Читать книгу Revenge At The Altar - Louise Fuller - Страница 10
ОглавлениеMARGOT SAT FROZEN, mute with shock, her heart lurching inside her chest like a ship at sea in a storm.
‘How dare you?’ Blood was drumming in her ears, and her body vibrated with anger and disbelief. ‘How dare you stand here in my boardroom and—?’
‘Easily.’
She watched in mute horror as Max stood up and, raising his arms above his head, stretched his shoulders and neck. His apparent serenity only exacerbated the anxiety that was hammering against her ribcage.
‘And I’ll find it easier still to stand in your office and watch the administrators repossess that beautiful custom-made Parnian desk of yours.’
He was walking towards her now, and suddenly her breath was coming thick and fast.
‘That won’t happen.’ She stood up hastily, her gaze locking on his, trying to ignore both the intense maleness of his lean, muscular body and the way her pulse was jumping like a stranded fish in response to it.
‘Oh, it will.’
He stopped in front of her, his eyes—those beautiful hypnotic eyes—pinning her to the floor even as her head spun faster.
‘Your business is in a mess, baby—a bloated, unstable, debt-ridden mess. House of Duvernay?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘More like house of straw!’
‘And you’re the wolf, are you? Come to huff and puff?’ she sneered, her gaze colliding with his.
It was the wrong thing to say—not least because there was more than a hint of the wolf about his intense, hostile focus and the restrained power of body. For a moment, she held her breath. But then he smiled—only it felt more as if he was baring his teeth.
‘I won’t need to.’ He studied her face. ‘I won’t need to do anything except sit back and watch while everything you love and care about slips through your fingers.’
The air was vibrating between them. ‘You’re a monster,’ she whispered, inching backwards. ‘A cold-blooded barbarian. What kind of man would say something like that?’
He shrugged, his expression somewhere between a challenge and a taunt. ‘The kind that believes in karma.’
Margot was struggling to speak. She wanted to deny his claims. Prove him wrong. But the trouble was that she knew that he was right.
The business was a mess.
Her brother Yves might have resented his glamorous parents, but he had been more like Colette and Emile than he’d cared to admit, and five years after his death she was still trying to clear up the consequences of his impulsive and imprudent management style. Only nothing she did seemed to work.
Her heart began to beat faster. How could it? She didn’t have her great-grandfather’s vision, or her grandfather’s ruthless determination and drive. Nor was she full of Yves’s flamboyant self-assurance. In fact, if anything, the opposite was true. She’d found the responsibility of ensuring that the family legacy stayed intact increasingly overwhelming and as her self-doubts grew the profits continued to shrink. Finally—reluctantly—she’d decided to put up the chateau as security.
Her pulse began to beat faster.
Even just thinking about it made her feel physically sick. Not only had the chateau belonged to her family for sixteen generations, in less than two months it was supposed to be the setting for her brother Louis’s wedding.
It had been a last-ditch attempt to reassure the bank. Only it hadn’t worked. Max was right. The business was failing.
She shivered.
Or rather she had failed, and soon the whole world would know the truth that she had so desperately tried to hide.
Watching her in silence, Max breathed out slowly.
He’d waited nearly ten years for this. Ten long years of working so hard that he would often fall asleep eating his evening meal. Unlike Margot, he’d had to start at the bottom. His jaw tightened. His job at Duvernay should have opened doors to him throughout the industry but, thanks to her family, that ladder had become a snake with a venomous bite.
After being more or less banished from France, it had taken him years to claw back his reputation. Years spent working punishingly long hours at vineyards in Hungary, and studying at night school until finally he had got a break and a job on an estate in California.
But every backbreaking second had been worth it for this, and although the shares had been expensive he would have paid double for this moment of reckoning.
His chest tightened. Finally he’d proved the Duvernays wrong!
He was their equal—for he was here, in their precious boardroom, not as some low-paid employee but as a shareholder.
