The Price of a Wife

This was a business trip, pure and simple. Admittedly she was staying at his house—she hadn't been able to get out of that one, despite two or three phone calls, the last of which had been both abrupt and terse on Luke's side-but that shouldn't be too much of a problem if she remembered she was an employee in his service, nothing more. She was here to work—he had women like that voluptuous brunette, Catherine, for his other activities—and she had no doubt at all that the dark-haired siren would know exactly how to please an experienced man of the world like Luke. Whereas she… She wouldn't have a clue, she admitted silently. Not a due.

'Here we go. The car should be waiting outside.' As they left the plane Luke took her elbow in a firm grip, and he steered her through the airport formalities, his large bulk protecting her from the carelessly carried suitcases and sharp elbows that her tininess always seemed to bring her into contact with. She was vitally conscious of him at her side, every nerve in her body sensitised and tight as she struggled to maintain her aplomb.

As they stepped through the massive glass doors of the airport terminal the light outside was blinding, a sizzling hot sun blazing down from a sharp, crystal-clear blue sky in which there wasn't the faintest trace of a cloud. The air was dry and scorchingly fierce, the lack of trees and mile upon mile of parked cars creating their own mini furnace.

'It will be better in the car.' Luke had seen her wince as the heat attacked the sensitive pale skin that went with her colouring. 'Have you brought some sunblock?'

'Sunblock?' She stared at him in surprise. She should have done—she always, always did when she went abroad— but this time she had forgotten. And it would be this time, wouldn't it? she thought balefully, acutely aware of those silver-grey eyes watching her so knowingly. 'I thought I'd get some here,' she lied airily, just as a stunningly beautiful pale gold Rolls-Royce drew up beside than, complete with chauffeur in matching livery.

'On time as always, Louis.' The chauffeur nodded and smiled a greeting before busying himself with the suitcases. Luke glanced down at her lazily. 'The car has an excellent air-conditioning system, so you should be more comfortable inside, and the suncream is no problem. We have a number of creams and oils at the house—a necessity through the summer here. My housekeeper's grandchildren visit several times a week to play in the pool and they are all very fair, so I'm sure there will be something suitable.'

'Oh, right. Thank you.' As she slid into the magnificent car she almost felt like royalty for a moment, before she reminded herself that she was in exactly the same position as the chauffeur in front. She was a paid employee, nothing more, and this seductive style of living—and it was seductive, she admitted to herself—was just a brief glimpse of how the other half lived. But she could enjoy it while she had the opportunity, she thought wryly as the big car purred out of the airport. She would probably never get the chance to travel in such luxury again.

Luke's chateau was situated halfway between St Tropez and Toulon, with its own private stretch of beach and small harbour, and they drove straight there, past grand casinos and luxury hotels and mile upon mile of golden sand fringed by an azure-blue sea, with waving palm trees completing a picture of pure fantasy.

'It's beautiful here,' Josie said quietly as the cool car whisked them through streets in which every other vehicle was a Mercedes or a Ferrari.

'You think so?' Luke smiled down at her, faintly amused by her rapt contemplation of the view beyond the window. 'I guess it has its own type of charm, but the real South of France is inland, and that really is beautiful. I spent a good deal of my childhood exploring the region with John on our bikes—we'd take off for days at a time.'

'You wait till you see lavender fields in full bloom, or smell the perfume of mimosa and thyme and scented olive groves on a still summer's evening as you sit on a hill overlooking a sleepy medieval village—' He caught her look of astonishment and stopped abruptly, his mouth curving in a sardonic smile. 'We were perfectly ordinary little boys, Josie,' he said softly, 'and we did the camping trips and nights under the stars that all children enjoy.'

'Perfectly ordinary'? she asked herself in disbelief. Did he really believe that? Those 'perfectly ordinary' children had been the sole heirs to a vast empire that provided daily bread and butter for thousands of people. He really couldn't say that was ordinary, could he? And when he'd ridden home after one of those camping trips he had stepped back into a world of wealth and power and servants, where his every need had been taken care of. 'Didn't your parents worry that something might happen to you both?' she asked quietly, careful not to betray her thoughts.

