Читать книгу The British Bachelors Collection - Сара Крейвен, Kate Hardy - Страница 29

CHAPTER NINE

‘SORRY?’ THERE WAS a rushing sound in her ears. She thought it might have temporarily impaired her hearing.

‘You say you can’t be in a relationship if you think it’s not going anywhere. Curious considering we embarked on this relationship in the expectation that it wouldn’t go anywhere.’

‘I didn’t think a game of make-believe would...would...’ Violet was still grappling with what he had said. Had he actually asked her to marry him? Had she imagined the whole thing? He certainly didn’t have the expectant, love struck look of a man who had just voiced a marriage proposal.

‘Nor did I. And yet it did and now here we are. Which brings me back to my marriage proposal.’

So, she hadn’t been imagining it. And yet nothing in his expression gave any hint that he was talking about anything of import. His eyes were unreadable, his beautiful face coolly speculative. Violet, on the other hand, could feel a burning that began in the pit of her stomach and moved outwards.

Marriage? To Damien Carver? The concept was at once too incredible to believe and yet fiercely seductive. For a few magical seconds, her mind leapfrogged past all the obvious glitches in his wildly unexpected proposal. She was in love with the man who had asked her to marry him! Even when she had been going out with Stu, even though they had occasionally talked about marriage, she had never felt this wonderful surge of pure happiness.

Reality returned and she regretfully left her happy ever after images behind. ‘Why would you want to marry me?’

‘I’m enjoying what we have. I’m not getting any younger. Yes, at the time we started out on our charade, I had not given a passing thought to settling down, even though I realised that that was what my mother wanted...’

Too hurt by past rejection to go there again...went through Violet’s head.

‘Now I can see that it makes sense.’

‘Makes sense?’

‘We get along. You’ve bonded with my family. They like you. My mother sings your praises. Dominic tells me that you’re one of a kind, a gem.’ He paused, thought of Annalise with distaste, wondered how he could ever have been so naive as to think that only idiots viewed disability as an unacceptable challenge. He remembered how he had borne the insult delivered to his brother as much as if it had been directly delivered to him. Annalise might have been attractive and clever, but neither of those attributes could have made up for her basic inability to step out of the box. Her neatly laid out future had not included hitches of that nature. Over the years, he had bumped into her, sometimes coincidentally, occasionally at her request. She never mentioned Dominic but she always made a point of informing him how much she had grown up. The fact that Violet naturally and without trying had endeared herself to his mother and his brother counted for a great deal.

‘You’ve asked me to marry you because I get along with your family?’

‘Well...that’s not the complete story. There’s also the incredible sex...’ He scanned her flushed cheeks with lingering appreciation.

‘So let me get this straight. You’ve asked me to marry you because I’ve been accepted by your family, because we get along and because we’re good in bed together. It’s not exactly the marriage proposal I dreamed of as a girl.’ She kept her voice steady and calm. Inside, her heart was hammering as she absorbed the implications of his proposal. This wasn’t about love or a starry-eyed desire to walk off into the sunset with her, holding hands, knowing that they were soulmates, destined to be together for the rest of their lives. This was a marriage proposal of convenience.

‘And what when we get tired of one another? I mean, lust doesn’t last for ever.’ And without love as its foundation, whatever was left when the lust bit disappeared would crumble into dust. When that happened, would he decide that being stuck in a loveless marriage was maybe not quite the sensible option he had gone for? Would his eyes begin to wander? Would he see that other options were available? Of course he would and where would that leave her? Nursing even more heartbreak than if she walked away now with her pride and dignity intact.

‘I don’t like hypothesising.’ Why hadn’t she just said yes? He was giving her what any other woman on the planet would want. He knew that without a shred of conceit. He had a lot to offer and he was offering it to her, so what was with the hesitancy and the thousand and one questions? Would he have to fill out an informal questionnaire? To find out if he passed with flying colours?

‘I know, but sometimes it’s important to look ahead,’ Violet persisted stubbornly. In some strange way, this marriage proposal was the nail in the coffin of their relationship. At least as far as she was concerned. She might have wondered aloud where they were going, but she knew, deep down, that she would have been persuaded to carry on, just as she knew that, in carrying on, she would have clung to the belief that her love was returned, that it was just a question of time. She would have allowed hope to propel her forward. But he had proposed what would be a sham of a marriage and she knew, now, exactly where she stood with him.

