Lost in Love

by Michelle Reid

  ‘There was no sham,’ he denied, ‘just two married people who somehow lost their way. Whether or not we make a better job of our marriage on this second chance will depend entirely on the way we work at it.’

  ‘And working at it, in your book, means me staying tucked away here at Oaklands while you carry on as you’ve always done in London.’

  ‘I have a business to run.’

  ‘So have I,’ she countered, though it had not been quite the point she had been trying to make, her mind still fixed on Anthea as it was.

  ‘Had, Marnie, had,’ he corrected. ‘Now that you have me to give you everything your heart desires, you no longer need to paint to earn a living, but only to paint because it is what you truly want to paint.’

  ‘On condition I stay within the boundaries of the Oaklands walls, of course.’

  ‘Did I ever make that stipulation?’ he challenged. ‘I only said you would not be going away for days on end and leaving me as you used to do the last time.’

  ‘And how many days and weeks are you going to spend up in London?’ she asked drily.

  ‘None, if you are not with me,’ he answered, mocking the surprised look on her face. ‘From now on, Marnie, we do everything together. Live together, sleep together, laugh, cry and even fight together, since we seem to like sparring so much.’

  A gibe at the way they were sparring now, she supposed. She took in a deep breath and decided to change the subject. ‘Roberto tells me you’ve sent Jamie and Clare off on holiday.’

  ‘He has been busy, hasn’t he?’ Guy murmured drily. ‘Any other little—surprises of mine he has stolen the thunder of?’

  She frowned, her thoughts turning back to Roberto’s disturbing words. Could there be any truth in them? Could Guy really have been just an innocent victim of his friends’ idea of a practical joke?

  She took in a deep breath and let it out again on a long, discontented sigh. ‘How much of what your father was saying to me did you overhear?’ she murmured huskily.

  ‘Most of it.’

  ‘W-was he telling the truth?’

  He didn’t answer straight away, his attention seemingly fixed on the view beyond the window, then he said quietly, ‘You already know the truth. I was unfaithful to you and you caught me out.’

  ‘So, he was lying to me?’

  ‘No,’ Guy answered slowly. ‘It would not be fair to say he lied exactly—just told it as he prefers to believe it to be.’

  ‘That we were set up,’ she nodded. ‘That you were an innocent victim of a nasty practical joke and I the blind, gullible fool for believing what my eyes were telling me.’

  ‘Why all this sudden curiosity to know,’ he asked, ‘when over the last four years you have point-blank refused to so much as think about that damned night?’

  ‘Because—because…’ Oh, God. She pushed a hand up to cover her eyes, eyes which were seeing things, things she had refused to attach any importance to before.

  Things like the sharp glance Derek Fowler had sent over her shoulder, and the malicious smile on his face when he’d looked back at her. Things like Anthea’s equally malicious smile when she had lifted her face out of Guy’s throat, her naked limbs wrapped around him; Guy’s muffled groan and the blank dazed look in his eyes when he had managed to drag them open, a look that had turned to confusion, then horror, then utter disgust before he’d hoarsely murmured her own name.

  Slowly, her face pale with tension, she looked up at him. ‘If I ask you now, to explain what happened then, will you tell me?’

  ‘And are you asking?’

  Am I? A wave of panic fluttered through her, put there because she had an awful suspicion that, if she said yes, Guy was going to rock the very foundations her life had stood upon over the last four years.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered, dragging her eyes away from him. ‘Yes, I am asking.’

  There was a moment’s silence, while Guy stood beside her with his hands thrust into his trouser pockets. She could sense the indecision in him, the grim reluctance to rake over it all again. Then he sighed, and shifted his posiition, turning to rest his hips on the low window-ledge so he could look directly into her face.

  ‘If I explain what really happened that night,’ he said quietly, ‘will you in turn explain to me what made you chase up to London looking for me so urgently?’

  Marnie lowered her eyes, refusing to answer. ‘Your father says we were set up by your friends,’ she repeated instead. ‘He insists she was there with you without your knowledge. That you were drunk. But you didn’t drink!’ She sighed, shaking her bright head because her battle with what was the truth and what was lies was beginning to make her head whirl. ‘Not in excess, anyway,’ she added. She glanced frowningly at him. ‘Were you drunk?’

