Mistresses: Bound with Gold / Bought with Emeralds

by Susan Napier;Kathryn Ross;Kelly Hunter;Sandra Marton;Katherine Garbera;Margaret Mayo

  But Oliver was adamant. ‘Eat!’ he thundered, ‘I don’t want you fainting on me at the funeral.’

  ‘Only if you leave,’ she agreed. ‘I can’t possibly eat with you standing over me.’ Not when it tortured her heart to even look at him.

  Family, friends, business colleagues, all were gathered in a hushed group at the cemetery when a lone figure made its way towards them, a tall, elegant, slender woman in her early fifties wearing a smart black suit and a black hat with a wide brim shadowing her face.

  Anna had no idea who the latecomer was but she saw Oliver’s relatives, especially the older ones, begin to nudge each other and whisper—and not one of them smiled or greeted her.

  Oliver was the last to see her, and when he did Anna saw the narrowing of his eyes, the indrawn breath of disbelief, the sudden tightening of his mouth. And when she looked down at his hands they were curled into fists. But it wasn’t until they got back to Weston Hall that she found out who the stranger was.

  Mrs Green, together with Edward’s housekeeper, Mrs Hughes, had prepared a hot buffet and Anna and Oliver stood to one side while everyone helped themselves. Suddenly the woman who had caused such a stir at the cemetery appeared in front of them. Until that moment Anna hadn’t even realised that she’d returned to the Hall with the rest of the mourners.

  ‘Oliver,’ she cooed, her scarlet lips drawn into the semblance of a smile. ‘What a handsome young man you are. You don’t know who I am, of course, but—’

  ‘I know exactly who you are,’ he declared in a hard, tight voice. ‘What I want to know is what you’re doing here?’

  The woman laid scarlet-tipped fingers soothingly on his arm. ‘What’s Edward been saying to you about me? I’ve come to pay my last respects to my departed husband. There’s no crime in that, is there?’

  Anna felt her mouth drop open. She’d been given the impression that Oliver’s mother was dead. How could this be her?

  And yet, looking at her, Anna could see a strong resemblance, especially the fine straight nose and the pronounced shape of their ear lobes. There was no mistaking they were mother and son. In fact, Oliver looked more like his mother than he did his father.

  ‘Except that you’re no longer Edward’s wife,’ he reminded her quietly.

  The woman smiled, her vivid lips almost evil. ‘Didn’t your father tell you, sweetheart, we never got divorced? I know it was more than thirty years ago but we somehow never got round to it. I never married again and neither did Edward so we just—’ she gave a shrug of her slim shoulders ‘—let things drift. You know how it is.’

  ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t know how it is,’ Oliver retorted, his face visibly paling at this piece of information. ‘And I think it would be much better for all concerned if you left—right now.’

  But still the woman smiled. ‘I can’t do that, Oliver. I want to hear what’s in the will. Unless you already know the contents?’

  Oliver was forced to admit that he didn’t. ‘My father’s solicitor will be coming along later this afternoon to read it.’

  ‘I rather thought that was the way things would be done,’ she said. ‘Edward had charming old-fashioned views on many things. Why don’t you introduce me to—’ her pencilled brows rose ‘—your wife, I believe?’

  Reluctantly and gravely Oliver did so. Anna shook the woman’s ice-cold hand but as soon as she left to mingle with the others, Anna couldn’t help asking, ‘Oliver, I thought your mother died when you were little?’

  ‘To all intents and purposes,’ he admitted grimly. ‘It’s what my father wished to believe. Rosemary walked out on him when a business gamble failed; she said he was no good to her without money.’

  The money problem again!

  ‘And you remember her?’

  ‘I kept a photograph,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve also seen her in the society columns of The Times. She’s rarely short of male companions.’

  ‘Do you really think that she and your father were never divorced?’

  ‘It’s something I fully intend asking Charles Miller,’ he answered quietly. ‘I think she’s lying. She knows my father’s estate will be vast. There’ve been a couple of times over the years when she’s attempted, unsuccessfully, to get back into his good books.’

