His Convenient Marriage

She hadn’t had a serious boyfriend since Alastair. The dates she’d gone out on in London had been totally casual and uncommitted. She couldn’t think of one man out of all of them she’d wanted to see again, let alone know better.

And since London, of course, there’d been no one at all.

Until tonight—which naturally didn’t count, she reminded herself swiftly.

It was a relief when the waitress came to say their table was ready. The soup and pâté, when they arrived, were so good that it was really only necessary to make appreciative noises and eat.

So Chessie made appreciative noises, and ate.

She and Miles had been put in one of the smaller rooms off the main dining room. It was panelled and candlelit, and intimate, with all the tables set for two. Even the flower arrangements were small, presumably to allow diners to gaze unimpeded into each other’s eyes.

The Fewstons must have a romantic streak, Chessie thought, buttering her bread roll, still warm from the oven. But it had led them severely astray this time.

She’d have settled for a wall of delphiniums and hollyhocks to shelter behind. Or even a privet hedge.

While their plates were being changed, Chessie hurried into speech, asking about the film script, and what would be involved in adapting the book.

It wasn’t just an excuse to find an impersonal topic, she told herself. She was genuinely interested, and after all she was going to be closely involved in the project.

But what next? The weather? Would it be a hot summer, and was it really the greenhouse effect?

Brilliant, she thought. What a conversational ball of fire you are, Chessie, my dear.

‘Am I really such a difficult companion?’ Miles leaned back in his chair, the blue eyes hooded.

Rocked back on her heels, Chessie took a gulp of wine, feeling her face warm with sudden colour.

‘No, of course not,’ she managed. Although he could be a mind-reader.

‘Perhaps I should have told you to bring a notebook, and dictated a few letters between courses,’ he went on. ‘You might have felt more at ease then.’

‘I doubt it.’ She put down her glass. ‘I still don’t understand what I’m doing here.’

‘You’re eating an excellent meal,’ he said. ‘Which you haven’t had to prepare, cook, and wash up after.’

‘And that’s all there is to it?’ She felt oddly breathless.

‘No, but the rest can wait.’ The cool face was enigmatic, the scar silver in the candlelight. ‘May I refill your glass?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Chessie covered it with a protective hand. ‘Something tells me I need to keep a clear head.’

His smile mocked her. ‘I haven’t seduction in mind, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘It never crossed my mind.’

‘How incredibly pure of you,’ he murmured. ‘Considering the amount of time we spend alone together, have you really never wondered why I’ve never made a pass at you? Or do you think my scars have rendered me immune from the normal male urges?’

She bit her lip. ‘I don’t suppose that for a moment. But I took it for granted that passes were out because of our situation—the terms of my employment. And because …’ She paused.

‘Yes?’ Miles prompted.

She swallowed. ‘Because it would be—inappropriate behaviour, and tacky as well. The amorous boss and his secretary—that’s a cliché, and you don’t deal in clichés,’ she added in a rush.

‘Thank you—I think,’ he remarked sardonically. ‘Yet it was our—situation that I wanted to discuss with you.’

‘Have you decided to sell the house?’ Her last exquisite mouthful of guinea fowl turned to ashes in her mouth. Suddenly she was contemplating the prospect of being homeless and back on the job market at the same time.

It had always been a possibility, she supposed, yet just lately—stupidly—she’d allowed herself to feel settled. Safe even.

‘Absolutely not.’ He looked genuinely surprised. ‘What gave you that idea? Didn’t you hear me say I was planning to do some entertaining?’

‘Yes—I’m sorry.’ She hesitated. ‘I suppose insecurity makes you paranoid.’

‘I can appreciate that.’ He put down his knife and fork, frowning slightly. ‘That’s part of the reason I want you to consider a change in your terms of employment.’

‘A change?’ Chessie was puzzled. Her contract with Miles had been carefully and meticulously defined. There were no obvious loopholes or room for manoeuvre. ‘What kind of change?’

He drank some more wine, the blue eyes meditative as he studied her across the top of the glass.

He said, ‘I thought we might get married.’

Chessie had a curious feeling that the entire world had come to a sudden halt, throwing her sideways. The subdued hum of conversation and laughter around them faded under the swift roar of blood in her ears.

