An Interrupted Marriage (Silhouette Special Edition) (8 page)

She walked back to her own desk, and sat there looking at his rigid back for some time.

Where had that got her? she wondered. Exactly nowhere, of course. His anger could mean any one of a number of things, and she had no idea which. She put her cup on the corner of the desk, picked up the earphones and flicked a switch. Magnus’s voice filled her ears, and she concentrated hard on transforming the verbal notes that he’d made into neatly printed copy.

By lunchtime she’d typed a small pile of letters for Magnus to sign. He wrote his strongly looped signature at the bottom of each, and said, “Enough for today. You’ve been a great help.” He seemed to have got over his spurt of temper.

Jade said, “I’ve enjoyed it. It’s good to feel like a useful member of society again.”

She got up, took a deep, relaxing breath and lifted her hands to briefly massage her scalp, her fingers pushing under her hair and fluffing out the new short style. Magnus’s eyes were drawn to her taut body, and for an instant she was held still in his dark, riveted gaze, until he dragged it away.

She lowered her arms slowly, a small spark of triumph warming her. No matter how he might try to pretend, he wasn’t indifferent to her. On a basic, sensual level she had a measure of power over his emotions. It was a power that she would exploit if she had to.

“Lunch,” Magnus said curtly. He strode to the door and opened it, waiting for her.

“Coming.” She gave him the sweetest smile she could muster as she preceded him from the room.

Mrs. Riordan’s eyes flicked from Jade to Magnus as they entered the dining-room together. Ginette, too, gave them a curious glance.

“How are you, Mother Riordan?” Jade asked as she seated herself.

Mrs. Riordan took a fork and picked up a piece of cold beef to slide it onto her plate. “The same as usual. What have you been doing with yourself all morning?”

Magnus said, “She’s been working.”

“Working?”

“With me,” he expanded. “In the office.”

“Is that wise?” Mrs. Riordan asked. “Be careful not to overtax her, Magnus.”

Jade said, a little more loudly than necessary, “I’m not being overtaxed. It’s been good for me.”

“She’s finished for the day, anyway,” Magnus decreed, picking up several unopened letters that sat beside his place. “You’d better take it easy this afternoon, Jade.”

Jade was opening her mouth to protest when he added, “You might find Danella and family a bit wearing.”

Jade closed her lips rather tightly, and Ginette sent her a glance of humorous understanding.

Reluctantly, Jade returned a wry smile.

“This one’s for you.” Magnus was handing her a letter, and she saw her name on it in large, sprawled handwriting.

She picked up a knife and slit the flap, drawing out three pages covered in the same scrawl. “It’s from Annie!” she exclaimed.

Magnus had been studying one of his own letters, although it looked less like a letter than a bill of some kind. He looked up, and she thought a flash of relief lit his eyes. “Really?”

She must have written almost immediately after Jade had left. “I’m so glad she changed her mind.”

I’ll visit you,
Jade had promised as she packed.

Annie, perched on Jade’s bed, had vehemently shaken her head. “Don’t you come back here,” she advised her. “You don’t want to remember all this.”

“I won’t forget you,” Jade had replied, and kissed her friend’s cheek, giving her a long, warm hug. “You’ve done me more good than all the nursing staff and the doctors combined. Come and see me when you’re out. I’ll give you my address—”

But Annie had at first refused to let her. “They reckon you’re cured,” she said. “You won’t need anything to do with loonies like me.”

“Don’t you dare say that!” Jade scolded.

Annie said gruffly, “Okay, but I’m not much of a letter writer, anyway. And I warn you, if you come visiting, I’ll tell them I don’t want to see you! You shake the dust of this place off your feet and get on with it.”

* * *

“Changed her mind?” Magnus queried.

“She wouldn’t promise me she’d write.” Jade scanned the page eagerly, and gave a gurgle of laughter. Glancing up, she found Magnus regarding her with a look of enquiry, Ginette smiling curiously, and Mrs. Riordan wearing an aloof air of impending disapproval.

“I’m sorry,” she said, folding the letter and replacing it in the envelope. “I’ll read it later.”

