“The best solution is that you and I get married as soon as possible.” About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN Copyright

The best solution is that you and I get married as soon as possible.”

At the mention of marriage Josie’s mouth fell open. He looked so cool, as though he were discussing the weather—instead of asking an almost complete stranger to marry him.

“Marry you! You must be mad! ” Josie exclaimed. She could not believe what she was hearing. But Conan’s dark eyes trapped and held her own, and she knew he was deadly serious.

“Mad, no. Practical, yes,” he drawled hardily.

“No. Definitely not. Charles was—” Josie had been going to say he was the father of her unborn child, but Conan continued.

“You are to have a child. A Zarcourt. My father wants the child, and he usually gets what he wants. There is no way my father will allow his grandchild to be born out of wedlock....”

JACQUELINE BAIRD began writing as a hobby when her family objected to the smell of her oil painting, and immediately became hooked on the romantic genre. She loves traveling, and worked her way around the world from Europe to the Americas and Australia, returning to marry her teenage sweetheart. Jacqueline now lives in the North of England, with her husband, Jim, and they have two grown sons.

A Husband Of Convenience

Jacqueline Baird

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

‘I’M SORRY, Josie. But Charles is dead.’

‘But he can’t be. I’m pregnant!’ Josie exclaimed, tearing her gaze away from sinfully deep, assessing eyes to glance frantically around the room, unaware of the stunned silence her comment had caused. Her father was seated on the sofa, while Major Zarcourt was at his desk, but there was no sign of Charles Zarcourt. The look of shock on her father’s face registered and to her horror she realised she’d spoken out loud, before the sound of sardonic laughter broke the silence.

Her violet eyes swung back to the tall, dark man standing by the drinks cabinet. It was Conan Zarcourt who had delivered the thunderbolt. And, of course, it was Conan who’d laughed! She might have guessed; he must have a penchant for outrageous statements, she thought angrily.

Immaculate in a dark business suit and crisp blue shirt, Conan was leaning against the cabinet with a glass of amber liquid in his hand. As she watched he raised the glass to his mouth and drained it. Then he slammed the empty glass back down with unnecessary force, the expression on his ruggedly attractive face hard to define. He looked more than angry, Josie thought, he looked positively venomous, and for a second she saw a flash of what looked like anguish in his dark eyes. But she must have been mistaken, as he smiled a grim smile.

‘Let me get you a drink. You’re going to need one,’ he offered bluntly:

‘No. No alcohol for me. An orange juice.’ Even in her shocked state Josie still had the sense to realise she couldn’t drink in her condition.

‘As you wish.’ Conan’s mouth turned down in a wry grimace as he filled a glass with juice and then walked towards her.

He held the glass out to Josie. She looked down at his large hand and back up into his face. Was it only a couple of minutes ago that she’d walked into the study, and been stopped in her tracks by Conan’s outrageous response to her casual enquiry, “Has Charles arrived early?”

Her fingers brushed against Conan’s as she took the glass he offered, and her hand trembled slightly. What was it about Conan that even when he was at his most vile, cracking stupid jokes about his half-brother Charles, her body reacted alarmingly when he was around?

She stared up at the man towering over her. With thick black hair, broad forehead, a straight, rather large nose, and wide mouth and square jaw, Conan wasn’t conventionally handsome; his was a face too rough-hewn for that, but it was still strangely compelling. To her certain knowledge he had visited Beeches Manor only twice in the ten years Josie had lived in the area.

The first time she’d met him she had been looking after the jumble stall at the church summer fair. Charles was supposed to be helping her, but had gone to get her a cold drink when a man impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit had appeared.

‘The only thing here that would fit me...is you.’ His deep, sexy drawl had shivered along Josie’s nerves, giving her goosebumps, and her startled gaze had locked with his for a second, before his eyes had swept over her body in blatant male scrutiny. ‘Tell me, are you for sale?’ Josie had fought back a chuckle at his cheek, but before she could respond Charles had returned.

‘No chatting up the local girls,’ Charles had told the stranger, and much to Josie’s surprise he’d slipped an arm around her waist, adding, ‘And certainly not mine.’

‘I might have guessed,’ the man had murmured, and he’d walked away.

‘You know him?’ Josie had asked Charles.

‘You could say that. But never mind him; how about having dinner with me tonight?’

Josie had had a crush on Charles Zarcourt for years, and the disturbing stranger had been forgotten as she’d jumped at the chance of a date with Charles.

Forgotten until the second time she’d seen Conan, when she had almost died of embarrassment.

She dismissed the disturbing memory with a shake of her small head. She could not think about that now. She needed to discover why Conan was here. But then why not? Technically it was his home, she supposed. Conan was right about her needing a drink. Today had been the worst day of her life so far, and she had a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that it wasn’t going to improve.

She’d taken the afternoon off work and driven from Cheltenham to Oxford to visit the clinic attached to the hospital there, and had her worst fear confirmed. She was pregnant. She had returned home to Low Beeches farmhouse to find an urgent message asking her to go to the Manor House. She had naturally presumed her unofficial fiancé, Charles, had returned from active service in the Army a day early. But looking at the grim faces around her she’d begun to wonder.

Josie took a great gulp of the juice and almost choked as it went down the wrong way, so her father’s words barely registered.

‘You have to be brave, Josie.’

‘Brave,’ she murmured. She glanced around again but there was no sign of Charles. Josie blinked and rubbed one damp palm against her thigh. She hadn’t eaten all day and was feeling light-headed. Her puzzled gaze sought Conan’s. He looked angry and deadly serious, but he couldn’t be...

‘If this is another one of your outrageous comments masquerading as a joke, Conan, I don’t find it funny!’ she said curtly.

‘No joke. It’s true. There’s been an accident. Charles is dead,’ he affirmed, his glittering dark eyes holding her own.

She stared at him in disbelief, all the colour draining from her face. ‘An accident?’ Josie repeated parrot fashion. There certainly had been an accident, and she was carrying it. Nervously she licked her dry lips. Charles dead! It was unthinkable and, raising the glass to her mouth, she downed the rest of her juice.

She hardly noticed Major Zarcourt’s, ‘Thank God for small mercies,’ before darkness enveloped her, and for the first time in her life she fainted.

Her eyes fluttered open minutes later; she wasn’t sure where she was, or what had happened, only aware of the strong arm around her shoulders and the comforting feel of the broad chest her head rested upon.

Then her memory flooded back. Someone had said Charles was dead. But he couldn’t be; she was pregnant with his child. She stiffened guiltily. Horrified at her purely selfish thought and raising her head, she jerked out of Conan’s protective hold to sit tensely on the edge of the sofa, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. She glanced at her father sitting beside her, his elbows resting on his knees, head in hands. She turned back to Conan. She did not need to ask the question. The answer was there in the compassion that was evident in his dark eyes.

‘Is it true?’ she demanded unevenly.

Conan covered her hands with his own large hand and squeezed lightly as he replied. ‘I’m sorry, Josie, so sorry, but yes.’

She wanted to cry—she should cry—but the tears would not come, not yet...

How did it happen?’ she managed to ask almost normally, and, shrugging his hand away, she sat up straighter, amazed at her own control.

‘Don’t think about it now, Josie. Are you all right? That’s the important thing,’ he prompted.

‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine, but please, I want to know,’ she demanded, her glance sliding from one man to the other in her agitation. Major Zarcourt was sitting in the hard-backed chair behind his desk, while Conan, her father, and herself were seated in a row on the sofa—like the Three Stooges, she thought wildly, before her eyes were drawn back to Conan’s face, waiting for his answer.

‘I think I should let my father explain. I’m sure he can tell you the correct story much better than I,’ Conan drawled cynically, lounging back against the arm-rest, his long body angled towards her, dark eyes ranging slowly over her small face and down over her slender body perched on the edge of the seat.

Josie felt the colour rise in her cheeks, and for a second she remembered the last time she’d seen Conan. But now was not the time to give way to embarrassment, and deliberately she turned her attention to the Major. Then she listened in mounting horror as he confirmed Charles’s death.

