Читать книгу Maids Under The Mistletoe Collection - Christy McKellen - Страница 13
ОглавлениеJACK HAD WOKEN EARLY, feeling uneasy about what he’d said to Emma the night before. He was annoyed with himself for losing his temper as he had, but hearing her practically accusing him of cheating on her had caused something to snap inside him.
He’d waited for months after moving to the States for word from her to let him know she was finally going to join him there, months of loneliness and uncertainty, only to finally be told, in the most painful conversation of his life, that she wasn’t coming after all.
She’d given up on their marriage before it had even started.
He’d understood in theory that he’d been asking too much of her, expecting her to walk away from her life in England at such a difficult time, but he’d also been left with a niggling feeing that she’d chosen her mother over him and that she hadn’t loved him enough to put him first.
After taking a quick shower and pulling on some clothes he strode down to the kitchen to set the coffee maker up, waiting impatiently for the liquid to filter through.
He was determined to stay in control today. There was no point in rehashing the past. It was time to move on.
Lifting a mug out of the cupboard, he banged it down on the counter. What was he thinking? He had moved on. Years ago.
But seeing Emma again had apparently brought back those feelings of frustration and inadequacy that had haunted him after he’d finally accepted she wasn’t interested in being married to him any longer.
Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face. He needed to get a grip on himself if he was going to get through this unscathed. The last thing he needed right now was Emma’s reappearance in his life messing with his carefully constructed plan for the future.
He’d just sat down at the kitchen table with a mug of very strong coffee when she came hurrying into the kitchen, her eyes wide with worry and her hair dishevelled.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, standing up on instinct, his heart racing in response to the sense of panic she brought in with her.
‘The press—they must have found out about you being married because they’re swarming around outside like a pack of locusts trying to get pictures.’ She frowned and shook her head vigorously, as if trying to shake out the words she needed. ‘They just got one of me peering out of my bedroom window at them—make that your bedroom window. I don’t know whether they’ll be able to tell exactly who I am, but their lenses were about a foot long, so they’ll probably be pretty sharp images.’
He watched her start to pace the floor, adrenaline humming through his veins as he took in her distress.
Damn it! This was his fault for announcing their marriage to the whole of Fitzherbert’s party last night. He’d been a fool to think they might get away with hiding from it. There was always going to be someone in a crowd like that that could be trusted to go to the papers for a bit of a backhander or the promise of future positive exposure for themselves.
‘Okay. Don’t panic, it might not be as bad as we think,’ he said, reaching for his laptop, which he’d left on the table. Opening it up, he typed a web address into the browser and brought up the biggest of the English gossip sites.
He stared at the headline two down from the top of the list, feeling his spirits plummet.
The Earl of Redminster’s Secret Waitress Wife! the link shouted back at him from the page.
He scanned the article, but there was no mention of Emma’s name. ‘Well, it can’t have been Fitzherbert who tipped them off because they don’t seem to know who you are. I guess he’s kept his mouth shut out of embarrassment about the way he acted last night. Despite his drunken bluster, he won’t want to get on the wrong side of the Westwood family in the cold light of day.’
He shut the laptop with a decisive click. ‘Still, it looks like neither of us are going anywhere today. We can’t risk going out there and having more photos taken of us until we’ve spoken to our parents and briefed them about what to say if any reporters contact them.’
She flopped into the chair opposite and raised a teasing eyebrow. ‘What exactly do you intend to tell them, Jack? Funny story, Mum and Dad. You know how you thought your son was the most eligible bachelor in England? Well, guess what...?’
He tried and failed to stop his lips from twitching, gratified to see she wasn’t going to let this beat her. Even so, he needed to keep this conversation on a practical level because this was a serious business they were dealing with.
‘We can’t hide from this, Emma, it’ll only make things worse.’
She frowned at his admonishing tone. ‘You think I don’t know that? It took years for the papers to stop rehashing the story about my father’s debts. Any time high society or bankruptcy was mentioned in a story, they always seemed to find a way to drag his name and his “misdemeanours” into it.’
She sighed and ran a hand through her rumpled hair, wincing as her fingers caught in the tangles.
He stared at her in shock. ‘Really? I had no idea they’d gone after your family like that,’ he said, guilt tugging at his conscience. ‘I didn’t keep up with news in the UK once I’d moved to the States.’
