Never A Bride

If she struggled to free her hand the whiskey would go all over the place, and there was no room for such indignities in their relationship. Aquamarine eyes battled with incisive grey until she saw the sudden flare of hard mockery and lowered her lids and he transferred his glass to his other hand, releasing hers, asking grimly, ‘Do you dislike being touched, per se, or is it only by me?’

‘I don’t think that question deserves a response, do you?’ she uttered calmly, forcing herself to retreat with slow and careful dignity to the opposite sofa and not fly headlong from the room as every cell in her body urged her to do. But as she sank into the comfortably upholstered depths nothing on earth could prevent her snapping out acidly, ‘I’m surprised you cut your Italian trip short. Wasn’t the principessa as irresistible as she’s made out to be?’

She was appalled at herself. They never quarreled. Never came near it. She didn’t know what was happening. And when he announced, with languid grace, ‘I couldn’t possibly comment, my dear,’ she wanted to hit him. Wanted it with an intensity that shook her to her soul.

‘What’s bugging you? I’d have marked you down as a woman who could handle a slice of unpleasant publicity with a sophisticated shrug of one superlatively elegant shoulder.’ He took a reflective sip of his drink, his narrowed eyes never leaving her. ‘We were pictured leaving the opera. If you’d been there—you were invited, remember—it wouldn’t have happened. And you would have enjoyed it. La Traviata. Juanita del Sorro sang Violetta. She was quite superb.’

‘I’m quite sure she was.’ Only by forcing herself to respond could she stop her teeth from audibly grinding together. Was he saying his public lapse from grace was all her fault? How dared he?

And of course he had expected her to be in Rome with him. Although he did a fair amount of business there they didn’t own an apartment in the city for her to turn into a home on the hoof. They always used the same small, privately run hotel near the Piazza Venezia where she acted—as was her part of the bargain—as PR officer, private secretary, mistress of the wardrobe, companion and sounding board. Everything she had been happy to be for the past two years.

The visit to Rome had been scheduled for months and she’d been looking forward to another all too brief trip to her favorite city until that phone call from the UK. Thankfully Jake had been out, so she’d had the Manhattan apartment to herself. If he’d been in she wouldn’t have been able to avoid his inevitable questions. She would have had to tell him the truth. And although she knew she owed it to him, that honesty within their relationship had been something they’d both decided on, right from the start, she knew she couldn’t face it, not quite yet.

And when he’d turned up, all fired up with the successful completion of yet another brilliant business deal, she’d dealt with the pressing emergency and had come up with a believable excuse for backing out of the Rome trip.

‘It’s the first time I’ve ever let you down, Jake, but would you mind if I skipped Rome? Say if you do. But suddenly I feel tired.’ She’d felt drainingly guilty at his swift look of concern and had had to force herself to add, ‘I could spend an extra, quiet day here, fly back to England and have the London apartment ready for when you get home from Rome.’

She had needed a few days’ grace, time to face up to the consequences of telling him the truth and what would be the inevitable ending of their marriage. But he’d returned two days ahead of schedule, and she didn’t know why, but she still hadn’t worked up enough courage to tell him. Just thinking about it made her ask now, suddenly in deadly earnest, ‘Jake—you and the principessa—is it serious?’

It had been part of the bargain, the let-out clause. If either of them, at any time during their paper marriage, met someone, felt serious enough about them to want a real marriage, then the other wouldn’t stand in their way. There would be an annulment, followed, if Jake was the one who wanted out, by a healthy financial settlement. If she invoked the clause she would forfeit the settlement, but she could live with that now. She wouldn’t give the lack of the kind of lifestyle she’d enjoyed during her marriage a second thought.

‘Of course not.’ He sounded as if he was on the point of yawning. And, moments later, did. He stood up, stretching, the fabric of his shirt pulled tight against his strong, lean torso. ‘I’m for bed. I’m surprised you weren’t tucked up hours ago, considering how desperately tired you were supposed to be.’

She ignored that, the acid tone, everything. She didn’t know why she felt so buoyant, as if she’d won a reprieve, when she should be feeling thwarted. If he’d told her he’d fallen in love, at last, found a woman he genuinely wanted to spend the rest of his life with—for all the right and natural reasons—then that would have created a way out for her.

She didn’t understand herself. She managed a cool goodnight and took herself off to her own peaceful room, and decided she was being dog-in-the-manger about it. She didn’t want him to walk out on her. That was what it boiled down to. If their marriage ended—and it had to, of course—then she needed to be the one to do it. A matter of pride, perhaps?

She fell asleep not liking herself very much but feeling strangely comforted.

However, any feelings of comfort, undeserved or otherwise, flew straight out of the window the very next morning.

Jake, as always, was up before her, his energy making her feel tired. Breakfast was prepared—eggs and fruit and coffee.

‘All I could find. The cupboard is bare. Not to worry.’ He flashed her the sudden white grin that had the mega-watt power to make unwary females quake at the knees. ‘I’ve been making phone calls. Eat—’ he gestured to the table in the immaculate high-tech kitchen ‘—before the eggs get cold, and I’ll tell you what I’ve arranged.’

