Читать книгу 8 Magnificent Millionaires - Кэтти Уильямс, Cathy Williams - Страница 17

‘THE present?’

‘I asked you to be my wife.’ Putting down his brandy glass on the mantel, Adrian grimaced as though under a strain. ‘Will you marry me?’

‘No, Adrian. I won’t marry you.’ Her spine stiffening as hurt and anger swirled like a hurricane inside her, Liadan knew with the utmost certainty that she could not sacrifice her self-respect, even for the man she loved. He had all but graphically illustrated out loud that he was still in love with Nicole. He had highlighted her virtues—her accomplishment, her sense of humour, her beauty…and in stark contrast he had told Liadan that he found her presence soothing. Well, she was sorry, but the man she married would have to do a hell of a lot better than that to show her that he loved her. The problem was that Adrian patently didn’t love her. How could he when he had clearly built a mental shrine to a dead woman?

‘I won’t marry you because your proposal frankly insults me!’

‘Insults you?’ His brow creasing in shock, Adrian looked stunned.

‘Yes, insults me! As far as I can see, you are wallowing in your grief. As long as you carry a torch for Nicole that can’t ever be extinguished, you won’t ever allow yourself to be truly close to anyone else. You might play around with the idea of marrying someone because it’s convenient, but not because there’s an emotional connection like love! How could there be? You’re so…self-indulgent and self-pitying that it doesn’t even cross your mind you’re inflicting pain on others. The reason you won’t even entertain the idea of redemption and keep on insisting that you’re a bad person is because you can use that as an excuse for your selfishness! You can’t change the past, but you can change the future, Adrian—unless of course you’re too damn scared to try.’

His eyes darkening with fury, Adrian took a step towards Liadan, thought better of it, dragged his fingers savagely through his hair, then swore out loud. ‘What the hell are you talking about? You don’t know the first damned thing about me!’

‘I may not know a lot, but I do know that what I’ve said is true. You don’t need a wife, Adrian, and I don’t want to be some kind of second prize after Nicole.’

‘Second prize?’ Now he really did look furious. His mouth contorting in rage, Adrian stared at Liadan as though his gaze alone could turn her to stone. ‘How the hell do you figure that out, Liadan? Nicole is dead! It’s not like she just walked away and left me. How can you be jealous of a dead woman?’

Recoiling with hurt in her eyes, Liadan slipped her cold hands back into the pockets of her coat. ‘How can I? That’s easy when you wear her memory like some kind of invisible, impenetrable shield to prevent anyone else getting close. Think about it, Adrian. At least be honest with yourself, if not me.’ She walked to the door. ‘You’re a man of enormous drive and talent, clearly passionate about his beliefs. In my opinion you should be sharing all those gifts with the world—not shutting yourself up here in this vast house writing the stuff of nightmares! Anyway…I know it’s really none of my business.’

‘That’s right. It isn’t.’

Fielding the hurt that welled up inside her chest at his acid reply, Liadan glanced quickly away. She stared down at the beautiful parquet floor with its strategically placed Persian rugs, and reminded herself just who Adrian Jacobs was and how far apart they really were. He was clearly outraged that she had expressed her unstintingly frank opinions about him so readily. But after today, what did it matter? she asked herself. What more did she have to lose when she had lost everything already?

‘You don’t really want to marry me, Adrian,’ she said dully. ‘You don’t even really want a companion. As far as I can see you’re quite happy here in your magnificent solitude. You were right. All you really do need is a housekeeper.’

Liadan let herself quietly out of the room, and carefully closed the door behind her. Still reeling from her passionate words about Nicole, along with her damning accusations that he was still in love with her memory, Adrian let her go without even trying to stop her. Feeling chilled to the bone, he picked up his brandy glass from the mantel and dashed it into the fireplace, letting loose a violent expletive as it shattered into crystal shards in front of him.

