The Faithful Wife

by Diana Hamilton

  They’d be out of here before nightfall—or he would, at least. Jake would fix that. He always managed to get his own way.

  She wanted to put back her head and howl, and the urge to weep her heart out was almost irresistible. But she wouldn’t do either of those things. She wouldn’t let herself be such a fool.

  ‘The cavalry’s arrived!’ Five minutes later he walked back in, bringing a wave of crisp frosty air with him.

  That was why she was shivering all over, Bella decided, and forced herself to sound interested. ‘So I saw. We can’t be as isolated as we thought we were.’

  The snow plough was back in operation again. The noise was growing louder as the driver approached the cottage.

  ‘How on earth did he know we were snowed-up here?’ She felt too dead inside to really care, but it was something to say, a way of masking her foolish inner dread at the coming parting.

  But perhaps the ending of their enforced stay was a blessing, she decided dully, doing her best to convince herself. Being with him only brought back all the pain of wanting him, the mental and physical agony of knowing he could hardly bear to be anywhere around her.

  The only real question was, would Jake go back in the cab with the driver alone, or would he take her with him? He was looking mightily pleased with himself, and was making no effort to remove his coat.

  Which meant he was intending to leave any time now. She thought about the clothes still in the drier, the packing she’d have to do, the brightly burning fire which would have to burn down to ashes before it was safe to be left, and knew Jake wouldn’t hang around until everything was sorted. Neither, in all probability, would the tractor driver.

  Jake was going to leave her behind, and was looking insultingly happy about it. Grinning!

  ‘The owners of the cottage got in touch with him. He farms in the locality and the council uses him to clear some of the lanes. They—the owners—didn’t want their holiday tenants to feel snowed in and abandoned.’

  She watched him walk to the fire, hold his hands to the flames. Even though his back was firmly turned to her she knew he was still looking pleased with himself. He couldn’t wait to wash his hands of her!

  As the tractor reached the cottage, did an ungainly three-point turn then stopped, Jake swung round and walked to the door, obviously leaving without even saying goodbye, and Bella said rawly, ‘I take it you’re going back with the driver. Would you ask him to wait while I get ready to leave, too?’

  She simply couldn’t bear the thought of being here alone, with these new and hurtful memories to add to all the rest. It was too much heavy baggage to have to carry through the long, lonely years that stretched ahead.

  Jake turned, scanning her features with narrowed eyes. If the arrival of the snow plough had surprised him, it had obviously shocked her. Ruined all her carefully laid plans. He could read the dredging disappointment in her beautiful eyes.

  Well, he was going to let her get her own way. He hadn’t known why he’d done it, not at first. But now he did. They were going to talk the whole thing through, and for that they needed time and space.

  He needed to learn her secrets—if she had any more to divulge—discover exactly how and why their marriage had failed.

  Because then, and only then, would he be able to put it all behind him and attain the freedom he needed to get on with the rest of his life, unfettered by memories and regrets.

  Knowing that the prospect of freedom from the spell she’d cast on him the very first time he’d seen her had to be responsible for his present adrenalin-high, he made no attempt to keep the underlying hint of laughter from his voice as he told her, ‘We’re not going anywhere for a couple of days. Put the kettle on; we have a guest.’

  The driver of the tractor was a wiry little man, swamped by a thick waxed jacket and a big red knitted hat. His name was Evan Evans, and he insisted on removing his boots.

  His knitted socks were red, too, Bella noted, hurrying to make the hot drink Jake had offered, her heart winging with a great surge of happiness she desperately tried to suppress.

  Jake could have left; there’d been nothing to stop him. Except the desire to stay?

  But she mustn’t think like a naive teenager, she chided herself as she moved round the kitchen, the murmur of masculine voices coming from the other room a backdrop to her thoughts.

  He had no desire to be with her—hadn’t he made that crystal-clear? For the past twelve months their marriage hadn’t been either one thing or another. He probably wanted to get everything sorted out, discuss divorce, tidy everything up.

