THE RELUCTANT BRIDE (4 page)

Rod
left her at a small table for two in the crowded lounge of the
Poachers Arms and went to order drinks. Lemonade and lime for her.
She needed a clear head tonight. She watched as, a head
taller
than most of the other drinkers, he manoeuvred his way back to the
table, collecting sidelong glances from several women on the way.

I
had quite a long talk with Brewster after you left,” he said as
they sipped their drinks, “and there are a number of aspects we
need to discuss.”

He
sounds as if he's opening a meeting, thought Gabriella, but was
grateful. The more businesslike and matter of fact they could keep
their discussion the easier it would be.

“
As
you heard, we have to remain married for a minimum of five years,”
he continued, “and during that time we wouldn't be allowed to
sell the business, although we could turn it into a limited company
if we felt the tax and other advantages warranted it. I think we
should do that, if only to reduce our financial liability should
anything go wrong.”

She
stared at him. “You're still talking as if our marriage is a
foregone conclusion.”

“
It
is.” Rod's face was grim. “You can't argue with the terms
of the Will. The only way we can get Englands is to marry.”

“
And
you're still determined to get Englands.”

“
You
bet I am! It may be shaky and we may have to plough every penny back
in for several years, but we both know the potential.” He
leaned forward, his dark eyes boring into hers. “I want that
Company, Gabriella. No one else is going to get their hands on it.”

“
And
you're quite prepared to marry to get what you want,” she said
coldly, sickened by his display of raw ambition. “However
strongly we dislike each other.”

He
picked up his glass and swirled the liquid, looking at her with just
a hint of a smile. “I don't think I actually dislike you,
Gabriella. I do find you slightly tiresome at times, but I'm sure a
little re-education could sort that out.”

Colour
flooded her cheeks. “You're impossible! Of all the patronising
chauvinist -”

“
As
for you,” he continued as if she had not spoken. “Perhaps
your dislike doesn't run quite as deep as you'd have me believe?”
He raised one black eyebrow in amused enquiry.

He
knew. She'd been a fool to think an experienced man like Rod would
have been unaware of her response to his touch. To gain time she
drank from her glass. Too hastily. Choking, she had to endure being
slapped on the back. “I think you're the most despicable man
I've ever met,” she said when she had recovered. “Do you
really think I would be prepared to sacrifice myself so that you
could have Englands?”

“
It's
to your advantage too. And some wouldn't regard it as a sacrifice.”

“
I'm
sure you could take your pick from any number of girls,” she
taunted. “What a pity it had to be me!”

“
Oh,
I don't know.” His dark eyes began a leisurely examination of
her face and body as if he were a horse dealer assessing the points
of a doubtful mare. “You dress badly. You wear the wrong
colours for that pale skin and hair. You frown too often – and
by the way, did you know that you grind your teeth?”

Gabriella
made a strangled sound and gripped her glass, fighting the urge to
throw its contents over him.

He
leaned back in his chair and laughed. “All the same, I think
you do have possibilities.” His eyes swept over her again.
“Yes. Definite possibilities.”

“
I
wish,” she gritted, “that I could say the same for you,
Rod Nicholson. “Oh, I won't deny you're a handsome man and a
lot of silly girls would jump at the chance of marrying you, but some
people – and I'm one of them – look below the surface.”

“
And
you don't like what you see?”

“
No,
I do not!”

“
How
unfortunate.” He leaned forward, smiling, but the smile no
longer reached his eyes. “All right, Gabriella, if my natural
charms can't persuade you and you're not interested in Englands -”

“
I
am interested in Englands!”

“
But
not enough to sacrifice yourself on the altar of marriage?”

“
Not
enough to marry
you.
”

“
Dear
me, you realise you're shredding my self esteem?”

“
Nothing
could do that, Rod Nicholson!”

“
Quite
right, it's pretty bouncy. But let's get back to marriage. What would
it take to persuade you to marry me? Everyone has his – or her
– price, they say.”

“
Not
me.” She wished he would stop staring at her. “Really,
Rod, this has gone on long enough. I'd like to go home.”

“
Of
course, there's the money,” he said, ignoring her plea. “A
not inconsiderable sum, according to Brewster.”

“
What
money?”

“
Ben's.
Apart from £15,000 to his housekeeper and the other small
bequests, it all comes to us. If we marry. Three quarters of a
million, give or take a few thousand.”

Stunned,
Gabriella stared at him. The figure took her breath away. With her
share she could pay for her mother's operation. A dozen operations.
Pay for a nurse, pay for everything she needed.

“
Then
there's the house,” said Rod. “Lovely old place. White
Gables. Ever been there?”

Gabriella
moistened dry lips. “Yes. I've been there.” Her mind
raced. Never for a moment had she dreamed that she and Rod might
inherit everything. White Gables. A great longing filled her., To go
back. To live again in that beautiful old house where she had grown
up.

But
the price was too high.

If
Rod were more like Bernard, someone with whom she could jog along
happily without either making any great demands on the other, it
might be easier to pay that price. Bernard would make a good husband.
Although after two years their physical contact was still limited to
holding hands, a friendly arm around her shoulders, a light kiss when
they said goodnight that more often than not missed the corner of her
mouth, she knew he was the sort of man who, once committed, would
stick to one woman for life. Not for Bernard the furtive affairs, the
lies, the broken promises, the betrayals that eroded and eventually
destroyed so many marriages. That had destroyed her parents'
marriage.

But
Bernard couldn't give her White Gables and the money to help her
mother. Only marriage to Rod could do that.

“
You've
finished your drink,” he said. “Can I get you another?”

“
What?”
She stared at him blankly. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

If
she did marry Rod she would have to give up Bernard. They could
scarcely remain friends. He would never understand her sudden
defection unless she told him the truth and she could hardly do that.

But
what was she thinking? She couldn't seriously be considering marriage
to Rod. Could she? He was everything she hated in a man. A conceited
fickle womaniser who had no doubt already left a string of broken
hearts in his wake.

She
watched him at the bar, conscious again of his effect on the women
around him, and contempt narrowed her gaze. If he thought she would
become one of his conquests he was sadly mistaken. If she did marry
him it would be purely on the basis of a business contract, with the
terms laid down as strictly as any other contract.

Five
years. Could she cope with this man for five years? Living in the
same house, keeping up the pretence of a normal marriage? No, don't
think of it as a marriage. Think of it as a formal merger. Of course,
she warned herself with a flash of grim humour, she would have to
guard against Rod turning it into a takeover.

She
picked up a drinks mat from the polished table and spun it idly.
Heads – the advertisement for Lowenbrau lager – she
married Rod. Tails – She marvelled at how rapidly her thought
processes had brought her towards accepting the possibility of such a
marriage.

If
she could just talk it over with her mother. But in spite of
everything her mother still believed that true love was the only
basis for marriage. She would be horrified if she knew that Gabriella
was considering marrying just to get her hands on a fortune and a
house. Even more horrified to learn that she was doing it partly for
her sake. And there was no one else. No, the decision would have to
be Gabriella's own. And while her initial reaction had been an
absolute
No!
s
he
could now feel herself weakening by the minute.

She
watched Rod come back from the bar, a glass in each hand, registering
despite herself the tough dark face, the powerful muscular body, the
sheer maleness of him. A chill of disquiet coursed through her. A
small buried part of her was drawn by his magnetism. She fought it as
she had done since their first encounter.

He
placed a brandy before her. “I thought you might like something
stronger,” he said and dropped into the chair at her side.