His Rags-to-Riches Bride: Innocent on Her Wedding Night / Housekeeper at His Beck and Call / The Australian's Housekeeper Bride

‘You think there’ll be one—after this?’

It was his turn to shrug. ‘Who knows? Maybe it isn’t simply a phase, as you put it, but an extra helping of the Sinclair wild streak and impossible to remove, even with surgery.’

She stared at him. ‘What are you talking about? What—streak?’

‘This overweening impulse to go looking for danger.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Simon had it too, remember?’

‘I remember nothing of the kind,’ Laine said curtly.

‘No? Then what took him back to those bloody mountains time after time, constantly pushing himself to go higher—faster—than anyone else?’ His voice was harsh. ‘And what the hell possessed him to go on that last trip—when everyone tried to talk him out of it?’

She stared down at the pale gold of her wine, her throat tightening. ‘I don’t know,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’ve never known.’

‘Exactly,’ he said.

Her gaze met his with swift defiance. ‘Well, please don’t include me in this absurd generalisation about my family. I certainly don’t go looking for trouble.’

‘But you seem to find it, all the same,’ he said unanswerably. ‘How’s the ankle?’

‘Better,’ she returned. ‘I found some more bandages in the bathroom cupboard and strapped it up again, all ready for my trek to the job centre tomorrow.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Daniel said smoothly. ‘And you appear to have been busy in other ways.’ He glanced towards the kitchen. ‘Something smells good.’

‘You cleared Jamie’s room for me, so I’ve cooked dinner for you.’ She paused. ‘Chicken puttanesca. I hope you like it.’

‘Thank you, but sadly we’ll never know.’ There was no trace of regret in his tone. ‘I’m going out tonight. I merely came back to change.’

‘Hot date?’ She kept her voice light, faintly amused, ignoring the ludicrous, unreasoning disappointment that speared her.

‘Is there any other kind?’

‘Serious?’

He swallowed some of his whisky, watching her steadily. ‘Is that really any of your business?’

‘Well, yes, in a way,’ Laine countered. ‘I just wonder—if the pair of you are an item—why you don’t move in with the lady instead of living here? It would seem to make more sense—that’s all.’

His glance was cynical. ‘It’s not that serious.’

‘Poor girl.’

‘She can take care of herself,’ he returned curtly. ‘Speaking of which, this could be a good time to get something straight. Put some guidelines in place. Because we’re not playing happy families here, Laine. You’re not Si’s little sister any more. And I’m not your surrogate brother.’

He added icily, ‘Also, in case you’ve forgotten, you lost any right you ever had to enquire into my private life two years ago.’

He allowed her a moment to digest that, then went on, ‘We share this flat, but we maintain our own space at all times. So, if I intend to be here for a meal I’ll let you know, and we’ll make some arrangement about the use of the kitchen. But we both cook for ourselves, and there’ll be no cosying-up round the stove. Understood?’

‘Of course,’ she said tautly, aware that her face had warmed. ‘Although cosy is never a word I’d associate with you. And I’ll make very sure that I repay you for the food I’ve used this evening.’

He said wearily, ‘Don’t be so damned absurd. I’m not actually begrudging you a meal. Just don’t make a habit of it.’

His firm mouth tightened. ‘This is not a situation either of us would have chosen, Laine, but it exists, and we must make the best of it. And we do that by going our own ways and leading our own lives. Right?’ He added, ‘After all, you were the one who said privacy should be respected.’

He waited until she slowly nodded, then finished his whisky and got to his feet, taking the glass into the kitchen. She heard the faint rattle as he put it in the dishwasher.

It all seemed so normal—so domestic, she thought. Except, of course, that it was just the opposite. This was a battleground, and she had to make damned sure she wasn’t a casualty. Not again.

On his way back Daniel paused momentarily, looking down at her, the hazel eyes hard.

‘By the way,’ he added, his voice soft but not gentle, ‘please don’t bother to wait up for me—tonight or any other night.’

And he went across to his room and closed the door, leaving her staring after him from her corner of the sofa as if she’d been frozen there.

Laine was at the stove, draining the pasta to go with the chicken, when she heard the faint slam of the flat door, signalling his departure.

And goodnight and goodbye to you, too, she thought, grinding black pepper over her penne as if she was twisting someone’s throat.

Much of her earlier appetite seemed to have deserted her, but she forced herself to eat at least some of her solitary meal, sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, rather than at the elegant circular dining table in the living room.

I’d feel silly in there on my own, she thought. But I’d have felt an even bigger fool if I’d used the silverware and the crystal and set two places.

Jamie had told her to be nice, but it was difficult to see how that was to be achieved now that her first awkward attempt at rapprochement had been so signally rejected.

But maybe that was for the best too—under the circumstances.

You’re not Si’s little sister any more. Words which told her quite unequivocally—even brutally—that there was nothing left, not even a residual fondness. And certainly none of the reluctant sense of obligation that had led to their marriage.

He’d totally shrugged off his unwanted responsibilities and reclaimed his freedom. At the same time coldly emphasising that Daniel wanted the woman she’d become no more than he’d desired the girl she’d once been.

And that from now on she was on her own in every conceivable way.

Her heart felt like a stone in her chest. It had never occurred to her even for a moment that she could find herself in this impossible situation. All along she’d had just one simple plan—never to be alone with him again. There was no alternative scheme—no fall-back position—because she’d believed with painful confidence that they’d never be necessary.

Yet here she was, she thought wretchedly. Trapped and, for the foreseeable future anyway, helpless.

If it had been the same for him she could perhaps have steeled herself to bear it. Learned to move about in their shared space as if she was tiptoeing on eggshells. Taught herself to edge round him—live on some perimeter of this joint existence.

But the fact was that he didn’t care. Because she didn’t matter enough to make him do so. She’d once been a burden, now she was no more than a nuisance—a vague irritant in the smooth running of his life. Nothing more.

All the pain, the tears, the stumbling days and sleepless nights, and the yawning desolation of loneliness had been hers alone.

And just the knowledge of that was the kind of anguish she’d prayed she would never feel again.

An anguish she could never let him see in the weeks that stretched ahead. Because she wasn’t sure which would be worse to endure—his indifference or his pity.

She swallowed thickly, pushing her plate away, and slid off the stool. Don’t think, she told herself. Keep busy.

She worked like a robot, stacking the dishwasher and selecting a programme, then placing the extra chicken with its thick, aromatic sauce in a covered dish in the fridge, to provide her with her next evening meal, before tidying the kitchen and restoring the stove and surfaces to their earlier pristine gleam.