He wanted to savour it. But although Margot looked suitably stunned—crushed, in fact, by his words—strangely, he was finding it not nearly as satisfying as he’d imagined he would.
Confused, and unprepared for this unexpected development, he stared at her in silence. And then immediately wished he hadn’t, for with the light behind her, the delicate fabric of her white dress was almost transparent, and the silhouetted outline of her figure was clearly visible. It was almost as if she was naked.
A beat of desire pulsed through his veins.
Not that he needed a reminder. Margot’s body was imprinted in his brain. He could picture her now, as he’d seen her so many times in those snatched afternoons spent in the tiny bedroom of his estate cottage. Lying in his arms, the curve of her belly and breasts gleaming in the shafts of fading sunlight, a pulse beating frantically at the base of her throat. Each time, he’d felt as though he was dreaming. He’d been completely in her thrall—overwhelmed not just by desire but by an emotion he had, until meeting her, always dismissed as at best illusory and at worst treacherous.
At first he’d tried to deny his feelings, had avoided her, and then, when avoiding her had become untenable, had been offhand almost to the point of being brusque, willing her to brand him rude and unapproachable if it meant hanging on to some small remnant of self-control.
But it had been so hard, for his body had been on fire, his brain in turmoil, all five senses on permanent high alert. He’d wanted her so badly, and for a time he’d believed that she wanted him in the same way. Insistently. Relentlessly.
Unconditionally.
And so he’d proposed—wanting, needing to make permanent that passion, that sense of belonging to someone, and of her belonging to him. He’d had no words for how he’d felt. It had defied description. All he had known was that he had a place in her life, her world. He had believed that unquestioningly. Only of course he’d been wrong.
Margot had wanted him, but her desire had been rooted in the transitory and finite nature of an affair—and more specifically in the illicit thrill of ‘dating’ her older brother’s employee.
He felt anger spark inside him, and his eyes cut across the room to the line of portraits of Duvernays past and present.
Of course proposing to her had been his second mistake. His first had been to believe that his rapport with Yves was real, that it meant something. He had been lured not so much by the family’s wealth and glamour, but by their sense of contra mundum, and the chance to be admitted into their world had been irresistibly potent to someone with his past.
With hindsight, though, he could see that his presence had always been subject to the grace and favour of the Duvernay family. They might have tolerated him, but he had never really belonged—just as Margot had never really belonged to him.
He felt his heart start to beat faster.
As a suitor, he’d always known that he was an underdog, a wild card—but, stupid and naive fool that he’d been, he’d actually respected her for seeing beyond his bank account and his background. Admired her for choosing him, for taking that risk. Now, though, he knew that the risk had been all his.
His hands trembled and he felt a rush of irritation at his naivety. No wonder he wasn’t really feeling this moment. He might have created a business to rival theirs, but what had haunted him—and what still rankled and had made every relationship since Margot a short-lived and deliberately one-sided affair—was the fact that, just like his mother, he hadn’t been good enough to marry.
The Duvernays might have welcomed him into their home, but ultimately they had never considered him worthy of permanently joining their inner circle. Not even Margot. Especially not Margot.
His head was suddenly pounding.
For nearly a decade he’d told himself that watching the House of Duvernay implode would be enough. Enough to erase the sting of humiliation and the pain of being so summarily cast out and ostracised. Only now, here, standing in this boardroom, it was clear to him that there was another, more satisfying revenge to be had: namely, seizing control of the business from Margot.
It was the only possible way to exorcise this lingering hold she had on him. To punish her as she deserved to be punished. For she had wronged him the most. Her betrayal was the most personal and the deepest.
His pulse twitched as for the first time he noticed the band on her wrist, his brain swiftly and efficiently deciphering the cursive writing. He felt warmth spread across his skin. And it just so happened that he knew the perfect way to make his revenge exquisitely and fittingly personal.
