His Wedding-Night Heir (7 page)

pretty beaded embroidery. She took it, with the nightdress,

into the bathroom.

The fittings were old-fashioned, and the shower was a trickle

rather than a torrent, but she managed somehow, patting

herself dry with one of the meagre towels. Then she slid the

nightdress slowly over her head.

A year ago the chiffon would have enhanced slender, blos-

soming curves and made them seductive. Now it hung from

her, she thought, giving herself a last disparaging glance in the

mirror before turning away. Her shoulders and arms were

thin, and her collarbones like pits. Her breasts were t hose of a

child again.

But why should she repine? After all, the last thing in the

world she wanted was for Nick to find her attractive. He liked

beautiful women—

he'd never made a secret of it. And for a while there, as she'd

bloomed under his careful tutelage, she'd been— almost

lovely.

But that girl no longer existed, and what was he left with

instead? A rag, a bone, and a hank of hair. That was all.

And maybe the connoisseur in him, the sensualist, would not

find that enough.

She trailed back into the other room, took clothes for the next

day from the case—fresh underwear and a mid-calf dress in

primrose linen, square-necked and cap-sleeved, which she

hung up in one of the fitted wardrobes. After all, she'd bought

it purposely to wear on the first day of the rest of her life, so it

seemed an appropriate choice for tomorrow, if slightly sick.

And it was barely creased, indicating that her bag had not

simply been left unopened and untouched over the past twelve

months, as she'd thought likely.

Either that or she'd expected the entire contents of her luggage

to have been removed to the nearest charity shop, erasing all

physical reminders of her from his life. And yet it was all still

there, wrapped in tissue and wailing for her.

He really had intended that she should go back to him, she

thought shivering.

Her time was nearly up, so, with another apprehensive glance

towards the sitting room, she reluctantly climbed in to the

wide bed, hugging its extreme edge as she reached up and

turned off the pink-shaded befrilled lamp. Lying rigidly on her

side, she closed her eyes tightly and kept them closed, trying

to breathe deeply and evenly as if she was asleep.

It seemed an eternity before the door between them opened

quietly and she knew she was no longer alone. She was aware

of Nick moving about softly, then the click of the bathroom

door, and beyond it the noise from the shower.

Cally tried to relax—to sink down into the mattress— giving

the impression that she was dead to the world. But it wasn't

easy— not with tension building inside her all the while.

For the first time in her life she was about to spend a night in

bed with a man, and in spite of the assurances she was

petrified.

Eventually she heard him come back into the room and walk

quietly across to the bed. There was a soft rustle like silk, as if

he was removing a dressing gown, then she felt the m at tress

dip slightly as he joined her. The other equally awful pink

lamp was extinguished, and the room was dark.

He was nowhere near Cally, maintaining his distance as

promised, but she was intensely conscious of his presence just

the same. His skin smelt cool and fresh with the fragrance of

soap, and some unguessed female instinct told her, without a

shadow of a doubt, that he was naked.

She froze. Her heart was thudding like a trapped animal

beating against the bars of its cage as she waited tensely.

'For God's sake, relax.' His voice in the heavy darkness was

weary with exasperation. 'I don't go in for force.'

At least not tonight, Cally thought, but did not dare say it.

'Can't you understand how difficult this is for me?' she

demanded tautly.

'I don't find the situation easy either,' Nick retorted sharply.

'But we have to start our marriage somewhere, and tradition

suggests that bed is the place.'

'For lovers, perhaps.' Her riposte was more acerbic than she'd

intended. There was a silence.

Then he asked gently, 'Is that intended as some kind of

challenge?"

Cally found her eyes were so lightly closed that coloured

spots danced behind her lids. 'No,' she mumbled.

'Good,' he said. 'Let's keep it that way, shall we?' He paused

again. 'And bed isn't simply about sex, Cally. It's al so a quiet

and private place to talk sometimes.'

'You're implying we have something to discuss? So far you've

simply issued instructions.'

'I thought you might wish to go into a little more detail about

why you ran away from me.'

Cally's eyes flew open. She hunched a shoulder. 'It seemed

like a good idea at the time. As it happens, it still does.

'And that's your final word on the subject?' He sounded more

curious than angry.

'At the moment,' she said, 'my most pressing concern is the

future—not the past.'

'Really?' he said. 'And I thought it was the here and now that

had you clinging to the edge of the bed like an abseiler whose

rope has been cut.'

'If so, you can hardly blame me for that.'

'You were the one who asked for a breathing space,' Nick

reminded her softly.

At this particular time it seemed difficult to breathe at all,

Cally realised, her throat tightening.

She said huskily, 'You can hardly expect to— walk back into

my life and expect things to be as they were a year ago.'

'Ah,' he said. 'And exactly how were things then, Cally?

Refresh my memory.'

Oh, God, she'd walked bang into that one, she thought, biting

her lip.

She steadied her voice. 'Perhaps I believed—once— briefly—

that a marriage between us could be made to work.'

'And yet you walked out?' he said slowly. 'Without even a

shot being fired in anger. Why? And I want a reason. Not

some flippant throwaway excuse that tells me nothing.'

It was the direct question she'd dreaded, and it demanded the

direct answer she could not give.

Because I discovered I'd been blind enough and crazy enough

to give you the power to smash me into little pieces. To break

my heart so cruelly and completely that I would never

recover.

