Читать книгу Maids Under The Mistletoe Collection - Christy McKellen - Страница 12
ОглавлениеIT WAS A blessing that Jack’s house was only two streets away because Emma didn’t think she’d be able to cope with wearing his heavy wool coat so close to her skin for much longer, having to breathe in the poignantly familiar scent of him and feel the residual warmth of his body against her own.
It had been a huge struggle to maintain her act of upbeat nonchalance in front of him outside Jolyon’s house and she knew she’d lost her fight the moment she’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d realised how cold she was. It was the same look he used to give her when they were younger—a kind of intense concern for her well-being, which reached right into the heart of her and twisted her insides into knots.
Gesturing for her to follow him, Jack led her up the stone steps of the elegant town house and in through a tall black front door that was so shiny she could see her reflection in it.
The house was incredible, of course, but with a dated, rather rundown interior, overfilled with old-fashioned antique furniture in looming, dark mahogany and with a dull, oppressively dark colour scheme covering the walls and floors.
Jack’s family had a huge amount of wealth behind them and owned a number of houses around the country, including the Cambridge town house overlooking Jesus Green and the River Cam that Jack and his sister, Clare, had grown up in. She’d never been to this property before though. They’d not been together long enough for her to see inside the entire portfolio of his life.
‘What a—er—lovely place,’ she said, cringing at the insincerity in her voice.
‘Thank you,’ he replied coolly, ignoring her accidental rudeness and walking straight through to the sitting room.
She followed him in, noticing that the décor was just as unpleasantly depressing in here.
‘Was this place your grandfather’s?’
‘Yes,’ he said. There was tension in his face, and a flash of sorrow. ‘He left me this house and Clare the one in Edinburgh.’
Emma recalled how Jack had loved spending time with his grandfather, a shrewd businessman and a greatly respected peer of the realm. He’d always had an easy smile and kind word for her—unlike Jack’s parents—and she’d got on well with him the few times she’d met him. Jack had notably inherited the man’s good looks, as well as his business acumen.
‘I was sorry to read about him passing, Jack,’ she said, wanting to try and soothe the glimmer of pain she saw there, but knowing there wasn’t any way to do that without overstepping the mark. He’d been very careful up until this point not to touch her and, judging by his tense body language, would probably reject any attempt she made to reach out to him.
She needed to keep her head here. This wasn’t going to be an easy ride for either of them, so rising above the emotion of it was probably the best thing they could do. In fact they really ought to treat this whole mess like a business transaction, nothing more, if they were going to get through it with their hearts intact.
The mere thought of what they had ahead of them made her spirits plummet and she dropped into the nearest heavily brocaded sofa, sinking back against the comforting softness of the cushions and pulling her legs up under her.
‘Have you seen Clare recently?’ she asked, for want of a topic to move them on from the tense atmosphere that now stretched between them.
‘Not since Grandfather’s funeral,’ he replied, his brow drawn into a frown. ‘She’s doing well though—settled in Edinburgh and happy.’ He looked at her directly now, locking his gaze with hers. ‘She misses you, you know.’
Sadness sank through her, right down to her toes. ‘I miss her too. It’s been a long time since we talked. I’ve been busy—’
She stopped herself from saying any more, embarrassed by how pathetic that weak justification sounded.
In truth, she’d deliberately let her friendship with Clare slip away from her.
A couple of months after Emma’s father had passed away, Clare had gone off to university in Edinburgh and Emma had stayed at home, giving up her own place in an Art course there, which had made it easier to disassociate herself from her friend. Not that Clare hadn’t put up a fight about being routinely ignored and pushed away, sounding more and more hurt and bewildered every time Emma made a lame excuse about why she couldn’t go up to Scotland and visit her.
There had been a good reason for letting their friendship lapse as she had though. Clare hadn’t known about her and Jack’s whirlwind relationship. Emma hadn’t known quite how to tell her friend about it at the time—in her youthful innocence she hadn’t even known how to feel about it all herself—and she’d been sure Clare wouldn’t have responded well to hearing how she’d snuck around with her brother behind her back, then how much she’d hurt Jack by walking away from their marriage.
Emma couldn’t have borne being around her friend, whose smile struck such an unnerving resemblance to Jack’s own it had caused Emma physical pain to see it, and not being able to talk about him to her. It would have been lying by omission. So instead she’d cut her friend out of her life.
The thought of it now made her hot with shame.
‘How’s your mother?’ Jack asked stiffly, breaking into her thoughts.