There was no way this audience could appreciate the humour of Annie’s account of old Mrs. Penny’s trenchant exchanges with a nurse determined to give her an unwanted though much-needed bath, or of the havoc one of the younger patients, who insisted on being called Madonna although her file said her name was Maryanne, had wreaked in Miss Cherrible’s therapy room during an inspired attempt at fashioning a costume for a rock video.

“This Annie,” Mrs. Riordan said precisely, “is an inmate of that place?”

“A patient,” Jade said. “And my very good friend.”

Mrs. Riordan’s brows rose. “And you gave her
our
address?”

Jade stared at her, nonplussed. Before she could speak, Magnus said, “Jade and I took Annie out with us a few times. I liked her.”

His mother cast him a look of sheer disbelief. Jade said, “I asked her to come and see me when she’s well enough.” Glancing at Mrs. Riordan, she added, “But she didn’t want to do that.”

Ginette put a hand over her mouth, making a little choking sound. Mrs. Riordan’s expression was a mixture of relief and chagrin.

Magnus, apparently unnoticing, said smoothly, “Well, we’ll have to try to persuade her.”

“Magnus!”

He looked down the table at his mother. “Any of Jade’s friends are welcome in this house—aren’t they, Mother?”

Their eyes locked, hers outraged, his unflinching. Jade was holding her breath, a small flutter of apprehension in her throat. She had never noticed before how very alike these two were, their uncompromising profiles remarkably similar.

“Your father’s will stipulated that the house was to be my home for my lifetime,” Mrs. Riordan reminded her son.

“Certainly,” Magnus replied. “That’s why I’m doing you the courtesy of asking for your endorsement. No member of this family has ever been refused hospitality for their friends.”

For a second or two his mother maintained her stubborn stare, then she turned aside, saying pettishly, “Oh, do as you like. You always have.” With a brief return of acid spirit, she added, “But the responsibility is yours—yours and hers!” Her gaze swung to Jade.

Magnus said quietly, “Yes, of course. Thank you.”

Ginette’s lips moved in a tiny, silent, “Whew!” She cast a glance of deep respect at Magnus.

Jade sat silent. Perhaps she ought to have felt triumphant, but instead she was conscious of a stirring of sympathy. Once Mrs. Riordan had held total sway over her family, undisputed mistress of this big house and wife of one of the most respected landowners in the district. But she had reared a son who was at least her equal in strength of will, and who had been forced to provide for her needs by installing other women under her roof, one to keep the house in order and another to nurse her, a constant reminder of her physical dependence.

Jade herself had for a short time filled both those functions, and more. No wonder Mrs. Riordan had resented her, and perhaps still did. Neither of them had been given an easy road.

Turning to her mother-in-law, Jade said warmly, “Thank you very much, Mother Riordan. I appreciate that. But I don’t think Annie will accept the invitation.”

If Mrs. Riordan was surprised, she didn’t show it. But after Ginette had wheeled her out of the room, declining help from Magnus, he said, “That was graciously done.”

Not pretending to misunderstand, Jade answered, “It must be difficult for her, having to depend on others for almost everything.”

“You didn’t realise that before?”

“I did, but not so well. I was younger,” Jade said. “Too young, your mother says.”

“She was right.”

Was she? Mrs. Riordan had also said that Magnus had married Jade because of his practical, not emotional, needs. She hadn’t been right about that, too, had she? For the first time, Jade felt a shiver of doubt.

Magnus said, “I expected too much of you.”

“No more than you did of yourself.”

“But I could take it. I was older, and—”

“And a man?” She looked at him sardonically. He knew her feminist views.

He smiled, shaking his head. “I’m not going to fall into that trap.”

Jade gave a quiet laugh. His smile widened, and momentarily it seemed that the time they’d spent apart might never have happened. They sat looking at each other, and Magnus made a small movement as if he might have reached out, touched her.

Then Mrs. Gaines came hurrying in, a tray in her hand for the dishes, and Magnus pushed back his chair and got up.

“See you later,” he said, giving Jade an impersonal nod.

“All right.” She watched him leave, and then got up in her turn and started helping Mrs. Gaines to remove the plates from the table.

J
ade did some serious weeding after lunch, and then decided to go down to the beach for a swim. Today the sea was calm, the waves hardly rippling as they swept onto the beach in glassy, foam-bracketed curves. The water felt cool and soothing, and on coming out she wrapped a big towel about her waist and climbed back to the house, crossing the lawn to the back door.

