Marriage On Command. Lindsay Armstrong

      But that posed a question. Was she really prepared to marry Damien Moore to hang on to Cyril Delaney’s bequest?

      She sank down on to the bed with her dress in her arms. And where did this tall, dark, striking woman who stored her clothes in his spare bedroom fit in with his proposal to move to Plover Park?

      An hour later, she was ready.

      Her hair, on Sally’s advice, was up in an elegant twist. The dress fitted like a glove. Her lips were painted to match her nails, and all in all it was a startling metamorphosis from the girl who had sat down to lunch with Damien Moore earlier in the day. She wondered, with a tinge of acerbity, what he would make of her transformation.

      She only had to wait a few minutes before his key turned in the lock…

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘HOLY…mackerel!’

      About half the width of the lamplit lounge separated them when Damien Moore stopped as if shot and made his observation at the same time.

      Lee’s lips trembled but she managed to say gravely, ‘On the pithy sayings scale that’s nearly as good as…no way, José! Not what you’d expect of a legal brain, mind, but very expressive. Not that complimentary either—but I gather I’ve surprised you?’

      He took in the little black dress she wore and blinked. What there was of it hugged her figure. The bodice was heart-shaped, revealing a tantalising glimpse of her décolleté, and was held up by narrow straps encrusted with rhinestones. The skirt stopped well above her knees. High black patent sandals adorned her narrow feet and her legs were bare.

      It was a dress her slender figure and her lightly tanned limbs did justice to. It was a dress that revealed a more tantalising figure than he had suspected, and against the black her green eyes were stunning, her freckles almost unnoticeable. Her very light make-up was perfect as well. In all aspects she could suddenly have stepped out of the pages of Vogue…

      He spoke at last. ‘It is a bit different from your everlasting jeans, boots and odd scarves—and, of course, your black hat.’

      ‘I’m a gardener, remember? It needs to be a very special occasion for me to dress up. Would it be too much to ask if you approve?’

      ‘Would you care if I didn’t?’ he countered, and strolled forward, then started to circle her slowly.

      ‘No.’ She said it a shade sharply, because of course she would, but she’d rather die than allow him to see it. Nor did she appreciate being inspected as if she were a prize filly. It made her wonder if he’d pick up her feet and check her teeth. Not only that, it set her nerve-ends tingling and caused her to feel that she might as well not have bothered to clothe herself at all.

      ‘In the context of your party,’ she rephrased tartly, ‘it’d be nice to know if I come up to scratch.’

      He came round to stand in front of her and a fleeting smile touched his mouth. ‘I think you look sensational, Miss Westwood. In any context. There’s also more to you than your clothes have hitherto led me to suspect, and I apologise for my tactless remark at lunch.’

      She bit her lip and tried not to colour as his dark gaze roamed over her exposed flesh—and there was quite a lot of it. She realised, too late, that his reference to her figure at lunch must have lingered in her subconscious and been the reason she’d allowed herself to be persuaded into this dress. A subliminal desire to prove a thing or two to him, to be precise. She might be slim but she wasn’t scrawny. Only to have him see right through her…

      She said, after a moment’s intense thought, ‘I’m very pleased to hear it, Damien, but I asked that in a particular context—I need to make a statement! I need to stand out from the crowd tonight. I need to be noticed as your…’ She hesitated, then bit the bullet, ‘As your prospective wife.’

      ‘There’s little doubt you’ll be noticed,’ he said wryly, ‘but why this sudden change of heart?’

      She brought him up to date. ‘I know you told me most of this, but coming face to face with Cosmo Delaney and hearing him say that Cyril had promised Plover Park to him really brought it home, I guess,’ she finished.

      He pulled off his jacket and tie and slung them over the back of a chair. ‘I see.’

      ‘He…he gives me the creeps—Cosmo Delaney,’ she added with a shudder.

      ‘Do you think he overheard our conversation?’

      Lee considered. ‘No. If he’d been that close I’m sure I’d have got the vibes.’ She frowned. ‘You don’t seem at all perturbed.’

      Damien shrugged. ‘I spend my life dealing with this kind of thing. I’ve also had a long, busy day.’ He touched a cupboard and a door sprang open to reveal the lit interior of a cocktail cabinet. ‘Like a drink?’

      ‘No, thanks. Of course,’ she said arctically, and looked around the luxury apartment, ‘being wealthy in your own right obviously gives you a different perspective on all this. It doesn’t mean nearly as much to you as it does to me. It probably doesn’t mean anything to you at all!’ Her green eyes were accusing.

      He poured himself a Scotch and soda and took it over to the settee. ‘On the contrary, Lee,’ he murmured as he sprawled back, stretched his long legs out and looked up at her lazily. ‘If anyone could prove I conned myself into Cyril’s will under false pretences, I could kiss my career goodbye.’

      She stared at him, then sank into an armchair. ‘Why aren’t you more upset, then?’

      He studied his glass. ‘Before I go into that perhaps I should make a point. The easiest course for me at this stage, Lee, would be to withdraw any claim on Plover Park.’

      Her lips parted and her eyes widened.

      ‘I don’t need the place,’ he continued wryly. ‘I don’t need the hassle of all this. And, although I don’t intend to do it, perhaps you should bear it in mind.’

      She sprang up, then with a frustrated little sound crossed to the cocktail cabinet and mixed herself a brandy and soda—a process Damien watched with amusement. ‘I’m speechless,’ she remarked as she returned to her chair beneath his gaze.

      ‘Good. Perhaps you’ll hear me out in silence, then. The reason I’m not going to do it is this. For whatever reason…’ He paused and looked into the distance with a tinge of irony in his eyes. ‘I admired your fight for your grandparents. Nor did I in any way pressure Cyril into putting us in his will. He also left Cosmo a significant inheritance in other forms. So I’ll continue the fight.’

      ‘That’s all?’ she said uncertainly.

      ‘No.’ He stood up and looked down at her quizzically. ‘While I may continue the fight, the histrionics are your department, not mine.’

      Lee bit her lip.

      He smiled faintly, then said abruptly, ‘Are you quite sure you want to do this?’