Bride Of His Choice

“Good!” He sounded relieved.

His response nagged at Leigh. Why did he care what she felt? Unless, of course, he did want to bed her, and ghosts wouldn’t be good in that scenario. But was that really likely? She was no longer sure what was likely with him. He kept on walking with her, seemingly deep in thought, and she couldn’t shake the feeling all his thoughts were focused on her.

They reached the ornamental pond. Wanting to reduce any sense of gathering intimacy with a man she could have nothing in common with beyond the memories of imprisoned hours together in the long-ago past, she sat down on the wide sandstone blocks which formed a flat platform on top of the pond’s circular enclosure and trailed her fingers through the water, making the fish dart into flashing movement, their luminous colours catching the light.

So beautiful, Leigh thought. Did they know they were prisoners, bought by the wealth of Lawrence Durant for his casual pleasure? Would freedom mean anything to these fish, or would they be lost in a world beyond this confinement? They were well fed, but being well fed wasn’t everything. It was good to feel free. Yet even away from this place and all it represented, Leigh knew she was still emotionally tied to it, which was why she’d come back, hoping for…what?

It looked like she was only messing herself up again.

“I’m glad you came back, Leigh.”

The soft intonation made the comment sound very, very personal. Leigh instantly steeled herself against its warming effect. If she started wanting too much from Richard Seymour, bitter disillusionment would surely follow. Any closeness with him had to be dangerous. As it was, she was acutely aware of him standing barely a metre away. That distance didn’t feel far enough.

“I needed to be here today,” she answered flatly, still watching the fish. “The funeral made Lawrence’s death real…the coffin…the cremation…ashes to ashes, dust to dust. He doesn’t have the power to hurt me any more.” And I won’t let you do it, either, she added resolutely.

“Your mother and sisters…from what I saw, none of them ever stood up for you. Do you expect that to be different now?” he asked, the soft tone projecting a caring she wouldn’t let herself believe.

He hadn’t stood up, either, though Leigh had to concede he had done more than the others to stop Lawrence’s games. On the other hand, as an outsider, he hadn’t been personally subjected to them. She wasn’t the only one in the family who’d suffered verbal abuse. It had a repressive effect on all of them.

“I don’t know if it will be different,” she answered honestly. Suddenly and fiercely wishing for some open honesty from him, she lifted her gaze for direct confrontation. “Lawrence pulled the strings then. It looks like you pull them now. So what do you want, Richard? What is this conversation about? You’ll do much better with me if you don’t play games.”

He cocked his head slightly, assessing the strength of that statement. His eyes held no warmth whatsoever. They were coldly calculating and Leigh sensed a ruthless gathering of purpose. When he spoke, there was no preamble, no dressing up with persuasive intent, just the bare bones of what he’d been leading to from the very beginning of this encounter.

“I want to marry you, Leigh.”

CHAPTER THREE

LEIGH stared at Richard Seymour, too stunned to really believe her ears, but her eyes didn’t pick up any messages that changed what she’d thought she’d heard.

He was watching her with intense concentration, waiting to weigh her reaction. His body looked relaxed but she could feel tension emanating from him. More than tension. Will-power was beaming out of those compelling blue eyes, asserting absolutely serious intent and firming up the wobbly ground inside her mind.

There was only one question to ask so she asked it. “Why? Of all the women you could choose to marry, why me?”

His mouth curved into a half-smile. “I could give you many reasons, Leigh, but since they’re mostly from my point of view, I doubt you’d see them as valid.”

Valid!

She laughed. Couldn’t help herself. The situation was so wildly improbable, a sense of sheer hysteria bubbled out of her. King Richard wanting Cinderella as his wife? It might be understandable if he was madly in love with her, but that idea was as far-fetched as his proposition.

Leigh couldn’t resist pursuing it, her eyes dancing a challenge as she asked, “Just give me one of those reasons, Richard. One I might be able to believe in.”

His eyes seemed to twinkle knowingly at her as he said, “We’re fellow travellers on a road that started a long time ago. Who else will understand what went into the journey?”

A straight stab to the heart, killing any urge to laugh and instantly evoking a sober and vehement reply. “I got off that road.”

