'Do I rent a flat where I have visiting rights? Do you live openly with me as my mistress?'
'I don't know,' she whispered, and turned away. 'I'd have to leave the… arrangements to you.'
'Do you fancy me, is that it?' he demanded hotly. 'You want a few weeks with me—most of them spent in bed—and then you go off to the next one? Is that what you have in mind?'
She didn't flinch at his anger or wince as he grabbed her arms, the pressure of his fingers biting cruelly into her flesh. She stood quite still in his hold making no attempt to answer him.
'You're right,' he said at last. 'We've both suffered from misunderstandings. My own feelings have been so overwhelming, I didn't stop to consider—other things.'
He released her, almost pushing her away from him, and she lost her balance and fell on to the bed behind her. He came after her, towering over her as she lay on her back, and she felt a quiver of fear at the sudden fury in his face.
'Do you know what I might do to you?' he muttered savagely. 'Do you? You hurl your insults into my face and outstare me. Do you realise how weak you are, how much at my mercy?'
'Yes,' she said, suddenly calm and finding her voice. 'I think we should finish with this. It must be late.' She sat up. 'It would be better left till the morning.'
'We'll deal with this here and now—tonight,' Max said grimly, 'whichever way it ends.' He sat down on the bed, his hands clenched between his knees. 'Why won't you marry me?'
'I can't.'
'Why not?' he rapped out.
His tone was hard and cold and she bit her lip to hold back the tears.
'Are you married already?'
'No.'
'Is there another man you want to marry?'
Sophie shook her head. He was staring at her and her eyes dropped.
'So you don't love me as I love you,' he said flatly.
'Do you love me?' she whispered, looking up into his face.
'Yes,' he said roughly. 'I've known you only weeks, spent only hours in your company, but I knew that first evening when I walked into your room and saw you lying on the floor in those white pyjamas.' He sighed. 'And now tell me I'm insane.' He lifted a hand and ran it impatiently through his hair. 'For me the rest of my life is hardly enough time to spend with you,' he added quietly.
He loved her. She couldn't believe it. Yet he had told her—seriously, almost solemnly. Dear God, did he realise he was offering her what she most wanted on this earth, the sum total of her happiness? Warmth spread through her body till she glowed with it and her heartbeats quickened. Suddenly happiness was within her grasp. She had only to reach out and take it. She leaned forward eagerly, words trembling on her lips…
No. Sharply she pulled back. What was she thinking of? It could never be, and she must not allow herself to be tempted. Marriage with Max was not for her. She could love him—for a while—have an affair with him. But not marriage.
She clenched her hands to stop them reaching out to him, and dredged up her memories of the day she had returned to the convent where she had been born and spent the first months of her life. She had gone to seek her origins, to find out what she could about her real parents. And she had been faced with the truth about herself. At eighteen that had been hard to accept, but now it was harder still. Now she was face to face with the man she loved, who loved her in return and wanted to marry her, it suddenly seemed as though fate conspired against her, damning her every dream, denying her all happiness.
Maximilian von Hartog could not marry a nameless girl, born of unknown, unmarried parents. Had he been English, she might have argued that it was not important in this day and age. But Austria was different. And Max had an old name to honour, a title and an inheritance to pass on to a son. And she could never give him children. That, too, she had been told by the nuns. So she had to refuse him, to turn away from the happiness he offered.
'I think it best if I leave tomorrow and we agree to part,' she said with difficulty.
'No.' He got up and began to pace the room, short urgent strides. 'Do you want to get to know me? Live with me first?' He stopped and lifted his head to look at her, the green eyes dark and troubled.
'No.' Carefully Sophie stood up, hoping her legs wouldn't buckle beneath her.
'Are you uncertain of your feelings?' he tried again.
She flushed, shaking her head.
'Then what is it?' Max railed at her impatiently. 'I suppose there is a reason for this—quixotic behaviour?'
'Yes,' she said painfully.
'And you expect to have an affair with me, live with me intimately, sharing mind and body, yet keep this thing from me?' He laughed shortly. 'It's absurd— you must see that.'
