Husband for Real

by Catherine George

  ‘Goodnight, James. Thank you for supper.’

  ‘Goodbye, little girl,’ he said coldly, and, far from thawing towards her, drove away the moment Rose closed the passenger door.

  Because the flat was empty when she got in, Rose went to bed without interrogation, and cried her eyes out, unheard. Next morning she got up as usual for the early-morning run, but this time James wasn’t waiting for her, and it was Greg Prosser, James’s rugby-playing team mate, who joined her on the track after she’d completed four endless circuits. Rose gave him a cheery wave and left before she could burst into tears again. When she got back to the flat she took a long shower, then had toast and coffee waiting when her yawning flatmates joined her.

  ‘Right,’ said Rose, cutting straight to the chase. ‘I think we can all agree that the plan worked?’

  ‘It certainly did—like a charm,’ said Con, pushing her hair out of her eyes.

  ‘Mission accomplished, then. But now it’s over. If you remember, the idea was to make James Sinclair fall in love with me, not the other way round. So that’s it.’ Rose smiled brightly. ‘Time I got myself back into circulation again.’

  Con and Fabia were loud with argument against this, but Rose was adamant. She would not, she declared, be seeing James Sinclair again. And did her utmost to hide her desolation every time the phone rang for one of the other girls. But James, it soon became evident, was not a man to waste time on lost causes. Rose reverted to evenings spent in the union, but by the weekend she was missing James so badly she was willing to agree to anything he wanted, just as long as they could be together again. To demonstrate her change of heart she went to the Sceptre with the others, on fire with barely contained impatience as she waited for the rugby crowd to arrive. But when they did James wasn’t with them. Rose’s disappointment was so intense she felt physically ill. She forced herself to laugh and flirt as though James’s non-appearance was the last thing on her mind, but inside she was hurting badly. And Con, whose eyes saw more than most, tapped Rose on the arm and suggested they left.

  ‘Fabia’s coming back with Hargreaves, as usual,’ she said. ‘So come on. Let’s get out of here.’

  On the way home Rose confessed that it was Sinclair who’d put a summary end to things between them. ‘He wanted us to go out together like a normal couple.’

  ‘And you refused?’ said Con incredulously. ‘Are you out of your mind? Most girls would jump at the chance.’

  Rose nodded miserably. ‘I know. And I’m sorry now, believe me. But at the time I couldn’t bear the thought of everyone watching and making bets on whether we were sleeping together. No one would care a damn if it was some other bloke, of course. But because it’s Sinclair it’s different.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I never dreamed he’d stop seeing me altogether, Con. Which serves me right.’

  ‘So ring him.’

  Rose’s eyes lit with a steely gleam. ‘No, I can’t do that. Not now.’

  ‘Why not, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘If Sinclair had really wanted to see me he’d have turned up tonight on the off chance I’d be there. He didn’t, so that’s that. I’ve got my pride.’

  Con smiled in approval. ‘Good girl. He’s not the only man in the world, Rosie. And it’s Valentine’s day next week. You’ll be knee-deep in partners at the dance.’

  To Rose’s surprise she received as many cards as Fabia and Con. The flat was awash with red hearts and sentimental verses alongside jokier offerings with messages ranging from the cute to the downright rude. But the card that Rose liked the most was an exquisite watercolour of a single red rose, with no verse at all. And to add to her secret excitement a matching live bloom arrived for her during the morning.

  ‘A rose for Rose,’ said the message on the florist’s card.

  ‘Dear me, I wonder who that’s from?’ said Con, smiling.

  ‘No point in wondering,’ said Fabia with relish. ‘Mystery is the point of it all.’

