Master Of Passion Part 8

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Parisa's temper boiled over as soon as Didi closed the door behind her. 'What the h.e.l.l do you think you're playing at?' She jumped to her feet, her face pale, her slender body shaking with the force of her anger. 'Coming into my home, telling my housekeeper you are the new Lord of Hardcourt and my fiancee. What kind of fable is that?' she raged.

'No fable. The announcement of our engagement was in this morning's Times and I am Savion Holdings. By a strange coincidence, the estate agent you used to sell the t.i.tle happens to be part of the property company I recently acquired. When I saw the name Hardcourt I couldn't resist the temptation and purchased the t.i.tle. It seemed rather fitting, I thought.'

It was true; she could tell by the triumphant glitter in his black eyes. But what about the rest? 'David... The papers...' she spluttered. Suddenly the enormity of what Luc had done hit her. Oh, my G.o.d! She realised everyone in the county would know.

She had no idea how magnificent she looked, standing in the middle of the room, her blue eyes flas.h.i.+ng fire, the soft red wool-knit dress she wore clinging to every curve of her slender form.

'Dial You have the face of an angel, the body of a temptress, and a heart as hard as nails .'

Luc's deep voice cut into the tense silence.

Parisa flushed scarlet, then paled at his final comment. If anyone had a heart as hard as nails it was Luc, she thought bitterly. But before she could open her mouth to repudiate him, he had got to his feet and covered the distance between them. He grabbed her by her shoulders. She stiffened, shooting a furious glance at his dark countenance, and seething at the arrogant contempt she saw in his black eyes.

His cold, cynical gaze roamed her infuriated face. 'Your poor sod of a boyfriend is well rid of you. Did you bother to tell him you had already been in my bed?' She flushed even brighter. 'No. I thought not.' His sensuous mouth curved in a hard sneer. 'It is time you faced up to your selfish actions, and I am going to make sure you do.'

He was much too close. His aggressive masculinity threatened her in ways she refused to admit, but his words incited her fury. How dared he call her selfish, the swine? And, without thinking, she raised her hand to strike him. But her arm was caught in mid air, and with embarra.s.sing ease Luc twisted it behind her back, hauling her tight against his huge frame.

The anger, the tension crackled between them like an electric storm. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were flattened against his broad chest. Her mouth opened to demand her release, but she never uttered a word. His hand slid from her shoulder to tangle in her long hair, tightening till the pain almost made her cry out, but his mouth silenced her, grinding against hers in a savage, bruising a.s.sault. She could not believe it was happening. The rage, the pent-up violence in the thrusting force of his kiss was shocking in its intensity, and to her horror all her fight deserted her as she went limp in his arms.

He released her so abruptly that she almost fell. Her tongue licked involuntarily over her swollen lips. Her head still tilted back, she stared numbly up at Luc, too shocked to speak.

'Don't ever raise your hand to me again, Parisa.' His face grey beneath his tan, his black eyes sliced into her. 'I have no desire to hurt you. That is not why I'm here.'

He could have fooled her! she thought, the painful throbbing of her lips all too real. He turned and walked across the room. She stared at his broad back, the tightness of his wide shoulders, too stunned by the explosion of raw pa.s.sion to move.

'Then why?' she asked, fighting to regain control of her chaotic emotions. She didn't understand; her brain just would not function. Her legs trembling, she sank back down on the sofa, closing her eyes for a moment. It had to be a nightmare. Any second now she would wake and her life would be back to normal. Slowly she opened her eyes, but it wasn't so. Luc had moved and was now standing with one arm leaning against the ornate oak-carved fireplace, his interested gaze roaming around the room and finally settling on Parisa.

'I can see why you need money, Parisa. It's a lovely old house, but it does need cash spending on it. I'm surprised you can afford an apartment in the city, but then a London address must be convenient for you to hand out to unwanted friends...' he prompted cynically.

'Something like that,' she snapped. 'But it obviously didn't work in your case.'

'Liar. It isn't your apartment. It belongs to your friend Moya.'

