His Wedding-Night Heir

She said, quietly and clearly, ‘Because I don’t want my only child to be—made in hatred. And I don’t believe you’d want that either.’

‘You really think you hate me?’ Faint, galling amusement in his voice.

She nodded. ‘I know it.’

‘So what are you suggesting instead?’ he drawled. ‘Surely not—love?’

She winced. ‘I thought—some kind of compromise. After all, you were prepared once to make allowances—you said so earlier.’

‘How unwise of me.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Very well. I’ve had a year to practise restraint, so I suppose I can go on being patient for a while.’

He signalled for the bill, then turned back to her, the grey eyes merciless. ‘But be warned, darling. Don’t push your luck. Because I have no intention of waiting for ever. Do I make myself clear?’

From somewhere a long way off she heard herself say, ‘As crystal.’

And somehow she found herself getting up from the table and going with him out into the night.

CHAPTER THREE

THE car he drove was new to her—low and sleek, with deep leather seats into which she sank almost helplessly. Music played softly, and she recognised that it was Bach—one of the Brandenburg concertos. It was all persuasively, beguilingly comfortable. And she was nearly, but not quite, lulled into acceptance…

She struggled to sit up straight. ‘Where are we going?’ she demanded huskily.

‘To the hotel,’ he said. ‘Where else?’

‘I’d prefer to go back to my own flat.’

‘Which I’m sure has only a single bed,’ Nick returned. ‘We’ll be marginally more comfortable at the Majestic, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate.’

Cally drew a quick, angry breath. ‘But you said—you promised… Oh, God, I should have known I couldn’t trust you.’

‘And I feel the same about you, darling. Did you really think I’d let you out of my sight?’ He shook his head. ‘No, Cally. You’re spending the night with me. And, it’s not lust, merely a safety precaution,’ he added drily.

‘But I have to go to the flat,’ she protested. ‘There are things I need—clothes and stuff.’

‘If the clothing bears any resemblance to what you’re wearing now, I suggest you leave it there,’ he told her coolly. ‘Besides, I’ve brought you everything you need. You once had a trousseau—remember?’

Cally smoothed the cheap material of her skirt over her knees in a defensive gesture. ‘Yes—I remember.’

‘You also had a wedding ring,’ he went on. ‘Is it still around?’

She stared through the windscreen into the night. ‘I—threw it away.’

‘How dramatic,’ he said mockingly. ‘Wiser to have sold it, perhaps. You must have needed the cash.’

But I wasn’t feeling very wise. Just betrayed, confused and angry. The words trembled in her mind, but she did not utter them.

He said, ‘I shall have to buy you another.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Is that strictly necessary—for such a short time?’

‘It’s considered usual.’

‘But I thought you weren’t interested in conventions,’ she said. ‘Besides, I shall only throw it away again, when my duty’s done and I claim my freedom.’

‘However, while you’re living as my wife you’ll wear my ring.’ His voice was soft, but there was a note in it that spelled danger. ‘Just as you’ll get used to sleeping in my bed. Who knows? You might even come to enjoy both of them.’

‘Do not,’ Cally said through gritted teeth, ‘count on it.’ She hesitated. ‘How do you intend to explain my sudden return?’

‘I don’t,’ Nick responded coolly. ‘It concerns no one but ourselves.’

That, she thought, her nails curling into the palms of her hands, was not strictly true on a number of counts—not all of which she could bring herself to deal with. However, there was one she needed to mention.

She said tautly, ‘I presume you’ve informed Adele—if she’s still living at the Hall?’

‘She isn’t,’ he said curtly. ‘I arranged for her move to the Dower House months ago, when I still thought you might return of your own accord.’

She raised her brows. ‘That can’t have pleased her.’

‘Nor did the prospect of finding herself replaced as the mistress of the house. Once I married, her departure became inevitable. She knew that.’ He slanted a glance at her. ‘Or did you wish to go on sharing a roof with her indefinitely?’

Her mouth tightened. ‘No.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ He sounded faintly amused. He turned the car under an archway and slotted it expertly into a cramped space in the small hotel car park. As they walked to the rear entrance Cally was conscious of his hand under her elbow.

When they reached the desk, she saw the blonde receptionist’s eager smile take a disappointed downturn when she realised their most important guest was not alone.

Sorry, darling, but you never had a chance, Cally was tempted to tell her. He’s already spoken for—and not by me.

Along with the key, she saw Nick accept a sheaf of messages, and then they were walking together to the lift.

As they rode up to the first floor she tried to think of something she could do or say that would let her off the hook for tonight at least. She wasn’t ready, she thought desperately, for such a drastic change in her circumstances. She stole a look at her husband, but his dark face was expressionless.

The bridal suite consisted of a small, nondescript sitting room, with a writing desk and a television set, and a much larger bedroom containing a king-size bed with a white quilted satin coverlet sporting an enormous pink heart in its centre.

In spite of the nightmare scenario ahead of her, Cally knew an almost overwhelming desire to shriek with laughter. At the same time she found herself thinking that it was a far cry from the Virgin Islands, where their original honeymoon had been due to be spent. She tensed inwardly. She couldn’t let herself think like that. Allow herself to remember a time when she’d been a naïve girl, wrapped up in her own fledgling dreams and hopes. Oblivious to the harsh truths of the world around her—even her small part of it…

‘Your overnight case is there.’ Nick’s voice shocked her back to the present, and its realities, as he nodded towards the luggage stand. ‘And the bathroom’s through that door. I’ll be in the sitting room, having a nightcap and dealing with my messages. It should take about twenty minutes.’ He gave her a brief, formal smile. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘No.’ Her mouth was dry. Twenty minutes. ‘Thank you.’

The door closed behind him, and Cally was alone. Temporarily at least.

She walked over to the bed and sank down on to the appalling cover, looking around her.

A resourceful person, she thought, should be able to escape from this situation—maybe by knotting sheets together and climbing out of a window. Except that a loud humming noise and frequent arctic blasts suggested that air-conditioning was in use and that the windows were hermetically sealed.

So it seemed she was committed beyond recall to this madness.