Tomorrow's Bride

by Alexandra Scott

  'Surprised, you could say. Even shocked.' Her shoulders moved under the thin cotton. 'And-----' she forced her eyes from his, sightlessly looking across the wide meadow which surrounded the garden '—I don't want any more... confrontation, Patrick.' For a moment, faced with loss of control, she gnawed at her lower lip, then, finding some remnants of courage, she faced him again. 'I can't take any more of that. I've had enough to last me forever and I've come back here to get over it. To try to get over it.' Her manner was weighty with misery.

  He frowned, shook his head briefly. 'Everything you say, every reproach, I deserve. But, as to confrontation, I too hope that's all in the past.'

  "Then...' In some strange way she was detached, in a sort of limbo, hovering halfway between inexpressible joy and utmost despair—to neither of which, she determined, she would give way. But, strangely, something of the recent anguish had eased; it was enough for the time being that he was here with her, that she was looking into his eyes and seeing neither indictment nor damnation. It was very much like the dream, that perfect reprieve from much of the awful abrasiveness of reality...

  'Can you forgive me, Leigh?' Now that he was no longer touching her foot she felt insecure. 'I did ask a moment ago, and thought you said you would. Did I imagine it, I wonder?'

  'Forgive?' Her voice, her eyes grew dreamy; she felt they had been here before, then remembered the reception and the same question. It had all started again from there.

  'You want your pound of flesh?' The firm mouth curved slightly. 'I can't say I blame you. I'm not used to apologies, Leigh, but then neither am I used to making such a complete fool of myself. As a lawyer, I should be extremely sceptical of circumstantial evidence, so it's quite humbling to realise how I could have jumped to so many idiotic conclusions.'

  He shrugged, raised his hands and looked about him for a moment, before returning all his attention to her. 'Here, in the garden of a country vicarage, I ask myself how I could have done it-it seems impossible that I reached the conclusions I did. Put it down...' He paused, his eyes searching her features with a flaying intensity which made her quiver. Put it down to... quite insane jealousy.'

  The blood drained from her head then, her mind a surging confusion of thoughts and fears. That this man, this man above anyone, should think, should have imagined... A sob forced its way from her throat, a tear slid from the comer of her eye and down her cheek. And yet... Jealousy? The insane kind? There was a perversity here; there was intense pain yet a stirring hope...

  'Leigh, don't.' The anguish in his voice was something with which she could identify and sympathise. 'For God's sake don't. I can't bear it if I make things worse for you.' A distracted hand raked through the dark hair. 'Sooner than that I would go away now, leave you in peace and never interfere in your life again. I can't begin to understand how I could have believed... you and Kyle...'

  'And that other one.' Reminding him was irresistible; even as she spoke she felt the healing process begin, helped, perhaps, by the touch of self-derision. 'Don't forget you accused me of an affair with that naval man----' his name refused to come to mind at the moment' —simply on the grounds that he was married—or so you believed.'

  'Well!' He had the grace to look embarrassed. 'You remember, I explained—I was half out of my mind with jealousy. Seeing you, all cool perfection, telling me it was not my business—and I knew that already—imagining you with them... It didn't matter that I had no rights; that had no effect on my feelings. I just hated the thought of you with either of them.' His laugh had a bitter note. 'Or with anyone, come to that.' Turning away, he leaned against the tree close to her. 'I suppose, even if... the man in your life, the one you told me about, if he turns out to be the most eligible man in the whole of Europe, it will make no difference. I'll hate him with all the passion I devoted to Kyle Lessor.'

  'What?' Things were moving too quickly for her...

  'Yes.' He laughed briefly. 'Sounds crazy, doesn't it? I surprised myself with the strength of my feelings. I had always thought of myself as a fairly rational man but the last few weeks have made me revise that opinion. Possibly that's not a bad thing for a lawyer—we ought to be aware that, even in the most ordered lives, something can happen to knock you completely off-course.'

  It was as if her brain had jammed in neutral; she couldn't seem to get on to his wavelength. 'I'm still trying to decide what on earth you're saying. Is it...is it something to do with James Brereton?' Then, when his face took on the blankness that she herself was experiencing, it seemed the ideal moment to seize her chance. "The naval officer? The one you added to my list of...lovers?' she accused him innocently.

