His Blackmailed Bride

by Sandra Marton

  It was hard not to smile. ‘Yes, I can imagine. What did she do? Send you both to your rooms?’

  Quinn’s smile faded. ‘That’s what she did with Alan. As for me—I was a little too old to be sent to my room.’ He lay down his knife and fork and pushed back his chair. ‘So my old man did the next best thing. He told me to leave.’

  Paige looked at him blankly. ‘Leave? But you hadn’t done anything.’

  ‘That depends on your point of view. I can’t believe Alan didn’t tell you any of this. It was pretty upsetting to him.’

  ‘We… Alan and I didn’t…’ Paige looked up from her plate. ‘You and he really were close, weren’t you?’

  Quinn nodded. ‘Maybe it was the age difference—I used to take him places, play games with him. God knows, our father never did. I taught him to ride a bike and to play chess.’ Memory darkened his eyes. ‘I’d thought about leaving that house for years. I used to tell myself I couldn’t because I couldn’t leave Alan alone. But the truth was that I knew how badly I’d miss him.’

  Paige put down her fork. ‘That’s not what people think.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, I know. The proverbial black sheep, that was supposed to be me.’ He raised his champagne glass and watched the bubbles rise. ‘I suppose I was, in a way. In the Fowler house, you did as you were told. No questions asked, ever.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said softly, thinking of Mrs Fowler’s wedding plans and Mr Fowler’s decision to send Alan to South America. ‘Yes, I know.’

  Quinn nodded. ‘Alan got the hang of it early. I—I never managed.’ He stared into the distance and then took a sip of champagne. ‘Look, that’s all water under the bridge. I made a lot of mistakes.’

  ‘What mistakes?’

  He looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Do you really want to hear all this?’

  She did, she thought suddenly. She wanted to know more about this forceful, mysterious man who had turned her life upside down.

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply.

  Quinn stared at her and then he nodded. ‘OK,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Why not?’ He laughed, but it was less a laugh than a sound of bitter reflection. ‘Husbands and wives shouldn’t have secrets from each other, should they?’ Paige said nothing, and he walked to the French doors and peered into the darkness. ‘It’s not the world’s worst story,’ he said. ‘I guess I always gave my parents a hard time. My father enrolled me in his preparatory school the day I was born. When I was seventeen, I was politely asked to leave. You can imagine how he loved that. And then I dropped out of college—his alma mater, of course. When I asked him to enrol me in a school that offered computer studies, he told me not to be stupid, that there was no future in computers.’

  Paige shook her head. ‘But you own a computer firm. You said…’

  ‘Yes,’ he said softly, ‘I certainly do.’

  ‘Then, he changed his mind? He agreed to send you to another school?’

  ‘My father and I never agreed about anything,’ Quinn said, resting his hands on the mantel and staring into the coals. ‘He told me to go back to school and stop making trouble if I wanted his support. Otherwise…’

  ‘Otherwise?’ she prompted.

  He shrugged. ‘Otherwise, I was on my own. So I found a job—hauling bags of cement,’ he said with a quick smile. ‘It paid pretty well, for a guy with no training in anything but which fork to use at dinner. And it drove my old man crazy.’ The smile came again. ‘God, how he hated having me go in and out of that house dressed as a labourer. And my mother… “What will people think?” she said. Hell, by the time Alan got himself smashed, I knew I’d been pushing my luck. I should have been long gone by then.’

  ‘Did they really accuse you of getting Alan drunk?’

  ‘Yes. They said I’d always been a bad influence on him.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Alan cried—he was only a kid. And I… I packed a toothbrush and an extra pair of jeans and took off.’

  ‘But—to where? How did you live?’

  ‘It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, Paige. I wasn’t a baby—I was almost twenty-one. The way I figured it, independence day was long overdue.’ He bent and added a log to the fire. ‘I must have sent Alan postcards from a hundred different places over the next two years. I worked anywhere they’d have me, at anything they asked.’ He grinned. ‘The muscles I’d grown working as a labourer grew new muscles. I found out it was tougher to make a living with your hands than your head.’

