'The police?' All the colour drained from her face.
'Theft, or even attempted theft, is against the law,' he pointed out.
'But if you can get the necklace back, surely it won't be necessary to involve the police?'
His eyes on her face, he asked curtly, 'Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn't?'
Stammering a little, she admitted, 'I w-wouldn't like either Melinda or Kirk to go the gaol because of me.'
'It wouldn't be because of you.'
'Perhaps not, but I hate the idea of—'
'So you think that when I catch up with them I should give them a pat on the head and say how clever they've been, and what a pity they didn't quite pull it off?'
Flushing, she said, 'No, of course not, but I—'
'You still love Varley and you can't bear to think of him in prison?'
Blaze sounded so angry that Fran bit her lip and wished she'd stayed silent.
'Personally I think he deserves to be behind bars.'
'What about Melinda?'
"They were in this together. To reverse an old saying, 'What's sauce for the gander...'
Fran shivered. "Then you do intend to tell the police?'
His shoulders moved in a slight shrug. 'I may decide not to press charges. It all depends.'
'On what?'
'You.'
'Me?' Grey-green eyes cloudy and confused, she said, 'I—I don't understand. How can it depend on me?'
'It's a question of how co-operative you're prepared to be. As I told you last night, I think you owe me.'
'But I did as you asked...I did everything you asked... And you've just made it plain that you don't blame me for what happened.'
'I don't blame you, but the fact remains that you were a party to it, and you are the only one available to make some reparation.'
'But surely there's a good chance you'll get the necklace back?'
'It isn't the necklace that concerns me...'
As she stared at him, a sudden premonition making her heart start to beat with slow, heavy thuds, he added, 'I have a wedding arranged for tomorrow, and I don't like the idea of all my plans being wrecked.'
She fought against the knowledge. 'You don't mean...?'
'That's exactly what I mean.'
'No, I won't... I can't...' she cried wildly. 'We don't love each other—'
Brutally, he said, 'You loved Varley, and where has that got you? And I thought I'd made it plain that I don't regard love as a necessary ingredient of a good, stable marriage. As I told you previously, I want a partner who is compatible and basically good-tempered; someone warm and passionate, with enough spice to make life interesting. Don't you want all those things?'
Yes, she did. But she also wanted love.
His eyes on her face, he continued, 'You have all the qualities I've been looking for.'
'I'm not beautiful, like Melinda.'
'In your own way you're even more beautiful. You have a kind of sweetness, an inner radiance she lacks.'
'I'm not sexy, like her.'
'I'll be the judge of that.'
'You might find me dull compared to her.'
'Though Melinda rated high for fun and excitement, and was more...adventurous, I've no worries about finding you dull. I'm sure you'll make an intelligent, stimulating companion, as well as a wife who will keep her wedding vows and help to make a happy home for our children. In fact in those respects I'm convinced you're more suitable than Melinda.
'In return, I'll try my hardest to make you a good husband. I can give you every material thing you could wish for—'
'I don't care a jot about material things,' she broke in hoarsely.
As if she hadn't spoken, he went on, 'You'll have a chance to travel and do everything you've always wanted to do... And sexually we're well-suited, to say the very least, so I'm sure I can keep you happy in bed.
'Think about it. Isn't it better than being alone? Better than trying to find a cheap bedsit and another job? Better than trying to start all over again, knowing the man you love is in prison and you've helped to put him there...?'
'But you just said it wouldn't be because of me.'
'In that sense it won't. But the fact that you could buy his immunity from prosecution by—'
Agitation brought her to her feet. 'By marrying a man I loathe?'
She saw his jaw clench, and he too rose, seeming to tower over her.
With scorching derision, he said, 'Of course, if the sacrifice is too great, you could always wait for Varley to come out of prison and beg him to take you back. Melinda won't want a penniless gaolbird, so you may be lucky...'
Without conscious volition, Fran's hand came up and gave that mocking face a stinging slap.