Even though she told herself time and time again that she’d made the right decision, Liadan had still found it hard to come home. Opening the door of the cottage she’d been so eager to hold onto, she had no sense of joy or pleasure. Instead, her chest felt tight with pain and there was a hollow sensation of dread in the pit of her stomach that made her feel as though someone had just thrown a blanket over her head and bound her hands together with rope. Her beloved home felt like a prison and she an unwilling inmate inside it.

Since meeting Adrian and falling in love with him, how could anything be the same as it was before? The morning after the row—when she’d declared her decision to leave, explaining that she felt unable to work out two weeks’ notice under the circumstances—he’d merely nodded, disappeared into his study and returned with an envelope, which he’d brusquely told her contained her payment for ‘services rendered’. Then he’d carried her suitcase and bags to her car, loaded them into the boot, and, with a short, impersonal wave, watched her steer the car down the drive as if he were saying goodbye to a stranger.

Now, lowering herself defeatedly into the nearest armchair, Liadan wanted to cry, but somehow the tears wouldn’t come. There were some hurts that went too deep for tears and plainly this was one of them. What was going to become of him? What was going to become of her? Right now Liadan had no answers, only questions. Why hadn’t he stopped her from leaving? Surely he felt something for her other than physical attraction after what had transpired between them? Or was the man really as heartless and impossible to reach as he pretended?

Izzy came in through the cat-flap from the kitchen and leapt up on Liadan’s lap, clearly delighted to have her mistress home again. She automatically reached out her hand to stroke the whisper-soft fur, and tried to block out the memory of the face she had grown to love too well. Praying hard that whatever Adrian chose to do with his future it would make him a far happier man than now, Liadan shut her eyes and willed her aching heart to heal quickly. The thought of carrying around this dreadful pain for the rest of her life was surely too much for anyone to contemplate, no matter how stoic or determined.

‘What do you mean, you want an extension on your deadline?’ Lynne shrieked down the phone. ‘You never need extensions. You either deliver well in advance or dead on time. What’s going on, Adrian? Has all this horrendous business concerning you and Petra got you down? Is that what it is?’

His shoulders hunched over the telephone, his expression fearsome enough to frighten something wild, Adrian gritted his teeth and tried desperately to get to grips with the painful urge to break every piece of furniture in his study—including his damned computer! Right now he hated it. Just as he hated everything to do with his life—this house, this chair, this telephone, and most of all the gleaming grand piano that sat with such a superior air in the corner of the room and mocked him until he could barely stand it any longer. He would never play it again, he realised. Since Liadan’s fingers had caressed those keys and transported him to a peace and sanctuary that he’d never have believed possible, Adrian didn’t want to have anything to do with it. In fact, as soon as he got off the phone to his editor, he was going to ring a local dealer and get them to come and take it away as soon as possible.

How the hell was he supposed to work since she’d walked out on him? Turned her back on him as if the thought of him would never cross her mind again. And who could blame her? That was the thing. She had every right under the circumstances. He was hell on wheels to live with, he was bad-tempered and ungrateful, and to top it all—he’d buried himself too much in unhappy memories of his past, refusing to see the lustre of the glittering diamond that he had right under his nose…Liadan. Her name almost had him clutching his chest in torment at the pain of losing her.

‘It’s nothing to do with Petra or the press or anything like that. I just can’t work at the moment. I can’t think straight, never mind come up with some god-awful ending for the damned book!’

‘I thought you told me you already had the ending worked out?’ Lynne asked tolerantly, clearly deciding that getting anxious wasn’t going to get her the desired result. The publishing house made more money out of Alexander Jacobsen’s books than any other and the last thing she wanted to do was antagonise this particular golden goose.

‘I did.’ His expression ferocious, Adrian picked up a loose sheet of blank copy paper and screwed it up into a ball. ‘But I’ve changed my mind about it. I need some time to work something else out.’

‘Well, sure, Adrian, I can give you extra time, but just so long as you remember that your endings are your trademark. How about coming up to London to meet me for lunch? We can talk about things and it will do you good. You need to get out of that house more; you know that, don’t you?’