'So what?' Suddenly she remembered the day they bought the ring. No wonder he had insisted on driving her home to find out her address... the original blackmailer knew where Moya lived. What an idiot she had been not to realise it at the time, and she could have spared herself an awful lot of heartache. 'You wouldn't be here if I hadn't put the t.i.tle up for sale.' She unconsciously spoke her thoughts out loud.

'Is that your idea of an explanation for your actions?' Luc laughed-a harsh, humourless sound.

'I don't owe you an explanation,' Parisa said bluntly. It was the other way around, she thought mutinously. But a tiny flicker of something very like hope stirred in her breast. How had Luc discovered the apartment was not hers, unless he had called there looking for her? But immediately she squashed the feeling. Yes, but weeks later, she told herself cynically, and, shooting Luc a poisonous glance, she demanded, 'You have yet to explain why you are here, and the ridiculous a.s.sumption that I am your fiancee.'

'Not a.s.sumption. Fact, Parisa, and you have a very expensive ring to prove it.'

'That bauble served its purpose for you.' She responded with icy politeness to cover her deep resentment. He had certainly got his money's worth out of that piece of costume jewellery in the two days they had spent together in Italy.

'I would hardly call a brilliant blue-white diamond a bauble. You were good in bed, but not that good, and I am not in the habit of paying out a small fortune for a one-night stand,' he drawled mockingly. His black eyes caught and held hers, and she could not hide the shock his words had caused her.

He was saying the stone was real. She couldn't believe it-a brilliant blue-white, she knew, was one of the most expensive diamonds in the world.

'I'm surprised you haven't sold it as you need money so badly. Or have you?' Luc's cynical query made her stiffen in her seat.

'No,' she snapped, still digesting his other comment. He had not found making love to her much good! Why did that hurt? She had realised weeks ago that Luc had obviously not been as bowled over by the one night of pa.s.sion they had shared as she herself had. What had been the most marvellous experience of her life had been just s.e.x to him. She raised her head, and with a curious detachment surveyed the man leaning negligently against the fireplace as though he were a total stranger. But her attention was caught as he pushed one hand into the pocket of his elegant black trousers, pulling the fine wool cloth over his powerful thigh. She turned her head defensively. There was no mistaking his virile masculine appeal. It radiated from every line of his large body, but she refused to acknowledge that he could still affect her.

Luc didn't make love to women; the word wasn't in his vocabulary. He hadn't made love to Parisa. He had practised his mastery of the s.e.xual act, nothing more. He had used her for amus.e.m.e.nt in revenge for a childish prank. He had covered it with sweet talk and a semblance of caring, which only made it worse. Now the final insult-he thought he had paid far too much for the privilege. Hadn't he just said so...?

'What do you want, Luc?' she said flatly. 'The ring back?' She got to her feet, her blue gaze remote on his still figure. Every inch the lady, she walked, head high, towards the door. 'I'll get it for you and then you can go.'

'No. Stay.' His curt command stopped her. She turned with her hand on the doork.n.o.b.

'There is something more?' she queried with icy politeness. 'You do surprise me. You already own the t.i.tle of the manor, but the house is not for sale. You and your mother will have to content yourself with a piece of paper and a coat of arms.' And much good may it do the pair of them, she thought bitterly. Anna Gennetti had been right. The Di Maggis were status seekers, something she could not abide.

Puzzlement then anger flashed in his dark eyes, as the impact of her words struck home. He searched her cool, composed features, his glance skimming insultingly over her rigidly held body, lingering for an instant on the firm outline of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, before returning to her face. It took all her self-control to hold his gaze without blus.h.i.+ng. Antic.i.p.ating his furious response, she was mystified as his saturnine features resolved into a bland mask to match her own.

'My mother is in the Royal Free Hospital in London. She thinks we are engaged.' His tone remote, Luc continued, 'I promised I would take you to visit her. I had the announcement printed in The Times simply as an alternative if I did not find you at home. I considered the formal announcement would be some rea.s.surance for Mamma. She is very ill and I do not want her upset or worried,'

So that was it... Instantly, Parisa believed him. Of course, it made sense. Why else would he bother tracking her down? Certainly not because he had any feelings for her. He had made that very plain...

'I'm sorry about your mother. What's wrong?' she asked courteously. It was as though an invisible barrier had slid between them. They spoke as two polite strangers, and that suited Parisa perfectly.

