Ruthless Tycoon, Innocent Wife Read online

  ‘There wasn’t even time for a For Sale board to go up. When the estate agent contacted Rafe he offered an amount to seal the deal immediately, which knocked anyone else out of the water.’ Tom’s voice was wry when he added, ‘I think he’s a lot like his father.’

  Oh, dear. In that case she wasn’t going to like Andrew Steed one little bit.

  ‘How about we do lunch today, the four of us? You and Crystal and me and Rafe Steed? Iron out any wrinkles before we commit ourselves properly. I want you to be completely happy about all of this, Annie. Your father would expect me to guard your interests as best I can. I’ve already informed Rafe Steed he will need another solicitor to represent him as you are my client.’

  This was all happening so fast. Marianne swallowed hard. But what was the alternative to agreeing to Rafe Steed’s amazing proposal? Losing everything, that was what. ‘Lunch would be fine,’ she said weakly.

  ‘One o’clock in The Fiddler’s Arms, then. To be honest, I’d like to get this sorted before Rafe changes his mind,’ Tom said, and she could tell he wasn’t joking.

  When Marianne put down the telephone the two women stared blankly at each other for a second before Crystal gave a whoop and a holler that made Marianne jump out of her skin. ‘I’ll never say again there’s not a Santa Claus. Who would have thought this could happen? It’s unbelievable.’

  Yes, it was a bit. Marianne let Crystal have her moment of joy but her main feeling was one of trepidation. It was a wildly generous offer and she was grateful to Rafe Steed—eternally grateful—but something didn’t sit right. She didn’t know what, but she’d bet her bottom dollar there was more to this than met the eye.

  A little while later, as she walked up to her bedroom to get ready for the lunch date, she was no nearer to finding an answer for her inward unease. Whatever way she looked at this she couldn’t lose, could she? It was a win-win situation. On one side of the scales she lost everything, on the other she kept a fifty per cent stake in Seacrest and in the future might even be able to buy the Steeds out if all went well. OK, it might take years, decades even, but it was a possibility and one she would work towards.

  Opening the bedroom door, she walked over to the wardrobe. She needed to look businesslike, she told herself firmly. Cool and businesslike and in control. She always left a selection of clothes at Seacrest for holidays and weekends with her parents, but they were much less formal than her things in London. She must have something that would do. She glanced at the charcoal dress and black jacket, which were still where she had thrown them on the night of the funeral.

  No. She couldn’t bear to wear them again. Silly and emotional perhaps, but that was the way she felt.

  The June day was a warm one, the sky blue and cloudless with just the slightest of breezes whispering over the garden and through the open window. Pulling out the most sombre dress in the wardrobe—a sleeveless sheer twisted tulle dress with attached dress underneath in pale brown—Marianne quickly divested herself of the jeans and vest top she was wearing.

  Hair up or down? She surveyed herself critically. Up. More tidy and neat.

  It only took a few seconds to loop her shoulder-length hair into a sleek shining knot, and she spent the remaining five minutes before she left the room applying careful make-up to hide the ravages a night spent crying had wreaked. True, her eyelids were still on the puffy side but only the most discerning eye would notice it.

  By the time she joined Crystal, who was waiting for her in the hall, Marianne was satisfied that her overall persona was one of cool efficiency. Tom’s last words, although spoken lightly, had hit a nerve. With salvation just a lunch away, she didn’t want to blow this. She needed to instill in Rafe Steed the assurance that she could cope with whatever was necessary to get Seacrest up and working as a successful hotel.

  ‘Annie. Crystal.’ Tom stood up as they approached him and his companion in The Fiddler’s Arms lounge bar, the tall dark figure at his side rising also.

  Marianne kept her eyes trained on the middle-aged face in front of her until Tom had hugged her briefly. Then she forced herself to turn polite eyes to Rafe Steed. ‘Hello, Mr Steed,’ she said carefully. ‘I didn’t expect we would meet again so soon.’

  ‘Likewise, Miss Carr.’

  His voice was just as she remembered—silky, cold—but his face was as unrevealing as a blank canvas.