Her whole body was rigid as she stared at him, lips parted in astonishment as she tried to make sense of what he’d just said.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last in a voice that seemed to have travelled vast distances across space and time. ‘I don’t think I quite understand.’

‘It’s perfectly simple. I’ve just proposed to you—asked you to become my wife.’ He sounded totally cool about it—unbelievably matter-of-fact. ‘Look on it, if you want, as a new kind of contract.’

He was mad, she thought dazedly. That was the answer. Completely and totally insane. Suffering some kind of delayed shell-shock.

Her lips moved. ‘Marriage is—hardly a business arrangement.’

‘I’d say that depends on the people involved.’ His gaze was steady. ‘Considering our individual circumstances and problems, marriage between us seems a sensible idea.’

He paused. ‘You need more stability and security than you currently enjoy, and I’m going to require a hostess as well as a housekeeper. I think we could work out a perfectly satisfactory deal.’

‘Just like that?’ Her voice sounded faint. She still could not believe what was happening.

‘No, of course not,’ he said with a trace of impatience. ‘I don’t want an immediate answer. But I’d like you to give my proposal some coherent and rational thought before you reach any decision.’

Coherent? she thought. Rational—when applied to this? The words were meaningless.

‘Judging by your reaction, this has been a bit of a thunderbolt,’ he went on.

‘Yes.’ Chessie swallowed. ‘You—could say that.’ She spread her hands in an almost pleading gesture. ‘I mean—we hardly know each other.’

‘We work together every day, and we live in the same house. That’s not exactly a casual acquaintance.’

‘Yes—but …’ She fought for the right words, and lost. ‘Oh, you know exactly what I mean.’

‘I think so.’ His face was sardonic. ‘You’re still pondering the lack of amorous advances.’

‘It’s not that—or not totally, anyway.’ She pushed her glass at him. ‘I will have some more wine, please. I seem to need it.’

She watched him pour, his hand steady. He was completely calm, she thought incredulously. Detached, even. But how could that be, when he’d just turned her world upside down?

She hurried into speech again. ‘There’s never been anything remotely personal between us—not until now. Yes, we’ve seen each other every day, but we’ve never talked about anything but work, and problems to do with the house.’ Mostly created by Jenny, she realised with a pang. Then—oh, God—Jenny.

‘Has this shift in our relationship plunged you into some kind of trauma?’ he drawled. ‘I didn’t intend that.’

‘No—but it’s all so sudden.’ She stopped, grimacing. ‘Hell, now I sound like the heroine of a bad historical novel.’

‘And highly sensible of the honour I’ve just done you.’ It was his turn to pull a face. ‘Only I don’t think you are, by any means. You look more winded than appreciative.’

‘Being hit by a thunderbolt doesn’t usually call for appreciation,’ Chessie said with something of a snap. ‘What did you expect—that I’d fall into your arms?’

‘Hardly. You’d damage the crockery.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘If you’re saying you’d have preferred a conventional courtship, then I can only apologise. But we’ve always had a reasonable working relationship, and our marriage would simply be an extension of this. So I thought the pragmatic approach would have more credence than hearts and flowers.’

Chessie said with difficulty, ‘It doesn’t—worry you that we’re not in love with each other?’

‘You forget I’ve been down that path once already. I can’t speak for you, of course.’ His face was expressionless. ‘Is there anyone?’

She shook her head. ‘No—not any more.’ She kept her eyes fixed on the tablecloth. ‘So it would be just a business arrangement—not a real marriage at all.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Initially, anyway.’

Her heart thudded in renewed shock. ‘But later …?’

He shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ The blue eyes met hers directly. ‘Ultimately, we might think again.’ He paused. ‘But any alteration in the terms would only be by mutual agreement.’

‘I—I don’t know what to say.’

‘Then say nothing. Not yet. Just think about it, and take as long as you need. I promise I won’t pressure you.’

She flicked the tip of her tongue round dry lips. ‘And if I decide—no? Will I find myself out of a job?’

‘Do I seem that vindictive?’

She reddened. ‘No—no, of course not.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Very well. I’ll—consider it.’

‘Good.’ His smile was swift, without a trace of mockery this time. ‘Now shall I tell them to bring the dessert menu?’

