Her heart full of pain and a bitter-sweet longing, Elizabeth studied his downbent face, the dark brows, a furrow of concentration between them, the bony nose, the heavy eyelids, and the sweep of dark lashes against his hard cheekbones.
It was a precious gift to be able to just sit and look at him; once it had seemed as necessary as breathing. Then, the thought of seeing him, of being with him, for the rest of her life had filled her with contentment and happiness.
But that was when she had foolishly imagined that he felt the same about her.
If only he had loved her. She felt a futile longing for what might have been, a bleak emptiness…
A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. Raking it back with an impatient hand, Quinn glanced up and caught her eye.
Hastily she turned to look at the fire, and, slipping off her court shoes, stretched her stockinged feet to the comforting warmth.
The logs were well alight and blazing merrily now. Taking off her jacket, she leaned her head against the back of the chair and looked for pictures in the flames while she waited for him to finish his task.
Elizabeth was dreaming that Quinn was kissing her. His kiss was light, but sweeter than any wine, and joy flooded through her.
The dream was very real. She could feel his mouth moving softly, seductively against hers, asking for a response she was only too willing to give.
Her lips parted beneath the gentle pressure, and with a little inarticulate murmur of pleasure she reached out to put her arms around his neck.
As she touched him, she gave a stifled gasp and opened her eyes. Her dream lover was only too clearly flesh and blood.
He was leaning over her, a hand on either arm of her chair, trapping her there, his mouth just inches from hers.
Jerking her head aside, she cried, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Merely following the time-honoured way of waking a Sleeping Beauty.’
‘I don’t want you to kiss me,’ she protested thickly.
‘You did a moment ago.’
Unable to deny it, she stayed silent.
Straightening, he moved away and sat down in a chair that had been pulled up opposite, his eyes on her flushed face.
Still half dazed with sleep, she glanced around and discovered that the red velvet curtains had been drawn across the window, and the standard lamps switched on. Lit only by the twin pools of light and the leaping flames, the room looked snug and intimate.
Seeing the desk lamp was off, she asked, ‘Have you finished working?’
‘For the time being. I thought I’d have a break and come and sit by the fire.’
With a sudden insight, she knew as surely as if he’d admitted it that he’d been sitting watching her sleep. The knowledge disturbed her, making her feel exposed, vulnerable, and a shiver ran down her spine.
How long had he watched her? How long had she been asleep?
As though she’d spoken the question aloud, he said ironically, ‘Despite having slept so well last night, you must have been tired. I’ve put logs on the fire more than once without you even stirring. In fact I’d begun to think you were settled for the evening.’
Trying, without much success, to tuck back the curly tendrils of silky dark hair that had escaped from her chignon, she asked, ‘What time is it?’
She had no watch and there was no clock in the study. Henry had had an aversion to a clock ticking in the same room.
‘Time for some tea,’ Quinn answered casually. ‘That’s why I woke you. It’s all ready.’
He got to his feet, and from the shadows behind her wheeled a trolley set with tea things. ‘I’m afraid the milk from the freezer is still solid, so I made it Earl Grey.
‘Perhaps you’d like to pour while I toast some muffins I found and defrosted? Luckily there was a new pack of butter left in the fridge—’
This cosy tête-à-tête wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting, and it struck her as bizarre that two people with so much bitterness between them, so much misconception and downright animosity should be doing something as peaceful and commonplace as drinking tea and toasting muffins together.
Feeling as though she’d been caught up in some Alice-in-Wonderland scenario, she picked up the elegant silver teapot and filled two china cups while Quinn squatted on his haunches with a long-handled toasting fork.
The glow from the fire turned his strong-boned face into a bronze mask and made his eyes gleam as, his free arm resting on a muscular thigh, he toasted a pile of the light, spongy muffins.
When they were neatly stacked he began to butter them lavishly, querying, ‘Are you hungry?’
Surprisingly, she was. ‘Starving,’ she admitted, and found herself smiling at him.
He smiled back, and it was as though they were friends.
Putting her share on to a plate, he suggested, ‘Then start tucking in.’
When she’d finished the last bite, she licked her buttery fingers and said appreciatively, ‘Mmm, they were absolutely delicious.’
‘Not in the same class as caviare, of course?’
‘But more my style.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he said lightly. ‘You used to enjoy such delicacies.’
‘I think I mentioned that my tastes have changed.’ As soon as the words were out she regretted them, not wanting to go back to skirmishing, unwilling to destroy this feeling of closeness.
‘So you did.’ Softly, he added, ‘But I still remember what you used to like.’
Suddenly, he was much too near. Her heart thudding like a trip-hammer, she held her breath as he reached out and rubbed a thumb across her bottom lip.
‘A dribble of butter,’ he explained, and smiled into her wide grey eyes.
When they dropped beneath the regard of his green ones, he resumed his seat, and asked, ‘Tell me, Jo, do you remember when I took you out in the Seawind? We had caviare that day…’
‘Please don’t call me Jo,’ she whispered.
‘I called you darling then, and kissed you.’
She remembered it well. It had been one of those rare, golden days of Indian summer. The air had been balmy and the sea blue, and she had never felt so happy in her life—
‘As I recall, you kissed me back.’
