8 Magnificent Millionaires

But how could he be honest when fear of failure was demanding he stay silent on that score? One way or another, eventually he was bound to make a mess of things. Hadn’t he done so with both Nicole and Petra? Only one thing was certain. If he didn’t act soon to the contrary he would possibly wreck the only chance at happiness that had come his way in a long, long time and it would be entirely his own stupid fault.

A small, disappointed shiver ran down Liadan’s spine at Adrian’s statement and she twisted her hands together in the lap of her jade-coloured skirt as if she didn’t quite know what to do with them. ‘My company is pleasing?’ Was that all he could find to say about her? What was it about her that men couldn’t commit to her as they could to other women? she reflected despondently. First Michael’s judgemental rejection both of her body and her person and now this—this lukewarm litany of some of her supposedly more attractive attributes that was supposed to add up to a proposal of marriage. ‘You must be desperate for a housekeeper if you’re prepared to marry me in order to keep me in your employment,’ she said in a detached voice, barely able to bring herself to look at him.

His hard jaw clenched, Adrian couldn’t disguise his annoyance. ‘What are you talking about? If I married you I would look to employ someone else as my housekeeper, naturally. You would be my companion…my wife.’ If a possessive tone had crept in at his use of that last word, Adrian deliberately ignored it. Instead, he latched onto the realisation that it was probably the best idea he’d had in ages, under the circumstances. Liadan was a kind, beautiful girl whose loving nature had stolen a march on him when he hadn’t been looking. Plus the sexual chemistry between them was combustible. He’d got used to her being around and the thought of her not being around was—unthinkable. If they married, he would provide her with financial stability for life and neither of them would have to be alone any more. Perfect. Only, when Adrian gazed into Liadan’s troubled blue eyes, it didn’t seem at all as if she agreed with him.

‘I appreciate the thought but…no, thanks.’ Getting to her feet, she pushed away a wayward curl and picked up the discarded yellow duster from the top of the piano. ‘I have to be getting on. I have plenty of work to do.’ If her voice was flat, she couldn’t help it. Inside Liadan was crushed. His cold proposal of marriage had done nothing for her self-esteem. In fact, right now she hated herself because she couldn’t understand why the man she loved couldn’t seem to return her affection on any level except a sexual one.

‘Liadan?’ A frown between his perfect black brows, Adrian caught her arm as she passed him, to waylay her. ‘I’ve obviously offended you. Tell me! I want to know.’

‘Offended me? Whatever gave you that idea? I mean, why on earth should I be offended by such a cold, unfeeling suggestion as to marry you and be your little “companion”? Your editor is right, Adrian. You really do need to get out more. You’re so caught up in your dark, depressing stories that you’ve forgotten how to relate to people emotionally. I may not have much money, and I may not have another job to go to if I should leave here, but at least I have a heart full of love rather than no heart at all. At least I’m not scared to express my feelings! Now, if you don’t mind…’ she wrenched her arm free and swept towards the door ‘…I have work to do.’

‘Liadan!’

‘What?’ Turning at the door, she willed her feet to stay still even though she’d like nothing better right now than to escape to her room—lock herself in and cry her heart out. He might be an expert on running away from life’s problems, but she wasn’t. She would face whatever she had to face and afterwards she wouldn’t have any cause to feel ashamed.

‘I don’t want you to go, so please don’t talk of leaving. If my offer of marriage was less appealing than you’d like, then please forgive me. I may be a writer but I don’t always necessarily choose the right words to express my feelings.’

‘So you do have feelings, then?’ Liadan was unable to bite back her sarcasm, then saw Adrian flinch, as if her words had contained a poisonous tip that had deeply wounded him. Inwardly, she cringed. She didn’t want to hurt him any more than he’d been hurt already. So he might not be the most emotionally expressive man on the planet, but he still had a good heart. Liadan was convinced of that…despite what she’d said about him having no heart at all.

Clearly wrestling with those very feelings, Adrian unconsciously circled his chest with his hand as if trying to contain them. ‘Come to the opera with me tonight…please. Let’s at least enjoy a pleasant evening together and forget about everything else for a while. What do you say?’

Music was one of his greatest passions, Kate had told her that first afternoon when they’d met. And the chance to see La Bohème was not to be missed. Even if Liadan was in turmoil about his less-than-loving proposal of marriage.

