The Marriage Pact

By Elizabeth Duke

Bride for hire?

Money couldn't buy love, but would it buy Adam Tate a wife? Claire needed a plane ticket home, and money to help her sister. Adam promised to help on the condition that Claire became his wife and mother to his two–year–old son, Jamie!

Adam was rich, charming and gorgeous. And the deal was simple: one short wedding ceremony, and Claire's problems would be over! Financially, at least. But she knew Adam would be a hard man to walk away from. Was Claire ready to promise her heart for better, for worse forever?

"Ms Duke captivates readers with intense passion, a strong emotional conflict and endearing characters."
Romantic Times

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460866054

Elizabeth Duke

Elizabeth Duke aka Vivienne Wallington was born in Adelaide, South Australia, but has lived in Melbourne all her married life. She trained as a librarian and has worked in many different types of libraries, but she was always secretly writing. Her first published book was a children's novel, after which she successfully tried her hand at romance writing. She has since given up her work as a librarian to write romance full-time. When she isn't writing or reading, she loves to travel with her husband John, either within Australia or overseas, gathering inspiration and background material for future romances. She and John have a married son and daughter, who now have children of their own.  

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

IT HAD been a dream of Claire’s to visit Venice one day. Magical, romantic Venice...the fairy-tale city floating on the sea.

Now she was here, and after only two days of a planned week in Venice, working as a nanny, the dream trip of a lifetime had turned to disaster.

She was broke, she’d lost her job and her employers were sending her back to London in disgrace!

Worse, she’d missed out on a free flight back home to Australia.

It was her own stupid fault for taking on the job in the first place. She’d had reservations from the start about the Danns, her English employers. The husband’s lingering gaze and the wife’s cold-eyed scrutiny should have warned her. But they’d been desperate for a temporary nanny at short notice, and she’d been desperate for her air fare back to Australia—which had been the lure they’d dangled—so she’d agreed.

The two children, three-year-old Holly and four-month-old Edward, had clinched it. Their big blue eyes and adorable smiles would have melted the most steely heart.

Her first two days in Venice had passed without warning of what was to come. Her employers—both London doctors—had attended conference sessions each day at their waterfront hotel overlooking the Venetian Lagoon while she’d cared for their two children.

She’d taken them for leisurely walks along the bustling boat-lined promenade, explored the Grand Canal by water-bus and had wandered round St Mark’s Square, where the impressive arcaded buildings and the Byzantine splendour of the Basilica had taken her breath away. Holly, naturally enough, had been more interested in the pigeons.

They’d even had a short gondola ride with the children’s parents, which she would have enjoyed far more if Hugo Dann hadn’t been surreptitiously eyeing her up and down from his seat opposite.

It had been in St Mark’s Square on her second day, as Holly had been waving her arms around to keep the fluttering pigeons from landing on her head and shoulders, that Claire had first met the other Englishman. The one she’d noticed at breakfast the past two mornings at the hotel, sitting at a table by himself.

On both occasions she’d tried her best not to stare at him, knowing he must be used to women ogling him and was probably conceited enough already. With his dark-eyed good looks, perfect physique and his air of easy self-confidence, he looked just the type who’d expect it.

She’d come to loathe and despise those cool ladykiller types. Nigel had been a man like that, though he’d been fair and blue-eyed—a golden Apollo with dancing eyes and a devastating charm who’d made her feel that she was the only woman in the world. Only she hadn’t been. More fool Claire Malone for falling for his slick English charm in the first place!

As the sexy Englishman had boldly approached her in the square later that second morning, she’d eyed him warily, her body tensing, stiffening in rejection. Or was it self-protection?

It had annoyed her that she had to tilt her head back and look up a considerable way to meet him eye to eye. No doubt he loved that feeling of superiority and raw macho power. She’d drawn herself up to her full height of five feet seven inches. No man, least of all this lethal-eyed English Adonis, was going to make her feel all helpless and feminine!

‘I’ve seen you at breakfast at the hotel,’ he offered as an opening gambit, a far too friendly sparkle in his wide-set dark eyes. From Quadri’s famous café nearby the outdoor orchestra struck up with gusto, the wail of violins swirling round them in the limpid morning air.