Exhilaration hit him like a shot of pure alcohol and, resting his gaze on her profile, he steadied himself. ‘I know how you must be feeling...’
Her head jerked towards him, her long pale blonde hair catching the light as it flicked sideways.
‘I doubt that.’ Dark brown eyes wide with anger and outrage locked on to his. ‘Having feelings would make you human, and you clearly don’t have an ounce of humanity.’
Staring at the pulse beating in the base of her throat, Max gritted his teeth. He had plenty of feelings for Margot, unfortunately most of them seemed to be occurring somewhere in the region of his groin.
Fighting off the frustration that was circling like a caged dog inside his head, Max took a step towards her. ‘I do know. You might not have thought I had much to lose, but thanks to your brother I lost the little I had,’ he said coolly.
Margot blinked. At the mention of her brother’s name anger surged up inside her like a hot spring. ‘Yves was protecting me.’
‘Yes, by destroying me.’
She reeled back from the controlled fury in his voice. ‘That wasn’t his intention.’
‘You think?’
She glared at him, not knowing what she hated more: the coolness in his eyes or the mockery distorting his beautiful mouth. ‘Yes, I do. He just did what any brother would do. I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. I wouldn’t expect you to understand feelings like loyalty and lo—
She broke off, appalled at what she had so nearly spoken out loud—not just the fact that she had loved him but loved him rapturously, with her body, heart and soul. Only her love had been unreciprocated—humiliatingly unilateral. Worse, it had blinded her to what he was really thinking.
A sudden sharp spasm of pain twisted her stomach, and the words he’d spoken to her so long ago suddenly echoed inside her head.
‘It was all about the money. You and me. That’s why I proposed. I just wanted your money.’
She felt his clear-eyed gaze probing her face, and more than anything she wanted to raise her hands and shield her eyes, conceal the emotions that were rising up inside her. But she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how badly he’d hurt her. Or that the pain of his betrayal felt as fresh today as it had ten years ago.
Ignoring the thudding of her heart, she glared at him. ‘Just because you don’t care about anything but money—’
‘You mean the money that you don’t currently have?’ he said softly. ‘Remind me, Margot. What is Duvernay’s net to EBITDA ratio these days?’
Their eyes clashed, and she flinched inwardly at the anger and resentment taking shape in the no-man’s land between them.
Forcing herself to stand her ground, she wrapped her fingers around her elbows. ‘Why do you care? Or do you just want to gloat about that too?’
His face was still, but his eyes were glittering in a way that made the air thump out of her lungs. For a moment they stared at one another in silence, and then finally he shrugged. ‘I wasn’t gloating,’ he said simply.
The mildness of his tone caught her off guard, for it was so at odds with the adversarial tension swirling around the room and inside her chest.
‘I just like to be in full command of the facts. That’s how I run my business.’
His eyes were fixed on hers, calm, appraising, unnerving, and she felt her breathing jerk, saw the muted colours of the walls slamming into focus.
‘Well, luckily for me, whatever you might like to believe, Duvernay isn’t your business,’ she said, lifting her chin and returning his gaze, her brown eyes sparking with resentment.
How dare he do this? Saunter back into her life with his newly acquired shares and his careless gaze, unlocking the past and upending the present.
For a second there was total silence, and then his mouth curved slowly upwards. Despite herself, she felt her pulse flutter, for his smile was still so difficult to resist, and even though she wanted to deny its power she could feel a trembling heat starting to creep over her skin.
And he hadn’t even touched her, she thought, her heart lurching against her ribcage.
‘Well, luckily for you—’ he paused, his eyes resting calmly on her face ‘—that could all be about to change.’
Abruptly his smile was forgotten, and she stared up at him in confusion, her skin tingling, mouth drying with fear and anticipation, trying and failing to make sense of his casual statement.
‘All you need to do is say yes.’
His words hung in the air between them and she felt panic spread through her. Suddenly she was having to work hard to breathe. Her pulse gave a leap of warning. Something was happening—something undefined but important.
