Bittersweet Passion

by Lynne Graham

  Clearly, loving Max didn’t blind her to another man’s attractions … no, that sounded even worse. It had to have been a reflex response, some sort of nasty teenage hangover from a time when she had craved Dane’s arms around her. Or even more likely, the end result of over-excitement. Irritable now, she wrapped a towel round her and padded back into the bedroom where she discovered an extravagant négligé set lying across the bed.

  Her fingers coiled into it with strong distaste and she raised the delicate fabric to her face. It smelt new. She put it on and got into the bed, feeling very self-conscious sheathed in pearl-grey satin and pale pink lace. Thompson appeared with a cup of tea on a silver tray and asked her if she was hungry before departing with the same silent, almost robotic air of detachment.

  She guessed he was used to women here. Oversized blondes with endless legs, brunettes with the same attributes. Claire had seen two dozen over the years feature in newsprint with Dane, and they were all tall and gorgeous and glossy. Just like Dane. She just couldn’t see him with anyone ordinary. The hype and the glitzy wrapping were all part of his world.

  Had Dane ever been in love? Her curiosity was exasperating but inescapable. She was extremely glad there wasn’t another woman in residence. She wasn’t sure she could have handled that smoothly. Her brow pleated. It was absolutely none of her business what Dane did in his private life. Max had once referred to him as a womaniser. He had somehow missed out on understanding the special affection she had for Dane, and that had annoyed her. For goodness’ sake, a woman could admire a man without any sexual connotation!

  Claire had always appreciated Dane’s strength and the fashion in which he coolly and, without ever descending to rudeness, stood up to their grandfather’s loud, overbearing ways. Of course, Max had been in a different position, she allowed guiltily. One didn’t hand back cheek to one’s enmployer, and perhaps when he’d left Ranbury, he’d still been hoping to receive a reference. Nor would she have wanted Max to be like Dane.

  They were complete opposites. Her life with Max would be peaceful and ordered and very much based on home and family, and naturally that would sound stultifying to Dane. He’d never had either, and to a free spirit, those sort of down-to-earth aspirations bore a close resemblance to a suffocating cage. Dane was the antithesis of peaceful. He raced through the day with an energy that was boundless and rather overpowering.

  The doctor arrived, ushered in by Thompson. He was clearly from the private sector, and when that miserably tiny cut on her throat won her a painful anti-tetanus injection, she was relieved to see the back of his well bred head.

  ‘I know you said you weren’t hungry, but you missed dinner,’ Dane said lazily, strolling in with a tray. ‘I told Thompson to make you an omelette.’

  ‘Did anyone ever ask you to knock on doors?’ She tugged the duvet to her lace-covered breasts.

  ‘No, you’re the only one.’ Unperturbed, he set the tray down on her lap. ‘If you eat, you’ll sleep better, and we’re flying to Paris in forty-eight hours, so you need your rest.’

  Forty-eight hours. That seemed so terrifyingly close. To conceal her sudden attack of uncertainty she blurted out the thought that had been at the back of her mind since her arrival here in his apartment. ‘I had this idea you had someone living here.’

  He didn’t move a muscle. ‘Past tense is correct.’

  ‘Oh!’ A tactful withdrawal seemed sensible. She didn’t know what had possessed her to pry. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ A faintly feral smile marked his beautiful mouth.

  ‘Was she in love with you?’ She couldn’t help asking the question, her belief being that Dane would always be the one to back out of any relationsip that got too heavy.

  ‘She wasn’t in love with anything beyond my cheque book and the high I could give her in bed. In that order,’ he answered with smooth emphasis.

  Hot colour rose in her cheeks. ‘If that was all she meant to you,’ she replied stiffly. ‘It was just as well she did go.’

  ‘Good sex is fun, Claire. Nothing else.’ He cast her a slow, coolly enquiring appraisal. ‘Next question?’

  She lifted her knife and fork. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘Well, you won’t mind if I ask a personal question,’ Dane assumed. ‘Tell me, when am I to meet Max?’

  Her fork froze half-way down to the crisp, golden omelette. ‘He’s out of town right now.’