He liked her well enough but primarily he liked her body. And the added bonus was that she got along with Eleanor and Dominic. When the scales were balanced, he doubtless thought that they weighed in favour of putting a ring on her finger.

‘It’s not necessary to look ahead,’ Damien countered, but sudden unease was stirring a potent mix of anger and bewilderment inside him. ‘And I’m not sure where the cross-examination is leading.’

‘I can’t accept your offer,’ Violet said bluntly. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Come again?’

‘You might think we’re suited, but I don’t.’

‘Do we or do we not have amazing sexual chemistry? Do I or do I not turn you on until you’re begging me to take you?’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘So you’re back to this business of looking for your soulmate. Is that it?’

‘There’s nothing wrong in thinking that when you settle down you’ll do so with the right guy...’

‘Do you know the statistics when it comes to divorce? One in three. May even be one in two and a half. For every woman with stars in her eyes and dreams of rocking chairs on verandas with her husband when they’re eighty-four with the great-grandchildren running around their feet, I’ll show you a hundred who have recently signed their divorce papers and are complaining about the cost of the lawyer’s fees. For every child at home with both parents, I’ll show you a thousand who have become nomads, travelling between parents and inheriting an assorted family of half-siblings and step-siblings along the way.’ He raked impatient, frustrated fingers through his hair. She had made noises about wanting more, and he had blithely assumed that the more she claimed to be wanting was with him. It hadn’t occurred to him that the more she wanted was with someone else. There was still this amazing, once in a lifetime buzz between them. Was it his fault that he had interpreted that in the only way that seemed possible? And yet here she was, turning him down flat.

‘I know that,’ Violet said, her mouth stubbornly downturned. Of course, every argument he might use to persuade her that tying the knot was a sensible outcome to their relationship would be based in statistics. In the absence of real emotion, statistics would come in very handy.

She was also aware that sex was only part of the drive behind his proposal. Eleanor’s illness had shattered the complacent world he had established around himself and forced him into re-evaluating his relationship with his brother and, by extension, his mother. It had been easy for him to justify his interaction with them and convince himself that there was nothing out of kilter by throwing money in their direction. They had wanted for nothing. Damien had not told her that himself. She had garnered that information via Eleanor, passing remarks, rueful observations... However, as everyone knew, money was not the be-all and end-all when it came to relationships and he had been helped in his fledgling attempts to rebuild what had been lost thanks to her. She knew that without having to be told. She had not entered this peculiar arrangement ever thinking that it would extend beyond the absolutely necessary and yet it had and now all of that had entered the murky mix of logic and rationale that lay behind his proposal.

She didn’t want to end up being the convenient other half in a relationship where she would inevitably be taken for granted, nor was it fair on either Eleanor or Dominic for her to slot into their lives where she would eventually pick up the slack, enabling Damien to return to his workaholic life which had no room for anyone, least of all a wife. Even a wife he might temporarily be in lust with.

And yet when she thought of waking up next to him, being able to turn and reach out and touch his warm, responsive body...every morning...

When she half closed her eyes she could recall the feel of his mouth all over her body, kissing and licking and exploring, and a treacherous little voice in her head insisted on telling her that that could be hers. Lust could last a very long time, couldn’t it? It could last for ever. It could turn into something else. Couldn’t it?

And yet he had approached her the way a person would approach a mathematical equation that needed solving. And that wasn’t right. Not when it came to marriage.

But she still had to take a deep breath and steel herself against being sidetracked. Especially when he was sitting right there in front of her, his hands loosely linked, his body leaning towards her, his dark, sinfully beautiful face stirring all sorts of rebellious thoughts inside her.

‘But—’ she inhaled deeply ‘—I’m on the side of the minority who actually have working marriages and kids with both parents.’ She plucked at her jumper with nerveless fingers. ‘And please stop looking at me as though I’m mad. There are some of us out there who prefer to dream rather than just cave in and think that we’re never going to be happy...’

