by Liz Fielding
‘No—’ Rapidly abandoning the provocative posture she had adopted, Faith surrendered the basque to the saleswoman who, realising that the impulsive raid on her lingerie department was over, moved tactfully out of earshot. ‘I’m not in the least bit interested in what you think.’ She made a move to follow the saleswoman, but he seized her arm, his touch jarring through her like a bolt of lightning. Frighteningly intense, intensely frightening. He saw it, felt her reaction and eased his grip slightly.
‘I’ll tell you anyway. I don’t know why you’re marrying Julian Fellowes when, by your own admission you’re not in love with him—’
‘Love? What would you know about love?’ she hissed, furious that she had allowed him to taunt her into making such a fool of herself. All she wanted to do was escape from this shop, escape from him, but he hadn’t finished with her and he wasn’t about to let her go until he had quite finished.
‘More than you, that’s certain.’
‘I know that romantic love is for silly girls who know no better.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Harry—’
He ignored the warning in her voice. ‘I might have,’ he conceded, ‘if I hadn’t just been treated to a demonstration of just how dizzy you can be when provoked. I’m beginning to think that there’s a chance for you yet.’
‘No!’ Faith lifted her head, threw a wild gesture in the direction of the lingerie racks. ‘I... It was just a joke—’
‘A joke? Whose laughing?’ His voice was harsh, his eyes black… ‘You might be able to fool yourself, Faith, but you can’t fool me. You were reacting, just like you reacted last night when I kissed you, all heart and no head—’
‘No!’
‘You don’t like that? You prefer to be buttoned up, in control?’ He shrugged. ‘Well, no doubt emotions are easier to deal with at long distance, through the post. It won’t be quite so easy when you’re tucked up in a big double bed, in your red silk nightdress with—’
Her eyes flew wide, her cheeks coloured furiously. ‘Stop it, Harry,’ she pleaded.
Harry instantly released her, raising his hands to demonstrate his obedience to her command. ‘Tucked up in a big double bed with a man you don’t love,’ he finished, quietly. Then his mouth twisted in a wry smile. ‘Tell me, Faith, do you think “stop it, Julian” will be as effective, considering your man’s been away in the Antarctic for... How long has it been?’
It was Ben who saved her. Beautiful Ben waking up, demanding to be picked up and cuddled and Faith was his grateful and willing slave, cradling him in her arms and crooning softly to him as she buried her face in his soft dark curls.
‘Cuddle me, Uncle Harry,’ Alice demanded, abandoning her game with the sales assistant and grabbing hold of his legs.
For a moment he continued to regard Faith with an odd little expression that made her feel even worse. Then he bent and picked up Alice and she burrowed her head into his shoulder. ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ he murmured. ‘It’s time to go home.’
‘I’ll have to wait—’ Faith gestured helplessly at the piles of frothy undergarments.
‘Deliver everything with the dress,’ Harry said, handing a card to the shop’s manager.
‘No!’ Faith’s protest was ignored and with his free hand firmly at her back he propelled her towards the door. ‘I’m going home—’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, curtly, ‘right now.’ She didn’t pursue his deliberate misunderstanding, but handed over her credit card and vowing, silently, to sort it out later. Only when they reached the Range Rover and had fastened the children into their restraints did he break the silence as he helped her up onto the high seat. ‘Tell me, Faith,’ he asked, quietly, ‘what made you buy all that rather dizzy lingerie? It doesn’t quite fit the image of the practical, efficient banker.’
She busied herself with her seatbelt. ‘Even bankers wear knickers,’ she declared.
‘French ones?’ She lifted her head to glare at him, too late catching the gleam of mischief in his eyes.
‘They don’t make English ones,’ she said, refusing to give an inch.
‘You’d have done better spending your money on something sensible, like thermals. Long johns, vests, that sort of thing. You can get them in silk, I’ve seen them in—’
‘I have all the underwear I need,’ she told him, sharply. ‘And a great deal more, thanks to you.’
