The Seduction Scheme (17 page)

‘I don't know what to say,' she sniffed, and found a mansized handkerchief pushed into her hand. Nothing short of
divine intervention, it seemed, would convince him she wasn't pregnant.

‘I know.'

‘You don't, Ben.'

‘I do. I was shocked, especially when I heard it from the source I did. It's not something I'd planned to happen right now.'

Or ever, she thought, quite touched by this display of consideration for her feelings.

‘But the idea of the life I planted growing in you…it's… The whole idea is
incredible
,' he grated thickly.

Something moved deep inside her as she listened to the depth of emotion throbbing in his voice. He dropped to his knees and gripped her thighs. It was impossible to look away from his searching eyes.

‘If by incredible you mean implausible I couldn't agree more,' she croaked.

‘By incredible I mean astounding, miraculous, wonderful, extraordinary—' His big hands tightened around her slim thighs.

‘There's nothing extraordinary about pregnancy; it's commonplace.'

‘Not for me, Rachel. I want to share this. Don't try and push me away.'

The stumbling analysis of her feelings revealed a shocking truth—she wanted it to be true. Part of her wished that his child were growing in her belly. Part of her wanted to have a legitimate reason to follow him to Australia, start a new life together. Was this what his father had reckoned on—her weakness?

Right now he didn't love her, but he didn't hate her either, and he would if she was crazy enough to follow her baser instincts.

‘Leaving aside the fact I'm not pregnant for the moment,
what makes you think that I'd want to follow you to the other side of the world? I know there's a body of opinion that still thinks, even in this enlightened age, that a woman should follow her man…' She filled the pause with light laughter and saw the muscles around his sensual mouth tighten. ‘But even they would agree that these extravagant acts of sacrifice have to be inspired by love. We've shared a lot of unbridled lust,' she said candidly, ‘but
love
? I think I'd have remembered if you'd dropped that into the conversation.'

‘And if I had?' It was hard to tell from his expression if he'd found her frankness insulting.

In my dreams you did…
‘You didn't, I didn't and I'm not marrying anyone I don't love.'

‘Then perhaps I'll just have to make you love me.' She had the impression she'd succeeded in getting under his guard this time. Seeing the implacable light in his eyes, she wasn't so sure this had been an altogether sensible thing to do.

‘Don't be stupid.'

‘You sound nervous, Rachel.'

‘I'm not nervous, I'm tired. You can't
make
someone fall in love. They either do or they don't.'
I should know.

‘Then you've nothing to worry about, have you?'

‘I'm not worried. As for this talk of marriage, you'll realise shortly that it was just a knee-jerk reaction.'

‘Would it surprise you to learn I've been thinking of getting married quite a lot recently?'

‘Yes,' she said flatly, ‘it would. If you're going to wheel out some pathetic story that you're really desperately in love with me—don't!'

An expression she didn't understand flickered across his face. ‘Did I say it was you I was considering marrying?' Head tilted slightly back, eyes half closed, there was nothing lazy about the way he watched her.

She stuck out her chin and determined to tough out the wave of hot mortification. ‘You have a novel way of making a girl fall in love with you.'

‘I'm trying to lull you into a false sense of security.'

‘It's a mistake to reveal your tactics. As for security, just think how secure I'll feel when you start taking other women out.'

His lips twitched as he acknowledged her saccharine-sweet words. ‘Sabrina is a lovely girl, but can you see her on an isolated property in the outback? You've no need to feel jealous of Sabrina.'

‘You're on the look-out for a female with a strong back and good child-bearing hips? I'm flattered.'

‘That's an interesting suggestion. Especially the bit about the hips.' His hands slid upwards until his thumbs came into contact with the sharp, jutting crests that delineated her slim pelvis. Through the contact he felt the shiver that affected her entire body. He smiled. ‘And you've already got a proven track record in the fertility stakes.' He shook his head slowly and grinned at her outraged little gasp.

