Marriage at a Distance

by Craven, Sara

  Reluctantly, Joanna obeyed. Gabriel stood for a moment, looking at the plain gold circlet as if he had never seen it before.

  Then he said abruptly, ‘Now your hand.’

  Slowly she unclenched a tense fist and extended it towards him. He slid the ring onto her finger.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve no wish to repeat our vows.’ There was a note of mockery and something less easy to analyse in his voice. ‘However, I feel I should seal this solemn moment somehow.’

  His hands descended on Joanna’s shoulders, drawing her inexorably towards him. He said softly, ‘So, I’ll kiss the bride.’

  She wanted to say no—to pull away. But the arms that closed round her were too strong, too determined. And his mouth was too warm, too compelling, stifling the rejection before it could be uttered.

  He kissed her slowly and sensuously, as if he had all the time in the world. As if he imagined she would welcome the pressure of his lips parting hers, the silken invasion of his tongue. As if there had been no pain, no disillusionment, and no parting between them.

  He held her captive in one arm, allowing his other hand to make a lingering pilgrimage down her spine, from the fragile nape of her neck to the curve of her hip.

  Joanna felt her whole body shiver in a response she was unable to control.

  When he lifted his head, he was smiling.

  He said lightly, ‘If I didn’t know better, Jo, I’d swear you almost enjoyed that.’

  The knowledge that he could be right did nothing to appease her.

  She said thickly, ‘Is this part of the ground rules—that you’re allowed to—maul me whenever you feel like it?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Treat it as a momentary lapse—not to be repeated. But don’t expect me to apologise.’

  He ran a finger down the curve of her flushed cheek, and laughed softly.

  ‘And don’t look so stricken, darling. Day One is nearly over. Which leaves only three hundred and sixty-five to go. And they’ll soon pass, I promise you.’

  He went past her and out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  Joanna stood very still, staring blindly in front of her.

  She said once again, softly, ‘It will all be over soon.’

  But this time her mantra gave her no comfort at all.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JOANNA decided it would be prudent to spend the rest of the day in her room. She took the latest batch of condolence letters with her, and set about answering them. It wasn’t a pleasant task, but it helped divert her mind from the even more disturbing thoughts which threatened to take control.

  She was expecting a recriminatory visit from Cynthia, who was bound to be equally displeased at the terms of Lionel’s will. But for once her stepmother seemed to be keeping her distance.

  Or at least from me, Joanna amended wryly.

  When Mrs Ashby tapped on the door to ask about dinner, she simply requested a bowl of soup on a tray.

  ‘And then I’m going to have an early night,’ she added quietly. ‘So I’d rather not be disturbed.’

  ‘Very good, madam.’ Mrs Ashby looked down at the carpet. ‘Although I understand that Mr Verne and Mrs Elcott are dining at the Crown Hotel this evening.’

  Which naturally explained a great deal, Joanna thought when she was alone again.

  She changed into nightdress and robe, and drank her soup in the chair by the small but cheerful fire—a bedroom comfort to which Lionel had been strongly addicted, she recalled sadly.

  ‘Radiators aren’t cosy,’ he’d declare.

  She listened to the radio for a while, then got into bed and tried to read, but the words of the book danced meaninglessly in front of her eyes. She tried to sleep, but her mind was running in restless circles and would not let her relax. Her body moved uneasily under the covers, seeking a comfort she could not find.

  Now there were no more barricades to shelter her from the fact that Gabriel’s kiss had totally unnerved her. And just as disturbing was the realisation that she hadn’t resisted him. She hadn’t even slapped his face afterwards. And she should have done.

  She should have shown him once and for all that his behaviour was unacceptable and would not be tolerated.

  The warm, familiar taste of his mouth haunted her. Made her shiver again in what was, she told herself defensively, revulsion.

  He had no right, she thought feverishly, and repeatedly. I gave him no right.

  But then Gabriel had never waited to be granted favours of any kind, least of all sexual. He had always taken what he wanted, right from the first.

  He’d forced her to accept his kiss with the same ruthlessness with which he’d imposed the terms of the will upon her.