  Rose tried to convince herself that neither card nor rose was from James. Miles Challoner, who fancied himself as a Byronic type, was probably responsible. A thought which dissipated her excitement very thoroughly. In comparison with James Sinclair all other males in her immediate vicinity seemed immature and uninteresting, and with no chance of seeing him there she got ready for the dance later without much enthusiasm. Her dress, bought in Chastlecombe during the January sales, was a little sleeveless number sprigged with rosebuds on black silk, with fluted hem and plunging V-neck, and was pronounced such a success by her friends Rose’s spirits lifted a little as Fabia did her make-up. Tonight she would have fun and enjoy herself. And forget James Sinclair.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TO MAKE the evening more of an occasion Con and Fabia had persuaded Rose it would be a good idea to invite a few people round first for a snack supper. By early evening the small flat was a crush of young men in dinner jackets and girls in party frocks. The three hostesses passed round bits and pieces bought from a supermarket to accompany a sparing supply of bubbly wine from the same source, and by the time they got to the dance the entire group was in tearing spirits. While Rose, if not quite as carefree as the others, was feeling a lot better than she’d done for a while, and knew she looked good, for the simple reason that so many of her partners told her so. Miles, as expected, was much in evidence, and extravagant with his praise of her dress.

  ‘Clever girl—roses for Rose,’ he whispered in her ear, unaware that he’d damped his partner down so badly she wanted to run from the floor in tears.

  Of course James hadn’t sent the rose. But like a fool she’d let herself hope he had. Just for a while. She smiled up at Miles with such determined animation he responded with enthusiasm, crushing her so close against him the studs of his dress shirt prodded her painfully through the silk. When the band finished the set Miles put a possessive arm round her to steer her back to the noisy group at their table and Rose slid into a chair next to Con to join in heated, laughing speculation about who had sent Valentine cards to whom. When the college band started up again with a slow number, Will Hargreaves pulled Fabia to her feet, then stood rooted to the spot, staring at a new arrival near the door. Con muttered incredulously as all eyes turned in the same direction. But Rose couldn’t hear a thing over the heartbeat drumming against her ribs at the sight of James Sinclair in formal black and white. With a red rose in his lapel. He began to thread his way through the crowd, causing an audible stir when he came to a halt in front of her.

  ‘Dance with me, Rose?’ he said, smiling.

  In a flash the evening was transformed. She nodded formally in assent, and went into James’s arms like a homing bird, never even noticing the stricken look on Miles Challoner’s face.

  The knowledge that they were attracting attention on all sides no longer mattered a jot to Rose. Now she was in James Sinclair’s arms again the rest of the world could go hang. Unsurprised to find that someone as co-ordinated as James moved well, for a while she just gave herself up to the bliss of the moment, but when they were far enough way from the band to talk she looked up into his intent face.

  ‘You dance well, Sinclair.’

  ‘The academy in charge of my education insisted on such niceties,’ he informed her, in mock-refined accents she found so irresistible. Rose gave a bubbling little laugh and he smiled down at her in response as he held her closer, and for a moment they could have been alone in the crowded room. ‘Are you having a good time?’ he asked politely, his eyes saying something so completely different Rose’s breathing quickened.

  ‘The best,’ she assured him, which was the simple truth now she was dancing with James Sinclair. ‘We had a sort of supper party before the dance to put everyone in the mood.’

  ‘You didn’t invite me!’

  ‘Of course I didn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You know perfectly well why,’ she said, her eyes flashing, and he smiled, in the slow, igniting way that took her breath away.

  �
�Do you know how much I’ve missed you, Rose?’

  She gazed up at him steadily. ‘Half as much as I’ve missed you, maybe?’

  His eyes blazed as he bent closer. ‘Let’s go home.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Right now. Mrs Bradley’s away on holiday, and…’ he bent to whisper in her ear ‘…as you know very well, I make a great bacon sandwich.’

  Rose looked up at him for a long considering moment, then noticed a pulse throbbing beside his mouth. So he wasn’t sure she’d say yes.

  ‘Ah, well, I never could resist a bacon sandwich,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ll fetch my coat.’

  The light in his eyes set Rose on fire. ‘I’ll be outside. Hurry,’ he added urgently.

  They were the centre of attention as they parted in the middle of the floor, but Rose didn’t even notice. When she emerged with her coat Fabia and Con were waiting for her, looking anxious, their relief touching when Rose told them she was leaving with James.