She could hear voices coming from Mrs. Riordan’s ground-floor sitting-room, and tried to use the stairs without being noticed, but as she made her way up Magnus appeared at the top, looking down at her damp hair and shoulders, the swimsuit dipping low between her breasts, the towel draped saronglike to her ankles above bare, sand-dusted feet.

“We wondered where you were,” he said. “I came up to look for you. You’ve been swimming alone?”

“Yes,” she answered, hackles rising at the faintly censorious note in his voice. She reached the last step and stood level with him, but still had to look up several inches to meet his eyes. “I don’t need a keeper,” she said. “Not any more.”

“Don’t be so touchy.” He reached out and with one finger flicked a droplet of water from her shoulder. “Danella’s here.”

“Yes, I gathered that. They’re early, aren’t they? I’ll...change and be right down.”

Perhaps he noticed her nervous reluctance to walk into a room full of people, especially when one of them was his younger sister. “I’ll wait for you,” he said.

“Thank you.” She was surprised but grateful.

She thought he would remain at the head of the stairs, but instead he accompanied her to the door of her room and walked into it after her. Then he went to stand with his back to her at the window, throwing over his shoulder, “Don’t be too long.”

She dragged jeans and a shirt from the wardrobe, bra and pants from a drawer, and went into the bathroom, rinsing the sand off under a lightning-fast shower before putting on the clothes.

When she came out of the bathroom Magnus said, “That was quick.”

His gaze slipped over her as she crossed to the dressing-table and ran a comb through her hair. The ends had nearly dried already. She turned to the wardrobe and took out a pair of Brazilian sandals, sliding her feet into them.

“Right,” she said. “Let’s go.”

On the stairs he didn’t touch her, but as they approached the open door to their left she was glad to feel his fingers lightly resting on her waist.

There seemed at first glance to be a lot of people in the little sitting-room, but as the group resolved itself into component parts she saw that Mrs. Riordan was in her favourite place on the chaise by the window, with Ginette standing by, while a young man with hazel eyes and curly brown hair was talking to her. Magnus’s sister sat on a chair facing her mother, a plump, bald-headed baby on her knee.

Danella’s blue eyes met Jade’s as she broke off in mid-sentence. She changed her grip on the baby, cradling it against her, and said, “Hello, Jade.”

Jade’s smile felt stiff. “Danella, it’s nice to see you again.”

Magnus’s hand on her back urged her into the room. “And here is your niece,” he said, gently touching the baby’s cheek. “This is Rose-Lee.”

“She’s lovely,” Jade said automatically as the baby turned its head towards Magnus, one dimpled hand flung out in a groping reflex. Jade proffered a finger, and the little hand fastened onto it, the blue eyes finding her with a surprised stare.

Jade laughed. “Hello, Rose-Lee. You’re a little charmer, aren’t you?”

Rose-Lee gave a sociable gurgle, still gazing at her, and then bestowed on her a wide, toothless and totally beatific smile.

“She’s taken to you,” a male voice said.

“You haven’t met Danella’s husband, have you?” Magnus said as she turned. “This is Glen,” he told her.

Rose-Lee relinquished her finger, and the young man held out a hand. “And you’re Jade, of course,” he said. “Pleased to meet you at last.”

Jade returned his firm grip and open smile with relief. At least here was someone who had no previous baggage to bring to their meeting. He looked nice and seemed anxious to be friendly.

Mrs. Gaines came in bearing a teapot and several cups on a tray, along with freshly baked scones and a date loaf. The conversation centred about the baby, the news in today’s paper, and Glen’s recent promotion to second-in-charge of the sales division of the manufacturing company he worked for.

Glen addressed a couple of remarks to Jade, and Magnus cast a glance her way now and then—just checking, she thought—while Danella and her mother ignored her. Perhaps not deliberately. Despite their past differences they seemed to be finding plenty to talk about. With Danella and Glen living down in the centre of the North Island, she supposed that mother and daughter didn’t see each other very often.

The baby began to fuss and wriggle, and Glen retrieved her from her mother’s lap. “Come on,” he said, squatting in front of Jade, “talk to your auntie.”

