His Wedding-Night Heir (13 page)

want...acquiescence, at the very least, and there was no cer-

tainty she could achieve that.

She sat down at the dressing table, drawing the brush through

the silky tendrils of her hair before applying moisturiser to her

skin and a touch of subtle colour to her mouth.

Warpaint, she thought with self-derision, wishing she had

some chain mail to go with it.

She hesitated on the gallery leading to the stairs. All this part

of the Hall was new to her. The room she'd occupied after the

fire, while her grandfather had been kept in hospital, initially

for observation, was at the other end of the house. She wasn't

sure she'd ever be able to find it again in the twists and turns

of the passages. Or that she even wanted to...

But she couldn't halt the relentless pressure of her memories.

On the night of the fire Adele's welcome, she recalled with a

grimace, had been sugared, but her eyes had been unsmiling.

And there had been no warmth either from the housekeeper

who'd showed her upstairs.

It's not my fault, Cally had wanted to tell them both. She'd

actually reached the hospital exit before she was stopped dead

in her tracks by the realisation that her home didn't exist any

more—or any of her belongings. That she had literally

nowhere to go.

Nick's hand had closed on her arm. 'You're coming with me,'

he'd stated, in a tone that brooked no argument, and almost

meekly she'd allowed him to lead her to the car.

He must have telephoned ahead from Casualty, because the

room had already been made up for her, and hot soup had

been waiting on a table drawn up by the gas fire.

And Cally, to her own surprise, had found she was ravenous.

She'd just put down her spoon when Adele had appeared.

'I've brought you a comb and a toothbrush,' she announced,

handing over two cellophane-wrapped packets. 'And I suppose

you'll need a nightgown.' She tossed something black and to-

tally diaphanous on to the bed.

'Thank you,' Cally acknowledged woodenly, hiding her dis-

may. 'I'm sorry to put you to all this trouble.'

Adele shrugged. 'It's Nick's house now. He gives the orders.

And being homeless must be ghastly.' She paused. 'If you

leave your clothes outside the door, they'll be laundered ready

for the morning. You can't wear them again like that. They

absolutely reek of smoke.' She perched elegantly on the arm

of the small fireside chair opposite. 'I suppose tomorrow you'll

start looking for somewhere to rent, while all the financial

stuff gets sorted?'

'Yes, I suppose I will,' said Cally, who couldn't look beyond

the next five minutes. There'd be insurance, she thought. But

could they afford to rebuild? Shouldn't they be trying to

downsize instead? And could she ever persuade Grandfather

to agree?

But she didn't want to think about that now. Her eyes were

stinging, her throat was dry, and her head felt as if it had been

split with an axe. Unconsciously, she lifted a tired hand to rub

her forehead.

'Headache my pet?' Adele's tone sparked with malice. 'Well

that's a tried and tested excuse. But I doubt it will cut much

ice with your gallant rescuer.'

Cally looked at her wearily. 'I'm sorry, but I don't think I

understand.'

'No?' Adele gave a light laugh. 'Well, I'm sure it will all be

made clear to you pretty soon. In the meantime, I recommend

a couple of aspirin. You'll find some in the bathroom

cupboard.'

She rose and walked to the door with studied grace, leaving

Cally to stare after her.

She shouldn't waste time worrying over the things Adele said

or did, she told herself as she sought out the bathroom and the

aspirin. The older woman was pure bitch, from her painted

toenails to the top of her expensively coiffured head, and al-

ways would be. She was only sorry she was obliged to share a

roof with her, even for one night.

The tablets swallowed, she ran herself a bath in the big old-

fashioned tub, and sank with a sigh into clean hot water. She'd

used nearly half a bar of lily-scented soap and a handful of

shampoo before she began to feel human again.

She might not be too happy about being a guest at the Hall,

but she was certainly going to be unhappy in luxury, she de-

cided, looking at the deep pile of white fluffy towels awaiting

her. She dried herself quickly, then wrapped a fresh bath sheet

round her body, sarong-style, and covered her damp hair with

a turban.

She trailed back into her room, and paused with a small

gasp—because Nick was there, standing by the bed,

examining Adele's nightdress with a sardonic expression.

'Your choice?' he enquired pleasantly, holding it up, making

her acutely aware how sheer it was.

'Oh, no.' She was cross to find herself stammering slightly,

and self-consciously readjusting her towel. 'I don't wear that

kind of thing. I—I think Lady Tempest meant to be kind.'

'But not necessarily to you,' Nick said softly.

'What do you mean?' She was defensive.

'Don't be naive, sweetheart,' he drawled. 'I imagine she

thought you'd be wearing it for me.' And he watched the be-

traying wave of colour wash her face.

'But don't worry about it,' he added. 'I'll return it to her and try

to find you something more appropriate. And tomorrow you

can go shopping.'

He paused. 'However, what I really came to say is that the fire

is now out, and the firemen have managed to salvage a big tin

container from what's left of the dining room.'

'Oh—Grandfather's strong box!' She seized thankfully on the

shift of focus. "That—that's marvellous. It's got all his private

papers in it, plus our passports, our birth certificates, the

insurance documents. Everything. He'll be so relieved.'

He nodded. 'Now, try and get some sleep. It will all seem

better in the morning.'

'Nick,' she said, as he reached the door. 'About tonight—I

don't know how to thank you...'

'Now, I can think of all kinds of ways,' he said mockingly. He

held up the nightdress. 'Perhaps I should ask you to model this

for me, after all. Except that you have a lot on your mind right

now, and I'd prefer your undivided attention.'