  The cold almost certainty of that left her feeling physically and mentally drained. Yet hope lingered, a feeble but stubbornly burning flame at the back of her mind. She didn’t want hope, not when it would surely turn out to be false.

  Telling herself to keep her chaotic emotions in check, she made hot chocolate for the men and found a tin of biscuits. She opened it and put it beside the mugs on the kitchen table, then called them through.

  ‘There’s lovely, isn’t it?’ Evan picked up his mug and cradled it in mittened hands. ‘Just what I needed.’ He refused to sit, blowing on his drink to cool it, and Bella handed Jake his mug, careful not to look at his face. He might see those futile hopes warring with the bleak certainties in her eyes.

  ‘So I’ll phone the recovery service and give them your details, and ask them to bring the part out on Boxing Day. Is it set on spending Christmas you are? Snow or no snow?’ Evan finished his drink. ‘It’s a tidy enough place.’ He glanced around him, his eyes twinkling with open appreciation as they rested on Bella. ‘Don’t blame you, mind. Do the same in your shoes! Though who’d go vandalising your car is beyond me.’

  He scratched the side of his head and the knitted cap rose higher, looking, Bella decided half-hysterically, like a melting church steeple.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Jake said smoothly. ‘We’re very grateful for your help.’

  Bella tried to analyse his tone. Satisfaction, or amusement? She couldn’t decide which. And Evan was getting ready to leave.

  ‘Missus’ll be wondering where I’ve got to. We’ve got all the family back with us for Christmas, as usual. Five grandchildren in all. Little imps! Mind you—’ bright brown eyes twinkled beneath the scarlet of the rearing hat ‘—Christmas wouldn’t be the same without their racket, would it? And—’ he stressed the word heavily, smiling broadly ‘—I’m doing Santa duty again. Each year I tell myself it’s the last time I’m dressing up in all that stuff. Seems I never learn!’

  Bella watched him go, accompanied by Jake, to find his boots, and envied him. She closed her eyes and desperately envied all the families happily getting ready to celebrate this special season. And when Jake joined her there were tears in her eyes.

  ‘Why didn’t you go with him?’ she demanded thickly. Attack was the best form of defence—defence against the reckless need to hurl herself into his arms and beg him to fall in love with her again, to want her with the almost obsessive need that had driven them both ever since the very first time they’d met.

  To beg him to take the hurt away.

  ‘Because I’ve finally reached the conclusion that we need to talk. We’ve spent a whole year avoiding each other and it doesn’t make any kind of sense. We’ve got to find a way to put the past behind us. We both need to be free to get on with our lives.’

  ‘Yes, I see.’ She turned away, trying to conceal the hurt. She’d guessed his motives for staying on here, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. He was going to suggest divorce.

  ‘But not right now. There’s plenty of time. A couple of days,’ he said, his voice softening. There were tough questions to be asked, tough decisions to be made. It wouldn’t be easy on either of them. And right now she looked so vulnerable, almost utterly defeated, and that wasn’t like the Bella he knew.

  The range and depth of the sweeping wave of compassion he felt for her came as a shock. For a moment it took his b
reath away.

  Suddenly restless he suggested, ‘So why don’t we try to relax, get a breath of air before it gets dark?’ He watched the graceful tilt of her head as she turned huge, questioning eyes to him. ‘I don’t mean a repeat of this morning’s marathon!’ he assured her, reliving the long minutes of frantic concern when he’d been afraid he’d never find her, wondering what that reckless journey of hers out into the blizzard had been meant to prove.

  He pushed a log further onto the glowing embers with a booted foot, needing action of some kind, no matter how small, and then added more harshly than he’d intended, ‘It was a suggestion, that’s all. You don’t have to come. But I need air.’

  ‘I’ll be two minutes.’ Relief washed through her, washed away the tension, making her body feel light as air as she went to the kitchen. The terrible conversation that would lead to the legal ending of their marriage was to be postponed. Maybe, later, she’d find the strength from somewhere to handle it with dignity.

  She fished the clothes from the drier and sped up the stairs, casting aside all that out-of-place elegance. She dressed hurriedly in the leggings and sweater, clean and still warm from the dryer, and pulled his bulky Aran jumper on over the top because her own coat was still damp.

