by Sara Craven
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I am—more than grateful.’
Hs glance was frankly cynical. ‘I think that remains to be seen.’ He paused. ‘As we are now officially engaged, am I permitted to call you Harriet?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course.’ She flushed. ‘And I need to know the rest of your name—for when I break the good news to my grandfather.’
‘I am Zandros,’ he said. ‘Roan Zandros.’ He leaned forward, offering his hand, and before she realised what she was doing Harriet allowed her fingers to be clasped by his. His touch was warm and strong, and in spite of herself she felt her pulses leap in an unexpected and unwelcome response.
And saw his firm mouth slant, as if he’d gauged her reaction, and was amused by it.
He said softly, ‘To our better acquaintance, Harriet mou.’ Then, before she could free herself, he raised her hand almost ceremoniously to his lips and kissed it, leaving her gasping.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘W HAT on earth are you doing?’ Harriet snatched back her hand, furiously aware that she was blushing.
‘A formal seal to our betrothal.’ He sounded completely unconcerned. ‘That is all.’
‘Thank you,’ she said grittily. ‘Perhaps we can dispense with any further formalities.’
He was grinning now. ‘Of course, if that is what you wish.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It is.’ Something told her she was being absurd to make such a fuss over so little. After all, the kiss had barely lasted a second. Yet she had a curious conviction that if she looked at her hand she would see the mark of his mouth burning like a brand on her skin.
Anxious to dismiss the incident, she hurried into speech. ‘Zandros—that’s a Greek name?’
‘You seem surprised.’
‘No, not really,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s just that—you speak English so well.’
‘I had an English mother, and I spent a lot of time in this country when I was young. Also, it was where I began my education.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I see.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Roan said, not unkindly. ‘But there is no reason why you should.’ He paused. ‘So, when do you plan to tell your grandfather about this sudden change in your circumstances?’
‘I’ll go down next weekend and talk to him.’
He nodded meditatively. ‘And how will you explain me? I cannot be the grandson he had in mind.’
‘No,’ Harriet agreed. ‘Quite the contrary, which makes it all the better.’
His glance held faint reproof. ‘In your view, perhaps. But if I may offer some advice,’ he added dryly, ‘you should not gloat too openly over your victory. A man does not like to find himself bested by a woman.’
‘Too bad,’ she said. ‘But it’s hardly that, because I’m doing exactly what he wants. So how can he complain if I interpret that in my own way?’
‘Experience suggests he may complain very bitterly. Does your desire for this pile of bricks and mortar really justify causing such upset?’
Harriet looked down at the table. She said constrictedly, ‘Don’t get me wrong. I love him—I really do. But he doesn’t understand my need to live as an independent woman, and he never has. He has to accept that.’
‘And your parents? What have they to say about this?’
She said, ‘They’re—no longer around.’
He glanced at her frowningly. ‘I am sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve had years to grow accustomed to it.’
‘You are fortunate. My mother died nearly three years ago, and she is still constantly in my thoughts.’ He leaned back in his chair, his gaze watchful. ‘This house you want so much—without marriage, who will be there to inherit it when you are gone?’
She said defensively, ‘I could always adopt a child.’
‘A single woman?’ His brows rose. ‘Does the law allow this?’
‘Why not? After all, I shan’t be poor, and money opens all kinds of doors.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am beginning to see that.’ His smile was ironic. ‘But, as one of those doors has opened for me, I can hardly complain.’ He paused again. ‘You do not think that one day you will meet a man you can love, and wish to have his babies?’
‘No,’ Harriet said shortly. ‘I don’t. And may we please leave my personal foibles to one side, and get back to business? I’d already started on the arrangements when I thought I was going to marry—the other man, but there’s still a great deal to do.’ She looked down at her bare hands. ‘For one thing, I need a ring.’
‘That is usually the bridegroom’s responsibility,’ he said. ‘Therefore, you may leave it to me.’
‘It’s hardly an expense you can afford,’ she returned. ‘Besides, you don’t know the correct size.’
