The Marriage Bargain (8 page)

“I’m sure your friend Tasha is a nice girl.” He paused to stifle the derisive laughter charging up his throat.

A glint of understanding sparked in her eyes. He could see, deep down inside, she knew why even if she wasn’t ready to admit it. Tasha was, in a word,
unrefined
.

“But...”

“She is, how do you say...?” He hesitated, searching tactfully for the right words. “A trophy wife.”

Camille’s entire body seemed to relax, as if she got it. “And Julian de Laurent wouldn’t be caught dead with a
trophy wife
.”

She did get it.

“If it’s to be believable, my wife has to be a woman of substance and eloquent beauty.” He waved his hands before him in a grand gesture. “She is the bride. Not the young lady who jumps out of the cake at the bachelor party.”

The makings of a serpent’s stare quickly gave way to a stony gaze before her eyes settled with approval.

“Underneath all that fluff Tasha has her moments.” Camille’s tone, hesitant and weak, suggested she was digging for something good to say. “She’s been a good friend.”

Julian sensed there was a ‘but’ lost in her thoughts and struggling to get out. It was up to him to help her forget about it. “Yes, and just the kind of girl my brother Andre will fall madly in love with.” Julian laughed in a deep, jovial way. “Tell her to go easy on him.”

“You keep your brother in check, and I’ll do the same with my friend.”

Always the diplomat. Julian liked that about Camille. He also liked that she was able to remain composed while under pressure. She’d need it, especially when it came to Papa and Madeleine. Julian would love to shield her from both. But for six months? It didn’t seem possible.

“I doubt they will be half the problem that Papa and Madeleine will turn out to be.” He eased it in there, half-hoping she wouldn’t notice.

She did. Indicative of her head whipping in his direction.

“Who’s Madeleine?” The inquiry clawed its way out, as if crawling over mountainous terrain.

“Madeleine is my father’s choice,” he said with a trivial, dismissive tone.

“That doesn’t sound good.” She stiffened and pulled away.

“But she is not my choice.” He leaned closer to Camille. “All you have to remember, Chéri, is,
you
are my choice.”

“Oh, I get that,” she said with a touch of irritation. “But, just how far are your father and Madeleine willing to go?” Her eyes narrowed as she peered at him. “Will they be out for revenge?”

Denial shook Julian’s head. “My father...no. But he will have a sharp eye out though, which is why we must appear real.”

“And what about Madeleine?”

“Well, she’s not going to be happy.”

“Will she get violent?”

Madeleine? Violent? The notion was laughable. She wasn’t the physical type, but that wouldn’t stop her from trying to cause trouble. “She’s not going to take this well. But you aren’t in any physical danger, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So, I’ll just have to be on my toes around Madeleine, because she’s going to be out to sabotage me.” She seemed to be filing informative tips away in her brain.

“Us. Sabotage us.” Julian didn’t want Camille thinking or feeling like she was in this alone.

She had to know and understand they were in this together. Julian couldn’t afford to have her back out on him now. It meant the difference between six months of make-believe with a woman he found simply delightful, or a lifetime of nothing special with Madeleine.

CHAPTER SIX

CAMILLE CHANDLER
was afraid of the unknown. That fear fueled her continued support of Julian’s harebrained scheme. She was terrified to start over. She had nothing to start over with. And Margo wasn’t likely to ease up on her threats.

With five million dollars, Camille could go to some nondescript little town Margo had never heard of and get a job at the local paper—or hell, with that much money she could probably even buy the town’s newspaper. That’s it; she’d purchase a house and run the newspaper. Any money she had left over, she’d put the rest away for a rainy day.

That dream sounded better than the alternative: living on the streets and hoping to land a job at the local diner—a job she’d never worked in her life.

The stopover in London had been quick. Too quick, considering Julian’s jilted lover and his father, who wasn’t getting the daughter-in-law he desired, were waiting in France. The layover was also expensive, but probably not from Julian’s point of view. No doubt, he was used to spending thousands on a single suit.