‘Yes to what?’ She was aiming for the same tone of neutral formality, but instead her voice sounded oddly hollow and strained.
Max held her gaze. He wanted to see her reaction. To watch the moment of impact. ‘To marrying me.’
Margot gazed at him, rooted to the spot, her stomach clenching with shock. She knew her face had drained of colour, but she was too busy trying to quiet the chaos inside her head to care.
‘Marry you!’ Shaking her head, she gave a small, disbelieving laugh. ‘You’re crazy. Why would I want to marry you?’
‘Is that a no?’
His face was closed, expressionless, but she could feel the anger rippling beneath his skin. Only she didn’t care. Right now all she wanted to do was hurt him in the same way that he’d hurt her—was still hurting her. Or maybe not in the same way, for that would mean Max had a heart, and she knew from bitter, personal experience that wasn’t the case.
But she could certainly puncture the beating core of Max Montigny—his masculine pride.
‘A no? Of course not.’ She glared at him, her own rage shocking her. ‘Who could possibly resist a man like you, Max? I mean, it’s every woman’s dream to marry a lying, scheming hustler!’
Sarcasm did not come naturally to her any more than anger did, but coming so soon after her father’s betrayal and the shock of seeing Max again his proposal was just too cruel, too painful.
Once, marrying Max had been her dream. When he and Yves had turned up for supper one evening she had looked up from her plate and just like that she had fallen in love. Actually, not fallen—it had been more like plummeting...like a star falling to earth.
His presence in her life had felt miraculous. The thrill of seeing him, talking to him, had been a new kind of bliss—both pleasure and pain—for he had been so smart and sexy, bewitchingly beautiful and impossibly laid back, and yet so unattainable. She had been desperate, hopeful, smitten—and then, unbelievably, it had happened.
Only she had never suspected why. Stupid, naive and crazily in love for the first time, she had never imagined the truth until that terrible afternoon when Yves had discovered them.
‘Feeling better? Or do you want to start throwing punches as well as insults?’
Max’s voice was as cold and toxic as nerve gas. Lifting her head, she cleared her throat, straightening her back, feeling the zip of her dress tingling against her spine.
‘Sorry,’ she said, without a hint of remorse. ‘But I just can’t imagine under what circumstances you think I’d ever, ever, even consider marrying you.’
His gaze didn’t flicker. ‘How about circumstances in which I agree to save your business?’
She stared at him, the sheer unexpectedness of his words making the edges of her vision watery. ‘Save my business...?’ she repeated slowly.
He nodded. ‘If you agree to become my wife.’ He paused, studying her face. ‘It’s up to you, of course.’
He was speaking with a mock courtesy that made her want to hurl her bag at his head.
‘I can just leave. The choice is yours.’
Her skin was prickling and her heart was beating so loudly that it was getting in the way of her thoughts. ‘That’s not a choice,’ she said hoarsely. ‘That’s blackmail.’
For what felt like a lifetime he stared at her thoughtfully, and then finally he gave a casual shrug.
‘Yes, I suppose it is. But on some levels all business is blackmail.’ His face was impassive, his eyes steady on hers. ‘And that’s what this is, Margot. It’s just business.’
The truth, of course, was that he wanted to prove her and her family wrong. To demonstrate irrefutably that he was good enough to marry her. That his name was equal to hers. But his instincts warned him against revealing the truth, for surely it would show weakness to admit that their low opinion—her low opinion—still tormented him?
Besides, there was no need to reveal anything. Not when he already had a ready-made reason at his fingertips. Widening his stance, he focused his attention on the woman in front of him.
‘Unlike yourself, I’m not in the habit of throwing good money after bad, and your father’s shares are useless to me if Duvernay goes bankrupt.’
She took a breath, bracing herself as though for a blow. ‘What has that got to do with marrying me?’ she asked stiffly.
