by Lucy King
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AT EIGHT O’CLOCK, after a quick shower and a stern talking-to along the lines of making sure she kept her wits about her and her eyes from wandering, Abby was back at Barton Hall, sitting at the huge oak table in the kitchen with a small glass of wine, and watching Leo as he took an incredible-looking pie out of the bottom right oven of the Aga.
As the heavenly scent drifted towards her her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled and she had to admit that it did make a nice change from the rubbery chicken in a basket she’d tried her best to saw through last night.
Not that she’d had much choice about accepting Leo’s invitation once he’d issued her with what practically amounted to an ultimatum. It was bad enough that he’d known how strongly the sight of his bare chest affected her. The idea that he might think he had her running scared was simply too much to stomach, so here they were.
‘Are you sure I can’t do anything to help?’ she asked, because she’d been here for a quarter of an hour and so far he hadn’t let her lift a finger.
‘You could lay the table.’
Glad for something to keep her hands and mind busy, Abby got up and went in search of crockery and cutlery. Five minutes of clattering activity and zero conversation other than a couple of ‘knives are in the top drawer’ kind of murmurings, the table was laid, and she and Leo were sitting opposite each other with nothing between them except the pie and a bowl of steaming vegetables that sat on a couple of trivets in the centre of the table.
Abby flapped her napkin and laid it on her lap. ‘So,’ she said brightly because the silence was shifting into decidedly uncomfortable territory and Leo didn’t appear to be doing anything to break it. ‘You said you wanted to talk, Leo, and here I am.’
Leo had been sitting back, almost lounging in his chair, but now he shifted, straightened a little and tensed. ‘Right. Yes.’ He stopped, took a deep breath, and then he continued. ‘I’m really sorry about the whole St Jude’s thing, Abby. I can honestly say I don’t know what I was thinking.’
She picked up her fork and shot him an arch but not entirely unamused look. ‘About your ulterior motive probably. You did have one, didn’t you?’
He grimaced. ‘Yes.’
‘Which was?’
‘You know what it was. You even pointed it out.’
‘Humour me.’ And humiliate yourself, while you’re at it, why don’t you? Because you sure humiliated me.
‘Fair enough. I was trying to break down your resistance to me.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t take rejection well.’
‘Who does?’
‘I take it exceptionally badly.’
And it didn’t take a genius to work out why, she thought, putting a forkful of pie in her mouth and almost groaning with pleasure. Presumably being jilted at the altar in front of all your family and friends could do that to a man.
‘So what was it?’ she asked. ‘Punishment?’
He shook his head, his eyes dark and steady on hers. ‘More of an attempt to re-establish the control that I always lose whenever I’m around you.’
Abby reached for her glass of wine, took a sip and thought that that was something she could certainly understand. ‘The thing is, though,’ she said, looking at him thoughtfully, ‘I didn’t actually reject you. I just put accepting you on hold for a while.’
‘I realise that now. But at the time I wasn’t thinking all that straight. Patience doesn’t seem to be one of my strong points when it comes to you, any more than self-control does.’
As she wasn’t sure what to make of that Abby put down her glass and concentrated on eating for a few moments, because honestly the crisp golden pastry was way too irresistible to ignore.
‘What you did really didn’t show you in your best light, Leo,’ she said after a while.
‘I know. It’s not the way I normally behave.’
‘I should hope not.’
‘I can’t explain it. You seem to bring with you chaos of thought.’
She wasn’t quite sure what to make of that either, although she had a certain sympathy for that too. ‘I don’t mean to. I hate chaos.’
‘Nevertheless you do.’
‘Is that an excuse?’
‘No, because I don’t think there is an excuse.’
‘No.’ She put her fork down and looked him. ‘It hurt, you know. I really thought you were being nice. Thoughtful. More fool me.’
For the briefest of moments the impassive mask that was his expression slipped and she caught a flicker of regret. ‘I’m sorry. I really don’t know what else I can say, although you may be pleased to know that the guilt has been driving me insane.’
A bit rocked by that flash of regret and the admission of guilt, Abby reached for her wine again and toyed with the stem. ‘That is some consolation.’
‘Do you accept my apology?’
‘Is it heartfelt?’
He paused, seemed to tense up a bit, then relaxed and said, ‘Very much so.’
And because of the way he said it, she found herself softening. ‘Then in that case, yes.’
‘Thank you,’ he said, giving her a faint smile that had her heart lurching and her mouth going oddly dry.
Leo carried on looking at her and Abby found she couldn’t break the contact. The seconds ticked by, the air thickening and the tension between them creeping back and she could feel her heart rate quickening, the roar of her blood in her ears.
Conversation. That was what they needed now. Nice, normal conversation. About the party. That would be good. That would be safe.
‘So, forty years,’ she said brightly and he jumped, as if he’d been lost in thought and she’d yanked him out of it. ‘Quite an achievement.’