She realised she was worrying at her nail, a habit she’d picked up after her father had died, and forced herself to lay her hands back in her lap.
‘She’s fine, thanks,’ she said, deciding not to go into how fragile her mother had become after losing her wealth, good standing and her husband in one fell swoop. She liked to pretend none of it had happened now and had banned Emma from talking about it. ‘She’s living in France with her new husband, except for this week—she’s staying with me while Philippe’s away and the house is being damp proofed and redecorated.’
Jack let out a sudden huff of agitation, apparently frustrated with their diversion into small talk. ‘Do you want a drink?’ Jack asked brusquely.
Clearly he did.
‘Er, yes. Thanks. I’ll have a whisky if you have it, neat.’ A strong shot of alcohol would be most welcome right now. It was supposed to be good for shock, wasn’t it?
Jack got up and moved restlessly around the room, gathering glasses and splashing large measures of whisky into them.
The low-level tension in the pit of her stomach intensified. She’d thought she’d be able to cope with being around him here, but his cool distantness towards her was making her nerves twang.
‘So how’s the electronics business in the good old US of A?’ she asked, wiggling her eyebrows at him in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.
‘Profitable,’ was all he said, striding over to her and handing her a heavy cut-glass tumbler with a good two fingers of whisky in it.
‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ she asked, shooting him a wry smile.
He didn’t smile back, just turned away and paced towards the window to stare out at the dark evening.
Her heart sank. Where had the impassioned, playful Jack she’d once known gone? He’d been replaced with this tightly controlled automaton of a man. There was no longer any sign of the wit and charm she’d loved him so much for.
Knocking back a good gulp of whisky, she turned in her seat to face him, determined not to let her discouragement get to her. ‘So you decided to come back and take on your social responsibilities as an earl, then?’ She rolled the glass between her hands, feeling the pattern of the cut glass press into her palms.
He turned his head to look at her, his gaze unnervingly piercing in the gloomy room.
‘Yes, well, after being responsible for running my own company for the last five years it’s made me realise how important it is to uphold a legacy,’ he said, folding his arms and leaning back against the window sill. ‘How much blood, sweat and tears goes into building a heritage. My ancestors put a lot of hard work into maintaining the estate they’d inherited and it’d be arrogant and short-sighted of me to turn my back on everything they strove so hard to preserve.’
She was surprised to hear him saying this. She’d expected him to be reluctant to return to take on his aristocratic responsibilities after working so hard to achieve such a powerful position in his industry.
But then for Jack it had always been about doing things on his own terms. From the sounds of it he’d made the decision to come back here; no one had forced him to do it.
She gave an involuntary shiver as a draught of cool air from somewhere blew across her skin.
Frowning, Jack left his vantage point at the window and paced over to the other side of the room, bending down and grabbing a pack of matches by the fireplace to light the tinder in the grate.
‘So you’re going to be living in England now?’ she asked, her voice trembling as she realised what that would mean. There was a very good chance they’d see each other again, especially as Jack would be fraternising with the type of people they’d just left at the party. The worst of it was that she’d probably find herself serving him drinks and nibbles as a waitress at the society events he was bound to be invited to now.
‘Yes, I’ll be based in England from now on.’ He sat back on his heels and watched the tinder catch alight, before reaching for a couple of logs from a basket next to him and laying them carefully over the growing flames.
Turning back to face her, he fixed her with a serious stare. ‘So I guess we should talk about what we’re going to do about still being married.’
Divorce.
That was what he meant by that.
She knew it was high time they got around to officially ending their marriage, but the thought of it still chafed. Dealing with getting divorced from Jack was never going to be easy, that was why she’d not made any effort to get in contact with him over the years, but the mere thought of it now made her stomach turn.
They’d been so happy once, so in love and full of excitement for the future.
She wanted to cry for what they’d lost.
‘Yes. I suppose we should start talking to lawyers about drawing up the paperwork,’ she said, desperately trying to keep her voice even so he wouldn’t see how much the subject upset her. ‘If that’s what you want?’
He didn’t say anything, just looked at her with hooded eyes.
‘Are you—’ she could barely form the words ‘—getting married again?’
To her relief he shook his head. ‘No, but it’s time to get my affairs straight now I’m back in England.’
‘Before the press interest in you becomes even more intense, you mean?’
She saw him swallow. ‘Speaking of which, we need to work out what we’re prepared to say to reporters about our relationship if they come calling.’ He stood up and came to sit on the sofa opposite her. He was suddenly all business now, his back straight and his expression blank.