He waited for her comment, but she didn't speak.
'And I'd find out what it is sooner or later,' he added grimly.
She clenched her hands.
'It seems I can't give you what you want, and you can't accept what I can give,' she said slowly, her voice low. 'Perhaps we're better apart, not trying something that's doomed to fail before it begins,' she added.
This time he didn't say anything, but his eyes moved away from her to stare into the fire, and she wondered what he was thinking.
'Let's sit down,' he said unexpectedly, 'and see if there's anything we can rescue from all this.'
He moved to a deep armchair and she took a seat opposite, watching him as he leaned back, flexing tired muscles, trying to be rational and keep emotions at bay. He didn't speak, and Sophie thought back over what he had said. She could see what he meant about sharing and entwining their lives if they had an affair. It would be difficult if he wanted marriage and she did not. Slowly her earlier confidence began to fade. Would she be able to keep her secret, or would she be tempted one day to tell him the true reasons she had refused to marry him? And then what would happen? Would he persuade her into marriage and live to regret it later?
Abruptly Max got up. 'There's only one way it could work,' he said coolly. 'If you're prepared to live as my wife, so that everyone believes we're married when in fact we are not.'
She looked up, mystified. 'I don't understand.'
'It's quite simple. We pretend to be married, behave as husband and wife, live in the same house and build a life together. No one need know we've never actually gone through the legal ceremony.'
'It doesn't sound simple. I don't know if I could…'
'Those are my terms,' he interrupted shortly. 'If you agree, we remain together and I'll give you my word not to probe your reason for refusing me marriage. Nor would I stand in your way if…' he hesitated for a moment, then continued smoothly, '… if or when you decided to leave me. I would then be the heartbroken husband in public, instead of the rejected lover. Until, that is, I recovered as I believe all heartbroken husbands invariably do,' he drawled.
Sophie drew a sharp breath.
'I don't understand Max. It's crazy. And why? What would you get out of it?'
He didn't reply, merely looking at her, his regard steady, his face impassive.
'Very well,' she said evenly, 'if you're serious, I'll think about it.'
'You won't. You'll decide now. That at least you owe me. I leave in the morning. It has to be settled tonight.' He laughed shortly. 'It's usually the other way round, isn't it? The woman desperate for marriage, the man reluctant or unwilling? Who knows, there might be some amusement in a reversal of roles. Certainly it has possibilities, wouldn't you say?' His voice hardened. 'I mean it, Sophie. Either you agree to what I propose, or I'll walk out of here tomorrow and we will not meet again.'
'That's blackmail,' she protested angrily.
'So it is,' Max smiled pleasantly.
She stood up and walked away from him. Could she do what he asked, be his wife in public with all the commitment involved, knowing she was merely his mistress? And why did he ask it of her? Had he a more devious plan in mind, something he hadn't yet told her, that she would know once she had committed herself to his charade?
<
br /> It was all so fraught, the kind of thing that worked in fiction—but not in real life. And she wasn't at all sure she could sustain such a masquerade, she thought miserably. It would mean acting a life of lies and half truths with everyone she met. And he had told her nothing of his family. Were there brothers, sisters, parents to be deceived? The thought of so much deception was oddly distasteful. And what effect would it have on him, on their relationship? How soon would it lead to mistrust of each other?
Yet what was the alternative? And did she have the strength to leave him in the morning never to see him again? She trembled at the thought, her body suddenly cold in the warm room. How could she turn her back on the kind of happiness Max was offering? Without him the rest of her life stretched before her, arid and meaningless. But would he carry out his threat, ensure they didn't meet again, cutting her out of his life?
'Doubts, my Sophie?' he asked quietly behind her.
'Yes,' she said without turning round. 'I don't know if I can live… a lie, deceiving people…' Her voice broke.
'There's always a price to pay, isn't there?'
'But it's not necessary.' She turned to him, her eyes pleading, her voice low. 'Why can't we just have an affair and…'
'No.' He was adamant. 'You would be well provided for,' he said deliberately. 'While we're together—and afterwards.'
