The Marriage Pact

‘All Englishmen are not the dishonourable, womanising bounders you seem to think us,’ he assured her, ‘despite the way we sometimes carry on.’

His expression was penitent, though she noticed there was still an impish glimmer in his eye. The man was incorrigible!

‘Let me prove it to you.’ His tone was cajoling. ‘Let me buy you a drink tonight after the children are asleep. At the hotel, if you feel you can’t leave the premises...or don’t wish to. In the public bar,’ he added hastily, as if to show that he wasn’t still thinking of bedrooms.

As her lips parted, ready with an excuse—or, if that failed, a tart refusal—he touched her arm. ‘Please... Tonight is my last night here in Venice.’

She jumped in instinctive reaction at his touch, light as it was, the fine hairs on her bare skin bristling like a cat in fright. She’d never been so aware of a man’s touch in her life.

Repulsion, she was quick to label it. Indignation. Distaste. Anything but pleasure.

‘I don’t think so,’ she breathed. Remember Nigel, she thought wildly. Remember how charming and persuasive he was...in the beginning. She heard the baby on her back give a whimper. ‘I have to get back!’ she gasped out. ‘I have to feed the baby. G-goodbye!’

‘I’m heading back to the hotel myself,’ he said easily, obviously not getting the message—or not believing she meant it. He steered her through the crowd with his hand at her elbow, making her acutely—in—furiatingly—aware all over again of the effect of his hand on her bare skin.

‘I have to change and pick up my briefcase,’ he told her. ‘I’m meeting some of the other delegates at the Cipriani for lunch before I give my afternoon lecture.’

Which would be the last she would ever see of him, she thought with what should have been immense satisfaction. And relief. And could have kicked herself in disgust when a tiny quiver ran through her instead.

‘Please don’t let me hold you up,’ she said fractiously. ‘Holly can’t walk very fast.’

‘I’m in no great hurry.’ He altered his stride to match hers. ‘So...’ he quirked a dark eyebrow at her ‘...you fly out to Australia at the end of the week, you said. Direct from here? Or will you be going back to London first?’

‘I have to go back to London to pick up the rest of my things but I’ll be on the first available flight from Heathrow after we get back,’ she said curtly, stifling an exasperated sigh. Was there no shaking him off? Why was he being so persistent? She’d made it clear that she had no intention of seeing him tonight. Why bother chasing a girl who’d made it plain that she wasn’t interested? He was good-looking enough, sexy enough and probably rich enough to have just about any woman he chose.

It must be an ego thing, she decided with a disparaging twist of her lips. He wasn’t used to being brushed off, and was determined to foist his macho charm on her until he won her over. And once he’d succeeded he’d promptly lose interest himself, more likely than not, and back off with his precious ego intact.

Well, try your hardest, mate. Her eyes gleamed in fiery challenge. This girl’s immune to brash, charismatic Englishmen.

‘Won’t you at least tell me your name?’

Glancing up at him with cool disdain, she found herself wavering under the electrifying impact of his dark, sun-sharpened eyes. She swallowed. Well, it could hardly hurt to tell him her name. It would be petulant—impolite—not to. After all, they were guests at the same hotel. And he’d be gone tomorrow.

‘Claire.’ She was annoyed to hear a betraying huskiness in her voice. She cleared her throat, her brow puckering in irritation. ‘Claire Malone.’ She didn’t go as far as to ask him his.

He gave it anyway. ‘Adam Tate.’ He paused, then added, ‘I’ll be flying out to Australia myself in a few days. From London.’

‘You will?’ Her heart missed a beat. ‘Holiday?’ The question slipped out. She hadn’t meant to show an interest, to encourage him in any way.

‘Partly work, partly pleasure. I have business interests in Melbourne. And a wedding to attend. I also own a sheep station in the Western District of Victoria, about three hours from Melbourne. I’ll be looking after the property while my manager’s on his honeymoon.’

She had the strangest sinking feeling. A sense of fate, inevitability... almost impending doom. As she gulped, fretfully trying to dismiss it, he asked her, ‘Whereabouts in Australia do you live?’

Heat prickled along her cheeks. ‘Melbourne.’ She grimaced inwardly as she heard the husky tightness in her voice. She’d meant to toss off the answer with a careless air of unconcern, showing him that it was neither here nor there to her that they were both heading in the same direction.

‘Well, what do you know?’ She could feel his eyes boring into her averted profile, feel the wheels turning over in his mind, sense the glow of self-satisfied speculation in his eyes.

