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about men. If she had worn a romantic glow while thinking about Nikolos Angelis it could only have been the result of foolish, self-indulgent daydreams. After all, she was painfully aware that fairy stories didn’t happen in real life. Rich men most often married rich women. If a rich man married a poor woman she would have some redeeming feature like stunning beauty to even the balance. But then in her unfortunate mother’s case even beauty hadn’t worked a miracle. In the same way gorgeous men tended to marry gorgeous women and Nikolos was drop-dead dazzling.

      The girls in his set mobbed him, hung on his every word, flirted like mad with him, fought over him—in short, acted like sex-starved tarts. He could hardly avoid knowing the extent of his own pulling power. Of course, he had been spoilt by the awe, admiration and attention he commanded. A bus load of generous good fairies seemed to have blessed his privileged birth. He was highly intelligent, incredibly arrogant and impossibly proud. No more impervious to his raw, charismatic attraction than any other girl, Prudence had been wildly impressed by him as well. But what had tipped her from having a harmless fascination with his incredible looks into falling hopelessly in love was the entirely unexpected streak of stubborn gallantry that Nikolos had revealed.

      On more than one occasion, Nikolos had come to Prudence’s rescue when his friends decided to make her the butt of their cruel sense of humour. Why? Prudence’s companion, Eirene, thoroughly resented having to take Prudence everywhere she went. The other girl’s animosity had been expressed by nasty jokes and comments that targeted Prudence’s lack of attraction, her weight, her cheap clothing and her apparent stupidity. Eirene’s friends had soon jumped on the same bandwagon.

      That Nikolos Angelis should come to her aid with his lightning-fast stabs of wit and create a distraction to deflect unfriendly attention from her had truly staggered Prudence. After all, he had still contrived to act most of the time as if she was invisible and utterly beneath his exalted notice. But that wholly disconcerting display of essential male protectiveness had touched Prudence deeply. Nikolos might be hatefully arrogant, domineering and superior, but he was also the bold, living, breathing essence of tough, unapologetic masculinity. She could not believe that he would accept the demeaning matrimonial lifebelt that Theo Demakis planned to throw in his direction.

      Within forty-eight hours, when she was summoned to her grandfather’s study, Prudence learnt that she was very much mistaken on that score.

      ‘Come with me.’ The older man’s heavy features wore a nauseating expression of triumph. ‘Nikolos Angelis is waiting for you in the drawing room. I met with his father and the lawyers this morning. All the essentials have been agreed. Your mother’s debts will be settled and I will advance funds for a private rehabilitation programme for her. You and Nikolos will be husband and wife within the month.’

      ‘Husband and…w-wife?’ Shock ripped through Prudence in a blinding wave. Her grandfather had been right and she had been wrong; Nikolos was willing to marry her to save his family from impoverishment. Did he feel that he had as little choice as she had? Given the option, Prudence knew she could not turn her back on her needy mother, leaving Trixie to sink as she surely would without support and treatment. It finally dawned on her that both she and Nikolos were well and truly trapped by loyalty and good intentions and her heart sank, for, just as she was quite sure that he did not want to marry her, she was no more eager to become his unwanted wife.

      ‘What a very fortunate young woman you are! Don’t keep your bridegroom waiting.’ Smirking with derisive amusement, Theo Demakis urged his reluctant granddaughter across the hall towards the drawing room. ‘Now we’ve caught him, don’t let your prize slip the net!’

      The instant Prudence entered the large, over-furnished room, she collided with shimmering golden eyes and knew beyond doubt that Nikolos had heard her grandfather’s scornful taunt. Even while she tried to make herself look away, another less sensible part of her wanted to savour every aspect of his appearance. Alas, the well-cut dark suit he wore teamed with a white shirt made him look distinctly intimidating. She had never seen him in such formal clothing: he might have been dressed to attend a funeral, she thought dismally, scanning the stony impassivity of his demeanour. Nerves made her stumble over the corner of a rug and bump her hip on a small table. She felt hideously like a baby elephant penned up in a confined space.

      ‘Oh, my goodness…sorry,’ she muttered, righting the rocking table with a frantic hand.

      Nikolos had noticed that before; she said sorry even when she didn’t do anything wrong. He surveyed her from the floor up with rigorous thoroughness. In true Demakis style, she had not grown up but out and she barely reached the top of his chest; she was small and dumpy. She wore drab layers like an old lady: a brown skirt that almost reached her ankles, a long, loose white over-shirt, a black knee-length wrap cardigan. It was impossible to tell what lay beneath all that cloaking fabric. He imagined telling her to take it all off so that he could see exactly what he was getting. Her grandfather wouldn’t object. Demakis was a vicious bastard. Even so, the older man had spelt out the grim reality that his granddaughter was in love and eager to marry the object of her affections.

      ‘Do you have to stare at me?’ Prudence breathed tautly.

      ‘I never took the time to look at you before.’ Nikolos continued to study her with unapologetic intensity. She was going to be his wife. She might as well get the message now that he would do exactly as he liked and that baklava was off the menu for the foreseeable future. She was not fat, he told himself, just a little rounded and solid. He continued to mentally score her attributes. Lots and lots of long, shiny chestnut-brown hair the colour of an English autumn. OK, a positive at last. Skin with the flush of a peach and perfect—another plus. Eyes that were the soft blue of a winter sky and full of unhappiness.

      ‘Please…’ she gasped urgently.

      Nikolos saw the glimmer of tears in her strained gaze and removed his attention from her again. He had seen more than he wanted to see and he was angry with her for having so little savoir-faire. A Greek girl would have had refreshments served while she made polite enquiries about his family. What did she have to be unhappy about? The lack of romantic frills? What more could she ask from him? Wasn’t she getting the husband she wanted? Hadn’t Theo Demakis virtually bought her husband for her? That humiliating thought lanced through his tall, lean physique like a poisoned knife.

      Prudence was trembling. She felt horribly like some slave girl on the sale block and was vaguely surprised Nikolos hadn’t checked her teeth. His hard self-assurance took her equally aback for she had assumed that the situation would bring down the barriers of polite reserve between them. In the face of such odds, his forbidding cool was daunting. ‘I didn’t want this…if there was any other way…’ Her nervous, apologetic voice ran quickly out of steam.

      His handsome mouth took on a sardonic edge, for he was not impressed by her claim. ‘But there isn’t. We should talk about terms.’

      Her long brown lashes lifted. ‘Terms?’ she said blankly.

      ‘This is an arranged marriage and we’re almost strangers. It will work better if we are honest with each other now.’

      Prudence breathed in deeply. ‘Can’t we just behave like friends?’

      Against the backdrop of the family lawyers still battling to hammer out a financial agreement with his mother distraught and his father wretched with guilt, that question struck Nikolos as utterly naïve. He could only think that she was as thick as a brick. ‘Friends don’t marry and have children. I need to know what you expect from me as a husband.’

      Discomfiture at that reference to children tensed Prudence’s small, taut frame. ‘I know that I’m not the wife you’d have picked for yourself. I suppose we’ll just learn to manage as we go along.’

      ‘That’s a recipe for chaos.’

      ‘But you wouldn’t like rules.’

      His keen amber scrutiny flared in surprise at that level of perception and arrowed back to her. No, not thick as a brick, he registered, a frown of disconcertion momentarily pleating his winged ebony brows.

      He reached for her hand. ‘I

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