He felt the blood rushing up into his face. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and he thought he would never be able to look at her again without betraying his feelings. Staring broodingly into the grate he became aware of the glass in his hand. Dazedly he lifted it to his cold lips and tossed the brandy down in one gulp.
Olivia sensed, rather than saw, his disquiet, for his face was hidden from her. She sat very still, and waited, hoping he would confide in her. She glanced at him surreptitiously through the corner of her eye, and she curbed the impulse to reach out and rest her hand on his arm comfortingly. He moved his head imperceptibly, and his face was starkly revealed to her. It was rigidly set and his lips were so pale they were almost white. He gripped the mantel with one hand, and a muscle in his face began to work.
‘Adam! Adam! You look strange. What on earth’s the matter?’ she cried.
Vaguely he heard her voice. He shut his eyes tightly and then opened them quickly. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m perfectly all right,’ he said curtly. He had to get out of here. At once. Before he behaved dishonourably. Disgraced his name. Made a fool of himself. He did not move, and he admitted to himself, with a terrible sinking feeling, that he could not move. Yet in all good conscience he had to leave. He could not abuse her position in his house, take advantage of her vulnerability under his roof. Like a sleepwalker he moved across the floor.
‘Adam! Where are you going?’ Olivia called after him. She stood up. Her face was ashen. Her voice shook as she cried, ‘Have I done something to offend you, Adam?’
Slowly he turned on his heels and looked directly at her. He noted the concern in her face, the alarm in her eyes, and he was moved in a way he had not been moved for years. How could you ever offend me, my love? he thought. Once more he had that crushing urge to reach out for her, to pull her into his arms. He swallowed hard. ‘You have not done or said anything to upset me, Olivia,’ he answered as evenly as possible, striving for normality.
He hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation he weakened. And Adam Fairley was undone.
‘I was simply going down to the library to get myself another brandy and a cigar,’ he lied. As he spoke he knew he could not leave her. He could not leave her here alone as long as that look compounded of fright and perplexity remained in her eyes.
‘I have a decanter of brandy here,’ she said, gesturing to the console table. ‘But no cigars, I’m afraid. There are plenty of cigarettes, of course.’ Without waiting for him to answer, Olivia picked up the glass he had left on the mantelshelf and took a step in the direction of the console in front of the window.
He strode across the room and took the glass from her. His hand brushed hers and he felt small shock waves running up his arm. ‘Please, Olivia, sit down. I will fix it myself,’ he said firmly. He pressed her gently on to the sofa. It seemed to him that her flesh burned his fingers through the thin silk of the robe she was wearing.
Adam stood at the console with his back to her, his hand clutching the neck of the crystal decanter. He closed his eyes. Oh, my God. My God. I love her. I’ve loved her for years, he thought. How could I not have realized that before? I want her. Oh God, how I want her. I want her more than I have ever wanted any other woman. But you cannot have her, a small voice answered in the back of his mind. His hand tightened on the decanter. He must take command of himself and of his emotions. He must not embarrass her, or frighten her. He must behave as normally as he always had in her presence and as a gentleman of honour.
‘Do you mind if I open the window, Olivia? It’s frightfully hot in here,’ Adam said at last.
‘No, please do,’ Olivia said quietly. Her panic had been allayed, but she was still bewildered by his behaviour.
Olivia’s eyes had followed Adam across the room, her gaze preoccupied, her face wreathed with concern. But suddenly her full attention was riveted on him. He was reaching across the table to open the window, and his body was at an oblique angle. The silk shirt stretched tautly across his broad back and shoulders and forearms, his exceptional physique apparent through the fine fabric, his muscles rippling as he moved with his usual litheness. My darling, she thought. My love.
Adam breathed deeply at the window. After several seconds he picked up the decanter and two glasses, and brought them back to the sofa. He looked down at Olivia and smiled. ‘I thought you might join me, Olivia,’ he said, his voice steady. ‘It’s not much fun drinking alone.’ He poured two brandies, and handed her one.
‘Thank you,’ she said, returning his smile.
