Blackmailed by the Rich Man. Julia James

unique, cherie,’ he said lightly. ‘You do not profess undying love. You make it clear that you want only my money. I find that—refreshing.’

      ‘And I,’ she said in a low voice, ‘find it degrading.’

      He tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Nevertheless, Hélène,’ he said quietly, ‘the bargain is made between us, and it will not be broken.’ He dug a hand into the pocket of his jeans and produced the little velvet box. ‘Now, give me your hand.’

      She watched numbly as the ruby slid over her knuckle into its symbolic resting place. So beautiful, she thought, watching the slow fire that burned in its depths, and yet so totally meaningless.

      He said, ‘Will you give me a kiss, or do I have to take it from you?’

      Swallowing nervously, she raised her mouth to his with reluctant obedience. But instead of the passionate onslaught she’d expected—and feared—Marc was gentle with her, his lips moving on hers with a strange, almost mesmerising sweetness, the tip of his tongue probing her defences softly and sensuously. Coaxing her, she thought, her mind reeling, to a response that she dared not risk—even if she wished…

      She stood rigid in the circle of his arms, shakily aware of the heat of his naked skin through her clothes. Willing the kiss to end. Praying that she would escape unscathed.

      At last, with a rueful sigh, he lifted his head, watching her through half-closed eyes.

      ‘You lack warmth, cherie,’ he told her wryly. ‘But that will change once you have learned a little about pleasure.’

      She stepped back from him, wrapping defensive arms round her body. ‘Is that really what you think?’ She invested her tone with scorn.

      He laughed then, running the back of his hand teasingly down the curve of her stormy face. ‘Yes, petite innocente, I do.’ He paused, glancing at his watch. ‘And now, hélas, I must dress and tear myself away from you back to London.’

      ‘You’re leaving?’ She was genuinely astonished. ‘Now?’

      ‘Pourquoi pas?’ He shrugged. ‘After all, I have what I came for—and I have to prepare for an early meeting tomorrow.’ He took the hand that wore his ring and kissed it. ‘But I shall return next week. In the meantime my architect will be here, with his team, to begin restoration work on the house.’

      His tone was brisk and businesslike, making her see the dynamism that drove him. See it, and resent it.

      Monteagle, she thought, doesn’t belong to you yet, monsieur.

      She bristled defiantly. ‘I have my own local people, thank you.’

      ‘And now you will also have Alain.’ He grinned at her. ‘So, don’t give him a hard time, cherie. He might wound more easily than I do.’ He paused. ‘One more thing,’ he added casually. ‘The number of your bank account, if you please.’

      She gasped. ‘Why should I give you that?’

      ‘So that I can transfer some money for you.’

      She said coldly, ‘I have funds of my own, thanks. I don’t need any charity.’

      ‘And I am not offering it. But there will be incidental expenses once the work starts that you cannot be expected to meet.’ He smiled at her. ‘Also you have your trousseau to buy. I intend to begin the arrangements for our wedding tomorrow. I suggest a civil ceremony before witnesses at the end of next month.’

      Helen’s heart was thudding again. ‘But you said there was no hurry,’ she protested. ‘That—that you’d wait…’

      ‘I think,’ he told her softly, ‘that I have been patient enough already. And last night has kindled my appetite, ma mie.’ His smile widened as he looked down into her outraged, apprehensive eyes. ‘So, be good enough to write down your account number for me, and I will go and leave you in peace.’

      Quivering with anger, she obeyed, handing over the slip of paper with open resentment.

      Marc walked to the door, then turned slowly, letting his eyes travel down her body.

      ‘On the other hand,’ he said softly, ‘I still have the memory of how you felt in my arms last night. And I could even now be persuaded to stay.’

      He watched her eyes widen in sudden shock, and went on silkily, ‘But it is a matter entirely for you to decide, mon amour. Although I promise you would find the bed in my room more comfortable than that penance of a sofa.’

      The words were thick in her throat. ‘I’ll have to take your word for that, monsieur. Goodbye.’

      She turned back to the window, hardly daring to breathe until she heard the door close quietly behind him.

      Monteagle is safe, she whispered to herself. And that’s all that matters. All that I can allow to matter, anyway.

      The cost to herself—well, that was different, and she would have to find some way to endure it.

      God, but he was so sure of her, she thought, digging her nails painfully into the palms of her clenched fists. So convinced he could seduce her into passionate surrender. But he would have to think again.

      ‘You may own Monteagle, monsieur,’ she whispered under her breath, resolution like a stone in her heart. ‘But you’ll never possess me—and that I swear, by everything I hold dear.’