‘Hmm,’ said Leo, picking up his fork and finally tucking in to both the food and the chat. ‘How long have your parents been married?’
‘Thirty-five. Kind of incredible, don’t you think?’
‘Remarkable. Have you never been tempted?’
‘I’ve never been asked.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘I find that surprising.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re beautiful, successful, warm, intelligent and kind, for a start.’
‘Oh,’ she said faintly, reeling a bit at her apparent attributes. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Though you missed out “forgiving”.’
‘Thoughtless of me.’
‘Only I have been told I’m not very dateable.’
‘Not very dateable?’ he said, glancing up and looking at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted another head, which, she had to admit, did send her self-esteem shooting through the roof.
‘According to my last boyfriend, I’m too independent and too capable,’ she said, her self-esteem plummeting again as the memory of Martin detailing all her faults shot into her head.
Leo frowned. ‘And that’s bad?’
‘Apparently it’s intimidating.’
‘Only to someone with an inferiority complex.’
‘Not something you suffer from,’ she said with a smile.
He arched an eyebrow. ‘You’d be surprised.’
Whatever that might mean Abby couldn’t be sure. And besides, her mind was now on something else entirely because for the first time it was occurring to her that maybe she wasn’t only too capable and too independent, but also perhaps a bit too demanding. Maybe because she expected so much from herself, she expected too much from the men she went out with.
Or maybe not. Whatever. There wasn’t time now to indulge in a bout of self-analysis. She’d have to save that for later.
‘Well, with hindsight,’ she said, hauling herself back to the convers
ation, ‘he was completely crappy and I can’t believe I wasted four months of my life on him.’ Which was all true, whether she’d expected too much of him or not.
‘If it’s any comfort, I wanted to date you.’
While Leo picked up his glass and drained what was left of the contents, Abby dropped her fork and it clattered onto the plate, her head wiped clean of everything but what he’d just said. ‘You did?’ she said faintly. ‘When?’
‘The day after we slept together. I called you.’
‘That’s right. To discuss the party.’
Leo shook his head. ‘Not to discuss the party. I was going to ask you out.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Because you told me you weren’t interested before I could.’
‘I did.’ She frowned as she struggled to work out what that meant. ‘So the whole party thing was...what?’
He shrugged. Looked away for a second. ‘An attempt to save face, I suppose.’
‘Oh,’ she murmured, confused because on the one hand the knowledge that he’d wanted to take her out was pretty confidence boosting, but on the other she’d spent the last couple of months working hard on something that she’d thought was a labour of love but in actual fact had been a mere whim, which wasn’t confidence boosting in the slightest. ‘That sounds a bit desperate.’
‘You have no idea.’ He went to fill their glasses, pouring wine into only his when she covered hers and said that she was driving.
‘Do you regret it?’
‘Not for one moment,’ he said with such conviction that she couldn’t help believe him.
‘I’m glad.’ And not just about that because it was weirdly comforting to know that he’d been making as many rash decisions as she had. ‘It’s going to be a great party.’
‘It is.’ He paused, then said casually, ‘So just out of interest, if I had asked you out, what would you have said?’
Given how honest Leo was being, Abby didn’t see any reason to be otherwise. ‘No.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Seriously?’
She grinned. ‘Is it that hard to believe?’
‘Honestly? After a night like the one we had, it is a bit, yes.’
‘I’ve been attracted to you since the moment I laid eyes on you, Leo. You know I have. And I still am. You know that too. But the thing is, unfortunately you’re just not my type.’
‘Why not?’
‘Emotions.’
At the word, he winced, and Abby arched an eyebrow. ‘My point exactly.’
‘Which is what?’
‘You don’t like emotions, do you?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, the wince for one thing is a bit of a giveaway.’
Leo shrugged. ‘OK, so I’m not a great fan of emotion. Most men aren’t. It’s not a crime.’
‘No. But I am.’
‘So I’ve come to realise,’ he said dryly. ‘And the problem is...?’
‘The problem is, in my experience, that bottling things up, not saying what you think, what you want, what you feel, can be seriously bad for your health, and I don’t want to be with someone like that.’
Leo’s eyes glittered in the dim light of the kitchen. ‘Seems to work OK for me.’
‘It didn’t work so well for my father.’
There was a pause, and then, ‘The heart attack?’
‘Exactly.’
Leo frowned. ‘You said it wasn’t fatal.’
‘It wasn’t. But while he’s sort of fine, he’s never fully recovered.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but heart attacks do happen.’
‘But in this case it needn’t have,’ said Abby shortly, and had to remind herself to remain calm. ‘He’d lost his job, and because of his pride, because of his inability to communicate properly, he couldn’t tell my mother. According to the doctors the chances are that it wouldn’t have happened if he’d shared the burdens he carried. But he wouldn’t. And the really annoying, really ridiculous thing is, he’s still doing it. He’s so emotionally repressed it makes me want to tear my hair out. Especially when my brothers, who’ve inherited his stiff-upper-lip thing, start doing exactly the same.’
