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Bought By A Billionaire
Kay Thorpe


Leonie rejected Vidal's first proposal because of his arrogance, his womanizing – and his powerful sexuality, which left her trembling.Now the Portuguese billionaire is back in her life – and this time he has a hold over her. He will settle her father's debt, and make her his legal mistress.But Vidal doesn't want a mistress. He wants marriage. And he's determined to possess Leonie – in every way…









Bought by a Billionaire

Kay Thorpe


Bedded by…

Blackmail

Forced to bed…then to wed?









CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

COMING NEXT MONTH




CHAPTER ONE


AT LEAST he hadn’t refused outright to see her, although he must be aware of why she was here. Aware of curious glances from staff in the vicinity, Leonie kept her face blank of expression. Vidal’s arrival, along with her father’s absence, would have given rise to some speculation, but she doubted if the full facts were known as yet.

The man who emerged from what had been her father’s office looked far from happy. Leonie couldn’t blame him for avoiding her eyes. She only hoped he hadn’t lost his job as a result of not realising what was going on.

She waited on tenterhooks for the summons to the inner sanctum herself, dreading the moment of confrontation. It was two years since she had last seen the man she was about to beg for forbearance on her father’s behalf. Two years since she had told him he was the last man on earth she would ever consider marrying. If he still held a grudge against her for that put-down there was little chance of his complying with her plea, but she had to try.

The woman seated at the desk her father’s secretary normally occupied was new to her; she remembered him saying he’d had a change about a month ago. She looked across at Leonie as the intercom buzzed, curiosity written large in her eyes. ‘You can go through now,’ she said.

Leonie got to her feet, steeling herself for what was to come. It was on the cards that she would be emerging from the office again in a couple of minutes with Vidal’s boot—metaphorically if not physically—behind her. Not that he’d be anything but within his rights in telling her to go take a running jump, so to speak.

It was some time since she’d visited her father at work. Spacious and well-lit, his office overlooked the river. Leaning negligently against the windowsill, lean and lithe body clad in a silver-grey suit of impeccable cut, Vidal Parella Dos Santos regarded her in silence for a lengthy moment, his tautly sculpted features unrevealing.

‘You’ve changed little,’ he observed in excellent Cambridge-acquired English. ‘But then, looks such as yours are unlikely to deteriorate.’ He indicated the chair set her side of the wide desk. ‘Please be seated.’

‘I’d as soon stand,’ Leonie answered. She drew a steadying breath, meeting the dark eyes full-on. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how I feel about what my father’s done. He abused your trust in him, and deserves to pay the price for it.’

‘But?’ Vidal prompted as she hesitated.

‘But prison would kill him,’ she said.

One black eyebrow lifted sardonically. ‘So what are you suggesting? That I allow him to get away with embezzlement?’

Leonie put everything she knew into keeping a steady head. ‘I’m asking you to just give him time to put things right again. He can repay what he owes by remortgaging the house.’

‘And how would you propose that he even arranges a mortgage without a job?’ The smile that crossed the hard-boned face when she failed to answer immediately was almost humorous. ‘You expect me to reinstate him too?’

‘He’s unlikely to get another job at all if you prosecute,’ she pointed out. ‘Which means he’s never going to be in a position to pay back. Obviously it would have to be in a lesser capacity.’

‘One denying him any further opportunities to tamper with accounts, you mean?’

Leonie caught herself up, only too aware of being baited. ‘It makes more sense than putting him in a cell.’

Vidal studied her strikingly lovely face, framed by the heavy fall of Titian hair, lowering his gaze with deliberation down the shapely length of her body, then back again. She tilted her chin, green eyes sparking as they met his once more. It was still there: the covetousness that had so alienated her in the past. What this man wanted he was accustomed to getting. Her refusal to marry him had been met with total disbelief at first, followed by cold fury when she’d added insult to injury by saying what she had. There had been no need to go that far, she had to acknowledge now. It said something for him that he hadn’t taken it out on her father at the time.

More than could be said for her father for certain.

‘Did he send you to plead his case?’ Vidal asked.

She shook her head. ‘This is my idea. I don’t condone what he’s done, but I’d hate to see him in a prison cell myself. I’m sure it can be taken for granted that he won’t be doing any more big-time gambling.’

There was a lengthy pause. Leonie wished she could tell what was going on in the arrogant dark head. She was still here. That in itself gave her some hope.

‘You think him ready to carry on here in the circumstances?’ Vidal asked at length. ‘So far only one other person knows the truth of the matter, but even if he were sworn to secrecy there would be speculation.’

Leonie had been holding her breath without realising it, letting it out now on a cautious sigh. ‘Something he’d just have to live with. Part of the price to be paid.’

Vidal straightened away from the windowsill, six feet of vital Portuguese masculinity. ‘I need time to consider,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you my answer tonight. My suite.’ He shook his head as she opened her mouth to protest, a hard glint in his eyes. ‘Eight o’clock. Unless you’d prefer to settle the matter here and now.’

She knew exactly what he meant: the same settlement she would be facing at eight, if she went. There was little point in pleading with him. If she wanted to succeed in her aim, then she paid the price too.

She made no effort to conceal her aversion as she looked at him. ‘I suppose I should have anticipated this.’

Broad shoulders lifted, his expression unrelenting. ‘I’m due some recompense, I believe, but the choice is entirely yours.’

Leonie turned without another word and left the office. She gained the lifts, looking neither right nor left, pressing to descend. Thankfully the cage was empty when it arrived. Facing a sea of faces would have tested her to the limit.

One thing was certain: there would be no renewal of the marriage proposal tonight. Vidal would be seeking to humiliate her as she had humiliated him two years ago. There was one very good way of doing that: by making her submit to him. The very thought of it made her cringe inside, but if it meant keeping her father out of prison she could live with it. She would have to live with it.

It was raining when she got outside. Lacking an umbrella, and unwilling to have the pale beige suede suit she was wearing ruined, she sought refuge in a nearby coffee shop. Others had done the same thing, limiting table space, but she found a seat at the window bar, gazing unseeingly out at the hurrying crowds as she thought about the man she had just left.

One of Europe’s leading industrialists, at the age of thirty-five Vidal Parella Dos Santos was regarded as something of a phenomenon. Born into Portuguese aristocracy, he could have idled his way through life any way he chose. Leonie had met him for the first time some weeks after her father had become chief accountant of the London company. She’d been drawn to him at first, she had to admit: few women could fail to find his looks alone an attraction. What she’d taken against was his arrogant assumption that he could have any woman he wanted for the mere asking. It had come as a shock when her refusal to sleep with him had resulted in a proposal of marriage, but she had been under no illusions. All he saw, all he coveted, was the outer shell. He knew nothing of the person she was inside, nor wanted to know. Once he’d tired of her she would have been discarded, like all his other women.

Her father knew nothing of the proposal. Since losing her mother four years ago, he had shown little interest in anything except work—or so she’d believed. Exactly when the gambling habit had started she wasn’t sure. Long enough to have gone through more than eighty thousand pounds of company money, at any rate. Like most gamblers, his losses had far outweighed his gains.

He wasn’t going to prison, she vowed. Vidal could have his pound of flesh, if that was what it was going to take. There was always the chance that he would renege on the deal, of course, but she somehow doubted it. Whatever else he might or might not be, his reputation as a man of his word once given was widely known.

It was gone four by the time she reached the Northwood Hills home she still shared with her father. At twenty-six, and earning a decent salary, she could afford a place of her own, even if only to rent, but he refused to move somewhere smaller, and she couldn’t bring herself to leave him to rattle around the house in solitude. Not that he might have any choice but to sell up if the worst did come to the worst.

Stuart Baxter was seated at his desk in the study, playing listlessly with the executive toy Leonie had bought him as a joke last Christmas. He looked up at her entry, eyes lacklustre, expression downcast. He’d looked much the same when he’d told her the truth last night.

‘I still haven’t heard anything,’ he said dully. ‘I keep expecting to find the police at the door any minute!’

