It was going to be another glorious day, the sun already warm as it streamed through the window at her side. Jude was casually dressed in lightweight stone-coloured jeans, a black body-hugging T-shirt that emphasised the whiplash power of his shoulders and chest. But there was nothing casual about his attitude; she could feel the tension in him and it was as tightly coiled as her own. Her edginess was reaching impossible proportions, every one of her senses sharply aware of every move he made, every breath he took.
Until last night she hadn't seen him since he'd told her it would be better if they lived apart. He hadn't been home. If he'd been away on a business trip she hadn't known about it and she'd had too much pride to ask. But last night he'd come to her room, tapping on the door politely, like a stranger. She'd been already in bed, sitting up staring blankly at nothing as she'd tried to bring her mind to the point of making plans for her future, where she would go, and when.
'I picked up the keys to Dene Place,' he'd told her flatly, his eyes a stranger's eyes in the gauntness of his face. 'I'll drive you down to take a look at it tomorrow. We might as well make an early start. Eight o'clock?'
And on that he had gone, closing the door quietly behind him, tangible evidence of the way he had shut her out of his life.
Three days ago she would have told him to get lost, that she could find a place on her own, didn't need his help. But since that traumatic conversation with Fiona she had done some serious thinking. It was pointless to be on the defensive, to fight. Her relationship with Jude was written out, the end of a chapter in her life. It was something she had to accept, no matter how painful, so there was no point in making things even more difficult.
As for Dene Place—well, if it was remotely suitable then she and her child might as well live there as anywhere else. At least Fiona would be around most weekends, and that was a plus. She had taken an instinctive liking to Jude's sister and she knew all there was to know about their disastrous marriage. There would never be any need to pretend with her; Fiona was on her side, and that had to count for something.
A sigh was dragged from her, right up from her toes, and although she'd been scarcely aware of it, absorbed in her thoughts, it had registered with Jude and he said roughly, 'It will soon be over, Cleo.'
Her, eyes flicked to him briefly, noting the twist of his mouth, the hard bones of his profile jutting against the taut skin. Was he talking about the journey?
Or the sick farce of their marriage? She didn't know and she wasn't asking, and she closed her eyes and didn't open them again until the car drew to a halt and he cut the engine.
They were parked in front of tall wrought-iron gates, set between stone posts, and Jude got out. 'I'll open the gates.' Cleo slid out of her seat, closing the car door behind her.
'I'll walk up,' she told him, passing him as he swung the gates open. The iron creaked as it moved on its rusty hinges and she didn't look at him. It hurt too much.
She would look over the house, and if she liked it she would buy it. And she'd move in as soon as remotely possible, install a computer link-up with Slade head office, go on from there. For the sake of appearances, Jude didn't want a divorce just yet and neither, particularly, did she. She would never re-marry, and as for being free—well, she'd never be free of him, she knew that, because she would always love him. Love him, hate him, there seemed little difference.
Once today was over she probably wouldn't have to see him again, or not very often. He'd continue to make himself scarce until she was settled in a place of her own. She knew he wouldn't want to spend time with her.
Dene Place was a Queen Anne house, not too large, and the gardens were a wilderness, but the fabric of the building seemed sound. The bare, dusty floorboards echoed with the hollow sound common to all empty houses as she explored, leaving him to follow if he felt he had to.
The view from the first-floor windows was benignly rural—meadows, trees, gentle hills—and she could be reasonably content here.
'What do you think?' Jude had walked up behind her and she stiffened, her eyes staring, not seeing anything now. Then she made herself turn, a slight smile pinned to her face, and he was closer than she had expected.
Her bare arm brushed against his and the shock made her stumble. He put a hand out to steady her, the action automatic, and she sucked in her breath, moving away quickly. His slightest touch still set her alight. There was nothing she could do about it.
'I like it,' she took up his question, anxious that he shouldn't guess how he still affected her physically. 'I'll buy, subject to surveyors' reports, and I'll handle the whole thing. There's no need for you to put yourself to any more trouble.' She wanted the thing settled now, and this place would be somewhere, to hide, to lick her wounds.
'It's not too isolated for you?'
Her eyes fled to his, hard, bright eyes because she was crying inside. He looked weary, gaunt, as if he'd lost weight and the loss had been rapid, but, her mouth a tight line, she pushed concern out of sight.
'1 wouldn't let that bother you.' She wouldn't be lonely—or only for him. She would have her work and, later, her child. She moved rapidly through the empty room but his voice stopped her before she reached the door.
'You hate me, don't you?'
'Yes!' Her reply was instant, savage, her lips pulled back against her teeth.
He confused her emotions, made love and hate seem the same thing, and she could no longer stand the bitter tension. She had to get out of here, find some space, some air to breathe that wasn't tainted with the stench of tension.
Almost stumbling in her haste, she sped from the room and across the large, square landing, taking the stairs quickly, hearing his voice behind her. But for all her haste he reached the foot of the stairs at the same time as she, grasping her shoulders roughly.
'You little fool!' His voice was driven hoarsely through white lips. 'You could have fallen, killed yourself, killed the child!'
