Taken Over. Penny Jordan
could be nothing worse than a plain woman longing to be made passionate love to, wasting all her life waiting for her knight on a white charger. No, although it hurt to be realistic, in the long run it was safer. She already had her independence; both financial and physical, and as she had learned from her father, that was the most important and most enduring thing in life. He had surrendered his to his wife’s family and had never ceased to regret it.
She and Peter had discussed their future carefully. She would continue to run Cassietronics independently of his father’s company. Peter would continue to work for his father. They would buy a flat in London, close to her office and then perhaps later she would work from home.
She had everything she had always wanted, Cassie told herself as she riffled through her mail, ignoring the small, nagging pain that suddenly surfaced in the memory of that tall dark-haired boy from school. How her heart and body had ached every time she looked at him. She had dreamed of his kiss, of his touch; mildly erotic painful dreams that robbed her of concentration. It was as well she had had that lesson, she told herself firmly as she applied herself to her post. She was a very wealthy young woman now, and a very vulnerable one. If she hadn’t had her dreams and illusions smashed then she could easily have been in danger of falling for some smooth-tongued opportunist who wanted her merely for her wealth.
Her aunt had warned her often enough recently that that was what could happen to her. Cassie sighed and pushed her letters to one side as she thought about Aunt Renee, her uncle’s widow. Bitterly resentful of the company’s failure, she blamed Cassie’s father for its downfall, conveniently overlooking the fact that her husband had been the one responsible for its demise. Uncle Ted was dead now like her father, and Aunt Renee, although only an aunt by marriage, was the only relative she had left. Sometimes Cassie felt as though her aunt hated her. She was bitterly vindictive about Cassie’s father, and never lost an opportunity of reminding Cassie how plain she was. Once beautiful herself she still had remnants of that beauty. She spent a fortune on clothes and at beauty salons, using the money Uncle Ted had left her to finance exotic holidays. Invariably when Cassie saw her she was being escorted by a much younger, far too handsome man. As a teenager Cassie had suffered cruelly from her malicious jibes.
Telling herself that she had missed nothing by not being beautiful Cassie suddenly froze as she flipped over a magazine and Joel Howard’s handsome face smiled back at her. Beneath the photograph was an article about a charity ‘do’ he had been attending and included in the picture was a petite, pretty blonde. Cassie’s mouth curled disdainfully. What was it when men like Joel Howard used their wealth and position to buy themselves pretty little playthings that the rest of the male world looked on in approving envy, yet when a woman did exactly the same thing, she was scorned and derided for it?
There was no such thing as equality for the sexes, Cassie thought bitterly ignoring the stabbing of her conscience which told her that Joel Howard would attract beautiful women even if he didn’t have a penny to his name. There was about him an aura of sexual magnetism that even she could sense, and wasn’t he just aware of it? That was why she disliked him so much, Cassie thought disdainfully. She loathed and despised the way he made capital out of his too obvious good looks. Yes, that’s right, she despised him, she told herself, savouring the thought, starting suddenly when the telephone rang abruptly.
She picked up the receiver, relaxing when she heard Peter’s gentle voice. What had she expected, she mocked herself. To hear Joel Howard’s deeply masculine, taunting voice? He wouldn’t approach her again. Not after the emphatic refusal to even talk to him she had given to David.
Peter was ringing to confirm the arrangements for their date that night. They were going out to celebrate their as yet unpublicised engagement, and to make arrangements for their wedding at the end of the month. Not until she was actually married to Peter would she feel completely safe, Cassie thought as she replaced the receiver. Safe? She frowned a little, force of habit encouraging her to analyse her emotions. From what or whom should she need to feel safe? Against her will her eyes were drawn to Joel Howard’s photograph and she stared blindly at it for several minutes before finally tearing her gaze away.
SHEWAS LATE leaving the office, primarily because of an idea she had suddenly had that she couldn’t wait to start working on. It was only when she happened to glance at her watch and realised the time that she had reluctantly left her computer.
Now she had barely half an hour in which to get ready for their date. Guilt smote her as she remembered the hair appointment she had made. She had wanted to look her best for Peter tonight, feeling that she owed it to him to make some special effort on his behalf. She knew why he was marrying her. It couldn’t be easy for him. She sighed faintly, studying her face in her mirror. Every feature was unremarkable save perhaps for the size and shape of her eyes and the delicate bone structure of her body, but Cassie could see no virtue in these. She was too thin; too pale and just generally too uninteresting.
When she had showered and put on clean underwear she opened her wardrobe doors. All the clothes inside it had been chosen for their anonymity; chosen to help her blend into a crowd and thus escape any criticism. Selecting a mushroom beige dress she tugged it on and fastened it. The loose, shapeless style disguised her slimness covering her from wrists to knees in dull beige. Against the dress her skin looked paler than ever, her hair even more mousy. Cassie normally wore it up in a neat chignon and she gathered it into this style with the ease of long practice. At one time she had worn it in one long plait, but she had been so teased for this at university that she had adopted a more mature style. She had once toyed with the idea of wearing contact lenses, but as she told herself that really she needed her glasses only for close work she had abandoned this idea. She put them on to apply a brief covering of make-up, adding her lipstick almost mechanically, wondering why it was that make-up did so little for her. A brief spray of the rich, oriental perfume Peter had bought for her, and she was ready. That the perfume did not suit her at all, did not concern her, Peter had chosen it and therefore she felt she must wear it.
She glanced down at the large solitaire weighing down her slender finger and picked up her coat. She was just putting it on when she heard her door.
Peter smiled when he saw her, leaning forward to give her a dutiful peck on her cheek. She couldn’t imagine Joel Howard embracing his dates so tamely. The thought made her face flame with anger. Why on earth was she thinking about him?
‘Ready?’
She nodded and smiled, following Peter outside.
‘My parents went on ahead to the restaurant,’ he told her with a smile. ‘My car’s outside.’
Peter’s parents. Cassie’s heart sank. She wasn’t too keen on her in-laws-to-be, finding Peter’s father brash and overbearing, and his mother another potential Aunt Renee. She knew that Isabel Williams was disappointed in her only son’s choice of wife; and she also sensed that even though Ralph Williams was pleased by the match, he was contemptuous of her as a woman. Sometimes Cassie felt that she wanted to scream that it wasn’t her fault that she was plain; that she still had feelings and could still be hurt, but she squashed the impulse. As she followed Peter into his car she found herself stifling the reckless desire to turn to him and demand that he kissed her, really kissed her. What on earth was the matter with her? She shivered despite the warmth of the car and Peter was instantly concerned.
‘It’s time I got a new car,’ he told her, frowning. ‘This one’s had it, but father replaced his Rolls earlier this year. Perhaps you could buy me a new car as a wedding present?’
Cassie knew that he was only teasing but somehow the words grated. She was getting oversensitive, she told herself. She had entered this engagement willingly enough; she had known why Peter had proposed; she couldn’t claim that she loved him any more than he loved her, so why this feeling of distaste; this desire to open the car door and run?
Bridal nerves? She smiled derisively. Hadn’t her father brought her up to face the truth about herself, no matter how painful? She was a plain, clever woman, whose fiancé was marrying her because of her cleverness rather than her beauty. Was that really any worse than being married for beauty? Beauty faded, ability lasted … so who really was the loser; the beauty or the blue-stocking?