‘All right, then. I’ll come.’ Her lip quivered a little as she tucked some hair behind her ear. The decision to go to the opera was easy. The marriage offer, on the other hand, was far more problematic to contemplate. Adrian didn’t love her, that much was obvious, and marrying him ultimately would only bring her down. Just being with him would solve one great need she had, but living with him and not having his love would surely destroy her utterly in the end.

Recoiling from the immense wall of pain that she emotionally slammed into, Liadan knew the decision she had to make. Buying a little time at the opera would be no bad thing, she told herself—because it would probably be the last evening they ultimately shared together in such an intimate way.

More relieved than he could say with her agreement, Adrian felt the tension in his muscles thankfully relax. ‘You won’t regret it,’ he promised.

Summoning up a mere ghost of a smile, Liadan nodded and said nothing.

‘Here.’ Adrian pushed his clean white handkerchief into Liadan’s hand, touched by her highly emotional response to the final scene where the heroine, Mimi, died in her lover’s arms. But he was also concerned. She’d been so quiet throughout the long drive into London and now, in the theatre foyer, as they collected their coats from the cloakroom her pretty tear-moistened eyes kept avoiding his inquiring gaze; she was clearly embarrassed by displaying such emotion in public.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’ She was lying. Especially since she looked as if she was about to burst into tears all over again.

‘Liar.’ Waiting until she’d finished dabbing at her eyes with his handkerchief, Adrian helped her on with her long tweed coat, her perfume stirring the air around him, immediately casting a spell he was helpless to resist. Not that the woman needed any artificial help in creating her magic. He was simply mesmerised by her.

‘How could anyone not be moved by what we’ve just seen and heard? It’s such a tragic story. Poor Mimi.’ Sniffing helplessly, Liadan glanced up at Adrian, at his extraordinarily compelling features and dashing appearance in his dark grey suit, white shirt, burgundy tie and long black coat that showed off his wonderful wide shoulders to perfection. She felt like Cinderella meeting the handsome prince at the ball for the first time, knowing that these precious stolen moments together would soon be relegated to painful posterity when the clock struck midnight, and she had to finally flee back to her old life without him.

‘Don’t forget poor Rudolph.’ For once, Adrian’s smile was unguarded and warm and Liadan wanted to capture the specialness of that moment and keep it close to her heart for ever. ‘Even though he should never have driven her away in the first place with his jealousy.’

‘Mr Jacobsen! Who’s your lady friend? How about a smile for our readers?’

They both turned at the demanding male voice and were temporarily blinded by the flash of a powerful camera. Immediately Adrian’s arm swept protectively around Liadan’s waist and she sensed every muscle in his body turn to iron.

‘Leave us alone,’ he said with a scowl, pushing past the impertinent photographer with ill-disguised resentment.

‘What’s your name, love? How long have you and Alexander been seeing each other?’

For a moment Liadan was surprised by the use of Adrian’s writing name, then she realised that that was the name that most of the public knew him by these days. Adrian Jacobs, war correspondent, had been replaced by Alexander Jacobsen, best-selling author of dark psychological thrillers.

‘Say nothing,’ Adrian warned her in a low voice as he steered her deliberately towards the heavy double doors of the exit. He needn’t have worried. Liadan was just as keen as he was to guard her privacy. The sooner they were in the car and on their way home, the better, as far as she was concerned.

‘Did you know that you’re a dead ringer for Alexander’s old flame Nicole Wilson, love?’

Beside her, Adrian froze. Liadan froze right along with him. Was that why he had hired her as his housekeeper—because she looked like the girlfriend he had lost in such tragic circumstances? The idea sent shock waves hurtling through her system like water rapids. Worse still…was that why he now professed to want to marry her?

‘What the hell are you talking about?’

Unable to contain his fury, Adrian turned on the hapless photographer, his hands possessively tightening around Liadan’s waist as if he expected her to suddenly bolt. The photographer, a middle-aged man with sandy-coloured hair thinning on top, and wearing glasses, smirked defiantly.

‘Come on, Alexander. It can’t have escaped your notice that she looks like Nicole? Still carrying a torch for the lovely Miss Wilson, are we?’