Two days ago, while travelling in a Jeep, Charles had driven over an unmarked landmine. He’d died instantly. The family had been informed at lunchtime, but as Josie had not been at work all afternoon they hadn’t been able to contact her.

A lump lodged in her throat, threatening to choke her. Her lovely eyes glistened with unshed tears as the Major’s voice droned on.

‘It was the way he would have wanted to go. On active service with his regiment. He was a hero.’

She heard the words, but all Josie could think of was poor Charles. All her doubts about him were put aside as the desperate horror of his death hit her. Charles—blond, blue-eyed, handsome Charles—was dead. It was unbelievable. So swamped was she by the enormity of what had happened and all its ramifications, she saw nothing odd in the Major’s next words and answered him without thinking.

‘Tell me, Josie, is it true? Are you carrying Charles’s child? Is it confirmed?’

‘Yes, I was at the clinic this afternoon; that’s why you couldn’t find me,’ she explained, her tears overflowing and slowly running down her soft cheeks.

‘My God! Father, can’t you see the girl is in shock?’ Conan prompted scathingly. ‘Are you really so desperate that you have to question the poor girl at a time like this?’

Poor girl indeed! Conan’s comment was just what she needed to stop herself wallowing in self-pity. She might have just lost her boyfriend, and be pregnant, but no one was going to call her a ‘poor girl’, and certainly not an arrogant devil like Conan.

‘I’m taking her home.’ Conan’s voice penetrated her chaotic thoughts. Raising her head, she saw the derisory glance he flicked at her father before he added, ‘She is your daughter, Mr Jamieson. Instead of sitting there as if the weight of the world rested on your shoulders, you could try looking after her. She sure as hell needs someone to.’

‘No. No.’ Josie finally found her voice and, jumping to her feet, she brushed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

She was a small girl, just five feet tall, but perfectly proportioned. Her blue-black hair hung in a profusion of curls down past her shoulders. Her violet eyes were large and outlined with thick sooty lashes, her nose was small and straight, her mouth full-lipped and gently curving. Dressed in a simple blue cashmere sweater, a colour-coordinated short straight skirt that ended some four inches above her knees, and her feet encased in classic navy blue high-heeled pumps, she had no idea how lovely she looked, or how courageous, to the three men whose startled eyes were fixed upon her.

‘You’re in shock, Josie.’ Conan unfolded his impressive length from the sofa, and in one lithe stride was beside her. ‘Let me take you home; your father is in no state to drive.’

Her father might not be, but no way was she letting Conan take her home. She remembered the last time he had driven her to the farmhouse all too clearly. He had made it very obvious he didn’t approve of her relationship with Charles, and she didn’t need his false sympathy.

‘No thank you. I am perfectly capable of driving.’ Turning to look at her father, she added, ‘Come on, Daddy. I’ll drive us home.’

A large hand curved around her upper arm. ‘Don’t be stupid, Josie; you’re in shock. Let me...’

‘Let go of me!’ she cried, and violently she pulled her arm free from Conan’s grasp, staggering slightly as she did so. ‘I don’t need your help.’ Again turning to where her father still sat, she added, ‘Please, Dad. I want to leave.’ The trauma of the last few weeks, the doctor’s confirmation of her pregnancy this afternoon, and the ultimate irony—the death of Charles—were threatening to make her break down completely. She had to get away from Beeches Manor, and more importantly she had to get away from Conan.

Luckily her father, finally sensing her real need to leave, agreed.

How she drove the old Ford car home she would never know. Tears blurred her eyes, but whether they were for herself or Charles she wasn’t completely sure.

Later that night, Josie lay in her small bed, unable to sleep. The events of the past few weeks flickered through the windmills of her mind in a series of brief pictures, ending with the tragic death of Charles Zarcourt. Their engagement was supposed to have been made official this weekend. But Josie knew, if she was honest with herself, that she’d had every intention of cancelling the arrangement. Within days of Charles’s departure, she had realised she didn’t love him. Like thousands of girls before her, she’d been blinded by a romantic ideal and had made a stupid mistake. It was only when she’d begun to suspect she might be pregnant that the full enormity of her mistake had been brought home to her. Even so she’d decided there was no way she was marrying Charles. Her plan had been to explain to Charles in person when he arrived tomorrow—Friday—and hope he would understand. But not any more. He was dead... But from deep in her subconscious a devilish little feeling of relief surfaced. She’d been spared the arguments that refusing to marry Charles would have fuelled. And there would have been arguments, simply because her father and the Major had been friends for years.

Charles and his father lived at the Beeches Manor House not far from the village of Beeches, in the heart of the Cotswolds. After the death of Josie’s mother, her father had moved from London and rented Low Beeches farmhouse from the Major. The old men played chess every Tuesday, and Josie had known Charles for ten years and had harboured a schoolgirl crush on him for almost as long. He was not at home very much, but he’d been back for a month in the summer before being posted overseas. He’d asked Josie out three times in all, and she supposed one could say they’d been courting, but only just. Until the fatal night of his going-away party at the Manor House...

Josie stirred restlessly on the bed and groaned out loud as the memory came back to haunt her. It had been the most humiliating experience of her life.

She’d been sad at the thought of Charles leaving, but hardly broken-hearted. But all that had changed when he’d danced with her, plied her with drinks, and sworn he loved her, wanted to many her, later leading her to his bedroom and finally into his bed.

Afterwards he’d patted her bottom, leapt off the bed, saying, I need a drink,’ and had left the room, muttering, ‘Stay here; I’ll be back in a minute.’

It had been the first time for Josie, and if she hadn’t drunk so much it would never have happened. Making love was nothing like she had expected; in fact she had been horribly disappointed. But worse had been to follow.

Suddenly the bedroom door had opened, the light from the hall illuminating a path across the room. She’d hastily sat up and wrapped the sheet firmly around her, wishing she had dressed and left. She’d glanced towards the door and gasped, her mouth falling open in astonishment.

‘Very nice—a joke of Charles’s no doubt, but I’m not in the mood tonight. Go peddle your wares downstairs, sweetie,’ a cynically mocking voice drawled lazily.

It wasn’t Charles but a total stranger, although the voice had sounded vaguely familiar. But Josie was not about to hang around to find out who it was. She swung her feet to the floor, desperate to hide anywhere away from the dark man standing in the doorway. Then the bedroom light clicked on.

‘You!’ he’d exclaimed. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he demanded furiously. His dark eyes took in the rumpled bedclothes and Josie’s obvious naked state beneath the sheet she had wrapped clumsily around her.

She looked at him and groaned. It was the man from the church fête. That was all she needed—a sophisticated stranger witnessing her downfall. She did not stop to answer him but, frantically scrambling around on the floor for her clothes, picked them up and made to dash for the bathroom.

Her wrist was caught and held, and he pulled her to a stop. ‘Not so fast. I think you owe me an explanation. After all, it isn’t every night a man walks into his room and finds a young girl obviously, well...’ His dark eyes narrowed, his firm mouth twisting in a knowing sneer. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out for you.’ His contemptuous gaze skimmed her from head to foot, lingering on the soft curves of her breasts and then back to her bright red face.

‘Your room?’ she cried ‘Don’t be ridiculous; this is Charles Zarcourt’s bedroom! Who on earth do you think you are?’ she demanded, her fear giving way to anger. She felt as if she was in a nightmare, and any minute she would wake up. And this very large, very hunky guy was doing nothing for her peace of mind.

‘Charles didn’t tell you. That doesn’t surprise me.’ And, bowing his head slightly, he added, ‘Allow me to introduce myself. Conan Zarcourt, half-brother to Charles, at your service.’ By the cynical gleam in his eye she knew he was relishing her discomfort. ‘And you are?’ One dark brow arched enquiringly, and he waited...

‘Josie—Josie Jamieson.’ Why was she even talking to him? she asked herself a second later. Talk about being caught flagrante delicto, she thought with a grim smile. She had never been so humiliated or felt so small in her life. But she was not about to show it.

‘Well, Josie Jamieson, I am waiting for your explanation—or perhaps I should ask Charles...?’

‘Charles and I are engaged to be married actually; not that it is any concern of yours,’ she said, forcing herself to meet his eyes. ‘It is perfectly normal for engaged couples...’ She trailed off, stunned by the thunderous expression on his darkly handsome face.