‘It may not come to that.’ Leonie did her best to sound upbeat. ‘I’ve been to see Vidal. Obviously he’s not exactly over the moon about it all, but there’s a good chance that he won’t be prosecuting. Even a chance that he’ll keep you on, if you arrange to pay back the money you’ve taken.’

Stuart gazed at her in silence for a lengthy moment, a variety of expressions chasing across his face. ‘How on earth did you manage that?’ he asked at last. ‘You hardly know the man!’

Leonie crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘I appealed to his better nature.’

‘He didn’t give the impression of having one when I saw him yesterday.’ Stuart paused again, obviously at something of a loss. ‘What exactly did you say to him?’

‘I gave him my assurance that you’d chop your fingers off rather than risk gambling again,’ she said. ‘You wouldn’t, would you?’

The smile was wry. ‘I’ve learned my lesson on that score, believe me!’ He shook his head, still bemused. ‘It’s more than I could ever have hoped for. More than anyone could hope for!’ He hesitated before adding tentatively, ‘I suppose everyone knows by now?’

‘Only one, apparently, although there’ll no doubt be some talk among the staff. Anyway,’ Leonie added hardily, ‘facing gossip has to be better than going to prison, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, of course. Don’t think I’m not grateful!’ He shook his head again. ‘I can still hardly believe he’s even considering not prosecuting, much less keeping me on! Did he give any indication of when he might let me know his decision?’

‘You should know by tomorrow,’ she said, closing her mind to the possibility that it could still all go wrong.

She left him to think about it, heading upstairs to her bedroom. It was a relief to be alone for a while. By eight o’clock she had to be in complete possession of herself, focussed on one thing, and one thing only—getting her father off the hook he’d forged for himself. Easier said than done, when every instinct in her fought against what was to happen, but there was no other choice. Vidal’s pride must be satisfied.

Despise him though she did, there was no denying the physical pull he still exercised. She’d felt it the moment she set eyes in him again. There had been media reports linking him with various women over the past couple of years, but none of them had lasted long. If she’d been fool enough to marry him she would very likely have fallen by the wayside herself long before this, with the only difference being that she could, had she been so inclined, have taken him for enough to keep her in comfort for the rest of her life. Some would call her a fool for not seizing the opportunity.

The only foolish thing she’d done was to get involved with him at all, she reflected ruefully. It was hardly as if she’d been unaware of his reputation where women were concerned.

She made no effort when it came to choosing an outfit for the evening, opting for a plain grey skirt and white blouse over her least glamorous underwear. She was allowing herself no emotionalism at all over this affair. It was the only way she was going to get through it.

She had booked a taxi to take her back into town. Expensive, but she didn’t feel like facing another train journey. Allowing for all eventualities, she told her father she was meeting a girlfriend from work, and might spend the night at her flat.

Vidal kept permanent hotel suites in several cities. Drawing up outside the Mayfair edifice he graced with his presence when in London—knowing exactly what she faced in there—Leonie felt like some high-class prostitute. There wasn’t, she supposed, all that much difference when it all boiled down.

Already in possession of the suite number, she was at least able to avoid asking at reception. The suite itself was on the top floor. She steadied herself with hard purpose before knocking on the solid mahogany door.

Vidal opened it, regarding her with lifted brows as she stood there silently waiting. Dressed now in trousers and casual shirt, he looked no less formidable to her than earlier.

‘To the minute,’ he observed. ‘Come in.’

The doorway was wide. Even so, he was uncomfortably close as she stepped past him into the spacious living area. The place had been redecorated since her last visit—that was her first, totally irrelevant thought. The colour scheme was now a gracious symphony in mingled blues and greys, with touches of scarlet, the carpet underfoot stretching away like a silver-grey sea to the beautifully draped windows. An arrangement of fresh flowers on a side table gave off a delicate scent.

‘Nice,’ she commented, determined to appear on top of the situation. ‘They do you proud.’

‘For what it costs, so they should,’ came the dry response. ‘But you’re not here to discuss the décor.’

‘True.’ Leonie turned to look him in the eye, hating him for what he was forcing her to do; hating herself for doing it. ‘I want your assurance re my father before anything takes place between us.’

Vidal slanted a lip. ‘You’d take my word for it?’

‘Oddly enough, yes,’ she said, hoping her faith in at least that aspect of his character wasn’t misplaced.

The slant increased. ‘Then you have it, of course. A drink before we eat, perhaps?’

‘Eat?’ She was totally thrown for a moment. ‘I thought…’

‘You thought I had but the one thing in mind,’ he finished for her as she let the words peter out. There was derision now in the dark eyes. ‘My sins are many, but crude I have never been.’

‘What else would you call this whole…arrangement?’ she asked.

‘A mutual benefit,’ he returned imperturbably. ‘You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours—isn’t that the saying here? Very appropriate in the circumstances, don’t you think?’ He didn’t wait for any response. ‘What will you have to drink?’

About to decline the offer, Leonie abruptly changed her mind. If Vidal was intent on drawing this out, she was going to need some extra stimulus. ‘I’ll have a gin and tonic.’

He waved a hand in the direction of the nearest sofa. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’

That, she thought caustically, was a laugh in itself. She felt like a cat on hot bricks. Her eyes followed him almost involuntarily as he crossed to the drinks cabinet, registering the fluid movement of his body, the ripple of muscle beneath the fine cotton of his shirt, the firm male hemispheres. He must work out regularly to keep himself in such trim, she reflected, unable to keep her physical responses totally under control. Out of bed, and in it!

She had taken a seat by the time he had the drinks poured. He made no attempt to sit down beside her, but chose a chair set at right angles, crossing one leg comfortably over the other. The action pulled up his trouser leg enough to reveal a narrow area of bare, bronzed skin. He would be that colour all over, came the thought, hastily thrust aside.

‘So what do you suggest we talk about while we wait for our meal to arrive?’ he asked. ‘Or perhaps it should be my place, as host, to open the conversation?’

‘I really don’t care,’ she said, fighting to maintain a composure threatening to disintegrate any moment.

‘So tell me how you enjoyed your trip to Paris last month.’

Green eyes widened in startled question. ‘How do you know I was in Paris last month?’

‘I’ve made it my business to know all your movements over the past two years,’ he returned without turning a hair. ‘I know, for instance, that there isn’t now, and hasn’t been, any serious relationship with a man.’

‘You’ve been spying on me?’ She was too stunned at the moment for anger.

The dark head inclined. ‘I prefer to call it taking an interest. Had you become involved with anyone, it would have been a short-lived affair.’

‘Oh, I see.’ The anger was coming through now, bringing her to the edge of her seat, eyes stormy. ‘Having had the temerity to refuse you, there was no way I should be allowed to find anyone else!’

‘Correct.’ There was no note of apology in his tone. ‘Did you really think I was going to simply forget the things you said to me? Do I need to remind you of what you did say?’

Leonie bit her lip, the memory only too clear in her mind. She’d gone overboard in an effort to blot out any temptation to say yes—to burn all bridges in effect. Telling him he was the last man on earth she’d ever consider marrying had been the least of it. Even now, the invective she’d used to ram home the message made her curl up inside.

‘So I went a little too far,’ she said stiffly. ‘I admit that. But it’s no excuse for what you’ve been doing. People go to jail in this country for stalking someone.’

The shrug was dismissive. ‘Considering that you yourself never noticed you were under surveillance, I doubt if any such accusation would be taken seriously. Anyway, the question is of little importance now. I’ve found other means of achieving redress.’

‘The word you’re looking for is revenge,’ she retorted, taking a hold on herself. ‘Hardly an honourable aim!’

‘But satisfying.’ Vidal straightened as a knock came on the outer door. ‘Dinner, I believe.’

The waiter who wheeled in the loaded white-clothed trolley was unobtrusive in his movements, transferring the contents to the table in an off-set dining area without speaking. He looked happy enough, however, with the size of the tip Vidal handed over.

‘Come and eat,’ the latter invited when the door closed in the man’s wake. ‘You’re fond of seafood, if I recall.’

