The Marriage Takeover. Lee WilkinsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘Aren’t you?’
‘No,’ she denied hardly. ‘I’m sure anyone else would tell you the same.’
‘Your loyalty does you credit.’
Refusing to protest further, she bit her lip and said nothing.
‘When did you two get engaged?’
‘About three months ago.’
‘And you’re planning to get married…when?’
‘In just over a week.’
‘I had the impression it was next spring.’
‘We brought the date forward.’
‘Any particular reason?’ he asked idly.
Flushing furiously, she said in a half-strangled voice, ‘I’m not pregnant, Mr Dalton, if that’s what you mean,’ and watched the build-up of tension in his big frame relax.
‘Forgive me,’ he said smoothly, ‘but there’s always a possibility, and it might have affected my future plans for the pair of you.’
Taken aback, she asked, ‘What kind of future plans?’
Ignoring the question, he asked abruptly, ‘Do you love Brent?’
Her private feelings had nothing whatsoever to do with this arrogant man, and for a moment she was sorely tempted to jump up and walk away. But, knowing any open discourtesy on her part might rebound on Alan, she hesitated.
The dark blue eyes pinned her. ‘You obviously feel that I’ve no right to be asking such personal questions.’
Meeting his gaze steadily, she said, ‘I really can’t see that they’re relevant.’
‘Brent is poised to go to the top in my organization, and a top executive’s working life is invariably affected by his or her private life.
‘I’ve found from past experience that it’s almost impossible to separate the two. So before I promote anyone I feel justified in asking enough questions to size up the situation…’
So that was why they had both been invited. What he’d meant by future plans.
‘It’s up to you, of course. You don’t have to answer.’
But if she didn’t it would no doubt adversely affect Alan’s prospects.
Biting back her resentment, she said, ‘I love him very much. I wouldn’t be marrying him if I didn’t.’
His blue eyes cynical, Lang observed, ‘In my experience, women marry men for a variety of reasons, and love isn’t necessarily one of them.’
‘You seem to have been…’ She stopped speaking abruptly.
‘Do go on,’ he said silkily. ‘What do I seem to have been?’
‘Unfortunate in your experience of women.’
The instant the fatal sentence was spoken, she could have bitten her tongue. He looked absolutely livid.
As though the words echoed inside her head, she could hear Alan saying, ‘All you have to do is take care not to get on the wrong side of him.’
Her heart like lead, she realized that though they had only been here a matter of hours she’d managed to do just that.
After a moment or two, his anger under control, his hard face devoid of expression, he asked brusquely, ‘So what exactly have you heard?’
‘I—I don’t know what you mean.’ She was genuinely at a loss.
His eyes holding hers, he said slowly, ‘I could almost believe that.’
‘You can believe it, Mr Dalton. It’s the truth.’
‘Do you mean there isn’t any gossip going the rounds? Or you don’t listen to it?’
‘If you mean gossip about you, so far as I know there isn’t any.’
‘That’s surprising. Though at this end every effort was made to curb it, it’s almost impossible to stamp it out altogether. You’d heard the old rumour that my PA was afraid of me…’
Not knowing what to say, Cassandra stayed silent.
‘And your remark just now suggested you’d heard…other things.’
Shaking her head, she chose her words with care. ‘I said what I did because I thought you sounded…somewhat disillusioned… Obviously I got the wrong impression.’
Then, in a rush, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re angry with me, but please don’t hold it against Alan.’
Lang’s dark blue gaze narrowed on her face. Mockingly, he said, ‘I could almost believe you do love him.’
Watching her bite her lip, he smiled thinly.
Afraid to speak in case she put her foot in it again, she twisted her hands together in her lap and prayed that someone would come and break up this most uncomfortable tête-à-tête.
CHAPTER TWO
HER prayer was answered.
‘So there you are, Cass…’
The familiar voice sent a flood of relief surging through her, and she looked up eagerly to see Alan crossing the terrace.
Freshly showered and shaved, his evening jacket immaculate, his dark hair expertly styled, he looked every inch the rising young executive.
Sounding more than a little put out, he added, ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’
‘Come and join us,’ Lang Dalton invited blandly, his air now that of a civil host. ‘What will you have to drink?’
‘Sweet vermouth, please, with ice and lemon.’
Rising to his feet, Lang queried, ‘Would you like a refill, Cassandra?’
Catching Alan’s flicker of surprise at the use of her Christian name, she answered awkwardly, ‘No, thank you. As a rule I don’t drink at all.’
When the tall figure had crossed to the bar, Alan came and sat down opposite her. His good-looking face aggrieved, he complained, ‘I hung about for what seemed an age… In the end I was forced to ask the houseboy where your room was.’
Seeing his dignity had been wounded, she began, ‘I’m sorry, I—’
But he was going on, ‘When I found it was empty, and there was no sign of you, I began to wonder where the devil you’d got to.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, ‘but I—’
She broke off as, having passed Alan his vermouth, Lang Dalton came and sat down again beside her.
‘There’s no need for Cassandra to apologize,’ he said coolly, obviously having overheard the low-toned conversation. ‘The fault was mine. I asked her to have a private drink with me…’
Alan looked startled.
‘I wanted to sound her out about something before I spoke to you. In the event I didn’t get round to it.’
His brown eyes holding a hint of anxiety, Alan asked, ‘What did you want to speak to me about?’
‘As we’ll be dining shortly, I’d prefer to leave any business discussions until later,’ Lang Dalton told him. He continued decidedly, ‘I make it a rule never to talk shop at the table—whether or not there are other guests present.’
As though picking up a cue, Alan remarked, ‘I haven’t seen any of the other guests around… But perhaps they’re not arriving until tomorrow?’
‘On this occasion there are no other guests. I decided to dispense