‘I think I might have given you a false impression of the Creek, Rachel. The conditions are not exactly primitive, you know. And whilst we are isolated a plane really does cut down the distances. Despite what my father likes to imply, it's not exactly a tin shack and life is a long way from being a cultural desert.'

‘You can fly?' She was fascinated despite herself. It was something she'd always wanted to learn.

‘Nina, my grandmother, gave me flying lessons for my eighteenth birthday. I got the bug, which was no doubt what she intended. In her own way Nina was as crafty as my father; she made no secret of the fact that she wanted me to take over from her.'

‘And now you are.'

‘She's probably up there somewhere laughing.'

‘Pardon me for not joining in with the merriment but being treated like a pregnant piece of livestock has had a detrimental effect on my sense of humour.'

‘You didn't think I was serious for one minute,' he chided. ‘At least you're not denying it now—the fact that you're pregnant. That's something.'

‘I am not!'

‘I'd say, Are too, but I'm trying to create a mature and responsible impression.'

‘Are you implying I'm being immature?'

He anchored her flailing arms securely in his hands before replying. ‘I'm saying that you being pregnant changes things whether you like it or not,' he said soberly.

And, despite his assurances to the contrary, he
didn't
like. Nothing he'd said or done had convinced her otherwise.

‘You've done a good—no, a
great
job of bringing up Charlie, but you know better than most that a child needs two parents.'

‘Two
loving
parents.'

‘We can love pretty sensationally.'

‘I'm not talking about
sex
,' she said witheringly. ‘Even
sensational
sex isn't a basis for marriage!' She examined the foot she'd just unintentionally directed a bullet at and winced.

‘Thank you, Rachel; I thought it was too.' He looked as smug as your average sleek predator when it sank its claws into dinner. ‘Charlie likes me too.'

‘That's really low—using a child's feelings.'

‘I'm telling it the way it is, Rachel,' he said with no trace of remorse. ‘Charlie would be better off with me providing the male influence in her life. You've got to admit Fauré isn't much of an improvement on a test-tube!'

‘Isn't that the tiniest bit inconsistent? You're the one getting all defensive about a biological father's rights.'

‘He's married. He forfeited any rights he might have had,' he said, nostrils flared in distaste. ‘That's a fact I intend to convey to your friend very soon.'

‘No! You can't do that!' she gasped. She could imagine poor Christophe's reaction if he thought she was spreading the story that he was Charlie's father. What if the story got back to Annabel?

‘I'll make a deal. I'll keep away from Fauré for now if you agree to stop pretending. I can't talk to you about practical arrangements if you keep denying you're pregnant.'

She bit back the denial. Perhaps it would be sensible to go along with him, just for tonight, if it meant keeping him from confronting Christophe! Tomorrow she was going to confront Stuart Arden and make him confess that he'd been lying through his teeth.

‘Practical arrangements?'

‘Obstetrician's appointments; I'd like to come with you.'

‘I haven't got an obstetrician.'

‘Have you been to see a doctor at all?' He frowned in disapproval when she shook her head. ‘Well, firstly I think we should—'

‘I'm sure you're right, Ben, but I'm really very tired right now.' It wasn't hard to convey lassitude when mentally she was close to complete exhaustion. She saw the concern on his face and felt a spasm of guilt when he touched a solicitous hand to the side of her face.

‘Tomorrow, then?'

She nodded mutely; the impulse to turn her cheek lovingly into his open palm was overwhelmingly strong. Her feelings were ambiguous when he did remove his hand.

After he'd let himself out of the flat she could feel the impression where his fingers had touched her face. Even the dampness from the tears didn't diminish the sensation.

‘S
IR
S
TUART
isn't at home.'

‘I'll wait.' Boldly Rachel stepped into the vast hallway. Her heels echoed on the marble floor. She glanced casually around; this wasn't the moment to be intimidated by insignificant things like chandeliers the size of her living room and several paintings by an artist she'd never seen outside a museum.

‘I'm afraid, madam, that won't be possible.'

