Kitabı oku: «His Rags-to-Riches Bride», sayfa 8

Then he was gone, and she sank back on her empty marriage bed, her throat raw, her hands pressed to her burning eyes, too sick and unhappy even to cry.

CHAPTER EIGHT

AND in all that pleading he’d never once said he loved her. She’d thought it then, during all those endless sleepless hours. She remembered it now, two years later.

And wasn’t that enough to justify the stand she’d taken? The sheer necessity not to be merely an obligation he’d acquired? To be a ‘burden’—that shaming, unendurable word which still had the power to flay the skin from her bones.

No real mention of passion either, she thought objectively. Just endless restraint and consideration, as there’d been throughout their engagement. Surely real desire couldn’t be so easily suppressed?

Because there’d been no attempt to change her mind by physical means either. No move to walk across and take her in his arms, whether she wanted it or not. No kissing her into submission before throwing her across the bed and dealing with her wisp of a nightgown in the way she’d originally planned, before he—he.

Before he—what?

Pathetically, she still only knew in theory, except that she was unswervingly certain that telling her he adored her and couldn’t live without her had to be part of it.

If he’d wanted her at all, she thought, surely he’d have—tried …?

She rolled over on the bed, burying her face in the pillow. Twenty years old, she jeered in self-derision, and still a virgin, a walking anachronism, without any temptation to be otherwise, while the only man she’d ever wanted continued to enjoy his resumption of bachelorhood with a varied selection of willing ladies.

Wasn’t that why she’d headed for Florida, hoping that out of sight might eventually mean out of mind? Except that it patently hadn’t worked.

She could only hope and pray she wasn’t destined to be a one-man woman, unable to make a new life for herself or dispel this nightmare of loneliness and need that had haunted her since that night.

That night. She’d slept at last, somewhere near dawn, if memory served, forced into it by sheer exhaustion of body and spirit.

And had woken to a room full of sunlight and the awareness of someone knocking at the door. Stomach churning with apprehension, Laine had sat up, pulling the covers around her, and called ‘Come in.’

Mrs Jackson had entered briskly with a tray. ‘Good morning, madam. Your tea. And Mr Flynn asks if you will join him for breakfast at nine-thirty,’ she added, her placid face not betraying a glimmer of curiosity about these extraordinary newlyweds.

‘Yes,’ Laine said numbly. ‘Yes, of course.’

She was white-faced and hollow-eyed when she ventured downstairs, dreading his anger, his bitterness.

Instead, he was sitting at the breakfast table, calmly drinking his coffee. He rose politely when he saw her, his face expressionless.

‘Good morning.’ A cool, formal greeting. ‘The toast is fresh, but if you prefer something cooked just ring the bell.’

‘Toast is fine.’ Her voice was a croak as she sank into the seat opposite.

‘Then we shan’t be disturbed.’ He paused. ‘I’ve given the matter some thought, and I’ve decided it would be better to stay here for the next two weeks, as arranged.’

‘Is that really necessary?’ Laine couldn’t hide her dismay.

Dan shrugged. ‘Anything else would cause the kind of comment and speculation that neither of us will appreciate,’ he countered. ‘But we’ll continue to live in total separation.’

His mouth curled. ‘And you certainly need have no fear that I’ll ever enter your bedroom again.’ He poured himself some more coffee.

‘As for your unfortunate “mistake” in marrying me,’ he went on. ‘That can be quite easily rectified. Tell your family and friends whatever story you please, but in reality we can have the whole thing discreetly annulled on the grounds of non-consummation. I’ll tell my lawyers to contact yours.’

‘The slate wiped clean,’ she commented huskily.

‘As you say.’ His smile grazed her skin. ‘Meanwhile I’ll relieve you of my presence here as much as possible, though we’ll have to meet at dinner. We can hardly expect Mrs Jackson to serve us at different times.’

He added, ‘This is an attractive part of the world, and I looked forward to doing some sightseeing while we were here. I’ll still do so—but alone, naturally. You, darling, will have to amuse yourself as best you can.’

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze insolent. ‘Not the idyll I had planned—exploring the countryside by day and each other at night—but, hey, you can’t have everything.’

She winced. ‘Dan—don’t, please.’

‘Don’t what? Upset you with a passing reference to my former carnal intentions?’ His voice had the edge of a scalpel. ‘Believe me, my girl, you’ve got off lightly.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Whether I believe you or not, the lock on my bedroom door has no key. I’d like it found.’

