His Wedding-Night Heir (18 page)

'What the hell are you doing?" She tried unavailingly to pull

'You seem to be running away again.' He picked up the phone

from the desk, one-handed deftly punching in a number. 'I'm

stopping you.'

'My major mistake,' Cally said huskily, trying to conceal her

sudden trepidation. 'I should have kept running while I had the

chance.'

'Probably.' He turned his attention to the phone, his voice

charming. His grip on her arm like steel. 'Mrs Radstock?

Good afternoon, it's Nick Tempest. Has Ted left yet, or could

we possibly postpone our meeting until tomorrow? There's a

matter here that requires my urgent attention.' He listened,

smiling. 'That's fine, then. Tell him I'll call him.'

He put down the phone and looked back at her, the smiling

charm wiped away, to be replaced by a stark purpose which

terrified her.

Cally began to struggle in real earnest. 'Leave me alone,' she

said, her voice high and breathless. 'You—you're hurting me.

Let me go, damn you.'

'When I'm good and ready,' Nick said. 'And only when you've

given me everything I want. Starting now. And how much it

hurts is entirely up to you. darling.'

He reached for her, sweeping her up inexorably into his arms,

and started with her towards the door.

'No.' She was desperate now, twisting in his unyielding hold

as he earned her across the hall to the stairs. Then upwards.

'Nick—please—you're scaring me...'

His mouth was hard, his eyes like flint as he glanced down at

her agonised face. 'Why? The incidence of virgins dying of

shock during sex must be pretty low.'

They reached the bedroom and he shouldered his way in,

striding across to the bed and dropping her almost contemp-

tuously on to its yielding surface. Cally landed, winded and

gasping, staring up at him as he discarded his shoes and socks,

then pulled off his shirt and tossed it to one side, his hands

going to the belt of his pants.

His voice was silk and ice. 'Take off your clothes, too, darling.

Unless you want me to do it.'

No, she thought, in some paralysed corner of her mind. Not

like this.

She struggled up on to her knees and paused, her hand going

up to shield her suddenly dazzled eyes from the blaze of the

early-evening sun as it streamed in through the long windows.

He noticed. 'Wait,' he said, swiftly and harshly. ‘I’ll draw the

curtains.'

He crossed the room, outlined against the golden glare. Cally

saw him reach up to drag the drapes together. Just as she'd

watched him do a year ago, as she'd hidden in the shadows,

her heart cracking open. Just as it was doing now...

She clasped her hands over her mouth to stifle the scream

rising in her throat.

He came back to the bed, his footsteps slowing as he took in

the rigid, kneeling figure, her eyes dilating in fright as she

stared back at him over her locked hands.

Cally heard him sigh, the sound low and bitter as he sat down

beside her, carefully maintaining, she realised, a small

distance between them.

He said quietly. 'In God's name, don't look at me like that. I

swear I didn't mean this to happen. But you get to me, Cally,

like no other woman ever has or ever could.'

He reached out and gently took her hands from her mouth.

'Relax, darling. Lie down and let me hold you. I promise I

won't hurt you. I won't do anything you don't want.'

Couldn't he see that she was hurting already—that she was

falling apart, torn by jealousy and misery? she wondered

wildly. Didn't he realise that this—kindness—this borrowed

tenderness was almost harder to endure than anything that had

gone before?

'Please—no.' She flung herself away from him. 'Don't you

understand? I can't—I can't bear it.' The words were hers, but

she didn't recognise the harsh strained voice that spoke them.

There was a silence, then he said evenly, 'How can you do

this? How can you go from the brink of surrender to this—

neurotic bloody resistance—in the space of a few minutes?

And why issue the challenge in the first place if you can't live

with the consequences?'

She didn't look at him. 'I—I thought I could. And I knew I had

to try—for the sake of Gunners Wharf—for the people there.

Because I was afraid that you'd cancel the agreement.'

The small hoarse whisper died away into another silence,

more profound than the last.

Then Nick said softly, 'Ah, dear God.'

Cally felt him move—lift himself off the bed. Was aware of

him collecting up the clothing he'd discarded.

When he spoke again, his tone was weary. 'Understand this,

Cally. You're my wife, and I still have no intention of letting

you go, until you've fulfilled the terms of our bargain. But I

won't have my bed turned into a war zone either. Come to me

when you're ready to make peace.'

'And if it never happens?' The breath caught in her throat.

'Ah, but it will,' he said. 'Out of sheer female curiosity, my

sweet, if nothing else. And that's as good a starting point as

any, I suppose.' He strolled to the door that led to his own

room, and turned. 'And Gunners Wharf is still safe. You have

my word.' His parting smile did not reach his eyes. 'I'll see

you at dinner.'

Cally stayed where she was, unmoving. She wanted to cry,

but she was beyond tears, her eyes and throat aching—

burning.

Her grandfather had been so right, she thought wretchedly.

She should have seen the danger for herself, and shunned

Nick's company from die first. Instead, she'd allowed herself

to be beguiled into falling in love with him. And he'd known.

Known and been disconcerted by her naive reaction to his ca-

sual befriending of a lonely girl.

He must have been, she thought stonily, because why else

would he have distanced himself so deliberately in those

weeks before she made herself go to London to look for

work?

