The Marriage Proposition

For the first time she was glad to be going home. Nick’s arrival had ruined everything, and she could only be thankful that he’d turned up at the end of her holiday rather than the beginning.

‘I haven’t finished with you.’ Those had been his words, so there was every chance that he might come looking for her again. And it was only a fleeting satisfaction to know that he wouldn’t find her. Not this time.

St Antoine was not big enough for both of them, she told herself with bitter humour. But back in Britain there would be more places to hide. And backup from the rest of the family. Her father, in particular, had always been uneasy about this unholy alliance, so she could count on his support if Nick started making a nuisance of himself.

But it’s all my own fault, she thought bleakly. I should never have got involved in the first place. Should have dismissed the idea of such a marriage as madness. And to hell with family solidarity.

Nor should she have allowed herself to be sweet-talked into taking her current job. She’d been happy where she was. She’d had a life. Whereas now all she seemed to be doing was sorting out one mess after another.

That was two strikes, she reminded herself grimly. She’d have to make damned sure there wasn’t a third.

Sighing, Paige turned on to her back and stared up at the ceiling.

She needed to get back into control, and fast. But it was the sheer unexpectedness of the thing that had thrown her. Looking up—and seeing Nick’s face in the crowd.

Reminding her, painfully, of the first time she’d ever seen him. It was one of the memories she’d tried so hard to suppress, she thought wretchedly, yet there it was, taunting her. As vivid in her brain as if it had happened yesterday. Or even—tonight.

It had been a hen party. One of the girls on the magazine had just got engaged, and a few of them had arranged to meet in a local wine bar to celebrate the august event. Paige had had some work to finish, so she’d arrived last to find the other three well ahead of her on champagne, flushed, slightly rowdy, and looking for mischief.

‘We’re scoring the local talent out of ten,’ Becky declared loudly. ‘So far none of them have risen above two.’ She giggled. ‘And half of them look as if they couldn’t rise at all.’

Paige groaned inwardly. This was clearly not going to be her kind of evening, but she was there, and for Lindsay’s sake she was going to make the best of it.

Already their corner table was attracting a certain amount of attention from the bar’s predominantly male clientele—some amused, some predatory, and some definitely contemptuous.

And, of those, one in particular stood out. He was at the long bar counter with another man. He was tall, and very dark, impeccable in his City suit. An interesting face, too, all planes and angles, with a cool sardonic mouth. Yet it wasn’t his looks, Paige thought, touching the tip of her tongue to suddenly dry lips. Not altogether. There was something about him, not easily defined, which would always draw the eye wherever he was. A sense of power. Of a control that was almost tangible even across the crowded room.

None of which took into account the evident disdain in the hooded glance being aimed at Paige and her companions. But even as she registered what was going on his gaze switched suddenly, making her momentarily the sole focus of his attention, then, as she felt her throat muscles tightening involuntarily, he looked away, his entire stance registering complete and utter indifference.

As she choked back a gasp, Paige felt a nudge from Becky. ‘Who’s your haughty friend?’

Paige shrugged. ‘You tell me.’ She made a business of picking up her glass and sipping from it.

‘Well, he’s the best of a bad bunch.’ Becky pulled a face. ‘God, what a deathly place.’

‘Let’s lighten it up, then.’ Rhona, blonde and chirpy, filled all their flutes to the brim again. ‘On the count of three we empty our glasses, and the last one to finish does a forfeit. How’s that?’

Paige groaned inwardly. She couldn’t even drink water at speed, so she was bound to lose, but it was clear that if she objected she’d be the only dissenting voice. Easier to go with the flow, she thought resignedly, picking up her glass and waiting for the signal.

Just as she’d expected, she finished last, amid giggles and barracking.

‘So what’s her forfeit going to be?’ Lindsay demanded eagerly. ‘Walk round the room without touching the floor? Mime a full strip?’

‘Better than that.’ Becky’s smile was calculating. ‘She’s going over to Mr Snooty at the bar there, and offer him a tenner for a kiss. That’ll teach him to look down his nose at us.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Paige began, alarmed.

‘You have to do it,’ Rhona warned, laughing. ‘Or we’ll make you strip for real.’

