For a split second, Ophelia hesitated. That note of command bit at her resolve. But she was now in full resistance mode to Metaxis authority and so she sped on. She reminded herself that she wasn’t really and truly married to Lysander, except on paper, and every passing minute was giving her another good reason to celebrate that truth.
‘Game over,’ Lysander breathed rawly, striding past her to block her passage down the corridor.
‘Games are fun…being married to you is anything but!’ Ophelia hurled back. ‘Now get out of my way!’
‘I have questions I want answered,’ Lysander imparted.
‘What you want isn’t always what you get-let me past.’
Lysander stayed where he was, his lean muscular frame as large, still and formidable as a cliff face. The atmosphere hummed.
Enraged at his persistence, Ophelia tried to sidestep him, but when he remained in her path she gave him a tiny meaningful push. In answer to that very restrained hint that he remove himself at speed, Lysander closed his hands round her waist and lifted her right off her feet.
‘Put me down!’ Ophelia shouted at the top of her voice, feeling remarkably foolish with her legs dangling.
‘Not until you cool off.’ Arms outstretched as he held her back from him, Lysander studied her with icy self-containment.
‘You’re behaving like a bully!’ Ophelia snapped furiously across the narrow divide that separated them.
‘You assaulted me,’ Lysander drawled, lush ebony lashes low above eyes that were blaze-bronze.
Ophelia was thoroughly disconcerted by that reminder. She collided with his smouldering gaze and it was as if all the air that there was to breathe had suddenly burned up in the atmosphere. Warmth curled through her in an enervating surge that scared her. ‘I’m calm,’ she framed, taken aback by a physical response that even rage couldn’t suppress.
Lysander lowered her to the floor again with exaggerated care. Anger was storming around like a caged animal inside him. He had planned to confine the marriage to one tiny compartment of his life and now that convenient arrangement was no longer possible. Even worse, he would have to maintain the pretence for the benefit of his family. ‘The grounds are crawling with paparazzi,’ he imparted.
‘Papa-what? Oh, those photographers that chase celebrities,’ Ophelia mumbled, her brows having pleated in momentary mystification. ‘What are they doing here? Oh, right, they followed you down from London-’
His scorching eyes were welded to her. ‘No. Try again.’
‘Try what?’
‘Acting dumb. So far you’re not being very convincing.’
‘What are you trying to insinuate?’ Ophelia took the opportunity to snake past him with the agility of an eel. ‘Well, I’m not listening to one more nonsensical word!’
As Ophelia thrust open the door of her bedroom Lysander closed a hand like a steel manacle round her narrow wrist.
‘Tomorrow the newspapers will be full of the story of our marriage,’ he breathed in a wrathful undertone.
Wide-eyed, Ophelia turned back to look at him, his imprisoning hold forgotten. ‘Did they find out about the two wills as well?’
‘No. Only that we got married today, which is more than sufficient.’
‘But how did it get out? I mean, we’ve taken such care-’
Lysander studied her with sizzling force. ‘Stamitos, my head of security, already has a suspect and it isn’t anyone in my employ. The story was leaked by someone who knew the score. The woman who lives in the gatehouse-your friend…’
‘Pamela Arnold? What’s she got to do with this?’
‘She has a brother who works on a tabloid newspaper.’
‘Yes, but she hardly ever sees him.’ But dismay at that reminder had frozen Ophelia to the spot and she had paled. Although she had sworn her friend to secrecy, she was painfully aware that Pamela had found the entire wedding scenario, not to mention Lysander’s wealth, hugely exciting. Nobody loved to talk more than Pamela. Could her friend have accidentally let information slip in the wrong quarter?
‘By tomorrow morning the whole world will know that I have taken a wife.’
‘I really don’t think the whole world is likely to be that interested.’ An uneasy conscience, however, ensured that Ophelia’s comeback was less feisty than usual. Then her thoughts were sidetracked by the startling discovery that her bedroom looked unfamiliar-the bed had been stripped and her possessions were no longer in view. ‘Where have my things gone?’
‘What are you talking about?’