Читать книгу Scandalous Bride - Diana Hamilton - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

PERHAPS she had overreacted, Olivia thought, looking up with the new-day optimism that had helped her survive the bad years with Max.

And then she remembered and her heart dropped nauseatingly. Nathan hadn’t joined her until the early hours, slipping between the sheets beside her, keeping woodenly to his side of the king-sized bed, being very careful not to touch her.

He was punishing her for what Hugh had said in his drunken spite, as if he’d believed every damaging word. His lack of trust appalled her. What chance did their marriage have if he became a stranger at the first stroke of trouble? No, worse than a stranger—an enemy!

Not knowing which emotion took precedence, the anger over his insulting lack of trust or the gut-wrenching misery, she squirmed up against the pillows. She saw him standing at the foot of the bed, his tanned, fantastic body gilded by the June sunlight that streamed through the open window, vigorously rubbing his wet, dark hair with a crisp white towel, making it stand up in endearing spikes.

Despite her savagely raging emotions, her body jerked in immediate wild response. He was so gorgeous; he was everything her body, her heart and soul craved. She couldn’t drag her eyes away. Her skin burned beneath the lazy, sexy scrutiny of his eyes.

He dropped the towel slowly and came to the side of the bed. Her breath thickened in her throat. Six feet three inches of daunting male perfection, lean, hard and perfectly proportioned. He had the brand of graceful strength that made her mouth go dry.

Hunkering down, his warm grey eyes level with hers, he took her hands, his fingers relaxed.

‘Forget last night happened. You were right—I shouldn’t have taken the louse so seriously.’ The pressure of his fingers increased just fractionally. ‘I won’t pretend I understand why you’re apparently reluctant to slap the guy down in public, why you don’t want to fight—but I promise you I’m trying.’

Olivia gritted her teeth, dropping her eyes. This was difficult. He was as good as accusing her of being a wimp, of having no fight in her. It was miles away from the truth. She’d been fighting all her life and wasn’t about to lie down and let things happen to her now.

But, in spite of what he’d said last night, he couldn’t read her mind, so he wasn’t to know how hard she was fighting, fighting to keep her secret guilt away from him, keep it safely shut up inside herself where it could be ignored.

There was no answer to give to that statement, no answer she wanted to give, except, ‘What’s to forget? I don’t remember a thing!’ Her violet eyes sparkled as she drew their twined hands towards her so that the back of his fingers grazed her breasts, heard the sharp hiss of his indrawn breath as she invited rawly, ‘Kiss me.’

The flash of desire deep in his eyes was unmissable and her lush mouth softened, the core of her body aching with heat, needing his lovemaking to blot out the ugly scenes of the night before, but he took a deep breath, his impressive shoulders straightening as he stood upright, releasing her clinging hands.

‘Normally that’s an invitation I’d find impossible to refuse,’ he said. He turned, reaching for his robe, thrusting his long arms into the sleeves, tying the belt round his taut waist. ‘But we both know what it would lead to, don’t we? We wouldn’t leave the bedroom for the rest of the day, and I already phoned Rye House before I showered. We’re spending the weekend there; my parents are looking forward to seeing us.’

He was already pulling casual jeans and shirts from the dressing chest, tossing them, man-like, any old how over the back of a chair. ‘We both need some breathing space and at least we won’t fight in front of an audience. So pack our gear after you’ve showered, would you? I’ll make breakfast.’

Hauling herself out of bed, Olivia felt as if her heart had been dumped about six inches beneath her feet, hating the edge she’d detected in his voice.

Not that she didn’t want to visit his parents; she had taken to them immediately, relieved by their warm welcome because she’d been worried that they might think a widow, from a very ordinary background, was no great catch for their brilliant only son.

And she’d only met them twice before. The first time when Nathan had whisked her to Bedfordshire to announce their almost immediate wedding plans to his commendably phlegmatic parents and the second time at the marriage ceremony itself. So it made perfect sense that, after a week back in England, Nathan would want to visit them. Despite his nomadic life-style he and his parents were very close. She might have envied him that, had not Angela and Edward welcomed her as part of the family.

