His Wedding-Night Heir (22 page)

Convincing her that I'm going to be able to manage on my

own.' He shook his head wryly. 'She does worry about me,

bless her. And she has so much else to cope with. She's spent

her life recently running between two hospitals. Visiting me in

the mornings, and spending the afternoons with her husband.

She's so brave and hopeful, but I suspect it's useless.'

'Oh.' Cally digested this. 'Is he seriously ill?'

'He's in a coma, after a bad road accident just over two years

ago. At first it was thought he'd come out of it, then tests

revealed serious brain damage. But she won't give up. She

talks to him, reads and plays music, but there's no response.'

He sighed. 'So far she's refused to allow the life-support to be

switched off, but I'm afraid that can only be a matter of time.'

'That's terrible,' Cally said quietly. Oh God, she thought, if

that was Nick lying unconscious and helpless, wouldn't I do

the same? Keep vigil beside him, praying for a miracle? Try

to keep the flame alive, even when hope is gone?

'Nearly there,' he announced, as they came through another

gate and down on to a lane. And suddenly, like the flash of

lightning that had just split the sky above them, Cally realised

exactly where she was heading. And why she couldn't go a

step further.

Her footsteps faltered as she tried desperately to think of an

excuse, and the patient Baz tossed his head in surprise.

'And there's my daughter, waiting at the gate now,' Geoffrey

Miller announced with a smile. He waved his stick jovially.

'We're safe and sound, Vanessa,' he called. 'And look, I've

brought a visitor.'

And, with a roar of thunder, the heavens opened.

She would have given anything to fling herself on Baz's back

and ride away, leaping hedges, ditches and five-barred gates

to escape from this hideous situation.

It was small consolation to observe that Vanessa Layton, the

woman she'd last seen held close in Nick's arms, seemed

equally dismayed.

Cally felt her colour rise. She said, 'I think it would be better

if I made for home. I don't want to intrude.'

'In this rain? Utter nonsense,' Geoffrey Miller told her se-

verely. 'You'll catch pneumonia.1 He addressed his daughter.

'There'll be room for the horse in the lean-to at the side, won't

there, darling.'

Vanessa Layton appeared to come out of her trance. 'Yes-—

yes, of course.' She had a quiet, musical voice, currently a

little strained. Seen at closer quarters, her face held traces of a

sadness which by no means detracted from her beauty. 'If

you'll show Lady Tempest where everything is, I'll get some

water.'

'Tempest?' he queried. 'Isn't that the name of your landlord,

Vanessa?' He gave Cally a puzzled look. 'I thought you said

Maitland.'

Cally's flush deepened. 'That's my maiden name,' she ad-

mitted. 'I'm not very used to being married yet.'

And thought she saw Vanessa Layton's mouth tighten as she

turned away.

The lean-to was more commonly used as a log store, but it

was dry and Baz seemed content with it.

'I'm going to find a dressing for your hand, and make some

tea,' Mr Miller said cheerfully. 'Come to the house when

you're ready.'

How could she ever be ready for a situation like this? Cally

wondered, swallowing, as she loosened Baz’s girths. As she

did so, she saw Vanessa Layton approaching, carrying a

striped golf umbrella, with the promised pail of water in her

other hand.

Cally unconsciously straightened her shoulders. She said, 'I'm

sorry about this. Please believe it wasn't intentional.'

The other woman shrugged, placing the pail where Baz could

reach it. 'Dad has explained. But I suppose it was inevitable

that we would meet eventually.' Her voice was cold. 'I've rung

the Hall and told them you were caught by the storm,' she

added reluctantly. 'They're sending a car for you, and the

groom is bringing over the horsebox.'

'Thank you—that's very kind.' Also surreal, thought Cally.

'Don't mention it,' Vanessa Layton said curtly. 'I'm sure you

don't want to spend any more time here than you have to.'

Cally lifted her chin. 'No,' she said. 'I don't.'

There was a brief nod, then the older woman said swiftly,

almost jerkily, 'But there is something I have to ask you-—a

favour. As you heard, Dad believes Nick and myself are

just— landlord and tenant. He has no idea there's another

relationship, and he—he can't know. He must never know.

So—please—I beg you—don't say anything about it to him.'

'Why?' Cally clenched her hands in the pockets of her jeans,

anger rising within her. She didn't want to find herself in any

kind of collusion with Nick's mistress. She owed her nothing,

she thought. Nothing. 'Would it damage your perfect daughter

image in his eyes?'

Vanessa Layton said quietly, 'It would totally destroy him.'

There was a taut silence.

A voice inside Cally's head was screaming And what about

me? I've been destroyed too—or doesn't that count?

And then she remembered the kind, concerned, uncompre-

hending face, and sighed, swiftly and restlessly. Yes, she

thought. Geoffrey Miller clearly believed in his daughter as

the selfless, devoted wife to her dying husband. Why should

his illusions be shattered, as hers had been, by discovering

that when she wasn’t playing Florence Nightingale, she was

involved in a sordid affair with a married man?

'Don't worry,' she tossed back at her antagonist, her tone

edged with contempt. 'Your secret is safe with me.' But pos-

sibly not with Adele, she added silently. However, that was

not her problem. And she saw no reason to mention it.

'Actually, I don't find it important enough to mention,' she

added stonily.

'Thank you.' Vanessa Layton's own tone was short. 'The tea

should be ready by now, if you'd like to come indoors. But be

careful on the cobbles. They get slippery in the rain.' She

paused. 'And you certainly don't want to risk a fall, not at this

particular time. In fact, you probably shouldn't be riding.'