‘But why here? Why now? Why in my bed? I want some answers and you are going to give me them,’ he demanded arrogantly.

Was it really his room? She was confused; Charles had said it was his—but she was not going to tell this man that So instead she said, ‘So what if we did use your room! You weren’t using it.’

‘But I am now, little lady, and I know my half-brother never misses a trick where I am concerned,’ he said dryly. ‘But what about this engagement? You can’t seriously be intending to marry Charles. How old are you? Eighteen, nineteen?’

‘Twenty,’ Josie said indignantly. Her height and youthful looks were the bane of her life.

‘My God! Have you any idea how old he is? Almost forty. He could be your father,’ he said scathingly.

‘Charles loves me and we are going to be married. Age doesn’t matter when you’re in love.’ Josie mouthed the clichéd words, not really believing them herself. But, dragging her wrist free from Conan’s grip, she made a dash for the bathroom. Something caught the sheet that was covering her, and she froze for a second stark naked, her eyes fixed on the elegantly dressed man in the three-piece suit. The contrast couldn’t have been more startling. Gulping hard, she ran...

‘Very nice.’ Conan’s deep voice followed her as she continued her headlong flight across the room, and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

Calling herself every kind of fool, she pulled her clothes back on, tidied herself up, all the time wondering why Charles had not introduced her to his half-brother at the church fête. It had never entered her head that they might be related—one so fair and the other so dark. She had thought the dark man looked good but had dismissed him from her mind as a stranger passing through the village.

‘Conan Zarcourt.’ She said the name softly. It suited him. She hoped it also suited him to have done a vanishing act. She could not hide in the bathroom much longer.

Eventually she walked back into the bedroom, praying Conan would have left. But no such luck.

He had changed from the suit he had arrived in, into a white tee shirt that revealed his strong, tanned arms, dusted with soft black hair, and well-worn blue jeans that hung low on his hips. The zip was fastened but the top snap was undone and gaping.

Josie swallowed hard, and bit down the disloyal thought that he looked a whole lot better than Charles.

‘Are you okay?’ he demanded, roughly pushing the shirt into his jeans and snapping the fastener. ‘I’ve seen the bed. Your first time...if that bas—’

‘Well, well, this is cosy,’ a voice smoothly interrupted. ‘I see you have met my half-brother Conan, Josie, sorry I took so long.’ He held a bottle in his hand.

Josie turned at the sound of Charles’s voice and quickly crossed the room to join him at the door. Charles slipped an arm around her waist and pressed a wet kiss on her lips that made her want to wipe her mouth.

‘Well, Charles, I gather congratulations are in order. Josie has just told me of your engagement. When is the wedding to be?’ Conan asked silkily.

‘What did you tell him that for?’ Charles demanded angrily of Josie.

‘Don’t blame the child,’ Conan drawled. ‘I forced it out of her. You know me, Charles, I always find out in the end, and I’m sure you really wanted me to know.’ Fixing Charles with a glacial glance, he added, ‘There’s no need for embarrassment We’re all family, as you are so keen to remind me every quarter, and Father will be delighted. His eldest son finally getting married.’

Josie was struck dumb as Charles agreed... She didn’t understand why he hadn’t simply denied they were engaged. She hadn’t actually believed Charles’s offer of marriage was genuine; she had simply been carried away by the romance of it all—he a soldier off to war, and, more realistically, the drink.

But before anyone could object Conan was leading them downstairs and into the study where he seemed to take a devilish delight in prompting Charles into telling his father that he and Josie were unofficially engaged.

The Major was delighted. Charles appeared equally pleased, and Josie was simply confused. So much so that when Conan insisted on driving her home because Charles was over the limit she made no objection. Her last glimpse of Charles was his blond head bent over a tall, red-headed woman, their arms wrapped around each other. Josie had been introduced to her earlier. She was the wife of Charles’s commanding officer.

Josie sat stiffly in the passenger seat of the car, suddenly stone-cold sober. How on earth had she got herself in such a mess? She shot a fulminating glance at the arrogant male at her side. It was all his fault; if he hadn’t caught her in his bed and goaded her into saying she was engaged to Charles, she could have put the events of tonight down to experience and tried to forget. But she’d no doubt the Major would tell her father, and she was going to have great trouble explaining her behaviour.

‘Your home, I believe,’ Conan said coolly as he halted the car outside the door of Low Beeches farmhouse.

Josie hastily unfastened her seat belt and reached for the door handle. ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled.

‘Wait!’ The command was curt, and, leaning forward, Conan caught her hand in his much larger one and turned her back to face him.

‘What for? I think you’ve done enough for one night.’ She was exhausted, sore and fed up, and when his hand moved to her bare arm she flinched, her skin burning where he’d touched.

‘Not so fast. After all, we are soon to be related; surely I merit a brotherly kiss?’

Before she knew what he intended Conan had slipped an arm around her waist and hauled her across his lap. His other hand tangled in her silky black curls, holding her face up to his. She was trapped, her high round breasts crushed against the massive bulk of his chest, and her violet eyes widened in astonishment as his dark head bent and his lips covered hers.

He tasted slightly of mint, his mouth firm but undemanding. Then suddenly he was kissing her with a deeply sensual passion that lit an answering response in her young body. Josie was too astounded by his audacity to do anything other than submit to the expert demand of his mouth. Her body grew soft and pliant against him, his arm tightened around her for an instant, then suddenly she was back in her seat, but too dazed to do anything but stare up at him.

‘That was just a sample to compare with, Josie,’ And, slipping out of the car, he walked around to the passenger side and helped her out. ‘Don’t be in too much of a hurry to marry. You don’t have to marry the first man you have sex with.’

‘How...?’

‘Never mind, but remember there are plenty more fish in the sea. Take it from me, you have no chance of a happy-ever-after with Charles.’ And he left her standing on the doorstep.

Josie watched him drive off, wishing she had slapped his face or something.

Remembering that night now, Josie sighed heavily. Conan was wrong, she thought wearily as the grey light of dawn glinted through her bedroom window; there were not plenty more fish in the sea, not for her. She was pregnant and destined to be an unmarried mother, and for the first time since discovering the fact she realised she did not mind. The thought of a child of her own to love was somehow comforting, and finally she drifted off to sleep.

Josie yawned and opened her eyes. ‘Daddy,’ she murmured, the word little more than a croak. Her throat felt dry and rough. He was sitting in the chair by her bed.

‘You’re awake, Josephine. How do you feel?’ he asked quietly, his tired eyes fixed sadly on her small pale face.

‘I‘m fine,’ she smiled. Her father was the only person to call her Josephine. Then, like a shutter falling, the smile was wiped from her face, as the memory of yesterday returned to haunt her. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, the mundane question masking her very real distress.

‘About ten-thirty.’

‘Oh, my word! I’m late for work!’ she exclaimed.

‘No. I have already called your office, and told them you were suffering from a severe migraine.’

‘But I never get migraine.’

‘Oh, Josephine! What does it matter?’ Her father sighed and rose from the chair to sit on the side of the bed. He took her hand in his. ‘I am so sorry. I know how hard it must be for you, losing Charles so tragically. I remember how I felt when your mother died. This is all my fault. I feel so guilty. I’ve let you down—and your mother, God rest her soul! If I’d been a better father, given you the guidance and support you needed, this would never have happened.’

Her father’s halting speech made Josie feel worse. She studied his shadowed face in the morning light. Poor Daddy—she had failed him so badly. He’d been so pleased when he’d thought she was going to marry Charles, and she’d not had the nerve to tell him of her own doubt, and now she didn’t need to. But she could see the strain etched into the multitude of lines on his much loved face, and she couldn’t bear the thought of him blaming himself. The tears welled in her eyes. ‘Oh, Daddy,’ she whispered, and one tear rolled down her cheek.

‘Hush, Josephine; don’t cry.’ he soothed, wiping her cheek with a large white handkerchief. ‘We’ll work something out.‘

‘I hope so,’ she murmured. The tears were more for her father than herself; she knew deep down she would manage. But her father was an old-fashioned gentleman, who still considered an unmarried mother a disgrace.

