huskily, ‘You—mean that what you really want—is Monteagle. Monteagle? That’s what you’re saying?’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t believe it. It’s impossible, besides being ridiculous—ludicrous. You can’t…’
His brows lifted. ‘Pourquoi pas? Why not? Along with my lack of humanity, do you also claim that I have no feeling for history—or appreciation of beauty?’
‘How do I know,’ she said stormily, ‘what you think—what you feel about anything? You’re a complete stranger, and as far as I’m concerned you always will be.’ She looked at him, her eyes flashing. ‘But you’re talking about my home. Mine.’
‘At the moment, yes.’ He shrugged. ‘But for how much longer without serious investment? You say you will not consider the offer of Monsieur Newson, so I offer an alternative. One of its advantages is that you will be able to go on living in the house you prize so highly.’
‘Except,’ she said, quietly and clearly, ‘I’d be obliged to live with you.’
‘It’s an uncertain world, cherie,’ he said mockingly. ‘And I travel to dangerous places. Think of this—I could be dead within the year, and you would be a wealthy widow.’ He added sardonically, ‘I might even die on our wedding night—of ecstasy.’
He saw her flinch, and laughed softly.
Helen sat in silence, her teeth doing yet more damage to her ill-used lower lip, as a waiter arrived with a pot of coffee and a bottle of cognac.
When they were once again alone, she said, ‘Please reconsider lending me the money. I swear I’ll work night and day, and repay you in full.’
‘Yes, ma belle, you will,’ he said softly. ‘But in coin of my choosing.’ He paused to allow her to absorb that. ‘And my offer remains a gift, not a loan.’ He smiled at her. ‘A wedding present, perhaps, from the groom to his bride.’
Helen stared down at her hands, clenched painfully in her lap. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked in a low voice. ‘You’re forcing me to sell myself to you for Monteagle. What kind of man does something like that?’
‘A rich one.’ He sounded appallingly casual—even amused. ‘If something I want is for sale, cherie, then I buy it.’
‘No matter what the consequences?’
He shrugged. ‘For me, they are good. I am gaining a house I want and a woman I desire. And maybe I have reached a time in my life when a home and children have become important to me.’
Her lips parted in a gasp. ‘You think for one minute—you really expect me to have your baby?’
‘Another consequence of marriage,’ Marc drawled unsmilingly. ‘If you still believe in the stork, ma mie, you have been misinformed.’ He paused. ‘But I am forcing you to do nothing, Hélène. Understand that. I merely offer you a solution to your most pressing problem. It is for you to decide whether you accept my proposal or deny me.’
He gave her a measuring look. ‘And you have twenty-four hours in which to make up your mind,’ he added coolly.
She picked up her glass and took a mouthful of cognac, feeling it crackle in her throat. At the same time she was conscious of a faint dizziness. It might be caused by the shocks of the past hour, but could also be ascribed to the amount of alcohol she’d unwittingly taken on board, she realised.
Well, there would be no more of that, at least. She wasn’t accustomed to it, and she needed to keep her wits about her now as never before, she thought grimly.
She looked back at him defiantly. ‘Is this how you usually propose marriage—by ultimatum?’
The hardness of his mouth relaxed into a swift, unexpected grin. ‘Until this moment, cherie, I have never proposed marriage at all. Other things, yes,’ he added shamelessly. ‘But not marriage.’
She gave him a fulminating look. ‘I suppose I should feel flattered,’ she said icily. ‘But I don’t.’ She reached for her bag. ‘May we go now, please?’
He was still amused. ‘D’accord.’ He signalled for the bill while Helen braced herself for the walk to the door, which would involve passing Nigel and his new fiancée.
But when she turned to leave she saw only an empty table, in the process of being cleared by the staff, and checked in surprise.
‘They left about ten minutes ago,’ Marc informed her quietly. ‘They did not seem to be enjoying their evening.’ He paused. ‘Or perhaps your Nigel feared another dousing—from an ice bucket.’
Helen ignored that. ‘Will you ask Reception to get me a taxi, please?’ she requested with dignity.
She realised uneasily that she was having to choose her words, and her steps, with care, so the sooner she was rid of her companion, the better.
His brows lifted. ‘My car and driver will be waiting,’ he pointed out.
‘But I really need to be alone,’ she said. ‘Surely even you can understand that?’
“‘Even you,”’ he repeated pensively. ‘I see I shall have to change your low opinion of me, cherie.’
‘By forcing me into marriage?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’ She paused, lifting her chin. ‘And now I’d really like to go home.’
He said lightly, ‘As you wish,’ and went to the reception desk.
‘Your cab will be ten minutes,’ he told her on his return. ‘Shall I wait with you until it arrives?’
‘No,’ Helen said hastily, then added a belated, ‘Thank you.’
She’d half expected a protest, but all he said was a casual, ‘A bientôt,’ and went.
There was no avoiding the fact that she would be seeing him again—and soon, she thought wearily. After all, he’d given her only twenty-four hours in which to make up her mind—or rack her brains for a way out.
She still felt faintly giddy, so she made her way over to a high-backed chair in the shelter of an enormous parlour palm and sat down, leaning back and closing her eyes.
When she heard the main door open she assumed her cab had arrived early, but instead she heard Nigel’s voice peremptorily addressing the receptionist.
‘My mother seems to have mislaid her scarf. Could someone look in the cloakroom for me? See if it’s there?’
Helen, transfixed, had a fleeting impulse to climb into the palm and vanish.
But it was too late. Nigel had seen her and was crossing the foyer. She got to her feet, her fingers tightening defensively round the strap of her bag.
‘All alone?’ he asked unpleasantly. ‘Dumped you already, has he?’
She flushed. ‘No, he hasn’t,’ she said, adding recklessly, ‘On the contrary, I’ll be seeing him again tomorrow.’
‘Well,
