Elizabeth Duke: The Marriage Pact

She drew in a deep, lung-filling breath. Was she crazy to be even considering working for this man? This dangerously sexy, cocksure, breathtakingly persistent Englishman? And how would his ‘over-active’ son take to her? Or she to him?

There was only one way to find out.

“I’m sure three days would give me ample time with my sister,’ she said primly. Sally might even tell her to go off and mind her own business after the very first day. She’d done it before.

Or Ralph might. He must have a fair idea of what she thought of him—she’d hardly been able to hide it.

‘So...you’ll take the job?’ Adam asked before she could spell out her rules and conditions. He was already sitting back—oh, so sure of himself—with his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his hip-hugging jeans, his long legs sprawled loosely in front of him under the table and his great feet almost tangling with her own.

She made him wait a full three seconds. ‘I’m prepared to meet your son,’ she said cautiously. ‘And your mother.’ To make sure they actually exist, her eyes told him. ‘I’ll give you my final answer then.’

‘Fair enough.’ He flashed his megawatt smile. ‘Great.’

CHAPTER THREE

ENCHANTING as Venice was, Claire wasn’t disappointed to see it receding into the misty distance as the water taxi sped away across the lagoon towards the airport. Venice was for lovers, for romance, for people with leisure time... none of which had a place in Claire Malone’s life any more.

She flew back to London in unexpected comfort. Adam Tate had managed somehow to have her upgraded to Club Class—into the seat beside his. With his confident bearing and dark good looks—and with money and power no doubt playing a part—he would get his way in most things, she suspected.

He’d managed to talk her into working for him, hadn’t he? With the offer of a free flight home and a job for three months if she agreed...

She thought of Hugo Dann, who’d offered her a similar deal—a temporary job and a free flight home, which had come to nothing—and her eyes clouded. I won’t believe it until I’m actually on a plane back to Australia.

They took a taxi from the airport to Adam’s town house in Mayfair, stopping briefly on the way to pick up her few remaining belongings which she’d stored at a youth hostel in Earl’s Court. She’d already told him that she’d given up her lodgings in London, and he’d invited her to stay at his house, assuring her that there was plenty of room and that it would give her a better chance to get to know his mother and Jamie.

She hadn’t actually committed herself to staying the night. Or even to staying more than five minutes. She wasn’t sure what she was afraid of exactly. That she would find, once inside his front door, that his mother and son were sheer fabrications? That he had bars on all the windows and locks on all the doors?

She stifled a nervous giggle.

‘You said something?’ Adam turned to her.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, sobering in an instant. Glancing round, she became aware—acutely aware—that he’d shifted closer and that his thigh was now brushing against hers.

‘No.’ She gulped, her entire body going rigid. ‘I was just... thinking.’

‘I know. You’ve been so deep in thought I didn’t want to disturb you. Is it the thought of being with your sister again? Or the thought of taking on a strange little boy whom I’ve already admitted is a handful... and having to live on a sheep farm for the next few months?’

She swallowed again, not wanting to admit that she’d been thinking of him—that her thoughts over the past few minutes hadn’t even touched on his son or her sister or what lay ahead back in Australia.

‘A bit of both,’ she lied. And shot a question back at him. ‘You’re looking forward to seeing your son again?’

‘Naturally. Very much.’ He answered without hesitation, and yet...his face, his eyes, lacked the tender, loving spark—the proud glow—she would have expected from a doting father. Was he just clever at hiding his feelings... or had he no deep feelings for his son?

She heard herself asking curiously, ‘Did Jamie go with you to Australia last year when you bought your sheep station and set up your business in Melbourne?’

He gave a curt shake of his head. ‘He stayed with my mother. It was best. I was on the go the whole time. And he was barely eighteen months old at the time.’ There was something in his tone now, a guardedness in his eyes, that warned her not to pursue the subject.

But if she were to take care of Jamie she would have to know more about both child and father, and particularly about Adam’s relationship with his son. She moistened her lips, and forced out another question.

‘How old was your son when...his mother died?’

It was a long charged moment before he answered. ‘Eleven months old,’ he said at length, so quietly that she had to strain to hear him. ‘My wife was diagnosed as having cancer a month after Jamie was born.’ His voice was toneless—devoid of all feeling, all warmth, all sentiment—and there was a chilly remoteness in his usually expressive brown eyes.

She sensed that sympathy was the last thing he’d want. ‘How—how did you and your wife manage... with a new baby?’

‘My mother took care of Jamie at our family farm in the Cotswolds, while my wife had regular treatment in London. It went on for several weeks, and left her very weak and... failed to help her. She spent her last months on the farm. She was happiest there in the peace and tranquillity of the countryside.’ He turned away to look out of the window. Hoping that would be the end of her interrogation?

But now that he’d opened up, even a little, she couldn’t leave it there. Once she accepted the job he might clam up altogether. ‘Were you able to be there with her?’ she asked tentatively.

A muscle twitched at his jaw, his only sign of emotion. ‘I was with her the whole time...all through her treatment and afterwards at the farm. My brother looked after our business until... it was over.’ He answered in a flat voice, without turning back to face her.

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