The Marriage Demand

by Penny Jordan

  She was wearing the clothes Nash had bought for her. Not because of anything Nash had said but because in the end she had felt that the vicar of a small country church might find it offensive that she should choose to be married in jeans and a tee shirt. It had been for his sake, out of respect for his feelings and for the church itself, that she had changed her clothes.

  ‘I can’t remember the last time I married a couple by special licence,’ the vicar was saying, and Faith could tell from his voice that he believed he had just married a couple who were desperately in love.

  Desperately in love! Once that had been exactly how she had felt about Nash.

  Once!

  Certain memories of the way she had responded to Nash in bed, the way she had felt about him, refused to go away.

  But that didn’t mean that she still loved him, she tried to reassure herself, fighting against her inner panic. How could she after what he had done?

  The atmosphere inside the church was one of peace and timelessness, a quiet, gentle benediction. A sense of the faith of the people who had worshipped here for so many generations touched her soul, Faith recognised as she paused to draw strength from her surroundings.

  No marriage should ever be entered into like this, in mutual distrust and hostility.

  She couldn’t bring herself to look at Nash as they left the church together.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘I’LL be off then, now. I’ve finished upstairs. Wednesday is always my day for upstairs, although it’s taken me longer than usual seeing as I’ve had the two beds to change.’

  Faith frowned as she heard the mocking note underlining the housekeeper’s words, but she refused to let the older woman see that she had recognised it.

  No doubt it would seem odd to her that a newly married couple should sleep not just in separate beds but in separate rooms.

  She grimaced to herself as she remembered the furiously angry words she had flung at Nash on the day of their marriage.

  ‘I might have to share a life with you from now on, Nash, but there’s no way ever we will share a bed.’

  ‘Then it’s just as well I wasn’t planning to invite you to do so, isn’t it?’ Nash had returned after the briefest of pauses.

  ‘No. You’ve already done what you wanted to do, haven’t you?’ Faith had lashed out at him, driven by a sense of desperation and pain she’d been unable to control.

  ‘If you’re trying to insinuate by that comment that I knew you were a virgin and that I deliberately—’ Nash had begun dangerously, before stopping and shaking his head.

  ‘We’re married now, Faith,’ he had told her flatly, ‘which means that there’s hardly any point in trying to provoke me into changing my mind, is there?’

  ‘But we will be having separate rooms, won’t we?’ she had insisted stubbornly, holding her breath as she’d waited for him to argue with her.

  Only he hadn’t. Instead he had simply shrugged his shoulders dismissively and responded, ‘If that’s what you want.’

  Of course it was what she wanted…It had been then and it still was now—wasn’t it?

  It was probably only her pride that was making her feel so…so somehow lacking as a woman just because of Mrs Jenson’s smirked comment. Anyway, Faith had far more to worry about than the housekeeper’s views on her marriage.

  Far more!

  It was a hot, sultry day and Faith was tempted to blame the heat for the problems she was having in trying to concentrate on her work. Another few days, no more than a week at most, and she should know if the night she and Nash had spent together was going to result in a child.

  Instinctively she glanced down at her left hand. Her rings were slightly loose, and she twisted her diamond solitaire ‘engagement’ ring absently.

  ‘Why have you given me this?’ she had challenged Nash as he had driven back to Hatton from the church.

  ‘They came as a pair,’ he had responded with a dismissive shrug.

  A pair…

  She and Nash were now a pair, in the eyes of the rest of the world and the law.

  She had tried to ring Robert earlier in the week to tell him that she and Nash were married but had been told by his secretary that he was up in Scotland visiting an elderly cousin who had been taken ill.

  ‘He’s asked me to hold everything but the most urgent messages,’ she had informed Faith.

  Helplessly Faith looked at the plans she was supposed to be working on. No matter how hard she tried she just couldn’t get properly motivated. Every time she started to make practical notes on how the house could best be adapted to suit the Foundation’s needs she started to visualise Philip showing her around it, the pride in his eyes as he had done so.

  Abandoning her work, Faith went upstairs and removed her tee shirt, tying on a brief halter-necked top before going outside into the garden. Nash was away on business and she had the house to herself. Absent-mindedly she bent down to remove a weed from the long border.

  Half an hour later there was a growing pile of weeds next to her on the gravel path and she was diligently occupied in adding to it.

  The sky had taken on a brassy hue and the air had become heavy. The weather was forecast to break later in the week, bringing much needed rain.

  Nash frowned as he walked into the empty study. There was no sign of Faith in the house but her car was parked outside.

  His frown deepened as he scrutinised the plans she had been working on. They were for the ground floor of the house and he could see from her notes that she was concerned that the existing kitchen facilities would not be adequate for the Foundation’s needs.

  She had done a small but detailed plan, showing how some of the house’s larger rooms could be divided to provide the facilities the Foundation would need. Nash reached out to turn them over and tensed as he saw the plans Faith had put beneath them.

  These were very different from the ones she had been working on. They showed the ground floor of Hatton very much as it still was, but with the addition of a pretty conservatory and the alteration of the old butler’s pantry and scullery area next to the kitchen to provide a large airy family room. Nash studied what she had done for a long time before sliding the top drawing back over it.