‘I could make an educated guess.’ He looked her over, eyes narrowed. ‘As I could do about the size of everything you are wearing at this moment. Do you wish me to demonstrate?’
She was infuriated to realise that her face was burning again. She said with a snap, ‘No, thank you.’ She got to her feet, and he stood up too, making her aware all over again of how tall he was, and how broad his shoulders were under the cling of his shirt. She added hurriedly, ‘There’ll be things to sign—papers and such. My lawyer will contact you.’
She paused. ‘The date of the wedding—is there any particular day of the week that you’d find inconvenient?’
‘You are most considerate,’ he said courteously. ‘However, I will make quite sure I’m available when you require me to be so.’
‘Then I’ll arrange for Mr Slevin to come to your studio,’ she said. ‘I—I hope the visit goes well. His backing would be such a fantastic boost for you.’
She realised she was babbling again, and stopped, rummaging inside her bag for her wallet instead. She put some notes on the table. ‘That should cover the bill.’ She sent him a bright, meaningless smile. ‘If you want to order anything else, please do so.’
For an instant, there was an odd silence—almost a tension in the air. Then Roan bent his head in polite acknowledgement, and the moment passed.
All the same, her goodbye was faintly uncertain as she took her departure. And as she emerged into the street, she found she was strangely breathless.
But why? she wondered. Because I should be cheering, now that I’ve solved my problem at last.
Except, she reminded herself as she signalled to a passing taxi, that I still have to tell Grandfather.
The week that followed was a busy one. Harriet spent the latter part of it in the Midlands, revisiting the sites she’d targeted on earlier trips, and taking extensive photographs to accompany her redrafted report, when it was prepared, and support its recommendations. Nothing this time would be left to chance, she thought with grim determination. Whatever the questions, she would have all the answers.
However, in spite of this resolution, she seemed to be finding concentration difficult, particularly as she wasn’t sleeping too well at nights.
Clearly the forthcoming confrontation with her grandfather must be preying on her mind rather more than she’d expected, she told herself wryly.
When she got back to London on Friday afternoon, the atmosphere at Flint Audley was festive. Gina, who worked in Accounting, was having a birthday, and a cake, complete with candles, had been cut up and passed around the office at teatime. And after work, everyone was going out for a celebratory drink. Or all except one…
‘We didn’t think you’d be back,’ Gina informed Harriet offhandedly. ‘But you’re welcome to join us—if you want,’ she added, eying Harriet’s serviceable black pants and tunic top with ill-concealed disfavour.
‘Thank you,’ Harriet returned with equal insincerity. ‘But I’m going down to the country this evening.’
‘Off to the stately pile?’ Jon Audley joined them, his smile malicious. ‘Dad always thought it would divide up into great flats, and I’m sure he was right. There’s even
enough land to construct a nine-hole golf course as a total bonus. Something to bear in mind when it finally falls into your waiting hands, Harriet dear.’
She looked back at him evenly. ‘Except that Gracemead is not for sale,’ she said. ‘Not now. Not ever.’
‘Always supposing you have the choice,’ he murmured, and walked away, leaving her staring after him, more shaken than she cared to admit. Had rumours of her grandfather’s intentions somehow reached Flint Audley?
If so, it would give her intense pleasure to prove them unfounded.
Because, whether Gregory Flint liked it or not, he would have to accept her unlikely bridegroom.
Her own attitude to him, however, seemed less easy to define.
While she’d been away, she’d found Roan Zandros in her thoughts far more than she wished. She wasn’t altogether sure she hadn’t dreamed about him, but, if so, her memories were thankfully hazy.
She could only be certain that he wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she originally devised her plan.
And in some ways she wished he’d turned her down, and walked away.
Oh, come on, she adjured herself impatiently. That’s defeatist thinking. He’s a means to an end, that’s all. A business deal. And you’ll have a firewall to protect you anyway, with your pre-nuptial agreement.
Back at the flat, she showered quickly and shampooed her hair. She’d intended to wear it up, or braid it, but she was running late, so she decided for once simply to brush it and leave it loose.