‘No, thanks.’ Chessie doubted whether she could force another mouthful of food past her taut throat muscles. She pushed back her chair. ‘Just coffee, please. And will you excuse me?’

The ladies’ cloakroom was fortunately deserted. Chessie ran cool water over her wrists in a vain effort to quieten her hammering pulses.

She didn’t look like someone who’d just been poleaxed, she thought, staring at her reflection, although her eyes were enormous, and there was more colour in her cheeks than usual.

But nor did she look like the future wife of Miles Hunter.

But then she wasn’t really going to be a wife at all, she reminded herself, absently sifting her fingers through the bowl of pot pourri on the vanity unit, and savouring its fragrance.

Her present duties were being extended—that was all. Her change of status would permit her to sit at the opposite end of that beautiful oak dining table when there were guests, but little more.

She supposed he would expect her to move out of the flat, and live in the main house again.

She might even get her old bedroom back—for a while.

Initially. That was the word he’d used. But he’d also said ‘ultimately’, she thought, her heart beginning to pound unevenly. And what then?

She was shaking all over suddenly, her mind closing off in startled rejection.

‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘I couldn’t. I’ll have to tell him here and now that it’s impossible.’

But she’d promised to consider his proposal, and she’d have to pretend to do so at least.

But she could not marry him. Not in a million years. Not even if Alastair never came back …

Chessie drew a deep, trembling sigh. There—she’d faced it at last. She’d allowed herself to admit the existence of the dream—the little foolish, groundless hope that had been growing inside her ever since she’d heard Jenny’s news.

And how ironic that Miles should have chosen today of all days to present her with his own plan for her future.

‘It never rains but it pours.’ That was what Mrs Chubb, their current and longest-serving daily help would say.

Her little laugh turned into a groan. Once she’d told Miles her decision, it would be impossible for her to stay on at Silvertrees. In spite of his assurances, it would make things altogether too awkward.

There was a temping agency in the nearby town. She would make enquiries there, and then trawl through the letting bureaux for the cheapest possible flat.

Oh, why had Miles done this to her? she asked herself with something bordering on despair. Things had been fine as they were, and now everything was ruined again. And it wasn’t as if he even wanted her.

Although that was something to be grateful for, at least. Because what would she have done if he had ever made a move on her?

Before she could stop herself, for one startled, stunned moment, she found she was imagining herself in Miles’ arms, breathing the musky scent of his skin, feeling his mouth move on hers, coaxing her lips apart. His lean, long-fingered hand grazing her skin in a first caress …

Chessie came gasping back to reality, like a diver reaching the surface of some deep lake. Every inch of her body was tingling. Inside the silk shirt, her small breasts were burning, the nipples hardening helplessly.

Her eyes were green, like a drowsy cat’s, she thought, gazing at herself in horror. Her lips, parted and trembling.

There was no way she could return to the table like this. Or he would know. And then she would be totally lost.

Oh, God, she thought frantically. What’s happening to me? And what am I doing to myself?

And could find no answer that made any sense at all.

CHAPTER THREE

IF I don’t go back to the table soon, thought Chessie, combing her hair for the umpteenth time, Miles will be sending out a search party.

Her skin no longer scorched her, but she was still shaking inside, and her hand felt too unsteady to renew her lipstick.

The cloakroom door opened, and two girls came in, giggling together. Chessie was aware of the curious glances they sent her as they passed by.

She thought, I cannot go on hiding like this.

As she walked reluctantly back towards the dining area, she was waylaid by Jim Fewston. ‘Evening, Miss Lloyd. Hope you enjoyed your meal.’

‘The food was delicious,’ she assured him. But as for enjoyment …

‘And how’s that young sister of yours?’ He shook his head. ‘These days—they grow up before you know it.’

‘Yes,’ Chessie said. ‘I suppose they do.’

‘Sometimes,’ he went on. ‘they can be a little too grown-up for their own good.’

Suddenly, Chessie was uneasy. Up to then she’d thought Mr Fewston was just being the jovial landlord. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

He lowered his voice confidentially. ‘I hope she wasn’t too put out the other night. In a strange pub, she might have got away with it, but I’ve known her all her life, as you might say, and I know she’s not eighteen yet.’