She had never struck anyone in her life before, had never thought of herself as a violent person, but her blow had been hard enough to jerk his head back and make him blink.
'He stood quite still, while Fran, horrified by what she'd done, stared at the red mark that had appeared on his tanned cheek.
'Well, well, well,' he said softly. 'I didn't know you had it in you.' Then, his hand going up to gingerly feel his face, he added ruefully, 'For someone who looks so inoffensive, you certainly pack a wallop.'
'I'm sorry,' she whispered.
"There's no need to apologise,' he told her. 'You had plenty of provocation.'
Deeply ashamed, she said, 'I still shouldn't have done what I did,' and, unable to help herself, began to tremble violently.
Blaze took her in his arms and held her close, one hand moving soothingly up and down her spine. 'It's all right...I was asking for it. There's no need to be upset.'
His ready forgiveness, his generosity of spirit, made her feel even more ashamed, and she had to fight to hold back the tears.
Lifting her head, she looked into his face, and, standing on tiptoe to touch her lips to his burning cheek, assured him shakily, 'I promise I won't do it again.'
'You may need to from time to time, just to keep me in my place.' Humorously, he added, 'So long as you're not going to turn into a husband-beater...'
She made a little sound, half-laugh, half-sob.
'And you always kiss me better...
'Now then,' His hands closed lightly on her upper arms as he became suddenly businesslike. 'I suggest we start for town more or less straight away and spend the night at the Empire Park. That way we'll have time to do a little shopping before the wedding, which is scheduled for four o'clock...'
Though his manner held no trace of doubt, he was watching her narrowly. His dark eyes had a guarded, waiting look, and she knew he wasn't anywhere near as confident as he'd sounded.
But she was emotionally drained, her opposition over, defeated.
It had nothing to do with Melinda and Kirk. She couldn't believe that Blaze would deliberately put either of them behind bars. But suddenly she didn't want to start all over again, alone and lonely. She didn't want to lose the man she loved for the second time.
Marrying him, when he cared nothing for her, was taking an enormous risk. She recalled what he himself had said about one-sided loving. 'To be steered clear of at all costs! It unbalances a relationship and can only cause trouble when one partner wants more than the other can give...'
But if she kept her love a secret—and while he thought she still loved Kirk that should be easy—surely between them they could make the marriage work?
Even if pain went hand in hand with pleasure, and despair sometimes swamped delight, loving him as she did, living with him had to be infinitely better than living without him.
Becoming aware that he was still waiting for a response, his lean face taut, she admitted her surrender by asking, 'But won't there be difficulties? Over the wedding, I mean?'
She heard his short, sharp sigh of relief, before he said, 'As I'd applied for, and been granted, a special licence, the only thing necessary was to alter the name of the bride. That I did yesterday, while you were getting ready for the par
ty.'
'Then this was already planned! You must have been very sure I'd agree.' Her voice held more than a touch of bitterness.
'Hardly,' he answered drily. 'But you know what they say: Faint heart never won fair lady...'
'Won hardly seems to be the appropriate word.'
'You consider coerced would more apposite?'
'Wouldn't it?'
'Though I feel sure you'd hate to see Varley languishing in prison, I don't believe that was what...shall we say...swayed you?'
'Oh?'
'I think, possibly at some subconscious level, you want to marry me.'
What if he'd guessed the truth? Feeling hollow inside, she asked, 'What makes you think that?'
'For one thing you kept the ring on... And for another there's a strong sexual bond between us, and has been since we first laid eyes on each other.'
He tipped her face up to his and looked into her eyes. 'You may loathe me, but you still want me.'
'I don't loathe you,' she said in a small voice.
He smiled. "Then there's hope for us yet.'
* * * * *
After spending some time downstairs in his study, apparently making and receiving phone calls, Blaze put their small amount of luggage into the car and they set off for London.