‘Trust me, Josephine. Everything will be fine. Take your time, wash your face, get dressed, and then come downstairs. Conan Zarcourt is here and would like to talk to you—about the funeral arrangements I suppose.’ With a brief, reassuring squeeze of her hand, he left.

Conan! What did he want? He was a decisive, dynamic man, and she could not imagine why he would want to discuss the funeral with her. Just the thought of the man made her hackles rise. But it also gave her the incentive to get out of bed. She washed and quickly dressed in a pair of grey cords and a black skinny-ribbed jumper. It somehow seemed appropriate; Charles had been her unofficial fiancé. even if she had decided not to marry him, her conscience reminded her. She brushed her hair, and with her face free of make-up she slipped her feet into a pair of mules, and went downstairs. Better to face Conan sooner rather than later...

CHAPTER TWO

SHE stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The hall was square and small, with a door leading off either side, one to the dining room, the other to the sitting room, and to the back of the hall was the kitchen. It was a typical double-fronted stone-built farmhouse from the last century, with low oak-beamed ceilings and walls a foot thick. She guessed Conan would be in the sitting room, and, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she opened the door and walked in.

‘Josie! How are you today?’ Conan’s dark eyes swept over her, lingering a fraction too long to be innocent on the proud thrust of her breasts revealed by the clinging knit sweater.

His conventional polite greeting didn’t fool Josie for a moment; she doubted very much he was here simply to offer condolences. He had never approved of her relationship with Charles, and the Conans of this world did not waste their valuable time on young girls they didn’t like, unless the Major had sent him. But then she couldn’t see this man doing anyone’s bidding.

He was standing in the middle of the room, his broad-shouldered frame clad in a soft black wool roll-neck sweater and hip-hugging black jeans. The colour, while suitable for a man in mourning for his half-brother, only served to reinforce his innate powerful sexuality. A shiver of not fear but something more basic made the fine hair on her skin stand erect.

‘Very well, thank you,’ she replied stiltedly, fighting against her peculiar reaction to this man. Then, seeing the cynical twist of his hard mouth, she realised how callous she must sound.

‘Well, obliviously not well,’ she corrected, ‘I mean, Charles is dead, and I...well...’ She was babbling, but did not seem able to stop. ‘The funeral. You want to discuss...’

‘Hush. I understand.’ He stepped towards her. Josie tried to step back, his height intimidating her, but she was brought up hard against the closed door.

Conan noted her reaction. His hard mouth twisted faintly and then he turned and strolled across to the nearest armchair and lowered himself down onto the seat. He glanced back at her and gestured with one large hand to the sofa opposite. ‘Please, Josie, come and sit down; you have nothing to fear from me. I simply want to talk.’

Warily she looked at him; her violet eyes met his bland gaze and she was somewhat reassured.

‘The funeral apart, I have something else to discuss with you on behalf of the Major and myself, and it will be in your own best interests to listen.’

She straightened her shoulders and walked across to sit down on the sofa. ‘I can’t imagine us having anything to discuss, but I’m listening,’ she said flatly.

‘I know this will be hard for you so soon after hearing of the death of Charles, but I have spoken to my father, and we agreed. Under the circumstances the best solution is that you and I get married as soon as possible.’

At the mention of marriage her mouth fell open. Her eyes widened in shock and looked on the man lounging in her father’s armchair, his long legs stretched out before him in nonchalant ease. How did he do it? He looked so cool, so sophisticated, as though he were discussing the weather—instead of asking an almost complete stranger to marry him.

‘Marry you! You must be mad!’ she exclaimed. She could not believe what she was hearing. Was he joking or what? Surely he could not be that cruel. But his dark eyes trapped and held her own, and she knew he was deadly serious.

‘Mad, no; practical, yes.’ he drawled hardily.

She lowered her head, avoiding the determination in his eyes. Her gaze skated over his long body. He was all male and somehow threatening. What did he mean? Why on earth would he want to marry her?

‘Why?’ She was surprised to hear herself ask that. She should have said no and immediately corrected her mistake. ‘No. Definitely not. Charles was the—’ She got no further as Conan cut in.

‘I know Charles was the man you loved.’ Actually she’d been going to say he was the father of her unborn child, but she did not correct his assumption as he continued. ‘But we have to think of the living, not the dead. You are to have a child. A Zarcourt. Surely you must realise that when you blurted out that you were pregnant in front of my father you lost any chance you had of doing anything about your pregnancy?’ he prompted cynically.

‘Doing anything about it?’ she queried.

Conan shook his dark head. ‘I mean an abortion; after all, you can’t be more than a few weeks pregnant.’

‘Six to be exact,’ she fumed. ‘And if the Major wants me to have an abortion he can go jump.’ The thought had crossed her mind when she’d first discovered her condition, but it hadn’t taken a split second for her to dismiss the notion entirely. She could never do such a thing.

‘Much as I would like to see my father take a hike—’ his lips twitched with amusement ‘—you misunderstood me. Quite the reverse is true. My father wants the child, and he usually gets what he wants, as you’re about to find out. His grief at his eldest son’s death is only made bearable by the fact you’re carrying his child. There is no way he will allow his grandchild to be born a bastard,’ he opined, adding cynically, ‘Especially not darling Charles’s offspring.’

Josie was stunned by his words, but, knowing the Major, she could see the truth in his comment. But what she couldn’t understand was why he would agree with his father. It was obvious, even from her brief acquaintance with Conan, that there was no love lost between him and his father. This summer had been the first time Josie had ever seen him. He obviously had very little to do with his family.

‘But surely you don’t agree with him?’ she asked. ‘I mean, it can’t matter to you. You don’t even live here.’

‘No, I don’t, but I should,’ he responded bluntly with a degree of bitterness Josie could not fail to recognise. So it was all the more surprising when he asked coolly, ‘Do you like living in this house, Josie?’

‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ What was he talking about now? she wondered, looking around the familiar room, her eyes eventually returning to Conan. He sat forward in his chair, his dark head bent, apparently staring at his hands clasped loosely between his splayed thighs. The only sounds were the steady tick of the grandfather clock and the logs crackling and burning in the open fire.

‘This farmhouse was the family home of the Major. He lived here with his first wife—Charles was born here.’ He raised his head. ‘I don’t suppose he told you that?’ he queried with a grim smile.

‘No, no, he didn’t,’ Josie said, not sure where the conversation was going.

‘I’m not surprised. Contrary to the impression, my father, the Major, likes to give,’ he drawled sardonically, ‘the Major was not always owner of Beeches Manor. He only acquired that position by marrying my mother. Perhaps if I explain the family history it will answer your question as to why I want to marry you.’

Josie wished he would. She couldn’t understand what he was getting at, or his obvious cynicism. But there was no mistaking the hardness in his eyes, and an implacable determination that Josie found vaguely disturbing.

‘My full name is Conan Devine Zarcourt. Conan from the Celtic meaning wisdom, and Devine being my mother’s maiden name. For centuries, Devines have owned the Beeches Manor estate, but my grandfather and mother were the last of the line. When she married Major Zarcourt, the Major and Charles moved into the Manor with my mother and grandfather and rented this house out as a holiday home. I was born a year after their wedding, and I don’t think it was long after that my mother realised she had made a mistake.

‘As a young child I was not aware there was anything wrong in my parents’ relationship. But then my grandfather was still alive, and any coldness on my father’s part was more than made up for by my grandfather. Plus my mother packed me off to boarding-school when I was seven.’

‘How awful for you,’ Josie offered; the thought of a young boy away from home at such a tender age seemed so cruel.

One dark brow arched sardonically. ‘Sorry to disillusion you, but you are wrong.’ His hard-eyed gaze caught hers, denying her sympathy. ‘My parents and I were never that close. It was my grandfather I missed. For years I had grown up with the sure knowledge that the Manor would be mine. Grandfather Devine never stopped telling me so. He died when I was eleven, but unfortunately he had signed the Manor over to my mother a few years before he died to avoid death duties, on the strict understanding it was to be held in trust for me, as the only Devine. But my mother had other ideas. As soon as Grandfather died she took off with her lover. Apparently, in her desperation to get a speedy divorce from the Major she agreed to break the trust and sign the Manor over to him. She lives in New Zealand now, I believe.’

