Marriage on Trial

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘Tel me, Jo—’ his slightly husky voice broke into her thoughts ‘—if I hadn’t put in an appearance, would you have married him?’

  ‘What makes you think he’d have asked me?’

  ‘He was in love with you. Otherwise why would he have left you half his estate?’

  ‘Henry cared about me, but that isn’t the same thing at all. And I don’t know why he left me half his estate. In the circumstances I wish to God he hadn’t.’

  Cynically, Quinn suggested, ‘I suppose from your point of view it would have been better if I’d stayed in Boston and you’d simply become a rich widow?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have married him. There was no question of it.’

  ‘You told me you were fond of him.’

  ‘I was. But I didn’t love him in that way. I looked on him more as a father.’

  ‘Don’t you mean a sugar daddy?’

  ‘He didn’t give me any gifts, if that’s what you’re implying.’

  Quinn straightened. ‘Sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. Apart from the locket I had for my twenty-first birthday. And you know about that. You saw me wearing it.’

  The chased silver locket, bought at Covent Garden on one of the trips she and Henry had made to London, had been comparatively cheap. Something she’d paused to look at on one of the stalls. Seeing she’d taken a fancy for it, he’d insisted on getting it for her birthday, which happened to be that very day.

  ‘Yes, I know about the locket,’ Quinn said a shade impatiently, ‘but what about the earrings?’

  ‘Earrings?’ she echoed blankly. ‘What earrings?’

  Quinn pulled a soft leather wallet from his jacket pocket and, removing something from it, held out his hand. Lying in his palm were the mermaid earrings he’d taken from her lobes the previous night.

  So much had happened that she’d forgotten all about them.

  Watching her face, he remarked, ‘Exquisite, aren’t they? The workmanship is exceptionally fine.’

  ‘I think so,’ she agreed. ‘But what have they to do with Henry?’

  Ignoring the question, Quinn said carefully, ‘I never saw you wearing them when we first knew each other.’

  ‘Maybe that’s because I didn’t have them then.’

  ‘And maybe it’s because you were hiding them.’

  ‘Hiding them? Why on earth should I be hiding them?’

  ‘Because you didn’t want me to know Henry had given them to you.’

  ‘Henry didn’t give them to me.’

  ‘So you’re denying it?’

  ‘I most certainly am!’

  ‘Then where did you get them? You told me your family was poor, and they aren’t the kind of baubles you could pick up on a market stall.’

  Infuriated by his arrogance, she said hotly, ‘Where I got them from is none of your business! Now can I please have them back?’

  ‘I think not.’ Ignoring her gasp of outrage, he returned them to his wallet. ‘I need to do some checking. If Henry didn’t give them to you—’

  ‘He didn’t,’ she broke in angrily.

  ‘And you won’t tell me where they came from, then I can only presume that you took them.’

  Agitation brought her to her feet. ‘Took them? You mean stole them? How dare you?’ she choked furiously. ‘You’ve accused me of being a heartless gold-digger, of trying to seduce your father, of marrying you for your money, and now you’ve got the nerve to suggest I’m a thief!’

  ‘If I’m wrong about you, I’ll apologize,’ he said evenly. ‘But I don’t believe any apologies will be necessary. I know only too well what kind of woman you are.’

  ‘You may think you know, but you’re quite wrong. I’m none of the things you’ve charged me with being. And I am certainly not a thief!’

  ‘Then Henry did give them to you?’ he pressed.

  ‘I’ve already told you he didn’t…’

  Just as she finished speaking one of the burning logs rolled into the hearth with a crash, sending a shower of red-hot sparks on to the carpet.

  Quinn ground them out with the toe of his shoe, before reaching for the tongs to replace the log.

  Unable to stand any more, in a stifled voice Elizabeth said, ‘I’m going to bed.’ Jumping to her feet, she started for the door.

  ‘May I suggest you wait just a moment?’ Something about the way Quinn spoke stopped her in her tracks. ‘You’ll probably need this.’

