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‘Well, well, this is cosy,’ a voice smoothly interrupted. ‘I see you have met my half-brother Conan, Josie, sorry I took so long.’ He held a bottle in his hand.
Josie turned at the sound of Charles’s voice and quickly crossed the room to join him at the door. Charles slipped an arm around her waist and pressed a wet kiss on her lips that made her want to wipe her mouth.
‘Well, Charles, I gather congratulations are in order. Josie has just told me of your engagement. When is the wedding to be?’ Conan asked silkily.
‘What did you tell him that for?’ Charles demanded angrily of Josie.
‘Don’t blame the child,’ Conan drawled. ‘I forced it out of her. You know me, Charles, I always find out in the end, and I’m sure you really wanted me to know.’ Fixing Charles with a glacial glance, he added, ‘There’s no need for embarrassment We’re all family, as you are so keen to remind me every quarter, and Father will be delighted. His eldest son finally getting married.’
Josie was struck dumb as Charles agreed... She didn’t understand why he hadn’t simply denied they were engaged. She hadn’t actually believed Charles’s offer of marriage was genuine; she had simply been carried away by the romance of it all—he a soldier off to war, and, more realistically, the drink.
But before anyone could object Conan was leading them downstairs and into the study where he seemed to take a devilish delight in prompting Charles into telling his father that he and Josie were unofficially engaged.
The Major was delighted. Charles appeared equally pleased, and Josie was simply confused. So much so that when Conan insisted on driving her home because Charles was over the limit she made no objection. Her last glimpse of Charles was his blond head bent over a tall, red-headed woman, their arms wrapped around each other. Josie had been introduced to her earlier. She was the wife of Charles’s commanding officer.
Josie sat stiffly in the passenger seat of the car, suddenly stone-cold sober. How on earth had she got herself in such a mess? She shot a fulminating glance at the arrogant male at her side. It was all his fault; if he hadn’t caught her in his bed and goaded her into saying she was engaged to Charles, she could have put the events of tonight down to experience and tried to forget. But she’d no doubt the Major would tell her father, and she was going to have great trouble explaining her behaviour.
‘Your home, I believe,’ Conan said coolly as he halted the car outside the door of Low Beeches farmhouse.
Josie hastily unfastened her seat belt and reached for the door handle. ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled.
‘Wait!’ The command was curt, and, leaning forward, Conan caught her hand in his much larger one and turned her back to face him.
‘What for? I think you’ve done enough for one night.’ She was exhausted, sore and fed up, and when his hand moved to her bare arm she flinched, her skin burning where he’d touched.
‘Not so fast. After all, we are soon to be related; surely I merit a brotherly kiss?’
Before she knew what he intended Conan had slipped an arm around her waist and hauled her across his lap. His other hand tangled in her silky black curls, holding her face up to his. She was trapped, her high round breasts crushed against the massive bulk of his chest, and her violet eyes widened in astonishment as his dark head bent and his lips covered hers.
He tasted slightly of mint, his mouth firm but undemanding. Then suddenly he was kissing her with a deeply sensual passion that lit an answering response in her young body. Josie was too astounded by his audacity to do anything other than submit to the expert demand of his mouth. Her body grew soft and pliant against him, his arm tightened around her for an instant, then suddenly she was back in her seat, but too dazed to do anything but stare up at him.
‘That was just a sample to compare with, Josie,’ And, slipping out of the car, he walked around to the passenger side and helped her out. ‘Don’t be in too much of a hurry to marry. You don’t have to marry the first man you have sex with.’
‘How...?’
‘Never mind, but remember there are plenty more fish in the sea. Take it from me, you have no chance of a happy-ever-after with Charles.’ And he left her standing on the doorstep.
Josie watched him drive off, wishing she had slapped his face or something.
Remembering that night now, Josie sighed heavily. Conan was wrong, she thought wearily as the grey light of dawn glinted through her bedroom window; there were not plenty more fish in the sea, not for her. She was pregnant and destined to be an unmarried mother, and for the first time since discovering the fact she realised she did not mind. The thought of a child of her own to love was somehow comforting, and finally she drifted off to sleep.
Josie yawned and opened her eyes. ‘Daddy,’ she murmured, the word little more than a croak. Her throat felt dry and rough. He was sitting in the chair by her bed.
‘You’re awake, Josephine. How do you feel?’ he asked quietly, his tired eyes fixed sadly on her small pale face.
