Come to think of it, the whole evening had been a bit like the Mad Hatter’s tea party. And Marcus could certainly double as the Knave of Hearts, accusing her of sleeping with Ted Charlton, while he cut a swathe through women, she thought bitterly. She regarded him with wide angry eyes. And stole from him? As far she knew, he’d only been in business with them one day. Was he mad, or what?
‘You’re crazy,’ she declared, finally finding her voice. ‘You’ve completely lost your marbles.’
‘No.’ Marcus looked at her with cold contempt that made her skin crawl. ‘I have the proof, Eloise. This time, you’re not escaping the consequences of your actions. I’m going to make sure you don’t.’
He was towering over like some great avenging angel—or devil was more apt, she corrected in her head. ‘I have never stolen anything in my life. I have no idea what you are talking about,’ she said, conviction in every syllable. ‘I really don’t.’
‘Liar.’ Marcus’s cold eyes raked her with derision. ‘You fell into my bed the last time we met, all wild and willing, simply to soften me up—and I nearly fell for it.’
She flinched as though she’d been struck. If only he knew the courage, the great leap of faith in his integrity it had taken for her to make love with him. If he’d continued their relationship, she might have confided in him by now, but she wasn’t about to reveal her innermost fears to a man who had used her as a one-night stand.
And yet she could not explain to herself why it should hurt so much when Marcus looked at her with derision. She owed the man nothing.
Eloise opened her mouth, about to tell him so, but fear closed her throat as she recalled his other threat to have her back in his bed. Disgusted with herself, not Marcus, because for one heart-stopping moment she was tempted.
She had to get out of here! Picking up her purse, she tried to stand, but his hand on her shoulder forced her back down.
‘Sit,’ he ordered.
Eloise couldn’t think straight, paralysed by shock as he pulled up a chair and sat beside her at the table, angling his seat so he could watch her every move. She felt sick inside, as with dawning horror she realised he actually believed what he was saying.
‘You do well to remain silent.’ Contemptuous amusement glittered in his dark eyes as he noted her bewilderment, the scarlet colour in her cheeks. ‘Under that aura of innocence you wear so well beats the heart of a con-artist. A very talented, beautiful woman, but a thief nevertheless. I know what you are…’ His glittering gaze rested on her with a blatant sexual intensity. ‘And yet I want to possess that body, and until such time as I consider you have paid the debt you and your mother owe my family, you will stay with me.’
He had as good as called her a whore, but that paled into insignificance at the mention of her mother. A growing sense of dread seeped into Eloise’s mind. ‘What has my mother got to do with this?’ she asked shakily.
‘Oh, please!’ Marcus mocked her supposed ignorance, but when she still stared at him with wary eyes, he gestured with his palms up. ‘Okay, Eloise have it your way,’ and he clarified with impatience, ‘Chloe rented one of my uncle’s villas, seduced the man, and then persuaded Theo to give her half a million to invest in her jewellery business—with your collusion, Eloise—and the pair of you vanished as soon as the cheque cleared.’
Appalled at the scenario Marcus presented, Eloise felt tension tighten her every muscle. Because, deep down, she had a horrible feeling there might be some truth in his words. Her mother had been close to Theo Toumbis when they’d stayed on Rykos. They’d departed in a hurry. Maybe Chloe had borrowed money from the man. Eloise had not known her mother well enough to say yes or no. But her mother was dead, and in deference to her memory at least deserved her support, Eloise staunchly reminded herself.
‘You expect me to agree to be your, your mi—mistress.’ She stammered over the word. ‘Until I pay off some mythical debt I am supposed to owe you.’ Eloise tried for a laugh. ‘Dream on, Buster.’ Pushing back her chair, she stood up again.
A chilling smile formed on his lips as he also rose to his feet ‘Think about it. You agree to my terms, or I pull out of the deal with your firm.’ His black eyes, gleaming with an unholy light of triumph, captured hers. ‘Tonight’s celebration, Eloise, will be looked on as a wake. Without the capital to maintain the Paris branch, you will have to close with a mountain of new debt, and within a very short space of time your London base will go bankrupt. I will make sure of it.’
