Master Of Passion Part 9

Her glance trailed freely over his head and shoulders as he spoke. He looked stunningly attractive, if casually dressed. The white high-necked cashmere sweater, with his leather jacket draped loosely over his broad shoulders, somehow made him seem more of a foreigner to Parisa, and very Latin. She glanced around. Every other man in the restaurant wore a tie, and yet Luc still managed to look the most elegant. She had listened to his proposition and knew he did not really want her as his wife, and she would be a fool to think otherwise. But in the circ.u.mstances, wasn't that a plus factor in the deal? she argued with herself.

'A fortnight of my life for a fortune, that's all... ?' she prompted with a trace of sarcasm, her blue eyes clashing with enigmatic black ones, as bravely she held his gaze.

'Yes, that is all. According to Didi, you have almost three weeks of the Easter vacation left; our little arrangement will not affect your work. It will be completed in time for you to return to school for the summer term. It couldn't be more convenient. Think, Parisa- all your money problems solved, Didi and Joe a.s.sured of a happy retirement, and yourself free of the constant worry of trying to maintain the manor house. I am an extremely wealthy man and I am prepared to pay a lot for my mamma's peace of mind.'

The way he spoke, cool and business-like, did much to persuade her he actually meant what he was saying. 'No strings attached?' she queried. He was right; she would never get a better offer to put her house in order, both literally and metaphorically speaking. She rubbed her damp palms surrept.i.tiously on the smooth velvet of her skirt, under the table. Finally she would be able to pay Didi and Joe a pension.

'None at all. You have my word. We get married in the register office on Thursday. We stay in my hotel suite and visit the hospital daily, say ten days or so, which is when the consultant believes my mother will be fit enough to return to Italy. But, whatever happens, you can return to Hardcourt Manor in time to go back to work.'

'Won't your mother find it odd, my vanishing after such a short time?' she asked, completely missing the flash of triumph in Luc's dark eyes at her unconscious acceptance.

'Not in the least. We'll tell her about the refurbishment of the manor, and obviously, as the mistress, you will be needed to oversee everything. I will be coming to England much more frequently now I own a company here. So there is no reason for Mother to suspect anything wrong between you and I.'

'You appear to have thought of everything,' Parisa said musingly, and drank some more champagne. 'But eventually your mother is bound to want to see me.'

'The prognosis for my mother is not great, even with the operation. A year or two at most. Afterwards, a quick divorce for you and I.'

Compa.s.sion softened Parisa's blue eyes. 'I'm sorry...I didn't realise her condition was so bad.'

'Why should you? She is little more than a stranger to you. But if you agree, it is in your power to make the rest of her life much happier.' Parisa knew he was telling the truth. The sincerity in his black eyes was unmistakable as he held her wary gaze. 'Say yes...

'Why me?' she murmured softly. Luc knew lots of women, any one of whom would jump at the chance of being his wife, without it costing him a fraction of what he seemed to be prepared to pay her. Once- again he seemed to read her mind.

'You forget my mother already believes you and I are engaged. Personally I have no more desire to get married than you have, and, flattering though it is that you imagine I can marry any woman at will, Parisa, consider: if I produce a total stranger tomorrow as my prospective bride it is hardly likely to rea.s.sure my mother,' he commented cynically.

Determined to decide with her head, logically, Parisa picked up her gla.s.s and drained it, carefully replacing it on the table. What he said made a lot of sense. Except it was Luc Di Maggi saying it... No, it was impossible. Wasn't it?

'You can't lose, Parisa. I noticed everyone around here uses your t.i.tle. What are you going to tell them, that you are no longer a Lady? That t.i.tle is reserved for the woman I marry.'

'That is no argument. I couldn't care less about the t.i.tle-I wouldn't have sold it if I did,' she replied bluntly. But the odd pain in the region of her heart at the thought of Luc married to someone else she swiftly dismissed as indigestion.

She tilted her head to one side, her silver-gilt hair falling in a swathe over her shoulder; she had left it loose tonight. Not because Luc preferred it that way... She had simply been in a hurry. She rested her elbow on the table and twisted a strand of pale hair around her finger, while openly studying Luc. She could read nothing from his rugged, if somewhat gaunt features; a bit tired, maybe, but his cool dark eyes seemed honest enough as they met hers. Dared she trust him, and did it matter for only two weeks... ?

'Yes, all right. I agree; it's a deal.' And, stretching out her slender hand, 'Shake on it.'

Luc caught her hand in his much larger one and said very gravely, 'A deal, Parisa.' And then to her astonishment he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, his mouth warm on her soft flesh. "Thank you.'

