head of an important company like De Courcy should be an older man, she found herself thinking dazedly. Someone heavyweight, middle-aged and mature—like Lennox Underhay, for instance.
But this man was young, and she realised, incredibly attractive, as her artist’s eye took in the underlying strength of his superb bone-structure which would last long after his surface looks were gone. The thick dark hair, waving back from his forehead, the green eyes with their almost feminine sweep of lashes, the firm-lipped mouth and deeply cleft chin—all these were only a bonus.
He was tall too, his broad-shouldered, lean-hipped body perfectly set off by the formal elegance of his evening clothes.
He looked surprised as well, the dark brows snapping together autocratically above his high-bridged nose as he looked her unhurriedly up and down.
Philippa’s hands felt damp suddenly, and she wiped her palms on her jeans. The movement broke the silent stillness which seemed to enclose them, and he moved too, suddenly, abruptly, as if he was angry about something.
But when he spoke, his cool, faintly accented voice was only meditative. ‘So—you are Philippa.’
‘Yes.’ She swallowed, still staring at him as if mesmerised, aware that her throat was dry, and that her pulses were doing disturbing things. ‘And you are—Monsieur de Courcy.’
He smiled briefly and sardonically. ‘Oh, I think, in the circumstances, we should be less formal, perhaps. My name is Alain.’
‘What circumstances?’ Suddenly she was afraid. I didn’t mean what I said about being a high-class callgirl, she placated some unknown but clearly humourless deity. ‘I—I don’t understand, monsieur.’
‘You have not been told?’ The green eyes met hers, held them. ‘Then the task—the privilege is mine, it seems. You and I, mademoiselle, are destined to be married.’
For a moment, Philippa’s mind seemed numb. She couldn’t move or speak—or even think coherently. Incredible, Monica had said. But it was worse than that. It was completely insane. The word kept running through her brain. The head of De Courcy International had gone stark raving mad, and they were the only ones who knew.
‘You had better sit,’ Alain de Courcy added curtly. ‘Before you fall down.’ His gaze raked her again, taking in the cling of the tight-fitting jeans to her slender hips, the slight swell of her breasts under the thin shirt. The frown returned. ‘How old are you, mademoiselle?’
‘I’m—nearly twenty.’ She ran her tongue round her dry lips. ‘Did you really say—married?’
He nodded unsmilingly.
She swallowed. ‘But I’ve never seen you before in my life—never even knew you existed until tonight.’
‘Nor I you,’ he said with a slight shrug. ‘But that need not be an obstacle.’ He fetched a high-backed chair and set it for her, then placed another one opposite for himself. ‘Before you reject me out of hand as a dangerous lunatic, allow me to explain. I need to be married, mademoiselle, and urgently too. Before I came to dinner tonight, I was seriously contemplating advertising for a wife in some newspaper.’
‘This must be some tasteless joke,’ Philippa said thickly. ‘I shall never forgive Monica—or Lennox. I suppose it was because I made a nuisance of myself earlier—said I was desperate for money.’
‘There is no joke,’ Alain de Courcy said quietly. ‘I was distrait at dinner, and they persuaded me to speak of my problems. It was then that your stepmother suggested that your dilemma might provide the solution to mine. This is why you were asked to come here tonight. This is why we are alone together now.’
She took a breath. ‘I—can’t believe this. It’s crazy!’ She sent him a scornful look. ‘Putting an ad in a paper, indeed! You’re the last person in the world who needs to resort to something like that.’
He smiled faintly. ‘Merci du compliment—if that’s what it was. But the truth is, I know very few women of a suitable age and background and even fewer who would allow themselves to be taken in marriage in such a headlong way, without a conventional period of courtship at least—if not vows of undying love and devotion. Anything less, however insincere, would insult them.’
‘You don’t think it would insult me?’ Philippa stiffened.
Alain de Courcy shrugged. ‘From what little I have learned tonight, I don’t think you can afford to be insulted,’ he countered levelly. ‘I understand you need a substantial sum of money to pay for your father’s medical treatment in the United States, and maintain him there in a private clinic. If you marry me, I will make sure sufficient funds are made available for you to use in this way—or as you wish.’ He paused. ‘You need me for your father’s future, mademoiselle. I need you for mine. Do we have a bargain?’
Monica had said, ‘Listen to him.’ Philippa found herself shivering.
‘First, you’d better explain why you need to be married so quickly,’ she said. ‘Why can’t you wait—find a wife whom you might—care for?’
‘Marriage, ma chère, is a lottery,’ he said cynically. ‘Until now I have always managed to avoid buying a ticket. But now I find myself under pressure through my family.’
He paused. ‘I inherited the chair of De Courcy International from my grandfather. Since then, my uncle Louis has always borne a grudge that he was passed over for me. For the past two years, he has been working against me, trying to thwart deals I was involved in—attempting to undermine my authority by castigating me to the more sober members of my board as an irresponsible playboy.’
He shot her a swift glance. ‘You smile at last, mademoiselle, and I too found the situation amusing— once. But lately it has become altogether more serious. My name has recently been linked with a woman, who is married to a man of importance in the government. There have been hints in the papers—rumours and innuendo in the circles I move in.’
He shrugged. ‘There has been gossip before—I am not a saint—but this time my uncle has managed to gain support for his opinion that my conduct is a disgrace, and that, through me, De Courcy International is likely to be plunged into a major scandal with all kinds of repercussions. I am, he says, unfit to be chairman any longer.
‘Accordingly, he has called an emergency meeting in two weeks’ time to discuss the situation, and call for my resignation. He plans to become chairman in my place, against my grandfather’s expressed wish, and that is now a distinct possibility. You must believe that it would also be a disaster. You see my problem?’
Philippa bit her lip. ‘I—suppose so. But maybe your uncle’s right—perhaps you are irresponsible. After all, if you’re having an affair with this woman—neglecting the company for her …’
His mouth twisted. ‘My uncle, mademoiselle, has an insufferably bourgeois mind. My private life has no bearing on my role as head of De Courcy. No woman has ever come between me and my work, or ever will.’
He hesitated, his expression rueful. ‘There is an additional factor. My uncle has a daughter, Sidonie. He has dropped unmistakable hints that if I were to offer marriage to my cousin his opposition to me would cease immediately.’
‘Then isn’t that