She took a shaky breath. ‘Should we tell them we were married but we got divorced and we’re just friends now?’ The uncertainty in her voice gave away the fact that she knew deep down that that would never work.
He shook his head. ‘They’ll go and look for the decree absolute and see that we’re lying. It’ll only make things worse.’
Sighing, she pushed her hair away from her face. ‘So what do we say? That our marriage broke down six years ago after you moved to the States, but we’re only just getting round to finalising a divorce?’
‘They’ll want to know why you didn’t go to America with me,’ he pointed out.
‘We could just say that I needed to stay here for family reasons,’ she suggested, feeling a rush of uncomfortable heat swamp her as it occurred to her that they might go after her mother too.
‘Well, at least that would be pretty close to the truth and it’s better to keep things simple,’ Jack said, seeming not to notice her sudden panic.
‘It doesn’t sound great though, does it?’ she said, aware of her heart thumping hard against her chest. ‘In fact it’s probably going to pique their interest even more. They’ll want to know what was so important here to make me stay and that’ll mean dragging up my father’s debts all over again.’
And if they did that Jack would find out she’d been keeping the true extent of them a secret from him for all these years.
After he’d left for the States she’d become increasingly overwhelmed by what she’d had to deal with and had eventually become so buried by it all she’d ended up shutting out everything except for dealing with her new responsibilities in order to just get through the day. Which meant, to her shame, that she’d shut Jack out too.
She’d been so young when it had happened though, only eighteen, and incredibly naïve about the way the world worked and how people’s cruelty and selfishness kicked in when it came to protecting their wealth.
Not that there was any point in trying to explain all that to him now. Jack liked to feel he was in control of everything all the time and he’d probably only get angry with her for having kept him in the dark.
And anyway, there was no point getting into it if they were going to get a divorce.
She sighed heavily and put her head in her hands, massaging her throbbing temples. ‘I don’t know if I could bear having the press camped out on my doorstep, documenting my every move. And I know my mother certainly can’t.’
‘That might not happen,’ Jack said softly. ‘They may not even get wind of this. It depends on who overheard us at that party. But if they do find out about us I’ll deal with it. If the question is asked we’ll just say we got married on a whim when we were young and it didn’t work out, but that we’ve always been on friendly terms and have decided to get a divorce now I’m back in England.’
She nodded her acceptance, feeling a great surge of sadness at how such a happy event could now be causing such problems for them.
Fatigue, chased on by the heavyweight alcohol, suddenly overwhelmed her and she hid a large yawn behind her hand, thinking wistfully of her bed.
The problem was, she was a long way from home and would need to take two different buses to get there. The thought of facing her mother’s inquisitive gaze when she walked in made her stomach sink. She’d know immediately that something was wrong; the woman was particularly sensitive to changes in moods now after suffering with depression for years after her first husband’s death.
Jack must have seen the worry in her face because he frowned and got up and came to sit down next to her.
‘You’re exhausted,’ he said, the unexpected concern in his voice making the hairs stand up on her arms.
She shrugged, trying to make light of it. She didn’t want him to think he had to mollycoddle her; she was perfectly capable of looking after herself. ‘That’s what happens when you work for a man like Jolyon Fitzherbert. He expects perfection from his employees. I’ve been up since five a.m. preparing for that party.’
Jack continued to look at her, his gaze searching her face.
Her stomach jumped with nerves as she forced herself to maintain eye contact with him, not wanting him to know just how fragile she was right now. He could probably blow her into dust if he breathed on her hard enough.
‘Where do you live?’ he asked.
She shifted in her seat. ‘Tottenham.’
Not her first choice of places to live, but it was cheap.
‘How were you planning on getting home?’
‘We mere mortals take the bus.’
He ignored her wry joke. ‘You can’t take a bus all the way to Tottenham now. Stay here tonight, then we can talk again in the morning when we’ve both had a good rest and a chance to get over the shock of seeing each other again.’
She hesitated, on the brink of refusing his suggestion, but also keenly aware that if she left now she’d only have to psych herself up to see him again anyway, and probably somewhere much less convivial than here. Despite the terrible décor the house had the comforting atmosphere of a family home.
She realised with a shock that she’d missed the feeling of belonging somewhere, having lost her own family home and all the happy memories that went along with it when they’d been forced to sell it to pay off some of the debts.
So many memories had been tarnished by finding out the truth about her father.
