His Untamed Innocent

by Sara Craven

  ‘What happened?’ Marin asked.

  ‘He’d been out looking at some new fruit trees that had just been planted, and he came in complaining of a bad headache. He took a couple of painkillers and said he’d lie down on the couch in his study for a little while. When Madam went to call him for tea, she found him unconscious, and he died on the way to hospital.’ She sighed again. ‘The doctors said it was a cerebral aneurism.’

  Marin said huskily, ‘My father’s death was terribly sudden too, but in his case it was a heart attack.’

  Sadie patted her arm. ‘It’s a hard thing for those left behind,’ she said gently. ‘But Madam has done her grieving, and now it’s time for some happiness to return to the house—with a new generation.’

  She became practical again. ‘Now, that door over there is the bathroom, and next to it is the dressing room. So why don’t you have a look round on your own for a few minutes, see what you think?’

  I think, Marin said under her breath, that I seem to be taking part in my own personal disaster movie, and I haven’t learned my lines yet.

  She smiled and murmured something acquiescent. She tried not to look at the big, golden bed as she crossed first to the bathroom—its azure tiles setting off the big white tub, the separate shower cubicle and the twin basins—then walked into the adjoining dressing-room and went in, standing to stare around at its range of fitted wardrobes, cupboards and sets of drawers. And its single bed.

  ‘Enjoying the tour?’ Jake asked as she walked into the bedroom. He was lounging across the bed, propped up on one elbow, his smile crooked as he looked at her.

  ‘It’s—interesting.’ She glanced round the room, trying to avoid the memories that the casual positioning of his lean body seemed to be relentlessly evoking. Reminding her of him reaching for her, pulling her towards him. Under him.

  She added, dry-mouthed, ‘Where’s Mrs Hubbard—Sadie?’

  ‘Don’t panic,’ he advised coolly. ‘She’s not far away. And I told you she was romantic at heart. So she’s left us alone in the bedroom she believes we’ll be sharing to allow us to contemplate the imminent joys of legalised sex.’ His tone bit. ‘I decided not to destroy her illusions quite yet.’

  He paused. ‘What did you think of the doghouse?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘My father’s name for the dressing room,’ Jake explained. ‘He said it used to be a place of exile for husbands who’d committed some sin or were simply surplus to requirements.’ He paused. ‘As I seem to fit both descriptions, I’d better prepare to move in—at the same time scoring points for being so considerate about my bride’s delicate state,’ he added silkily.

  Marin’s face warmed, but she lifted her chin. ‘Actually, I plan to sleep there myself.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Jake shook his head. ‘In a few months you’re going to find a single bed rather less than comfortable. And I shall only be here at weekends, anyway, so what the hell?’

  Marin said sharply, ‘Don’t you mean—we will be here?’

  ‘No,’ Jake said coolly. ‘I do not. After the wedding, you’ll be based down here, not London.’

  Her voice shook. ‘You think I’m going to be left here—alone?’

  His brows lifted. ‘It’s hardly solitary confinement. You’ll be well taken care of. Even cherished.’

  ‘I’m not an invalid,’ she said stormily. ‘And I have a job I like and wish to continue. I do not plan to become—a vegetable.’

  ‘What were you thinking of?’ he enquired with polite interest. ‘A Jerusalem artichoke, perhaps, or a cauliflower?’

  ‘Don’t you dare laugh about this.’ Her eyes blazed at him. ‘It’s my whole life I’m talking about.’

  Jake swung himself lithely off the bed and took a step towards her. Marin gasped and took a corresponding step backwards, a move that again was not lost on him.

  He halted, his mouth hardening. He said crisply, ‘Your life has changed, sweetheart, and so has your job description. You’re about to become my wife, and I prefer not to have you disappearing in your condition to God knows where and for weeks on end.

  ‘However,’ he went on. ‘I also get the distinct impression that the less we see of each other the better. Or am I wrong?’

  ‘No.’ She stared down at the gleaming floorboards. ‘You’re not wrong. So couldn’t we at least reconsider my moving to Chelsea?’

