Читать книгу A Husband Of Convenience - JACQUELINE BAIRD, Jacqueline Baird - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN the telephone rang on Saturday morning, Josie was having second, third and fourth thoughts about the advisability of a marriage of convenience to a man like Conan. Unfortunately, she discovered very quickly it was too late to get out of it. The caller was Zoe, her friend from work.

‘You sly dog, Josie! Migraine, my eye...’ Zoe’s voice echoed down the line. ‘What was it? A hot night of passion that spun over into the morning? But I do think you could have told me. I had no idea you were even going out with a man, let alone getting engaged.’

‘How did you know?’ Josie asked when she could get a word in, not at all sure who Zoe thought she was engaged to...

‘Oh, please, Josie. The engagement is announced between Miss Josephine Jamieson, only daughter of...blah, blah, and Mr Conan Devine Zarcourt, blah, blah, blah. It’s in this morning’s Times. Mind you, I didn’t know that Conan Zarcourt lived at Beeches Manor. And how come you never even mentioned him to me?’

Josie could not believe it. After listening to Zoe ramble on, and promising to tell her the full story at work on Monday, Josie finally put the phone down, and went looking for her father.

Five minutes later her worst fear was realised. With a bit of judicious questioning of her dad she’d discovered the Major had already prepared the announcement of her engagement to Charles the day he’d learned of his death. Then he had been so upset he had left Conan to see to all the arrangements.

Her father chuckled. ‘Obviously Conan has simply substituted his own name for Charles’s. You’ve got a good man there, Josephine—clever and quick-thinking,’ he remarked happily, and for the second time in two days she felt like hitting him.

Instead she went for a long walk across the fields to try and calm down. She could not blame her father; he belonged to a different generation. He had been over fifty when Josie was born, her mother forty-two. Her mother had died when she was ten, and right now Josie would have given anything to have her mother to talk to.

What she got was dozens of calls all day Saturday, congratulating her on her engagement. On Sunday, when news of Charles’s death appeared in the newspaper, quite a few of the calls congratulated her and then offered condolences too, saying the timing was unfortunate, but could not be helped.

By Monday evening Josie was spitting nails. She had spent a terrible day at work; Zoe had insisted on hearing the whole story, and Josie hated lying. Everyone in the Cheltenham law firm had congratulated her, including Mr Brownlow himself, and she had felt a complete fraud, especially when sympathy for the death of Charles was expressed.

When the doorbell rang at seven-thirty she stormed across the hall and flung open the door, ready to give Conan a blasting.

‘You! I’m surprised you dare show your face,’ she snarled, and almost slammed the door in his face.

‘Is that any way to greet your fiancé?’ Conan mocked. His dark eyes swept over her slender form with studied male appreciation, taking in her flushed, angry face and the tumble of black curls falling around her shoulders. His gaze lingered on her simple red sweater dress that clung to her every curve, then moved down to her shapely legs, to her feet encased in three-inch high-heeled black shoes, and then back to her face. ‘Very nice and very sexy,’ he murmured softly, a slow sensual smile tilting his firm lips.

She had forgotten how dynamic he appeared in the flesh. He exuded a raw animal magnetism which his casually tailored black suede jacket and hip-hugging moleskin trousers seemed designed to enhance. She had always thought him attractive, but tonight, with his black hair tussled by the evening breeze, there was a sense of power about him, a vitality that sent a frisson of fear down her spine.

‘Josie, either ask me in or let’s go.’

She blinked and, lifting her eyes, she caught the amusement lurking in the depths of his. He knew very well she was mad, and thought it funny.

‘Go...? I’d like to tell you where to go! What did you mean—?’ she began.

‘Josie, Josie, please. Not on the doorstep.’ And, brushing past her, he picked up her jacket and purse off the chair where she had placed them, and, with a hand at her back, urged her down the path to where his car was parked. ‘Here, put this on. November nights can be cold.’

She allowed him to slip her jacket over her shoulders and took her purse from his outstretched hand. ‘I want an explanation.’

‘Later.’ He opened the passenger door and gestured for her to get in the car. ‘I don’t believe in arguing and driving at the same time.’ Walking around to the driver’s side, he slid in behind the wheel, and started the engine.