Yeah, he knew that. The last person who had told him that had been dead right but he’d been too damn belligerent to tell her so. What the hell did he think he was doing hiding away in this gigantic carbuncle of a house that would be better off as a museum than a home? It patently wasn’t a home. It was even less so now that Liadan had gone.

‘When did you want me to come?’ he asked wearily into the mouthpiece.

‘Tomorrow. Come tomorrow. I’ll book us a table for one o’clock. That all right with you?’

‘Fine. Tomorrow, then.’

True to his word, when Adrian got off the phone to Lynne he went restlessly in search of the Yellow Pages to get the number of a local dealer and hopefully get rid of his no-longer-wanted piano.

Scanning the newspaper in the little newsagents-cum-post-office in the village, Liadan frowned, unable to believe that she hadn’t been able to find anything about Adrian—let alone a picture—in any of the tabloid papers she’d diligently searched through. Could her heartfelt appeal for a little consideration have somehow sunk in with that photographer? Could he really have had an attack of conscience and let them go on their way without printing anything salacious about them? It had been a week since their outing to see La Bohème and…nothing. No story, no incriminating photograph of the writer Alexander Jacobsen and the woman who apparently bore a close resemblance to his dead fiancée. A week—and six days, nine hours and forty-five minutes to be exact since she’d walked out on Adrian.

Replacing the newspaper in the stand, Liadan went to the cluttered little counter, purchased some mints and a small packet of tissues, paid, then left the shop with the jangle of the doorbell sounding like the tinkling of a wind chime in her ears. Walking up the hill to meet the narrow lane where her cottage was situated, she dug her hands deep into her coat pockets and told herself she was pleased that Adrian would have one less thing to worry about since the press hadn’t printed the story of their outing to the opera. He’d be able to get on with his work free from the strain of media intrusion, even if he had to fend for himself until he could get another housekeeper in place.

Unable to hold back the tears that immediately sprang to her eyes at the thought, Liadan hurried on up the hill, welcoming the extra effort required in her legs and telling herself she was doing the right thing putting Drowsy Haunt up for sale. It would be far easier to find work in London than locally and, if she found a job in one of the big chain hotels, she might even be able to cut her costs by living in.

‘But you love this place, Liadan! Surely you don’t really want to sell it?’ Callum Willow, her tall, blond, handsome Adonis of a brother paced her diminutive front room and finally came to a restless standstill beside the fireplace. Somehow, Liadan found a smile. She’d been on her own for a fortnight now since leaving Adrian’s employ and, apart from her neighbour Jack, she’d spoken to no one. Not even Mel or Jennie. Both girls were on a winter skiing break in Italy—a holiday that Liadan had been adamant she couldn’t afford because she’d needed to find work instead. Jennie had urged her to come anyway—she had lost her business but she badly needed a break, she’d told Liadan. But the younger girl had declined. Her determination to hold onto her home come what may had been her prime motivation for staying put. Now, ironically, she was going to lose it anyway.

‘I can’t afford to keep it on any more, Cal. And I can’t get work around here, either. Believe me, I’ve tried.’ She’d briefly explained to her brother that she’d worked for a while as housekeeper to a writer, but that in the end things hadn’t worked out between them. Knowing her well and guessing there was a hell of a lot more that she wasn’t telling him, Callum had declined to press her for more details. When Liadan was ready she would tell him the full story, he was sure.

‘But London? It’s going to be a hell of a shock after this one-horse town.’

‘I’ll soon get used to it. Besides, you know what they say, a change is as good as a rest.’ If she said it often enough, she might convince herself. Except that she didn’t really want to go at all. Anywhere further than her little cottage was too far away from Adrian to bear thinking about…What was he doing right now? she speculated, chewing on her nails. Was he happy? Was his work going well? Did he ever think about her at all?

‘You look miles away,’ Callum chided, his blue eyes that were a shade darker than Liadan’s growing concerned. ‘What’s up, Liadan? We don’t have any secrets from each other, do we?’

