A Husband of Convenience Page 7

  She had always known the reason Conan had married her. He had been perfectly honest about it. He wanted Beeches Manor back from his father, and marrying Josie had been his way of getting it True, they had managed to live together civilly over the past weeks, but surely she had not been imagining there could ever be anything more between them? She groaned in self-disgust, forced to admit to herself that maybe she had...

  But now the blinkers had been torn from her eyes, and Josie wanted to scream at fate for doing this to her. It was jealousy, pure unadulterated jealousy, vicious in its pain, that was causing her such anguish. She was in love with Conan.

  It was no good blaming fate; it was entirely her own stupid fault. Theirs was a marriage of convenience. What had Conan said when she had asked him about fidelity? ‘You can count on my fidelity as much as I can count on yours.’ Given that she was carrying another man’s child, that gave Conan plenty of leeway...

  ‘Where to now, Mrs Zarcourt?’ Jeffrey demanded, sliding into the car beside her.

  Mrs Zarcourt! But for how long? Until the child was born, or Major Zarcourt died? Josie did not know... She named a well-known shoe store, forcing her mind back to the present.

  Later Josie lay across the bed, tears slowly drying on her cheeks. This was no good, she admonished herself sternly; the last thing she needed was to meet their dinner guests with red-rimmed eyes. She had told Jeffrey she needed a rest on their return from the city, and had come straight upstairs. It had been an excuse... She was hiding. It was that simple.

  But not any more. She had made a bargain and would stick to it. She slid her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. She would have to face Conan some time, and she might look marginally better if she slapped on some make-up. She took a quick shower and washed her hair. Then, seated at the dressing table wearing only her briefs, she eyed the tangled mass of wet black ringlets falling around her shoulders with disgust. Picking up the hairdryer she plugged it in and made an attempt to bring her hair into some kind of order.

  But her concentration was shot... She had fallen in love with her husband, and he must never know... A hollow laugh escaped her at the irony of the situation. Heaven help her! She had to be the one girl in the world Conan could never love. Hadn’t he seen her the night of the party, naked in the bed she had shared with his half-brother? Even now the shame of it made her burn with embarrassment.

  Putting the hairdryer down, she studied her flushed reflection in the mirror—the small scrubbed face surrounded by a wild mass of curls, the small straight nose and full mouth all added up to a child, she thought bitterly. Worse! She had been behaving like the child Conan had called her.

  This morning his parting kiss had compounded the illusion in her mind from the previous night that their relationship was shifting to that of lovers. She had not examined her feelings at the time but now she was forced to recognise her own wholehearted response to Conan’s kisses and the mood of euphoria she had felt at the prospect of a deepening relationship between them.

  Josie sighed, her violet eyes shadowed in pain. How wrong she had been, she thought bitterly. Yet she could not blame Conan; it was not his fault. He had given her time and space to help her get over the grief he imagined she must feel at the death of Charles. Guilt swamped her as she finally admitted the truth to herself. The death of Charles had not worried her half as much as finding out she was pregnant.

  Straightening her shoulders, she picked up a brush, and dragged it through her tangled hair. It was time she got dressed. Sitting thinking what a complete and utter mess she had made of her life was not going to help her or her child. As for tonight, it was up to her to play the part of the perfect wife for Conan in front of his friends, without him ever finding out she had been foolish enough to fall in love with him.

  ‘Not ready yet, Josie? You’d better hurry up; our guests will be arriving shortly.’ Conan’s deep-voiced command echoed in the silence of the room.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JOSIE spun around on the chair, the brush dropping from her hand. ‘I didn’t hear you come in!’ she exclaimed, her eyes flying to Conan, who was standing just inside the room.

  Her startled gaze roamed over him. He had removed his tie and the jacket of his suit and the first few buttons of his shirt were open, exposing the tanned flesh. His black hair fell forward over his forehead, ruffled as though he had been running his fingers through it. He looked tired, but his firm lips were enticingly sensuous, and his eyes... Her own were captured and held by the brilliant gleam of male appreciation she saw lurking in their depths.

