Читать книгу The Complete Red-Hot And Historical Collection - Ким Лоренс, Kelly Hunter - Страница 79

CHAPTER TEN

THE MOMENT THE private jet landed, Mari’s phone began to ping. She fished it out and saw there were a dozen missed calls and twice that many texts, all from her brother.

She scrolled through a couple and found they were all much the same.

Where the hell are you? Come and rescue me, I think I’m dying, the doctors are quacks.

Her finger was poised above Dial when she paused.

Seb was a lying monster, but the law of averages dictated that even lying monsters were right sometimes. He had predicted that Mark would react this way, and she was conditioned to respond as she always did.

Was it time to break the cycle, not just for her but for Mark?

Very slowly she closed the phone and dropped it back into her bag. She knew that Seb was watching her but she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she had followed his advice.

They had hardly said a word since they left Spain. Once or twice Seb had tried to initiate a conversation, but she had cut him off.

On the way across to the waiting limo she stopped and looked up at him. Despite everything her insides quivered. He looked so incredible.

‘I’m sorry I’ve been sulking.’ Actually she had been punishing him for not being in love with her, which, when you thought about it, was pretty pointless. She should be grateful he wasn’t pretending.

Seb tilted back his head and dug his hands into the pockets of his well-cut trousers, a smile chasing like a shadow across his sombre features.

‘Had you? I hadn’t noticed. I’m probably overreacting,’ he admitted in return, ‘but if we’d stayed in Spain my grandmother would have given us no privacy.’ Which had been part of the reason he had chosen to take her there.

The idea that his grandmother’s presence would have made it easier to keep her at arm’s length, keep his hands off her, seemed frankly laughable now. He could see now that he’d been in denial about the strength of his attraction to her. Logically, taking her to his bed should have diminished that hunger, but if anything it had grown during the short time they had been together.

‘If there is a child and that remains a massive if, there will be things we need to discuss without ears at doors. You’ll like Mandeville. It’s a great place for a child to grow up—there’s plenty of room.’

The words came back to Mari as she got her first glimpse of the white Palladian mansion with its rows and rows of perfectly symmetrical windows. She snatched an awed breath. Plenty of room? It was the size of a city!

‘Ever so humble, but home.’

He covered her hand with his; for a moment he thought she was going to leave it there, and then she didn’t. His jaw clenched; the rejection, a small thing, had a sting that was out of proportion to its size.

Mari didn’t look at him, just stared straight ahead as she nursed her hand in her lap. ‘This place is pretty daunting, the idea of servants and—’

‘You’ll be fine. I actually think you could cope with anything, and it is big, but that could work well. You can still have your privacy.’

‘So you won’t be here? No work, obviously...but when you say space, does that mean we won’t be sharing a room?’ She closed her eyes and thought, Did I say that out loud?

‘Mari Jones, the first time I saw you I wanted you.’

Mari opened her eyes.

‘And I still do,’ said the man who was famed for playing it cool. ‘We will be sharing a bed.’

He saw a flicker in her eyes and wondered if she wanted to hear something else. He took her hand and felt the zing of electricity shoot up his arm.

‘The sex was sensational.’ He wasn’t in love, he was in lust. He didn’t need her, he wanted her, and that made all the difference.

It was odd, Mari reflected—she hadn’t even known until that precise moment how much more she wanted. Much more than what he was offering or would ever offer. It was not until she heard him carefully avoid the word and felt the pain of its absence that she stopped trying to pretend that she had fallen in love with him.

God, could life be more complicated?

Normally Seb could read her expressions, but he struggled to read the look she gave him, and was further thrown by the odd intonation in her soft voice when she spoke.

‘How about we just enjoy ourselves?’ she suggested easily.

He frowned. That was his line, and he felt irrationally irritated to hear her speak that way.

‘Until we know for sure.’

He nodded and struggled to stifle a restless sense of dissatisfaction.