In this mood, he made her feel as if she was in the middle of a whirlwind. Not a morning person herself, she’d taught herself how to handle his restless energy by simply letting it wash over her head until she’d dragged herself together sufficiently to cope with it. She would watch him with sleep-drugged eyes, rarely taking in much of what he said. But this morning he shocked her into full and definitely unpleasant wakefulness as he told her, ‘As I said, I’ve made a couple of calls. As soon as we’ve eaten we’ll drive up and visit with Liz and Sal. I know you speak to your mother regularly—’ his eyes pinned her to her seat ‘—but she’s looking forward to seeing you. Us. And tomorrow we’ll go on from there to Litherton. I’ll leave you in Emma’s capable hands until I join you for Christmas. She’ll see you get all the rest you need. And feed you up. You’ve lost weight recently.’ His dark brows rose, as if inviting her to explain why, and she suddenly felt desperately conscious of her body, even though it was adequately concealed by her heavy peacock-blue satin robe.

She put down her fork, her throat clogging up. He wasn’t stupid—far from it. He knew something was going on. He’d walked in on that phone call and didn’t believe her swift assertion that she’d been talking to her mother. So he was going ahead, making sure he found out—or forced her to tell him.

There was no doubt about his genuine wish to visit Liz, see that she was comfortable, had everything she needed, find out from Sally Harding, her mother’s companion, if the elderly lady was as well as she always assured them she was. For Jake had been wonderful with her mother. Liz had never been physically strong and the hard life she’d had meant that her health had suffered, and her future care and downright cosseting had been offered as part of Jake’s side of the marriage bargain they’d made. It, and it alone, had been the factor that had made Claire agree to tie herself to what was, in fact, a purely business arrangement.

But there was more to the visit than that. He was suspicious, and had decided to manage and manipulate her. He’d try to get to the truth through Liz, and if he didn’t—or not completely—he had made other contingency plans. Shut her away at Litherton Court, the Winter family home, where his younger sister, Emma, would keep an eye on her until he turned up for the usual family Christmas.

Christmas was two weeks away.

She straightened her spine, lifted troubled sea-blue eyes to his and said quietly, ‘I have something to tell you.’

CHAPTER TWO

JAKE put his coffee-cup back on its saucer, the tiny click of the china sounding desperately loud in the hollow silence that had followed her statement, making her feel as if she was in a vacuum, the act of breathing impossible.

Her fingers twisting together nervously in her lap, she watched him go very still, the tension coming from him like a physical blow, making her helplessly nervous. Brimming with agitation, she lifted her eyes to his and saw an uncharacteristic look of wariness there, as if he, and not she, were the one who was trapped. And then it went, hard grey steel back in place, his mouth grim as he invited, ‘So? Tell me.’

Aware that she’d been holding her breath, Claire dragged in air. What she had to tell him meant the beginning of the end of their relationship. A dreadful, draining reluctance took her by the throat but she managed thickly, ‘Liz has news. She heard last week that an uncle had died and left her a fortune. It was totally unexpected. She hadn’t seen him in years. He never married and ended up as a complete recluse. Liz was the only relative he had. I met him once but don’t really remember him. I was seven.’

It had been shortly after her father had walked out on her mother and one bleak day Liz had dressed her in her best clothes and taken her to visit her great-uncle. A dreary journey entailing three separate bus rides, an even drearier welcome. Claire recalled only one thing about that meeting—the cynical way he had said, ‘Just because your mother was my sister, don’t come looking to me for hand-outs. It’s not my fault your husband chose to run away with another woman. It’s up to him to support his child, not me.’

They’d left at once. Her mother’s mouth had trembled as they’d walked through the cold rain to the bus-stop and Claire had clasped her hand, transmitting her sturdy love, feeling the fragile bones beneath the scratchy, hand-knitted gloves. But later, during the tedious journey home, Liz had brightened and told her, ‘You have to be sorry for him. He thought I was after his precious money when all I wanted was what was left of our family. He has no one but we have each other. That’s worth far more than any amount of money. We’re the lucky ones.’

‘In the end he must have decided to will everything to his niece,’ Claire told Jake reflectively. ‘He wasn’t the sort of man who would leave anything to charity, no matter how deserving.’

‘I’m pleased for her,’ Jake said warmly, but she saw the question deep in those unfathomable eyes of his before he voiced it. ‘And that is all you have to tell me?’

His long, lean fingers were drumming silently on the table-top. Her lashes swooped down, hiding her confusion. The way he was looking at her made her feel guilty even though she had nothing to feel guilty about. And when he slid in, his voice coldly silky, ‘You don’t want to tell me about the lover you were speaking to when I disturbed you last night? Don’t be shy about it; the eventuality was provided for in our agreement, with the accent being on discretion. I take it you are being discreet?’ she bit out with brittle haste,

‘Unlike you and that Italian!’ Shocked by the stab of pain that prompted the outburst, she reined in her temper and stressed with stony-voiced patience, ‘I was speaking to Liz—as I told you. She wanted to know if I’d given you her news yet.’