‘No one’s talking about being happy or not being happy...’ Damien interrupted impatiently. ‘Where did you get that idea from? Did I ask you to marry me with the sub-clause that you shouldn’t hold out for happiness?’ He wondered why he was continuing to pursue this. She had turned him down and it was time now to take his leave. And yet, although he could feel the sharp teeth of pride kicking in, something was compelling him to stay. Was it because he was keenly aware of how awkward it was going to be breaking the news of their break-up to his mother and Dominic? Made sense. Who liked to be the harbinger of bad news, as he undoubtedly would be? Were it any other woman, he would have left by now. Actually, were it any other woman he would not have proposed in the first place.

‘We’re not suited. Not in any way that makes sense for a long-term relationship. We might enjoy...you know...the physical side of things...’ At this point, she felt faint at that physical side of things no longer being attainable. No more of that breathless excitement. No more melting as their bodies united. But, much more than that, no more heady anticipation knowing that the man she loved was going to be walking through her front door, taking her in his arms... How had she only managed to now work out what should have been obvious from the start? That so much more than just her body looked forward to seeing him? That he had awakened a side to her that she never knew existed and something like that didn’t happen in a vacuum? That she just didn’t have the sort of personality that could lock away various sides of herself and only bring them out when appropriate?

She had sleep walked herself into loving him and it was a feeling that would never be returned. No amount of persuasive arguments about divorce statistics could change that.

‘You’re repeating yourself. I don’t think there’s much point to my remaining here to listen to any more of the same old.’ He made to stand and a wave of sickening panic rushed through her at speed, with the force and power of a tsunami.

‘But I know you agree with me!’ Desperate to keep him with her just a little bit longer, Violet sprang to her feet and placed a restraining hand on his arm.

He looked down at it with withering eyes. ‘Our days of touching are over. So...if you don’t mind?’ He raised one cool eyebrow and Violet removed her hand with alacrity.

‘We would end up in a bitter, corrosive relationship if we got married,’ she gabbled on, clasping her hands tightly together because she wanted to reach out again and pluck at him to stay. His face was stony. ‘I’m sorry I ever said anything about...about... We’d be far better off staying just as we are...’ Violet knew that she was backtracking and that there was desperation in that but there was a void opening up in front of her that she knew would be impossible to fill. It was dark and bottomless and terrifying. So what if they just carried on the way they were? Would it be the end of the world? And wouldn’t it be better than this? Being a martyr? Hadn’t she agreed with him once that martyrdom was cold comfort?

‘I don’t think so,’ Damien said coolly, as he began getting his things together. ‘That window’s closed, I’m afraid.’

Violet fell back and looked at him in numb silence until he was ready to leave.

‘I’ll tell my mother this weekend that things didn’t work out between us.’

‘Let me come with you.’ She could feel tears pushing to the back of her eyes.

‘What for?’

‘I’d like to explain to her myself that...that...’

‘There’s nothing to explain, Violet. Relationships come and go. Fortunately my mother is in a better place. She’ll be able to cope with the disappointment. I wouldn’t lose sleep over that if I were you.’

Violet could feel him mentally withdrawing from her at a rate of knots. She hadn’t complied and there was no room for anyone in his life who didn’t comply.

‘Of course I’m going to lose sleep over it! I’m very fond of both Eleanor and Dominic!’

Damien shrugged as though it was of relatively little importance one way or the other. He was moving towards the door. Where was the necklace? No matter. He wanted to tell her that she could consider it a suitable parting gift but he knew he would have to listen to a lecture on all the things money, apparently, couldn’t buy. He gritted his teeth at the uncomfortable notion that he would miss those lectures of hers, which had ranged from the ills of money to the misfortune of those who thought they needed it to be happy. She was adept at pointing out all the expensive items that had brought nothing but misery to their owners. She always seemed to have a mental tally at the ready of famous people whose lives had not been improved because they were rich, and had been prone to loftily ignoring him when he pointed out that she should stop reading trashy magazines with celebrity gossip. In between the fantastic sex, which had evolved from their charade in a way that had taken him one hundred per cent by surprise, he was uncomfortably aware that she might have got under his skin in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

‘In that case,’ he returned with supreme indifference, ‘I suggest you go see your local friendly doctor and ask him to prescribe you some sleeping pills.’