  Paige’s gaze moved over his shoulders and arms, lingering on the ridged muscles visible beneath his jacket. Yes, she thought, that explained a lot. Everything he’d told her explained a lot. He wasn’t a man who had walked out; he was a man who shouldered responsibility, not as a burden but as a mark of pride.

  ‘But you found a way to study computer science,’ she said, watching his face.

  He nodded. ‘I saved every cent I earned. It took me two years, but finally I had enough for a year’s tuition at Caltech.’ He picked up the champagne bottle and looked at her. ‘More?’ he asked. She nodded, watching as he refilled her glass. ‘After the first year, the school put me on scholarship.’ He looked over the rim of his glass and smiled at her. ‘The rest, as they say, is history.’

  ‘You got your degree and you went to England and bought your own company.’

  He smiled. ‘It wasn’t quite that simple. I came to the UK, took a look, and decided this was where I wanted to be. I liked the people, the pace of life—and it looked good for computers. They were relatively new, but the American market was already crowded. There seemed a better chance at a future here. But I needed capital, and since I had no collateral, I swallowed my pride and went to my father.’

  His words drifted into the silence. Paige reached to him, then drew back her hand before she let herself touch him.

  ‘Did he agree to lend you the money?’

  Quinn laughed. ‘You sound as surprised as I felt—until he explained his terms.’ His voice flattened. ‘He lent me the money—but he charged me two per cent over the bank rate.’

  ‘But… but that’s usury!’

  He shrugged. ‘What’s a father for?’ he asked lightly. ‘Besides, I paid back every cent within five years—at three per cent over the rate.’

  She laughed softly. ‘I can imagine how that must have felt. As if you’d… you’d climbed Everest or gone to the moon or…’

  Quinn’s eyes met hers. ‘That’s how it felt, all right.’

  ‘And now—are you and your father any closer?’

  He grinned. ‘Like a cat and a mouse. No, that’s not true. Things are better between us. I let him make it sound as if my success was his. He laughed about throwing me out years before, and about the terms of our loan—he said he’d just been trying to shock me into succeeding. My mother went along with it—I guess that was easier than facing the truth.’

  She waited for him to continue, but he said nothing. ‘Have you any regrets?’ she asked finally. ‘I mean, do you ever miss home?’

  Quinn laughed. ‘This is my home,’ he said, making a broad gesture that she knew included more than the house. ‘I’ve been back to the States on business, but I hadn’t been in Connecticut in years. Not until Alan called and told me about…’

  His face changed, closed in on itself. For a few minutes, they had both forgotten the reason they’d met. Now, looking at him, Paige knew their fragile peace had been shattered.

  ‘You’re a woman of many talents,’ he said softly. ‘I never would have dreamed you could do such a credible job of pretending to listen to a story that isn’t terribly interesting.’

  ‘I wasn’t pretending,’ she said quickly. ‘And it was interesting. It explains things about you.’

  He put down his champagne-glass. ‘What things?’

  ‘Just—things. I mean, you’re so different from Alan.’

  It had been the wrong thing to say. She could see it in the sudden tilt of his head.

  ‘That’s right, Paige,’ he murmured,
taking the glass from her nerveless fingers. ‘I’m nothing like my brother.’

  Her heart hammered crazily. ‘Quinn, please…’

  ‘Is this how you strung him along, Paige? Cosy chit-chat, questions about his childhood…’

  ‘That’s not what I was doing.’

  ‘I’m not that easily distracted.’ His lips drew away from his teeth. ‘And I’m not half as patient.’

  ‘Quinn…’

  ‘If I put my ring on a woman’s finger, I expect to make love to her.’

  How could he change so quickly? Paige stared at his angry face. Moments ago, she’d glimpsed the man she’d met at the Hunt Club Ball. Now, he was someone else, dark and frightening.

  ‘Don’t,’ she whispered.