  She watched as he walked towards her. It was only when he reached out a hand to her that she came to her senses and remembered she was virtually naked.

  Hastily she dropped her head and folded her arms defensively over her bare breasts. His hand closed around her arm. and she trembled as he urged her to her feet.

  ‘Why so modest, Josie? I have seen you naked before,’ he reminded her, and, gently unfolding her arms, he held them at her sides. ‘I don’t want you to be embarrassed with me. I am your husband, and I thought last night we were finally making some progress.’ His dark gaze dropped to her firm breasts. ‘I hope I wasn’t wrong,’ he opined huskily.

  Colour flooded her cheeks and she was helpless to control the burgeoning awareness of her rose-tipped nipples to his hungry gaze. She had not known that she was so incredibly sensitive there; only a look and she ached. But with the ache came anger.

  Wrong, he had said! It was Josie who had got it wrong, that was for sure. His dishevelled state probably had more to do with the blonde he had spent the afternoon with than hard work, and that thought gave her the strength to respond.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she denied curtly, to some point over his left shoulder. It was dreadful. How could she hope to hide her love from him when every nerve in her body leapt to life at the sight of him? But she had to... Charles had caused her pain, but she knew it was nothing to the agony she would suffer if Conan ever discovered she had been stupid enough to fall in love with him.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ His query broke into her troubled thoughts. ‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. I thought you were getting over your habit of daydreaming.’

  If only he knew... She tilted her head back and forced herself to look at him. Then she wished she hadn’t, as his arms slipped around her waist and she found herself held close against him, her nipples taut in contact with his chest.

  ‘I do not daydream,’ she contradicted him. ‘I was tired, but I’m all right now.’ And, wriggling out of his arms, she crossed to the bed and picked up her robe. She slipped it on and, tying the belt firmly around her waist, she made herself turn around to face him, adding, ‘I went shopping this afternoon, so I thought I’d better rest before the party.’

  ‘Jeffrey told me. It was a shame I missed you,’ Conan offered, following her across the room. ‘But I had a business lunch I couldn’t avoid.’

  Business? Was that what he called it? Some business... Josie thought angrily, and unconsciously took a step back.

  Conan noted her withdrawal with a raised eyebrow, but continued talking. ‘Angela Deacon from the New York office arrived this morning with some information I needed.’ He ran one hand distractedly through his hair and said. ‘I’ve had a hell of a day.’

  With e-mail, fax and the Internet at his disposal, she found his explanation a bit thin. But, clutching at straws, Josie considered maybe she had jumped to the wrong conclusion; maybe the woman was just a work colleague; maybe the kiss had been a simple welcome-back gesture. The thought was enough to deter her from arguing with him.

  ‘It’s all right, Conan. I understand and I didn’t have much time anyway.’ Catching sight of the bedside clock, she remarked, ‘And I don’t know if I want to be ready before our guests arrive.’

  ‘You’re not worried about this evening?’ He eyed her quizzically.

  ‘No, of course not. I have arranged dinner p
arties before—my father and I weren’t complete recluses. I won’t embarrass you; you needn’t worry,’ she told him briskly, her temper rising yet again. She knew he thought of her as a child but surely he wasn’t ashamed of her as well?

  ‘Josie, I didn’t mean to suggest you weren’t capable, but meeting people for the first time is a strain for anyone. But I want you to know I have complete faith in you, and I’m sure tonight will be a great success.’

  ‘Condescending swine,’ Josie murmured under her breath, and for an awful moment she thought she had spoken out loud. His dark eyes narrowed on her flushed face, and then, stepping forward, he bent his head and kissed the tip of her nose.

  ‘I’d better go and dress, or neither of us will be ready in time.’

  Shortly after, Josie descended the staircase to the hall. She knew she looked good. She had piled her hair on top of her head in a coronet of curls, held in place with diamanté combs. She had taken time over her make-up, and, wearing her new dress and shoes, her mirror had told her she had never looked better. Even so she took a deep breath before entering the drawing room.