  Tomorrow she would find out about the divorce laws, she told herself broodingly. See if there was any way round the situation that Gabriel hadn’t thought of.

  Some hopes, she mocked herself savagely.

  She couldn’t really believe that he would contest the legal break-up of their marriage, or make her wait the eternity he’d threatened. He was simply using the possibility as a weapon to make her do what he wanted. But why?

  She shook her head, staring into the darkness. He must want to put an end to this sterile situation as much as she did.

  Pride seemed the only answer. Gabriel would not want it known that his wife was willing to sacrifice Lionel’s generosity in order to be free of him.

  Well, he might have prepared the corner, and forced her into it, but from now on she would state her own terms for enduring this—farce.

  At last she found herself drifting in and out of an uneasy sleep, hearing the long-case clock in the gallery chime every hour. And realising that she had not heard Gabriel and Cynthia return.

  It was almost a relief when Mrs Ashby arrived punctually with her morning tea and she didn’t have to pretend any more that she was resting.

  The housekeeper gave her a concerned look. ‘Are you going to stay in bed today, madam? Shall I call the doctor?’

  ‘No, and no.’ Joanna forced a reassuring smile. ‘I have a lot of things to see to.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Verne.’ The other woman hesitated awkwardly. ‘Will you want me to move your things—to the master bedroom? Mr Gabriel told me last night he wanted it to be prepared, and I didn’t know…’

  Joanna’s smile felt as if it had been welded there.

  ‘Mr Gabriel’s arrangements are his own business, Mrs Ashby. However, while I remain at the Manor I shall continue to use this room.’

  ‘Yes, of course, madam.’ The older woman’s kind face was a picture of embarrassment. ‘What about all the late Mr Verne’s things?’

  Joanna bit her lip. ‘I’ll speak to Mr Gabriel. Ask what he wants done. Then we’ll sort through them together.’

  That was one difficult moment survived, she thought resignedly when she was alone again, but there would undoubtedly be more to follow.

  She followed her usual routine of pouring her tea, then taking the cup into the bathroom while she ran a bath for herself, scenting it generously with foaming bath oil in a clove carnation fragrance.

  By the time she’d finished her tea, the water was just as she liked it. She slipped off her chiffon nightdress and slid with a sigh into the perfumed bubbles, closing her eyes and leaning back against the quilted headrest.

  Usually she had her day mapped out, but now, in spite of her positive words to Mrs Ashby, she had no clear idea of what lay ahead of her.

  Did Gabriel wish her to go on running the house in the old way, or did he plan to give the orders now?

  That was something else she would have to ask him about, she reflected without pleasure. She tried to think of a way to frame the question that wouldn’t sound as if she was pleading for her old status.

  ‘It’s dangerous to sleep in the bath. Or is this a planned drowning?’

  Because she’d been thinking about him, it took Joanna a couple of seconds to realise that Gabriel’s faintly amused drawl was not just in her
mind.

  She gasped, nearly inhaling a mouthful of bubbles, her head turning in shock towards the bathroom door.

  He was lounging in the doorway, totally at ease, the tawny eyes scanning the concealing foam with lazy appreciation.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  Joanna remembered just in time not to sit up.

  ‘I came to tell you I’m going to be away for some while,’ he returned. ‘I have a meeting in Paris, and another in Vienna later in the week.’

  ‘All right, you’ve told me,’ she said tersely. ‘Now you can get out.’

  Gabriel’s brows lifted. ‘I can’t say your manners have improved during our separation,’ he remarked coldly. ‘Not that it makes any real difference. I’ll leave when I’m ready.’

  ‘In other words, I’m to be allowed no privacy at all,’ Joanna said with a snap.

  ‘If that was really the case,’ he said gently, ‘you wouldn’t have been alone in that bed last night. And you’d certainly have my company in that bath this morning.’ He watched a wave of indignant colour invade her face and nodded. ‘So stop being absurd and listen.’

  She said between her teeth, ‘Yes, master.’

  He laughed. ‘You’re getting the idea. Did Mrs Ashby speak to you about Lionel’s room?’