She shook the sadness off, not wanting to dwell on it right now.
‘Okay, thank you. I’ll stay tonight and leave first thing in the morning,’ she said.
He nodded, standing up. ‘Good. The first bedroom you come to at the top of the stairs is made up for guests. Feel free to make yourself at home there.’
Make yourself at home. That wasn’t something that was ever going to happen here, Emma reflected with another swell of sadness.
It was such a shame too. This house had the potential to be amazing if only someone showed it some love.
Not that she should be thinking things like that right now.
Pushing the rogue thought away, she stood up and brushed self-consciously at her skirt, trying to smooth out the still-sticky wrinkles. She must look such a mess, especially compared to Jack in his pristine designer shirt and trousers.
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘Could I use your phone? I’ll need to let my mother know I won’t be home tonight or she’ll worry.’
‘The landline’s in the hall,’ Jack said.
She gave him a stilted nod—how had things become so formal between them? They were acting like strangers with each other now—and made her way out to the hallway to find the phone.
It was telling that he hadn’t lent her his mobile. Perhaps he didn’t want her scrolling through his contacts or messages, nosing into his life. Was he trying to hide something from her? Or someone?
She didn’t want to consider that eventuality right now; it would only increase the painful tightness she was experiencing in her chest and she needed all her composure if she was going to sound normal on the phone and not worry her mother.
It took a few rings before the line at home was picked up. From the sounds of her mother’s voice she’d woken her up, so Emma quickly reeled off a story about Jolyon wanting her to work late and told her she was going to stay with a friend because she’d finish too late to get the last bus home.
At one point during the conversation, she heard Jack come out of the living room and mount the stairs, presumably going up to his room, and a layer of tension peeled away, making it easier to breathe.
From the tone of her mother’s voice she could tell she wasn’t convinced by the lie, but seemed to think Emma was ensconced in some clandestine affair instead. Which ironically wasn’t far from the truth.
What would her mother say once she knew the truth? She’d be hurt, of course, that Emma hadn’t felt she could confide in her, but the last thing she’d wanted to do right after her father’s shocking death was add more stress to the situation by admitting to getting married to Jack without her mother’s knowledge. And then when things had calmed down a little there had been no point in saying anything about it because things had fallen apart with Jack by then and she hadn’t been able to see any way to fix them.
So she’d kept mum. In every sense of the word.
After saying goodbye to her mother, she made her way wearily up the stairs, turning onto the landing to find Jack standing outside the door of the bedroom she was meant to be staying in.
She came to a stop and stared at him in confusion. Why was he waiting for her here?
Unless...
‘Were you listening to my phone call?’ she asked, unable to keep the reproachful tone out of her voice.
‘I was waiting to show you which room was yours,’ he said, but she could tell from a slight falter in his voice that he was lying.
‘You were checking that I wasn’t calling a boyfriend, weren’t you?’ she said, narrowing her eyes.
He raised an eyebrow, refusing to be intimidated by her pointed accusation. ‘I am still your husband, Emma.’
She folded her arms. ‘Well, don’t worry, you don’t need to set the dogs on anyone. I haven’t had a boyfriend since you left.’
There was a heavy pause where he looked at her with a muscle flicking in his clenched jaw. ‘Since you decided not to follow me, you mean,’ he corrected.
She sighed, feeling the weight of his resentment pressing in on her. ‘I really don’t want to argue with you right now, Jack. Can we discuss my failings tomorrow? It’s been a very long day.’ She forced herself to smile at him and went to walk past him, but he put an arm out, barring her way.
‘Have you really not had another partner since we split up?’
Taking a breath, she turned to face him, feeling a small shiver run up her spine at the dark intensity she saw in his gaze. ‘Well, my mother needed me for a long time after my father died and I’ve been working all the hours of the day to fit in both full-time work and night classes since then. So no. There hasn’t been a lot of space for romance in my life.’ She was aware of the bitter bite to her voice now and couldn’t stop herself from adding, ‘From what I’ve read in the press, it hasn’t been the same for you though.’
When she’d first seen the articles about the high-profile relationship he’d had with the daughter of a famous hotelier six months after he’d moved to the States she’d had to rush to the toilet to be sick. She suspected it had been a deliberate move on his part to let her know that he’d moved on and that she hadn’t broken his heart.
Even though she knew she had.
She’d heard the pain in his voice the last time they’d spoken to each other. The desperation, the frustration. But she’d had to harden herself to it.
