Savage Obsession

by Diana Hamilton

But only a small breach, surely, she informed herself, the merest trickle of all that she shouldn't allow getting through her defences. So she said, to put the matter right, 'There's really no need for you to bother,' her voice carrying just the right amount of disparagement, not enough to sound offensive.

  He gave her a quick underbrow look, sucked in his breath, then responded lightly, 'No bother. I'd like to get acquainted with my heir's wardrobe.'

  That figured, she thought, attempting to stir an inner resentment that simply wasn't there to stir, so she gave up trying and the coil of tension inside her was slowly released, and she went with it, letting her guard down because her brain had gone on hold, she recognised, not really caring much at all.

  And she actually found herself enjoying un­wrapping the tiny garments, running her fingers over the soft wool, the tiny silken ribbons, gurgling with laughter as he held a minute bootee between his long fingers, his expression wholly perplexed male.

  'You wouldn't think anything could be small enough to fit into this.'

  'You could be right.' Tomorrow she would regret the lowering of her defences, but right now she was simply allowing herself to relax, to enjoy the closeness that had been growing over the last half an hour. 'The way he kicks, he could emerge wearing soccer boots—size twelve,' she said then winced as a hefty movement served to prove her point.

  'What is it, Beth?' With a swiftness that took her breath away, Charles was on his knees beside her, his brow darkly furrowed as he took her hands in his. 'Are you in pain?'

  The amazing thing was, he looked as if he cared, Beth thought on a dizzying wave of stunned dis­belief. In the space of half an hour he had reverted to being the warm, caring man who had been her much loved husband before that accident, before Zanna's return. It made her nervous; she didn't know how to handle it. She had been so sure she was at last schooling all that hopeless love for him out of her heart, and yet…

  'No.' She shook her head, the soft wings of her hair flying around her flushed face. 'He's decided to go in for disco dancing, I think.'

  Relief washed his anxious features but his eyes held a hesitancy that was completely new in her ex­perience of him as he asked huskily, 'I'd like to feel our child move. Would you mind?'

  In her experience of him, he had always taken what he wanted, and right now she was seeing a side of him she hadn't known existed. And, gently, she took his hand and laid it over the bulge of her stomach and the look of incredulous wonder in his dark eyes as Junior obliged with a well aimed kick brought tears to her eyes.

  Still kneeling, he moved closer, an arm around her, his hand still resting gently, reassuringly, over her stomach, and for long, timeless moments his eyes held hers, her stupid heart leaping and jumping like a wild thing as he told her quietly, 'You are beautiful, Beth. Never more so, in my eyes, than you are right now.' And then the moment was gone as he grinned, his brows rising. 'There he goes again! No wonder you can't sleep if he keeps this up all night!' Lifting his hand, he tilted her chin between his thumb and forefinger, holding her eyes with his. 'Tell me something—we keep referring to the baby as "he". Will you be disappointed if we have a daughter?'

  She shook her head, half dazedly, scarcely com­prehending. This was the type of intimacy she had written out of their marriage—for the sake of her self-respect, her sanity. And here she was, lapping it up, weak fool that she was. Her condition must be making her especially vulnerable. But she managed huskily, 'No. Will you?'

  'Of course not.'

  And, silently, she echoed his words in her head. Of course not. He already had a son. He would feel no driving desire to sire a male child to rear in his image. But, strangely, even that thought had no power to wound and she dismissed it, every cell in her body melting as he stood up, pulling her with him, a muscle working at the side of his jaw as he told her, his voice thick with something nameless, something that made her bones go weak, 'I want to sleep with you tonight. Just to hold you in my arms, you and our child, nothing else.'

  Beth couldn't speak for the emotion clogging her throat, and his wide, sexy mouth firmed with de­termination as he swept her up in his arms, telling her, 'The world went black for me when I saw you teetering around on that chair. Tonight I need the reassurance of holding you close, keeping you safe.'

  And as if he would listen to no argument, no protest, he carried her through the partly open door into the master suite and gently laid her on the huge double bed, tucking the soft duvet carefully around her.