‘Forgive me for behaving so rudely before,’ Adam said, settling in the chair. ‘It was churlish of me to let my worries get the better of me, when you were putting up with me at this late hour.’ He stretched out his long and elegant legs and leaned back in the chair, relaxing. The hammering in his head had receded and the tight pain in his chest had all but disappeared. His only thought was to exonerate himself with her and put her at ease.
‘You don’t have to apologize, Adam. And if you need a shoulder to lean on, I’m always here,’ she said softly. She gazed at him with enormous gentleness.
‘Yes, I know that, Olivia,’ he responded. He bent forward and picked up the drink from the table. His shirt sagged open to reveal his chest and the mat of fair hair that covered it. Olivia, regarding him keenly over the rim of her glass, felt herself flushing unexpectedly. Her heart missed a beat. She dropped her eyes quickly.
‘Well, I’m certainly not going to bore you with my problems tonight,’ Adam went on quietly. ‘Especially after such a pleasant evening. You know, this house was getting to be a veritable tomb until tonight. No laughter, no fun, no gaiety anymore. Things are going to be different from now on,’ he exclaimed. He lit a cigarette, feeling unexpectedly elated.
Olivia observed him thoughtfully. She found in Adam every quality she most admired and respected. His intellect and his cultivation were a constant revelation. Her eyes lingered on his handsome face. He has such distinction and grace, she thought. And such beautiful eyes. Large and widely set and lucent. So different from her husband’s eyes. His had been small, black, and deeply socketed. Charles had always been considered a handsome man. She herself had thought him rather too stockily built and glowering to be truly handsome. She had not loved Charles at all. Poor dead Charles. Her father had arranged the marriage.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ said Adam, watching her intently, fully conscious of her introspection.
Olivia jumped, startled from her reverie, and, taken off guard, she said, ‘I was thinking about Charles.’
‘Oh. I see.’ So that was it. Adam concentrated on the tip of his shoe, so she would not notice the expression on his face. If he were honest with himself he had to admit he had also been jealous of Charles.
Now he said in a gentle voice, ‘Are you happy, Olivia? I have often wondered about that lately.’
‘Of course I’m happy,’ she cried. Did he imagine—could he possibly believe she was grieving for Charles? ‘Why would you think I am not happy?’
A faint smile played on his lips. ‘I don’t know, really. I suppose because you are alone. No one wants to be alone. You are still a young woman, and a beautiful one at that. I’m sure you must have other suitors, as well as Andrew Melton.’ He tried to laugh. ‘Why, I saw a decided gleam in Bruce McGill’s eye tonight, and I don’t doubt there are other gentlemen with expectations.’
Olivia sipped the brandy. Her eyes were brilliant and they did not leave his face. ‘Andrew is not a suitor,’ she said. ‘He is a good friend, that’s all. Nor am I interested in Bruce McGill.’ She gave him a long look. ‘Actually, I’m not interested in any man,’ she exclaimed more strongly. And thought: Only in you, my darling, but you are my sister’s husband and therefore you will never know.
Adam ran his hand through his hair impatiently. ‘Do you mean you have not considered the idea of remarrying?’ he pressed.
‘No, I haven’t, because I have no intention of remarrying. Ever.�
�� Olivia hesitated and then said, ‘Adam, I am a little cold. Would you mind closing the window, please?’
‘At once,’ he said, leaping up.
When he returned, Olivia edged to the end of the sofa. ‘Please sit here, by my side, Adam. There is something I must ask you.’
He had no alternative but to lower himself on the sofa. He did this with a certain grimness, avoiding the merest contact with her.
‘Yes, Olivia? What is it, my dear?’
‘I am troubled because you are, or rather were, so upset earlier. I know you said you did not wish to talk about your problems tonight. But can’t you confide in me?’ She gave him the most tender of smiles. ‘It does help to talk to a friend on occasions, and I hate to see you distresssd.’
Adam wondered how to extricate himself. He certainly could not tell her the real reasons for his disquiet earlier. ‘There is nothing to discuss, Olivia,’ he said finally. ‘I suppose I worry about the children, the mill, and the newspaper. Just the usual everyday worries of a man in my position. But not too serious,’ he lied expertly.
