has strict instructions. No shots of anyone dancing, and permission has to be given first. And the magazine is donating a hefty sum to the charity.’
‘So everyone wins. From your tone, I gather you didn’t want them here.’
‘They leave a nasty taste in my mouth. I’ve been stung too many times by magazines that use innuendo and gossip to sell copies. Apparently people actually believe what they print,’ he said, each word edged with contempt. ‘If I’d bedded as many women as I’ve been linked with I’d be dead of exhaustion by now. Apart from anything else, I’m too busy.’
‘So you won’t be selling the rights to your wedding to one of them,’ she said.
‘Believe it. When I get married it will be here, where I can control the exposure.’ He paused, then said, ‘And when I decide to marry I want what my parents have—a good marriage based on complete trust.’
‘You’re lucky,’ she said bleakly, trying to ignore the surge of pleasure building deep inside her, insidious as a fire smouldering beneath the earth. ‘My parents taught me that marriages fall apart and that children can be used as weapons.’
Luke lifted his head and looked down at her bright crown of hair. Her dossier had been brief; she’d led a blameless, rather constricted life after her parents had divorced. Money had been scarce as her father had skipped to Australia to avoid paying support. The bitter parting was probably the reason she’d had no relationships in her year at university. Looking after her invalid mother meant that she’d had no time for any since then.
Was she a virgin?
A pang of fierce desire tightened his body. Hell, he thought disgustedly, he was turning into a satyr. He’d always steered clear of innocents, preferring lovers who were satisfied with what they were getting—fidelity as long as the relationship lasted, generosity and good sex. Most of them were still friends.
‘That’s tough,’ he said quietly. ‘Divorce is bad enough, but kids need to know they mean more to their parents than convenient weapons.’
‘I’m over it now. Tell me, who is Janna? I asked before, but you managed to avoid answering.’
Luke thought of the message he’d been handed as they left the house. ‘She’s an old friend,’ he said, ‘who happens to have hair the same colour as yours, only hers isn’t natural.’
She looked at him with raised brows and a hint of mockery that gave her green eyes a swift, inviting feline quality. ‘What makes you think mine is?’
‘The fact that you blush so easily.’ Sure enough, her magnificent cheekbones heated under his amused scrutiny.
‘You know it’s the bane of my life,’ she said ruefully. ‘Were you expecting her to visit you? Is that why the man took me to your house when I fainted in front of the car?’
He shook his head. ‘Collapsed. And, no, I wasn’t expecting her.’
‘But?’
Luke settled for telling her as little as possible. ‘But nothing. There’s a superficial resemblance, which is why my driver—who’d never seen her in the flesh—thought you were her. However, he’d have picked you up and brought you home anyway.’
‘Does everything that happens on Fala’isi land on your doorstep?’
‘Not when my father’s here,’ he said evenly.
She’d become rigid again, holding herself away from him, and he was surprised at the irritation he felt at her subtle withdrawal.
Deliberately he drew her close, smiling down into her face, his lashes drooping so that only she could see the determination in his eyes. She stiffened a second, then relaxed, her slender body pliant in his arms.
She felt strangely right there, he thought, nodding to Guy Bagaton across the dance floor.
Fleur was fighting back a pang of frighteningly bitter jealousy. Just what was his relationship to this Janna person? Past lovers? Almost certainly.
She followed him through a particularly complex manoeuvre, then the music wound up to a triumphant conclusion, and everyone clapped and began to leave the floor.
After that Fleur danced with the other men of their party, sat out the energetic ones with the Princess—who was amusing, interesting company—and shared more dances with Luke, where they playacted for everyone to see. She pretended not to watch when Luke danced with Gabrielle, but she realised that Luke had been right; the girl was definitely possessive about him.
A little later she came across Fleur in the ladies’ room and said graciously, ‘I hope you are enjoying yourself.’
‘Very much,’ Fleur replied with a smile.
Gabrielle looked at her with raised brows. ‘You are not his usual sort of woman.’ She flashed a smile that was close to feline. ‘Do you realise he is using you?’
Unprepared for such an open attack, Fleur turned on the tap and let cold water play over her wrists. ‘My relationship with Luke is nobody’s business but ours.’
Gabrielle stiffened. ‘You are wrong. I am telling you this because I like you, but if you are hoping that this liaison is more than a temporary fling you will be wrong, because eventually he and I are to be married. Did you know that?’
How on earth did she deal with this? Fleur said, ‘Do you really think Luke would flaunt a lover in front of the woman he’s engaged to?’
The younger woman sketched a very Gallic shrug. ‘You are a romantic, so naturally you don’t understand our way of conducting marriages. This has been decided for ever—it is a matter of honour to both families, and of course there is a lot of money tied up in it, too. My dowry will be my grandfather’s business interests—Luke is already in charge of them, but when we marry they will become his. Luke is more French than English in his attitude towards such things.’
Fleur turned off the tap and said neutrally into the silence, ‘It sounds very pragmatic.’
It also sounded very possible. Luke hadn’t mentioned anything about business interests when he’d persuaded her into this charade. And she’d agreed to it without thought—because she trusted him.
No, she thought, her mind working furiously. Why on earth would he have suggested the masquerade if he planned to eventually marry Gabrielle and her inheritance? It would make him a horrible man…
Perhaps he was.
Gabrielle finished applying lipstick and smiled. ‘We are a pragmatic race. But it will be a good marriage, and there will be no divorce. Our children will have a happy home life. Of course he will probably always enjoy chasing little redheads and, yes, I will mind a little, although I will always know that such adventures mean nothing. You have no chance of marrying him. He is a Chapman; his great-grandmother was descended from the old aristocracy of France. He knows what is due his position.’
And it’s not some insignificant New Zealander with no family and no money, her tone implied.
Fleur bristled, but to her great relief the Princess’s arrival put an end to the conversation. Nevertheless, it left Fleur with a nasty taste, especially when she saw Gabrielle flirting skilfully with the film star as they danced. She certainly didn’t look as though her heart was touched by Luke’s supposed betrayal.
Apart from that the evening was an enchantment. Fleur looked around thinking wryly that no cliché had been forgotten; the moon shone with unadulterated glory over the island, rollers crashed onto the reef with muted thunder and the perfumes of the tropics suffused the soft night air.
Supper was served on the beach, a magnificent spread of local and imported foods, champagne flowed, and after supper a group of Fala’isian young people danced for them—starting with a war challenge done with flaming torches, and ending in a wild, erotic hula that sent a buzz of interest through the guests.
Heated