by Nora Roberts
what time it was as she opened the door. Shock took a moment to penetrate.
“Eric,” she whispered.
“Asher.” He gave her what was nearly a bow before he elbowed his way into the room. “Did I wake you?”
“I was napping.” She closed the door, trying to recover her scattered wits. He looked the same, she thought. Naturally he would. Eric would see no reason to change. He was tall, slim, with a military carriage. He had a sharp-featured European face, a bit haughty and remote. Dark blond hair was cut and groomed to indicate wealth and conservatism. Light eyes in a pale face—both romantic yet intelligent and cold. Asher knew that his mouth could twist into a hard line when he was crossed. As a suitor he had been charming, as a lover, meticulous. As a husband he’d been unbearable. She drew herself straight. He was no longer her husband.
“I didn’t expect to see you, Eric.”
“No?” He smiled. “Did you think I wouldn’t drop by while you were in town? Lost a bit of weight, Asher.”
“Competition tends to do that.” Years of training had her gesturing toward a chair. “Please, sit down. I’ll get you a drink.”
There was no reason to be upset by him now, she told herself. No need to feel fear or guilt. Divorced couples managed to be civilized more often than not. Eric, Asher thought with a grim smile, was a very civilized man.
“Have you been well?” She poured his scotch neat, then added ice to Perrier for herself.
“Quite well. And you?”
“Yes. Your family?”
“Doing wonderfully.” Eric accepted the glass she offered then eyed her over the rim. “And your father?” He watched for the flash of pain, and was satisfied.
“As far as I know, he’s fine.” Quite consciously Asher drew on the mask as she sat.
“Still hasn’t forgiven you for giving up your career.”
Her eyes were level now and expressionless. “I’m sure you’re aware he hasn’t.”
Mindful of the crease in his pants, Eric crossed his legs. “I thought perhaps now that you’re competing again . . .” He allowed the sentence to die.
Asher watched the bubbles rise in her glass, but left them untasted. “He no longer acknowledges me,” she said flatly. “I’m still paying, Eric.” She lifted her eyes again. “Does that satisfy you?”
He drank leisurely for a moment. “It was your choice, my dear. Your career for my name.”
“For your silence,” Asher corrected. “I already had your name.”
“And another man’s child in your belly.”
Ice clinked against ice as her hands shook. Quickly she controlled the tremor. “One would have thought it would have been enough that I lost the child,” she murmured. “Did you come all this way to remind me?”
“I came,” Eric said as he leaned back, “to see how my ex-wife was adjusting. You’re victorious on the courts, Asher, and as lovely as ever.” She didn’t speak as his eyes roamed the room. “Apparently you didn’t waste too much time picking up with your old lover.”
“My mistake was in leaving him, Eric. We both know that. I’m very, very sorry.”
He sent her an icy look. “Your mistake was in trying to pass his bastard off on me.”
Furious and trembling, Asher sprang to her feet. “I never lied to you. And by God, I’ll never apologize again.”
He remained seated, swirling liquor. “Does he know yet?”
Her color drained dramatically enough to make him smile genuinely. Hate ate at him. “No, I see he doesn’t. How interesting.”
“I kept my word, Eric.” Though her hands were laced tightly together, Asher’s voice was strong. “As long as I was your wife, I did everything you asked of me.”
He acknowledged this with a slight nod. Her honesty hadn’t been enough—nor had her three years of penance. “But you’re not my wife any longer.”
“We agreed. The marriage was intolerable for both of us.”
“What are you afraid he’d do?” Eric mused, frowning up at the ceiling. “He’s a very physical man as I remember, with a primitive sort of temper.” Lowering his eyes, he smiled again. “Do you think he’d beat you?”
Asher gave a short laugh. “No.”
“You’re very confident,” he murmured. “What exactly are you afraid of?”
Wearily she dropped her hands to her sides. “He wouldn’t forgive me, Eric, any more than you have. I lost the child, I lost my father. My self-esteem. I’ll never lose the guilt. I hurt nothing but your pride, Eric, haven’t I suffered enough for that?”
“Perhaps . . . perhaps not.” Rising, he stepped toward her. She remembered the scent of his crisp, dignified cologne very well. “Perhaps the most perfect punishment might be in never knowing your secret is safe. I’ll make you no promises, Asher.”
“It astonishes me that I was ever naïve enough to think of you as a kind man, Eric,” she said softly.
“Justice,” he returned, toasting her.
“Revenge has little to do with justice.”
He shrugged an elegant shoulder. “All in your viewpoint, my dear.”
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of breaking down—of weeping, of screaming or begging. Instead, Asher stood perfectly still. “If you’ve said all you’ve come to say, I’d like you to go.”