‘And you worry about Adele, don’t you?’ she prompted.
‘To a certain degree,’ admitted Adam, reluctant to think about his wife.
‘Please try to relax about her health. She is better. You told me that yourself, and Andrew agrees. And I am here to help you. To make things easier for you,’ Olivia said in her most reassuring tone.
‘But you will be leaving in a few months. You said you had to return to London in July.’
‘Oh, Adam, you know I will stay as long as I am needed.’
‘Will you really?’ Adam felt his spirits lifting.
She smiled. ‘Yes. Was that worrying you? You know I love being here. And I am quite lonely in London, in spite of my busy life and all of my friends. Adele, the children, and you, why, you are the only family I have now.’ Impulsively, she reached out and placed her hand on his knee in a consoling way. ‘I will stay in Yorkshire as long as you think I am needed.’
Adam could not answer. He could only stare down at her hand. It lay there on his knee, soft and cool and white, like an immobile dove. But it scorched through the cloth of his trousers like hot steel. He felt the flush rising on his neck to suffuse his face. His heart began to beat more rapidly and he had to bite his inner lip to control himself. He picked up her hand, intending to place it safely in her lap. But, as he held it, he found his fingers slowly tightening on hers and he felt her tremble. He looked into her face. Her eyes were so dark they were almost black. And they were filled with that strange sadness he had noticed so often lately.
Olivia returned his gaze steadily, and then, with a small shock, she became conscious of the naked desire on Adam’s face, saw the sensuality on those partially opened lips, heard his rapid breathing, and she was afraid. Not of Adam Fairley. Of herself. She extracted her hand gently, and moved away from him slowly.
A look of suffering flashed into Adam’s eyes, and, before he could stop himself, he reached out and took her hand and brought it up to his lips. He uncurled her fingers and kissed the palm, pressing it to his mouth. He closed his eyes. He thought he would explode.
Olivia’s head lay back on the sofa and her mouth was quivering. A small muscle leapt on her slender white neck, and her breasts rose and fell under the robe. Adam moved closer to her. He looked deeply into her eyes, which hovered so close to his, and at last he recognized that sad expression for what it truly was. It was not sadness at all. It was an aching longing, an undisguised yearning—and it was for him. He knew this unquestionably. Joy surged through him. He bent over her and kissed her, crushing her mouth under his so fiercely her teeth grazed his lips. Her arms were around his neck. Her hands touched the back of his head, his shoulders, his spine, pressing him closer to her. Adam could hear her heart banging against his own and she trembled as violently as he did himself.
Olivia moved slightly within his arms and now he felt the cool insistent touch of her hands against his bare chest. He kissed her hair and her face and her throat, all the while murmuring her name, calling her his love, his darling, his only love, saying things to her he had never said to any woman. And she answered him with the same endearments, her voice vibrating with such love and desire it further thrilled him.
Abruptly, Adam pulled away from Olivia and stood up. He looked down at her. Her eyes were wide and questioning.
Olivia stared back at Adam. His face was congested, his eyes blazed, and his entire body throbbed with unbridled passion as he towered above her. Mesmerized, she was unable to tear her eyes away from him.
In the terrible grip of his own onrushing desire, pushed beyond endurance by the sensuality flaring in him after years of self-imposed celibacy, further aroused by Olivia’s responsive ardour that fully matched his own, and inflamed by drink, Adam Fairley could no longer hold himself in check. Without uttering a word, he picked her up in his arms and carried her across the floor.
Olivia clung to him, her arms wound tightly around him, her face buried in the soft tendrils of hair that curled on the back of his neck. She could hear his heart thudding as loudly as her own. She tightened her grip on him.
At this moment the vestiges of her principles disintegrated and the stringent rules she had lived by were abandoned. All were swept away by the force of their passion and yearning for each other. Emotions repressed for years finally tore loose, for she no longer had the will to restrain them, and she could not think rationally any more. She was in the arms of the only man she had ever loved. The man to whom she had irrevocably belonged from the first day she had met him. And that was all that mattered now.
