Deceived (Harlequin Presents)

by Sara Craven

  ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’

  ‘No,’ he said, with a touch of weariness. ‘But this is neither the time nor the place for any deep, meaningful discussions. Go back to your own room, Lydie. We’ll talk some other time.’

  ‘When?’ she demanded raggedly. ‘In another five bloody years?’

  ‘Oh, I think I can promise you an earlier appointment than that.’ His voice slowed to a drawl. ‘I’m older and wiser now, Lydie. I’ve no intention of allowing myself to be—displaced again.’ He paused. ‘Now go back to your own room. Get some sleep, and let me do the same.’

  She stared at him, her eyes transfixed by the grace of his lean body, and was dismayed by the uncompromising harshness of his expression.

  She said, her voice breaking, ‘Marius, don’t treat me like this—I can’t bear it.’

  ‘What the hell have you ever had to bear—in the whole of your spoiled, manipulative life?’ The savagery in his voice cut her to the bone. ‘You weren’t the exile, cut off from everything you care about.’ Two long, swift strides and he was beside her, his hands gripping her shoulders, bruising her skin. ‘Well—were you?’

  She gasped. ‘You’re hurting me.’

  He said between his teeth, ‘Not as much as I’d like to,’ and almost flung her from him. ‘Now will you get out?’

  ‘No,’ she almost shouted back at him. ‘I want an answer—a real answer.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Do you, my beautiful one, my madonna lily?’ He came to her side. ‘Then you shall have one.’ He pushed her robe from her shoulder, sliding down the strap of her nightgown to follow it. He bent, letting his mouth slowly graze her bare shoulder, his fingers cup her breast. He said thickly, against her skin, ‘Does that tell you what you want to know?’

  She shook her head, sudden tears blinding her as she pulled away from him. She turned towards the door, but as she reached for the handle Marius stopped her, pulling her round to face him again.

  His face looked bleak suddenly, almost haunted. He said unevenly, ‘Oh, God, Lydie—this is the last thing...’ She heard his breath rasp in his throat. ‘What are you doing to me...?’

  His mouth found hers with raw, passionate urgency, his hand tangling in her tumbled hair, pulling her head back so that his lips could travel down the sweet, vulnerable line of her throat.

  Her own breath caught in a kind of shaking delight. She let her hands slide up over the damp, hair-roughened skin of his chest to his shoulders and cling there as he kissed her feverishly, his lips lingering in the hollows of her neck and shoulders.

  He lifted her and carried her over to the bed, his hands shaking as he pulled apart the edges of her robe, staring down at her, the grey eyes no longer cool but hot and clouded with desire. Time stopped—rolled back. She was a young girl again, desperate with love, on fire for the man touching her body with such trembling, aching reverence.

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he’d whispered to her then. ‘All cream and gold, like some exquisite madonna lily. I’m half-afraid to touch you.’

  She felt her body slacken, moisten in longing, remembering how she’d reached up, drawn him down to her, mouth warm, hands eager.

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ she’d pleaded huskily. ‘I’m not. I—I love you...’

  And Marius had bent, kissing the words into silence on her lips, feeding her hunger with his as his mouth moved slowly down her body, caressing her breasts, teasing the tender nipples, exploring the curves and hollows of her belly and hips, until he’d found the soft gold calyx of her womanhood.

  When at last he’d entered her, she’d cried out, less in pain than surprise and joy at the completeness of it.

  She’d been too dazed with pleasure and need to realise then, as she had later in the bruised and bitter aftermath of his departure, that he’d spoken no words of love or commitment in return.

  But she remembered now, even as she shivered with delight as his mouth suckled at her breast, flicking her nipple with his tongue. Even as her body arched against his exploring hand in mute self-offering.

  She thought, it doesn’t matter. If this is all, then I’ll take it anyway. Oh, God, it’s been such a long time...

  She watched him lift himself above her, saw the flare of colour along the strong cheekbones, the faint pearling of sweat on his shoulders and forearms. She was more than ready for him, her body a moist, warm pool in which they both could drown.

  Then, with shocking suddenness, he flung himself away from her, throwing himself back on the adjoining pillow, chest heaving, muscles in his throat working almost convulsively as he sought to regulate his breathing.

