But, shy or not, she should surely be in evidence this evening—as yet, she was not. Guy’s brows drew together. Despite the effusiveness of Heinrich’s greeting, and the benign graciousness of Annelise’s, Guy had seen the latter’s eyes go repeatedly towards the staircase curling around to the upper floors of the schloss.
Of Louisa there was conspicuously no sign. Guy’s initial reaction on realising she was not there was momentary relief, but as the minutes wore on, and he was subjected to the kind of irrelevant and time-filling social conversation on the part of his hosts that he found as hypocritical as it was irksome, he could feel irritation piercing through the predominant emotion of anger at Heinrich’s machinations and the unacceptable fall-out from his incompetence. He could see Heinrich and Annelise getting tenser about their daughter’s continuing absence even while they were determinedly not mentioning it.
Impatiently, Guy decided to cut through the flam. ‘Where is Louisa?’
His blunt question brought an instant prevaricatory response, which only irritated him further.
‘You must make allowances,’ added Annelise in a saccharine voice. ‘Of course she is anxious to make the very highest impression on you, Guy, knowing how demanding your taste in the fairer sex is. She is bound to want to look her very best for you. Your reputation is quite formidable, as you must well know. Ah, look—’ the relief was plain in her voice as her eyes went to the staircase, ‘—here she is now!’
Guy turned. Descending the staircase was Louisa.
His intended bride.
And anyone looking less like the prospective Madame Guy de Rochemont it would have been hard to find.
For a moment, as vivid as a splash of scarlet in a monochrome photo, another image imposed itself—elegant, soignée, superbe…
He thrust it away. He had done with it now.
At his side, he heard Louisa’s mother give a click of exasperation and dismay. And he could see why. Her daughter had clearly made no effort whatsoever for the occasion. She was wearing jeans, a jumper and trainers, her hair was in a ponytail and her face was bereft of make-up.
‘Louisa, what are you thinking of?’ demanded her mother.
Her father had gone red—a mix of chagrin and anger.
Wariness flared in the wide brown eyes as Louisa approached. ‘I didn’t have time to change,’ she answered. ‘And what’s the point, anyway? I’ve known Guy for ever. He knows what he’s getting.’
There was a flicker of defiance in her question, and Guy felt himself in sympathy. Louisa’s preference for casual style might not fit with what he himself preferred, or what the world would expect of his wife—every eye would be pitilessly upon her—but that was not her fault any more than her father’s ambitions for his daughter were—or the mess Heinrich had made of his bank.
Guy’s frustration worsened. If there had been any way—any at all—of calling Heinrich’s infernal bluff, he would have done so. But the damnable thing was that the man was right. Any visible sign of a bail-out—internal or otherwise—of Lorenz Investment would, at this delicate stage in consolidating Rochemont-Lorenz against the recession, send danger signals ricocheting around and beyond the confines of the dynasty. The potentially disastrous consequences could, at worst, have a domino effect, taking down a lot more than Heinrich’s bank. With sufficient time Guy knew he could nail any potential danger, ring-fencing Lorenz Investment, but time was not what he or the bank had. Which was why Heinrich—damn him!—had argued the case for this archaic and Machiavellian dynastic solution.
‘My dear boy…’ It was a form of address that had set Guy’s teeth on edge when Heinrich had disclosed his master plan for not just saving his bank and his own skin, but achieving personal advancement within the clan. ‘It is the perfect solution! A union between our two branches provides the perfect occasion for closer financial ties—what could be more reasonable? There will be no occasion for press speculation or undue attention from the financial analysts. Any financial…adjustment—’ his choice of anodyne term for bail-out had further angered Guy, already feeling the edges of a man trap closing around him ‘—can be made entirely painlessly,’ Heinrich had concluded breezily, blithely skipping over the punishing financial cost of what it would take to protect Lorenz Investment against its toxic debts, incurred solely because of Heinrich’s rash and greedy strategy for over-expansion.
He had provided in an unwise coda. ‘Why, a hundred years ago such an…investment—’ now he was presenting the bail-out as a commercial opportunity, Guy had thought viciously ‘—would have been regarded as a fitting bride-price! Cemented, of course—’ he’d smiled with bland optimism at his prospective son-in-law ‘—with a position at your right hand on the senior global executive board.’
Guy’s answer had been short and to the point.
‘This is a salvage operation, Heinrich. Nothing more. And be aware, very aware, that I undertake it solely for the good of us all. This debacle is of your making—survival is your only reward.’
Heinrich had bridled, then changed umbrage to bonhomie.
‘And yours, my boy, is my daughter. It’s an ideal match!’
His words had rung hollow, and now, as Guy’s gaze rested on Louisa, their echo rang even more hollow. Louisa was a pretty girl, and the casual outfit suited her brunette, gamine looks, but Guy knew with a sharpening of the knife that had been stuck between his ribs by Heinrich that they were not the looks he sought in a woman.
The image he had banned from his mind because it belonged to the past, not the future, tried to gain entry. Once more he thrust it aside. Alexa had been an affair, nothing more, he reminded himself brutally—that was all he must remember about her.
Now, like it or not, he had to come to terms with what his future was going to be. A future with Louisa von Lorenz in it. She was standing there, her unvarnished appearance making her look more suited to being a chalet girl than chatelaine of a hundred-room schloss.
Louisa’s father barrelled forward, seizing her arm. ‘Get back upstairs and get changed immediately!’ he hissed at his wayward daughter.
Guy stepped forward.
‘Quite unnecessary,’ he said. ‘Louisa—’
His eye contact with her was veiled, concealing his simmering frustration. He did not want to take it out on the hapless Louisa. Then he turned back to Annelise.
‘Shall we go in to dinner?’ his hostess said brightly, clearly wanting to move the evening on.