His Inconvenient Wife

  “I told you what I wanted,” he said, his voice gravelly and deep.

  Her eyes flickered to his mouth and back to his chocolate gaze. “I…I can’t do that.” She swallowed. “I just can’t.” She licked her bone-dry lips, fighting for time. “Please, I need to write this book and I need it to sell. I can’t survive without it. I have commitments, a mortgage….”

  “Withdraw the book proposal and I’ll see to your commitments. I’ll settle all your debts.”

  “You can’t be serious?” She stared at him incredulously. “Surely there must be some kind of catch?”

  “There is.” He paused.

  She held her breath, somehow knowing instinctively that she wasn’t going to like this. She was right.

  “I want you to marry me.”

  Please join us in welcoming a talented new author to the Harlequin Presents® line.

  Melanie Milburne is a fantastic storyteller with an intense, passionate style!

  Melanie Milburne says, “I am married to a surgeon, Steve, and have two gorgeous sons, Paul and Phil. I live in Hobart, Tasmania, where I enjoy an active life as a long-distance runner and nationally ranked top ten master’s swimmer. I have a master’s degree in education, but my children totally turned me off the idea of teaching! When not running or swimming, I write, and when I’m not doing all of the above I’m reading. And if someone could invent a way for me to read during a four-kilometer swim I’d be even happier!”

  Melanie Milburne

  HIS INCONVENIENT WIFE

  To Phyll Meikle and Ina Shepherd, The Fairy Godmothers.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  SHE hated it when he was late.

  Emily checked her watch for the fifteenth time and sighed. Why couldn’t Danny be on time for once? The doorbell sounded and she flew to her feet, swiftly checking her reflection in the hall mirror as she rushed past. Taking two deep, calming breaths, she opened the door with a big welcoming smile plastered on her mouth.

  ‘You?’ She stared at Danny’s older brother in shock. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Damien Margate’s dark eyes swept over her red cocktail dress and back to her face before he responded coolly, ‘Danny can’t make it. I’ve come in his place.’

  Emily’s mouth dropped open and a fluttering feeling of panic stirred deep in her stomach.

  ‘He’s…he’s not…hurt or something, is he?’

  Damien shook his head as he moved past her and into her tiny flat.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said with a cryptic edge to his voice.

  Emily’s eyes flew to his, her expression guarded.

  ‘But I don’t understand. Danny knows how important tonight is to me. Why hasn’t he phoned and told me himself he can’t make it?’

  Damien shrugged in that detestably aloof way that had annoyed her the first time she’d met him.

  ‘Like you, I am not always party to my younger brother’s intentions. I realise how insulting it must be to you to have to tolerate my presence instead of his, but as I’m here now you can make up your own mind about whether you wish to be accompanied by me.’

  She opened and closed her mouth, not trusting herself to speak. Her eyes travelled over his tall figure, imposing in the black dinner suit, his classic bow-tie perfectly symmetrical with his collar points. Danny would’ve still been tying his as he rang the doorbell. But then, Danny was nothing like Damien.

  ‘I wouldn’t like to take up your valuable time,’ she began with an attempt at sarcasm. ‘I’m sure you’ve got much better things to do than escort me to a literary awards night.’

  ‘On the contrary.’ His eyes travelled to hers, their dark depths unreadable. ‘I had nothing better to do…this evening.’

  Emily felt herself seething. How dare he come here and ridicule her? He knew how much she hated him, especially since he’d expressed his views on her proposed biography of his and Danny’s aunt, Rose. He’d accused her of ingratiating herself into the family in order to fabricate a parcel of lies about an old lady who could no longer defend herself.

  ‘No hot date tonight?’ Emily’s mouth curved into a mocking smile as she added, ‘Or did she decide to spend the evening with her husband after all?’

  She knew she shouldn’t have said it almost the second the words had left her lips. His eyes hardened, their dark chocolate depths glittering with suppressed anger.

  ‘I take it Danny’s been filling your head with nonsense again?’ His tone gave nothing away but Emily could sense his usual iron-clad control was wavering. Knowing she’d been able to rattle his cage even slightly made her feel powerful, something she wasn’t used to feeling around Damien Margate.

  ‘I didn’t realise it was a family secret,’ she said recklessly. ‘At least not another one.’

  He closed the gap between them in one stride, one of his hands taking her slim wrist in a gentle but firm hold. She had to crane her neck to get eye contact; he was a good four inches taller than his brother’s six feet and it made her feel intimidated, which, she was certain, had been his intention.

  ‘A word of advice, Miss Sherwood.’ He spoke evenly but a threat lurked behind the words. ‘You might have plans to write a book about a relative of mine, but that doesn’t give you free rein to speculate on my personal life, either publicly or privately. Is that understood?’

  She tried to out-stare him but it was impossible. Her eyes flickered to the knot of his bow-tie and then back to his firm, disapproving mouth.

  ‘I’m not the slightest bit interested in your private life,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘If indeed you have one. Now, please let me go.’

  His hold on her wrist tightened just a fraction to counter her attempt to pull away.

