A High Price To Pay. Sara Craven

he said cynically. He paused. ‘Unless, of course, it’s you that has fallen madly in love with me.’

      ‘Nothing,’ she assured him, ‘could be further from the truth.’

      ‘That’s what I thought,’ he said drily. ‘So why introduce emotional hassle into what is purely a business arrangement? If I were offering you any other kind of job, you wouldn’t be probing into my moral rectitude.’

      There was a kind of brutal truth in that, she was forced to admit.

      ‘At the risk of probing further,’ she said, after a brief hesitation, ‘I thought there was a lady in your life already—someone you planned to marry, when it was convenient …’

      ‘You mean when her divorce became final?’ He studied Alison’s responding flush with open mockery. ‘I’m afraid you’re under a misapprehension, my dear. And so is the lady, as I’ve had to make clear to her. She’ll be far better off staying with her husband. He may be dull, but he stands to inherit a baronetcy.’

      Alison’s eyes widened indignantly. ‘Isn’t that rather callous?’

      ‘It might be,’ he agreed, ‘if I’d helped to put her marriage on the rocks on the first place. As it happens, I didn’t. Nor do I appreciate her throwing my name to any tame gossip columnist she had hanging round.’ The firm mouth hardened into implacability, and in spite of herself, Alison shivered. ‘I have no intention of being dragged into the Monclairs’ current bout of mud-slinging, and finding myself an alternative bride without delay will help to snuff out any further speculation in that quarter.’ He smiled faintly. ‘As you see, the favours work both ways.’

      Alison ran the tip of her tongue around her drying lips. ‘If you want simply to be engaged—on a temporary basis—then maybe …’

      ‘I don’t,’ he interrupted. ‘I’ve told you my terms. I want a real engagement, to be followed in due course by a conventional wedding—although I suppose I’ll have to spare you the white lace and orange blossom,’ he added, his eyes flicking over her dismissively.

      ‘Thank you,’ said said grittily. ‘But I don’t need to be reminded that I fall far short of the usual image of the radiant bride.’

      ‘Perhaps,’ he agreed, without a single sign of repentance. ‘But it wasn’t any possible shortcomings of yours I was considering, but the fact that you’re still mourning your father. I think, in the circumstances, we could be forgiven for a small quiet wedding.’

      It was all moving too far too fast, and she held up a hand. ‘I—I can’t answer you now. I must have time to think.’

      ‘As you wish.’ He paused. ‘But without wishing to exert undue pressure, I’d be glad to have an answer by the end of the week at the latest.’ He produced a card from a wallet, and handed it to her. ‘My business and private numbers,’ he said. ‘I’ll be waiting for your call.’

      She couldn’t think of anything to say in reply to this, at last managing a feeble ‘Goodbye’ as he walked towards the door.

      ‘Let’s make it au revoir, shall we?’ She thought she could hear faint amusement in his voice. ‘Because I’ll be back.’

      She was still trying to work out whether that was a promise or a threat when she heard the distant thud of the front door closing.

      And, suddenly and uncontrollably, she began to tremble.