But she couldn’t help feeling that she and Nathan should have taken the opportunity this weekend to talk over the events of last night, get them in perspective and then, and only then, put them behind them.

But, strangely, Nathan seemed intent on sweeping it all under the carpet, forgetting everything, at least for the moment. Why? He was the most direct person she had ever encountered. Was it because he couldn’t bring himself to even think about the accusations Hugh had made in case he found himself believing them?

Her eyes were clouded, her whole body tense as she towelled herself dry after her shower and walked through to the bedroom to dress and pack. Then the appetising aromas of grilling bacon and fresh, strong coffee wafted up the stairs, making her nose twitch.

It had always astounded her that a man as wealthy as Nathan Monroe, a man who could press buttons and have servants coming out of the woodwork to attend to his every need if he so wished, should know his way around a kitchen like a veteran.

Relaxing a little, she pulled on a pair of soft, well-worn white jeans, topping them with a pansy-purple T-shirt that reflected the colour of her eyes, and told herself she couldn’t spend the entire weekend worrying about his motives.

Besides, Rye House was quite wonderful. Set in acres of rolling, wooded countryside, it had been in the Monroe family since the year dot. She would, she vowed, enjoy the weekend.

And so she did. As they were changing for dinner that evening in the luxurious guest suite, decorated in shades of soft old rose and misty grey, the perfect foil for the handsome antiques that had been handed down from generation to generation, Nathan asked, ‘Glad we came?’ He was standing at the foot of the four-poster bed, watching her mirror-image as she brushed her long black hair. Her answering smile was warm and genuine.

‘Very.’ She put her brush down, wondering if he had any idea how sensational he looked; his soft dark hair falling over his brow, his hands casually thrust into the pockets of the black trousers that clipped his long legs and sexily narrow hips, the stark white shirt making his tan fantastic.

She lowered her eyes. Now was not the time to entertain lustful thoughts about her husband! There was dinner to get through and—

God, would she ever get used to the way he made her feel? She hoped not! Getting her mind back on track, she asked, ‘Where were you all afternoon? I missed you.’

He and Edward, his father, had disappeared directly after lunch while she and his mother had been clearing up, because Hilda, their daily, didn’t work at weekends. And she had missed him, fretted over whether he was deliberately avoiding her, giving himself a slice of the space he’d said they both needed.

‘Sorry about that.’ She caught his cool glance in the mirror. ‘The old man’s building a kit-car in the empty stables. I told him he was in his second childhood, but when he showed me what he was doing I was hooked. A Cobra replica body married to the Rover V8 engine. It’s going to be really something when it’s finished.’

‘Toys for the boys!’ She rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. ‘Why do men never grow up?’

She was trying to make a joke of it, lighten the atmosphere, nudge them towards the old, wonderful closeness, but he simply shrugged, walking slowly over the polished oak boards to stand behind her.

‘I can think of a few grown-up things I’d like to do right now.’ His voice was heavy as his eyes made a slow and sultry assessment of her mirror-image, stripping away the soft, garnet-coloured silk of her discreetly styled, sleeveless dress.

‘You are unforgivably beautiful,’ he said rawly. ‘I can’t look at you without wanting to take you to bed. But you know me.’ His mouth curved without humour. ‘I like to get my priorities right. Is it too much to hope that you spent the afternoon mentally composing your letter of resignation?’

‘I’m afraid it is,’ she answered tightly, meeting his cool eyes in the mirror, refusing to let him stare her down. ‘I won’t be forced into a snap decision.’ Max had always tried to do that to her, tried to make her fall in with his plans, using the threat of violence if she didn’t. But she had stood her ground then, and would do so now. ‘We need to have a proper discussion. All we’ve done so far is snipe at each other.’

‘I see.’ He sounded almost bored and turned, strolling to one of the mullioned windows to look out. ‘So what’s to discuss?’