  ‘Nice try, darling, but the arrangement stands.’ His smile was pure winter. ‘We have a busy time ahead of us. Even the simplest wedding takes a measure of organisation, and this will be more conveniently achieved if we’re under the same roof. But I’ll make sure that our togetherness is kept to a minimum. Console yourself with that.’

  ‘And how do you plan to console your mother?’ Marin asked tautly. ‘How is she going to feel seeing someone like me living here, trying to take her place?’

  ‘Firstly, you’ll be creating your own place,’ Jake said quietly. ‘Not filling someone else’s shoes.

  ‘Secondly, I think Ma’s concerns are rather different.’ He paused. ‘She and my father were very much in love, and she’s always hoped that when I married it would be for the same reason.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you do that?’ She flung back her head. ‘You must have had enough adoring women hanging round you.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘But the adoration has to be mutual. You see the problem?’

  She said in a stifled voice, ‘Yes, I see it.’

  ‘Then consider this too,’ he said. ‘As it’s supremely obvious that you and I have been on terms of intimacy at some point, maybe you could stop reeling back in alarm each time I approach you. Unless, of course, you wish to give the impression that I raped you.’

  She looked at him, her eyes stricken. ‘No,’ she got out. ‘You can’t possibly think—’

  ‘I’m trying very hard not to think at all,’ he cut across her abruptly. ‘Not with any great success. But the fact remains that there are going to be times when we shall have to touch each other, however reluctantly. Beginning with this unavoidable formality.’ He reached into his shirt pocket and produced something that danced and glittered in the sunlight.

  He said, ‘Give me your hand.’ Then sighed. ‘Marin—your left hand, please.’

  She looked down speechlessly at the ring he was putting on her finger. At the exquisite pigeon’s-blood ruby flanked by the pure brilliance of diamonds.

  At last, she said unevenly, ‘I can’t possibly accept this. It’s not right.’

  ‘It was my grandmother’s ring,’ he said. ‘Left to me for precisely this moment.’

  ‘But not this girl.’ The look she sent him was almost desperate. ‘I’d be wearing it under false pretences.’

  ‘There’s no pretence,’ Jake told her. ‘You are now officially my fiancée. Very shortly you’ll become my wife. To the outside world, we’re lovers, and the rings you wear will demonstrate this.’

  He was still clasping her hand, Marin realised, looking down at the blaze of the gemstones as if they mesmerised him. The room seemed oddly hushed, and for one aching moment as they stood, enclosed in sunlight, she thought he was going to lift her fingers to his lips. She knew that she should not—must not—allow this…

  Then the door opened and Sadie came bustling in. ‘Madam’s waiting to say goodbye,’ she announced. ‘She has a meeting this evening—the village-hall committee.’

  Jake released Marin’s hand and stepped back.

  ‘We should go too,’ he said. ‘We have things to do in London.’ He looked at her, his blue gaze compelling. ‘Don’t we, darling?’

  And she heard herself whisper, ‘Yes.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘I’D LIKE TO murder him,’ Lynne said furiously. ‘Oh God, he promised me—he swore that he’d look after you—that you’d be safe with him.’

  Marin said in a low voice, ‘It wasn’t his fault.’

  Lynne’s lips parted in a soundless gasp. She said, ‘You mea
n you went with someone else? Oh, Marin, not that bastard in France. Surely not…?’

  ‘No,’ Marin said wretchedly. ‘It’s Jake’s baby.’ She shook her head. ‘But I’m to blame, not him.’

  ‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ Lynne said robustly. ‘After all, you didn’t grab him and drag him into bed.’ There was a long silence, and she went on more slowly, ‘Marin—say something. You’re beginning to worry me.’

  ‘But that’s exactly what I did,’ Marin swallowed. ‘Lynne, I was hardly wearing any clothes and I—I threw myself at him.’

  ‘Dear God,’ Lynne said blankly. She got to her feet. ‘I need some strong coffee. Do you want some?’

  ‘I’ve changed to peppermint tea. There’s a packet in the kitchen.’ A present from my future mother-in-law, she thought, biting her lip.

