excuse to terminate your employment, I will marry you.’
Marriage! Her stomach muscles shivered, then clenched. She had expected him to offer her a permanent position, had been reluctantly prepared to turn it down because if she was on the other side of the globe with him who would keep an eye on Liz—but marriage! That was the last thing she’d expected him to offer! Quite out of the question!
‘And before you verbalize what’s written on your face,’ his voice came through the whirlpool of her thoughts, silky soft yet carrying the core of that iron will of his, ‘listen, absorb and contemplate. Firstly,’ he ticked off on a lean, long forefinger, ‘the marriage will not be consummated. To the outside world it will appear the perfect match, but privately you will function as my personal secretary. No more, no less. Your salary will be paid in the form of an allowance—and you won’t find me ungenerous. Secondly, you will enjoy the financial security, the luxury, my wife would naturally expect. In return, I will have the loyalty and continuity of service I need.’
‘This is crazy!’ Ignoring the fluttery sensations that invaded her insides, Claire fixed him with a cool, sea-blue stare. ‘I won’t pretend I wouldn’t jump at the job offer if it didn’t mean leaving Liz to her own devices, but you don’t need to tie yourself down to that extent, surely? When you find someone suitable you could insist on a watertight contract.’
‘In which a clever lawyer could find any number of leaks!’ He shook his head, leaning forward a little, his superbly hewn features softening with an obvious need to understand. ‘We get along well together and I can’t fault your work—the past few weeks have demonstrated that. And during that night when you feared you would lose Liz—and I’ll come to her in a moment—you were open enough to tell me of her disastrous marriage, confide that her experience, plus the way you’d seen quite a high proportion of your friends’ marriages go down the drain, had put you off ever making that commitment yourself. So tell me, where do you find the problem in my proposed business agreement?’
‘You,’ she said with stark honesty. Then wondered why her mouth had gone dry. Avoiding his eyes, she flicked her tongue over her lips and made herself elaborate, ‘Who you are, what you are.’ She didn’t need to go further, tell him what he already had to know—that with his looks, all that sexy charisma, his wealth and staggering power he could have the pick of any woman he fancied. Instead she said primly, ‘I can’t believe you’re a stranger to the opposite sex. And I can’t believe the day won’t dawn when you’ll fall in love and want a real marriage, a family to enjoy the empire you’ve created. And when that day does arrive I’ll be the first to go, with nothing but the dubious honor of being the first, and discarded, Mrs Jake Winter.’
Hearing the rising note of bitterness in her voice and not having any way of understanding it, she slumped back against the soft cushions and waited to hear how he’d get out of that. And she went into a state of shock, or something very like it, when he simply turned the power of his wide white smile on her, explaining lightly, ‘I won’t even try to pretend I’m a stranger to your sex. However, much as I enjoy female company I know myself well enough to avoid making any long-term emotional commitments. To make a marriage happy, secure and stable you have to work at it. I wouldn’t find the time. My business gives me all the challenge I can handle. It’s as addictive and demanding as playing chess at the highest level—I’m not looking for anything more. I could handle a paper marriage—I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to work at a proper one. Inevitably I’d get bored and restless. And, as I’ve experienced, paid secretaries and housekeepers can be a pain. I need someone who will be emotionally undemanding, always there when needed, wherever I happen to be. I hate hotel life as a general rule, so have my own apartments in most of the major capitals around the world, and I need someone there to organize some kind of home life as well as business breakfasts, lunches or dinners, put on her secretary hat when needed and, as I mentioned—’ his grin was sapping all her strength ‘—buy my socks. Or whatever. And as far as I’m concerned, unless and until I make a family of my own—which, at this moment in time, I can’t see myself ever contemplating—any children my sister and her husband might have would become my heirs. And I suppose there should be an opt-out clause,’ he clipped, his change of tone suddenly making her see how seriously he was taking this plethora of alarming nonsense. ‘In the unlikely event of my deciding I wanted to be free to remarry, you would receive a substantial settlement in money and property. If you wanted out, for the same reason, then I wouldn’t stand in your way. You would, however, forfeit the settlement.’
The smile he gave her was chilling, sending shivers riding down the length of her spine, and, shifting uneasily against the cushions, she was about to decline his offer politely when he forestalled her, knocking the breath out of her lungs as he added, ‘About Liz. As an added and, in my opinion—having spoken at length to her consultant—necessary inducement, I guarantee to keep her in comfort for the rest of her life. In a house of her own and your choosing, with a resident companion—medically trained—to keep an eye on her health and well being, keep her company, do all the little jobs around the place she shouldn’t be allowed to tackle. Think about it, Claire. Think carefully, and give me your answer in the morning.’
He stood up, terminating the crazy interview, and Claire, her legs feeling unbelievably unsteady, tottered off to the study, finishing up there and driving home in a daze, not able to bring herself to say goodnight to him because everything inside her head had gone on hold.
It was the promise he had made regarding Liz’s future that tipped the balance. True, the actual job he was offering was a challenge that was difficult to resist, and she could live with the marriage part of it. She would look at it as a strange type of job description, the utter sterility of the relationship a secret between Jake and herself. But it was the thought that her mother would at last be able to relax, live a life of comfort and ease, having a cosy home of her own and the lush country garden she had always dreamed of—with the added bonus that wherever Claire found herself she would know that Liz had someone close at hand to keep her from being lonely, watch that she didn’t overtire herself, make her go for regular check-ups—that brought Claire to Jake’s London apartment, an acceptance of his offer of marriage firmly lodged in her head.
Jake received her acceptance with a calm, ‘Thank you. You won’t regret it,’ but persuading Liz to accept his charity was a different matter.
She had met Jake, of course and, although bemused by the suddenness of it, was delighted by the prospect of the marriage. Her darling girl had fallen in love with a man who would care for her, provide handsomely for her, for the rest of her life. What mother could ask for more? But living on charity was something else altogether.
Not until Jake was brought in to fight Claire’s corner were matters resolved. He simply told her, ‘In three weeks’ time I am marrying your daughter. That makes you, like it or not, part of my family. And what type of man—especially one who has more money than he can count—leaves a valued member of his family to mooch around in a mediocre flat in an unlovely London backstreet?’
And so Lark Cottage was found, furnished with every comfort and convenience, Sally Harding, an ex-nurse, forthright but kind, employed, everything—even their paper marriage—running smoothly until now. Until her mother’s legacy had set her free.
An impatient rapping on the bedroom door had Claire dragging her eyes from the window-pane. The winter darkness had descended. She’d been looking at nothing. Blinking, she watched Jake enter the room, his impressive height and sheer physical presence seeming to diminish everything in it. His features were expressionless, yet his eyes pierced her, his voice harsh as he said, ‘Liz is presiding over the tea-table, staring with longing at the teapot. As is Sal. Might I suggest you join us and put them out of their misery?’
She rose slowly to her feet. She’d lost count of time. Eating her share of one of Sal’s massive teas—three different types of
