* * *
Seated in the drawing room at Arden amidst exquisite furnishings, with some discarded correspondence on the occasional table beside him, Max looked up at the gilt-framed portraits of his ancestors that lined the walls. Above the mantel his great-grandfather, the first Duke of Arden, looked down at him, a couple stag hounds at his feet. By his side were his eldest son, Max’s grandfather, and a lovely fair-haired girl. He was holding her hand and she was looking up at him with a look of adoration on her young face.
Bored with studying his ancestor, Max turned his head slightly and indulged in the more pleasurable occupation of studying his wife who was seated across from him, reading a recent magazine. This woman in such a short time had brought him peace, a peace of mind he had not dreamed of and delight to their bed which he had never before experienced, not even with Nadine in the first passionate weeks of their marriage. And she asked nothing of him. She gave, which was her nature, he knew that now. Mentally he bent his head and kissed her lips, his hand caressing her silken flesh and cupping her breast. He was about to deepen his kiss when he realised she was watching him with an amused and knowing look.
She let her magazine fall into her lap and smiled across at him. ‘What are you thinking that makes you look at me like that?’
His grin was almost salacious. ‘I cannot tell you that without offending your sensitive ears, my love. But I was thinking how very lovely you are and that our offspring—if we are blessed with a daughter—will look exactly like you.’
Marietta felt the blood drain from her face and her heart began to race. ‘A daughter?’ The word began to howl like a banshee in her brain. ‘But—what are you saying?’
‘That if we have a daughter, I would like her to have your hair—your eyes...’
Marietta’s mind registered disbelief. It started to shout denials—even while something inside her slowly cracked and began to crumble. ‘But Max—I—I thought you understood.’
‘Understood? Understood what?’
‘I don’t want children,’ she burst out, her voice almost unrecognisable, brittle and frantic. ‘I thought you didn’t either.’
Max’s eyes narrowed. ‘Have I given you reason to think that?’
‘Yes—I mean...’
‘What?’
‘That day in the garden, you said you understood.’
‘What I understood was that you were afraid about what would happen between us on our wedding night. Are you telling me it was something else?’
Marietta took one look at the anger kindling in his glittering eyes and hastily stood up, wringing her hands in front of her. ‘Yes.’
‘Marietta, why were you so certain I didn’t want children?’
‘Because I—I saw Nadine,’ she uttered wretchedly, unable to keep the truth from him any longer. ‘She told me you...’ She trailed off at the sight of the murderous look on Max’s face.
Gripped by something unexplainable, he felt his body stiffen and his eyes were hard and probing when they looked at his wife. ‘When did you see Nadine? And why would she say something like that to a seventeen-year-old girl she hardly knew?’
‘I was there—at the hotel when she...’
He shot forwards in his chair, his hands gripping the arms. ‘You what? Are you telling me that you saw her before she died?’
Marietta nodded. ‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’
‘I couldn’t,’ she replied without realising she was moving towards him, wanting to make him listen, her words tumbling over themselves. ‘Max, please listen. I went to return her fan—you remember. I told you I found it on the night of the ball. When I got to the hotel she was in bed. I knew she was ill—and she—she told me she was pregnant and that you didn’t want her baby, which was why she...’ She stared at him, her eyes mirroring the horror of what she had seen and the pain she still felt. ‘She had lost so much blood, Max—so much blood. I knew she had done something—I didn’t know what, but... Oh, Max, why did you make her do it if you wanted children?’
‘The child wasn’t mine,’ he told her brutally. ‘I would not accept another man’s child—not even the man who sired it wanted it. What Nadine did she did of her own volition. I found her after you left.’
‘I didn’t leave,’ Marietta confessed quietly. ‘I was in the dressing room. I saw you come in—I was too shocked, too afraid, to let you see me.’
‘And did you not think that Nadine might need assistance?’
Marietta shook her head and tried to swallow the lump that had risen in her throat. ‘She wouldn’t let me—and afterwards, when you left—I knew I had to get out. I felt numb with nothing in my head to get a grip on and think about. I was seventeen years old and had no sense of what was really happening or what I should do next, but at the same time I was conscious of the swirl of disorientated thoughts which were flying round and round inside my head like a flock of starlings. I knew I was in deep shock. The enormity of what I had seen I could scarcely grasp.’
That was the moment Max understood. It was as if a veil had been lifted. This explained Marietta’s hostile behaviour towards him at her father’s funeral. It had nothing to do with the brutal words he had flung at her following her kiss. Having seen Nadine’s lost fan on her bedside table and Marietta having told him she had found it and would return it, it was a wonder he hadn’t figured out how it had got there straight away—it was so plain now that he knew.
With hard eyes he looked down at her. ‘And you blamed me, didn’t you?’
She nodded, gulping down the tears that threatened. ‘At the time, yes, I did. I didn’t know she had been unfaithful—I didn’t know—truly, I never thought... How dreadful for you.’
‘Which was why you spoke to me as you did when I approached you at your father’s funeral to offer you my support. And yet despite this, you were prepared to put aside the grievances you harboured against me and marry me.’ His eyes turned to shards of ice and the muscles of his face clenched so tight a nerve in his cheek began to pulse. ‘Your desperation not to bear a child must be very strong indeed for you to do that.’