The last thing Leonie felt like at present was eating, but there was nothing to be gained by refusing. She got up, unsurprised by the unsteadiness in her lower limbs, and went to the table, passing by the door leading to the bedroom on the way. In an hour or so they would be in there doing what she was here to do. Whether Vidal would be prepared to let her leave immediately afterwards was open to question, but the ordeal had to be over some time. All she cared about—all she’d allow herself to care about—was getting her father back on track.

As anticipated, the meal was excellent, though so far as Leonie was concerned she might as well have been chewing on sawdust. Vidal allowed her just one glass of wine, declaring his wish to have her compos mentis, not falling asleep on him.

‘You’re actually admitting that a woman could fall asleep on you?’ Leonie asked with deliberation, drawing a brief smile.

‘Only under the influence of too much alcohol.’

‘It must be great,’ she murmured, ‘to have so much confidence in one’s abilities!’

For the first time there was a genuine amusement in his eyes. ‘Unlike a woman, any man lacking confidence in that particular ability could find himself devoid of it altogether. An unfair difference in physiology.’

‘Meaning a woman can pretend to be aroused?’

‘Precisely.’ Dark eyes glinted. ‘Not that I anticipate any problem in that direction.’

‘Being the expert you are.’

The sarcasm left him unmoved. ‘If you think to annoy me, forget it. I intend enjoying every moment of our time together. That means that you enjoy it too. And you will.’

Leonie bit back a caustic retort. She could vow to remain physically unresponsive to him, but the way her body reacted to his very presence made it unlikely. All she could do was keep those responses to the barest minimum.

The meal ended with a chocolate mousse that melted in the mouth and was nigh on impossible not to get pleasure from. Leonie took her time eating it, savouring every mouthful. Vidal watched her without comment, though with no sign of impatience, his whole attitude one of a man totally at ease with himself. She longed to disrupt that equanimity, but could think of nothing short of another burst of invective that might do the trick. With her father’s fate still in the balance, she couldn’t afford to take any risks.

Finished at last, she laid down her spoon, eyeing him across the width of the table with conflicting emotions, both hating the thought of what was to come, and yet undeniably stirred by it too: mind not strong enough to exercise full control over matter, she concluded ruefully.

‘So, let’s get it over with, then,’ she said. ‘The sooner I’m out of here, the better!’

Vidal linked both hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair to view her with irony. ‘Time is of no importance. We have the whole night ahead of us.’

Leonie had been more than half expecting it, but that didn’t mean she had to accept it without question. ‘If my humiliation is all you’re after, you don’t have to go to such lengths,’ she said. ‘In fact, you’ve already succeeded.’

‘Suggesting that I should be content to let it go at that?’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve waited too long for this moment. I should mention, too, that if you hoped to deter me by dressing like some secretary, you were sadly mistaken. I find the severity of your clothing a tantalising contrast with what I know lies beneath.’

‘You have no idea what lies beneath!’ Her indignation was ridiculous in the circumstances, Leonie knew, but she was too incensed to care. ‘I didn’t allow things to get that far between us!’

His smile was slow, his enjoyment at her discomfiture obvious. ‘I don’t need my eyes to tell me what my hands have already discovered. Your skin is smooth as silk, your breasts firm and full, your waist slender above the curve of hip that so excites a man, your—’

‘Stop it!’ Leonie’s cheeks were burning, her whole body tingling. ‘I don’t want to hear any more!’

‘You’ll be hearing a lot more than that before the night is over,’ he said. ‘Speech can be as much a part of lovemaking as action.’

‘You call what you’ve got in mind making love?’ she retorted scathingly.

His lips slanted again. ‘Had I been capable of what you apparently have in mind, I would have taken you that way two years ago. As I already told you, I intend you to enjoy our time together as much as I will myself. But not quite yet,’ he added. ‘First a brandy, I think, and a little music to set the mood. Perhaps we may even dance.’

Leonie held her tongue, unwilling to set herself up for any further ridicule. Whatever Vidal’s intentions, she had no choice but to go along.

He saw her seated on the same sofa she had occupied earlier, switching on some hidden player on his way to get the drinks. Soft music filled the room. Nothing Leonie recognised, but soothing, she had to admit.

This time Vidal took a seat at her side, clinking his glass against hers in mocking salute. ‘Pleasant dreams!’

‘I hope you have nightmares,’ she retaliated weakly, drawing another laugh.

‘I’ll let you know in the morning.’

‘I’m intended to stay the whole night?’ she asked, already knowing the answer.

‘But of course. I look forward to breakfast together on the balcony, if the weather still allows it. Were we in Portugal now, there would be little doubt of it. June is a delightful time of year, the air warm, the fields filled with flowers, the whole ambience one of peace and plenty.’

There were times, Leonie had noted in the past, when his speech became a little more formalised, his accent more pronounced. Times when he both looked and sounded a different person. She stole a glance at the firmly moulded profile, lingering for the briefest of moments on the sensual curve of his mouth before dragging her attention back to the glass in her hand.

She hadn’t wanted the bandy, but she lifted it to her lips now, swallowing half the contents in one gulp. The glow was instant, spreading through her like fingers of fire. She made to down what was left, to have the glass taken from her and placed on the low table before her, along with his own.

‘Brandy is meant to be savoured not tipped straight down the throat,’ he admonished. ‘Or were you simply seeking courage?’

‘Courage for what?’ she countered. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’

‘I think fear of yourself more likely,’ he returned. ‘You want me—you always did want me—but you can’t bring yourself to acknowledge it. This way you can lay the blame for any weakness on the effects of alcohol.’ He put a fingertip to her lips as she made to speak, his own curving as he felt her involuntary tremor. ‘No disputes. I’ll have you say the words before we’re through.’

‘I’d as soon cut my tongue out first!’ Leonie spoke through gritted teeth, fighting to stay on top of her warring instincts. His touch stirred her senses; there was no denying that. She had an almost irresistible urge to take the fingertip into her mouth, to savour the masculine taste of it.

Vidal removed the temptation by moving the finger, sliding it gently along the line of her jaw and up behind her ear in a caress that set every nerve-ending in her body aquiver. It took everything she had to keep from dragging his hand away; to sit there expressionlessly holding the dark gaze.

‘A woman of some will-power,’ he observed, ‘but not by any means invincible.’ He took the caressing finger away, getting to his feet. ‘Come.’

She stood up, steeling herself afresh as he turned her about to press her ahead of him clear of the sofa and table. The music had softened still further. Vidal turned her again, this time into his arms, hands sliding behind her back to hold her close. The heels she was wearing brought her eyes on a level with his mouth. His breath was warm on her cheek, the subtle male scent of him filling her nostrils as he began to move in slow cadence to the rhythm. Her nipples tingled as they rubbed against the hardness of his chest, springing to life. He would feel that reaction; he couldn’t fail to feel it. Not that she could do a damned thing about it.

‘Bonito,’ he murmured softly.

He dropped his hands further down her back, bringing the vital centres of their bodies into closer proximity. Leonie bit down hard on her lower lip as he moved her hips so that she just barely brushed against him. He was aroused already, if not fully as yet then certainly well on the way. Fight it though she might, she was part-way there herself. He knew it too.

‘I think the time has come,’ he murmured.

Leonie put up no resistance as he led her across to the bedroom. The bedside lights were switched on, casting a warm glow across the wide expanse of the king-sized bed while leaving the rest of the room in semi-darkness. Vidal made no attempt to turn on extra lights, affording her some relief at least.

He took her face between both hands, searching the striking features as if to commit them to memory, his eyes dark pools. The first touch of his lips was unexpectedly gentle, teasing rather than asserting, brushing a way through the barrier she tried to keep going. His tongue felt like silk, exploring the soft inner flesh with infinite sensitivity. Leonie felt her senses begin to swim, her will-power to start draining away. If she was going to make any kind of stance at all it had to be now, came the thought, before she went under completely.