  Turning, she saw him reach behind the desk and produce a small overnight case she recognized as belonging to her.

  Taken aback, she demanded, ‘Where did you get that?’

  ‘I brought it in from the trunk of the car when you were asleep.’

  Seeing her soft lips tighten, he said innocently, ‘Oh, you mean before that? I found it in your wardrobe. While you were in the bathroom this morning I took the opportunity to pack a few things, just in case we were forced to stay the night.’

  His sheer effrontery took her breath away.

  ‘So you did plan the whole thing!’

  ‘I thought you’d already decided that?’

  ‘And this confirms it! But why?’

  ‘Earlier, if I remember rightly, you supplied your own answer.’

  ‘But you promised you wouldn’t tell Richard.’

  ‘Nor will I. Whatever happens.’

  Her voice shrill with alarm, she demanded, ‘What do you mean, whatever happens?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just that. Now, if you’d like a hot drink before you go, I’ve found a tin of drinking chocolate…’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t, thank you.’

  ‘Sure? It might help you sleep.’

  ‘I won’t need any help,’ she said tightly.

  ‘Then I’ll say pleasant dreams.’

  Suddenly he was much too close. Taking her unawares, his hands came up to frame her face, and, his glance lingering with insolent sensuality on her mouth, he suggested, ‘I thought just a goodnight kiss for old times’ sake?’

  ‘No!’ Her exclamation held both anger and alarm.

  ‘Why so cautious? Which of us are you afraid to trust, I wonder? Me or yourself?’

  Before she could answer, or make any further protest, he bent his dark head and his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that started as an arrogant statement of male domination, but after a moment gentled to one of sweet seduction.

  When her lips parted helplessly beneath the sensuous demand of his, his arms went around her and held her close.

  Head spinning, she melted against him, while he kissed her as though he was starving for her, as though he’d waited years for this moment.

  Nothing in the world existed beyond this man’s arms and this man’s hungry mouth, and she was almost lost, when deep in her subconscious a warning bell rang.

  Managing to find the strength of mind from somewhere, she tore herself free, and, the back of one hand pressed to her mouth, her grey eyes dazed and darkened to charcoal, stood swaying as if she were intoxicated.

  Quinn, though looking hardly less dazed, and breathing as if he’d been running, was the first to recover.

  Huskily, he said, ‘For a goodnight kiss, that engendered a fair bit of heat. So perhaps you were right to be cautious— Unless you’ve changed your mind about spending the night in my arms?’

  Shaken to the core by the stark longing she could read on his face, she managed a hoarse, ‘No, I haven’t,’ and turned to the door.

  ‘Don’t forget your night things,’ he reminded her. Then he said softly, ‘If you do change your mind I’ll be waiting.’

  Grabbing both the case and her shoulder-bag, shocked and frightened by the closeness of her escape, Elizabeth fled on legs that were barely able to support her.

  When she reached her room she put her things on a low chest and sank on to the bed, trembling in every limb. There was a lock on the door, but she knew instinctively that it wouldn’t be necessary to use it. No matter how much Quinn wanted her, he wouldn’t come to her; she was certain of t
hat. He would wait for her to go to him.

  And she was tempted as she’d never been tempted in her life before—

  How was it possible to feel so much for a man who, though he might still want her, in the purely physical sense of the word, thought so ill of her?

  If only he would agree to a quick annulment— Once she was safely married to Richard she would have security and a contented family life. If it was no grand passion, all the better. She had seen where passion could lead.

  The last encounter with Quinn had almost wrecked her life. It had taken years to recover some pride and self-respect, and find a kind of emotional stability.

  No, she couldn’t, wouldn’t get involved with him again; it would be the utmost folly.

  Yet the memory of his hunger was like a giant fist squeezing her heart, so that her chest was filled with pain and her resolution faltered.

  But she mustn’t let it.

  Head bent, hands clenched tightly together, she fought a silent battle.

