The Marriage Proposition. Sara Craven

      Table of Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       About the Author

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       Endpage

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      ‘AND tonight,’ Angela said triumphantly, ‘we’re going to the Waterfront Club.’

      Paige, who’d been brushing her hair, stopped and gave her friend a steady look.

      ‘Isn’t that Brad Coulter’s place?’ she queried.

      ‘Well, yes.’ Angela picked up a bottle of scent from the dressing table, sniffed it abstractedly and put it down again. ‘Is there a problem?’

      ‘I certainly hope not.’ Paige paused. ‘Unless you’re taking your matchmaking talents for a run-out.’

      ‘Brad, my sweet, is an attractive and eligible man, and he’s clearly smitten. So where’s the harm?’

      ‘You seem to have forgotten one small detail,’ Paige said evenly. ‘I happen to be a married woman.’

      Angela snorted. ‘Try reminding your husband of that. Some marriage—when you don’t even live in the same country.’

      Paige shrugged. ‘That’s the way it suits us. At least until the divorce comes through,’ she added drily.

      ‘Well, there you are,’ said Angela.

      ‘However that doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything to upset the applecart in the meantime.’ Paige resumed work on her hair. ‘The grounds will be two years’ separation. Clean, tidy and final. And nothing for the scandalmongers to get their teeth into.’

      Angela raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you claiming that Nick has been equally discreet?’

      Paige put the brush down, and began to rub lotion into her hands. ‘I’ve never made any claims on Nick’s behalf,’ she pointed out. ‘He leads his own life.’

      ‘You can say that again.’ Angela’s tone was waspish. ‘If he wasn’t prepared to waive his bachelor ways, why on earth did he ask you to marry him?’

      ‘He had his reasons.’

      ‘And why the hell did you agree?’

      Paige smiled at her in the mirror. ‘I had mine, too.’

      ‘You make it all sound so rational,’ Angela grumbled. ‘And yet you were only together for—how many weeks?’

      ‘Just over seven, if my memory serves me,’ Paige said reflectively.

      ‘It’s hardly the kind of thing you forget,’ Angela returned, and Paige’s lips tightened.

      ‘No. But it’s the kind of thing you want to escape from with as little hassle as possible.’

      ‘I suppose so.’ Angela frowned. ‘On the other hand, in such a brief time you didn’t really give it a chance to succeed. Have you thought about that?’

      ‘Believe me, the marriage had failure written into it from day one. But it was a mistake which can be put right, simply and painlessly. However, in the meantime I prefer attractive men—however eligible—to keep well away, until the dust has settled.’ Paige replaced the cap on the hand lotion. ‘And that includes Brad Coulter.’

      ‘My sweet, you’re going home tomorrow, and everyone visits the Waterfront at least once during their stay on St Antoine. It’s one of the rules.’ Angela’s tone was persuasive. ‘And it’s hardly an intimate dinner à deux. Jack and I will be with you, after all.’ She paused. ‘And I know that Brad’s reserved a special table for us.’

      ‘Besides, as you all live and work on St Antoine, you can’t really afford to upset him,’ Paige supplied resignedly. She pulled a face. ‘I don’t really have a choice in all this, do I?’

      ‘Now you’re making me feel guilty.’ Angela glanced at her watch. ‘Hell, it’s time I was getting ready too.’ She squeezed Paige’s shoulder. ‘And look gorgeous. Competition is fierce at the Waterfront.’ She winked cheerfully, and vanished.

      As the door closed behind her friend, Paige unpinned her determined smile and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the dressing table and cupping her chin in her hands as she studied herself.

      The trouble is, she thought, I’m not actually a competitor, and even if I was I doubt if I’d be battling for Brad Coulter. Or anyone, for that matter.

      Because all I really want is my freedom.

      Angela had spoken about her brief marriage as if it had been a love match that had somehow come off the rails.

      What on earth would she have said if she’d known the truth about Paige’s ill-starred foray into matrimony? That it had been nothing more or less than a business deal. A form of words to enable Nick Destry to take his seat on the board of Harrington Holdings.

      Her great-grandfather had no doubt thought he was being very clever when he’d made it a legal requirement for only members of the family to serve on the board. But then he’d been born into an era of large families. He had probably expected future generations to be equally fruitful, and equally successful at keeping intruders at bay, she decided objectively.

      In his time, too, financing for the company had been easier to obtain. A series of gentlemen’s agreements conducted in London clubs. All very cosy and agreeable.

      She supposed the deal struck with Nick Destry’s merchant bank had been much the same—except that Nick was no gentleman. And cosiness and affability had not been included in his make-up. Nor had fidelity or a sense of decency, she reminded herself tautly.

      Apparently he’d made it clear from day one that he was unimpressed by the company’s record in recent years, and that he would only negotiate the finance they needed in return for a measure of control. When old Crispin Harrington’s ruling on family membership had been pointed out to him, he’d shrugged.

      ‘I’m