  Beth blinked back tears, snuggling into the warmth, her face burrowing into the soft down pillow, breathing in the faint, slightly spicy scent of the aftershave he used, the heady, musky male presence of him.

  It had been a year since she had shared this room with him, this bed. It felt like coming home and fresh tears glittered in her eyes because he had never, ever admitted a need for reassurance before.

  Finding her tottering around on that nursery chair, reaching for packages, had brought back bad memories of the accident that had caused her mis­carriage, brought back the feelings of guilt he had no right to have. And when she felt the mattress dip beside her, his arms reach out for her, she knew why she had made no protest and snuggled herself into the protective curve of his body, promising herself that they both needed this one night out of time.

  Tomorrow, she thought, as his deep and regular breathing told her that he had drifted immediately off to sleep, things would be back to where they were, because, knowing what they both knew, how could they be different?

  CHAPTER TEN

  Beth came awake quickly. She knew she was alone in the big double bed. She hadn't slept so deeply, so peacefully in months and she levered herself up, stacking the pillows behind her and leaning back.

  A smile spread unstoppably over her features and she chewed on her lower lip to prevent it getting out of hand. Slowly, she admonished herself. Take it slowly.

  But her thoughts were running around like mice, rushing onwards as if she'd pushed the fast-forward button in her brain. They wouldn't be stopped, so she let it all happen, all the tenuous hopes and needs coalescing into one great big beautiful whole.

  Last night Charles had demonstrated that he was still capable of caring for her. Even if she wasn't Zanna, she was his wife, the soon-to-be mother of his child. And they had taken comfort and re­assurance from each other, despite her stipulation that theirs should be a marriage in name only, de­spite the way their lives had been compartmen­talised, never touching each other.

  But it needn't go back to being that way, need it?

  Daylight was struggling to get through the thickness of the lined velvet curtains but Beth was going to stay right where she was until she had everything sorted out in her mind.

  She would have to have a long and serious talk with him, because maybe she'd been wrong to try to immure herself behind the wall of her own painstaking construction. If they could speak openly about his feelings for Zanna then maybe they could reach a better understanding.

  Perhaps the wayward redhead's second desertion of him had killed his obsession? She could only hope and pray it had. Because if it had, and she was able to stop living on the knife-edge of won­dering just when the other woman would walk back into his life, and take him away, then she needn't tell herself that her love for him was self-defeating, masochistic. She would have no need to try to kill it.

  She had been afraid to question him before. He had known she knew the truth about Harry and Zanna, his desire to be with them, and digging down into it all would only have heaped more pain and humiliation on her head, and she hadn't been brave enough, strong enough to face that.

  But the way he had been with her last night, so gentle, admitting his own vulnerability, his need for her comfort and reassurance, had given her an in­jection of courage, and, somehow, she had found more of the same inside herself. Enough courage to ask him to talk this whole thing through.

  An extremely perfunctory tap on the door her­alded Mrs Penny's arrival w
ith a breakfast tray, and, her thoughts disrupted, Beth beamed and called out a bright good morning.

  She was actually feeling more hopeful now than she had ever done, even during the first months of their marriage when she'd been sure she could make him love her. Now, though, she wasn't asking for the moon, the sun and the stars. Just to reach a new understanding, a hope that they could build on the foundations of their marriage and, eventually, create something of enduring strength. So the moon alone would do for starters!

  'Breakfast in bed, and you're to stay right where you are until noon. Charlie-boy's orders.' The housekeeper put the tray on her knees and rushed around pulling back the curtains. 'He's gone to the bank and he said to tell you he'll be back before lunch and you're to take it easy until then. And about time, too, if you ask me.'

  'I'm not,' Beth responded wryly. 'Not that it matters. You'll tell me, anyway.'

  'Too right. Eat your eggs.' Mrs Penny shot her a huffy look which was quite at variance with the gleam in her eyes. 'And while we're at it, I'm happy to see you back where you belong. I don't hold with married folks having separate rooms.' She planted her hands on her hips. 'It may be considered sophisticated and civilised in some circles but I call it plain unnatural! And mind you drink your orange juice.'

