He's My Husband!

by Lindsay Armstrong

  ‘He’s the only male I’ve got to go by. Strangely enough, he’s often right. Perhaps he gets his taste from you?’

  ‘Do you think I have good taste when it comes to women?’

  Nicola chewed her lip and regretted saying anything on the subject. ‘Marietta was—is—very beautiful,’ she mused thoughtfully, though after a slight pause.

  He watched her meditatively for a moment, then, ‘Marietta and I were violently attracted to each other. But I think we should have known better.’ He shrugged.

  Nicola frowned. ‘That’s a strange thing to say. I don’t—understand.’

  ‘Well. it was very difficult to handle, even without the pressures of children, and her and my own dedication to our careers.’

  ‘But you did love her, didn’t you?’

  ‘I thought so at the time, Nicola,’ he said quietly.

  ‘But, whatever it was, it literally burnt itself out.’

  Nicola blinked several times. ‘Why are you telling me this, Brett?’

  ‘Because I don’t think you’ve ever believed it’s over between us.’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ she said honestly. ‘And, if you must know, I really think that between you you could have had more sense than to have not one but two children to inherit the burden of—’ she gestured ‘—a broken marriage.’

  He stared down at the glass in his hands, then grimaced. ‘Hindsight is a very valuable commodity. But, if you look at it another way, mightn’t we be poorer without Chris and Sasha in our lives?’

  Nicola stared at him and went quite pale. ‘Of course,’ she said, and closed her eyes. ‘Why did I say that?’

  He smiled faintly. ‘Not because you don’t love them enough—even to considering yourself as their guardian angel, Nicola. Don’t look like that. And, as unwise as we may have been, Marietta and I, these things do happen. But I’m doing my level best not to let it affect them too much.’

  ‘So what happens when I’m gone?’ she asked abruptly.

  He stood up, took her glass, and the front doorbell rang. ‘I would continue to have their best interests at heart, Nicola. Our guests have arrived.’

  Talk about your mythical mistresses, Reverend Callam, Nicola found herself thinking at one stage, during what turned out to be a very long evening. If Tara Wells hasn’t got her sights on Brett, I’m a Dutchman! Is that what it’s all about?

  But, before she’d got to that stage, she’d welcomed their guests warmly, and Sasha and Chris had come out to be introduced, and to reacquaint themselves with the Masons and Richard Holloway. Nicola had discovered she was holding her breath in case Sasha let out any more household secrets, but she and Chris had behaved beautifully, looking so angelic in their pyjamas and dressing gowns it was hard to equate them with the secreting of mashed potato in shoes, for example.

  Then Ellen had come to take them to bed and Nicola had breathed a sigh of relief, at the same time catching a wicked little glint of amusement in Brett’s eye.

  It was Tara Wells who’d said whimsically, ‘How adorable—but then I’m told that’s the best time to view children, just before they go to bed.’

  Everyone had laughed, and as Brett handed out champagne cocktails Nicola had taken a moment to study this guest about whom she had such grave doubts.

  Tara Wells was about thirty, tall, slender and dark, with pale, perfect skin and beautiful green eyes. She wore a dove-grey silk suit with short sleeves, and no jewellery other than a large gold wristwatch on a black alligator band—there were no rings on either hand. And she undoubtedly had a presence. You could easily see her being a quiet force to be reckoned with in a court of litigation.

  You could also see appreciation of another kind in the eyes of both Richard Holloway and Rod Mason, and a little spurt of annoyance in Kim Mason’s eyes as she observed her husband being courtly and deferential towards Tara Wells. Oh, no, Nicola thought, not another cause for dispute between the District Court Judge and his wife?

  But it was towards Nicola herself that Tara displayed the most interest. She said, just before dinner was served, ‘Brett’s told me all about you, Nicola, but even he didn’t do you justice.’

  ‘Why, thank you,’ Nicola heard herself respond with caution—due, she discovered a moment later, to a feeling of discomfort to think of Brett discussing her with anyone. Why should they be discussing her anyway? ‘I’m afraid he hasn’t told me anything about you,’ she added, not quite truthfully, and smiled charmingly.

