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schemers who are already planning how to spend my money when they get their hands on it.'

Diana bit back a helpless grin at his plight: Cole Harrison, the invincible wheeler-dealer, the lion of Wall Street, was being held over the proverbial barrel by a frail, elderly uncle—an uncle who was probably getting senile. 'Poor Cal,' she said on a smothered laugh. 'What a dilemma. One great-nephew has no business acumen, but he has a wife and children. The other great-nephew is a brilliant entrepreneur, without a wife or children—'

'And without the slightest desire to ever have either,' Cole added, summarizing his own attitude. Satisfied that she'd grasped the full situation, he lifted his glass in a sardonic toast to her insight.

His unequivocal wish to remain not only single but childless was obscured for the moment by Diana's helpless amusement at his disgruntled tone. 'You do seem to be in a remarkable fix,' she said with a wayward smile.

'Which, I gather you find entertaining?'

'Well, you have to admit it is just a little... er... gothic,' Diana managed unsteadily.

'At the very least,' he agreed grimly.

'Although,' she continued with an irrepressible grin, 'in gothic romances, it's the heroine who gets coerced into a marriage she doesn't want. I've never heard of a hero who got himself into such a position.'

'If your intention is to cheer me up, you're not succeeding,' he said bitterly.

In fact, he looked so chagrined by her description of his 'unhero-like' predicament that Diana had to look away to hide her laughter. She was so amused that it took several moments before she realized how presumptuous and offensive his proposed solution actually was. 'And so,' she concluded, trying to sound as calm and detached as he had earlier, 'when you saw me tonight, you remembered I'd been jilted, and decided I'd be eager to marry you and help solve your problem—particularly if you bought me a necklace to help me save face.'

'I'm not that selfish—or that vain, Diana. I know damned well you'd throw my proposition in my face, except for one thing.'

'And that is?'

'By marrying you, I'd be offering myself as a solution to your problems.'

'I see,' Diana said, though she didn't see at all. 'Do you mind explaining how?'

'Simple logic. Even though you've been publicly jilted, you can save your pride if you marry me immediately. Tomorrow, the newspapers will be filled with pictures of us kissing on the balcony tonight and the story of my buying you this necklace. If our marriage is announced the next day, people are going to assume that we've had something going all along and that you probably did the jilting, not Penworth.'

Diana shrugged to hide the sharp stab of anger and hurt she felt at his callous summation of her own predicament. 'I don't have that much pride to save, not if it requires anything as outrageous and rash as what you're suggesting.'

'No, but you do have a business to save. The shield of being engaged for the last two years was already wearing thin. Now that that is gone,' Cole finished, 'your competitors will double their attacks and the media will collaborate in publicizing all the furor and hype for their own benefit.'

Anguish and anger turned her green eyes stormy an instant before her long lashes swept down, concealing her emotions from Cole's view—but not in time to prevent him from noting that her reaction to the mention of Penworth's defection wasn't nearly as violent as her reaction to this very viable threat to her company.

Despite her delicate features and fragile, feminine beauty, Diana Foster was apparently a woman who put business first. If nothing else, Cole decided as he watched the breeze ruffle her dark auburn hair, they certainly had that in common.

While he gave Diana time to consider what he'd said, he tried to put together what little he knew about the business that meant so much to her, but there wasn't much. Based on the bits and pieces he'd read or seen on the news this week, all he knew was that the company was founded by the Foster family.

The business had apparently begun as a Houston catering service for the very rich—one that specialized in 'natural' foods presented in lavish ways, but using only handmade or homegrown ornamentation. Somewhere along the way, that practice had been dubbed the Foster Ideal, and it had ultimately resulted in a magazine called Foster's Beautiful Living. He'd seen a copy at the airport magazine stand earlier that week, shortly after he'd seen Diana on CNN, and he'd leafed through it. Amid all the glossy photographs of brightly painted furniture, stenciled walls, and tables covered with hand-decorated linens and laden with gorgeous food and stunning homemade centerpieces, the philosophy of the magazine— and the basis for the Foster Ideal— seemed to be that by returning to basics, a woman could and would achieve personal satisfaction, a sense of vast accomplishment, and domestic tranquillity. Beyond that, all he noticed was that the photography had been superb, and that Corey Foster Addison was responsible for it.

That hadn't surprised him, since his every recollection of Corey as a young girl included a camera. He had, however, felt a certain amused irony over the fact that the founder and publisher of that homey, back-to-basics magazine was, in reality, a pampered Houston debutante— one who had once admitted to him, while seated on a bale of hay and grimacing at a smudge on her hand, that she'd never been a tomboy because she didn't like getting dirty.

He glanced sideways at her moonlit profile, and he marveled at the stupidity that had prompted Penworth to prefer an eighteen-year-old Italian model over Diana Foster. Even when she was a teenager, Diana had sparkled and glowed with wit, intelligence, and gentleness. As a woman, her vivid coloring, lovely figure, and innate poise made her stand out like a queen among peasants.

Cole had been with enough models to know that they were boringly obsessive about every molecule of their skin and hair, and that the bodies that looked so beautiful in designer clothes and magazine centerfolds felt like skin stretched over a skeleton in a man's bed.

Penworth was a fool, and he had blown his chance.

Cole Harrison was not a fool, and he was not going to blow his.

Chapter 27

Deciding that Diana had now had ample time to face reality as he'd portrayed it, Cole said quietly, 'I wasn't trying to hurt or embarrass you, I was only trying to describe your situation as it actually exists.'

She swallowed audibly and looked down at her hands; one held her champagne glass but the fingers of the other one were clutching the railing so tightly that her knuckles were white, and when she realized Cole had noticed that, she automatically loosened her grip. She didn't like having her emotions exposed to anyone's eyes, even his, Cole realized. That was something else they had in common, and it pleased him because what he wanted from her was a completely impersonal partnership, a businesslike arrangement with no emotions to deal with while it existed, or while it was being dissolved.

On the other hand, her continued silence was not what he wanted, and he deliberately forced her out of it. 'Diana, if you're blaming me for something, then blame me for being blunt, but not for creating your unhappiness.'

She drew a deep, steadying breath, but there were angry tears in her voice. 'Why should I blame you for stating the problem in all its ugly reality?'

'I didn't merely state the problem,' Cole pointed out gently. 'I also offered you a perfect solution. Me.'

'Yes, you did, and I do appreciate the offer—honestly I do.'

She trailed off, and Cole realized that although his solution still struck her as bizarre and impossible, she was being careful not to hurt his feelings. The knowledge made her seem very sweet in his estimation, and very naive, because his feelings were not involved in this bargain. He preferred to live his life in a permanent state of unemotional objectivity.

'The problem is,' she began again in that same soft, gentle voice, 'I can't quite see the logic in exchanging