‘How can you be so...so...unsympathetic?’ She was traipsing along behind him to the front door. Before she knew it, he was pulling it open, one foot already out as though he couldn’t wait to leave her behind.

‘There’s no point in you having any involvement with me or my family from now on. My mother would be far happier were she spared the tedium of a post-mortem.’

And with that he was gone, slamming the door behind him in a gesture that was as final as the fall of the executioner’s axe.

Left on her own, Violet suddenly realised just how lonely the little house was without the promise of his exciting, unsettling presence to bring it to life. She lethargically tidied up the kitchen but her thoughts were exclusively on Damien. She had backed him into a corner and it was no good asking herself whether she had done the right thing or not. You couldn’t play around with reality and hope that it might somehow be changed into something else.

But neither could she put thoughts of him behind her as easily as she might have liked. School was no longer gloriously enjoyable because she was busy looking forward to seeing him. There were no little anecdotes saved up for retelling. She spent the following week with the strange sense of having been wrapped up in insulation, something so thick that the outside world seemed to exist around her at a distance. She listened to everyone laughing and chatting but it was all a blur. When Phillipa phoned in a state of high excitement to tell her that she and Andy were getting married at the end of the year, on a beach no less, and would she come over, help her choose a dress or at least a suitably white sarong and bikini, she heard herself saying all the right things but her mind was cloudy, not operating at full whack, as though she had been heavily sedated to the point where her normal reflexes were no longer in proper working order.

Several times she wondered whether she should call Eleanor. But was Damien right? Would his mother be happier to accept their break-up without having to conduct a long conversation about it? Furthermore, what would she say? She had no idea what Damien would have told her. For all she knew, he might have told her that she was entirely to blame, that she had turned into a shrew, a harpy, a gold-digger. It was within his brief to say anything, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be contradicted.

And yet she couldn’t imagine him being anything other than fair, which, reason told her, was ridiculous, considering the way their relationship had commenced. He had blackmailed her into doing what he wanted. Since when had he turned into a good guy? He had drifted into a sexual relationship for no better reason than she had made a change from the sort of women he usually dated, but he had nothing to offer aside from a consummate ability to make love. So how was it that she had managed to fall in love with him? For every glaring downside in his personality, her rebellious mind insisted on pointing out the good things about him—his wit, his sincere attempts to do what was right for his family, his incredible intellect, which would have made a lesser man sneering and contemptuous of those less gifted than he was, and yet, in Damien’s case, did not.

The decision to call Eleanor or not was taken out of her hands when, a week and a half after Damien had walked out of her house, Eleanor called.

She sounded fine. Yes, yes, yes, everything was coming along nicely. The prognosis was good...

‘But my son tells me that the two of you have decided to take a break...’

So that was how he had phrased it. Clever in so far as he had left open the possibility that the break might not be permanent. His mother’s disappointment would be drip-fed in small stages, protecting her from any dramatic stress their separation might have engendered.

‘Um...yes...that’s the...er...plan...’

‘I confess that I was very surprised indeed when Damien told me...’

‘And I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to break the news as well, Eleanor.’ Violet rushed into apologetic speech. ‘I wanted so much to...er...’

‘I’d never seen Damien so relaxed and happy.’ Eleanor swept past Violet’s stammering interruption. ‘A different man. I’ve always worried about the amount of time he devotes to work, but you must have done something wonderful to him, my darling, because he’s finally seemed to get his perspective in order... He hasn’t just made time for me, but he’s made time for his brother...’

‘That’s...great...’

‘Which is why I’m puzzled as to how it is that suddenly you and he are...taking a break...especially when I can see how much the two of you love one another...’

‘No! No, no, no... Damien just isn’t...he’s...we...’

‘You’re stumbling over your words, my darling,’ Eleanor said gently. ‘Take your time. You love my son. I know you do. A woman knows these things when it comes to other women...especially an old lady like me...’

Violet lapsed into temporary defeated silence. What could she say to that? Even with Eleanor talking down the end of a phone, she still had the uncanny feeling that the older woman was seeing right into the very heart of her. ‘You’re not old,’ she finally responded. ‘And I’m so glad the treatment’s going well...’

‘Is that your way of changing the conversation?’ Eleanor asked tartly. ‘Darling, I do wish we could have sat down and talked about this together, woman to woman. Somehow, hearing it from Damien...well, you know what men are like. He can be terribly tight-lipped when it comes to expressing anything emotional...’