  A fleeting look of surprise lit those lovely green eyes, then Tara looked rueful. ‘I’ve only been with the firm a few weeks. I moved up from Brisbane to take the position—Hinton, Harcourt & Associates has a fine reputation, even for a smallish town like Cairns.’

  ‘My father would have been delighted to hear you say so,’ Nicola said regally, further insulted by the small-town epithet. ‘He was the Hinton.’

  ‘So I believe. Brett has told me just how much he admired and respected your father.’

  Oh, has he? What else—? Nicola bit off the thought and rose. ‘Dinner is ready,’ she said graciously, and moved towards the table.

  The calamari and Beef Wellington were pronounced excellent, and the conversation was lively. Kim had apparently got over her annoyance—possibly because Tara took the trouble to draw her out and show a keen interest in the charity work she did.

  A very skilful operator, Nicola mused once, then grimaced inwardly. Why don’t I like her? Well, I know that… But did I imagine that she managed to turn a compliment into a subtle put-down, the way she implied that she and Brett had discussed me as if there was a closeness between them that has no right to be there? Or was it simply an accident of words on her part and a touch of paranoia on my part?

  But, although they kept it to the minimum, there was no doubt Tara could hold her own—with no ‘accident of words’—in the brief discussion of legal matters that was probably inevitable with three lawyers amongst them. She had definite views on the make-up of the High Court, and on the intricacies of Native Tide legislation. Definite, concise and intelligent views that caused Rod Mason to view her with admiration again and even Brett to look impressed.

  The perfect wife for a lawyer, Nicola found herself thinking involuntarily as Ellen brought in a cheese-board and fruit prior to serving the mocha mousse.

  ‘When do I get to see your work?’ Richard Holloway asked at that point, and she turned to him gratefully—anything to distract her from her thoughts…

  ‘Well, those are mine.’ She gestured to the candlesticks. ‘And all the pots and urns you may have noticed in the courtyard are, too. But I’ve got a shed in the garden; I’ll take you down after dessert.’

  ‘Can I come as well?’ Kim asked a trifle plaintively.

  ‘With pleasure,’ Nicola said warmly. ‘You’re the one who got me the job—if I’m good enough.’

  ‘Oh, I think we’ll all take a look.’ Brett glanced at Rod and Tara, who agreed readily.

  So they all walked down to the shed in the garden after dessert, and it was Tara who said, ‘What a delightful hobby, Nicola! I just wish I had time for something like this.’

  ‘Yes, I’m into hobbies,’ Nicola shot back, before she could stop herself. ‘Keeps me out of mischief, doesn’t it, Brett?’

  ‘At times,’ he agreed gravely.

  ‘But these are so good!’ Kim proclaimed, and looked at Richard for confirmation.

  It struck Nicola that Richard, who had been the perfect guest at dinner, had gone into a different mode as he handled a terracotta bowl in the shape of an open clam shell with fluted edges. ‘You used a wheel?’ he asked with a frown.

  ‘Yes, it wasn’t easy.’ She shrugged humorously.

  ‘I believe you.’ He put the clam shell down and picked up a vase glazed in a swirling riot of peony-pink on misty blue with a gold thread running through it. ‘Nor was this, I imagine.’

  ‘Well, I’ve always admired Moorcroft pottery, and their tube piping technique that gives that rai
sed effect.’ She traced a finger down the gold thread. ‘Not that I could emulate Moorcroft, but it adds a lovely feel to a piece, don’t you think?’

  Richard agreed absently and put the vase down carefully. ‘Nicola, you and I are in business. Can I come and see you—uh—I’ve got a meeting with the builders tomorrow—how about the next day, say ten in the morning? I’ll bring the plans.’

  Nicola blinked, and glanced at Brett.

  Who said easily, ‘Why not? Congratulations, Mrs Harcourt.’ He put his hand briefly over hers without, Nicola suspected, the slightest intimation that his words sounded like death knell to her. ‘Shall we go back and have coffee?’

  Tara was the last to leave.

  She asked Nicola charmingly for a quick tour of the house, and enthused over its design and all that was in it.