He was right. She’d always been able to confide in her brother. Only now, she wouldn’t really know where to start. After the debacle that was her relationship with Michael, how could she tell him that she’d fallen for a taciturn famous writer whose heart was given to a woman no longer on this earth?

At the unexpected sound of the knocker on the door, she almost leapt out of her seat. His eyes narrowing, Callum registered surprise. ‘Expecting someone, sis? Want me to go?’

‘I’m not expecting anyone, unless it’s Jack next door.’

As she pulled the door wide Liadan’s knees went helplessly weak at the sight of Adrian’s broad shoulders dominating her doorway. He was wearing his long black coat over a black shirt and jeans, his mouth unsmiling and his gaze about as foreboding as a locked door to a shivering, hungry orphan. Her glance drank in the sight of him with a frantically beating heart.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Can I come in?’

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder into the room behind her. Following her anxious gaze and discovering to his dismay that she had company—good-looking male company—Adrian fought down the violent antagonism that rose immediately inside his chest and glared back at her. ‘I want to talk to you and what I have to say won’t wait.’

Liadan knew the dictatorial tone of that voice and resented it mightily. No matter how glad she was to see him, to know that he was alive and hadn’t moved on, he had no right to just show up at her home and speak to her like that. Especially after not hearing a word from him for almost two weeks.

‘I’ve—I’ve got visitors.’

‘Get rid of him,’ Adrian muttered through his teeth.

‘I will not!’

‘Who is he?’

‘Liadan…aren’t you going to invite your friend in?’ Callum loomed up behind her, unable to hide the interest in his eyes. Desperately glancing from her brother back to Adrian, Liadan hooked her fingers into the belt buckle of her jeans and shook her head.

‘Now isn’t a good time. Come back later if you insist you must talk to me.’

Biting her lip, she waited for the explosion. When it didn’t come, and to her alarm she saw a secret little smile curving that rather serious mouth of his instead, she felt as light-headed as if she’d just been whisked up to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

‘No, Liadan. I can’t come back later. Like I told you, I have something to say to you that just won’t wait.’

‘If you’ve waited nearly two weeks without saying it so far, surely a little longer won’t make much difference?’

How could Adrian have told her what was in his heart a fortnight ago when he’d practically convinced himself Liadan wouldn’t want to set eyes on him again—never mind listen to anything he had to say?

‘I don’t want to say what I’ve come to say standing out here on your doorstep,’ he said evenly, his tone resolute.

‘You’d better come in, then.’ Taking hold of Liadan’s slender shoulders and deliberately moving her out of the way, Callum grinned. ‘Want me to take a walk up the road for a little while? I’m Callum, by the way. Liadan’s brother, in case you were wondering.’ He stuck out his hand and he and Adrian shook hands like long-lost friends. Dumbstruck, Liadan stared at them both, unable just then to summon up one coherent word to indicate her disapproval and dismay. What was wrong with Callum for goodness’ sake? Why was he acting so strangely?

‘Callum, I don’t want you to go anywhere. I have nothing to say to Mr Jacobs! Absolutely nothing!’ When she finally did find her voice, Liadan couldn’t hold back her temper. How dared he just show up on her doorstep, after the agony he’d put her through! For all she knew, there might be more of the same to come and, the way she was feeling, Liadan had a right to wonder if she could bear it.

‘Fiery, isn’t she?’ Adrian remarked, his dark brows briefly coming together.

Reaching for his jacket, which was folded on the arm of the chair, Callum nodded in quick agreement. ‘She’s definitely not as demure as she looks. “Butter wouldn’t melt”, most people think. But that’s because they don’t really know my sister.’ Going to the door, he ruffled Liadan’s long red-gold hair as he passed. ‘Be gentle with him, sweetheart, won’t you?’

When the door shut ominously behind him, Liadan smoothed her hand nervously across her sky-blue sweater to finger the silver locket she wore on a chain round her neck and sighed.

‘I won’t pretend for one minute to understand what all that was about. You men seem to have a code all of your own.’

