The Marriage Proposition. Sara Craven
it to be.
It’s just shock, she told herself. All these months of studiously avoiding each other, and here they were in the same nightclub on the same small Caribbean island. Just one of life’s horrible coincidences.
And her secretly nurtured hope that she might never need to set eyes on him again had always been a non-starter—totally unrealistic.
I should have taken a leaf out of Brad’s book, she thought. Smiled and nodded, as if we were passing acquaintances. Instead I let him see me leave the floor in disarray.
She felt her chest tighten, and got to her feet. She hadn’t been serious about that walk along the beach, but it suddenly seemed like a good idea. And she wasn’t running away, she told herself. Just—regrouping.
Stone steps led down to the sand, bleached silver in the moonlight. Paige paused on the bottom step, slipping off her sandals. The warm night lay on her like a blanket, the palm trees that fringed the crescent of sand unmoving as she walked down to the curling edge of the water. Her breathing was still hurried and shallow. She had to fight to control it. To rein herself in to normality, and acceptance of the fact that fate had played her an unpleasant trick.
Although Nick wouldn’t be too pleased to see her either. He was the one who rubbed shoulders with millionaires. She was the wage slave back in England.
But that had been her own choice, she reminded herself restlessly. He’d offered a generous financial settlement in return for her compliance. She need never have worked again. But she’d refused his money.
All through those bitter days she’d kept repeating to herself like a personal mantra, I want nothing from him. Nothing.
When she’d reluctantly accepted the job at Harrington Holdings she’d done so at a reduced salary. After all, she was no longer living in London with its enormous rents. Her parents had wanted her to move back into the vast family home, as her brother Toby had done with his wife, but instead she’d found a small one-bedroomed cottage in a neighbouring village, feeling that at least a measure of independence was preferable.
And she’d managed to do some freelance magazine work, keeping the door open for her eventual return.
It had been a seriously difficult year in so many ways, she reflected. Quite apart from her personal wretchedness, her work with the company had been more like damage limitation than public relations. Since Toby had taken over the running of the organisation, following her father’s illness, there had been nothing but problems, it seemed. And as for that stupid girl he’d married …
She stopped right there. She was the last person in the world entitled to sneer at anyone’s choice of marriage partner after the mess she’d made of her own life.
An incoming wave splashed gently round her bare feet and she shivered slightly. But the chill of the water was nothing in comparison to the ice within her.
She felt blank—numb. But she had to think—decide what to say just in case Nick decided not to keep his distance. She supposed he was a passenger on Alain Froyat’s yacht. But he wouldn’t be there simply for enjoyment, in spite of the pretty blonde he’d been wearing as a scarf. Without doubt there was some big finance deal going down. Something that would make the Maitland Destry bank ever more profitable, and send Nick’s personal wealth soaring even higher.
Not that it was any business of hers, she reminded herself tautly. Neither Nick’s financial standing or his latest girlfriend could be allowed to concern her even marginally.
She’d kept her side of the bargain, and now she wanted the whole sorry charade brought to a conclusion.
Closure, she thought, on a marriage that should never have taken place. I must have been out of my mind to lend myself to such a farce.
Her footsteps slowed. It was time she was getting back to the restaurant. She would tell Angie she had a headache and wanted to go back to Les Roches. She certainly didn’t want Brad coming to find her and being carried away by the whisper of the waves, the moonlight falling across the water. He might even think she’d gone out on to the beach to lure him on.
She hadn’t heard him coming, but then he’d always had the ability to move like a cat.
Yet when she turned he was there, just as she’d known—she’d feared—he would be. Blocking her way. Bringing her to a breathless, tingling halt in front of him. With no means of escape.
He said softly, in that mocking drawl she hated, ‘Good evening, Mrs Destry. Or should I say, “Ill met by moonlight, proud Titania”?’ And he began to laugh.
PAIGE stood motionless, hands balled into fists at her sides. Inside she was trembling. On the surface she stared back at him, her chin lifting in unmistakable hostility.
She said coldly, ‘Is quoting nonsense at me the best you can do?’
Nick tutted. ‘Shakespeare is hardly nonsense, darling. And it seemed quite appropriate, in view of what comes next from Titania herself,’ he added reflectively. ‘“Fairies skip hence. I have foresworn his bed and company.”’
She felt hot colour rush into her face, and was glad of the sheltering darkness. She could feel anger starting to build in her. She wanted to scream at him—You dare accuse me of that? You—of all people? But that was a path she could not afford to tread, she thought, taking a deep, calming breath.
She said, ‘What are you doing here, Nick?’
‘What a coincidence,’ he said cordially. ‘I was going to ask you exactly the same question. I hope you’re here to promote Harrington Holdings for the island development programme. I see you’re here tonight with one of the chief movers and shakers,’ he added. ‘Is your relationship with him business or personal?’
‘I don’t think you have the slightest right to ask that.’
‘Ah, but I have,’ Nick said softly. ‘For all kinds of reasons. And the fact that I’m your husband is only the least of them.’ He paused to allow that to sink in. ‘So, please, tell me why you’re here.’
‘As a matter of fact I’m on holiday.’ She controlled her voice with an effort. ‘I presume I’m allowed the occasional break.’
‘And Brad Coulter?’
‘I met him socially. He’s a friend.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘And would it be indiscreet to enquire how long this—friendship has had to ripen?’
Paige said defensively, ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m asking when you arrived on this little unspoiled paradise.’
She bit her lip. ‘About three weeks ago.’
He whistled. ‘And all on your salary from Harringtons. Or are you being subsidised—in the name of friendship?’
Paige was startled. Somehow—already—he’d found out that Jack and Angie had offered her cut-price, rock-bottom rates. How the hell had he managed that? she wondered, humiliated. Or was it an educated guess?
She said sharply, ‘And if I am? What concern is it of yours?’
‘You’ll find I’m concerned about a great many things.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘So you’re really not here to drum up trade for the family business?’
‘Harringtons don’t tender for overseas contracts—particularly ones that are halfway round the world. You should know that.’
He said slowly, ‘Well, that’s something they may have to reconsider. Tell me, have you been in touch with the office during this extended vacation of yours? Have any faxes or e-mails come thundering across the ocean at you?’
‘No,’ she said defiantly. ‘And I wouldn’t