  ‘Don’t wait up,’ she said blithely.

  ‘Be careful, love,’ said Con, plainly worried by Rose’s undisguised radiance.

  ‘Don’t be such a killjoy,’ admonished Fabia. ‘Our little flower has been wilting a bit lately. I prefer her this way. Have fun, Rosebud. See you tomorrow—or whenever.’

  James was waiting outside by his car. He settled Rose in the low bucket seat, then got in and leaned over to kiss her fiercely before starting the car. ‘Are you angry with me?’ he demanded.

  ‘For giving me a kiss?’ Rose could afford to be facetious now that all was right with the world again.

  ‘No. For making the next best thing to a public declaration in there just now.’ He slanted a triumphant look at her as he drove off. ‘I decided it was time to take the war into the enemy’s camp.’

  ‘I’m not your enemy, James.’

  ‘You defeated me.’ He smiled straight ahead. ‘I retired to plan new strategy, and decided the best thing was to give you no choice. If I came in black-tie gear to the union—which is not a habit of mine—and asked Miss Rose Dryden to dance, I knew no one would be left in doubt about our relationship.’

  ‘Except me,’ said Rose.

  ‘If you wait until we get home I’ll explain in full.’ He touched a hand fleetingly to hers. ‘I’ve missed you at the track.’

  ‘Not every day, you haven’t,’ she said tartly. ‘I went there the first morning. After our—our disagreement. But you were missing.’ She turned accusing eyes on his profile. ‘Was that a little dressage, to show me you were calling the shots?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘It worked.’

  ‘Wrong. I had to fight myself tooth and nail to keep from ringing you afterwards.’

  ‘But you won.’

  ‘On the contrary. I lost.’ He shot her a brooding look as they arrived in the familiar house. ‘After a couple of days without seeing you I was tempted to ring you and say I’d play it any way you wanted. But, chauvinist that I am, I needed you back on my own terms. My campaign was to be subtle. I’d send you the card and the rose, and then, when you were in a totally weakened state of resistance, I’d invade the dance, complete with rose in my buttonhold like a total idiot, and carry you off the field—what’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?’

  Rose gazed at him with eyes like stars. ‘You sent me the card with the rose on it? And the rose from the florist?’

  He gave her a wry grin. ‘Don’t tell anyone! My street cred would suffer if it came out that Sinclair sent flowers and Valentine cards.’

  ‘In the plural?’

  ‘Hell, no! Just to you, Rose.’ He scowled. ‘And just who did you think sent them?’

  ‘Miles Challoner.’

  ‘The twit who was all over you tonight?’

  ‘He was certainly not all over me,’ she retorted hotly.

  ‘It looked like it to me. But why did you think it was him?’

  ‘I suppose he was just referring to my dress. He said something about roses for Rose, like the message on the card, so I crossed you off the list.’ She smiled at him demurely. ‘He must have sent one of the other cards. Yours was only one of half a dozen I received, Mr Sinclair.’

  James leapt out of the car and strode round to pull her from her seat. ‘Rattling my cage, Miss Dryden?’ He hurried her into the house, then stood looking at her under the hall light. ‘Do you want that sandwich?’ he whispered.

  Rose shook her head impatiently. He drew in a deep breath, removed her coat, then took her hand to pull her upstairs with him, both of them stumbling in sudden haste. When they reached his room James lifted her off her feet against him, backing into the door to close it as he kissed her with an unrestrained longing Rose responded to in kind, her caressing hands as demanding as his.

  ‘Wait!’ gasped James, and held her away from him, turning her so that he could slide down the zip of her dress. ‘My instinct is to tear it off you,’ he said into the back of her neck, ‘but it seems a shame when you look so good in it.’ He kissed the hollow behind her ear, sending a great shiver through her as he lifted her clear of the dress. Then he stood utterly still, his eyes devouring her as she took the pins from her hair. ‘You look even better out of it,’ he said hoarsely.