  ‘The way I see it, you have two choices. You can go to this cocktail party on your own, which will set tongues wagging on why you’re not being partnered, or you can come with me. What’s it to be?’

  ‘The tongues will certainly wag if I turn up with you,’ she pointed out. ‘Danny is my boyfriend, not you.’

  ‘Danny is unavailable this evening,’ he reminded her. ‘Won’t being partnered by me authenticate your plans to document my aunt’s life?’

  She wished she could throw his offer in his face but he was right. A member of the family being present would be noted by the press and that in itself would give some sort of credibility to her book. If she went alone it could easily add to the speculation that she’d already alienated the Margate family. One whiff of a problem and her publishers would pull the plug.

  She needed this next book to sell. Her agent was temperamental at the best of times, and since her last biography had floundered ignominiously she really had no choice. But why couldn’t it have been Danny who escorted her? After all, they were known to be an item and that would surely lift her profile.

  ‘Well?’ Damien’s hand on her arm felt like a rope burn. She could feel her skin prickling in reaction to his flesh on hers.

  ‘It seems I have very little choice in the matter.’ Her voice was tight with resentment.

  He let her arm go but his eyes still held hers.

  ‘It matters little either way to me, but I would guess this evening is of paramount importance to you. Isn’t that correct?’

  She’d been nominated for a
small award, along with two other biographers. Promotion, particularly self-promotion, wasn’t her thing but her agent had insisted.

  ‘I need the advance buzz. This is going to be an important book,’ she said somewhat breathlessly. ‘People want to know about the private lives of celebrities.’

  ‘They deserve to know the truth,’ he said, ‘not some fabricated fairy story guaranteed to boost sales.’

  Emily gave him a challenging look.

  ‘Why should you care? I’m not planning to write anything about you.’

  ‘I can assure you, Miss Sherwood, that if you so much as write a single word about me you’ll personally answer to the consequences.’

  ‘Oh?’ She gave him a scathing look. ‘Is that supposed to frighten me? If so, I’m afraid it won’t be successful. I plan to write a book about your aunt and nothing you say is going to stop me.’

  ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ His eyes glittered dangerously. ‘You might have wrapped my younger brother around one of those quick-typing little fingers of yours but I’m another story entirely.’

  Something about him made her uneasy. She hadn’t felt so reprimanded since high school, when she’d forgotten to bring her gym gear to class. Damn him for making her feel so childish and irresponsible. She’d show him! Let him do his worst—tonight was her chance to haul herself out of financial ruin and nothing he could say or do was going to stop her.

  She schooled her features into a guileless smile.

  ‘I understand perfectly, Mr Margate. I am very honoured that you’ve seen fit to accompany me to this cocktail party in place of your brother. I’ll just get my wrap and we can get going.’

  She flounced away to snatch up her purse and wrap, a victorious little smile hovering around her mouth. He might think he could threaten her with his diamond-sharp gaze but she still held the upper hand. There were things about him he had no idea she knew. It gave her a much needed boost of confidence to imagine his reaction when she finally dished the dirt on him and the rest of his family.

  The cocktail party was in full swing when they arrived. Emily’s agent, Clarice Connor, came towards them, a vision in voluminous carmine chiffon, a glass of champagne raised in a toast.

  ‘Darling! How fashionably late you are.’ She air-kissed Emily’s smooth cheeks before eyeing Damien up and down. ‘My, my, my,’ she drooled, ‘the older brother instead. How clever of you, Emily.’

  ‘I don’t believe we’ve met.’ Damien extended a hand, his expression shuttered.

  Clarice took his hand, clasping it towards her ample bosom. ‘The pleasure’s all mine. How wonderful that you could come tonight.’ She turned to Emily. ‘Where’s the boy?’

  Emily’s mouth tightened when she saw the sardonic gleam in Damien’s eyes at Clarice’s words.

  ‘He’s—’

  ‘He sends his apologies,’ Damien cut in before Emily could think of something to say. ‘Something important cropped up.’

  ‘Well—’ Clarice waved a careless taloned hand ‘—he’s served his purpose, hasn’t he, my love?’

  Emily felt her cheeks storm with colour.

  ‘But how nice that you could make it.’ Clarice simpered at Damien. ‘I mean, with your busy social schedule and all.’

  Damien gave her a slight nod.

  ‘I’m sure this evening will be very worthwhile,’ he said with a cool smile.

  ‘Indeed.’ Clarice turned towards Emily. ‘There’s a journo from the Melbourne Age who wants to interview you. I’ve spoken to him about making an appointment but he insists on speaking to you this evening. I think you should do what you can to promote this new project as much as possible, even if it means mixing with people you wouldn’t normally mix with.’ At that she gave Damien a meaningful look, but he had already turned to speak to someone who’d just arrived.

  Emily watched as the elegant woman approached him, her clinging black dress outlining her stunning curves as she walked across the floor.

  ‘Damien! How lovely to see you.’

  Something in Damien’s face must have warned the woman of the presence of Emily. She gave Emily an all-encompassing look.

