Greek Affairs: The Virgin's Seduction. Trish Morey

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      She halted suddenly, staring at the strong shoulders and narrow hips set off by some expensive tailoring. Feeling her mouth turn dry as her brain tried to reject the evidence being presented by her eyes. Telling herself—no—it wasn’t—couldn’t be possible …

      And as if aware of her scrutiny, he turned slowly and looked at her as she stood, hesitating, by the drawing room windows.

      ‘Agapi mou,’ Roan Zandros said, smiling, and walked towards her, his dark eyes sweeping over her in a frank appraisal that reminded her that it was the first time he’d seen her wearing a dress, and also that her hair had dried into a waving, unruly cloud on her shoulders. The lingering look he was bestowing on her legs as he approached only served to add outrage to her anger at this unwarranted intrusion—here at her home, her sanctuary.

      She managed the single word, ‘What—?’ before his arms went round her, pulling her towards him, and jerking the breath out of her.

      He bent towards her, shielding her with his body to give the impression that they were locked in a passionate embrace, as he stared down into her frantically widening eyes. His mouth an indrawn breath from hers, he whispered, ‘Smile, Harriet. Pretend you are pleased to see me.’

      Then he swung her round, his arm holding her firmly, his hand resting on her hip in a gesture of unmistakable possession, as they faced her grandfather together.

      ‘Well, my dear.’ Gregory Flint’s tone might be mild, but his eyes were watchful under their shaggy brows. ‘I gather from this young man that I must wish you happiness.’ He paused. ‘I confess I had no idea that there was anyone in your life, and this visit came as a complete surprise to me.’

      And to me, thought Harriet as she lifted her chin, her gaze meeting his with a serenity she was far from feeling. ‘A pleasant one, I hope, Grandfather.’

      ‘I hope so too,’ he agreed dryly. ‘I told your fiancé frankly, Harriet, that he was not what I had expected, but he assures me that his prospects are excellent, and I am obliged to believe him.’

      Roan said quietly, ‘Harriet has been away, and therefore does not know that Desmond Slevin has agreed to exhibit my work at the Parsifal Gallery. I heard from him today.’

      ‘Oh.’ Harriet swallowed. ‘Well, that’s wonderful news. I’m—delighted for you. Darling,’ she added belatedly.

      Roan’s smile did not reach his eyes. ‘And I owe all my good fortune to you, my sweet one.’ He turned back to Gregory Flint. ‘I hope, sir, we have your consent to our marriage—and your blessing.’

      ‘For what it’s worth—yes.’ There was a hint of grimness in Gregory Flint’s faint smile. ‘I’m sure any opinion of mine will make no difference at all to your plans.’

      He looked at his watch. ‘Dinner will be in forty minutes. Why don’t you show Mr Zandros the garden, my dear, and enjoy your reunion in private? I expect you have a lot to talk about.’

      Roan held her arm as they descended the shallow stone steps leading to the lawn. He said very softly, ‘If you wish to attack me, Harriet mou, I suggest you wait. And don’t pull away from me. We are still under surveillance.’

      ‘How dare you?’ she muttered furiously in return, her entire body rigid. ‘How dare you—barge in like this?’

      ‘No barging was necessary,’ he returned calmly. ‘I rang the bell, and was admitted like any other visitor.’

      ‘But how did you find your way here in the first place?’

      ‘It wasn’t difficult. I knew your grandfather’s name, and that of the house. I simply—made enquiries.’

      ‘I think you must have gone completely mad.’ She shook her head. ‘Whatever possessed you to come here—and ask his permission, for God’s sake? I feel as if I’m taking part in some costume drama on television.’

      ‘From what you have told me,’ he said slowly, ‘it seemed that your grandfather was an old-fashioned man, who might prefer such a gesture instead of merely being told of your decision—which he might interpret as deliberate provocation.’

      ‘Oh, you know so much about it, naturally.’ She tugged herself free, no longer caring if they were being watched.

      He shrugged a shoulder. ‘I’ve dealt with autocrats before. Pitched battles are rarely the answer.’ He smiled at her. ‘An element of surprise is often more successful.’

      Yes, she thought, seething. I’ve just discovered that for myself.

      Aloud, she said, ‘It didn’t occur to you to consult me first?’

      ‘You were not around to consult, Harriet mou,’ he pointed out, his tone infuriatingly reasonable. ‘Besides, I was certain you would refuse.’

      ‘How right you were,’ she said stormily, and relapsed into another simmering silence. At the same time, she took her first proper look at him.

      Little wonder she hadn’t recognised him immediately, she thought in bewilderment. Because there wasn’t a scrap of torn denim or a paint stain in sight. The charcoal suit he was wearing might not be new, but it was unmistakably elegant. His white shirt was crisp, his tie was silk, and his shoes, amazingly, were polished. He even appeared—dear God—to be wearing socks.

      His hair was still too long, at least by Gregory Flint’s exacting standards, but it had been trimmed, and he was immaculately shaven. During those few unpleasant seconds when she’d been in his arms, she’d been aware of a faint, beguiling hint of expensive cologne.

      In fact she had to admit that he scrubbed up quite well, she thought reluctantly, then realised that he was watching her in turn, his smile widening as if he’d guessed exactly what she was thinking.

      Embarrassment prompted her into waspishness. ‘So where did you get the clothes—some upmarket charity shop?’

      ‘I thought you would be pleased,’ he said, ‘to find me correctly dressed for my part. As you are too, Harriet mou,’ he added dryly. ‘For once you have decided to abandon your usual camouflage and look like a woman.’

      She managed to turn her instinctive gasp into a deep breath. She said stonily, ‘May I remind you that we have a strictly business arrangement, and therefore sexist remarks are neither required nor appreciated?’

      His tone was silky. ‘But sometimes irresistible, nonetheless. And now shall we continue to explore the grounds? They are very beautiful.’

      ‘Is that what it’s all about—this unexpected visit?’ She swung to face him again. ‘To assess the estate, and see what extra pickings there might be? Because, if so, you’ll be disappointed, Mr Zandros. You get your exhibition and some money in your pocket, but nothing more. The pre-nuptial agreement I’ve had drawn up gives you no other claim.’

      He remained annoyingly unfazed. ‘I cannot wait to read this fascinating document,’ he said softly. ‘However, I came here solely out of curiosity, Harriet mou. I wished to see for myself what there could be about this place that would make you to risk so much for its possession.’ He gestured around him. ‘Can this really be all that constitutes happiness for you?’

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