  A strange smile touched his lips. ‘Out of my mind with it,’ he admitted, then grimaced, dropping his gaze and folding his arms across his broad chest to stare grimly at his feet. ‘I had been drinking steadily all day. Concerned about you, about the direction our marriage was taking…’ He looked up, his expression sombre. ‘Marnie—our marriage was falling apart at the seams long before the night of that party. We cannot—either of us—blame one isolated incident for its collapse.’

  ‘I know.’ Her voice sounded thick. ‘But it was the final straw, Guy. One that maybe could have been avoided if…’

  ‘If what?’ he asked. ‘If I had not taken myself off to Derek’s house? If you had not come rushing up to London to find me? If Jamie had not suggested Derek’s place to you as a good place to find me? If Anthea had not been such a vindictive little bitch that she was prepared to crucify both of us just to get her revenge on me for replacing her with you?’

  ‘So we were set up?’

  ‘Yes.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I arrived at the party so drunk I could hardly stand…’

  ‘I put him to bed to sleep off the old plonko…’ Marnie closed her eyes, quivering on a wave of sickness as she heard Derek Fowler’s jeering words echo down the years. Then he had glanced over his shoulder at something or someone on the stairs and that calculating gleam had entered his eyes…

  ‘I did not know a damned thing about anything until I heard you calling to me,’ Guy was saying flatly. ‘I opened my eyes to see you standing there looking like death. I remember thinking—through the haze of whisky, of course,’ he inserted acidly, ‘what the hell has happened to make her look like that?’ He huffed out a grim laugh, shaking his dark head. ‘Then that bitch moved, and I realised she was there, and—well—’ he shrugged ‘—you know the rest.’

  Her hand leapt up to cover her trembling mouth, that scene, no matter how false it had been, still having the power to fill her with nausea. ‘Oh, God, Guy,’ she whispered, not even thinking of questioning his honesty. For some reason she knew it to be the truth. Four years on, and four years too late, she knew that this was the full destructive truth. ‘I’m so sorry…’

  ‘For believing what you were expected to believe?’ He lifted his hands emptily in front of him.

  ‘But I should have listened to you, Guy!’ she choked out, feeling wretched in her own guilt. ‘I could have at least given you the chance to explain!’

  ‘Explain what?’ he asked. ‘That what you saw with your own eyes was an illusion?’ He shook his dark head. ‘I tell you this, Marnie—if the roles had been reversed between you and me, I would not have listened. I would not have believed.’

  ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ she demanded shrilly. ‘To know that for the last four years I’ve been punishing you for something you didn’t even do!’

  ‘I was not aware that we were discussing this with the aim of making you feel better,’ he mocked drily. ‘I thought we were supposed to be simply sharing the truth!’

  ‘A truth you should have made me listen to long ago!’ she cried. ‘A truth you would have made me listen to if it had been at all important to you that I hear it!’

  ‘Are you trying to imply that I did not
care?’ he demanded incredulously. ‘After the way I have let you wipe your feet on my feelings for the last four years, are you actually daring to—?’

  ‘God, no,’ she sighed, accepting that his burst of anger was well deserved. She had been at it again—no sooner believing him to be the innocent party in a game that had ripped her world apart than she was accusing him of another unjustified sin.

  In fact, she realised starkly, it seemed that it was Guy who should be doing the accusing, and she who should be begging forgiveness.

  Forgiveness for a lot of things. Some of them that he—thankfully—knew nothing about! And never would, she vowed grimly. Never.

  So? she wondered dully, seeing no use in a marriage between them now. Not unless Guy was planning to take revenge on her for the four years. She glanced at him sitting there in profile to her, deep in his own private brooding.

  He always did brood magnificently, she noted when her heart picked up a few beats as she studied him. But then, she wryly extended on that thought, he tended to do everything magnificently. Shout, laugh, run, dance, sing, drive his fast cars—make love!

