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

She groaned inwardly. Oh, why had Aunt Freddie gone back to Kings Whitnall? Why wasn’t she here to give her niece some respite from this unwanted charm offensive?

As it was, she could almost hear Gavin purring with satisfaction, and she wanted to scream in frustration and rage, because her tormentor was doing this quite deliberately. Putting her in an impossible position, and watching her squirm.

All right, she wanted to shout at him. I made a mistake once when I was eighteen, but I’ve suffered for it. And I don’t need to be continually harassed and punished by you of all people. So, why the hell can’t you leave me alone?

And she would have to sit there in the drawing room and take anything he cared to dish out, smiling politely as she did so. She couldn’t even use one of her migraines as an excuse to quit this ghastly threesome, she realised bitterly. He’d see through that in an instant.

Yet it was Joel Castille himself who called a halt to her profound discomfort. He drank his coffee and rose to his feet.

‘I hate to break up such an unforgettable evening,’ he said, ‘but I have an early start tomorrow, and a crowded day. Will you forgive me, please?’

‘As long as you promise to dine here again very soon.’ Gavin Langton clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Show Joel to the door, won’t you, darling?’ he added to Darcy.

Only a few more minutes, she thought as she preceded him, sedate and unsmiling, to the front door. She held it open. ‘Goodnight, Mr Castille.’

But he’d halted, and was looking down at her, smiling faintly.

He said, ‘You look as if you’re about to take the minutes of some meeting.’ He glanced pointedly at the rigidly closed top button of her shirt. ‘Now, I prefer the dishevelled look, with your hair loose and your dress falling off.’

The shiver that ran down her spine had little to do with the chill of the night air entering the hallway.

She said in a low, scornful voice, ‘Your personal preferences are a matter of complete indifference to me. As far as I’m concerned, Mr Castille, you’re in this house purely on sufferance.’

He remained unruffled. ‘And has it ever occurred to you, Miss Langton,’ he drawled, ‘that the same might be said of you?’

He paused. ‘Tell me something,’ he said quietly. ‘What exactly did you hope to achieve that night two years ago?’

She stiffened. ‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Then indulge me,’ he said. ‘Satisfy my curiosity.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you know quite enough about me already.’ She faced him, chin up, her grey-green eyes sparking furiously. ‘I’m a marriage wrecker. A weapon of mass destruction. There’s no need for more.’

‘Now, there we differ.’ He spoke softly, his blue gaze suddenly and disturbingly intense. ‘Because I’ve only just begun to find out about you. And before I’m finished, I intend to discover everything there is to know. So, be warned.’

He went past her, and out into the night.

It was hardly a grand gesture to slam the door after him, but Darcy did it anyway. And found, as she’d suspected, that it was no comfort at all.

She went back to the drawing room to find her father had poured himself another brandy, and was seated, gazing broodingly into space. Perhaps it was a trick of the lamplight, but for a moment it seemed to Darcy as if his face was shadowed, even haggard.

But when he looked at her it was with his usual searching look, and the illusion passed. ‘You took long enough to say goodnight.’

‘On the contrary,’ Darcy returned coolly. ‘Mr Castille doesn’t know when he’s outstayed his welcome.’

‘Speaking of which,’ he said slowly, ‘you might have taken a little more trouble with your appearance tonight.’

‘When we have guests, I will.’ There was a chill in her voice. ‘Mr Castille already seems to be part of the family.’

‘Maybe he is, at that.’ He shook his head. ‘Dear God, Darcy when I’m talking to him, I see myself at the same age. He’s just what Werner Langton needs.’

‘Which I never could be, of course.’ She didn’t hide her bitterness. ‘Why don’t you say it, Daddy? He’s the son you never had.’

‘I’m not exactly in my dotage,’ he came back at her sharply. ‘There could yet be another Langton to take up the reins in the years to come. I’ve never taken a vow of celibacy, you know.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Of course not.’

Her thoughts were sober as she went up to bed. ‘Another Langton’, her father had said. Could he really be considering marrying again—spending his retirement with another woman—even starting a second family? Plenty of other men did so, of course.

But how would she feel about sharing her home with a stepmother, and having younger siblings around? Except it wouldn’t be her home any more. And what on earth would Aunt Freddie do under those circumstances?

She’d put her career as an artist on hold when her sister, Darcy’s mother, had died, and moved into Kings Whitnall, a gentle presence to run the house and care for a small, bewildered child.

As Darcy had grown older, she’d come to understand that her aunt cared far more deeply for Gavin than he seemed to realise.

He’s probably so used to having her around that he doesn’t see her any more—or not as a woman he could love, she thought sadly.

She hung her skirt in the wardrobe, and put the rest of her clothing in the laundry basket for Mrs Inman to attend to. The kind of luxury she would have to learn to do without, she told herself.

Kings Whitnall had always been her safety net. Somewhere to come home to. Safety and security under one welcoming roof. Now she might have to learn to be a guest there.

But if there was to be a new regime, at least she wouldn’t have to deal with Joel Castille, she reflected as she slipped into bed. And for that she could be truly thankful.

Even so, Darcy suddenly found herself remembering the way he’d looked at her as he was leaving. Heard again the softly voiced promise that threatened what was left of her peace of mind. And dragged the bedclothes around her body, shivering.

On the spur of the moment, she went down to Kings Whitnall the following afternoon. She needed, she thought, to talk to Freddie. To lay the cards on the table. But there was a shock in store for her.

‘Darcy, my love,’ her aunt said, pouring tea in the drawing room. ‘Please don’t worry about me. I’ve been making my own plans. I’m not needed here any longer. So, I’m ready to move on.’

‘But where will you go?’ Darcy bit her lip. ‘If I had a real job, we could find a flat, maybe. Somewhere together.’ She sighed. ‘But I haven’t got any kind of work at the moment. I was thinking of going back to that awful family in Paris, but even they managed to find someone else while I was making up my mind. So I can’t even afford a grotty bedsit right now.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t worry too much.’ There was an odd note in her aunt’s voice. ‘I’m sure your father has plans for you. And I do have somewhere to go. I went up to London to sort out the final arrangements.’

She paused. ‘You remember Barbara Lee, my great friend from school and art-college days? Well, she was appointed as headmistress of St Benedict’s last year, and she’s been looking for someone to teach art there.’

She drew a breath. ‘I didn’t say anything before, because I had to be interviewed by the board of governors. That’s where I was yesterday, and they’ve offered me the job, and asked me to start next month. I’m so thrilled about it all. It’s just the new beginning I need.’

Darcy said slowly, ‘It all sounds wonderful.’ And so it did. Her aunt sounded confident—energised. A different woman, taking her life by the throat.

I’m less than half her age, she reflected unhappily. And I feel as if everything around me has shifted by about sixty degrees and I don’t know where I am any more. Or where I can go next.

And she knew exactly who was responsible for this turmoil in her existence.

Damn you, Joel Castille, she thought savagely. Damn you to hell. Which reminded her…