‘But how could she do that?’ Josie asked, horrified.

‘Quite easily, apparently. When I came of age at eighteen the Major took great delight in telling me the whole story. He had married my mother for the Manor. I was a mistake, a complication he didn’t need, and he even questioned my paternity. He’d joined his own farmland to the Manor and managed the whole estate for years, and he intended to go on doing so until Charles showed an interest in it. Then he was going to pass the whole lot on to his eldest and favourite son, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it—’

‘I can’t believe your mother or the Major would behave like that,’ Josie cut in. She didn’t particularly care for the old man, but she couldn’t believe he would treat his own child so shabbily.

‘Ah, Josie, how you do like to think the best of people. It is one of your many charms,’ he said with a wry smile, before adding, ‘But, believe me, everything I have told you is the truth. And now, with your help, I have the chance to get my heritage back, and I intend to take it...’

She glanced across at him, her violet eyes caught and held by the burning intensity in the depths of his. Inwardly she shivered. There was something totally implacable about him. As for her helping him, Josie still failed to see what it had to do with her, or why Conan wanted to marry her.

‘But with Charles dead you will inherit everything anyway,’ she said cautiously, letting her gaze drop to a spot past his shoulder. Perhaps she was still too shocked to think clearly, because she felt she’d missed the point somewhere. But she wasn’t about to get embroiled any further. She had enough problems of her own. ‘I’m sure it’s all very interesting, but it has absolutely nothing to do with me,’ Josie continued firmly, straightening her shoulders. She’d no intention of marrying him or anyone else, and it was time she asserted herself.

In one lithe movement Conan left his seat and joined her on the sofa. His closeness unnerved her. Her body tensed as his large hand caught her chin, turning her face to his.

His dark eyes narrowed intently on her face. ‘But it has everything to do with you. I know this is a terrible time for you, Josie, and I would do anything to avoid causing you any more pain, believe me.’ His face darkened into an expression that made Josie wish she hadn’t tried to dismiss him so bluntly. ‘But I want what’s rightfully mine, and you are the means by which I will get it,’ he informed her ruthlessly.

A chill shivered its way down the length of her spine as he dropped his hand from her chin. ‘And we must get this settled quickly. Unfortunately time is the one commodity we do not have in your condition.’

Josie grimaced at the reminder.

‘Let me spell it out for you. The Major and I had a long talk last night, and we’ve made a deal. I marry you, give your child the Zarcourt name, and in return I get my rightful inheritance back immediately. Otherwise he will leave everything to you on his death, provided you produce a son; if not, he’ll leave it to the church, the dogs’ home—anyone other than me.’

Josie was lost for words. She could only gaze at Conan in dumb amazement. He couldn’t be serious!

‘Well, do you agree? Will you marry me?’ he asked, his arm sliding along the back of the sofa and clasping her shoulder. ‘Or perhaps, like most women, your mercenary little soul wants to take the chance on giving birth to a son and keeping it for yourself,’ he added cynically.

‘I would never do that!’ Josie cried, finally finding her voice, insulted that Conan should even think such a thing. ‘I don’t have a mercenary bone in my body,’ she informed him, jerking around to the side and shrugging his hand off her shoulder in the process.

‘In that case, Josie, what’s the difference? One Zarcourt is as good as another to be a father to your child, and at least it will keep the poor kid in the family.’

Her breath caught in her throat at the sheer arrogance of his brutally realistic comment. ‘That’s totally stupid. You can’t just walk in here and say you want to marry me, simply to get your hands on the Manor House. Anyway, what the Major is suggesting isn’t fair. You are his son, you are entitled to the estate. You shouldn’t be forced to marry me to get it.’

‘Not much is fair in this world, Josie, as I think you’re beginning to find out,’ he offered dryly, before adding, ‘But there’s no force involved on my part. I want to marry you. You’re a very lovely girl, and I can think of a hundred more selfish reasons for wanting you as my wife.’

She closed her eyes for a second, his words forcibly reminding her of the hopelessness of her own situation. When she opened them he was watching her, the expression in his dark eyes, so oddly flecked with gold, seeming sincere, and yet there was something more she could not name in their mysterious depths. She was tempted to agree to marry him. It would solve all her problems. But the memory of the one night she’d spent with Charles rose up in her mind, and she did not fancy repeating the experience. She couldn’t...

‘So what is it to be, Josie? You help me and I swear I will take great care of you.’

‘I couldn’t. I hardly know you. I—well...’ She slid to a halt, unable to find the words. He said he thought she was lovely and he had other reasons for wanting to marry her. Did he expect her to go to bed with him ? She didn’t know and she wasn’t about to ask. As far as she was concerned it wasn’t an option. But as if he could read her mind Conan went on.

‘If it’s sharing a bed with me that’s bothering you, forget it. Not that I wouldn’t mind if you did.’ He gave her a very masculine grin. ‘But I promise I wouldn’t dream of making you do anything you didn’t want to. You have my word on it.’

Josie wasn’t sure she believed him. It struck her quite forcibly that Conan wasn’t the sort of man to be celibate for very long. In her friend Zoe’s parlance the man was hot and even Josie, who was off sex for life, could sense the virile sexuality of the man. So it followed he must have a girlfriend somewhere. No sooner had the thought entered her head than she was voicing it.

‘But surely a man of your age must have a woman in his life, someone who might object to you up and marrying an almost total stranger?’ Josie was young but she wasn’t stupid. She’d seen the way Conan looked at her, and she doubted very much he went through life like a monk.

‘No, there is no one of any importance, but if you’re asking for my sexual history I’ve had two what you might call long-term relationships, neither of which included sharing my home with the lady in question.’ His dark eyes fixed on her flushed face. ‘You, on the other hand, will share my home when we marry, and you can count on my fidelity as much as I can count on yours. Satisfied?’

‘As long as it is only your home and not your bed,’ she said bluntly, not entirely sure she liked his answer.

‘Good. I knew you would see sense. Now, if you have no further questions I will get everything arranged.’

‘Wait a minute. I never said I would marry you.’ She eased a little further back along the sofa, putting more space between them. ‘I need time to think.’

He noted her furtive shuffle with the sardonic arch of one black brow. ‘Take as long as you like.’ And, glancing at the fine gold watch on his wrist he added, ‘As long as it’s no more than sixty seconds.’

Arrogant devil, she thought, but she also thought of her father, and the worry she was causing him, and her unborn child. How easy it would be to pass all her troubles on to someone else’s shoulders, and Conan’s were broad enough, she thought, glancing at his physique—so strong, so protective. But...and it was a big but...she didn’t love Conan, . and he didn’t love her. But then she had thought she’d loved Charles, and look where that had got her. In this mess. She wasn’t a coward, and she wasn’t afraid of hard work. She had looked after her ageing father for the past few years as well as holding down a job.

The trouble, Josie realised, was that it was a catch-22 situation. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. If she refused to marry Conan and her child was a boy, the estate would come to her, and she would look like the worst kind of gold-digger. If she did marry Conan just for the sake of the baby, was that any better?

She wanted the very best for her child, and if that meant living with Conan for a year or so, would that be so bad? She thought of her father earlier, blaming himself for her predicament, feeling guilty because he was convinced he had neglected her in some way and betrayed his late wife’s trust. It would put her father’s mind at ease if she married Conan, she knew. The Major and Conan would be satisfied, and realistically her one brush with sex had put her off for life. She could not see herself falling in love and marrying in the normal course of events, not any more...

‘If, if I agreed...’ His dark eyes flared triumphantly, and one of his large hands caught her left hand in his. Josie shivered. ‘I said if,’ she reiterated. ‘I need to know a lot more about the nuts and bolts of the arrangement. For example, I have a job.’

Conan squeezed her hand. ‘Josie, I know you’re a legal secretary at Brownlow’s law firm in Cheltenham, and I would never deprive you of a career. You are simply creating difficulties where none exist Ours will be a straightforward marriage of convenience.’