She couldn't respond. Instead, she was trying to rub the tingling feeling from the back of her hand, under the cover of the table, and wondering if she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.

Luc didn't give her time to change her mind, as over dessert and coffee he talked non-stop. Parisa wasn't very sure what about, and when they finally stood up to leave she was beginning to wonder if she had imagined agreeing to marry him.

She walked out of the restaurant in a daze, but was brought back to the present by the sound of Luc crying out.

'Ouch!' She swung around, and saw him sway, then straighten. Parisa couldn't help it: she burst out laughing. He had his eyes closed and was dramatically holding a hand to his head.

'This is a very old establishment, and the oak beams and low ceilings part of its charm. You should be more careful. It does say in very large letters over the dining room door: "Mind your Head".'

His 'Ha, ha...' ended in a groan.

'Are you OK?' Parisa walked back to Luc and placed a hand on his arm. 'You hurt yourself?' He looked very pale. At that moment the chauffeur walked out of the adjoining bar.

'No, I'm fine.' And Luc, straightening his broad shoulders, took her arm and led her out to the car.

Seated in the back seat of the limousine, she moved close to the window, putting as much s.p.a.ce between herself and Luc as humanly possible.

'You have nothing to fear, Parisa...' He cast her a sidelong glance, one brow arched sardonically. 'I have no burning desire to leap on you, or, at present, the energy. Our marriage will be strictly business.'

'I wouldn't agree otherwise,' she replied firmly, but some imp of mischief deep down inside her queried the truth of her comment.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

The car stopped outside the oak double doors of her home. Parisa cast a sidelong glance at Luc. His head was back against the seat and his eyes were closed. The dim light of the car cast a greyish tinge over his taut features. For a moment she wondered if the knock on the head had hurt him more than he wanted to admit. His long lashes fluttered on his cheeks and his eyes opened. For a second they did not seem to focus, but with a grunt he straightened up in the seat.

His dark head bent towards her as he reached across to open the car door. 'You will excuse me if I don't get out, but the chauffeur will see you to the door, and pick you up again in the morning around ten. I will meet you at the hospital and together we can tell Mamma the good news.'

'Yes-yes, fine,' she stuttered, the husky male scent of him, his nearness making her uneasy!

'Parisa.' He caught her hand as she swung her long legs out of the car. 'No second thoughts. I expect to see you in the morning. Our deal stands...'

'Yes, OK.'

There was something distant about him, and he seemed to be slurring his words. Parisa slid out of the car, and looked back.

'Get in the house,' he commanded curtly.

Turning, she walked up the steps and let herself in the front door. She locked the heavy door behind her, and tiredly walked across the hall to the stairs, the portraits of her ancestors smiling down at her. She had the oddest feeling that they were laughing at her. She shook her head to dispel the fanciful notion and wearily climbed the grand staircase.

She stopped at the antiquated bathroom next door to her bedroom, and, stripping off her clothes, had a quick wash, and, taking her old towelling robe from the back of the door, gratefully made her way to the bedroom. Shrugging out of her robe, she climbed into the welcoming softness of the huge old bed. She didn't want to think, just sleep.

But it was not so easy. Had she really agreed to marry Luc on Thursday? It made sense financially, she knew, but what about emotionally? Could she live with the man even for two weeks without resurrecting all the hurt and pain she had already suffered at his hands? Did she have the strength of will, or even the acting ability to play the part he wanted from her? A million questions swirled around her tired mind, and she wasn't capable of answering them.

Perhaps, she thought, turning restlessly on the bed, it was all a joke. Tomorrow Luc would ring and tell her it was all off. She half hoped he would. He had told her to use her head, have a bit of business sense, and she could see the advantages of his offer very clearly. True, she did feel sorry for his mother, and felt some slight obligation as she had led the lady to believe she was engaged to her son. Didi as well would be delighted at the thought of Parisa marrying Luc. But basically, what did it make her; Parisa Hardcourt-Belmont, going through a marriage ceremony mainly for money... A harsh, humourless laugh escaped her. Mercenary! But then, was that so strange? In the history of her family there had been plenty of arranged marriages, and no doubt some strictly for money. Why should she balk at the thought?

Love was for fools; she had learnt that lesson the hard way. Luc Di Maggi had taught her. She remembered when he had first broached the subject of her going to Italy with him, and he had said he would never marry, but he didn't mind getting engaged to keep his mother happy. Maybe that was Parisa's guarantee. He was a ruthless, dynamic businessman, who had, from the humble beginnings of a bakery, built a vast empire. He took what he wanted without a thought for other people. How many people had he used and cast aside along the way, herself included? she wondered.