Cally stopped dead, her whole body stiffening, her eyes blaz-

ing. Oh, God, she thought. Oh, dear God—no... He not only

knows, but he's told her—he's told her.

Cally's voice shook. 'You have no right—no right at all to

intrude into my personal circumstances. Or comment. And if

ever I should want your damned advice, I'll ask for it. But

don't hold your breath.'

Vanessa Layton threw back her head. 'Don't you even care

that you're having Nick's child?' she demanded.

'Jealous, Mrs Layton?' The horrible, unforgivable words were

out before she could stop herself. 'Wishing that it was your

pregnancy instead?'

The pain in the other woman's eyes almost made her flinch.

She said, too evenly, 'That will never be possible, Lady

Tempest, as I'm sure you already know. And now my-—my

father is waiting to attend to your hand.'

While other wounds are left to bleed on both sides, Cally

thought, hating herself.

Inside the cottage, the rooms were on the small side, with low

ceilings, but light paint on the walls and pale floor coverings

and fabrics had created a sense of space that was elegant and

peaceful.

But what did I expect? Cally asked herself. The woman had

trained in interior design. And Nick's London apartment had

the same cool, uncluttered look, she thought, biting her lip.

She could remember thinking how lovely it was—until she d

recalled exactly who was responsible for it.

There was a tray of tea and a plate of biscuits ready on a side

table, and Geoffrey Miller was waiting with hot water,

antiseptic cream, and a box of plasters.

'Oh, please, it's really nothing.' Cally tried to withdraw her

hand. She was aware there was no sound from upstairs, where

Vanessa Layton had gone after quietly excusing herself.

But he was firm. 'Better to be safe than sorry about these

things. And I don't want Vanessa to be evicted for harbouring

a dangerous dog.'

'As you see, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.' In spite of

herself, Cally found she was smiling as the sinner sat up in

front of her, urgently waving his paws. 'But I'm sure a biscuit

would.'

'You have a very forgiving nature, my dear.' Geoffrey Miller

said as he carefully adjusted the strip of plaster.

All evidence to the contrary, Cally thought bleakly, as she

broke off a piece of shortcake and threw it to Tinker, who

leapt joyfully and caught it. By dint of keeping him supplied,

she was able to pretend she was eating, and managed to

swallow most of her cup of tea before she heard the arrival of

the car outside.

'That sounds like my lift.' She rose hurriedly. 'Thank you for

taking care of me, Mr Miller.'

'It's been my pleasure.' He hesitated. 'I'm sorry you didn't get

more of a chance to talk to Vanessa. I think she's feeling the

strain of her morning's visit. But there'll be other times, I'm

sure. And I think the rain has stopped.'

He opened the front door as he spoke. Cally had expected that

Frank or Margaret would come for her. Instead, she was

confronted by the sight of Nick approaching up the path—tout

he was not alone, she realised, anger and hurt twisting inside

her.

Because somehow Vanessa was no longer upstairs, but walk-

ing beside him, her voice soft and rapid, as he listened, head

bent towards her.

The sight of them together was suddenly a torment impossible

to bear, and Cally gasped, her head swimming, nausea hot and

acrid in her throat.

'My dear child, you're ill.' Geoffrey Miller's hand grasped her

arm. He raised his voice. 'Help me, would you? Lady Tempest

is fainting.'

Then Nick was there, his arm like a ring of steel round her

swaying body, his voice harsh. 'Let me take her. She needs to

get home and rest, that's all.'

She heard herself say, 'Please—I'm all right—I'm fine,' as she

tried to free herself and stand straight, but his grip simply

tightened inexorably.

'Whatever,' he said curtly. 'You're coming with me, Cally, and

you're coming now.'

She was put into the passenger seat of the car, and sat fum-

bling with the seatbelt while Nick strode round to the driver's

side, almost flinging himself behind the wheel. With an excla-

mation of impatience, he took the buckle from her unsteady

fingers and slotted it home.

'Thank you.' Cally took a deep breath. 'You must be won-

dering ...'

'Wondering?' His voice cut across her stumbling words. He

was, she realised, molten with rage. 'I come home to be in-

formed that my pregnant wife is wandering round the country-

side in a thunderstorm on the back of an elderly horse with a

heart problem, and that you were due back an hour before. It

takes a phone call from a neighbour to tell me where you are.'

A neighbour, she thought. A neighbour...

Nick hit the steering wheel with his clenched fist. 'Well, that

stops now, Cally. From now on you take your exercise on

your own two feet.' He added grimly, 'Do I make myself

clear?'

'I was perfectly safe.' she protested. 'Baz isn't bothered by

storms.'

'But he's still old,' Nick said unanswerably. 'If he got sick and

went down you could be injured. I won't let you take that risk.'

He started the car and drove up the lane. Cally did not look

back to see if their departure was being observed.

She took a deep breath. ‘As a matter of interest, why have you

come home? You're supposed to be at meetings in London all

day.'

'I postponed them,' he said brusquely. 'My mother's arrived.'

Cally sat up. 'But she wasn't due for another two weeks,' she

said, aware that her stomach was churning again.

He shrugged a shoulder. 'She simply decided to get an earlier

plane. She telephoned from Heathrow this morning, so I rang

to warn you that I was bringing her down, but you weren't

around.'

She looked down at her hands, knotted together in her lap. 'I'm

sure Margaret was able to fill the breach.'

'Of course,' he said. 'But that doesn't let you off the hook,