Rachel squared her chin; it was going to take more than a sneer from a professional flunky to put her off. ‘If you tell him I'm here he'll see me.'

‘Is there a problem, David?'

Rachel automatically looked in the direction of the light musical voice. Tall and slim with dark red hair tied back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, the figure on the curved staircase ran gracefully down the remaining steps. She was dressed for riding and the scarf at her neck was the same vivid green as her eyes.

‘This person wishes to see Sir Stuart.'

‘This person', Rachel thought, her lip curling. How delightfully ‘Jeeves'.

‘I have told her he isn't at home. I don't know how she got past Security.'

Rachel held up the official-looking papers in her hand bearing the authentic letterhead of the chambers. ‘I said I was a messenger from the office.' She didn't want anyone to get into trouble on her account.

‘And aren't you?' the redhead asked with interest.

‘I work there.'

‘For my husband?'

Husband! Rachel blinked. ‘You can't be!' she repudiated hotly, feeling as if a fist had been jabbed into her solar plexus.

Aware that the lady of the house was regarding her with concern tinged by alarm—and who could blame her?—she tried to re-establish herself as a reasonably safe person to open the door to. When she paused to think, not react, her mistake was obvious. No, if Ben had had a wife, especially one as photogenic as this, it would hardly have escaped public notice.

‘You look too young to be Ben's mother,' she added impetuously when she had established the woman's identity by means of elimination. ‘That is, I thought you'd be—' Stop while you've only one foot in your mouth, Rachel, she told herself. Nothing so far was going according to her mental plan. She just hoped her words hadn't been interpreted as an attempt to ingratiate herself. The thought made her cringe.

It was unsettling to have her mental image of a well-bred doormat replaced by the vibrant, confident woman before her.

‘I am Emily Arden. You work for Ben, do you? Is it him you're looking for?'

‘No! I don't want to see him!' Horror-struck at the possibility that he might appear, she couldn't prevent herself from glancing nervously over her shoulder.

‘Then you'll be pleased to hear he's not at home.' If she felt surprise at her visitor's obvious aversion to the notion of seeing her son her polite expression didn't reveal it.

Rachel's tension eased down a notch. ‘I really do need to see Sir Stuart. It's personal.'

‘About a personal matter? Should I be worried?'

Rachel looked at her blankly for a moment before blushing vividly. ‘Not that sort of personal.'

‘I'm only teasing, my dear. My husband has many faults, but chasing young women is not one of them. One of them, however, is a habit of becoming invisible when it suits him,' she added drily.

‘Are you saying he's not at home?' Rachel tried to keep her voice steady and failed. He
had
to be here. He had to explain to Benedict. She'd worked herself up to this confrontation and now the anticlimax was tremendous. She suddenly felt a feeble shadow of the strong positive, young woman who'd sailed in here on a cloud of determination.

‘Why don't you come through and have a drink, my dear? You look as though you need it. Look after these, David.' She took the file of papers from Rachel's limp grasp and handed them to the butler. ‘Could you organise some coffee in the drawing room? Come along.' Rachel found herself meekly falling in step with the lady of the house.

‘It's a lovely room,' Rachel said miserably on entering the drawing room.

‘Yes, isn't it?' She noticed Rachel's eyes were fixed on an aerial photograph set in an elaborate frame. ‘I was born there,' she said with an affectionate smile.

‘Connor's Creek?' When Benedict had said it wasn't a tin shack he hadn't been joking. She could have lived there, she thought, gazing at the well laid out paddocks around the sprawling house. If she'd been willing to lie and cheat, that was.

‘That's right. I'm afraid it isn't so green just now.' Emily Arden recovered her composure smoothly. The unhappy young woman's instant recognition had surprised her. ‘Sit there; that's right. Now, tell me why you need to see my husband.'

‘I need him to tell Ben the truth; he won't believe me.' If she'd been truly prepared she'd have had a cover story ready; as it was, the truth would have to do.

‘What won't he believe?'