There was a beige linen shift dress in her wardrobe, and she changed into it with reluctance, her grandfather’s preferences and prejudices at the forefront of her mind. He preferred her to wear skirts, and there was no point in getting off on the wrong foot, and upsetting him over something as trivial as her choice of clothing.
However, he’d sounded genuinely pleased when she phoned to say she was coming down. Their recent meetings had been less frequent than usual, and overshadowed by the inevitable tensions arising from his ultimatum.
Maybe he hoped that some kind of reconciliation was on the cards, and, if so, she would listen. But only if he relented sufficiently to let her off the hook.
She bit her lip. It was far more likely that she’d have to proceed with her bargain, and go through a wedding ceremony with Roan Zandros.
After which, her life would just—continue as usual.
While she packed her weekend case, she listened to the messages on her answering machine. An investment group was offering her a financial health check. Her oldest friend Tessa wanted her to come to dinner. ‘Bill says it’s been far too long, and he’s right, Harry, love. Where does the time go, I ask myself? So call us.’
And her lawyer, Isobel Crane, had also phoned, to tell her that the pre-nuptial agreement had been prepared according to her instructions, and was ready for signature, but might need further discussion.
In other words, she wants to talk me out of the whole thing, Harriet thought, her lips twisting wryly. Well, nothing new there.
She was a little disappointed that there was no message from Desmond Slevin, who’d been planning to visit Roan’s studio two days earlier. But he was a busy man, she told herself, and maybe there’d been no opportunity as yet. It was certainly too soon to give up hope.
Besides, whatever Desmond’s decision, Roan Zandros would get his exhibition. That was the deal, and whatever it cost, it would be worth it.
At least, that’s what I have to believe, she thought, and realised with shock that it was the first time she’d even been remotely doubtful about what she was doing.
And her doubts multiplied on the way down, so that when she drove into the village a couple of hours later, she felt almost sick with nerves. Any sense of triumph had long since dissipated. Now she was simply doing what she must to safeguard her inheritance.
When she reached Gracemead, she parked at the rear of the house, near the old stable block, and went in through the kitchen to be met by the enticing aroma of roast duck, unless she missed her guess.
Mrs Wade, a little stouter and greyer, was whipping thick cream to accompany the chocolate mousse which was one of her masterpieces. She greeted Harriet with affection, and told her that Mr Flint was in the drawing room.
‘With his visitor, Miss Harriet,’ she added.
Harriet grimaced inwardly. She’d hoped to have her grandfather all to herself, so she could break the news about her wedding before she lost her nerve. But maybe his company wouldn’t stay long.
She dropped her case in the hall, and went into the drawing room, only to find it empty. But the French windows were standing open to the evening sun, and she could hear the faint rumble of her grandfather’s voice coming from the terrace outside.
Taking a deep breath, she went out to join him.
Gregory Flint was standing at the balustrade, gesturing expansively as he indicated points of interest in the gardens spread out before them to the man at his side, too wrapped up in one of his favourite topics to notice her arrival.
Although she could only see his companion’s back, she knew instinctively that he was not one of the locals, but someone she’d never seen before, tall and soberly suited, a dark silhouette against the sunset’s brightness.
A complete stranger, she thought. Or was he…?
She halted suddenly, staring at the strong shoulders and narrow hips set off by some expensive tailoring. Feeling her mouth turn dry as her brain tried to reject the evidence being presented by her eyes. Telling herself—no—it wasn’t—couldn’t be possible…
And as if aware of her scrutiny, he turned slowly and looked at her as she stood, hesitating, by the drawing room windows.
‘Agapi mou,’ Roan Zandros said, smiling, and walked towards her, his dark eyes sweeping over her in a frank appraisal that reminded her that it was the first time he’d seen her wearing a dress, and also that her hair had dried into a waving, unruly cloud on her shoulders. The lingering look he was bestowing on her legs as he approached only served to add outrage to her anger at this unwarranted intrusion—here at her home, her sanctuary.
