by Susan Napier
‘She was the loser, not I. I was a rich man then, but I’ve become a lot richer in the last fifteen years.’
‘But money doesn’t necessarily buy you happiness,’ protested Regan.
He looked at her, his eyes full of silvery satisfaction. ‘What makes you think I was talking about money?’
‘I—well, you’re wealthy, and—I just assumed…’
Her voice tailed off and he said silkily, ‘It’s dangerous to make assumptions when you don’t have all the facts. You seem to make a habit of it.
‘The fact is that I do have some experience of courtship,’ he said, when she failed to respond. ‘And I assure you I wasn’t even close to courting Carolyn when I took you to bed.’ His tone became even silkier as he echoed her earlier thoughts. ‘Or rather, when we took each other in all those assorted places…’
‘Are you saying you proposed on the spur of the moment? I don’t believe you!’ she said coldly, trying to freeze out the hot flood of excitement his words had provoked. ‘You don’t strike me as a man who ever does anything on impulse.’
‘I’m not—that’s what makes the impulse I’m having right now all the more disturbing,’ he mused darkly, making her suddenly aware that all the time they had been talking he had been drifting inexorably closer.
His brooding expression looked faintly murderous, and Regan clutched her hands to her vulnerable throat as he loomed over her. ‘What impulse?’
He lifted a hand and she flinched, but all he did was stroke his finger down one dark wing of glossy hair where it swept behind her delicate ear.
‘You don’t really want to know.’ His finger lingered in the crease just behind her naked earlobe. He seemed to have a perfect genius for homing in on the most sensitive points on her body, thought Regan shakily—ones that even she hadn’t known were sensitive until he roused them to glorious life.
‘Most women deck themselves in jewellery when they dress up—you don’t seem to wear any…’
‘I’m allergic to gold,’ she said flippantly, thinking that lying was beginning to become second nature.
His eyebrows lifted over disbelieving eyes. ‘As well as diamonds?’ he mocked. ‘You don’t even wear a watch.’
‘It broke—I haven’t got round to replacing it yet.’ Even a cheap time-piece took second place to digging herself out of a mountain of debt.
The door to the library suddenly swung open and Regan jerked guiltily away from Joshua’s touch.
‘Hello, what are you two doing in here?’ Hazel Harriman’s head ducked around the door, her innocent brown eyes travelling from one face to the other.
‘Checking on the silver, Hazel?’ grinned Joshua easily.
‘Well, you know what Frank’s like about his blessed first editions! He should have locked the door if he didn’t want anyone coming in here, but he thinks that would be implying he can’t trust his neighbours.’ She opened the door wider and came further into the room, a picture of grace and dignity in her powder-blue chiffon and pearls, in spite of the wooden crutch propped under her right arm.
‘Are you talking about the wedding? I hope you’re not going to interfere as well, Joshua. I already have enough on my plate with Frank poking his nose in!’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m very happy to leave it all in your gracious hands,’ he replied. ‘Would you like to sit down and rest that leg?’
‘No, thanks, I’ve been sitting down all night. A little exercise is good for me—whatever Frank has to say!’
Joshua smiled. ‘He suggested that Regan and I get to know each other, but it turns out that we’ve met before…’
Hazel’s eyes brightened with enquiry. ‘Oh, really? Where?’
Joshua opened his mouth, and Regan didn’t trust the bland look on his face. Was he about to conduct some advance damage control?
‘It was only just the once—and not at all memorable,’ she cut in quickly. ‘Which is why Joshua’s name didn’t ring a bell when Sir Frank mentioned who Carolyn was going to marry.’
‘Oh, well, at least you’re not total strangers, so that makes everything much more cosy for all of us,’ Hazel approved complacently.
‘Indeed.’ Joshua’s blandness was even more pronounced.
‘Frank is very keen for Regan to feel at home. I know he feels guilty that he didn’t do more for you when Michael was killed—’
Regan was agonisingly conscious of Joshua’s sharpened interest. ‘Oh, really—he did more than enough for us when Michael was alive.’