Tuning out the apprehension in her voice, he let her words echo around the room. ‘Isn’t it obvious? I’ll marry you, and in return you’ll give me your shares. That will make me the majority stakeholder in Duvernay and allow me to run the business as I see fit.’ His mouth curled into a goading smile. ‘By that I mean profitably.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re so arrogant.’ Seething inwardly, Margot watched him gaze dismissively around the boardroom.
‘It shouldn’t be too hard. Frankly, I could turn this company around in a heartbeat.’
She gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Wouldn’t that require you to have a heart, though, Max?’ she said sweetly.
He smiled. ‘Oh, I have a heart, Margot—and more importantly, unlike your brother, I also have a head for business.’
Her brown eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t want to know what you think about my brother any more than I want your money,’ she spat.
He gazed down at her, unperturbed by her outburst. ‘No, I’m sure you don’t,’ he conceded.
His eyes gleamed, the centres darkening so that suddenly it felt as though she was being dragged bodily into his pupils.
‘But whether you want my money or not is largely irrelevant. The fact is, you need it.’
‘I don’t—’ she began.
He waved her words away as though they were some kind of irritating insect. ‘You do. And, frankly, the sooner the better. I’ll give you free rein with the wedding arrangements...’ he was watching her lazily, as though her consent was a foregone conclusion ‘...although I draw the line at wearing any kind of patterned waistcoat. So marry me, give me control over our destinies, and I’ll make all your problems go away.’
‘I doubt that. From where I’m standing, you are the biggest problem. You’re conceited and selfish and utterly lacking in sensitivity.’
His smile widened. ‘Presumably that’s why I now own a quarter share of your business?’
Stifling an impulse to slap his smug, handsome face, Margot fixed her gaze on the gardens outside. How long was he going to carry on with this game? For surely that was all this talk of marriage was to him. A game designed to humiliate her further.
So stop playing it, then, she told herself irritably. You’re the CEO of a global business, not some dopey nineteen-year-old student.
With a strength that surprised her, she turned and met his gaze head-on. ‘I’m not going to give you my shares, Max,’ she said flatly. ‘And I’m definitely not going to marry you.’
His expression didn’t change, but somehow she found that less reassuring rather than more, and moments later she realised why. She might have thought she was simply stating the obvious, but Max clearly thought she was calling his bluff.
‘Is that right?’
She glared at him, her skin prickling with resentment—not just at his arrogance but at the beat of desire pulsing through her veins, and the knowledge that only Max had ever done this to her. Got under her skin and made her feel so off-balance. And the fact that he could still make her feel this way, that he still had this power over her, threatened her as much as his words.
She took a step back. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said quickly. ‘You and I were a mistake I’m not planning on repeating. We’re certainly not marriage material.’
‘Why not? I’m a man...you’re a woman. There are no obstacles preventing us from tying the knot.’
Jamming her hands into the pockets of her dress, she looked up at him, disbelief giving way to exasperation, then fury. ‘Aside from mutual loathing, you mean?’
Glancing around the boardroom, he shook his head slowly. ‘You see? This is why your business is struggling, baby. You’re just too resistant to change, to new ideas.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise blackmail was so on-trend!’
He laughed, and before she could stop herself—before she even knew she was doing it—she was laughing too. How could she not when his mouth curled up so temptingly at the corners, wiping the mockery from his face so that he looked heartbreakingly like his younger self?
And, fool that she was, she felt her pulse lose speed, felt a sudden overwhelming urge to reach out and touch the curve of his lips, to feel again the hard, masculine pressure of his body against hers.
Heat burned in her cheeks and she breathed in sharply. Her reaction had been instinctive, involuntary, but she was already regretting it. How could she laugh with him after everything he’d done to her? And how could she let herself feel anything other than hatred and contempt for this man who was backing her into a corner, demanding something that was impossible for her to give?
She felt his gaze on the side of her face.
‘What was that you were saying about mutual loathing?’ he asked.
