Marriage Without Love & More Than a Convenient Marriage?

by Penny Jordan

  The faintest touch of green eyeshadow and a slick of lip-gloss were all the make-up she needed. The peach silk whispered softly round her legs, and she wondered if it was merely the sensuous feel of the rich fabric against her flesh that made her feel such wanton desire for the touch of Kieron’s hands, and the demanding possession of his body.

  Louise scowled when she appeared in the elegant dining room, her eyes flashing resentfully over the peach silk and the rounded curves of Briony’s breasts beneath the low neckline. She was wearing another slim sheath of a dress, but the black fabric made her skin look faintly sallow and Briony knew without vanity that tonight, of the two of them, she looked the more attractive.

  They started the meal with a fresh fruit cocktail, deliciously refreshing and light before the succulent roast duckling with its sharp orange sauce and crisp vegetables cooked and served as only the French seemed to know how.

  She sipped her dry white wine, enjoying the way it set her blood on fire, a faint flush on her cheeks as she caught Kieron’s eye across the table.

  To follow the duckling they had crěpes suzettes and fresh, sweet strawberries, and although Briony shook her head, Kieron insisted on pouring her a glass of Sauternes, gold and honeyed and tasting like nectar.

  By the time the meal was over she felt lightheaded. Marian suggested that they adjourn to the drawing-room, where she drew Louise into conversation about her mother, much to the latter’s obvious annoyance.

  Briony touched her tongue to her upper lip, wishing Kieron would stop staring out into the darkness and come and sit beside her. He was wearing evening clothes again and they made him seem slightly remote.

  ‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ Briony said breathlessly at last, hoping no one would notice her faint hesitation. It was only ten o’clock, but surely Kieron would.…She glanced hesitantly at him, willing him to turn round and announce that he would go with her, but he did not, and she felt Marian’s eyes resting sympathetically on her, as she turned to leave the room.

  In their bedroom she sat on the edge of the bed, plucking nervously at the bedspread, and starting at every tiny sound, her eyes fastened on the door. Half an hour passed with no sign of Kieron, and her hopes started to fade, her earlier excitement turning to misery. Either she had not made her invitation plain enough or he was not interested enough to take it up. She waited another fifteen minutes and then walked out of the house, past the floodlit pool, to where the narrow steps led down to the beach. The pounding of the sea against the rocks was primeval and eternal. The evening was warm, a soft breeze blowing inland, and possessed by an urge she could barely comprehend, Briony slowly removed the silk blouse and skirt, placing them gently out of reach of the sea. As the breeze caressed her flesh she hesitated, and then like a sleepwalker, removed her remaining articles of clothing, welcoming the silky embrace of the waves as she walked slowly into the sea.

  She had never swum at night, nor completely unclad, come to that, and even now she was a little shocked at her own wanton impulsiveness, but the feel of the feel of the sea against her naked flesh was pleasurably erotic and she turned and floated, secure in the knowledge that the beach was private and that in any case the beaches of the Riviera held sufficient to satiate the male eye by day without the necessity of searching it out by night.

  When she first saw the dark shadow on the small beach her heart almost stopped. She floated, almost motionless, while he walked to the small, betraying pile of clothes, and then slowly and purposefully removed his own, entering the sea with powerful strides, until the water was deep enough for him to swim towards her with unerring precision.

  ‘Kieron.’ His name was almost a whisper, her heightened senses telling her that this was not the time for words. She swam lazily away as he reached her, knowing that he would follow and that when he did he would catch her in mock struggle, dragging her down beneath the warm blue swell, to kiss her until sheer lack of oxygen forced them to the surface, trailing silver bubbles.

  ‘What are you tonight?’ he whispered against her ear. ‘A mermaid? A siren, come to lure me to my doom?’

  ‘Just a woman, Kieron,’ she whispered back, twisting out from beneath his grasp and laughing like a child as she managed to elude his seeking hands. He could swim like a fish, far more powerfully than she could, and he circled her lazily as she turned back to the shore.

