His Independent Bride: Wife Against Her Will / The Wedlocked Wife / Bertoluzzi's Heiress Bride

She swallowed. ‘You promise it’s just a temporary arrangement? And when it’s over, you’ll keep your word about my career?’

‘When it’s over,’ he said. ‘Consider the sky your limit.’

She bit her lip. ‘Well, then, I suppose, if I must, I will.’

He sat back in his chair, surveying her from under drooping lids. ‘I’m glad I didn’t offer my heart along with my hand,’ he drawled. ‘I imagine it would be feeling a little bruised by now. However.’ He picked up his glass. ‘To the future.’

Reluctantly, she echoed the toast and drank.

She thought, What have I done? What have I done?

But she knew only too well. Unbelievably, she’d agreed to marry Joel Castille.

I must be crazy, she thought. Certifiable. But Joel made it sound so reasonable, so logical. A direct way for both of us to get what we want, and then move on.

But can it really be that simple?

She looked at the food left on her plate, and put down her knife and fork.

‘Wasn’t the sole good?’ he asked politely.

‘How should I know?’ she said curtly. ‘I haven’t tasted a mouthful.’

‘That’s unfortunate, when we’re destined to eat a lot of meals together—lunch—dinner.’ He paused. ‘And—breakfast, naturally.’

Her head came up. ‘And what is that supposed to mean?’

He shrugged. ‘I’d hate to think your loss of appetite might become a permanent feature of our life together.’

‘Understand this, Mr Castille,’ she said with icy clarity. ‘You and I will never have a life together. And breakfast will be one of the many things we won’t be sharing.’

‘Most important meal of the day, I’m told,’ he said mockingly. ‘You don’t plan to send me off to work each morning with hot food and a kiss? Your personal contribution to British industry?’

She said through gritted teeth, ‘I most certainly do not.’

His grin was unruffled. ‘No, I suspect a poisoned chalice might be more in your line. But that’s what marriage can sometimes be, they tell me. At least we’re starting off with no illusions.’ He paused. ‘Shall we discuss arrangements for the wedding over dessert?’

Darcy didn’t bother to hide her dismay. ‘Already?’ She hesitated. ‘I mean, it can’t be that soon, or my father will start asking questions. He’s expecting a more conventional approach. You said so yourself.’

‘He wants us married.’ There was curtness in his tone. ‘He has a result. How we achieved it is our own business, surely.’ His smile was cynical. ‘Or do you want me to tell him that it was love at first sight, and I swept you off your feet with my ardour?’

‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘But he’ll know this is a put-up job, and, as I happen to be his only child, he might just want me to be happy. Or maintain a pretence of it—for appearances’ sake.’

‘Well, perhaps one shouldn’t judge by appearances.’ He allowed the waiters to clear the table, then ordered the coffee that was all Darcy said she wanted.

He said quite gently, ‘Darcy, this is a pragmatic solution. History is full of them, and your father will know that. He’ll also know that I’ll treat you well.’

He paused. ‘I presume you wish the ceremony to be held in the church at Kings Whitnall?’

‘In a crinoline and veil, with Daddy giving his innocent daughter away?’ she asked ironically, and shook her head. ‘As you once said, white would hardly be appropriate. And I can’t be that much of a hypocrite. Make it a registry office, with a couple of witnesses.’

His mouth hardened. ‘You feel that will make it somehow less binding? That could be a dangerous assumption.’

‘At the moment, I don’t know how I feel about anything,’ she said in a low voice.

‘You seemed pretty certain of your opinions when this conversation began,’ he reminded her drily. ‘If we can’t be friends, can we establish an armed neutrality, perhaps?’

She shrugged. ‘We still have to set out the terms for this arrangement. After that, maybe.’

‘I’ll regard that as progress,’ he murmured, and then, as cups were brought to the table, and coffee was poured, ‘Would you like some cognac?’

‘I think the Chablis was more than enough,’ she said. ‘I should have stuck to water. Then I might not have agreed to this ghastly charade.’

He looked faintly amused. ‘Surely what we both have to gain is worth a few hours of mutual civility a week?’

‘You seem to have an answer for everything,’ she said curtly. ‘Try this for size. What happens if one or both of us meets someone else, after we’re married?’

‘Unfortunate,’ he said. ‘Any new relationship would have to wait for the divorce.’

‘And supposing you fall madly in love?’ Her tone was defiant.

‘Believe me, I shall do my best not to. I hope you do the same.’

Darcy stared at him. ‘But there must surely have been someone, some time that you wanted sufficiently to marry?’

‘Once, yes.’ He spoke lightly, but she saw his mouth tighten. ‘But she had the bad taste to be involved with someone else, and wasn’t interested. End of story.’

Emma, she thought with a sense of shock. It had to be Emma. The girl who’d married Harry Metcalfe and was now carrying his child. The cousin, her father said, who’d been like Joel Castille’s beloved sister. Except it had been more, much more than that, on his side at least.

‘But if you can’t have what you want,’ he continued, ‘you can either waste your life brooding on its injustice, or you can settle for the next best thing.’

His eyes met hers, cool, unsmiling. ‘Believe me,’ he said, ‘we can make this work.’

Can we? she thought, feeling a bubble of sheer hysteria rise inside her. Can we? How is that possible, feeling as we do about each other?

He glanced at his watch, pulled a face. ‘I should return to the battleground. After this, it will seem like heaven.’ He paused. ‘Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night so we can discuss the ground rules?’

‘I suppose it’s necessary.’

‘I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty. Until then I shall count the hours,’ he said mockingly, signalling for the bill. ‘Do you want to stay and have some more coffee, or can I get you a cab?’

‘I’ll stay.’ She had no real intention of doing so, but she needed him to go. She wanted to be alone. To think over what she’d done, and begin counting the cost.

‘Then I’ll see you later.’ He paused. ‘Shall we shake hands on the deal?’

Almost before Darcy knew what was happening, his fingers had closed firmly round hers. And in the next instant, he was raising her hand to his lips, turning it so that his light kiss brushed her palm.

As if, she thought numbly, he was placing some kind of seal upon her. His own personal mark of ownership.