The Price of Retribution

by Sara Craven

  ‘My goodness.’ She managed a laugh. ‘You really were sure of yourself.’

  ‘Not in the slightest.’ He studied her for a moment, his expression quizzical. ‘There’s an elusiveness about you, Tarn. As I’ve said, I sensed it from the beginning. I’m wondering if it might not be wise to chain you to my wrist until we’re safely married.’

  He was too damned perceptive by half, Tarn thought. She raised her eyebrows. ‘You regard marriage as safety? I thought it was an act of faith—a step into the dark.’

  ‘Not for us.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to forever.’

  He sounded so certain—so bloody sincere, she told herself as she responded to the toast and sipped her champagne. A man any girl would be glad to trust with her future. Unless, of course, she had the memory of Evie, cowering in her chair, to warn her and harden her heart against him. And she would need that every hour of every day.

  Caz reached into an inside pocket and produced a small velvet box. He said, ‘At the risk of seeming presumptuous, I brought you this.’

  As he opened it, Tarn stiffened, expecting to be dazzled by another showy blaze of diamonds. But she was wrong. The diamonds in this ring were gleaming in discreet brilliance around an exquisite square sapphire in an antique gold setting.

  The gasp that escaped her was of genuine wonder and delight. ‘Oh—it’s beautiful.’

  ‘I’d hoped you’d like it,’ he said. ‘It’s been in the family for a long time, and my grandmother gave it to me for this very occasion. It might have to be made smaller, of course. You have very slim hands.’

  ‘No,’ she said, dry-mouthed as he slid the ring on to her finger. ‘It—it’s quite perfect.’

  ‘You’re absolutely sure? It occurred to me you might prefer to keep this as a dress ring and have something modern for our engagement—a special design, maybe.’

  She covered it protectively with her other hand. ‘You couldn’t give me anything lovelier.’ Her response was instinctive—genuine. Because this could—should have been the happiest moment of her life, she thought with bewilderment. Yet, instead, she felt as if she was dying inside.

  Judas, she said silently, reborn as a woman.

  She took a deep breath. ‘But I can’t wear it, Caz. Not yet. Not in public.’

  His brows snapped together in a frown. ‘What are you talking about? Why the hell not?’

  ‘Because I have a job to do,’ she said steadily. ‘Working for you in a section of one of your companies. That means a lot to me, and I don’t want it to change, and it will, once word gets out about us.’

  She forced a smile. ‘Besides, when the news does break, it’s bound to be a nine-day wonder, and I’m not sure I’m totally prepared for that. The fuss—the attention—stories in the papers. That’s a lot to take on board—for me. So, can’t we keep it as our secret—just for a while?’

  ‘Now there we differ,’ he said gently. ‘Because I want to shout it from the rooftops. Tell the whole world what a lucky bastard I am.’

  Tarn said with constraint, ‘Are you certain that’s what the whole world wants to hear?’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I suppose we’re back to Ginny again.’ He took her hand again. ‘My darling, the past doesn’t matter.’ His voice was warm and urgent. ‘We can’t let it—not when we have the future.’

  And Evie? If she’s part of your immaterial past too, why are you still harassing her? Why can’t you leave her alone?

  Now, if ever, was the time to ask these things. To come at him like a bolt from the blue and shock him, perhaps, into honesty. Even into contrition.

  Before she walked away…

  So why was she hesitating?

  After all, she wanted to humiliate him. To let him know at first hand what it was like to be made a fool of and dumped. But a half-full restaurant on a Monday evening was not the public arena for the major victory she’d envisaged.

  Better to bide her time, she thought, her throat tightening. Wait for the right moment and the maximum impact.

  He said, ‘You’re doing it again, my love. Disappearing into some world where I can’t follow.’

  ‘Not really,’ she said lightly, and paused. ‘It’s just that there’s suddenly a lot to think about.’

  ‘Then maybe we should start sharing some thoughts now,’ he said. ‘Do you want a big wedding?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ The negation was involuntary, and she’d have said exactly the same if this had been the beginning of their future, and the ceremony was to be a reality.

