The Sheikh's Arranged Marriage: The only thing worse than falling in love with the man she'd married was knowing he would never feel the same... (22 page)

She sat, mute, in the car, waiting for him to slide into the drivers’ seat. Except that she felt her world was collapsing around her ears, Cass could have laughed. Benedict Savarin was undeniably virile, built like an athlete, tall and strong. The sight of his large frame, beetled behind the steering wheel of her unreliable little rust bucket, was slightly ridiculous.

He turned the key in the ignition and shot her a fulminating look when it didn’t start.  Again, he turned the key, and this time, the car made a sad little splutter and then stopped. “This is a joke,” He muttered. “Lady Cassandra Hervey, one of the wealthiest heiresses in Europe, serving people snack food and driving a bombed out old shit box.”

“I wouldn’t have had you pegged as such a snob,” she retorted, smarting from his condescending statement. Setting herself up with a whole new life had not been easy, but she’d done it, and she was proud of what she’d achieved, all without dipping into her family’s money.

He compressed his lips and twisted the key again. This time, the engine started with a low rumble.

“How long have you known?” Cassandra’s voice was devoid of emotion.

At least he had the decency to look discomfited by her question. “Long enough to be sure it’s you. Not long enough to understand why you did it.”

“If you knew me for ten years, you’d never understand that,” She told him truthfully, for she hadn’t done what he believed. What everyone believed. What she’d let them believe.

He navigated the small group of photographers easily enough, then pointed the car into the direction of his temporary home.

“So...” she swivelled in her seat so that her whole body faced him, and cringed as her ankle gave a burst of painful protest. “So,” she tried again, “What was the point of seducing me?”

He didn’t look at her. Nor did he speak. Cassandra persisted. “I want to know. I mean it, Ben. Or should I call you Benedict now?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re a fine one to talk,
Kate.”

Colour stole into her cheeks at his retort.

“Tell me.” Her words were laced with a despair she could no longer hide. “What was the point of pretending to care for me? To sleep with me,” her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. An unpleasant thought occurred to her and cold fingers of dread squeezed her heart. “Was this always about revenge for you?”

“Explain that, Cassandra.” He commanded icily, nosing the car into the cavernous underground carpark of the upmarket complex he was living in.

“Those jewels...”

“The ones that you stole,” he interrupted caustically and Cass squeezed her eyes shut. Though she knew herself to be innocent, his denunciation was like a physical wound.

“They were heirlooms, weren’t they?”

“Yes.” His one word of agreement cut her like a knife. “They belonged to my great grandmother. They were the only thing she was able to save after the war.”

Cassandra felt guilt flood through her. She had known they were special to her stepmother, but she had never understood exactly why. She turned her head away, unable to look at him as she gave voice to her worst fear. “So sleeping with me, making me fall in love with you... that was to punish me.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he continued to stare resolutely and silently ahead. The denial she had so desperately needed to hear did not come. When she turned to look at him, she saw a stranger’s face. Gone was Ben, her lover and care-free boyfriend, a man she would have trusted with her life.

In his place sat Benedict Savarin. Real Estate tycoon, property mogul, cold-hearted businessman, implacable and uncaring. And her evil stepmother’s cousin.

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