Ohvia bit her lip, tension making her shiver. Because her love for him was so deep it would be too easy to give in, do exactly what he wanted, but she had to stay calm, in control—she had learned that much when she’d been married to Max If she showed any weakness he would pounce, bend her so easily to his will.

‘What I want, for starters,’ she said collectedly. ‘But there’s no time to go into all of that right now. Your mother’s invited some friends to meet us—well, me, I suppose.’ She searched her brain for names. ‘Ruth and Lester Spencer. We’ll be expected to show our faces any time now.’

He moved away from the window, taking his elegantly cut dinner jacket from the wardrobe where she’d hung it earlier. ‘Then we’d better change the subject, hadn’t we?’ He was coolly dismissive. ‘So tell me, what did you and Ma find to do with yourselves?’ he tossed at her, settling the jacket snugly over his shoulders.

‘Plenty.’ She applied her make-up hurriedly, her hands shaking. She was still deeply affected by the undercurrent of antagonism. ‘I helped her prepare the salads for the meal this evening, then she made some lemonade and we carried it out to the rose garden and simply sat and nattered.’

‘What about? Were you bored out of your socks?’ He was sharing the mirror, talking like a polite stranger, tying his bow-tie with expert fingers. ‘Once she starts on the subject of her charity work she sends everyone to sleep. But don’t tell her I told you so; the poor love would be shattered.’

‘We mostly talked about you.’ She capped her lipstick, her voice deliberately matching the coolness of his. ‘But don’t worry, I managed not to yawn.’

She watched his eyes glitter at her and wasn’t going to tell him that the conversation had revealed how ignorant his doting parents were of his true desires and needs, and said instead, ‘I wonder if you appreciate how lucky you are? Oh, not all this—’ She gestured vaguely around the room at the lovely antique furnishings, the porcelain bowls of garden flowers set on almost every available polished surface. ‘But the feeling of love and warmth that comes entirely from your parents. They obviously dote on each other and on you. Which is nice, because it rubs off on me, too. They have the happy knack of making me feel I’m at last part of a family.’

She had already told him that her parents had split up when she was five, that the modest terraced house had been sold after the divorce, she and her mother moving to a one-bedroom flat. But he had more or less accused her of keeping secrets, of telling him little or nothing about herself. So now, as she tipped her head to fix her gold stud earrings, she elaborated.

‘Before Dad left us, my enduring memory is of them fighting. I never saw him again. He hadn’t wanted children; Mum never stopped telling me that. Then, oh, years later, she met a former mutual friend who told her Dad had remarried, had had three children and was completely content. It made her even more bitter. She’d told me so often that Dad had left because I was a burden he didn’t want. Having to face up to the fact that he was perfectly happy with a full-blown family took the blame for the break-up from me and put it on her. After that she became impossible to live with.’

She stood up, smoothing the silky fabric of her dress over her hips, and Nathan asked slowly, ‘Is that why you married so young? To get away from home?’

‘Probably. Although I’d been living on my own for twelve months when I met Max,’ she said dismissively. She didn’t want to talk about it. But she caught his disappointment; it blanked the life from his expressive eyes.

She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, knowing intuitively that he’d wanted to hear her affirm it, tell him that her marriage to Max hadn’t been born of the kind of passion they shared but had been her way out of an intolerable home situation.

But it was too late now to repair the damage and her years with Max were something she never talked about, something she never thought about if she could help it.

She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s time we went down. We don’t want to keep dinner waiting any longer.’

The Spencers, Nathan’s parents’ oldest friends, were a comfortable couple, and the panelled dining room, with the tall French windows open to the soft summer evening, the oval mahogany table set with glittering crystal and the heavy family silver, was the perfect setting for convivial conversation over the hot lobster bisque and cold pheasant and salads.

More at ease after two glasses of superb wine, Olivia caught the gleaming humour in Nathan’s eyes across the candlelit table and smiled at him softly, her heart lifting because she felt close to him again, knowing what he was thinking.