  The sun was gleaming on the top of his head, adding depth to the sleek blue-blackness of his hair. His skin—born to have the sun caress it, glowing rich and sexy.

  He was a man of wildly exciting contrasts. Far, far too much for her to deal with five years ago. Did she have any hope of dealing with him any better now? She didn’t think so. Guy was one of those rare people who belonged exclusively to himself. What bit he did give out of himself was maybe enough for other women, but not for her. Wasn’t that the main reason why she had fought against his power when they had first met—because she had wanted more from him than she’d known he would ever want to give?

  ‘Why did you ever marry me at all, Guy?’ she asked impulsively. ‘I mean, it was obvious to everyone, including all your friends, that I was way out of my depth with you. So what made you marry someone like me?’

  ‘Because I could not help myself, I suppose.’ He grimaced. ‘It was either marry you or lock you away so no other man could get you. I wanted your innocence, Marnie,’ he taunted cruelly. ‘All of it. Every last exquisite bit of it. So I flattered you with my lethal charm, and impressed you with my dynamic sex appeal!’

  ‘Stop it,’ she snapped, frowning because she suspected his mockery was aimed entirely at himself.

  ‘Seduced and bullied you,’ he continued regardless, ‘then waited for the magic I had so carefully woven around you to wear off, and that delightful hero-worship you repaid me with to—’

  ‘I never did hero-worship you!’ she exclaimed, appalled by the very idea.

  ‘Did you not?’ He lifted a challenging brow at her. ‘Then why did you marry me, Marnie?’ he threw back silkily.

  She looked away, refusing to answer. What was the use? She should have told him she loved him five years ago when their marriage still had a chance. It was too late now—much, much too late.

  ‘No answer?’ He laughed softly. ‘So instead give me an answer to the question I asked you earlier, if you will. Why did you come chasing up to London that fated night?’ He waited for some time in the deadly silence which followed, then laughed softly again. ‘No answer yet again,’ he mocked. ‘It seems to me, Marnie, that all the secrets between us have not yet been fully aired. Still,’ he dismissed, coming to his feet, ‘we have time for all of that. Plenty of time now to learn about each other—perhaps better than we managed the first time we married.’

  ‘You can’t seriously still be considering marrying me after what’s come out today!’ she cried, staring at him in horror.

  ‘But Marnie,’ he drawled sardonically, ‘you seem to forget. I knew it all before today.’

  ‘And now I know!’ she cried. ‘Guy—I wronged you! It has to change things!’

  ‘What has changed other than that you now know I am gullible enough to allow myself to become so drunk I did not know what I was doing—or who I was doing it with? Does knowing I was in no fit state to know what was going on condone that kind of behaviour?’ he demanded. ‘Is it OK to find me in bed with another woman so long as you can blame it on the evil drink?’

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘But—’ That wasn’t how it happened, she was going to say, but he cut her short.

  ‘Then I am guilty as always charged,’ he snapped. ‘And that is all that needs to be said on the subject.’ He turned away. ‘Come on,’ he said flatly. ‘Dinner will be ready soon and I haven’t even shown you to your room.’

  ‘But Guy!’ she appealed in exasperation. ‘We can’t just—’

  ‘Enough!’ He turned suddenly, and in one lurching stride was back in front of her. The flash of blazing anger burning in his eyes was the only warning she got before he grabbed her and pulled her hard against him.

  What followed was a forceful and angry method of silencing her. By the time he let her go again she was trembling so badly she could barely stand up.

  ‘That is all that matters now, Marnie,’ he said harshly. ‘You still want me physically. And God knows I still want you! So, we remarry in two days’ time—’

  ‘Two days?’ she choked. ‘But—’

  ‘No buts,’ he inserted. ‘We made a bargain. I have stuck to my part in it and you will stick to yours. And you will do it,’ he warned threateningly, ‘with a smile on your face that will convince my father that nothing on this earth can part us a second time!’ He reached for her chin, holding it between finger and thumb with just enough pressure to let her know he could hurt her if he wished to. ‘Got that?’