'She had a slight heart attack a few weeks ago. On Thursday she is to undergo a bypa.s.s operation.'

'I see.'

'Enough to come with me to visit her tomorrow?'

Parisa was sorry Signora Di Maggi was ill, but she had no intention of getting involved with Luc or his family again; once was quite enough. 'Yes, well, I'm afraid I can't,' she said coolly.

Luc straightened. 'You owe me... and I collect on my debts.' His dark eyes burned with a deep-seated anger as he moved purposely towards her.

Parisa turned the door-handle, intent on escape, but was foiled as Didi entered.

'I thought I'd better tell you.' The elderly lady smiled at Luc. 'Your chauffeur has returned and he is waiting in the kitchen.' So now she knew, Parisa thought, why she had never seen a car in the drive when she had arrived home. 'And I've booked your table for seven,' Didi continued, turning her attention to Parisa. 'That will give you plenty of time to show Mr Luc around the house. Tomorrow, when you go to visit his mother'

'Didi, I'm not going to dinner or to London- '

'Rubbish, girl, of course you are. You can't let Master Luc and your future mother-in-law down.'

'But...' Parisa should have known after a lifetime with Didi that there was no way she was going to win this particular argument. Ten minutes later she was pointing out the various portraits in the large entrance hall and then leading Luc up the wide staircase, still wondering how it had happened. 'Mind the carpet,' she said automatically as they reached the worn part.

She stopped in front of a ma.s.sive oil-painting in an ornate gilt frame, and turned as Luc stood by her side. 'Hardcourts have lived here since the twelfth century. The local baron gave the manorial rights to an ancient ancestor, for fighting for him-there was no such thing as pay in those days. The house has been rebuilt over the centuries, the last time in 1850. This is Lady Penelope, one of the earliest portraits.' It was a picture of a woman in seventeenth-century clothes, who looked rather like Parisa, with the same distinctive white-blonde hair.

'Her husband was a sea captain, and died at sea. Rumour has it he was actually a pirate. She was left with a baby daughter and the house. In those days it would have pa.s.sed to the next male in the family, but as it happened the next male was a distant relative, who was an earl in his own right. He very graciously allowed the entail to be altered so the property could be pa.s.sed to the first-born child of the family, irrespective of s.e.x. A very unusual entail in those times, and the manor has pa.s.sed down through both the male and female line ever since. That is why some of the portraits bear different hyphenated names, the only constant being the Hardcourt.' She sounded like a tour guide, but didn't care.

'Interesting. I did wonder why the surname on the portraits varied.'

'Yes, it is quite unusual.'

'She was very lovely; you look rather like her.' Luc turned his head, glancing down at her.

Parisa felt the colour rise in her cheeks. He was much too close and, to her chagrin, her intense awareness of him was suddenly rekindled. But then it was his nature to flirt with anything in a skirt, she told herself firmly.

'It was lucky the house was entailed so progressively. It has been the curse of the Hardcourt men to get themselves killed in a haphazard fas.h.i.+on.' She pointed at the next portrait, of an elegantly dressed Regency buck. 'Hubert Hardcourt. He was on a tiger hunt in India, and was eaten by the beast he set out to trap. The next male member of the family managed to get lost in Africa. And as for the women,' she went on, 'they all seem to marry rogues and adventurers; She moved along, pointing to yet another portrait of a lady, who was dressed in nineteen-twenties style.

'Even the women who didn't marry had a propensity for getting into hot water. This one, Patricia, tied herself to the railings outside Downing Street. She was a suffragette and ended up in gaol. Though to give her her due, after her brother was killed in the First World War and his wife died, she was left in charge of a nephew and niece, and before the young Hardcourt of the day managed to get his hands on what was left of the family fortune she had a trust set up for the maintenance of the manor. Unfortunately the covenant attached insists it must remain a family home.

'That explains a lot,' Luc said with a chuckle.

