Читать книгу Ryan's Revenge - Lee Wilkinson, Lee Wilkinson - Страница 8

GRITTING her teeth, she tried to reject that frightening image. Somehow she must help herself. Find a way out of still loving Ryan.

If only she had loved Charles enough to marry him… But it wasn’t so much a case of not loving Charles, as of still loving Ryan.

Though how could she go on loving a man who hated her? Who only wanted to hurt her? It was utter madness. That kind of self-destructive love could end up wrecking her whole life.

If she allowed it to.

But even if she was strong enough to hold out against him, all she had to look forward to was an empty future.

As far as she was concerned, love and sex went hand in hand. She wasn’t one for casual sex nor for affairs, but she was a young woman still with natural needs.

True those needs had been smothered and suppressed for over two-and-a-half years, but how quickly they had flared into life as soon as Ryan had kissed her.

If she didn’t want to live like a nun, marrying Charles, a man she was fond of and respected, was the obvious answer. She would be safe then, her future more hopeful, with the prospect of children and a happy, family life.

As for her reservations about it not being fair to him, well, she had told him honestly how she felt, and he’d said he was willing to try…

So why not? It might be no grande passion, at least on her side, but if she could make him happy…

The clock chiming eight roused her. With a bit of luck, Charles would be home in about half an hour.

Getting to her feet, she went back to the kitchen and, making a determined effort to think about the brighter future she had envisaged, rather than the unhappy past, began to wash up and clear away the debris of the meal.

She had only just finished and plugged in the kettle when she heard the sound of Charles’s key in the lock.

Hurrying through to the hall, she smiled at him. ‘You’re back nice and early.’

Hearing the relief in her voice, he was glad that he’d hurried straight home rather than going on to a pub, as his companion had suggested when their business was over.

‘How did your appointment go?’

‘Very well.’

‘That’s good.’

She sounded distracted, he thought, as though her mind was on other things.

Studying her pale, drawn face, he asked gently, ‘Headache still bothering you?’

‘No, not really. I took some tablets when I first got home. By the way, the kettle’s on if you’d like some coffee?’

‘Love some.’

Wearing the robe he had bought her, and with her curly hair tumbling around her shoulders, he thought she had never looked so lovely. Nor so fraught. Something had happened to seriously upset her.

Wondering if she wanted to talk about it, or if she would prefer to be alone, he asked carefully, ‘Were you thinking of having an early night?’

Shaking her head, she explained, ‘I didn’t bother getting dressed again after my shower.’

‘Then if you’re not off to bed, why don’t you have some coffee with me?’

‘Yes, I’d like to. There’s something I want to tell you.’

He hung up the jacket of his suit, and was starting to follow her into the kitchen when she said hastily, ‘I’ll bring it through to the living-room.’

The kitchen was still uncomfortably full of Ryan’s presence.

When she had filled the cafetière and had put the coffee things on the tray, she carried it in and set it down on the low table.

The west-facing room, always pleasant in the evening, was full of low sun, which threw a distorted pattern of oblong window panes and leafy branches onto the magnolia walls.

She poured the coffee, stirred sugar and cream into his, and handed it to him.

‘Thank you. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve being waited on,’ he remarked humorously.

Too tense to sit still, she left her own cup untouched and, wandering over to the window, stood looking out while the silence lengthened.

Now the moment had arrived, she had no idea how to broach the subject.

Watching her and guessing her difficulty, he said, ‘What was it you wanted to tell me?’

Still she hesitated. Suppose he’d had second thoughts about his proposal? Decided it had been a mistake?

Well there was only one way to find out. Turning, she took the bull by the horns. ‘When you asked me to marry you, you said if I ever changed my mind the offer would still be open…’

Thrown, because it was the last thing he’d expected her to say, it was a second or two before he assured her, ‘It is.’

As she let out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding, his blue eyes filled with a dawning hope, he asked urgently, ‘Have you changed your mind?’

‘Yes. I will marry you, if you still want me to.’

‘Darling!’ He was on his feet and gathering her close, eager as a boy. ‘Believe me, I’ve never wanted anything more.’

He held her firmly, with no sign of diffidence, and his kiss was pleasant, almost exciting.

After a while he stopped kissing her to ask, ‘What made you change your mind?’

‘Well, I…I got to thinking… I’d like a husband and a home and a family… You do want children?’ she added a shade anxiously.

‘I’d never actually thought about it,’ he answered honestly. ‘But if that’s what it takes to make you happy… How many were you thinking of?’ He sounded like a man on a high, a man who could hardly believe his luck.

‘At least two, possibly three or four.’

‘Why stop at four?’ he teased.

‘Charles… You are quite certain this is what you want? A wife and family, I mean?’

‘Quite certain. Forty-three isn’t too old.’

‘No, of course it isn’t.’

‘But I’m not getting any younger, so how soon will you marry me?’

‘As soon as you want.’

‘What kind of wedding would you like?’

‘A quiet one.’

‘You don’t want a white dress with all the trimmings?’

Knowing she must tell him the truth, she said flatly, ‘White is the sign of virginity.’

‘And you’re not a virgin?’

‘No. I’m sorry if that bothers you.’

‘My darling, I’m not Victorian enough to support the old double standard. Though I’ve been fairly circumspect in my dealings with women, I certainly haven’t lived like a monk, and I wouldn’t expect a woman of twenty-four never to have had lovers—’

‘Not lovers in the plural,’ she said quietly.

‘One special one?’

‘Yes.’

His heart sank. Several lovers that didn’t really matter was one thing… One special lover that, judging by her face, mattered a great deal was another.

Remembering Virginia’s reaction to the dark, powerful-looking man who had come into the gallery that afternoon, he said, ‘It was Ryan Falconer, wasn’t it?’

Moistening her dry lips, she nodded.

He drew her over to the settee and when she sank down on the soft cushions, took a seat by her side. ‘I think you’d better tell me about him.’

The last person she wanted to talk about just at that minute was Ryan, and half hoping for a reprieve, she stammered, ‘I—I don’t know where to start.’

‘Start at the beginning,’ Charles suggested quietly.

Seeing no help for it, she gathered herself, and began. ‘It’s getting on for three years since we first met. I’d left art school and was working in the Trantor Gallery, when late one morning a man came in…’

While she told him the bare bones of it, memory fleshed out the details and she relived the past as though it was the present…

The gallery was quiet, as it usually was towards noon, just an elderly couple browsing, and a small group of men in business suits discussing the relative merits of two abstract paintings.

Sitting behind the polished-wood reception desk, Virginia was checking the contents of a catalogue when the smoked glass door opened and a man came in and strolled across.

Tall and well-built, with thick dark hair that tried to curl a little, he was dressed in the latest smart-casual De Quincy jacket and handmade shoes.

As he got closer she could see he was somewhere in his early thirties, with a tough, masculine face, strong features and a beautiful mouth.

He was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. No, more than just attractive, he was what Marsha would have termed drop-dead gorgeous.

‘Miss Adams?’ The most incredible blue-violet eyes, with faint laughter lines at the corners, smiled into hers.

Virginia found it quite impossible not to stare into those eyes and, instantly captivated, her mouth went dry, and her heartbeat quickened.

Wits scattered, she stammered, ‘Y-yes.’

‘My name’s Ryan Falconer. I’m acquainted with your parents.’

‘They live in New York,’ she said stupidly.

White teeth flashed in a smile. ‘Yes, I know, I had lunch with them a couple of days ago, and they told me where to find you…’