  ‘And you discovered that without visiting or phoning him?’

  He was uncomfortably astute. She still carved into the omelette. ‘I phoned a friend of his. Naturally I want to see him. I just can’t get hold of him right at this moment,’ she imparted, glad to be truthful on one count. ‘One half of me says that’s providential. I’m a bit worried he wouldn’t approve of all this and I was wondering if you had had any second thoughts.’

  ‘If you want to call it off just say so,’ Dane responded with irritating impartiality. ‘Think about it overnight.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE dulled throb of the jet engines was giving her a faint headache. Or was it her nerves? Seemingly impervious to such sensibility, Dane was on the phone speaking in fluent French, the papers he had been studying with his legal advisor, Lew Harrison, resting on the luxurious cabin’s built-in desk. Receiving a cool glance from the lawyer opposite, Claire angrily dropped her eyes back to the magazine on her lap.

  She had made Lew’s acquaintance early yesterday at the apartment. Dane had been out when the lawyer called with a document that required her signature. His hostility had needed no vocal utterance to be felt.

  ‘What exactly does this mean?’ she had asked apologetically.

  ‘It gives Dane control of your future inheritance, Miss Fletcher. A purely supervisory control lasting only for the next year,’ he specified, coldly concise, the bland smile on his face slipping. ‘At the end of that period the money becomes yours to do with as you wish. Dane considers this arrangement necessary.’

  His unveiled contempt was an unpleasant surprise. ‘I take it you don’t approve, Mr Harrison.’

  ‘I don’t believe I said any such thing, Miss Fletcher.’

  ‘You don’t need to say anything,’ she replied as she signed. ‘It’s obvious you don’t approve. Perhaps you’d care to tell me why.’

  He returned the agreement to his case. ‘I’m aware of the marriage that is to take place.’ As he dropped the news, he flipped down the lid on his case and locked it. ‘And I don’t like it at all. Dane appears to be distracted by your financial responsibilites and he wouldn’t agree to me presenting you with a pre-nuptial contract,’ he imparted tonelessly.

  ‘I wouldn’t touch a penny of Dane’s money, Mr Harrison,’ Claire protested, horrified by the insinuation. ‘The ceremony will only be a formality.’

  His scrutiny showed he was unimpressed. ‘A formality which will legally entitle you to claim on Visconti Holdings, Miss Fletcher. Something more than a mere formality in my terminology. Dane’s worth millions. Yet because he trusts you he’s taking not a single step to protect his own interests,’ he informed her drily. ‘Naturally I disapprove but I reserve judgement. My apologies if I have misinterpreted your intentions.’

  ‘Of course, you prefer to be blunt,’ she said shakily.

  He held her furious gaze. ‘It’s more in the nature of a warning, Miss Fletcher. It will be me whom you come up against should the situation alter.’

  His cynical conviction that she had designs on Dane’s wealth had shocked Claire. That he believed she was relying heavily on the family relationship to allay any doubts Dane might otherwise have had shook her more. She had been too mortified to raise the subject openly with Dane. After all, Lew Harrison would soon see that he had nothing to worry about.

  Over dinner last night she had deliberately asked Dane if Adam’s estate was likely to be sorted out in the near future. The sooner she was independent of Dane’s generosity, the happier she would be.

  ‘Getting i
mpatient?’ he had probed huskily. ‘I don’t understand why he let his affairs get in such a mess when he knew he was dying. I would have thought he would leave everything in apple pie order. Still, maybe he just lost heart. One could scarcely blame him in the circumstances.’

  She studied him worriedly. ‘What’s causing the holdup?’

  ‘Nothing specific. Coverdale couldn’t trace those South African investments. I suspect Adam was up to tax dodging, he laid so many false trails.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have done that,’ she interrupted. ‘He was very straight in business.’

  Dane shrugged. ‘Nobody as miserly as Adam could be entirely true blue, Claire. But there’s no need for you to worry. I’ve put the problem in the hands of my own staff. Let’s face it, Coverdale’s out of his element.’

  She had been troubled by that conversation. Her grandfather had been compulsively tidy about keeping account books. A door shut and she sank back to the present as Lew Harrison left the cabin.