Slowly, Paige reached down and extracted a ten-pound note from her bag. Gulping down that champagne had been bad news, she thought detachedly. She was feeling lightheaded, and the pulse in her throat seemed to be beating a warning tattoo.

None of the others would even hesitate, and she knew it. They’d be marching over already, to issue the challenge and put him on the spot. But it wasn’t her style. Strangers suffocated her with shyness. As for this cold-eyed stranger—well, simply asking him the time would be ordeal enough.

As for anything else …

The best she could hope for was that he’d treat her as a drunken pest and ignore her. The worst-case scenario was that she might actually have to kiss him. Or let him kiss her, she amended quickly.

Do it, she commanded herself, rising to her feet. Get it over with. Then you’ll be off the hook and you can go home.

She needed to saunter with purpose, but it was as much as she could do to put one foot in front of the other without tripping. She arranged a smile. Tried to rehearse a few words. But her mind was blank.

Her approach had been noticed, she realised. Her quarry had half turned and was watching her, dark eyes narrowed, mouth unsmiling.

Paige quickened her pace defiantly.

‘Hi.’ Fright made her voice husky, but maybe that was no bad thing.

His brows lifted. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’

‘Actually, yes.’ She widened her smile and lowered her lashes. She lifted her hand, letting him see the money, crackling the note between restless fingers. ‘I’d like to buy a kiss.’

All the neighbouring conversation seemed suddenly to have ceased. The silence that surrounded them simmered with amusement, and an odd tension.

‘Really?’ He drawled the word, leaning back against the bar. The dark gaze captured hers and held it, something glinting in its depths. Mockery, she realised, and something less easily recognised. ‘Only a kiss?’ He looked her up and down very slowly, taking in the neat black dress and the matching jacket, the dark tights and low-heeled pumps, and mentally discarding them.

Undressing her, she realised, shocked, with his eyes.

She swallowed, her last vestiges of bravado ebbing away under the calculated insolence of his stare. It was suddenly like one of those awful dreams where you find yourself naked in public, she thought, resisting an impulse to cover herself with her hands. Common sense told her to walk away, but she seemed unable to move.

Helplessly she watched as he reached inside his coat and took out his wallet.

Mesmerised, Paige saw him produce not one but two fifty-pound notes, and hold them up in front of her shocked face.

‘A counter-offer,’ he said softly. ‘But I’ll expect a damned sight more than a kiss—darling. So how about it?’

She needed a response, a swift comeback that would be witty, succinct, and ultimately devastating. Something to leave him with egg on his face, and make her the heroine of the moment, walking away victorious.

Instead, she heard the first ripple of laughter from their audience, and at the same moment felt a great wave of heat enveloping her from head to foot as she was overwhelmed and annihilated by the blush of the century.

She found herself immobilised, crucified with embarrassment as the guffaws rose in volume around her, and she heard the jeering sotto voce comments that accompanied them.

‘In your dreams,’ was all she could manage at last, her voice a stranger’s, as she forced herself to move. To turn and walk back to the table, trying hard not to run. Attempting to hide her discomfiture. Her humiliation.

At the same time trying to accept that she had no one but herself to blame. That she’d been a total idiot to allow the others to persuade her into such a piece of arrant stupidity. Although the realisation did nothing to calm her feelings or heal the wound to her amour propre.

‘What happened?’ Lindsay’s eyes were like saucers. ‘What on earth did he say to you?’

Paige shrugged, thrusting the money back into her bag with a shaking hand. Her skin was still burning, her mouth dry.

‘Just my luck.’ She tried for lightness. ‘A complete sense of humour bypass. He—turned me down.’

And for that at least she had to be thankful, she thought, as she contemplated for one shaken second what it might have been like to feel his mouth on hers, even momentarily, and her senses went into sudden overspin.

‘Miserable bastard.’ Becky turned a rancorous look towards the bar, and the array of grinning faces observing them. ‘Oh, come on,’ she added impatiently. ‘Let’s get out of here and find somewhere more interesting.’

Let’s just get out of here, Paige amended under her breath. She wanted to be outside, breathing what passed for fresh air. Or finding a convenient corner to die in.

She deliberately didn’t look either to the right or to the left as she walked with the others towards the door. The joke was over, and the audience had found other things to occupy them.