  In spite of herself she was slightly taken aback and that annoyed her more than his coolness. She had expected…What had she expected? she asked herself silently. Some shred of warmth? Enthusiasm? Something, for sure.

  Clearing her throat, Marianne said flatly, ‘I appreciate the fact you might be interested in a business proposal involving Seacrest, Mr Steed.’

  His eyes were very blue and very piercing. ‘It’s a little more than a might, Miss Carr.’

  ‘Good, good,’ Tom intervened, his voice brisk. ‘But, in view of the circumstances, I think we can do away with such formality and move on to Christian names?’

  Crystal nodded her agreement. Marianne’s inclination of her head was less enthusiastic and Rafe Steed could have been set in granite. However, when he next spoke it was to Marianne that he said, ‘I think our table is ready in the restaurant. Shall we?’ and he took her arm in a manner that brooked no argument, leaving the other two to follow them as he walked her out of the lounge bar and through wide-open doors into the inn’s restaurant.

  Taken aback, Marianne didn’t object but she was unnervingly conscious of the warm hand on her elbow and the height and breadth of him as he escorted her to a table for four in a secluded spot at the edge of the room. Once seated next to Crystal with the two men facing them across the table, she tried to relax her taut muscles but it was difficult. She didn’t think she had ever felt so tense in all her life. Part of the problem was that she could feel Rafe’s eyes moving over every inch of her face although she purposely hadn’t glanced at him, pretending an interest in the room in general.

  ‘So, Marianne…’ He brought her eyes to his as he spoke, the deep voice with its smoky accent giving her name a charm she’d never heard before. ‘What would you like to drink?’

  ‘Drink?’ She flushed as she realised she must sound vacant. Praying he hadn’t noticed, she said quickly, ‘A glass of wine would be nice.’

  ‘Red or white?’

  ‘Red.’ Why had she said that? She never drank red. Was it because she felt he had expected her to say white? But that was ridiculous. He probably hadn’t been thinking any such thing.

  She watched as Rafe raised a hand and a waitress immediately appeared at his side. She had lunched at this particular pub many times in the past and she had never seen anyone get such prompt service before, not in the summer when the restaurant was always packed to bursting.

  Once Rafe had given the order for drinks and they were settled with a menu in their hands, Marianne forced herself to raise her gaze as casually as though it wasn’t taking all of her will-power and meet Rafe’s eyes as she said, ‘I understand you’ve bought the Haywards’ place for your father. It’s a beautiful old cottage, isn’t it, and the garden is wonderful. I’m sure he’ll love it.’

  ‘I hope so.’ It was flat, the tone contrary to the words. He swallowed some wine before he said, ‘Personally, I think it is a mistake, this desire to come back to a country he left some four decades ago. All his friends and colleagues are in the States, that’s where his life is.’

  ‘What about his heart?’ She hadn’t meant to say it; the words had popped out of their own volition.

  ‘His heart?’ The blue eyes had iced over still more.

  ‘Maybe his heart has never really left the area he was born in.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I could understand that, to be honest. I live and work in London, as you know, but I’ve always known I’d come back here one day to put down roots. Cornwall…well, it gets in the blood somehow. It can hold a person. But of course you would know your father far better than me,’ she added hastily, sensing she
was treading on thin ice.

  ‘Quite.’

  Oh, he definitely wasn’t amused. She took in the tight line of his jaw and, as he cut the conversation by looking down at his menu, she noticed he had thick lashes for a man. Long and silky and curly—the sort of lashes a woman would kill for. His open-necked grey shirt showed the beginning of soft black chest hair and his broad shoulders accentuated the flagrant masculinity she had noticed the day of the funeral. She felt a little thrill in the pit of her stomach and hastily averted her eyes but for a moment the small neat words on the menu swam mistily.

  Get a grip. She sat perfectly still for some moments, willing her racing heart to slow down. As her pulse gradually returned to normal she took a few discreet calming breaths.

  Crystal, obviously sensing the tense atmosphere, dived in with the stock English fallback comment about the weather. ‘Lovely for June, isn’t it?’ she said brightly. ‘It was awful this time last year, one storm after another.’