  ‘You’re extraordinarily quiet. We’ll be landing soon.’ Dane leant back with indolent grace in his chair, and rebuttoned his shirt collar and fixed the tie he had loosened. ‘Lew’s cold shoulder getting to you? I did notice, but a good lawyer is not one who keeps his mouth shut when you tell him to,’ he drawled. ‘And I reckon you can cope with it.’

  In the expensively cut navy suit, he looked incredibly cool and sophisticated and rather unfamiliar. ‘Sticks and stones,’ she said lightly. ‘You know, I hardly recognise you in a suit.’

  His smile acknowledged her less than deft change of subject. ‘It is a once only occasion.’

  ‘Some day you’ll go through it for real,’ she forecast.

  Dane emitted a soft laugh. ‘No way! That’s one charade I don’t plan to play a part in.’

  ‘Ever?’ she prompted, a spasm of sadness passing over her, regret that he would never let anyone get that close.

  ‘I don’t feel any overwhelming need to duplicate myself in the next generation, either.’ He surveyed her mockingly. ‘Whereas I suspect you can’t wait.’

  She flushed. ‘Why shouldn’t I want a baby? I don’t need to apologise for that.’

  His expressive mouth quirked. ‘Claire, you’re a breath of fresh air.’

  She tilted her chin. ‘It’ll be the first time in my life that I have a real sense of belonging.’

  ‘Max just being a useful means to an end?’ he taunted. ‘Rather him than me. Forgive me, but I had this no doubt peculiar impression that love was much more highflown than basic reproduction.’

  ‘Since neither desire has bitten you, you can’t feel qualified to pass judgement,’ she riposted, but his cool taunt had none the less plunged her into uneasy self-examination.

  Certainly the thought of a family and a home loomed large in her relationship with Max. However, theirs wasn’t the passionate bond that the movies and books represented love to be. Claire wasn’t sure she really believed love like that existed in real life. Love to her was quiet and enduring and based on mutual goals that would bind two people into a partnership. It sounded resoundingly practical. And that was how she was in her own opinion.

  At his smile she simmered. Dane had no respect for marriage, commitment or for her own sex. Bearing all that in mind, she reckoned she shouldn’t be criticising. Had he felt differently, he would never have agreed to this.

  The civil ceremony was to take place in an unremarkable town hall in the Paris suburbs, the key word being discretion. As they entered the building, Claire suddenly put her hand on Dane’s sleeve, for Lew was several steps ahead of them. ‘It’s not too late if you want to change your mind,’ she broached, uneasy about the way in which she was imposing on him. ‘I did sort of corner you into this.’

  With a blunt fingertip he pushed the attractive silver-grey glasses she wore higher on her small nose. ‘No one corners me.’ Smiling, he gently turned her round to let her see the small woman anxiously waiting across the foyer. ‘And I think any last-minute change of plans might upset a certain person.’

  ‘Maisie …’ Claire whispered uncertainly and a second later her doubts were forgotten. She was much too busy accepting the old lady’s hug and returning one of her own and exclaiming over the pretty bunch of flowers Maisie was proffering.

  ‘I stayed in a lovely hotel last night, and the car came to collect me this morning again!’ It was clear she was still in something of a daze to find herself in Paris. ‘And to be here for the ceremony!’ She squeezed Claire’s hand wordlessly and swallowed.

  ‘I think we’d better go in, Mrs Morley,’ Dane interposed.

  ‘Thank you.’ Unselfconsciously Claire wiped her eyes. ‘This means so much … even if it’s not real.’

  ‘Hell, it feels real enough to me!’ Dane breathed above her head. ‘Anyway, I thought you’d relax more with a friend here.’

  It had been so very kind of him to arrange for Maisie to come. And how very like him it was to brush off her surprise and gratitude as if it had been something too trivial to mention.

  Twenty-five minutes later it was over. They were leaving the room again when Lew cursed abruptly. ‘How the hell did they find out?’ he raked in a savage undertone.

