was genuine; she had simply been carried away by the romance of it all—he a soldier off to war, and, more realistically, the drink.
But before anyone could object Conan was leading them downstairs and into the study where he seemed to take a devilish delight in prompting Charles into telling his father that he and Josie were unofficially engaged.
The Major was delighted. Charles appeared equally pleased, and Josie was simply confused. So much so that when Conan insisted on driving her home because Charles was over the limit she made no objection. Her last glimpse of Charles was his blond head bent over a tall, red-headed woman, their arms wrapped around each other. Josie had been introduced to her earlier. She was the wife of Charles’s commanding officer.
Josie sat stiffly in the passenger seat of the car, suddenly stone-cold sober. How on earth had she got herself in such a mess? She shot a fulminating glance at the arrogant male at her side. It was all his fault; if he hadn’t caught her in his bed and goaded her into saying she was engaged to Charles, she could have put the events of tonight down to experience and tried to forget. But she’d no doubt the Major would tell her father, and she was going to have great trouble explaining her behaviour.
‘Your home, I believe,’ Conan said coolly as he halted the car outside the door of Low Beeches farmhouse.
Josie hastily unfastened her seat belt and reached for the door handle. ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled.
‘Wait!’ The command was curt, and, leaning forward, Conan caught her hand in his much larger one and turned her back to face him.
‘What for? I think you’ve done enough for one night.’ She was exhausted, sore and fed up, and when his hand moved to her bare arm she flinched, her skin burning where he’d touched.
‘Not so fast. After all, we are soon to be related; surely I merit a brotherly kiss?’
Before she knew what he intended Conan had slipped an arm around her waist and hauled her across his lap. His other hand tangled in her silky black curls, holding her face up to his. She was trapped, her high round breasts crushed against the massive bulk of his chest, and her violet eyes widened in astonishment as his dark head bent and his lips covered hers.
He tasted slightly of mint, his mouth firm but undemanding. Then suddenly he was kissing her with a deeply sensual passion that lit an answering response in her young body. Josie was too astounded by his audacity to do anything other than submit to the expert demand of his mouth. Her body grew soft and pliant against him, his arm tightened around her for an instant, then suddenly she was back in her seat, but too dazed to do anything but stare up at him.
‘That was just a sample to compare with, Josie,’ And, slipping out of the car, he walked around to the passenger side and helped her out. ‘Don’t be in too much of a hurry to marry. You don’t have to marry the first man you have sex with.’
‘How...?’
‘Never mind, but remember there are plenty more fish in the sea. Take it from me, you have no chance of a happy-ever-after with Charles.’ And he left her standing on the doorstep.
Josie watched him drive off, wishing she had slapped his face or something.
Remembering that night now, Josie sighed heavily. Conan was wrong, she thought wearily as the grey light of dawn glinted through her bedroom window; there were not plenty more fish in the sea, not for her. She was pregnant and destined to be an unmarried mother, and for the first time since discovering the fact she realised she did not mind. The thought of a child of her own to love was somehow comforting, and finally she drifted off to sleep.
Josie yawned and opened her eyes. ‘Daddy,’ she murmured, the word little more than a croak. Her throat felt dry and rough. He was sitting in the chair by her bed.
‘You’re awake, Josephine. How do you feel?’ he asked quietly, his tired eyes fixed sadly on her small pale face.
‘I‘m fine,’ she smiled. Her father was the only person to call her Josephine. Then, like a shutter falling, the smile was wiped from her face, as the memory of yesterday returned to haunt her. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, the mundane question masking her very real distress.
‘About ten-thirty.’
‘Oh, my word! I’m late for work!’ she exclaimed.
‘No. I have already called your office, and told them you were suffering from a severe migraine.’
‘But I never get migraine.’
‘Oh, Josephine! What does it matter?’ Her father sighed and rose from the chair to sit on the side of the bed. He took her hand in his. ‘I am so sorry. I know how hard it must be for you, losing Charles so tragically. I remember how I felt when your mother died. This is all my fault. I feel so guilty. I’ve let you down—and your mother, God rest her soul! If I’d been a better father, given you the guidance and support you needed, this would never have happened.’
Her father’s halting speech made Josie feel worse. She studied his shadowed face in the morning light. Poor Daddy—she had failed him so badly. He’d been so pleased when he’d thought she was going to marry Charles, and she’d not had the nerve to tell him of her own doubt, and now she didn’t need to. But she could see the strain etched into the multitude of lines on his much loved face, and she couldn’t bear the thought of him blaming himself. The tears welled in her eyes. ‘Oh, Daddy,’ she whispered, and one tear rolled down her cheek.
‘Hush, Josephine; don’t cry.’ he soothed, wiping her cheek with a large white handkerchief. ‘We’ll work something out.‘
‘I hope so,’ she murmured. The tears were more for her father than herself; she knew deep down she would manage. But her father was an old-fashioned gentleman, who still considered an unmarried mother a disgrace.
‘Trust me, Josephine. Everything will be fine. Take your time, wash your face, get dressed, and then come downstairs. Conan Zarcourt is here and would like to talk to you—about the funeral arrangements I suppose.’ With a brief, reassuring squeeze of her hand, he left.
Conan! What did he want? He was a decisive, dynamic man, and she could not imagine why he would want to discuss the funeral with her. Just the thought of the man made her hackles rise. But it also gave her the incentive to get out of bed. She washed and quickly dressed in a pair of grey cords and a black skinny-ribbed jumper. It somehow seemed appropriate; Charles had been her unofficial fiancé. even if she had decided not to marry him, her conscience reminded her. She brushed her hair, and with her face free of make-up she slipped her feet into a pair of mules, and went downstairs. Better to face Conan sooner rather than later...
CHAPTER TWO
SHE stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The hall was square and small, with a door leading off either side, one to the dining room, the other to the sitting room, and to the back of the hall was the kitchen. It was a typical double-fronted stone-built farmhouse from the last century, with low oak-beamed ceilings and walls a foot thick. She guessed Conan would be in the sitting room, and, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she opened the door and walked in.
‘Josie! How are you today?’ Conan’s dark eyes swept over her, lingering a fraction too long to be innocent on the proud thrust of her breasts revealed by the clinging knit sweater.
His conventional polite greeting didn’t fool Josie for a moment; she doubted very much he was here simply to offer condolences. He had never approved of her relationship with Charles, and the Conans of this world did not waste their valuable time on young girls they didn’t like, unless the Major had sent him. But then she couldn’t see this man doing anyone’s bidding.
He was standing in the middle of the room, his broad-shouldered frame clad in a soft black wool roll-neck sweater and hip-hugging black jeans. The colour, while suitable for a man in mourning for his half-brother, only served to reinforce his innate powerful sexuality. A shiver of not fear but something more basic made the fine hair on her skin stand erect.
‘Very