  ‘She mentioned it.’ Joanna hesitated, the image of him kneeling beside Lionel’s bed in her mind. ‘Isn’t this a—little soon?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want it to turn into some kind of shrine, dusted once a week and everything the way he left it. I want life to get back to normal round here as soon as possible.’

  ‘You have a strange idea of normal.’ Joanna could feel the water getting colder. She was also becoming cramped through lying so still, but she dared not move.

  ‘Why, darling,’ he said mockingly, ‘is this your shy way of telling me you’d like ours to be a conventional marriage?’ He shrugged off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, and began to loosen his tie. ‘Perhaps I’ll join you after all.’

  ‘You’ll do nothing of the kind.’ The breath caught in her throat as Gabriel moved across to the bath and sat down on its broad rim. ‘Go away.’ Her voice sounded hoarse and uneven. ‘Get out of here. Now.’

  He said, ‘No, darling. Not quite yet.’

  Paralysed, Joanna watched his hand descend towards the surface of the water. For a moment Gabriel allowed it to hover tantalisingly, barely an inch from her quivering body, then he scooped up some of the fragrant foam, lifting it to his face.

  He said softly, ‘Now this evokes some memories. Each time I’ve encountered clove carnations in the past two years, I’ve thought of the scent of your skin in the darkness.’

  ‘Don’t expect me to be flattered,’ Joanna returned grittily.

  ‘No, I accept that’s too much to hope for.’ His dark face inscrutable, he gently blew the bubbles from his palm. ‘Don’t you have any memories, Joanna?’

  ‘None that I care to recall.’ Her tone was curt.

  ‘And no curiosity, either? Haven’t you ever wondered how it might be between a man and a woman? Or how it should be?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’ Gabriel dipped an idle hand into the water again. Joanna remained like a statue, determined not to flinch. ‘Because I’ve wondered a great deal—about you, about myself. About the fact that we’re both two years older, and, hopefully, wiser. That maybe there are things we could both learn from each other—before we part.’

  His smile slanted down at her, and she felt deep inside her an answering twist of pain, mixed with—what? Regret—yearning? She couldn’t be sure. And didn’t want to find out.

  ‘I mean,’ he went on softly, moving the water gently with his fingers, ‘I wouldn’t want you to go out into the world thinking those few doomed encounters between us was all there was to it.’

  ‘So what are you offering?’ Joanna loaded her tone with contempt. ‘A quick course in sexual gratification?’ She shook her head. ‘Not for me. But I’m sure you won’t lack for willing applicants,’ she added cuttingly. ‘You never have.’

  ‘What a pity.’ The tawny gaze undertook another lingering survey. ‘Because those pretty bubbles are beginning to melt, opening up all kinds of interesting perspectives. Sure you won’t change your mind?’

  ‘Certain.’ She was trembling inside, but somehow managed to keep her tone even. ‘And now may I make something clear?’ She drew a deep breath. ‘If this kind of—harassment continues, it’s going to make it impossible for me to remain here—whatever the consequences.’

  ‘Sexual harassment between husband and wife?’ His brows drew together meditatively. ‘I wonder if that exists in law?’

  ‘I neither know nor care,’ she returned steadily. ‘I’m not talking legalities, but on a personal level. You may find these—games of yours amusing, but I don’t. The only way this arrangement can work is by each of us keeping out of the other’s way.’

  ‘You really think that’s the sole solution?’

  ‘I know it is.’

  He shrugged. ‘Then we’ll play it your way. God forbid my foul lust should drive you away,’ he added derisively. He bent forward, running a hand swiftly over her bare shoulder. ‘And you’re freezing. It’s time you came out of that water.’ He got up and fetched the towelling robe which hung on the bathroom door. ‘Here, put this on,’ he directed brusquely.

  Freezing? Suddenly she was burning, consumed by some strange and terrifying flame.

  She set her teeth. ‘In my own good time.’

  He laughed. ‘You mean you’d rather risk pneumonia than allow me a fleeting glimpse of you naked? Now, are you underestimating my self-control—or overestimating the effect of your own charms? However, we won’t debate the point now.’