'Not really…' He paused reflectively. 'Well, perhaps my mother on occasion. My father was a very tough individual and he brought John and me up to think and act for ourselves, but my mother was born in Italy to a family of considerable wealth. When she was a little girl one of her brothers was kidnapped by the local mafia and held to ransom; he was returned unharmed once the price for his freedom had been met but I think the incident still haunts her to this day.'

'However, she was and is a sensible woman, and she knew she couldn't keep two boys wrapped up in cotton wool. Once she had drilled us in basic road sense and the inevitable 'no talking to strangers' she had the sense to let us go. Claude, our gardener's son, who was eight years older than us, used to come with us at first, but once we reached eleven or twelve we used to give him the slip.'

'We were little terrors sometimes,' he added softly as he looked back on golden summer days that could never be repeated. 'Real little terrors.'

'Did John look like you?' she asked tentatively, unsure of how much she could ask without raking up painful memories.

'We were identical.' He said nothing more for a full minute as he remained deep in reminiscences of his own, and then suddenly he shook himself out of it, turning to her with a dry smile. 'I bet you find it hard to imagine two of me, don't you?' he said, with a mocking cynicism that told her he had no doubt as to what her opinion of him was. 'But I often think it must be hard for my mother when she looks at me and sees only one of us; she was so proud of her two boys. The Italian in her,' he added indulgently. 'She is a firm believer in families of eight or nine children, but due to complications when she had John and me more children were out of the question.'

'I see.' She forced her voice not to betray the kick in the stomach she had felt at his words. 'So that's where your approval of big families originates, from your mother's genes?' Don't continue this, she told herself silently. Stop now.

'I'm half-Italian,' he agreed easily. The silver eyes had narrowed on her face but she could read nothing in their glittering depths. 'I think four or five children is nice. I'm not quite in the 'barefoot and pregnant' league, but my wife will have to produce at least one little male Hawkton to carry on the family name—to satisfy my relations if nothing else. The rest can be girls as far as I'm concerned,' he added magnanimously. 'I like little girls better than little boys on the whole.'

'And big girls too, no doubt.' She didn't know what power was enabling her to sit still and smile as if his words had meant nothing at all, but she blessed it anyway.

'The odd one.' He had become still as he looked at her, the strange hue of his eyes making them seem like piercing lasers. 'The very odd one these days. I find I like them tiny, with hair like tangled red silk and eyes that hold a whole host of shadows I can only guess at—'

'Luke—'

'And here's the chateau.' They had just approached enormous gates set in a high stone wall through which the car passed smoothly and with a stately flourish that proclaimed it was home. A long, winding drive snaked through bowling-green-smoo

th lawns dotted with tall, gracious trees and carefully positioned flowerbeds, and beyond the chateau itself, which was a vision of elegant turrets and domes, Josie caught a glimpse of the turquoise-blue sea, shimmering in the noon-day sun.

'It's something of a fake, I'm afraid,' Luke continued as the powerful car drew up outside the massive studded front door, 'My great-grandfather had it built as a second home just over a hundred years ago in the likeness of an ancient chateau he admixed, but due to the fact that the Hawkton name was only just beginning to establish itself the original building was considerably smaller than what you see now. My grandfather added a complete wing to house the ballroom, and then my father developed the grounds at the back of the house leading down to the sea to include a swimming pool and tennis courts and so on. A French hotch-potch,' he added smilingly.

'Hotch-potch?' Josie stared at him in disbelief before turning to the truly beautiful building of mellow old stone topped by deep red domes and turrets and threaded with tall, narrow windows in which leaded glass glittered and shone. 'You don't mean that,' she said accusingly.

'No, perhaps I don't.' His voice was very deep now, and soft. 'You like it, then?'

'It's exquisite,' she said very definitely.

'Come and see inside.' After he'd helped her from the car she was disconcerted to find that he kept a casual arm round her waist as they walked to the door, which had just been opened by a pretty little maid complete in black dress, white apron and cap.

'Bonjour, monsieur, bonjour, mademoiselle.' Bright black eyes flashed interestedly over Josie's face before being demurely lowered as the girl stood aside for them to enter.