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‘Where did you get that information from?’ Bee asked angrily.
‘There are private investigation firms which can offer such details within hours for the right price,’ Sergios fielded with colossal calm. ‘Naturally I checked you out and I was impressed with what I learned about you.’
But I wasn’t seriously offering to marry you, she almost snapped back at him before she thought better of that revealing admission and hastily swallowed it back. After all her father’s threat still hung over her and his financial security was integral to her mother’s support system. Take away that security and life as her mother knew it would be at an end. Suddenly Bee was looking down a long, dark, intimidating tunnel at a future she could no longer predict and accepting that if Sergios Demonides decided that he did want to marry her, she would be in no position to refuse him.
‘If your cousin’s children are disturbed, I have no experience with that sort of problem,’ Bee warned him quietly. ‘I have no experience of raising children either and I’m not a miracle worker.’
‘I don’t believe in miracles, so I’m not expecting one,’ Sergios said very drily, resting sardonic golden eyes on her strained face. ‘There would also be conditions which you would have to fulfil to meet my requirements.’
Bee said nothing. Still reeling in shock at the concept of marrying him, she did not trust herself to speak. As for his expectations, she was convinced they would be high and that he would have a very long list of them. Unhappily for her, Sergios Demonides was unaccustomed to settling for anything less than perfection and the very best in any field. She dug out her phone and rang her mother to warn her that she would be late home. By the time she finished the call the limousine was already filtering down a driveway adorned with silver birch trees just coming into leaf. They drew up outside a detached house large and grand enough to be described as a mansion.
‘My London base.’ Sergios shot her a rapier-eyed glance from level dark eyes. ‘One of your duties as my wife would be taking charge of my various homes and ensuring that the households run smoothly.’
The word ‘wife’, allied to that other word, ‘duties’, sounded horribly nineteenth century to Bee’s ears. ‘Are you a domestic tyrant?’ she enquired.
Sergios sent her a frowning appraisal. ‘Is that a joke?’
‘No, but there is something very Victorian about mentioning the word wife in the same sentence as duties.’
His handsome mouth quirked. ‘You first referred to the role as a job and I prefer to regard it in the same light.’
But Bee very much liked the job she already had and registered in some consternation that she was literally being asked to put her money where her mouth was. She had done what her father had asked her to do without thinking through the likely consequences of success. Now those consequences had well and truly come home to roost with her. As she accompanied Sergios into a sizeable foyer, he issued instructions to the manservant greeting him and escorted Bee into a massive drawing room.
‘Unlike your sister, you’re very quiet,’ he remarked.
‘You’ve taken me by surprise,’ Bee admitted ruefully.
‘You look bewildered. Why?’ Sergios breathed, his bronzed eyes impatient. ‘I have no desire for the usual kind of wife. I don’t want the emotional ties, the demands or the restrictions, but on a practical basis a woman to fulfil that role would be a very useful addition to my life.’
‘Perhaps I just don’t see what’s in it for me—apart from you buying my father’s hotels which would hopefully ensure my mother’s security for the foreseeable future,’ Bee volunteered frankly.
‘If I married you, I would ensure your mother’s security for the rest of her life,’ Sergios extended with quiet carrying emphasis, his dark deep drawl vibrating in the big room. ‘Even if we were to part at a later date you would never have to worry about her care again, nor would she have to look to your father for support. I will personally ensure that your mother has everything she requires, including the very best of medical treatment available to someone with her condition.’
His words engulfed her like a crashing burst of thunder heralding a brighter dawn. Instantly Bee thought of the expensive extras that could improve Emilia Blake’s quality of life. In place of Bee’s home-made efforts, regular professional physiotherapy sessions might be able to strengthen Emilia’s wasted limbs and something might be found to ease the breathing difficulties that sometimes afflicted her. Sergios, Bee appreciated suddenly, was rich enough to make a huge difference to her mother’s life.
A young woman in a nanny uniform entered the room with a baby about eighteen months old in her arms and two small children trailing unenthusiastically in their wake.
‘Thank you. Leave the children with us,’ Sergios instructed.
Set down on the carpet the youngest child instantly began to howl, tears streaming down her little screwed-up face, a toddler of about three years old grabbed hold of Sergios’s trousered leg while the older boy came to a suspicious halt several feet away.
‘It’s all right, pet.’ Bee scooped up the baby and the little girl stopped mid-howl, settling anxious b
lue eyes on her. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Eleni…and this is Milo,’ Sergios told her, detaching the clinging toddler from his leg with difficulty and giving him a little helpful prod in Bee’s direction as if he was hoping that the child would embrace her instead.
‘And you have to be Paris,’ Bee said to the older boy as she crouched down to greet Milo. ‘My sister Zara told me that you got a new bike for your birthday.’
Paris didn’t smile but he moved closer as Bee sank down on the sofa with the baby girl in her arms. Milo, clearly desperate for attention, clambered up beside her and tried to get on her lap with his sister but there wasn’t enough room. ‘Hello, Milo.’
‘Paris, remember your manners,’ Sergios interposed sternly.
With a scared look, Paris extended a skinny arm to shake hands formally, his eyes slewing evasively away from hers. Bee invited him to sit down beside her and told him that she was a teacher. When she asked him about the school he attended he shot her a frightened look and hurriedly glanced away. It did not take a genius to guess that Paris could be having problems at school. Of the three children, Milo was the most normal, a bundle of toddler energy in need of attention and entertainment. Paris, however, was tense and troubled while the little girl was very quiet and worryingly unresponsive.
After half an hour Sergios had seen enough to convince him that Beatriz Blake was the woman he needed to smooth out the rough and troublesome places in his life. Her warmth and energy drew the children and she was completely relaxed with them where her sister had been nervous and, while friendly, over-anxious to please. Bee, on the other hand, emanated a calm authority that ensured respect. He called the nanny back to remove the children again.
‘You mentioned conditions…’ Bee reminded him, returning to their earlier conversation and striving to stick to necessary facts. Yet when she tried to accept that she was actually considering marrying the Greek billionaire the idea seemed so remote and unreal and impossible that her thoughts swam in a sea of bemusement.