‘Your brother knows I mean business,’ Adrian said smoothly.

‘Oh, he does? And by that you mean what exactly?’

‘I’ve come here to tell you that I love you, Liadan. It took you walking out on me and telling me some very painful home truths to make me realise that I can’t live without you—let alone work! And I honestly do want you to be my wife. You’re not a substitute for Nicole or any other woman—I swear it! Does that clear up any confusion?’

Liadan gulped. Then she sank down on the plumped-up sofa behind her as her legs suddenly gave way beneath her.

‘This must be some kind of a joke.’ Her wide, puzzled blue eyes with their lustrous lashes tore at Adrian’s heart. After a two-week drought from not seeing her, he’d almost forgotten just how truly beautiful she was…

‘Do you think I’d joke about a thing like that? If you do, then you don’t know me at all.’

‘How could I possibly know you, Adrian? You put up too many walls for that.’

She was right. That was exactly what he had done…but not any more. From now on he wanted to let this woman into his heart. Wanted to let her in and keep her there for ever, because, as sure as the sun was going to rise in the morning, he was crazy about her. And he hadn’t lied. He really couldn’t live without her. It was just a shame that it had taken her walking out on him like that to make him realise it.

‘I know and I’m truly sorry. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Liadan.’

Drawing her to her feet, he smiled smoulderingly down into her startled blue gaze, delighting in the feel of her slender body underneath his hands again, feeling himself growing more and more aroused until he almost couldn’t stand it.

‘But what about—what about Nicole?’ Tears of happiness and confusion springing to her eyes, Liadan bit down tremulously on her lip.

His dark gaze growing even darker, Adrian stroked his hand down the side of her perfectly smooth cheek and smiled again. ‘Nicole is firmly in my past, Liadan. For a long time I couldn’t let the idea of her go because I blamed myself for her death. Holding onto the memory of how she died was like a punishment I was certain I deserved. It wasn’t until you came along with your insistence that there was redemption for everyone that I even started to believe I might be able to forgive myself, and move on. Whether there is redemption, I don’t know. But wherever Nicole’s spirit is now, I know one thing’s for certain. She wouldn’t want me to hold back from telling you how much I love you. Nothing in this world is as important as that—nothing.’

‘And you’re not just trying to butter me up so that I’ll come back and work as your housekeeper?’ Unable to suppress her grin, Liadan leaned in towards Adrian’s iron-hard chest, her whole body lighting up inside like a firework display at the sensation of being held close in his arms once again, when she hadn’t even known if she’d ever see him again.

‘Absolutely not.’ He kissed her then and it was quite a while before he came up for air. When he finally did, Liadan’s lips looked swollen and bee-stung and her lovely blue eyes were shining like twin silver lights that resembled candle-flame.

‘You still haven’t given me your answer. Is this waiting game some new kind of torture you’ve devised to torment me?’

Liadan couldn’t help dimpling as she glanced up into his impossibly attractive face. ‘Oh…you mean the marriage thing?’

‘Liadan…’ Adrian warned, a flash of impatience making him scowl.

‘Okay. I’ll put you out of your misery. Yes, Adrian. I’ll marry you…but only if we can live somewhere a little less ostentatious than that big house of yours. I’m a very simple girl. More cottages and cream than pheasant under glass.’

‘Is that so?’ Grinning in unashamed delight, Adrian swept her up into his arms and strode across the room.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘To your bedroom, hopefully. To get re-acquainted in the best way I know how. We’ve got two weeks to catch up on, remember?’

‘But Callum—’

‘If I’m right about your brother, he won’t be back for quite a while.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘Call it gut instinct, but my guess is he wouldn’t be one to interfere in the course of true love.’

‘Really?’

‘It’s a gift I have.’

‘I’m his only sister. He’s very possessive of me, you know.’

His hands tightening round her body, Adrian’s expression was perfectly serious as he glanced heatedly down into Liadan’s bright blue eyes.

‘So am I, sweetheart. So am I…’