She might despise the man. The five days she had waited in London for him to get in touch with her had been the most painful period she had ever endured. She had deluded herself into believing Luc must love her simply because she loved him. Then, the final day, she had seen the newspaper article, and realised Luc had lied to her, that the man she had thought she was in love with, the man she had even been prepared to accept was a criminal at the cost of her own conscience, was a stranger to her. Parisa had given herself to a man who had simply been playing a joke on her as some petty revenge for a supposed insult of years ago. When she had realised the extent of her naivete, she had vowed that no man would get the chance to make a fool of her again.

Could she be as hard and cynical as Luc was? Yes... She would take his money, she told herself with bitter certainty. Why not? Who more appropriate? After all, he had bought the t.i.tle, and the thought really rankled. She grumbled about the old building, but in reality she loved her home and could not imagine living anywhere else. Her childhood memories of running wild around the five acres of parkland... playing hide-and-seek with her father in the many rooms... sliding down the banister ... She cherished her memories, but from now on, for the rest of her life, she would have to live with the ever present knowledge that Luc was the Lord of the Manor.

She deserved the money, she told herself, and there was no denying it would be much easier for her personally. Legally, as Luc's wife, if only in name and for a short duration, her position would remain the same and there would be no need for her to reveal to friends and acquaintances that she had actually sold the t.i.tle.

Cowardly, perhaps, but she had not relished the thought of exposing her monetary problems to all and sundry. But the deciding factor was that it would enable her to pay Didi and Joe a decent pension for the rest of their lives. But it was still a long time before she finally slept, and when she did her dreams were full of a tall tanned man, black eyes gleaming with devilish humour, laughing down at her.

Parisa awakened the next morning and almost convinced herself the previous day had been a dream or, more likely, a nightmare. Luc had stormed back into her life, announcing to the world at large that she was his fiancee. She had no illusions about him caring for her... He had made it brutally obvious yesterday afternoon, with his cutting remark about the night he had made love to her. So why was she being stupid enough to go along with his crazy plan to get married, even if it was only for a couple of weeks? she asked herself. Deceiving Didi! Wearing his ring! She had no answer. Well, none she was prepared to admit to.

She did not love him... Her trip to Italy had been stupid, even though her reason for going had been compelling at the time. But a fortnight in London, a strictly platonic relationship, for a fortune... Surely it was common sense to accept... ?

She groaned. Her head was pounding, and Didi's hearty 'Good morning' as she walked into the room, a cup of coffee in her hand, did not help.

'You'd better get up, Miss Parisa. There is a man downstairs waiting for you to show him the house!'

'What? Who?' she murmured, hauling herself up the bed and tucking the sheet around under her arms. She took the proffered cup of coffee and downed it in one go. She had drunk far too much champagne last night and she wasn't used to it.

'A Mr Smythe; he's an architect. Mr Luc sent him to decide what needs doing and how. Isn't it marvellous?'

'Yes, great.' Parisa groaned as the enormity of what she had agreed to hit her. Luc had certainly wasted no time, she thought angrily. Obviously he was taking no chances on her changing her mind. She barely had time to wash and slip on her leather suit before the limousine arrived to take her to the hospital.

Parisa stepped out of the car outside the main entrance to the hospital, and before she had time to sling her shoulder-bag over her shoulder Luc was at her elbow.

'Good, you've arrived. Mother will be pleased.' And, without so much as a 'Good morning', he was ushering her into the hospital.

'h.e.l.lo to you, too,' she said sarcastically, glancing sideways at his handsome face. He still looked rather pale and she wondered if it was solely because of his concern for his mother. Or perhaps it was the thought of getting married, even briefly? He was not the marrying type, as he had told her more than once. This morning he was wearing a smart two-piece navy suit, with a high-necked Cossack-style blue silk shirt and no tie. It should have looked affected, she thought wryly, but on Luc it looked stunning.

They stepped into the lift with two white-coated girls, who couldn't take their eyes off Luc. Parisa smiled grimly. He was that sort of man: he attracted females like bees to honey.

Then Luc was leading her into the private room on the second floor, and all her attention was captured by the lady lying in the bed. Her eyes widened with shock. Signora Di Maggi looked nothing like the strapping woman she had met two months ago. How could someone change so much in so short a time? she wondered, forcing herself to smile as she crossed to the bedside.

'h.e.l.lo, Signora Di Maggi. What have you been doing?' And, bending down, she pressed her lips to the lined cheek, the skin like dry parchment beneath her lips.