But there was always the possibility that he might be watching her go, and the very idea made her flesh crawl.

Once on the pavement, she firmly refused to accompany the others to a club Becky knew of, and thankfully hailed a passing cab.

She gave the address of her flat and sank back into the corner, closing her eyes wearily. But the stranger’s image was suddenly there, in the darkness behind her eyelids, and she sat up abruptly, smothering a faint gasp.

She couldn’t understand why she was so upset. Why she was still shaking and her insides were churning as they were.

She’d behaved like a fool, and he’d treated her with the contempt she probably deserved, but it went no further than that.

So why was she over-reacting like this—when the best thing she could do was put the whole nasty little incident right out of her mind?

I mustn’t let it matter any more, she told herself with determination. I’m sure that he’ll never give it a second thought—in fact he’s probably forgotten about it already. So there’s no reason for me to go on torturing myself either.

It was just a chance encounter, that’s all. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and did a stupid thing. But it’s over, and I’ll never have to set eyes on him again as long as I live.

The conviction brought a kind of comfort with it.

But, just to be on the safe side, she would make sure that she never, ever set foot in that particular wine bar again, she decided with a small, fierce nod.

And Becky and the others could read what they liked into that.

I was so sure I was safe, Paige thought, staring sightlessly into the darkness, but what did I know? How could I possibly have foreseen what was going to happen? That within a few short weeks he would be back in my life, and no longer a stranger?

With a faint groan, she turned on to her stomach, burying her face in the pillow.

And now here he was again, she thought restlessly. Turning up like a bad penny. Reminding her starkly of all the past humiliations and hurt she’d suffered at his hands. His very presence a threat to her new-won peace of mind.

If she allowed him to be.

I’m going home tomorrow, she thought. And Nick’s going back to the yacht, and his friends, and his blonde. And, if I play my cards right, the next time we are obliged to meet we should be divorced, and I’ll be free of him for ever.

A reassuring thought to go to sleep on.

She was just finishing breakfast the next morning when Jack appeared on the hotel terrace, looking serious.

‘Brad’s just rung,’ he said. ‘Apparently that storm is building up, and Hilaire would like to be on his way before they close the airport at Sainte Marie.’

‘No problem. I’m all ready.’ Paige hastily downed the last of her coffee and rose.

‘But I’m not,’ Angela wailed. ‘I thought we were going to have a nice leisurely morning together.’

‘You still could, but only if Paige is prepared to stay on until the storm blows itself out.’ Jack gave her a questioning look. ‘You know none of us want you to go.’

‘Then now’s the ideal time—before I outstay my welcome.’ Paige gave Angela a swift hug. ‘Life’s certainly not dull here. I’ve never had to outrun a storm before.’

Although it wasn’t just the weather she was trying to outfox, she thought as she went upstairs to check her room one last time. She wasn’t surprised that warnings were being stepped up. It had been dull since dawn, the sun an orange disc behind a veil of steely cloud. The sea was a grey mirror and in the garden below it was still, the palms hanging their heads, motionless.

Brad was waiting when she came downstairs, and there was a flurry of hugs and goodbyes.

‘Come back soon,’ Angela called as they drove off.

‘I’ll second that.’ Brad shot her a smiling glance.

She said lightly, ‘You couldn’t keep me away.’

The car windows were open as they drove to the airstrip, but there wasn’t even the hint of a breeze to ease the leaden atmosphere. There was an odd threatening stillness in the air, as if the natural order had been suspended and was waiting for what might come.

Formalities at the strip were brief. Brad stood with her while her bags were being stowed on the small, smart plane waiting on the tarmac.

As he bent to kiss her, she was passive in his embrace.

He released her reluctantly. He said urgently, ‘You still have time to change your mind. You could stay.’

She sighed inwardly. ‘Brad, I told you—I have to work for my living.’

‘And I’ve told you—I’ll give you a job any time you like.’ His voice roughened. ‘I’ll give you anything you want. Hell, Paige, I don’t want to lose you.’

But there was never any question of that, because I never belonged to you in the first place, she thought. And it would never have worked anyway.