‘A marriage of convenience,’ Josie murmured. She liked the sound of that. ‘A straightforward business arrangement, you mean?’ she asked glancing up at him.

‘Of course,’ he confirmed lightly, his dark eyes holding hers.

‘In that case, yes, all right.’ She could live with that for the benefit of her child.

‘Good. I’m glad we are agreed. Now, for the sake of the Major and your own father, it would obviously be better if you came and lived in my house in London until after the birth of your child.’

‘Wait a minute.’ Josie pulled her hand from his. ‘Move? I thought the whole idea was you wanted the Manor and you just agreed I could keep my job?’

Conan sat back on the sofa. ‘I do want the Manor, but have you looked at the place lately? My father has not spent a penny on it in years. It needs a complete overhaul, and until that is done London is the obvious place to be as my work is there. As for your job—what I said was, I would never deprive you of a career. In principle, I believe in a woman working, fulfilling her potential. But you’d have to leave your present job in a few months anyway when your condition becomes obvious, and you don’t need me to tell you what the gossip mill is like around here.’

He was right about the gossip; the locals would be counting the days from the wedding to the birth. Not that Josie cared. But her father would and Conan might. She had rarely heard his name mentioned—he was obviously the expert at avoiding gossip, and she had a vague idea he’d lived abroad for a long time. Suddenly Josie realised she knew very little about him. ‘What do you actually do?’ she blurted.

‘Come now, Josie, surely you know.’ he prompted.

‘No, I don’t,’ she snapped back, aware of the cynicism in his tone.

‘I work in a bank,’ he replied. ‘A merchant bank.’

‘Oh; my father did that until he retired.’ And somehow the thought that Conan and her father shared the same career made Josie feel more kindly disposed towards him.

‘I own the bank.’

Josie’s mouth dropped open in shock. ‘What?’ she exclaimed.

‘My grandfather left me some shares which my father could not get his hands on. At twenty-one I inherited a sizable block of shares in a merchant bank. I went to London, worked hard and got the opportunity to buy a controlling interest, and I took it. I expanded the business to the USA with branches in New York, Chicago and Los Angeles, which is why for the past few years I’ve lived mostly in America.’

Glancing at him, Josie could easily believe him. He looked dangerous, his hard features curiously remote, but his eyes were watchful and incredibly dark. ‘You must be rich. I never knew,’ she said, astonished by his revelation.

As he caught her stunned expression, Conan’s lips curved in a grim smile. ‘I don’t suppose there was any reason why you should. The Major seems to think working in the city is slightly disreputable,’ he drawled mockingly. ‘But someone in our beleaguered family had to make money.’

Something clicked in Josie’s mind. That fateful night of the party. Charles had gone quiet when Conan had mentioned the end-of-quarter accounts. Surely he did not keep Charles and his father supplied with money? ‘You helped support Charles—?’ She was cut off before she could finish the question.

‘For heaven’s sake, Josie, can we get down to basics?’ Conan interrupted harshly, and, jumping to his feet, he prowled around the small room before returning to stand in front of her.

His hard, chiselled features were still, almost brooding. His dark eyes locked with hers, and his expression was impossible to read. ‘How many people have you told about your engagement to Charles?’

‘No one,’ she answered, too surprised by his outburst and change of subject to prevaricate.

A dark brow climbed quizzically. ‘No one, not even you colleagues at work, your friends?’

‘No.’ Josie felt the colour rise in her cheeks, and tried to justify her reticence. ‘You were there that night you heard Charles tell your father; it was to be unofficial until...’ She swallowed remembering what had happened to Charles and what day it was. ‘Well, until he was supposed to return—today.’ She lowered her eyes from his knowing gaze.

‘You do surprise me! A woman who can keep a secret about her personal life. I thought you would have bragged to all and sundry you had caught the county’s most eligible bachelor.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you but I didn’t.’ Not for a million pounds was she going to admit it was because she had intended calling the whole thing off. Even discovering she was pregnant had not persuaded her to marry Charles.

‘So only your father, the Major and I know about your engagement to Charles. You’re absolutely sure?’ he demanded.

‘Yes,’ she repeated, glancing briefly back up at him and wondering why it was so important.

‘Great.’ A triumphant gleam shone in his golden eyes. ‘And it’s a safe bet Charles never mentioned it to anyone so that makes everything much easier.’ He slid one hand into his pocket.

Why was he so certain Charles had kept it a secret? Josie wondered, but she was distracted as her eyes involuntarily followed his hand and she gulped as the fabric of his jeans pulled taut across his thigh outlining exactly how masculine he was. Appalled at the direction her thoughts had taken, she scrambled to her feet, and stepped past him, her face burning. Then, turning and tilting her head to look up at him, she managed to ask, ‘Why easier?’

He withdrew a small box from his pocket. ‘Simple, Josie.’ Opening the box, he caught her hand and slipped an exquisite diamond and sapphire ring in an antique setting on the third finger of her left hand.

Josie looked at the ring, and up at Conan, and back at the ring. He had certainly come prepared, she thought, angry at his arrogant assumption that she would accept his proposal. ‘But...’

‘No buts, Josie. It’s perfect. You and I are engaged. If anyone asks, we met in August at the church fair. You took yesterday afternoon off to have lunch with me, and we got engaged. Then imagine our horror when we returned to the Manor to hear that Charles had died. It’s perfect. We will attend the funeral on Tuesday as a couple, and we have a perfect excuse for a small, quiet wedding—we are in mourning for Charles.’

She had thought he was ruthless but, listening to Conan, she realised he was diabolically devious. It all fitted, and yet she wanted to dent his superior male attitude. ‘What about the clinic I visited?’

‘So what? How long were you there—an hour, two? And did you tell the doctor the name of the father? Somehow I think not.’

He was right again. She had deliberately travelled to Oxford, where no one knew her, and had spent most of the afternoon sitting in a coffee bar deciding what to do.

‘No, I didn’t,’ Josie admitted, and closed her eyes, overcome by sadness for poor Charles. When she opened them again, Conan was slowly assessing every one of her features, from her flushed face to her small hand that wore his ring. He gently caught her hand and, raising it to his lips, kissed her fingertips.

‘Don’t worry, Josie; you won’t regret marrying me, and it’s the best for everyone. Believe me.’

Josie snatched her hand back; the touch of his lips on her skin disturbed her, more than she wanted to admit. ‘Oh, I do... You have everything worked out beautifully,’ she snapped sarcastically. ‘And hey! We can always get divorced once...’ She stopped; she could hardly say when the Major died or when Conan had Beeches Manor—it sounded too callous, even if it was true.

Conan slanted her a sardonic glance. ‘You’re quite right. But let’s get married first, hmm?’

‘Yes.’ For the sake of her unborn child, and her father’s peace of mind, she would do anything. Marrying Conan could not be that bad, she told herself. He said he spent a lot of time in America so she might hardly ever see him.

‘Good. I am glad we understand each other. I have to leave now but I’ll be back to take you to dinner on Monday night. As I said, the funeral is on Tuesday and we’ll go together.’

She never got a chance to answer as her father walked into the room. He looked at Josie, then at Conan.

‘When is the funeral? Have you got it all organised?’

‘Yes, Mr Jamieson—on Tuesday at two. But I need to speak to you on another matter.’ And, suddenly snaking an arm around Josie’s waist, he hauled her into his side. Josie tensed and tried to ease away from his iron grip, but his fingers dug sharply into her side, as a warning.

‘Your daughter has kindly agreed to be my wife, and I want your blessing,’ Conan said smoothly, bending his dark head towards Josie and brushing his lips along her brow, before clasping her hand and lifting it to show her father the ring on her finger.

‘Is this true, Josephine? You are engaged to Conan?’ Her father turned puzzled eyes on her flushed face. ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

Conan’s fingers dug deeper in her flesh. ‘Yes—yes, Daddy,’ she said, forcing a smile to her lips.

‘I love your daughter, Mr Jamieson, and I want to take care of her.’ Conan’s dark eyes lingered lovingly on her small face. ‘And she has made me the happiest man in the world today.’