  ‘Hello. Are you someone important?’

  Emily didn’t know quite what to make of the woman’s greeting. She flicked a glance at Damien but his face, as usual, was impassive.

  ‘Nerolie, this is Emily Sherwood,’ Damien said. ‘Miss Sherwood, this is Nerolie Highstock.’

  Nerolie’s eyes didn’t quite reflect the smile that hovered about her thin lips. ‘Oh, are you a writer as well? I’m afraid I’d never heard of you until this evening.’

  As insults went it was well aimed. Emily knew she didn’t qualify for the Booker Prize, but her first book had been well received and moderately successful even if her last hadn’t quite made the top ten. Nerolie enjoyed the top ten status her only book had achieved with prima donna fastidiousness. Emily wasn’t one to criticise her success, even if she privately thought it had been a matter of being in the right place at the right time, which in Nerolie’s case had been her agent’s bed.

  ‘I suppose that depends on the genre one reads,’ Emily said cuttingly.

  Nerolie chose to ignore that and turned to Damien.

  ‘I suppose you’re here to make sure Miss Sherwood behaves herself? I’ve heard she was quite ruthless with the skeletons in the previous closets she’s raided.’

  ‘So—’ Emily met the other woman’s cold eyes with a flash of fire in her own ‘—you have read my other books? I thought you hadn’t heard of me before?’

  Nerolie gave her a sweeping glance.

  ‘I’m afraid, Miss Sherwood, I have no time for the money-making mud-raking that constitutes most of today’s unauthorised biographies. I prefer fact to fiction every time.’

  ‘And how do you decide just what is fact and what is fiction?’ Emily queried.

  Nerolie Highstock’s cold grey eyes hardened. ‘I’ve always believed in getting things straight from the horse’s mouth.’

  ‘And what if the horse refuses to speak?’ Emily asked, flicking a glance towards the tall, silent figure between them.

  Nerolie’s thin mouth tightened before she responded chillingly, ‘I’m sure there are some horses that are best left alone. You’d do well to acknowledge that, Miss Sherwood, before one of them kicks you in retaliation.’ With that parting shot she swung away to speak to another guest, and Emily smiled a self-satisfied little cat’s smile.

  ‘Miaow,’ Damien breathed just near her left shoulder.

  She felt the warm brush of his breath on her bare skin and shivered in reaction. She stepped away from him, glaring up at his mocking expression.

  ‘I wasn’t aware you were on intimate terms with the likes of Ms Highstock. What a pity she doesn’t have a husband to make the chase all the more alluring.’

  The fire in his eyes could have burned her if it hadn’t been for the timely arrival of the guest of honour. The chief editor of the publishing house tapped the microphone as a prelude to his speech and all eyes turned towards the small podium.

  Emily felt the steely presence of Damien Margate at her back. He wasn’t quite touching her, but she knew if she moved even a fraction backwards she would encounter his rock-hard frame. As if under the influence of a magnetic field, all the way through the loquacious speech Emily felt her body threatening to betray her by rocking backwards to touch him. She had to will herself to stand perfectly still—every muscle tense, every nerve under tight control just in case she gave in to the temptation.

  She was concentrating so hard she missed her name. She suddenly became aware of everyone’s eyes on her and, stumbling forward, approached the podium. She knew she’d been nominated for the award for her first book, but had put any thought of success out of her mind after the collapse of her second. The small award presented to her totally surprised her.

  Afterwards, she couldn’t quite recall what she had said. She knew she’d thanked Clarice and her two editors, but apart f
rom that it was all a blur. Her mouth spoke, words spilling out in a more or less educated and articulate order, but all the while she felt the cold hard stare of Damien Margate, which made her palms resting on the lectern moisten as she gripped its edges for support.

  Several people swarmed around her afterwards for autographs and she was grateful for the reprieve. She wasn’t looking forward to the drive home, feeling sure there would be hell to pay for her reckless taunts earlier.

  She didn’t know what had come over her tonight. It really was none of her business what Damien got up to in his private life. His aloof carriage was an attraction for her, she conceded privately, but only because she was a writer and such guarded subjects held a certain appeal. It was absolutely nothing to do with him personally. He didn’t even have the boy-next-door good looks which caused her to gravitate towards Danny. Danny’s playboy blue eyes and fly-away blond curls were what she went for, not the dark and brooding, too-tall-to-kiss features of someone like Damien.

  She cast a covert glance towards him across the crowded room and was startled to see him looking at her. She felt her cheeks grow warm, turned to the next person waiting for her autograph in the queue and distractedly scribbled something on the flyleaf of her first book.

  Eventually the evening came to a close and Emily had no choice but to face Damien, who was waiting to one side as the last of the guests farewelled her.

  ‘Thank you for coming.’ Emily smiled, shaking the last of the hands.

  Clarice had already made her way out, and short of handing out freebies to the catering staff Emily had no choice but to pick up her evening purse and join Damien.

  ‘Ready?’ He looked down at her flushed features, a satirical smile lurking about his firm mouth.