His Convenient Marriage (5 page)

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 di¬rectly. 'Ultimately, we might think again.' He paused. 'But any alteration in the terms would only be by mutual agree¬ment.'

`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 un¬evenly. 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 reach¬ing 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, comb¬ing 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, gig¬gling 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 be¬wildered. '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 re¬arranged 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 con¬ducted 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 in¬wardly. The last thing she wanted was to sound jealous or proprietorial in any way.

But Miles, fortunately, seemed oblivious to any under¬currents.

'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 inevi¬tably 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 dis¬covered 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 ca¬vorting 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 naive.' 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 oth¬erwise.

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 look¬ing 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 land-scapes by local artists that were featured there.

It was the sudden wave of fragrance in the air—half for¬gotten, 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, star¬ing 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.