  And won.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LIFTING her chin, she looked around the large, white-walled room, with its low, beamed ceiling, black oak floorboards, and few pieces of antique furniture. She had always loved its simplicity, and the view across the water to the old town.

  As Quinn had said, it was pretty much as she’d left it. The bed was covered by her favourite hand-made patchwork quilt, and there were soft peach towels in the modern, well-appointed bathroom—as though she’d been expected back.

  It gave her the strangest feeling.

  Some of her clothes still hung in the wardrobe, and a few personal possessions were scattered about. A small travel clock, a pair of sunglasses, a college pop-concert programme, and on the bow-fronted chest of drawers, in a plain wooden frame, a snapshot of herself and Henry.

  Picking it up, she stared at it, and felt all the old fondness come flooding back.

  Though Quinn’s build was similar, in every other respect Henry had been more like his younger son, both men having a snub nose and a slight gap between the top two front teeth.

  He had been kind and considerate, a truly nice man, with a slow smile and a dry sense of humour. The kind of man who, though over six feet tall and well-built, wouldn’t have hurt a fly.

  His silver hair had been thick and springy, and a boyish, unlined face and a quiet love of life had made him seem appreciably younger than his years.

  The photograph had been taken on a calm, sunny day in late summer. Wearing a simple cotton dress and sandals, her hair gathered up in a pony-tail, she looked girlish and carefree.

  Henry, dressed in casual trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, had been out of his chair for his daily walk along the terrace. His walking stick was in one hand, and his free arm was around her shoulders for additional support.

  He’d made some joke about being able to beat any wounded snail they might encounter, and, her head slightly turned, she had been laughing up at him just as Piery had appeared with his camera.

  The whole thing had been happy and perfectly innocuous, but looking at it now she could see how it might possibly be misinterpreted.

  How Quinn would certainly misinterpret it.

  Sighing, she replaced it on the chest of drawers.

  Thoughts of Quinn crowding once more into her mind, she opened her case to find her night things and get ready for bed.

  He had been very thorough. As well as a nightdress and negligée—her best ivory satin ones, she noted wryly—he’d included two sets of undies, some flat-heeled shoes, two pairs of tights, a fine woollen dress, a skirt and jumper, and her spare toilet bag.

  Though alarmed and angry that, for some twisted motive of his own, he’d deliberately placed her in this predicament, she could only marvel at his care and concern for her comfort.

  Some macho men would never have given it a moment’s consideration, she thought, as she stepped into the shower; or, if they had, would probably have dismissed it as spoiling their image.

  But Quinn had always been something of an enigma. He could be both tough and tender, harsh and soft, sweet and bitter, caring and callous.

  She had never known which was the real Quinn. But she had loved him anyway. Loved him with a depth and passion that had surprised even herself.

  An enduring passion. A passion she had done her best to stifle, but which had flared into life the moment she saw him again. A passion which she now knew would be almost impossible to kill…

  So how could she even think of marrying Richard?

  The answer was, she couldn’t. While she still felt this way about her first husband, there was no way she could marry anyone else.

  Except that Quinn wasn’t her husband…

  And if she had weakened and shared his bed, though it would have been wonderful, she would have bitterly regretted it in the morning. Because nothing could come of a warped relationship like theirs.

  Her heart like lead, she finished drying herself, cleaned her teeth, brushed out her long black hair, and, climbing into bed, turned out the light.

  Lying with closed eyes, she did her best to relax, but try as she might she was unable to halt the thoughts that still ricocheted through her mind.

  What must have been an hour or more later she was still wide awake, and weary of tossing and turning. The hot chocolate that she had refused now seemed like a good idea, not to say a necessity.

  Getting out of bed, Elizabeth felt for her negligée and pulled it on. Opening her door, she switched on the landing light, and was blinking a little in the sudden brightness before second thoughts made her pause.

  She had no idea which room Quinn was using, but if he wasn’t asleep any crack of light under his door might disturb him.

  Hurriedly she switched it off and, in darkness, made her way down the familiar stairs.