  ‘Or ever,’ she snapped back.

  ‘All avenues of communication safely closed off?’ He shook his head. ‘You disappoint me, sweetheart. But from now on it’ll be strictly business.’

  He draped the robe unhurriedly within reach, directed one last appreciative look downwards, then became instantly and impersonally brisk, leaving Joanna to grind her teeth in impotent rage.

  ‘With regard to Lionel’s clothes and belongings. I’d like them stored in another room, please, so I can go through them at my leisure.’

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ she acknowledged stiffly.

  ‘It isn’t, particularly.’ Gabriel grimaced. ‘It’s a lousy job, but I can’t, in conscience, wish it on anyone else.’

  He picked up his jacket, slung it over one shoulder, and turned to go. Then he paused. ‘By the way, one last thought.’ His tone was abrupt, and Joanna tensed again. ‘As Larkspur Cottage is empty, why don’t you rent it to Cynthia for the next twelve months? Apparently she’s always had a hankering to live there.’

  ‘I suppose you discussed it last night—over the hors d’oeuvres?’ Joanna made her tone poisonously sweet, then regretted it.

  But he smiled at her, unfazed. ‘Over the coffee and Armagnac, actually. But it’s entirely up to you. It’s going to be your property, after all. Think it over, and tell her your decision.’

  Then he was gone. And a moment later she heard her bedroom door close.

  She sat up gingerly, feeling slightly giddy. As she glanced down she realised with annoyance that her nipples had tautened to hard, rosy peaks in the cooling water, and hoped very much that they weren’t one of the perspectives Gabriel had referred to.

  She climbed out, reaching for the robe and huddling it on with a shiver, thankful that it wasn’t Gabriel’s hands arranging the folds of fabric around her.

  As it might have been. And the shock of that realisation made her breathless. As, indeed, had her body’s helpless reaction to the brief touch of his hand on her shoulder.

  If this unwanted confrontation had taught her anything, it was that she was by no means impervious to Gabriel, and she needed to be.

  She would have to armour herself so
mehow, she thought grimly. And his absence over the next few days would give her the opportunity to do so.

  Nor would she again allow herself to be this physically vulnerable. She would call a locksmith immediately, and have her bedroom door made secure.

  But how to keep the thought of him out of her heart—and the remembrance of him out of her bloodstream—was another matter entirely.

  She would give Sadie a hand in the stables, Joanna decided as she dressed in breeches, boots and a heavy sweater, and then she’d help her exercise her charges. Some strenuous hard work was what she needed to take her mind off her personal problems. Besides, the horses hadn’t had much attention in the past few days, and would probably be kicking down the doors of their boxes.

  She wondered what Gabriel would do with Nutkin, the gelding Lionel had been riding when he died. He was a strong, powerful beast, and Joanna wasn’t altogether sure she could handle him, or if she even ought to try.

  She sighed silently as she descended the stairs. This was just one of the matters needed a decision from Gabriel. She would have to make a list.

  As she reached the foot of the stairs she encountered Cynthia, just emerging from the dining room. Joanna, aware that her stepmother rarely stirred out of her room until midday, gave her a surprised look.

  ‘Could I have a word?’ Cynthia’s expression was that of a cat who’d been awarded if not the cream, a very large saucer of milk.

  ‘Fine.’ Joanna paused. ‘Is there any coffee left?’

  ‘Plenty. Why?’

  Joanna shrugged. ‘We may as well make any discussion as civilised as possible,’ she countered, walking into the dining room and filling a cup from the heavy silver pot.

  ‘Darling.’ Cynthia draped herself decoratively on one of the high-backed dining chairs. ‘I’m perfectly prepared to be as civilised as you could wish.’

  Provided you do as I want, Joanna supplied silently.

  She took the chair opposite. ‘I suppose this concerns Larkspur Cottage.’

  ‘It does indeed.’ Her stepmother assumed a vaguely injured expression. ‘I can’t imagine what Lionel was thinking of to leave the place to you. I thought that he and I were in complete agreement about it.’