‘Oh, of course!’ he countered with heavy irony. ‘It’s always nice to hear good news—I fully understand her desperate urgency.’

‘Don’t be sarcastic!’ She snapped to her feet, the breakfast he’d prepared for her barely touched. He didn’t believe she’d been talking to her mother. He took lovers, so why shouldn’t she? That was the way he would look at it. ‘To Liz it is urgent. She wanted you to know so that you could stop the allowance you make her. Stop paying Sal’s wages—she can well afford to do that herself now. It was all I could do to prevent her from insisting that she repay every last penny you spent on Lark Cottage.’

‘I deeded Lark Cottage to her on our wedding-day,’ Jake said grimly, and stood up too, turning and walking through to the living-room. Claire followed, her eyes puzzled. For a moment she thought she’d glimpsed a flicker of pain in his eyes, as if it hurt him to think of Liz throwing the generosity of the past two years back in his face.

He had his back to her, his fists bunched into the pockets of his trousers, staring down at the quiet street from one of the tall sash windows that graced the elegant room. And although her softly slippered feet could have made no sound on the thick carpet he clearly knew she was there because he muttered tightly, ‘There’s no question of Liz repaying the cost of the cottage. And as for the comfortable living allowance I make her—that was part of our marriage agreement. I have no intention of going back on it.’

Claire walked slowly towards him, noting how tightly the muscles on his impressive shoulders were clenched. The allowance he’d made Liz over the past two years had been far more than merely comfortable. He’d been generous with his time, too, making sure they visited the elderly lady whenever they were in England, keeping in close contact by phone when they were not, making time in his packed schedule for them to take Liz and Sally Harding to the Italian lakes for ten days each spring, sending her books he thought she’d like to read. Little things, granted—set against his immense wealth—but meaning so much, and going far beyond the letter of the agreement they’d made.

She couldn’t bear him to think his generosity was being tossed back in his face. She couldn’t bear him to be hurt.

Not stopping to analyze the depth of her feelings or the impulse that made her move quickly to place her body in front of him, reach out to touch his perfectly hewn features, she said gently, ‘Liz would hate you to think she was ungrateful. It’s the last thing she’d want. But her pride is all she’s ever had, remember. And now she finds herself in a position to provide for herself she’s walking on air. Don’t try to deny her that.’

She wasn’t conscious of the way her cool fingertips were softly stroking his temple, the palm of her hand gently laid against the hardly sculpted side of his face, until he turned his head, his eyes holding hers with lancing intensity as his lips moved erotically against the suddenly unbearably sensitized palm of her hand. She gave a small, shaky gasp as wildfire sensations seared through her body and saw his hooded eyes grow speculative. She snatched her hand away.

Touching hadn’t been part of their contract. Non-consummation had been agreed on. She was too fastidious to contemplate sex without love and he wouldn’t want a sexual relationship, with all its inherent emotional complications, to put their down-to-earth and mutually beneficial partnership in jeopardy.

Was that why he had gone out of his way to avoid any physical contact—even the most innocent? Had he known something she had never even suspected—that his slightest touch would send her up in flames?

Praying she wouldn’t betray her humiliation with something as uncool as a blush, she stepped briskly back and squared her shoulders, summoned her normal, politely friendly tone and stated, ‘If we’re going on to Lither ton from Lark Cottage then I’d better throw a few things in a bag. But I warn you, much as I like your sister, don’t expect me to bury myself down there for the next two weeks. I’d be bored out of my skull.’

Not true. She and Jake had spent a wonderfully relaxing time at Litherton Court last Christmas, plus a gloriously lazy long weekend in the early autumn, but she wasn’t going to admit that she would be miserable if she didn’t see him for two whole weeks, because she wasn’t ready to admit it to herself.

And despite having been the last to speak she had the distinctly edgy feeling, as she swept out of the room, that she hadn’t had the last word.

Four hours later Liz said happily, ‘Oh, it’s lovely to see you!’ and stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Jake’s lean, hard cheek, smothered in the bulk of his sheepskin jacket as he hugged her, then turned to her daughter for her embrace. As Claire’s arms went round the tiny frame she thought, She’s not nearly as frail as she used to be, and felt tears of gratitude for all Jake had done sting behind her eyes and clog her throat.

‘Come along in, out of the cold. As soon as we heard your car come round the corner of the lane Sal went to put the kettle on. And your rooms are ready, so go along up if you want to freshen up before we snack.’

As the door closed on the cold grey mist of the December afternoon Jake’s height and breadth and alarmingly magnetic male presence filled the tiny, cheerful hall and Claire grabbed her suitcase, suddenly needing the quiet privacy of her room, space to breathe, away from that throat-grabbing presence. But Jake, shrugging out of his sheepskin, said, ‘I want a private word with you, Liz, before we do a damn thing.’