The baby blew a bubble and made a grab for the flowered cup in Jade’s hand. She lifted it out of the way, and found it taken from her by Magnus. He said nothing but his eyes were piercing.

Coolly, she passed him the saucer, too, and held out her arms to Rose-Lee.

Glen handed the child over without hesitation, and Rose-Lee grinned up at her, waving her arms. Jade laughed, holding the warm little bundle firmly safe.

“She knows a sucker when she sees one.” Glen smiled.

Danella said, “Will you get our stuff out of the car, Glen, and I’ll feed her.” She rose and came to take the baby from Jade.

“I’ll come and help, Glen,” Magnus offered.

Jade stood up and began gathering the empty cups.

Mrs. Riordan said, “Mrs. Gaines will deal with those, Jade.”

“It’s okay,” Jade said pleasantly. “I don’t mind. You and Danella will want to talk.” She piled the dishes onto the tray, adding the remains of the scones and date loaf. Giving the other women a meaningless smile, she lifted the tray and walked to the door. “I’ll see you later, Danella.”

When Jade returned to the hallway, the men were there with several bags of assorted sizes, and Danella, a grizzling baby on her shoulder, was fishing in one of them for a bottle. “That’s it,” she said. “You can take the rest upstairs while I warm this. We’re in the room next to yours, I suppose, Magnus?”

“You’re in your old room this time,” he replied.

“Oh—but we’ve always had that room, since we got married!”

Magnus said firmly, “Sorry. We’re using it.”

“Who is?” Danella demanded. As Jade paused at the foot of the stairs, Danella’s gaze lighted on her and then returned to Magnus.

A glint appeared in Magnus’s eyes. “I am,” he said.

“What on earth for?”

“I snore,” Magnus lied blandly, “and Jade isn’t used to it any more.”

As excuses went, it would hardly hold water. Jade had become accustomed to sleeping with much more disturbing sounds than the odd snore going on around her.

But Glen said quickly, “We’ll be okay. Rose-Lee doesn’t take up much room.” He made for the stairs, followed by Magnus, who gave Jade an unreadable look as they passed her.

Jade hastily followed them. She didn’t want to be left in the hall with a glowering Danella. But as a high wail sounded below, she heard Danella say, “
Hush,
for heaven’s sake! It’s on its way.” And the rapid tattoo of her feet heading for the kitchen.

While the men went on along the upstairs passageway, she slipped into her room. She’d had no time to tidy the bathroom, and the towel she’d used to dry herself after swimming was a damp heap in one corner. She cleaned up and returned to the bedroom in time to hear a quiet rapping at her door.

“Come in,” she called.

Magnus stepped in and closed the door behind him. “Are you okay?”

“You asked me that before. The answer’s still the same.”

His gaze searched her face. “That’s good.” He thrust his hands into his pockets, hesitating as though searching for something more to say.

“Glen’s nice,” she offered, trying to fill the silence.

“He seems to have been good for Danella,” Magnus admitted.

Jade was aware that neither he nor his mother had been happy about the marriage, but Danella had simply gone ahead with a registry office wedding, and although technically she ought to have had parental permission, Magnus had persuaded his mother it was best to accept the
fait accompli
rather than risk losing Danella altogether.

She said, “The baby seems very healthy.”

“Thank God, yes. It’s ironic, isn’t it—” He paused abruptly there, and made an exasperated, apologetic gesture with one hand.

Jade said, “Yes, it is ironic. I told your mother there’s still time—for us to have a child,” she explained, as he threw her a frowning glance.

Magnus swallowed, and his mouth clamped. “You think that would be a good idea?”

Jade’s chin lifted. “Depressive psychosis isn’t hereditary. Didn’t they tell you that?”

He said harshly, “That isn’t what I meant.”

“So what did you mean?”

He walked closer to her, slowly. “Just that...we have a marriage to rebuild before we embark on rearing a family.”

Of course he was right. “You do want to rebuild it?”

“Didn’t I make that clear?”

He was standing two feet away from her, close enough for her to see the tiny, slightly raised scar just under his lower lip that he’d told her was the legacy of an encounter with another boy’s boot in a childhood football match. Faintly, the scent of him came to her nostrils—pine soap and another insidious aroma that was male and yet uniquely his. Warm and musky, the way his skin used to smell when they made love.