  ‘Marius?’ Lydie raised herself onto one elbow. Her hand moved to stroke back his hair, wipe the beading of sweat from his forehead.

  His fingers snapped round her wrist like a manacle, preventing her.

  He said hoarsely, almost menacingly, ‘Oh, no, Lydie. Not this time, sweetheart. I won’t be caught in your honey-trap again.’

  Bereft, confused, she stared down at him. ‘I don’t understand.’ She had to force the words past the tightness in her throat. ‘Don’t you—want me?’

  His brief laugh was harsh, unamused. ‘God, yes. You know—none better—just how desirable you are. But this time I’m making the rules. And this isn’t going to happen.’

  He swung himself off the bed, adjusting the loosened towel, then paused suddenly, turning towards the door, his eyes narrowing, his face grimly intent.

  ‘Well, what do you know?’ he said half to himself as a knock sounded at the door. ‘I think I’ve been ambushed.’

  Lydie scrambled to the floor, dragging up the bodice of her nightgown to cover her bared breasts. Her hands shook as she pulled her robe around her.

  She said, her voice cracking a little, ‘What is it? Who’s there?’ and Marius flung her a look of derisive impatience.

  ‘Don’t play the innocent,’ he advised harshly. He walked to the door and flung it wide.

  ‘What’s the matter, Aunt Debra?’ His tone was light but challenging. ‘The old insomnia playing up again?’

  Debra Benedict stood in the doorway, wrapped in her dragon kimono. Her face was set, mouth rigid, eyes enormous. She saw Lydie and her expression changed to one of disbelief, and of anger which swept the room like an icy wind.

  She took a step forward, a hand flying to her breast in instinctive theatricality.

  ‘Are you both mad?’ Her voice vibrated dramatically. ‘Oh, God, Marius, how could you do this—after everything that’s happened? Haven’t you learned your lesson yet?’

  Marius looked at her, his mouth curling. ‘You would think so,’ he agreed drily. ‘Underestimating one’s opponents is always dangerous.’

  There was a heavy step in the passage, and Austin Benedict appeared, head down, eyes darting suspiciously round.

  Like a bull coming into the arena, Lydie thought shakily, still fumbling with the sash of her robe: angry—and unpredictable.

  He saw Lydie and stopped dead, looking past her to the rumpled bed. The florid colour in his face deepened to crimson.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded, his voice an ominous growl.

  ‘Austin, darling.’ Debra put a hand on his arm. ‘I’m so sorry—I never dreamed...’ She paused. ‘I needed to talk to Lydie but she wasn’t in her room. And then I heard voices—in here.’ She gestured prettily, helplessly. ‘I—I thought you were asleep. I’d have done anything to spare you the knowledge of this.’

  ‘I don’t need sparing.’ He shrugged her hand away almost impatiently. His eyes were fixed implacably on Marius. ‘But I’ll have an explanation.’

  Lydie moved. ‘Austin—’

  He held up a silencing hand. He didn’t even glance at her. ‘Your mother will deal with you, my girl.’ His voice hardened. ‘But I’m disappointed in you, lad. It seems I was right about you all along.’

  ‘On the contrary.’ Marius’s voice, cool, self-possessed, seemed to cut across the almost visible te
nsions in the room. ‘You just arrived a couple of minutes too soon, that’s all.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Austin glared at him. ‘You dare to tell me—?’

  ‘Something I hope will please you.’ Marius walked to Lydie’s side. His hand closed round her icy fingers. His mouth was smiling faintly but his eyes were as deep and cold as a winter ocean. ‘Before we were so rudely interrupted, I was just about to ask Lydie to marry me.’ He lifted her hand to his lips. The light kiss seared her skin. ‘I’m sorry it’s another public proposal, darling,’ he added softly. ‘I hope it won’t prejudice my chances.’

  There was a tingling silence. Then, ‘Well, well,’ Austin said slowly. The heat was dying from his face and voice, to be replaced by surprise and pleasure. ‘So that’s it.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Debra snapped. ‘Lydie’s already engaged—to Hugh Wingate. It’ll be announced just as soon as she comes to her senses.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put money on it,’ Austin returned genially. ‘I’d say Lydie’s come to a very different decision. Haven’t you, lass?’