“Did you?” he softly challenged. “Not quite, Leigh, or you would never have come back.”

“I’ve explained why.”

He nodded. “I listened, and what I heard is it’s not finished for you. You’re still seeking…” He paused a moment, his eyes boring into hers. “…justice.”

He was crawling into her mind, plucking on heartstrings that did yearn for what had never been given.

“What better justice can there be now than to balance the scales…with you taking all that was taken from you?” he suggested with a terrible, insidious appeal to the darkness deep inside her. “I can give it to you, Leigh.”

She wanted to look away, to escape this awful intrusion into her private soul, yet if she did, he would know he had hit truly and the vulnerability was there to be played upon. The darkness was not good. She’d tried to escape it, hating how it blighted her life. She realised now she had come back to confront it, make it go away. But how could marrying him turn it around? Wouldn’t it be more of the same?

She’d been right about not giving him information to use against her. He was too clever at reading it. He wouldn’t have succeeded Lawrence Durant if he wasn’t both diabolically clever and ruthless. And she hadn’t forgotten how the game was played. Hiding the hurt defeated the victory. She kept her gaze firmly on his and turned the darkness back onto him.

“Let’s cut to the real point, Richard. I don’t believe you want to marry me, so marriage to me has to have a purpose. What advantage is there in it for you?”

He laughed, completely disarming her for a moment, and his eyes danced at her in open admiration, disarming her even further. “I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said I love you,” he tossed at her, moving closer to the sandstone rim of the pond, then lifting a foot onto it, leaning forward, resting his arms on the bent knee.

The pose brought him effectively closer to her, setting up an intimate togetherness while still respecting her personal space. And suddenly there was a sizzle in his eyes that set all her nerve ends twitching.

“But don’t think I don’t want you, Leigh,” he said in a low purring voice, stirring even more havoc inside her. “There’s nothing about you I don’t want, including your blazing directness, which I find more refreshing than you could ever begin to believe.”

Her heart was pumping so hard she couldn’t think of a word to say. Her mind was jammed with sexual signals. And the terrible part was she couldn’t push them out. There was a dreadful fascination in this crazy physical response to Richard Seymour. She remembered how his presence had always tied her in knots when she was a teenager. She hadn’t recognised it then as sexual attraction. But now…

Did he know?

Did he feel it?

Sheer panic kept her silent.

He was not the least bit perturbed by her lack of response. He went on talking with easy confidence, knowing that she understood what he was spelling out. “You were supposed to be the son to carry on Lawrence’s name and dynasty. And you paid one hell of a price for not being that son. What you don’t know—yet—is he never lost the obsession of having his own flesh and blood carry on from him.”

“But that’s impossible now,” Leigh murmured, struggling out of her distraction.

“No, it’s not impossible…if he has a grandson with the right capabilities. And Lawrence thought of that before he died. Thought of it and planned it.”

A grandson! It was sickening. An innocent little baby boy created for Lawrence Durant’s massive ego, life and goals all rigidly mapped out before he even started living. As hers would have been if she had been the right sex and the right material for moulding into the right monument to a man who didn’t deserve any kind of monument.

“Did he pick out the name, too?” she asked in savage disgust. “Mine was supposed to be Leigh Jason. The Jason part was dropped when I turned out to be a girl.”

“Lawrence,” came the dry reply.

“Of course. One Lawrence gone. Another coming up.”

Something infinitely dangerous and determined flashed through the clear blue of his eyes. “He can’t reach that far from the grave, Leigh, and his purpose can be defeated.”

She was tantalised by the brief glimpse of something she didn’t know—a force driving him that went beyond her previous judgement of his character. “Go on,” she urged.

“I was the one who took your designated role, insofar as I met the expectations he would have had for his son. My much publicised position as his successor is not ironclad. It is provisional to my fulfilling the terms of his will.”

“Which are?” she prompted when he paused, although she could guess what was coming, and another painful emptiness yawned inside her.

His mouth curled into a mirthless smile. “If I marry one of his daughters and produce a son, I get the necessary percentage of company shares which will make my position as his successor unassailable.”