  Instead of her usual chain-store underwear Rose was wearing brief scraps of pearl-coloured silk Minerva had given her at Christmas, and felt passionately grateful for her forethought when she saw James couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  ‘Are you just going to look at me all night?’ she asked unsteadily, shaking her hair back, and he closed the space between them, holding her so close their combined heartbeat thumped in unison.

  ‘Tell me this is what you really want, Rose,’ he said, his face oddly stern as his eyes locked with hers.

  ‘I do. More than anything in the world,’ she said, with such utter certainty he picked her up, laid her on the bed and stripped off the shirt she’d been trying to pull off him with such haste a moment before.

  Rose smiled with sudden delight as she realised where she was. ‘This is your sofa, James!’

  ‘By day,’ he agreed, responding with the slow smile she’d missed so badly. ‘At night it’s a bed. My bed. And,’ he added softly, letting himself down beside her, ‘you’re the first to share it with me.’

  Rose gave a deep, relishing sigh as his arms locked around her. Then she remembered something his ought to know. ‘James,’ she whispered, then buried her face against his chest.

  He tensed. ‘What is it, sweetheart? Second thoughts?’

  ‘No!’ Rose drew away and met his eyes, her face hot. ‘But now seems a good time to mention that Minerva sent me off for contraceptive pills last summer, before I came here.’

  His eyes lit with laughter. ‘How very practical. Your aunt was obviously a student herself, once.’

  Rose nodded, rubbing her flushed cheek against his. ‘She warned me that the main student pastimes are drinking and sleeping, quite a lot of the last bit with each other.’

  ‘I’d like to meet this aunt of yours!’ James looked amused. ‘Though wasn’t she worried you’d rush off to put the pills to the test?’

  ‘No. Minerva made it plain she expected me to be—well, discriminate.’

  ‘And you have been?’ he said softly.

  ‘Up to now, yes,’ said Rose candidly, and smiled into his eyes as she wriggled closer. ‘I’ve certainly never slept with a man before.’

  ‘Did I mention sleeping?’

  ‘No. Which is just as well—I’m not the least bit tired.’

  James gave a smothered, delighted laugh, and kissed her, and Rose locked her hands behind his head, surrendering her mouth and body to him with trusting lack of restraint as he removed the last of their clothes. But when they held each other close in full, naked contact, for the first time at last, Rose was startled to find that James was shaking almost as much as she was.

  ‘I haven’t done this before myself, but I was rather hoping you had,’ she said in dism
ay.

  ‘Of course I have.’ He kissed the hollow between her breasts. ‘But never with someone new to it all. At this moment I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life, but I can’t make it perfect for you because I’ll have to hurt you.’

  ‘It can’t hurt that much,’ she said, with a confidence which proved misplaced, because though James kissed and caressed her at such length she thought she’d die if he didn’t take her at last, Rose couldn’t control an involuntary gasp of anguish when he did.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ he groaned, and lay very still, giving Rose time to adjust to the overwhelming intimacy of physical possession.

  ‘I want you to move,’ she said gruffly after a moment or two, and James obliged, with a lack of haste which took superhuman effort, Rose could tell, as her hands smoothed the knotted tension of his shoulders. But when she began to experience delicious ripples of sensation in response to the rhythm of his loving James kissed her fiercely, moving with new, demanded urgency, and Rose thrust her hips against him in instinctive, wanton response. But all too soon he groaned like a man in pain as the inexorable delight defeated him, and he buried his face in her neck and gasped in the throes of release as she held him tightly, glorying in the fact that he was suddenly so helpless in her arms.

  At last James raised his head and looked deep into her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I wanted it to be so good for you—’

  ‘Oh, but it was,’ she assured him, with such fervour she felt him relax against her.

  ‘Next time,’ he assured her, ‘it will be as wonderful for you as it was for me, I promise.’

  And, sooner than Rose had thought humanly possible, even for a superbly fir specimen like James Sinclair, he began to make love to her again. And this time the heat built up slowly, mounting inside her until every inch of her responsive, throbbing body took fire as he coaxed her to heights of physical pleasure which left her lying limp in his arms afterwards, sated from her first experience of sexual fulfilment.