‘Tough,’ he said curtly. ‘My room, however, has a lock and a key, and last night I used them.’

‘You did?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Why?’

‘Because I have a pretty foul temper at times,’ he said brutally. ‘And for a time there I was seriously tempted to walk back into your room and treat you in a way I’d probably have regretted for the rest of my life.

‘But not any more.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘And on that thought I’ll leave you in whatever peace you feel you deserve.’

Peace, Laine thought, being translated into fourteen days and nights of unalleviated misery—on her part at least.

It was on the last evening that they finally exchanged more than a few words.

‘We have to consider what arrangements to make when we go back to London tomorrow,’ Dan said, halting her on her way upstairs for one of the early nights that had become her norm. ‘Abbotsbrook will be empty by now, and your mother has probably already left for Spain, so I suggest you use my apartment as a temporary base and I’ll move out.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t live there.’ She swallowed, remembering her visit—how she’d visualised their life together. ‘Not possible. Besides, I have somewhere to go,’ she added quickly. ‘Jamie’s moving into the flat in Marrion Place, and as half of it’s mine I’ll join him.’

‘Fine.’ He shrugged. ‘Let me know the exact address, so I can send over your things.’ He paused. ‘I shall, of course, continue to pay you the same allowance as before we were married, and it will be adjusted upwards after the annulment goes through.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I wouldn’t want you to suffer just because you don’t fancy me.’

‘And I’ll see you in hell before I take a penny of yours,’ she flamed at him. ‘I want nothing from you. I’ll get a job and support myself.’

She took a breath. ‘Oh, and before I forget.’ She wrenched off her wedding and engagement rings and held them out to him. ‘These belong to you.’

‘I think not.’ He made no attempt to take them. ‘So you keep them, my sweet. Otherwise sell them, or throw them away. Whatever. But it’s entirely down to you. Because I never want to see them again.’

In the end she been unable to decide on their disposal, so she’d put them in the bank, along with her grandmother’s pearls. Where they still remained.

And he’d still offered her the money, in spite of what she’d said. It had been a battle, but in the end he’d been forced to accept no for an answer yet again.

However, admitting her marriage was over had been simpler than she’d believed possible—principally because so few people had known it had taken place. And she’d told no one what had really happened—not even Celia, in whose bewildered company she’d broken down at last, weeping uncontrollably with her head buried in her friend’s lap until she had no tears left.

And especially not Jamie, who’d held her totally to blame, and told her frankly she didn’t know when she was well off.

‘So what went wrong?’ he’d demanded. ‘Found out, did you, that he’d still got a mistress tucked away somewhere?’

‘No,’ she’d said, adding with a painful lack of caution, ‘Has he?’

‘How would I know? Dan keeps his private affairs extremely private. Or he did until recently, anyway. Now he seems to have moved his life into the fast lane for all to see. But he’s returned you, unused, to store,’ he’d added with a shrug. ‘So why should you care, missy?’

Why indeed? Laine thought now, wincing. But I did care—hence Andy, and the whole boiling mess that’s resulted.

Of course now that Dan had gone out there was no real reason to hide away in her room any longer. She could sing at the top of her voice, paint her toenails in different colours, and turn cartwheels stark naked if the mood took her. Alternatively, she could finish up last night’s chicken and watch television.

Option B, I think, she told herself, pulling a face. Just in case he plans to come back early, or even at all.

But she ended by scraping most of her meal into the wastebin, telling herself that her all-day breakfast had certainly lived up to its name.

She made some coffee and curled up on the sofa, flicking through the movie channels until she found an old black and white romantic drama she’d always loved. But for once the magic didn’t work for her, and she was restless, her attention constantly wandering.

You’re doing it again, she derided herself. Wondering where he is. Waiting for him to come back. And it has to stop. Because you’re wasting your time. He didn’t want you then, or not in any way that mattered, and he doesn’t want you now.

So perhaps you don’t believe in happy endings any more, she added, and switched off the television.

She rinsed out her beaker, made sure the kitchen was immaculate, then went into the living room, tidying things away, and plumping up cushions, as if she was removing all trace of her presence.

We’re back in honeymoon territory here, she thought wryly, with Dan doing exactly as he pleases while I—I try not to be noticed. Or to displease him.

