by Sara Craven
He said quite gently, ‘No, Tarn. I’m afraid I can’t do that.’
There was a bleak hollow inside her. She said, ‘I suppose it was too much to hope for. And I can’t really blame you for wanting retribution.’
‘If I did,’ Caz said slowly, ‘one look at you would change my mind. You’re hardly a glowing advertisement for the benefits of revenge, my sweet.’
She said hoarsely, ‘You’re laughing at me?’
‘Christ, no.’ His tone sharpened. ‘I’ve never been further from amusement in my life. And, yes, I was angry and hurt and humiliated, and all the other miserable fates you wished on me for the sake of that pathetic girl upstairs. And if you’d asked me there and then if I ever wanted to see you again, I’d have answered in the negative with no expletives deleted.
‘But spending last night wide awake and alone, I came to a number of very different conclusions. For one thing, I realised you could have no idea what Eve Griffiths was and what she’d done. You simply believed the tissue of lies she’d invented for herself.’
She said slowly, ‘She wrote me letters about you. Reams of them telling me how wonderful you were—and how much in love she was. She was so pretty, yet she’d never really had any serious relationships before, so I was glad for her. And, if I’m honest, relieved too.’
‘Because she was going to be someone else’s problem?’
‘Yes.’ Tarn winced. ‘How awful that sounds. I’m so ashamed.’
‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘It shows your instincts were working well. You should have listened to them and washed your hands of her long ago.’
‘But I couldn’t,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Her father was good to me. I always felt I had to look out for her, and Aunt Hazel too, for his sake.’ She shook her head. ‘I never knew how much Evie had resented that. Resented me.’
‘Because you didn’t know her.’ He spoke forcefully, his eyes searching her face. ‘Don’t you understand, my love? You were guilty of nothing except being too loving and too loyal, and those are wonderful qualities, even when they’re aimed at the wrong target.’
He sighed harshly. ‘My God, I envied her for that, and wished with all my heart that I’d been the recipient instead.’
He paused. ‘But I think what concerned me most was that you never actually asked me about this alleged affair. Faced me and demanded the truth.’
‘Because I couldn’t,’ she cried passionately. ‘Don’t you see that? When I first met you all I could think about was avenging Evie’s heartbreak. I told myself she was all that mattered. That knowing you’d been punished for your treatment of her might genuinely help her back on the road to recovery.
‘Then when everything began to change and I fell in love with you, it was too late. Because you’d have wanted to know why I hadn’t spoken before—why I’d been deceiving you about who I really was, and what could I say? I was trapped in all the secrets—all the lies, and going on seemed the only solution.’
She looked away. ‘Besides, I was afraid what the truth might be. I could see how you might have become bored by her, and I was scared that you’d admit that you’d been using her after all. That you’d never given a damn about her but were making a fool out of a silly girl, simply because you could, and I—I couldn’t bear that either. Because it might mean you could do the same to me. That you could break me and throw me away just as easily.’
Caz said almost helplessly, ‘Oh, dear God.’ He was silent for a moment, then: ‘In all honesty, Tarn, I wouldn’t have known what to say. I’d never taken stalking particularly seriously. Probably no-one does until it starts happening. Apart from saying “good morning” while she was working at Brandon, I don’t think I said one word to Eve Griffiths. I certainly never saw her at the flat, and I’m not sure I even knew her name.
‘Occasionally at social events, I was aware of being intensely scrutinised by a pretty blonde, but that’s an occupational hazard for any bloke who’s ever featured on a rich list.’
He shrugged, his mouth twisting ruefully. ‘Some women come on to you, and you have to decide pretty early in life whether or not you’ll allow that, and I decided against. I prefer to do my own chasing.
‘In the end, it was only when the bad stuff started that the truth dawned on me, and for a while my life became hell on earth. At that time, I admit I would gladly have had her locked up and thrown the key away, so that part of your accusation was pretty much true.
‘I thought once she’d agreed to have treatment, it would be over, but Jack Wainwright warned me it was never that simple, and he was right. At the moment, her attitude to me swings like a pendulum from one extreme to another, but Jack hopes that, over time, that will resolve itself.
‘She’s giving the police a bad time too, co-operating one day and in total denial the next.’
Tarn gasped. ‘Is there nothing I can do?’
‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘You can leave her to the experts. Jack and his team can and will help her, once she accepts that it’s her problem and no-one else’s, but it will be a long haul and, as you found today, your intervention only makes matters worse. So you do not get involved.
‘Besides,’ he added. ‘You’re going to have other things on your mind, my sweet.’
‘I—don’t understand.’ Her tone faltered a little. He hadn’t moved a step but Tarn had the curious sensation she had only to stretch out her hand to touch him.
‘Then I’ll explain,’ he said. ‘I realised last night that nothing that had gone wrong between us actually mattered—not if the alternative was spending the rest of my life without you.’
‘Caz.’ Her words seemed to trip over themselves. ‘Oh, Caz, you can’t still want me—not after what I’ve done…’
‘No?’ He shook his head, the stark look fading from his face, to be replaced by a pleading tenderness that made her tremble. ‘Then hear this. I meant every word of the note I left for you, Tarn. We may not have had the ceremony, but, by God, we had the wedding. You’re still the only girl I’ll ever love, ever need, and when you gave yourself to me, you became my wife, body and soul.
‘There was no deception in that, Tarn.’ His voice shook. ‘It was love, pure and simple, and nothing can change that—unless, of course, you’ve decided that, because of all the other stuff, we’re better apart.
‘And even then I’m not letting you walk away, because we belong together and we both know it.’
He drew a breath. ‘So, no more secrets, my dearest one. No more pretence. Just an old-fashioned marriage. A home together. A family. Is it a deal?’
She was never sure which of them moved first, only that they were in each other’s arms, bodies pressed together in passionate intimacy, smiling mouths warm and seeking.
And when at last Caz raised his head, Tarn still clung to him, nuzzling his throat, breathing the scent of his skin, joy unfolding inside her like the petals of a flower.
He said unsteadily, ‘Jack’s been very tolerant, darling, but I think he might draw the line at us making love on his carpet. Where are you staying?’
‘An airport place.’
He grimaced. ‘It sounds as inviting as the place I picked. Why don’t we collect your things, and find somewhere with four-poster beds and great food so we can begin our honeymoon.’
Tarn played with a button on his shirt. ‘We’re not actually married—if you remember.’
He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘A minor point and strictly technical. After the honeymoon, we’ll seek out a church with a friendly vicar, get him to call the banns and do the deed in style. I’ll even get Jack to give you away.’
‘Oh, God, I’ve got a hire car,’ Tarn suddenly remembered as they walked hand in hand to the door. ‘I’ll have to return it.’
Caz shook his head. ‘I’ll arrange for it to be picked up,’ he told her firmly. ‘Because, my darling, I don’t plan to let you out of my sight for some considerable time—day or night.’
Tarn laughed as she reached up, dr
awing his head down to her. ‘That’s definitely a deal,’ she said, a world of promise in her voice. And kissed him.
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
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First published in Great Britain 2012
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited.
Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,
Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
© Sara Craven 2012
ISBN: 978-1-408-97441-4