‘That’s true...’

‘So why don’t you pop over to his place, say this evening...around eight...? We can...chat...’

With unerring ability, Violet realised that Eleanor had found her Achilles heel. She would have thought that Hell might have frozen over before she faced Damien again. She just wanted to somehow try and get him out of her system and paying him a visit was the last thing destined to achieve that goal. But she was very fond of his mother and Eleanor, despite her cheerful optimism about her health, did not deserve to be stressed out.

She was also still in the throes of guilt at not having spoken to the older woman yet.

‘You’re in London?’

‘Flying visit. Check-up... So, darling, I really must dash now. I’ll see you shortly, shall I? Can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to that! Don’t think that I’m going to allow you to creep out of my life that easily.’

Those two, Eleanor thought with satisfaction as she peered through the window of her chauffeur-driven car on her way back down to Devon, needed to have their heads banged together. Or at least made to sit and really talk because she refused to believe that whatever had taken place between them couldn’t be sorted with a heartfelt conversation. And who better to engineer that but herself? If, at the end of it, things were over, then so be it but Damien had been so sketchy in his details, so alarmingly evasive...and men so often didn’t recognise what was best for them...

Violet was disconnected before she had time to start thinking on her feet. Was, for instance, Damien going to be present? Would there be an awkward three-way conversation where they both tried desperately to undo what they had so carefully knitted together at the very beginning? She assumed not. She assumed that Eleanor had invited her for a one to one. She had no idea what she would say to the other woman. She would have to be vague. Her fingers itched to dial Damien’s mobile and ask him what he had said to his mother but she felt faint just at the thought of hearing that deep, dark, sexy drawl down the end of the line.

Several hours later, standing in front of the imposing Georgian block, some of which had been converted into luxury apartments, others remaining as vast houses, such as his, Violet had to fight down a sickening attack of nerves.

The road where he lived was a statement to the last word in opulence. Gleaming back wrought-iron railings guarded each of the towering white-fronted mansions. The steps to each front door were identical in their scrubbed cleanliness and the front doors were all black with shiny brass knockers for appearance only as a bank of buzzers was located at the side.

She had only been to his place a handful of times but she remembered it clearly. The exquisite hall with its flagstoned floor, the pale walls, the blond wooden flooring that dominated the huge open spaces. Everything within those mega-expensive walls was of the highest standard and state-of-the-art. There was no clutter. She had always found its lack of homeliness off-putting. Now, as she dithered in front of the imposing black door, she had to take some deep breaths to steady her nerves, even though she was nearly a hundred per cent certain that he would not be at home. A cosy chat with Eleanor and she would be on her way. Her uneasy conscience that she hadn’t contacted the older woman would be put to rest. They would meet in the future, of course they would, and it would be fine just as long as Damien wasn’t around, and maybe, down the line, he could be around because she would have moved on from him.

She pressed the buzzer and settled back to wait because she was certain that Eleanor would not be moving at the speed of light to get to the door, however keen she was to see her.

It had been a lovely day which had mellowed into a cool but pleasant evening. In this expensive part of London, there were few cars and even less foot traffic and she was idly watching a young woman saunter past on the opposite side of the wide, tree-lined road, attempting to infuse a reluctant puppy with enthusiasm for a walk it clearly didn’t want, when the door was pulled open behind her.

The greeting died on her lips. For a few seconds her heart seemed to arrest. Damien framed the doorway. He was wearing a pair of faded black jeans that hugged his long, muscular legs and a white T-shirt, close-fitting enough to outline the strong, graceful lines of his body. Memories of touching that body rushed towards her in a tidal wave of hot awareness. In only a matter of a few months, he had guided her down myriad sensual roads never explored before. Her mouth went dry as she thought of a few of them.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked inanely.

‘It’s my house and, funny...I was just about to ask you the same thing.’ He half stepped out, pulling the door behind him and blocking out the light from the hall.

‘I came to see your mother.’ She just wanted to stare and stare and keep on staring. Instead, she looked down at her shoes, some sensible black ballet pumps that worked well with her skinny jeans. She had stopped dressing to hide. It was one of his many lasting legacies to her—the self-confidence to be the person she was.