What he didn’t add was that after leaving England he’d shut himself off from anything that would remind him of her and embraced his new life in America instead. It seemed that by doing that he’d missed quite a lot more than he’d realised.
‘Look, why don’t you take a shower and I’ll go and find you some fresh clothes to put on,’ he suggested in an attempt to relieve the self-reproach now sinking through him. ‘I’m pretty sure Clare keeps a couple of outfits here for when she visits London—they’ll fit you, right? You were always a similar shape and height.’
The grateful smile she gave him made his stomach twist. ‘That would be great. Yes, I’m sure Clare’s stuff would fit me fine. Don’t tell her I’ve borrowed it though, will you? She always hated me stealing her stuff.’ Her eyes glazed over as she seemed to recall something from the past. ‘I really do miss her, you know. I was an idiot to let our friendship fizzle out.’ She paused and took a breath. ‘But she reminded me too much of you,’ she blurted, her eyes glinting with tears.
The painful honesty of her statement broke through the tension in his chest and he leant forward, making sure he had her full attention before he spoke. ‘You should tell her that yourself. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you, even after all this time.’
Emma’s gaze flicked away and she nodded down at the table, clearly embarrassed that he’d seen her flash of weakness. ‘Yeah, maybe I’ll do that.’
Standing up quickly, she clapped her hands together as if using the momentum to move herself. ‘Right. A shower.’
He felt a sudden urge to do something to cheer her up. There was no need for them to be at each other’s throats after all—what was done was done. In fact, thinking about it practically, it would make the divorce proceedings easier to handle if they were on amicable terms.
‘When you come back down I’ll make you some breakfast. Bacon and eggs okay with you?’
‘You cook now?’ Her expression was so incredulous he couldn’t help but smile.
‘I’ve been known to dabble in the culinary arts.’
She grinned back and he felt something lift a little in his chest.
‘Well, in that case, I’d love some artistic bacon and eggs.’
‘Great,’ he said, watching her walk away, exuding her usual elegance, despite her crumpled clothes.
Out of nowhere, an acute awareness that she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever known—even with her hair a mess and a face clean of make-up—hit him right in the solar plexus, stealing his breath away.
He thumped the table in frustration. How did she do this to him? Shake him up and make him lose his cool? No one else could, not even the bullying business people he’d battled with on a daily basis for the last few years.
Ever since the day he’d met her she’d been able to addle his brain like this, by simply smiling in his direction. As a teenager he’d been angry with her for it at first and to his enduring shame he’d treated her appallingly, picking at her life choices, her manners, the boyfriends she chose. Particularly her boyfriends.
The way she used to glide through life had bothered him on a visceral level. She was poised and prepossessing, and, according to his sister, the girl most likely to be voted the winner of any popularity contest at the eminent private girls’ school they’d both attended in Cambridge. She’d seemed to him at the time to accept her charmed position in life as if it was her God-given right. He, on the other hand, had always prided himself on being subversive, bucking the trends and eschewing the norm and the fact she epitomised what others considered to be the perfect woman frustrated him. He hadn’t wanted to be attracted to her. But he had been. Intensely and without reprieve.
What would it be like to hold her in his arms again, he wondered now, to feel her soft, pliant body pressed up against his just one more time, to kiss those sultry lips and taste that distinctive sweetness he remembered so well?
He pushed the thoughts from his mind.
The last thing they both needed now was to slip back into their old ways.
It could only end in disaster.
* * *
Even after a bracingly cool shower, Emma still felt prickly and hot with nervous tension.
Being here, in such close proximity to Jack, was playing havoc with her composure.
She knew it was necessary and practical to stay here today, but she had no idea how she was going to get through the day without doing or saying something she might regret—just as she had a few minutes ago in the kitchen when she’d blurted out why she’d deliberately cut contact with his sister.
Not wanting to dwell on that misstep right now, she dried herself and put on the clothes Jack had found for her and left out on her bed while she was in the en-suite bathroom.
The thought of him being in her room while she was naked next door gave her a twinge of nerves. He could so easily have come in when she was in there. Walked into the shower and joined her. If he’d wanted.
But clearly he didn’t. And that was for the best.
It would be ridiculous to even contemplate the idea of anything developing between them again.
They’d be fools to think they could breach the chasm that had grown between them over the years. They were different people now. Wiser, older—harder, perhaps. More set in their ways. Certainly not young and carefree and full of excitement for the future as they had been right before they got married.
