Blackmailed by the Rich Man: In the Millionaire's Possession / Blackmailed Into Marriage / Bedded by Blackmail

‘I think,’ he told her softly, ‘that I have been patient enough already. And last night has kindled my appetite, ma mie.’ His smile widened as he looked down into her outraged, apprehensive eyes. ‘So, be good enough to write down your account number for me, and I will go and leave you in peace.’

Quivering with anger, she obeyed, handing over the slip of paper with open resentment.

Marc walked to the door, then turned slowly, letting his eyes travel down her body.

‘On the other hand,’ he said softly, ‘I still have the memory of how you felt in my arms last night. And I could even now be persuaded to stay.’

He watched her eyes widen in sudden shock, and went on silkily, ‘But it is a matter entirely for you to decide, mon amour. Although I promise you would find the bed in my room more comfortable than that penance of a sofa.’

The words were thick in her throat. ‘I’ll have to take your word for that, monsieur. Goodbye.’

She turned back to the window, hardly daring to breathe until she heard the door close quietly behind him.

Monteagle is safe, she whispered to herself. And that’s all that matters. All that I can allow to matter, anyway.

The cost to herself—well, that was different, and she would have to find some way to endure it.

God, but he was so sure of her, she thought, digging her nails painfully into the palms of her clenched fists. So convinced he could seduce her into passionate surrender. But he would have to think again.

‘You may own Monteagle, monsieur,’ she whispered under her breath, resolution like a stone in her heart. ‘But you’ll never possess me—and that I swear, by everything I hold dear.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

LOTTIE looked silently at the ruby lying on the table between them.

She said, ‘That’s costume jewellery, and this whole thing is a wind-up—right?’

Helen shook her head. ‘Wrong.’ Her voice was husky. ‘I really am engaged to Marc Delaroche. He—proposed last night. I accepted this morning.’

Lottie stared at her open-mouthed. She said, half to herself, ‘This can’t be happening. Twenty-four hours ago you considered yourself engaged to Nigel.’ Her voice rose. ‘And now you’re going to be married to someone you’ve known a matter of days?’

‘You made me have dinner with him,’ Helen defended. ‘You practically twisted my arm.’

‘Yes,’ said Lottie. ‘Because I thought it would do you good to go out with someone lethally attractive who clearly fancied you. But that was when I thought you were both sane.’

She sat back in her chair, her worried gaze resting on Helen’s pale face. ‘Are we talking serious rebound from Nigel, here? Or are you telling me that love at first sight actually exists?’

‘Love has nothing to do with it.’ Helen drew a deep breath. ‘The truth is that he’s absolutely crazy about Monteagle and is willing to spend whatever it takes to restore the place to its old glory. Only it can’t be completely his—unless, of course, I’m part of the package.’ She shrugged. ‘And that’s it.’

‘Oh, my God,’ Lottie said helplessly, and relapsed into frowning silence. At last she said, ‘Helen—just sell him the place, and save yourself a lot of heartache.’

‘I’ll never sell Monteagle, and he knows it. I made it clear enough at that damned committee meeting. He also knows I’m desperate.’ Helen shrugged again, aiming for insouciance. ‘I—can’t afford to refuse.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s a business arrangement. What they call a marriage of convenience, I suppose.’

‘Ah,’ Lottie said blandly. ‘Then presumably, as you’re still virtual strangers, the deal does not include sex.’ Her gaze drilled into Helen’s. ‘Or does it?’

Helen looked down at the table. ‘We—we haven’t settled the final details yet.’

‘Now I know you’re kidding,’ said Lottie derisively. ‘I saw him look at you, remember? And, while Simon and I may have been apart for a while, I still recognise old-fashioned lust when I see it. And, as you’re not in love with him, how will you deal with that when payback time arrives? Are you really that sophisticated?’

Helen stared at the burn of the ruby lying between them. She said, half to herself, ‘I—I’ll cope somehow. Because I have to.’ She forced a smile. ‘What would you do in my place?’

‘Sell,’ said Lottie. ‘And run.’ She paused. ‘Or you could try closing your eyes and doing exactly what you are told. That could be interesting.’

‘You mean lie back and think of England?’ Helen’s laugh had a hollow ring. ‘Or Monteagle?’

‘I doubt whether Marc Delaroche will let you think about anything but him,’ Lottie said drily. ‘Don’t say you weren’t warned.’

After Lottie had gone, Helen lingered in the kitchen, washing the cups and glasses they’d used, and recorking the barely touched bottle of wine.

Daisy can use it to cheer up tomorrow’s chicken casserole, she thought.

The housekeeper had taken Helen’s halting news in her stride. ‘So, Mr Marc, is it?’ she’d said thoughtfully. ‘Well, I wish you happiness, my dear. Things often turn out for the best.’

Mrs Lowell was the only other one on Helen’s need-to-know list, because she’d have to explain why there’d be no more guided tours.

I’ll go round to the Vicarage tomorrow, she told herself.

As she walked through the hall the telephone rang, and in spite of the lateness of the hour she found herself reaching for it.

‘Hélène?’ His voice reached her huskily across the miles, making her start.

She steadied herself, trying to ignore the frantic drum of her heart. ‘Marc? What do you want?’

‘All the things I cannot have, because you are so far from me.’

She could hear the smile in his voice and stiffened, loading her tone with frostiness. ‘I mean why are you calling so late.’

‘To wish you bonne nuit,’ he said. ‘And sweet dreams.’

‘Oh,’ she said, nonplussed. ‘Well—thank you.’

‘And to tell you that, to my sorrow, I will not be with you next week after all. I have to fly to New York.’

‘I see.’ She knew she should feel relieved at the news, if not be dancing in the streets. Instead, suddenly, there was an odd flatness. ‘It was—good of you to let me know.’

There was a pause, then he said softly, ‘You could go with me.’

‘To New York?’ An unbidden quiver of excitement stirred inside her, and was instantly quelled. She said stonily, ‘Of course I can’t. It’s quite impossible.’

‘Why? You have a passport?’

‘Somewhere, yes.’

‘Then I suggest you look for it, ma mie,’ he told her drily. ‘You will certainly need it for our honeymoon.’

‘Honeymoon?’ She was beginning to sound like an echo, she told herself with exasperation. ‘But surely there’s no need for that,’ she protested. ‘It—it’s not as if it is a real marriage…’

‘You will find it real enough when the time comes, cherie.’ His words were light, but she thought she detected a note of warning. ‘And we are certainly having a honeymoon—although it can only be brief because of my work commitments.’