Sweet Bondage (20 page)

10

She would have run from the room but he anticipated this and grabbed her by the wrists, looking deep into her storm-gray, tear-flecked eyes. It was going round and round in her mind. He doesn't want to marry you to keep you by his side. He doesn't love you. Doesn't love you . . . doesn't love you.

He had only asked her to marry him to give his brother's child its rightful name, a child she wasn't even carrying. For one wild moment she wished that she was, wished she was Glenda and with child, because then he would marry her. She wriggled her fingers free of his and drew them nervously across her taut, flat stomach. Time, ally or enemy, and she wasn't sure which, would prove her right, and then he wouldn't need to have anything more to do with her and he would send her away.

It altered nothing. She didn't want to go, but even if it resulted in her being sent away this very moment she still had to convince him. With a surge of desperation she took up the issue again.

‘You must believe me, Maxwell, and believing me you must do something while there's still time, if there's still time to prevent a tragedy. It's obvious that Glenda has gone off somewhere on her own to make the
decision
herself. Her disappearance was reported to the press by her father, who's offering a reward, so he doesn't know where she is. When she planted me in her place it must have been in her mind to get away from you both, you and her father. All she wanted to do was make up her own mind, something neither of you would let her do. The decision could go either way. You must prepare yourself for the possibility that when you do find her . . . it might be too late.'

‘Could you take a lie to these lengths?' His black-olive eyes raked her face. ‘Is it possible that you might be telling the truth? If you aren't Glenda, why did you consent to marry me?'

‘I . . . don't understand.'

‘Don't be obtuse. You must have had a reason for saying yes.' He caught hold of her wrists again, shaking them as though to force the answer from her. ‘If it wasn't to give your unborn child its rightful name, what reason did you have?'

Reluctant to say, unwilling to reveal her heart and admit that for some time now she had been in love with him, she fell back on evasion. ‘As I remember it, I didn't say yes or no. You told me we were going to be married. As far as you were concerned that settled the matter.'

‘Ah . . . yes. That I cannot deny.'

‘I won't hold you to it. You only proposed to
me
to give your brother's child a name. There isn't going to be a child, at least . . . I'm not carrying it. So you can't still want to marry me. Can you?' she asked impulsively.

His eyes narrowed. His face was a carved mask. ‘What are you trying to make me admit to, Glenda—or Gemma, if that's who you really are? That I proposed marriage to claim my nephew as my son and thereby give him the Ross name merely as a sop to my conscience? A noble falsehood, a fantasy, to cover the shabby reality that knowing you for the fickle tramp which you are, I still want you?'

‘No . . . I didn't mean that at all.'

‘But you would have been right in thinking that. It's the demoralizing, unprincipled, barbarous truth. I want you, want you so much it's driving me out of my mind, beyond peace and self-respect into a black hell of hatred. I hate myself for wanting you; I hate you for being warm and responsive to me, for being able to switch brothers at the drop of a hat. For your heartlessness in thinking so little of Ian that you enjoy being touched by me. A decent woman wouldn't have let me come anywhere near her, yet it was as much as you could do to keep your hands off me. It would have needed only the slightest persuasion to make you mine. I could have got you into bed any time I wanted.'

‘It's a pity you didn't,' she flung at him, incensed by his disbelief, his insistence even
now
that she was Glenda. ‘If you had got me into bed you wouldn't have had to take my word for it. You would have found out for yourself. Well, why don't you? The bed's there. What are you waiting for? Everything dealt with in one fell swoop, if you'll pardon the crudity.'

‘Why you!'

Disregarding the warning sparks in his eyes, she was past caring anyway, she continued with reckless abandon, refusing to mince words, ‘You could sate your passion and find an answer to the question that's burning you up—am I or aren't I the virgin I claim to be? And who knows—you might even give me the child you insist that I'm carrying.'