Twisting the necklace that had her wedding ring looped through it—something she’d never taken off, not in all the years they’d been apart—she gave it a sharp tug, feeling it digging into the back of her neck, reminding herself that any connection they’d once had was lost now and that she’d do well to remember that.
They would get a divorce and that would be the end of it. Then they could move on with their lives.
Trying to ignore the tension in her chest that this thought triggered, she turned on her heel and went downstairs to eat the breakfast Jack had promised her.
Passing through the hallway, she noticed that the handset had been left off the phone and it occurred to her that the press must have started calling by now to try and find out who she was and to hound them for details about their clandestine marriage.
It seemed Jack’s plan was to ignore them for as long as possible.
Just as she thought this, the doorbell rang and continued to ring as if someone was leaning on it, determined not to stop until someone answered the door.
Damn press. They’d been the same way right after her father’s death, hounding her and her mother for weeks, trying to get titillating sound bites or pictures that they could use in their repellent articles.
Hurrying out of the hall, she went straight to the kitchen to find Jack standing at the large range cooker, frying delicious-smelling bacon in a cast-iron pan.
It was such an anachronistic scene it made her tummy flip.
This was not how she’d pictured Jack whenever she’d allowed herself to think about him over the years.
Not that she’d allowed herself to do that too often.
When they’d been young and in love she’d thought of nothing but him: how it felt to be held in his arms, to be loved and worshipped by him. Then how it would be to live with him. Laugh with him every day. Grow old with him.
He was just as handsome now as he’d been when they’d got married, more so if anything. He’d grown into his looks, his face more angular, showing off that amazing bone structure of his, and his body harder and leaner than it had been in his youth.
She guessed he must have done regular power-gyming along with his power-businessing in the States. Wasn’t that what all executives did now? Strong body, strong mind and all that.
‘Something smells wonderful,’ she said, walking over to where he was busy cracking eggs into the pan.
‘It’s my natural scent. I call it Eau de Charisma,’ he said with a quirked brow as she came level with where he was standing.
She was so surprised that he’d made a joke, she instinctively slapped him gently on the arm in jest and just like that she was transported back in time, into a memory of Jack making her laugh like this the morning before they’d skipped off to the register office. She’d been trying to fix his tie and their fake squabbling had almost escalated into a rough and lustful lovemaking session on the kitchen table.
The memory of it hit her hard, chasing the breath from her body so that she had to back away from him quickly and sit down at the table, her legs suddenly shaky and weak.
What was wrong with her?
Couldn’t she even eat breakfast without going to pieces?
Jack didn’t seem to notice though and, after tipping their food onto bone-china plates, each one probably worth more than her entire stock of crockery at home, he brought them over to the table, placing hers in front of her without a word and sitting down opposite.
‘Thank you,’ she managed to murmur, and he nodded back, immediately tucking into his food.
Her appetite had totally deserted her, but she couldn’t leave the food he’d so generously made for her, so she struggled through it, taking a lot of sips of tea to wash it past the large lump that had formed in her throat.
Neither of them spoke until their plates were clean.
Jack leant back in his chair and studied her, only making the jitters in her stomach worse.
Clearing her throat hard, she looked down and concentrated on straightening her knife and fork on the table until she’d got the feeling under control.
‘Let’s go and sit in the living room where it’s more comfortable,’ he suggested, and she nodded and got up gratefully, feeling a twang of nerves playing deep inside her.
* * *
Jack took the armchair near the fireplace and watched Emma as she fussed around the sofa she’d chosen to sit on, fluffing cushions and straightening the covers.
He felt stressed just watching her.
‘Emma, why don’t you sit down? I don’t think that cushion’s going to get any fluffier.’
Giving the offending article one last pat, she plonked herself onto the sofa opposite him and let out a low groan.
‘I’m so full! There’s a good chance I won’t be able to move off this sofa now I’ve sat down, which is a worry because the view from here is giving me a headache.’ She flashed him a speculative smile.
‘Who decorated this place anyway? Please tell me it wasn’t you,’ she said with a glint in her eye. ‘I really can’t be associated with a man that thinks that aubergine and mustard yellow are good colour choices for what’s meant to be a relaxing environment.’
He snorted in amusement. ‘It was chosen by my grandfather’s assistant—who he was not so secretly bedding—and I haven’t had time to change it since I’ve been back in England.’