Parisa looked up at him, not in the least amused. When she was a small child her grandmother, a thoroughly sensible lady, and not a Hardcourt by birth, had told her all the family history. Then it hadn't bothered Parisa that her ancestors were impulsive and p.r.o.ne to crazy adventures. She had loved her parents, and her mother had been as adventurous as the man she married. Consequently, as a child Parisa had often been left behind, while they set off on some crazy escapade. She had never been conscious of it worrying her until after their death. Then her grandmother had made a point of impressing on her how important it was not to get involved in reckless escapades as her parents had. She had a duty to look after the manor and its inhabitants. When she lost her grandmother as well, Parisa had consciously tried to squash the mare extrovert side of her personality, seeing it as an inherited flaw in her nature. Now she disliked the least hint that she was impulsive or prose to reckless acts, 'I do not find it funny,' she said bluntly. "If any of them had bad the least bit of business sense, I wouldn't be stuck with this huge house I can't sell and I can't afford to keep.' 'What happened to the trust?' he queried. 'A few thousand may have seemed a lot in the nineteen-twenties, but today the income from it just about covers the wages of Didi and Joe, but only because they work for next to nothing. As for the house, the original entail forbids it being sold and the covenant forbids it being used for business,' 'Surely the covenant could be broken?' 'Don't think I haven't tried. With twelve bedrooms, if I could turn it into a guest-house or something it might pay, but Mr Jarvis informed me it isn't possible. But now, thanks to you and your status seeking, she sniped sarcastically, 'I will be able to repair the roof and maybe the heating.'

Luc, ignoring her sarcasm, responded in a businesslike tone, "That's not a long-term solution, Parisa. Take it from me-it will cost double what I've paid you for running repairs alone.' He caught her arm, and she flinched. Something sinister d.i.c.kered in his dark eyes, hot his hand dropped abruptly from her arm, 'It really isn't any of your business.' She moved away. She hated to admit it, but be was probably right about the money and repairs as well... 'Oh, I don't know. As the new Lord--' 'You may own the t.i.tle, but you'll never be my lord and master, whatever you told Didi,' she snapped.

'Who said I wanted to be?' he queried silkily. 'As for Didi, presenting her with a red garter belt was proof enough for the lady that you and I were involved.' And with a casual glance at his watch he added, 'It's almost six. Do you want to freshen up?'

Blus.h.i.+ng as scarlet as the d.a.m.ned belt he had mentioned, she said, 'Yes, I'm sure you can find your own way downstairs,' and stalked off to her room. She had forgotten all about the garter belt she had left behind in the observatory, and trying to explain that away to Didi was going to be a mammoth task, she thought woefully. Didi had very strict ideas on how a lady should behave, and leaving one's garter belt in a man's bed was the equivalent of a lifelong commitment to the man, in her housekeeper's eyes. No wonder Didi had accepted Luc so readily...

Parisa leant against the bedroom door and took a few deep breaths, dragging the air into her lungs and holding it in an effort to restore her shattered nerves to some semblance of calm. Luc here in her home. The new Lord of the Manor. It was too incredible to believe. Slowly she crossed to the bed and sat down. She wasn't such a fool as to believe he had done it for her. Five days she had waited in London for him. Even if he could not leave Italy he could certainly have picked up a telephone and called her. He was here because of his mother. She could appreciate his dilemma, and in a way she felt partly responsible. After all, she had convinced Signora Di Maggi she was going to marry her son. Added to which, a cheque for thousands was in her bank account, and the knowledge that it was Luc's money was very hard to take. She had a sinking feeling that Luc would not agree to take the money back and restore the t.i.tle to her. Why should he? The money was nothing to a man of his wealth, but his mother's health meant a lot to him. She wanted to refuse to go and visit the old lady, but her conscience wouldn't let her. She had taken his money, plus the ring, and felt some obligation...

She got to her feet and quickly dressed. She slipped on the blue velvet dress, not because she wanted to remind Luc of the first night in Italy, but because she needed to present a sophisticated image, she told herself. The ring, at least, she could give back and, picking up the small jewel box with the ring inside, she dashed downstairs, but headed for the kitchen. She had to speak to Didi and explain it was a mistake; she did not want the old lady hurt. Unfortunately she was foiled in her aim by Didi herself, who insisted there was no time to gossip and chased her into the drawing-room.