The mocking note was back, and she looked up defiantly, her whole body stiffening into fight mode. ‘Just because you can make me laugh once, it doesn’t mean anything.’
Dragging her gaze away from the indecently lush mouth, she stared past him.
Except that it did.
She winced inwardly. It was all there in her voice—everything that she didn’t want him to hear or to know about how she was feeling—and that was why this conversation had to stop now.
‘You might have a head for business, Max, but you have zero understanding of human nature. If—if—we were to get married, we wouldn’t just be talking in the boardroom.’ She felt a sudden prickle of ice run down her spine. ‘We’d have to live together. Share a home.’
Share a bed, she thought silently, her face suddenly hot as his eyes narrowed on hers and something moved across the irises that made her breathing quicken.
Cheeks burning, she began speaking again. ‘Share our lives. And how are we going to do that? We can’t even be in the same room together without—’
But she never finished her sentence. Instead she made the mistake of looking up at him, and instantly the words stalled in her throat.
She felt her body tense, almost painfully, and then her legs started to shake just as they had the first time she had ever seen him. Dressed in faded jeans, a T-shirt that hugged the muscles of his arms, and wearing dark glasses, he had looked like a cocktail of one part glamour to two parts cool. And then he’d taken his glasses off, and it had been like a thunderclap bursting inside her head.
Over time she had, of course, grown used to how he looked. But at least once a day it had caught her off guard, and now apparently nothing had changed. The seemingly random arrangement of mouth, nose, cheekbones still had the same power to rob her of even basic impulses, such as breathing and speaking.
‘Without what?’
Her stomach tightened with awareness. The air felt suddenly charged with a different kind of tension, and his voice had grown softer. Too soft.
She could feel it slipping over her skin like a caress, so warm and tempting and—
Deceptive! Had she really learned nothing from what happened between them?
Ignoring his eyes, she crossed her arms in front of her body, shielding herself from the pull of the past. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Oh, but it does. You see, I need an answer,’ he said, and the smoothness of his voice in no way diluted his uncompromising statement.
‘Well, tough!’ Her eyes widened. ‘You can’t seriously expect me to give you one here and now?’
For a moment he didn’t reply, just continued to stare at her thoughtfully, as though he was working out something inside his head.
‘Actually, I can—and I am.’
Her pulse shifted up a gear as he glanced at the surprisingly understated watch on his wrist.
‘Deals have deadlines, and this one runs out when I walk back out through that door.’
She took a breath, fear drumming through her chest. ‘But that’s not fair. I need time—’
‘And I need an answer.’
The commanding note in his voice whipped at her senses so that suddenly her head was buzzing and the glare of the sunlight hurt her eyes.
‘And, to be fair, you have had ten years.’
Margot blinked. ‘You can’t compare what happened then with this.’ She felt suddenly sick. Surely he didn’t think that this ‘proposal’ somehow picked up where they’d left off?
‘This is nothing like before,’ she said shakily.
‘I agree. This is far better.’
She gaped at him speechlessly, uncertain of how to interpret his words, and then suddenly she shook her head, her eyes snapping upwards. ‘Better! What are you talking about?’
Her voice was too loud. So loud that someone in the corridor would be able to hear her. But for the first time in her life she didn’t care what other people might think.
‘How is this better? How could this ever be better?’
‘It’s simpler. More transparent.’ His gaze dropped to her throat, then lowered to the V of her dress. ‘What you see is what you get. And, despite all your talk of mutual loathing, I think we can agree that we both like what we see.’
Margot felt something dislodge inside her. His closeness was making her unravel. She wanted to disagree. To throw his remark back in his face. Only she didn’t trust herself to speak—not just to form the words inside her head but to say them out loud.
Her pulse hiccupped with panic, and his gaze cut to hers. Surely though he couldn’t sense the way he made her feel?