  ‘She doesn’t look as though she needs money now,’ said Anna. ‘That’s a cashmere designer suit she’s wearing. Perhaps we’re doing her an injustice? Perhaps she has come to pay her last respects?’

  ‘I’d like to believe that,’ he said, ‘but somehow I don’t think so.’

  Later, as they sat in the vast drawing room waiting for the will to be read, Anna asked quietly, ‘What did Charles Miller say about your mother?’

  Oliver winced. He’d cornered the solicitor earlier and taken him into his father’s study and the news he’d heard hadn’t pleased him. ‘There was no divorce. My father seemed to think it would serve Rosemary right if she wasn’t free to marry anyone else.’

  Anna frowned. ‘But she could have divorced him, surely? She didn’t have to remain married.’

  Oliver shrugged. ‘I guess they were both playing games.’ Rosemary’s name had been a taboo subject in the Langford household; instead, Edward had vented his anger on the child she’d left behind.

  Anna took Oliver’s hand in sympathy, just that and nothing more, yet it created a rush of feeling so intense that it shocked him. How could something as simple as a touch make a mockery of his determination to end their marriage? She’d proved that she was no better than either Rosemary or Melanie. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he get her out of his system?

  When the will was read, the bulk of Edward’s estate was naturally left to his son. There were smaller bequests to various relatives, and a modest amount for Melanie. To Anna there was nothing, and to Rosemary there was nothing either—which didn’t please Oliver’s mother.

  The woman’s face turned a startling shade of puce and she jumped to her feet. ‘I intend to contest the will.’ She directed her comments to the solicitor, but they were loud and clear for all to hear. ‘Edward and I remained married. He cannot cut me off without a penny.’

  ‘That is your choice,’ said Charles gravely, running a finger round the neck of his collar. ‘But I have to tell you now, Mrs Langford, that I don’t think you’ll get very far.’

  Oliver took Anna’s arm and led her from the drawing room. ‘Let’s go home. Mrs Hughes will lock up here when everyone’s gone.’

  It was the way he said home that warmed Anna’s heart—it was as though he meant it was her home too. If only. Her six months of marriage had been so full of happiness, so full of love and laughter, that it was difficult to accept it was all over. Perhaps, if she tried very hard, she could pretend for a few more hours that nothing had happened, that they were still deeply in love.

  And once inside, when he took off his jacket and tie and unbuttoned his collar, when he flopped down on his favourite armchair in the sitting room, she could almost believe it.

  He began to relax, the lines of strain on his face seemed to fade, when suddenly there came a sharp rapping on the door.

  Oliver stifled a curse.

  ‘Don’t answer it,’ said Anna, not wanting to spoil these precious moments.

  ‘It might be Charles, as anxious to escape as I was. I must speak to him.’

  But it wasn’t Charles’ voice Anna could hear as Oliver opened the door—it was Rosemary’s, an extremely furious Rosemary.

  ‘Running away is a fool’s game,’ she shot at her son viciously. ‘What’s the matter, couldn’t you face the thought of me upsetting your precious little tin god of a solicitor?’

  ‘I doubt you’ll upset Charles,’ he told her calmly.

  ‘Well, he needn’t think that I shall sit back and do nothing,’ she shrieked. ‘I have a right to some of Edward’s money.’

  ‘You think what you like,’ said Oliver, and Anna was proud of the way he kept his cool. ‘It has nothing to do with me.’ And she no
ticed that he didn’t invite her in. Not that she could blame him. His mother must be his least favourite person.

  ‘It has a whole lot to do with you,’ retorted Rosemary. ‘If you were a good son then you’d see me right. I wouldn’t need to go through a solicitor. It’s going to cost me money to—’

  Oliver cut her short. ‘I’m sorry but, the way I see it, you gave up the right to being my mother the day you walked out.’

  Anna waited with bated breath to hear what Rosemary was going to say next. Perhaps she ought to show her face, give Oliver some support.

  But Rosemary had clearly decided she’d said enough. She walked back down the path, turning as she reached the roadway. Anna could see her through the window, her back ramrod straight, her chin high, her lips a slash of angry scarlet in her pale but beautiful face.

