A Husband of Convenience Page 13

  Ann washed Josie’s hair then left her with some privacy, insisting only that the door must remain open so Josie could call if she needed her.

  Standing in front of the mirror over the washbasin, her legs felt a little as if they did not belong to her, and the mirror image of her face appeared equally strange. Large, thick-lashed violet eyes stared back at her with an expression of wary interest. Thick black hair hung in deep ringlets to her shoulders, framing the small oval of her pale face. Apart from a whopping black and blue bruise from her forehead to her temple, she was pretty, she supposed, though a lot younger-looking than she had imagined. And a lot shorter... A rueful smile curved her full lips.

  She glanced down at her naked body, glowing pink from the shower; there was no disguising the round swell of her stomach where her baby nestled. She was getting big. Still, Conan must approve of her looks or he would not have married her, and it was his child that was adding the inches to her waistline.

  She sighed, her heart sinking a little. The trouble was, she still did not recognise herself. The thought made her uneasy, and turning, she picked up the nightdress from the negligée set draped over the rail that Ann had left for her, and slipped it over her head. It was exquisite—white silk, with a softly scooped neckline, falling to the floor in gentle folds. She smoothed the fabric over her hips, loving the feel of the fresh-scented material. Conan must have given it to her. Josie stopped in the process of picking up the matching robe. How did she know that? Had she remembered? she wondered, and, slowly slipping the robe on, she frowned. Conan appeared to be a very attractive, sophisticated, wealthy man. Somehow her own image didn’t seem to quite match his. But Conan must love her or why would they be married? She hesitated, her hands on the belt of the robe as the thought exploded in her mind. She wanted him to love her... She had no memory of him apart from yesterday, but she instinctively knew she loved him...

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  HOWEVER, Josie had no time to dwell on her husband, amnesia, or anything else, as the morning was taken up with a scan, and another examination by Dr Ferguson and a female doctor called Dr Masters, who was apparently Josie’s obstetrician.

  Josie had just finished a late lunch when Dr Ferguson breezed into her room, his kindly face crinkled into a broad grin.

  ‘Excellent news, Josie—your scan was fine. The slight swelling in your brain has subsided, so apart from the bump on your head you’re okay.’

  She smiled back. ‘Does that mean I can leave now?’

  ‘Patience, Josie. In three or four days maybe. Can’t wait to get back home with your husband, hmm?’

  But Josie was not so sure. ‘Well, yes. No, I don’t know. I didn’t really remember him,’ she confessed truthfully, trying to explain her mixed emotions.

  That’s about what I would expect But you felt comfortable, happy with him?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I think I love him, but...’

  ‘No buts. Obviously at some deeper level of your mind you do recognise him; just give it time. I must admit I’ve never seen a more devoted husband than Mr Zarcourt. To hire an air ambulance must have cost him a fortune.’ He shook his head in amazement. ‘You certainly have nothing to worry about.’ He turned to leave, just as the door swung open and Conan walked in.

  Josie’s eyes skimmed over him, registering the sombre business suit, and the silk shirt and tie that went with it. He looked hard and arrogant, and, recalling her own reflection, she felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. How on earth had she managed to marry such a powerful-looking man? And what was this about an air ambulance?

  ‘Josie.’ He strode towards her. ‘How are you today?’ and bending over her, he brushed the hair from her brow. ‘Black and blue but not so swollen.’ He eyed the bruise on her face clinically as if he were the doctor.

  ‘Apart from having no memory, I’m fine!’ she said dryly, colour flaring in her cheeks at the touch of his hand on her brow.

  ‘Is she?’ he asked bluntly, glancing in the direction of the doctor. ‘She looks a little flushed.’

  ‘I was just telling your wife she’s going to make a full recovery, but I would like to keep her under observation for a few days. She needs a bit of reassurance with her temporary loss of memory.’

  ‘How temporary?’ Conan demanded hardily. ‘A day? A week?’

  ‘One can’t say with this kind of thing.’ Dr Ferguson gestured with his hands. ‘It could be five minutes, or five months. As I told you yesterday, time and patience and no forcing the issue is all your wife needs. Now, if you will excuse me, I have my rounds to complete.’