She paused, wondering how she could be so certain. Why she knew this kind, successful, attractive man was not for her, when most other women of her acquaintance would have thanked God for him.

He kissed her again, but in farewell and release, and she gave him a final smile and walked up the steps into the aircraft.

There were four seats, all unoccupied.

‘Am I the only passenger?’ she asked Hilaire, who was already at the controls, making last minute adjustments.

‘One more, just.’ He sent her a cheerful smile over his shoulder. ‘As soon as he’s on board we go.’

Paige hesitated, trying to deal with her uneasiness. The strange sense of foreboding that assailed her. ‘I suppose it is still safe to fly?’

‘You trust old Hilaire, lady.’ His tone was reassuring. ‘I’ll look after you. Get you to Sainte Marie soon as the gentleman comes.’ He paused. ‘And here he is now.’

At last, Paige thought with relief. The quicker they were off, the better she’d be pleased.

As the newcomer entered the cabin she looked up, her mouth curving in a polite, welcoming smile. Then she stopped, her body suddenly rigid, the breath escaping her lungs in a gasp of pure shock.

Nick Destry said softly, ‘Well, what a small world it is.’ He slotted himself into the seat in front of her and fastened his seatbelt, then turned to look back at her. His edged smile did not reach his eyes. ‘Good morning, darling. Running away again?’

She said between her teeth, ‘I am now.’

She fumbled with her own belt, trying desperately to release it. She had to leave—to get off the plane. Because a tropical storm was a welcome alternative to being cooped up with Nick, even for a short flight.

She thought, I can’t—I won’t endure it …

But as the belt finally gave way she heard the engine start, and the plane began to move, preparing for take-off.

And she knew it was too late.

CHAPTER THREE

PAIGE found her voice. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Flying to Sainte Marie,’ Nick returned tersely. ‘But perhaps it’s a trick question.’

‘But yesterday you were on board someone’s yacht.’ Jerkily she refastened her seatbelt.

‘Yes.’ He shrugged. ‘But not as a permanent feature. I always planned to disembark at Sainte Marie and fly back. And I can’t afford to hang round in harbour at St Antoine waiting for this storm to pass, so I decided to use Hilaire’s taxi service.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be much missed.’ She spoke before she could stop herself, and could have bitten her tongue out. She sounded as if she was jealous, she groaned inwardly.

‘Allow me to pay you the same compliment,’ Nick drawled. ‘I saw Brad Coulter trudging back to his car like a lost soul. Did you console him with a fond farewell?’

‘That,’ she said curtly, ‘is none of your business.’

‘And that,’ he said, ‘is open to debate.’ He paused. ‘After all, my sweet, we are still married.’

‘A technicality,’ Paige put in quickly.

‘But an important one. So it’s natural that I should have—concerns.’

‘“Natural” is not a word that I’d ever apply to our relationship,’ she said tautly. ‘I can’t wait to put a stop to the whole ridiculous pretence.’

‘Then we have one thing in common at least,’ Nick returned coolly. ‘In the meantime, is it possible that we might treat each other with a measure of civility? Otherwise a thirty-minute flight is going to seem like eternity.’

It will anyway, Paige thought, biting her lip. Aloud, she said, ‘I can do civil. But I won’t put up with the kind of wind-up that I was subjected to on the beach last night. No more jokes about getting me back. Is that clearly understood?’

He surveyed her for a moment, then shrugged. ‘That’s fine with me. Although the temptation was quite irresistible, believe me. But—all joking cancelled. Will that do?’

Paige looked coldly back at him. ‘Thank you.’

He gave her a brief nod and turned away, reaching down to the briefcase he’d brought on board with him and extracting a sheaf of papers.

The conversation, it seemed, was over. The contact broken. Which was exactly what she wanted.

Paige found herself confronted by a view of the back of his head. His dark hair was thick and silky, and in need of a cut. But that was one of the few things he was careless about, she thought. A curious lapse in one who normally conducted his life with such precision.

Or was it? After all, how much did she really know about him?

But, again, that was how she wanted it, she reminded herself. This way there would be no intimate details to torment her memory when the final legalities had been completed.