  Her heart missed a beat and she stopped inside the door. Conan was standing in profile, looking out of the window, a glass of whisky in his hand. The perfectly tailored black dinner suit and the crisp white of his shirt lifted his chiselled features from handsome to devastating. For a long moment Josie simply stared. But she must have made a sound because he half turned.

  ‘Josie.’ He said her name, his lips curling back over even white teeth in an appreciative smile as he walked across the room to her. ‘You look exquisite,’ he drawled softly, taking her hand in his.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said coolly, but his obvious delight in her appearance gave her confidence a much needed boost. Even though it was obvious he preferred big blondes...

  ‘So polite,’ he chuckled, and clasped her hand tightly. ‘You know what you remind me of? When I was a small boy, every Christmas at the Manor we used to have a huge Christmas tree standing in the hall, and on the top a beautiful porcelain angel doll. I used to think it was so ethereal I ached to touch it, to keep it,’ he murmured almost to himself, and, lifting his hand, he trailed one finger down her cheek.

  His touch burnt like a trail of fire on Josie’s soft skin, and it took all her will-power to fight down the tremor snaking through her body. With his other hand, he gently rubbed his thumb back and forward over her palm, and it suddenly occurred to Josie that her fierce reaction to Conan over the last couple of days was being heightened by his own changed attitude. The deliberate seductive touches, the passionate kisses... Oh, he had kissed her since the wedding, but usually a peck on the cheek, a supporting arm. So why was he being so blatantly provocative with her now? Or was it her?

  ‘I suppose that’s a compliment—being likened to an angel—but I’m not sure I’m flattered at being called a doll,’ she managed to say lightly. Conan stared down into her smiling eyes, his own expression unfathomable to Josie. The air around them seemed to crackle with an electric tension. She swallowed nervously; was she the only one aware of it?

  ‘I was wrong; no doll could compare. You are beautiful. So very beautiful,’ he repeated, the words a husky whisper as his head bent.

  He was going to kiss her again and Josie’s lips parted in helpless invitation. The ringing of the doorbell snapped her back to her senses, and, as she turned her head, his lips brushed her cheek.

  ‘I will have to see the angel one day—it must be really something,’ she babbled, hardly knowing what she was saying. Conan straightened, a brooding look passing over his rugged features.

  ‘You can’t. Charles smashed it.’ And, dropping her hand, he brushed past her and into the hall to welcome their guests.

  Josie followed him, the mention of Charles bringing her back to reality with a thump.

  Jeffrey was ushering four people into the hall, and with a broad smile Conan caught Josie’s hand again and made the introductions.

  ‘Joe Smales, my personal manager, and his wife Betty.’

  Josie smiled and said the appropriate words. They were a couple in their fifties, both large and jolly and eminently well suited, she thought, as were the next couple.

  ‘And this is Harold Banes and his lovely wife Pamela, my surrogate mother.’

  Josie was surprised by his comment and the warmth in Conan’s smile for the tiny woman in front of him. But he was right—Pamela was very lovely: forty-something, and even smaller than Josie, with a gamine face and bright red hair. Josie liked the older woman immediately when she said, ‘At last! A woman almost as small as I am!’

  Conan, the perfect host, guided everyone into the drawing room, and Jeffrey dispensed the drinks while the conversation flowed easily.

  Josie sat back in her chair, nursing an orange juice, and listened to the quick repartee between the couples. It was obvious they were all good friends, and she began to relax and confidently join in the chat.

  Everyone had been invited for seven-thirty to eat at eight. It was five to eight when the last couple arrived and the small ray of hope that had dwelt in Josie’s heart since Conan’s explanation of his lunch date was killed stone-dead.

  Angela Deacon stalked in like some prima donna. Josie had gone into the hall to welcome her, and wished she hadn’t. The woman made her feel like a midget.

  ‘Ah, you must be Conan’s little wife. How cute.’ Sliding a mink coat off her shoulders, she swept past Josie.

  Close up, the woman was stunning. Almost dressed in a wisp of black silk, with a neckline that plunged to her waist, the skirt moulded so tightly to her thighs it was a wonder she could walk—or so it appeared to Josie.

