CHAPTER ONE
WILL YOU MARRY ME? Catriona tried the words out in her head.
They sounded utterly wrong.
But she didn’t have any other option. She’d analysed every line of her grandfather’s will, and his lawyer had made it watertight. Whatever Catriona chose to do, she’d become Viscountess of Linton; under Scots law, the oldest child inherited the title, regardless of gender. But, if she didn’t get married in the next six months, then under the terms of James Findlay’s will the castle and the estate would be split between her three half-brothers—and she’d get nothing.
She sighed.
This wasn’t about greed. She couldn’t care less about the money. But she did care about the castle; it was the one place where she’d been happy when she’d been growing up. She knew that Tom, Lachlan and Finn wouldn’t look after Lark Hill Castle. They didn’t know the place or feel about it the way she did. Under the guidance of their mothers, they’d simply sell the property and land to the highest bidder, not bothering about what happened to the tenants or the people who worked on the estate—or to the castle itself. She hoped that her misgivings were ill-founded but, if her fears were right and they followed in their father’s footsteps, every last penny would be gone within a year.
James Findlay—the Fourteenth Viscount of Linton, to give him his correct title—had known that Catriona would be a safe pair of hands and would see herself as the custodian of Lark Hill. If she inherited the castle, the tenants would all keep their homes and get their roofs fixed; everyone would keep their jobs; and she’d also find a way of making the estate look after itself to the point where she’d be able to give the boys something to help them set up their future. At least, that was her plan.
So why, why, why had Gramps put that ridiculous clause in the will to say that she had to get married, first?
He knew how she felt about marriage.
Her parents had married eight times between them, for pity’s sake. If her father hadn’t died ten years ago, there would’ve been at least two more. Thomas Findlay seemed to have suffered from a bad case of five-year itch after his divorce from Catriona’s mother, divorcing, remarrying and producing another child roughly every five years. Catriona’s mother was on her fifth divorce.
And then there had been Catriona’s own mistake, seven years ago, when she’d got engaged to Mr Very Wrong. Thankfully she hadn’t actually married Luke, but the way her engagement had imploded had destroyed her last vestiges of beliefin romantic love. As far as she was concerned, ‘love’ was simply a marketing device designed to sell cards, flowers and little cutesy knick-knacks that nobody really wanted. It certainly didn’t last. Thanks to her parents and Luke, she’d learned her lesson—and she’d learned it well.
With her elbows propped on her desk and her chin resting on her interlinked fingers, Catriona stared at the will, her eyes narrowed. She had to be married within six months of the reading of her grandfather’s will. Though the will itself didn’t specify how long the marriage had to last. Or that she had to be in love with her husband... So it didn’t technically have to be a real marriage.
In which case, all she had to do was find the perfect husband. Someone who would agree to marry her for, say, a year—and then walk away with everything he’d brought into the marriage and nothing from Lark Hill.
All the men she knew outside work were either married or in a serious relationship with one of her own friends, so they weren’t suitable. That left her colleagues. The ones she’d consider trusting to do the job were already married.
Except one: Dominic Ferrars. And he was the last person she could ask.
Not because she didn’t trust him; he definitely had integrity. Though most people became corporate lawyers because of the high salary. Was that what drove him? She knew Dominic was an ambitious workaholic, and he was in the running for the next partnership in the legal firm where they both worked. As was she, on both counts: which was probably why they tended to rub each other up the wrong way, she thought wryly. Asking him for help would feel beyond awkward. How would she react if their positions were reversed
and he asked her to marry him for a year? If she were honest with herself, she’d probably scoff in amused disbelief.
But, try as she might, she couldn’t think of any other man she could ask to be her temporary husband.
Hating having to ask for such a personal favour, but knowing that the future of Lark Hill and the tenants depended on her, she typed out an email. Then she deleted it, rewrote it, deleted it again, and finally settled on:
Are you free for a business discussion at some point in the next week? Half an hour should be enough. Suggest over lunch. Thanks, CF.
She stared at the message glumly for a few more seconds, then sighed and pressed ‘send’.
A business discussion? Over lunch?
Dominic Ferrars stared at the email, puzzled. What business could Catriona Findlay possibly want to discuss with him outside the office? And actually taking time for lunch? She usually ate a sandwich at her desk while she dealt with paperwork. He was pretty sure it couldn’t be anything to do with the partnership race; she was as ambitious and competitive as he was, and she’d want to win the position on merit.