‘Oh, really?’ There was no way she was going to admit that she’d noticed him. She didn’t want to notice him now, but she couldn’t very well avoid it. He was wearing the same shirt and jeans he’d been wearing at breakfast, a casual denim shirt that showed off his broad chest and impressive shoulders and thigh-hugging jeans that showed off—

She snapped her gaze away. This man was dynamite! He positively radiated raw sexuality and strength.

She wondered what he was doing alone here in Venice.

Not that she cared. Men were out of her life from now on... Nigel had seen to that.

From the opposite side of the piazza, the orchestra from Florian’s, the equally famous rival café, sprang to life with a rousing tune of its own, flooding the square with sound.

‘You’re here in Venice on your own? Apart from your children, I mean?’ The Englishman’s gaze flicked curiously to the sleeping baby strapped to Claire’s back and to the little girl who was now clinging to her skirt. Was he wondering how she could afford a trip to Venice with two kids? Or...did he have something else in mind?

Her eyes narrowed in quick suspicion. Was he trying to find out if she was available? Available...for what?

Her chin rose a notch, her grey eyes glinting, cooling to silver ice. There was no way she was going to let this man get the idea she was on the loose! Let alone available. Available for sharks like him to pick up.

‘They’re not my children. I’m just looking after them.’ Her tone was crisp. ‘And I’m not here alone—I’m with their parents. You might have seen them back at the hotel.’

Then again maybe he hadn’t. They always came down to breakfast late, with the excuse that they needed to go through their conference notes for the day. But she suspected that they simply wanted to sleep in and have breakfast by themselves later without the distraction and demands of their children. The baby was bottle-fed so didn’t rely on his mother for feeds.

‘Ah. So you’re just helping out with the children...’ Now the stranger’s dark eyes positively gleamed.

She took an instinctive step back, her own eyes glittering with derision. I know what you’re thinking, and you can forget it. Go find some other easy female.

‘I’m their nanny,’ she told him curtly, and began to walk on.

In a neat tigerish stride, he fell into step beside her. ‘Their permanent nanny? Or were you only hired for this Venice trip?’

She paused, frowning. Why would he want to know that? Simply to keep her talking?

‘I’m just filling in for their regular nanny, who has a bad ear infection and wasn’t able to fly.’ Meredith, an old friend from Australia, had recommended her as a fill-in, knowing she’d just thrown in her job. Knowing she’d had to—to get away from Nigel.

‘At the end of this week,’ she swept on, using clipped tones to discourage him, ‘I’ll be flying back to Australia.’ Back to the problems at home.

‘Ah...Australia. So that’s the accent. I was wondering. Um... You intend to look for another nanny job back in Australia?’

Her eyelashes flickered under his coolly interested gaze. Did he have a nanny fetish?

‘I doubt it,’ she answered dryly, adding in cutting tones, ‘I’ll be looking for a job as an accountant or auditor, which is what I’m qualified for and the kind of work I was doing until just recently.’

So put that in your pipe and smoke it, buddy, she thought with another upward jerk of her chin. If you imagined I was a brainless, man-crazy bimbo, ready to jump at the chance of a hot little dalliance with the likes of you, think again!

‘Well,’ he returned in a silky drawl, revealing by his next remark that he had been thinking along those lines, ‘Living proof that brains and beauty can on occasion co-exist.’ He quirked an admiring eyebrow at her, his dark eyes dancing.

For heaven’s sake, the man was flirting with her! ‘Can on occasion co-exist,’ indeed! What a disgusting male chauvinist he was!

‘I wonder if the same can be said about you?’ she whipped back in a withering tone, her eyes flashing contempt. ‘Or are you just a pretty face?’

The deep brown eyes flickered. Then he smiled, a sudden stretching of his lips, showing a flash of even white teeth and a burst of crinkles and dimples where there’d only been a tanned smoothness before.

She felt an unexpected jolt. That quick smile had a megawatt impact.

Oh, no, you don’t, she thought, rallying. Your devastating English charm won’t work on this girl, my friend. I’m immune to the flashy charms of gorgeous-looking Englishmen. Give me a rugged, down-to-earth, honest, decent Aussie guy any day.

