The Price of a Wife

Once Andy had left and she was alone Josie sat staring blindly at the desk as her mind dissected the information it had been given. That day at the chateau, as they had chatted about his family, he had given her the reason for his father's betrayal of his mother, although she hadn't realised he was doing so at the time. And he had under-stood both his parents, she thought with a sudden rush of emotion that caused her chest to tighten. He hadn't judged either of them and it was clear he held no animosity for Catherine or her mother either. He had a big heart, an understanding heart.

She felt the hot prick of tears behind her eyelids and blinked them away rapidly. She couldn't pretend any longer that he was the heartless philanderer she had first imagined, although it would be easier if she could—much easier. And she had so misjudged him about Catherine…

She shut her eyes tightly. But it didn't make any difference; in fact it merely strengthened her resolution that she had to stay away from him. Everything she had learnt about him made her realise she could trust herself less and less where he was concerned. It was only distance that held any safety.

So when Luke called her, later that night, she kept her voice calm and pleasant, although her heart was pounding in her throat. 'I've been away in the States for a few days-one of the inevitable panics that occurs from time to time,' he said lazily after enquiring as to how she and Mog were. 'I wondered if you'd care to have dinner tomorrow evening?'

'Sorry, I can't.' Josie took a deep breath and spoke evenly. 'I'm going to be frantically busy over the next few weeks if everything is going to come off on the big day.'

'Not so busy you won't take time to eat, surely?' His voice was still lazy but with a tiny edge that caught at her heartstrings. 'I'll whisk you straight back home afterwards, I promise,' he added softly. 'Back to your chaste little bed-alone.'

'No, I really can't.' Mog chose that moment to come and stand by her legs, his great eyes reproachful as he stared up at her, which didn't help at all.

'OK. Goodnight, Josie.' His voice was suddenly very cold, and as the phone went down she felt a sick feeling in her chest that rose up into her throat in a stranglehold.

'It's no good you looking at me like that,' she said sharply to Mog, who had sat down with an air of censure. 'I know you like him—I like him, and that's why I can't see him. Surely you can see that?' Mog stared at her for a full minute without blinking, and then turned away with an expression of condemnation before he stood up and sauntered out of the room, his tail very straight and disapproval expressed in every line of his sleek body.

The next week passed, and then the next, and the only contact she had with Luke was by telephone or in brief, curt meetings where he was very much the remote tycoon and kept everyone on their toes, rushing about hither and thither.

She flew out to France twice in the next few weeks, but made sure her schedule could be accommodated in day-trips which didn't necessitate an overnight stay. She informed Luke's secretary each time she planned to go, but he didn't join her as she had half expected, and wanted. She was eating less, sleeping less, working harder—and more confused than she had ever been in the days following the accident.

August came, blazed brightly and left, and in the second week of September she woke up one morning to the knowledge that it washer twenty-ninth birthday and she was more miserable than she had been in the whole of her life. She had refused several invitations to go out with friends, using work pressure as an excuse, but as she sat eating her breakfast, with Mog lying in a patch of sunlight at her feet, she wished she had accepted one of them.

But there was only one person she wanted to be with at the moment. And she had given him a very firm and very definite elbow.

The postman brought a whole host of cards just before she left for work, along with two packages from old workmates who had moved to distant pastures, and one from the old aunt she corresponded with. There were more cards and presents waiting for her at the office, and when Andy and Mike insisted on taking her out for lunch she didn't protest, unable to keep back a tear when they presented her with a magnificent bouquet at the table, along with an envelope containing a very hefty cheque.

She had lots of good friends, she told herself that afternoon as she sat working at her desk, her head reeling a little from the effects of a champagne lunch; people who cared. Her career was blooming, she had no financial worries, so why did she feel as though the sky had just fallen in on her?

'Deep in work, as always. I hope it's the Night Hawk project you're poring over so intently?'

Her head snapped up so sharply that her neck muscles twanged as Luke's deep, husky voice sounded from the open doorway.

'Hello.' Her eyes drank in the sight of him. It had been two weeks since their last office meeting, when ten other people had been present and Luke had appeared in a foul mood.

He didn't seem to be in a foul mood today, she reflected silently as she let her eyes indulge themselves a second or two longer before dragging them away. The hard mouth was smiling slightly, the silver-grey eyes were watchful but not cold, and he wasn't in his normal immaculate suit but in casual loose trousers and a black silk shirt under the black leather jacket he had been wearing the night he had returned Mog. He looked devastating. Deliriously, overwhelmingly devastating.

'Hello.' He wandered lazily into the room, walked up to her desk and leaned over her papers, his hands either side of her on the hard wood as he kissed her very thoroughly before raising his head and standing back a pace. 'Nice, very nice,' he said appreciatively as she stared at him still in a state of shock. 'But it's your birthday, not mine…' He reached into his pocket and handed her a small gift-wrapped package with a lazy smile.

'How did you know?' she asked dazedly.

'That it was your birthday?' The smile deepened, but his voice was not smiling and there was something in the deep, husky depths that made her legs weak and her lower stomach melting-soft. 'That was easy. Office records state all sorts of surface things like that.'

'Do they?' She stared at him for a moment more before she unwrapped the package with trembling fingers to reveal a small box. He'd bought her a present! Suddenly, and quite irrationally, it was the most wonderful birthday of her entire life. 'What is it?' she asked tentatively.

'Open it and see; it won't bite.' He moved to sit on a corner of the desk, and as the faint scent she had come to associate with him teased her senses—a mixture of subtle aftershave, male skin and something else that she couldn't define but which made her legs distinctly wobbly—she smiled weakly.

'Thank you…' she began as she raised the lid of the box, only to find herself speechless as she gazed down at the exquisite emerald it contained, the brilliant green jewel hanging from a fine gold chain and flashing its magnificence like wild fire.

'To bring out the colour in your eyes,' Luke said softly as he watched her cheeks turn rosy pink. 'I tho

ught of a diamond originally, then an opal, but for the design I wanted they looked too much like teardrops, and something tells me you've had enough tears in your life without me giving you any more, so…' He took the chain from her nerveless fingers and fastened it carefully round her neck. 'An emerald it is.'

'I can't accept this.' She raised stunned eyes to his. 'It must have cost a fortune—'

'Oh, it did. I'm quite bankrupt.' He grinned at her rakishly.

'But, Luke—'