  ‘You’ve not heard the last of this,’ she flung icily. ‘I shall be around for a while longer. Don’t think I’m going to quietly run away; that isn’t my style.’

  There was more of her in Oliver than he knew, felt Anna. Not only did they resemble each other but they both had the same tenacity of purpose when they thought they were in the right.

  When he came back into the room his mouth was set. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

  And Anna knew that their comfortable togetherness was gone. Oliver was hurting, hurting badly, and she wished there was something she could do to ease his pain.

  ‘Hopefully,’ she said soothingly, ‘Rosemary will accept that there’s no point in fighting this particular battle and will fade gracefully into the background again.’

  Oliver crossed to the drinks cupboard, poured himself a large whisky and downed it in one swallow, then poured another before taking it back to his chair. ‘Rosemary is one of the world’s takers. The only thing she ever gave in her entire life was birth to me. And little good that did her—or me, for that matter.’

  Anna frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Then he drew in a ragged breath. ‘What a day.’

  ‘Funerals are always harrowing occasions.’

  ‘Some more than others,’ he growled. ‘Come here. I need you.’

  His request startled Anna but it didn’t enter her head to say no. Instead she moved slowly towards him, locking her eyes into his, ignoring the throb of her pulses, the heat that torched her suddenly sensitive skin, the hammer beats of her heart.

  When Oliver pulled her down on to his lap and tucked her head into the hollow of his shoulder, curving an arm about her and holding her close, she felt an echoing beat inside him, a tension he couldn’t disguise.

  Her heart pounded in excited anticipation. They’d sat like this a hundred times before and always it had led to one thing.

  An electric finger stroked her cheek; hot golden eyes watched her mouth as she ran the tip of her tongue over lips that were uncomfortably dry, and quietly he asked, ‘When are you going back to Ireland?’

  Anna groaned silently. Did he have to talk about such things when she was in a temporary seventh heaven? She didn’t want to spoil these precious moments with conversation.

  What she really wanted was to slip her hand inside his shirt and feel once again that electrifying hair-roughened skin. She wanted to lift her mouth for a mind-shattering kiss. She wanted—oh, so much.

  ‘Anna?’

  She stifled a sigh. ‘Tomorrow.’ Much too soon if he was going to treat her like this. Much, much too soon. ‘But it’s only temporary. I’ll be moving back to London shortly. Finding myself a job.’

  Now shut up and carry on holding me.

  For a moment the stroking continued, unsteady fingers moving slowly from her cheek to her throat, brushing back stray strands of hair, pausing thoughtfully on the erratic tell-tale pulse at its base. The tension inside her built into a throbbing inferno.

  Then he spoke again. ‘Would you be happy in London? I remember you telling me that you were glad to be out of the rat race.’ And his fingers moved to touch the swell of one aching breast.

  ‘So I was,’ she said in a strangled voice. Dear Lord, did he know what he was doing to her? ‘But a girl has to earn a living.’

  The wrong thing to have said.

  ‘Or find a rich husband who can feed your fantasies’, he jeered. ‘Come to think of it, you’re not much different to Rosemary.’

  Anna shot off his lap, fury in her eyes now, tension of a different kind zinging through her limbs. ‘How dare you? How dare you compare me to that woman?’ She was about to say a whole lot more when common sense warned that Oliver had gone through a lot today and perhaps wasn’t thinking rationally.

  He picked up his drink and took a long, slow sip, watching her through narrowed eyes. ‘So you think there’s no comparison? Perhaps you ought to look at things from my side of the fence.’

  ‘I think you’re tired and you don’t know what you’re saying.’ Anna endeavoured to sound calm, though heaven knew she was furious inside. ‘And if the truth’s known I’m tired too,’ she added with forced quietness. ‘I think I’ll go up to my room and take a rest.’

  Surprisingly he let her go but as she left she heard the clink of bottle on glass. Let him drink himself stupid, she thought. As if I care.