  ‘So, you need reassurance, according to the doctor. Is that true?’ Conan asked when they were alone.

  ‘I don’t know, but the doctor said something about an air ambulance. What exactly happened?’ she demanded, sitting up in bed in agitation, sure Conan was not telling her the whole story.

  ‘Your accident was at our place in the country. You spent a day in a local hospital, then I arranged to have you flown down to this clinic.’

  ‘So I was out for three days, then?’ She watched him carefully but he avoided her gaze.

  ‘More like a week, but it’s all over now so stop worrying. ’

  But she could not help worrying. Exactly how long had she been out? She sat up straighter in the bed, about to challenge him, when she felt her baby kick, and unthinkingly grabbed Conan’s hand.

  ‘Quick, the baby moved.’ She felt his resistance for an instant, and then his large hand splayed over her stomach. She glanced up at him and caught the oddest expression in his dark eyes, then, as the baby kicked again, a look of total surprise and wonder.

  ‘My God! Does it hurt?’ he demanded, snatching his hand away.

  ‘No, of course not.’ Josie suddenly felt very foolish; she had the fleeting notion that even though Conan said he was her husband, and they were having a child, they had never been very close. ‘How long have we been married?’ she suddenly asked.

  Conan sat down on the side of the bed and took her hand in his, his eyes fixed on her hand lying over her stomach. He twisted the rings around on her finger. ‘We were married last year—a quiet wedding, after a whirlwind romance.’

  ‘A whirlwind romance!’ Josie exclaimed, in disbelief.

  ‘You don’t look the type to rush into anything.’

  ‘That’s true. I was a very staid banker until I met you.’ His deep voice softened. ‘But I took one look at you and knew I had to have you. Fate, kismet, call it what you will.’ He held her hand, his dark eyes roaming lovingly over her small face. ‘You have been with me ever since,’ he drawled huskily. ‘In mind and body. You are my wife; never doubt it.’ And, lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her slender fingers one by one. Watching her carefully he folded her hand in his and, leaning forward, pressed his lips to her mouth.

  Josie’s lips parted, their breath mingling, and she sighed with pleasure. Her body remembered him instantly, and the passion of his kiss knocked every thought out of her head.

  ‘That’s better,’ Conan declared some time later, his dark eyes gleaming with sensual amusement. ‘I can’t wait to get you home and in my bed.’

  Josie flushed vividly at his suggestive comment and tried to ease away from him. He touched her and she melted, but with no memory of the past she felt a bit like how she imagined a virgin must feel on her wedding night. It was stupid, she knew, but the sense of fear made her wary.

  Sitting back, Conan smiled. ‘Have I told you how lovely you look today?’ With one long finger he traced the scooped outline of her nightdress over the soft curve of her breasts and back again, the knuckles of his other fingers grazing across her nipples.

  Warmth spread right through her body, her breasts hardening at his seductive touch, her nipples clearly outlined against the fine silk fabric. ‘Please, you’re embarrassing me,’ she murmured. ‘Someone might come in.’

  He threw his head back with a great shout of laughter. ‘Oh, Josie, you’re priceless. You’re
my wife, and pregnant, and you still blush like a rose when I touch you.’ Dropping his hand, he shook his head in mock exasperation.

  At the word ‘rose’, she remembered his flowers of that morning. ‘I forgot to thank you for the roses,’ she said quickly, glad of the chance to change the subject.

  But it did not work as Conan responded. ‘So thank me properly—a kiss might do it!’ He grinned wickedly, his dark eyes daring her to accept the challenge.

  Her own eyes mirrored her uncertainty. But why not? she asked herself. Any husband would expect as much, and Conan was her husband. There was something in the air between them—the familiar sensation, the glimmer of recognition she had experienced last night, appeared to be growing stronger in her mind every time she saw him.

  ‘Does it really take so much thinking about?’ Conan demanded, his gaze direct and serious. ‘I have gone through hell the past few days, imagining I might lose you. I could do with some reassurance myself.’