  The deal he had been putting together in New York was a complex one but it was finally getting close to completion, Nash thought, then paused as he reached the top of the stairs, glancing out of the window that looked out onto the garden. He could see Faith busily weeding. Her brief halter top exposed the smooth tanned flesh of her back. She had tied her hair up out of the way.

  It had been a long flight from New York and it had been his intention to have a shower and go straight to bed—so why was he turning round and heading back down the stairs?

  Faith didn’t know just what it was that made her stop what she was doing and turn her head to look down the long walkway. Some sixth sense? Some instinct? The instinct of a woman for a certain man?

  Her heart slammed against her ribs as she saw Nash. He had taken a shortcut from the house to the walkway and was standing just in front of the small gazebo which commanded a view of the entire length of it. A little unsteadily Faith got to her feet.

  The air was so oppressive and heavy that it seemed to physically press in on her, and the sun had disappeared, swallowed up by a warning bank of heavy cloud which was slowly darkening the sky.

  Faith gave a small shiver as she saw it. It was the kind of sky that presaged thunder. She knew her fear of thunderstorms was illogical, but that didn’t stop her dreading them.

  Nash watched her as she stood irresolutely glancing from him to the sky. Once she would have run to him, her face lighting up with joy at the sight of him as she flung herself into his arms. Here, in this very gazebo, she had clung to him, lifting her mouth temptingly towards his as she’d told him, ‘Oh, Nash…I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve missed you.’

  The kiss he had given her had been just the merest brush of his mouth against her cheek, u
nlike the one he had wanted to give her, plundering the soft sweetness of the lips she was offering him, cupping her face, stroking the silky softness of her throat, removing from her body the thin top she had been wearing and slowly caressing her breasts, watching the pleasure shine brilliantly in her eyes as he did so before whispering to her how much he loved and wanted her.

  Grimly he pushed aside his unwanted memories and walked towards Faith.

  Why was he looking at her like that? Faith wondered warily. Was he thinking that she ought to be inside working and not out here? She flinched as she heard a faint roll of thunder in the distance.

  Nash heard it too. Faith, he remembered, was terrified of thunderstorms. Irritably he pushed away his feeling of relief that he had reached Hatton before the storm. Why the hell should he feel any need or desire to protect her?

  ‘I think I’ll go back inside,’ Faith told him, her eyes on the darkening horizon.

  Her hair was starting to come loose and she reached up to remove the band she had secured it with, unintentionally unfastening the tie on her halter top at the same time. Her concentration was more on the growing storm than on what she was doing.

  It was only when she felt her top starting to slide free of her body that she realised what she had done, and held it protectively against her breasts with her hand. With the straps tangled in her now loose hair, discreetly retying them wasn’t going to be possible—and anyway it was obvious from the way Nash was looking at her that he realised what had happened.

  ‘I applaud your modesty, but is it really necessary?’ he asked her dryly. ‘Women sunbathe topless openly in public, Faith, and it would be a very secluded person these days who isn’t familiar with the sight of naked female breasts. And besides…’ He stopped, but Faith knew what he had been going to say.

  He had been about to remind her that he was no stranger to her naked body—and not merely the sight of it either!

  He had been walking alongside her, but now he was standing behind her, one hand lightly touching her naked shoulder as he told her, ‘Keep still for a minute and I’ll refasten it for you.’

  It was a mundane enough remark, and a mundane enough action, surely—merely tying two pieces of cloth together, that was all. But as he refastened her straps his fingers brushed against her skin, sending messages that were far too dangerously sensual shooting through her. Her body felt too sensitive, too aware of him. She could feel the frantic race of her heartbeat, driven by a mixture of fear and pain, and her tension was exacerbated by the distant slow roll of the still thankfully distant storm.

  What if Nash were to bend his head now and gently kiss the slope of her shoulder before turning her round to face him? Beneath her top Faith felt her nipples harden, whilst a hot coil of desire began to tighten deeper within her body.

  If things were different between them wouldn’t she now be turning to him, smiling teasingly up at him whilst she silently invited him to kiss her, touch her…make love with her…?

  Why was she thinking like this? Had Mrs Jenson’s comment to her earlier affected her more than she had thought? Had it somehow challenged her as a woman to such an extent that she felt she had something to prove?

  ‘There…’

  ‘Thank you.’ Her voice was curt, her body screaming with tension. Why was Nash still holding on to her? She could feel his breath against her skin, so warm, so close that it was almost as though he was whispering the softest of kisses against her naked shoulder. Frantically Faith fought to remind herself of the reality of her situation. If she did have something to prove, surely that something was that she was in no danger whatsoever of succumbing to her teenage feelings for Nash?

  The thick sulphurous silence of the garden was so oppressive that even the bees had gone silent.

  ‘Have you told Ferndown yet?’

  Nash had released her as he spoke and automatically Faith spun round to face him.

  ‘If you mean have I told him about…that…that…about our marriage,’ she answered, ‘Then, no…I haven’t.’

  ‘Faith—’ Nash began, and then stopped as a low, growling roll of thunder made her flinch.