But Hazel was unstoppable. ‘It’s such a tragic waste when people die with so much of life ahead of them,’ she sighed.
‘How long were you married?’
In front of Hazel, Regan couldn’t flatly refuse to satisfy Joshua’s curiosity, as he very well knew! ‘Just over four years.’
‘You must have married young?’
‘I was twenty,’ she admitted, with the thin end of her patience.
‘The same age that I was when I married the first time,’ he commented. ‘How old was your husband?’
‘Four years older than me. How old was your wife?’ Regan retaliated, before realising that it was hardly a polite question to ask in front of his future mother-in-law.
‘Twenty-four.’ He tipped his head in acknowledgment of her slight blink of shock. ‘I wonder how many other uncanny coincidences lurk in our pasts. Children?’
Her flinch was barely perceptible, except to a hawkish gaze. ‘No.’
‘A mutual decision?’ he murmured.
‘Isn’t that what marriage is about?’ she snapped.
Hazel’s forehead wrinkled. ‘I remember Michael telling me one day when he dropped in here with Frank after showing some buyers around the site that he definitely didn’t want to be tied down with children until you were both well established in your respective careers. He felt very strongly about it. And, of course, he was so very keen for you to graduate as soon as ever you could, Regan. He joked that he wanted a wife to be proud of, one that he could boast about at the country club!’
It had been no joke. Image had been everything to Michael. And the demands of her full-time study, her part-time job and the chores around the house with which he was always too busy to assist had ensured she rarely had the time to keep tabs on his whereabouts. Even though she had begun to yearn for a baby, Michael had flatly refused to even discuss it.
‘And what did he envisage you doing while he was busy boasting about you in the bar of the country club?’ asked Joshua with painfully acute perception.
‘If you don’t mind I’d rather not talk about it,’ she said, casting a bleak look at Hazel, who instantly leapt to her aid.
‘Of course you don’t want to, dear,’ she said, patting her hand. ‘No sense in dwelling on what can’t be changed. It’s time to put the past behind you and think of the future. Speaking of which, Joshua—do you know where Carolyn is? I need to consult her about supper but I haven’t been able to track her down—not that that’s so very surprising in this crush! The naughty girl didn’t tell me she’d been so casual with the invitations.’
‘I believe she was with Chris, near the conservatory.’
‘Oh.’ Hazel’s beringed fingers moved up to play restlessly with her string of pearls, her smile dimming. ‘I didn’t realise he was going to be here—I thought he was on duty this weekend.’
‘He apparently swapped with someone else. He’s staying the night with me at Palm Cove.’
‘I’ll go and look for Carolyn, if you like,’ offered Regan, seizing on the excuse to escape her forced interrogation.
‘We’ll all go,’ Joshua was swift to respond, and as he gently shepherded the women before him he leaned close to the back of Regan’s head and whispered, ‘I meant what I said: stay away from my brother; he needs no encouragement to flirt. If you do stir up any trouble, you’ll have me to deal with…’
It was easier said than done. In the huge house and grounds it should have been easy to avoid someone,
but Christopher Wade seemed to have developed a built-in radar that had him gravitating towards Regan with dismaying regularity—usually when Joshua and Carolyn were somewhere in the vicinity—combined with a thick-skinned good humour that refused to allow her to politely shake him off.
Later, when the guests were beginning to thin out, Regan sought her hostess out and asked if she could help with any of the clearing up before she slipped away to bed.
‘Oh, heavens, no. The caterers will deal with most of the debris and Alice has an army of helpers coming in in the morning to help tidy up the house and gardens. You go off and have a good rest. And don’t worry about getting up too early in the morning—we usually have breakfast at nine on a Saturday, but tomorrow I’ve told Alice to give us a brunch at eleven so we can all have a good lie-in.’
But when she tried to fade up the stairs Chris was there, dogging her heels.
‘I’ll walk you to your room.’
‘I’m not likely to get lost!’
‘No, but you could be waylaid by a gang of ghostly bandits. A creaking old rabbit warren like this could harbour all sorts of nefarious characters lurking amongst the shadows.’