  There wasn't much that escaped Mrs Penny's gimlet eye, Beth thought as she dutifully consumed scrambled eggs and toast. She would have tied her disappearance and her subsequent strained re­lationship with Charles up with Zanna's arrival, back in June.

  And she'd made no attempt to hide her disap­proval when she'd remarked on the unmissable likeness between Harry and his father. She'd been at South Park so long that she regarded herself as one of the family and wasn't afraid to speak her mind…

  Beth put the tray to one side and slid out of bed. Looking over her shoulder, back into the past, wasn't going to help her attempts to build a new future with Charles. They needed to talk; she had to tell him that if she could be sure his obsession with Zanna was a thing of the past, with no danger of any future resurrection, then she was willing to forget everything that had happened and try to make their marriage something of value for both of them.

  She had tried so hard to stop loving him, and had believed she had succeeded. But one show of tenderness from him, a night spent held so gently in his arms, had shown her how wrong she had been. She could no more stop loving him than stop breathing.

  As if to reinforce her mood of hopefulness the weather had changed, producing a day that was the perfect harbinger of spring. Unable to settle to work or to take the rest Charles had prescribed, Beth slipped a coat over one of the light wool maternity dresses she'd bought in London and had not got round to wearing yet, and slipped outside.

  The wind was chilly but light enough to be dis­regarded and the sun was shining, the sky an aching, beautiful blue, dotted with small, fluffy white clouds. It would be another month before the buds on the trees began to swell and unfurl their leaves, but there were already drifts of small wild daffodils spreading their gleam of golden promise beneath them.

  Deciding to pick a few of the blooms and make an arrangement for the dining-room table—which, she acknowledged wryly, would help pass the time before Charles returned and they could have that talk, the thought of which was producing butter­flies of nervous excitement inside her—she set off across the wide gravelled drive, only to leap for the safety of the grass verge as a small scarlet sports car howled round the bend.

  Her bulk made leaping for safety both undig­nified and difficult, and she scrabbled up from her hands and knees, her face scarlet with outrage and humiliation as she brushed the clinging particles of damp grass and soil from her hands and coat, turning annoyed green eyes to the car which had jerked to a gravel-spattering halt just past her and was now reversing at a ridiculous speed.

  Through the side-window of the low-slung sports car Beth could see an expensive piece of luggage on the passenger-seat, a glimpse of long, silk-clad legs, the soft emerald-green fabric of a suit skirt riding high on lush thighs. And she knew, she just knew, and she could only stare woodenly as the other woman slid quickly out from behind the wheel and tossed out over the low roof of the vehicle,

  'I broke all speed records getting from Heathrow only to run you down on your own driveway! Mind you, your size makes you almost impossible to miss—I never did get that big carrying Harry!'

  Disparaging, heavily made-up eyes swept over Beth, taking in the grass stains on the front of her coat. 'You didn't hurt yourself, did you?'

  Beth shook her head impatiently, ignoring the sudden pain in her side. Her heart was hurting too much to let a little thing like a stitch bother her. Zanna was here again—the thing she had dreaded had actually happened.

  As lovely as ever, as vibrantly alive and charis­matic as always—would Charles be able to resist her?

  She closed her eyes briefly as Zanna began to walk around the back of the car and when she opened them again she was standing directly in front of her, running long, scarlet-tipped fingers through the tumbling riot of her red-gold hair.

  There was no sign of Harry. Beth wasn't going to ask where the little boy was. And all she could say, thinly, was, 'Heathrow? You flew over from France?' Surely Charles didn't know about this. Surely he didn't? He would be as dismayed and an­noyed as she was herself—of course he would, she told herself forcefully.

  'Spain, actually. We've been in Spain for the last few months.' Zanna twisted round, inspecting the seams of her stockings, twitching at the pencil-slim skirt of the obviously designer-made suit she was wearing. And Beth wondered if she'd left the little boy behind, in the care of some Spanish child-minder while she obeyed the waywardly irrespon­sible impulse to fly over and see Charles again, boost her already over-inflated ego by proving, yet again, that he was hers for the asking…

  But he wasn't! she screamed silently inside her head. He'd been obsessed by Zanna—everyone knew that—willing, at one time, to throw out his wife for her sake. But he was too strong-minded, too sensible, to allow himself to be put through that kind of hell all over again. Of course he was!

