Temporary Bride (17 page)

She crawled into his big bed and snuggled down under the
silken sheet and heavy blanket, but he made no move to touch her. Her
green eyes studied the face she could see only dimly.

Then he brushed a strand of hair away from her face and
his voice broke as he said, "Don't torture me anymore, Karen. I don't
think I can stand it!"

With a little cry she wound her arms around his neck and
pulled him down to her.

The next two months were a continuation of their
interrupted honeymoon. They gave several small parties and were
entertained in return. The only flaw in Karen's happiness was the
presence of Audrey, who showed up at all the gatherings. She was always
overly friendly toward Shane but never got out of line. There was
nothing definite Karen could complain about but somehow Audrey always
made her feel like a teenager making a fool of herself around the
grown-ups. When Karen's child got large enough to round out her figure
it was always Audrey who made caustic little remarks like, "Karen, are
you sure you're not gaining weight too fast?" or "Really, dear, you
shouldn't pour yourself into jeans now that your tummy is protruding
so."

Shane, however, was frankly delighted by the new fullness
of her breasts and the roundness of her derriere, and he handled her
gently but with passion. When the need became apparent he sent her back
to the couturier who had supplied her trousseau and had custom-designed
maternity clothes made for her.

Karen was so happy it seemed almost too good to last. It
was.

She was six months pregnant in April when the first rift
appeared in the person of a Mr. Homer Green, who called one day when
Shane was out and said he had urgent business and must see Shane as
soon as possible. Karen gave him an appointment for the following
morning. Shane was as mystified as she was when she told him of the
call.

Mr. Green appeared promptly the next morning. He was a
short, bald, well-dressed man, who introduced himself as an attorney
from a well-known law firm in San Francisco. He assured them that his
business concerned both Mr. and Mrs. McKittrick, since it was a family
matter. They went into the office and Mr. Green got right to the point.

"Mr. McKittrick, it's my unpleasant duty to inform you
that your mother, Katherine McKittrick Durrell, died of a cerebral
hemorrhage two weeks ago in Orleans, France."

Karen gasped and felt Shane stiffen beside her, but his
voice was cold as he said, "What has this to do with me?"

Mr. Green didn't seem surprised as he answered, "I
understand you had been estranged for some time. However, she left you
a substantial inheritance, which I have been instructed to turn over
to you." He reached into his expensive leather briefcase and withdrew
some legal-looking papers.

Shane's face was stony. "I gather she had remarried?"

Mr. Green nodded. "She was a widow. Monsieur Durrell died
two years ago. He was an artist—quite well known in France, I
understand. Part of your mother's estate is paintings, which I'm told
will bring a handsome sum when sold."

Shane made a tight, jerky motion with his hands. "I don't
want them. I don't want anything from her!"

"Shane, darling." Karen moved closer to Shane on the couch
and put her arm through his. "This has upset you. Maybe Mr. Green can
come back tomorrow."

Shane glanced down at her and there was no warmth in the
look. "Karen, it's not necessary for you to stay. Since I haven't seen
my mother since before you were born, this can hardly concern you. Run
along and I'll join you in a few minutes."

His dismissal hurt. She wanted to be with him, to ease the
pain she knew he was feeling even if he wouldn't admit it. She rubbed
her cheek against his arm and said, "But I want to stay."

He pulled away from her and stood. "I'd rather you left,
Karen."

She had no choice but to bid Mr. Green goodbye and leave.

Shane and Mr. Green were closeted together for nearly two
hours. Karen took her daily walk around the estate and returned to the
house just as Mr. Green was getting into his car.

Karen knocked on the door of Shane's office and went in.
Shane was sitting behind the desk, looking off into space. She quickly
crossed to him and put her arms around him, holding his head against
her breast. He didn't protest but neither did he relax and enjoy her
caresses as he usually did. She leaned down and kissed him as she said,
"I'm sorry about your mother, Shane. Is there anyone who should be
notified? Can I help?"