‘Yes, and I think I’m looking at one of them right now,’ said Regan wryly as they walked along the hall, their footsteps muffled on the runner which ran the length of the polished floorboards. With his white suit glowing brighter every time they passed one of the glass wall-lamps, he made a very stylish ghost.
‘I’ll have you know that as a doctor I have an impac—an impeccable character,’ he enunciated carefully.
‘You’ve also had too much to drink,’ she realised, as they came to a halt beside her door.
He laid his right hand on his heart. ‘Alas, it’s true. I cannot tell a lie. I’m tanked to the gills.’ He used his other hand to open her door with a flourish. ‘Would you like me to come in and check for bogeymen under your bed?’
‘I wouldn’t like you to get your nice suit dirty,’ she said, stepping over the threshold to switch on the light, and turning with her body square in the door to prevent him following.
‘I could take it off.’ He began to unbutton the jacket.
‘Goodnight, Chris.’
‘Yes, push off, Chris. You’ve gone as far as either of you intend to go,’ came a midnight-dark voice from behind him. ‘So cut the clowning and take a hike back down the stairs where you belong. They’re serving coffee on the back terrace. You might want a cup or three.’
Chris turned with a fat chuckle. ‘Well, surprise, surprise! Look who’s here. Keeping tabs on me, bro?’
Joshua’s gaze was steely and calm, his stance relaxed and yet also finely balanced. ‘Always.’
Chris snickered, even as he obeyed the silent command. ‘Night, Regan.’ He gave her a sloppy salute as he turned away. ‘’Ware the bogeyman!’
Regan watched him go with puzzled eyes, wondering what he was so smug about, what it was he thought he had achieved. She cast a fleeting look at Joshua, not quite meeting his eyes.
‘Well…goodnight.’
She closed the door in his face, but she had only a few seconds to savour her small victory before it flew open again, and Joshua strolled in with an arrogance that immediately made her vibrate with outrage.
‘You could have knocked!’
‘Why? We both know you wouldn’t have opened it.’ He walked around the room, looking at the white flounced cover on the single bed, the half-open wardrobe displaying her small collection of clothes on hangers, the array of toiletries neatly arranged on the mirrored dressing table.
‘Perhaps because I didn’t want to let you in,’ she said with withering sarcasm, watching his profile as he picked up a paperback from beside the bed. ‘Would you mind not handling my things?’
He turned the book over with careful deliberation, stroking his fingers across the covers, touching every inch of the available surface before he just as deliberately set it down, satisfied he had delivered his silent message. He would handle whatever he liked, whenever he liked…
Including her? Regan felt a quiver of guilty excitement.
‘I did warn you not to flirt with Chris. It seems that you chose to deal with the consequences…’
‘You also said he didn’t need encouragement!’ she pointed out tartly. ‘I didn’t invite him up here, you know—he followed me. And in spite of everything Hazel said, I’m virtually a paid employee—I can’t start off my first day by insulting the brother of the groom—’
He spun around on his heel and rapped out, ‘You’re a little ahead of yourself. I’m not actually a bridegroom until my wedding day.’
He was playing with words again. She bravely stood her ground as he invaded her personal space. ‘He was very persistent. I couldn’t get rid of him without being rude. What was I supposed to do?’
‘Be rude…be very, very rude…’ His hand came up to cup the side of her throat, his thumb extending under the point of her chin. ‘I don’t like him touching you. I find I really—don’t like it an extraordinary amount…’
She swallowed, feeling the pressure of the ball of his thumb against her larynx and the heavy throb of blood at her pulse-point. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she murmured thickly, her voice vibrating in the cup of his palm. ‘The door is open…anyone could look in.’
‘We’re not doing anything wrong…’
Yet.
The unspoken qualification lingered in the air.
His eyes dropped to her mouth. Her lips parted. His head sank, his breath a hot streak of sensation across her cheek.
‘Say my name…’
‘What?’
He inhaled the scent of her skin. ‘I want to hear you say my name…’
‘Joshua.’ It was a mere sough of wind across her tingling lips.
