Trying to pretend an interest in the beautiful room, rather than stare at her tall, handsome bridegroom, Emma started to hear him say, 'I've ordered dinner up here. I don't think we'll confront Blanche and Rex until tomorrow.'
Emma gasped, turning to him quickly, her eyes widening at the smoothness of his tones. 'You—you don't intend knocking Rex down, do you? Hurting him?'
Harshly he laughed at her obvious anxiety. 'No, my dear child, I won't go as far as that. You need have no great fear for your lover.'
Unhappily Emma lowered her head, wishing she could tell him the truth, now they were married. Of course she couldn't, since it might only make things worse for Blanche than they were already. Emma was still confused by a mixed-up desire to protect her cousin. Then weren't there her own personal reasons for marrying Rick? She was using him as a means of escape, she reminded herself, which wasn't very admirable either.
Weakly, as a means of distraction, she pounced on something else. 'I wish you wouldn't refer to me as a child, Rick.'
'Nineteen!' Too late she realised his willingness to return to a subject which had drawn several muttered curses earlier. 'God!' his hands gripped her slender shoulders painfully, his breath cold on her face, 'If we hadn't been in a register office, I think I would have cancelled the whole thing. Nineteen to my thirty-five!' Hardening, his eyes glittered down on her. 'Why didn't you tell me?'
'You said someone had.'
His hands tightened in angry frustration. Bleakly he studied her hot face, as though seeing the very young lines of it for the first time. 'Either Blanche or Rex hinted that you were well over twenty.'
'Well, does it matter?' Emma asked dully. 'Ours isn't meant to be a real marriage, after all.'
A frown cut deeply across his broad forehead, compressing his sensuous mouth. 'Other people will believe it is.'
'You still aren't old enough to be my father,' she smiled faintly. 'Plenty of girls are married at my age, and to slightly older men.'
'Perhaps,' he shrugged, without committing himself. 'In our case it won't be for long.'
Releasing her abruptly, he thrust his hands in his pockets and turned away. Emma turned away, too, as she noticed the tautness of his strong thighs under the tightening cloth. Her breath caught, making her stumble as she fled to the window and stared blindly out. Her heart steadied a little as she watched a light breeze dancing through the tender green leaves and rioting blossom of springtime France. Above them the sky was darkening as night approached, to a beautiful violet blue. A scene for lovers, she thought, feeling suddenly bleak.
'You'd better come and choose your bedroom.' Rick spoke so closely behind her she was startled, but she obeyed as blindly as she had left him. The suite was magnificent, with its bedrooms and bathrooms and spacious lounge. There was more space here than might be found in many homes, but hadn't Rick said something about being a millionaire?
She considered the two bedrooms, as he was obviously waiting for her to make her choice. 'I'll have this one.' She took the smaller. 'It will do fine.'
He didn't argue or comment on her rather trite remark as he turned and walked into the other one and closed the door. Emma blinked at the closed door uncertainly. Wasn't it the bride who was supposed to do that? With a funny little sigh she wandered into her own quarters, dropping her bandbag indifferently on the bed.
Nervously she approached the dressing table, staring at herself in the glass. The pale, silky two-piece she wore looked nice. It had been cool for late April in London and she had felt chilled, but this had been quite in keeping with her mood as she had married Rick. It hadn't been until after the ceremony, when he had bent with brief mockery to kiss her mouth, that she had again been consumed by the strange sensation of fire which twice before had overheated her skin. Later she had flinched from the cynicism in his eyes as she had opened her own to find him watching her.
'You might have to do better than that,' he had commented, his eyes narrowed, his voice low and taunting.
Anxiously now she wondered what he had meant. She was sure, at that moment, he hadn't been thinking of Blanche.
CHAPTER FOUR
Suddenly, as confused thoughts tumbled, around in Emma's mind, the communicating door between their two rooms opened and Rick came in. He had discarded his jacket, but still wore his shirt and trousers although his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck.