'I wouldn't touch your money,' she said sharply.
'You wouldn't?' he mocked her. 'Now, I wonder why?'
'I'd have to tell my sister the truth,' she said gruffly.
'No, Sophie, no exceptions.' He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her face. 'Would you believe there are women who would quite like to marry me and spend my money?' he asked softly.
'Then why don't you go to them?' she snapped angrily, her eyes flashing. 'Why bother with me?'
'Why indeed?' he asked, his voice silky as he pulled her into his arms. She stood rigid in his embrace, her head up, her eyes challenging him. 'Whatever it is that's eating you up, my Sophie, we'll sort it out. I never let anything put me off what I want.'
It was hopeless, she thought miserably as he bent his head to kiss her, his hands moving down her back inside the dressing gown till she shivered with longing and responded wildly, winding her arms round his neck and curving her body to his. His mouth crushed hers as they clung to each other and she arched back her head, opening her mouth to his. Finally he released her, unwinding her arms from his neck, his breathing harsh, the dark colour in his face. He was as aroused as she herself.
Looking at his tall back as he turned away, she knew she faced an impossible choice, and if she left him now she would deny herself any chance of happiness. And there was no reason to refuse what he suggested. They were both adult, free to make decisions and abide by the consequences.
Only there was more to it, and Sophie wished passionately that she could ignore the inner voice that was driving her. Max was human. He would continue to speculate about her refusal to marry him. And gradually he would come to resent her secrecy. Then he would turn away from her in bitterness and disappointment until only hatred and mistrust remained. And she knew, even before it had began that their relationship would head for disaster.
The answer stared her in the face, and she wished she could close her mind to it, bury her doubts and throw herself into his arms. But she couldn't.
Slowly she turned round to face him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sophie locked the front door of her flat and made her way down the short flight of steps to the street. It was cold, but the rain had stopped and she decided to walk to the underground station.
Even after three weeks back home, she found it difficult to forget the cold, crisp sunlight of Kitzbühl. On her return she had abandoned all thought of a holiday, spending her first week sitting miserably in her flat, unable to eat or sleep, missing Max more than she had ever thought possible. Over and over she had remembered every word he'd spoken to her, reliving each moment they'd spent together. In the end she decided to go to the Carringtons' a week early. Work was the best antidote for what ailed her.
Now she shook her head briefly to clear it of emotion. The day had been good, she told herself firmly. She had treated herself to breakfast out and then wandered round the Knightsbridge shops. She loved the area with its bustling streams of people from all over the world, its glittering shops and fabulous restaurants. Mid-morning, the rain had driven her home and she'd made a snack which she ate to the sound of her favourite Léhar operetta. The tiny flat in one of Earls Court's unmodernised backwaters was usually a haven she enjoyed. But restlessness had driven her out, and she had spent the afternoon in the Victoria and Albert Museum.
In Eaton Square the footman let her into the Carrington house.
'Good evening, George,' she said pleasantly, the warmth of the central heating oppressive after the freshness outside.
'The mistress wants you to collect Miss Lisa when you get back,' he informed her, and jerked his head towards the double doors at the back of the hall. 'Company again tonight.'
Sophie nodded and headed for the stairs. In the nursery wing all was quiet. The new baby was still in the care of the nurse who had brought her home from the clinic where she was born, and it would be another month before Sophie took over the care of both children.
The guests were having pre-dinner drinks when Sophie edged her way into the large reception room where Lisa was sitting on her father's knee.
'Good evening, Nanny,' Mr Carrington greeted her, and turned to his daughter. 'Time for bed, poppet.'
Lisa was four years old and very lovely, with curly fair hair and large brown eyes. Because of an early childhood beset with illness, she had been spoiled and become wilful.
'Not yet, Daddy,' she entreated her father, turning imploring eyes up at him. 'I'm not tired—please, can I stay just a bit?' But he was not the parent who spoiled her.
'No, love, it's late. Say goodnight to Mummy and then up to bed with you.'
