Bridal Bargains: The Tycoon's Bride / The Purchased Wife / The Price Of A Bride. Michelle Reid

      No, don’t think of that! she told herself sternly. ‘Will I do?’ she asked, anxiously searching those unrevealing eyes as they made the same journey back up her again.

      To her consternation, he emitted a rather odd laugh. And his head gave a small shake as if he couldn’t believe what he was actually seeing. Then those wretched dark eyes flicked downwards again, prompting Claire’s gaze to follow them to discover what it was that was bothering him.

      And at last she became aware of the incredible amount of leg the short dress had left on show! Her mind shot off, seeing through this man’s eyes what his ninety-two-year-old grandmother was going to see: a tall, leggy female who must be a brazen hussy to wear a skirt this short! ‘I’ll get changed,’ she announced, turning jerkily away from him.

      ‘You will not.’ His hand capturing her good one stopped her in her tracks. ‘You will do fine,’ he added softly at her frowning expression.

      ‘That wasn’t what you were thinking when you first saw me,’ she pointed out candidly.

      To her surprise, yet again he uttered one of those odd laughs. ‘You don’t want to know what I was thinking,’ he mocked her dryly. Then, before she could respond to that, he said, ‘Come on, let’s go.’

      His hand tightened on her hand to keep her firmly beside him when she would have pulled slightly away. And like that they walked across her room and out onto the galleried landing. In silence she let him lead her, his hand warm around hers and faintly comforting, which confused her rather because she knew she should be shying right away from his touch.

      At the head of the stairs he walked them beneath a deep archway that led into another wing of the house. With no natural light flooding in from the gallery, in here it was darker, and there was a different atmosphere—a hushed silence that felt slightly suffocating as they travelled along a carpeted corridor towards a pair of double doors at the other end.

      ‘Where’s Melanie?’ Claire asked in a hushed whisper—it was most definitely a whispering kind of place.

      ‘The nursery quarters are in the other wing,’ Andreas informed her. ‘She will not be meeting my grandmother today.’

      ‘But I thought that she was the sole reason why we are both here at all.’ She frowned in confusion.

      ‘My grandmother is ninety-two.’ He seemed to feel he needed to remind her. ‘She lives by a different set of social morals than you or I do. She will not acknowledge Melanie until we are married.’

      Oh, great, Claire thought heavily. I am about to meet a ninety-two-year-old puritan with the kind of moral codes that will file me under the heading marked ‘loose woman’ for being so free and irresponsible with my sexual favours!

      The short dress was as big a mistake as she’d suspected it would be, she realised as she stood there with Andreas beside her, his arm casually resting across her narrow shoulders now while his grandmother inspected Claire.

      Ninety-two was certainly old, Claire noted as she, in turn, studied the elderly lady. She looked thin and very frail, sitting there in an old-fashioned wing-backed chair which suited the old-fashioned possessions that surrounded her.

      The light in the room was unnaturally dim, made so by a tall folding screen that had been pulled across the window, and the air was so warm it was stifling, yet his grandmother was draped from shoulders to feet in shawls and blankets as if the blood in her veins must be too slow to help keep her warm any more.

      But the pair of beady amber eyes in her withered face were certainly very much alert. She snapped something at her grandson in Greek. He replied smoothly.

      ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself!’ the old woman scolded, switching to scathing English.

      ‘Resigned to my lot is the truth of it,’ Andreas threw back lazily. ‘The too old and the too young.’ He dryly marked the distinction. ‘Both of them the bane of my wretched life.’

      To Claire’s surprise the old woman laughed, the sound shrilling the stifling air with a high-pitched cackle. ‘I will speak to you later,’ she informed her grandson once she had recovered her composure.

      Then she flicked her sharp eyes back onto Claire’s face. Claire stiffened in response, readying herself for the blast of criticism she sensed was coming her own way next. The hand Andreas had curved around her shoulder gave a gentle squeeze as if in reassurance. He was still very relaxed himself—which had to mean something, Claire told herself as she waited.

      As perceptive as her grandson at picking up other people’s vibrations, the old lady challenged, ‘Scared of me, are you? Wondering what I am going to say to you as you stand there next to my grandson with your short skirt and your long legs enough to tempt a saint out of celibacy. Did your mother never warn you that men are weak of the flesh?’

      ‘My mother is dead,’ Claire answered levelly.

      ‘Your father, then.’ Death, it seemed, held no excuse to the old woman.

      ‘Dead also.’ It was Andreas who answered this time, his tone revealing just the slightest hint of a warning. ‘And treading carelessly on other people’s feelings is unacceptable, even for a dying old woman.’

      Claire’s shocked gasp was ignored as the old woman flicked her eyes back to Andreas and glowered at him. ‘Oh, come over here,’ she then commanded him impatiently. ‘I want my kiss now …’

      At last he deserted his post beside Claire, walking gracefully across the room to bend over the old lady. They embraced, exchanged a few softly spoken Greek words that somehow made Claire feel rather sad.

      ‘You next!’ the sharp voice then snapped out at Claire as Andreas straightened again.

      Going over to her, Claire obediently bent to brush a kiss on the old woman’s lined cheek. ‘What did you do to your hand?’ she then asked curiously.

      Claire explained. The old woman grimaced then pushed back the blanket to reveal her left arm, which she tried to move but clearly couldn’t. ‘Snap,’ she murmured ruefully.

      A joke, Claire realised, even if it was a wretched joke. And impulsively she bent to drop another sympathetic kiss upon a withered cheek. The old lady didn’t reject it, and there was something very close to a sad vulnerability in her eyes as Claire straightened again.

      But the voice was as surly as ever when she said, ‘Now go away, the pair of you; I’m tired. I will see you later, Andreas, before I retire,’ she prompted as Claire moved back to his side.

      ‘Of course,’ he nodded, making Claire aware that this must be something he always did when he was here.

      ‘But you come back tomorrow to discuss your wedding dress,’ Claire was then commanded. ‘And we will see if we cannot add ten years to your age to save this family from another scandal.’

      Another—? Claire thought sharply. But that was as far as that thought went as Andreas placed his hand on the base of her spine and urged her into movement.

      ‘I like her exactly as she is,’ he threw over his shoulder in a firm warning.

      ‘You think we do not already know that?’ the old woman snarled scathingly after him.

      He just laughed and was still laughing when the door closed behind them. ‘It keeps her will alive to spar with me.’ He seemed constrained to explain the banter between the two of them.

      ‘Yes, I realise that,’ Claire nodded as they began walking back down the corridor.

      He nodded too, pacing beside her. ‘I know she is surly,’ he added after a moment. ‘But she feels the weight of her own helplessness. It makes her—’

      ‘Surly,’ Claire acknowledged. ‘At least while she snaps people listen.’

      ‘Yes.’ He sounded almost relieved she understood that. ‘But she means no harm by it. And, as she will no doubt tell you herself,