Stealing a glance at his face through the thick veil of her lashes, she tried to keep her leaping senses under control, not foolish enough to imagine he was here seeking his marital rights. He had been frank enough on that subject yesterday. Yet her heart beat uneasily as her lashes swept down on her cheeks. No man surely had the right to look so disturbingly attractive.
'I'm busy settling in,' she said carefully, 'as you can see.'
Glancing about him swiftly, he replied dryly, 'I can't see any great signs of it, but I'll take your word for it. I hoped you might be in your bath.'
'Why?'
'Don't sound so defensive, I had no intention of joining you,' he snapped, disregarding her hot cheeks. 'I thought it might ease some of the tension out of you. You won't see Oliver tonight, you know, so you can forget about that.'
Her eyes widened. 'I wasn't even thinking—and if that's why you're here…'
'Not altogether, I'm afraid,' he cut through her muddled sentences sardonically, 'but there's nothing to get alarmed about.'
'Then what…?' she stammered nervously, not caring to be teased in this manner. He was beginning to disturb her so easily. Every time he glanced at her she could feel her nerves tauten. Suddenly she wished she were a million miles away.
When, as he drew nearer, her unconscious fears urged her to flee, Rick seemed to anticipate the step she was about to take and his hand shot impatiently out to keep her where she was.
'Don't do that,' he exclaimed irritably. 'That's the reason I'm here. It suddenly occurred to me that you stiffen up like a statue every time I come near you. It won't do at all,' he rasped. 'Our two friends are nothing if not astute. The way you are now they'd guess immediately that you love me no more than I love you.'
Emma's heart went cold at such cruelty, yet what more could she expect? He had married her in anger, and this was no ordinary honeymoon. 'I doubt if they would believe we were in love, no matter how hard we tried to convince them.'
Furiously he retorted, 'But we could pretend it was a case of mutual attraction, if only you'd soften up.'
'It wasn't in the agreement,' she protested.
'It certainly was,' he corrected harshly.
Fearing he was right, she hung her head, feeling, perversely, more rigid than ever. 'You'll have to give me time.'
'That's one thing I can't give you,' he said curtly. 'And unfortunately I can think of only one way to achieve quick results—almost infallible, I've found,' he added contemptuously, 'with stubborn females.'
Before she could move his arms were around her, jerking her to him. As her breath caught in her throat she gave a little cry of sheer fright, and he said roughly against her mouth, 'Can't you damned well relax? Think of it as part of the job. Few people begin a new one without at least some tuition.'
To begin with his mouth crushed hers without gentleness, then, as if trying to keep in mind his own advice, he eased the pressure considerably, even allowing her to breath. When a slight moan escaped her his hand began softly to caress her narrow back before moving to her nape, to soothe the tension from her neck and shoulders.
'Is that better?' he asked, with what she suspected was a deliberate note of tenderness.
How could she feel better, Emma thought wildly, when she was crushed against him so closely she seemed conscious of every bone in his body? The muscular hardness of his chest was actually hurting her. The dark glitter in his eyes, as she stared dazedly up at him, was too frightening to allow her to relax. It was as if he was momentarily tempted to go farther than this. He was toying with the notion of carrying her to the bed and stripping her naked,
of teaching her a lesson she would never forget. She could see he might be considering such a move as a means of revenging himself on Blanche's treachery. Any woman might do.
'Please don't,' she whispered, terrified, yet feeling her heart skipping a beat as his sensuous lips came nearer.
As though he had decided gentleness was getting him nowhere, his mouth hardened as it descended on hers. This time he forced her bruised lips apart and began a ruthless exploration, while his hand curved the back of her head, holding her immobile. It struck her, as she was made to endure a lesson he seemed bent on teaching, that he was a man who didn't really know the meaning of tenderness. Long ago as a child he might have done, but not now. Anything he had learnt in his childhood was now forgotten.