‘You can’t do that!’ Eloise gasped, amazed at the change in the man from sophisticated charmer into a ruthless, remote figure. She saw the implacable determination in his hard gaze, and she shook with fear and outrage. Rage won…
Well, he was not getting away with it. How dared he threaten her like this? Who the hell did he think he was? ‘I won’t let you,’ she snapped.
‘You can’t stop me,’ Marcus said without a flicker of emotion. ‘Speak to Harry—he will confirm what I say. I’ll give you until tomorrow to decide. But think of the effect on Katy and Harry and their baby, their livelihood, before you make up your mind.’ Dropping a bundle of notes on the table, he took her arm and urged her forward. ‘This is too public.’ His dark impervious gaze swept the room. ‘Come on, I’ll get you a cab,’ he added smoothly, viewing her with dark threatening eyes.
‘I don’t need to think,’ she spat, her fury rising to eclipse her earlier fear completely. ‘The answer is no—and, as for Kate and Harry, they are my friends. They’ll stand by me and ignore your ridiculous accusations.’ Eloise took half a dozen enraged steps at his side without realising, then stopped suddenly, yanking her arm free.
‘And I’ll get my own cab,’ she hissed. ‘I want nothing from you, and this so-called business partnership will be dissolved tomorrow. I don’t know how you talked Ted and Harry into it, but we are getting out.’ She stepped out into the foyer.
‘As you please.’ Marcus’s voice followed her, low and lethal. ‘Then I will see you in court.’
The heated colour drained from her face. She stilled. The exit to the street and freedom was barely a step away, but for Eloise it might as well have been a million miles. Once she had given evidence in a court case, and it had been the worst experience of her life. No way could she face doing it again. Taking deep steadying breaths, she fought down the panic that threatened to choke her, and slowly turned to face Marcus. ‘Court? What do you mean by court?’ she demanded starkly.
‘Unless we come to a private agreement, I shall of course present the evidence of your deception to a court of law.’ A shrug of his broad shoulders, and Marcus’s mouth curled in a cynical smile, apparently registering a supreme masculine indifference either way that made her blood run cold. ‘The decision is yours, but you no longer have until tomorrow. I want your answer tonight.’
Eloise swallowed hard, smoothed the fine fabric of her dress down over her hips with damp palms, and wondered what had happened to the Marcus she had first met. The Marcus who had valued her innocence, and then later the lover who had made her initiation into womanhood a magical experience. Was she really such a dim-wit that, for a few short hours, a few kind words and sweet caresses, she forgot what life had taught her? Men could be swine, and worse…
She would never make the same mistake again. Imperceptibly her shoulders straightened, and the ability to disguise her inner thoughts, developed with years of practice, slid back into place in her mind, like a steel trap door closing. She had vowed once never to trust another man as long as she lived, and for a brief space of time she had forgotten, but never again.
‘What’s it to be, Eloise?’
‘First I want to see the so-called proof,’ she demanded quietly and shivered at the cold implacability in his saturnine features.
‘The evidence is at my apartment, ten minutes’ drive away.’ His arm closed firmly around her shoulders. ‘We can continue this conversation better there, I’m sure you will agree.’
He had an apartment
in Paris? Why not? A hysterical laugh fluttered in her throat. The man had everything. Marcus was a powerful, ruthless operator, a legend in the financial markets. Where lesser men made the occasional loss, what he had he kept, be it money, women or property. His nature was obviously possessive; he was a taker, not a giver.
But, held close to him, she could smell the faint musky masculine scent of him, and her traitorous skin heated where he touched. Dear heaven, if he did but know it, he could have had her and everything she was and owned for the asking three months ago—but not any more, she thought with the glimmer of an ironic smile as she agreed. She, more than most, did not appreciate being manipulated by a man—any man…
The apartment was small, more a pied-à-terre, tucked away at the top of one of the classic Napoleon-styled buildings overlooking the Seine. It was clearly designed with a bachelor in mind. A living room that was elegantly furnished and with what looked like a selection of original cartoons displayed on one wall, probably worth more than the apartment. A tiny kitchen area, obviously not meant to be used for anything other than making coffee or heating up a croissant for breakfast. A closed door led to what Marcus indicated was the bedroom, with an en-suite shower and toilet.