  Licking her throbbing lips, she nodded uncertainly.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Then let’s go.’ He turned his back on her, walking arrogantly to the door and throwing it open. She followed him wearily, wondering what the hell she was following him into.

  *

  They were married as decreed, two days later, by the local registrar, followed by having their union blessed by a Catholic priest whose liberal thinking—plus a generous donation to his church roof fund—allowed him to forget the fact that they had once been married and divorced.

  ‘A life sentence this time, Marnie,’ Guy murmured with grim satisfaction as they drove back to the house. ‘Do you think you can stand it?’

  He was being sarcastic because he was well aware that she had only just controlled the urge to run and keep on running before her actual ‘sentencing’ became official.

  Whatever Guy had told his father when they had locked themselves away in Roberto’s study the other night she had no idea, but he had clearly allayed his father’s fears, because Roberto had looked as pleased as punch ever since! Aided and abetted by Guy, of course, who missed no opportunity to force Marnie into confirming their undying love for each other in front of the old man.

  Roberto kissed her on both cheeks then formally welcomed her back into the family. ‘Not,’ he adjoined, ‘that we ever considered you anything else. Now what you both need is half a dozen pairs of tiny feet running about the place,’ he grinned. ‘That is the surest way of giving neither of you any time to think of falling out again!’

  She felt herself go pale. The only thing stopping her from losing her balance on suddenly shaky legs was Guy’s arm fixed like a vice around her waist.

  ‘When we are ready, Papa, and not before,’ he threw back lightly. ‘So take that twinkle of anticipation out of your eyes for now.’

  ‘I’m going to the studio,’ she informed Guy tensely as soon as his father disappeared into his study.

  ‘Running away again?’ he mocked.

  ‘Where to?’ she snapped back. ‘You know as well as I do that there is nowhere left for me to run to. You’ve closed down all escape routes,’ she reminded him. ‘So even my brother isn’t mine any more.’

  ‘You have me,’ he said quietly. ‘Think about it, Marnie. When have you not had me to run to since the day we met?’

  ‘The day l lost—’ She had her lips snapped shut just in time, eyes closi
ng out the sudden anguish in her eyes. ‘Do you really mind if I go to the studio for an hour or two?’ she pleaded anxiously.

  ‘Why?’ he murmured a trifle cynically. ‘Will it make a difference if I say I do mind?’

  ‘Of course it will make a difference!’ She sighed, unable to hold back the note of frustration in her voice. ‘But…’

  ‘You are riddled with bridal nerves,’ he suggested, so poker-faced she could have hit him.

  ‘Please, Guy!’ she was driven to plead with him. If it wasn’t bad enough that he was wearing the most exquisite black suit, made of pure silk, that did the most disturbing things to his muscle-packed frame, then he had to taunt her with the lazy mockery of his liquid brown eyes, offering promises with them that turned her insides to jelly. ‘Let me go! Just while I get used to—’

  ‘Being married again,’ he inserted for her. And, as if tuned in to what was really bothering her, he let his own eyes run slowly over the simple cream silk suit dress she was wearing beneath its matching bolero jacket. A dress with a heart-shaped boned bodice that stayed up of its own volition and showed more than enough of her shadowed cleavage. She had taken her hair away from her face with two creamy combs, then left it to tumble in a riot of loose curls down her back. He took it all in: the dress, the cleavage, the hairstyle and the anxious face it flattered so nicely; then he let his eyes come firmly on to hers.

  ‘I’m sorry, Marnie,’ he said quietly. ‘But today is special, and I insist we spend it together.’

  So by the time the ‘day’ grew to its inevitable conclusion Marnie was so uptight about what came next that even a long soak in a hot bath could not ease the tension from her aching body.

  It took Guy to do that. With his usual devastating force.

  He was standing in the shadows of the deep bay window when she eventually came out of the adjoining bathroom. The curtains had not yet been drawn, and Guy seemed engrossed in whatever he could see beyond the bedroom window. A bedroom lit by the muted glow from one small light bulb hidden beneath the pale gold shade of the bedside lamp. A bedroom they had shared before.