  ‘You’re very sure,’ he commented, with faint amusement. ‘I thought all women dreamed of floating down the aisle, wearing the obligatory meringue, in a country church crammed with well-wishers.’

  Tarn wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s part of the problem. I’d have difficulty filling a pew.’

  Caz pulled a face. ‘And I know far too many people who would expect to be there, whether we wanted them or not,’ he said. ‘And someone I do want who, sadly, can’t be there. So, why don’t we do it quietly at a friendly neighbourhood register office? Will your cousin be well enough to act as one of the witnesses?’

  Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Well—no. At least she’s not around,’ she added hurriedly. ‘She’s gone away to convalesce. She needs absolute quiet, so she’ll be gone for some time.’

  Which at least was the truth.

  ‘Your flatmate?’

  She shook her head. ‘She’s away a lot. I’m not sure of her plans.’

  ‘I see.’ Caz was silent for a moment. ‘Well, we could ask Brendan and Grace instead. I think you liked them when you met.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tarn, despising herself for her faint feeling of desolation. ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘And when the news of the wedding does get out, we shall have left on our honeymoon,’ he went on. ‘So we shall miss all the razzmatazz. And by the time we come back, everyone will be used to the idea. So it’s a win-win situation for us.’

  No, she thought. It will be a very different kind of victory. And you will be the loser. But she had no sense of triumph. Instead she felt as if everything within her had become a cold, aching hollow.

  The food and wine were delicious, but, for Tarn, they might have been bread and water. Her energy and attention were fixed, as they had to be, on this new role she had to play—the happy and loving fiancée.

  And, of course, on never letting herself forget that it was just a role. That it could never be anything else no matter what she might want or feel in her inmost being.

  Because all that had to be suppressed. Pushed out of sight, and eventually—please, God—out of mind. No more walking round the flat with her arms wrapped round her body, damming back the pain. No more tears, even if she could manage to weep silently.

  He said, ‘You’re very quiet,’ and she looked at him, startled.

  ‘I think I’m just stunned.’ She made herself smile. ‘It’s been a hell of a forty-eight hours, and it takes some getting used to.’

  ‘For me too, believe it or not.’ He paused. ‘What we need is some time alone and in private. Let’s get out of here and have our coffee elsewhere.’

  ‘But Della’s at the flat…’

  ‘Darling, I meant my place, not yours.’ He smiled at her. ‘Besides, it will give you the chance to have a good look round and tell me what you’d like to change.’

  ‘Change?’

  And I have seen it—all of it—the other night. And imagined you there with Evie…

  ‘Of course. You’re bound to have some ideas about your future home.’ His grin was teasing. ‘I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.’

  ‘Your flat,’ Tarn said slowly. ‘You’d want us to live there. I—I didn’t realise.’ One of many things she hadn’t taken into account, she thought. The way he already had their lives mapped out in this straight and shining path. But she couldn’t turn back now. She had to go on. Had to…

  ‘I thought—to begin with at least,’ he said. ‘While we decide where and wha
t our permanent home should be.’ He gave her a searching look. ‘You’re not keen?’

  ‘I hardly know.’ She searched for an excuse. ‘It’s just that everything’s moving so fast…’

  ‘Not for me,’ Caz said softly. ‘Given the chance, I’d get a special licence and carry you off this week.’

  She forced a smile. ‘I think you’ll have to be patient with me.’

  ‘I can do patient.’ His tone was rueful. ‘Although I may struggle a bit.’ He took her hand again. ‘You’ll have to make allowances too, my sweet. Promise?’

  ‘Yes,’ Tarn said and hated herself.

  She stood in the centre of that vast living room, trying not to shiver as Caz took her wrap from her shoulders and tossed it over the arm of a sofa before discarding his own jacket.

  ‘What do you want to see first?’ His voice was teasing. ‘The kitchen? After all, there’s coffee to be made.’

  She eased away from him. ‘I think you can manage that perfectly well without my interference.’

  ‘Then start the tour without me.’ He slanted a grin at her as he headed off. ‘I’ll be asking questions later.’