‘I know it must seem like that to you, but it wasn’t like that.’
‘All this has been brought on because I failed to understand the true reason why you feared our wedding night.’
‘But I thought you knew that my fear was that I would become...’
‘What? Pregnant?’ She nodded. ‘Marietta, we have made love every night since our marriage and you have shown no fear of pregnancy.’
Her anger melted away and she flushed, embarrassed. ‘I—I thought you would... I mean, I know there are things that can be done...’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this? There are precautions that can be taken, but there is only one sure way to prevent the conceiving of a child, which is abstinence,’ he told her coldly.
‘No,’ she cried, suddenly distraught, her fear and her emotions running high as she wrapped her arms about her waist in a protective manner. ‘There are other ways. There has to be. I will not allow myself to be dragged down to the status of a breeding animal subject to the whims and fancies of any man. I do not want children,’ she cried, quite distraught. ‘I will not have them.’
‘I think I get the picture,’ Max said in an awful, silky voice. ‘So what is to be done? Separate beds, separate rooms? Is that what you want?’
She shook her head. All she wanted to do was fling herself on his chest, to beg him to help her, to make things right for her. But she couldn’t. ‘Of course it isn’t. I don’t know the answer. But if that is the way it has to be, then there is no other way.’
‘Damn it to hell, Marietta!’ he said, his voice low and ice-cold. ‘I cannot live like that. I’m human—a man with needs. I want to make love to my wife. I’ll tell you true it isn’t easy keeping my hands off you. But I will not play the monk. That tender scene in the garden when you told me you loved me was an act, wasn’t it? You played it because yo
u didn’t want children and believed I was of like mind.’ Although he had expected her to be fearful of her wedding night, he had not expected anything of this magnitude. ‘I’m sorry you look at it like that. You see, I do want children, Marietta. I want an heir to inherit Arden after me. Don’t you like children?’
‘Yes, I happen to like them very much.’
‘Yet you don’t want children of your own.’
‘No,’ she replied brokenly.
‘You do realise I could divorce you for this.’
Her eyes flew to his in alarm. ‘Max, you wouldn’t.’
‘Admit it, Marietta. You married me believing I didn’t want children. You were wrong. So, believing this, that made me an ideal candidate for a husband,’ he said bitterly. ‘Am I right?’
She opened her mouth to deny this, but found no words would come. She blinked and was astonished to feel a wave of warm tears threatening to spill.
‘Answer me,’ he demanded when she remained silent.
Mentally recoiling from the blinding violence flashing in his eyes, she whispered, ‘Yes. But I also fell in love with you. That was no act. I am sorry,’ she whispered achingly, reaching her hand out to him.
Max jerked away from her touch, his brows snapping together over biting silver-grey eyes. ‘You’re sorry?’ he mocked scathingly. ‘Sorry for what? For marrying me?’
‘No, Max—not that. Never that.’
His gaze held hers. ‘Then what do you expect me to do? What do you want from me?’
She opened her mouth to speak and couldn’t. Her mouth went dry and her heart began to beat in heavy, terrifying dread as she sensed that Max had withdrawn from her, as if the closeness, the tenderness and laughter they’d shared had never existed. She tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come because of the hideous memories that continued to torment her. With a low anguished moan she went to him and wrapped her arms around his neck and began kissing him in a frenzy of desperation while every muscle in his body was tensing to reject her.
Pain tore through Max like a hot, jagged knife. She didn’t love him or she would not be doing this. Damn her!
‘I can’t help it,’ she wept brokenly, clinging tightly to him, her body moulded to his. ‘I can’t do what you want. I can’t.’
Max stared at her, hating her and hating himself for loving her—because he did love her, so much he could feel the pain of it. Reaching up, he started to pull her arms from round his neck, but Marietta wildly shook her head, tightening her hold, pressing even closer to him. Tears rushed from her beautiful eyes, sparkling on her long lashes, wetting her smooth cheeks.
‘Please don’t turn against me,’ she said fiercely, ‘just because I don’t want to bear a child.’
‘Marietta, don’t do this,’ he said harshly. Her soft lips trembled at the cold rejection in his voice, and he gripped her shoulders and freed himself. His face was turned away from her, his profile a hard, chiselled mask, devoid of all compassion or understanding. He was furious with her, angry and unforgiving. Fear of what he might do jarred her nerves, adding more tension to her already overburdened emotions. She wondered frantically if she had created a breach between them that would never heal.
Drying her eyes with the back of her hand, she pulled herself up straight. ‘I’m sorry for getting everything wrong. When Nadine told me about the baby and that its father didn’t want it, I assumed that because you were her husband she meant you.’
‘You assumed wrong,’ he bit back.
‘I know that now. I can imagine how hurt you must have been.’
‘You can have no idea,’ he bit back coldly.
Despite his attitude of sarcastic anger, Marietta had heard the clipped terseness in his voice when he referred to her being sorry for marrying him and her heart sank. Evidently that bothered him very much.
‘Clearly you consider this marriage the greatest mistake of your life.’