* * *

When she had first walked into the place Mari had been utterly convinced that she would never feel at ease in the dauntingly grand surroundings. The ballroom at Mandeville was straight out of a fairy tale, and the walls held the sort of art collection that a major gallery would envy, not to mention the massive leisure suite with a full-size swimming pool tucked away in the lower ground floor, but three weeks in Mari had adapted to the space and elegance with amazing ease.

It might be unadapting she had the problem with, she realised uneasily.

It was hard not to compare the life of a child growing up here with one growing up in her tiny fourth-floor flat—not that it was about money. Mari knew, none better, that it was love and security that really counted.

But Seb would make a good father. It wasn’t just his genuine desire to be a parent; he had a lot to offer. Seeing him interact with his young half-sister, who obviously adored and respected him, made her realise how far out in her initial assessment of him she’d been.

And being around him so much Mari found herself falling deeper and deeper in love with him every day. Sometimes the sheer hopelessness of it all made her seek a quiet corner and weep, although that might be the hormones.

She knew that she was pregnant. She had known for a week now. The little changes—she had no morning nausea, thank God, but she’d gone off coffee completely, and her breasts were painfully sensitive.

She had not confided in Seb, who didn’t even trust a home testing kit. He insisted they have the test done by a Harley Street specialist, totally unnecessary, but she knew better than to try to dissuade him.

He’d been right. It had worked...worked too well really, she mused. It was all so polite. They hadn’t had a single disagreement; there was no sparking off each other; it was all totally vanilla, which on the surface sounded good but in reality felt flat and unreal... Yes, that was the right word, unreal. There were times when she felt they were actors in a play, performing to an unseen script. She could only assume that was what he thought a good relationship should be.

The only time it felt normal was in bed. That was when the stilted politeness went out of the window, and it got raw and real... It was those nights that kept her going!

She was living for sex—that didn’t sound healthy, but it was fun—while it lasted. And that was the point: how long would it last? Then they would be polite or maybe resentful strangers, the only thing holding them together a child.

When the consultant walked back into the office, Seb, who had sat in a chair opposite her trying to channel relaxed, surged to his feet.

‘Congratulations.’

He had his back to her, so Mari couldn’t see his expression, just the tension in his broad shoulders. It was gone when Seb exchanged a manly handshake with the other man and put a hand under Mari’s elbow as she rose, as though she were already burdened by a pregnancy bump.

On the drive back he was unnaturally silent. It wasn’t until they turned into the parkland that he slowed the car and stopped.

‘Are you all right with this?’

She didn’t respond.

‘Aren’t you excited?’ With a frown he searched her face. ‘Happy...sad...angry...?’

Crazily, she welcomed the shade of irritation that had crept into his voice.

‘I already knew,’ she admitted.

He stared at her for a moment before blasting, ‘Then why the hell didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because you wouldn’t have believed me!’ she flung back, feeling her energy levels rise as she fed off the static charge in the air that had been so absent in the past weeks.

His head went down, concealing his face, but she could see his shoulders lifting as he took several long deep breaths. When he lifted his chin from his chest his expression was pleasant... Now, there was a word she had never imagined she’d think in the same sentence as Seb Rey-Defoe.

‘You’re right...’ A muscle clenched in his lean cheek before he added, ‘I’m sorry.’

She sucked in a furious breath, the anticlimax sending her spirits into a downward spiral. ‘It was probably my fault.’

Hating the dispirited note in her voice, he bit back a retort. He really didn’t know how long he could keep this up.

The harder he tried, the more distant she seemed to become. He had turned himself inside out trying to show her that living together did not have to be a constant battle. Did she appreciate how hard he was trying?

He’d have believed that she was indifferent to him if it weren’t for the fact that she was so insatiable in bed, and utterly uninhibited. He lived for those nights!

‘So I was thinking we’re officially married now as opposed to being temporarily married.’

As opposed to what we’d have been if I weren’t pregnant, she thought, looking out of the window to hide the hurt.