Leaving one hand cupping her nape, Vidal dropped the other to seek her breast, encircling her tingling, peaking nipple for a brief moment before moving again to unfasten her shirt buttons with dexterity and slide inside to find bare flesh. His touch was like fire on her skin, fingers penetrating beneath the flimsy lace covering of her bra to close possessively about the firm swell. Leonie gasped at the flooding sensation, clinging to the fast-fading remnants of her will-power like a drowning man clutching a straw.

The shock when he removed the hand and put her abruptly from him was immense. Eyes wide and dark, she gazed at him in mute question.

‘Cover yourself,’ he said brusquely.

She did so, fumbling at the buttons with nerveless fingers. If it had been his aim to arouse her, then reject her the way she had rejected him, he had acted a little prematurely for total humiliation. Unless he’d changed his mind about the whole thing.

‘Is this your way of telling me the deal is off?’ she got out.

Face devoid of expression again, he shook his head. ‘A change of plan. I find myself unwilling to settle for just the one night. When I return to Portugal, you will be coming with me.’

Leonie found her voice, amazed by its steadiness. ‘You really think I’ll consent to becoming your mistress?’

The laugh was short. ‘So there’s a limit to the sacrifice you’re prepared to make for your father?’

She bit her lip, caught between two fires. ‘For how long?’ she managed at length.

Something flickered in the dark depths of his eyes. ‘I want no mistress,’ he said. ‘Two years ago I asked you to marry me. Today, I demand it.’




CHAPTER TWO


LEONIE stared at him in stupefaction. When she did find her voice it sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of a well. ‘You can’t be serious!’

‘I was never more so,’ Vidal assured her hardily. ‘For two long years I’ve tried to put you from my mind—to tell myself that no woman is worth losing sleep over. But it’s been of little use. I made you an offer I’d never made to any other woman, only to have it thrown back in my face as though it were an insult. I have the opportunity now to make you eat your words.’ The pause was brief. ‘The final choice still remains with you.’

‘It’s emotional blackmail!’ she accused, in no doubt as to his meaning. ‘You’re asking too much!’

‘No more than you’re asking of me in continuing to employ a man who stole from me,’ came the unmoved return. ‘Of course, you could always allow him to make the decision for himself.’

There would be no question of which way that decision would go, Leonie knew. Her father would be devastated if he knew what she was facing. The question of whether Vidal would actually call in the police if the money was paid back was debatable, but he certainly wouldn’t be prepared to reinstate him, or give him a reference, which would effectively put paid to his career.

Vidal made an abrupt movement. ‘I’ll leave you to think it over.’

Leonie sank to a seat on the edge of the bed as the door closed behind him, her nerves in tatters. Any appeal to his better nature was going to be a waste of time: he didn’t have a better nature. But marriage! How could she possibly go along with that? Especially when offered in a spirit of revenge for past offences.

There was a cheval mirror a few feet away. She caught a glimpse of herself, shirt only partially buttoned, hair tumbled from the hands run through it. She could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers, the hardness of his body against her—the deep down stirring at the memory. He was right about one thing: she had wanted him two years ago and she wanted him now. Despising him as a person made no impact on her senses.

She’d felt that impact the very first moment she’d laid eyes on him. She’d called in at the office to invite her father to lunch, to be told by his secretary that he was in conference with the company president. The inner office door had opened almost as she said it, framing a man whose expression registered open appreciation as he viewed her…



‘I’ve been looking at the photograph on your father’s desk for the past half-hour,’ he said. ‘It fails to do you full justice.’ He moved forward, holding out a hand, his smile devastating. ‘I’m Vidal Parella Dos Santos.’

Leonie took the hand, murmuring a response, aware of a tingle like a small electric shock as his fingers closed about hers. After all she’d heard and read about the man before her it was hardly surprising to find him exuding such pure animal magnetism. Women throughout Europe had been subject to it.

She turned her gaze on the man at his back. ‘I was hoping we could have lunch together, Dad.’

‘Sorry, darling, I’m going to be tied up for at least another hour,’ Stuart answered regretfully.

‘In which case, perhaps you’ll allow me to take you to lunch in your father’s stead?’ offered Vidal. ‘It would give me the greatest pleasure.’

Leonie’s instinct was to refuse, but a stronger force held sway. It was, after all, only lunch. ‘That’s very nice of you,’ she said.

The smile came again, equally disturbing in its effect. ‘It takes little effort to be nice to a beautiful woman.’

Leonie caught her father’s eye, reading the message there without difficulty. He was as aware as she was of Vidal’s reputation. Not that she had any intention of becoming one of his conquests.

‘I’ll see you later, then,’ she said lightly. ‘Don’t work too hard!’

They went to a restaurant she had never visited before, but where Vidal was welcomed by name and escorted to a table by the maître d’ himself. The place was well populated, the dress code very much upmarket. Leonie was glad she’d chosen to wear a new lemon suit. While not exactly designer label, it looked the part sufficiently well to pass muster to all but the most discerning eye.

‘I gather you’re a pretty frequent visitor here?’ she remarked when they were seated.

‘Whenever I come to London,’ Vidal agreed. ‘They know my tastes.’

In women too, no doubt, she thought with a cynical edge. She wouldn’t be the first he’d brought here, by any means. She studied him as he ran his eyes down the menu, taking in every superbly carved, olive-skinned detail of his face, the breadth of shoulder beneath the fine grey suiting, the lean, long-fingered hands with their well-tended nails. So far as outward appearances were concerned he had it all. Even without his position and wealth, he would never have to fight for female companionship.

As though sensing her scrutiny, he glanced up, catching her before she could look away. ‘Do I meet with your approval?’ he asked smilingly.

‘You’re a handsome man,’ she answered, refusing to be thrown. ‘You must be accustomed to attention.’

The dark head inclined in mock humility. ‘A matter I owe to my ancestry. The Dos Santos males have always been fortunate.’

‘Do the Dos Santos women share the same inheritance?’

‘Some. Not all.’ He paused, studying her in turn. ‘You’ve little of your father in you. Your mother must have been a very beautiful woman herself.’

Even after four years, mention of her still brought a pang. ‘How did you know she was dead?’ she asked.

‘I make it my business to know a top employee’s background,’ he said. ‘I understand you still live with your father?’

‘That’s right.’ Leonie saw no cause to explain her reasons. He should be able to work them out for himself. She dropped her eyes to the menu in front of her. ‘I’d like the whitebait to start, followed by the trout, please.’

‘A woman of decision!’ He applauded. ‘I believe I’ll have the same. You’re content to leave the choice of wine to me?’

Green eyes widened innocently. ‘Of course. Men know so much more about wine!’

The smile that curved his lips wrought havoc on her heartstrings. ‘Mock me at your peril,’ he warned. ‘I may find it necessary to exact penalties.‘

Flirting with a man of Vidal’s calibre was hardly to be recommended, but it was too enjoyable a pastime to be abandoned. ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ she said demurely.

She’d fully intended to plead other commitments after lunch, but when the time came she found herself agreeing without demur to his suggestion that they take a ride on the river.

‘You may not believe it, but this is the first time I’ve ever done this,’ she remarked when they were afloat.

‘I find it very easy to believe,’ Vidal returned. ‘Few of us appreciate the readily available. There are parts of Lisbon I’ve never visited.’

‘I know the Dos Santos headquarters are in Lisbon, but is it your main home too?’ Leonie ventured.

‘Not the city itself. I live at Sintra, some thirty or so kilometres to the northwest.’

‘Your own place?’

‘Of course. Reconstructed from the remains of a fourteenth century monastery.’

Her eyes lit with interest. ‘Really?’

‘And truly,’ he mocked. ‘Not that you’ll find any ghosts from the past still in residence. They were all driven out by the clamour of modern machinery.’

‘You planned the restoration yourself?’

‘With the invaluable aid of an architect friend who was able to tell me what was and wasn’t possible. It was finished three years ago, so the new stonework has weathered in. I employed a landscaping company to design the grounds surrounding it.’

‘Does your family live in the same area?’

