sniff of her time with Guy—or of that fake marriage—it would have turned up in the papers by now. They’d been having a great time with the heroic, unknown ‘Englishman’ who’d fought side by side with the Sant’Rosan forces.
A knock on the door announced the housekeeper. ‘Lauren, it’s a Mr Bagaton,’ she said, looking both intrigued and slightly put out. ‘He insists on seeing you.’
Lauren’s stomach clenched, a chaotic surge of joy wiping everything but anticipation from her mind. Trying hard not to beam, she said, ‘Thanks, Mrs Oliver. I know him.’
He was waiting in the morning room, completely relaxed in casual trousers that clung to his long, muscular legs. The rolled sleeves of his shirt revealed tanned forearms. He had shaved.
Yet there was nothing casual in the way he watched her come across the room; narrowed, intent eyes in an impassive face examined her as though she was some rare specimen he’d been searching a lifetime for.
Sensation slammed through her, hot and unashamedly primeval.
This was a different man from the one on Sant’Rosa, the beachcomber, the man of action, the lover. He was harder, his control an icy cloak around him, and there was something about his dark gaze that sent tremors scudding the length of her spine.
Yet her body had sprung to life at the first glimpse of him; that consuming hunger surged through every cell, ran molten along her nerves, fired synapses all through her body until she burned with elemental urgency.
She’d never thought to meet anyone to match her half-brother, Marc, yet now another man stood in his house clothed in the same ruthless authority, exerting the same effortless dominance.
Calling on every shred of restraint, she said, ‘Good morning, Guy. This is an unexpected pleasure.’
Her composed, measured greeting brought a swift, taunting smile. Before she realised what he intended he covered the distance between them in three long strides and dropped a stinging kiss on her startled mouth, before stepping back. ‘I’m glad it’s a pleasure.’
‘Of course,’ she said, hiding the uncertainty in her tone with a quick, abrupt delivery. ‘What brings you here?’
‘You look pale—are you all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ Oh, fine was such an inadequate word! She was terrified at how alive she felt now, reborn by his presence.
Still frowning, he said, ‘Sit down.’
An icy bubble suddenly expanded beneath her ribs. She searched his face, but the hard angles and planes revealed nothing. ‘Why?’
‘I’m not a bearer of good news.’
Shaking her head, she unconsciously stiffened her shoulders. ‘Tell me.’
But it wasn’t until another rapid, unsparing survey apparently reassured him she had the stamina to deal with what he had to say that he told her bluntly, ‘The marriage we contracted in Sant’Rosa might be legal.’
‘IT’S legal?’ Ashen-faced, Lauren stared at him.
‘According to my lawyer we could be on shaky ground if we assume it’s not binding.’ He spoke levelly, no emotions showing in either tone or expression.
Rallying, she exploded, ‘But there was no licence, no identification—nothing but the form that—that—’
‘Josef,’ Guy supplied helpfully.
‘That Josef had with him.’ She unclenched the fists at her sides. ‘It cannot possibly be legal.’
Guy’s broad shoulders lifted in a negligent shrug. ‘On Sant’Rosa, it seems, the ceremony and Josef’s form might be enough.’
Numbly Lauren walked across to the window, staring out at the picture-perfect garden, lushly subtropical, familiar and safe. The dog, Fancy, wandered across the lawn and spread herself out on the terrace in the sun, yawning prodigiously before curling up for another of her interminable naps.
Panic hollowed out her stomach, brought her brain skidding to a halt. Married to Guy Bagaton?
‘No,’ she said starkly. ‘I won’t accept it.’
‘Accepting it or not isn’t going to make a blind bit of difference,’ Guy stated with brutal frankness. ‘And it’s not certain; my solicitors are working on it. I thought you should know so that you can be prepared.’
‘Thank you.’ She took a deep breath and forced her brain into action.
Even if the marriage was valid, it would only be a nuisance. It would take time and money she couldn’t afford to sort out, but that was all. That had to be all; she couldn’t let memories of the time they’d spent together affect her—they certainly weren’t affecting him.
But if a journalist got to hear about it, there was a chance that someone might dig deeper to discover the secret at the heart of her life. She’d cope—but her parents had to be protected.
Taking a deep breath, she asked, ‘When will you know?’
‘Things are still confused in Sant’Rosa, but my solicitor is confident that he’ll get an answer within two weeks. I shall, of course, let you know immediately.’
She nodded stiffly. ‘Thank you,’ she said again.
Eyes narrowed golden slivers beneath heavy eyelids, Guy scrutinised her face. ‘However, if this gets out you may find journalists contacting you to ask about your escape from Sant’Rosa.’
Lauren’s stomach dropped. Before she could stop herself, she said, ‘Oh, God no! The last thing I want is the media poking around in my life!’
Black brows lifting, he scanned her like a predator assessing prey, yet his voice was idly enquiring when he asked, ‘Any particular reason?’
Careful, she cautioned herself. ‘Just an innate dislike of figuring in headlines.’
He observed casually, ‘Which is why I warned you. Don’t answer the phone—tell the housekeeper to say you’re not here.’
Logic kicked in just in time to stop her from panicking. ‘But surely public interest in a small war on a tiny island nation is already waning? I noticed there wasn’t much in this morning’s paper.’ She added with a smile that was a bit lopsided, ‘I’m sure they’d like to discover the identity of “the mysterious Englishman” who fought for the Sant’Rosans, although that must be stale news now too.’
‘Unfortunately some fools tried to shoot down a plane leaving the airport,’ he said bluntly. ‘It’s stirred up the whole hornet’s nest again.’
Lauren bit her lip. ‘I can’t imagine Josef will tell anyone what happened.’
‘It’s unlikely,’ he agreed, angular features hard and determined, ‘but there
