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obliviously not well,’ she corrected, ‘I mean, Charles is dead, and I...well...’ She was babbling, but did not seem able to stop. ‘The funeral. You want to discuss...’

      ‘Hush. I understand.’ He stepped towards her. Josie tried to step back, his height intimidating her, but she was brought up hard against the closed door.

      Conan noted her reaction. His hard mouth twisted faintly and then he turned and strolled across to the nearest armchair and lowered himself down onto the seat. He glanced back at her and gestured with one large hand to the sofa opposite. ‘Please, Josie, come and sit down; you have nothing to fear from me. I simply want to talk.’

      Warily she looked at him; her violet eyes met his bland gaze and she was somewhat reassured.

      ‘The funeral apart, I have something else to discuss with you on behalf of the Major and myself, and it will be in your own best interests to listen.’

      She straightened her shoulders and walked across to sit down on the sofa. ‘I can’t imagine us having anything to discuss, but I’m listening,’ she said flatly.

      ‘I know this will be hard for you so soon after hearing of the death of Charles, but I have spoken to my father, and we agreed. Under the circumstances the best solution is that you and I get married as soon as possible.’

      At the mention of marriage her mouth fell open. Her eyes widened in shock and looked on the man lounging in her father’s armchair, his long legs stretched out before him in nonchalant ease. How did he do it? He looked so cool, so sophisticated, as though he were discussing the weather—instead of asking an almost complete stranger to marry him.

      ‘Marry you! You must be mad!’ she exclaimed. She could not believe what she was hearing. Was he joking or what? Surely he could not be that cruel. But his dark eyes trapped and held her own, and she knew he was deadly serious.

      ‘Mad, no; practical, yes.’ he drawled hardily.

      She lowered her head, avoiding the determination in his eyes. Her gaze skated over his long body. He was all male and somehow threatening. What did he mean? Why on earth would he want to marry her?

      ‘Why?’ She was surprised to hear herself ask that. She should have said no and immediately corrected her mistake. ‘No. Definitely not. Charles was the—’ She got no further as Conan cut in.

      ‘I know Charles was the man you loved.’ Actually she’d been going to say he was the father of her unborn child, but she did not correct his assumption as he continued. ‘But we have to think of the living, not the dead. You are to have a child. A Zarcourt. Surely you must realise that when you blurted out that you were pregnant in front of my father you lost any chance you had of doing anything about your pregnancy?’ he prompted cynically.

      ‘Doing anything about it?’ she queried.

      Conan shook his dark head. ‘I mean an abortion; after all, you can’t be more than a few weeks pregnant.’

      ‘Six to be exact,’ she fumed. ‘And if the Major wants me to have an abortion he can go jump.’ The thought had crossed her mind when she’d first discovered her condition, but it hadn’t taken a split second for her to dismiss the notion entirely. She could never do such a thing.

      ‘Much as I would like to see my father take a hike—’ his lips twitched with amusement ‘—you misunderstood me. Quite the reverse is true. My father wants the child, and he usually gets what he wants, as you’re about to find out. His grief at his eldest son’s death is only made bearable by the fact you’re carrying his child. There is no way he will allow his grandchild to be born a bastard,’ he opined, adding cynically, ‘Especially not darling Charles’s offspring.’

      Josie was stunned by his words, but, knowing the Major, she could see the truth in his comment. But what she couldn’t understand was why he would agree with his father. It was obvious, even from her brief acquaintance with Conan, that there was no love lost between him and his father. This summer had been the first time Josie had ever seen him. He obviously had very little to do with his family.

      ‘But surely you don’t agree with him?’ she asked. ‘I mean, it can’t matter to you. You don’t even live here.’

      ‘No, I don’t, but I should,’ he responded bluntly with a degree of bitterness Josie could not fail to recognise. So it was all the more surprising when he asked coolly, ‘Do you like living in this house, Josie?’

      ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ What was he talking about now? she wondered, looking around the familiar room, her eyes eventually returning to Conan. He sat forward in his chair, his dark head bent, apparently staring at his hands clasped loosely between his splayed thighs. The only sounds were the steady tick of the grandfather clock and the logs crackling and burning in the open fire.

      ‘This farmhouse was the family home of the Major. He lived here with his first wife—Charles was born here.’ He raised his head. ‘I don’t suppose he told you that?’ he queried with a grim smile.

      ‘No, no, he didn’t,’ Josie said, not sure where the conversation was going.

      ‘I’m not surprised. Contrary to the impression, my father, the Major, likes to give,’ he drawled sardonically, ‘the Major was not always owner of Beeches Manor. He only acquired that position by marrying my mother. Perhaps if I explain the family history it will answer your question as to why I want to marry you.’

      Josie wished he would. She couldn’t understand what he was getting at, or his obvious cynicism. But there was no mistaking the hardness in his eyes, and an implacable determination that Josie found vaguely disturbing.

      ‘My full name is Conan Devine Zarcourt. Conan from the Celtic meaning wisdom, and Devine being my mother’s maiden name. For centuries, Devines have owned the Beeches Manor estate, but my grandfather and mother were the last of the line. When she married Major Zarcourt, the Major and Charles moved into the Manor with my mother and grandfather and rented this house out as a holiday home. I was born a year after their wedding, and I don’t think it was long after that my mother realised she had made a mistake.

      ‘As a young child I was not aware there was anything wrong in my parents’ relationship. But then my grandfather was still alive, and any coldness on my father’s part was more than made up for by my grandfather. Plus my mother packed me off to boarding-school when I was seven.’

      ‘How awful for you,’ Josie offered; the thought of a young boy away from home at such a tender age seemed so cruel.

      One dark brow arched sardonically. ‘Sorry to disillusion you, but you are wrong.’ His hard-eyed gaze caught hers, denying her sympathy. ‘My parents and I were never that close. It was my grandfather I missed. For years I had grown up with the sure knowledge that the Manor would be mine. Grandfather Devine never stopped telling me so. He died when I was eleven, but unfortunately he had signed the Manor over to my mother a few years before he died to avoid death duties, on the strict understanding it was to be held in trust for me, as the only Devine. But my mother had other ideas. As soon as Grandfather died she took off with her lover. Apparently, in her desperation to get a speedy divorce from the Major she agreed to break the trust and sign the Manor over to him. She lives in New Zealand now, I believe.’

      ‘But how could she do that?’ Josie asked, horrified.

      ‘Quite easily, apparently. When I came of age at eighteen the Major took great delight in telling me the whole story. He had married my mother for the Manor. I was a mistake, a complication he didn’t need, and he even questioned my paternity. He’d joined his own farmland to the Manor and managed the whole estate for years, and he intended to go on doing so until Charles showed an interest in it. Then he was going to pass the whole lot on to his eldest and favourite son, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it—’

      ‘I can’t believe your mother or the Major would behave like that,’ Josie cut in. She didn’t particularly care for the old man, but she couldn’t believe he would treat his own child so shabbily.

      ‘Ah,

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