  He was right. She had been so tied up in her own worries, she had never given a thought to how he must feel. The doctor had told her he’d haunted the hospital when she was unconscious, driving the staff half crazy with his constant questions.

  ‘Conan.’ She murmured his name, and reaching out, she clasped his broad shoulders. Stretching up to him, she put her mouth to his. His lips were firm and warm as, gently, she discovered the shape of them with her tongue. She felt them soften beneath her caressing touch and gradually she increased the pressure of her mouth on his and felt his response. It was exciting to be in control, she realised. ‘Conan,’ she repeated, and in that instant any last doubt vanished. He was her husband. Instinctively she knew they loved each other. She would never have dared kiss him so blatantly otherwise.

  Her eyes flew open as in one swift movement he lowered her back against the pillows, and followed her down. He gently cradled her head in his hands, his handsome face flushed, his pupils dilated, black with desire, reflecting she knew the longing in her own.

  ‘My darling, darling Josie. You can’t know how long I’ve waited for this.’ He groaned, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss of tender possession. ‘You’re mine, all mine,’ he declared huskily, his lips hot against the pulse that beat madly in her throat. He went lower, nuzzling at her firm breasts through the fine silk of her nightgown. Somehow he pushed the fabric down, and she felt his breath on her naked breasts.

  Her eyes widened in shocked pleasure, her body trembling at his intimate caress. She gasped, and closed her eyes against the powerful surge of emotion that swept through her as he drew the tip of her breast into the burning heat of his mouth.

  She didn’t hear the nurse; it was only when Conan suddenly sat up and swiftly tucked the sheet around her shoulders that she was aware of Ann’s presence.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Mr Zarcourt, but I did knock. Dinner is served in five minutes.’ Ann walked out, grinning as she went.

  Josie, her body aching with frustration, glanced up at Conan and saw the same frustration mirrored in the depths of his dark eyes.

  ‘I should have my head examined, never mind yours.’ His lips twisted in a rueful smile. ‘Sorry, Josie, but I couldn’t help myself. I only have to look at you to want you. I know that’s no excuse.’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I should have remembered you’re ill—the accident and all the complications.’

  Her overheated body turned quickly cold at the word ‘complications’. ‘What complications?’ she blurted. Was there something the doctor wasn’t telling her? ‘Our baby...?’

  ‘No, no, nothing like that, Josie. You and the baby are fine; a few more days and you can come home. By complications I meant the nurse walking in when I was trying to make love to my wife.’

  ‘It was embarrassing,’ Josie admitted, suddenly feeling shy, and she was grateful when the door opened, putting an end to the conversation. It was the auxiliary nurse with the dinner trolley.

  Conan stood up, and leant over to kiss her gently on the lips. ‘It won’t happen again until I get you home,’ he murmured. ‘I must leave now but I’ll be back tomorrow—and stop worrying.’ he admonished. ‘A few days ago I thought I’d lost you, but now we have a lifetime ahead of us. What’s a little memory loss against that?’

  Today was the day... Conan would be arriving any second to take her home. A home she still could not remember, however hard she tried. She was nervous, afraid of the world outside her hospital room. She was being stupid, she knew; the doctor had reassured her, as had Conan, but she couldn’t help it...

  Josie glanced once more in the mirror, and adjusted the collar of her coat. It was a lovely outfit: a jade-green cashmere dress, with a high roll neck and cut to flare gently from her bust, with a matching coat that hung cape-like in deep folds almost to her ankles. She had asked Conan if it was new, and he had laughed and said. ‘Of course; what did you expect when you’re expanding by the week?’

  Affronted by his comment, she had not questioned his explanation. One thing Josie had learned over the past four days was that her husband was a master at avoiding a direct question. The house in the country where she had been staying when she had had the accident was a case in point. She had asked him to describe it to her and his answer had been that it was being renovated so there was no point. He had visited her every day, and they’d talked on a variety of subjects. He was a brilliant and amusing conversationalist, yet after he’d left at night and she’d had time to think Josie had realised that he’d carefully evaded any attempt she’d made to discuss the past. She’d told herself he was probably following Dr Ferguson’s orders, but for some reason it made her uneasy.