He paused. ‘The local police are down on under-age drinking like a ton of bricks, and I’m not prepared to risk my licence. I don’t care for the lad she was with either, so

when she started pushing her luck, and asking for vodka and tonic, I had to ask them to leave.’

He sighed. ‘I’m sure you understand my position, and no hard feelings either way.’

‘I don’t think I understand much at all.’ Chessie shook her head. ‘Are you saying that Jenny has been in here trying to buy alcohol? I’m sorry, but you must be mistaken.’

‘No mistake, Miss Lloyd.’ His voice was kind, but firm. ‘Why don’t you ask her, my dear? Often a quiet word is all that’s needed. I know it can’t be easy raising a girl of that age when you’re only a slip of a thing yourself, but this is something that wants nipping in the bud. And I’d keep an eye on her boyfriends, too,’ he added with a touch of grimness.

‘But Jenny has no boyfriends.’ Chessie’s protest was bewildered. ‘She doesn’t even go out at night. She’s in her room, studying.’

‘Not every night, Miss Lloyd, and other publicans will tell you the same. I suggest you make enquiries.’ He gave her a polite nod, and went back into the bar.

She stood for a moment, staring after him dazedly, trying to assimilate what he’d told her. To make some sense of it. Jenny, she thought. Jenny?

As she made her way back to the table she saw that their waitress had brought the cafetière. But she didn’t move away immediately. She was smiling and talking as she rearranged the cups and cream jug, bending over the table towards Miles as she did so. Fiddling with the collar of her blouse, Chessie realised, and pushing back her hair.

My God, she thought incredulously. She’s coming on to him. She really is. And he’s not exactly brushing her off either. He’s leaning back in his chair, amused, but taking the whole thing in his stride.

It brought home to her once again just how little she really knew about the way in which Miles Hunter conducted his private life. In fact the entire evening had awoken all kinds of uncertainties she could well have done without.

She found herself moving forward more quickly, and the girl, noticing her approach, gave one last smile then hurried away.

As Chessie sank into her seat Miles glanced across at her, his brows snapping together interrogatively. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Not a thing.’ Chessie summoned a smile of her own. ‘I was just thinking how attentive the service is here.’ She could hear the waspishness in her voice, and groaned inwardly. The last thing she wanted was to sound jealous or proprietorial in any way.

But Miles, fortunately, seemed oblivious to any undercurrents.

‘Your friends run a smooth operation,’ he returned. ‘But that doesn’t alter the fact that there’s something the matter. What is it? Are you ill?’

‘No—really.’ She swallowed. ‘But it’s getting late. Would you mind if we just paid the bill and left?’

‘Yes, I think I would,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘Whatever Jenny’s been up to, it can wait until we’ve completed our first meal together in a civilised manner. In fact, I suggest you have a brandy. You look as if you need it.’

Indignation swamped her. ‘Why should it be anything to do with Jenny?’

‘Because that’s what that stricken look of yours inevitably means.’ His glance challenged her to deny it. ‘Will you have that brandy?’

Biting her lip, she nodded silently.

‘Good.’ Miles gave her a faint smile as he signalled to the waitress. ‘Rushing off in all directions won’t solve a thing.’

‘It’s so easy for you,’ she said bitterly. ‘Jenny is not your responsibility.’

‘Not at the moment, certainly.’ He saw the swift colour flood her face, and his smile widened sardonically. ‘Which, I suppose, is your cue to tell me that you wouldn’t have me if I came gift-wrapped.’

‘No.’ She didn’t look at him. ‘You asked me to think it over, and I will.’ After all, she reasoned, she needed a breathing space to find a new job—a new flat. And she needn’t feel too badly about it either. Judging by tonight’s performance, he’d have little trouble finding a replacement when she turned him down.

‘Hopefully it will have the added bonus of diverting your mind from Jenny, too.’ He paused. ‘I suppose you’ve discovered she isn’t the saintly, single-minded scholar you took her for.’

‘School used to mean everything to her.’ Her voice was tired.

‘I expect it did—while she was healing. It was safety—security, and she could use her studies to block out what was going on in the real world.’ Miles shrugged. ‘But the young recover fast, and now she’s ready to rebel.’