The old lady smiled, her dark eyes so like her son's, but full of moisture. 'Parisa. It is lovely you are here, and to be married. I am so happy...'

Luc stood at the opposite side of the bed, his whole attention centred on the occupant, a smile of such warmth and love on his face that Parisa had to stifle a gasp of amazement. 'You must not talk too much, Mamma, and no excitement. Doctor's orders.' And, leaning over the bed, he kissed the top of her white head, while gathering her slender hands in his ma.s.sive ones. He sat on the side of the bed, and for a few moments mother and son simply looked at each other.

Parisa felt like an intruder, and silently she sat down on the chair beside the bed, staring at her hands entwined on her lap. She felt a swift stab of guilt as the huge ring on her finger glittered with a brilliant light. Before, when she had thought it was simple costume jewellery, it had not bothered her, but now she was constantly aware of it. She had no doubt that what Luc had said was true. It was a rare and costly diamond. She must have been blind not to notice the true value. If she had been thinking logically at the time of the party', she would have realised that Luc might produce a fake fiancee to fool his family, but he would never have insulted their intelligence by producing a fake ring. But what of a fake marriage? It wasn't right, what she and Luc were doing to his mother. She gnawed at her bottom lip, frowning. The old lady deserved the truth.

Half an hour later when they got up to leave, Parisa did not need a doctor to tell her the visit had done Signora Di Maggi good. She was smiling and obviously content.

Luc walked around the bed and flung a casual arm around Parisa's shoulder. She tensed, but did not pull away, in deference to the old lady's feelings. And when, with an aside to his mother, Luc turned Parisa into his arms, bent his dark head, his mouth covering hers in a deep, gentle kiss, she almost imagined he meant it, her body melting against his as his mastery of her senses overcame her logical mind. It was a flushed and very worried girl who finally walked out of the hospital, with Luc retaining a firm grip on her hand.

He stopped beside the waiting car, and, opening the rear door, he finally let go of her hand. 'Sorry I can't accompany you, but the chauffeur will see you safely home. I will send the car for you on Thursday morning, but I'll call you before then with the details.'

'Luc, I'm not sure...' The deep unease she felt about their deal had increased a hundredfold. How much her agreement had had to do with the amount of champagne she had drunk the previous evening she was beginning to question, but Luc never gave her a chance. She was bundled into the car before she could finish her sentence.

'It's too late to change your mind, Parisa.'

Luc, resplendent in an immaculate light grey silk suit and white shirt, and a silk tie in conservative tones of grey and maroon, looked exactly what he was: a mature, sophisticated man of the world.

Parisa, on the other hand, felt like a naive teenager in comparison. It was stupid, she knew, it made good business sense. She should not be intimidated; after all, it was only a civil ceremony, easily cast aside. So why were her legs trembling?

Dressed in a pale cream suit, a touch of a peach camisole peeping between the lapels of the fitted jacket, the skirt short and straight, ending on her knees, her feet encased in matching high-heeled pumps, and her hands clasping a small clutch-bag with an exquisite posy of tiny peach rosebuds and baby breath pinned to the front, Parisa listened to the registrar, but didn't take anything in. It was only when Didi gave her elbow a nudge that she surfaced from her daze long enough to say, 'I do.' She looked with sightless eyes at the gold band Luc slid on her finger. But when he turned and gathered her into his arms, all her senses went on red alert.

'My wife,' he murmured just before his lips covered hers in a brief, hard kiss.

'You look beautiful, Miss Parisa,' Didi remarked as they stood in the powder-room at the Ritz, having just finished a celebratory wedding breakfast. 'You will be happy, child, trust your old nanny I had a long talk to Luc the other day, before you arrived, and he does love you very much. He gave me back the red garter belt you had left in Italy.' The old eyes twinkled, as Parisa blushed scarlet. 'Now, don't you worry none. There are plenty of young women jumped the gun a bit, I understand.' She chuckled. 'I knew over the past months you had been pining for someone, and once I met Luc I knew why. But now everything will be perfect.'

No wonder Didi had been so keen to see her married, Parisa thought; she probably imagined Parisa was already pregnant. Luc had taken charge. He had called the house yesterday, spoken briefly to Parisa, but longer to Didi. Parisa had been rushed into Brighton by Didi, and suitable outfits purchased.