Josie stared in dumb amazement at Conan. Talk about over the top! Her father would never believe that. She glanced at her father, and she was stunned to realise he half did...

‘Do you really think you will be happy, married to Conan?’ he queried, his pale eyes, hazed with concern, clinging to hers. ‘You don’t have to rush into marriage, you know.’

‘But I want to, Daddy’ she said firmly, and, making herself look up into Conan’s dark face, she added, ‘I have no doubt at all; I adore Conan.’

‘Well, if you’re sure Josephine,’ he said, his glance lingering on her. ‘And you do look better—you have some colour back in your face.’

The colour was the result of anger at being pressed from leg to shoulder against the hard heat of Conan’s body. But the relief in her father’s eyes prevented her from disillusioning him. ‘I’m sure, Daddy,’ she said through clenched teeth.

‘In that case, Conan, of course you have my blessing. It was good of you to ask me.’

Josie looked at her father’s smiling face and was amazed at his blindness. Conan had not asked, he had told him. Surely he’d heard the sarcasm in Conan’s tone? But apparently not.

‘I am so happy for you both,’ her father continued. ‘The death of Charles is a tragedy, but there is no point in adding tragedy upon tragedy. Josephine is a very lucky girl.’

Lucky was not how she would have put it, Josie thought as she pulled her hand free of Conan’s and he finally let her move from his side, only to find herself enfolded in her father’s arms as he hugged her tightly.

‘It’s a miracle, Josephine. I told you everything would be fine.’ Her father patted her on the head, walked over to his armchair and sat down. ‘Have you seen my paper?’ he asked.

Josie hated being patted on the head. It only accentuated her tiny stature in her mind, and added to the simmering resentment she felt against the two men in the room. She marched to the occasional table where the daily paper lay and picked it up. She was tempted to hit her dad over the head with it. Much as she loved her father, he was the world’s worst chauvinist; her opinions didn’t matter at all in comparison to Conan’s. She flashed an exasperated glance at her father’s down-bent head, then, turning, caught the gleam of wicked humour in Conan’s eyes.

‘Let me show you out,’ she snapped. She had a nasty suspicion Conan might turn out to be even more of a chauvinist than her father. Walking out into the hall, she opened the front door and stood back, expecting Conan to leave.

‘On my way over here this morning I was convinced I would have to bully you into listening to me,’ he confided as he stopped in the doorway, his large body almost filling the space. ‘I’m intrigued to discover you do possess some common sense after all, and I am delighted you have agreed to be my wife.’

‘After all...’ The nerve of the man! He had obviously thought she was an impulsive fool from the minute he’d met her. Well, she would prove him wrong, and be the perfect social wife, while giving her baby the very best start in life. ‘Yes, well, it is just business,’ Josie said firmly.

‘Of course, but take good care of the ring; it was my grandmother’s.’ His dark eyes slid down the length of her body with a possessive gleam in their golden depths, making Josie shudder inside, and for a second she questioned if his intentions really were platonic. His long, tanned fingers closed around her wrist, and she thought he was going to check the ring, but he surprised her completely by folding her hands behind her back, and easing her into close contact with his long body.

‘What...?’ she tried to pull her hands free.

‘Don’t look so frightened, Josie.’ Conan let go of her wrists. ‘I’m simply going to seal our deal with a kiss.’ Lowering his head, he closed his mouth gently over hers. His hands curved over her shoulders, and then swept lightly over her breasts and around her waist, holding her firm.

To Josie’s shame she felt her traitorous body responding. How could she? she thought wildly, and, turning her head away from his searching lips, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed as hard as she could.

‘Business, remember, a marriage of convenience, you said!’ Her eyes were shooting sparks, but, when they clashed with his, to her fury he was grinning.

‘true, but we must present the right image of a loving couple—at least until the child is born. The odd kiss will be unavoidable, and it seems to me you need the practice.’ he chuckled. ‘See you Monday,’ and he left, spinning on his heel.

Stunned, Josie simply stared at his retreating back as he walked down the short path to the road. It was only when he turned to give her a jaunty wave that she realised what she was doing, and slammed the front door. She had a horrible feeling she might have just made the biggest mistake of her life...

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN the telephone rang on Saturday morning, Josie was having second, third and fourth thoughts about the advisability of a marriage of convenience to a man like Conan. Unfortunately, she discovered very quickly it was too late to get out of it. The caller was Zoe, her friend from work.

‘You sly dog, Josie! Migraine, my eye...’ Zoe’s voice echoed down the line. ‘What was it? A hot night of passion that spun over into the morning? But I do think you could have told me. I had no idea you were even going out with a man, let alone getting engaged.’

‘How did you know?’ Josie asked when she could get a word in, not at all sure who Zoe thought she was engaged to...

‘Oh, please, Josie. The engagement is announced between Miss Josephine Jamieson, only daughter of...blah, blah, and Mr Conan Devine Zarcourt, blah, blah, blah. It’s in this morning’s Times. Mind you, I didn’t know that Conan Zarcourt lived at Beeches Manor. And how come you never even mentioned him to me?’

Josie could not believe it. After listening to Zoe ramble on, and promising to tell her the full story at work on Monday, Josie finally put the phone down, and went looking for her father.

Five minutes later her worst fear was realised. With a bit of judicious questioning of her dad she’d discovered the Major had already prepared the announcement of her engagement to Charles the day he’d learned of his death. Then he had been so upset he had left Conan to see to all the arrangements.

Her father chuckled. ‘Obviously Conan has simply substituted his own name for Charles’s. You’ve got a good man there, Josephine—clever and quick-thinking,’ he remarked happily, and for the second time in two days she felt like hitting him.

Instead she went for a long walk across the fields to try and calm down. She could not blame her father; he belonged to a different generation. He had been over fifty when Josie was born, her mother forty-two. Her mother had died when she was ten, and right now Josie would have given anything to have her mother to talk to.

What she got was dozens of calls all day Saturday, congratulating her on her engagement. On Sunday, when news of Charles’s death appeared in the newspaper, quite a few of the calls congratulated her and then offered condolences too, saying the timing was unfortunate, but could not be helped.

By Monday evening Josie was spitting nails. She had spent a terrible day at work; Zoe had insisted on hearing the whole story, and Josie hated lying. Everyone in the Cheltenham law firm had congratulated her, including Mr Brownlow himself, and she had felt a complete fraud, especially when sympathy for the death of Charles was expressed.

When the doorbell rang at seven-thirty she stormed across the hall and flung open the door, ready to give Conan a blasting.

‘You! I’m surprised you dare show your face,’ she snarled, and almost slammed the door in his face.

‘Is that any way to greet your fiancé?’ Conan mocked. His dark eyes swept over her slender form with studied male appreciation, taking in her flushed, angry face and the tumble of black curls falling around her shoulders. His gaze lingered on her simple red sweater dress that clung to her every curve, then moved down to her shapely legs, to her feet encased in three-inch high-heeled black shoes, and then back to her face. ‘Very nice and very sexy,’ he murmured softly, a slow sensual smile tilting his firm lips.

She had forgotten how dynamic he appeared in the flesh. He exuded a raw animal magnetism which his casually tailored black suede jacket and hip-hugging moleskin trousers seemed designed to enhance. She had always thought him attractive, but tonight, with his black hair tussled by the evening breeze, there was a sense of power about him, a vitality that sent a frisson of fear down her spine.

‘Josie, either ask me in or let’s go.’

She blinked and, lifting her eyes, she caught the amusement lurking in the depths of his. He knew very well she was mad, and thought it funny.

‘Go...? I’d like to tell you where to go! What did you mean—?’ she began.

‘Josie, Josie, please. Not on the doorstep.’ And, brushing past her, he picked up her jacket and purse off the chair where she had placed them, and, with a hand at her back, urged her down the path to where his car was parked. ‘Here, put this on. November nights can be cold.’

She allowed him to slip her jacket over her shoulders and took her purse from his outstretched hand. ‘I want an explanation.’

‘Later.’ He opened the passenger door and gestured for her to get in the car. ‘I don’t believe in arguing and driving at the same time.’ Walking around to the driver’s side, he slid in behind the wheel, and started the engine.

