His Wedding-Night Heir (21 page)

'Just as well,' Lorna had commented cheerfully, when Cally

had diffidently raised the subject. 'He's a terrific rider, and he

really pushes Maestro.' She laughed. 'I have a job to keep up

with him on a young horse, so poor old Baz wouldn't get a

look-in—although he might try, and it wouldn't be good for

him.'

'No.' Cally had forced a smile. 'No, of course not.'

At other times he worked in his study, and it was made clear

he was not to be interrupted.

He was treating her much like an employee, she thought.

There'd been a time when she'd believed this could be a way

for her to cope. But she'd been wrong.

And the pattern was repeated on the occasions when she was

required to accompany him to London, to attend formal

dinners in the City and other social events. Her wardrobe,

most of it selected under Nick's stringent supervision, had

expanded dramatically to meet these new demands, and she

had the beginnings of an astonishing jewellery collection to

match.

She could not, of course, question his generosity, which was

unfailing, but then he'd made it clear he expected her to do

him credit in public.

So the clothing and jewels were merely props, she thought, to

be handed back when her run-of-the-play contract ended. But

what else could she expect?

In public, Nick was the most quietly charming and attentive

husband any young wife could wish. And only Cally knew of

his cool aloofness when they were alone together.

Except at night...

She felt her whole body shiver, and Baz, as if sensing her

sudden restlessness, flung up his head and whinnied. She mur-

mured to him, running a soothing hand down his neck.

Nick had meant every word he'd said before they'd parted in

that pale dawn, she thought wretchedly. They had not spent

a single night apart since, even though the demands of work

took him on punishing trips all over the country and he often

returned very late, almost grey with tiredness. Those were the

times when he simply turned his back and slept, while she lay

beside him, staring into the darkness, aware of an ever-

deepening sense of isolation.

At such moments Cally yearned to reach out to him and draw

him close. To let him sleep away his exhaustion in her arms,

his head pillowed on her body. But she had never dared

initiate such a move, in case she was rebuffed.

She had learned her lesson on the evening they'd been

scheduled to attend a banquet in London. Cally had worn a

new dress in taffeta, long-sleeved with a full skirt and scooped

neck, the colour of autumn leaves. It had been Nick's choice,

and she'd had to admit that the shade complemented her newly

highlighted hair and lent a sheen and glow to her pale, creamy

skin.

She'd opened her jewellery case, in search of the exquisite

diamond necklace which had been his first gift to her, but he'd

stopped her abruptly. Instead, he'd fastened round her neck an

antique topaz pendant, set in tiny pearls. She'd stared at it the

breath catching in her throat, aware that it seemed somehow a

much more personal gift than diamonds, however lovely.

She'd put up a hand to touch it in delight, wondering if it

could be a slender sign of hope. Then, stammering, 'It's—so

beautiful,' she'd swung round impulsively to kiss him, only to

have him turn his head swiftly, so that her lips touched his

cheek instead of his mouth. Her face flaming in humiliation,

she'd managed to add a stilted, 'Thank you,' then turned away,

and begun hurriedly, with shaking hands, to fill her evening

purse.

Since then she hadn't risked anything that could be construed

as an advance, even if she was aching for him, as she so often

did.

Although she could not claim she was neglected, she thought,

her mouth twisting wryly. The nights when he did not make

love to her were rare indeed.

But was it really making love? she asked herself. Was that

really how to describe that web of silken carnality that he'd

spun around her so skilfully, to keep her trapped and en-

thralled? Because, apart from that first unforgotten time, when

he'd taken her with such apparent tenderness and understand-

ing, it all seemed curiously soulless.

A demonstration of high-art sexual technique, she thought,

rather than uncontrollable passion. A master-class in which he

treated her body as some finely toned instrument solely de-

signed for pleasure, and in which her ability to respond

seemed to be taken to fresh limits each time, as he built

sensation on sensation.

And there was nothing she could do about it except submit to

the promised rapture and, she supposed, be thankful.

Once—just once—ashamed of her unthinking, abandoned re-

sponse, wanting to make him see her as a woman and not

merely a sex-object, she'd tried to resist. Only to have Nick

take her to the brink of climax over and over again, holding

her there relentlessly, until she implored him for her release,

the hoarse, uneven words torn from her throat.

Since then, when he reached for her she went silently and

willingly into his arms, her body coming to swift, burning life

under the caress of his hands and mouth.

After all, she thought with sadness, it was all she had of him.

Because afterwards there was nothing. Even though she

longed for him to hold her until she fell asleep, he invariably

turned away without a word.

But she could hardly blame him for that, she acknowledged,

sighing. Wasn't that exactly what she'd done to him that first

morning? Oh, God, what a fool she'd been.

She should have forgotten her pride and gone into his arms,

she told herself. Taken the risk. Let him see then that she

wanted more than just physical gratification. But now it was

all too late.

Because she was pregnant. She was sure of it. Her normally

reliable monthly cycle had gone into total abeyance. She had

just missed a second period, she'd been sick more than once

in the past fortnight, so all she needed was the doctor s con-

firmation.

And Nick must be well aware of it. She'd seen a grim ex-

pression on his face more than once in recent days. Perhaps he

was now regretting the bargain he'd inflicted on her.