‘To me? I’d like to think so. I couldn’t have picked a more entertaining selection if I were marrying you myself. Although perhaps Fellowes won’t much appreciate it as an explanation for wearing a black nightdress on your wedding night. Or even a red one, come to that.’
‘This conversation is over, Harry.’
‘Is it? You were eager enough for my opinion a minute or two ago.’
Faith didn’t reply. It wasn’t that the words weren’t right there, on the tip of her tongue doing their suicidal best to leap off. But she kept her mouth clamped shut because everything she said only made things worse.
Thermal underwear indeed! As if Julian would expect her to live in a hut within hailing distance of the South Pole! He had been offered a post at Cambridge and she was going to start her own financial consultancy for investors who wanted to be certain of the moral probity of the companies to whom they entrusted with their money.
Harry, however, refused to take the hint. ‘Well, I don’t suppose that flimsy stuff will be entirely wasted. He must be planning to take you somewhere warm for your honeymoon. An igloo would be a bit daunting, even with a double sleeping bag—’
‘I can’t think why you’re so concerned, Harry.’ It took a supreme effort to answer him in a coolly dismissive tone. ‘And I’m sure you’re aware that igloos are Arctic dwellings. That’s the North Pole—’ She gave an exclamation of disgust as she realised that once again she had fallen into his teasing trap. All she had to do was stop rising to his bait like a hungry trout and he would stop.
A few more hours, she promised herself. Just a few more hours and then she would be free to concentrate on her own affairs. On her wedding. To Julian.
Harry glanced at her. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Matter?’ She glanced at him, uncertain what new torment he was planning.
‘You sighed.’
‘I didn’t!’
‘You know you did. I can’t say I blame you. Marriage is a perilous adventure even when you’re in love. Since you’re not—’ He left her to draw her own conclusions but she refused to play his game of tease the bride any more. It had gone quite far enough.
‘Aunt Janet always said you were a daring boy. I wouldn’t have thought you were the kind to chicken out of any adventure, particularly a perilous one.’
He stopped at a set of lights and turned to her, the scar across his forehead puckering as he drew his brows together. He lifted his hand in an unconscious gesture and rubbed absently at the cicatrice. ‘Janet said a damned sight too much.’ Faith glanced warningly at him, but the children were both fast asleep. ‘And I didn’t chicken out of marriage.’
‘No? I rather think that Clementine Norwood should be the judge of that,’ she said, with considerable feeling.
‘Do you? You seem to take my desertion of her very personally. I wonder why?’
If she took it personally it was because she knew how Clementine felt. Harry had undoubtedly been her hero too; it was a role he had played to the hilt. He continued to stare at her until, increasingly uncomfortable she said, ‘Your sister hasn’t given up hope of finding you another victim.’
Her choice of words clearly startled him, but a hoot from behind forced his attention back to the road. Once they were moving he returned to the subject. ‘I’m not looking for a victim, Faith. Elizabeth thinks it’s my duty to provide Ben and Alice with some cousins. And not take too long about it.’
‘So she torments you with doe-eyed blondes? How shockingly selfish of her,’ Faith replied, tongue firmly in her cheek, yet certain that Elizabeth had he
r brother’s well-being closer to her heart than that. Not that he deserved it. She was sure he knew it too, although whether he would ever admit it was another matter entirely.
‘It doesn’t matter. Most of them take one look and flee.’ It was her turn to be startled and his brows rose mocking her shocked expression. ‘Beauty and the Beast is a fairy tale, Faith. Reality is somewhat different.’
‘You might not be a beauty, Harry, and you’re certainly the most irritating man I’ve ever met. But hardly a beast.’
‘You have a refreshingly frank line in compliments, Faith.’
‘You’re entirely welcome.’ She regarded him carefully from beneath lowered lids, wondering what it must be like to have everything, to be the top of the heap when it came to the kind of looks that made every girl turn her head and want to be with you, bear your children and then to lose it all. Except he hadn’t lost it. Surely he must know that? For heaven’s sake she very nearly swooned in his arms. Her lips seemed to burn as she remembered just how it felt to be kissed by Harry March. Even now she wanted to reach out and soothe the scar tissue, hold him, give him endless cousins for Alice and Ben.