Josie knew what he said made sense, so, silently fuming, she watched him drive the car along numerous country roads until he pulled up outside a small country pub called The White Swan.

‘This is the first pub I had a drink in as a boy,’ Conan remarked, turning in his seat to look at her in the dim light of the small car park. ‘I think you’ll like it; the food is good.’

‘If you say so,’ Josie said grudgingly, and felt for the car door.

‘Wait,’ Conan commanded, and caught her hand in his. ‘Say what you have to before we go inside.’ He was idly stroking her palm with his thumb as he spoke. ‘I have no intention of arguing with you while we eat.’

His touch was sending tiny quivers of sensation over her sensitive flesh and it took a supreme effort of will not to tear her hand away. But she could not afford to show him any sign of weakness. Conan would try any trick in the book to get his own way—and some he had personally invented, Josie was sure.

‘All right. Explain to me how the announcement of our engagement got in the newspaper so fast, and don’t bother lying, because I know.’

‘If you know, why ask?’ he mocked.

‘You know damn well what I mean.’

‘Don’t curse, Josie; I don’t like that in a lady.’

‘Tough, because you’re enough to make a saint curse,’ she shot back.

‘All right, I admit it. My father had prepared the announcement of your engagement to Charles on Thursday. He asked me to deal with it, and I did.’

‘He had no right to,’ Josie snapped, unaware of what she was revealing.

Conan’s hand grasped hers tighter. ‘You didn’t know; he didn’t ask you?’

‘No. Well... What does it matter? You must have changed the name and entered it on Friday morning at the latest, before even asking me. I might have said no.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘That is not the point.’

‘Josie, there is no point.’ Turning her hand over in his, he added, ‘We are engaged; we are to be married in a couple of weeks. Accept the fact and let’s eat.’

Josie was still seething with resentment as he virtually marched her into the pub with his hand at her elbow. She glanced around. It was a typical old coaching inn, all dark oak and low ceilings, a few oak tables and chairs, and along one wall were small dining alcoves. Not the sort of place she would have expected Conan to frequent. But hey! What did she know about pubs? She had a small circle of good friends she socialised with, and if they went for a drink it was usually to a wine bar in Cheltenham. Anyway, Josie wasn’t much of a drinker—except at that fatal party, she thought bitterly.

‘Sit down, Josie, and try to look less like you’re being led to the gallows.’ Conan urged her into a small banquette made for two and slid in beside her.

‘Do you have to sit next to me?’ she snapped. He was crowding her, his long leg resting against hers.

‘In your present mood, yes,’ he bit out. ‘I wouldn’t put it past you to run away.’

‘Well, what do you expect? You had no right to put the announcement in the paper without telling me.’

‘I had every right.’ He turned sideways, his dark eyes narrowed on her mutinous face. ‘Let’s get one thing straight here and now.’ His strong hand grasped hers and lifted it to within inches of her own face.

‘See that ring? That gives me every right and don’t you forget it.’ His savage undertone sent icy fingers of fear walking up her rigid spine.

The gloves were off with a vengeance, Josie thought. The suave sophistication Conan portrayed to the world was a thin veneer to mask the ruthless predator beneath. ‘We are not married yet,’ she snorted inelegantly. But the glitter in his piercing dark eyes sent a shiver of apprehension through her body. ‘Engagements are easily broken,’ she continued. Why she was carrying on baiting him Josie did not know.

His grip on her hand tightened and she had to bite down a whimper of pain. ‘Not this one, lady,’ Conan drawled with silken emphasis on ‘lady.’ ‘No one makes a fool out of me.’

‘You do that perfectly well for yourself!’ Josie snapped back. ‘And let go of my hand.’

‘Well, if it isn’t Conan, my old mate.’ A booming voice interrupted their heated exchange.

Conan ignored her request and glanced across at the man standing at the opposite side of the table.

‘Bootsy!’ he exclaimed. ‘I might have guessed you would still be drinking here.’

Josie looked at the short, red-haired, blue-eyed man who had spoken and then back at Conan, and was surprised to see a smile of genuine pleasure lighting up his rugged features.

‘Not drinking... I own the place. But what about you? I heard on the Beeches bush telegraph that you’re about to be married.’ It was Josie’s turn to get the full power of twinkling blue eyes. ‘And this must be the lucky lady. I could tell you stories about this ‘un you wouldn’t believe.’ He nodded towards Conan.

‘Oh. I’m sure I would,’ Josie said dryly.

‘Too late, Bootsy.’ Conan’s long arm curved around her shoulders, and his dark head bent to nuzzle her neck. ‘Behave yourself!’ he whispered, his tongue flicking around the inner whorls of her ear. His breath fanned her cheek as he raised his head, and her heartbeat thundered in her eardrums. She couldn’t have spoken even if she’d wanted to, but Conan had no problem.

‘Josie knows all my weak spots and then some,’ Conan favoured her with a long, lingering perusal, his dark eyes roaming over her face and down to the firm swell of her breasts beneath the fine red wool of her dress, then slowly back to her face. ‘And I certainly know all of hers,’ he opined with a sensual smile. ‘Don’t I, darling?’ The other man was left in no doubt that they shared a very intimate relationship.

She wanted to slap Conan, but instead she snuggled under his arm. Two could play at that game, she thought furiously. ‘He is so naughty,’ she simpered, giving Bootsy a wide smile. ‘But so romantic. Would you like to see my ring?‘ Conan had no choice but to let go of her hand. She held it out over the table. ‘It was his grandmother’s. Isn’t that the most wildly romantic gift?’ and, turning a sickly-sweet smile on Conan, she added, ‘My hero.’

Bootsy shot an alarmed glance at Conan, then looked at Josie and tried to smile. ‘Yes, well, very nice. Congratulations. Now, what can I get you to eat? The steak pie is perfect, but then everything I serve is perfect.’

Conan ordered for both of them and Bootsy could not get away fast enough.

‘You realise, Josie, the man thinks I’m marrying a simpering idiot,’ Conan said dryly.

‘Serves you right,’ She shrugged off his arm, but couldn’t prevent a chuckle escaping her. ‘He did look a bit shocked.’ Her violet eyes sparkling with amusement clashed with Conan’s, and for a moment they were in complete accord.

‘Josie, you’re a witch!’ he said with wry amusement. ‘But if this relationship is going to work,’ he added, suddenly serious, ‘we’ve both got to at least try to be civil to each other.’

‘Yes, I know,’ she conceded. ‘But in future could you please ask me first before you arrange things?’

Surprisingly the evening turned out much better than Josie expected. Conan was a good conversationalist, the food was simple but perfectly cooked and they discussed music, books, and finally ended up having a heated debate over the best film ever made.

Josie said Casablanca and Conan insisted he liked The Graduate better.

‘You can’t be serious!’ Josie cried. ‘Bogart made a truly noble sacrifice for the woman he loved.’

‘True, but personally I would leave nobility to the fool, and take the girl and run, as in The Graduate.’

‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.’ She grinned, caught the predatory gleam in his eyes, and knew he was not joking.

They drove home a little after ten, and they parted on a sober note.

‘Tomorrow, at the funeral, you won’t do anything foolish,’ Conan insisted as they walked up to the door. ‘Like having hysterics or throwing yourself on the coffin.’

‘No,’ she said simply, tilting her head back to look up coldly into his shadowed face. ‘I am well aware that to the world at large Charles was simply a friend to me, and the brother of my fiancé. Why do you think I went to work today? I am as capable as you are of playing my part in this marriage of convenience. You have nothing to worry about’ On that note she opened the door, and closed it behind her in his face.

The next day, in Beeches village church, Josie only half listened to the vicar’s eulogy for Charles. The biological father of her child was being buried, and the tears on her cheeks were no more than she would have cried at any friend’s funeral. Her feelings for Charles had been fleeting at best, and she felt swamped by guilt. She glanced sideways at her companion. Conan was dressed in a long black cashmere overcoat, a black suit beneath, black tie, the brilliant white of his shirt only serving to emphasise his sombre attire. His face was equally grave, and he stared impassively ahead, not a flicker of emotion on his granite features.

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