  Marianne raised her head in time to see Rafe’s mouth twitch as he continued to keep his eyes on the menu. It annoyed her. He knew exactly how his attitude was affecting everyone, she thought irritably, and he didn’t care. Possibly because he considered he was holding all the cards. Which he was, of course. Nevertheless…Expressionlessly, she said, ‘Why haven’t you bought Seacrest purely for yourself, Mr Steed? Or for your father, for that matter?’ It was a question that had been burning in her mind since Tom had first told her about the proposal. She hadn’t meant to put it so baldly originally but Rafe Steed had got under her skin.

  Blue eyes met chocolate-brown and Marianne didn’t try to hide the dislike she felt for this overbearing individual in her face. She felt Crystal squirm at her side and felt a moment’s contrition. Crystal would be devastated if Rafe pulled out of this merger.

  ‘I have a home in the States,’ he said coolly after he had allowed one or two seconds to tick by. ‘And Seacrest is too large an establishment for my father. The Haywards’ place is much more suitable. But I think he will enjoy seeing it renovated and turned into a first-class exclusive hotel.’

  Marianne’s eyes narrowed. There had been something in his tone she couldn’t put her finger on but which sent alarm bells ringing. ‘As a project, you mean?’ she said, a sudden tightness in her chest.

  He gave her a hard look. ‘What else?’

  What else, indeed? Feeling as though she were wading through treacle and oblivious to the anxious glances the other two at the table were exchanging, she said, ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr Steed, but I felt there was something more to it than that when you just spoke.’

  He settled back in his seat a fraction and the male face went blank, but she had seen the momentary surprise when she had pressed the challenge. Surprise and something else. She had been right; there was more to it than he had admitted thus far. Like a bolt of lightning, Marianne knew she had to get to the bottom of this. ‘Am I right?’ she asked directly.

  He stared at her. It took all of her strength not to let her eyes fall away but she was determined not to be the one to look away first.

  Tom began to say something into the taut silence which had fallen but in the next instant Rafe was on his feet, glancing at the other two as he said, ‘I think Miss Carr and I need to talk privately for a few minutes. If you’ll excuse us? We won’t be long.’

  ‘Annie?’ Tom glanced at her, his face concerned.

  ‘It’s all right, Uncle Tom.’ She had risen to her feet and now she smiled at the solicitor and Crystal. ‘Order for us if the waitress returns, would you? I’ll have the butter bean bruschetta with toasted wholegrain bread followed by the tarragon chicken with green beans and new potatoes.’ She didn’t think she’d be able to eat a thing but she was blowed if she was going to let Rafe Steed know that.

  She glanced at him, waiting for him to express his choice, and for a second she thought she caught a glimpse of something which could have been admiration in the blue gaze. It was gone in an instant as he turned to Tom. ‘The same.’

  She didn’t want him touching her again and so she quickly retraced her steps to the lounge bar. There she stopped long enough to glance over her shoulder and say, ‘I suggest we go through to the garden. It’s more private there,’ before continuing on.

  Once in the grounds of the inn she realised the tables and chairs scattered about the big lawn were full, which she hadn’t expected. Normally, apart from the six weeks in July and August when the schoolchildren were on their summer vacation and even more holiday-makers flooded into the area, there was always a table or two to be had outside.

  ‘My car’s in the car park.’

  Now Rafe did take her arm again; too late Marianne realised she should have been content with talking in the crowded lounge bar. The last thing she wanted was to sit in his car with him. Far too cosy.

  As he led her out of the little side gate and into the large drystone-walled car park, Marianne was attacked by a number of conflicting emotions. His height and breadth made her feel very feminine, almost fragile, and it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. He smelled nice. Not so much the scent of aftershave but more the faint perfume of a lime or lemon soap on clean male skin—or perhaps it was aftershave? She didn’t know but it was attractive. The set of his face told her she had been right in her suspicions that there was more to this than met the eye; furthermore, she wouldn’t like what she was about to hear, and apprehension curled in her stomach. The sun was hot on her face and, as they reached a low silver sports car crouching in the far corner of the car park and he opened the passenger door, the smell of leather hit her nostrils.