‘You print those despicable lies and you’ll never work again in the newspaper business…you understand?’

‘Is that a threat, Mr Jacobsen?’

‘No! It isn’t a threat!’ Breaking free of Adrian’s hold, Liadan stepped forward, her heart pumping wildly against her ribs—not just because she was furious, but because there was suddenly a small crowd of curious onlookers gathering around them in the plush theatre foyer, gawking. However she felt about Adrian’s reasons for wanting her, she still didn’t want him to be hurt any more than he was already. ‘Don’t you think he’s been through enough without you making his life even more difficult? Aren’t there more newsworthy stories that you could chase about real issues that affect real people, instead of making things up purely to sell your sleazy tabloid?’

Liadan didn’t know whether she’d imagined it, but the photographer seemed to go slightly red in the face, as though she’d inadvertently hit on something raw.

‘Liadan.’ Quietly but firmly insistent, Adrian reached for her hand and pulled her away. ‘Let’s go home, huh?’

‘Wait a minute.’ Her blue eyes focusing solely on the man in front of her with his cassette recorder and camera, she took a deep breath to try and calm her racing heartbeat. ‘Don’t print this nonsense…please. I’m appealing to the better nature that I’m sure you have underneath that hard-bitten façade. You don’t have to trade on people’s unhappiness to make a living, do you? We’ve just had the most wonderful evening at the opera. Please don’t spoil it for us by tarnishing the experience for ever.’

‘Let’s go home,’ Adrian said again, and this time Liadan allowed him to lead her through the thick double doors out into the street. When they glanced back, there was no sign that the photographer had made any attempt to follow them.

‘Liadan?’

‘I’m very tired, Adrian. We’ll talk tomorrow if you want to.’

‘No. This can’t wait until tomorrow. There are things that need to be said.’

Pausing to rub her hand across her eyes, Liadan took her hand off the curved balustrade of the staircase, feeling so emotionally drained that she hardly knew her own name.

‘Come into the study.’

There was no fire because they’d gone out for the evening, so the room was definitely on the chilly side. Glad that she hadn’t yet removed her warm coat, Liadan stuck her hands into the pockets and, with a dull ache in the centre of her chest, watched Adrian stride across to the drinks cabinet and pour them both a brandy.

‘Thank you.’ She accepted the drink dispassionately, not even desiring it. What she did desire was beyond all possibility of happening. She knew that now.

Adrian was still trying to come to terms with the fact that, yet again, Liadan had put his needs first. There had been no reason for her to jump to his defence with that photographer under the circumstances—even though he felt the utmost admiration of her courage for doing so. He’d made love to her with unrestrained passion but had firmly and deliberately kept other, perhaps more important, emotions under rigid control. Then, to make matters worse, he’d made a proposal of marriage that had sounded about as appealing as an invitation to the North Pole for a summer holiday. Taking a suddenly urgent sip of the fine French brandy in his glass, Adrian welcomed the raw heat that swirled into his stomach, then, taking a deep breath, he turned to regard the woman who stood so forlornly beside the piano.

‘You don’t look like Nicole. Your hair colour and build are similar, perhaps, but that’s all.’

‘I think what you’re trying to say is that I’m not a substitute for her?’

Leaving her brandy untouched, Liadan carefully placed the small glass on top of the piano. Her mouth curved into a tight, unhappy smile, and she shrugged, praying hard that her current feelings of despondency and heartache would not prevent her from walking away with her head held high. She was going to have to be very brave and very stoic to leave this place and the man she’d given her heart to, but leave it she must. It might be mere coincidence that she vaguely resembled Adrian’s lost love Nicole, but even so…Liadan knew that he still loved the woman and perhaps always would. Being second best was not something she was willing to accept, she realised. No matter how much she loved this man.

For a while she’d been second best to Michael’s faith until he’d finally made up his mind there was no reconciling his relationship and his calling. She wouldn’t repeat the same useless heartache with Adrian. If he didn’t love her, then eventually he could only come to despise her.

‘How could I be?’ she continued. ‘It was Nicole you gave your heart to. I know that.’

‘You accused me of not possessing a heart, remember?’

‘I remember. What was she like…Nicole?’