Eloise walked over to the ornate dormer window, and looked at the glittering lights reflected with the moonlight on the dark waters of the Seine, and wondered by what trick of fate she had ended up in this mess.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Marcus asked, standing much too close.
Eloise spun around. ‘No. I want your so-called proof and an explanation fast,’ she flashed back, disturbed by the intimacy of the place. ‘It’s not every day one is accused of being a thief.’
‘So be it.’ She watched as Marcus crossed to a desk in one corner. He opened a drawer, took out a folder, and placed it on the desk, and then laid a document on top. Switching on a desk lamp, he straightened up. ‘Feel free to peruse them at your leisure,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘I need a drink.’
Eloise marched across to the desk, and picked up the document and read the first line. She raked a shaking hand through her hair forgetting her elaborate coronet of curls, in the process. It appeared to be a contract between Chloe Baker, her late mother, and Theo Toumbis, selling Theo a half share in Chloe’s latest business venture in designer jewellery for five hundred thousand pounds—“Eloise By Design,” to be situated in London.
Slowly, with mounting horror, she read on and there at the foot of the page were the three signatures to the contract: Chloe Baker, Theo Toumbis, and last Eloise Baker.
Eloise stared, transfixed. It was an excellent copy of her handwriting, but in fact it wasn’t even her real surname.
‘I never signed this.’ She cast a wild look over her shoulder at Marcus. ‘You must believe me, I have never seen it before. My name is Smith,’ she cried.
‘So, five years ago you were not masquerading as Chloe’s sister, you were not on Rykos, and you know nothing about the contract?’ he drawled sardonically. ‘Please spare me the lies. I was there, remember?’
‘No, yes—no.’ Eloise glanced back down at the paper in her hand. ‘Chloe must have forged my signature,’ she murmured in stricken disbelief at her mother’s deceit, and her heart sank as she realised the futility of trying to explain.
Marcus was right; she had been acting as Chloe’s sister on the island. A good lawyer would make mincemeat of her claim to be innocent of any knowledge of the affair. She let the document flutter from her hand to the desk and in the process saw the blue folder.
‘Oh, no!’ she exclaimed, wide eyed with horror she stared at the folder. She knew exactly what it contained before she even opened it. But she made herself open it. She had to have her worst fear confirmed.
‘Oh, yes, Eloise.’ Marcus appeared at her side, and handed her a crystal glass. ‘I think you might need this now,’ he said with a grim smile.
She took the glass and took a hasty swallow. Brandy or whisky, she wasn’t sure—but, coughing violently, she brushed past Marcus and slid down onto the sofa in a movement singularly lacking in grace. The glass clasped in her hand, every vestige of colour drained from her face, and not even the alcohol could replace it. How could her own mother have done that to her?
Not only had Chloe forged her signature on the contract, the folder contained a copy of the project Eloise had completed for college. The only difference was Chloe had named herself as architect of the plan instead of Eloise. It was a complex business plan including the costings and all the design work, publicity etc, in setting up Eloise By Design, aimed at the top end of the market. It had been Eloise’s ambition and dream career. She had received top marks for the assignment.
Later, when Chloe had appeared and Eloise had rather shyly shown her prize-winning project to her mother, she’d been thrilled when for the first time in her life Chloe had taken an interest in what she was studying. Chloe had told her she was very talented, very clever, and she was very proud of her. Naturally, when her mother asked if she could keep it as a memento, Eloise had said yes.
She took another mouthful of the fiery spirit; she needed it. Never in a million years would it have crossed Eloise’s mind that her mother would use her assignment as a means to get money out of a man. But, from the little she had seen, that appeared to be exactly what her mother had done. Reeling with shock and the cringing sense of shame and humiliation she felt at her mother’s actions, she drained the glass in her hand.