Angela Monroe was enthusiastically relating the success of her favourite charity work, but Olivia couldn’t see anyone yawning yet and her smile deepened.

She already felt at home here, accepted, and the misery, the plain nastiness of what had happened last night had assumed the mantle of a bad dream, no more, a fading dream that would soon be entirely lost to memory.

Once he’d got over the shock of what he’d heard last night, Nathan wouldn’t believe a single word of it. And sooner or later he’d agree to discuss their future, listen to what she had to say on the subject of her resignation, and they’d reach a decision they could both be comfortable with.

And she couldn’t imagine, as she saw the soft glow of love in Nathan’s eyes as he watched her across the table—and that couldn’t be merely a trick of the candlelight, could it?—that everything could start to go wrong again. Badly wrong.

‘We’re really going to miss you on the committee, Ruth,’ Angela sighed. ‘Apart from that, I don’t know what I’ll do without you. If you’d asked my permission to sell up I’d have flatly refused!’

Nathan turned to Ruth Spencer, his dark brows raised in mild surprise. ‘Are you and Lester moving? I thought you were as deeply rooted here as the Monroes.’

Ruth shook her head, her white curls bobbing. ‘Hardly. We can’t claim to have been here since William the Conqueror!’ She glanced at her husband. ‘We can’t say it was an easy decision. But The Grange is too big for two old codgers.’

She turned to Olivia. ‘Sadly, we didn’t have children so we don’t even have the excuse of handing the place on through the family. So we’re bowing out gracefully, before we get too old to stand the trauma of moving, and retiring to the coast. We’ve found a manageable cottage with a small garden that’s crying out for reclamation. So that leaves The Grange looking for the owners it deserves—a young family, ideally, to fill all those rooms.’

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Angie?’ Edward grinned at his wife down the length of the table. He was still a handsome man, his iron-grey hair thick and strong, the family resemblance between him and his son unmistakable—which meant, Olivia thought contentedly, Nathan would mature spectacularly well.

‘I’m sure I am!’ Angela put her cutlery neatly on her plate and planted her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in her hands, her merry blue eyes fixing on Nathan’s. He returned her fizzling look with an amused smile.

‘Thinking of buying it, Ma? Housing a few more homeless families? Or are we into craft centres for struggling artisans? Whatever, I’m with you, as always. You can count on my donation.’

Watching him swallow the last of his wine, Olivia thought she had never loved him more. The close family bonds were evident, his interest in what his parents were doing, his open-handed support for his mother’s charities, totally endearing. She closed her eyes briefly, her happiness almost uncontainable. What had she ever done to deserve Nathan’s love? She had never felt so protected, so secure, in the whole of her life.

‘No, darling, not this time.’ Angela tipped her head on one side. Her rich auburn hair had only a few strands of silver and it glowed warmly in the subdued, intimate lighting. ‘Livvy and I had a real heart-to-heart this afternoon. You’re married now, so it’s time you put down roots and stopped jetting all over the world like a demented gnat!’ Her loving smile took any sting out of the words, but Nathan, Olivia noted, didn’t return it. His face had closed up and her heart sank.

‘I know you have the mews cottage, which is fine, I suppose. Livvy says she loves it, and she does have her job to keep her occupied while you’re flitting off here and there, so for the time being I can see you need a London base—and that’s an improvement on hotel rooms and suitcases!

‘But you need somewhere bigger,’ she burbled on in blithe innocence, blissfully unaware of the building tension. ‘The Grange would be perfect. You could come down most weekends and when the children begin to arrive—and I hope that won’t be too far down the road—you could move in permanently. You could fill one of the rooms with all that electronic gadgetry people like you seem unable to function without, and I could have my new daughter, and my grandchildren, practically on the doorstep. I know you’ll have Rye House one day—’ she crossed her fingers elaborately and wagged them at her husband ‘—but that won’t be for ages yet! And it would be lovely to have you settle so near!’

‘Brilliant!’

‘A splendid idea!’ the Spencers enthused as one.

