His Independent Bride: Wife Against Her Will / The Wedlocked Wife / Bertoluzzi's Heiress Bride

‘I’m not that hungry.’

‘Well, I certainly am,’ he said. ‘So, why don’t we just settle for tomorrow’s breakfast?’ ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The fridge in the kitchen. Sometimes people have their reasons for not wishing to be disturbed in the mornings, but still need to eat at some point. A lot of honeymoon couples stay here. Therefore there’s always ham, eggs and stuff available.’ He smiled at her. ‘So, while I have my swim, why don’t you cook me some food, like a good wife should?’

She did look at him then, startled. ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’

‘I’d tread carefully, sweetheart,’ he said softly. ‘Or it could turn into a hell of your own making.’ He paused. ‘I’ll have coffee too—strong and black. And two eggs, over easy. Sunny side up might be pushing it under the circumstances.’

He turned to go. ‘And shout loudly when it’s ready,’ he threw back at her over his shoulder. ‘When I’m alone, I tend not to wear anything in the pool either. Don’t say you weren’t warned.’

She watched him go, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She had indeed been warned, she thought. Alarm bells were sounding all over the place.

She took off her suit skirt and blouse, exchanging them for a knee-length blue skirt and a matching V-necked top, both cotton. She discarded her tights too, slipping her feet into heelless leather sandals.

The idea of waiting on Joel held no appeal, but under the circumstances she couldn’t afford to provoke him, she realised, heading reluctantly in the direction of the kitchen.

She filled the kettle and set it to boil, then put a large frying pan on the hob, letting it heat up before adding two thick slices of ham.

She’d fully intended allowing him to eat alone, as a kind of silent protest, but as the ham began to fry the smell made her mouth water, so she reluctantly capitulated and added an extra rasher to the pan for herself.

She put plates to warm, spooned an expensive brand of fresh coffee into the waiting cafetière, cut a bread stick into chunks, then took mats and cutlery through to the small round table in the living room.

Pride wouldn’t allow her to let the food burn, whatever the temptation, so the ham was golden brown, the eggs perfectly cooked and the coffee strong and aromatic. She nodded with satisfaction, then put her head back and yelled.

He appeared promptly, his dark hair glistening, and she took the seat opposite him, stone-faced.

‘This is better than terrific,’ Joel commented after his first appreciative mouthful. ‘Did you ever tell me you could cook?’

She kept her eyes on her plate. ‘Why else do you suppose I was on Drew Maidstone’s boat?’

‘I thought that was open to conjecture.’ His tone was dry.

‘You caught me once making a fool of myself,’ she said in a low voice. ‘That does not make me a universal slag.’

‘I caught you twice,’ he said. ‘But who’s counting?’ He paused. ‘One of these days or nights, you’ll have to tell me just what you see in Metcalfe.’

‘I see your cousin’s husband,’ Darcy said expressionlessly. ‘Is that enough for you?’

‘Yes,’ he said. Then added, ‘If it were true.’

And they finished the meal in silence.

Afterwards, Joel insisted on loading the dishwasher, a courtesy she could have happily foregone. The kitchen was too small to accommodate two people who weren’t on familiar terms, she thought, and she had constantly to flatten herself against the units to avoid brushing against him. Worse, she was sure that he was quite aware of her struggles and secretly amused by them.

Once the machine was loaded, there was little to do but follow him back into the living room. She sat down on one of the sofas, feeling as if she was on a knife-edge.

There was a brief silence, then, ‘It’s been quite a day,’ Joel said, stretching indolently, the movement emphasising the lithe toughness of his body. It occurred to her that without the formal armour of business clothes he was formidable indeed, and she felt her mouth dry suddenly. He smiled at her. ‘That early night I mentioned seems like a good idea.’

‘Yes.’ She pantomimed a yawn. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ She stood up. ‘There don’t seem to be any keys round here. Or keyholes either. How do we lock up?’

‘We don’t,’ he said. ‘There’s no crime.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Well—goodnight.’

When she reached her room she was as breathless as if she’d been running. A shower, not too warm, could be soothing, she thought, because she felt as stretched as a wire, and she really needed to sleep. Because there was tomorrow to face, and all the days and nights after that.

She used some shower gel that smelled exquisitely of carnations, and after she’d dried herself languidly on one of the enormous bath sheets she scented her skin with the matching body lotion.

Joel’s gift was the only nightgown she had with her, so, reluctantly, she put it on, then went back into the bedroom. The bed was soft, and welcomed her like a friend. She drew the sheet up to her waist and lay staring up at the ceiling, thoughts, impressions and snatches of conversation tumbling through her mind. And achieving precisely nothing, she decided, except, maybe, to make her feel more on edge than ever.

She needed to stop thinking, turn off the lamp and go to sleep. Because things would be bound to look better in the morning.

But even as she reached for the switch, she saw her door opening silently and Joel sauntering into the room.

He was wearing a dark red silk robe that reached mid-thigh, and nothing else. ‘Don’t say you weren’t warned,’ he’d told her, and now her worst nightmare was coming true.

As he reached the side of the bed, Darcy heard her voice coming from some far distance. ‘What are you doing here? Get out of my room. Get out now.’

‘No chance,’ he said softly. ‘You’re my wife, Darcy, and this is our wedding night. And I think I’ve waited for you quite long enough. Don’t you?’

CHAPTER NINE

FOR A moment Darcy was completely still, assimilating what he’d said. Feeling the meaning invade her consciousness like tiny chips of ice. Then,

‘But you promised.’ The words burst out of her in a little wail of agony and betrayal. ‘You said—you gave me your word you wouldn’t want to sleep with me.’

‘Nor will I. That’s no great hardship.’ His voice was still gentle. ‘But I haven’t come here to sleep, my lovely one. Not for some time, anyway, because I’m actually not tired at all. And neither, I suspect, are you.’

‘But you let me think that you wouldn’t…’ Her voice rose in desperation. ‘We had an agreement.’

‘With all agreements, examine the small print closely.’ Joel was unruffled. ‘Sleeping together is such an ambiguous concept, don’t you think? It can mean different things to different people. And it covers none of the very pleasurable things one can do when awake.’

He smiled down into her frightened, pleading eyes, and his voice deepened slightly. Became husky. ‘And now, my sweet, I want to look at you.’

He took the edge of the sheet and turned it back, his brows lifting as he saw her nightgown.

‘Almost virginal,’ he remarked. ‘And yet we both know that’s not the case.’ He paused. ‘So, will you take it off, or shall I?’

She wrapped her arms round her body, staring up at him wild-eyed.

‘Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me. You lied to me, you bastard. You tricked me…’

‘It’s a trait we seem to share,’ he drawled. ‘Just be thankful we’ll never have children, or heaven only knows what they’d be like.’ He paused, and his voice hardened a little. ‘And you weren’t deceived, Darcy, whatever you may tell yourself. I told you once that I wanted you from that first moment—but you already knew that, so don’t bother to deny it. It was always a question of when, so don’t pretend otherwise.’

‘Joel.’ She was shaking, her voice sinking to an anguished whisper. ‘Don’t do this. I’m begging you. Don’t force me. I—I couldn’t bear it.’

‘I don’t believe in force, darling,’ he said. ‘Just a little gentle persuasion, perhaps. Starting with this.’ He reached down and, with a deftness that appalled her, whipped her nightgown over her head and tossed it aside.