‘That I'm not pregnant.'

The green eyes blinked twice and the slim, beautifully manicured hand gripped the chintz-covered chair-arm a little more firmly, but that was the only visible response to this statement.

‘Perhaps I'm a little slow, but why does he think you are?'

‘Because his father told him I am,' she choked.

‘Isn't that just typical of Stuart? He creates chaos and leaves me to sort it out!' Emily Arden folded her arms across her bosom and pursed her lips. ‘He does insist on meddling.'

Rachel stared; she couldn't quite believe the older woman's ready acceptance of her story. She hadn't even asked why her husband would do such a bizarre thing.

‘You believe me?' she said incredulously. ‘I could be anyone. I walk in here saying I'm—'

‘I know; it's a shock. As a mother of two sons I was always prepared for a girl to walk in and announce she was pregnant, but to say she's not! I didn't have the speech prepared for this eventuality.'

‘It's not a joke.'

The attractive face melted into a smile that was so kind, Rachel had to bite her lip to hold back the tears. ‘I can see that, my dear; forgive me.'

‘It's awful,' Rachel sniffed. ‘He wants to marry me,' she explained in an outraged tone.

The dark eyebrows lifted towards the smooth hairline, but her serene expression stayed intact.
‘Really?'

‘Only because of the baby.'

‘But there is no baby.'

‘Try telling him that. He won't take no for an answer.'

An expression of irritation flashed across Emily Arden's face as the sound of voices through the open French doors grew louder. ‘Dry your eyes, my dear,' she advised softly. ‘I
think we're about to be invaded. I think you'd better tell me your name before I introduce you to the rest of the family.'

‘Rachel—Rachel French.'

‘Nat, darling, don't bring those animals in here; they smell disgusting.'

‘I like wet-dog smell.' The tall, dark-haired teenager looked curiously at Rachel. ‘Hi!'

‘This is Rachel French; she works with your brother. Rachel, this is Natalie, and this is Tom, my eldest.' The slim, auburn-haired man carrying a sleeping toddler smiled warmly at her. ‘And his wife, Ruth.' Ruth had hair the same pale colour as the sleeping child; she also had a lovely smile. ‘Oh, and this is Sabrina—a friend of the family.'

Rachel wasn't sure whether wishful thinking supplied the certain reserve in the older woman's voice when she made her final introduction.

‘I've seen you somewhere. I know, you're the secretary person.' This discovery was expressed in a bored, well-bred drawl. ‘Is Ben here too?' Sabrina asked, her voice suddenly much more animated than it had been.

‘I'm afraid not,' their hostess said smoothly. ‘A family get-together without two male members of the family and with the addition of two unexpected guests. Par for the course,' she observed philosophically.

‘I'm not staying,' Rachel said, getting to her feet. Her skin wasn't really thick enough for this intrusion stuff. If Sir Stuart wasn't here there wasn't much point in her staying, and there was always the worrying possibility that Ben would appear. ‘In fact I think I should go now. I'm very sorry to intrude.'

‘Here's coffee now. You must join us. I insist.' Beneath the smile Rachel could see the definite glint of steely determination. At least Sir Stuart didn't get entirely his own way at home. This thought offered her small comfort as she des
perately tried to think of a reason for her immediate departure.

‘But my friend is picking me up.' She glanced down at her wristwatch to illustrate the imminence of this event.

‘Well, we'll get them to send him up to the house when he arrives. It is a he?'

‘Yes. His name's Fauré.' She decided to be gracious in defeat.

‘French!' The dark-haired daughter of the house pushed a dog off the sofa and installed herself cross-legged in its place. ‘I think continental men are simply delicious. So much more sexy than boring Brits.' She flashed her brother a meaningful glance. ‘Especially Frenchmen. All my lovers shall be French or maybe Italian.'

‘Thanks a lot,' her brother said drily. ‘I'll just take Libby up to bed; she's due her nap.' He patted the sleeping child on his shoulder gently on the back. He murmured a soft aside to his wife and she nodded.

