November Harlequin Presents 1(140)

Marching into the hall, he flung open the big wooden door, letting in the warm evening air where the shadows were now gathering.

‘Andreas, you can’t do this! You married me today—we—we just consummated our marriage.’

But what sort of marriage was it when the man she adored had just baldly announced that he didn’t love her?

‘If you divorce me then it will cost you even more…’

It was meant to bring him to his senses. To get him to see that if she was only after him for his money, then he was going the right way about making sure that she got as much as she could possibly want. Surely the thought that she would get half of his vast fortune would make him stop and think and see where he was going wrong.

Thinking looked like the last thing that Andreas was capable of. And stopping was obviously the last thing that was on his mind. She’d never seen him like this before in her life. She could almost see the red mist of fury behind his eyes, and his dark face was so contorted into a snarl that she barely recognised him as the man she had loved so deeply. The man she had vowed only that morning to love, honour and cherish.

The man who had vowed the same while all the time he had a lie in his heart. He hadn’t meant a thing.

‘I married you for sex—for that and nothing else.’

He didn’t love her. Did she really want to be married to a man who felt that way, no matter how much she cared about him? What sort of a marriage would she be tying herself to?

‘Andreas, I’ll be entitled to half of everything you own—and I’ll take it.’

She wanted to shock him; prayed it would bring him to his senses. Perhaps she could…

‘It’ll be worth it to get rid of you.’

Whirling round, he snatched up her suitcase, which still stood at the foot of the stairs where he had deposited it on their arrival. With a violent movement he tossed it out of the door and then turned back to face her, challenge stamped into every hard line of his dark, savage face.

‘Now, are you going to follow it or do I have to throw you out myself?’

It was then that Becca gave up, gave in. She had no more fight left in her, and besides, she didn’t know what she was fighting for.

Was she going to beg—to plead with him to let her stay? Even if she managed to convince him that she had married him because she loved him, what difference would it make? He had made his position brutally plain. He had married her for sex and that was all. He wouldn’t care if she loved him—the only thing he gave a damn about was his money.

Drawing herself up to her full height, she imposed a control on her quivering mouth, her burning eyes, that she didn’t know she was capable of. She didn’t know how she looked, but she knew how she wanted him to think she felt and prayed she was communicating that with her demeanour, her expression. Please let it show in her eyes. She was determined not to let a single tear fall, no matter how bitterly they stung at the backs of her eyes, how hard she had to fight not to blink them away.

‘Oh, I’m going—don’t worry. There’s nothing here to stay for. I think I’ve got all that I wanted from this relationship.’

‘Oh, I’ll just bet you have. But don’t think you’ll be able to go for any quickie divorce. There will be no annulment—I’ve already made sure of that.’

Something in his voice caught on the raw, bleeding edges of Becca’s heart, making her see just what was really behind the callous declaration.

He’d known already, she realised. Somehow, though God knew how, he’d found out about Roy Stanton before their marriage. And, thinking that he would trap her in a marriage that meant nothing to him, he had gone ahead and married her after all, knowing all the time that he was going to let it come to this.

Becca had no more fight left in her. All she knew was that she had to get out of here right now, before she broke down completely. If she let Andreas see how much she was hurting, then he would know that he’d won.

Somehow she made herself go past him to get to the door. The faint brush of her arm against his as she passed almost undid her, making her body run hot and then shiveringly cold as if she was in the grip of some terrible fever. She could only pray that her legs would hold up beneath her until she was actually out of the door and heading away, far, far away from the villa. She made it outside and into the warmth of the night, where, thankfully, the darkness hid the misery in her face, the tears she was fighting a losing battle to hold back.

It was then that Andreas flung his final, unbelievable comment after her.

‘Well, money I’ll give you—but nothing else. Not a damn thing else.’