She managed the single word, ‘What—?’ before his arms went round her, pulling her towards him, and jerking the breath out of her.
He bent towards her, shielding her with his body to give the impression that they were locked in a passionate embrace, as he stared down into her frantically widening eyes. His mouth an indrawn breath from hers, he whispered, ‘Smile, Harriet. Pretend you are pleased to see me.’
Then he swung her round, his arm holding her firmly, his hand resting on her hip in a gesture of unmistakable possession, as they faced her grandfather together.
‘Well, my dear.’ Gregory Flint’s tone might be mild, but his eyes were watchful under their shaggy brows. ‘I gather from this young man that I must wish you happiness.’ He paused. ‘I confess I had no idea that there was anyone in your life, and this visit came as a complete surprise to me.’
And to me, thought Harriet as she lifted her chin, her gaze meeting his with a serenity she was far from feeling. ‘A pleasant one, I hope, Grandfather.’
‘I hope so too,’ he agreed dryly. ‘I told your fiancé frankly, Harriet, that he was not what I had expected, but he assures me that his prospects are excellent, and I am obliged to believe him.’
Roan said quietly, ‘Harriet has been away, and therefore does not know that Desmond Slevin has agreed to exhibit my work at the Parsifal Gallery. I heard from him today.’
‘Oh.’ Harriet swallowed. ‘Well, that’s wonderful news. I’m—delighted for you. Darling,’ she added belatedly.
Roan’s smile did not reach his eyes. ‘And I owe all my good fortune to you, my sweet one.’ He turned back to Gregory Flint. ‘I hope, sir, we have your consent to our marriage—and your blessing.’
‘For what it’s worth—yes.’ There was a hint of grimness in Gregory Flint’s faint smile. ‘I’m sure any opinion of mine will make no difference at all to your plans.’
> He looked at his watch. ‘Dinner will be in forty minutes. Why don’t you show Mr Zandros the garden, my dear, and enjoy your reunion in private? I expect you have a lot to talk about.’
Roan held her arm as they descended the shallow stone steps leading to the lawn. He said very softly, ‘If you wish to attack me, Harriet mou, I suggest you wait. And don’t pull away from me. We are still under surveillance.’
‘How dare you?’ she muttered furiously in return, her entire body rigid. ‘How dare you—barge in like this?’
‘No barging was necessary,’ he returned calmly. ‘I rang the bell, and was admitted like any other visitor.’
‘But how did you find your way here in the first place?’
‘It wasn’t difficult. I knew your grandfather’s name, and that of the house. I simply—made enquiries.’
‘I think you must have gone completely mad.’ She shook her head. ‘Whatever possessed you to come here—and ask his permission, for God’s sake? I feel as if I’m taking part in some costume drama on television.’
‘From what you have told me,’ he said slowly, ‘it seemed that your grandfather was an old-fashioned man, who might prefer such a gesture instead of merely being told of your decision—which he might interpret as deliberate provocation.’
‘Oh, you know so much about it, naturally.’ She tugged herself free, no longer caring if they were being watched.
He shrugged a shoulder. ‘I’ve dealt with autocrats before. Pitched battles are rarely the answer.’ He smiled at her. ‘An element of surprise is often more successful.’
Yes, she thought, seething. I’ve just discovered that for myself.
Aloud, she said, ‘It didn’t occur to you to consult me first?’
‘You were not around to consult, Harriet mou,’ he pointed out, his tone infuriatingly reasonable. ‘Besides, I was certain you would refuse.’
‘How right you were,’ she said stormily, and relapsed into another simmering silence. At the same time, she took her first proper look at him.
Little wonder she hadn’t recognised him immediately, she thought in bewilderment. Because there wasn’t a scrap of torn denim or a paint stain in sight. The charcoal suit he was wearing might not be new, but it was unmistakably elegant. His white shirt was crisp, his tie was silk, and his shoes, amazingly, were polished. He even appeared—dear God—to be wearing socks.