‘You’ve really excelled yourself this time, Ma,’ Nathan said tonelessly. ‘Take your oar out, for God’s sake! Olivia and I are more than capable of sorting out our own future.’

Silence. Angela looked more surprised than stricken. It was probably the first time her adored son had slapped her down, Olivia thought. Whenever she’d tried to interfere in his life before he would have given her that lazy, stupendous smile and just got on with doing exactly what he wanted to do.

Nathan had no intention of settling down; she knew that now. There hadn’t been the time or the inclination during their brief, passionate courtship to think of their future. They had been too obsessed with each other.

She wished, with painful intensity, that her mother-in-law had kept her mouth shut. The relaxed persona Nathan had been acquiring throughout the evening had been wiped away by his mother’s artless interference.

But, even though she was shocked by his cold incisiveness, Angela wasn’t to be deflected. She was his mother, after all, and entitled to open her mouth when no one else would dare.

‘I’m sure you are, dear. But as The Grange is on the market it wouldn’t do any harm if you took Livvy to see over it, would it, now? You could walk across tomorrow morning, if that’s all right with Lester and Ruth.’

Whether or not it would be convenient no one would ever know, Olivia decided sinkingly as Nathan stated flatly, ‘Not possible. We’re leaving directly after breakfast Ten, at the latest.’

It was the first Olivia had heard of it. They’d planned to spend the whole weekend here, driving back to town late on Sunday evening, but there was no point in arguing about it. Nathan had made his mind up and nothing she said would change it. She recognised with an inward shudder that his dark mood had nothing to do with his mother’s well-meaning interference and everything to do with her.

And although the conversation was general for the remainder of the evening she sensed the undercurrent of his anger. She was sure everyone else was unaware; not even his parents, close as they were, could tune into his moods as instinctively as she could.

And much later, almost before he’d closed the bedroom door behind them, he drawled, ‘So that was what the cosy natter was all about this afternoon? The London house, handy for your job, but it would be nice to have a country place, to put down roots, tie us down.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ she told him levelly, not wanting to fight. Angela had done all the talking, explaining that Nathan had always had itchy feet, always off someplace else, doing deals, turning wheels. Seizing happily on the fact of his marriage as evidence that he was at long last willing to settle down. ‘The idea that we should consider buying The Grange came as a complete surprise to me, too.’

She walked out of her shoes and took the studs from her ears, searching for a way to put things right between them. ‘Your parents know I work—it’s only natural for them to look into the future, see me giving it up when we start a family, needing somewhere bigger. Everything set out in a nice predictable line.’

She had her back to him, putting the gold studs safely in their soft silk pouch, and only knew he was right behind her when his hands fastened on her shoulders, twisting her round to face him.

‘Did you tell her I’d begged you to hand in your resignation?’ He forced her chin up with his fingers. ‘Look at me. I want to see your eyes. I can tell if you’re lying. Did you?’

‘No.’ She held his gaze squarely, her violet eyes bruised. The lovely guest suite suddenly seemed an alien place. She didn’t want to be here. The matter of her resignation had nothing to do with anyone else. His fingers tightened on her chin, hurting her. She tried to twist away but he wouldn’t let her. She hated having him touch her in anger. It brought back sickening memories of Max.

‘Why not? Because you have no intention of doing what I asked?’ His voice was low, deadly. ‘The whole world is my workplace; you knew that before we married. You’re my wife; I want you with me. But you don’t see it that way—’

‘My career’s important too,’ she retorted, her teeth snapping. Why did men always think they and their needs were the most important things in a relationship? Why should women always be the ones who had to adapt?

‘I offered you another, remember? Helping me. Taking the place of the temps I hire in wherever I happen to be. What makes the job at Caldwell’s more exciting and challenging than that? More satisfying than being with me?’ He released her, his hands dropping to his sides. ‘If you loved me, you’d want to be with me,’ he said flatly. ‘Or was Big-Mouth telling the truth? Can’t you bear to leave James Caldwell?’