  But she did care. She didn’t like to see Oliver upset. Burying his father was bad enough but for Rosemary to add to his torment by putting in an appearance and causing a scene was dreadful. And now he’d lashed out at her, and she’d been on the verge of fighting back—which would have created even more problems.

  Anna didn’t know what time it was when Oliver came to her room. She’d fallen asleep on the bed and in her dream Oliver was chasing her round and round a lake at the dead of night.

  Her own screams woke her and Oliver was standing by the bed. It was dark except for the ghostly light from an almost full moon. She wasn’t sure whether she was still dreaming. ‘Get away from me!’ she yelled.

  Instead he sat down on the edge of the bed and gathered her to him. ‘It’s all right,’ he said gently, soothingly. ‘You were dreaming.’

  ‘I was dreaming about you,’ she admitted, more quietly now. ‘Actually, it was a nightmare.’

  He grimaced at that. ‘I guess I said things I shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Don’t apologise.’ Held once more in his arms, Anna felt that she could afford to be magnaminous. Certainly she didn’t want to argue—although he wouldn’t have said the words if he hadn’t thought there was truth in them. He was never, ever, going to accept that her reasons for giving away that money were altruistic. It was futile of her to hope that they might have a future.

  As Oliver continued to hold her his eyes glittered, an intensity in their depths that Anna found deeply disturbing. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin silk of his shirt, and the erratic beat of his heart.

  There was more to just holding her—he was aroused! The discovery caused her breathing to quicken and she closed her eyes, trying to shut out the sight of this man who was her husband in name only. It wouldn’t be wise to let him make love to her, and yet how could she stop him when her need was growing apace with his?

  And even though she couldn’t see the desire in his eyes she could feel it and smell it. A rampant male. That particular musky smell was Oliver’s alone. She’d always claimed it was an aphrodisiac.

  And nothing had changed!

  Chapter Five

  WALKING out of Anna’s room was sheer torture. Oliver wanted her like he never had before. The way she’d been there for him today, rarely leaving his side—comforting him, even—had triggered emotions he’d thought long since dead.

  Physically and spiritually she was all he’d ever wanted in a woman, his ideal mate. But, unfortunately, like the rest of the female sex, her sights were set on other things. Why was it that money always meant so much to a woman?

  When Anna had told him off for opening her an account, declaring that he was being too generous, that she could manage on her housekee
ping allowance and didn’t need any more, he’d believed her. He’d thought how truly wonderful she was, how refreshingly different. It had made him love her all the more.

  But she wasn’t different at all; she’d just had a different approach. She’d let the money build up into a distinctly healthy amount, which she’d promptly handed over to her ex-lover—if ex was the word.

  He might still be her lover for all Oliver knew. Was it something she had plotted from the beginning? She’d said Tony wasn’t with her in Ireland but it was mighty suspicious. First the money disappeared and then she did.

  Every time he thought about it his blood boiled. He didn’t believe her brother story for one second. Her brother was a successful businessman.

  The man in question, according to his father, had been tall and blond and good-looking—and that was how she’d described Tony. It had to be him; it could be no one else. Oliver slammed his bedroom door behind him.

  He was glad now that he’d walked out of her room, that he hadn’t given in to those insane urges that crept up on him whenever he was alone with her. The trouble was, she was such a vital person. She glowed with energy, her red hair a perfect foil for those sparkling green eyes, and he couldn’t resist her. From day one she’d exerted her magic over him.

  Admittedly some of the sparkle had dimmed when she turned up for the funeral. Was it the sadness of the occasion or because her source of ready money had dried up? He’d like to bet it was the latter.

  Anna packed her bag before she went downstairs, she saw no point in delaying her departure. Oliver, she discovered, had already breakfasted and left.

  ‘Did he leave a message?’ she asked as the housekeeper brought in a fresh pot of tea. ‘Has he gone to work?’ He didn’t normally leave this early.

  ‘I’ve no idea. Would you like scrambled eggs and mushrooms, or bacon and tomato?’

  ‘Just toast, please.’

  ‘Mr Oliver won’t like it,’ warned Mrs Green with a wag of her finger. ‘He gave me strict instructions that you were to eat a good breakfast.’