It was a fine, bright day, and after an easy drive they reached Mayfair by early evening, and took what Blaze quizzically described as 'the scenic route' to Abercrombie Square.
Noting that the surroundings were familiar, without thinking, Fran remarked, 'Isn't your flat somewhere near here?' Then, recalling the nights she'd spent there, she found herself blushing furiously.
Blaze slanted her an amused glance. 'Yes, it's just a bit further on. I'm pleased to see you remember it...'
The attractive little comer fiat on Green Lane had overlooked some leafy gardens and an old grey church. A quiet backwater in the centre of town, it had been a favourite of Blaze's, and she was wondering why they weren't staying there instead of a hotel when he added casually, 'I decided not to keep it.'
Seeing her surprise, he explained, 'Somehow a service flat, however pleasant, never seems like home, so I ended the lease when I went back to the States.'
He turned down Abercrombie Street and into the square, and while she was still puzzling over his stated reason for giving up the flat they drew up outside the dignified entrance of the Empire Park.
Blaze tossed the car keys to a uniformed garage attendant, and .a moment later the manager, a pleasant-looking man in his fifties, appeared to greet them by name and personally usher them up to the penthouse suite.
Two bell-boys followed behind, one with their small amount of luggage, the other with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two long-stemmed crystal glasses.
The suite was quietly palatial, with an elegant sitting room and two large bedrooms separated by a dressing room. From the sitting room sliding glass panels opened on to a roofed terrace, screened by a lattice-work grille.
When the manager and his minions had taken their leave, Blaze looked at the two pieces of luggage which had been placed side by side in the master bedroom, and with a slightly mocking gleam in his eyes asked, 'Are you happy with this arrangement?' Before she had a chance to reply, he went on, 'Or would you like to observe the proprieties until we're married?'
'You mean separate rooms?'
'As I'd like us to share a room when we're married, this could well be your last chance to sleep alone.' As she hesitated, he added, 'The choice is yours.' But it was obvious he had no doubt of her answer.
Feeling a sudden urge to deflate his ego, she said sweetly, 'In that case, I'll take this opportunity to be alone.'
'Very well.' If he was at all put out, he didn't show it.
Picking up her case, he carried it through to the other bedroom.
Then, glancing at his watch, he suggested, 'We've plenty of time before dinner, so how about a spot of decadence?'
Cautiously, she said, 'It rather depends what you mean by decadence.'
He gave her a mocking grin. 'Nothing very terrible. Just a glass of champagne in the Jacuzzi.'
'Do we have a Jacuzzi?'
'There's one on the terrace.'
'I haven't got a bathing costume.'
'You won't need a bathing costume. It's shielded from every direction, and quite private.' Seeing she was about to refuse, he raised a dark brow. 'Too daring for you?'
Stung by the taunt, and remembering his remark about Melinda being more adventurous, she said, 'Not at all. Give me a couple of minutes.'
Fran took off her clothes and put on a white towelling robe that was hanging in the bathroom before venturing on to the terrace.
To the left, marble steps led down to a sunken area with mosaic-type tiles that reminded her of a Roman bath-house. In the centre was a Jacuzzi, from which steam was rising gently.
She had hoped to be the first in, but, his towelling robe hanging over a convenient rail, Blaze was already seated on the bench that ran around the bath, bubbling water up to his chest.
Still oddly shy, in spite of everything, she saw with relief that his head was back and his heavy lids were closed, the dark lashes lying on his hard cheeks.
Barefoot and silent, she took off her own robe and hung it next to Blaze's, before turning to go down the steps.
With something of a shock she saw that his eyes we're open arid he was studying her slim body and long, shapely legs with undisguised interest and admiration.
Feeling her colour start to rise betrayingly, she kept her head high and, gathering her composure round her like a cloak, walked slowly down the pale marble steps and into the hot water.
He held out a hand, and when she took it pulled her down beside him. 'Bravo,' he applauded softly. 'You certainly don't lack spirit... And your figure is even better than I remember.'