My God, we even occupy rooms opposite each other, all over again. At the cottage we were divided by the width of a passage, and now it’s the length of a room, but it might as well be from here to the planet Jupiter, because as a space it’s still impassable.

And the question I can’t seem to avoid is: if I could go back to the day—the night—of our wedding, would I do things any differently? Would I tear up the letter and settle for the half-loaf after all, because I’d rather be miserable with him than without him?

If I’d really become his wife, could I ever have made him love me—treat me as his woman, his equal, instead of Simon’s little sister, too young and silly to manage her life? Would he ever have told me his problems, or turned to me needing comfort?

I was so tempted that night to go to him and ask him to forgive me, she thought with a bitter sigh. So tempted that once I even made it halfway across the passage. But I didn’t dare knock at his door, and when I heard next morning that he’d locked it I was thankful that I hadn’t risked it—because there’s only so much humiliation you can take in twenty-four hours.

And now here we are, thrown together again, and no respite available except the oblivion of sleep.

She turned and went slowly into her room. She didn’t feel particularly weary, yet once in bed she found herself drifting off almost immediately. At some point she began dreaming that she was back on the boat. That she was in a cabin, with everything movable pushed up against the door, because Andy was outside looking for her and he was angry.

But when the door slowly opened, in spite of her efforts, it was Dirk Clemmens who came in, smiling and licking his lips as he reached for her with those repulsive fat hands covered in ginger hair, and she was being forced to touch him in turn, pushing against his chest to keep him off. But he was too strong, too determined, and Laine threw back her head and began to scream and scream, although she knew there was no one to come to her rescue.

And Dirk Clemmens was telling her to be quiet. Saying that she must wake up and be quiet. But she went on struggling and shouting, swimming up through layers of sleep to open dazed eyes and discover that there was no boat. That she was in her room at the flat, with the lamp lit, and that it wasn’t Dirk Clemmens holding her and trying to hush her but Dan, kneeling on the bed beside her.

‘You,’ she said hoarsely, pulling away from him. ‘Oh, God, what are you doing here?’

‘Trying to stop you screaming the place down,’ he said tersely. ‘Hopefully before the neighbours call the police and have me arrested for rape and/or murder.’ He was wearing the blue silk robe. His hair was dishevelled, and he looked sleepy and bad-tempered in equal amounts.

‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, looking away. ‘I was having a bad dream.’

‘Somehow I’d managed to figure that for myself.’ He released her and moved to sit at the edge of the bed, tightening the belt of his robe. ‘I hope it’s not the recurring sort, or I’ll have to buy earplugs.’

‘It’s not funny.’ Her voice cracked in the middle, and she realised with shock that she was close to tears. ‘It was horrible, and I was so frightened. I—I thought he’d come to find me.’

‘He?’ Dan queried. ‘Who is he?’

She shuddered convulsively. ‘A vile man called Dirk Clemmens. He was just a really loathsome client to begin with, but then Andy sold him the boat, and I somehow became part of the deal—left quite deliberately for him to use, as if I was part of the fixtures and fittings.’

She swallowed. ‘That’s how I hurt my ankle—getting away from him. I suppose I was still scared subconsciously that he’d trace me—follow me. Still find some way of making me do what he wanted.’

‘You were sold to him?’ Dan’s brows rose. ‘I understood slavery had been abolished.’

Her fingers twisted the edge of the sheet. ‘Not the sort he had in mind.’

His mouth tightened. ‘But didn’t you own a share in the boat?’ he demanded. ‘How could it be sold away from you?’

‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think my name was properly registered on the paperwork. I should have made sure it was all foolproof, but I didn’t, because I wanted to get away from England in a hurry, and Andy was able to walk away with the lot.’

Her eyes blurred suddenly. ‘Perhaps Simon was right about me. Maybe I’m not fit to cope on my own.’ And stopped, gasping, as she realised what she’d just said. That she’d practically admitted she knew about the deal he’d struck with Simon. The deal that had led inevitably to the sheer disaster of their marriage.

On top of that, it wouldn’t be hard for him to work out her pathetic reasons for wanting to leave the country so fast.

Yet, instead of adding two and two, and coming up with the right answer, his mind seemed to be elsewhere.

‘But this Andy was your lover,’ he said slowly. ‘So what went wrong? Had you quarrelled?’