Shaken, trembling inside, she returned his angry glare, tugging her arm away from his hurting fingers.
'I would have thought that might have suited you admirably,' she said coldly, nastily. 'Two unwanted encumbrances out of the way in one fell swoop!
Why. should you care?'
'Of course I damn well care!' he bit, his mouth compressed as he faced her, his hands gripping her shoulders again. 'I care like hell what happens to you and my child!'
Cleo's eyes flicked upwards, searching his. One of them wasn't thinking straight. Either she was hearing things she wanted to hear or he'd made a Freudian slip, admitting paternity in the emotional heat because that was the way he'd wanted it.
His strong hands were still gripping her shoulders, she could feel every fingertip burning through the thin fabric of the sleeveless dress she wore.
And he was too close, too male, and too much loved.
'Did I hear what I think I heard?' she asked acidly. She felt his hands drop to his side. 'Do you actually admit the child is yours?'
'Yes.' The admission made his face go hard and she stared at him disbelievingly. Had he finally reached the conclusion that she could be trusted? Had he cared about her enough to work it out for himself? The hope she'd thought was dead stirred to reluctant life again. She was a fool to want him still. He had caused her more pain than she could ever have believed she was capable of handling. Yet love couldn't be turned on and off like a tap, however much one wished it could be.
'I don't blame you for hating me, Cleo, and I have a lot to apologise to you for.' His face was bleak, his teeth biting down on his lower lip as he spread his hands hopelessly in a gesture of defeat she wouldn't have believed him capable of. Then he moved away from her, staring out of the open door to the sunlit tangle of the gardens. 'I don't have the right to expect you to accept my apologies, but I hope you'll believe me when I say I'm desperately sorry—for everything.' He turned then, facing her, his eyes shuttered. 'Under the circumstances I'm willing to give you the divorce you want. It's the least I c
an do.' A muscle worked spasmodically at the side of his jaw and his voice was husky as he swung on his heels, making for the open door. 'If you want to look around outside while we're here I'll wait for you over there.'
Her mind was reeling. None of this made any kind of sense! He had at last decided he'd been wrong about her, that the child she carried was his—he had even apologised! And yet, he was willing to divorce her! A few days ago, still believing the worst of her, he'd stipulated no divorce for several years!
There was a stone seat against the rosy brick of the high garden wall and he was making for that, to wait for her. All notions of exploring the grounds left her head as she ran after him, her feet slithering on the weedy gravel drive, the full skirts of her summery blue dress flying around her long bare legs.
He heard her rapid footsteps, turned, his eyes puzzled and she told him breathily, 'You can't leave it at that.'
'No?' Whether he deliberately misunderstood her, she couldn't tell, but he went on, 'Don't worry. According to the estate agent, the house is solid. But we'll get surveyors' reports in any case. And as the garden itself is immaterial to me, I'll wait here.' He sank down on the stone seat, his eyes closed wearily—or dismissively—and she snapped,
'I wasn't talking about the house, dammit!'
His eyes flicked open, azure slits. 'If you've got something to say, say it.' He sounded bored and she couldn't understand him, not at all.
'It's about the divorce.' She sat beside him, her heart pattering. She knew she shouldn't hope, but she really, couldn't help it. Telling herself that he plainly regarded her as a boring encumbrance, to be offloaded as soon as possible, didn't stop her remembering how he'd said he cared what happened to her and her child.
'It will take time, Cleo, but I'll put the wheels in motion tomorrow.' He spoke gently, as if to an impatient child, and she shook her head abruptly, sending her hair flying about her face. He was obviously determined to misconstrue everything she said!
'I meant,' she began with gritty patience, 'that there doesn't need to be one, surely?'
'What are you? A masochist?' He jerked up from the seat, his body tense with an inner violence she couldn't understand. The line of his mouth was savage. 'It's the only course that makes any sense. When Fiona told me how Fenton had been trying to blackmail you—told me what had really happened--' He smacked one fist into the open palm of the other hand. 'My God! If I see him again, I'll kill him!'
'Fiona told you?' Cleo's mouth was dry. She had thought she could trust Fiona, but the broken promise didn't really signify, not now. She had idiotically believed he'd decided to trust her all on his own, because he cared about her.
'Fiona promised--' she began woodenly, her voice trailing away, and he looked at her, almost sympathetically.
'I know. And yes, she told me. But you obviously don't know her well enough. She always makes her own mind up, and would break a promise with about as much compunction as she would break an egg if she believed good would come of it. You told Fiona what had really been going on between you and Fenton—why didn't you tell me?'
'Oh, God!' Cleo buried her head in her hands, almost laughing but nearer to tears at the injustice of his remark. 'Because you damn well wouldn't listen!'
She shot him an angry look. 'Fenton was doing his best to rape me when you walked in that day. And all you could do was jump to nasty, insulting conclusions!'
'I'm sorry!' he groaned, dropping to the seat beside her again, and Cleo, flicking him a sideways look, saw that his hands were shaking. But the spasm was over in a second and he was back in control again, leaning forward, his hands dangling between his knees, loosely held and almost relaxed.