“You said so.” Her voice was husky, her eyes still on the scar, remembering how it used to feel under her lips. She raised her eyes to his, her head tipped to one side. Allowing her lashes to fall slowly, she peeked from under them and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “But you know, actions speak louder than words.”

She knew she’d got to him by the way his eyes narrowed, a sudden glitter in them, and a line of colour ran along his cheekbones. For a moment it seemed they’d both stopped breathing, the stillness in the room palpable. Then he stepped forward and his hands closed about her arms so tightly that she gasped.

Her eyes widened, and then instinctively closed against the peculiar rage in his taut face as he shifted his grip to pin her against him, and bent his head, his mouth meeting hers in what was less a kiss than a collision.

It was cataclysmic—a wild, furious possession of her mouth, her senses, with nothing in it of gentleness or pity, a storm of male passion that overrode her instinctive physical protest, that allowed her no quarter, his mouth driving hers open beneath it, his arms and hands locking her body to his so that his heart beat heavily against her breast. She could feel his belt buckle hard against her midriff, and her pelvis was pressed snugly to his so that she couldn’t avoid knowledge of what the kiss was doing for him.

An answering heat stirred deep inside her, warring with shock that was like fear. Magnus shifted his stance, parting his legs, and both his hands came down to bring her even closer. He lifted his head slightly, making a small groaning sound of pleasure, his eyes still half-closed.

“Don’t,” Jade gasped, pushing her hands against his chest. “Magnus—”

“It’s what you wanted,” he said, his voice low and slurred. “What you were asking for.”

“How dare you, Magnus!”
Her voice an icy lash, she closed her fist and brought it down against his unyielding chest.

He laughed, and she raised her hand again, this time aiming for his face.

Magnus moved as quick as a snake, grabbing her wrist in a grip that made her veins throb, his other arm shifting again to her waist so that she couldn’t escape him. “You were trying to turn me on, Jade. Don’t blame me if you got more than you bargained for.”

“I wasn’t trying to turn you into an animal!” she said furiously. “A bloody
predator!
“ She couldn’t believe that Magnus, always so civilised, so considerate, had kissed her that way—as though she counted for nothing, as though all that mattered was the satisfaction he’d got. And she could see that he had got some, not from mutual sexual need, but from overpowering her with blind, selfish lust.

He was still on a high from it, she realised. His eyes were brilliant and hard as diamonds, his lips cruelly curved in a grin that looked barely human, and there was a dark colour in his face. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d purred like a panther. “You’ve learned some language since you’ve been away,” he said. “I don’t remember ever hearing you swear before.”

“You’ve never seen me this angry before!” She made another futile effort at escape.

He looked at her consideringly. “Yes,” he said. “Why? What did you expect after years of celibacy? A teddy bear?”

He released her suddenly, and took a step backwards. “Well?”

Her lips parted uncertainly. They were stinging, and moist. She touched her tongue to them. Perhaps she’d been unfair, even mistaken. “Years?”

His brows drew together. “You know damn well how long it’s been.”

“You mean you haven’t...there hasn’t been anyone else?”

His breath exploded. “No,” he snarled at her. “I thought we’d already covered this. Do I need to spell it out? There hasn’t been anyone else. Not for me. I’ve spent two long, loveless years waiting for you—waiting to get our lives back. And now—” He swung away from her, going to the window and thudding a hand against the wooden frame at the side.

“I’m sorry.” Jade’s voice was hushed. After so long exercising restraint, it was no wonder he’d temporarily lost control. “I thought you didn’t care about my feelings—that you wanted somehow to—punish me for something. I should have understood—”

He spun round to face her, his eyes sombre, the colour having receded from his face, leaving his cheeks sallow. “What the hell are you apologising for?” he asked her roughly. “You understood, all right. Why do you think I’ve been reluctant to make love to you? Make no mistake, Jade. You’re damn right to be afraid of me.”

He strode past her as she stood there, too stunned to stop him or to ask what he meant. He wrenched the door open and slammed it shut behind him, so that the floor under her feet vibrated. A baby’s wail came thinly and distantly through the wood, and she heard Magnus give a muffled curse before he moved away.