The Society Wife (9 page)

‘OK. S
O,
explain.'

Leaning against the wall of the hotel room, Lily stifled both a sigh and the urge to hang up the phone. It wasn't that she didn't want to talk to Scarlet, it was just she wasn't sure where to start. How to explain.

‘I'm pregnant.'

As she said the words she felt the swirling mist of confusion lift a little and certainty flow back into her. That, after all, was the reason at the heart of all that had happened. A shaft of pure sunlight in the midst of the fog.

‘Oh, Lily!' Scarlet's tone was warm, but Lily could hear its edge of anxiety and reproach. ‘That's wonderful. I mean,
really
wonderful…but, darling—' She stopped abruptly. ‘Is Tristan there?'

‘No. He went out a little while ago.' She didn't know where. Or why, or who with. He had offered no explanation and she had asked for none. Those were the terms that he had laid down at the outset and Lily understood that she had to abide by them. No matter how hard.

‘Good, then we can talk properly.' Scarlet's voice became suddenly business like, which Lily felt was a bad sign. ‘Look, I'm totally thrilled for you about the baby. Surprised,' she said slightly tartly, ‘but I know how much having a family means to you. And that's exactly what's worrying me…'

She let the sentence trail off. In the little silence that followed Lily pushed back the muslin drapes at the windows and
looked down at the square below. Directly opposite she could see the high doorway in the scarred stone wall through which Tristan had led her yesterday, the doorway through which she had emerged such a short time later as his wife.

‘You didn't have to marry him, you know, honey.'

‘I did, actually,' Lily said quietly. ‘Don't you see? I of all people couldn't bring a baby up without a father or a name—I know how unfair that would be to the child.' She paused, watching a pair of pigeons bathing in the fountain in the centre of the square, scattering rainbows of shining droplets onto the worn cobbles. ‘And it would have been unfair to Tristan too, because of who he is. What he is.' ‘
Who he is?
He's a playboy, Lily!
What he is
is a sexy, gorgeous, charismatic Alpha male.
What he isn't
is husband material!'

‘He's doing all right so far.'

The words came out without her thinking, but Lily found herself smiling as she looked out into the rain-grey square. It was empty now, silent except for the musical trickle of the fountain, but earlier she and Tristan had been woken by the sound of children's voices—their shouts and laughter—echoing off the high walls. There was a school attached to the church, Tristan had told her, his fingers sleepily tracing a circle of shivering pleasure across the gentle curve of her stomach. The children used the square as their playground. To Lily it felt like a blessing. A sign.

Scarlet gave an impatient snort. ‘I'm sure,' she said huffily. ‘But there's more to marriage than sex, you know.'

Lily looked at the empty bed that had been the scene of such prolonged, such passionate lovemaking last night, and felt the smile fade and an ache run through her tired, sated body.

Not to this one there wasn't, she thought sadly. Not as far as her husband was concerned, anyway.

 

Tristan came back in the early afternoon, bringing a blast of crisp autumn air into the warm room as well as several ex
pensive-looking carrier bags. Dropping them by the door, he sauntered over to the bed, slipping off his jacket as he did so and throwing it onto a chair.

Dozing in bed with
Don Quixote
, Lily felt her stomach instantly melt with desire. It was as if in the short amount of time he'd been out she'd already forgotten how incredibly handsome he was.

Incredibly handsome, and incredibly…powerful. His presence filled the room, changing the atmosphere from one of peaceful languor to that peculiar kind of sinister stillness that preceded a thunderstorm.

‘What are you reading?'

‘Don Quixote,'
she muttered, feigning sudden interest in page thirty seven, which she'd already attempted to read about four times that morning. Anything to avoid having to confront his raw, menacing beauty.

He gave a short, scornful laugh. ‘How appropriate. The ultimate romantic idealist.'

Lily put the book down, bending her head so that he wouldn't see the hurt on her face. ‘You've been gone ages,' she said lightly, simply trying to make conversation, but as soon as she'd said the words she regretted them. He turned, pacing moodily back towards the bags he had left by the door.