Parisa, her hostility exacerbated by Didi's blind acceptance of Luc, strode purposefully up to where he was standing, and without hesitation thrust the ring box into his hand.

'Yours, Mr Di Maggi. I'm sure you will have no difficulty in finding someone to wear it.'

'Parisa, cara, I never realized you were such a romantic.' And, to her horror, before she could stop him he had opened the box, removed the ring, and, dropping on one knee at her feet, gazed languidly up into her furious face. 'You will marry me, won't you, Parisa?' And, in front of a grinning Didi, he slipped the ring on her finger.

Her hoa.r.s.e 'No!' went unheard as Didi exclaimed, 'What a one you are, Mr Luc.' While Parisa, her cheeks washed pink with a mixture of embarra.s.sment and fury, found herself sitting down on the sofa, her small hands clenched in fury.

'I'll go and tell the chauffeur you're ready to leave,' was Didi's parting shot.

Parisa, her nerves screaming with tension, waited until the old lady had left. Then, turning ice-blue eyes on the man opposite, with a degree of iron control she had not thought herself capable of, she told him, 'I will wear this ring for one day only. I will go with you to visit your mother. But let me make this absolutely clear: I am doing it for two old ladies, not you... In return, in a few days you will place a repudiation in the newspaper, and you will never come to my home again. Agreed?' she demanded.

His arrogant head tilted back. 'If that is what you want, I agree. But let's discuss it over dinner.'

What she wanted was to step back in time a couple of months, she thought wryly, and never to have met Luc again. Unfortunately, that was impossible...

The Old Forge in Magum Down was a picturesque old English sixteenth-century forge that had been converted in the nineteen thirties into a small, privately owned hotel, and the restaurant was known for miles around for its excellent cuisine.

Parisa watched Luc break a piece of bread from the hot roll on his plate and pop it into his mouth. How was it that Luc could make the simplest act somehow sensual?

He caught her staring, his lips tilting at the corners in a brief, very masculine grin before saying, 'Eat your meal, Parisa, before it gets cold.'

'Mmm,' she mumbled, disconcerted by the quick stab of awareness that made her hand tremble slightly as she abruptly lowered her gaze to her plate and forked a tender piece of veal scallopine to her mouth. She wondered for the hundredth time why she was here, and what it was about Luc that meant that, even as she despised the highhanded way he had treated her, her body responded to his potent masculinity with a frightening intensity. 'More potatoes?' She offered him the dish in an attempt to get her mind back to the more mundane, but it didn't work.

'You remember my appet.i.te... I'm flattered,' he said with a harsh laugh, accurately reading her mind. 'But do you recall everything, I wonder?' He leant back in his chair, eyeing her with cold disdain. 'Your body beneath mine, your hands clinging to me.' His low, deep- timbred drawl, the memories he awakened brought a flush of heat to her cheeks. 'No, you didn't care enough even to tell me where you lived.'

For a second she felt light-headed. Perhaps he had wanted to see her again, did care about her. But one glance at his set, angry expression, and she cursed herself for being a fool. She had waited in London for him to call, and he had never bothered. He wanted her now for his mother's sake.

'For heaven's sake keep your voice down,' she hissed, ignoring his provocative comment. 'This is a public restaurant.'

'So sorry, I wouldn't dream of embarra.s.sing you.'

Liar... She wanted to scream her frustration to the heavens, but one glance at Luc's face, and she lowered her eyes. Why was he so angry with her? Surely it should be the other way around...?

Parisa lifted the fluted gla.s.s from the table and took a sip of the sparkling champagne, a gift from the proprietor and his wife. They had seen the announcement in The Times. She was a regular customer, and they knew her quite well. It had been a lovely gesture, but it only added to Parisa's feeling of guilt. She could not help feeling a complete fraud. The huge diamond on her finger and the rather large cheque she had paid into the bank that morning, all provided by the man sitting opposite her, did nothing to a.s.suage her guilty feelings. Luc might have played a trick on her, but he had certainly paid very dearly for the privilege.

'Parisa, I did not bring you here to argue with you; quite the opposite. Will you marry me?'

Parisa choked on her wine and started to cough. She couldn't believe her ears. With her napkin held to her mouth, she raised watery eyes to her companion.

