I have not...' she snapped back, her brief fear forgotten by his taunt. 'I...' and she stopped. He was right; she had not given her reply any thought. Maybe it was time she got her wandering mind under control and behaved sensibly. Since the moment she had seen Luc today, she had only reacted to him, not thought for herself. It was not like her to rush into anything. She prided herself on her calm logic, didn't she? 'What exactly do you mean by "proposition"?' she asked warily, studying his handsome face, the candle in the centre of the table casting flickering shadows over his rugged features.
'It is quite straightforward. As I told you, Mamma is in hospital. On Thursday she is scheduled for surgery. I want my mother to see me married before she goes under the surgeon's knife, and you, I believe, want an adequate income to restore your family home. I know you have the money I paid for the title, but that won't go far, and you will very quickly be back in the same position as you were before—needing money. If you agree to marry me, I will settle an allowance on you for life, and in addition I will spend whatever is necessary to completely refurbish and repair your home immediately. In return, all I need from you is your presence as my wife in London on Thursday and for about two weeks at most. A straightforward business deal. You will only have to work, or act... two weeks for it.'
Her glance trailed freely over his head and shoulders as he spoke. He looked stunningly attractive, if casually dressed. The white high-necked cashmere sweater, with his leather jacket draped loosely over his broad shoulders, somehow made him seem more of a foreigner to Parisa, and very Latin. She glanced around. Every other man in the restaurant wore a tie, and yet Luc still managed to look the most elegant. She had listened to his proposition and knew he did not really want her as his wife, and she would be a fool to think otherwise. But in the circumstances, wasn't that a plus factor in the deal? she argued with herself.
'A fortnight of my life for a fortune, that's all... ?' she prompted with a trace of sarcasm, her blue eyes clashing with enigmatic black ones, as bravely she held his gaze.
'Yes, that is all. According to Didi, you have almost three weeks of the Easter vacation left; our little arrangement will not affect your work. It will be completed in time for you to return to school for the summer term. It couldn't be more convenient. Think, Parisa— all your money problems solved, Didi and Joe assured of a happy retirement, and yourself free of the constant worry of trying to maintain the manor house. I am an extremely wealthy man and I am prepared to pay a lot for my mamma's peace of mind.'
The way he spoke, cool and business-like, did much to persuade her he actually meant what he was saying. 'No strings attached?' she queried. He was right; she would never get a better offer to put her house in order, both literally and metaphorically speaking. She rubbed her damp palms surreptitiously on the smooth velvet of her skirt, under the table. Finally she would be able to pay Didi and Joe a pension.
'None at all. You have my word. We get married in the register office on Thursday. We stay in my hotel suite and visit the hospital daily, say ten days or so, which is when the consultant believes my mother will be fit enough to return to Italy. But, whatever happens, you can return to Hardcourt Manor in time to go back to work.'
'Won't your mother find it odd, my vanishing after such a short time?' she asked, completely missing the flash of triumph in Luc's dark eyes at her unconscious acceptance.
'Not in the least. We'll tell her about the refurbishment of the manor, and obviously, as the mistress, you will be needed to oversee everything. I will be coming to England much more frequently now I own a company here. So there is no reason for Mother to suspect anything wrong between you and I.'
'You appear to have thought of everything,' Parisa said musingly, and drank some more champagne. 'But eventually your mother is bound to want to see me.'
'The prognosis for my mother is not great, even with the operation. A year or two at most. Afterwards, a quick divorce for you and I.'
Compassion softened Parisa's blue eyes. 'I'm sorry...I didn't realise her condition was so bad.'
'Why should you? She is little more than a stranger to you. But if you agree, it is in your power to make the rest of her life much happier.' Parisa knew he was telling the truth. The sincerity in his black eyes was unmistakable as he held her wary gaze. 'Say yes...
'Why me?' she murmured softly. Luc knew lots of women, any one of whom would jump at the chance of being his wife, without it costing him a fraction of what he seemed to be prepared to pay her. Once- again he seemed to read her mind.
'You forget my mother already believes you and I are engaged. Personally I have no more desire to get married than you have, and, flattering though it is that you imagine I can marry any woman at will, Parisa, consider: if I produce a total stranger tomorrow as my prospective bride it is hardly likely to reassure my mother,' he commented cynically.
Determined to decide with her head, logically, Parisa picked up her glass and drained it, carefully replacing it on the table. What he said made a lot of sense. Except it was Luc Di Maggi saying it... No, it was impossible. Wasn't it?
'You can't lose, Parisa. I noticed everyone around here uses your title. What are you going to tell them, that you are no longer a Lady? That title is reserved for the woman I marry.'
'That is no argument. I couldn't care less about the title—I wouldn't have sold it if I did,' she replied bluntly. But the odd pain in the region of her heart at the thought of Luc married to someone else she swiftly dismissed as indigestion.
She tilted her head to one side, her silver-gilt hair falling in a swathe over her shoulder; she had left it loose tonight. Not because Luc preferred it that way... She had simply been in a hurry. She rested her elbow on the table and twisted a strand of pale hair around her finger, while openly studying Luc. She could read nothing from his rugged, if somewhat gaunt features; a bit tired, maybe, but his cool dark eyes seemed honest enough as they met hers. Dared she trust him, and did it matter for only two weeks... ?
'Yes, all right. I agree; it's a deal.' And, stretching out her slender hand, 'Shake on it.'
Luc caught her hand in his much larger one and said very gravely, 'A deal, Parisa.' And then to her astonishment he raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, his mouth warm on her soft flesh. "Thank you.'
She couldn't respond. Instead, she was trying to rub the tingling feeling from the back of her hand, under the cover of the table, and wondering if she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.
Luc didn't give her time to change her mind, as over dessert and coffee he talked non-stop. Parisa wasn't very sure what about, and when they finally stood up to leave she was beginning to wonder if she had imagined agreeing to marry him.
She walked out of the restaurant in a daze, but was brought back to the present by the sound of Luc crying out.
'Ouch!' She swung around, and saw him sway, then straighten. Parisa couldn't help it: she burst out laughing. He had his eyes closed and was dramatically holding a hand to his head.
'This is a very old establishment, and the oak beams and low ceilings part of its charm. You should be more careful. It does say in very large letters over the dining room door: "Mind your Head".'
His 'Ha, ha...' ended in a groan.
'Are you OK?' Parisa walked back to Luc and placed a hand on his arm. 'You hurt yourself?' He looked very pale. At that moment the chauffeur walked out of the adjoining bar.
'No, I'm fine.' And Luc, straightening his broad shoulders, took her arm and led her out to the car.
Seated in the back seat of the limousine, she moved close to the window, putting as much space between herself and Luc as humanly possible.