‘It was business,' he said tersely. ‘I had a meeting that I couldn't miss.' The words were innocuous enough but tension screamed from every line of his lean body as he scooped up the bags and tossed them onto the bed beside her. ‘I stopped on the way home to pick these up for you.'

Hesitantly Lily reached out and pulled the first bag towards her. It was made of the sort of stiff, shiny card that would make Scarlet swoon with delight and as she glanced tentatively inside all she could see was tissue paper. It crackled like the static she could feel in the air as she pulled out the delicate parcel.

‘What is it?'

He came towards her, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt with sharp, stabbing movements. Lily felt her breath stall.

‘Have a look.'

She wanted to, but that meant tearing her eyes away from the strip of olive skin that was being revealed at his throat. Blindly her fingers fumbled with the paper, until they met cool, slippery satin. She looked down.

The dress was the colour of old ivory, or bone. For a moment she just gazed down at it lying against her bare legs, looking almost incongruously expensive and precious in the rumpled chaos of the bed.

‘Tristan, it's beautiful…but why?'

A guilt present? Had the meeting that was so important been with one of his women…his mistresses? That would explain the dangerous tension that lay just beneath the surface, and the glitter in his eyes.

‘Because you didn't get your white dress yesterday.'

Lily felt her eyes sting with the threat of sudden tears. He had done it again. Every time she just about convinced herself that she could live by his cold rules and keep her own treacherous feelings hidden he brought her resolve crashing down by doing something unexpectedly, unfairly lovely. Slowly unfolding her cramped legs, she got unsteadily to her feet, so that she was standing on the bed in her tiny vest top and knickers and holding the dress up against her. It was simple and exquisite—short and close-fitting with a low neckline that swept almost from shoulder to shoulder. She let it fall again and walked across the tangle of covers towards him and bent down to wrap her arms around his neck.

‘Thank you. You didn't have to do that.'

Raised up by the height of the bed, her stomach was almost level with his face and for a second she felt him rest his head against it. Then he stiffened, pulling away and turning his back on her.

‘Actually I did. You'll need something to wear tonight, and I wasn't sure you would have brought anything smart enough.'

‘Smart enough for what?'

He turned back to face her, and the expression on his face
made her heart stop. She wasn't sure whether it made her want to run away from him, or to take him in her arms as she had done that night in the tower.

‘A black tie reception for a few European chancellors and bankers at El Paraiso.'

‘El Paraiso?' she echoed, her heart sinking.

‘My parents' house.'

There was something oddly flat in the way he said the words, as if he was being very careful not to let any feeling seep into them. Lily remembered him standing in the garden at Stowell the evening she'd told him about the pregnancy.
I have no choice about the family I was born into
, he'd said, and his voice had vibrated with all the emotion he was being so careful to keep in check now.

‘Ah,' she said softly, stepping down from the bed and walking towards him with a demure smile. ‘A black-tie reception for Europe's major financiers, and meeting your parents. Sounds like a fun evening. I can see now why the “gorgeous-dress-as-bribe” was necessary, because otherwise I might just decide I need to catch up on some of the sleep we missed out on last night and spend the evening in bed.'

She came to a standstill in front of him, looking up at him without really lifting her head. He seemed so tall, so very lean and strong and well muscled, but somehow that just seemed to emphasise the hollowness in his eyes. There was a bitter edge to his smile.

‘Not a chance. Technically you're my wife now, remember?'

‘Of course.' She placed her hands flat against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Her whole body ached with the longing to put her arms round him and soothe away the tension, but she already understood him well enough to know that he was too proud to lower his guard for such an obvious approach.

Wide-eyed, she looked up at him. ‘And as your wife,' she said very gravely, ‘I suppose it's my
duty
to accompany you?'

‘Exactly.' His smile widened a little. ‘You're catching on fast.'

‘OK, then, let's compromise.'

