Marriage on Command

by Lindsay Armstrong

  Damien lay back in his chair and studied her comprehensively.

  Lee fiddled with her scarf and contrived in every way known to her to project unconcern at the scrutiny she was being subjected to. But it was hard going. Because, more than any man she had ever met, Damien Moore was capable of injecting an element of speculation into the way he studied you as a woman, out of those fine dark eyes. Speculation as to what you’d be like in bed, to put it bluntly, she told herself. But it was a curiously disinterested speculation and she hated it!

  However, she immediately reminded herself, as she sipped her coffee and tried to look soignée—in spirit if not in grooming—that sadly there was more to the reason she hated it than pure feminine outrage.

  There was guilt, for example. Because almost from the moment she’d first met him a certain thought had crossed her mind from time to time—would this dark, clever man, with his wide shoulders, long, strong limbs, his good looks, be dynamite in bed or what?

  Guilt also because she was never able to remain unmoved by that speculative study. Even if she managed to hide it, her pulses always started to hammer, mental images of the two of them together plagued her, and it required an almost superhuman effort not to look all hot and bothered.

  Then there had been the stage when she’d been sure she’d fallen in love with him, only to have to disabuse herself of the theory—which she had, she assured herself!—because there had never been a glimmer of a similar emotion in him. Sure, he did occasionally look right through her clothes, but only in that speculative way. And how could you go on fancying yourself in love with a man who had proposed a purely platonic marriage?

  She grimaced unwittingly. She might try to take a light approach in her thoughts, but underneath there was still a painful little scar to do with Damien Moore. True, the acquisition of Plover Park had helped to take her mind away from him…but now this!

  ‘Suspicious how?’ he asked at last.

  She looked frustrated. ‘I…I don’t know. It’s just too neat and natty.’

  ‘I am only proposing that we share the same roof, not the same bed, if that’s your concern,’ he drawled.

  She shot him a fiery glance and wondered what he’d do if he knew just why that offended her.

  Then she flinched visibly as, almost as if he had read her thoughts, he added, ‘Well, not necessarily the same bed—unless you’d like to rethink that bit?’

  ‘No way, José!’ were the words that sprang to her lips.

  He laughed softly, but said, ‘I do admire your pithy turn of phrase, Lee. You never leave anyone in doubt as to your emotions.’

  She pinched her lips together, but inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘You are also…’ he paused, then shrugged ‘…very refreshing at times.’ His dark gaze drifted to the waitress who had simpered over him, and became tinged with irony.

  She frowned faintly as she wondered what he was thinking, then shook her head. ‘Assuming I agree to this—but there’s a very good chance I won’t!—when would you want to move in?’

  ‘In about two weeks.’

  ‘So we’d have to…do it…before then.’

  ‘We would have to…“do it”…before then,’ he agreed. ‘It wouldn’t be akin to going to the electric chair, however.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ She gestured helplessly. ‘I just…I need a bit of time to think about it!’

  ‘Is there such a lot to think about, Lee?’ he asked impatiently. ‘Have I not represented your best interests up until now?’

  She stared at him uncertainly, and it crossed her mind to wonder whether he had any idea what her view of her best interests was—not to allow herself to build up dangerous dreams around this man! How much harder would that be if she was married to him, even platonically?

  ‘I…’ She stopped.

  He looked at his watch and swore beneath his breath—but not, as it turned out, on account of her. ‘I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m just so damn busy at the moment. I have to go—but do think about it, Lee.’

  ‘It’s not as if there isn’t enough room,’ she said, then looked shocked.

  He grinned. ‘At Plover Park? True. But never let it be said I rushed you into anything.’ He stood up. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I really have to go. Why don’t you order something more to your taste? I’ll leave an imprint of my credit card with them. Please let me know your decision in due course,’ he added formally.

  Lee stared up at him. ‘OK. Bye!’

  He hesitated for a moment, then, ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, Lee Westwood. Goodbye.’ He turned away.

