‘Yes. I don’t know. I suppose so,’ she mumbled. But inside she was fuming. ‘You seem to have arranged everything to your satisfaction.’ But if he noticed the irony in her words he ignored it.
‘Good; I’m glad we agree. Now run along and pack. I’ll drive you down, but I won’t be able to stay, unfortunately. Angela has brought quite a few problems from the New York branch that need my attention. In fact I’ll probably have to go over to the USA for a week or so.’
I’ll just bet you will, Josie thought bitterly. Did he take her for a complete fool? Conan must have been planning this move for weeks. How convenient that the day after his very feminine American executive arrived, his wife had to go to the country. Still, she could not blame him. He had kept his side of the bargain and married her. She should be grateful, Josie told herself. Anyway, hadn’t she decided last night to give Conan a clear field with Angela? Then why did her heart ache to know he had already arranged it for himself?
‘Did you hear what I said?’ His angry voice broke into her thoughts.
‘Sorry, I missed the last part.’
Shoving back his chair, Conan stood up, his dark eyes fixed on her pale face. ‘Dreaming about the past again, were we?’
‘No.’
‘I’m glad to hear it, my de-ear wife.’ The drawled endearment made it perfectly obvious he did not believe her. ‘For your information I said I should be back by Christmas Eve, if you’re interested.’ Taking hold of her arm, he pulled her to her feet. ‘Now hurry and pack. I have no time to waste.’
Back in her bedroom, a slow-burning resentment at his high-handedness lent force to her actions as she haphazardly stuffed clothes into a suitcase.
Dressed once more in her blue suit—one of the few decent things she had that still fitted her—she cast a last look around the room, and the thought crossed her mind that she would never be here again. She straightened her shoulders, picked up the suitcase, and made her way downstairs and out to the car.
Conan took the suitcase from her hand. ‘Is this all? One case?’
Josie waited until he was seated behind the driving wheel before responding, ‘Contrary to your mercenary view of women, I don’t own a lot and I always travel light.’ Unlike his girlfriend with her mink coat and designer clothes, Josie thought spitefully.
Conan turned in his seat and leant over her, ostensibly to fasten her seat belt. But he hesitated, his hand holding the strap resting lightly on her breast. She sank as far back into the soft leather as she could, her breast hardening in quick reaction to his touch.
‘An admirable sentiment,’ he mocked, his hand pressing slightly against her. Josie knew he was doing it deliberately. But why? ‘But not necessary in your case. You have an allowance, credit cards. If it isn’t enough just say so. You’re my wife; what is mine is yours, and I am a very wealthy man.’ After dropping a swift kiss on her soft lips, he deftly clicked the belt into place and was starting the car before she could protest.
She had never touched her allowance; her pride would not let her. Instead she had used her own small savings for the few items she had bought. ‘But I’m not really your wife. Ours is a marriage of convenience.’ Even as she said it she wished it were not true. But to hope for anything more was to delude herself and she was not going to make that mistake again.
‘You’re my real wife.’ Conan shot her a chilling glance, before returning his attention to the road. ‘After what almost happened last night I don’t know why you bother to deny it. It’s only a matter of time.’
‘But—’ That was as far as she got before he cut her off.
‘Drop it. We have a long drive ahead of us. You’re tired; put your head back and sleep.’
‘I just think...’ She meant to say that physical attraction was no basis for a marriage, but never got the chance.
‘Your trouble is you think too much,’ he derided.
Josie closed her eyes; she had no energy to argue with him, especially when she knew he was right. But she could not stop her mind spinning. Only a matter of time, Conan had said. Did he intend to share her bed in future? Have a real marriage...? No, Angela was his true love... Feeling inexplicably sad, she yawned. She was tired, and trying to understand Conan was giving her a headache.
She imagined she felt the tenderest of kisses on her soft mouth, and she sighed, her eyes fluttering open.
‘Wake up, Josie; we’ve arrived,’ Conan was leaning over her, unclipping her seat belt.
She shivered and looked out of the car window. It was snowing and the car had stopped at the foot of the steps leading to the ancient oak entrance door of Beeches Manor. Her own home was gone, and this was all that was left for her. Conan walked around the car and held the passenger door open for her, and something in her expression must have told him how she felt.
‘You’ll be fine with Mrs M. to look after you, and I’ll be back soon,’ he said gently.
‘I’m sure I will,’ she said curtly. Did she really seem so pathetic to him? Stepping out of the car, she added, ‘Don’t hurry back on my account. I’m perfectly happy to stay with my father; in fact I would prefer it.’
‘Maybe so, but you’re not going to get the chance.’ Conan grabbed her arm and ushered her up the steps and into the house, his expression grim.
Then Mrs M., the housekeeper, was gushing all over them. The grey-haired woman, who was in her sixties, had worked at the Manor all her life, and she gave Josie a hug.
‘I’m so pleased to see you and Conan again!’ Mrs M. cried. ‘And you pregnant and all. Why, this old house has never seen so much excitement in years. Wait until you see my new kitchen—and as for the master suite...’
‘Okay, Mrs M.,’ Conan cut in. ‘You and Josie can gossip to your hearts’ content later, but right now I would love a cup of tea and a sandwich.’