‘The Dos Santos estates are in the Douro Valley. Beautiful, but too isolated for my tastes. There’s more than one branch of the family surviving,’ he added, anticipating her next question.

‘My father’s cousin has land adjoining. There are relatives on the island of Madeira too. They own several hotels there.’

‘So you’re not the only one who chose to go into business rather than sit around enjoying the fruits of inheritance?’ Leonie remarked lightly.

The comment drew a quirk to his lips. ‘A very poetic way of putting it, though correct in essence. I leave the latter way of life to my cousins.’

Leonie would have liked to know more, but the warning flags were out. She would be doing herself no favours by delving any deeper into the life of a man she was unlikely to be seeing after today.

The thought alone brought a rare despondency. He came across as so very different from the image she’d formed via media reports. She was drawn to him in more than just the physical sense.

They left the boat at Greenwich, and took a taxi back to where they’d left the car. By then Leonie was even less inclined to call time on the day. She’d never gone short of male attention, but none of the men she’d met had radiated the same charm. Vidal made her feel she was the one person in the whole world he wanted to be with. Deep down, she knew it was all part of his technique, but she turned a deaf ear to the cautionary voices.

Drinks in a Mayfair wine bar, followed by an invitation to dinner in his hotel suite, made his intentions clear enough, but she chose to follow the same reckless path, driven by an inner, irresistible need. Life was for living. With a man like Vidal, the experience could only be good.

The suite was sumptuous, the food superbly prepared, the conversation scintillating. They ate out on the balcony, finishing off the meal with brandies.

Feeling positively euphoric, Leonie got up and went to the balustrade to look out over the sparkling panorama. ‘“When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life”,’ she quoted softly.

‘Samuel Johnson knew a very different London, I think,’ Vidal observed. He was at her back, hands sliding about her waist to draw her closer, lips parting the hair at her nape to nuzzle the tender skin. ‘The night is beautiful, but you surpass it,’ he murmured. ‘Eu quero, meu querido!’

Leonie had taken off her jacket earlier. The thin blouse she was wearing beneath offered little defence against the hands now sliding up to cup her breasts. She felt her nipples peak beneath the gentle caressing motion of his thumbs, a shudder run the whole length of her body. A core of heat rose from some central spot, radiating outwards to encompass her whole being. She felt as if she were floating, her legs too weak to support her.

Vidal turned her towards him, face dark but for the glitter in his eyes as he bent his head to find her lips. The kiss was a revelation, drawing an instant and overwhelming response. She could feel his heat, the burgeoning hardness against her thighs. He’d removed his jacket too. The fine silk of his shirt moulded to the muscularity beneath, emphasising every masculine line.

‘Come,’ he said softly.

It was only then, as he took her hand to lead her back indoors, that she began to come to her senses. This was nothing new to him. Nothing special, the way it was for her. She was just another easy lay—another notch on his bedpost.

He turned his head to view her in some surprise as she pulled sharply free of him. ‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked

‘I’m no one-night-stand!’ she jerked out

Dark brows drew together. ‘Is that how you believe I see you?’

‘Well, isn’t it?’ she challenged. ‘You had this in mind from the first, didn’t you?’

‘I was under the impression that we both of us knew where we were heading,’ he returned levelly. ‘You gave me no cause to doubt it up until now.’

Leonie felt the warmth run up under skin. She sought refuge from the truth in anger. ‘You take too much for granted! I accepted an invitation to dinner. I didn’t realise I’d be called on to pay for it in kind.’

Vidal viewed her in silence for a moment or two, a deep down spark in his eyes the only indication of emotion. ‘I apologise for the error,’ he said at last. ‘I thought you a woman of the world.’

She’d gone out of her way to give that impression, Leonie had to admit. Anger gave way to shame for a moment. The fault was more hers than his.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said thickly. ‘I got a little carried away. I’m not in the habit of it, believe me.’

The expression that crossed the sculpted features was difficult to define. ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘I do take far too much for granted. Perhaps we might begin again?’

Leonie shook her head, ousting temptation before it could swamp her. ‘I really don’t see any point. We come from different worlds. I’ll stick to my own in future.’

‘Your choice, of course.’ Vidal indicated the open glass doors, face impassive now. ‘I’ll order you a taxi.’

Leonie went ahead of him back into the room, steeling herself to stay in control as she watched him pick up the telephone.

‘It will be waiting for you,’ he said, replacing the receiver. ‘Charged to my account.’

No doubt an arrangement of long standing, she thought. ‘I can pay for my own transport,’ she declared stiffly.

He inclined his head. ‘You must naturally do as you see fit.’

He came over to pick up the jacket she’d tossed over a chair-back before dinner, holding it out for her to slide her arms into. She did so as smoothly and swiftly as possible, vitally aware of his closeness, and of her hammering pulses. If she’d carried on the act a little longer they would have been in bed by now, with the question of right or wrong purely academic. It took everything she had to restrain the urge to throw caution aside.

Vidal saw her to the suite’s outer door. It was still impossible to read anything in the dark eyes as she met them for the final time.

‘It was an enjoyable day,’ he said.

‘But a disappointing night,’ she responded, determined not to give way to any last-minute wavering.

The smile was unexpected. ‘No matter. Sleep well, namorado.’

What the last meant, Leonie had no idea. Nor did she care to ask. She heard the door close as she made for the lifts.

Crossing the hotel lobby was an ordeal in itself. She was certain that the receptionists on duty were watching her every step. The taxi was waiting, as promised. She gave the address and slid inside, grateful for the closed glass partition precluding any conversation. It was going to be a costly ride all the way out to Northwood, but she had no intention of crying off from paying—even if it did probably mean that the driver would gain double fare.

It was close on midnight when she reached home. As anticipated, her offer of the metered charge wasn’t rejected. Her father came out from the study as she let herself in, his expression only too easy to read.

‘You didn’t go back to your office this afternoon,’ he said.

Leonie donned a smile, a light tone. ‘No. Vidal fancied a trip on the river. We had dinner together too.’

‘Just dinner?’

‘Just dinner,’ she assured him, smothering any resentment at the catechism. ‘He’s been the perfect gentleman.’

Stuart looked relieved. ‘Good. It isn’t that I don’t trust you to keep a steady head,’ he hastened to add. ‘I was just a little concerned that he might attempt to take advantage, that’s all.’

‘Well, he didn’t.’ She could say that with truth, considering the way he’d accepted the rejection. A first for him too, she didn’t doubt. ‘I’m going straight up,’ she declared, stifling a spurious yawn.

‘I’ll be up myself in a few minutes,’ Stuart returned.

Leonie kissed his cheek in passing, mounting the stairs feeling anything but happy. She’d probably turned down the experience of her life tonight, and for what? Hanging fire for Mr Right was all very well in theory, but what if he never turned up?

She spent a restless night, rising to a day that held little sparkle. The more she thought about the previous night, the more gauche she felt. She’d acted like some naïve teenager rather than a grown woman. Vidal must consider her totally immature.

Was it too late, she wondered, to contact him and apologise for giving the wrong impression? She had no idea what his itinerary was, but he’d still be in his suite at this hour. She wanted desperately to see him again. He was like no other man she had ever met. So what if he did have a reputation? At thirty-three, and single, he was hardly going to live like a monk. They’d been so well attuned until she’d come over all moral. Given the opportunity, the relationship might even have developed into something worthwhile.

She was still grappling with the temptation when she went down to breakfast. Her father was reading the morning newspaper.

‘I think you should see this,’ he said, handing a sheet over as she took her seat at the table. ‘Just in case there’s any doubt remaining.’

The photograph leapt out at her: Vidal, resplendent in evening dress, alongside a young and beautiful woman who looked vaguely familiar. According to the accompanying write-up Vidal had refused to accept responsibility for the child she’d recently given birth to, leaving her with a ruined modelling career, and destitute. She didn’t believe in abortion, she claimed plaintively. All she’d ever asked from him was support.

Leonie swallowed thickly on the lump in her throat. Knowing him for a philanderer was one thing; this was something else. What kind of man turned his back on his own child?