Josie knew what he said made sense, so, silently fuming, she watched him drive the car along numerous country roads until he pulled up outside a small country pub called The White Swan.

‘This is the first pub I had a drink in as a boy,’ Conan remarked, turning in his seat to look at her in the dim light of the small car park. ‘I think you’ll like it; the food is good.’

‘If you say so,’ Josie said grudgingly, and felt for the car door.

‘Wait,’ Conan commanded, and caught her hand in his. ‘Say what you have to before we go inside.’ He was idly stroking her palm with his thumb as he spoke. ‘I have no intention of arguing with you while we eat.’

His touch was sending tiny quivers of sensation over her sensitive flesh and it took a supreme effort of will not to tear her hand away. But she could not afford to show him any sign of weakness. Conan would try any trick in the book to get his own way—and some he had personally invented, Josie was sure.

‘All right. Explain to me how the announcement of our engagement got in the newspaper so fast, and don’t bother lying, because I know.’

‘If you know, why ask?’ he mocked.

‘You know damn well what I mean.’

‘Don’t curse, Josie; I don’t like that in a lady.’

‘Tough, because you’re enough to make a saint curse,’ she shot back.

‘All right, I admit it. My father had prepared the announcement of your engagement to Charles on Thursday. He asked me to deal with it, and I did.’

‘He had no right to,’ Josie snapped, unaware of what she was revealing.

Conan’s hand grasped hers tighter. ‘You didn’t know; he didn’t ask you?’

‘No. Well... What does it matter? You must have changed the name and entered it on Friday morning at the latest, before even asking me. I might have said no.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘That is not the point.’

‘Josie, there is no point.’ Turning her hand over in his, he added, ‘We are engaged; we are to be married in a couple of weeks. Accept the fact and let’s eat.’

Josie was still seething with resentment as he virtually marched her into the pub with his hand at her elbow. She glanced around. It was a typical old coaching inn, all dark oak and low ceilings, a few oak tables and chairs, and along one wall were small dining alcoves. Not the sort of place she would have expected Conan to frequent. But hey! What did she know about pubs? She had a small circle of good friends she socialised with, and if they went for a drink it was usually to a wine bar in Cheltenham. Anyway, Josie wasn’t much of a drinker—except at that fatal party, she thought bitterly.

‘Sit down, Josie, and try to look less like you’re being led to the gallows.’ Conan urged her into a small banquette made for two and slid in beside her.

‘Do you have to sit next to me?’ she snapped. He was crowding her, his long leg resting against hers.

‘In your present mood, yes,’ he bit out. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you to run away.’

‘Well, what do you expect? You had no right to put the announcement in the paper without telling me.’

‘I had every right.’ He turned sideways, his dark eyes narrowed on her mutinous face. ‘Let’s get one thing straight here and now.’ His strong hand grasped hers and lifted it to within inches of her own face.

‘See that ring? That gives me every right and don’t you forget it.’ His savage undertone sent icy fingers of fear walking up her rigid spine.

The gloves were off with a vengeance, Josie thought. The suave sophistication Conan portrayed to the world was a thin veneer to mask the ruthless predator beneath. ‘We are not married yet,’ she snorted inelegantly. But the glitter in his piercing dark eyes sent a shiver of apprehension through her body. ‘Engagements are easily broken,’ she continued. Why she was carrying on baiting him Josie did not know.

His grip on her hand tightened and she had to bite down a whimper of pain. ‘Not this one, lady,’ Conan drawled with silken emphasis on ‘lady.’ ‘No one makes a fool out of me.’

‘You do that perfectly well for yourself!’ Josie snapped back. ‘And let go of my hand.’

‘Well, if it isn’t Conan, my old mate.’ A booming voice interrupted their heated exchange.

Conan ignored her request and glanced across at the man standing at the opposite side of the table.

‘Bootsy!’ he exclaimed. ‘I might have guessed you would still be drinking here.’

Josie looked at the short, red-haired, blue-eyed man who had spoken and then back at Conan, and was surprised to see a smile of genuine pleasure lighting up his rugged features.

