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Connie opened her mouth, then closed it. No, it did not make sense. At all.
But he was speaking again. in a calm, even tone—as if, she realised, he was forcing himself to speak.
Well, of course he is!She felt hysteria start to gather in her throat and knew why.Of course he’s forcing himself! He’d be forcing himself if he said what he’s just said to any woman on earth—let alone to a woman like you.
As she so often did, she felt colour start to rush into her face and had to fight it back. How she hated the way she looked these days—justhatedit.
And in the presence of a man like this...
She steered her mind away. It was pointless thinking it, feeling it, giving it the slightest mental time at all. And pointless givinghimthe slightest mental time, let alone what he’d just said to her.
He was getting to his feet. He was tall—easily six feet—and the low beams which ran throughout the cottage were perilously close to the top of his head.
‘I will leave you to consider what I have said,’ he was saying now, and his glance at her was equally as cool and impersonal as his voice.
He was reaching into his jacket pocket and Connie could see the pale grey silk lining. The beautifully styled jacket perfectly fitted his lean, elegant form, just as his dinner jacket the night before had. He flicked out a business card, held it out to her between two fingers.
‘I advise you to check out my details—that would only be prudent in the circumstances. And then please give what I have said your due consideration.’
Connie took, perforce, the business card he was still holding out.
‘But I cannot give you much time. I will need a decision by the end of the week.’
She opened her mouth to speak. She could give him her decision right now—probably already had, with her stupefied reaction to his suggestion. But he did not let her.
‘No.’ There was the very faintest hint of a smile at the corners of his sculpted mouth. ‘You must think it over. Especially as I have had more time to do so,’ he pointed out.
She stared at him. ‘You only met me last night—if you can even call it a meeting!’ she protested.
He gave a shrug. ‘I have told you. Time is of the essence. If we’re going to make a deal, it needs to happen soon.’
He walked towards her, clearly intent on leaving. She stumbled backwards into the tiny hallway. He opened the front door for himself, then turned.
‘It does sound insane,’ he said, and now she could hear something in his voice that was almost conspiratorial, ‘but there is a great deal of sanity in it.’
There was nothing she could say. Just...nothing.
Then, a moment later, there was no opportunity anyway. He had walked through the door, pulled it shut behind him, and was gone.
Connie stared. Then, turning very, very slowly, as if with no breath in her body at all, she went back into the sitting room. She stared at the sofa where he’d sat a moment ago, putting to her the most ludicrous proposal she’d ever heard in her life.
To marry a man who was a total stranger and to stay married to him for at least eighteen months...so that he could claim his inheritance and she could ensure her grandmother saw out her days in their cottage...
‘I’m dreaming,’ she said to herself.
It was the only explanation that made sense.
Because absolutely nothing else did...
‘Raf? Answer the phone! I don’t care if you’re asleep, or who you’re with, or if you’re hung over! I need to speak to you.’
There was a pause—a long one—and Dante drummed his fingers with severe impatience on the dashboard of his car, parked outside the hotel he’d just checked out of.
He needed to get going—back to Milan. See his grandfather’s lawyers, the will’s executors. Tell them he was meeting his grandfather’s outrageous, high-handed, damnable condition and would, therefore, be claiming his inheritance. Without further delay.
‘Dante—what the hell? Where are you?’
‘About to leave for London. Then Milan,’ Dante’s grip on his phone tightened. ‘I’ve found her,’ he said. ‘The woman I can marry.’