She sat back in her seat, firmly turning her own attention to the rapidly diminishing airfield beneath them while her thoughts continued to run riot. Because it wasn’t just a matter of thirty minutes, she thought, an icy fist clenching inside her. It looked as if they were catching the same plane back to Britain, too, and that meant hours. But on a big passenger jet it was unlikely they would be thrust into this kind of unwelcome proximity.

Not, she thought, with a wry twist of her mouth, unless I’m very unlucky and someone upgrades me to business class.

But good fortune had played little part in their dealings with each other so far, she was forced to admit.

It had been barely a month after their first disastrous encounter in the wine bar when she’d received a call from Toby to say the family equivalent of a three-line whip had been issued for the coming weekend.

‘It’s not awfully convenient,’ she objected, frowning. ‘I was thinking of going over to Paris. The magazine’s doing a series on the problems of single travellers and—’

‘It’s not only single travellers who have problems,’ Toby interrupted. ‘We have a finance guy to entertain, all stops pulled out.’ He paused for dramatic emphasis. ‘And it’s really important that we make a good impression.’

‘Is it?’ Paige pulled a face at the telephone. ‘I don’t think I like the sound of this. What’s been going on?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Toby told her. ‘We need some extra financial backup in the short term, and it’s not been as easy to raise as we thought. Hence the charm offensive. We want to assure this chap that we’re a united family firm, solidly established and totally reliable. Come on, Sis,’ he added in a wheedling tone. ‘It’s not often we ask you to get involved, and you’re a member of the board, too.’

‘Nominally, yes.’ Paige made the concession without pleasure.

She knew what was behind this, of course. Denise had clearly gone into panic mode at the thought of acting as sole hostess, but she would still resent her sister-in-law being brought in to help. Paige would have to perform miracles of tact and diplomacy to ensure the weekend ran smoothly, and prevent Denise retiring in sulky dudgeon to her room with a convenient migraine attack.

I really don’t need this, she told herself.

‘Paige?’ Toby’s voice was urgent. ‘Dad’s relying on you, you know. We all are.’

The emotional blackmail card, Paige recalled bitterly. It had never failed. But if she’d had the remotest idea what form this reliance was going to take she’d have gone to Paris and never returned.

Instead, she’d left work early on Friday and driven down to Priors Hampton. Like a lamb to the slaughter.

Denise, on the other hand, had been behaving like a headless chicken, roaming around the house, giving the staff orders which she rescinded in the next breath.

‘So there you are,’ she greeted her sister-in-law fretfully. ‘He hasn’t arrived yet, thank God, but it’s all turning into a disaster. I’ve given him the Blue Room, but Toby says it should have been the South Suite, and I don’t know if I’ve got time to change everything over.’ Her mouth went into its habitual pout. ‘And Mrs Nixon’s been sulking ever since the catering firm arrived. I’m terrified that she’s going to give notice.’

‘Very unlikely,’ Paige said briskly, putting down her bag. ‘She’s always hated cooking for formal dinner parties. And the Blue Room is fine,’ she added firmly. ‘He’s a money man, not visiting royalty.’

Denise tossed her blonde head. ‘You wouldn’t think so to hear Toby and your father. Everything has to be just so. I asked Toby if I should put flowers in his room, and he nearly bit my head off. Told me I wasn’t to bother him with trivia. But how can I know what to do if he won’t tell me?’

‘It must be very difficult for you,’ Paige said soothingly. ‘And I’d go ahead with the flowers. If he doesn’t like them, his wife probably will.’

‘I don’t think he’s got a wife.’ Denise frowned with the effort of remembering. ‘He’s certainly not bringing her.’ A look of horror dawned. ‘At least I don’t think so. Should I ask Toby? Put extra towels in his bathroom?’

‘I think I’d leave things just as they are.’ Paige patted her arm. ‘I’m sure it will all be perfect.’

‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Denise tossed over her shoulder as she moved off again. ‘All you’ve had to do is show up.’

Paige, who’d crammed an entire day’s work into a morning in order to arrive punctually, bit her lip hard. She told herself resolutely that it was not all Denise’s fault. She hadn’t been trained to run a large house and cope with difficult guests. Yet on her marriage she’d found she was expected to step straight into the shoes of her late mother-in-law, who’d been a charming and competent hostess and who would have sailed serenely through the current situation.