‘Not as such,’ Laine said evasively. Let him think that Andy and I were involved in every way, she thought. It’s safer than the truth—that he’s the only man I’ve ever thought of or ever wanted. That there’s not been anyone else. Please let him never know that. Because I can’t be pitied by him any more. I just can’t. It would kill me …

‘I think we’d just reached the parting of the ways,’ she added slowly, collecting her scattered thoughts. ‘But, unfortunately for me, he realised it before I did. I came back to the boat one day and he’d simply—gone, leaving the ghastly Clemmens in his place, waiting for me, armed with Andy’s personal recommendation.’ She tried to speak brightly, felt the full horror of the dream welling up inside her again, choked, and burst into tears.

Dan said something under his breath, then moved swiftly to lie beside her, taking her shaking body into his arms and stifling her tearing sobs against his shoulder.

‘It’s all right.’ Laine was aware of his voice soothing her, his hand stroking her hair. ‘Everything’s all right. He’s not here, and he never will be. There’s nothing to be scared of.’

But it was no longer just the dream, and she knew it. Knew that she was weeping for the wasteland her life had become. For the moment when her dream of happiness had crashed into crippling reality, and for every lonely, bewildered, hopeless hour since.

And she clung to him, her wet face pressed against him as she wept, at the same time breathing the unique scent of his skin through the thin silk of the robe like a starving child reaching for food.

Slowly, imperceptibly, she began to grow calmer, the intensity of the trembling starting to fade, the sobs not as harsh in her aching throat. Realised that her hand was clasping his, their fingers entwined.

She lifted her head, looking up at him through damp and matted lashes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, her voice catching. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ He took a handful of tissues from the box on the night-table and passed them to her. ‘They say that weeping’s cathartic.’

‘Do they?’ Laine began to dry her face, suddenly conscious of how awful she must look. Her nose had almost certainly turned pink, and her hair was sticking in tangles to her tear-stained skin. And the striped cotton nightshirt she was wearing did her no favours either. ‘I always wonder who “they” are.’

‘Heaven only knows,’ he said. ‘But let’s hope they’re right for once.’ He sat up, carefully detaching himself. Putting her back against the pillow. ‘Now, try and get some sleep.’

She maintained her clasp on his hand. ‘I don’t want to close my eyes,’ she whispered, her mouth trembling. ‘Not yet. I know it’s stupid, and I’m behaving like a child, but I’m frightened he’ll be there, waiting for me.’

‘You really think he has that much staying power?’ He shook his head. ‘Never in this world. You’re perfectly safe.’

‘Then make me feel safe.’ The words seemed to come from nowhere, hoarse, shaken, pleading. ‘Stay with me, Dan. Don’t leave me. Don’t go.’

There was a silence, then he said, in a voice she barely recognised, quiet with bitterness, ‘Dear God, Laine, you don’t ask much.’

He lay down again on top of the covers, drawing her back to him, holding her close, pillowing her head on his chest.

She sighed, drowsy contentment closing in on her, aware that her eyes were already growing so heavy she could barely keep them open. Knowing at the same time that he was still too far away, when she needed him so much closer, with all barriers between them gone at last.

She said in a small slurred voice, ‘Don’t you want to …?’

‘I want you to sleep,’ he said, more gently. ‘And not to dream. Now, hush.’

And she sighed, smiling, and slid down into the comfort of the darkness, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under her cheek.

She woke early the next morning and stretched languidly, feeling rested and relaxed for the first time since her return. Then paused as the events of the previous night came rushing back to assail her.

She sat up abruptly, all lingering drowsiness fled. No, she thought, horrified. That can’t have happened. I couldn’t possibly have wept all over Dan, then begged him to sleep with me. Not even I could have done something so utterly stupid. I must have gone from one weird dream into another. That’s the only explanation.

It did not, however, explain the wrinkling of the cover beside her, or the significant dent in the adjoining pillow, where, she also realised, she could still detect the scent of his cologne, faint, subtle but quite unmistakable.

Irrefutable evidence that he had indeed spent at least part of the night in her room. But on her bed, not actually in it.

Which, of course, is such a comfort, and makes everything just fine. She groaned, pressing her hands against her burning face. Oh, you idiot. You witless, senseless idiot. What in hell did you think you were doing?

And what on earth am I going to say when I next see him? I could try the truth. That for a moment there I forgot everything except the need to be in his arms—a need that he clearly doesn’t share. In fact he doesn’t even have to pretend that he finds me desirable—not any more.

