Louise Fuller - Revenge At The Altar

‘Well, luckily for me, whatever you might like to believe, Duvernay isn’t your business,’ she said, lifting her chin and returning his gaze, her brown eyes sparking with resentment.

How dare he do this? Saunter back into her life with his newly acquired shares and his careless gaze, unlocking the past and upending the present.

For a second there was total silence, and then his mouth curved slowly upwards. Despite herself, she felt her pulse flutter, for his smile was still so difficult to resist, and even though she wanted to deny its power she could feel a trembling heat starting to creep over her skin.

And he hadn’t even touched her, she thought, her heart lurching against her ribcage.

‘Well, luckily for you —’ he paused, his eyes resting calmly on her face ‘—that could all be about to change.’

Abruptly his smile was forgotten, and she stared up at him in confusion, her skin tingling, mouth drying with fear and anticipation, trying and failing to make sense of his casual statement.

‘All you need to do is say yes.’

His words hung in the air between them and she felt panic spread through her. Suddenly she was having to work hard to breathe. Her pulse gave a leap of warning. Something was happening—something undefined but important.

‘Yes to what?’ She was aiming for the same tone of neutral formality, but instead her voice sounded oddly hollow and strained.

Max held her gaze. He wanted to see her reaction. To watch the moment of impact. ‘To marrying me.’

Margot gazed at him, rooted to the spot, her stomach clenching with shock. She knew her face had drained of colour, but she was too busy trying to quiet the chaos inside her head to care.

‘Marry you!’ Shaking her head, she gave a small, disbelieving laugh. ‘You’re crazy. Why would I want to marry you ?’

‘Is that a no?’

His face was closed, expressionless, but she could feel the anger rippling beneath his skin. Only she didn’t care. Right now all she wanted to do was hurt him in the same way that he’d hurt her—was still hurting her. Or maybe not in the same way, for that would mean Max had a heart, and she knew from bitter, personal experience that wasn’t the case.

But she could certainly puncture the beating core of Max Montigny—his masculine pride.

‘A no? Of course not.’ She glared at him, her own rage shocking her. ‘Who could possibly resist a man like you, Max? I mean, it’s every woman’s dream to marry a lying, scheming hustler!’

Sarcasm did not come naturally to her any more than anger did, but coming so soon after her father’s betrayal and the shock of seeing Max again his proposal was just too cruel, too painful.

Once, marrying Max had been her dream. When he and Yves had turned up for supper one evening she had looked up from her plate and just like that she had fallen in love. Actually, not fallen—it had been more like plummeting...like a star falling to earth.

His presence in her life had felt miraculous. The thrill of seeing him, talking to him, had been a new kind of bliss—both pleasure and pain—for he had been so smart and sexy, bewitchingly beautiful and impossibly laid back, and yet so unattainable. She had been desperate, hopeful, smitten—and then, unbelievably, it had happened.

Only she had never suspected why. Stupid, naive and crazily in love for the first time, she had never imagined the truth until that terrible afternoon when Yves had discovered them.

‘Feeling better? Or do you want to start throwing punches as well as insults?’

Max’s voice was as cold and toxic as nerve gas. Lifting her head, she cleared her throat, straightening her back, feeling the zip of her dress tingling against her spine.

‘Sorry,’ she said, without a hint of remorse. ‘But I just can’t imagine under what circumstances you think I’d ever, ever , even consider marrying you .’

His gaze didn’t flicker. ‘How about circumstances in which I agree to save your business?’

She stared at him, the sheer unexpectedness of his words making the edges of her vision watery. ‘Save my business...?’ she repeated slowly.

He nodded. ‘If you agree to become my wife.’ He paused, studying her face. ‘It’s up to you, of course.’

He was speaking with a mock courtesy that made her want to hurl her bag at his head.

‘I can just leave. The choice is yours.’

Her skin was prickling and her heart was beating so loudly that it was getting in the way of her thoughts. ‘That’s not a choice,’ she said hoarsely. ‘That’s blackmail.’

For what felt like a lifetime he stared at her thoughtfully, and then finally he gave a casual shrug.

‘Yes, I suppose it is. But on some levels all business is blackmail.’ His face was impassive, his eyes steady on hers. ‘And that’s what this is, Margot. It’s just business.’

The truth, of course, was that he wanted to prove her and her family wrong. To demonstrate irrefutably that he was good enough to marry her. That his name was equal to hers. But his instincts warned him against revealing the truth, for surely it would show weakness to admit that their low opinion— her low opinion—still tormented him?

Besides, there was no need to reveal anything. Not when he already had a ready-made reason at his fingertips. Widening his stance, he focused his attention on the woman in front of him.

‘Unlike yourself, I’m not in the habit of throwing good money after bad, and your father’s shares are useless to me if Duvernay goes bankrupt.’

She took a breath, bracing herself as though for a blow. ‘What has that got to do with marrying me?’ she asked stiffly.

Tuning out the apprehension in her voice, he let her words echo around the room. ‘Isn’t it obvious? I’ll marry you, and in return you’ll give me your shares. That will make me the majority stakeholder in Duvernay and allow me to run the business as I see fit.’ His mouth curled into a goading smile. ‘By that I mean profitably.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re so arrogant.’ Seething inwardly, Margot watched him gaze dismissively around the boardroom.

‘It shouldn’t be too hard. Frankly, I could turn this company around in a heartbeat.’

She gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Wouldn’t that require you to have a heart , though, Max?’ she said sweetly.

He smiled. ‘Oh, I have a heart, Margot—and more importantly, unlike your brother, I also have a head for business.’

Her brown eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t want to know what you think about my brother any more than I want your money,’ she spat.

He gazed down at her, unperturbed by her outburst. ‘No, I’m sure you don’t,’ he conceded.

His eyes gleamed, the centres darkening so that suddenly it felt as though she was being dragged bodily into his pupils.

‘But whether you want my money or not is largely irrelevant. The fact is, you need it.’

‘I don’t—’ she began.

He waved her words away as though they were some kind of irritating insect. ‘You do. And, frankly, the sooner the better. I’ll give you free rein with the wedding arrangements...’ he was watching her lazily, as though her consent was a foregone conclusion ‘...although I draw the line at wearing any kind of patterned waistcoat. So marry me, give me control over our destinies, and I’ll make all your problems go away.’

‘I doubt that. From where I’m standing, you are the biggest problem. You’re conceited and selfish and utterly lacking in sensitivity.’

His smile widened. ‘Presumably that’s why I now own a quarter share of your business?’

Stifling an impulse to slap his smug, handsome face, Margot fixed her gaze on the gardens outside. How long was he going to carry on with this game? For surely that was all this talk of marriage was to him. A game designed to humiliate her further.