  'Oh, that.' His expression was one of shamefaced guilt. 'Well, I suppose I ought to expect you to pile on the agony, and I'm not complaining, don't think that, but as to the special man in your life, you were quite open about it when I came to your flat that day.' A faint narrowing of her eyes indicated increased watchfulness, and he saw colour come and go in her face. 'Is it so painful for you to discuss it? "Ashamed" was the word you used at the time. I remember it well,' he added, with a faint smile which did little to conceal his bitterness.

  'Neither of those things.' Now she was beginning to understand what had previously been so confused, but it was vital to damp down the wilder excesses of hope and expectation which she felt bubbling up. But everything he had said, every word uttered, did seem to point in one direction. Nevertheless, she determined to exercise great control in her reply—already there had been too many misunderstandings. Take your time, she told herself; don't rush. But, unable to trust herself, she concentrated her attention on the book in her hand, sliding a finger once or twice along the length of the glossy spine.

  Lying here, so close to him, her heart hammering with wild, exultant strokes, she knew with total certainty that she wanted this man, longed for him with all the urgency of a passionate nature. It didn't matter if there had been a dozen Gillian Places; the past was over and nothing was going to stop her reaching out and seizing what she wanted. She would use all the skill and guile and determination of a man-eater if that was what it took. She had had time to study methods recently; now she decided to hunt with the best of them.

  'And,' he prompted at last, invading her thoughts, 'if neither applies, then what?'

  'Oh...' A sudden loss of control defeated all the easy resolve of a moment before; words tumbled out without consideration. 'I'm lying— of course I am.' The eyes she raised to his were darkly brilliant, sparkling with insecure tears. 'I find it both painful and shaming, but not-----' feverishly she caught at her lip '—not exactly for the reasons I gave you then. Maybe——' she choked on a shaky smile '—maybe it's time for me to ask you to forgive...'

  'Go on.' If she had been less involved in her own emotions, less troubled by the tremors caused by his oh, so persuasive tones, she might have seen that he too was f hiding control less than easy, that his hands were clenched to stop bun reaching out. 'Go on, Leigh.' This was the skilled advocate at his most seductive. 'I know you can't have done anything so terrible, anything that needs forgiveness...'

  "That day in Paris...after...after...' Hot colour stained her face. 'When you followed me.' Regaining control now, she spoke with an appearance of detachment. 'When I said I was involved with someone else, it wasn't true. There was no one else. Not that it seemed to matter, since you were all too ready to believe-----'

  'And why did I believe, Leigh?' He raked a hand through his hair, spoke through his teeth. 'Ask yourself that, for God's sake.' For what seemed a lifetime they stared at each other, then she saw him close his eyes, press a clenched fist to his forehead as if determined to force comprehension. 'But why in heaven's name did you lie about it? That's what I can't understand.'

  It was a moment before she answered, searching for the right words for herself as much as for him. 'I suppose it was mostly that I wanted to pay you back. For Oxford. For the years in between and...' She faltered, struck by the idea that so much spontaneo
us self-examination might be unwise. There was little doubt that it contradicted all her decisions of a moment before. 'And, even more than that, perhaps—perhaps,' she emphasised, as if she too was questioning her reasons, 'it had something to do with pride.

  'You see-----' she drew in one deep, shuddering breath, then looked at him with something like accusation '—I had convinced myself that I was safe, in complete charge of my own destiny, that never again would any man—not just you,' she threw in almost apologetically, 'snap his fingers and-----' the tip of her tongue passed over her lips '—and then I'd wake up in his bed. I thought I was so strong, so much in control of my life, and then to find... Here I was, twenty-five years old, so much more experienced and yet making the same elementary mistakes I had made when I was a student. Surely you can see that that was enough to make anyone feel ashamed?' Searching his face, she waited for a reply, and when he said nothing, just stood there looking down at her, she grew all nervous and jumpy again. 'Well, can't you?'