‘I don’t remember,’ she denied unsteadily.
‘After our picnic we found a sheltered cove and I spread a blanket on the sand. When I took you in my arms and began to make love to you, you responded with as much warmth and passion as any man could have wished for in his wildest dreams.
‘In fact if the venue had been a little more private,’ he added sardonically, ‘I wouldn’t have needed to arrange that trip to London and our overnight stay at the inn.’
Bitterly, she said, ‘I might have known that was a planned seduction.’
‘Hardly a seduction. As I recall you didn’t need much enticing. Perhaps you should have held back a little. It would have made your pretence of being a virgin more believable.’
Lifting her chin, she said flatly, ‘It wasn’t a pretence.’
Hearing the unmistakable ring of truth in her voice, just for an instant Quinn looked shaken. ‘I did wonder at the time, but it didn’t tie in with stories of you coming out of Henry’s room at all hours of the night.’
‘Who told you that?’ she demanded. ‘Were you paying Mrs Wickstead to spy on me?’
Choosing to ignore her question, he asked, ‘Were those stories true?’
‘They were perfectly true,’ she said evenly. ‘Quite often, when Henry couldn’t sleep, he’d give me a call and I’d go along and play chess with him.’
‘Didn’t it occur to you that visiting Henry’s room at all sorts of strange hours was open to misinterpretation?’
‘Perhaps because I knew it was perfectly innocent, I never gave it a thought. I’m afraid I was very naive in those days.’
‘Wouldn’t the word calculating be more accurate?’
In an instant the closeness was destroyed.
Cut to the heart, she said, ‘No, it wouldn’t.’
‘Why don’t you admit you were angling for my father until I came on the scene—?’
‘I wasn’t doing any such thing!’
Taking no notice of the interruption, he went on, ‘But it didn’t take you long to leave him flat when you figured that I was the better bet.’
‘It wasn’t like that at all.’
‘You practically fell into my arms.’
Flushing, she muttered, ‘I—I found you attractive.’
‘Sexually?’
‘Yes.’
‘Money is sexy stuff,’ he observed cynically.
‘Money had nothing to do with it.’
‘Then why did you go to bed with me for the asking?’
Her pride trampled into the dust, she cried, ‘Because I was stupid enough to think I was in love with you.’
‘Love at first sight?’ he mocked. ‘How very convenient.’ Then he said bitingly, ‘But if you’re really trying to convince me it wasn’t my money I’d be more likely to believe in lust at first sight.’
Fiercely, she said, ‘Well, whatever it was, it didn’t last.’
‘Didn’t it, Jo? I’d say the attraction is still there, as strong as ever. Would you like me to prove it to you?’
‘No!’ Agitation brought her to her feet. ‘Isn’t it time we were going?’
‘Going where?’
‘Back home, of course.’ She reached for her shoes and pulled them on.
Lounging nonchalantly in his chair, he informed her, ‘There’s no point in our hurrying.’
‘I’ve done as you asked and come here with you,’ she said as evenly as possible. ‘Now I’d like it if we could go.’
Patiently, he repeated, ‘There’s really no point in our hurrying.’
Maddened by his laid-back manner, she insisted, ‘But if we don’t get off soon it might to be too late.’
‘I fear it’s already too late.’
Unable to credit it, she began, ‘Are you telling me—?’
‘I’m telling you the causeway is already under water.’
‘What time is it?’ she demanded.
‘Seven-thirty.’
‘Seven-thirty!’ She must have slept for several hours… ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’
‘I did.’
‘I mean sooner.’ Quinn had looked at the tidetable, so he should have known they hadn’t got too long.
‘I’m afraid I lost track of time.’
The excuse was too glib, too facile.
Oh, why had she been fool enough to trust him? The tide must have been already on the turn when they’d driven across the causeway…
Catching at straws, she demanded, ‘Are you sure we can’t get back?’
‘Take a look.’
Pulling on her jacket, she hurried across the hall, threw open the front door, and stepped outside.
Any hope she might have cherished died on the spot. Between the island and the hazy lights of the town was an unbroken expanse of foggy sea. The causeway had completely vanished.
Appearing at her side, Quinn said, ‘I’m sure you agree that it’s impassable?’ His breath made puffs of white vapour on the chill air, as he went on calmly, ‘So I’m afraid that means we’re stranded here until morning.’
Feeling her shiver, he added, ‘I suggest we go in out of the cold. There’s no point standing here risking pneumonia.’
Stunned and unresisting, she allowed him to draw her inside, and close the door.
Leading the way back to the study, he helped her off with her jacket, and pushed her gently back into her chair.
Then, throwing another log on the fire, he resumed his own seat and remarked, ‘As we won’t be going anywhere, we might as well be comfortable.’
Something about the way he spoke jarred. He sounded well satisfied, quietly triumphant.
Abruptly she was convinced that being stranded here was no careless accident. The whole thing had been deliberate.
Unable to hide her anger and agitation, she choked, ‘You meant this to happen. You planned it.’
