‘Certain authorities are pressing very hard to have that old system declared obsolete and made illegal, as you know, and there is all too likely to be a huge and international legal battle on both sides of the argument.’

  ‘Luc, we must find a way to get these people to remove their accounts.’

  ‘So you say, Carlo, but there are others here who take exactly the opposite view and say that legally we cannot do such a thing and indeed that we should not, since the revenue our country earns from managing such affairs is very considerable.’

  Carrie frowned as she listened. Luc had not said which side of the argument he supported, she noticed grimly. Personally she was all for having such people outlawed and their ill-gotten gains returned to their rightful owners, but she knew that her views would most likely be viewed by Luc as a little on the reactive and emotional side.

  Even so, half an hour later, when they were on their own, seated together and being chauffeured to the harbour and Jay’s yacht, with the partition between them and the chauffeur closed, Carrie couldn’t resist challenging Luc by saying, ‘I notice that you didn’t agree with what Carlo had to say.’

  ‘Whereas you, of course, did?’ Luc returned urbanely, throwing the challenge right back at her.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I do,’ Carrie agreed hotly. ‘I think it’s totally unacceptable that anyone should profit from other people’s suffering…’

  She meant what she said, of course, but Carrie knew that she was also making a dig at Luc personally.

  For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to deign to reply, but then he said coolly,

  ‘Has it occurred to you, I wonder, that the money this country has earned by providing secret bank accounts for people helped to pay your father’s wages, and therefore indirectly funded your own education?’

  Carrie could see the gleam in his eyes as she turned her head to stare at him.

  ‘Nothing to say?’ Luc asked her.

  Carrie turned her head to look out of the window of the car. His comment had shocked her, but logically she was unable to refute the truth of it.

  ‘Situations change,’ Luc told her. ‘When my grandfather became ruler this country was a very poor one; my grandfather wanted to improve the situation. He took advice on how he could best maximise the country’s assets and he looked to other smaller countries to see how they had benefited from their tax and financial laws. For him the issues were much more simple than they are now. He was the ruler of a country that was facing extreme poverty. He was responsible for people who had little education and even less hope of improving their situation, and so he did what he could to help them.’

  Luc’s voice became stern. ‘His first thought was for these people—his people. His view was in many ways very parochial. Nowadays I know we take a more global view, but I cannot and will not decry what my grandfather did. It is thanks to him that S’Antander’s people now enjoy the high standard of living they do, thanks to him that their children receive a world-class education, thanks to him that we enjoy excellent health care…’

  ‘You were the one who put in place the health and education improvements,’ Carrie couldn’t help pointing out.

  ‘Maybe so, but the fact that I was able to do so financially is thanks to my grandfather. I will not have him turned into an ogre. Nor will I allow everything he did for this country to be ignored or reviled.’

  He sounded so grimly stern that Carrie felt herself give a small shiver. This was a side to Luc she had always sensed existed, even as a girl. He had always spoken very passionately about his commitment to his country, but back then she had romanticised that passion. Now she was aware of a grim and unshakable coldness, a purposefulness about him, a steely self-control which he imposed upon himself as well as on others.

  For Luc, S’Antander would and must always come first—even before his own needs and desires. Duty and responsibility would govern him, rather than love, and to her surprise she discovered that the knowledge actually made her feel slightly sorry for him. Maturity had a great deal to answer for, she acknowledged wryly, if it could make her feel sympathetic to Luc.

  Her sympathy was short-lived though, when he suddenly demanded, ‘Anyway, Carrie, what was that less than edifying little sideshow at the reception all about?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Carrie demanded, but of course she knew, and was glad of the darkness of the limousine’s interior to conceal her burning face.

  ‘I mean the unnecessary and slightly nauseating display of “gratitude” you staged. The Catherine I remember would never have behaved in such a way—but then, of course, I appreciate that that girl no longer exists. Probably never did exist.’

  Carrie shot him a murderous look.

  How dared he criticise her? If she was not the same, then whose fault was that? Who was the one responsible for ‘changing’ her, through his cruel and hurtful treatment of her?

  ‘Of course it may be that the type of man you normally consort with thoroughly enjoys being the recipient of such sickeningly false attention, but…’

  The men she normally consorted with! Oh, how Carrie longed to put him right on that issue. But a deeply ingrained instinct for self-preservation cautioned her against doing so. Instead she seized on another avenue for defence and retribution.

  ‘You’re right about one thing,’ she acknowledged recklessly. ‘There’s no way I would normally allow you—or any other man, for that matter—to patronise me by insinuating that I am not capable either financially or in any other way of selecting my own wardrobe—but then the men I normally “consort” with, as you put it, would never dream of behaving in such an insulting or unwanted way. Given free choice, there is nothing I would have liked more than to dump the whole lot at your feet and tell you where to put it, but I have my brother to think about—as you never seem to tire of reminding me.’

  She was fibbing. There was no way she was going to admit to Luc that her pride had been rattled by his overbearing godmother!

  ‘So, that promise to thank me more personally in private…’

  ‘You’re quite safe, Luc.’ Carrie stopped him sharply. ‘You find the thought of my kisses offensive and unwanted, and believe me that’s nothing to what I feel about yours. Sexually, you are the last man I could ever want.’

  The car had pulled to a halt, the chauffeur had switched on the interior lights and was getting out to open the rear doors.

  Carrie knew that her face was still burning with chagrin—but at least she had made her feelings clear!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  S’ANTANDER’S steep-sided harbour could easily have modelled for the perfect Medi
terranean port. Its surrounding hillsides were dotted with elegant villas, the port town itself still very much as it had always been, since no modern building developments had been permitted. In the daylight the quaint houses could be seen as painted in a variety of toning Tuscan colours, but at night the small town looked just as delightful, almost as theatrically perfect as a Hollywood stage set, Carrie decided as she tried not to be impressed by the elegance of the obviously carefully renovated area, with its collection of small bars and eateries all facing onto the square fronting the marina itself.

  The water was full of expensive-looking yachts, but none of them came anywhere near matching the size of the one they had pulled up next to, Carrie admitted as the chauffeur held open the door of the limousine for her.

  What she was looking at was goodness knew how many million pounds’ worth of floating perfection, Carrie guessed, and she hesitated a little uncertainly in front of the gangway.

  Luc had caught up with her, and as she felt his hand cup her elbow she pulled fiercely away from him.

  ‘Stop that,’ he commanded her immediately. ‘This is a public occasion, Carrie, during which we shall be watched.’

  ‘Luc, until two days ago everyone was expecting you to marry Maria. They are hardly going to imagine that you and I have fallen madly in love with one another. You’re His Serene Highness, ruler of S’Antander, and of course they will assume that you are marrying for reasons of necessity rather than reasons of desire.’

  ‘It is not unheard of, you know, for necessity and desire to go hand in hand on occasions. You are to be my wife, Carrie, and I expect you to behave accordingly.’

  ‘Really? Well, I have to tell you that your expectations are not of very much interest to me, Luc, and of even less importance.’