'As I said before, any apologies of mine have to be inadequate and the only thing I can do—after making life intolerable for you—is agree to your request for a divorce.'
She stared at him, wanting to shake him. Of course she had asked for a divorce, but that had been in the heat of the moment, in desperation! Didn't the brute know divorce was the last thing she really wanted? She loved him, she carried his child, he was her husband, for pity's sake! But could she tell him all this, would her pride let her? And could they ever be happy together again? Could they make the marriage work?
She didn't know, but she was willing to try because, somehow, pride didn't come into it any more. And she was turning words over in her mind when he said coolly, 'I shall want access to the child, of course, on a regular basis.
You won't make any difficulties over that?'
And then she knew, and the knowledge chilled her, and it was her turn to jerk to her feet,
'Of course I won't.' She pulled herself to her full graceful height, her face ashen. 'Now you have everything you wanted, don't you? A child as an heir, the shares—so what would you want with a wife?'
She twisted on the heels of her strappy sandals and marched away, her back rigidly straight, her emotions heaving. 'I'm going to look over the grounds,'
she spat over her shoulder. 'While you sit there and count your blessings!'
She could see it all now. Every last thing had become hideously clear. He had already been thinking of children when she had made that reckless proposal. Not because he particularly liked children, but because he needed an heir. And along she had come—presentable, intelligent, and wealthy in her own right, dangling the Slade shares as bait!
Those shares had been the deciding factor, and now he had them, and he would have the heir he'd wanted— so what possible use could he have for a wife?
Tears were streaming down her cheeks, blinding her, and she stumbled through a thicket of shrubs, not knowing or caring what she was doing, and she heard him call her name.
He was close behind and there was nowhere to go, and she hated herself for the weakness of tears because now he would know.
'Cleo.' A hand held her, another pulled at branches as he extricated her, and then both hands cupped her face, tilting it, the pads of his thumbs wiping the shaming tears. 'Does it matter to you so much?'
'What?' Her mouth was mutinous. Two could play the game of deliberate misunderstandings.
'The divorce. It's what you wanted, after all. And I owe that to you, at least.'
Angrily, she jerked her head from his hands, her eyes flickering, looking for escape. But there was nowhere to go; he was blocking the only way out of the tangle of bushes she'd landed herself in.
'It's what you want,' she denied. 'So why not take it? You already have everything else you wanted—an heir on the way, those shares--'
'Those wretched shares again!' He looked puzzled, as if she'd just told him he'd grown a second head. 'Damn the shares! I'm already in the process of handing them back to you, in any case. I've got enough on my plate without having to contend with that doddery old board of so-called directors, and Luke—sweet heaven preserve me from Luke! It's your baby, your problem, and that's what I've always ever intended. All I ever wanted to do was help you sort the mess out. I thought you might need me.'
Uncomprehendingly, she studied his closed face, shuddering as he added bitterly, 'But you never did need me, did you? Or only as a name on your wedding certificate! And I don't blame you for that, at least you were honest about your reasons for wanting to marry me. I was the one at fault, all the way down the line.' His mouth twisted in self-derision. 'Too wary to insist on knowing why you had to get your hands on your money* too blind to see beyond what my eyes were telling me—that you and Fenton were lovers—and, right at the beginning of it all, too damn smug about my wretched plan of campaign.'
'What plan?' Her brow furrowed and she took a tentative step towards him but he turned away, his face dark with an emotion she couldn't identify as he glanced at his watch.
'It's not important now. Believe me, Cleo, there's nothing more to be said, nothing useful. And it's time we left—if you've seen all you want to see.'
He was walking away, across the shaggy, overgrown lawns and she stared after him, not understanding anything. She
felt limp and wretched, her mind in turmoil. He'd said he had never wanted the shares. He'd said so many things that hadn't made sense.
She was used to solving tricky financial problems but she didn't come near to understanding the man who was now striding away from her, not looking back. And she knew that if she let it go now, he would never look back again. He would close his mind on the brief episode of their marriage and she would never begin to understand the enigma who had once been her husband—once, and always, loved.
'Jude!' She ran after him, her feet flying over the grass, and she caught up with him before he reached the car.
'Ready?' he asked, only the slight roughness in his voice betraying any emotion at all.
'No.' She caught his hand, almost sobbing as she recognised the sheet of electrifying sensation that engulfed her at the physical contact.
He turned slightly surprised eyes on her, and she saw them cloud, then, as they swept her face, darken with what she might have believed to be torment if she hadn't known better.
She knew she must look a heap, her hair mussed, her face hot and crumpled from crying, from the heat—so far removed from her usual cool and impeccable self that she might be a different person.
'I want to talk to you,' she said, her voice betraying her savaged emotions.
He removed his hand from her curling fingers, which didn't augur well, she thought distractedly, but no matter, she was determined enough and could see, at last, that she had been to self-contained, too afraid of admitting her feelings, too unimaginative to question her own ideas concerning his feelings, his motivations.
'We've got our lines crossed somewhere,' she told him reasonably. She really did have to stay calm now, quite unemotional, otherwise she would never get the opportunity to know him more deeply, understand why he was as he was.
A Secure Marriage Page 16