‘I‘m fine,’ she smiled. Her father was the only person to call her Josephine. Then, like a shutter falling, the smile was wiped from her face, as the memory of yesterday returned to haunt her. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, the mundane question masking her very real distress.
‘About ten-thirty.’
‘Oh, my word! I’m late for work!’ she exclaimed.
‘No. I have already called your office, and told them you were suffering from a severe migraine.’
‘But I never get migraine.’
‘Oh, Josephine! What does it matter?’ Her father sighed and rose from the chair to sit on the side of the bed. He took her hand in his. ‘I am so sorry. I know how hard it must be for you, losing Charles so tragically. I remember how I felt when your mother died. This is all my fault. I feel so guilty. I’ve let you down—and your mother, God rest her soul! If I’d been a better father, given you the guidance and support you needed, this would never have happened.’
Her father’s halting speech made Josie feel worse. She studied his shadowed face in the morning light. Poor Daddy—she had failed him so badly. He’d been so pleased when he’d thought she was going to marry Charles, and she’d not had the nerve to tell him of her own doubt, and now she didn’t need to. But she could see the strain etched into the multitude of lines on his much loved face, and she couldn’t bear the thought of him blaming himself. The tears welled in her eyes. ‘Oh, Daddy,’ she whispered, and one tear rolled down her cheek.
‘Hush, Josephine; don’t cry.’ he soothed, wiping her cheek with a large white handkerchief. ‘We’ll work something out.‘
‘I hope so,’ she murmured. The tears were more for her father than herself; she knew deep down she would manage. But her father was an old-fashioned gentleman, who still considered an unmarried mother a disgrace.
‘Trust me, Josephine. Everything will be fine. Take your time, wash your face, get dressed, and then come downstairs. Conan Zarcourt is here and would like to talk to you—about the funeral arrangements I suppose.’ With a brief, reassuring squeeze of her hand, he left.
Conan! What did he want? He was a decisive, dynamic man, and she could not imagine why he would want to discuss the funeral with her. Just the thought of the man made her hackles rise. But it also gave her the incentive to get out of bed. She washed and quickly dressed in a pair of grey cords and a black skinny-ribbed jumper. It somehow seemed appropriate; Charles had been her unofficial fiancé. even if she had decided not to marry him, her conscience reminded her. She brushed her hair, and with her face free of make-up she slipped her feet into a pair of mules, and went downstairs. Better to face Conan sooner rather than later...
CHAPTER TWO
SHE stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The hall was square and small, with a door leading off either side, one to the dining room, the other to the sitting room, and to the back of the hall was the kitchen. It was a typical double-fronted stone-built farmhouse from the last century, with low oak-beamed ceilings and walls a foot thick. She guessed Conan would be in the sitting room, and, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she opened the door and walked in.
‘Josie! How are you today?’ Conan’s dark eyes swept over her, lingering a fraction too long to be innocent on the proud thrust of her breasts revealed by the clinging knit sweater.
His conventional polite greeting didn’t fool Josie for a moment; she doubted very much he was here simply to offer condolences. He had never approved of her relationship with Charles, and the Conans of this world did not waste their valuable time on young girls they didn’t like, unless the Major had sent him. But then she couldn’t see this man doing anyone’s bidding.
He was standing in the middle of the room, his broad-shouldered frame clad in a soft black wool roll-neck sweater and hip-hugging black jeans. The colour, while suitable for a man in mourning for his half-brother, only served to reinforce his innate powerful sexuality. A shiver of not fear but something more basic made the fine hair on her skin stand erect.
‘Very well, thank you,’ she replied stiltedly, fighting against her peculiar reaction to this man. Then, seeing the cynical twist of his hard mouth, she realised how callous she must sound.
‘Well, obliviously not well,’ she corrected, ‘I mean, Charles is dead, and I...well...’ She was babbling, but did not seem able to stop. ‘The funeral. You want to discuss...’
‘Hush. I understand.’ He stepped towards her. Josie tried to step back, his height intimidating her, but she was brought up hard against the closed door.
Conan noted her reaction. His hard mouth twisted faintly and then he turned and strolled across to the nearest armchair and lowered himself down onto the seat. He glanced back at her and gestured with one large hand to the sofa opposite. ‘Please, Josie, come and sit down; you have nothing to fear from me. I simply want to talk.’
Warily she looked at him; her violet eyes met his bland gaze and she was somewhat reassured.