  It was difficult to breathe. The room was closing in on her. She was aware of them all watching her—waiting. Austin, with that almost tangible air of relief, Debra, white-faced and rigid with anger. And Marius, his expression remote and unreadable. A stranger. Someone she’d never really known. The man to whom she’d given herself, body and soul, only to face the worst kind of rejection. The man who now claimed to want her as his wife, except that there was no warmth or tenderness in his guarded eyes.

  She began to tremble inside.

  Marius bent until his mouth was almost brushing her ear. He said quietly, ‘The door’s open if you want to run away again.’ His voice sank to a whisper. ‘But, unlike Wingate, I shall follow. You belong to me, Lydie.’

  It wasn’t the declaration she wanted to hear. But if she ran it would have to be away from Greystones—away from Thornshaugh and her existing life. It would be her turn to disappear without word, without trace. And reason and common sense told her to do just that—to go where he would never find her.

  Because she couldn’t bear to be hurt again. To give her trust and fidelity to a man without faith. She’d have to be crazy to do a thing like that.

  ‘Lydie.’ His hands were on her shoulders, turning her to face him. His voice was urgent, almost harsh. ‘Marry me?’

  And from some echoing distance, light years from sanity, she heard herself say, ‘Yes.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘NO!’ DEBRA almost shrieked. ‘I won’t allow it.’

  Austin drew her arm through his, patting her hand. ‘I think they’ve both outgrown the stage where they need our permission, love.’

  ‘And don’t call me “love”.’ The snap in her voice came over loud and clear, and Austin’s brows drew together in obvious displeasure.

  ‘Now just calm down,’ he said with unwonted sharpness. ‘This is the best thing that’s happened round here for a long time.’ His chin jutted aggressively. ‘And we don’t want any long engagements either. We’ll have the banns up straight away.’

  Marius’s brows lifted sardonically. ‘I’m glad you approve,’ he said levelly. His eyes went to Debra. ‘And I’m sure, in time, you’ll agree it’s for the best too.’

  ‘Well, of course.’ Austin overrode his wife’s deathly silence. He gave Marius a brief pat on the shoulder, then swept Lydie into a bear hug. ‘Now say your goodnights and let’s get some rest. We can start on the details tomorrow.’

  He nodded fiercely at them, then put an arm round Debra, who was ashen except for a bright spot of colour burning in either cheek, and led her firmly away.

  Suddenly it was very quiet in the room. Lydie felt as if she’d been caught up in some hurricane which had left her bruised and bewildered in alien territory. Marius was staring into space, frowning slightly, apparently lost in his own thoughts. Then he turned abruptly and went into the bathroom, reappearing a moment later, fastening the belt of his towelling robe.

  There were only a few yards between them. She watched him, waiting for him to come to her, take her in his arms. But he neither moved nor spoke, and suddenly the distance between them seemed immense, impassable.

  His touch still burned on her skin, but Lydie felt as cold as ice.

  She thought, There’s something wrong here—terribly wrong.

  Swallowing past the constriction in her throat, she said, ‘Would you mind telling me what all that was about, please?’

  ‘It’s perfectly simple.’ His tone was clipped. ‘You and I are now engaged to be married.’

  ‘So it seems,’ she said quietly. ‘But why?’

  ‘Self-preservation, pure and simple.’ He threw her a derisive look. ‘As you must know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her confusion deepened.

  He shrugged. ‘Austin is one of the last major Puritans.

  If you’d cried rape, I’d have been out on my ear for good this time. Instead, thanks to your unexpected but gratifying co-operation, we have Austin’s blessing. End of story.’

  ‘But nothing happened.’ Her voice shook.

  ‘Indeed it didn’t,’ Marius agreed levelly. ‘In spite of overwhelming temptation. But I’ve been convicted on circumstantial evidence before and that makes me—wary. I can’t allow myself to be set up again, Lydie. I have far too much to lose this time around.’