  Lynne’s face was brooding when she returned with the drinks. ‘I don’t understand any of this,’ she said. ‘For God’s sake, Marin, you’re the last person on earth to do something like that. So why, honey? And with Rad, of all people?’

  Which was, of course, the fifty-million-dollar question, and Marin couldn’t answer it. At least, not truthfully.

  ‘I suppose I wanted to know what it was like,’ she said eventually, looking away and praying that it sounded plausible. ‘And with someone who’d know what he was doing.’

  ‘A baby,’ Lynne said quietly, ‘is a high price to pay for curiosity.’

  She drank some of her coffee. ‘Is he going to admit he’s the father? Provide financial support?’

  ‘Yes,’ Marin said. ‘But not quite in the way you think.’ She took her hand from its hiding place in her skirt pocket and held it out. ‘We—we’re getting married. He took me down to Harborne—to his house in the country—to meet his mother this afternoon. And he inherited this ring from his grandmother.’

  Another silence, then Lynne sighed again, very wearily. ‘I think in my secret heart I was praying this was some kind of weird wind-up,’ she said. ‘That you’d suddenly shout “April Fool”, and I could kick you on the ankle for giving me a fright whereupon life would return to normal. Only it isn’t going to—is it?’

  She took Marin’s cold hand in both of hers. ‘And you say you’re not in love with each other?’

  ‘Not in the slightest.’ Marin met her searching look calmly. ‘We’re making the best of a bad job, that’s all. Jake doesn’t want to be married in any conventional sense, but he needs an heir. I’ve no wish to be his wife in any sense at all, but I’m having his child.’ She made herself shrug. ‘Deal done. Problem solved.’

  ‘Solved?’ Lynne repeated incredulously. ‘It sounds like a recipe for hell. Have you gone quite crazy?’

  ‘No,’ Marin said quietly. ‘The madness was getting pregnant in the first place. But all that matters from now on is ensuring the baby has the best possible life.’ I have to believe that. Have to…

  ‘And your life?’ Lynne asked. ‘What about that?’

  ‘Once the baby’s born, I plan to go back to work in some capacity.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ Lynne said quietly. ‘And you know it. Are you really going to be content with this sterile bargain you seem to have cooked up between you? Is he?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Marin suddenly found herself remembering Jake’s own phrase from that morning. ‘We—we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Please, Lynne, stop being angry and wish me well.’

  ‘I’m not angry, just worried sick.’ Lynne hugged her fiercely. ‘And I think it would be better to wish you luck,’ she added wryly. ‘Because something tells me you’re going to need it.’

  She paused, frowning. ‘A small point. What are you going to say to Barbara and Dad? You can’t possibly tell them the truth.’

  ‘I already spoke to them. We called them when we got back from Harborne.’ She bit her lip. ‘We let them think it was a whirlwind romance, and that we forgot everything but each other. At first they were really shocked and disapproving, but Jake managed to talk them round and although they’re still a bit stunned, they’re definitely coming to the wedding.’

  ‘The spin doctor in action,’ Lynne said bitterly. ‘I’d better feed Mike the same story. I wouldn’t want him to punch his future brother-in-law on the nose when they meet.’

  ‘But there’s one more thing you have to know,’ Marin continued. ‘Tomorrow I’ll be moving out—going to live in Chelsea with Jake. Just for convenience sake,’ she added hurriedly. ‘It should have been tonight, but he said I was looking tired and that I’d been through enough upheaval for one day.’

  She was expecting another explosion, but to her surprise, Lynne’s lips quirked into a thoughtful smile.

  ‘Then perhaps all hope is not lost,’ she said, half to herself. Then, more briskly, ‘Now, let’s have a last girlie evening—supper in our dressing gowns and old movies on television. What do you say?’

  Marin, her aching heart reminding her that hope had never existed in the first place, smiled and said, ‘Wonderful.’

  I don’t like this room, thought Marin as she lay on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling. If I’m honest, I don’t like this flat, either.

  It was undeniably beautiful, of course. Probably the ultimate in contemporary chic. But it was cold in a way no amount of under-floor heating or mood-lighting could alleviate.