Maybe I should keep it light and practical. Be rueful about his disturbed night and my all-time emotional low. Promise that if I have any more nightmares I’ll stick my head under the pillow.

Another olive branch might not come amiss either, she thought, as she slid out of bed. On the lines of one friendly action deserving another.

She showered quickly and dressed, then went out into the living area, pausing only to pick up the sounds of Daniel moving about in his room before going to the kitchen.

By the time his door opened, and she heard his quick stride approaching, her preparations were complete.

She was aware of him halting in the doorway, clearly thrown by her presence in the kitchen at this hour, and turned, offering him a bright, friendly smile. ‘Hi, I’ve made you some breakfast. Toast and coffee.’

He didn’t smile back. ‘I thought we had a ruling in place on that.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so. But I thought it would be a way of saying—thank you.’ She paused. ‘You were—very kind last night.’

‘Really?’ His mouth twisted sardonically. ‘Now, I thought I was a bloody saint.’

‘And I’m very grateful,’ she added.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘And am I supposed to pat you on the head and say, Anytime, darling? Because you can forget it.’

She bit her lip. ‘You don’t make it easy to be grateful.’

‘I don’t want it to be easy,’ Dan said shortly. ‘I’d prefer it to be unnecessary.’

She stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘No? Then I’ll explain. You really pushed your luck last night, sweetheart. To the limit. But try a trick like that again, and you won’t get off so lightly.’

She said in a low voice, ‘It wasn’t intended as a trick. Truly it wasn’t.’

‘You mean that’s your normal routine for nightmares—to invite the nearest available man to sleep with you but offer nothing in return?’ he asked scornfully.

‘It’s never happened before.’

‘And I suggest it never happens again.’ He walked over to her, putting a hand under her chin, making her look up at him. ‘Understand this, Laine. I’m not your brother, your guardian, your parent, or your maiden aunt. And when a woman asks me to bed I expect to have sex with her, not to be treated as if I was the resident bloody eunuch.’

The atmosphere between them seemed suddenly charged—resonant. The pressure of his fingers too intimate.

She jerked her chin away, forcing herself to return his hard gaze.

She said huskily, ‘I apologise if I’ve insulted your manhood in some way. It was unintentional.’ She paused. ‘But you once said, if you remember, that you’d be content—to hold me, and ask for nothing else.’

‘I remember only too well,’ he said. ‘It was my wedding night, and I thought I’d married a very young, very nervous, very innocent bride. But those criteria, of course, no longer apply—if they ever did. However, at the time I believed that some initial forbearance on my part would bring its own rewards. That before the honeymoon ended you’d be my wife—belong to me in absolute reality.’

And that’s how it might have been if I hadn’t read that letter, she thought. Laine, the blissful, besotted dupe, believing she was more than just a convenient body. I wonder when light would have dawned?

‘Oh, dear.’ She attempted a flippant note. ‘How wrong is it possible to be?’

‘With you, Laine,’ he drawled, ‘I’d say the margin for error stretches into infinity. And it’s also occurred to me that, given your casual attitude to bedtime, your boyfriend might have felt justified in passing you on to this Clemmens guy.’

She went white. ‘How dare you say that? You know nothing—nothing.’ She drew a quivering breath. ‘For God’s sake, he was going to rape me.’

He shrugged cynically. ‘Why didn’t you try telling him you’d rather die than let him touch you? It worked for you the last time you were faced with a similar dilemma.’

She cried out and swung back her hand to slap his face—to hurt him in return. But only in a physical sense, because there’d be no breaking the emotional firewall he’d built around himself.

But Dan seized her wrist before she could make contact, holding it ruthlessly. ‘No,’ he told her grimly. ‘You don’t do that. Not now or ever.’ He paused, adding reluctantly, ‘But I shouldn’t have said what I did. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’

He let her go, and she leaned back against the work surface, looking at her wrist, at the marks his fingers had left, as she tried to control her breathing.

At last she said, ‘Dan—about last night. There’s probably no excuse except that you—used to be very kind to me, and I—suddenly needed kindness.’

‘It’s not hard to be kind to a lonely child,’ he said quietly. ‘Particularly when you’ve experienced the same situation.’

He paused, then added flatly, ‘But you’re not a child any more, Laine. You became a woman quite some time ago—on the night of your seventeenth birthday, as a matter of fact. I know, because I was there when it happened.’

And he turned and walked away, out of the kitchen and out of the flat, leaving her staring after him, her lips parted in shock.