His arms circled her waist, but instead of answering her
questions he said, "I've arranged for her estate to be liquidated and
the money given to various charities."

She drew back in surprise. "But Shane—"

He jerked away angrily. "Oh, don't worry, I have plenty of
money! You and the baby won't be deprived of anything!"

She blinked, unsure of what had brought on that outburst.
"Shane! I wasn't even thinking of such a thing! I just thought that if
she wanted you to have the money—"

He turned back to his desk and riffled through some papers
as he muttered, "I don't want to talk about it. I have work to do,
Karen. Would you mind leaving me alone?"

With a quick movement and a few sharp words he had shut
her out again and she felt numb with despair.

That night after they'd gone to bed Shane kissed her and
turned away from her. It happened again the second night, and by the
third day, Sunday, Karen was frantic. She couldn't stand his coldness
and decided to try to find out what was wrong. After lunch she
suggested that they go into the den, where they could talk.

It was Shane who took charge of the conversation, however.
He set his coffee cup on the redwood burl table and said, "Your
pregnancy seems to be progressing normally now, Karen. You haven't been
sick for weeks and Karl Laird says you are healthy and carrying the
baby well."

Karen smiled. "Yes, I feel fine. I told you there was no
need to worry."

"Yes, well," Shane stood and walked over to the fireplace,
"I find I can't run the business from here. I'm going to have to spend
part of my time in San Francisco."

"That's all right—I don't mind living there part
of the time," she said. "Maybe we can see some plays."

Shane frowned. "No, Karen, I'm not taking you with me. I
want you settled in one place until the baby conies. I'll stay in the
city Monday through Friday and come home on weekends, the way I did
before."

She must have looked as stricken as she felt because he
hurried on. "It will work out just fine. You'll have Taffy to keep you
company and a house full of servants to see that things run smoothly.
I'll call every day and come home on Friday afternoons. You'll hardly
miss me."

Karen felt the life drain out of her. He was going to
drive her out of her mind. Half the time he couldn't live without her
and the other half he wanted nothing to do with her. What had caused
this latest change of attitude? She wanted to scream, to throw
something, but she didn't. That night, however, it was she who turned away from him
in the bed.

The following week was pure hell. Shane called once a day
but there was no warmth in their conversation; it was a duty call to be
sure she was all right. He wanted to be sure nothing happened to his
precious child, she thought. She cried herself to sleep in the big
lonely bed every night and wished she had never heard of Shane
McKittrick.

Then on Thursday he told her he'd be home in time for
dinner Friday evening, and the old excitement tingled through her.
Shane was coming back! He would be home for two days and three nights!
Certainly he couldn't ignore her all that time, not after the closeness
that had, until so recently, existed between them?

Karen was waiting in the library when Shane's Cadillac,
the car he'd bought to replace the Lincoln he'd wrapped around a tree,
swung into the driveway. Her nerves were so taut that she would have
heard him from anywhere in the house, but to make sure she had chosen
to wait in the library, which was just off the entrance hall. She
jumped up but made herself stay in the room. She wasn't going to run to
him this time, he'd have to come to her.

She was standing by the desk when she heard him come in
the front door. Her hands were clenched and her body was still with
apprehension. How would he greet her? Would he come looking for her?
Would he be happy to see her? Would he
want
her?

She was so intent on her agonizing that she didn't see him
until he was standing in the door. Her eyes flew to his face and she
felt herself relax. He looked pale and tired but the relief in his eyes
was unmistakable. Without a word he held out his arms and she ran into
them. Their lips and arms and bodies meshed and melted into one another
as he murmured hoarsely, "Oh, Karen, how I missed you!"

They were thus occupied when a loud rap and an embarrassed
cough sounded from the door. They both looked up guiltily to see Mrs.
Whitney standing in the doorway, her flushed face turned discreetly
away as she said, "Excuse me, I didn't mean—" She cleared her
throat. "Dinner is ready to be served."

Dinner seemed interminable and when it was finally over
Shane was in no mood for teasing. He took Karen by the hand and led her
upstairs to bed.