The alcohol kicking in, Eloise leant back against the high-backed sofa, and closed her eyes for a second, the enormity of her mother’s deception almost impossible to bear. Slowly she opened her eyes, and cast a covert look at Marcus beneath the shadow of her long lashes. He had shed his jacket and tie, and his shirt lay open at his tanned throat. He was leaning negligently against the fireplace, twirling a glass of whisky in one hand, as though he had not a care in the world.
Well, bully for him, she thought bitterly, aggression taking over from humiliation. Marcus was not getting away with blaming her. ‘So my mother apparently conned your uncle into investing in a mythical company. Big deal! That was his mistake.’ And she offered a grudging explanation, though she did not think the arrogant jerk deserved it. ‘As for the business plan she used, yes, it was mine. My end of year’s assignment at art college, nothing more. My mother kept it as a memento. But KHE is not the same company, and your uncle’s problem has nothing to do with me,’ Eloise declared defiantly and, picking up her purse, she stood up. ‘And given they are both dead I very much doubt the dead can sue anyone,’ she ended caustically.
He must take her for a prize fool. It hurt her deeply that her mother had used her idea, but that did not make Eloise responsible, and she’d never seen any of the money. Marcus had no case. She was calling his bluff…
‘You should stick to designing, Eloise; your grasp of law is negligible. I am the executor of Theo’s estate and as such can sue on behalf of his family,’ Marcus informed her curtly, a dark gleam simmering like the threat of a lightning storm in the back of his fierce gaze. ‘The name you were using at the time is on the contract. Eloise By Design or KHE, the intention and setting up of the company was the same. I also happen to know Theo’s money ended up in a joint bank account between you and your mother. I also know you emptied the account to buy the London property you use for business.’
Eloise froze, her hand tightening in a death grip on her purse, her knuckles gleaming white with the strain. ‘Oh, my God!’ she gasped. She had forgotten all about the joint account. The account her mother had insisted on setting up supposedly to keep the money from the sale of the family home between them. The money Eloise had wanted to give her outright. The account Eloise had never touched until after her mother’s death. She had been amazed at the amount of money her mother had left her. But, as her mother’s lawyer had pointed out at the time, Chloe had been a very successful business woman.
But what kind of business—thieving? She had even stolen from her own daughter!
There could be no doubt about it, Chloe had actually used Eloise’s college project to con Theo Toumbis into thinking he was investing in a new company, and forged Eloise’s signature…
Sadly Eloise realised she had never really known her mother at all. She had carried an idealised version of a brilliantly successful, elegant woman in her heart and mind for so long, the realisation it was all a myth was a brutal blow and her disillusionment was total.
‘Waiting for divine intervention is not going to help you.’ Marcus’s mocking voice split the lengthening silence. ‘You have two choices, my deal or the courts. So what is it to be?’
Little did he know Eloise thought bitterly, that there was no choice at all! She could not go to court…not after what had happened. She risked a glance at his rock-hard profile, the innate ruthlessness in every chiselled line, and any thought of pleading with him died a death. Not that she would have done that anyway, she immediately corrected. She had fought too long and hard for her pride and self-esteem to throw it away on a pig like Marcus.
Drawing on all her considerable will power, she slowly sat back down on the sofa. ‘Why are you doing this?’ She lifted glacial green eyes to his face. ‘Why invest in a company you want to ruin?’
‘Admittedly, that wasn’t my first plan. Theo was a fool; he gave money to your mother at a time when he was expanding his holiday development on Rykos. It was money he could not afford, and for the next four years he struggled with a cash flow problem, but was too proud to ask for my help. He only mentioned the matter to me a week before he died when his company was going bankrupt.’
‘Bankrupt.’ Eloise almost groaned out loud; it was getting worse by the second.
‘Obviously, as executor of his estate, it is my responsibility to make sure his wife and daughter do not suffer from his stupidity. Revenge is a totally human emotion, and, I admit, I went seeking it from your mother. It took some time for the detective agency I hired to track her down, only to discover she was dead, and there was no sister, only a daughter—it took a while longer to track you down,’ Marcus declared harshly.
The Greek Tycoon's Revenge Page 7