  When they emerged from the sea, it seemed only natural that Kieron should lift her in his arms, without a word, and carry her to where the sea had washed clean a small patch of sand, placing her on it and covering her silver flesh with his own.

  In complete silence, Briony lifted her hands to his face, tracing the hard bones, revelling in the feel of his warm, living flesh beneath her fingers, her breath coming unevenly between softly parted lips as his own hands began a lazy exploration of her skin.

  She met his kiss eagerly and passionately, moaning softly as the hard pressure was suddenly removed after only the briefest, tormenting caress. A mouth as light as snow brushed gently against her skin, skimming briefly and leaving her aching for a more lasting contact.

  Her hands moved feverishly against Kieron’s body, as her lips pressed pleading kisses into his skin, her normal reticence and reserve sloughed off like an unwanted skin.

  Kieron’s flesh tasted of salt and sea, and he groaned huskily deep in his throat as she raised herself up against him, her breasts swelling passionately against his hair-darkened chest, the nipples tormented into hard erectness by the arousing contact. The soft warm curves of her body moulded themselves against his hardness, inciting him to take what she was offering and plummet them both deep into an endless whirlpool of shared passion.

  There was no room for selfconsciousness or shame as Briony wound her arms possessively round his neck, holding his mouth against her as he tormented her with another brief caress, her sigh of satisfaction smothered under the fierce demand the action had aroused. When desire reached such a pitch, pain and pleasure mingled, she thought hazily, revelling in the hard possession of Kieron’s hands on her flesh. This was no gentle, slow arousal to culminate in tender fulfilment, but a mutual primeval force akin to that of a storm-lashed ocean where each took demandingly from the other. Kieron’s hands swept demandingly along her thigh, stroking over the tender skin of her stomach and upwards to caress her breast, the swelling flesh cupped by his hand, tormented by the rough caress of his tongue. Her harsh groan of pleasure as his mouth closed over the throbbing nipple was lost against his shoulder, her teeth clenching involuntarily on the tanned skin, eliciting a fevered response from the hands that held her slender moon-bathed body.

  Kieron’s withholding of their ultimate union was exquisitely unbearable, and Briony writhed feverishly beneath him, pleading implicitly for what he denied, her breath coming in soft, frenzied pants, her arms reaching up to pull him down against her.

  Her clinging hands were removed, Kieron’s body held away as he stared down at her aroused face and body.

  ‘Now!’ he said harshly, his breathing rasping and unsteady. ‘Now tell me that you aren’t all woman, Briony, and that you don’t know what it feels like to want someone until you’re aching with it.’

  A cold fear was seeping over her. Kieron was no longer watching her with passion, but with a cold detachment that sent fear spiralling through her.

  ‘Now I’m going to teach you something else,’ he said softly, ‘and I think you’re going to be an excellent pupil, because I’m going to let you know what it feels like to be rejected the way you’ve constantly rejected me. And to do that I don’t have to do a thing, do I, Briony?’ he said cruelly. ‘All I have to do is to walk away from you. No lovemaking without love, you once said to me, and that’s exactly how I feel,’ he said harshly. ‘It was fun while it lasted, but now it’s over.’

  Without another word he turned and left her lying on the sand, her mind in turmoil, while her body ached in bitter frustration and to her everlasting shame she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt th
at if he were to come back now and take her in his arms she would be powerless to resist him.

  Somehow she managed to make her way to their room. There was no sign of Kieron, but then she had not expected that there would be. Her body throbbed with a deep hunger, which she tried to suppress. She had been so wrapped up in her own dreams, so exalted by what she had learned from Marian, that she had failed to appreciate the full effect of what, to Kieron, was her rejection, of both him and his love.

  Of course he had wanted revenge. Hadn’t she felt exactly the same? And forcing the ‘woman’ in her to respond to him was all part of that revenge. She knew enough about rejection to appreciate the bitterness and thirst for revenge which were its hydra-headed offspring. She should have talked to him, she thought drearily, explained that she had never had his letters, never known what had happened to him. But would it do any good? Wasn’t his bitterness too deeply ingrained? If he had had the slightest shred of feeling left for her, surely tonight must have overcome the barriers.