They made love all weekend and Karen was content, but on
Monday morning Shane left again for San Francisco. She was determined
to make the best of this way of living if that's what Shane wanted, but
she felt rejected, abandoned, and at last—used.

For the next three weeks he left on Monday morning and
returned Friday afternoon, passionate and almost desperate in his need
for her, but there was always something missing. The tender awareness
that had always been a part of his relationship with her was gone,
replaced by a hunger that she felt could be satisfied by almost any
woman.

Their telephone conversations during the week became
strained, then snappish, and by the fourth weekend the one thing she
had thought could never happen did. She found it difficult to respond
to his lovemaking; it was as if his cold passion had finally destroyed
her own tender responses.

That Monday Shane took her back to San Francisco with him
because she had a Tuesday appointment for her monthly checkup with Dr.
Laird. Karl weighed and probed and measured and said she was coming
along beautifully. She complained that she was beginning to look like
an overinflated balloon, but he only laughed and said that every woman
felt that way and why should she be any different?

It was late afternoon when she left the doctor's office
and took a cab back to the condominium. She was anxious to be there
when Shane got home. Things were better between them here in San
Francisco. He seemed happy to have her with him.

She changed out of her town clothes and into a long,
flowing caftan. Nothing could make her look sexy now that she was over
seven months pregnant but the green delicately flowered material
brought out the emerald color of her eyes and heightened the rose in
her cheeks. When the doorbell rang she assumed it was Shane. Instead it
was Mark. He was carrying a briefcase and smiled as he walked in.

"You're looking positively gorgeous, mama-to-be. Where's
the proud papa?"

Karen laughed. "He's not home yet. Come in and have a
drink—he should be here any minute."

They went into the living room and Mark mixed a
screwdriver for himself and handed Karen a glass of orange juice. They
sat together on the gold damask couch and for a while the conversation
was general, but during a pause Mark said quietly, "Karen, how's it going with you and
Shane?"

She frowned and he hurried on. "You can tell me it's none
of my business, but lately Shane's been hell to work for, and you're
not looking too happy yourself. I feel responsible for getting you into
this, honey, and I'd like to help you if you need it."

Karen toyed with her glass. Maybe she should confide in
Mark. He was the only person she could talk to about her problems
because only he knew the truth behind her marriage.

She started, cautiously at first, but when Mark listened
carefully and offered no comment other than to take her hand when she
began to get emotional, she forgot to be cautious and let the words
flow. She poured out all her private anguish and without quite knowing
how it happened she found herself in Mark's arms sobbing on his
shoulder. They didn't hear the door open but Shane's voice boomed like
thunder across the room. "What in hell is going on?"

They jerked apart guiltily and Karen cringed at the
murderous look on Shane's face. He didn't move but his voice was
chilling as he said, "I should have known! My sweet, naive, virginal
wife can't wait until our baby's born to start cheating on me! And with
one of the hired help!" He turned to Mark, his face livid. "I ought to
kill you with my bare hands!"

He lunged at Mark, who jumped up and prepared to defend
himself as Karen screamed, "Shane! Stop it! You're out of your mind!"

The hysteria in her voice must have gotten through to
Shane because he stopped and jeered at her. "What's the matter? Are you
afraid I'll mess up his pretty face? Well, you better believe I will!"

He started for Mark again. Karen instinctively. stepped
between them and before Shane could deflect the blow he had aimed at
Mark it grazed Karen's shoulder, knocking her down.

The effect on Shane was instantaneous. He swore and
dropped to the floor and gathered her in his arms as he groaned,
"Sweetheart, are you all right? Oh, God, Karen, I'm sorry!"

Mark stood over them, his face twisted with rage.
"You… You lay a hand on her again and I'll—"

Karen struggled to a sitting position and winced as pain
shot through her right hip where she landed on it. This was the last
straw! She'd had it with Shane and his moods, and with Mark, too! She
pulled away from Shane and glared at him. "You have no right to accuse
me of such a vile thing! I'm not your mother!"