He watched her blush deepen angrily, and went off grinning.

Alone, Cally removed the turban and towelled her hair almost

savagely. Adele might be vile, she thought, but Nick was no

better. At one moment he could be so kind. Almost caring.

The next he'd be hateful and teasing, putting her at a disad-

vantage and enjoying her embarrassment.

But perhaps it was safer that way, she told herself, biting her

lip. Wasn't that why she'd tried to move to London—because

she'd let herself hope that he cared about her in all the ways

that mattered, and had come perilously near to making a total

fool of herself?

She couldn't let that happen again.

Yet when a knock sounded at the door, some ten minutes

later, she froze, wondering whether he'd stopped teasing and

decided to return after all. And, if so, how she could best deal

with it.

Dry-mouthed, she called, 'Come in...'

But it was only Mrs Bridges, looking boot-faced. 'I came for

the dishes, miss,' she said. 'And Sir Nicholas sent you this.'

She held out the man's white shirt that had been folded over

her arm. 'He told me to say that it only came from Jermyn

Street yesterday, so it's never been worn,' she added coldly.

'Oh.' Cally said. She took the shirt. 'Well—thank him for me,

please.'

When the housekeeper had gone, she unwound the towel and

undid enough buttons to enable her to pull the shirt over her

head, shivering a little as she felt the crisp fabric graze the tips

of her breasts and brush her naked thighs.

The sleeves were covering her hands, so she rolled them back

a little, then turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She

saw a girl with a pale face and dishevelled hair. Whose long

bare legs under the formal lines of the shirt presented a

strangely erotic image.

A girl whose shadowed eyes hid a secret she could not tell.

For a moment she allowed herself to wish that the shirt wasn't

brand-new, but somediing Nick had worn. Something that

might still bear the imprint of his body, or carry the scent of

his skin in its fibres, so that for this one night she could

pretend she was sleeping in his arms.

But that, she told herself, would be the greatest foolishness of

all.

Sighing, she switched off the light and got into bed, and lay

for a long time staring into a darkness that scared her by its

loneliness.

'Lady Tempest?' Mrs Thurston's quiet voice brought Cally

back to the present with a start. She spun round to see the

other woman standing a few feet away. Clearly she'd been too

lost in her painful memories to hear her approach. 'I'm sorry if

I startled you, but I wanted to say that I've taken the tea into

the drawing room.'

'Yes—yes, of course.' Cally mustered her thoughts and man-

aged a smile. 'I was just trying to get my bearings—remember

where I stayed when I first came here.'

Mrs Thurston looked puzzled. 'Excuse me, your ladyship, but

I thought you lived in our flat'

'That was later.' Cally led the way downstairs. 'When it

became clear that my grandfather wasn't coming out of hos-

pital.' She paused. 'I hope you find it as comfortable as I did.'

The other woman's face lit up. 'We couldn't be happier, your

ladyship.' She paused awkwardly. 'But of course this has been

a bachelor establishment up to now. You'll naturally be

wanting to make changes.'

'Not for the foreseeable future,' Cally said, and smiled at her.

When she entered the drawing room, she discovered Adele

was sitting alone, flicking through a magazine with

undisguised boredom.

Cally checked in dismay. She didn't want to deal with the

other woman alone. 'Where's Nick?'

'He decided not to be entertaining after all. He went off to take

some phone call in his study and hasn't come back.' Adele's

tone was short. 'He seems out of temper, Caroline dear.

Perhaps he's finding this persistent virginity of yours a tad

trying.'

Don't rise to the bait, Cally adjured herself, inspecting the tea

table instead. There were tiny cucumber sandwiches, cut into

triangles, plus a plate of scones, accompanied by dishes of

jam and cream, and a side stand bearing a rich fruit cake, a

Victoria sponge, and some shortbread.

Mrs Thurston seemed to be a treasure indeed, she thought

gratefully.

She poured Adele's tea, with a slice of the requested lemon,

and added milk to her own cup, then sat back taking an ap-

praising look around her.

It was all entirely different. The heavy wallpaper had been

replaced by a creamy paint, and large comfortable sofas, their

linen covers the colour of sand, had superseded the old-

fashioned dark leather suite. Pale drapes hung at the long win-

dows, and instead of the dreary carpet there were stripped and

polished floorboards and Persian rugs. It was as if there'd been

an explosion of light.

'Counting all the changes?' Adele asked, taking a sandwich.

'It'll take a long time.'

Cally shook her head almost wonderingly. 'The room seems to

have doubled in size.'

'Well, at the Dower House I feel as if I'm living in a shoe-box,'

Adele said shortly. 'And I've had to fight tooth and nail for the

place to be made even habitable. In fact, that's one of the

reasons I came up this afternoon—-to ask Nick to send a

carpenter round. Some of the upstairs window catches still

don't fit properly.'

'I'll tell him about it.' Cally watched her. 'So, what was the

other reason for your visit?'

Adele shrugged. 'Vulgar curiosity, my pet. I simply couldn't

believe you'd swallowed your dubious pride and returned to

Nick's eager arms after all. Proof, if proof were needed, that

money always talks. You look a little careworn,' she

continued. 'So I suppose the long-delayed consummation is

scheduled for tonight.'

Her smile was cat-like. 'But I wouldn't worry too much. Your

husband's an incredibly successful businessman, sweetie. I'm

sure he's equally adept with women—especially nervous