‘No, Max—but I really do not want a child—I cannot...’ The mere thought of it made her shudder.
Seeing it, Max backed away. ‘Enough,’ he said, turning from her and striding to the door. ‘I have heard enough. I will not listen to any more of what you have to say on that subject.’
Marietta watched him go, knowing nothing she could say would change his mind when he was in this mood.
* * *
He did not have supper with her and that night she slept alone—and the next. In fact, he went out of his way to completely avoid her. He rode out early each morning and when he returned he worked in his study with his secretary and met with businessmen who came up from London to discuss all manner of unfathomable business transactions. If he encountered her at all, he greeted her brusquely and without familiarity as if she were a stranger. When he was finished working he went upstairs to change his clothes and went out. She wondered what he did when he was away from her—probably spent his time at the houses of his friends gambling and drinking the night away.
Marietta spent most of her time paying and receiving calls. She avoided going to Grafton. Her grandmother would be sure to suspect all was not well between her and Max and Marietta couldn’t face the questions. Her fear was silent, too painful to talk about. Yang Ling knew all was not well between her mistress and her husband. Apart from offering her quiet support, she held her tongue.
But no matter how busy Marietta kept herself, she missed Max. She missed him at mealtimes, eating slowly in the hope that he would come rushing in, flushed and vital after his ride and apologetic. She missed their conversations and his teasing, but most of all she missed him in her bed and the wonder and magic of when he had been a considerate and tender lover—when he had called her his love and praised her ability to please him and she had expected—what? Not protestations of love, since he did not love her and was honest enough not to lie about it. Not his constant presence nor his attention even, which he had given her since she had become his wife, but a little of his time, of the discussions, the laughter, the interests they seemed to find agreeable to them both, all leading to that magical time at the end of the day and the joy they shared. Now he was purposely and effectively keeping her at arm’s length. He had locked her out of his heart and mind as if she didn’t exist.
Her mind dwelt constantly on what he had told her about Nadine and the hurt and pain she must have caused him. How he must have suffered. Her heart wept for this man who had known nothing but pain and humiliation and betrayal at her hands. If he felt bitter and disillusioned by her betrayal, he could not be blamed.
* * *
Max wanted to understand why Marietta was adamant about not wanting a child. He would have given anything to understand, but he had no idea where he should begin to try to break down the barrier she had erected around herself. The strain on him was acute and because the mere sight of his wife made him want her, he began staying away from home more often. Eventually, when the separation became unbearable, he decided to leave for London and ordered his valet to pack his bags.
Returning to Arden after visiting a neighbour, on her way to her room to change, Marietta was passing her husband’s room when his valet walked out, carrying a valise. Her heart hammering wildly, she moved to stand in the doorway, pausing to gather her wits before he turned and saw her. He was thrusting his arms into his tweed jacket, and with a pang of remorse she saw his face was lined with tension. She tried to think how to begin and because she was so overwhelmed with emotion she tackled the obvious.
‘Max—where are you rushing off to?’
She saw his shoulders stiffen at the sound of her voice, and when he turned and looked at her, she could almost feel the effort he was exerting to keep his rage under control. ‘London,’ he replied in a calm and authoritative voice. Picking up some documents, he shoved them into his briefcase and then consulted his watch. ‘I have to catch the train for York to be in time for the connection to London and I haven’t a moment to spare.’
In silent, helpless protest she shook her head and sta
rted slowly across the carpet, dimly aware that this was worse, much worse, than she had imagined.
‘I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you,’ he warned softly.
She stopped cold, her mind registering the physical threat in his voice, her gaze searching his granite features. ‘London? But—were you going to leave without telling me?’
‘You were out. I’ve left you a note.’
‘A note. But surely I deserve more than a note. And what about me?’
‘What about you?’
‘You can’t just go like this.’
‘Why not?’ he asked with cold politeness. His head twisted towards her and he fixed his metallic eyes on her, and for the first time Marietta actually saw the savage, scorching fury that was emanating from her husband. ‘Will you miss me, Marietta?’
Her eyes ached and her throat burned. ‘I—I...’
His twisted smile was scornful. ‘You can do as you damn well please.’
‘Max,’ she began, stretching her hand out in a gesture of mute appeal, then letting it fall to her side when her beseeching move got nothing but a blast of contempt from his eyes. The tension between them was so thick she could barely stand to breathe as she pleaded and hoped. ‘I don’t want you to go. I don’t like the way things are between us and I know the fault is mine...’
Hearing the pain and desperation in her voice, he gave her an odd, searching look. ‘You do admit it, then?’
She nodded. ‘I realise that you must despise me for what I’ve done.’
‘I don’t despise you, I just wish I understood. I want to understand.’
‘I know,’ she went on bravely, speaking more quickly now, driven by panic and an awful sense of foreboding that nothing she could do or say would ever make him soften. ‘I would like to put things right—if I could.’
He turned away with a half-laugh that had no humour in it. ‘If you could? Oh, Marietta—you could if you wanted to.’
‘But we have been married less than two weeks. How will it look if you leave me here alone so soon?’ she cried on a note of desperation. ‘We are supposed to be going to Paris next month.’
Helen Dickson Page 19