  ‘Ready and waiting? Just how I like my women!’ Josie’s heart leapt at the sound of Conan’s voice, and she spun around to face him. He was wearing a camel-coloured overcoat that fitted perfectly across his wide shoulders. He looked wonderful, and all her nagging doubts vanished, to be replaced with a delicious lightness of heart.

  ‘Women, plural! How many women do you have, husband mine?’ she asked mockingly.

  Stepping forward, he put an arm around her shoulder and led her towards the door. ‘Sadly, none,’ he said, but the wickedly sensual gleam in his dark eyes belied his mournful tone. ‘You see, I have this beautiful, pregnant, sexy wife, who unfortunately crashed her car, and I’ve been ill with frustration for ages, but I’m hopeful of a cure very soon. What do you think of my chances?’ he queried, tongue-in-cheek.

  Josie burst out laughing. ‘You’re an idiot!’

  ‘I must be to keep you talking here when I could be halfway home with you by now,’ he said huskily, and, swooping down, he kissed her.

  The first thing that hit Josie was the noise.

  ‘London is a bit of a shock to the nervous system for anyone, Josie, so don’t be afraid,’ Conan commanded softly, and, opening the passenger door of a gleaming black BMW, he saw her safely inside and fastened her seat belt. ‘There now; you’re safe,’

  It was uncanny how he could sense her every thought. He was right, she was frightened, she thought as she watched him walk around the front of the car and slip into the driving seat.

  ‘Am I so obvious?’ she asked, shooting him a sidelong glance.

  ‘Not to anyone else, no.’ He started the car and guided it out of the car park. ‘You look the picture of cool, calm, beautiful womanhood.’ He smiled briefly at her. ‘But then I know you intimately,’ he concluded huskily.

  Josie looked away from the sensual gleam in his eyes, the drawling inflection of his last comment causing a flicker of fear in her mind. Covertly she watched him as he guided the car through the chaotic city traffic. In profile his face looked sterner somehow, almost arrogant. She bit her lower lip nervously. After all, he was still a stranger to her. In the hospital, with other people around, she had tried to ignore the fact she did not remember him. Amnesia must be the loneliest illness in the world. She had been happy just to know she belonged to someone.

  As she sat next to him, aware of h
is every movement, of the strength of his large hands manipulating the car through the horrendous traffic, it hit Josie forcibly how dependent she and her unborn child were on Conan—for the past, the present, and the future. It was an unsettling feeling, and one she vaguely resented.

  ‘We’ve arrived.’

  She jumped at the sound of his voice. She’d been so engrossed in her own troubled thoughts, she hadn’t noticed the car stopping. Climbing out of the car, she looked up at the elegant Georgian terrace house. It was lovely but she had no memory of it.

  Conan took her arm and led her up the short flight of stone steps. ‘Our home.’

  Josie cast him a puzzled glance. He seemed almost triumphant, but quickly her attention was diverted as the door swung open and a grizzled old man beamed at them.

  ‘Good evening, sir. Madam.’

  ‘Cut out the act, Jeffrey,’ Conan commanded, with a grin. ‘You haven’t the face for a formal butler—or the accent.’ Turning to Josie, he ushered her into the house. ‘This is Jeffrey. Ring any bells?’

  ‘No.’ She faced the broadly smiling little man. ‘I’m sorry, Jeffrey.’

  ‘No need to apologise, Josie. I’m so glad to see you home where you belong—and you look better than ever,’ he told her, still grinning.

  Josie immediately warmed to him. She had no memory of him but it did not seem to matter and her answering smile was equally broad. ‘Thank you, Jeffrey.’

  Conan reached out and began unfastening the buttons of her coat.

  ‘You’ll be glad to know your accident achieved what I’ve been trying to achieve for years. That is to persuade Jeffrey to live here. As soon as he heard of your accident he insisted on moving in to the attic rooms.’ He slipped her coat from her shoulders and handed it to the man in question. ‘Jeffrey reckons he’s an expert on amnesia, along with pregnant women and everything else. He told me quite firmly that you cannot be left alone. When I’m at work he will be with you all the time, and act as your chauffeur. No more driving at present.’