  A terrible weariness swept over her. She could go on no more. Tonight had drained every last drop of her courage. How could she even face Kieron again knowing how she had betrayed herself to him? No lovemaking without love, he had claimed, and yet he must have known how she felt, she had betrayed it so blatantly, wantonly encouraging him to make love to her. She groaned, turning over in the huge empty bed, beyond tears. Beyond anything but a need for total and absolute oblivion.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘I SEE you and Kieron were on the beach last night,’ Louise announced acidly over breakfast.

  Briony flushed but resolutely refused to look up from her croissants. Let Kieron answer her. Where had he been all night? To the best of her knowledge he had not returned to their room.

  ‘You were on the beach, weren’t you?’ Louise pressed Kieron.

  ‘Briony felt like a swim,’ was all Kieron would say, but Briony’s face flamed to think that Louise might have observed their lovemaking—or what had happened after.

  During the morning Louise had a phone call from Paris, and returned to the patio with more animation in her face than Briony had previously observed.

  ‘An old friend of mine from Paris,’ she announced, flopping on to a sunlounger. ‘Jean-Paul wants me to return home. What do you think, chéri?’ she asked Kieron provocatively. ‘Ought I to go?’

  ‘That decision must surely rest only with you,’ Marian said firmly. ‘Jean-Paul has been very patient with you, Louise, but no man waits for ever, and from what your mother tells me he’s a very successful and personable young man.’

  Her words had obviously hit the right note, for after several minutes Louise excused herself and hurried into the salon, returning several minutes later to explain that she had booked herself on to the next Paris flight from Nice airport.

  ‘Will you take me to the airport, chéri?’ she pleaded to Kieron.

  Briony excused herself, unwilling to witness the sight of the French girl openly attempting to seduce her husband. The pleasant breeze of the previous evening had turned into a spiteful wind, and her claim to have a headache was no lie. Even Nicky seemed querulous, and the temperature had dropped several degrees.

  It was Héloise who explained what had happened when she brought Briony a soothing tisane.

  ‘It is the mistral,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders. ‘It is the snake in what would otherwise be paradise,’ she added fatalistically.

  The tisane made Briony feel sleepy, her mind floating free of her body. She had no idea whether Kieron had taken Louise to the airport and neither did she care, or so she told herself. Had she learned nothing from the past? she asked herself resentfully. Once before she had hoped for love from Kieron Blake and not received it, so why had she thought it might be different a second time?

  Her thoughts were too confusing and painful to be borne. She closed her eyes and let sleep take her in its protective embrace.

  The silence awoke her, something in its empty quality alerting her to danger. Where was Nicky? It was long past the time for his rest, and surely Héloise would have woken her if she had put him to bed? Shivering with sudden inexplicable fear, Briony hurried into the small dressing room. One of Nicky’s baby shoes lay discarded on the floor, his much beloved and chewed teddy-bear lying on the bed.

  Telling herself that she was over-reacting, Briony hurried into the kitchen. There was no sign of Héloise, and biting her lip she remembered Marian telling her that she usually gave Héloise and François the same afternoon off.

  ‘It means that François can take Héloise to see her family and collect her again,’ she explained to Briony. ‘He has some friends who run a bar and he goes to see them.’

  The empty kitchen sent her panic flaring again. Where was everyone? Where was Nicky?

  She went to Marian’s room, expecting to find her hostess resting, but the bed was smooth and untouched. ‘Nicky!’ She whimpered his name beneath her breath, logic giving way to mindless fear as she ran out of the house to the swimming pool, dreading with every second discovering the lifeless body of her child floating in its aquamarine waters.

  The pool was empty and still.

  Feverish and distraught, she searched the villa and the gardens from top to bottom, calling Nicky’s name until she was hoarse. The others must all have gone out, thinking Nicky was with his mother, where he would have been if she hadn’t been so selfishly wrapped up in her own concerns. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to allow herself the luxury of letting them fall.

  The wicket gate leading down to the beach caught her eye and fresh dread seized her. Those steps so narrow and dangerous were a sure lure for an adventurous two-year-old.