‘The funeral apart, I have something else to discuss with you on behalf of the Major and myself, and it will be in your own best interests to listen.’
She straightened her shoulders and walked across to sit down on the sofa. ‘I can’t imagine us having anything to discuss, but I’m listening,’ she said flatly.
‘I know this will be hard for you so soon after hearing of the death of Charles, but I have spoken to my father, and we agreed. Under the circumstances the best solution is that you and I get married as soon as possible.’
At the mention of marriage her mouth fell open. Her eyes widened in shock and looked on the man lounging in her father’s armchair, his long legs stretched out before him in nonchalant ease. How did he do it? He looked so cool, so sophisticated, as though he were discussing the weather—instead of asking an almost complete stranger to marry him.
‘Marry you! You must be mad!’ she exclaimed. She could not believe what she was hearing. Was he joking or what? Surely he could not be that cruel. But his dark eyes trapped and held her own, and she knew he was deadly serious.
‘Mad, no; practical, yes.’ he drawled hardily.
She lowered her head, avoiding the determination in his eyes. Her gaze skated over his long body. He was all male and somehow threatening. What did he mean? Why on earth would he want to marry her?
‘Why?’ She was surprised to hear herself ask that. She should have said no and immediately corrected her mistake. ‘No. Definitely not. Charles was the—’ She got no further as Conan cut in.
‘I know Charles was the man you loved.’ Actually she’d been going to say he was the father of her unborn child, but she did not correct his assumption as he continued. ‘But we have to think of the living, not the dead. You are to have a child. A Zarcourt. Surely you must realise that when you blurted out that you were pregnant in front of my father you lost any chance you had of doing anything about your pregnancy?’ he prompted cynically.
‘Doing anything about it?’ she queried.
Conan shook his dark head. ‘I mean an abortion; after all, you can’t be more than a few weeks pregnant.’
‘Six to be exact,’ she fumed. ‘And if the Major wants me to have an abortion he can go jump.’ The thought had crossed her mind when she’d first discovered her condition, but it hadn’t taken a split second for her to dismiss the notion entirely. She could never do such a thing.
‘Much as I would like to see my father take a hike—’ his lips twitched with amusement ‘—you misunderstood me. Quite the reverse is true. My father wants the child, and he usually gets what he wants, as you’re about to find out. His grief at his eldest son’s death is only made bearable by the fact you’re carrying his child. There is no way he will allow his grandchild to be born a bastard,’ he opined, adding cynically, ‘Especially not darling Charles’s offspring.’
Josie was stunned by his words, but, knowing the Major, she could see the truth in his comment. But what she couldn’t understand was why he would agree with his father. It was obvious, even from her brief acquaintance with Conan, that there was no love lost between him and his father. This summer had been the first time Josie had ever seen him. He obviously had very little to do with his family.
‘But surely you don’t agree with him?’ she asked. ‘I mean, it can’t matter to you. You don’t even live here.’
‘No, I don’t, but I should,’ he responded bluntly with a degree of bitterness Josie could not fail to recognise. So it was all the more surprising when he asked coolly, ‘Do you like living in this house, Josie?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ What was he talking about now? she wondered, looking around the familiar room, her eyes eventually returning to Conan. He sat forward in his chair, his dark head bent, apparently staring at his hands clasped loosely between his splayed thighs. The only sounds were the steady tick of the grandfather clock and the logs crackling and burning in the open fire.
‘This farmhouse was the family home of the Major. He lived here with his first wife—Charles was born here.’ He raised his head. ‘I don’t suppose he told you that?’ he queried with a grim smile.
‘No, no, he didn’t,’ Josie said, not sure where the conversation was going.
‘I’m not surprised. Contrary to the impression, my father, the Major, likes to give,’ he drawled sardonically, ‘the Major was not always owner of Beeches Manor. He only acquired that position by marrying my mother. Perhaps if I explain the family history it will answer your question as to why I want to marry you.’
Josie wished he would. She couldn’t understand what he was getting at, or his obvious cynicism. But there was no mistaking the hardness in his eyes, and an implacable determination that Josie found vaguely disturbing.
‘My full name is Conan Devine Zarcourt. Conan from the Celtic meaning wisdom, and Devine being my mother’s maiden name. For centuries, Devines have owned the Beeches Manor estate, but my grandfather and mother were the last of the line. When she married Major Zarcourt, the Major and Charles moved into the Manor with my mother and grandfather and rented this house out as a holiday home. I was born a year after their wedding, and I don’t think it was long after that my mother realised she had made a mistake.
