In The Best Man's Bed

“Certainly I do. Very hard, in fact.”

“No, you don’t, and you’re not the fish man. You’re Ethan Beaumont!”

He inclined his head. “And where is it written that I can’t be both?”

Oh, rats! Talk about putting her foot in it! “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Because it was more informative listening to you running off at the mouth. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about myself?”

“No,” she mumbled, so embarrassed she wanted to die. “I don’t have anything else to say right now.”

“In that case, allow me to escort you up to the house where, at my invitation, you may swim in the pool to your heart’s content.”

“I don’t think I feel like swimming anymore. I think I’ll just go back to the guest house.”

“And disturb the delicate bride-to-be? I won’t hear of it.” He towered over her and took her elbow in a not-to-be-thwarted grip. “Come along, Mademoiselle. Let’s not waste any more time debating the issue. It’s already been settled. By the big cheese.”

CHAPTER TWO

“YOU’RE supposed to be digging for oil in Venezuela,” she panted, struggling to keep up with his long-legged stride.

“We don’t dig, we drill.”

“You know what I mean!”

“Oh yes,” he assured her, the seductive baritone of his voice laced with irony. “You have a way with words which leaves a man in little doubt about their meaning.”

Although she’d sooner have poked hot needles in her eyes than offer an apology, she knew one was called for. “I’m afraid I was out of line, talking to you the way I did when I first saw you, and I’m sorry.”

“You should be. Is it customary in your part of the world to criticize one’s host to his employees?”

The distaste with which he said “your part of the world” made it sound as if she’d emerged from under a very unsavory rock. “No,” she said. “But where I come from, hosts aren’t usually so inhospitable. Nor do they go around impersonating other people.”

“Inhospitable?” His sleekly elegant brows rose in mock surprise. “Your accommodation falls short of your expectations? The food is not to your liking? My staff have treated you discourteously?”

“Dinner was exquisite, your staff couldn’t be kinder or more helpful, and my accommodation,” she replied, thinking of the delicately fashioned iron four-poster bed with its Sea Island cotton sheets, and elegant draperies which more closely resembled silk wedding-veil tulle than mosquito netting, “is everything I could wish for. It’s the atmosphere around here that leaves something to be desired.”

“A sentiment which my future sister-in-law appears to share. Dare I ask why?”

“Let’s just say she’s hardly the poster child for bridal bliss, and leave it at that.”

He held back the fronds of a giant fern and waited for her to pass by. Just there, the path was narrow, an iridescent green lane awash with the scent of the jungle, a thousand hidden flowers—and him.

He smelled of morning and cool water faintly kissed by the tropics. He oozed raw strength, the kind which defied the elements. He would neither wilt under the sun’s heat, nor bend before the storms which swept over the island during hurricane season, and as long as she didn’t look at him, she could prolong the illusion that he was exactly what she’d first assumed him to be: a subordinate born to the grinding, endless toil of working the cotton plantation or tending the gardens.

But one glance at the elegant conformation of bone and muscle underlying the gleaming skin, at the well-shaped hands, the patrician features, and most of all, at the intelligence in those cool, spectacular eyes, and she felt herself dwindle into insignificance. This was a giant of a man, not so much because of his size and physical beauty, which were considerable, but because of the innate bearing in his manner. The mantle of authority, of culture and refinement, sat easily on his shoulders.

“Please proceed,” he said, waving her ahead with an imperious gesture. “And explain your last remark.”

She scuttled past and muttered, “I’ve forgotten what it was.”

“Then allow me to refresh your memory. You said you don’t find Solange the picture of bridal bliss.”

“Well, do you?”

“I hardly know her well enough to say.”

“Oh, please! Even a complete stranger, if he bothered to take a good look at her, would see at once that she’s anything but brimming over with happiness.”

“She has struck me as moody and difficult to please.” He gave a careless shrug. “Unfortunate traits in a woman about to become a wife, wouldn’t you say?”

Irked by the casual way he’d pigeon-holed Solange without bothering to learn what was really causing her so much distress, Anne-Marie said tartly, “Almost as unfortunate as finding yourself related by marriage to a man so ready to assume the worst of you!”

“If I’ve misjudged her—”

“There’s no ‘if’ about it! I’ve known Solange for over ten years and I can assure you she’s normally the most equable woman in the world. But finding herself sequestered as far away from the main house as possible, as if she’s carrying some horrible, contagious disease, doesn’t do a whole lot for her self-esteem.”

“I’m preserving her good reputation.”

“You’re isolating her and making her feel unwanted!”

“That’s ridiculous,” he said bluntly. “During the day, she’s welcome to spend as much time as she likes with the rest of the family.”

They’d reached the upper terrace by then. “She’s too intimidated,” Anne-Marie said, stopping to admire a bed of tall pink lilies with burgundy leaves. “She’d feel she was imposing, especially on those days when Philippe isn’t there to run interference for her.”

“If she thinks he’ll constantly be at her side once they’re married, she’s in for a rude awakening. By his own choosing, Philippe has led a very carefree bachelor life up until now, and is no more equipped to be a husband than I am to tame a tiger. In order to fulfill his marital obligations, he’ll be kept very busy learning to pull his own weight in the family business. And that, I’m afraid, will involve his spending a certain amount of time off the island.”

“Will it?” she said heatedly. “Or is this simply your way of sabotaging a marriage you don’t approve of?”

His mouth curved in displeasure. “I’ve never found it necessary to stoop to such underhand measures. If I don’t like something, I make no secret of my intent to change it.”

Who did he think he was—God? “And what if you can’t?”

“There’s always a way,” he said impassively. “It’s simply a matter of finding it. But you may rest easy on one score at least. I take no pleasure in reducing innocent women to tears or despair. Whatever else might be upsetting Solange, she has nothing to fear from me. I have only her best interests at heart.”

“I’d like to believe that’s the case.”

“I’m not in the habit of lying, Mademoiselle.”

He uttered the words with such a wealth of dignity that she was ashamed. No, he would not stoop to lying. Whatever his faults, he would never compromise his integrity.

He indicated the pool, stretching before them like an eighty-foot length of satin undulating in a whisper of breeze. “Enjoy your swim. You look as if you need it. You’re more than a little flushed.”

Hidden by the shadowed fretwork of the door opening onto his bedroom verandah, he watched her approach the shallow end of the pool, and cautiously lower herself over the side. In every other respect, she appeared to be exactly as he’d anticipated: brash, abrasive, and disagreeably self-confident, like most North American women.

It surprised him that she was so tentative in the water, and it annoyed him, too. He didn’t want to be made aware of any vulnerability she might possess. Dealing with Solange’s fragility was more than enough.

“Papa!” The door burst open and Adrian catapulted into the room. “When did you come home?”