Red as a poppy, she made no reply.
'Champagne?' He turned to reach behind him, where the bottle was waiting. Easing off the cork with a pop, he filled two glasses with the smoking wine and handed her one, before lifting his own in a toast. 'To us!'
'To us,' she echoed.
They sipped in silence, the combination of hot bubbling water and cold bubbling wine a strangely potent one.
When their glasses were empty, Blaze returned them both to the tray. As he did so his arm lightly brushed against her breast, and she caught her breath.
She saw by his small, satisfied smile that he was well aware of her reaction.
Leaning her head back against the padded rest, she closed her eyes and tried to relax while the underwater jets, at once soothing and invigorating, massaged her torso and limbs. Blaze sat quietly, making no further effort to talk. But, very aware of his supple, naked body beside her, it was several minutes before some of Fran's tension began to slacken.
He on the other hand seemed to be totally at ease, his breathing light and even. A surreptitious glance from beneath her long lashes proved that his eyes were closed once more.
She had just decided that he was asleep when he moved a fraction, and the length of his muscular thigh touched hers.
Stiffening, she was about to inch away when some instinct warned that he was only pretending to be asleep, and was intent on teasing her.
Determined not to be teased, she stayed where she was, while every nerve-ending in her body zinged into life.
After perhaps thirty seconds, with a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan, he admitted, 'Okay, you win.' Then, ruefully, 'Hoist with my own petard.' Taking her hand he put it on his firm flesh, trapping it there.
'Serves you right,' she said with malicious satisfaction.
'Now that's what I call heartless.' His eyes on her breasts, he added, 'However, I'd hazard a guess that you're not totally unaffected.'
When, unable to deny it, she stayed silent, with a gleam in his eye he suggested softly, 'We've time to do something about it before dinner, if you like?'
She shook her head. 'I'd prefer to observ
e the proprieties until we're married, as we agreed.'
Sighing, he released her.
Absurdly disappointed that he'd taken her at her word, she said, 'You mentioned half an hour. It must be all of that, and I'm beginning to feel hungry. So if you don't mind I think I'll start to get ready.'
'By all means,' he agreed politely.
She got to her feet and, aware that he was watching her, made as dignified a retreat as possible.
Pulling on the towelling robe, she belted it securely before turning to ask, 'Are we eating in the hotel?'
He followed her out of the bath, water pouring down his long, straight legs, and, shrugging into his own robe, shook his head. 'I was thinking of taking you to the Medici.'
Fran knew that the Medici, which was quite close to Park Lane, was rated as one of the top London restaurants, and her heart sank.
'Have you already booked?' she asked anxiously.
'No.'
'Will you be able to get a table this late?'
His voice casual, he answered, 'I think so.'
Though he'd said think, she knew he must be quite certain.
'Only I've really nothing to wear,' she admitted.
'What about the cocktail dress you wore on Friday? That looked quite charming.'
With a clear picture in her mind of Melinda's wardrobe, with its rail of elegant designer dresses, Fran said in a rush, 'It's not very posh...I—I don't want you to be ashamed of me.'
'I won't be ashamed of you.'
Forced to be content with that assurance, she went through to her bedroom, and, opening her case, took out the dress.
It was off the peg and inexpensive, but at least the material was the uncrushable variety, and it had a lined stole which would serve as an evening cloak.
Having dressed and made up with care, she studied herself in the full-length mirror and decided that, though she was no match for Melinda, she would pass muster.
The stole over her arm, she went back to the living room to find that Blaze, wearing a well-cut evening jacket, was standing by the window waiting.
Though her feet were quite silent on the thick carpet he turned at her approach, making her wonder whether he had some kind of sixth sense.
His eyes travelling slowly over her, from the smooth chignon, which emphasised her pure bone structure, to her slim silk-clad ankles, he nodded in silent approval.
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