Horrified, she snapped away to stare straight ahead through the windscreen. ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘To your face. Your leg.’
His sharp glance warned her that not many were brave enough to ask. ‘Didn’t Aunt Janet tell you that?’ he demanded, sarcastically.
‘No. Why should she?’
‘She seems to have told you everything else.’
‘She simply told me you were the most determined bachelor she had ever met.’
‘And Elizabeth has persuaded her that she ought to help her do something about it?’
‘I’ve no idea, but since I’m getting married to Julian in three weeks time, I’m hardly a suitable candidate to dish out the tea and sympathy.’
‘I’m not looking for sympathy.’
‘I’ve never met a man who needed it less.’ She turned and for a second their eyes clashed, then Faith shook her head quickly. ‘For heaven’s sake, Harry, if only perfect specimens made it the human race would have died out a long time ago. Marriage is about more than that. There’s a line in the service about “...mutual society, help and comfort ...”’
His response was short and to the point. ‘Tell me, Faith, are you getting married, or forming the Faith and Julian Fellowes Mutual Friendly Society?’
‘That sounds like the basis for an ideal marriage to me,’ she replied, stonily refusing to dwell on what he might consider an ideal union.
‘No, it damned well doesn’t. It sounds like a building society for heaven’s sake and about as exciting.’
She blinked rapidly, shaken by the vehemence of his response. ‘Well,’ she said, with a very small attempt at a laugh as they pulled up in front of the manor. ‘I’m a banker. Remember?’
‘I hadn’t forgotten. But perhaps it’s time you remembered that you’re a woman first. Where’s the romance, Faith? Where’s the white-heat of passion?’
‘Romance? Passion?’ she demanded, too loudly in the sudden silence. She glanced anxiously back at the children but they were both asleep. She dropped her voice to an angry whisper. ‘Who needs them?’
‘We all do.’ Harry March sat back, propping his elbow on the back of his seat as he reached forward to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers were cool against her throbbing temple and she shivered, just a little. ‘Last night I proved that.’
‘That’s not fair!’
‘All’s fair in love and war. I carry the scars to prove it.’
‘And so does Clemmie Norwood.’
‘I warned you that this was a game without rules, Faith.’ He leaned across her, so that she was enveloped in the heady male scent of him, his arm brushing for a tantalising moment against her and she held herself rigid expecting him to kiss her, sweep her away on a tide of white hot passion to prove his point. For one heady moment she wanted him to do just that. But he didn’t. Instead he released her seat belt. Then as he straightened, he paused and looked straight into her eyes. ‘It’s a lot more exciting than backgammon, I promise you.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
EXCITEMENT. As she cradled Ben she could still feel the edge of it, the dangerous draw of the passion Harry had trailed as a lure. It shivered deep within her stirring up long-suppressed desires, the ache of longing for all she’d lost. It had been so long since she had been held, kissed, loved. She had been wearing her career, wearing Julian like a shield, but they were no defence against a man like Harry March. He made her skin tingle, raised her pulse rate, made her feel — alive.
A tear fell on Ben’s cheek making him jump and wave his tiny hands anxiously. She wiped it gently away with the tip of her finger, kissed his forehead, murmuring softly to him. She hadn’t thought it possible to cry any more tears over Michael. But the tear wasn’t for him, it was for herself. For all the wasted years while she had kept her distance, refusing the invitations that came her way, using any excuse not to become involved again, hurt again, while her friends fell in love, married, had babies. And divorced, she reminded herself. Some of them. Too many of them.
It could have happened to her if she had married Michael. How easy it was to understand, from the vastly superior hindsight of twenty-five, that they had been far too young for marriage.
She hadn’t always been so objective, so level-headed. At eighteen she had been giddy with the excitement of being in love, could not imagine anything but happy-ever-after. Then she’d opened Michael’s letter and it was as if she’d hit a brick wall as she was thrown off the merry-go-round of her own fantasy.