Not Camille. She considered anything upwards of fifty bucks a splurge. After stopping at a few of the finer boutiques, they were back on Julian’s jet and headed for Paris. The afternoon spending spree—dozens of outfits ranging from several hundred dollars to a few thousand—was a little unsettling.

In Paris, they made another quick stop and had a brief meeting with some designer, Marie something-or-other. Camille had never heard of her, which didn’t mean much. Her wedding gown designs were supposed to be all the rage.

Julian promised Marie’s questions, strange and off the wall, would give her insight into Camille’s true personality and in the end, she’d be rewarded with the wedding dress of her dreams. Camille had her doubts, but five million bucks was ample motivation to yield to the designer’s quirks.

After the appointment with Marie, Julian and Camille dined at a sidewalk café before returning to the airport.

Funny, the closer they got to Marseilles, the tighter Camille’s nerves twisted in her gut. She almost wished she didn’t know Julian’s father and the girl he’d slighted would be out to get her. Well, probably not the father, but definitely the girl.

Camille was determined to disregard this new development and not give it a second thought. Julian had pledged to be on her side. He had just as much at stake as Camille, even if their motives were born from entirely different reasons.

She followed sheepishly behind Julian as they descended the stairs out of the aircraft. A light breeze blew a whiff of salt through the air. Camille looked around. Were they near the ocean?

Julian grabbed her hand at the bottom of the steps. “Remember, Chéri,” he whispered in her ear. “From here on out, in public, we must appear in love.”

His fingers remained tangled with hers. “I’ll be so convincing—” She looked at Julian and smiled. “—even you’ll think I’m in love.”

They jumped into a Mercedes limousine waiting in the pickup area. The chauffeur, a tall, gangly fellow in a driver’s suit, sprinted around the car and climbed behind the wheel. This time, Julian and Camille were alone in the limo. Where Soren and the pilot had gone, she didn’t know.

Julian raised the glass partition between them and the driver. When it completely closed, he turned to Camille. “There will be times when you may not be able to find me. If that’s the case and you need something, seek out Soren. Otherwise, don’t be too open with the staff.”

A quick and disturbing thought assailed Camille. Julian thought he’d hired an actress. Camille was no actress. What if she blew it? “Look I know this whole plan was born because you want to retain your freedom.” The fear of being left alone with his family pushed her words out in a brittle, broken tone. “But you’re not going to leave me alone for weeks on end, are you?”

“No, Chéri. If I go away on business, you will accompany me, just as it would be expected of any newlywed couple in love.”

Camille’s relief escaped in a quick deep breath. The further Julian kept her away from his father and Madeleine, the better.

“Don’t be nervous.” Julian’s arm encircled Camille and snuggled her close.

“I know, I know. I’m perfect for the part.” She was glad he thought so, but she had her doubts.

Camille’s gaze traveled outside the window, her eyes drawn to the crowded city looming ahead. Old-World architecture peeked through the modern-day lampposts, traffic lights, and automobiles lining the paved streets. The ancient city had been effectively transformed into a twenty-first century metropolis.

As they left the jumbled urban center, the buildings diminished becoming sparse, replaced by rich, lush countryside. Camille was impressed with the winding roads and the grand estates perched atop rolling hills. The beauty of the landscape made the near-hour trip pass quickly.

The limousine turned off the main road and followed a tree-lined avenue twisting and winding its way up a hill. At the top, a barricade of ancient stone walls and massive pine trees guarded the fortress. When the path cleared, a sprawling chateau, three stories high in some places and with turrets on either side, sat majestically against the countryside. The site stole Camille’s breath away.

Damn. Did this mean Julian had won that silly bet?

The car slowed to a stop in a covered archway where a group of people, presumably Julian’s family, were waiting. Camille felt like she was in the midst of some strange foreign film.

An older couple stood alongside a man about Julian’s age and a young girl. And behind them, a row of servants—Camille figured them for servants because of their attire. The men were dressed like Soren and the women had on maids’ uniforms.

Camille climbed out of the car with Julian’s help. He rested one hand against the small of her back and led her to the older couple first. His parents, Maurice and Claudette de Laurent.