  Once she was seated he shut the door and walked round the bonnet of the car, sliding into the driver’s seat as he said, ‘I’m aware you have just lost your parents suddenly, which has been a great shock. If you would rather we had this conversation some other time that’s fine.’

  ‘Because I won’t like what you say to me, Mr Steed?’ Marianne asked steadily, refusing to be intimidated.

  ‘Exactly.’ He turned to face her, one arm along the back of her seat. ‘And what I have to say doesn’t alter the current proposal so it really isn’t necessary to voice it.’

  ‘I disagree.’ Marianne folded her arms, wishing they weren’t alone like this. ‘I noticed at the funeral you had to force yourself to be civil to me and just now, when you mentioned Seacrest, there was something…’ She swallowed hard. ‘Perhaps you’d like to explain exactly how you feel?’

  ‘Very well.’

  It was said in a tone of you asked for this and Marianne’s stomach turned over. Since she was a child she had always disliked confrontation but if and when it came she had invariably met it head-on.

  ‘You know your father and mine grew up together, that they were boyhood friends?’ said Rafe evenly.

  ‘Yes.’ Marianne nodded. ‘Not until the funeral, though, but you already know that.’

  ‘The three of them—your father, mine and Tom Blackthorn—were very close through their teenage years and then, when they turned twenty, something happened. Or someone.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Marianne stared at him. He was speaking in a steady controlled voice but she knew he wasn’t feeling calm inside.

  ‘My father met a girl—a young woman. She’d recently moved to the area with her family. Your father and Tom had gone abroad for the summer—they had comfortably well-off parents, unlike my paternal grandparents, who were fisher-folk. My father’s parents couldn’t afford to send him to France and Italy to see the sights. He was expected to work on the fishing boat once he was home from university. They’d had to sacrifice much to allow him to go in the first place.’

  He looked away from her, staring through the windscreen. His profile might have been sculpted in granite. The clear forehead, the chiselled straight nose, the firm mouth and strong square jaw. He really was a very good-looking man, Marianne thought vaguely, but disturbing. Infinitely disturbing.

  ‘The two of them fell in
love, my father and this young woman. He was besotted by her. He couldn’t believe such a beautiful young girl had fallen so madly for him. They had a wonderful summer together. She would wait each evening for him to return from fishing so they could be together. They had barbecues for two on the beach with the fish he’d caught, walks through the countryside, evenings sitting in the gardens of village pubs, things like that. She had golden-blond hair and the bluest of eyes, my father said. In that respect—the eyes—you are not like your mother.’

  She had been expecting it, realisation dawning slowly as he had talked, but it was still a shock. Licking her lips, she said, ‘Your father fell in love with my mother?’

  ‘Not just fell in love with her—he always loved her. He still does. And my mother knew. She knew there was a girl in England he was trying to forget—a girl who had broken his heart and left only a small piece for anyone else. But my mother loved him enough to take what was left and make it work. They had a good marriage on the whole, even though she knew she was second-best.’

  The bitterness in his voice broke through for a moment and Marianne watched as he took a deep breath, gritting his teeth. When he next spoke his voice was steady again, unemotional. ‘Your father and Tom came back from their travels one week before the university term began. By the end of it your mother had switched her affections from the son of a poor fisherman to a man who had wealth and power in his family, the son of a successful businessman who owned a big fine house which would one day become his.’

  Marianne’s throat constricted. She cleared it, then said tightly, ‘If you are insinuating my mother married my father for his wealth and property, you are wrong. They loved each other.’

  He ignored this. ‘The three of them—my father, yours and Tom—had one year left at university. On the eve of my father’s graduation his father and brother were drowned in a storm and the fishing boat lost. My grandmother went to live with her widowed sister some miles inland. At the same time your father and mother got engaged. There was now nothing to hold my father here. A mixed blessing in the circumstances. Certainly I don’t think he could have stood seeing your parents settling into married bliss.’