Greek Affairs: The Virgin's Seduction: The Virgin's Wedding Night / Kyriakis's Innocent Mistress / The Ruthless Greek's Virgin Princess

And then—as suddenly as it had begun—it was over, and Roan was stepping back, putting her at arm’s length, his dark eyes watching her unsmilingly.

Harriet stood, swaying slightly, lifting shaking fingers to touch the ravaged contours of her mouth, her mind blurred—incredulous. She tried to say something, but no words would come.

‘Is that acquiescent enough for you, kyria?’ His voice seemed to reach her across some vast wasteland. ‘I would not wish you to feel you were wasting your money.’ He added harshly, ‘Now, go to bed, and I hope you enjoy your dreams.’

And he turned and went back across the wide hall into the drawing room, leaving her dazed and trembling. Aware only that, in some strange way, she was suddenly more utterly alone than she’d ever been in her life before.

CHAPTER FIVE

IT HAD not been passion. Even someone as woefully inexperienced as Harriet could appreciate that. On the contrary, it had been, she thought, more of a calculated insult. She’d provoked him. He’d responded. And that was it.

Her mouth still felt faintly swollen from his unwanted attentions, she realised with disgust, and there was a strange ache in her breasts—the result of them being crushed against the hardness of his chest, no doubt.

A sensation she would give a great deal to forget, she thought, drawing a quick sharp breath. No one had ever—handled her like that before. She’d made deadly sure of that. It was the stuff her worst nightmares were made of.

But on this occasion she hadn’t seen it coming, and therefore she hadn’t been able to take the evasive action she’d brought to a fine art.

But matters couldn’t rest there. That was obvious. So, in the morning she would have to do—something. But what?

Because, technically, it was already morning, and, even though she’d been lying there for hours, staring sleeplessly into the darkness, she still hadn’t the least idea how to deal with the situation.

The obvious answer, of course, was to abandon the whole idea. Tell him she’d changed her mind and the deal was off. That there would be no wedding.

And therefore no Gracemead either, she thought, pain twisting inside her, because then she’d have to confess to her grandfather and reap the inevitable consequences. He would naturally demand an explanation for the collapse of her ‘engagement’, and there was no way she’d be able to hide the truth from him for long, even if Roan kept his mouth shut, which was by no means certain.

And that meant she’d also have to bear with Gramps’s anger and disappointment over her attempt to deceive him. And, quite rightly, he’d never trust her again.

She could feel the sting of tears in her eyes—taste their acridity in her throat.

I should never have started this, she told herself in desolation. Because nothing—nothing is worth this kind of pain, and that bastard was quite right about that, damn him.

What was more, that same bastard would still be around to be dealt with, she reminded herself grimly. She’d have to fulfil her commitments to him. The deal with the gallery was already set up, so there was nothing she could do about that. But she guessed she’d have to pay him the agreed lump sum too, if only to make him go away.

But perhaps that was exactly what he wanted her to do, she thought, sitting up suddenly as if she’d been jabbed by a cattle prod. Maybe he’d figured out exactly how to push her to the limit, and that—travesty of a kiss had simply been a deliberate ploy to get her to cry off.

In that way he could avoid keeping his part of the bargain, and walk away with everything he wanted. Leaving her plans in ruins yet again.

Just a conman after all, completing his ‘sting’, she thought, aware of an odd stir of disappointment.

But only if she let him, she rallied herself. And maybe he hadn’t taken that into his calculations while he was—mauling her.

Well, now it was time to demonstrate that she was made of stronger stuff.

Because she wouldn’t let him win. There was too much at stake for her to draw back now, however compelling the reason might seem.

So, she would treat the entire episode as some—temporary aberration, she planned, her heart racing. Dismiss it lightly as an irrelevance. Make it clear that all she wanted was his name on a marriage certificate, following which he could—paint himself into a corner for all she cared.

At the same time, she had to admit that he’d forced her to become altogether too aware of him as a man, rather than a signature on the dotted line she required. In fact, if she was honest, he’d been an irritation—an all-singing, all-dancing thorn in her side—from the moment they’d met.

And now flesh and blood instead of the obedient, malleable figment of her imagination—and her will. And she found the reality—disturbing. She’d needed a stranger who would remain strictly a stranger, and suddenly it had become—up close and personal. Dear God, he was here—sleeping in one of the guest rooms. Or awake and thinking—what?

But I can’t let it matter, she thought, staring round the moonlit room. This is my home. It’s my own place—the only security I’ve ever known, and I won’t let him take it away from me.

So, I’ll just have to be more careful in future.

When she arrived, heavy-eyed and faintly jittery, in the breakfast room next morning, it was to find Roan in sole occupancy, finishing off what appeared to be a substantial plate of bacon, mushrooms and scrambled egg.

‘Kalimera.’ He got politely to his feet. ‘Your grandfather asked me to say that he will be breakfasting in his room today.’

‘Oh.’ Harriet poured cereal into a bowl and added milk. She frowned. ‘He’s not ill, is he?’

‘Not at all.’ As she sat down, Roan resumed his own seat, then poured her a cup of freshly brewed coffee, and handed it to her. A civility which she accepted with gritted teeth. ‘I believe he thinks we might appreciate some time alone together.’

‘How very misguided of him,’ she returned coolly. ‘How did the chess go?’

‘It ended in stalemate.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Neither of us seemed able to find the other’s weak point.’

‘Grandfather doesn’t have one,’ she said. ‘I suggest you play your games elsewhere in future.’

‘Your early night,’ he said slowly, ‘does not seem to have sweetened your temper, Harriet mou. Is it possible you have changed your mind about marrying me?’

Dream on, she told him silently.

Aloud, ‘Certainly not,’ she said briskly. ‘Unlikely as it may seem, you appear to have ingratiated yourself with my grandfather, so once you’ve signed the pre-nuptial agreement the ceremony can go ahead as planned, and with his blessing.’

‘Although not in his presence,’ Roan said quietly. ‘He told me he does not approve of civil ceremonies. They smack, he says, too much of the rubber stamp.’

She gasped. ‘You mean you invited him?’

‘I thought he might wish to give you away, Harriet mou.’

‘Well, thank goodness he didn’t,’ she said roundly. ‘It could have caused all kinds of problems. As it is, we can just—seal the deal, and go our separate ways.’ She offered him a small chilly smile. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

There was a silence then he said, too courteously, ‘I live for the moment.’ He rose to his feet. ‘And now I must tear myself from you, Harriet mou. A cab is coming to take me to the station.’ He paused. ‘You need not accompany me to the door. We can let your grandfather assume we said a tender goodbye to each other in private.’

‘You’re all consideration,’ she said tautly. ‘But I always prefer to see visitors off the premises.’

His brows lifted. ‘You are not very trusting, my sweet one.’

‘Small wonder,’ she said. ‘And please don’t call me by that ridiculous name. I am neither sweet nor yours.’

He looked at her for a long moment, and she felt her heartbeat quicken involuntarily—uncontrollably.

But when he spoke, there was no hint of anger in his voice. ‘It is not easy to please you, Harriet. But—I shall continue to try just the same.’ He then added quietly, ‘Now, finish your breakfast in peace.’

And he went, leaving Harriet sitting at the table, staring at absolutely nothing, her cereal uneaten and unwanted.

It would have to be the beige linen shift again, Harriet realised as she prepared to dress for her wedding. It was either that or one of her innumerable shapeless black trouser suits. She had nothing else in her wardrobe.