  The man following Angela gave Josie some hope for a moment. He was tall, blond and handsome—but the hope was quickly squashed as he introduced himself as Steve, Angela’s brother.

  To Josie’s formal request to take her coat, the stunning blonde replied, ‘No, please join your guests. I know my way around Conan’s house better than my own. I lived here for quite a while.’ With that bombshell Angela sauntered upstairs, trailing the mink behind her.

  The colour drained from Josie’s face; she couldn’t help it. She turned her stricken gaze on Conan, but he was engrossed in conversation with Steve, a smile on his handsome face. He had some nerve, Josie thought vehemently. The lying swine had said he had never lived with a woman...

  The dinner was a nightmare for Josie. Angela seated herself on the right-hand side of Conan, and ignored everyone else present. Conan, with his wit and charm, kept the conversational ball rolling, but to Josie, seated at the opposite end of the table, it was apparent that her husband and Angela were much more than business colleagues. Conan smiled at the blonde with such indulgence that Josie felt like throttling him.

  Afterwards she could not remember a word that had been spoken. Occasionally Conan caught her eye and gave her a reassuring smile, playing the part of the loving husband for the benefit of their guests. But finally the hypocrisy of it was too much for Josie, and she abruptly left the table, explaining that Jeffrey was leaving and she would serve the coffee in the drawing room. Her own fury surprised her. She did not consider herself a fiery person, but seeing Conan with Angela aroused a host of seething emotions she did not want to face.

  On entering the room with a loaded tray ten minutes later, she almost dropped the lot on seeing Conan and Angela seated together on a sofa, so close it would have been hard to squeeze a pin between them. Pamela, as if sensing Josie’s feelings jumped up and offered to help serve the coffee, and afterwards she insisted Josie sit down beside her.

  ‘Don’t let it worry you. We all know Angela of old,’ she said in a quiet aside.

  ‘Is it that obvious?’ Josie asked with a wry grin. She had thought she had hidden her jealousy rather well.

  ‘No, only to me, but then I have been watching you all evening.’

  Josie stiffened. She had hoped Pamela might turn out to be her friend, but now she wasn’t so sure.r />
  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Pamela continued. ‘I mean it in the nicest possible way. Conan is a particular friend of my husband and I. When he first came to London, he stayed with us. He is like the son I never had, and I wanted to make sure the girl he had married was right for him.’ Taking Josie’s hand in hers, she said, ‘I am convinced you’re just what he needs. You do love him?’

  Josie felt the colour rise in her cheeks, but didn’t deny it.

  ‘It’s all right. I can see you do, and I’m glad. Conan is a very guarded, private person, but that’s not surprising when you consider his upbringing. It was bleak.’

  ‘I gathered as much,’ Josie mumbled.

  ‘He has a great capacity for love, I’m sure. But there has never been anyone to love him,’ Pamela said softly.

  ‘Angela is more than willing by the look of it,’ Josie offered cynically.

  ‘Ah, the lovely Angela. Don’t let her fool you. She has a brilliant brain, but no talent at all in her personal relationships.’

  Watching Angela smiling into Conan’s eyes, all breasts and thighs, Josie found it hard to believe and said as much.

  ‘You’re wrong. Conan has known Angela for ten years; her brother, Steve, is a very good friend of his. Conan has seen Angela through three divorces, and between each marriage she has made a play for him. But I’m happy to say he’s far too clever to fall for her very obvious charms.’

  Josie stifled a gasp. ‘Three divorces? She doesn’t look old enough,’ she whispered.

  ‘She is; she’s a year older than Steve and Conan.’

  ‘Come on, Pamela, you’re hogging our hostess.’ Mr Smales’s loud voice cut across their conversation, and then he proceeded to tell a very intricate shaggy-dog story about an Irishman and a brothel, until his wife stopped him and insisted it was time they left.

  Josie breathed a sigh of relief when the last guest departed, the last one being Angela, of course. Josie turned to the stairs, her shoulders drooped and she felt about a hundred years old. Her one consolation was the clever cut of her dress meant no one had realised she was pregnant. So she was spared the humiliation of Angela knowing the real reason why Conan had married her. But for how long?