  A half-dozen flashbulbs burst brilliantly in the dim hallway, and there was a sea of suddenly converging bodies and hurled questions. Beside her Dane went very still, but it was Lew’s angry condemnatory glance she was most shaken by. His look implied that she was somehow behind the unexpected intrusion of the noisy, shouting reporters. She didn’t dare look at Dane as she was herded out, and she barely managed to say goodbye to Maisie who Lew hurriedly took in charge.

  On the steps Dane hesitated, abruptly spinning her round. ‘Are you responsible for this circus?’ he demanded, anger shimmering rawly in his brilliant gaze.

  Her eyes were still following Maisie, her hand lifted in a weak farewell to the old lady who was climbing into another car. Fortunately she hadn’t realised anything was wrong. The immediacy of Dane’s accusation shook her. His next action devastated what remained of her crumbling poise.

  In full view of everyone his strong hands trapped her slim body to his and his mouth swooped down, brutally hard on hers, driving the breath from her in a kiss of humiliating punishment. When he freed her, her fingers crept up involuntarily to her bruised lips, her dazed, uncomprehending eyes pinned to his as she tasted the bittersweetness of blood on her tongue.

  ‘Just get in the car.’ His hand fastened to her forearm and thrust her the rest of the way.

  She hunched in the corner, afraid to speak. It was slowly and agonisingly sinking in on her why he was so very angry. Those photographs had blown the secrecy of their marriage of convenience apart. The photos would be splashed all over the newspapers and the glossy magazines. It was a damage which neither words nor actions could undo. In another few hours Dane’s jet-set, socialite acquaintances would be staggered to learn that Dane Visconti had married an incredibly ordinary redhead with neither extravagant beauty nor talent to recommend her.

  ‘It wasn’t anything to do with me,’ she said finally.

  It was not Dane but Lew who answered, which somehow made her feel worse. ‘Someone tipped them off.

  She linked her trembling hands. ‘It wasn’t me! For goodness’ sake, why would I do that?’ she appealed.

  ‘No one else knew,’ Dane cut in.

  Not a single word was exchanged on the flight back to London. Dane was seething and she pretended to fall asleep because she was so wretched in the other man’s presence, certain she had him to blame for Dane’s peculiarly fast change of attitude. When they reached the apartment, the strain was making her feel physically ill but at least Lew was no longer with them.

  ‘I swear it wasn’t me,’ she murmured, following Dane into the split-level lounge. ‘I’ll swear on a Bible if you like. I told no one about the wedding. I didn’t even tell Hannah. Dane?’

  Ignoring her, he poured himself a shot of whisky from a decanter on one of the low
oak-carved units.

  Claire hovered. ‘Look, I’ll get out of here now,’ she promised.

  Dane swung round. ‘To go where? Max? Move in with another guy the day you marry me?’ he outlined curtly, his mouth twisting in eloquent incredulity. ‘Like hell you will! As far as everyone is concerned, you’re now my wife.’

  She tautened. ‘But we know that’s not true.’

  He appraised her with cold intensity. ‘No, it’s not but I could be forgiven for beginning to wonder.’

  ‘We could get an annulment,’ she pointed out wildly. ‘Then we wouldn’t be married any more.’

  ‘An annulment?’ he repeated harshly, staring at her in disbelief. ‘Let you make a bigger fool of me in public?’

  ‘I just thought …’

  ‘Forget it. That’s out of the question. But if I find this is a trap, Claire, you’ll wish you’d stayed out of my path.’

  Stockstill, she whispered, ‘A trap?’

  Hard blue eyes glittered before his black lashes swept down. ‘Just one too many coincidences,’ he breathed and strode over to the phone, punching out a number, not removing his eyes from her once. ‘Any joy yet, Ken?’ His strong jawline tensed. ‘OK, ring me when you can stand by that,’ he advised and dropped the receiver back down on to its cradle.

  ‘Is there something wrong?’ she muttered.

  Something was terribly wrong, above and beyond those reporters besieging them in Paris and again in London. It was written in every aggressive line of his long, lean body, his eyes so bright a blue they were opaque. ‘If I were you, I’d ask Thompson for a late lunch in your room.’