‘I wasn’t planning on seeing him again,’ she said.

‘Good.’ Stuart sounded relieved. ‘He’ll be gone in a couple of days, anyway. He never spends long in any place.’

His name wasn’t mentioned again.

Leonie did her best to cast him from her mind altogether—failing because her body refused to play ball. She could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers, the touch of his hands on her skin; still smell the emotive masculine scent of him. She despised herself for the weakness.

The day went by slowly. Emerging from the office at five-thirty to see Vidal leaning against the bonnet of a silver Mercedes was a shock that left her momentarily speechless. She could only gaze at him, aware of the interest aroused in those around her as he straightened.

‘I remembered you mentioning your company name,’ he said. ‘I need to speak with you.’

‘About what?’ she asked, recovering enough of her poise to achieve a reasonable control of her voice.

He had to be conscious of the spectators, but his attention never wavered from her face, an amber spark deep down in his eyes. ‘Not here.’

Not anywhere with you! she thought, but the words failed to materialise. ‘I really don’t see the point,’ she heard herself saying instead.

‘Indulge me,’ he said.

Leonie hesitated, reluctant to cause further speculation among the onlookers by walking away as her every instinct advised. They would all know who he was, of course. His face had been splashed across too many papers and screens for them not to know. She was going to be faced with a barrage of questions tomorrow, regardless, but it would call for less explanation if she simply went with him now.

He took the hesitation itself as agreement, turning back to open the front passenger door. Leonie slid into the leather seat, reaching automatically for the belt as Vidal moved round the front of the car to gain the driving seat.

‘You’re parked on double yellow lines,’ she said.

‘I know,’ he answered. ‘There are times when the law has to be broken.’

He forced a passage out into the traffic stream, ignoring the furious hooting. Leonie stole a glance at him, unable to do anything about the toe-curling impact. It was unfair that one man should be given so much in the way of looks.

What he could possibly have to say to her she had no idea. Another apology, perhaps, for taking too much for granted last night—even though he’d had some cause. It seemed unlikely, yet she could think of no other explanation for his looking her up. Not that it would make the least bit of difference to her view of him after reading what she’d read this morning.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked as he turned onto Park Lane.

‘My suite,’ he said, jerking her upright.

‘If you think…’

‘I’m not about to repeat last night’s error in judgement,’ he declared. ‘What I have to say to you requires privacy.’ He shook his head as she made to speak. ‘This is neither the time nor the place to discuss it.’

He was right about that, she had to admit. The evening traffic was heavy, road sense in short supply. A driver needed no distractions. She subsided again reluctantly, even more confused.

They made the square eventually. Vidal drove straight down into the hotel’s underground car park. Another couple joined them in the lift. Leonie saw the way the woman looked at Vidal, then back at her own partner, as if comparing the two. Not that there was any comparison.

The other two got out at the fourth floor, leaving them to ascend to the fifth in a silence Leonie had no intention of being the first to break. She would listen to whatever it was he had to say, but he wasn’t going to sway her opinion of him. Certainly not after that morning’s revelations.

It was gone six-thirty by her watch when they reached the suite. She’d told her father she’d be going straight home tonight, though she rarely made it before seven. She’d give him a ring as soon as she got out of here, she promised herself. He tended to worry if she failed to put in an appearance when she’d said she would, imagining all kinds of mishaps. A leftover from her childhood days.

Vidal invited her to take a seat, lifting his shoulders in a philosophical shrug when she declined. Dressed today in trousers and a fine white cotton sweater, dark hair showing a hint of curl in its thickness, he was achingly alluring. Leonie steeled herself to stay on top of the emotions he still aroused in her.

‘So?’ she said.

A smile touched his lips as he surveyed her. ‘You remind me of a stag at bay,’ he said. ‘Ready to do me damage should I make one false move. You need have no fear. I’m willing to wait.’

Green eyes fired a whole shower of sparks. ‘You’ll be wasting your time!’

‘It’s mine to waste,’ he returned. ‘Not that I intend a lengthy engagement.’

The wind taken completely out of her sails, Leonie gazed at him blankly. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Our marriage,’ he said. ‘I want you to be my wife.’

Leonie knew a sudden urge to laugh. Pure hysteria, she thought dazedly. From last night to this was too much of a jump for her mind to make.

‘What kind of game are you playing now?’ she got out.

‘I’m not in the habit of playing games,’ he said. ‘Certainly not of this nature. I’ve waited a long time to meet a woman I could contemplate spending my life with. A woman who values herself enough to overcome her more basic urges. You wanted me last night in exactly the same way that I wanted you, but you refused to give way. You never have, have you?’

Leonie felt her face flame. ‘That’s none of your business!’

Vidal smiled and shook his head. ‘It’s very much my business. My wife must have known no other man. It’s one Dos Santos tradition I’ve no quarrel with. I’d prefer a quiet wedding. And as soon as can be managed.’ The dark eyes acquired a tawny spark again as he studied her. ‘I found last night frustrating enough.’

Leonie found her voice, amazed by its steadiness. ‘Does the word love figure in your vocabulary at all?’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Though perhaps not the “at first sight” kind written about in books. The real kind takes time and knowledge to develop.’

He paused, a faint line appearing between his brows as he waited for some response from her. ‘Do you have nothing to say to me?’

She drew a deep shuddery breath, fighting a sudden mad inclination to simply go along with it all. ‘I’ve got plenty to say,’ she forced out. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!’

The shock that sprang in his face would have been laughable if she’d felt at all like laughing. The possibility of rejection had obviously never occurred to him. Not so surprising, she supposed, considering his status as one of Europe’s most eligible bachelors, but that in no way excused his sheer arrogance.

The anger sweeping her was as much a defence against any lingering doubts as an expression of repulsion. She drew herself up to her full height, fists clenched at her sides, eyes scornful. ‘If you want the truth, I’d as soon consort with a worm than a womanising, baby-abandoning low-life like you! I must have been mad to let you anywhere near me to start with. Talk about scraping the barrel!’

She stopped there, apprehension taking over at the look in his eyes. Danger shimmered in the air between them.

He turned abruptly and made for the drinks cabinet, pulling down the shelf with control to reach for glass and bottle. The whisky he poured was at least a double measure. He tossed it back in a single gulp, standing there with his back to her, tension in every line of his body.

‘I think you’d better leave,’ he said.

For a moment she hesitated, ashamed of the sheer viciousness of her attack. It took the memory of the newspaper item to drive all regret from her mind. Somewhere out there was a woman caring for his child. Maybe not the only one, for all she knew. He merited no apology.

He was still standing there when she closed the door on him.



It hadn’t been true, Leonie reflected painfully, coming back to the present. Not that part, at any rate. The woman had just been trying it on, losing her case when a blood test proved that the baby couldn’t be his. Not that it made him any less of a rake.

The ultimatum he’d just presented her with was still hard to take in. No marriage contracted under such circumstances could ever become meaningful. He would be condemning them both to a loveless union simply to salve his pride. He had to see how utterly useless a gesture it would be.

He was seated on one of the sofas, a drink to hand, when she finally nerved herself to go through. He watched her expressionlessly as she moved towards him.

‘There has to be some other way of handling this,’ she said. ‘Why would you want a wife who hates you?’

‘You don’t hate me,’ he declared without undue emphasis. ‘You feel the way you’ve always felt about me. The same way I feel about you. We’re meant to be together. If this is the only way of achieving that, then so be it.’

‘Forsaking all others?’ she asked. ‘Or are Dos Santos wives expected to turn a blind eye?’

The shrug was brief. ‘A matter of learning to trust.’

‘Trust you!’ She put every ounce of derision she could muster into the words. ‘That will be the day!’

Vidal shrugged again. ‘Time will tell.’ He paused, lifting a questioning eyebrow. ‘Do I take it we have an agreement?’

‘Do I have any choice?’ she asked bitterly.

‘Not if you want your father to keep his job.’