Lisa pouted, but recognised the firm note in her father's voice and danced away from him across the room to her mother.
'Do I have to go, Mummy?' She tugged at her mother's sleeve. 'Please can I stay?'
There was no doubt where Lisa got her looks. Mrs Carrington was a real beauty, slim and striking with a face that turned all heads.
'Darling, don't do that.' She pulled the silky material out of the little hand.
'Please, Mummy!' the child tried again.
'If you're going to be naughty, you won't be able to come down again,' her mother warned absently, her attention with her guests.
To Sophie this was a familiar scene, and she knew it could not be resolved with patience. Bending down to the little girl, she picked her up, holding her firmly as Lisa began to wriggle.
'No!' Lisa protested, not sure if she was angry or upset. 'I hate you, let me go!' she whispered vehemently, and pummelled Sophie with her fists. Taking no notice of the guests round her, Sophie forged through the centre of the room to the door. Before she could put out a hand to open it, someone was there before her.
'Thank you,' she murmured politely as the man stepped back, holding the door for her. Fleetingly she threw him a glance over her shoulder to give him a formal smile. And then she stopped in frozen disbelief.
Max!
He was regarding her gravely, his face unsmiling as she gripped the child too tightly and Lisa began to cry in earnest. For a moment Sophie couldn't move, her muscles refusing to obey her brain. Then he came forward as if to help her and she sprang to life, almost rushing away from him out into the hall, her mind a blank, her body moving automatically.
It wasn't possible. How could he be here? He'd sworn never to try and see her again. What could he want?
As she went through the familiar routine of putting the child to bed and reading a familiar story till Lisa calmed down, Sophie's mind was leaping about. When she finally turned out the light on the sleeping child, she trailed wearily to her ow
n room and sank into a chair. Staring blankly at nothing, she sat on, heedless of the time or the meal wafting for her that would be long cold.
It was the shock of seeing him so unexpectedly that had unnerved her downstairs, bringing a sudden panic that she couldn't control. But now she wondered why he was here. Was he merely a guest, unaware of her presence in the house? Or had he come to find her? Her pulses hammered at the thought. Had he missed her, she thought with yearning, and changed his mind about their having an affair? Sophie's throat tightened. Perhaps…
A knock brought her out of her chair. It was George still on duty; when their employers entertained, the staff worked late.
'It's the master,' he whispered, mindful not to wake the child. 'He would be glad if you could come down to the study.'
'Now?' Sophie asked in astonishment.
'Yes.'
In the study Mr Carrington was not alone. Max stood across the room, regarding her intently, and she turned her head away, fighting the elation she felt at the sight of him.
'I must apologise for disturbing you so late,' said Mr Carrington smoothly. 'Won't you sit down?'
'I think I'll stand, thank you,' she said quietly, and waited.
He was a nice man. Slim and short, grey hair receding from a domed forehead, he looked, as always, impeccably groomed. The gossip in the servants' hall was that he had been disappointed at the birth of a second daughter, that he had badly wanted a son. But Sophie had seen no sign of displeasure in his treatment of the baby on his daily visits to the nursery. As he smiled at her with kindness she guessed that he was probably a very good diplomat indeed.
'I understand you're acquainted with Baron von Hartog, so there is no need to introduce him to you,' he said quietly. 'He has asked me if he might have a few moments' private conversation with you, and I've explained that I cannot permit you to be embarrassed in any way. If you're prepared to hear what he has to say, that is a private matter between you. But if you don't wish for this conversation, I shall not hesitate to refuse his request.'
Sophie didn't answer immediately. Her first instinct was to refuse. Had Max changed his mind and now wanted an affair with her, he could have written or even phoned. This request for an immediate meeting, here in the house where she was employed, upset her. She didn't want to talk to him… alone, afraid of what would happen, what he could do to her. Already she could feel the tension from him across the room, pounding at her pulses, confusing her senses as she responded to his presence. But would he accept a refusal? Or would he try again to see her until she gave in? Perhaps it would be better to deal with whatever he wanted—now.
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