Desperate Measures (2 page)

All the lights were on, and Philippa paused, blinking a little after

the relative dimness of the hall. Then, as her eyes grew accustomed

to the glare, and she saw him, she stopped dead, completely taken

aback.

The head of an important company like De Courcy should be an

older man, she found herself thinking dazedly. Someone heavyweight,

middle-aged and mature—like Lennox Underhay, for instance.

But this man was young, and she realised, incredibly attractive,

as her artist's eye took in the underlying strength of his superb bone-structure which would last long after his surface looks were gone. The thick dark hair, waving back from his forehead, the green eyes with

their almost feminine sweep of lashes, the firm-lipped mouth and

deeply cleft chin—all these were only a bonus.

He was tall too, his broad-shouldered, lean-hipped body

perfectly set off by the formal elegance of his evening clothes.

He looked surprised as well, the dark brows snapping together

autocratically above his high-

bridged nose as he looked her unhurriedly up and down.

Philippa's hands felt damp suddenly, and she wiped her palms on

her jeans. The movement broke the silent stillness which seemed to

enclose them, and he moved too, suddenly, abruptly, as if he was

angry about something.

But when he spoke, his cool, faintly accented voice was only

meditative. 'So—you are Philippa.'

'Yes.' She swallowed, still staring at him as if mesmerised, aware

that her throat was dry, and that her pulses were doing disturbing

things. 'And you are—Monsieur de Courcy.'

He smiled briefly and sardonically. 'Oh, I think, in the

circumstances, we should be less formal, perhaps. My name is Alain.'

'What circumstances?' Suddenly she was afraid. I didn't mean

what I said about being a high-class call-girl, she placated some

unknown but clearly humourless deity. 'I—I don't understand,

monsieur'

'You have not been told?' The green eyes met hers, held them.

'Then the task—the privilege is mine, it seems. You and I,

mademoiselle, are destined to be married.'

For a moment, Philippa's mind seemed numb. She couldn't

move or speak—or even think coherently. Incredible, Monica had said.

But it was worse than that. It was completely insane. The word kept

running through her brain. The head of De Courcy International had

gone stark raving mad, and they were the only ones who knew.

'You had better sit,' Alain de Courcy added curtly. 'Before you fall

down.' His gaze raked her again, taking in the cling of the tight-fitting jeans to her

slender hips, the slight swell of her breasts under the thin shirt.

The frown returned. 'How old are you, mademoiselle?

'I'm—nearly twenty.' She ran her tongue round her dry lips. 'Did

you really say—married?'

He nodded unsmilingly.

She swallowed. 'But I've never seen you before in my life—never

even knew you existed until tonight.'

'Nor I you,' he said with a slight shrug. 'But that need not be an

obstacle.' He fetched a high-backed chair and set it for her, then

placed another one opposite for himself. 'Before you reject me out of hand as a dangerous lunatic, allow me to explain. I need to be

married, mademoiselle, and urgently too. Before I came to dinner

tonight, I was seriously contemplating advertising for a wife in some newspaper.'

This must be some tasteless joke,' Philippa said thickly. 'I shall

never forgive Monica—or Lennox. I suppose it was because I made a

nuisance of myself earlier—said I was desperate for money.'

'There is no joke,' Alain de Courcy said quietly. 'I was distrait at

dinner, and they persuaded me to speak of my problems. It was then

that your stepmother suggested that your dilemma might provide the

solution to mine. This is why you were asked to come here tonight.

This is why we are alone together now.'

She took a breath. 'I—can't believe this. It's crazy!' She sent him

a scornful look. 'Putting an ad in a paper, indeed! You're the last

person in the world who needs to resort to something like that.'

He smiled faintly.
'Merci du compliment
—if that's what it was.

But the truth is, I know very few women of a suitable age and

background and even fewer who would allow themselves to be taken in

marriage in such

a headlong way, without a conventional period of courtship at

least—if not vows of undying love and devotion. Anything less,

however insincere, would insult them.'

'You don't think it would insult me?' Philippa stiffened.

Alain de Courcy shrugged. 'From what little I have learned

tonight, I don't think you can afford to be insulted,' he countered

levelly. 'I understand you need a substantial sum of money to pay for your father's medical treatment in the United States, and maintain

him there in a private clinic. If you marry me, I will make sure

sufficient funds are made available for you to use in this way—or as

you wish.' He paused. 'You need me for your father's future,

mademoiselle. I need you for mine. Do we have a bargain?'

Monica had said, 'Listen to him.' Philippa found herself shivering.

'First, you'd better explain why you need to be married so

quickly,' she said. 'Why can't you wait— find a wife whom you might—

care for?'

'Marriage, ma chere, is a lottery,' he said cynically. 'Until now I

have always managed to avoid buying a ticket. But now I find myself

under pressure through my family.'

He paused. 'I inherited the chair of De Courcy International from

my grandfather. Since then, my uncle Louis has always borne a

grudge that he was passed over for me. For the past two years, he has been working against me, trying to thwart deals I was involved in—

attempting to undermine my authority by castigating me to the more

sober members of my board as an irresponsible playboy.'

He shot her a swift glance. 'You smile at last, mademoiselle, and

I too found the situation amusing—once. But lately it has become

altogether more serious. My name has recently been linked with a

woman, who is married to a man of importance in the government.

There have been hints in the papers— rumours and innuendo in the

circles I move in.'

He shrugged. 'There has been gossip before—I am not a saint—

but this time my uncle has managed to gain support for his opinion

that my conduct is a disgrace, and that, through me, De Courcy

International is likely to be plunged into a major scandal with all kinds of repercussions. I am, he says, unfit to be chairman any longer.