‘As a young child I was not aware there was anything wrong in my parents’ relationship. But then my grandfather was still alive, and any coldness on my father’s part was more than made up for by my grandfather. Plus my mother packed me off to boarding-school when I was seven.’
‘How awful for you,’ Josie offered; the thought of a young boy away from home at such a tender age seemed so cruel.
One dark brow arched sardonically. ‘Sorry to disillusion you, but you are wrong.’ His hard-eyed gaze caught hers, denying her sympathy. ‘My parents and I were never that close. It was my grandfather I missed. For years I had grown up with the sure knowledge that the Manor would be mine. Grandfather Devine never stopped telling me so. He died when I was eleven, but unfortunately he had signed the Manor over to my mother a few years before he died to avoid death duties, on the strict understanding it was to be held in trust for me, as the only Devine. But my mother had other ideas. As soon as Grandfather died she took off with her lover. Apparently, in her desperation to get a speedy divorce from the Major she agreed to break the trust and sign the Manor over to him. She lives in New Zealand now, I believe.’
‘But how could she do that?’ Josie asked, horrified.
‘Quite easily, apparently. When I came of age at eighteen the Major took great delight in telling me the whole story. He had married my mother for the Manor. I was a mistake, a complication he didn’t need, and he even questioned my paternity. He’d joined his own farmland to the Manor and managed the whole estate for years, and he intended to go on doing so until Charles showed an interest in it. Then he was going to pass the whole lot on to his eldest and favourite son, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it—’
‘I can’t believe your mother or the Major would behave like that,’ Josie cut in. She didn’t particularly care for the old man, but she couldn’t believe he would treat his own child so shabbily.
‘Ah, Josie, how you do like to think the best of people. It is one of your many charms,’ he said with a wry smile, before adding, ‘But, believe me, everything I have told you is the truth. And now, with your help, I have the chance to get my heritage back, and I intend to take it...’
She glanced across at him, her violet eyes caught and held by the burning intensity in the depths of his. Inwardly she shivered. There was something totally implacable about him. As for her helping him, Josie still failed to see what it had to do with her, or why Conan wanted to marry her.
‘But with Charles dead you will inherit everything anyway,’ she said cautiously, letting her gaze drop to a spot past his shoulder. Perhaps she was still too shocked to think clearly, because she felt she’d missed the point somewhere. But she wasn’t about to get embroiled any further. She had enough problems of her own. ‘I’m sure it’s all very interesting, but it has absolutely nothing to do with me,’ Josie continued firmly, straightening her shoulders. She’d no intention of marrying him or anyone else, and it was time she asserted herself.
In one lithe movement Conan left his seat and joined her on the sofa. His closeness unnerved her. Her body tensed as his large hand caught her chin, turning her face to his.
His dark eyes narrowed intently on her face. ‘But it has everything to do with you. I know this is a terrible time for you, Josie, and I would do anything to avoid causing you any more pain, believe me.’ His face darkened into an expression that made Josie wish she hadn’t tried to dismiss him so bluntly. ‘But I want what’s rightfully mine, and you are the means by which I will get it,’ he informed her ruthlessly.
A chill shivered its way down the length of her spine as he dropped his hand from her chin. ‘And we must get this settled quickly. Unfortunately time is the one commodity we do not have in your condition.’
Josie grimaced at the reminder.
‘Let me spell it out for you. The Major and I had a long talk last night, and we’ve made a deal. I marry you, give your child the Zarcourt name, and in return I get my rightful inheritance back immediately. Otherwise he will leave everything to you on his death, provided you produce a son; if not, he’ll leave it to the church, the dogs’ home—anyone other than me.’
Josie was lost for words. She could only gaze at Conan in dumb amazement. He couldn’t be serious!
‘Well, do you agree? Will you marry me?’ he asked, his arm sliding along the back of the sofa and clasping her shoulder. ‘Or perhaps, like most women, your mercenary little soul wants to take the chance on giving birth to a son and keeping it for yourself,’ he added cynically.
‘I would never do that!’ Josie cried, finally finding her voice, insulted that Conan should even think such a thing. ‘I don’t have a mercenary bone in my body,’ she informed him, jerking around to the side and shrugging his hand off her shoulder in the process.