  When she’d first seen it, she’d felt she was looking at a glossy still-life painting. Something she could admire without wishing to own it, or respond to it emotionally.

  Not that any kind of emotional engagement had been asked of her since she’d first come to live here ten long days ago, she reminded herself.

  She was sharing a roof, she thought, with a polite stranger who had already left for the day before she awoke, and who returned just in time to join her for dinner in the evenings, after which he usually excused himself and went off to his study to work.

  He was certainly keeping his side of the bargain, she admitted, but somehow that made her own situation no easier to bear. On the contrary.

  But then everything about her stay here had been awkward, beginning with the moment when Jake had ushered her out of the lift carrying them up to the penthouse.

  ‘I have a meeting in Canary Wharf, so I have to go,’ he’d said, putting down her solitary suitcase. He’d smiled briefly at the tall, grey-haired woman who awaited them. ‘But Jean—Mrs Connell—will look after you, and I’ll see you tonight.’

  He’d drawn her to him, dropped a kiss on her hair and gone.

  ‘Welcome to Danborough Gate, madam.’ Mrs Connell’s tone was civil but for an instant her surprise showed on her face.

  Clearly she’d been expecting a very different bride-to-be, someone glamorous and sophisticated, thought Marin, and tried not to mind.

  ‘And may I take the opportunity to wish you every happiness?’ the housekeeper continued, then paused, her expression faintly guarded. ‘Mr Radley-Smith gave instructions for me to prepare the guest accommodation for you. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes,’ Marin said quietly. ‘Perfectly correct.’

  I bet I’m the first female not to be shown straight to his bedroom, she thought without pleasure. She must really wonder what’s happening, if he doesn’t want to sleep with the girl he’s going to marry.

  Mrs Connell picked up the case and hesitated, clearly confused by its lightness. ‘Is this all your luggage, madam?’

  ‘Every scrap,’ Marin returned.

  Lynne, she reflected wryly, had gone through her wardrobe like the exterminating angel, leaving little but the clothing Jake had bought her for their weekend at Queens Barton.

  ‘And even this won’t fit you for long,’ she’d commented as she’d packed. ‘But, looking on the bright side, when you get your figure back you can stick him for a whole new trousseau. Won’t that be great?’

  ‘Fantastic,’ Marin had said in a hollow voice.

  Perhaps fantastic was the right word
to describe everything that had happened to her, she thought now, remembering how she’d trailed round the flat in Mrs Connell’s brisk wake, assimilating the large-reception rooms with their bleached, wooden floors, the three bedrooms—each with its own bathroom—the kitchen that looked like the flight deck on a spacecraft and the balcony, with its superb view of the river.

  ‘There’s also a very pleasant roof-garden, madam, which isn’t overlooked by anyone, so it offers total privacy,’ Mrs Connell had informed her. ‘Mr Radley-Smith uses it a great deal.’

  Which probably explains the all-over tan, thought Marin, her face warming. She focussed her attention hurriedly on a sunburst of white-and-gold flowers on a side table.

  ‘How lovely,’ she’d said. ‘Did you arrange them?’

  ‘Oh, no, madam.’ Mrs Connell had shaken her head. ‘We employ a floral art service. The young woman calls each Thursday.’

  In addition to a previously mentioned laundry service and domestic-cleaning firm, Marin had thought, startled. But if she’d wondered how Mrs Connell—who seemed to arrive at dawn each day—occupied her time when she had all this assistance, she’d soon discovered that she was a magical cook.

  It was also evident that Mrs Connell must have had a confidential chat with Sadie, because all kinds of little delicacies began suddenly to appear during the day which Marin was not allowed to refuse.

  Has no one told them that eating for two isn’t fashionable any more? she wondered, caught between amusement and embarrassment.

  But, apart from being pampered, she did not have a great deal to fill her days. Mrs Connell’s calm efficiency covered all eventualities at the house, Jake had all the arrangements for the wedding in hand, and once Marin had explained to an astonished Wendy Ingram why she was no longer available for work she’d found herself in a kind of limbo. Leaving her, she realised, with far too much time to think. And to fear the inevitable loneliness of the future.