The Marriage Pact

“I’m confident a marriage between us would work.”About the AuthorTitle PageCHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECHAPTER TENCHAPTER ELEVENCHAPTER TWELVECHAPTER THIRTEENCopyright

“I’m confident a marriage between us would work.”

Adam continued, “Neither of us will be expecting romantic love, just commitment. To our marriage. To Jamie. To each other. And there’ll be no pulling out after I’ve settled your sister’s debts. The marriage will take place a month from now.”

A month from now. Suddenly it seemed alarmingly real. “How—how can you know I’ll make a good wife,” Claire stalled, her voice husky. “You hardly know me!”

“I know you’ll be a good mother to Jamie. You have a natural affinity for children—and Jamie has taken to you already. You never know, we might even want to stay together forever.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

Elizabeth Duke 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.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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.