‘Although there won’t be guests as such, we’ll make the wedding as normal an occasion as possible in case the validity of the marriage is questioned at some later stage,’ Lysander continued.

‘Let’s forget the use of that misleading word “we” when I’m not allowed to have any input,’ Ophelia suggested dulcetly. ‘You know you’d be much happier telling it like it is.’

Lysander studied her with hard dark eyes across the divide of the coffee-table. Her crystalline gaze was screened, her full pink mouth at a slight pout. He was not deceived by this modest look, though his attention did linger on the ripe curve of her lips. He was wondering how she could put out such a sexual vibe when she wore neither make-up nor provocative clothing. ‘As you wish. You will dress like a bride for the ceremony and a photographer will record the occasion.’

‘How will the living arrangements work?’ she prompted tautly.

‘Easily. I’ll spend several days a month at Madrigal Court-generally weekends.’

‘I don’t think you’ll be very comfortable there.’ Ophelia was trying without success to imagine him taking up residence in a house that was full of history and charm but very short on luxury and convenience.

‘My household staff will take whatever measures are necessary to ensure my comfort and yours,’ Lysander declared. ‘Everything will be organised in advance.’

Ophelia dared to look up and, encountering his stunning metallic eyes, felt as if she had been zapped by an electric current that set every nerve and skin cell jangling. In haste she tore her attention from him and got up to wander restively round the room. ‘How long do you think we’ll have to keep up the pretence?’

‘Fourteen months at most,’ he told her, letting her know that the matter had been considered with care and reduced to as short a period as would be deemed acceptable in the circumstances. ‘But I must warn you that if word of the marriage leaks into the public domain, everything will change and we’ll have to pretend that it’s for real. Is that understood?’