His Independent Bride: Wife Against Her Will / The Wedlocked Wife / Bertoluzzi's Heiress Bride

‘A dislike of being mauled, perhaps.’

His brows rose. ‘By everyone, or just me?’

‘By anyone,’ Darcy returned. ‘But especially you.’ She got to her feet.

‘I’ll show you out.’

Joel followed her into the hall. ‘So you still felt nothing?’ he asked in a tone of mild curiosity. ‘Not even the slightest stirring in the blood?’

‘All you aroused was my profound indifference,’ she said icily. ‘Goodnight, Mr Castille.’

As she reached for the heavy security lock, he came to stand beside her, his arm snaking out and drawing her towards him, while a practised hand slid under her sweater to find the still engorged peaks of her excited breasts.

His exploration only lasted one brief moment in time, but just that fleeting stroke of his fingers across her taut nipples made her body clench in a dark, shocked need she had never known before. Nor ever wanted to know. A sudden desire that she had not imagined could exist. Especially within herself.

He said softly, ‘And you tell lies, Miss Langton. But what the hell, if that’s really how you want to play the game? And there’s no need to panic,’ he added sardonically. ‘Because I shan’t ask again.’

He paused, allowing her to assimilate that. ‘On the other hand, you can hardly blame me for trying.’ His tone was almost casual. ‘Willing or unwilling, you’re still very beautiful. Now, sleep well, if you can.’

He opened the door, then turned on the doorstep and looked back at her, his mouth suddenly set and the blue eyes like ice chips.

‘And the marriage still stands,’ he told her with sudden harshness. ‘So make your mind up about that. And, if kisses are taboo, start practising a few smiles instead. After all, darling, we’re going to be blissfully happy.

‘Aren’t we?’

And he walked down to the waiting car, leaving Darcy slumped back against the wall, her legs shaking under her as she stared after him.

The marriage still stands…

His parting words continued to reverberate in her head as she closed the door, and went slowly up to her room.

Dear God, she thought, the breath catching in her throat. What have I done?

I shan’t ask again.

He’d said that too, but dared she trust him after this evening? That was the question that haunted her as she undressed and got into bed.

Those careful kisses, she thought bitterly, had been planned as a prelude to enjoying a little casual sex beside the fire. He’d shamelessly admitted as much.

But, for her, sex could never be either casual or enjoyable.

Not when she was still haunted by the memory of those terrible brutal minutes with Harry and their aftermath. The events that had wrecked her innocence forever, and still clouded her life, even now.

Because they’d given Joel a hold over her. Her visit to Harry’s stag party was still a secret between them, no less potent because it was never mentioned. But it was something that he could use against her if she tried to disrupt their agreement at this late stage. Even the threat would be enough.

The marriage still stands…

He’d said it, and he meant it, and she had to accept that, no matter how it might tear her apart.

She turned over, thumping the pillow, trying to find a cool place for her burning face. And a temporary oblivion for her restive, uneasy body.

The body that Joel had so effortlessly, so cynically, aroused a few hours ago. Leaving her in a torment she was ashamed to acknowledge, even to her most secret self.

She now knew altogether more than she wanted to know about the unique masculine scent and taste of him. The way it felt to be held in his arms. The intimate touch of his hands…

And while all that might be difficult to forget, she could at least ensure that it never happened again. Prove to him that kisses were indeed taboo.

From now on he had to be kept at a serious distance, she told herself with determination. She had to rebuild the barriers between them, which had proved so ineffective just now. Rebuild and strengthen them, so that she was never again guilty of that helpless physical reaction to him, which she’d been unable either to reject or control.

Because, in spite of what had just happened, they were still strangers to each other, and that was how they would remain until the marriage ended.

When, at last, she would be free of Joel Castille. Free of him—forever.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I KNEW, THOUGHT Darcy, that an engagement party was a bad idea.

She’d just gone up to dress when her father tapped on her door to tell her that Joel’s flight from Paris had been delayed, and that he was going to be late.

For a moment she felt totally blank, then she shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. And most of the guests are coming to say goodbye to Aunt Freddie anyway.’

‘Well, it matters to me,’ Gavin said testily, and went off to his own room.

He was looking tired, she thought, and he seemed to have lost a little weight. Maybe the hand-over of power to Joel wasn’t going as smoothly as he wanted.

Another reason why she had to go along with this marriage. If she backed out, it could have repercussions all the way to Werner Langton’s boardroom. Provide ammunition for all those opposed to Joel’s appointment, and create problems that her father didn’t need.

So perhaps her decision had been the right one, for the company, if not for herself, she thought, and sighed under her breath.

As she’d expected, her forthcoming marriage was inevitably the major talking point of the evening.

I’ve never been the target of so much goodwill, she thought with a slight pang of guilt as she displayed her engagement ring to another battery of admiring glances. Thank heavens, they’ll never know the truth.

‘And where’s your fiancé?’ They all wanted to know, of course, and she unfailingly replied, ‘Delayed on business, I’m afraid,’ even managing a note of suitable regret.

And if that didn’t win her the Hypocrite of the Year award, she’d no idea what would.

But the pressure of maintaining the happy façade of the bride-to-be began to tell after a while, and she was glad to take a glass of champagne and slide unobtrusively away into the peace and quiet of the large conservatory that opened off the dining room.

It had always been one of her favourite places, its air humid, rich and raw with the scent of earth and greenery, and she breathed in deeply, pausing by the collection of miniature palms, touching the glossy fronds with a meditative forefinger.

Just a few moments, she promised herself. Then I’ll go back and do my duty again.

‘So this is where you’re hiding. I’ve been looking for you.’

She’d have known that voice anywhere, and her jerky, startled movement as she turned sent some of the champagne splashing onto the tiles at her feet, and scattering droplets on the skirt of her dark green taffeta dress.

Harry Metcalfe was standing in the doorway, watching her.