His Independent Bride: Wife Against Her Will / The Wedlocked Wife / Bertoluzzi's Heiress Bride. Catherine Spencer

still haunted by the memory of those terrible brutal minutes with Harry and their aftermath. The events that had wrecked her innocence forever, and still clouded her life, even now.

      Because they’d given Joel a hold over her. Her visit to Harry’s stag party was still a secret between them, no less potent because it was never mentioned. But it was something that he could use against her if she tried to disrupt their agreement at this late stage. Even the threat would be enough.

       The marriage still stands…

      He’d said it, and he meant it, and she had to accept that, no matter how it might tear her apart.

      She turned over, thumping the pillow, trying to find a cool place for her burning face. And a temporary oblivion for her restive, uneasy body.

      The body that Joel had so effortlessly, so cynically, aroused a few hours ago. Leaving her in a torment she was ashamed to acknowledge, even to her most secret self.

      She now knew altogether more than she wanted to know about the unique masculine scent and taste of him. The way it felt to be held in his arms. The intimate touch of his hands…

      And while all that might be difficult to forget, she could at least ensure that it never happened again. Prove to him that kisses were indeed taboo.

      From now on he had to be kept at a serious distance, she told herself with determination. She had to rebuild the barriers between them, which had proved so ineffective just now. Rebuild and strengthen them, so that she was never again guilty of that helpless physical reaction to him, which she’d been unable either to reject or control.

      Because, in spite of what had just happened, they were still strangers to each other, and that was how they would remain until the marriage ended.

      When, at last, she would be free of Joel Castille. Free of him—forever.

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      I KNEW, THOUGHT Darcy, that an engagement party was a bad idea.

      She’d just gone up to dress when her father tapped on her door to tell her that Joel’s flight from Paris had been delayed, and that he was going to be late.

      For a moment she felt totally blank, then she shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. And most of the guests are coming to say goodbye to Aunt Freddie anyway.’

      ‘Well, it matters to me,’ Gavin said testily, and went off to his own room.

      He was looking tired, she thought, and he seemed to have lost a little weight. Maybe the hand-over of power to Joel wasn’t going as smoothly as he wanted.

      Another reason why she had to go along with this marriage. If she backed out, it could have repercussions all the way to Werner Langton’s boardroom. Provide ammunition for all those opposed to Joel’s appointment, and create problems that her father didn’t need.

      So perhaps her decision had been the right one, for the company, if not for herself, she thought, and sighed under her breath.

      As she’d expected, her forthcoming marriage was inevitably the major talking point of the evening.

      I’ve never been the target of so much goodwill, she thought with a slight pang of guilt as she displayed her engagement ring to another battery of admiring glances. Thank heavens, they’ll never know the truth.

      ‘And where’s your fiancé?’ They all wanted to know, of course, and she unfailingly replied, ‘Delayed on business, I’m afraid,’ even managing a note of suitable regret.

      And if that didn’t win her the Hypocrite of the Year award, she’d no idea what would.

      But the pressure of maintaining the happy façade of the bride-to-be began to tell after a while, and she was glad to take a glass of champagne and slide unobtrusively away into the peace and quiet of the large conservatory that opened off the dining room.

      It had always been one of her favourite places, its air humid, rich and raw with the scent of earth and greenery, and she breathed in deeply, pausing by the collection of miniature palms, touching the glossy fronds with a meditative forefinger.

      Just a few moments, she promised herself. Then I’ll go back and do my duty again.

      ‘So this is where you’re hiding. I’ve been looking for you.’

      She’d have known that voice anywhere, and her jerky, startled movement as she turned sent some of the champagne splashing onto the tiles at her feet, and scattering droplets on the skirt of her dark green taffeta dress.

      Harry Metcalfe was standing in the doorway, watching her.

      She swallowed defensively. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

      He shrugged. ‘You once gatecrashed my party, honey. I thought I’d repay the compliment.’ He watched her stiffen, and grinned. ‘Only kidding. I’m staying with the parents, so I’m here, courtesy of their invitation. They cleared it with your old man first. Didn’t he mention it?’

      ‘No,’ she said. ‘He didn’t.’

      He said smoothly, ‘Then it must have slipped his mind.’ He paused.

      ‘It’s not really my sort of do, but I found I was extraordinarily keen to see you again.’

      Her throat tightened. ‘Not a view I share.’

      His smile widened into malice. ‘Not now, maybe, but once you couldn’t get enough of me—remember?’

      She felt faint nausea stir inside her, but kept her head up. ‘No—I don’t.’

      He sighed. ‘Sad how fickle women are.’ He wandered across and stood in front of her, looking her over from the smooth fall of hair brushing her shoulders, down to the slender legs revealed by the brief skirt of her dress, his gaze lingering on the first soft curves of her breasts, exposed by the deep square neckline.

      Darcy moved restively under his scrutiny, and his eyes narrowed a little. ‘Also I gather I’ve been replaced in your affections by Em’s cousin Joel, of all people,’ he went on. ‘So that makes us almost relatives, flower-face. Doesn’t it?’

      ‘Not,’ she said, ‘as far as I’m concerned.’

      ‘Actually, I was convinced that Joel would stay single,’ Harry went on as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Carrying his torch for my wife to the grave. And, as I’ve always found his “Rottweiler with a bone” act a bit of a bore, I suppose I should be grateful to you for turning his thoughts in a different direction.

      ‘Of course, Joel’s devotion to Em has never involved lifelong fidelity on his part,’ he added musingly. ‘On the contrary, he’s known as quite a connoisseur when it comes to bedtime. So your performance must have improved by several hundred per cent in the last couple of years, my pet. My congratulations.’

      He gave her a long, lascivious look. ‘Fancy allowing me to extend your repertoire even further before the happy day?’

      Her voice was suddenly thick. ‘You are revolting.’

      ‘No,’ he said. ‘Just a little curious, that’s all. You certainly weren’t much fun when I had you before. In fact, I was surprised you went to all those lengths to seek me out again afterwards. But maybe I’d aroused your curiosity too.’

      Darcy’s face was ice. ‘Or perhaps I wanted to let your friends know exactly what kind of a bastard you were.’

      ‘Don’t fool yourself, sweetheart,’ he advised brutally. ‘Most of them would have been far more interested in watching me give you some more of the same. Only dear Cousin Joel decided to play knight in shining armour instead.’

      Darcy put her glass down on a ledge with extreme care.

      ‘I’m afraid you must excuse me.’ Her tone was stony. ‘I need to get back to our guests. So will you let me pass, please?’

      For