  But it was too late. He had already drawn her into his arms. ‘You’re wearing my wedding ring,’ he said softly. ‘Now, what do you think that means?’ Her pulse leaped as his eyes swept over her. ‘Hell,’ he said, ‘I’ve waited too long as it is.’

  ‘No…’

  He gathered her to him and his mouth descended on hers, muffled her cry. She felt the bite of his teeth, the thrust of his tongue, as she stood rigid within his angry embrace.

  ‘Come on,’ he growled. ‘Don’t play games with me.’

  Tears glistened in her eyes. Quinn stared at her, and then he muttered an oath.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ he said roughly. ‘Juliet…’

  The name brought with it a sweet rush of memories. He had remembered, too. She saw it in the way he looked at her. And then the pulsing brightness in the sea-depths of his eyes dulled, and she knew that although she had remembered a moment of magic, he had remembered treachery.

  His mouth covered hers as he swept her up into his arms and moved swiftly out of the library and up the stairs. The house swirled around her as it had the night before. Last night, exhausted and frightened, Quinn’s arms had offered solace. Tonight, his embrace was a reminder of what lay ahead. This long climb into darkness would not end in quiet sleep. It would end in the tangle of Quinn’s bed, in the fierceness of his anger and possession.

  She cringed as his shoulder slammed against the bedroom door. It flew open, banging against the wall as he strode across the room and lowered her to the bed. His body followed hers, covering her with its hard demand. When he spoke, his voice was a harsh whisper in the darkness.

  ‘No more games, Paige,’ he whispered. ‘It’s pay-off time.’

  He reached across her and switched on the table lamp. Light blazed across them, washing them in cold, white brilliance. Quinn’s hands moved on her with feverish haste, cupping her breasts, tracing the curve of her hip, learning the long line of leg and thigh that lay hidden beneath her velvet dress. The touch that had made her flame with desire only days before now made her cringe in fear.

  Her thoughts fled to the only other time she’d lain with a man. It was a memory of pain, of humiliation, of dreams that had died in the face of reality. Nothing could have been worse, she’d thought. But, as Quinn’s body moved roughly against hers, she knew she’d been very wrong.

  This was worse. This was a perversion of the spell she’d been under that first night in Quinn’s arms. He’d seized the magic between them and turned it into a weapon to use against her.

  She closed her eyes and lay immobile beneath his rough caresses, and finally he lifted his head and stared down at her.

  ‘Kiss me, damn you,’ he said. ‘Where’s all that fire I remember?’ His hand moved over her again, bruising her flesh. ‘You wanted me when you thought you’d never have to see me again.’ His voice grew rough. ‘What’s the matter, sweet Juliet? Can’t you make it with a man who knows you for what you are?’

  ‘Do it, and have it done with,’ she whispered.

  She turned her face from his and closed her eyes, crying silently, waiting for the nightmare to end. There was silence, and then the squeak of the springs, and suddenly Quinn was standing beside the bed.

  ‘Look at me, Paige.’ Slowly, unwillingly, she focused her tear-stained eyes on him. A lock of dark hair hung over his forehead. His jacket was in disarray, his shirt opened halfway down his chest. ‘It won’t work,’ he said in a harsh whisper. ‘You think you can reduce me to something less than human, to a man who takes a woman while she lies beneath him in silence.’ His eyes blazed in his pale face. ‘But I won’t accommodate you.’ He bent suddenly and caught her by the shoulders, lifting her roughly towards him. ‘Sooner or later, you’re going to need a man, just the way you did the night we met. And when you do, I’ll be here. I’ll make love to you until you beg me to stop. And then…’

  Her eyes fixed on his face. ‘And then?’ she whispered. She didn’t want to hear the rest, but she knew she must.

  Quinn’s hands cut into her flesh before he flung her back against the pillow. ‘And then, damn you, I’ll be free of you at last.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS amazing how two people living in one small house could avoid each other if they really put their minds to it. The day after he almost raped her, Quinn moved his things to the guest room, and after that Paige saw him hardly at all.