Which left...what? The more he thought about it, the less of a reason he could pinpoint.
There was only one way to find out. And he was intrigued enough to do it. He replied.
12.30 today, Luigi’s? DF
The Italian sandwich bar just round the corner from their office sold excellent coffee and even more excellent paninis. More to the point, they’d be able to find a quiet table there and discuss whatever this ‘business’ was.
His email pinged again.
Thank you. See you there. CF
He concentrated on paperwork and put the meeting out of his mind until twelve-twenty. And then he made sure he was at Luigi’s for half-past twelve on the dot.
So was Catriona. Wearing her usual navy business suit, crisp white shirt, and the kind of shoes that looked elegant but he’d just bet she could run in them if she needed to. She wore minimal make-up, no jewellery apart from a practical watch and a very discreet pair of pearl studs in her ears, and her dark hair was cut in a sleek, shiny bob. The whole image screamed expensive lawyer with a razor-sharp mind: which was exactly what she was. And he pushed aside the fact that she was also really pretty. That wasn’t relevant and he wasn’t even going to think of her in those sort of terms.
‘Thank you for coming to meet me, Dominic,’ she said. ‘Lunch is on me.
No strings,’ she added swiftly.
Dominic inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Thank you.’ She was carrying a slim satchel-style briefcase, so clearly she’d brought either documents or a laptop with her. He wondered again why she hadn’t simply spoken to him before or after work in the office. ‘I’m intrigued by this “business” discussion.’
For a second, she looked intensely uncomfortable. Interesting. Catriona Findlay wasn’t easily flummoxed. This must be something big.
‘Let’s order, and then we can discuss it,’ she said.
‘Sure.’
Once they’d ordered—and why wasn’t he surprised that she drank plain black coffee rather than a frothy cappuccino?—they found a quiet table.
Close up, he could see that her eyes weren’t quite the piercing ice-blue he’d always thought they were; the edge of her irises were almost navy. In other circumstances, and if she were any other woman, he’d admit to the attraction and maybe ask her out to dinner. But this was Catriona Findlay, who intimidated most of the lawyers he knew. She didn’t suffer fools at all, let alone gladly.
So instead he waited for her to start the conversation.
‘Thank you again for agreeing to meet me,’ she said.
As openings went, it was polite enough. But he’d noticed the fleeting expression in her eyes that said she really didn’t want to be having this conversation.
Curiouser and curiouser, he thought. This definitely felt like an Alice in Wonderland moment. ‘You said half an hour,’ he mused, doing his best to look casual but watching her very closely indeed.
‘Yes. So I’ll cut to the chase,’ she said, and took a deep breath. ‘Will you marry me?’
What?
Was he going mad? Had he just dropped into some weird parallel universe? Or had his fiercest rival for the next partnership in their firm just asked him to marry her?
Dominic stared at Catriona, too stunned to answer.
Marry her?
According to the office grapevine, she dated even less frequently than he did. All her energies went into her job—a job that she did extremely well, to be fair, and any legal firm would be lucky to have her as a partner.
Why would a woman so totally focused on her career want to get married?
And, more specifically, why did she want to get married to him?
Marriage wasn’t on his agenda. Not when his goal was to become partner of a top London law firm. By concentrating on his career, he’d ensure he earned enough so his family never had to struggle again.
‘I take it that your silence means no,’ she said. ‘OK. Thanks for your time, and I’m sorry for wasting it.’
Just as she was getting up to leave, he found his voice. ‘Hold on. Firstly, our lunch hasn’t arrived yet. And, secondly, you haven’t
heard my answer.’ Where had that come from? It sounded almost as if he were about to say yes. ‘Which is “why?”,’ he added swiftly.
For a long, long moment, she paused. And then she sat down again. ‘This is a confidential discussion,’ she said.
‘Then why didn’t you book one of the meeting rooms at work?’
‘I...’ She looked blank.
Whatever this was about, it had really disconcerted her. Even though he didn’t really like her very much, he could sympathise with the fact that she was clearly in a tricky situation and was finding it hard to ask for help. ‘As you said, it’s confidential. I’ll respect that,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s complicated.’
He’d expected better from her. She was good at cutting to the chase. ‘Give me the short version,’ he said, knowing she’d see it as a challenge.
‘I need to get married,’ she said, ‘to fulfil the conditions of a will.’
He scoffed. ‘Which is the plot of just about every soppy romantic movie going.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘And you know this because you watch a lot of soppy romantic movies?’
