Strange Bedfellow (6 page)

Dina blanched. He sounded so cold and insensitive! Blake had been a passionately vital and volatile man, quick to fly into a temper and quick to love.
 

What had he become? How much would the savagery in his life in the last two and a half years influence his future? Would his determination become ruthlessness? Would his innate leadership become tyranny? Would his compassion for others become contempt? Would his love turn to lust? Was he a virile man or a male animal? He was her husband, and Dina shuddered at what the answers to those questions might be.
 

Distantly she heard the housekeeper enter the room to inquire, “What time would you like dinner served this evening, Mrs. Chandler?”
 

There was hesitation before Norma Chandler replied, “In about an hour, Deirdre. That will be all right for everyone, won't it?” and received a murmur of agreement.
 

From the sofa cushions beside her, Chet expanded on his agreement to remark, “That will give you ample time to freshen up before dinner, won't it, Dina?”
 

She clutched at the lifeline he had unknowingly tossed her. “Yes, it will.” She wanted desperately to be alone for a few minutes to sort through her jumbled thoughts, terribly afraid she was overreacting. Rising, she addressed her words to everyone. “Please excuse me. I won't be long.”
 

Dina had the disquieting sensation of Blake's eyes following her as she walked from the room. But he made no attempt to stop her, nor offer to come with her to share a few minutes alone, much to her relief.
 

Chapter Three

THE BRIEF SHOWER had washed away the last lingering traces of unreality. Wrapping the sash to her royal blue terry-cloth robe around her middle, walked through the open doorway of the private bath to her bedroom. She moved to the clothes closet at the far corner of the room to choose what she would wear for dinner, all the while trying to assure herself that she was making mountains out of molehills where Blake was concerned.
 

There was a click, and then movement in her peripheral vision. She turned as the door opened and Blake walked in. Her mouth opened to order out the intruder, then closed. He was her husband. How could she order him out of her bedroom?
 

His gaze swept the room, located her, and stopped, fixing her with a stare like a predator would his prey. Her fingers clasped the folds of her robe at the throat, her palms moistening with nervous perspiration. Dina was conscious of the implied intimacy of the room and her own nakedness beneath the terry-cloth material. Blood pounded in her head like a thousand jungle drums signaling danger. Vulnerable, she was wary of him.
 

The brand-new tan suit and tie he wore gave him a cultured look, but she wasn't taken in by the thin veneer of refinement. It didn't conceal the latent power of that muscled physique, nor soften the rough edges of his sun-hardened features. Blake closed the door, not releasing her from his pinning gaze, and searing alarm halted her breath.
 

“I've come through hell to get back to you, Dina, yet you can't seem to walk across a room to meet me.” The accusation was made in a smooth, low tone rife with sardonic amusement.
 

His words prodded her into movement. Too much time had elapsed since his return for her to rush into his arms. Her steps were stiff, her back rigid as she approached him. She was cautious of him and it showed. Even if she wanted to, she doubted if she could batter down the wall of reserve she had erected. Stopping in front of him, she searched her mind for welcoming words that she could issue sincerely.
 

“I'm glad you came back safely,” were the ones she could offer that had the ring of truth.
 

Blake waited ... for her kiss. The muscles in her stomach contracted sharply with the realization. After a second's hesitation, she forced herself on tiptoe to bring her lips against his mouth in a cool kiss. His large hands spanned the back of her waist, their imprint burning through material onto her naked flesh. His light touch didn't seem at all familiar. It was almost alien.
 

At her first attempt to end the kiss, his arms became a vise, fingers raking into her silver gold hair to force her lips to his. Her slender curves were pressed against the hard contours of his body. Her heartbeat skittered madly, then accelerated in alarm.
 

The hungry demand of his bruising mouth asked more than Dina could give to a man who seemed more of a stranger than her husband. She struggled to free herself of his iron hold and was surprised when Blake let her twist away.
 

Her breathing was rapid and uneven as she avoided his eyes. “I have to get dressed.” She pretended that was her reason for rejecting his embrace. “The others are waiting downstairs.”
 

Those fathomless brown eyes were boring holes into her. Dina could feel them even as she turned away to retrace her steps to the closet and her much-needed clothes. Her knees felt watery.
 

“You mean Chet is waiting,” Blake corrected her with deadly softness.
 

Her blood ran cold. “Of course. Isn't Chet there with the others?” She feigned ignorance of his meaning and immediately regretted not taking advantage of the opening he had given her to tell him about Chet.
 

“I've had two and a half years of forced celibacy, Dina. How about you?” The dry contempt in his question spun her around, blue fires of indignation flashing in her eyes, but Blake didn't give her a chance to defend her honor. “How long was it after I disappeared before Chet moved in?”
 

“He did not move in!” she flashed.
 

With the swiftness of a swooping hawk, he seized her left hand. His savage grip almost crushed the slender bones of her fingers into a pulp, drawing a gasp of pain from her.
 

“Figuratively speaking!” His mouth was a thin, cruel line as he lifted her hand. “Or don't you call it moving in when another man's ring joins the ones I put on your finger? Did you think I wouldn't see it?” he blazed. “Did you think I wouldn't notice the looks the two of you were exchanging and the way all the others watched the three of us?” He released her hand in a violent gesture of disgust. Dina nursed the pain-numbed fingers, cradling them in her right hand. “And neither of you had the guts to tell me!”
 

“Neither of us really had a chance,” she responded defensively, her temper flaring from the flame of his. “It isn't an announcement one wants to make in front of others. What was I supposed to say when I saw you standing in the doorway, a husband I thought was dead? ‘Darling, I'm so glad you're alive. Oh, by the way, I'm engaged to another man.’ Please credit me for having a bit more delicacy than that!”
 