  She watched his retreating back. It would be fair to say, she thought darkly, that he cut a swathe through the female population of the café—and the waitress he had eyed earlier tripped over her feet in her eagerness to be the one to deal with his bill.

  It would also be fair to say he had it all: an aura of power and wealth, a hint of arrogance, a touch of damning uninterest in the ripples he was creating in many a womanly heart. But it was, curiously, no consolation, she brooded, to know that she was not alone in finding Damien Moore irresistible.

  She reached for her coffee cup, then jumped as a voice beside her said, ‘Having lunch with him now and then is not going to do it, you know.’ And a man slid into the seat Damien had vacated.

  ‘Who on earth are you and what do you mean?’ she asked haughtily.

  ‘And good day to you too, Miss Westwood,’ he returned. ‘I happen to be Cyril Delaney’s brother—Cosmo.’

  ‘What?’ Lee’s eyes nearly popped out on stalks, then she realised there was a definite resemblance, although this man’s blue eyes were unpleasantly shifty and knowing. ‘You’re the one who’s contesting the will?’

  ‘The same,’ he agreed.

  She gasped. ‘Are you having me followed? Is that why you’re here?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he denied. ‘This is pure coincidence. I recognised Damien Moore and put two and two together. I also thought it might be a timely opportunity to make it known to you that I intend to fight the bequest my brother was conned into making to you and Moore every inch of the way.’ He bared his teeth unpleasantly.

  ‘Conned! You’re out of your mind!’

  ‘Am I? He promised me Plover Park, so as I see it, between the two of you, you must have pitched him some kind of a con to get the place out of him. I certainly see no evidence that you two are the loving couple he hoped you would be!’

  Lee stood up and said dramatically, ‘Do your best, Cosmo Delaney. Or should I say your worst?’ And she stalked away.

  She was halfway to her car when she began to calm down and think more rationally. Then she fumbled for her mobile phone in her string bag and punched in the number of Moore & Moore. But it took a frustrating five minutes of dealing with receptionists and an over-zealous secretary before she got Damien.

  He said coolly, ‘This had better be good, Lee.’

  She made a frustrated sound in her throat. ‘It is! I need to talk to you!’

  ‘I can’t talk now, I’m in a conference. If it’s that urgent we’ll have to meet after work. Damn,’ he added immediately, ‘I’ve been invited to a party tonight, and I’m going to have to work late anyway, so—’

  ‘Excellent!’ Lee broke in. ‘I’ll come to the party with you—if you’re not taking someone else?’

  There was dead silence down the line, then, ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said I’ll come with you if—are you taking someone else?’

  ‘No, but…’

  ‘Could this party stand an extra guest at short notice?’ she queried.

  ‘Uh…well it’s not a sit-down dinner, it’s an al fresco buffet with dancing, so—’

  ‘Even better!’ Lee pronounced. ‘Sounds like my kind of party. The only thing is I need somewhere to park myself in the meantime. Any chance of using your apartment?’

  Another silence.

  ‘Damien?’

  ‘You want to get into
my apartment?’

  ‘It beats pounding pavements all afternoon. Besides, I need somewhere to get into my party gear.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Damien, if you don’t let me do this I’ll come and picket your office,’ she warned. ‘This is urgent.’

  ‘All right. I’ll phone the building manager and tell him to let you in. Uh—do you have party gear with you?’

  She thought there was a certain amount of caution with which he asked this, and smiled to herself. ‘No. But I have a credit card—and I’ll endeavour not to embarrass you.’

  The beautician in the department store beauty salon was talkative as she did Lee’s nails and gave her a mini-facial. She was also drop-dead gorgeous, with inch-long fake eyelashes and a streak of pink through her hair. She went by the name of Sally.

  ‘Got to be a guy involved?’ she hazarded. ‘Planning on doing a Cinderella?’

  Lee grimaced mentally; she was unable to do so physically because of the mask on her face. ‘You could say so,’ she mumbled. ‘I know I look a bit strange to be in a beauty parlour.’