Strangely enough, much as she tried to resist, Emma's frozen body began to change beneath the expert persuasiveness of his lovemaking. Flames began blazing deep down inside her, melting the ice. The beat of her heart accelerated as his arms tightened passionately.
'You're improving,' he muttered thickly, his hands moving to her breasts.
She was vaguely aware of his body hardening and he wasn't bothering to hide the rising desire in his eyes either. There was also surprise, she fancied, that he could feel it for her. This Emma found as humiliating as a douche of cold water. Suddenly, with an anguished little gasp, she wrenched herself from his arms.
Her swift movement darkened his face and she knew a fleeting apprehension until he decided to let her go. Her own reactions surprised her, as a peculiar urgency to rush back into his arms proved almost too strong to resist. She was glad she had, however, when cold indifference swiftly replaced the smouldering passion which had lain in his eyes only moments earlier.
Unable to look at him, Emma stared down at the floor, ashamed that she had responded to him even briefly. Innocent though she was, she recognised that Rick was unused to the slightest rebuff, that usually he only needed to use a little of the experience he had gained over the years in order to get his own way. Obviously, with other women, the slightest assertion of his undeniable masculinity was all he had ever found necessary to have them practically begging at his feet. If he had failed with Blanche, Emma suddenly suspected, it was because he had never really tried.
'Are you feeling any better?' she heard him asking savagely, his almost threatening tone forcing her to raise her head.
'No, I'm not!' she retorted angrily, realising too late she would have been wiser to have pretended she did.
'Then perhaps we should keep on trying?' his silky voice confirmed her fears. 'Perhaps if we both got rid of a few clothes the situation might improve?'
She would have hit him then if he hadn't seen it coming and swiftly caught her flying hand. It could be as well, in future, to remember how quickly he reacted. Again she felt deprived of most of her breath. Her cheeks flaming, it took her all her time to speak. 'I married you and we did have an agreement of sorts. But it didn't include taking my clothes off!'
'What difference is that going to make?' he snapped. 'We can't get the marriage annulled, as we might have done, had you been an innocent little virgin. With your history, all the money in the world wouldn't convince anybody of that.'
Almost as angry as he was, she spluttered, 'You won't talk to me like that again!'
'I wasn't thinking of more talk,' he replied, with brutal frankness. 'It was bed I had in mind.'
She didn't like the way his cold eyes glittered over her, lingering on her thin face and body as if trying to discover, in spite of himself, what was holding him intrigued. Hating the way her limbs were beginning to tremble, she retorted with fury, 'You wouldn't want to go to—to bed with a plain girl like me.'
'Plain or pretty,' he ran derisive fingers over her taut lips, 'what does it matter in the dark?'
'It matters to me.' Emma swallowed convulsively, suddenly unable to bear his mockery—or having him touch her. 'I refuse to go to bed with a man I hate!'
As if to punish her he seemed about to drag her swiftly to him but suddenly he was pushing her away. 'You've a lot to learn,' he said cynically. 'Sometimes hating or loving doesn't come into it. A lot of things are possible without either. Oliver obviously didn't get far with your education.'
As she stared at him, full of dazed uncertainty, he added harshly, 'Don't forget, if Blanche comes here, you have a part to play. And heaven help you if you let me down.'
'Please, Rick!' Emma, her nerve deserting her, was nearly in tears. 'Why not call the whole thing off? I'll go back to England and you can return to your own home. This all seems so silly…'
'No,' his mouth tightened as he shook his head, his eyes smouldering darkly, 'I may have some regrets myself. It's not something I would do again, but we'll see it through, since we've got this far.'
In the face of such ruthless determination, Emma could think of nothing more to say, and while she searched helplessly for something else to deter him, Rick turned abruptly and left her. As he quietly closed the door behind him she stared at it, not really seeing it as his strongly modelled face swam before her eyes.