Parisa sighed inwardly. How could she disillusion the old lady? Didi and her husband, Joe, had been the witnesses at the wedding ceremony, the only guests. In fact they had been instrumental in her decision to accept Luc's proposal. The couple had looked after her all her life, and they were ent.i.tled to some monetary security in their old age. It had worried her for ages how she was going to provide for them. Now, the problem was solved. If nothing else good came out of the next two weeks, the peace of mind that knowing the two people she cared for most in the world were looked after was more than enough. She left the powder-room arm in arm with Didi.

'Parisa.' Luc's dark gaze lingered on her lovely face as he approached her; his large hands curved possessively around her shoulder. 'I think everything went off very well, don't you, cara?

She tilted her head to look up at him, and the gleam of mocking triumph in his black eyes sent a shiver down her spine. 'Yes,' she said curtly, and, following the older couple out of the hotel to the waiting taxi and limousine, she chewed her lip nervously. Just what had that look meant?

It was with a sigh of relief that she finally waved goodbye to the taxi carrying Didi and Joe back to Hardcourt Manor and turned towards the chauffeured limousine waiting at the kerb. Luc took her arm and helped her into the car, sliding his large body in beside her.

'Alone at last,' he drawled and, catching her left hand in his, he twirled the plain gold ring on her finger. 'I never thought I would ever put a gold ring on any woman's finger.' His hard mouth curved in a cynical smile. 'Diamonds, maybe, but this...' And in a totally unexpected gesture he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the wedding band.

Her heart gave a curious lurch, her blue eyes clashed with black, and the glittering intensity of his gaze shot sparks of sensual awareness careering through her body. She pulled her hand free, and tore her eyes from his. She opened her handbag and withdrew the engagement ring she had thought a fake, and put it on her finger. Somehow the sight of the huge diamond reminded her of the true reason for this marriage and she was not going to forget it. Show!

'Have I told you yet how beautiful you look? The perfect bride, with just the right amount of innocent reluctance.' He moved his long legs, his thigh brushing hers apparently unconsciously. 'I am a fortunate man to have won such a perfect wife,' Luc opined, but the underlying anger in his tone was not lost on Parisa. Luc had never wanted to marry...

Your business partner,' she said pointedly and put a foot of s.p.a.ce between them, before adding, 'Isn't it time we were at the hospital?' She held the posy of roses in front of her like a shield. 'I think your mother will like these.' She was determined to keep her distance from Luc. Cool, calm and collected for two weeks, she vowed over and over in her head.

It was a short drive across London to the hospital, and, when they finally reached Signora De Maggi's private room, to Parisa's eyes his mother looked even frailer than two days ago. She gently handed the old woman the posy and thought it was almost worth marrying Luc just to see the happiness-and yes, relief- reflected in her tired dark eyes.

'I'm so happy for you both.' Her eyes filled with tears. 'Now I know Luc has someone, I can rest easy.'

'Don't say that, Mamma,' Luc admonished huskily. 'You will be fine, and then we will have a grand party in Italy,' he joked, and spent the next few minutes making her laugh.

But when the nurse came and ordered them to leave, as Signora Di Maggi was to be prepared for surgery, the smile was wiped from Luc's face in a second.

The waiting-room was a miserable place, the walls a stark white, the furniture comfortable armchairs and a low table, and Parisa could almost feel sorry for Luc. He sat down and she sat opposite him.

He glanced across at her, his eyes as cold as the arctic waste. He slid a large hand into his breast pocket and withdrew a long envelope, throwing it on the table between them. 'You'd better read that and then sign it. I think you will find it is all in order.'

She shot a surprised glance at his rugged face. 'Now?' His mother was going into Theatre, for G.o.d's sake! And her sympathy for the man vanished.

'"Business partners" was the term you used, Parisa. That is the agreement; read it and sign.'

She picked up the papers and began to read. A gasp escaped her at the size of the allowance mentioned. He had certainly been very generous, so why wasn't she ecstatic at the thought? Instead, all she felt was self-disgust. She had sunk to his level where everything had a price, and without really taking everything in. She asked stiltedly, 'Have you a pen I can borrow?'

Luc handed her an elegant gold pen, and, without a word being spoken, she signed the doc.u.ment and pa.s.sed it back to him. Being hard and cynical was not going to be as easy as she had first thought...

They spent all afternoon and into the evening hardly exchanging a word, a nurse bringing the occasional cup of coffee the only diversion, until at eight o'clock the doctor arrived, lie operation had been a success.

Luc grasped her hand in his as the nurse led them to the intensive care unit. His mother was lying, apparently asleep, with various tubes attached to her, but her colour did look slightly better.

'She'll be fine, Luc,' Parisa murmured.

'Yes, I think she will now...' he sighed. "Thank you, Parisa.' And he let go of her hand.