  Sally shrugged. ‘I take it he’s quite some guy?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Lee confessed. ‘He’s one of those dark, damn you kind of men. I mean, he’s all proper and correct most of the time, but you get the feeling that underneath he could be quite different.’

  ‘The kind to drive women wild?’ Sally suggested.

  ‘Exactly. I must be mad,’ Lee added.

  ‘No. I always say go for it. Give ’em a bit of their own medicine. You only live once, you’re only young once, and you sure have the hair and the eyes to do it.’

  ‘Thanks, but I thought there was more to it.’

  Sally glanced down the length of Lee. ‘They say you can never be too rich or too thin.’

  This time Lee had to laugh, and cracked the mask.

  ‘Never mind, it’s ready to come off. Have you got a dress in mind?’ Sally enquired.

  ‘That’s next on my agenda.’

  ‘Go for black, and go mini, so you can dazzle him with your legs—there’s a dress right here in this store that would be divine on you. I’m due for a break when I finish you—like me to show you it? I’d almost set my heart on it myself, but I can tell this is a worthy cause so I’ll pass.’

  ‘That’s—I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, but that’s very noble of you!’

  ‘Wait until you see yourself in it,’ Sally advised. ‘Might just change your mind about yourself. And it might just get him grovelling.’

  An hour later, Lee emerged from a cubicle in the dress department of the store and examined herself in the mirror from all angles.

  ‘What did I tell you?’ Sally said, at the slightly stunned look in Lee’s eyes.

  ‘You don’t think it’s too—?’

  ‘No way! Go to it, honey! But I’d put your hair up.’

  A couple of hours later she was being ushered into a luxury high-rise apartment at Kangaroo Point, with sweeping views of the Brisbane River and the city centre on the opposite bank.

  She thanked the building manager, and as he left dropped several elegant shopping bags onto a claret-coloured settee.

  She’d only been in his apartment once before, when he’d asked her to breakfast, but it was equally as impressive today. Acres of off-white carpet, lovely paintings and objets d’art, with touches of hyacinth-pink and blue to complement the claret in the soft furnishings. There was even a bowl of fresh creamy pink carnations on the coffee table.

  She looked at her watch and discovered she still had a few hours to kill. Time enough to relax for a bit, so she wandered into the den, turned the television on and lay down on the broad leather couch to watch a movie. In fact, she fell asleep, and it was dark when she woke, although she still had over an hour to prepare herself for the party.

  Then she realised her tummy was rumbling so she raided her lawyer’s kitchen, which proved to be a fairly barren experience, but she did find some cheese and crackers, an apple and some grapes. Damien obviously rarely ate at home, although she did notice several bottles of champagne in the fridge. Then she went to look for the spare bedroom. On the way to it she passed the main bedroom, and it crossed her mind to wonder whether her future husband-in-name-only entertained any lovers in it.

  She hesitated at the doorway. Common sense told her that Damien would not live like a monk, and ethics persuaded her she should not snoop, so she bypassed the room resolutely. But that spark of curiosity remained.

  The spare bedroom had its own en-suite bathroom, she discovered, and, paradoxically, it held all the answers her spark of curiosity cried out to know. Not only was there a full set of a famous brand of luxury cosmetics set out on the marble vanity stand, but there was a robe and matching nightgown hanging from a hook on the wall. A very sensuous robe and nightgown, at that, being fashioned of sheer coffee silk with fine ecru lace inserts.

  She raised her eyebrows and tried to picture the girl who owned these telltale items. Tall, she found as she measured the robe against herself. Taller than her five feet four, and a glance at the size on the label told her that this girl was more generously curved, for it was a size larger than the size she took. So, tall and shapely, she decided. Dark or fair? She picked up the brush on the vanity and discovered a couple of long dark strands of hair in it. Definitely a brunette, then. She picked up a tube of lipstick, a deep berry-red, and found a bottle of nail polish that matched it.