  Her hair had come adrift. She gave it an impatient look in the mirror, and sped out of the room and down the stairs. She didn’t have time to fiddle.

  ‘Just ten minutes. Right?’ Jake asked as she joined him.

  ‘Right.’ The smile she gave him was unpremeditated. But the look of approval in his eyes as he swept them over her altered, casual appearance had warmed away all her cool defences.

  And his suggestion had been a good one. The air was stingingly cold, but it made her feel suddenly alive. Vitally, joyously alive—something she hadn’t experienced since they’d separated. The misty orange sun was low in the washed-out blue of the sky, casting long, dark shadows on the glittering snow.

  Bella quickened her pace, revelling in the way her blood seemed to positively bounce through her veins, until Jake gently hauled her back, the strength of his hand tight and protective on her arm.

  ‘Hey! Cool it. The track’s slippery as hell now. A broken leg we can do without!’

  Eyes wary, her heart beating skittishly, she fell in step beside him, expecting him to release her arm as soon as he’d successfully reined her in. He didn’t. He held her more tightly, gathering her towards him, tucking her closely to the side of his body.

  Every nerve-end stood to attention, and her stomach lurched. Didn’t he know what his touch did to her? Had he forgotten that she only had to be near him to go up in flames? Were his memories of all they had been to each other so easily, so callously erased?

  Her eyes fixed on the now-glassy surface of the compacted snow on the track ahead, she battled to find something to say, something to defuse the sharply coiling sexual tension that seemed to be eating her alive.

  She came up with, ‘So you didn’t tell Mr Evans who had vandalised your car.’ Her voice was shaky. She tried to turn the wobble into a laugh. ‘The poor guy will spend months wondering if he’s going to wake up in the morning and find no wheels on his tractor. He’ll be looking at perfectly innocent local lads—wondering which of them has developed the urge to sneak around putting other people’s vehicles out of commission!’

  Jake stopped, his black eyes glittering down at her. ‘What would you have had me say?’ he wanted to know. ‘That my wife arranged a little sabotage?’ He turned back towards the cottage, his grip on her arm tightening cruelly.

  Bella dug her heels into the compacted snow, dragged her arm from his grasp and flung at him, ‘I had nothing to do with it—nothing!’ Her eyes narrowed, anger whipping colour into her cheeks, she planted her hands on her hips and shouted, ‘I don’t know which makes me madder—what Evie did or you refusing to believe she did it!’

  Jake quirked an eyebrow and had difficulty keeping his mouth straight. She looked incredibly fragile, and endearingly feisty. A kitten spitting tacks at a tiger! And he knew that nothing, short of kissing her until she was breathless, would stop the tirade.

  Something deep inside him shuddered. Kissing her would be a bad mistake, the worst he could make.

  ‘If she was here right now I’d throttle her!’ Her mouth compressed against her teeth as she spat out tightly, ‘What gives her the right to interfere? She’s done it before, in a big way. It turned out OK that time—but this time it’s an unmitigated disaster!’

  She pushed the hair out of her eyes with an angry swipe. ‘I’m going in. I’m cold! And I’m sick of the company I’m being forced to keep!’

  She stamped along the track. She wasn’t cold, she was burning with rage. At him. At Evie. At every mortal thing! And she was sick of him thinking she didn’t know the meaning of truth!

  She felt her feet go from under her at the very same time she heard Jake’s warning shout, felt him reach out for her—but too late. She was floundering in the huge pile of snow shifted by the snow plough, all the breath knocked out of her lungs, with Jake’s big body sprawled on top of her because he’d lost his footing trying to prevent her from falling.

  He saw her eyes go wide, diamond lights glittering in those water-clear depths, and knew she hadn’t hurt herself. There was nothing wrong with her except for a bad case of temper.

  Her silky black hair was spread against the soft white snow, her kissable lips parted, her breasts straining against him as she tried to recapture her breath. Sudden desire for her—the desire that had never died no matter how hard he’d tried to kill it—hit him like a hammer-blow. Blood pounded through his veins, throbbing at his temples.