  Crossing the hall, where the long windows made slightly lighter rectangles and her bare feet squeaked on the polished floorboards, she padded into the kitchen.

  Turning on the strip lighting over the units, she put water in the kettle and looked in the cupboard for the drinking chocolate. She was just reaching for a mug when a movement, rather than a sound, made her realize she was no longer alone.

  She spun round with a gasp to find a tall, dark shape was filling the shadowy doorway.

  ‘I see you’ve changed your mind,’ Quinn commented, adding ironically, ‘About the drink, I mean.’

  ‘You startled me,’ she muttered. Then, her dismay evident, she asked, ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘I heard you cross the hall.’

  He came towards her, and as he got within the range of the lights she could see he was still fully dressed, and it was obvious he hadn’t been to bed at all.

  His eyes travelling appreciatively over her slender, satin-robed figure, from the dark silky hair tumbled around her shoulders to her bare feet, he remarked, ‘I take it you couldn’t sleep after all?’

  Ignoring the taunt, she demanded, ‘Why have you followed me?’

  ‘I was considering having a drink myself, so I thought it would be nice for us to have it together by the fire.’

  She shook her head. ‘I was intending to take mine back with me.’

  ‘Well, we can have it in bed if you prefer.’

  Struggling to retain her calm, refusing to let him ruffle her, she said, ‘That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.’

  ‘Then in front of the fire it is.’

  The kettle boiled, and while Elizabeth hovered uncomfortably, wishing she’d stayed safely in her room, he filled a couple of mugs, and spooned in the drinking chocolate.

  ‘Not exactly cordon bleu standard,’ he remarked, as he stirred the creamy concoction, ‘but a few digestive biscuits should help.’

  After putting the mugs and the unopened packet of biscuits on a small round tray, he led the way back to the study, leaving her to follow helplessly.

  Feeling at a disadvantage because he was dressed and she wasn’t, Elizabeth tightened
the belt of her robe and took the seat she’d vacated earlier.

  The logs in the grate were still blazing cheerfully, and a pile of documents on the coffee table suggested Quinn had been working by the fire.

  Pushing the papers aside, he put the tray down and passed her one of the mugs, before tearing open the packet and offering her a biscuit.

  When she shook her head, he helped himself to one before remarking casually, ‘I’ve been taking another look at Henry’s will. At the date, to be precise. It occurred to me, somewhat belatedly, that when it was made might have some relevance…’

  In the past, Elizabeth had noticed that Quinn’s thoughts often echoed her own, as if, as he’d remarked previously, they were mentally close, on the same wavelength.

  While she’d been trying to sleep, her own thoughts had strayed to the will, and it had occurred to her to wonder when it was dated…

  But Quinn was continuing. ‘If it had been made early on, it would seem to prove that Henry loved you in the way I’d always thought.

  ‘Yet if that was the case, surely he would have altered it when you ran off and married me. God knows he was angry enough.’

  ‘He wasn’t angry when I saw him.’ She spoke impulsively, without thinking.

  ‘Say that again,’ Quinn demanded sharply.

  In the past she had found him formidable, and with that cold, narrow-eyed look he could still intimidate her. But this time, determined not to let him, she repeated firmly, ‘Henry wasn’t angry when I saw him.’

  ‘Oh? And when was that?’

  ‘When I went to break the news to him that I was going to marry you, and say goodbye.’ Flushing a little, she added, ‘I know you wanted to keep it a secret, but I couldn’t just walk out without a word.’

  ‘And you say he wasn’t angry?’

  ‘Quite the opposite. He was startled by the suddenness, but when he asked me if I…’

  Watching her closely, Quinn probed, ‘What did he ask?’

  ‘If I loved you,’ she said, her voice impeded.

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I told him I did, and he looked delighted. He said in that dry way of his, “I’ve noticed you and Quinn couldn’t keep your eyes off each other… Most people would call that folie à deux—utter madness for two people to fall in love so quickly—but I can’t agree.”