  'Experienced?' It was exasperating that he should ignore most of what she had said and pick up on a single indiscreet word. ‘That's what you said just now, and it could mean such a lot or it could mean nothing at all...'

  Anger shook her. Men could be so transparent, and she resented being questioned on this subject just as much as she had the last time it had come up. 'If you're asking about my sex-life, then don't. Don't,' she insisted as he seemed about to speak, and somehow, even lying there, she gave the impression that if she had been standing on her feet one of them would have been stamped. 'Not unless and until you are prepared for me to do likewise. I very much doubt if your life has been entirely chaste since Oxford and-----'

  'Almost.'

  'And,' she raced on, without the word having registered, 'once we've established that, then maybe we can compare lists and-----' Suddenly she stopped, her wide violet eyes searching his with suspicion. 'What? What did you say?'

  'I said, almost.' His tone was aggravatingly patient, maybe even a little smug. 'You implied a question and I answered it. And, before we go on, may I say that more than anything I regret that I can't give a different answer? I would like to say "entirely" but...'

  She stared, her normally sharp brain like some ancient rusting machine, but if she was right he seemed to be saying... 'But-----' it was close to a wail, and she missed the flicker of a smile caused by her reaction '—you've lived in California.'

  'Washington,' he corrected her. 'And can I say, in defence of a country I love, that it's not all sex and drugs, in spite of the images you see? Not everyone in the States lives like a tomcat. Not even the women,' he added wryly.

  'Oh.' It was hard to know what to say.

  'And am I right in thinking that in exchange for that information you offered a quid pro quo? Some people in the profession call it plea bargaining.'

  She looked at him with suspicion. He was altogether too bland, was now giving the impression of being wholly in control, but she had indicated, foolishly as it turned out... She averted her head, conscious that her earlier confidence and euphoria were ebbing fast. There was little doubt that it was shaming in these liberated times. He would think no one had been interested enough to...

  'I've had only one partner in my life.' Accusingly, she faced him. 'Ever,' she added, to avoid future misunderstandings.

  'Leigh.' That voice, so soft, so tender, was almost an encouragement to tears, but she wouldn't risk a deluge even if it did wipe away the miseries of the past years, and in any case his outstretched hand stifled that inclination, tangling in her hair, delicately tracing the line of her cheek, curving about the nape of her neck.

  'What fools.' As he smiled he shook his head despairingly. 'What fools we are. Me for jumping so readily to conclusions, and you-----' he gave her a reproving little shake '—you for baling out as you did that morning in Paris. When we woke up together I meant to...' He grinned mischievously. 'At least, the second thing I meant to do was to put something to you, a proposition, a pro-----'

  'Oh, Patrick.' Her life was all at once a dazzling, blinding prospect; joy was exploding inside her, taking her straight up to the stratosphere. 'I think I know.' With just a touch of shyness she reached out for his free hand, rubbed gently at the inner skin of his wrist. 'You want us to go back to how things were in Oxford; you're asking me to come and live-----'

  'No.' His denial was so fierce that her eyelids flicked back in apprehension. His expression was so serious that the bubbles of pleasure burst, and she was dipping to earth so fast that she was bound to hit rock-bottom with a crippling crash. 'No,' he repeated less fiercely. "There can't be any going back for us. That is the very last thing in the world I want.'

  CHAPTER NINE

  LIGHT-YEARS might have passed as they stared at each other, though in fact it was seconds. Leigh, wide-eyed, desperate, felt her mouth tremble, and pressed her lips together, determined that Patrick would never guess how she felt. Even though he was looking at her with such intensity that he must be planning to say they must part forever. 'Oh... I see.' Her tone of vague interest was masterly.

  'Leigh.' It was a weary and in the end almost a reproving sigh. 'What on earth are you thinking? Oh, I suppose it's my fault again. I'm making such a muck-up of all this.' His hand was trailing down her cheek again, and he could have no idea of the effect of his thumb brushing once or twice against her trembling mouth. 'What I'm saying is, I don't want us to live together—at least, not just live together.'

  Emotions were building inside her; she was holding her breath in superstitious fear of damaging the fragile hopes and aspirations that his words were stimulating; it was dangerous to allow herself to believe...