'Accordingly, he has called an emergency meeting in two weeks'

time to discuss the situation, and call for my resignation. He plans to become chairman in my place, against my grandfather's expressed

wish, and that is now a distinct possibility. You must believe that it would also be a disaster. You see my problem?'

Philippa bit her lip. 'I—suppose so. But maybe your uncle's right

—perhaps you are irresponsible. After all, if you're having an affair with this woman—neglecting the company for her...'

His mouth twisted. 'My uncle,
mademoiselle
, has an insufferably bourgeois mind. My private life has no bearing on my role as head of

De Courcy. No woman has ever come between me and my work, or

ever will.'

He hesitated, his expression rueful. 'There is an additional

factor. My uncle has a daughter, Sidonie. He has dropped

unmistakable hints that if I were to offer marriage to my cousin his

opposition to me would cease immediately.'

'Then isn't that the obvious solution?'

'You would not suggest such a thing if you had ever met my

cousin Sidonie. She has a bad complexion, and the disposition of a

jealous shrew.'

Philippa bit her lip. 'I might be just as bad.'

'That is a risk I shall have to take.' His eyes swept with

disturbing candour over her face, and down her body. 'Your skin at

least is clear—what I can see of it. And you are also a loyal and loving daughter, or so Lady Underhay assures me. That is why she and her

husband suggested I should have this interview with you.'

He paused. 'We both have dire problems, mademoiselle, and to

solve them, only desperate measures will do. Agreed?'

Desperate measures, she thought. Her own words come back to

haunt her.

'Well—perhaps.' She spread her hands helplessly. 'But—

marriage...'

He studied her for a long moment. 'The implications of that word

deter you, peut-etre. You wish to be reassured about the exact nature of the relationship I am offering?'

Philippa found she was blushing to the roots of her hair. 'Yes.'

'Well, that is natural.' He was silent for a moment. 'I am not a

savage, Philippa, but at the same time I need to ensure that the de

Courcy name continues to the next generation. I will, one day, ask you to give me a son. But you will be given time—as much as you need—

to—accustom yourself before that happens. Is that the assurance you

require?'

'Yes—no—I don't know.' Philippa gripped her hands together.

'Oh, this is ridiculous—an impossible situation!'

'As you say. But it is also a practical solution to our mutual

difficulties.'

'And that's all that matters?'

'What else is there?' He sounded amused.

'What about—love?'

'What about it, indeed?' He was laughing openly now. His teeth

were very white, she noticed irrelevantly. 'But as you mentioned

earlier, mademoiselle, we have only just met. I feel any declaration of passion on my part would be premature...'

'I didn't mean that,' she said angrily.

'No? Then are you telling me there is already an important

relationship in your life?'

The frankly sceptical note in his voice grated on her, and she

lifted her chin, her blush deepening hectically.

'Is it so impossible?'

'It is unlikely,' he said with infuriating calmness. 'You have a

disturbingly—untouched quality.'

She glared at him. 'As a matter of fact, I was really wondering

what would happen if, after we were married, one of us—both of us—

met someone else.'

'Marriage is not always a barrier to such relationships,' he said

softly. 'As long as discretion is maintained.'

'That's an abominably cynical point of view!'

'And, again, I thought I was being practical,' Alain de Courcy

retorted. 'In any event, we are not yet married, so why look for

difficulties where there are none?'

'Oh, of course, everything's going to be plain sailing,' Philippa

flung back at him scathingly. 'I can see that.'

He was silent for a long moment, then he said levelly, 'Philippa,

marriage is never easy. Even if we had met and fallen madly in love,

there would still have to be—adjustments. Our situation is unusual,

perhaps, but who can say that a marriage which springs from mutual

convenience and friendship cannot succeed eventually?'

'Except that we're not friends,' she said in a stifled voice.

'Not yet, perhaps, but is the prospect so impossible?'

'Almost completely, I'd have said.' She shook her head. 'Oh,

there must be someone else you can ask.'

He shrugged. 'As I have said, I can always advertise. But to whom

will you go for the money that you need

With such desperation? Or did your stepmother exaggerate

this?'

'No.' Philippa bent her head wretchedly. 'She was quite right.

Only—I just didn't think it would—come to this.' She glanced at him.

'You—wouldn't consider just—lending me the money.'

'Only with a marriage certificate for security. I want to buy instant respectability from you,
ma cherie
. I spend a lot of my time in your country. I propose to tell my family and friends that we met on a

previous visit, and I have been courting you ever since. We kept our

marriage private because of your father's ill health.' He snapped his fingers. 'Voila! All the rumours silenced at one blow.'

She sighed deeply. 'It isn't that simple. I can't answer you now—

tonight. You've got to let me have time to think—to decide...'

'That is reasonable. I am staying at the Savoy Hotel. You may

contact me there.' He got to his feet, and she followed suit. 'But don't keep me waiting too long, mademoiselle. For both of us, time is of the essence.' He paused. "Would it make any difference if I told you I possess one of your father's pictures?'

'Oh?' Her lips parted in renewed astonishment. 'Which one?'

'The Bridge at Montascaux. It would be a pity to let such talent

and vigour—waste away.' He allowed his words to sink in for a few

seconds, then smiled at her. 'Now, may I drive you home?'

'Oh, no, thank you.' Philippa took an involuntary step backwards

away from him. She felt as if she'd been inadvertently locked into a

cage with a tiger, and lucky to escape with her life.

But if I marry him, she thought, panic closing her throat, there'll

be no escape. I shall have to live with him—share a roof. Eventually—a bed.

Her mind blanked off, refusing to accept such a possibility.

Yet there was the money for Gavin—available for her, as he'd

promised. That was what she had to remember. She needed a miracle,

and perhaps that was what she was being offered.

But it didn't feel like any miracle. It felt like a two-edged sword—