His hands tightening around his brandy glass, Adrian frowned. For the first time in years, his stomach didn’t plunge to his boots when he thought about his former girlfriend. The only part of his memory that recoiled in immediate pain was the part that recalled how she’d died. But that was a scene that was imprinted on his soul and would never disappear no matter how much he might wish it to.

‘She was a fine journalist. Great sense of humour and…beautiful.’ Deliberately keeping his description to the minimum, Adrian glanced at Liadan’s face and realised with a little frisson of shame that he could hardly remember what Nicole looked like. Instead, his gaze devoured the pale, almost ethereal beauty of Liadan’s bewitching features like a man who’d been invited to a sumptuous banquet, then told he wasn’t allowed to eat.

‘And she’s the reason you turned your back on being a war correspondent? The reason you locked yourself away in this huge house and started to write fiction instead?’

‘What happened to Nicole merely confirmed the futility and pointlessness of what I was doing. What was one more bloody death to people back at home who just accepted the inevitability of war and the casualties it wrought? People who could read about it in their newspapers over their toast and orange juice and then go to the office as if nothing had changed, because what did one more life taken in some Third World country mean to them in the grand scheme of things?’

‘But it meant something to you,’ Liadan said softly, registering the passionate fury in his voice.

A dark shadow seemed to pass across his eyes. ‘Yes. It meant something to me.’

And in that unguarded moment Liadan knew that Adrian wasn’t as totally cynical about life as she’d first believed him to be. Perhaps he was just the opposite? Maybe once upon a time he had been passionate and idealistic about people making a difference in the world. Maybe he had believed that if he brought the terrible details of war and the atrocities committed in its name to the attention of everyone else, they could share in his outrage and ultimately try and do something to stop it?

‘You two must have made a hell of a team.’ Her blue eyes shimmering, Liadan attempted a smile.

‘We did,’ Adrian agreed, his gaze distracted. ‘But that was then.’ Lifting his head, he levelled his gaze at Liadan, his dark eyes blazing back at her with an intensity of purpose that made her catch her breath. ‘It’s the present I’m more interested in right now.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘THE present?’

‘I asked you to be my wife.’ Putting down his brandy glass on the mantel, Adrian grimaced as though under a strain. ‘Will you marry me?’

‘No, Adrian. I won’t marry you.’ Her spine stiffening as hurt and anger swirled like a hurricane inside her, Liadan knew with the utmost certainty that she could not sacrifice her self-respect, even for the man she loved. He had all but graphically illustrated out loud that he was still in love with Nicole. He had highlighted her virtues—her accomplishment, her sense of humour, her beauty…and in stark contrast he had told Liadan that he found her presence soothing. Well, she was sorry, but the man she married would have to do a hell of a lot better than that to show her that he loved her. The problem was that Adrian patently didn’t love her. How could he when he had clearly built a mental shrine to a dead woman?

‘I won’t marry you because your proposal frankly insults me!’

‘Insults you?’ His brow creasing in shock, Adrian looked stunned.

‘Yes, insults me! As far as I can see, you are wallowing in your grief. As long as you carry a torch for Nicole that can’t ever be extinguished, you won’t ever allow yourself to be truly close to anyone else. You might play around with the idea of marrying someone because it’s convenient, but not because there’s an emotional connection like love! How could there be? You’re so…self-indulgent and self-pitying that it doesn’t even cross your mind you’re inflicting pain on others. The reason you won’t even entertain the idea of redemption and keep on insisting that you’re a bad person is because you can use that as an excuse for your selfishness! You can’t change the past, but you can change the future, Adrian—unless of course you’re too damn scared to try.’

His eyes darkening with fury, Adrian took a step towards Liadan, thought better of it, dragged his fingers savagely through his hair, then swore out loud. ‘What the hell are you talking about? You don’t know the first damned thing about me!’

‘I may not know a lot, but I do know that what I’ve said is true. You don’t need a wife, Adrian, and I don’t want to be some kind of second prize after Nicole.’

‘Second prize?’ Now he really did look furious. His mouth contorting in rage, Adrian stared at Liadan as though his gaze alone could turn her to stone. ‘How the hell do you figure that out, Liadan? Nicole is dead! It’s not like she just walked away and left me. How can you be jealous of a dead woman?’