  She was magic, and, as ever, he was under her spell. Whatever she was, whatever she had done, he wanted her, needed her...

  Bella glared up at him, at his face just inches from hers. The utter humiliation of taking a header into the snow added to her rage. She wanted to tell him to let her up, get off her, but hadn’t got her breath back. She did the only thing she could—grabbed a handful of snow and pushed it in his face.

  Jake brushed the snow away with what to Bella seemed like contempt; the suddenly hard line of his mouth was a fearful thing.

  He was fighting for control. Her puny attack invited retaliation—and he knew how to subdue her, what it would take. A long, slow mastery, first of her senses and then of her body—a slow and very deliberate and highly satisfactory easing of the tension, an assuaging of the long, aching emptiness that was hunger—taking her with him to where they could both find the sweet solace of physical release.

  But that wasn’t the way, he knew that, and as his mind won over his physical needs he pushed his hands beneath the bulk of the sweater she wore, his own sweater, and began to tickle her remorselessly. His strong features relaxed into a grin as the anger went out of her lovely face and she giggled and writhed and hiccuped beneath his relentless fingers.

  ‘Right, madam!’ He let his hands slide away, giving in at last to her squeals for mercy, pulling himself up onto his knees. ‘Punishment over. Don’t push snow in my face again or you’ll know what to expect!’ The impossibly inviting yet potentially damaging situation was defused, or so he thought.

  Until her eyes met his. Sparkling with the laughtertears that spangled and tangled her long dark lashes, they drew him closer, ever closer, inviting, promising... An irresistible promise fatally reinforced by the curved, parted lips...

  Jake groaned silently, trying to force his body’s response out of existence—the incredible hardening, tightening, the pooling of scalding heat in his loins, the thudding beat of his heart, the desperate need for her and only her.

  If he took what was being offered he knew he would be doomed—binding himself to her again, with the knowledge of her previous unfaithfulness, the mental agony of wondering if she was sneaking off to be with Maclaine whenever his back was turned eating into him like acid.

  The mental reminder of her lover got him to his feet. He bru
shed the powdery snow from his clothes, his eyes glinting narrowly as she made no move to get to her own feet She simply held out her hands to him, her eyes still dancing with laughter. Or wicked, wilful, wanton promise?

  He took her hands and hauled her unceremoniously out of the bank of snow, the familiar sensation as her slender fingers curled around his slamming into his body. To smother it he said, with what he hoped would come over as bland indifference, ‘I never knew you were so ticklish. You live and learn.’

  ‘Well, we never did play games, did we?’ Still slightly breathless, her voice emerged huskily and she gave him an unknowingly provocative glance from beneath tangled lashes.

  ‘As I recall, we did.’ His face went hard. ‘The games we played in bed were mind-blowing.’ He turned from her, covering the last few yards to the cottage quickly.

  Bella scurried after him. ‘I didn’t mean that!’

  Why dredge up all that had been so wonderful, so right between them, and throw it in her face? To her intense aggravation she felt herself blushing as he turned those narrowed black eyes on her.

  She looked so flustered, so innocent. With a harsh inner voice he reminded himself that she wasn’t. ‘No? You could have won an Olympic gold, the games you played. You must have had an excellent coach. Just Maclaine? Or were there others?’

  For a moment his words didn’t sink in. And when they did she didn’t believe it—and then she did. Oh, she believed it, all right. He would hold her relationship with Guy against her for the rest of his life, not understanding it, twisting it, making it ugly and unrecognisable with his total lack of trust—the way he could think the very worst of her. No room for doubts, questions. No fair hearing. Simply a blind and devastatingly insulting acceptance of her non-existent infidelity!

  She stared at him, her face drained of colour, her eyes wide and dark with pain. ‘Guy has never been my lover.’ Her eyes dropped from his, her soft mouth trembling. The purity of her profile tugged at his heart, making it ache. ‘Though there seems little point in telling you. You won’t believe me.’