  OK, she got the picture, she mused. Tall, dark and dramatically attractive—that went without saying when you thought of Damien’s good looks. Not your shrinking violet kind of girl either. Possibly a career girl? Possibly another lawyer?

  Then it occurred to her that there might be clothes in the closet owned by this girl—and indeed there were. Not many, but enough to confirm her impressions that this girl was striking and probably a professional career woman. For despite their lovely colours they were severely tailored and very formal.

  She looked down at her jeans and boots with a grimace, but then remembered her shopping bags and ran through to the lounge to retrieve them.

  The dress she’d bought was uncrushable, which was fortunate because she’d forgotten to hang it up. And as she carried it through to the spare bedroom, along with the shoes, make-up and underwear she’d purchased, she decided that in this dress there was no reason for her not to give any number of striking, professional women a run for their money—despite her chosen career being that of a landscape gardener.

  She paused at the thought of her career and swallowed suddenly as Cosmo Delaney swam into her mind’s eye. The surprise acquisition of Plover Park had provided her with the means not only to help her grandparents but also to make the dream of a lifetime start to come true. She and her grandfather had not only been able to maintain the nursery so that a good income was coming in, but she’d also received two commissions to design gardens. She closed her eyes at the thought of losing it all, and reminded herself that was why she was here in Damien Moore’s apartment.

  But that posed a question. Was she really prepared to marry Damien Moore to hang on to Cyril Delaney’s bequest?

  She sank down on to the bed with her dress in her arms. And where did this tall, dark, striking woman who stored her clothes in his spare bedroom fit in with his proposal to move to Plover Park?

  An hour later, she was ready.

  Her hair, on Sally’s advice, was up in an elegant twist. The dress fitted like a glove. Her lips were painted to match her nails, and all in all it was a startling metamorphosis from the girl who had sat down to lunch with Damien Moore earlier in the day. She wondered, with a tinge of acerbity, what he would make of her transformation.

  She only had to wait a few minutes before his key turned in the lock…

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘HOLY…mackerel!’

  About half the width of the lamplit lounge separated them when Damien Moore stopped as if shot and made his observation at the same time.


  Lee’s lips trembled but she managed to say gravely, ‘On the pithy sayings scale that’s nearly as good as…no way, José! Not what you’d expect of a legal brain, mind, but very expressive. Not that complimentary either—but I gather I’ve surprised you?’

  He took in the little black dress she wore and blinked. What there was of it hugged her figure. The bodice was heart-shaped, revealing a tantalising glimpse of her décolleté, and was held up by narrow straps encrusted with rhinestones. The skirt stopped well above her knees. High black patent sandals adorned her narrow feet and her legs were bare.

  It was a dress her slender figure and her lightly tanned limbs did justice to. It was a dress that revealed a more tantalising figure than he had suspected, and against the black her green eyes were stunning, her freckles almost unnoticeable. Her very light make-up was perfect as well. In all aspects she could suddenly have stepped out of the pages of Vogue…

  He spoke at last. ‘It is a bit different from your everlasting jeans, boots and odd scarves—and, of course, your black hat.’

  ‘I’m a gardener, remember? It needs to be a very special occasion for me to dress up. Would it be too much to ask if you approve?’

  ‘Would you care if I didn’t?’ he countered, and strolled forward, then started to circle her slowly.

  ‘No.’ She said it a shade sharply, because of course she would, but she’d rather die than allow him to see it. Nor did she appreciate being inspected as if she were a prize filly. It made her wonder if he’d pick up her feet and check her teeth. Not only that, it set her nerve-ends tingling and caused her to feel that she might as well not have bothered to clothe herself at all.

  ‘In the context of your party,’ she rephrased tartly, ‘it’d be nice to know if I come up to scratch.’

  He came round to stand in front of her and a fleeting smile touched his mouth. ‘I think you look sensational, Miss Westwood. In any context. There’s also more to you than your clothes have hitherto led me to suspect, and I apologise for my tactless remark at lunch.’