Why was he being so insistent? Were all men like that? Rick, she felt instinctively, would receive few insults, and the few he did would be mostly ignored. Blanche, obviously, must have dealt a blow to his pride and the devil in him was demanding retribution. This Rick would probably be the first to admit, cynically, while refusing to ignore, for once, a desire for revenge. Perhaps if he had given himself time to think at the farm he would have acted differently. But then everything had happened so quickly that common sense had had little chance to intervene. Or had he been too busy planning to ride roughshod over other people's feelings to take any notice? Well, he might have got himself a wife, and be well on the way towards extracting revenge, but, Emma wondered bleakly, how much joy did he expect to get out of either?
After dinner when Rick went out she decided to have an early night. He didn't say where he was going. He merely said briefly that he wouldn't be late and not to wait up for him. As he said that she had sensed the ironic glint in his eye, but she refused to look at him. Conversation during dinner had been difficult enough— she felt she just couldn't face any more of his taunting.
The next morning, after eating breakfast in their suite, they went out. The hotel was busy, but because it was so huge it gave the impression of being relatively quiet. Emma was glad to get away from it as she expected to bump into Blanche and Rex with every step she took, around every corner.
'You need more clothes,' said Rick, and while Emma thought wistfully of wandering along the Left Bank or around the famous flea or flower markets, to say nothing of having a great desire to visit the Louvre or Versailles again, he escorted her by taxi to one of the most expensive coiffeurs in the Champs-Elysées.
'Why do I have to come here?' she protested. 'I had my hair done in London.'
'It needs more attention, and so does your face,' was his far from flattering comment as, dismissing her sulky pleas adamantly, he turned to speak to the effusive proprietor. Emma was ignored while Rick, as usual, appeared to have no difficulty in commanding unlimited attention.
He would call for her at one, he said, leaving Emma gasping with dismay, as it was only ten o'clock.
By one she scarcely knew herself. Her hair and skin seemed to have undergone a miraculous transformation, and she had been assured many times that with a little care she would soon become quite irresistible.
To whom? she wondered, thinking unhappily of the stranger she had married. That Rick was rapidly beginning to prove irresistible to her was no proof that he would one day share her feelings. She would be much wiser to forget the nice things the staff of the salon had poured in her ears that morning and remember she was still plain Emma Davis.
Yet in spite of her doubts she couldn't help feeling a small thrill of satisfaction as she noticed Rick's brows rise a little when he first saw her. Her pleasure died, however, when his mouth tightened grimly, as if he couldn't decide whether her improved
appearance was likely to prove an asset or a drawback. He should have thought of that before he'd taken her to Monsieur Rene's in the first place, shouldn't he?
Emma glanced at Rick quickly out of the corner of her eye, disappointed at his forbidding expression. 'Monsieur Rene said my bones are good.' Blatantly she found herself fishing for compliments when he didn't speak.
'Yes,' he nodded, without bothering to look at her again as he hailed another taxi.
He took her to a famous restaurant for lunch, where she ate oysters and sipped a dry white Burgundy without any feeling of awkwardness. She sensed the ease with which she was assuming her new role as his wife was surprising Rick too, and she wished vaguely that she had been able to explain how once she had been accustomed to living in a somewhat similar manner. But of course she could not. She had been away at school most of the time, but during the holidays her father had liked to take her around with him. He had never been as wealthy as Rick, though, and the excursions they had shared had more often been in the way of business rather than anything else.
After they had finished eating he escorted her to an equally famous fashion house on the Rue de la Paix. Again he left her after a brief consultation with the smiling vendeuse during which Emma heard him explaining that his wife required things they could take away almost immediately, that they had no time to spare for elaborate fittings. She would need, he instructed, among other things, a wardrobe suitable for the Caribbean. At this, Emma's heart sank. He must really intend taking her to his home and introducing her to his family. There was to be no escape, and her heart began pounding.
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