Wondering, maybe, how he was going to break the news to

his mistress that his wife was pregnant, she thought with pain.

Yet he'd said nothing—waiting, she supposed, for her to speak

first. To admit she'd fulfilled the cold-blooded remit she'd

been given and was indeed carrying his child.

So what on earth was making her hesitate? Why didn't she say

what needed to be said?

Because, according to the terms we agreed, I know it's the

beginning of the end, she thought. Once I actually admit that

I'm having a baby, I've taken the first step towards dissolving

the marriage.

And I don't know what will happen afterwards.

Yes, that was the stumbling block. Somehow, she knew, she

had to talk to Nick—discover what his long-term intentions

were. 'Joint custody—at first,' he'd told her. And, 'Any lasting

decision can be made later.'

Since she'd realised her condition, those words had been

preying on her mind. Scaring her. Because there was no legal

agreement between them about the baby's future. Nothing in

writing.

And supposing Nick decided he wanted sole custody, and

treated her as if she was a single mother giving her baby up

for adoption? What would she do then?

Surely he couldn't, she thought, her stomach churning un-

easily. He wouldn't...

After all, she reminded herself painfully, they were hardly

more than two strangers who met in bed. There was no real

marriage between them. No sign of affection or friendship to

prompt her to hope that he would treat her well. She'd done as

she'd been asked, he might tell her, and was now free to go-

Leaving her baby to be brought up by other strangers. Or even

Vanessa Layton, Nick s childless mistress. Once his unwanted

wife had been dismissed and divorced, he'd be free to move

her in. Cally shuddered away from the thought.

A year ago she'd thought her heart was broken. But the

prospect ahead of her could be infinitely worse than anything

she'd suffered then. And she was frightened to confront him in

case her worst fears were confirmed and she found herself

entering the New Year in total isolation, faced with a long and

agonising struggle for the right to bring up her own child, or

even be allowed proper access.

I told Nick I wanted to be set free, she reminded herself

unhappily. That I wanted to get on with my life without hin-

drance. I insisted on it.

Beware what you wish for, someone had said once. Because it

might come true.

She sighed, and gave an apprehensive look at the sky as a

faint rumble of thunder sounded over the far hills.

'Time to go home, lovely,' she told Baz, whose ears were

suddenly pricked attentively. And then she heard what he

must have done—the distressed and muffled yapping of a dog

in the distance. 'But we'll go and look first,' she added,

clicking her tongue to quicken his gait.

She left the bridleway, and rode through the trees, bent low in

the saddle to avoid overhanging branches, listening intently

for the increasingly frantic barking and whimpering.

Eventually, in a small clearing, she found the dog—or his rear

portion anyway. It was protruding from an overgrown bank,

and Cally guessed that the animal had gone into a hole after a

rabbit and had earth and stones collapse on him, so that he

couldn't move forwards or back.

She slid down from Baz and looped his reins over a con-

venient bush. It didn't take long to shift the debris and free the

dog, a Jack Russell, who immediately repaid her by nipping

her hand.

'Not nice,' Cally told him gently. 'But I know what it's like to

be trapped and frightened, so I forgive you.'

The name on his collar tag was unfamiliar, and the telephone

code wasn't local.

'But you must belong to someone,' Cally mused, winding her

hankie round her hand. She tucked the now shivering and

subdued dog under her arm, and began to lead Baz towards

the edge of the wood and the road beyond.

As they came out from the trees she heard a shrill whistle, and

a voice call 'Tinker!' An elderly man came round the corner.

He was using a stick, and walking with a pronounced limp,

but his thin, anxious face lit up when he saw Cally and her

suddenly wriggling burden.

'Tinker, you little devil. My dear young lady, I can't thank you

enough. Where did you find him?'

'He'd managed to get stuck in a rabbit hole, but I was able to

dig him out.' Cally handed the dog over, and saw his leash

securely attached to his collar.

'At home he's no trouble at all,' the man said, sighing. 'But I'm

afraid whenever I bring him away he invariably runs off at

some point. And I've just had a hip replacement, so I can't

chase him as I once did.' The faded blue eyes sharpened. 'My

dear, your hand—did he do that?'

'Yes,' Cally admitted. 'But it's not that bad. He barely broke

the skin, and he was in an awful state.'

'I'm staying not far from here.' His voice was firm. 'You must

let me disinfect the cut and put on a plaster. And I think a cup

of tea is indicated too.'

'Really, there's no need,' she began, but he raised a silencing

hand.

'I insist. Besides, I think we need to get indoors before we

become soaked. It really isn't far, and there's a shortcut across

this field. My name's Geoffrey Miller,' he went on, as he

opened the gate for them. 'And this, of course, is Tinker the

Terrible.'

'And I'm Caroline Maitland.' Was that a Freudian slip? Cally

wondered, realising she'd given her maiden name. 'And I think

Tinker and I met before,' she added. 'He once gatecrashed a

picnic I was at.'

Her companion groaned. Two things draw him like mag-

nets—food and rabbits. I'll have to start keeping him on a lead

while I'm here.'

'Are you on holiday?' Cally enquired, as the first heavy spots

of rain began to fall.

'Not quite. I'm spending a few weeks with my daughter.