He gave her a long, hard look. His anger was so tightly controlled that it almost frightened her. It was like looking at a capped volcano, knowing that inside it was erupting, and wondering when the lid would blow.
 

“This is some homecoming,” Blake declared in a contemptuous breath. “A wife who wishes I were still in the grave!”
 

“I don't wish that,” she denied.
 

“This engagement—” he began, bitter sarcasm coating his words.
 

“The way you say it makes it sound like something sordid,” Dina protested, “and it isn't. Chet and I have been engaged for barely more than a week. At the time that he proposed to me, I thought you were dead and I was free to accept.”
 

“Now you know differently. I'm alive. You're my wife, not my widow. You're still married to me.” The way he said it, in such cold, concise tones, made it sound like a life sentence.
 

Dina was trembling and she didn't know why. “I'm aware of that, Blake.” Her voice was taut to keep out the tremors. “But this isn't the time to discuss the situation. Your mother is waiting dinner and I still have to get dressed.”
 

For a few harrowing seconds, she thought he was going to argue. “Yes,” he agreed slowly, “this isn't the time.”
 

She heard the door being yanked open and flinched as it was slammed shut. If this was a new beginning for their marriage, it was off to a rotten start. They had argued before Blake had disappeared, and now war had nearly been declared on his return. Dina shuddered and walked to the closet again.
 

Her arrival downstairs coincided with Deirdre's announcement that dinner would be served. Blake was there to escort her into the formal dining room. A chandelier of cut crystal and polished brass hung above the table, glittering down on the Irish linen tablecloth set with the best of his mother's silver and china. An elaborate floral arrangement sat in the center of the buffet, not too near the table so its scent would not interfere with the aroma of the food. Blake was being warmly welcomed home, by everyone but her, and Dina was painfully conscious of the fact.
 

As they all took their chairs around the Danish styled dining table, the tension in the air was almost electrical. Yet Dina seemed to be the only one who noticed it. Blake sat at the head of the table, the place of honor, with his mother at the opposite end and Chet seated on her right. Dina sat on Blake's left.
 

Ever since she had come down, Blake had possessively kept her at his side, as if showing everyone that she was his and effectively separating her from Chet. On the surface, he seemed all smiles, at times giving her glimpses of his former devastating charm. But there was still anger smoldering in brown eyes whenever his gaze was directed to her.
 

When everyone was seated, the housekeeper came in carrying a tureen of soup. “I fixed your favorite, Mr. Blake,” she announced, a beaming smile on her square-jawed face. “Cream of asparagus.”
 

“Bless you, Deirdre.” He smiled broadly. “Now that's the way to welcome a man home!”
 

The sharp side of his double-edged remark sliced at Dina. She paled at the censure, but otherwise retained a firm hold on her poise.
 

The meal was an epicurean's delight, from the soup to the lobster thermidor to the ambrosia of fresh fruit. Blake made all the right comments and compliments, but Dina noticed he didn't seem to savor the taste of the various dishes the way she remembered he had in the past. She had the impression that dining had been reduced to the simple matter of eating. Food was food however it was prepared, and man needed food to live.
 

Coffee was served in the living room so Deirdre could clear away the dishes. Again Dina was kept at Blake's elbow. Chet was on the far side of the room. As she glanced his way, he looked up, smoke blue eyes meeting the clear blue of hers. He murmured a quick excuse to the older woman who had him cornered—a Mrs. Burnside, an old school friend of Norma Chandler—and made his way toward her.
 

Through the cover of her lashes, Dina dared a glance at Blake and saw the faint narrowing of his gaze as Chet approached. The smile on Chet's face was strained when he stopped in front of them. Dina guessed he was trying to find a way to tell Blake of their engagement and she wished there was a way to let him know that Blake was aware of it.
 

“It seems like old times, Blake,” Chet began, forcing a camaraderie into his voice, “coming over to your house for dinner and seeing you and...” His gaze slid nervously to Dina.
 

“Chet,” Blake interrupted calmly, “Dina has told me about your engagement.”
 

The room grew so quiet Dina was certain a feather could have been heard dropping on the carpet. All eyes were focused on the trio, as if a brilliant spotlight were shining on them. She discovered that, like everyone else, she was holding her breath. After the savage anger Blake had displayed upstairs, she wasn't sure what might happen next.
 

“I'm glad you know. I...” Chet lowered his gaze searching for words.
 

Blake filled in the moment's pause. “I want you to know I don't bear any ill feelings. You've always been a good friend and I'd like it to continue that way.” Dina started to sigh with relief. “After all, what are friends for?”
 

No one except Dina seemed to pay any attention to the last caustic comment. Chet was too busy shaking the hand Blake offered in friendship. The others were murmuring among themselves about the moment for which they had been waiting all day.
 

“Naturally the engagement is broken,” Blake joked with a smile that contrasted with the sharply serious light in his eyes.
 

“Naturally,” Chet agreed with an answering smile.
 

And Dina felt a rush of anger that she could be tossed aside so readily without protest. For that matter, she hadn't even been consulted about her wishes.
 

Immediately she berated herself. It was what she wanted. Blake was alive and she was married him. She didn't want to divorce him to marry Chet, so why was she fussing? A simple matter of ego, she decided.
 

After the confrontation over the engagement, the party became anticlimactic. There was a steady trickle of departures among the guests. One minute was wishing Mrs. Burnside goodbye and the next she was alone in the foyer with Blake, his eyes watching her in that steady, measured way she found so unnerving.