‘I see,’ said Leo, with a tilt of his head. ‘And you think I’m emotionally repressed too?’
‘I do, Leo. I do.’ Abby looked back at him and, as his mouth curved into the faintest—slightly mocking?—smile, lost all sense of calm and asked hotly, ‘Don’t you ever, I don’t know, want to throw things?’
He stared at her, bemused. ‘Such as what?’
‘Anything. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Why would I want to throw things?’
‘To release the build-up of emotion.’
‘I never need to. I never have a build-up of emotion.’
‘That’s exactly my point. You should. Otherwise how do you know you’re feeling?’
‘I don’t. And honestly, I don’t see that as a negative.’
‘I’m sure you don’t.’
‘So what other evidence do you have for your theory that I’m emotionally repressed? Surely it can’t only be my lack of throwing things.’
Oh, where to start...?
Well, as he was treating what mattered deeply to her with nothing more than mild amusement and it was beginning to seriously piss her off, how about the jugular? ‘Why don’t you tell me about your marriage, Leo?’ she said, fixing her gaze to his and resolving not to let go whatever happened.
There was a second of absolute silence before his eyes narrowed a fraction and he answered. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ he said, his tone a good degree or two chillier than a moment ago. ‘I’m not married.’
‘I know. But you nearly were once.’
And now his jaw was tightening, almost imperceptibly, but she was beginning to recognise the tiny signs that on the odd occasion gave him away. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘Something on the internet.’
‘Where?’
‘I’ll send you the link.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I guess you’ll be wanting to hush that up too.’
He frowned. ‘What?’
‘How did you keep what happened so quiet? How did you keep it out of the papers?’
‘I have loyal family and friends. So does Lisa. How much do you know?’
‘I know she left you at the altar for some guy she’d got back in touch with on Facebook.’
‘She married him. They have a child.’
‘And how do you feel about it all?’
‘I don’t feel anything.’
Abby’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Seriously?’
‘Why would I? It happened five years ago.’
‘And at the time?’
This time there was nothing imperceptible about the way his jaw clenched and his face darkened. ‘I handled it,’ he said and it occurred to her that, however he’d handled it, it hadn’t been well.
‘So how come you still have a problem with the time of year and you haven’t slept with anyone since her? Other than me, I mean,’ she added, and her cheeks heated.
Leo’s gaze snapped to hers. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘Jake said you hadn’t had a woman in your bed for years.’
‘Doesn’t mean I haven’t been in their beds,’ said Leo dryly. ‘You weren’t the first by any means.’
And you won’t be the last, so don’t think you’re anything special was the very clear message, and for a moment it knocked her a bit sideways.
‘Oh. No. Well. Of course not,’ she said, swiftly rallying because she didn’t want to be special to a man who held such an opposing view to something she valued so highly. ‘Jake�
��s obviously got the wrong end of the stick.’
‘I don’t see the need to discuss my sex life with him. And I really don’t have a problem with the time of year any more. It would be absurd to be hung up on something that happened so long ago. I genuinely couldn’t care less about it.’
Which well and truly told her. ‘And the shutting off of your emotions?’
‘Habit.’
‘Oh, but it’s such a bad one.’
‘You’re the expert.’
‘I am, which is how I know that the more you suppress emotion, the harder it becomes to control and the more you end up dwelling on it.’
‘Just as well I don’t have any, then.’
‘And if that isn’t a good reason to let it all out,’ she said, ignoring him because he might like to think that but everyone had some and he was fooling himself if he thought he was different, ‘then I don’t know what is.’
‘How do you let it all out?’
‘I don’t have to, because I never let it become a problem. Whatever I’m feeling I embrace it. If I’m happy I say so. If I’m not, I say it too.’
A spark of something—challenge? Smugness? Glee?—lit the depths of Leo’s eyes and, despite the heat that the Aga was churning out, Abby shivered.
‘What are you feeling now?’ he asked lazily, which had her guard up because laziness wasn’t a tone she’d ever heard him employ before.
‘Full. Tired. Excited about tomorrow.’
‘That’s it?’
‘More or less.’
‘You’re a hypocrite, Abby.’
She blinked. ‘I’m a what?’
‘A hypocrite.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are. For all your talk about saying what you feel, what you want, you won’t admit you still want me.’
At the gleam in his eye Abby’s heart lurched and her breath caught in her throat. OK, now they were heading into seriously dangerous territory because in the blink of an eye she’d lost control of the conversation. Leo was now in the driving seat and would take her along a route that would end up with her all tangled up because she didn’t know what she wanted. The thought-chaos thing went both ways.
Making a great show of looking at her watch and yawning, Abby shot him a bright smile. ‘Well, it’s a big day tomorrow,’ she said, pushing her chair back and wondering whether her legs would be steady enough to support her long enough for her to get to her car. ‘So I think I should go.’