‘You're asking for it,' he said thickly, his eyes dark and demented, his fingers traveling from her wrists to her upper arms, pulling her closer so that the full fury of his breath blasted across her cheek. ‘You're driving me to it. I won't be able to help myself; you don't need the usual trappings your sex is prone to resort to, a revealing dress, heady perfume. Your tongue is better than the deepest cleavage or the most evocative perfume.'

She didn't know which she backed away from, the naked hunger in his eyes or his words. How was she to know that to him the compulsive step away would come under the heading of provocation and that he would be incensed enough to bring her back?

‘You
little torment. Never miss a trick, do you?' he said, this time drawing her fully into his arms, holding her so suffocatingly close that she couldn't breathe and then covering her mouth with a kiss which left no room for retreat and swept her into a vortex of feeling. It was like melting in a vat of pure sensation. Not just her burning lips, but her whole body was ultra-sensitized. She was electrically aware of his fingers sliding down her neck, easing away the material of her dress to give his lips access to her bared shoulder.

His kiss showered her flesh with delight and she brushed her fingers across his lowered cheek, realizing the truth in at least one accusation he'd made. She did want to touch him, incessantly and involuntarily. She hadn't realized there was anything wrong in that. It stemmed from her innocent desire to express the depth of her feelings through her fingers, and perhaps also to reassure herself that he was real and not a figment of her romantic heart. Her
foolish
heart, which bound her more securely than bars or chains. In her carefree, heartfree days she had hoped that love would come to her and had thought it would be a blessing. The realization had dawned on her slowly that it could also be a bondage, a sweet bondage when it was reciprocal and hearts were united, a bitter bondage when the love was not returned. The bitterness of Maxwell's desire was as far
removed
from love as it was possible to be. It made a mockery of her earlier belief that the marriage with the greatest chance of survival was the one where physical attraction sparked off love. She had even thought that when the attraction was strong enough love must inevitably follow.

She wasn't aware that her distress had found an outlet and that she was crying in self-pity at the hopelessness of her plight—because she could not find happiness with Maxwell like this, but neither could she find happiness without him—until he molded his fingers to her cheeks to dry her tears. He did this awkwardly, with none of his usual finesse, as if in all his dealings with women this was a new turn-up.

His voice was biting but not brutal, brusque but not bitter. ‘You've got to leave my room. We both need to cool off.'

She didn't see Maxwell again until much later in the day and his attitude toward her was impersonal and even a little distant. There was no monitor on her movements and she supposed it would have been the simplest thing in the world to telephone for a taxi to take her to the station and catch the next train home. So easy in theory, so hard to do. She could no more walk out on Maxwell now than
she
could stop breathing. She couldn't leave him of her own free will. If he wanted her to go he would have to send her away. She hoped it wouldn't be until after Ian's funeral. She wanted to be by his side for that.

She phoned Barry again, this time without interruption. She couldn't have left him hanging, not knowing where she was or what was happening to her. Her earlier phone call, so abruptly ended when Maxwell took the receiver from her and banged it down to cut off the connection, would have worried him more than no phone call at all.

Barry came on the line and practically his first words were, ‘Give me your address and then if that lunatic, whoever he is, cuts us off again I'll know where to come to sort him out.'

The idea of Barry sorting Maxwell out was so ludicrous that it took all her composure not to laugh. ‘That won't be necessary, Barry, but thank you all the same. When I phoned before I had . . . er . . . something like that in mind, but it isn't fair to put you to the trouble of coming all this way. I'm in Scotland, incidentally, and I'm in no danger. I really am all right. Will you go round and see Miss Davies and give her that message? Please do this for me. If you see her and talk to her she'll take it in much better than a phone call, which might panic her. Tell her I'm safe and that there's nothing to worry about and I'll get in touch with her myself later. Would you also
pass
that same message on to my neighbors, please? I hate to think that anyone's been distressed by my disappearance.'

‘Disappearance? What disappearance? What are you talking about? I was hurt that you didn't confide in me in advance, but no one's had any cause for distress. Concern, yes, because Miss Davies said your voice sounded different. Choked up like, but that was to be expected.'

‘Miss Davies said? I don't understand. When was this?'