  'Leigh, my darling.' She breathed again, all the stony fears inside her seeming to ease and shift. 'Five years ago it was a terrible error not to make a commitment, not to ask you to make one. I suppose...' He shrugged, smiled down at her in a regretful kind of way. 'I suppose the commitment was taken for granted, but I'm not going to repeat the same mistakes. This time there's got to be more to it. It's not just a question of slipping into bed with you, though God knows that's on my mind most of the time. No, I want it to be permanent, acknowledged by the whole world. I want you, in time, to have my children.

  'So I'm afraid this time it's marriage, Leigh. Could you bear it, do you think?' He gave, she thought, little indication that he had doubts about her answer, looking down at her with typical Cavour confidence.

  'For us to be married at the very earliest date it can be arranged? Tomorrow wouldn't be too soon for me.'

  'Oh.' For a moment she seemed about to weep. 'Oh, Patrickl' There was accusation in both her tone and manner.

  'Leigh?' His voice held perhaps just a shade of uncertainty. 'Patrick Cavour, how could you do it? How could you ask me to marry you when I was wearing this…this disgusting old T-shirt and a skirt I’ve had since I was seventeen, while you…? Quickly she took in his casual dark trousers, the checked shirt with sleeves folded back to display strong brown forearms, the dark green tie, highly polished shoes—he was always so immaculate. 'You.' She gestured with one outflung arm.

  'Oh.' He laughed then, and gave her a little shake. 'If it will make you happy then I'll go and look out my sackcloth and ashes, but not before you give me my answer, put me out of my misery and tell me you'll marry me.'

  'Try to stop me.' This time she put her arms about his neck and pulled his face down to hers. 'Just try. Of course I'll marry you. I love you and simply have no choice in the matter. But still, I would have preferred it if you'd chosen a moment when I was wearing something glamorous. Or even something slightly less revolting.' 'To me you look beautiful no matter what you're wearing. And the important thing is that you're wearing something' His mouth moved with tantalising slowness against hers. 'Oh?' What on earth could he mean? 'That day—night, rather—in Paris, I woke in the early hours and almost woke you up to ask you—to tell you, rather—that you must marry me. But then I realised how inappropriate it would
be to propose to you when we were in bed together, and besides, you looked so deeply, so innocently asleep...

  'Now look—if you keep doing that-----' he caught at her hands, nibbled reprovingly at her fingers '—we'll be back in a similar and inappropriate situation, and I've never fancied making love in a hammock. Besides which-----' he glanced up at the branch supporting the top end '—I very much doubt if this tree is capable of supporting our joint weights, and I don't want to appear at our wedding on crutches or pushing a zimmer frame. And, apart from that, there's always the chance of a surprise visit from your father, and I don't want him to draw any wrong conclusions when I ask him to marry us next week.'

  Leigh giggled. 'Oh...Father. I almost forgot about him. Tell me, what did he say when you appeared?'

  'I think he was... slightly surprised, shall I say?...by my desperate request to see you. In fact, I half expected him to slam the door and ring the police.'

  'Idiot.'

  'But he remained perfectly calm and told me where I could find you. Oh... and he did say he remembered me—picked me out from your large gallery of admirers.'

  'Mmm, he does have a tremendous memory.' Then, as his hands tightened about her waist, she relented, with an abrupt change of subject. ‘When you said as soon as possible, Patrick – for the wedding, i mean – how soon is soon?’

  'Tomorrow?' he said hopefully, then smiled at the determined shake of her head. He compromised. 'Next week?'

  ‘Impossible. My mother is due back from New Zealand next week. We couldn’t possibly…’

  'Ah, yes. Of course we couldn’t. I want everyone to be happy for us and with us. But I do mean to set a time limit.'

  'Do you, indeed?'

  'I do. A five-year wait is enough for the most patient man. But tell me, you've never been to the States, have you?' She shook her head without speaking, the expression in her luminous eyes saying more than words ever could. 'I do have to go to New York in three weeks. If we could arrange things before then we could go together, and I know the most perfect little cottage in Vermont where we could be completely alone and-----'