‘In that case, Josie, what’s the difference? One Zarcourt is as good as another to be a father to your child, and at least it will keep the poor kid in the family.’
Her breath caught in her throat at the sheer arrogance of his brutally realistic comment. ‘That’s totally stupid. You can’t just walk in here and say you want to marry me, simply to get your hands on the Manor House. Anyway, what the Major is suggesting isn’t fair. You are his son, you are entitled to the estate. You shouldn’t be forced to marry me to get it.’
‘Not much is fair in this world, Josie, as I think you’re beginning to find out,’ he offered dryly, before adding, ‘But there’s no force involved on my part. I want to marry you. You’re a very lovely girl, and I can think of a hundred more selfish reasons for wanting you as my wife.’
She closed her eyes for a second, his words forcibly reminding her of the hopelessness of her own situation. When she opened them he was watching her, the expression in his dark eyes, so oddly flecked with gold, seeming sincere, and yet there was something more she could not name in their mysterious depths. She was tempted to agree to marry him. It would solve all her problems. But the memory of the one night she’d spent with Charles rose up in her mind, and she did not fancy repeating the experience. She couldn’t...
‘So what is it to be, Josie? You help me and I swear I will take great care of you.’
‘I couldn’t. I hardly know you. I—well...’ She slid to a halt, unable to find the words. He said he thought she was lovely and he had other reasons for wanting to marry her. Did he expect her to go to bed with him ? She didn’t know and she wasn’t about to ask. As far as she was concerned it wasn’t an option. But as if he could read her mind Conan went on.
‘If it’s sharing a bed with me that’s bothering you, forget it. Not that I wouldn’t mind if you did.’ He gave her a very masculine grin. ‘But I promise I wouldn’t dream of making you do anything you didn’t want to. You have my word on it.’
Josie wasn’t sure she believed him. It struck her quite forcibly that Conan wasn’t the sort of man to be celibate for very long. In her friend Zoe’s parlance the man was hot and even Josie, who was off sex for life, could sense the virile sexuality of the man. So it followed he must have a girlfriend somewhere. No sooner had the thought entered her head than she was voicing it.
‘But surely a man of your age must have a woman in his life, someone who might object to you up and marrying an almost total stranger?’ Josie was young but she wasn’t stupid. She’d seen the way Conan looked at her, and she doubted very much he went through life like a monk.
‘No, there is no one of any importance, but if you’re asking for my sexual history I’ve had two what you might call long-term relationships, neither of which included sharing my home with the lady in question.’ His dark eyes fixed on her flushed face. ‘You, on the other hand, will share my home when we marry, and you can count on my fidelity as much as I can count on yours. Satisfied?’
‘As long as it is only your home and not your bed,’ she said bluntly, not entirely sure she liked his answer.
‘Good. I knew you would see sense. Now, if you have no further questions I will get everything arranged.’
‘Wait a minute. I never said I would marry you.’ She eased a little further back along the sofa, putting more space between them. ‘I need time to think.’
He noted her furtive shuffle with the sardonic arch of one black brow. ‘Take as long as you like.’ And, glancing at the fine gold watch on his wrist he added, ‘As long as it’s no more than sixty seconds.’
Arrogant devil, she thought, but she also thought of her father, and the worry she was causing him, and her unborn child. How easy it would be to pass all her troubles on to someone else’s shoulders, and Conan’s were broad enough, she thought, glancing at his physique—so strong, so protective. But...and it was a big but...she didn’t love Conan, . and he didn’t love her. But then she had thought she’d loved Charles, and look where that had got her. In this mess. She wasn’t a coward, and she wasn’t afraid of hard work. She had looked after her ageing father for the past few years as well as holding down a job.
The trouble, Josie realised, was that it was a catch-22 situation. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. If she refused to marry Conan and her child was a boy, the estate would come to her, and she would look like the worst kind of gold-digger. If she did marry Conan just for the sake of the baby, was that any better?
She wanted the very best for her child, and if that meant living with Conan for a year or so, would that be so bad? She thought of her father earlier, blaming himself for her predicament, feeling guilty because he was convinced he had neglected her in some way and betrayed his late wife’s trust. It would put her father’s mind at ease if she married Conan, she knew. The Major and Conan would be satisfied, and realistically her one brush with sex had put her off for life. She could not see herself falling in love and marrying in the normal course of events, not any more...