‘You must think I’m positively machiavellian,’ he scoffed. ‘Next, you’ll be accusing me of giving you sleeping tablets.’
When she remained silent, he raised a dark brow. ‘No? Well, that’s a relief.’
In a rush, she charged, ‘If I hadn’t played into your hands by going to sleep, you’d have found some other way to keep us here until it was too late.’
‘You seem very certain. Have you also decided what my motive is?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘Possibly to try and cause trouble.’
‘You mean with regard to Beaumont? In my opinion you’ve already got enough problems in that direction.’
‘And this is bound to add to them.’
‘Well, if you don’t tell him, I won’t,’ Quinn promised.
‘It’s not just that…’ Biting her lip, she tried a softer approach. ‘Please, Quinn, I really don’t want to have to stay here…’
‘You must be anxious to leave. That’s the first time you’ve been able to bring yourself to use my name.’
Ignoring the derision, she persisted, ‘Can’t we go over by boat? It isn’t too foggy.’
‘You’re suggesting we stay overnight at the Ship and come back for the car in the morning?’
‘Yes,’ she said eagerly. Anything was better than being trapped here with him in complete isolation.
But he was shaking his head with mock regret. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible. You see, there aren’t any boats here any longer. It seems Henry decided not to bother keeping them.’
Watching all her new-found hope change to despair, he said chidingly, ‘There’s no need to look quite so desperate. After all, I am your husband.’
He was so tough, so sure of himself, so arrogant.
‘But you’re not! At least…’
‘Only in the eyes of the law?’ he finished for her. ‘Well, if you do want to share my bed, at least it will be legal.’
‘I don’t want to share your bed,’ she said jerkily. ‘I came here so you’d agree to an annulment, not to complicate matters further.’
‘Well, if you’re just worrying about complicating things—’
‘I’m not just worrying about complicating things.’ Even as she denied it, she knew this confrontation was going to develop into a running battle, with her doing the running.
‘That’s what it sounds like.’
‘Believe me, I have no desire to sleep with you,’ she told him, and was aware that she lied. Clenching her teeth, she added, ‘I’ve promised to marry Richard, and I’d hate anything to spoil that.’
‘Well, if it’s just a rich husband you want, may I point out that you already have one?’
‘I don’t just want a rich husband. I want Richard. I love him.’
‘Now why do I get the feeling that when you say you love Beaumont you’re trying to convince yourself as well as me?’
‘As it’s not true, I really can’t imagine.’
‘Tell me, Jo, is he a good lover?’
‘That’s nothing to do with you,’ she snapped.
‘If you’re comparing the two of us it’s a relevant question.’
‘I’m not comparing the two of you!’
‘Is that because you don’t want to? Or because you can’t?’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Why not? I’d have thought it would give you a great deal of satisfaction to compare the two of us and find me wanting… When you’re so strangely reticent it makes me wonder if you have slept with him?’
At the end of her tether, she cried, ‘All right, I haven’t, if that makes you feel any better?’
‘No wonder the poor devil looked so frustrated,’ Quinn observed with a grin. Then he asked swiftly, ‘Why not?’
‘Perhaps I’m old-fashioned enough to want a ring on my finger first,’ she retorted sweetly.
He laughed, white teet
h gleaming, before reminding her, ‘You weren’t with me.’
‘As I’ve already said, I was naïve and foolish then. I’m wiser now.’
‘You must also be frustrated? Or perhaps you have a lover on the side?’
‘Sorry to disappoint you.’
‘How many have there been since me?’
‘Dozens,’ she said airily.
Suddenly, he was on his feet and hauling her out of her chair. ‘I want the truth.’
‘I thought you wanted something more exciting.’
His fingers biting into the soft flesh of her upper arms through the thin silk of her blouse, he shook her slightly. ‘How many?’
‘None,’ she admitted wearily.
Some powerful emotion flitted across his face, but before she could decipher it it was gone. His expression became inscrutable, the splendid bone structure a mask to hide his thoughts.
‘I find that surprising,’ he said after a moment, and, releasing her, stepped back to allow her to resume her seat again. ‘You’re a very passionate woman.’
Leaning a shoulder against the stone mantelpiece, he stood looking down at her consideringly. ‘I remember the first time I made love to you, you went up like straw—and I don’t believe you were faking it—’
‘I’d rather not talk about the past,’ she broke in, her voice ragged.
‘Well, as we don’t seem to have any future, at least not together, the past is all we have to talk about— Unless you’d like to speculate on how good your chances are of being happy with Beaumont…’
She stopped running and turned, at bay. ‘A great deal better than my chances of being happy with you! At least he loves me. You didn’t even like me. You felt nothing for me…’
‘Ah, but I did. Despite knowing exactly what you were up to, I was infatuated from the word go. And though I despised myself for wanting a worthless little gold-digger I felt furiously jealous and possessive every time you so much as smiled at my father.’
Though he’d said did, and was, and infatuated, in an odd sort of way, knowing he’d once felt something for her, even against his will, was a comfort.
She’d got so used to believing he’d felt nothing but dislike and disapprobation, and the kind of sexual desire any red-blooded male might have felt for any nubile female…
Marriage on Trial Page 8