‘There’s a dinner at the end of the week, if you feel up to it—the royals are guests of honour.’

‘I’m not ill, I’m pregnant.’

‘Of course,’ he said, reminding himself that he needed to show he could be sensitive to hormones...sensitive, but not mention them—not as easy as it sounded. ‘I thought you’d like to officially be my hostess.’

‘Fine.’

* * *

That word had come back to haunt her on several occasions since.

The brisk walk through the park was not as relaxing as she’d intended. It was hard to forget tonight and relax when you couldn’t escape the reminder in the form of the magnificent facade of the house. It wasn’t just geography—the gardens had been designed with the vast Palladian mansion as the focal point. Like disapproving eyes, the rows of windows seemed to follow her.

She brushed away the fanciful notion, laughing at her overactive imagination and frowning at her nerves. Under the calm exterior—actually she was no longer so sure her calm, approaching comatose attitude had fooled anyone—Mari was eaten up by nerves. She felt so out of her depth that she was a stumble away from gibbering terror.

‘Don’t be a wimp.’ Above her stern voice the clock in the bell tower pealed out the half hour. With a deep sigh Mari squared her shoulders. She had timed it like a military operation so that she wouldn’t be dressed too soon and waiting in the wings twiddling her thumbs while she watched the second hand tick. She quickened her pace—she didn’t want getting ready to be a mad dash either.

The massive front door was flung open to allow access for the army of people who were preparing for this ‘simple little dinner party’. Everyone had a task, and no one seemed to notice Mari as she walked through the marble-floored hallway filled with light streaming in from the cupola overhead.

The double doors to the formal dining room were still open. As she slowed then paused to watch the hive of activity, she felt more than a little like a child who’d sneaked downstairs to watch from a distance the grown-ups’ party.

The long dining table was as much of a work of art itself as the massive chandelier that lit it. The place settings all arranged with geometric precision, the napkins all perfectly aligned, the glasses gleaming, it groaned with the weight of silver and crystal.

As she stepped into the room, one of the team of florists that had spent the afternoon filling the house with more than the normal quota of massive formal flower arrangements saw Mari and smiled a little nervously.

‘Is there a problem, Mrs Rey-Defoe?’

The woman, a girl who was probably her own age, was waiting for her approval. The idea was somehow more shocking than the prospect of hosting a dinner party where the glittering guest list included several diplomats, a Hollywood A-lister, the witty writer of a political column and a scarily famous athlete.

Mari smiled. ‘Everything looks marvellous. I wish I had your talent. All I can do is throw some flowers in a vase and hope for the best.’

‘Oh, the natural look is very in at the moment.’

They both laughed, and as the conversation progressed it turned out that the girl had been brought up in a village near to where Mari’s foster parents lived. They chatted a while before Mari, conscious of the time, made her way reluctantly towards the curving staircase.

Her hand was on the smooth curving banister when she felt the change in the air and the familiar prickle on the back of her neck. She turned her head and knew he’d be standing there. Seb, already dressed for dinner and looking incredible enough to make her sensitive stomach do a double backflip. He was standing framed in the doorway of one of the many rooms that fed directly off the hallway. Through the open door she could see the book-lined walls of the library, which he used as a study.

Her fingers tightened, knuckles white on the banister. If theirs had been a normal relationship, she would have gone over and straightened his tie, which was of course already straight—everything about Seb was always immaculate, a fact that should not have made her throat ache but it did.

Hormones. The word, she reflected, had become a bit of a mantra. Every time she had a confused thought or feeling she fell back on the excuse. She was saying it a lot at the moment.

* * *

Seb watched the animation he had seen in her face as she’d laughed and chatted with the florist fade, replaced with a wariness that she seemed to reserve specially for him.

‘I was just going to get ready,’ she said defensively.