Leonie sat down heavily in the nearby chair, mind grappling with the implications. ‘What am I supposed to tell him?’

‘That’s entirely up to you,’ he responded. ‘The truth, if you like. I’d doubt it would make any difference.’

Her head lifted, eyes blazing green fire. ‘Yes, it would! He’d never go along with it!’

‘Then you’ll simply have to convince him that it’s what you want. You could say, for instance, that I asked you to marry me two years ago but you weren’t ready then to take the step. You’ve spent the last two years regretting your decision, and are happy to be given a second chance.’

‘He’d never believe it!’

‘Why not? He was aware of the attraction that flared between us the moment we met.’

Leonie gave a short laugh. ‘He’d hardly consider that enough to precipitate an offer of marriage from you!’

‘How could he know what my reaction would be? We come from different cultures.’

There was never a truer word, Leonie reflected, searching his face for some sign, however slight, of vulnerability. A hopeless task, of course. Vidal had no weak spots. Many women would be over the moon to have the opportunity she was being offered. If she were totally honest about it, the physical attraction he still held for her made the decision a little less fraught. It was doubtful if the marriage would be long term, anyway.

‘You win,’ she said thickly.

There was no reaction that she could perceive in the dark eyes. ‘I’ll begin arrangements tomorrow. I’m due in Munich the day after, but I’ll curtail the visit as much as is possible. We can be married three weeks from now, and travel to Lisbon immediately after.’

Leonie felt her heart jerk. Her expression drew an ironic smile.

‘You didn’t imagine I’d be content to set up a permanent home here?’

She hadn’t got that far, she acknowledged helplessly. ‘It can’t possibly be as quick as that,’ she declared, looking for any delaying tactic. ‘There’s my job, for one thing.’

‘Tell them you’re leaving,’ came the uncompromising reply. ‘If there’s any financial penalty it will be taken care of. I won’t wait longer than three weeks for you. The strain is already telling on me.’

‘I doubt if you’ll have any difficulty easing it,’ she said with purpose.

He made no perceptible movement, yet his posture somehow hardened. ‘There will be no others.’

And pigs might fly! she reflected. One woman was never going to be enough for him, even over a limited period. Especially one whose sexual experience was nil!

Not that she’d stay that way for long, came the thought, sending a sudden frisson down her spine.

‘If we’re waiting till after the marriage, I assume I’m free to go now?’ she said, blanking out any dissenting voices.

For a moment he seemed on the verge of disputing that assumption, then he inclined his head. ‘For now. You can tell your father the news tonight, if you wish—or you can wait until the morning and we can tell him together.’

‘You mean to come to the house?’

The smile was dry. ‘I think your father and I have some matters to discuss before he returns to his job. I’ll arrange a taxi for you.’

He got to his feet, heading for the telephone. Leonie watched him with a sense of déjà vu. Just what she was going to tell her father, she had no idea. How could she possibly convince him that her decision to marry a man she hadn’t even seen for two years had nothing to do with his own predicament?

It was a long and fraught journey back to Northwood. Relief held the upper hand for a moment or two when she arrived home to find her father had already retired for the night, though the problem was going to be no less in the morning. Somehow or other she had to find the right words before Vidal’s arrival.

It was still difficult to believe it was all really happening. She kept thinking she was going to wake up any minute and find the whole thing was a bad dream. She supposed she should be grateful that Vidal actually wanted to marry her, when he might simply have demanded she become his mistress for however long he chose.

None of which helped her sleep well. She rose heavy-eyed at seven, still with no clear idea of how she was going to give her father the news. He was already at breakfast when she finally went down, although not eating a great deal, she noted.

‘I thought you were staying out last night,’ he said. ‘You must have been late getting in.’

‘Fairly,’ Leonie agreed. The only way, she decided resignedly, was to come right out with it. ‘I didn’t actually tell you the truth about where I was going last night,’ she said. ‘I went to see Vidal again. He’ll be coming here this morning to see you.’

Stuart looked at her uncertainly, obviously struck by something in her tone. ‘To tell me what?’

‘That you can keep your job.’ She drew a steadying breath. ‘And to tell you we’re going to be married.’

Thunderstruck was too mild a word for the expression on her father’s face. ‘You’re what?’ he got out.

‘I know it must come as a shock to you,’ she said, fighting to maintain an element of composure, ‘though it isn’t as out of the blue as it must seem. He actually asked me two years ago. I turned him down that time, but I’ve always regretted it.’

‘Two years ago?’ Stuart Baxter looked even more bewildered. ‘But you only met him the once!’

‘Twice,’ Leonie corrected, aware of how crazy it all sounded. ‘He proposed the day after we met.’ She forced a smile. ‘I felt much the same way you’re feeling now. That it wasn’t possible for anyone to make a decision like that so quickly. Especially a man like Vidal. I didn’t have the courage to go with what I felt for him then. What I still feel for him.’

Her father gazed at her in silence for a lengthy moment, confusion giving way to perturbation. ‘You’re saying you’re in love with him?’

Leonie held his gaze, willing herself to reveal no uncertainty. ‘Yes.’

There was another pause, another change of expression, this time to one of suspicion. ‘Are you doing this for me?’

Her laugh sounded hollow even to her own ears. ‘Dad, much as I love you, I couldn’t contemplate tying myself to a man I had no feelings for. What you did brought us together again, that’s all. I want to marry him. More than anything!’

‘He’s no good for you, pet!’ It was a cry from the heart. ‘You know what kind of man he is!’

‘I know what kind of man he’s made out to be,’ she returned. ‘As a bachelor, he’s been entitled to play the field. That’s not to say he’ll continue doing it after marriage.’

‘Leopards don’t change their spots. I know it’s a cliché, but it’s based on fact. I can’t believe you’re really serious about this!’

‘I am,’ she assured him. ‘Very serious. I want you to be happy for me, Dad. Happy for us both.’

‘I’m trying,’ he said. ‘I’m really trying. I just find it—’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘When were you thinking of?’

Leonie drew another deep breath. ‘Within three weeks. And quietly. Vidal doesn’t want any publicity.’

‘Three weeks!’

Get it all over in one go, she thought, steeling herself. ‘We’ll be living in Portugal, of course. Vidal’s main home is in Sintra, near Lisbon. We’re not planning on a honeymoon.’ She certainly wasn’t. ‘We’ll be going straight there afterwards.’

‘You planned all this last night?’ Stuart both looked and sounded at a total loss.’

‘That’s right.’ Leonie let herself relax a little. The worst was over. She attempted a smile, a lighter tone of voice. ‘Vidal doesn’t hang about.’

‘Not in any sphere, apparently. What time will he be here?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she hedged. ‘Definitely this morning.’

‘What about your job?’

‘I’ll be leaving, naturally.’

‘Just like that?’

Her shrug was meant to convey a wry acknowledgement. ‘Needs must, I’m afraid.’

‘Because Vidal says so?’ Stuart viewed her in perplexity. ‘Are you going to let him rule your whole life?’

‘It would be a bit far to commute from Lisbon,’ Leonie pointed out, trying to make a joke of it. ‘Anyway, I’m hardly going to need a job. I’m marrying a multimillionaire.’

‘That isn’t you talking,’ he protested.

‘It’s me talking nonsense,’ she responded, rueing the comment. ‘I’d marry Vidal if he didn’t have a penny to his name! I’ll be really sorry to leave you on your own,’ she added truthfully, ‘but it had to happen some time. Anyway, Portugal isn’t all that far away. We’ll be able to visit both ways.’

‘Of course.’ The agreement was subdued, his attitude one of unwilling resignation.

Leonie stretched a hand across the table to cover one of his, doing her best not to give way to the temptation to blurt out the truth. ‘I know it’s a shock, Dad, but I do know what I’m doing.’

‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘I really do hope so.’ He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘I’ll be in the study.’

She let him go without protest. He needed time on his own to come to terms with it all. She needed it herself, if it came to that. By the time Vidal arrived she had to be in a frame of mind to go along with anything and everything he said.