He leaned forward. ‘Face it, Francesca. Jenny’s bright, but she’s also spoiled, and brimming with resentment. Something had to give.’ He smiled brief thanks at the blushing waitress as she put Chessie’s brandy on the table, then reached for the cafetière. ‘Cream and sugar?’

‘Just black.’ Desolation had her by the throat. ‘I’ve failed her, haven’t I?’

‘Of course not. But you’re not experienced enough to see the warning signs, and impose sanctions in time.’ He handed over her cup. ‘So, instead of revising, she was cavorting round the neighbourhood, right?’

‘Apparently. The light was on in her room, and she used to play music all the time.’ Chessie shook her head. ‘It never occurred to me to check she was actually there. And, all the time, she was out, trying to con vodka and tonics out of unsuspecting landlords. With some fellow that Jim Fewston doesn’t approve of.’

Miles raised his eyebrows. ‘At least she’s not drinking alone. It could be worse.’

She gave a small, wintry smile. ‘I think it’s about as bad as it gets.’

‘Then you’re being naïve.’ He spoke gently. ‘But I do understand that you need to see Jenny and talk to her about it, so, as soon as we’ve drunk our coffee, I’ll take you home.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was subdued. ‘I—I’m sorry that I’ve spoiled your celebration.’

‘I promise that you haven’t spoiled a thing.’ He smiled at her. ‘On the contrary.’

He thought she was going to accept his proposal, Chessie realised as she drank her coffee. And, on the face of it, she had every reason to do so. Marrying Miles would provide her with the kind of security she could dream about otherwise.

He obviously saw it as a practical solution to both their problems. The same cold-blooded approach he brought to his novels, she thought bitterly. And although you were swept along by the sheer force of the action, you were invariably left feeling slightly cheated at the end.

But I can’t cheat him, she thought, swallowing. And I won’t cheat myself either. We both deserve better from life. And we don’t have to settle for second-best, just because we’re both still hung up on other people.

She studied him covertly under her lashes, wondering what the girl he’d loved had been like. Attractive, if not actually beautiful, that was certain. A trail-blazer, probably, bright and sharp, with bags of energy, sexual as well as emotional. And demanding high standards in every aspect of her life, including the physical attraction of the man she’d chosen to share it. But ruthless when he’d failed to satisfy her criteria.

She jumped, startled, when he said softly, ‘You’re looking bereft again. I think we’d better go.’

While he was at the cash desk, dealing with the bill, Chessie wandered out into the reception area, and stood looking without seeing at the display of watercolour landscapes by local artists that were featured there.

It was the sudden wave of fragrance in the air—half forgotten, but haunting—commingling the scent of some heavy sweet perfume and Sobranie cigarettes that alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone. And that the newcomer was known to her.

She half turned, arranging her face into polite pleasure, expecting to greet an acquaintance, and stopped dead, staring with incredulity at the woman framed in the archway that led to the bar.

She was eye-catching enough, her lush figure wrapped in a silky leopard-skin print dress, and a black pashmina thrown carelessly over her arm.

Violet eyes under extravagantly darkened lashes swept Chessie from head to toe in an inspection bordering on insolence. Full red lips parted in a smile that combined mockery with a hint of malice.

‘Well, well,’ Linnet Markham said softly. ‘If it isn’t the little Francesca. Now, who would have thought it?’

‘Lady Markham.’ Chessie swallowed. ‘Linnet. So you’re back.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ Linnet drawled. ‘I’m sure the local grapevine has been working overtime.’ She strolled forward. ‘But I’m astonished to find that you’re still around. I’d expected you to have made a fresh start somewhere a long way from here—where you’re not known.’

Chessie flushed. ‘Fortunately not everyone agrees with you. And I needed to provide stability for my sister.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Linnet said reflectively. ‘The sister. She was the pretty one, if my memory serves.’

‘Indeed,’ Chessie agreed quietly. ‘And with brains, too. In fact, you’d hardly credit that we were related.’ She paused. ‘Is Sir Robert here with you?’

Linnet’s smile developed a slight rigidity. ‘No, he’s still in London. I came down ahead to oversee arrangements at the house. You simply can’t rely on staff,’ she added, dismissing the faithful Mrs Cummings with a wave of her hand. ‘I’ve booked into a hotel for a couple of nights. I just popped into the Hart for a drink for old times’ sake.’