Because it was only when I saw you with another woman in

your arms on our wedding day that I realised how deeply I'd

fallen in love with you, and that it would kill me to live only

half a life with you— knowing that I would have to share you.

That it was her that you really wanted—not me— and ours

was just a marriage of convenience.

Knowing, too, that any happiness found would be a sham and

a betrayal.

And that the only way I could retain my sanity—and my self-

respect—would be to distance myself from you totally, utterly

and for ever.

But to say the words aloud would be another fatal betrayal.

She would be admitting that his pretence at wooing her had

succeeded only too well, and that as she'd stood beside him

and repeated her vows she'd been loving and longing for him

with shy but passionate ardour.

And to let him know that she'd been such a pathetic, gullible

fool was more than flesh and blood could stand. She could not

bear such a stark humiliation.

Better, she thought, to endure Nick's anger than his pity.

She had no idea, of course, if Vanessa Layton was still part of

his life. If she was even now installed at Southwood Cottage,

or whether she'd been supplanted by someone else.

No doubt she would find out soon enough, she told herself,

her whole being wincing from the thought. But what she must

never do was give Nick even a hint that she cared. That his

blatant disregard for fidelity mattered to her so ba dry that

seeing him with Vanessa had torn her apart, leaving her torn

and bleeding. And running away, like a small wounded

animal seeking sanctuary, had seemed the only possible

remedy. A chance to heal herself somehow—eventually.

As he'd admitted himself, he was not and never had been the

marrying kind. But he needed someone to run his ho me

efficiently—and, it now seemed, to give him a child. With

Nick there was always an agenda.

And I was conveniently available, she thought, and so piti-

fully ready to believe every charming, seductive lie he told

me. Not to mention the merit points he'd gain by rescuing the

neighbourhood's penniless orphan. Why couldn't I see that he

was taking me in lieu of the money my grandfather owed

him? That was why he could still justify continuing his affair

with Vanessa— because he was just balancing the bloody

books.

She drew a ragged, painful breath.

He said harshly, 'I'm wailing for an answer.'

Slowly, reluctantly, she turned to face him. Her eyes were

accustomed now lo the semi-darkness, and she could see that

he was propped up on one elbow, watching her, although she

was unable to read his expression. But then, did she really

want lo? She said, 'I told you—I knew I'd made a terrible

mistake and I couldn't think how to put it right. So I suppose I

took the coward's way out—and left.'

'And that's all there was to it?'

'Yes.' Or she could ever admit to.

'It didn't occur to you to talk to me? That maybe together we

could have sorted something out?'

'I was afraid that—somehow—you'd persuade me to stay.'

That, she thought, at least was the truth.

'It's almost comforting lo know that once seemed possible.'

His lone was wry.

'I can assure you it didn't last long,' she said defensively.

'Now, that carries real conviction,' he resumed grimly. 'But if

that's away of telling me I still have a struggle on my hands, I

recommend that you think again. Because I've no intention of

fighting fair.' She said tonelessly, ‘I will consider myself

warned.'

'On the other hand,' he said, after a pause, 'it doesn't have to be

like this.' 'As long as I do what you say? Play by your rules?'

Cally demanded bitterly. 'Oh, I'm sure.' 'I was thinking more,'

Nick said slowly, 'of that day by the river. And please don't

pretend you've forgotten." Her instinctive denial died on her

lips. She tensed. 'What of it?'

'It would be good,' he said, 'if we could forget the rest and

recapture that time—that place.' He made a slight movement,

adjusting his position, and she felt him touch her shoulder,

quietly and softly, his fingers cool as drops of water against

the sudden bum of her naked skin.

A fist seemed to clench in her chest as reluctantly, painfully,

she found herself remembering...

Reliving in too-vivid detail the nearby whisper of running

water, the scent of the grass, and the glow of the sun against

her closed eyelids. And Nick's mouth on hers, gentling her

lips apart, bringing her to trembling life with the delicate play

of his tongue against hers and the slow, beguiling drift of his

fingers on her body.

While, deep within her, she'd felt the first bewildering,

tormenting ache of desire—overwhelming and irresistible.

It might have been yesterday. It could be now...

Now! The word seemed to sting her brain, sending her crash-

ing back to sanity. Oh, God, she groaned silently, what was

she thinking of?

Gasping in shock, she jerked away from him. 'Don't—don't

touch me. I—I can't bear it."

There was a silence, then he spoke, his voice soft and jeering.

'What are you hoping, my sweet? That you'll offend me so

deeply I'll toss you back to your good Samaritan at Gunners

Wharf and crawl away, wounded, into the undergrowth?' He

shook his head. 'You'll have to try harder than that, darling.

And I think it's time to give some thought to the actual terms

of our agreement," he added with a touch of grimness.

'Because, under the circumstances, a little touching is going to

be inevitable."

Her mouth was dry. 'But not yet. Not so soon—please.'

'A pleasure deferred, then,' Nick drawled mockingly.

She winced. 'How can you possibly say that?'

'Easily,' he said. 'Because I intend to enjoy every inch of

you—and every moment of our lime together.' He paused.

'You, of course, must do as you please." He reached out an

arm and flicked on the lamp at his side of the bed, bathing the

room in pink light.