The following couple of hours went by slowly. With ten o’clock come and gone, she began to wonder if he’d changed his mind about the whole thing. The sound of a car drawing into the drive a little before eleven dispelled that notion. A Mercedes again, she noted from the drawing room window. The latest model no doubt.

She went to open the door before he could ring the bell, unable to deny the customary tug on her stomach muscles as she viewed the decisive features.

‘Dad’s waiting for you in the study,’ she said without preamble. ‘I told him what to expect.’

‘Leaving little to discuss,’ Vidal responded dryly. ‘Five minutes should be enough to say what I have to say.’

‘You’re going to read him the Riot Act again, I suppose?’ she said, closing the door again.

Vidal gave a short laugh. ‘I intend him to understand that our marriage buys him no further immunity, yes.’

‘I’m sure he already knows that.’ Leonie was hard put to it to keep a civil tone. ‘He’s facing a difficult time all round. I’d be grateful if you didn’t lean on him too hard.’

Vidal made no reply. Wearing a dark grey suit today, he looked every inch the hard-headed businessman. She bit back any further appeal, tapping lightly on the study door before opening it.

‘Vidal’s here, Dad.’

She left them to it, going to the kitchen to make coffee. There was no sound from the study when she went back along the hall with the tray. Five minutes, Vidal had said, but it was already fifteen. What they could be talking about she couldn’t imagine.

Another five minutes went by before the two men put in an appearance. Stuart looked subdued, Vidal impassive.

‘I’ve made the arrangements for Monday three weeks from now,’ said the latter. ‘I’ll be travelling to Munich this afternoon in order to be through with business matters by then.’

Giving her three whole weeks to rearrange her life, thought Leonie sardonically. She kept both expression and voice under strict control. ‘I’d have thought the register office would have been pretty heavily booked this time of year.’

Vidal smiled, seemingly at ease. ‘I was offered a cancellation. Did you inform your employers?’

‘Not yet,’ she admitted. ‘I can’t do it over the phone. I’ll go in this afternoon.’

Stuart started to say something, breaking off with a helpless little gesture as if in recognition of the futility. ‘It’s going to be very short notice for your family,’ he observed. ‘Will any of them be attending the wedding?’

‘It’s doubtful,’ Vidal replied smoothly. ‘They do little travelling. We’ll visit them at the first opportunity, of course. The ceremony will be at ten o’clock. I have reservations on a flight from Heathrow at four.’

‘So soon!’

The shrug was brief. ‘I see no reason to linger. Naturally you’ll be welcome to visit any time you wish.’

‘Thanks.’ The older man managed to keep his tone from reflecting any sarcasm.

Vidal drained his coffee cup, setting it down again as he rose. ‘I have to go. You’ll see me to the door, Leonie.’

It was more of a statement than a request, and with her father looking on she was in no position to object. She kept a smile pinned to her lips as she accompanied him from the room, losing it only when they were out of both sight and sound.

‘Was it really necessary to be quite so cavalier?’ she asked with some asperity, drawing an ironic glance.

‘You think me inconsiderate where your father’s concerned?’

She bit her lip. ‘A consideration that comes at a price.’

‘True.’ His tone had softened. ‘You find it such a high price to pay?’

Leonie met his eyes, wishing she could penetrate the unfathomable darkness. ‘I suppose many would consider it no price at all for what I’ll be gaining.’

‘I believe many would,’ he agreed. ‘I don’t claim any mitigating factors. I used the situation to my own ends. Just don’t try pretending you feel nothing at all for me. It may be no more than a physical reaction at present, but you’ve yet to know me in any depth.’

He drew her to him to kiss her with an ardour that elicited an involuntary response. She had to stop herself from clinging to him when he finally lifted his head.

‘You see,’ he murmured, ‘there are compensations.’

Of a kind, she thought hollowly, watching him walk to the car.




CHAPTER THREE


VIEWED from the air, the landscape was a montage of rolling hills and mountains riven by numerous rivers. A landscape bathed in sunlight for the most part. They would be landing in twenty minutes, the pilot had announced just now.

Flying first class was a new experience. An excellent experience, Leonie had to admit. She stole a glance at the man at her side, to see the dark head at rest against the padded cushion. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, though there was no slackening of muscle along the firm jaw line

The past few weeks had been a rollercoaster ride, fast and furious and non-stop!

Her company had put no serious obstacle in her way when she’d handed in her resignation, although curiosity had been rife.

Vidal had returned from Munich, as promised. They’d spent the Saturday morning buying rings, both engagement and wedding.

She took a surreptitious look at her left hand, where the sparkling three-stone diamond hoop nestled above the beautifully engraved gold band. Worth a fortune, the pair of them, she didn’t doubt, but still totally alien to her. The Senhora Parella Dos Santos, that was her new title. She wondered if she would ever come to view it with anything approaching familiarity.

The wedding ceremony itself had been less of a cold and clinical affair than she had anticipated. It had been a relief to emerge from the register office and find no lurking photographers. Vidal had booked a table for three for lunch, but her father had backed out from accompanying them. He appeared to have accepted the situation with good grace, though Leonie doubted if it was wholly true. She’d promised to keep in regular touch, starting with a phone call as soon as they arrived safely at her new home.

Tonight Vidal would introduce her to the bedtime rites. She’d be a liar if she tried to make out that she viewed the prospect with loathing, she acknowledged, turning her gaze on him again. The feelings he aroused in her were all that had kept her going these past weeks.

‘Analysis complete?’ he asked, startling her as she had thought him genuinely asleep.

‘I wouldn’t presume to be capable of plumbing your depths,’ she retorted, gathering her wits.

He turned his head to look at her without lifting it from the rest, expression enigmatic. ‘You think I have depths to plumb, then?’

‘Everyone has,’ she said. ‘Of one kind or another. You weren’t born despising women.’

Dark brows lifted. ‘You believe that’s what I do?’

‘Basically, yes.’ Having begun this, she wasn’t about to back down. ‘We’re there to be used. Your reputation bears that out.’

‘Reputations,’ he said, ‘are often illusory.’

‘Meaning the media make it all up?’

‘Embellishment is a journalistic skill learned early in a career. I always credited you with more intelligence than to take everything you read in a newspaper as a hundred per cent correct.’

Leonie bit her lip, knowing he had a point. ‘If I’d been all that intelligent I’d have steered well clear of you two years ago!’ she declared in an attempt to keep her end up.

‘If you had, your father might be in a very different position today,’ Vidal returned equably. His eyes roved her face, devouring every feature, the look in them causing her heart to beat faster. ‘It took time, but I got my way in the end. I look forward now to a long and happy life together.’

‘Can a marriage contracted the way ours was ever be happy?’ she asked, still doubting the ‘long’.

‘Given the will, there’s no reason to doubt it,’ he said. ‘We’ll be spending the rest of the week at the quinta,’ he added. ‘A time to get to know one another a little better.’

‘In more ways than the one, you mean?’

‘In more ways than the one,’ he agreed, ignoring the satire. ‘We found a great deal in common the day we sailed the river together. You were at ease with me then.’

Recalling the way she’d felt that day, ‘at ease’ wasn’t exactly the way she would have described it, but she knew what he meant. There had been a compatibility in tastes: a liking for classical music, for theatre, for books with meaningful content. Looking back, it was amazing how much ground they’d covered during those few hours together.

‘What happens next week?’ she asked. ‘Do I take it you’ll be flitting round Europe?’

‘Next week we travel to the Douro,’ he said. ‘I have to introduce you to my family.’

Catching a certain tension in his voice, Leonie slanted a glance. ‘I take it they do know you’re married?’ she queried in sudden suspicion.

‘Not yet,’ he admitted. ‘Nor are they likely to approve.’

Pride raised flags in her cheeks. ‘You mean they may think I’m not good enough to join the Dos Santos clan?’

The smile that touched the firm mouth was wry. ‘Snobbery isn’t confined to any one race. They have fixed ideas of continuance where the bloodline is concerned. But faced with a fait accompli, they have no choice but to accept my choice of bride.’




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