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

Maisie gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Oh, I think Joel could be as vulnerable as the next man when it comes to affairs of the heart.’

Darcy hesitated as Maisie fastened her bag and turned to the door, then said in a little impulsive rush, ‘Is she pretty, Joel’s cousin?’

‘Well, yes,’ Maisie said slowly. ‘In a fragile sort of way.’ Then she grinned. ‘Bit too needy for my taste, but I’m not a man. And the exact opposite of you, I’d say, so don’t run away with the idea you’re some kind of carbon-copy consolation prize. I’m sure Joel knew exactly what he was doing when he saw you.’

Yes, Darcy told herself unhappily as she followed the other girl back into the restaurant, I’m sure he did.

Joel had clearly set out to win over Lois and Mick, and, judging by the laughter from their end of the table, he was succeeding admirably. Except at one point she saw that Lois had sat back in her chair, and was frowning a little as if bewildered about something.

And at the end of the evening, when they were all departing in their separate cars, she drew Darcy to one side, keeping her voice low. ‘Honey, do you really and truly know what you’re doing?’

‘Why do you ask?’

Lois shook her head. ‘On a scale of dangerously attractive men, Joel scores lethal. And he’s quite definitely someone who knows what he wants, and how to get it too.’ She gave her friend a searching glance. ‘You could seriously have bitten off more than you can chew.’

‘Trust me,’ Darcy had returned equally quietly, but more stoutly than the situation deserved. ‘It will all be fine.’

Well, she had thought, she’d said it. Now all she had to do was make herself believe it.

And had turned, smiling, to say goodnight to Maisie and Greg.

Now here she was, with Joel’s plain gold wedding ring on her left hand, and all the clothes for her new life packed beautifully into the elegant luggage, already taken downstairs for the journey up to the Chelsea house where she would live while her temporary marriage lasted.

Her father’s remaining clothes and possessions had already been packed up and brought down to the country, while a team of painters and decorators had been installed in London to refurbish the main reception rooms. Also, she understood, the master bedroom. Which, naturally, was none of her business.

She’d examined the paint cards, along with the snippets of fabric and wallpaper she’d been sent, without the slightest interest. After all, she thought, she was only going to be the lodger. And her own room was not to be touched. She’d been quite specific about that, and received Joel’s casual agreement.

Which, she supposed, was reassuring. Why, then, did she still have this vague feeling of unease?

I don’t like it, she thought, her mouth twisting ruefully. It’s all going too well.

There was a rap on the door, and, to her surprise, Joel walked in. He halted a few feet away from her, the dark brows lifting questioningly as he registered her, standing motionless by the window.

He’d changed out of his wedding gear too, she realised, her heart suddenly thudding, and was wearing charcoal trousers with an open-necked shirt, and a light tweed jacket slung round his shoulders.

His voice was sardonic. ‘Planning to throw yourself out, my

sweet?’

‘Not at all,’ Darcy returned coolly. ‘Dad would never forgive me if I damaged his precious rose bushes.’

His mouth twisted in wry acknowledgement. ‘There is that, I suppose.’ He paused. ‘People are waiting to say goodbye. It’s time we were leaving.’

‘Then we mustn’t keep them waiting.’ She fastened the remaining jacket buttons on her pale grey woollen suit, and picked up her gloves and bag.

Joel was looking at her wardrobe door, where her discarded wedding dress and veil still hung.

‘What are you doing with those?’

‘They’ll be dry-cleaned, and returned to the hire company. Lois is seeing to it.’

‘Ah,’ he said, and there was a pause. ‘No one could ever accuse you of harbouring sentimental feelings, Darcy.’

‘It’s served its purpose,’ she returned with faint defensiveness. ‘Sentiment doesn’t feature.’

‘All the same,’ Joel said quietly, ‘allow me to tell you how incredibly beautiful you looked in church today. You quite took my breath away.’

But you barely looked at me. The words hovered unspoken on her lips.

She found herself remembering how her own throat had tightened in shock when she’d caught her first glimpse of him in the formality of his morning suit, and registered all over again the stunning force of his attraction.

Yet during the ceremony he’d seemed a remote stranger, she thought, his voice quietly making the required responses, his hand cool when it became necessary to touch hers.

Thankfully, the vicar was an old-fashioned man who didn’t believe in jovial enjoinders to ‘kiss the bride’ at the weddings he conducted, so she’d been spared that piece of awkwardness at least. Not that Joel had shown the least inclination to force any more embraces on her, she admitted.

In fact, he’d kept his distance as much as she could wish. But now, he was holding out his hand to her. ‘A touch of togetherness to convince the onlookers?’

Unwillingly she complied, letting his fingers close round hers as they went along the gallery and down the stairs to the barrage of cheers and smiles awaiting them.

They were separated instantly. Darcy disappeared into a deluge of hugs from the women. She glimpsed Joel surrounded by his friends, and heard a sudden roar of laughter verging on the ribald. She could guess the nature of the joke, and felt sudden hot colour stain her face.

It was almost a relief to be out of the house and running to the car, pelted by dried rose petals.

Almost, but not quite, because she was now closed in with him in the back of his car on their way to London, and what would pass for married life. She settled herself carefully in the opposite corner, with the width of the seat between them.

So, she thought, now it begins. And found herself wondering, not for the first time, exactly what she’d taken on.

And, once again, she could find no immediate answer.

CHAPTER EIGHT

DARCY LEANED back, trying to relax, but her skirt had ridden up over her knees, and she adjusted it instinctively, her lips tightening as she realised that Joel was watching with amused interest.

‘They say,’ he remarked, ‘that women do that not to hide their legs, but to have them noticed.’

She said coldly, ‘Then what total nonsense “they” talk.’

‘You sound a little fractious,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But that might be because you’re tired. I must see to it you have an early night.’

Darcy straightened her shoulders. ‘I’m perfectly all right,’ she told him crisply. ‘Not tired at all, so please don’t concern yourself.’

‘That could be a problem,’ he said. ‘Because a couple of hours ago, I promised to cherish you. I remember it perfectly.’

‘A form of words,’ Darcy said dismissively, ‘which don’t mean a thing.’ She had an inward image of the vicar’s reproachful face, and made a hasty amendment. ‘At least, not to us. We should concentrate on the other promises we made some weeks ago, when this ridiculous farce began.’

There was a silence, then Joel said quietly, ‘Darcy, do you intend to continue in this vein for the foreseeable future, or could we introduce a note of civility into our married life? Make some attempt to get along together?’

She didn’t look at him. ‘I see no problem with that.’