  She’d noticed the big vibrant canvases that hung on the pale walls during her previous visit, but tonight there were no friends or caterers to provide a distraction—or to act as a barrier, said a warning voice in her head—so she had time to look around properly—examine the pictures at her leisure.

  Like Evie, she was no expert, but she could see they deserved attention, their colours and textures drawing the eye and invading the imagination, their effect enhanced by careful lighting.

  But there were other, homelier touches too. She noticed some charming ceramics, not old enough to be valuable, on a table and walked over to look at a group of photographs on top of a bookcase. Her gaze travelled from a couple, not young, standing smiling in the sunlight in front of a wall, draped in wisteria, to some children on a beach with a black Labrador, and, lastly, standing by an elegant fireplace, an elderly woman whose white hair belied the command of a strong but beautiful face.

  Looking down at the sapphire ring, Tarn wondered if this was the grandmother who’d planned for his marriage.

  I’m sorry. She sent the message out into the ether. I’m so sorry, and I’m glad you can’t know what’s going to happen.

  When Caz returned with the coffee, she was standing at the window, staring at the lamplit panorama.

  ‘At sunset, it’s truly spectacular.’ He set down the tray. ‘Come and sit down. Can I offer you some brandy?’

  ‘Better not.’ She kept her tone light. ‘My head’s whirling quite enough, I think.’

  She took her place next to him and accepted the cup he handed to her, breathing the coffee’s rich, heady aroma.

  She said, ‘I’ve been admiring your pictures.’ She paused, adding deliberately, ‘You’ll have to teach me what they’re all about.’

  He gave a rueful shrug. ‘I have a mate called Adam who’d be a far better instructor. My choices are instinctive rather than informed, and he says I’ve been damned lucky not to have been taken for a ride so far. When you meet him, ask him anything you want to know.’

  ‘But I understood you were a connoisseur.’ She could not hide her surprise.

  Caz’s mouth twisted. ‘Well, I can’t imagine where you heard that, flattering though it may be.’ He added, ‘And I hope you’re not disappointed, now you know the truth.’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Not a bit. Besides, your method is probably better than picking something that ticks a lot of boxes with art critics. And I’d rather hear why you chose them.’

  ‘Let’s save that for some long winter evening,’ he suggested softly. ‘We have other things to discuss tonight.’

  Her heartbeat quickened. ‘Yes—of course.’

  ‘For one thing, you need to see the rest of the place, including the kitchen, even if I couldn’t tempt you in there just now.’ He paused, putting down his cup. ‘My God,’ he said. ‘I never thought to ask. You can cook, I suppose.’

  ‘Now there’s a male chauvinist question.’ Her glance held mock reproof. ‘If I say no, will you want your ring back?’

  ‘Far from it,’ Caz said cheerfully. ‘I’m not looking for a domestic slave. If necessary, I’ll simply get the meals myself.’ He paused. ‘But I admit it would be nicer if it was a joint affair.’

  ‘Much nicer,’ she said. ‘And I may as well confess right now that I love cooking.’

  ‘Excellent.’ He took her cup from her hand and set it down, then moved closer, sliding his arms round her and pulling her against him. ‘And as love has been mentioned,’ he murmured. ‘Now might also be a good time for you to tell me how you feel about me.’

  ‘I thought I’d already made that clear.’ Her voice shook a little as the warmth of him, the scent of his skin began at once to work their dark, insidious magic.

  ‘All the same, my darling, I need to hear you say it.’ He pushed back her hair from her face, letting his lips graze her temple. ‘Would it be so very difficult?’

  You don’t know. Oh, God, you just don’t know…

  But at least, for once, she could speak the truth without evasion.

  For this moment, she thought, just for this moment.

  She said quietly, ‘I love you, Caz. I think I did from the first, only I couldn’t—I didn’t want to admit it when there were so many reasons not to. So many reasons for me to keep my distance.

  ‘But now it’s said and I can tell you that I shall go on loving you for the rest of my life.’

  The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth…

  Heaven help me, she thought.

  He said hoarsely, ‘Oh, God, Tarn, my sweet, wonderful girl.’