I should be so lucky, she mused with a grimace, doubting if honest, decent men existed anywhere any more.

‘Why are you here?’ she tossed back at him as she began to walk on, not caring if he answered or not. Not being interested in dancing-eyed charm machines. She just wanted to switch the spotlight off herself. Or, better still, shake him off altogether.

But in a single stride he was at her side.

Holly, mercifully, came to the rescue, piping up before he could speak, ‘I’m hungry.’ She tugged at Claire’s hand. ‘I want an ice cream.’

‘All right, love, we’ll find you an ice cream.’ Claire quickened her pace, expecting the Englishman to take the hint and fade away.

He didn’t. ‘Let me buy you an ice cream at Florian’s,’ he offered, and waved a hand toward the famous café as they passed by, the romantic strains of ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ swirling around them.

She didn’t falter, pretending that she hadn’t even heard the offer. There was no way in the world she was going to let this pushy Englishman buy anything for her—let alone try to buy her favours, if that was what he was doing. And Florian’s was way out of her own modest pocket.

‘There’s an ice-cream place at the back of the piazza,’ she said brusquely. Dismissively. ‘Come on, Holly.’ She almost swept the little girl off her feet as she hurried on, dragging the child along with her.

Maddeningly, the Englishman kept pace with them. ‘I’m here on business, unfortunately, not pleasure,’ he said in answer to her question—despite her having made it obvious that she didn’t care if he answered or not. ‘I’m here for a business seminar at the Cipriani...though I chose not to stay there. I prefer a hotel with a quieter, more personal touch—away from all the hype.’

That surprised her. She’d have thought he’d lap up that kind of place. The glitz, the glamour. Maybe, she mused cynically, he just wanted to be free of his fellow delegates so that he could more easily chat up solitary females.

‘You’re playing hookey this morning?’ she asked sweetly, slowing her pace as Holly whined, ‘You’re going too fast!’

‘Not at all.’ He fell into step beside her. ‘Morning off.’

‘Where are all your fellow delegates?’ she asked pointedly, glancing around. Hadn’t he made any friends amongst them? ‘More interested in the Cipriani’s glamorous social whirl, are they, than the cultural delights of Venice?’

‘I doubt that. They’re all at business sessions this morning. I’m not involved in those. I’m here to give a series of lectures on the effect of the Internet on worldwide communications. I’ll be giving my final one this afternoon.’

‘Oh.’ She deliberately looked at him the way he’d looked at her a few moments ago. ‘Well,’ she murmured, unable to resist the temptation, ‘Living proof that good looks and brains can co-exist...on occasion.’

His lips—sensuous, well-shaped lips, she noted reluctantly—stretched again, the outer edges curving upward and deepening the appealing creases in his cheeks.

‘Touché,’ he applauded softly, a gleam of amusement in the dark depths of his eyes.

Much as she wanted to dislike everything about him, Claire had to give him credit for appreciating the way she’d turned his chauvinistic remark back on him. Nigel probably would have taken umbrage and demanded huffily whether she was mocking him, his pale blue eyes wavering with hurt and uncertainty. Nigel had liked to feel in control at all times—on top of every situation.

‘Do your employers give you any time off...by yourself?’ the stranger pursued as they entered the narrow lane behind the piazza and began to weave their way through the throngs of other tourists, past windows with tempting displays of designer fashions, expensive knitwear, fine shoes and eye-catching jewellery. ‘In the evenings, I mean,’ he added smoothly, ‘when the children are asleep and their parents have no commitments themselves?’

In the evenings... I knew it, she thought as she seared a glance round. ‘I’m afraid not,’ she said crushingly. Even if they did, her eyes told him, I wouldn’t be spending my precious spare time with you.

‘You’re here in romantic Venice with no time at all to yourself? That’s criminal!’ Obviously he’d failed to read what her eyes were telling him. This man, she thought, has an ego to match his audacity!

‘I’m here to work. To mind children. It’s not a holiday,’ she snapped. ‘It’s not a holiday for my employers either. They’re here for a medical conference.’ She tossed her head, her short bob of silky brown hair swirling round