Adam’s legs shook as he strode to the bed. I shouldn’t be doing this, he thought. She is my wife’s sister. It is against all the precepts of my religion, my upbringing, my code of honour. I should not be doing this. It’s wrong, he told himself. And then he thought: But I don’t give a damn.
Adam put Olivia down gently on the bed. She lay back against the pillows, looking up at him, her face still white and strained, her breathing hurried. Adam sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned over her. He put his hands around her neck and unclasped the necklace and carefully removed the sapphires from her ears. He placed them on the bedside table and took her face in his hands with great tenderness. He kissed her long and deeply. Then, half smiling, he stood up and walked swiftly to the bedroom door. He heard her gasp. He turned and looked back at her. He took in the pain and bewilderment on her face, the stark terror flooding her eyes.
‘I’ve waited for you for twenty years,’ Olivia whispered in a voice so low it was a moan. ‘That’s half my life, Adam Fairley. You’re not going to leave me now?’
Adam shook his head. ‘No, I’m not going to leave you, my darling. Never. Ever again.’
His eyes did not leave her face. With one hand he locked the door and with the other he began to unfasten the rest of the sapphire studs on his ruffled silk shirt.
NINETEEN
Emma sat at the table in the kitchen of Fairley Hall, sewing a white lace collar on to a silk blouse which Olivia Wainright had given to her as a gift, along with a dark green cotton dress and a thick woollen shawl of the brightest red.
It was warm and snug in the large kitchen. The fire burned merrily in the hearth, the sun poured in through the sparkling windows, and the whole room gleamed in the bright afternoon light, which bounced off the shining copper and polished brass and struck the flagstone floor sharply, so that this, too, looked golden. The atmosphere was exceptionally tranquil, it being Sunday. Murgatroyd had just departed for Pudsey to visit his sister, and Annie, the betweenmaid, was upstairs in the dining room, following Emma’s instructions and setting the table for dinner. The roaring fire spurted and crackled almost in unison with the little whistles and snores that issued forth from Mrs Turner’s spherical body. The cook was sprawled in a chair, dozing in front of the fire, her cap askew, her ample bosom rising and falling contentedly as she slumbered on, dreaming her untro
ubled dreams. The only other sounds were the ticking of the clock and the occasional roar of the wind as it rattled against the windows. Although it was sunny, and the sky was a clear cerulean blue, it was a blustering April day outside.
Emma smoothed out the silk and held the blouse up in front of her, gazing at it appraisingly. With her innate sense of taste and her keen eyes she was quick to recognize its elegance. It was almost new, and such a lovely blue. Like the sky outside, Emma thought, glancing out of the window. Like me mam’s eyes, she said to herself, and decided she would give it to her mother when she went home later in the week. The idea of being able to give her mother something so beautiful filled Emma with immense pleasure, and her usually sober face was suddenly illuminated by a most joyful smile. She picked up a lace cuff and started to stitch it neatly on to one of the long, full sleeves, her mind turning with thoughts of Leeds, and her Plan with a capital P.
Just then the outside kitchen door flew open so violently, and with such rattlings and bangings, Emma was startled. She looked at the door expectantly, and decided it had been blown open by the force of the gale which was raging outside. She was about to go and close it when a cheery face appeared around the doorjamb. Vibrant black curls blew in the wind, bright black eyes danced merrily above tanned cheeks, and the wide mouth broke into a mischievous grin.
‘Sure and I hope ye won’t be turning a cold spalpeen away on this bitter day.’ The voice was full of lilting brogue and laughter and love of life. ‘’Tis a cup of tea I hope ye’ll be offering me.’
‘Blackie!’ shrieked Emma, totally forgetting the sleeping Mrs Turner in her delight, and she leapt up and ran across the room, her skirts swishing around her long legs, her face wreathed in smiles. Blackie eased his great frame through the door, and came down the steps in three swift jumps. He swept Emma up into his brawny arms, swung her around several times until the room whirled before her eyes, and then he put her down carefully. He studied her gently and held her at arms’ length, scrutinizing her intently.
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