She tipped her head to one side and studied him. ‘I bet your place in the States was all cool chrome and marble without a speck of colour to be seen.’
He shrugged, a little stung by her pointed attack on his taste. ‘I like my surroundings to feel clean and calming.’ Despite his attempt not to sound defensive he could see from her expression that he hadn’t managed it.
‘Sterile, you mean.’ She wrinkled her nose.
‘Okay, Miss I-Have-Better-Taste-Than-You, what would you do to improve this place?’
‘All sorts of things.’ She got up again and walked around the room, peering around at the décor. ‘Get rid of the awful dark wood furniture for a start. Put some warm heritage colours in here and some furniture to reflect the era in which the house was built, but with a modern twist.’
‘A modern twist?’
She folded her arms and raised a brow. ‘Yes. What’s wrong with that?’
He grinned, amused by her pseudo outrage. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m just not sure what a modern twist is. Do you mean you want to fill it with chrome and plastic?’
‘No!’ She slanted him a wry glance. ‘Well, maybe a little of both, but only as accents.’
‘Right,’ he said, ‘accents. Uh-huh.’
He realised with a shock that his earlier joke in the kitchen had brokered an unspoken truce between them and he was actually enjoying teasing her like this. It had been such a long time since they’d had a conversation that didn’t end in one or both of them getting overly emotional, and it was comfortingly familiar to have a sparky back and forth with her again. He’d forgotten how fun it was to banter with her.
How? How had he forgotten so much? The gulf between them had been more than just a physical ocean, he realised; it had been a metaphorical minefield too, filled with piranhas. And quicksand. At least a galaxy wide.
They were both quiet for a minute, each seemingly lost in their thoughts.
Emma walked over to the mantelpiece and straightened the ugly carriage clock in the centre. ‘Sorry,’ she said when he glanced at her with an eyebrow raised. ‘This is what stress does to me. It makes me want to tidy and clean things.’
‘I know. I remember Clare telling me that you’d blitzed your whole house from top to bottom, including the attic, during your exams when you were seventeen.’
That had been about the time he was most struggling with his feelings for her. He’d been half relieved, half frantic when she’d failed to come over to their house to see Clare for two weeks during that time. It had made him realise just how strong his feelings for her were, which had only made him step up his condescension of her when she’d finally turned up again, looking fresh faced and so exquisitely beautiful it had taken his breath away. He also remembered the look of abject hurt on her face when he’d snapped at her for something totally inconsequential. And then what had happened as a direct result of it.
He was suddenly aware that he’d been staring at her while she stood there with a puzzled smile playing around her lips. ‘You look awfully serious all of a sudden. What are you thinking about?’ she asked, her voice soft and a little husky as if she’d read his thoughts.
He cleared his throat, which suddenly felt a little strained. ‘Actually I was thinking about what happened after you came back to our house after going AWOL for those two weeks after your exams.’
She visibly swallowed as she seemed to grasp what he was talking about.
‘You mean when you laid into me about how I’d supposedly flirted with the guy that was painting your parents’ house and I decided to finally confront you about why you hated me so much?’
‘Yes,’ he said, remembering how she’d stormed up to his room after him and hammered on the door until he’d been forced to let her in. How she’d shoved him hard in the chest in her anger, the force of it pushing him against the wall, and how something inside him had snapped and he’d grabbed her and kissed her hard, sliding his hands into her silky hair and plundering her mouth, wanting to show her what she did to him and how much he hated it.
That was what he’d actually hated: his inability to control his feelings for her.
But instead of pushing him away, she’d let out a deep breathy moan that he’d felt all the way down to his toes and kissed him back, just as fiercely.
It had been as if a dam had broken. They couldn’t get enough of each other’s touch. He’d thought in those seconds that he’d go crazy from the feel of her cool hands on him. He’d wanted her so much, he’d ached for her. Desperate to get closer, he’d tugged at the thin T-shirt she’d been wearing, yanking it over her head until they were skin to skin. It had electrified him. He’d never felt anything like it before. Or since.
Getting up from the armchair, he went over to the fireplace to prod at a piece of charred wood that had fallen out of the grate, feeling adrenaline buzz through his veins from the intense mix of emotions the memories had conjured up.
‘Jack? Are you okay?’ She looked worried now and he mentally shook himself, angry for letting himself think about the past, something he’d been fighting not to do. For so, so long now.
‘I’m fine,’ he said tersely.