Julian’s brother—and if Camille remembered correctly, his younger brother—peered at her with cold, judging eyes that were almost the same color as Julian’s bluish-green, but maybe a little paler.

His sister Lecie was maybe eighteen and the epitome of the beautiful girl-next-door. Camille knew the type. With her blonde hair and blue-eyed good looks, she was everything all the other girls in school detested yet desired to be. And she was probably nice as hell to boot.

She hated it when she was forced to like those drop-dead gorgeous types—like Tasha.

Camille fidgeted, lacing her fingers together behind her back. Julian slipped a hand comfortingly around hers. How was she ever going to convince his entire family? There were so many of them. Parents, a brother, a sister. She’d never experienced the chaos of a big family. It’d always been just her and Granny Mae. Even holidays were quiet.

Lecie stepped toward Camille. Julian must have sensed her discomfort and slipped between them, making small talk with his sister and asking about her latest endeavors and if she’d chosen a university to begin her studies in the fall.

“Somewhere far away from here,” she answered in near-perfect English.

Camille laughed, thoroughly amused. She remembered feeling that way when she’d headed out for college. Now she’d give anything to talk to Granny Mae again.

“Tell me,” Lecie turned to Camille. “Where did you two meet? Was it romantic? I want to hear all about it.” The enthusiasm in her voice fueled Camille’s mounting fear.

She and Julian had never talked about where they were supposed to have met. They had to have a story, didn’t they? Asking people to believe they’d accidentally fallen in love after she answered his ad in the L.A. Trades was probably asking a bit too much.

Camille squeezed Julian’s hand, hoping to impart some of her worry to him.

“We’ll talk about that later.” Julian’s promising tone was convincing, even for Camille. “Right now, let’s let Camille settle in so she can rest before dinner.” He guided Camille up an outdoor set of stairs that looked like it was made of marble, and led to an impressive set of double doors.

Lecie trotted up the steps after them, her devilish laughter tapping the worry receptors in Camille’s brain. Camille sought to push the alarm aside.

“You’ll both need to rest up,” Lecie said, as if she was privy to some secret information. “Guess who’s coming to dinner?”

If she said Madeleine, Camille would just burst.

Julian raised an eyebrow. “How many guests are we having?”

“Just a small party,” she said, with a teasing wink. “About thirty.”

Camille’s heart jumped into her throat. It didn’t take a genius to realize Madeleine would be seated next to Julian while Camille, his supposed fiancée, would be at the other end of a very long table.

Julian opened the double doors to the most elegant and extravagant foyer of marble and granite Camille had ever seen. Lecie grabbed her free arm and Camille clung to Julian with the other. He wrapped her arm around his. The strength of his hand atop hers was so male, so agreeable.

“Over here,” he said, pointing to the right, “are a couple of salons, a library, and my father’s office.” Julian focused his attention in the opposite direction. “And over here are several dining rooms and the kitchen. It’s fully modernized now, but the old hearth my ancestors used is still intact and in working order.” He chuckled. “Not that today’s servants relish the idea of cooking over an open fire.”

The fireplace in the kitchen intrigued Camille, but Julian led her to a spiral staircase just in front of them. Somewhere along the way they’d lost Lecie, and Camille found herself alone with Julian as they climbed the stairs.

“You and I are on the third floor. Technically, the entryway is on the second.” He wrapped his arm around her midriff and her body tingled from the contact. She wondered what it would be like getting locked in Julian’s embrace, but she didn’t dare voice the thought out loud.

He led her around a corner and swung a door open, gesturing her inside. From out of nowhere, Lecie appeared behind them.

Camille put forth extra effort to push her doubts aside. She needed a friend in this place. The next six months might be unbearable without one. She stepped into the room, surprised to find her recent purchases and her luggage already inside the suite.

Julian stopped in the doorway, blocking his sister’s entry. “We will see you in a little while,” he said, and closed the door between them.

The most sorrowful look crossed his face when he turned to Camille. “I am sorry, Chéri. The thought of where or how we met never crossed my mind,” he said, extending his arms.