‘Get them to ring down to the gate about Rachel's friend, Tom.'

‘Will do.' He nodded, before turning his attention briefly back to his sister. ‘If I can't excel as a Latin lover—' he struck a mock-heroic pose and then slumped his shoulders pathetically ‘—I'll just have to earn my keep being useful round the house. Incidentally, Nat, maybe you should wait until you've got the ironwear off the teeth before you start working your way through the continental studs. A moment of passion and their crowns could be dust.'

‘Shut up, you; I don't know how Ruth puts up with you!' his sister yelled after him. ‘I shall have beautiful teeth,' she observed, tapping the metal framework around her front teeth.

‘You will, my dear,' her mother confirmed. ‘Ah,' she said,
inclining her head to one side in an attentive attitude. ‘I recognise that slam. I do believe Benedict is back.'

‘Oh, excellent.' Sabrina got to her feet slowly and regarded her reflection in an ornate mirror on the wall opposite with a smug smile.

Rachel got to her feet, too, like a puppet whose strings had just been jerked particularly viciously, but she wasn't smiling. She was still wondering if she could make it safely through the French windows before he entered the room when the door was pushed open.

‘Darling.'

‘Sabrina, what are you doing here?' Benedict's response would have dampened more sensitive spirits than Sabrina, who smiled seductively and glided across the room. ‘Good God,
Rachel
!' He literally froze.

Someone released the tension on those invisible strings and her knees started to quiver. ‘I'm just going, Mr Arden.' Her voice showed a tendency to quiver too. She heard it and Benedict did too; she watched his lips curve into a cruel smile. He looked to be in one hell of a temper.

‘Mr Arden?'
he echoed mockingly. ‘
Miss French
, no, you're not leaving!'

‘Really, Ben, darling, it is the weekend; I'm sure the girl has better things to do than—do whatever secretaries do.'

Sabrina, Rachel thought despairingly, was probably the only person in the room that hadn't read, and personally translated, the undercurrents. Lurid reading those versions probably made, too.

‘I'm not his secretary!'

‘She's not my secretary!'

The two hot denials emerged simultaneously and seething grey eyes clashed with smouldering brown ones.

‘What is she, then? And why is she here?' asked the
blonde, with a disgruntled expression. She didn't like conversations that didn't include herself.

The crinkly lines Rachel loved around Benedict's eyes deepened as he regarded her with narrow-eyed interest. ‘Good question. What are you, and why are you here, Rachel?'

He was gloating, enjoying her discomfiture. Later, when she was rehashing the day's events, she might be able to come up with the perfect cutting rejoinder that would wipe that smug grin off his face, but right now she had to rely on the transparent subterfuge which had got her in here.

‘I brought some papers for your father to sign.'

‘What papers? Where are they?' He looked around the room, apparently confident he wouldn't discover any.

‘I expect they're on your father's desk, Benedict. You look terrible.' Rachel thought he looked sinfully gorgeous but she could see what his mother meant. His eyes were definitely bloodshot and he hadn't shaved; in fact he looked more like Charlie's guardian angel than the sleek legal eagle. ‘What have you been doing with yourself?'

Rachel shot a grateful glance in Emily Arden's direction. She needed all the support she could get.

‘I've spent the best part of two hours camped out on Rachel's doorstep.'

‘You can hardly hold me responsible,' Rachel said indignantly in response to his smouldering glare. ‘If you choose to waste your time that's your affair.'

‘Talking of affairs…' he drawled.

He wouldn't! The dark eyes shone mockingly back at her.
He would!
Her stomach churned in misery and embarrassment. ‘What am I supposed to do—wait in on the off chance you might want me?'

‘I don't think there's any
might
about it.' His wry tone left no room for misinterpretation. She knew what he was think
ing as his eyes made the journey from her toes to the top of her head with dramatic pauses to enjoy certain aspects of her figure, and so did everyone else in the room! She'd never felt so humiliated in her life—or as angry!