do that for him.’
But at that she flashed him a look that could have split stone.
‘I don’t need looking after,’ she snapped. ‘I especially don’t need looking after by the McBride men.’
He got it then. Her anger wasn’t just encompassing Eileen and her will. Her anger was directed at the McBride family as a whole.
She was holding residual anger towards Alan?
Why?
He and Alan had never got on and their mutual dislike had meant they never socialised. He’d met Jeanie a couple of times before she and Alan had married. Jeanie had worked as his grandmother’s part-time assistant while she was on the island. On the odd times he’d met her she’d been quiet, he remembered, a shadow who’d seemed to know her place. He’d hardly talked to her, but she’d seemed...suitable. A suitable assistant for his grandmother.
And then Alan had married her. What a shock and what a disaster—and Jeanie had been into it up to her neck.
Until today he’d seen her as a money-grubbing mouse. The fire in her eyes now suggested the mouse image might possibly be wrong.
‘Jeanie, this isn’t about looking after—’
‘Don’t Jeanie me.’ She glowered and went back to rubbing butter. ‘I’m Mrs McBride. I’m Duncairn’s housekeeper for the next few weeks and then I’m nothing to do with you.’
‘Then we’ve both lost.’
‘I told you, I’ve lost nothing. The castle’s my place of employment, nothing more.’
‘So you wouldn’t mind moving to Edinburgh?’
Her hands didn’t even pause. She just kept rubbing in the already rubbed-in butter, and her glower moved up a notch.
‘Don’t talk nonsense. I’m moving nowhere.’
‘But you are moving out of the castle.’
‘Which is none of your business.’
‘I’m offering you a job.’
‘I don’t want a job.’
‘If you don’t have the castle, you need a job.’
‘Don’t mess with me, Alasdair McBride. By the way, the kitchen’s out of bounds to guests. That’s what you are now. A guest. The estate’s in the hands of the executors, and I’m employed here. You have a bed booked for the night. The library, the dining room and your bedroom and sitting room are where you’re welcome. Meanwhile I have work to do.’
‘Jeanie...’
‘What?’ She pushed the bowl away from her with a vicious shove. ‘Don’t play games with me, Alasdair. Your cousin messed with my life and I should have moved away then. Right away.’
‘I want to help.’
‘No, you don’t. You want your inheritance.’
‘Yes,’ he said and he lost it then, the cool exterior he carefully presented to the world. ‘Yes, I do. The Duncairn financial empire is colossal and far-reaching. It’s also my life. To break it up and use it to fund dogs’ homes...’
‘There are some very deserving dogs,’ she snapped and then looked under the table to where Eileen’s two dopey spaniels lay patiently waiting for crumbs. ‘These two need a home. You can provide for them first.’
‘Look!’ He swore and hauled his phone from his sporran—these things were a sight more useful than pockets—and clicked the phone open. He flicked through a few screens and then turned it to face her. ‘Look!’
‘I have flour on my hands.’ She glowered some more and she looked...sulky. Sulky but cute, he thought, and suddenly he found himself thinking...
Um...no. Not appropriate. All this situation needed was a bit of sensual tension and the thing was shot. He needed to stay calm, remember who she was and talk sense.
‘Just look,’ he said patiently and she sighed and rubbed her hands on her apron and peered at the screen.
‘What am I looking at?’
‘At a graph of Duncairn’s listed charitable donations made in the last financial year,’ he told her. ‘The figure to the left represents millions. It scrolls off the screen but you can see the biggest beneficiaries. My grandfather and my grandmother after him refused to make Duncairn a listed company, so for years now the profits have either been siphoned back into the company to expand our power base, or used to fund worthwhile projects. AIDS, malaria, smallpox... Massive health projects have all been beneficiaries. Then there are smaller projects. Women’s refuges, otter conservation, even dogs’ homes.’
And Jeanie seemed caught. ‘Those bars are...millions?’ she whispered.
‘Millions.’
‘Then what was Eileen thinking, to leave the lot to just one cause?’
‘You know what she was thinking,’ Alasdair said wearily. ‘We both do. She was blackmailing us into marriage, and as far as I can see, she’s succeeded. I have no choice.’ He sighed. ‘The value of the castle ought to be enough for you, but if it’s not, I’ll pay you what you ask. I’ll mortgage what I have to. Is that what you’re after? You can name your terms but look at the alternative to us both. Use your head. I have no expectations of you, and I’ll expect nothing from you as my wife. Eileen’s will says we have to share a house for one full year before the inheritance is finalised, but I have a huge place in Edinburgh. I’ll fund you well enough so you can be independent. Jeanie, do this, if not for the charities I represent, then for you. You’ll earn even more than the castle this way. You’ve won. I concede. We’ll marry and then we’ll move on.’
And then he stopped. There was no more argument to present.
There was total silence and it lasted for a very long time.
* * *
Marriage...
Third-time lucky? The thought flashed through her mind and she put it away with a hollow, inward laugh. Lucky? With this man?
What he was proposing was purely business. Maybe that was the way to go.
This was a marriage for sensible, pragmatic reasons, she told herself, fighting desperately for logic. She could even feel noble, saving the Duncairn billions for the good of all the charities it assisted.
Noble? Ha. She’d feel sullied. Bought.
He thought she’d walk away with a fortune. If he only knew... But there was no point in telling him about the bankruptcy hanging over her head.
‘Would you like to see through the place in Edinburgh?’ he said at last. ‘It’s good, and big enough for us never to see each other. I’ll have contracts drawn up that’ll give you a generous income during the year, and of course we’ll need a prenuptial agreement.’
‘So
