The Bride Fonseca Needs

If she wanted revenge for what he’d just done that was what she’d do.

But she couldn’t get out of her head the way Montgomery had so brutally assessed Max’s background, casting doubts on his ability. And she couldn’t get out of her head the way she’d felt that instinctive need to defend him. And right now the instinct was still there, in spite of the rage bubbling down low at having been put in this untenable position.

She forced a smile and looked at Jocasta. ‘I’m fine—really. It’s just a bit of a shock to hear it made official. Up till now it’s been our secret.’

She risked a glance at Max and her gaze was caught and snared by his. It was expressionless, but something flickered in the depths of those extraordinary eyes. Relief? His hand loosened on hers fractionally.

Jocasta was making a tsking noise. ‘And my husband provoked Max into letting it slip? Well, I think the least we can do is celebrate now that your secret is out.’

Before Darcy could say anything else a waiter was summoned and a bottle of vintage champagne was being delivered to the table and expertly poured into slim flutes. It seemed to Darcy that everything was moving at warp speed, and her heart was beating too fast.

They were all holding up their glasses and Jocasta was beaming at them. Her husband was still looking less than convinced though and Max’s jaw was tight. Darcy felt an urge to giggle, and quickly took a sip of the sparkling drink to make it go down.

‘When are you getting married?’

Darcy looked at Montgomery, just as Max said, with all the natural-born charm of a ruthless man intent on his prize, ‘Two weeks.’

His hand tightened on Darcy’s again and when she turned to him he looked at her so intently that her insides combusted.

‘I want to make her mine before she realises what I’m really like and leaves me for ever.’

For the first time since Max had made his outrageous statement Darcy felt her wits return. She pulled her hand free and said with some acerbity, while holding up her hand, ‘Well, seeing as you haven’t even bought me a ring yet, darling, I’m thinking that perhaps there’s a flaw in the arrangements.’

Jocasta chuckled. ‘Yes, Max, a lady in possession of a marriage proposal generally deserves a beautiful ring.’

Max smiled, and it was dangerous. He took Darcy’s hand again and lifted it to his mouth, pressing a kiss over her ring finger, making any of the wits that had come back to her melt again.

‘Which is why I’ve arranged to take my fiancée to Paris tomorrow, for a private appointment in Devilliers—it was meant to be a surprise.’

Darcy’s eyes opened wide. Devilliers was possibly the oldest and most exclusive jewellers in the world.

Jocasta made a noise. ‘And now we’ve ruined it. Cecil, stop goading Max. They’re engaged. Look at them—they can’t keep their eyes off each other.’

‘Well, then,’ said the older man. ‘It seems that perhaps your perspective is indeed changing, Max. However, I’ve decided that the announcement of my decision as to whom I’m entrusting my fund will take place at our fortieth wedding anniversary celebrations in Scotland, surrounded by my family.’

The Montgomerys shared a fond look and Max let Darcy’s hand go. Montgomery looked at him, and then to Darcy. ‘You will both, of course, be exten

ded an invitation. It takes place in three weeks. Perhaps you could include the trip to Inverness as a detour on your honeymoon?’

Honeymoon?

The full enormity of what was occurring hit Darcy, and as if sensing her dawning horror Max put a firm hand on her leg, under the table, just above her knee.

‘We would like nothing more—would we, cara?’

Max was looking at her, his big hand heavy on her leg, and treacherous heat was spreading upwards to between her thighs. ‘No...’

Max knew exactly what Darcy’s very ineffectual ‘no’ meant. It didn’t mean that she agreed—it meant Stop this now. But he took ruthless advantage of the ambiguity and angled his body towards hers, slipping his other hand around the back of her bare neck, pulling her towards him so that he could cover her mouth with his and stop her from saying anything else.

By the time he let her go again she was hot, breathless, addled and completely out-manoeuvred by a master. The Montgomerys were preparing to leave, saying their goodbyes, clearly believing that they were playing gooseberry now.

Darcy didn’t know if she wanted to stamp her foot, slap Max, or scream for them all to stop so she could put them right. But, like the treacherous heat that had licked up her thighs and into her belly during Max’s kiss, something was holding her back—and she was too much of a coward to investigate what it was.

They stood to bid goodbye to the older couple and Darcy was vaguely aware that the restaurant had emptied. When they were alone again Max sat down, a look of supreme satisfaction on his face.

This time Darcy did throw down her napkin, and he looked at her. Anger at herself for being so weak made her blurt out, ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at, Max?’

Max cast a quick look around and took Darcy’s wrist, pulling her down. She landed heavily on the seat.