  ‘Of course, I didn’t do it,’ some perverse imp made Nicola say. ‘It was Brett’s first wife—they were still married when he built the house, so a lot of it is Marietta’s taste. Not that you can quarrel with it.’

  ‘You knew her?’

  ‘Very well. She was like an older sister.’

  ‘Does she see much of the children?’

  ‘Whenever she’s home Sasha and Chris go to stay with her.’

  ‘I see.’ This was said thoughtfully. ‘So it was an amicable parting?’

  ‘You’d have to ask Brett that,’ Nicola said swiftly. ‘And here we are.’ They walked back into the lounge and Brett stood up.

  ‘Lovely house, Brett,’ Tara said a little hastily, ‘and thank you for a lovely evening. Goodness, it’s late. I’d better be going!’

  But before Brett could answer, Nicola said, ‘It was a pleasure to have you, Tara. Wasn’t it, darling?’ And she slipped her arm through Brett’s and laid her head on his shoulder for a moment.

  Tara stared at them, and blinked once.

  ‘Yes, it was a pleasure, Tara,’ Brett said. ‘Uh—I’m sure it’s not easy to transplant oneself to a new town.’

  Nicola lifted her head and struggled to keep a straight face, because, for once, Brett had sounded less than totally in command.

  ‘Especially a much smaller town,’ she said gravely. ‘I’m sure you’ll have a lot of adjustments to make, so if you need any advice, do give me a call. I’m an expert on the best boutiques, hairdressers and so on. And in the meantime,’ she added serenely, ‘we won’t be long out of bed ourselves.’ She glanced expressively at Brett and held out her hand to Tara. ‘Hope to see you again.’

  Tara moved at last.

  And Nicola kept her arm linked through Brett’s as they walked through the courtyard to the driveway to wave her off.

  ‘Nicola,’ Brett said, ‘this—’

  But she broke in to say quizzically, ‘Could you kiss me, Brett? Oh, never mind, I’ll do it.’ And she stood on tiptoe, wound her arms round his neck and placed her lips on his just as Tara switched on her headlights—and they were bathed in brilliant light.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NICOLA chuckled softly as Tara reversed up the drive with a roar, but she didn’t remove her arms.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Brett enquired dryly.

  ‘Giving as good as I got,’ she replied. ‘There’s only a certain amount of patronage one can take, I’m afraid, and that woman—’

  ‘Are you saying Tara was being patronising? That’s ridiculous, Nicola.’

  Some of her amusement seeped away. ‘Believe me, I’m an expert on the subject. You, for example, patronise me all the time. Just take this very instance. I’m sure you’re about to tell me I’m being childish but—’ she shrugged, and looked mockingly into his eyes ‘—it doesn’t feel childish. It feels rather nice. How about for you?’

  ‘Nicola,’ he said grimly, ‘before you get too carried away, why the hell would she be patronising you anyway?’

  Nicola opened her eyes at him. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know-you must be blind. She has you firmly in her sights, Brett. Just imagine the lovely discussions you could have about the High Court, the Supreme Court, the Family Court. But I’ll tell you one thing—she wouldn’t be happy to sit home all day for Sasha and Chris.’

  He swore. ‘There is no—what is this?’ And he put his hands up to remove hers.

  But she linked her fingers stubbornly and went on. ‘As for the lecture you gave me about being discreet the other night, I find it rather ludicrous in light of this. How dare you discuss me with her?’

  ‘I haven’t—‘

  ‘She certainly gave me to understand you had.’

  ‘Nicola, either you’re making this all up or you’re overtired.’

  Something went off inside Nicola’s head. ‘Not really,’ she murmured, ‘but I am-since we’re in this position—a little curious. It’s a long time since I kissed a man. Why don’t you help me to brush up my skills, Brett? After all, there are times when you undress me with your eyes—why shouldn’t I assess you on a scale of one to ten? It could even add some of the much-needed maturity you so often tell me I lack.’

  And she unlocked her fingers, drew them slowly across his shoulders and down the front of his shirt, then she slid her arms around his waist and laid her cheek on his chest. As she did so she felt all his muscles tighten, and she smiled a secret little smile.

  Then she felt him relax deliberately, and heard him drawl, ‘Don’t ever forget you started this, Nicola.’

