Conan shook his dark head. ‘I mean an abortion; after all, you can’t be more than a few weeks pregnant.’
‘Six to be exact,’ she fumed. ‘And if the Major wants me to have an abortion he can go jump.’ The thought had crossed her mind when she’d first discovered her condition, but it hadn’t taken a split second for her to dismiss the notion entirely. She could never do such a thing.
‘Much as I would like to see my father take a hike—’ his lips twitched with amusement ‘—you misunderstood me. Quite the reverse is true. My father wants the child, and he usually gets what he wants, as you’re about to find out. His grief at his eldest son’s death is only made bearable by the fact you’re carrying his child. There is no way he will allow his grandchild to be born a bastard,’ he opined, adding cynically, ‘Especially not darling Charles’s offspring.’
Josie was stunned by his words, but, knowing the Major, she could see the truth in his comment. But what she couldn’t understand was why he would agree with his father. It was obvious, even from her brief acquaintance with Conan, that there was no love lost between him and his father. This summer had been the first time Josie had ever seen him. He obviously had very little to do with his family.
‘But surely you don’t agree with him?’ she asked. ‘I mean, it can’t matter to you. You don’t even live here.’
‘No, I don’t, but I should,’ he responded bluntly with a degree of bitterness Josie could not fail to recognise. So it was all the more surprising when he asked coolly, ‘Do you like living in this house, Josie?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ What was he talking about now? she wondered, looking around the familiar room, her eyes eventually returning to Conan. He sat forward in his chair, his dark head bent, apparently staring at his hands clasped loosely between his splayed thighs. The only sounds were the steady tick of the grandfather clock and the logs crackling and burning in the open fire.
‘This farmhouse was the family home of the Major. He lived here with his first wife—Charles was born here.’ He raised his head. ‘I don’t suppose he told you that?’ he queried with a grim smile.
‘No, no, he didn’t,’ Josie said, not sure where the conversation was going.
‘I’m not surprised. Contrary to the impression, my father, the Major, likes to give,’ he drawled sardonically, ‘the Major was not always owner of Beeches Manor. He only acquired that position by marrying my mother. Perhaps if I explain the family history it will answer your question as to why I want to marry you.’
Josie wished he would. She couldn’t understand what he was getting at, or his obvious cynicism. But there was no mistaking the hardness in his eyes, and an implacable determination that Josie found vaguely disturbing.
‘My full name is Conan Devine Zarcourt. Conan from the Celtic meaning wisdom, and Devine being my mother’s maiden name. For centuries, Devines have owned the Beeches Manor estate, but my grandfather and mother were the last of the line. When she married Major Zarcourt, the Major and Charles moved into the Manor with my mother and grandfather and rented this house out as a holiday home. I was born a year after their wedding, and I don’t think it was long after that my mother realised she had made a mistake.
‘As a young child I was not aware there was anything wrong in my parents’ relationship. But then my grandfather was still alive, and any coldness on my father’s part was more than made up for by my grandfather. Plus my mother packed me off to boarding-school when I was seven.’
‘How awful for you,’ Josie offered; the thought of a young boy away from home at such a tender age seemed so cruel.
One dark brow arched sardonically. ‘Sorry to disillusion you, but you are wrong.’ His hard-eyed gaze caught hers, denying her sympathy. ‘My parents and I were never that close. It was my grandfather I missed. For years I had grown up with the sure knowledge that the Manor would be mine. Grandfather Devine never stopped telling me so. He died when I was eleven, but unfortunately he had signed the Manor over to my mother a few years before he died to avoid death duties, on the strict understanding it was to be held in trust for me, as the only Devine. But my mother had other ideas. As soon as Grandfather died she took off with her lover. Apparently, in her desperation to get a speedy divorce from the Major she agreed to break the trust and sign the Manor over to him. She lives in New Zealand now, I believe.’
‘But how could she do that?’ Josie asked, horrified.
‘Quite easily, apparently. When I came of age at eighteen the Major took great delight in telling me the whole story. He had married my mother for the Manor. I was a mistake, a complication he didn’t need, and he even questioned my paternity. He’d joined his own farmland to the Manor and managed the whole estate for years, and he intended to go on doing so until Charles showed an interest in it. Then he was going to pass the whole lot on to his eldest and favourite son, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it—’
‘I can’t believe your mother or the Major would behave like that,’ Josie cut in. She didn’t particularly care for the old man, but she couldn’t believe he would treat his own child so shabbily.
‘Ah, Josie, how you do like to think the best of people. It is one of your many charms,’ he said with a wry smile, before adding, ‘But, believe me, everything I have told you is the truth. And now, with your help, I have the chance to get my heritage back, and I intend to take it...’
She glanced across at him, her violet eyes caught and held by the burning intensity in the depths of his. Inwardly she shivered. There was something totally implacable about him. As for her helping him, Josie still failed to see what it had to do with her, or why Conan wanted to marry her.
‘But with Charles dead you will inherit everything anyway,’ she said cautiously, letting her gaze drop to a spot past his shoulder. Perhaps she was still too shocked to think clearly, because she felt she’d missed the point somewhere. But she wasn’t about to get embroiled any further. She had enough problems of her own. ‘I’m sure it’s all very interesting, but it has absolutely nothing to do with me,’ Josie continued firmly, straightening her shoulders. She’d no intention of marrying him or anyone else, and it was time she asserted herself.
In one lithe movement Conan left his seat and joined her on the sofa. His closeness unnerved her. Her body tensed as his large hand caught her chin, turning her face to his.
His dark eyes narrowed intently on her face. ‘But it has everything to do with you. I know this is a terrible time for you, Josie, and I would do anything to avoid causing you any more pain, believe me.’ His face darkened into an expression that made Josie wish she hadn’t tried to dismiss him so bluntly. ‘But I want what’s rightfully mine, and you are the means by which I will get it,’ he informed her ruthlessly.
A chill shivered its way down the length of her spine as he dropped his hand from her chin. ‘And we must get this settled quickly. Unfortunately time is the one commodity we do not have in your condition.’
Josie grimaced at the reminder.
‘Let me spell it out for you. The Major and I had a long talk last night, and we’ve made a deal. I marry you, give your child the Zarcourt name, and in return I get my rightful inheritance back immediately. Otherwise he will leave everything to you on his death, provided you produce a son; if not, he’ll leave it to the church, the dogs’ home—anyone other than me.’
Josie was lost for words. She could only gaze at Conan in dumb amazement. He couldn’t be serious!
‘Well, do you agree? Will you marry me?’ he asked, his arm sliding along the back of the sofa and clasping her shoulder. ‘Or perhaps, like most women, your mercenary little soul wants to take the chance on giving birth to a son and keeping it for yourself,’ he added cynically.
‘I would never do that!’ Josie cried, finally finding her voice, insulted that Conan should even think such a thing. ‘I don’t have a mercenary bone in my body,’ she informed him, jerking around to the side and shrugging his hand off her shoulder in the process.
‘In that case, Josie, what’s the difference? One Zarcourt is as good as another to be a father to your child, and at least it will keep the poor kid in the family.’