  She ran down them, ignoring the sharp grazes inflicted on her tender flesh, searching frantically along the narrow shelving breach where the rocks met the treacherous waters of the sea, sobbing Nicky’s name under her breath. Where was he? Alone and frightened somewhere crying for her, or was he already beyond that? ‘Please God, no!’ The words were wrenched from white lips, her eyes huge with pain and terror, her breath coming in jerky uneven sobs as she stared out to sea.

  There was no trace of the little boy.

  She ran back to the villa, staring at the phone. Where was Kieron when she needed him? If only someone would appear! She could speak very little French and even if she managed to get in touch with the police how could she make herself properly understand? Where could Nicky have gone? He was such a little boy, barely able to walk for more than ten minutes without complaining that his legs ached. He was so infinitely precious; the most precious thing in her life, and yet through careless neglect she had lost him.

  She heard the sound of a car and ran outside, her eyes widening in relief as she saw that it was Kieron’s. He had started to turn the car round in a circle and hadn’t seen her, and frantic with fear that he was going to leave, Briony flung herself despairingly in front of him, shuddering with pain as the bumper caught her slender body, and then through the scream of brakes and her own cry of pain she heard a car door swing open and Kieron’s voice demanding harshly, ‘You little fool, what are you trying to do? Kill yourself?’

  She started to tell him about Nicky, but the words were lost, smothered in the thick stifling blanket which fell over her, her lips too numb and swollen for coherent speech.

  * * *

  Through tormented dreams she pursued Nicky, her breathing harsh and laboured, her body on fire with heat, always calling his name, but the little boy eluded her. Once or twice Kieron appeared in the dream, his expression accusing as he demanded to know what she had done with his son, and although she begged for his forgiveness it was never forthcoming. Sometimes she slipped back into the past when there was no Nicky, only Kieron, and she awoke from one of these dreams to find herself in her bed at the villa, the sky dark velvet studded with diamond-bright stars. Someone was sitting by her side, and she twisted her head painfully, recognition and realisation flooding over her as Kieron’s dark b
lue eyes met hers.

  ‘Nicky,’ she moaned painfully, turning away. ‘Where’s Nicky.…?’

  ‘Safe with Héloise,’ Kieron told her abruptly, ‘and very worried about his mummy. What possessed you to fling yourself in front of my car like that?’

  ‘I couldn’t find Nicky…’ she shuddered with the memory, ‘and there was no one there. I.…’ Weak tears trickled down her face and she bit her lip fiercely. Her body ached from the cuts and bruises she must have sustained when she fell.

  ‘He wasn’t lost, you little fool,’ Kieron said roughly. ‘I told Louise to tell you that we were taking him with us to the airport to see the planes.’

  ‘He was with you? All the time he was with you?’ Briony started to laugh, high hysterical laughter that made it hurt to breathe, tears running unchecked down her face. ‘I didn’t know…I never got your message.’

  ‘Not for the first time,’ Kieron said enigmatically. ‘Do you know you’ve been in a high fever for three days?’

  ‘Have I?’ She was curiously uninterested. ‘Can I see Nicky?’ Her voice was urgent. ‘Please, Kieron, don’t torment me! Please let me see him.’

  ‘Of course I’m not going to torment you,’ he replied harshly. ‘I’ll have Héloise bring him to you, and then you must try and sleep.’

  Nicky was subdued but so plainly safe and well that she wanted to cry again. She ran her hands over his sturdy little body, and he tried to wriggle away, but she could not resist the desire to touch him and assure herself that she wasn’t dreaming.

  ‘Oh, darling,’ she whispered huskily, hugging him to her, her eyes bright with tears as they met Kieron’s across the room.

  ‘Go with Héloise now, Nicky,’ Kieron said calmly. ‘Mummy needs to sleep.’

  ‘Yes, I know. ‘Cos she’s been very, very ill!’

  ‘I’m all better now, darling,’ Briony said softly, releasing him to Héloise. It was long past his bedtime, but the Frenchwoman explained that the doctor had said that Briony might come out of her fever during the day and they had kept him up knowing she would want to see him.