There was the quick and slightly acerbic wit she was known for. ‘No. My sisters do.’
‘It’s also very Jane Austen,’ she said, her eyes narrowing to ice-blue slits. ‘Marriage and inheritance is pure Pride and Prejudice territory. So you can drop the intellectual snobbery. Not that there’s anything wrong with soppy romantic movies.’
Was she saying that she liked soppy romantic movies? No way. Dominic would’ve pegged her as someone who watched French art-house films and didn’t need the subtitles. Maybe Catriona had a soft side—one she kept very well hidden. He suppressed his smile at the idea of her being even remotely fluffy. ‘All right. Explain.’
‘The quick version: if I don’t get married within the next six months, my grandfather’s estate goes to my three half-brothers. Which he would emphatically not want to happen.’
‘Then why make it a condition of his will?’
‘I’ve asked myself that since the moment his solicitor gave me a copy of the will,’ she said dryly. ‘And I’m still coming up blank.’
He looked at her. ‘I didn’t have you down as the kind of person who was motivated by money.’
‘I’m not. And I don’t plan to cut the boys off with nothing.’
He waited, but she didn’t elaborate about her brothers. He’d had no idea she even had any brothers. There were no family photographs on her desk: nothing personal at all, now he thought about it. ‘Why did you ask me to marry you?’ he asked.
‘Because you have integrity,’ she said.
Yes, he did. It was something
he prided himself on. But Dominic was shocked to realise that her acknowledging that pleased him. It shouldn’t bother him what she thought about him, good or bad. ‘There are other people in the office who’d fit the bill,’ he said. ‘You said this was a business discussion.’
‘It is.’ She blew out a breath. ‘The marriage needs to last for about a year, to give me time to sort out the estate properly and fairly.’
Which sounded to him as if she definitely wanted her brothers to get their share of the estate. His first instinct had been right: she wasn’t the greedy sort.
‘I’d also expect my husband to walk away at the end of that year,’ she added, ‘with a no-fault divorce, and no claim on the estate. Just as I’d have no claim on any of his assets.’
She was suggesting a marriage of convenience. Though the convenience was purely hers, he noted. ‘What reason would your intended spouse have to marry you? Apart from being bowled over by your warmth and charm, of course,’ he added.
Her eyes narrowed, and he knew he’d scored his point. He felt the tiniest bit guilty for sniping at her, but he knew she could give as good as she got. If anything, she could probably give better. Most of the lawyers he knew tried hard not to be on the end of one of Catriona’s sharp looks or crisp words. She was the only person he’d ever met who could be scrupulously polite to someone while, at the same time, making it very clear she thought they were completely in the wrong. He’d been on the receiving end of some of those looks, himself.
‘You want the partnership,’ she said. ‘Marry me for a year, and I’ll step out of the running.’
Which was the equivalent of dropping the partnership in his lap.
And it was also incredibly insulting, because the implication was that she thought the partnership already had her name on it. He thought it might be a bit less clear-cut than that.
‘So I’d marry you for your warmth, charm and your humility,’ he said, making sure she could hear the slight edge to his voice.
She sat back in her seat and winced. ‘I apologise. That didn’t come across quite the way I intended it to.’
‘You have a point.’ Even if it annoyed him. ‘You’re my only competition, at this stage. If one of us steps down, the other will automatically get the partnership,’ he said.
‘Instead of it being you, me and briefcases at dawn,’ she said lightly.
He’d get the partnership. The recognition of his hard work. The bonus would pay off his mother’s mortgage and let him help his sisters out, too. Everything he wanted—everything he’d worked for—finally his. All he had
had to do in return was to be her husband for a year.
He was seriously tempted to say yes.
But this was Catriona Findlay. They’d rubbed each other up the wrong way since the very first case they’d worked on together, when they’d had opposite views on how the case should be run; in the end, she’d been right, and although she hadn’t crowed about it he’d felt that she’d judged him.
He hated to admit it but she was one of the brightest people he’d ever met, so why hadn’t she found a way round the terms of the will? There had to be more to this than simply needing a marriage on paper. He needed to know all the details, and think about what it meant for both of them, before he agreed.
He indicated her briefcase. ‘I assume you’ve brought the will with you?’
She retrieved a large manila envelope from her briefcase and handed it to him. ‘If you can find a loophole that means I don’t have to marry, then I’d be grateful—because I can’t find one. ...
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