‘Not drinking... I own the place. But what about you? I heard on the Beeches bush telegraph that you’re about to be married.’ It was Josie’s turn to get the full power of twinkling blue eyes. ‘And this must be the lucky lady. I could tell you stories about this ‘un you wouldn’t believe.’ He nodded towards Conan.

‘Oh. I’m sure I would,’ Josie said dryly.

‘Too late, Bootsy.’ Conan’s long arm curved around her shoulders, and his dark head bent to nuzzle her neck. ‘Behave yourself!’ he whispered, his tongue flicking around the inner whorls of her ear. His breath fanned her cheek as he raised his head, and her heartbeat thundered in her eardrums. She couldn’t have spoken even if she’d wanted to, but Conan had no problem.

‘Josie knows all my weak spots and then some,’ Conan favoured her with a long, lingering perusal, his dark eyes roaming over her face and down to the firm swell of her breasts beneath the fine red wool of her dress, then slowly back to her face. ‘And I certainly know all of hers,’ he opined with a sensual smile. ‘Don’t I, darling?’ The other man was left in no doubt that they shared a very intimate relationship.

She wanted to slap Conan, but instead she snuggled under his arm. Two could play at that game, she thought furiously. ‘He is so naughty,’ she simpered, giving Bootsy a wide smile. ‘But so romantic. Would you like to see my ring?‘ Conan had no choice but to let go of her hand. She held it out over the table. ‘It was his grandmother’s. Isn’t that the most wildly romantic gift?’ and, turning a sickly-sweet smile on Conan, she added, ‘My hero.’

Bootsy shot an alarmed glance at Conan, then looked at Josie and tried to smile. ‘Yes, well, very nice. Congratulations. Now, what can I get you to eat? The steak pie is perfect, but then everything I serve is perfect.’

Conan ordered for both of them and Bootsy could not get away fast enough.

‘You realise, Josie, the man thinks I’m marrying a simpering idiot,’ Conan said dryly.

‘Serves you right,’ She shrugged off his arm, but couldn’t prevent a chuckle escaping her. ‘He did look a bit shocked.’ Her violet eyes sparkling with amusement clashed with Conan’s, and for a moment they were in complete accord.

‘Josie, you’re a witch!’ he said with wry amusement. ‘But if this relationship is going to work,’ he added, suddenly serious, ‘we’ve both got to at least try to be civil to each other.’

‘Yes, I know,’ she conceded. ‘But in future could you please ask me first before you arrange things?’

Surprisingly the evening turned out much better than Josie expected. Conan was a good conversationalist, the food was simple but perfectly cooked and they discussed music, books, and finally ended up having a heated debate over the best film ever made.

Josie said Casablanca and Conan insisted he liked The Graduate better.

‘You can’t be serious!’ Josie cried. ‘Bogart made a truly noble sacrifice for the woman he loved.’

‘True, but personally I would leave nobility to the fool, and take the girl and run, as in The Graduate.’

‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.’ She grinned, caught the predatory gleam in his eyes, and knew he was not joking.

They drove home a little after ten, and they parted on a sober note.

‘Tomorrow, at the funeral, you won’t do anything foolish,’ Conan insisted as they walked up to the door. ‘Like having hysterics or throwing yourself on the coffin.’

‘No,’ she said simply, tilting her head back to look up coldly into his shadowed face. ‘I am well aware that to the world at large Charles was simply a friend to me, and the brother of my fiancé. Why do you think I went to work today? I am as capable as you are of playing my part in this marriage of convenience. You have nothing to worry about’ On that note she opened the door, and closed it behind her in his face.

The next day, in Beeches village church, Josie only half listened to the vicar’s eulogy for Charles. The biological father of her child was being buried, and the tears on her cheeks were no more than she would have cried at any friend’s funeral. Her feelings for Charles had been fleeting at best, and she felt swamped by guilt. She glanced sideways at her companion. Conan was dressed in a long black cashmere overcoat, a black suit beneath, black tie, the brilliant white of his shirt only serving to emphasise his sombre attire. His face was equally grave, and he stared impassively ahead, not a flicker of emotion on his granite features.