  He paused, the grey eyes sweeping her in sensual, insolent appraisal. ‘Although I’ve lost out in other ways, of course,’ he added lightly. ‘Your body’s even more entrancing now than it was when you were seventeen, if that’s possible. You’ve ripened, Lydie, like some exquisite wine.’ His smile was tight-lipped. ‘What a pity I won’t be able to savour every last drop of you.’

  She said hoarsely, ‘What are you talking about? I don’t understand this—any of it.’

  ‘Well, don’t let it worry you, Madonna Lily,’ he drawled. ‘You helped defuse a tricky situation, admittedly of your own making, and I’m grateful. It seems you’ve developed a conscience along the way.’

  He paused. ‘And don’t be afraid that I’ll hold you to your promise. Our engagement is merely an emergency measure—purely temporary, I assure you.’

  ‘Temporary?’ Lydie repeated blankly. Her mind was reeling.

  ‘Naturally,’ he said. ‘I have—other plans.’

  An image of Nadine’s glowing, sensual beauty seared her mind. The pain of it made her want to cry out, and she sank her teeth into her lower lip.

  He was watching her. ‘Or did you by some chance think I meant it?’ he asked softly.

  From a hitherto unguessed-at reserve of courage, Lydie summoned a smile. ‘Of course not,’ she said, and shrugged. ‘Just—glad to have been of service.’ She paused. ‘But Austin certainly believes you meant it, and that might be a problem.’

  ‘Austin has a strong streak of sentimentality.’ He shrugged again. ‘And an old-fashioned liking for strings to be tied in neat bows. We’ll have to persuade him gradually that this is one knot that would strangle us both.’

  She nodded. She wanted to wrap her arms round her body and howl her pain and humiliation, but her voice was cool. ‘How long will we need to go on pretending?’

  ‘It’s debatable, but I won’t allow the charade to drag on unnecessarily.’ He gave her a sardonic look. ‘You’re your mother’s daughter, Lydie. Don’t tell me play-acting’s beyond you.’

  ‘No,’ she said. Covered by the skirt of her robe, her hands balled into fists. ‘But I prefer to choose my own roles.’

  ‘Don’t we all?’ His mouth twisted. ‘Now, you’d better go back to your own room before Austin comes back and pre-empts us with a shotgun wedding—a performance neither of us would relish.’

  He walked to the door and held it open for her. ‘Goodnight, Lydie. Sleep well,’ he added as she walked away from him down the passage to her own room.

  His parting words had been intended as a joke, of course, she thought as she tossed and turned, sheets an
d covers tangling damply round her restless body, tormented by shame and an aching bewilderment.

  She understood little of what had happened—except that she’d offered herself and been refused with a casual cruelty which made her weep inside. That was the stark—the only—reality of the situation.

  The rest was an enigma.

  She went back over the events of the evening, trying to make sense of them.

  Marius, she realised, had deliberately allowed her to think that he’d come back to claim her, that he still wanted her. Earlier in the restaurant he’d been wooing her, as shaken by need, or so she’d have sworn, as she was herself. Yet claiming her had been far from his real intention.

  The sobering truth, she told herself forlornly, was that she’d been fooling herself all these years. She’d imagined feelings, attributed emotions which didn’t exist. Marius had used her then, and, for his own inexplicable reasons, he was still using her now.

  A set-up. The phrase niggled in a corner of her mind, refused to go away. As did ‘It seems you’ve developed a conscience along the way.’

  As if he was blaming me, she thought blankly. As if I’d planned for us to be found together.

  But the truth was that ever since his return Marius had been manipulating her—all of them—gaining some kind of ascendancy, of which this pseudo-engagement was a part.

  And she’d let it happen, she knew sadly, because deep inside she’d still cherished dreams, hopes, childish fantasies of love and happy ever after, with Marius, as he always had been, at the centre of those dreams.

  She had never wanted anyone else, and she never would. But that didn’t mean he had to feel the same.

  A sob rose in her throat and was choked back. Well, she could not and would not endure any more. In the morning she would tell him that the pretence was at an end, make any excuse to Austin that he wanted.

  And she would move out, even if it meant sleeping on Nell’s sofa, because to share a roof with him after this was unthinkable. Unbearable.