  She hid from him the flash of anger that lit her eyes, and said sweetly, ‘Oh, I won’t.’ And she tilted her face for his kiss.

  But although his lips were dry and warm on hers, and his hands moved on her back quite gently, she was tense and stiff, and she made the discovery that to be kissing a man when you were furious with him left you taut with aggression and not sure if you wanted to scratch and bite instead.

  He lifted his head. ‘I thought this was supposed to be—well, the opposite to making war, Nicola.’

  ‘I hate you, if you must know,’ she said through her teeth.

  ‘That’s a remarkable about-face, but—’ he looked down at her with his lips twisting ‘—if you didn’t go about it like a bull in a china shop—’ he held her more firmly as she stiffened in outrage ‘—these things can be—quite spontaneous.’

  ‘I can’t imagine how!’

  ‘Think of it like this, then.’ He brought his fingers beneath her hair and massaged the nape of her neck gently. ‘There are times when the line of a throat, the curve of a cheek—’ he trailed his fingers up her throat and splayed them on her cheek ‘—the sound of a voice, the arrangement of a figure,’ that wandering hand moved downwards with the lightest touch ‘—the curve of a hip and the sweep of a leg…’

  He paused, and his hand moved below the short skirt of her dress, and he smiled slightly as her eyes widened. ‘When all of those things can have a powerful effect on a man.’

  ‘I’m sure they can,’ she said, but distractedly.

  He looked amused. ‘And they can make him desire a perfect stranger quite spontaneously. You were going to say?’ he asked as she opened her mouth.

  But no words came out, because Nicola found herself suddenly mesmerised by this fantasy he’d created, and she could visualise in her mind’s eye a scenario that had her, a complete stranger, crossing Brett’s path and catching the attention of this tall, clever man just as he’d outlined.

  She blinked and swallowed. ‘Go… on.’

  ‘And if,’ he said slowly, ‘I had anything going for you at all, Nicola, the spontaneity might well be mutual. Like this.’

  She met this kiss in a completely different frame of mind—oh, where did all that hostility go? she was to wonder later. But it was like kissing a stranger, hesitantly at first, drawn uncertainly by the threads of his fantasy but finding it too powerful to resist, then with growing confidence and growing awareness.

  An awareness that coursed through her and brought her a sense of wonder, because his body was hard and honed against hers, yet the feel of it was so right
and it made her melt against him, slender, soft and quivering with arousal.

  But at other times, when they parted to breathe—she at least raggedly—and she saw him watching her narrowly and intently, it made her stare back, and there was a sudden charge of electricity between them, as if she was saying challengingly, I’m not in this alone, am I?

  Each time, although only with a gesture, he demonstrated that she wasn’t. That was how she discovered that quite ordinary parts of her body became unique with his lips or his fingers on them-the curves of her shoulders, the soft inner sides of her elbows, the hollows at the base of her throat.

  And he made her skin feel satin-smooth as he ran his hand down her arm. And she felt both fragile, when he circled her wrist with his fingers and his hand looked big and strong and brown while hers was small and slender, and yet, as he carried her palm to his lips, conscious of a power of her own…

  The power to withhold a little, so that he held her closer and tested her ability to remain withdrawn, as he caressed her hips then moved his hands up under her arms and slid them round to cup her breasts. She gave in, but with a little glint of humour in her eyes as she surrendered her mouth to him again.

  But in the end he had the ultimate power. After he’d kissed her deeply, and she’d said his name with both wonder and desire, he straightened, held her briefly, and put her away from him.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she murmured breathlessly, and leant against the doorframe for support.

  ‘No more games, Nicola,’ he said very quietly.

  ‘Games?’ she murmured, and, with a desperate effort not to show her hurt, straightened, touched her mouth, which felt swollen and bruised, and added ruefully, ‘I thought we generated quite a bit of emotion as well, but there you go!’

  ‘You did start this,’ he reminded her. ‘For a variety of reasons, but emotion wasn’t mentioned amongst them.’

  ‘So I did! Well, is this what that old saying about playing with matches is all about? Never mind, I’ve learnt my lesson. I think I’ll go to bed—goodnight, Brett.’