‘And that would be...? Because...?’ Damien leant indolently against the doorframe and folded his arms. His fabulous eyes were veiled and watchful as he stared down at her. However, his nerves were taut and he was angry with himself for the seeping away of his self-control. There was nothing left to be said on the subject of their non-relationship. He had offered her marriage. She had thrown his offer back in his face and he was not a man who allowed second bites at the cherry.

He wondered why she had come. Had she had second thoughts? Had she come round to all the advantages marriage to him would provide? His mouth curled with derision. He shifted as his body refused to cooperate and jumped into gear as his eyes unconsciously traced the sexy outline of her breasts underneath the figure-hugging top she was wearing. But hell, she could wear something only seen on someone’s maiden aunt and yet have any red-blooded male spinning round in his tracks to stare. He couldn’t understand how he could ever have credited her with being anything but sex on legs. He must have been blind and those tight jeans...that jumper. He wanted to pounce and rip them off her so that he could touch what was underneath. Given the circumstances, it was an entirely inappropriate reaction and he was furious with himself for even allowing his mind to travel down those pathways.

‘Because your mother phoned and asked me to come here,’ Violet muttered. She balled her hands into fists. So he didn’t even have the simple courtesy to ask her inside. He would rather conduct a hostile conversation on his doorstep.

‘Pull the other one, Violet. My mother left to return to Devon hours ago. So tell me why you imagine she would be waiting here for you? No, don’t bother to answer that. I wasn’t born yesterday. I know what you’re doing here.’

Violet’s mouth dropped open and she looked at him in bewilderment. At the same time, it was dawning on her that she had been coaxed into coming to his house by Eleanor, who had schemed for...what, exactly? A heartfelt talk where their so-called differences would be ironed out? And a reconciliation might take place? If only she knew the truth of their relationship.

‘And you can forget it.’

‘Forget what?’

‘Any plan you might be concocting to show up here unannounced and resume where we left off.’

‘I wasn’t doing any such thing!’ Violet gasped.

‘Expect me to believe that? When you’re dressed in the tightest clothes possible? Showing off your assets to maximum advantage?’ He pictured her in the unflattering dress she had worn that very first time when she had hesitantly walked into his office and scowled because the image didn’t dispel his reaction to her body.

‘You’re being ridiculous! Your mother asked me over here. She said she wanted to chat and I felt guilty because I should have called her, I should have made contact!’

Damien was fast reaching the same conclusion as Violet had only seconds before. She hadn’t come here to try and entice him back into the bedroom. Having recognised that, he had to firmly bank down the fleeting suspicion that he rather enjoyed the notion of her making a pass at him. Naturally, he would have rejected it. But not before he felt immense satisfaction at having her plead with him for a second chance.

‘You’re impossible!’ Violet could scarcely believe the accusations flying at her. Admittedly, there was some small chance that he might have jumped to the wrong conclusions, but how on earth could he think that she had dressed to impress? She was suddenly aware of the tightness of her clothes where she hadn’t been before. Her breasts were heavy and aching within the constraints of her lacy bra and, as her eyes travelled upwards, doing a reluctant, hateful tour of his impressive body, she could feel herself getting damp between her thighs. She recalled his fingers down there, his mouth sucking and licking until she was writhing for more.

‘You have an ego as big as a cruise liner if you imagine that I would come here to...to...make a pass at you! You’re the most arrogant man I’ve ever met!’ She longed to inform him, coldly, that she had moved on, but she couldn’t bring herself to utter such a whopper.

As she stood there, floundering in front of his assessing eyes, she heard a voice behind him. A woman’s voice. Coy and cajoling. For a few seconds she froze and then her eyes widened as the owner of the voice materialised into view.

How on earth could he have dared to accuse her of wearing tight clothes? The leggy brunette with the short, silky bob was clad in white jeans that fitted like a second skin and a small white vest that left very little to the imagination. She was as slender as a reed and Violet could only stare as the brunette sidled up to Damien and slipped her arm through his.

‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, darling? Though I guess there’s no need. You must be Violet...’ The pale blue eyes were glacially cold as she stretched out one thin arm in greeting. ‘I’m Annalise...’