His head sank further, the pressure on her throat increased and her mouth tilted up like a flower to the brilliant incandescence of the sun, and he groaned.
‘Damn and blast!’ His lips were hard against her forehead for a fleeting instant before his hands were gripping her shoulders, setting her firmly away. ‘No! We’re not going to do this.’ There was a sheen of perspiration on his forehead and upper lip as he stared down into her dazed violet eyes and ground out savagely, ‘You’re a complication I really don’t need right now!’
Stricken, she writhed out of his implacably gentle grip and lifted the shield of her pride. ‘Join the club, buster!’
There was a rustle from the hallway and they looked across just in time to see Carolyn drooping wearily past.
‘Carolyn?’ Joshua was at the door with startling speed.
She halted, her golden eyes curiously blank, not even seeming to register that her fiancé was coming out of another woman’s bedroom. ‘What?’
His voice gentled to a note that caused Regan physical pain. ‘Are you all right?’
‘No, I’m not all right.’ Her pouty mouth turned down sullenly. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to bed.’
‘But not all your guests have left—’
‘God, you sound just like Granny!’ she snapped. Then she put a hand on her flat stomach. ‘I don’t feel very well, OK?’
‘Do you think you’re going to be sick?’
‘Of course I’m not going to be sick!’ Two patches of pink stood out on her cheeks. ‘Tomorrow, when I get up in the morning, that’s when I’ll probably be sick, and I’ll feel rotten for half the day.’ Her eyes glittered with tears, this time genuine, and her voice was shrill. ‘Oh, God, I hate this—it’s all such a ghastly mess! If there were any justice in the world men would have to go through this, too!’
She dashed away down the hall towards her room at the far end, and when Regan would have gone after her she found a strong arm barring her way.
‘No, let her go. She’ll probably throw herself on the bed, have a good cry, and feel the better for it.’
After his tender tone, it seemed awfully callous. ‘But she says she doesn’t feel well.’ She remembered her
earlier suspicions. ‘Perhaps she’s had too much to drink—in which case she might need someone there.’
‘She’s not ill and she’s not drunk.’
‘Not ill? But—’ Suddenly it hit her, nearly knocking her to the floor. She clutched at the door handle for balance and stared up at him as her mind made the conscious leap from instinct to understanding. That Empire-line dress and the many-layered look Carolyn had worn to dinner would cover a multitude of sins!
‘My God!’ Her voice cracked. ‘That’s why you two are in such a rush to get married! Carolyn’s pregnant, isn’t she? Isn’t she?’
His face was like granite, his voice tight with the effort of control as he lowered his voice. ‘Yes, she’s pregnant, but Hazel doesn’t know about it yet…that’s the way Carolyn wants it. So, for her sake, promise me you’ll keep quiet?’
‘You weren’t courting her, and you didn’t owe her fidelity, but you did go to bed with her—unless you’re going to claim it’s a virgin birth! You heartless, hypocritical, lying, lascivious beast!’
This time when she slammed the door thunderously in his face it stayed shut.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AT ELEVEN o’clock the next morning it was an unpleasant surprise to walk into the dining room and find the lying, lascivious beast laughing and chatting with Hazel and Sir Frank as Alice Beatson served him up a large plate of scrambled eggs and salmon cakes.
‘Good morning, Regan,’ carolled Hazel from her position at the head of the long refectory table. ‘Look who’s dropped in for brunch!’
While Sir Frank grunted and waved his marmalade-covered knife in greeting, Joshua had risen to his feet and rounded the table to pull out the chair squarely opposite his own.
Damning his manners, Regan sat down, giving him a stiff nod.
‘Thank you.’ Now she would have to suffer being directly in his sight-line all through the meal. In a straw-coloured casual linen jacket over an open-necked beige shirt and trousers he looked too damnably attractive for her unsettled state of mind.
‘Good morning, Regan,’ he chided her softly, stooping over her shoulder in the process of pushing in her chair, his open jacket brushing the short sleeve of her cherry-red shift dress.