She felt an overwhelming urge to cut him off at the knees. If he imagined she was going to give him her address...agree to see him back in Australia...

‘I’m needed back home urgently.’ Her eyes were cool, her tone brusque. ‘I’m going to have my time cut out for me when I get back.’

‘Er...family problems? Illness?’ he ventured.

‘It’s my—’ She broke off with a frown. Her sister wouldn’t relish having her personal affairs discussed with a complete stranger. She’d hate it.

Poor Sally hadn’t even wanted to discuss her marital woes with her—her own sister. For months she’d denied even having any problems, making all the excuses in the world for her husband’s wild, selfish excesses. Until they’d become too difficult to hide or to bear. And by then Claire had been half a world away, working in London, only able to help by sending money—enough to save the power and phone being cut off—and offering support from a distance.

‘Do you mind if we talk about something else?’ Or not talk at all, her eyes told him with a frosty glare.

‘By all means.’ He didn’t even miss a beat. ‘You’ll also be looking for a new job when you get home...you said? An accounting job.’ He paused. ‘You can’t go back to your old firm?’

She drew in a deep, quivering breath. ‘No.’ Nigel had made that impossible. Even though based in London, Nigel, as a partner of the prestigious international firm, would be visiting the Melbourne office from time to time. He could even be transferred there for a spell, as she had been to London. Only she hadn’t lasted in the London office for her planned six months... thanks to Nigel.

‘I don’t know what I’m going to do yet,’ she said rather snappily. It might be hard to find another job with a major accounting firm in Melbourne. Especially if Nigel got nasty and spread the word around that she wasn’t reliable—couldn’t hold down a job. He was capable of it. He saw himself as a suitor scorned. Closing his mind to the fact that he’d been unfaithful to her. ‘The girl didn’t mean a thing to me,’ had been his pathetic defence. It was obvious that neither had his brand-new fiancée.

She was relieved when the hotel came into view at last. Never had the deep pink walls and canvas awnings looked more welcome.

‘Have a good trip back,’ she said carelessly as she bundled Holly through the glass doors, which Adam Tate sprang forward to hold open for her. She didn’t mention his visit to Melbourne, hoping he’d take the hint that she had no wish to see him again.

He was far too full of himself. Far too good-looking. Too sexy. Too charming. Too disgustingly complacent. He was just like Nigel. He thought himself irresistible.

The baby was crying in earnest now. If Adam Tate had an answering comment, she didn’t hear it as she dashed across the hotel lobby and up the stairs, not wanting to wait around for the lift and give him a chance to catch up with her.

She had absolutely no wish in the world to see him ever again.

It was that same night that everything blew up in her face.

After putting Holly and the baby to bed and waiting for a while until both were sleeping peacefully, she seized her chance to slip up to the rooftop garden to breathe in some fresh evening air before returning to her own room next door to theirs.

There was a stunning sunset. The graceful spires and domes of Venice rose in stark black outline against the blood-red sky. It reminded her of what the dark-eyed Englishman, Adam Tate, had said—You should be watching the sunset with a man...

She stirred restlessly. And wished suddenly that she’d never come up here...wished in the next breath that she’d never met him. He was everything she despised in a man. And yet—

She heard a sound behind her. The hairs at her nape lifted. It couldn’t be...him?

‘Claire! I thought I might find you up here.’

A familiar English voice...but not his. She swung round, her lips parting in surprise as she saw a bulky figure take shape in the gathering dusk.

It was Holly’s father, Hugo Dann. Her employer. Still dressed as he’d been when he and his wife had sallied off earlier to a cocktail party and dinner at the Gritti Palace. Except for his jacket, which he’d discarded somewhere on the way up.

She flicked her tongue over her lips. ‘Mr Dann! Did—did you forget something? The children are asleep,’ she added quickly, in case he thought she was neglecting her duties.

‘I know—I just looked in on them.’ He sauntered closer. ‘I decided not to stay for the dinner because I wanted to go through some notes before tomorrow. My wife’s coming back later with friends.’

Her skin prickled. She had the feeling that he was telling her about his wife for a reason. To let her know they weren’t likely to be disturbed? She swallowed. All men are not like Nigel, you fool. But the way he was looking at her...and she could smell whisky on his breath.

‘I’d better get back to my room,’ she said a trifle breathlessly. He’d never try anything there—her room was right next door to the children’s room. And she could lock her door.