His eyebrows rose. ‘Meaning?'

Lily rolled her eyes in an exaggerated display of exasperation. ‘Compromise?' she said emphatically as if she were talking to a small child, while all the time slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt. ‘It means each of us getting a little bit of what we want. I believe it's widely held to be one of the essential ingredients in a marriage—although I'm not sure if the same principles apply to marriages of convenience. However, I think, just to be on the safe side, that we'd better assume that they do.'

‘So, let me guess—you want to spend a little bit of the evening in bed?'

‘Now look who's catching on fast,' Lily said huskily, grasping hold of the edges of his open shirt. ‘A little bit of the evening, and most of the afternoon too…'

He was smiling broadly as he lifted her up and laid her on the bed, and the anger and the pain that shadowed his eyes had dissolved away leaving clear, gleaming pools of pure desire. Lily's tender heart blossomed and ached as she lay back against the pillows. Leaning over her, Tristan impatiently tore off his shirt while he trailed a path of kisses over her collarbone and down her arm.

The light of the pale autumn sun slanted through the window, brushing Tristan's smooth butterscotch skin with gold dust, and highlighting the faint cross-hatching of scars on his back.

Lily bit her lip, closing her eyes and sliding her hand into his hair, her whole body throbbing with love and need while simultaneously being racked with pain.

Pain that she sensed in him and longed to heal, if only he'd let her near.

But he wouldn't. She gasped as he took her hips between his big hands and brought his mouth down on her navel, kissing, sucking, moving his mouth lower…

This was the only closeness she was allowed, and while
she craved it with every cell of her being she also knew that it wasn't enough. It would
never
be enough.

She wanted what she could never have.

Not just his body, but his heart.

 

Modelling would never have been Lily's first choice of career. She had fallen into it thanks to a combination of chance and financial necessity, shelving her dreams to go to university in order to make the most of the undreamt of riches that were suddenly within her reach.

But at times like this, she reflected hazily as she walked with Tristan across the grand entrance hall at El Paraiso, she was glad that she had. Confidence was easier to fake if you knew how to hold yourself and how to walk.

Although, given the thoroughness with which Tristan had just made love to her, that wasn't exactly easy. Especially not in four inch heels, and with Tristan, mouthwateringly handsome in black tie, so close beside her. Close enough that she could smell the clean scent of his skin from the hasty, last minute shower they had shared while Dimitri had waited for them in the car below. Close enough to sense the tension in his body, despite his outward show of utter indifference.

They were late.

Lily's heels made a rapid, staccato rhythm on the marble floor as she struggled to keep up with him. Silently she cursed the fact that she'd spent the car journey here staring into the blackness of the window while her mind mentally replayed the blissfully erotic events of the afternoon in glorious freeze-frame detail, rather than asking Tristan to fill her in on his family. Too late now, she thought in panic. From behind double doors between the symmetrical sweeping staircases that rose on either side of the hallway, she could hear the sound of voices, and her chest constricted with nerves.

‘Wait,' she croaked, putting an arm on his sleeve.

Tristan stopped. He was composed to the point of complete detachment, far removed from the man who had buried his face
in her neck and gasped her name just an hour earlier. ‘Are you OK? You don't feel sick?'

Lily gave a half-laugh and pressed her hand to her stomach. ‘Yes, but then I do all the time. It's not that, it's just…' she twisted nervously at a strand of hair that had escaped the pins that held it in a sophisticated twist on top of her head ‘…I'm about to meet your family and I don't know anything about them.'

‘Believe me, that's a good thing,' he said acidly, his face hardening as he looked in the direction of the doors in front of them.

‘Tristan, don't,' Lily said in anguish. ‘I mean—for example, do you have any brothers and sisters?'

He flinched. Only slightly, but she caught the minute narrowing of his eyes, the tiny indrawn breath. ‘Yes. I have…one brother. Nico. He's in Madrid, so he won't be here tonight. Now, if that answers your questions, perhaps we could go in?'