'You have nothing to fear, Parisa...' He cast her a sidelong glance, one brow arched sardonically. 'I have no burning desire to leap on you, or, at present, the energy. Our marriage will be strictly business.'
'I wouldn't agree otherwise,' she replied firmly, but some imp of mischief deep down inside her queried the truth of her comment.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The car stopped outside the oak double doors of her home. Parisa cast a sidelong glance at Luc. His head was back against the seat and his eyes were closed. The dim light of the car cast a greyish tinge over his taut features. For a moment she wondered if the knock on the head had hurt him more than he wanted to admit. His long lashes fluttered on his cheeks and his eyes opened. For a second they did not seem to focus, but with a grunt he straightened up in the seat.
His dark head bent towards her as he reached across to open the car door. 'You will excuse me if I don't get out, but the chauffeur will see you to the door, and pick you up again in the morning around ten. I will meet you at the hospital and together we can tell Mamma the good news.'
'Yes—yes, fine,' she stuttered, the husky male scent of him, his nearness making her uneasy!
'Parisa.' He caught her hand as she swung her long legs out of the car. 'No second thoughts. I expect to see you in the morning. Our deal stands...'
'Yes, OK.'
There was something distant about him, and he seemed to be slurring his words. Parisa slid out of the car, and looked back.
'Get in the house,' he commanded curtly.
Turning, she walked up the steps and let herself in the front door. She locked the heavy door behind her, and tiredly walked across the hall to the stairs, the portraits of her ancestors smiling down at her. She had the oddest feeling that they were laughing at her. She shook her head to dispel the fanciful notion and wearily climbed the grand staircase.
She stopped at the antiquated bathroom next door to her bedroom, and, stripping off her clothes, had a quick wash, and, taking her old towelling robe from the back of the door, gratefully made her way to the bedroom. Shrugging out of her robe, she climbed into the welcoming softness of the huge old bed. She didn't want to think, just sleep.
But it was not so easy. Had she really agreed to marry Luc on Thursday? It made sense financially, she knew, but what about emotionally? Could she live with the man even for two weeks without resurrecting all the hurt and pain she had already suffered at his hands? Did she have the strength of will, or even the acting ability to play the part he wanted from her? A million questions swirled around her tired mind, and she wasn't capable of answering them.
Perhaps, she thought, turning restlessly on the bed, it was all a joke. Tomorrow Luc would ring and tell her it was all off. She half hoped he would. He had told her to use her head, have a bit of business sense, and she could see the advantages of his offer very clearly. True, she did feel sorry for his mother, and felt some slight obligation as she had led the lady to believe she was engaged to her son. Didi as well would be delighted at the thought of Parisa marrying Luc. But basically, what did it make her; Parisa Hardcourt-Belmont, going through a marriage ceremony mainly for money... A harsh, humourless laugh escaped her. Mercenary! But then, was that so strange? In the history of her family there had been plenty of arranged marriages, and no doubt some strictly for money. Why should she balk at the thought?
Love was for fools; she had learnt that lesson the hard way. Luc Di Maggi had taught her. She remembered when he had first broached the subject of her going to Italy with him, and he had said he would never marry, but he didn't mind getting engaged to keep his mother happy. Maybe that was Parisa's guarantee. He was a ruthless, dynamic businessman, who had, from the humble beginnings of a bakery, built a vast empire. He took what he wanted without a thought for other people. How many people had he used and cast aside along the way, herself included? she wondered.
She might despise the man. The five days she had waited in London for him to get in touch with her had been the most painful period she had ever endured. She had deluded herself into believing Luc must love her simply because she loved him. Then, the final day, she had seen the newspaper article, and realised Luc had lied to her, that the man she had thought she was in love with, the man she had even been prepared to accept was a criminal at the cost of her own conscience, was a stranger to her. Parisa had given herself to a man who had simply been playing a joke on her as some petty revenge for a supposed insult of years ago. When she had realised the extent of her naivete, she had vowed that no man would get the chance to make a fool of her again.
Could she be as hard and cynical as Luc was? Yes... She would take his money, she told herself with bitter certainty. Why not? Who more appropriate? After all, he had bought the title, and the thought really rankled. She grumbled about the old building, but in reality she loved her home and could not imagine living anywhere else. Her childhood memories of running wild around the five acres of parkland... playing hide-and-seek with her father in the many rooms... sliding down the banister ... She cherished her memories, but from now on, for the rest of her life, she would have to live with the ever present knowledge that Luc was the Lord of the Manor.
She deserved the money, she told herself, and there was no denying it would be much easier for her personally. Legally, as Luc's wife, if only in name and for a short duration, her position would remain the same and there would be no need for her to reveal to friends and acquaintances that she had actually sold the title.
Cowardly, perhaps, but she had not relished the thought of exposing her monetary problems to all and sundry. But the deciding factor was that it would enable her to pay Didi and Joe a decent pension for the rest of their lives. But it was still a long time before she finally slept, and when she did her dreams were full of a tall tanned man, black eyes gleaming with devilish humour, laughing down at her.
Parisa awakened the next morning and almost convinced herself the previous day had been a dream or, more likely, a nightmare. Luc had stormed back into her life, announcing to the world at large that she was his fiancée. She had no illusions about him caring for her... He had made it brutally obvious yesterday afternoon, with his cutting remark about the night he had made love to her. So why was she being stupid enough to go along with his crazy plan to get married, even if it was only for a couple of weeks? she asked herself. Deceiving Didi! Wearing his ring! She had no answer. Well, none she was prepared to admit to.
She did not love him... Her trip to Italy had been stupid, even though her reason for going had been compelling at the time. But a fortnight in London, a strictly platonic relationship, for a fortune... Surely it was common sense to accept... ?
She groaned. Her head was pounding, and Didi's hearty 'Good morning' as she walked into the room, a cup of coffee in her hand, did not help.
'You'd better get up, Miss Parisa. There is a man downstairs waiting for you to show him the house!'
'What? Who?' she murmured, hauling herself up the bed and tucking the sheet around under her arms. She took the proffered cup of coffee and downed it in one go. She had drunk far too much champagne last night and she wasn't used to it.
'A Mr Smythe; he's an architect. Mr Luc sent him to decide what needs doing and how. Isn't it marvellous?'
'Yes, great.' Parisa groaned as the enormity of what she had agreed to hit her. Luc had certainly wasted no time, she thought angrily. Obviously he was taking no chances on her changing her mind. She barely had time to wash and slip on her leather suit before the limousine arrived to take her to the hospital.
Parisa stepped out of the car outside the main entrance to the hospital, and before she had time to sling her shoulder-bag over her shoulder Luc was at her elbow.
'Good, you've arrived. Mother will be pleased.' And, without so much as a 'Good morning', he was ushering her into the hospital.
'Hello to you, too,' she said sarcastically, glancing sideways at his handsome face. He still looked rather pale and she wondered if it was solely because of his concern for his mother. Or perhaps it was the thought of getting married, even briefly? He was not the marrying type, as he had told her more than once. This morning he was wearing a smart two-piece navy suit, with a high-necked Cossack-style blue silk shirt and no tie. It should have looked affected, she thought wryly, but on Luc it looked stunning.
They stepped into the lift with two white-coated girls, who couldn't take their eyes off Luc. Parisa smiled grimly. He was that sort of man: he attracted females like bees to honey.