Her marriage to Julian wouldn’t be based on such insubstantial emotions, but on respect, compatibility, shared ideals. It might not have the giddy highs of passion and romance, but it wouldn’t have the painful lows either.
And if her family and friends weren’t quite convinced, it was because they hadn’t thought about it as carefully as she had.
Harry might mock her, but she wouldn’t willingly put herself through that again.
She dropped a kiss on Ben’s dark, downy curls. He grinned up at her, squeezing her heart so that for a dangerous moment her breath caught in her throat. She had always wanted babies. She and Michael had planned to have at least four.
She had planned to have a least four. It was scarcely any wonder that Michael had run. Babies were for women, their consolation as dreams were crushed by reality and love turned to routine.
Her relationship with Julian was based on reality and if no babies was the price she had to pay for peace of heart, well so be it.
She lifted the warm infant to her shoulder. ‘And as for Harry March,’ she murmured softly to him, ‘what would an irritable old beast of a bachelor know about such things?’
‘Do you often chat to babies?’
‘Ben’s a great listener and he doesn’t answer back,’ Faith replied, wondering if Harry saw her jump, or whether she just imagined that she had left the chair. He was leaning against the door frame, so at ease that she had the uncomfortable feeling that he had been watching her for some time. ‘Where’s Alice?’ she asked, quickly. ‘Playing with her kitten?’ He taken her to fetch it after lunch, an enchanting scrap of creamy fur with the promise of a chocolate face and paws.
‘No, the poor little thing needed a rest so I’m taking her for a swim. She’s decided that she wants to be able to swim a length of the pool before her mother comes home.’
‘Your idea no doubt.’ Faith looked thoughtfully at the baby. ‘I wonder if Ben would like the water?’
‘Elizabeth takes him in most days when she’s staying. Will you join us?’
The idea of a swim was appealing, but the thought of sharing the pool with Harry was not. He possessed more unbridled masculinity than even the most level-headed woman could handle if he chose to exert it. She had responded unashamedly to his kiss and would be a fool if she believed he wouldn’t take advantage of the si
tuation.
‘I thought you insisted on having the pool to yourself. I can take Ben in later.’
‘Since you’ve already seen the mess I made of my leg and were kind enough to refrain from actually fainting—’
‘I don’t faint and besides I’ve seen far worse.’
‘Have you indeed?’ Well, that wasn’t very clever, Faith, she chided herself as his eyes darkened ominously. ‘What a very interesting life you must lead at that bank,’ he said coldly and turned to go. ‘Elizabeth left a couple of costumes at the pool, if you need one,’ he added, as an afterthought.
‘I have my own.’
‘Of course, I remember, you swim every day at your club. Well I’m sorry I can’t offer you more congenial company.’
And that apparently was that. She fetched her swimming bag from the boot of her car then followed the path Harry and Alice had taken. The pool was in its own building beyond the walled garden. From the front it still looked like the carriage house it had once been but once inside, Faith saw that this was simply a facade. It had been stripped out and the far wall, overlooking the manor’s parkland, had been largely removed and replaced with a wall of glass that slid back, so that during a warm spell bathers could walk out onto a terrace and relax in the sun on old cane recliners. The remainder of the interior had been clad in pine and at the far end there were changing rooms and a sauna. But the pool dominated everything. Pale blue in a broad frame of the beautiful terracotta tiles that continued, without a break, onto the terrace.
‘This is a serious swimming pool,’ Faith said, a little lost for words. She had been expecting something smaller. Much smaller.
Harry shrugged. ‘My surgeon suggested I swim to exercise my leg. I thought if I had anything smaller I’d be at the end before I’d done more than two strokes.’
‘Did you? How close did you come to drowning before you discovered your mistake?’
He gave her a sharp glance. ‘What would you know about it?’
‘Boys who climb down drainpipes don’t change their nature just because they grow a metre, Harry.’