  ‘We’d better get inside. With any luck the storm will bypass us here,’ he told Faith as they hurried towards the house. ‘My solicitor’s coming out to see me later. Otherwise—’ He stopped speaking, his mouth suddenly grim.

  Otherwise what? Nash asked himself with inward scorn. Otherwise he’d stay with her, protect her, hold her…take care of her?

  As Faith lifted her hand to pull open the house door the diamond in her engagement ring caught the light and glinted brilliantly. He had ordered it specially from Tiffany’s, and he had lied when he’d said that it was part of a matching set.

  Once she was inside the house Faith felt less afraid. She couldn’t hear the storm now. It was, mercifully, still too far away.

  Faith started up nervously from her chair as she heard the unmistakable sound of thunder. It was ten o’clock in the evening and she was on her own in the house watching television—or rather trying to—in an attempt to distract herself from what was happening outside. The local weather forecast had predicted that the storm would pass them by, but the increasingly loud claps of thunder Faith could hear above the noise of the television didn’t sound as though it was doing any such thing.

  Nash had taken his solicitor out to dinner. She had been invited to join them, but of course she had refused. She had seen the curiosity in the older man’s eyes when Nash had introduced her to him as his wife.

  Why had Nash had to do that? She had felt such a hypocrite accepting his good wishes. His late cousin had been Philip’s solicitor, he had informed Faith.

  And so, of course, he would know about Philip’s bequest to her, for which she owed such a debt of gratitude.

  Another roll of thunder shook the sky. Unable to stop herself, Faith rushed to the window and opened the curtains. The storm had brought an early murky dusk, and as she peered out anxiously into it a jagged fork of lightning splintered across the sky.

  The storm was in the distance and she had nothing to fear, she knew. It would bypass the house. But she just wished it would hurry up and do so.

  She had been caught in a bad thunderstorm as a small child and she suspected that that was the original cause of her now almost phobic fear of thunder. Her desire to run and hide was totally illogical, she told herself firmly as she forced herself to leave the window and go back to her chair.

  If she turned the television up loudly enough she wouldn’t even hear the thunder, and anyway it would soon be gone—except that half an hour later Faith knew that it wasn’t going away. It was coming closer and closer.

  In the restaurant in Oxford where he had taken his solicitor Nash broke into the older man’s fond reminiscences of Philip.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised, ‘but I’m going to have to go. Faith is terrified of thunderstorms, and contrary to the forecast this one seems to be moving closer to us.’

  They had travelled to Oxford in separate cars since David Lincoln lived on the other side of the city, and within minutes of calling for the bill Nash was back in his own car and speeding towards Hatton.

  Switching on the radio, he heard that the storm had changed direction and that it was proving to be worse than the original forecast.

  Frowning, Nash put his foot down on the accelerator. It was only natural that he should be concerned, he told himself. After all, Faith could be carrying his child.

  But as fast as he drove, the storm was faster. He could see it illuminating the sky in front of him, hear its savage ferocity, and he knew from the time lag between the vivid pyrotechnics of the lightning and the threatening rolls of thunder that the centre of the storm was still some miles away.

  Another jagged flash of lightning tore open the sky before it earthed.

  Nash cursed as minutes later his car headlights picked out the tree it had hit, the huge branch now blocking the road.

  Quickly reversing hi
s car, he drove back the way he had come. The only alternative route he could take was a circuitous one that would add well over another half an hour to his journey.

  He glanced at his dashboard clock…

  Faith trembled as another bolt of lightning exploded in the darkness outside her bedroom window. Anxiously she started to count, waiting for the follow-up burst of thunder.

  Ten seconds…twenty…The storm was miles away yet—miles away.

  She was perfectly safe. There was no need for her to panic. Hatton had withstood nearly a hundred years of summer storms.

  But it was built on the highest piece of land locally; its tall, decorative chimneys reached up into the sky. The fury of the storm left Faith in no doubt about its need to find an escape…a prey to vent its pent-up energy upon. Around her bedroom window was the frame which had once held the metal bars that all nursery windows of a certain era had been fixed with. If the lightning should find and strike it…

  As though in some malign way it had read her thoughts, a sudden vivid flash of lightning illuminated her bedroom window.

  Faith could feel her fear overwhelming her as fast as the storm was threatening to overwhelm the house.

  There had been a storm the summer she had stayed here. Nash had found her crouched on the landing, her hands over her ears. He had taken her to his room, talking to her, soothing her, staying with her until the storm had passed.

  Nash!

  Faith screamed his name as the thunder crashed and rolled outside, drowning out the sound of her terror. She was a creature of the elements now, incapable of any kind of logic, driven by instinct and fear.

  Wrenching open her door, she raced along the landing, her breath coming in painful rasping sobs as she finally reached Nash’s bedroom. The room was in darkness, a silent stronghold of peace and safety, somehow inviolate from the storm.

  In here she would be safe, Faith knew instinctively. As she closed the door she could hear the storm raging ever closer.

  Shaking with the nauseous intensity of her fear, she crawled into Nash’s bed, wrapping the bedcovers tightly around herself.