Luc, his expression remarkably bland, said smoothly, 'It was a straightforward question. I didn't expect you to choke on it.' His mouth relaxed, curling into a mocking smile as he studied her flushed face. 'But when you can speak I would like an answer.'

'No,' she spluttered, swallowing hard, her blue eyes wide as saucers in a face now pale with shock. Twice today he had asked her to marry him, and yet if he had asked her two months ago she would have jumped at the chance. But now she was much wiser...

'Impulsive as ever, Parisa. You haven't considered the prospect at all.' He laughed, a hint of devilment lurking in his eyes, as he reached across the table and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. 'Think about it. All your frustrating... problems solved at one go. I am a very wealthy, legitimate businessman, not-as you seemed to think-a crook. You spend two weeks as my wife, visit my mother, and a large amount of cash will be deposited in your bank account.'

The sheer arrogance, the conceit. And what did he mean, 'frustrating'... ? Deposit money... As if she would consider for one minute...

'But you are a liar. You quite happily let me think you were a villain, a member of the Mafia. I was a huge joke to you, nothing more,' she said bitterly. 'It was only by chance I read in a Sunday newspaper you were a businessman and not a criminal.' That still rankled every time she thought of it. 'You had Luigi Reno charged with fraud, but you were not above using his filthy photographs to trick me. In fact you are just as much a blackmailer as he was.'

'But it didn't stop you going to bed with me, cara,' he reminded her silkily. 'Or enjoying it.'

'I don't need you to remind me what a fool I was,' she snapped, her eyes spitting fury.

'You don't know what you need,' she thought she heard him murmur, before he returned his attention to the food in front of him.

Her mouth curved with a hint of bitterness. How like him to drop a bombsh.e.l.l and then ignore her. Over two months had pa.s.sed since she had spent the night in his arms, and now he had the nerve... To hide her shock and anger she picked up her gla.s.s of champagne and gulped it down.

'More wine?' Luc said urbanely, and refilled her gla.s.s. 'Finish your meal and think about it, Parisa.' And for the next few minutes silence reigned, as Luc cleared his plate with obvious relish, then added, 'Didi was right about this place. The food is superb.'

'Yes,' Parisa responded mechanically, eating without even tasting the delicious food, her mind in too much of a turmoil to concentrate on the meal.

'Good. I have a special licence for Thursday. We will marry at eleven and visit Mamma before she goes into Theatre.'

'No, I meant yes, the food is great,' she spluttered. She was too stunned by the events of the last few hours to think straight, and it did not help at all to realise Luc was laughing at her.

'Are you sure you have given my proposal careful consideration, Parisa? Earlier this evening you were telling me about your rather reckless ancestors, and decrying the fact none of them had any business sense. Yet here you are turning down an excellent proposition without a second thought.'

His black eyes held hers, a hint of challenge in their depths, and a wave of something very like fear washed over her. Until that moment she had almost succeeded in convincing herself that nothing Luc did could threaten her, but now she was not so sure.

'You must have inherited the reckless genes apparent in most of your ancestors,' Luc offered with open mockery.

I have not...' she snapped back, her brief fear forgotten by his taunt. 'I...' and she stopped. He was right; she had not given her reply any thought. Maybe it was time she got her wandering mind under control and behaved sensibly. Since the moment she had seen Luc today, she had only reacted to him, not thought for herself. It was not like her to rush into anything. She prided herself on her calm logic, didn't she? 'What exactly do you mean by "proposition"?' she asked warily, studying his handsome face, the candle in the centre of the table casting flickering shadows over his rugged features.

'It is quite straightforward. As I told you, Mamma is in hospital. On Thursday she is scheduled for surgery. I want my mother to see me married before she goes under the surgeon's knife, and you, I believe, want an adequate income to restore your family home. I know you have the money I paid for the t.i.tle, but that won't go far, and you will very quickly be back in the same position as you were before-needing money. If you agree to marry me, I will settle an allowance on you for life, and in addition I will spend whatever is necessary to completely refurbish and repair your home immediately. In return, all I need from you is your presence as my wife in London on Thursday and for about two weeks at most. A straightforward business deal. You will only have to work, or act... two weeks for it.'