  So when Zanna gave a theatrical shudder and said, 'I'm too exotic for the English climate; hop in, I'll give you a lift back to the house,' Beth was able to give her a cold, hard stare and refuse.

  'I'd rather walk. Why are you here?' As if she couldn't guess, she scorned, her soft mouth twisting, and Zanna returned her glare, her lovely head tipped on one side as she came right back.

  'God, but you're a frigid bitch. No wonder Charles—anyway…' She shrugged, obviously thinking better of whatever it was she had been going to say, which, Beth reflected bitterly, didn't need spelling out, did it? 'Look at me as if I'm poison if you want to—just as you did back in June—you'll find out why I'm here soon enough.' She turned to flounce back to the car but stopped as the Range Rover Charles was driving braked to a halt as he rounded the bend.

  'Charles—darling!' Zanna, her arms out­stretched, ran towards the parked vehicle and Beth went icy cold, clutching her coat collar tightly around her throat, the race of her heartbeats threatening to choke her. Everything hinged on his reaction, the way he greeted the woman who had twice walked out of his life, leaving him devastated.

  She saw him leave the car, heard the slam of the door as he closed it behind him, saw the brief in­terrogatory glance he shafted in her direction, the slight shrug of those impressively broad shoulders, covered in impeccable tweed, and then his austere features were irradiated by a smile of sheer pleasure as he held out his own arms and caught the flying, green-suited figure, pulling her into the hard curve of his body.

  Jealousy knifed wickedly through Beth's veins. She couldn't stand here on the sidelines, over­looked, one moment longer. She couldn't watch, but she couldn't help hearing Zanna's shriek of de­light, her breathless, 'Darling—I've come back! Isn't it wonderful? Kiss me, do!'

  It was unbelievable, incredible, and yet it was happening all over again. Zanna only had to pu
t in an appearance to have the so adult, so controlled Charles Savage acting like a besotted schoolboy. Beth couldn't cope with it and, fighting back a tide of nausea, forced her trembling legs to carry her back to the house.

  The moment—the very moment—she got him on his own she would give him a huge chunk of her mind! And then walk out. No court in the land would give custody to a man who could behave as he did!

  Reaching the hall, she closed the main door behind her and ground her small teeth together in temper. Anger was the only way to stop herself bursting into broken-hearted tears. All her foolish hopes for the future had been ground into the dust because Zanna Hall had chosen to flick an eyelash in his direction!

  So much for last night's gentle interlude. The other woman only had to give him that gorgeous smile and he conveniently forgot everything else—his wife, his responsibilities, his marriage vows!

  Stamping towards the stairs, she made it halfway up before she bent double, gasping in pain. And below her, Mrs Penny, with an armful of freshly ironed sheets, called anxiously,

  'What is it? Are you all right?'

  'Oh, fine,' Beth answered, catching her breath. She sat down on the stairs. 'I think the baby's on its way.'

  'Not to panic' Mrs Penny put the bundle of sheets on a side-table. 'Better early than overdue. Where's that husband of yours?'

  'I haven't the least idea.' The outright lie was better than having to admit that he was still de­vouring the love of his life in the middle of the drive! She was through with him. Through! Rage was the only salvation she could look for.

  'Typical,' Mrs Penny muttered, hurrying up the stairs towards her. 'When you need them they're missing. When you don't they're crawling all over you, getting underfoot. Come on.' A helping arm heaved Beth to her feet. 'Phone your dad, he'll get you to the hospital. And I'll pop up and fetch your bag. Not to worry.'

  Giving birth was the least of her worries, Beth thought sourly as she picked up the phone while the housekeeper rushed upstairs to fetch the bag Beth had packed a week ago. She would rather her father drove her. She didn't want Charles anywhere near her because she would only bawl him out, rip him to shreds with her tongue. And that wouldn't do her blood-pressure much good.