Yes, she'd needed a job, but one word, one sign from him, and

she'd have stayed.

But not to be pitied by him, she thought with sudden fierce-

ness. Nor to run the gamut of Adele's mocking looks and

snide remarks.

She'd realised just in time that she was crying for the moon,

and that she had to change her life. To accept that Nick was

not just unattainable, but frankly embarrassed by the sheer

transparency of her feelings for him.

And then her grandfather's illness had forced her premature

return, and her chance of falling out of love with Nick had

been lost for ever.

Looking down at the golden gleam of her new wedding ring,

she wondered, as so many times before, at what point Nick

had begun to seriously consider her for the role of his wife.

She'd had a lot going for her, she thought bitterly. Young,

gullible, and too besotted to realise he'd never actually said he

loved her.

But then he hadn't needed to say very much at all. The

devastating aftermath of her grandfather's death had delivered

her to him, gift-wrapped. She'd only had to say yes, believing

that her love had worked some kind of miracle. That he was

her paladin. Her saviour. Until, of course, she had discovered

the reality of their marriage.

And she risked suffering the same kind of humiliation all over

again, if she allowed Nick to guess die truth about her

headlong flight from him.

I went, she thought, because I couldn't bear to stay—to know

that I would never be all in all to him, as he was to me. And

that I would always have to share him.

And nothing—nothing has changed.

Because no matter how hard I've tried, I've never managed to

grind him out of my heart. Never given myself the chance to

heal. Not yet, anyway.

But there'll be plenty of years ahead of me for that. A whole

lifetime to learn to stop loving him. When all this is over...

She sat up slowly, pushing her hair back from her face.

All Nick required from her was the use of her body, she

thought flatly, and in return maybe she could hope for his

kindness if nothing else

Forget emotion, she told herself. Look on it as he does— lust

another business transaction. And do what you've been asked

without argument.

Give him what he wants, even down to wearing your wedding

dress at dinner tonight. And after dinner give him whatever el

e he wants

And, bowing her head, Cally began at last to weep.

Cally fastened the last of the little silk-covered buttons and

stepped back to examine her reflection in the long mirror. The

dress seemed to have survived being discarded on the floor of

the flat, but that was about as much as she could say.

I look like my own ghost, she thought, her mouth twisting.

But that could be because of the bad memories.

She was almost tempted to change. Almost, but not quite.

For one thing, she couldn't afford to annoy Nick by contra-

vening his express wish. For another, he had to be made to see

that it didn't matter, she told herself, swallowing. That, as a

garment, it held no particular meaning for her. And that

nothing he could say or do to her during their time together

could affect her. Whether that was true or not.

There were much bigger battles ahead of her. and she needed

to save her strength for those. Unless she could persuade Nick

to be reasonable, she might even find she was fighting for the

upbringing—the future—of her own child...

She turned away, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. She

wouldn't think about that now. It was pointless to torment her-

self over something that hadn't happened yet. That might

never happen, she corrected herself. After all, there were no

guarantees.

But, in that case, how long would it be before Nick accepted

the inevitable and sent her on her way?

Nick...

He was dressing for dinner too. She'd heard him earlier,

moving around in the other bedroom, and felt tension coil in

her stomach. And that had to stop.

His presence—his absence—she had to learn to treat them

both with equal indifference. But no one had said it would be

easy.

She'd managed to bathe away the telltale signs of that terrible

storm of tears. She still looked pale, but that was only natural

under these impossible circumstances.

Now, she brushed her hair loose and shining on her shoulders,

and applied a pale rose lustre to her lips. She'd even found a

bottle of her favourite scent waiting for her on the dressing

table.

He didn't forget much, she thought, with a sudden pang, as she

sprayed a little on her skin.

She left it to the last minute to go downstairs. Nick was in the

drawing room, standing by the open French windows, staring

out into the darkness. As he turned to look at her Cally saw

him stiffen, his whole attention arrested as if in shock.

Cally felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck in response to

the sudden dangerous tension in the room.

Then, as if a cord had snapped, the moment passed. He said

evenly, almost politely, 'You look very lovely.'

"Thank you.' Her tone was constricted. He looked a million

dollars himself, she thought, in dinner jacket and black lie.

The last time she'd seen him so formally dressed had been at

the local hunt ball, when she'd waited hungrily, and in vain,

for

him to ask her to dance, and then gone home to cry

bewildered tears into her pillow.

'There's champagne wailing for us,' he went on. 'The

Thurstons have clearly decided this is an occasion.' He walked

to the drinks table and lifted a bottle from its nest of ice,

filling two flutes.

He handed her one. He said, and drank.

'To life,' Cally repeated and lifted the other in salute. 'To life,'

she raised the flute to her mouth.

Dinner was special indeed—consomme, followed by a del-

icate fish mousse. Then roast duck in a sharp black cherry

sauce, and Floating Islands pudding to complete the meal.

Frank Thurslon, a quiet, thin-faced man, waited at table, and

his unobtrusive presence meant that conversation was limited

to general subjects.

‘Please tell Margaret that was magnificent.' Nick rose. 'If

you'll bring the coffee to the drawing room, Frank, we won't