Recoiling with hurt in her eyes, Liadan slipped her cold hands back into the pockets of her coat. ‘How can I? That’s easy when you wear her memory like some kind of invisible, impenetrable shield to prevent anyone else getting close. Think about it, Adrian. At least be honest with yourself, if not me.’ She walked to the door. ‘You’re a man of enormous drive and talent, clearly passionate about his beliefs. In my opinion you should be sharing all those gifts with the world—not shutting yourself up here in this vast house writing the stuff of nightmares! Anyway…I know it’s really none of my business.’

‘That’s right. It isn’t.’

Fielding the hurt that welled up inside her chest at his acid reply, Liadan glanced quickly away. She stared down at the beautiful parquet floor with its strategically placed Persian rugs, and reminded herself just who Adrian Jacobs was and how far apart they really were. He was clearly outraged that she had expressed her unstintingly frank opinions about him so readily. But after today, what did it matter? she asked herself. What more did she have to lose when she had lost everything already?

‘You don’t really want to marry me, Adrian,’ she said dully. ‘You don’t even really want a companion. As far as I can see you’re quite happy here in your magnificent solitude. You were right. All you really do need is a housekeeper.’

Liadan let herself quietly out of the room, and carefully closed the door behind her. Still reeling from her passionate words about Nicole, along with her damning accusations that he was still in love with her memory, Adrian let her go without even trying to stop her. Feeling chilled to the bone, he picked up his brandy glass from the mantel and dashed it into the fireplace, letting loose a violent expletive as it shattered into crystal shards in front of him.

Even though she told herself time and time again that she’d made the right decision, Liadan had still found it hard to come home. Opening the door of the cottage she’d been so eager to hold onto, she had no sense of joy or pleasure. Instead, her chest felt tight with pain and there was a hollow sensation of dread in the pit of her stomach that made her feel as though someone had just thrown a blanket over her head and bound her hands together with rope. Her beloved home felt like a prison and she an unwilling inmate inside it.

Since meeting Adrian and falling in love with him, how could anything be the same as it was before? The morning after the row—when she’d declared her decision to leave, explaining that she felt unable to work out two weeks’ notice under the circumstances—he’d merely nodded, disappeared into his study and returned with an envelope, which he’d brusquely told her contained her payment for ‘services rendered’. Then he’d carried her suitcase and bags to her car, loaded them into the boot, and, with a short, impersonal wave, watched her steer the car down the drive as if he were saying goodbye to a stranger.

Now, lowering herself defeatedly into the nearest armchair, Liadan wanted to cry, but somehow the tears wouldn’t come. There were some hurts that went too deep for tears and plainly this was one of them. What was going to become of him? What was going to become of her? Right now Liadan had no answers, only questions. Why hadn’t he stopped her from leaving? Surely he felt something for her other than physical attraction after what had transpired between them? Or was the man really as heartless and impossible to reach as he pretended?

Izzy came in through the cat-flap from the kitchen and leapt up on Liadan’s lap, clearly delighted to have her mistress home again. She automatically reached out her hand to stroke the whisper-soft fur, and tried to block out the memory of the face she had grown to love too well. Praying hard that whatever Adrian chose to do with his future it would make him a far happier man than now, Liadan shut her eyes and willed her aching heart to heal quickly. The thought of carrying around this dreadful pain for the rest of her life was surely too much for anyone to contemplate, no matter how stoic or determined.

‘What do you mean, you want an extension on your deadline?’ Lynne shrieked down the phone. ‘You never need extensions. You either deliver well in advance or dead on time. What’s going on, Adrian? Has all this horrendous business concerning you and Petra got you down? Is that what it is?’

His shoulders hunched over the telephone, his expression fearsome enough to frighten something wild, Adrian gritted his teeth and tried desperately to get to grips with the painful urge to break every piece of furniture in his study—including his damned computer! Right now he hated it. Just as he hated everything to do with his life—this house, this chair, this telephone, and most of all the gleaming grand piano that sat with such a superior air in the corner of the room and mocked him until he could barely stand it any longer. He would never play it again, he realised. Since Liadan’s fingers had caressed those keys and transported him to a peace and sanctuary that he’d never have believed possible, Adrian didn’t want to have anything to do with it. In fact, as soon as he got off the phone to his editor, he was going to ring a local dealer and get them to come and take it away as soon as possible.