  At first, the sound of his footsteps outside her door made the breath catch in her throat. But his pace never faltered. He was gone by the time she came down in the mornings, and he never returned until late—after ten, usually—which made the evening arrangements simple. Paige dined at seven, and at nine she went to her room. On the rare occasions they met in the hall or at the door, he was coldly proper. At least the violence unleashed between them had accomplished something, even if it was only an armed truce.

  A week went by, then two. Sometimes, Paige thought it was as if Quinn had forgotten she existed. But that was impossible. He had to be as aware of her presence as she was of his. It couldn’t please him to live this way—trapped, with a stranger, in his own home.

  Against her own better judgement, she began to hope for release. Quinn was not a fool; sooner or later, he’d have to admit that this mockery of marriage was pointless, and then he’d set her free. He had to. It was the only thing that made sense. Her hopes grew as the days passed—and then, one morning, they came crashing down around her.

  She was hurrying to a lecture at the British Museum. Exploring the city, which had begun as a way to pass the days, had rapidly become a passion. London was a wonderful place, she thought as she buttoned her raincoat. No wonder Quinn had chosen to live here. She could be happy here, too, if only—if only…

  ‘Mrs Fowler? I’m glad I caught you before you left.’

  Paige turned towards the housekeeper in surprise. Norah was far too well-trained to comment on her employer’s sleeping arrangements, but since Quinn had moved into the guest room she’d treated Paige with polite indifference.

  ‘I’m running late, Norah. Can’t it wait?’

  Norah shook her head. ‘It’s about the dinner party on Saturday night.’

  Paige looked at the woman blankly. ‘Dinner party?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Will it be a buffet or a sit-down? If you want a sit-down, we’ll need extra help in the dining room. I can arrange it, if you like, but the caterer likes to have a few days’ notice.’

  Paige shook her head. ‘I don’t know anything about Mr Fowler’s plans for Saturday,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to ask him.’

  ‘I did. He said such things were for you to decide. There’ll be six for dinner. Will you want drinks and canapés first, or…’

  ‘You’ve made an error,’ Paige said stiffly. ‘This has nothing to do with me.’

  The housekeeper shook her head. ‘I’ve made no error, ma’am.’ Her eyes met Paige’s. ‘Believe me, Mrs Fowler, I was as surprised as you.’

  A flush crept up Paige’s cheeks. ‘Very well, Norah,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll take care of it.’

  The strange conversation haunted her all day. What did it mean? She knew Quinn entertained out-of-town clients every now and then; she’d overheard him telephoning the Connaught hotel s
everal times, making dinner arrangements. But he never brought guests home, and even if he had she had no role in such plans. Surely Norah had misunderstood Quinn’s instructions? Paige saw no alternative but to confront him and ask him to straighten things out with his housekeeper.

  She was waiting for him in the sitting room that night when he returned home. She rose when she heard his key in the lock, mouth dry, heart pounding.

  Don’t be such a fool, she told herself, and she took a breath and stepped into the doorway.

  ‘Quinn? I’d like to talk to you for a moment.’

  Her nose wrinkled as he followed her into the sitting room. There was a faint smell of whisky about him and something else mixed with it, something vaguely floral.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked without ceremony.

  Paige swallowed. ‘Norah came to me with questions about a dinner you were planning. I told her she was mistaken.’

  ‘She was not mistaken,’ he said, crossing the room to the cellaret in the corner. ‘There’ll be six, including you and me. I thought we’d have something informal, but the final decision is yours.’

  Paige looked at him in surprise as he poured himself a brandy. ‘But… but that’s out of the question, Quinn. You and I don’t… we have no reason to plan a dinner or…’

  He tossed off the amber liquid in one swallow. ‘We have every reason. We’re married, Paige.’ His cool gaze moved over her slowly. ‘This is our house. I pay the bills. What, precisely, do you do?’

  Don’t rise to the bait, she thought. ‘I’ve been thinking of going to an agency and looking for a job.’

  Quinn laughed. ‘They don’t advertise for women with your skills, sweetheart.’