She recoiled a little at his sharp tone, looking at him with an expression of such hurt and confusion he had a crazy urge to drag her into his arms and soothe her worries away.
Fighting past the inappropriate instinct, he went over to the window to peer through a crack in the drawn curtains at the world outside to try and distract himself. The press were still milling around the front of the house, chatting and smoking and laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
Vultures.
‘You know it won’t be long until they find out who I am,’ Emma said behind him. She’d walked over to where he was standing and as he turned to face her the sweet, familiar scent of her overwhelmed him, making his senses reel.
He struggled past it, taking a couple of paces away from her and folding his arms.
Obviously a little stung by his withdrawal, she frowned and mirrored his stance, crossing her own arms in front of her.
‘You’re right. We should go to see our parents right away. I don’t want to do it all over the phone—it’s too delicate a situation. I’ll call the car and we’ll go to Cambridgeshire to see my parents this afternoon, then we can both go and see your mother together when we get back to London. We owe them that consideration at least.’
As if the mere mention of them had conjured them up, Jack’s mobile rang and he glanced at the screen to see his parents’ home phone number flash up.
A heavy feeling sank through his gut. This didn’t bode well. His parents rarely contacted him unless they needed something from him.
He pressed to receive the call. ‘Father.’
‘Jack? What the hell’s going on? Apparently the press have got it into their heads that you’re married to some down-and-out waitress! I’ve had a number of them already call the house this morning asking us to comment on it. Please tell me this ludicrous bit of gossip is unfounded!’
Judging by the strain in his voice, Jack could tell his father was not a happy man. This was the epitome of a disaster as far as Charles Westwood was concerned.
Jack took a steadying breath before answering. ‘I am married. To Emma Carmichael. You remember her, she’s Clare’s best friend from school.’
There was a shocked silence on the other end of the line.
‘Is this a joke?’
‘No joke, Father. We got married six years ago, just before I moved to the States. We didn’t tell anyone at the time because we thought both you and Emma’s parents might try to stop us, thinking we were too young to know what we wanted.’
He actually heard his father swallow.
‘Well, if she’s Duncan Carmichael’s offspring that makes total sense. That family was always good at wheedling what they needed out of people.’
Jack felt rage begin to build from the pit of his stomach. ‘Emma can’t be held responsible for her father’s actions.’
His father let out a grunt of disdainful laughter. ‘I’m surprised at you, Jack. I thought you were more savvy than to be taken in by a gold-digger.’
‘I’ll thank you not to speak like that about my wife,’ Jack ground out.
‘I’ll speak any way I choose when it comes to the reputation of my family name,’ his father said, his voice full of angry bluster. ‘You need to come to the house today and explain yourself.’
‘We were already planning on doing that,’ Jack said coldly, barely hanging onto the last thread of his cool. ‘We’ll be with you just after lunchtime.’
‘Good. I hope for everyone’s sake you’re not letting this woman manipulate you. She could take a large part of your fortune if she decides to divorce you and we can’t have our family’s name brought into disrepute by having it dragged through the courts!’ Before Jack could answer there was a click on the line as his father cut the call.
Jack stuffed his phone back in his pocket and turned to face Emma, who was staring at him with dismay on her face.
‘They’re expecting us,’ he said unnecessarily. Clearly she’d heard the whole conversation judging by her expression.
‘He thinks I married you for your money and that I’m going to take you for every penny you’ve got in the divorce,’ she whispered, her voice raw with dismay.
Instinctively, he put a steadying hand on her arm, feeling the heat of her skin warm his palm. ‘It’ll be fine. I’ll deal with him and my mother. They’re just in shock at the moment and don’t know how to handle what little they’ve been told.’
She blinked and gave her head a little shake as if trying to pull herself together.
‘Okay,’ she said on a breathy exhalation, lifting her hands to smooth her already perfect hair down against her head. ‘Well, I guess we’d better get ready to leave pretty soon if we’re going to make it over there for after lunch. I’ll call my friend Sophie now and ask her to bring my bag and coat here, then.’
Once again he found himself impressed with her cool handling of the situation. He hadn’t expected her to be so composed about it all.
‘Okay, you do that. I’ll see you back down here in an hour and we’ll hit the road.’
She gave him one last assertive nod and turned away.
He watched her go. Despite her fortitude he was unable to shake the feeling that exposing Emma to his parents was tantamount to taking a lamb to the slaughter.
