SHE was being ridiculous?

"You want me to be your wife?" Jodie repeated

slowly. "I’m sorry, but—"

"You Don’t want to marry — ever. Yes, I know,"

Lorenzo interrupted dismissively. "But this would not

be an ordinary marriage. I need a wife, and I need

one within the next few weeks. I have as little real

desire for a wife as you have for a husband — although

for different reasons. Therefore it seems to me that

you and I could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.

I get the wife I need, and you, after we

have been married for twelve months, get a divorce

and…shall we say one million pounds?"

Jodie blinked and shook her head, not sure that she

had actually heard him correctly.

"You want me to agree to marry you and stay with

you for twelve months?"

"You will be well reimbursed for your time — and

it is only your time and your status as my wife that I

shall require. Your presence in my bed will not be

part of the arrangement."

"You’re crazy," Jodie told him flatly. "I Don’t know

anything about you, and I—"

"You know that I am prepared to pay you a million

pounds to be my wife. As for the rest…" He gave an

arrogant shrug of his powerful shoulders, and told her,

briefly and dismissively, "There will be time later for

me to explain to you everything you need to know."

By rights she ought to be scared to death, Jodie

decided. But, despite the fact that she was obviously

in the presence of a madman, for some reason the

main emotion that filled her was not fear but bemusement.

Bemusement and a certain sense that fate

had listened in to her secret thoughts and decided to

take a hand in her life. Here was the opportunity—

the man — her pride had ached for…

Was she mad? She surely couldn’t be thinking of

accepting his ridiculous proposition?

"If you want a wife that badly, surely there must

be someone—"

"Many someones," Lorenzo stopped her sardonically.

"Unfortunately they would all want what I do

not want to give — it is amazing how easily your sex

claims undying love when money and social position

are involved."

"You mean you would be targeted by fortune-

hunters?" Jodie guessed shrewdly. It was obvious, after

all — not just from his car and his clothes, but more

betrayingly from his manner — that he was wealthy.

"Is that why you want to marry me, because a fake

marriage will keep them at bay?"

"Not exactly."

"Then why?"

"It’s a condition of my late grandmother’s will that

I either marry within a certain time of her death or I

forfeit…something that means a great deal to me."

Jodie’s forehead crinkled into a small frown.

"But why on earth would she do that? I mean, either

she wanted you to inherit whatever it is or she

didn’t."

"The situation is more complex than that, and involves…

other issues. Let us just say that my grandmother

was persuaded to do something that she

thought was in my best interests by someone who was

following their own agenda."

Jodie waited for him to continue, but instead he

reached for her hand. "Give me your car keys and—"

She gave a small, determined shake of her head.

"No." If she wasn’t already totally off men for life,

this man and his unbelievable arrogance would surely

be enough to put her off them, she decided angrily.

But at the same time an insidiously tempting possibility

had begun to form inside her head. What if

she were to agree, on condition that Lorenzo escorted

her to John and Louise’s wedding? With the whole

village invited, two extra guests wouldn’t cause any

problems…and, yes, she admitted it, there was a part

of her that was sore enough and woman enough to

want to be there, showing the world and the newly

married couple that not only did she not care about

their betrayal, but that she had a new partner of her

own. wasn’t there a saying, "Living well is the best

revenge"? And how much better could a discarded

and unwanted fiance.e live than by showing off her

new, better-looking and far more eligible man? A

man, moreover, who desperately wanted to marry her!

She was wrenched out of this mental triumphant

return to the scene of her humiliation by Lorenzo’s

arrogantly disbelieving voice. "No?"

It was ridiculous that she could even contemplate

doing something so shallow, and it showed the effect

that just a few minutes in the company of a man like

Lorenzo was having on her. She was not going to let

herself listen to the urgings of her pride. Leaving it

and her conscience to wage war on one another with

an undignified exchange of inner accusations, she

tried to do the sensible thing, and told Lorenzo firmly,

"Even someone as…as arrogant and used to getting

what they want as you seem to be must see that what

You’re suggesting just isn’t—"

"A million isn’t enough? Is that what You’re trying

to say?"

Her face burned. "The money has nothing to do

with it." The cynical look he gave her at that made

her burst out angrily, "I can’t be bought. Not by John,

and certainly not by you."

"John?"

He hadn’t pounced so much as leapt on her small

betrayal, and now he was looking at her as she imagined

a large sleek cat might look at a mouse it was

enjoying tormenting.

But she was not a mouse, and she wasn’t going to

be either bullied or tormented by any man ever again.

She lifted her head and told him coolly, "My exfiance.

He offered me money, too, but he was offering

it out of guilt, because he didn’t want to marry me,

not as a bribe because he did. He wanted me to be

the one to break off our engagement, so that no one

could accuse him of dumping me. Obviously you both

share the same male mindset. Like you, he thought

that he could buy what he wanted, regardless of what

I might be feeling." Despite her attempt to appear unaffected

by what she was revealing, a mixture of sadness

and cynicism shadowed her eyes. Her mouth

twisted slightly as she added, "In a way, I suppose he

did me a favour. Knowing that he thought so little of

me that he would buy his way out of our relationship

made me realise that I was better off without him."

"But, despite that, you still want him."

The unemotional statement made her heart thud

nauseatingly inside her chest.

"No!" she said quickly. "I do not ""still want him""."

"So why have you run away, if it is not because

you are afraid of what you still feel for him?"

"I have not run away! I’m having a holiday, and

when I go back…" The small involuntary movement

that caused her shoulders to droop as she contemplated

returning home was more telling that she realised.

When she went back — what? She had no job to

go back to. Not now. And no home — she had, after

all, sold her cottage, and even if she had not done so

she doubted that she would have wanted to live there,

with all its memories of her false happiness. But she

could go back with her head held high and on the arm

of a man she could truthfully say was going to become

her husband, she reminded herself.

And then what? He had already told her the marriage

was only to last twelve months.

Then she would shrug her shoulders and say, as so

many others did, that it hadn’t worked out. There was

far less shame in that than there was in being labelled

as a dumped reject.