But of course he could—he always had. And, as though reading her mind, he reached out and gently stroked her long blonde hair, his touch pulling her not just closer, but back to a past that she had never quite relinquished.
‘I can’t give you time, Margot, but I can give you a reason to marry me.’
His gaze rested on her face, his eyes drawing her in, and she felt her nerves quiver helplessly in response to the message in the darkening irises.
‘You have given me a reason, Max,’ she said shakily. ‘It’s called blackmail.’
There was a moment of silence, and then his gaze shifted from her eyes, dropping and pressing onto her mouth. Suddenly her skin felt too hot and too tight, and she had a slip-sliding sense of déjà-vu as he took another step closer, the intensity of his eyes tangling her breathing.
‘Actually, I have a better reason.’
For perhaps a fraction of a second her brain was screaming at her to turn, to move, to run. And then his lips closed on hers and heat surged through her body as his arm curved around her waist. Her hands rose instinctively, palms pressing into the rigid muscles of his chest—but not to push him away. Instead her fingers curled into the front of his shirt and she was pulling him closer, even as his hand curled around her wrist.
The touch of his mouth, his hands, his body, was so familiar, so intoxicating, that she would have had to be inhuman not to respond. He was warm and solid and real—more real than anything else in the room, in the world.
It was impossible to deny, and he was impossible to resist...like drowning. The pain and the misery of the last ten years was fading into a pleasure that she had never expected to feel again, a pleasure she had only ever felt in Max’s arms.
Something stirred in her head and she felt a kick of resistance.
Only it was all a lie, a cold-blooded seduction. He hadn’t felt anything. Not then, and definitely not now.
And just like that the spell was broken. Heart still racing, she jerked her mouth free and pushed him away.
Resurfacing into the cool, sedate daylight of the boardroom, she felt heat burning her face. Only now it was the heat of humiliation. How had she let that happen? Why had she given herself to this man? A man who felt nothing for her and used her feelings as a weapon against herself.
Oh, he wanted her—but certainly not because he was powerless to do otherwise...
Skin burning, she took a step back and pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to blot out the imprint of his lips, wishing there was a way she could erase him as quickly and permanently from her life and her memory.
But the truth was that even when she’d had every reason to do so she hadn’t managed to wipe Max from her mind. And now she actually had a reason for him to be in her life.
Her pulse fluttered and she felt a momentary swirling panic rise up inside her chest like storm water. And then just as swiftly it drained away. This was not a time for feelings to get in the way of facts. And the facts were bleak.
The business was not just failing, it was heading for bankruptcy. And it wasn’t just Duvernay the business that was facing ruin. If—no, when the business collapsed, her family would be thrown into the spotlight, humbled and humiliated. Worse, they would be homeless.
She didn’t want to marry Max, but without his money her life and that of her family—the life they all took for granted—would not just be difficult, it would cease to exist. And how would she—how would they?—cope living like ordinary people?
Her heart contracted. They wouldn’t. And she couldn’t expect them to do so.
Briefly, she felt the weight of her responsibilities. For if this was to work then once again she would have to put her family before herself. To lie and keep secrets. But what choice did she have?
Right now, Max was her only option. Without him all would be lost.
Heat burned in her cheeks. But wasn’t there just a tiny part of herself that was relieved to have Max there, going into battle alongside her? And, really, was marriage such a big sacrifice to make for the sake of your family and a two hundred year legacy?
She stilled her breathing, like a diver preparing to jump, and then, before she could change her mind, she said quickly, ‘Okay, I’ll marry you. But it has to look and feel real, like a traditional wedding. We’ll need to talk about it properly.’
As an attempt to reassert her power it was pretty meaningless. She was in no position to demand anything—she knew it, and he knew it too—and yet she also knew instinctively that she couldn’t allow herself to be a push-over.
She’d half expected him to rise to her challenge. Only he didn’t. Instead he merely nodded, as though she’d asked him to email her an invoice rather than discuss the conditions of their marriage of convenience.