He shrugged, not concerned that she would keep him waiting, or that she would look anything less than incredible. Most of the women he knew would have spent half the day getting ready for a formal event, but he’d seen Mari step out of the shower, pull on the first thing that came to hand, run her fingers through her hair, gloss her lips with something clear and shiny that tasted of strawberries and look breathtaking.

‘It was just the florist lived near the village where my foster parents...’

He dragged his eyes from the temptation of her strawberry lips and cut across her rambling defence with a flash of anger. ‘You think I have a problem with you talking to someone who arranges flowers? Do you really think I’m such a snob?’

‘Not a snob, no,’ she admitted.

He treated everyone the same, which didn’t mean he hung out with the staff; apart from a handful of close friends, he appeared to keep everyone at a distance regardless of their social standing. And he didn’t seem to notice how hard people worked to please him, and they did. She’d seen it time and time again—they went the extra mile to get his approval.

Had she become one of them?

‘So you’d be fine with me seeing Annie socially... The gardener or the cook or the—?’ She paused and dragged in a deep sustaining breath thinking, Calm, Mari, calm.

‘I think they would be uncomfortable with the situation. Whether you like it or not, your position—’

Anger, sudden and hot, spurted up. He didn’t have a clue! ‘What position?’ she blurted, and saw shock in his face but she couldn’t stop herself. Weeks of saying the right thing had made her feel like a ticking bomb.

‘I’ve been stuck in this place all week.’ Her hand lifted in a graceful gesture encompassing the stately elegance around them. ‘The only time I see you is in bed. I miss my work...the children. I’m lonely. I’m bored...’ She clamped her lips over the quiver of embarrassing self-pity and steeled herself for his response, fully expecting him to point out that there were no bars on the windows, there was no bolt on the doors.

In her head she could hear him saying, If it’s so bad, what’s keeping you here?

Would she be brave enough to answer him honestly, admit that she stayed for him?

To be near him.

To hear his voice.

Would she ever be brave enough to admit that she loved him?

Well, she didn’t find out, because once again she had made the mistake of thinking she could anticipate his reaction.

Lonely—the catch in her voice, all his internal debate, all his endless mental pro and con lists suddenly meant nothing, because he could see himself losing her. As he imagined her walking out of the door, out of his life, the knot in his stomach was fear. He called himself all the insults in his vocabulary, which was extensive, and still they didn’t begin to describe what an utter fool he’d been.

His first mistake had been thinking he could take emotions out of marriage; on paper it had equalled no tensions. He had wanted his life to resemble the clear, uncluttered lines of his desk—neat rows, square edges, controlled, no mess—and it could. It had been, but as he looked into Mari’s stormy, beautiful face, he made a life-changing discovery—he no longer wanted it to.

Love— He had avoided even thinking the word. Love was what had changed everything, had changed him.

He didn’t want a suitable bride, someone who said the right things and agreed with everything he said. He wanted Mari. Not the Mari that said what she thought he wanted to hear, but the one who blurted out the first thing that came into her head and argued the hind leg off a donkey just for the hell of it—he wanted his Mari back!

‘You are totally wrong.’

Hanging on the banister, she took two steps up then, unable to stop herself, one down, but she didn’t lower her wary guard as she struggled to read beyond the cool detachment of his manner, to read the expression in his deep-set eyes.

‘I am?’

‘About me and us... Your position is...’ He stopped, his dark brows twitching into a straight line as he framed his suspicious question. ‘Has anyone here treated you with less than respect?’

The negative shake of her head lessened the explosive quality of his hard stare; the nerve in the hollow of his clenched cheek stopped jumping.

‘We should stay married.’

‘I know, because of the baby,’ she said dully.

‘Because you are you and I am...’ He sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly before saying in a voice that vibrated with emotion, ‘Lonely.’

Mari watched in disbelief as, having dropped the unexploded conversational bomb at her feet, he turned to go back into the study, pausing to call casually over his shoulder, ‘Join me here for a drink when you’re ready—tonic, lime and lots of ice?’

The door closed.