‘Really, Gemma! What's the matter with you? When you phoned her, of course, before you left, apologizing for the short notice and asking for time off. Something about a family crisis.'

‘That must have been Glenda. She seems to have thought of everything. I'm glad she made my excuses for me.'

Glenda had certainly paid meticulous attention to detail. But whether she had made the phone call to Miss Davies to put everyone's mind at rest or because she knew that Gemma would start screaming to Maxwell that she was Gemma Coleridge was another matter entirely. If fears had not been allayed at that end there was always the possibility of her disappearance being reported in the newspapers and the danger of Maxwell spotting it. She wasn't going to have her plans spoiled by that and she had taken steps to
eliminate
the risk. Even if it was to suit her own purpose, Gemma was glad that Glenda had phoned Miss Davies and that she hadn't been a worry to anyone.

‘What did you say about Glenda?' Barry queried sharply.

‘Oh, nothing important. I read in the newspapers that she was missing. Has she turned up yet?'

‘No. Her father's offering a fantastic reward for news of her whereabouts. Do you know anything about it, Gemma?'

‘What could I know?' she countered.

‘If you know where she is you should speak up.'

‘I honestly don't know where Glenda is,' she replied truthfully.

‘I'm still not satisfied. It sounds decidedly fishy to me, your going off like that and not letting on to me. I didn't know you had any close family. I think you've been pretty secretive all the way round.'

‘I'm sorry you're taking this attitude, Barry, and I'm sorry that you feel I'm being secretive. If I am it can't be helped. I can't say more now. This is a long-distance call and I'm using someone else's phone.'

‘If it belongs to the lunatic who cut me off, to hell with him. Let him pay.'

‘I can't do that. I must go.'

‘Give me your number, then, and I'll ring you back. I think you know more than you're
saying.
There could be rich pickings here, you know.'

‘I'm not interested in that angle. I don't know anything that would help anyone to find Glenda. I can't talk anymore just now.'

‘When you do want to talk I might not want to listen,' he said pettishly. ‘What kind of a future are we going to have if there's no trust between us?'

‘Oh, Barry, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to tell you this over the phone, but we have no future together.'

‘What are you talking about? Of course we have! Have you been stringing me along?'

‘Barry, no! But I haven't been taking anything for granted, either.'

‘Well I have. I took it for granted that one day we'd get married.'

‘I'm sorry, Barry, but it's no good.'

‘Gemma . . . don't ring off.'

‘Goodbye, Barry,' she said, gently setting the receiver back in its cradle.

The day of Ian's funeral dawned. There was sleet in the wind and a terrible forlornness, a bitter desolation in her heart. She had never known Ian, but as she stood by Maxwell's side on that bleak Scottish hillside hot tears fell down her cold cheeks.

Long after they'd left the graveyard she
could
still hear the mournful music that had piped Ian to his last resting place. The melancholy of the occasion was especially poignant because Ian was so young. People kept approaching Maxwell to express sympathy, curiosity in their eyes as they glanced at the pale-faced girl standing by his side in the dark dress and coat which she had hastily purchased for the event. Among the throng of mourners were a number of relatives, aunts, uncles, and several cousins, as well as many friends. One person was noticeably absent.

‘Glenda should have been here,' Maxwell said, voicing the thought that had been spinning through Gemma's mind.

She couldn't believe her own ears. ‘Did I hear you right?'

His hand lifted to touch her cheek. ‘Yes . . . Gemma.'

He had called her Gemma. It couldn't be left there, they both knew that, but now wasn't the moment for a personal discussion. Some of the mourners had traveled long distances and needed to be put up for the night. Morag required help to prepare the rooms and feed the sudden influx of guests. Even Fiona buckled in and the three of them, aided by Jeanie, the little maid who had shown Gemma to her room when she first came to Glenross, worked industriously to ensure everyone's comfort. Gemma knew that it was an uneasy
truce
between her and Fiona. They were both rivals for Maxwell's affections and there could never be room for them under the same roof on a permanent basis.