  He began to kiss her, gently at first, then with increased passion, his mouth moving on hers in urgent sensuous demand.

  And Tarn responded, eagerly, helplessly, her arms around his neck, her breasts crushed against his chest, as her lips parted for him.

  Just for this moment.

  A moment when nothing else in the world existed but the sweet draining delight of his kisses. She found herself sighing her pleasure into his mouth, arching towards him as she felt the first heated explicit thrust of his tongue and offered him an equally candid response in her turn, clinging to him, drinking from the shared moisture of their mouths.

  She smiled as she experienced the warmth of his lips caressing her closed eyes, the curve of her cheek, and the crazy throb of the pulse in her throat.

  Caz pushed her back against the softness of the cushions, his hands moving slowly but very surely, skimming the delicate line of her shoulders, then sliding down to cup her breasts and stroke them gently through the silky top she was wearing, coaxing her nipples to rise to hard, aching peaks under the passionate certainty of his touch.

  Tarn gasped, her head thrown back, her whole being consumed by the long, delicious shivers that were running through her, inspiring her to let her fingers in their turn begin their own exploration—discover the taut muscularity of his back and trace the long supple spine through his fine linen shirt.

  To feel the heat of his body as it pressed on hers, and find it echoed in the giddy rush of her own blood stream, and in the deep, inner trembling of her ungiven flesh as she encountered the hardness of his arousal against her slender thighs.

  The thin layers of cloth that separated them seemed suddenly too great a barrier. With a kind of desperation, Tarn wanted to be naked in his arms. Naked with him. To find herself at last possessed and know the rapture of his body sheathed in hers.

  To understand why she had made herself wait all this time.

  Just for this moment. Just for this man. Whom she could not have…

  He was kissing her again, slowly, deeply, and she cried out softly in longing and despair, her voice breaking as she whispered his name against his mouth.

  ‘My angel.’ His voice was hoarse, his hand heavy on her bare thigh where he’d pushed
her skirt aside. ‘Tarn—stay with me tonight, darling—please. Give yourself to me.’

  All she need do was remain silent and he would lift her and carry her to his room. And to the bed he’d shared with Evie…

  It was that realisation that, somehow, forced her to clutch at her reeling sanity. Made her find the words that would save her. ‘I—I can’t.’ She stared up into his eyes, lambent with desire. ‘You—you said you wouldn’t pressure me. You promised…’

  ‘I did,’ Caz said quietly after a pause. ‘And I meant it. But I’m only human, my sweet, so you can’t blame me for trying.’ He sat up, pushing his hair back from his sweat-dampened forehead while Tarn ordered her dishevelled clothing with unsteady hands.

  She said, stumbling a little, ‘Are you angry with me?’

  ‘No,’ he said gently. ‘Why would I be? I want you very much, Tarn, but it has to be mutual.’ He added ruefully, ‘And for a few moments there, I thought it was.’

  ‘It was.’ Her voice shook. ‘It is. You must believe that.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s just—being here—in your flat. I don’t know how to explain.’ She swallowed. ‘I can only say that it has—connections that I can’t forget—and never will.’

  Ask me, she thought. Ask me exactly what I mean and I’ll tell you, so that I can put a stop to the whole thing once and for all. Because I can’t bear to go on like this. It’s ripping me in pieces.

  ‘Ah.’ He was silent for a moment, then sighed. ‘I must be extraordinarily insensitive, my darling, because it truly never occurred to me that my bachelor indiscretions would come back to haunt me in this particular way.’

  He took her back into his arms. ‘But if that’s how you feel, so be it.’ His lips brushed her hair. ‘You don’t have to live here, sweetheart, or even spend one solitary night with me. I’ll put this place on the market, and we’ll find somewhere else—somewhere new, with no connotations from the past whatsoever. We can start looking this week.’

  ‘You’d do that for me?’ She turned her face into his shoulder.

  ‘That and far more,’ he said. ‘How many times must I say it?’ He paused. ‘Tarn, I wish I knew what had happened in your life to make you so reluctant to trust me. Will you tell me—one day?’