They were never meant to be. The universe had made that very clear to her when it had killed her father.
Jack’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘Our relationship was over by then, Emma. You’d made that perfectly clear when you decided to stay in England with your mother instead of joining me, your husband, in the States.’
She took a calming breath, knowing that now wasn’t the time to have a conversation about this when they were both stressed and still in shock from seeing each other again. ‘I never meant to hurt you, Jack. Please believe that.’
He leant in towards her, his expression hard. ‘I waited for you, Emma, like a fool, thinking you’d finally put us first once you’d had time to grieve for your father, but you never did.’
His gaze burnt into hers, his eyes dark with frustration.
‘I know you took it all very personally, Jack, and I can’t blame you for that, but I promise you it wasn’t because I didn’t love you. It was just the wrong time for us.’
He didn’t respond to that, just kept looking at her with that unsettling, intense gaze of his.
‘Goodnight, Jack,’ she forced herself to say, moderating her tone so he wouldn’t hear the pain this was causing her in her voice, and without waiting for his response she walked past him and shut the door.
Staggering into the room, her legs suddenly weak and shaky, she flopped down onto the large four-poster bed, its heavy mahogany frame squeaking with the movement, and curled into a ball, taking deep, calming breaths through her nose to stop herself from crying.
She understood why he was still upset with her. In his eyes she’d betrayed him, and Jack was not a man to easily forgive people who had hurt him. And she really couldn’t blame him for so publicly cutting off their association at the knees, instead of letting it limp on painfully when there had been nowhere left for it to go.
Uncurling herself, she turned onto her back and stared up at the dark burgundy canopy above her.
Seeing him again, after all these years apart, made her heart heavy with a sorrowful nostalgia for the past. She’d grieved for Jack the same way she’d mourned her father at the time, only it had been a different kind of pain—with a sharp edge that constantly sliced into her well-being, reminding her that it had been her decision to end things with him and that there could be no going back from it. The damage had been done.
It had left a residual raw ache deep inside her that she’d never been able to shake.
Too tired now to even get undressed, she crawled beneath the sheets and let her mind run over the events of the evening. Her heart beat forcefully in her chest as she finally accepted that Jack was back in her life, although for how long she had no idea. He was obviously keen to get their ‘situation’ resolved so he could cut her completely out of his life and become available to marry someone more fitting of his position when the need arose.
She lay there with her thoughts spinning, suddenly wide awake.
In the first year after they’d parted she’d regularly tossed and turned in her bed like this, feeling so painfully alone that she’d given in to the tears, physically aching for Jack to be there with her, to hold her and whisper that everything would be okay, that she was doing a good job of dealing with the fallout from her father’s death and that he was proud of her.
That he was there for her.
But he hadn’t been.
Because she hadn’t let him be.
A while after they’d split she’d considered moving on from him, finding someone new to love, but what with her intense working schedule and the mental rigor of taking care of her emotionally delicate mother there hadn’t been room for anyone else in her life.
So she’d been on her own since Jack left for the States, and perhaps that had been for the best. She hadn’t wanted to rely on someone else for emotional support after her father had let her down so badly, because that would have left her exposed and vulnerable again, something she’d been careful to put up walls against over the last few years.
At least on her own she felt some semblance of control. She was the one who would make things better.
She turned over in bed and snuggled down further into the covers, hoping that fatigue would pull her under soon.
She’d find a way to deal with having Jack back in her life again. It would all be okay.
* * *
Or so she thought.
Waking early the next morning, her head fuzzy from a night of broken sleep and disturbingly intense dreams, Emma heaved herself groggily out of bed, wrinkling her nose at the smell of old booze on her crumpled clothes, and went to the window to see what sort of weather they had in store for them today, hoping for a bit of late autumn sunshine to give her the boost of optimism she needed before facing Jack again.
But it seemed that bad weather was to be the least of her problems.
Peering down at the street below her window, Emma realised with a sickening lurch that the pavement in front of Jack’s house was swarming with people, some of whom were gazing up at the window she was looking out of as if waiting to see something. When they spotted her, almost as one, they raised a bank of long-lens cameras to point right at her. Even from this distance she could see the press of their fingers on the shutter buttons and practically hear the ominous clicking of hundreds of pictures being taken of her standing at Jack’s window looking as if she’d just climbed out of his bed.
Leaping away from the window, she hastily yanked the curtains together again.
Someone at the party must have blabbed about what they saw and heard last night.
The press had found out about them.