“Of course.” After finishing off the liquor, he set down the glass. “Sleep well, darling. Don’t bother, I’ll let myself out.” Eric turned the doorknob and found himself face-to-face with Ty. Nothing could have pleased him more.
Ty noted his cold, satisfied smile before his gaze shifted to Asher. Standing in the center of the room, she seemed frozen. There was anguish, and, he thought, fear in her eyes. Her face was dead-white and still. Even as he wondered what it was she feared, Ty took in the rest of her appearance. The tousled hair, the brief robe and exposed skin had rage boiling in him. Asher could feel it from where she stood.
His eyes whipped back to Eric’s. There was murder in them. “Get the hell out of here.”
“Just on my way,” Eric said equably, though he had inched back against the door in instinctive defense. His last thought as he shut it behind him was that Asher would bear the brunt of the fury in Ty’s eyes. That alone had made it worth the trip.
The room vibrated with the silent storm. Asher didn’t move. It seemed Ty would stare at her for eternity. The trembling was difficult to control, but she forced herself. If she made light of the incident, perhaps so would he.
“What the hell was he doing here?”
“He just dropped by . . . I suppose to wish me luck.” The lie sliced at her.
“Cozy.” Crossing to her, Ty caught the lapel of her robe in his hand. “Don’t you usually dress for visitors, Asher? Then again, I suppose it isn’t necessary for ex-husbands.”
“Ty, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he demanded. Though he struggled against the words, the accusations, the feelings, he knew it was a losing battle. Against the unknown he would always attack. “Wouldn’t it be better form to meet him somewhere else? It’s a little sticky here, isn’t it?”
The cold sarcasm hurt more than his fury would have. With so much to hide, she could only shake her head. “Ty, you know there’s nothing between us. You know—”
“What the hell do I know?” he shouted, grasping the other lapel. “Don’t ask, don’t question. Then I walk in and find you entertaining the bastard you left me for.”
“I didn’t know he was coming.” She gripped his arms for balance as he nearly lifted her off her feet. “If he had called, I would have told him to stay away.”
“You let him in.” Enraged, he shook her. “Why?’
Despair rather than fear clutched at her. “Would you be happier if I had slammed the door in his face?”
“Yes, damn it.”
“I didn’t.” She pushed at him now, as furious as he. “I let him in, I gave him a drink. Make what you like of it. I can’t stop you.”
“Did he want
you back?” he demanded, ignoring her struggles. “Is that why he came?”
“What does it matter?” Impotently she slammed her fists into his chest. “It’s not what I want.” She threw back her head, her eyes burning.
“Then tell me, tell me now why you married him.” When she tried to pull away, he dragged her back. “I’ll have that much, Asher, and I’ll have it now.”
“Because I thought he was what I needed,” she cried out. Roaring in her ears was the anger, the fear she had felt of Eric.
“And was he?” To prevent her from striking out, Ty grasped her wrist.
“No!” She jerked but couldn’t free herself. Frustration added to an almost unreasonable fury. “No, I was miserable. I was trapped.” Her voice was both strong and harsh. “I paid in ways you can’t imagine. There wasn’t a day I was happy. Does that satisfy you?”
She did something he had never seen her do before. She wept. His grip on her wrists loosened as he watched tears flood her eyes and spill onto her cheeks. Never in all the years he’d known her had he seen that kind of torment on her face. Tearing herself from his grip, Asher fled into the bedroom, slamming the door at her back.
She wanted peace. She wanted privacy. The grief had hit her unexpectedly. If the tears hadn’t clogged her throat, she would have told him about the baby. The words had been there, ready to spill out in anger. Then speech had been impossible. Now she needed to weep it out.
Ty stared at the closed door for a long time. The wrenching sound of sobbing came to him. It was a reaction he hadn’t expected. His anger was justified, as were his questions. Anger for anger he could have comprehended, but the pain he heard was altogether different. Having come from a family of women, he understood a woman’s tears. Over the years he’d done his share of comforting and soothing. But these sobs were hot and bitter—and Asher never wept.
Jess cried easily, quiet, feminine tears. His mother wept with joy or silent sadness. These he could handle. A shoulder could be offered, a few sympathetic words, a teasing comment. Instinctively he knew none of those were the prescription for raw grief.
He still had questions. He still had anger. But the sounds from the bedroom forced him to put them aside. Ty recognized when tears were used as a weapon or a defense. These were being torn from her unwillingly. Dragging a hand through his hair, he wondered if it was Eric or himself who was responsible for them. Or something he knew nothing about. Cursing softly, he went to the door and opened it.
She lay curled on the bed in a ball of misery. Her body shook. When he touched her she jerked away. Saying nothing, Ty lay down beside her, gathering her close. For another moment she fought him. Alone. Her tears were not to be observed, not to be shared. Private. Ty dealt with her struggles by merely holding her tighter in arms that were both strong and gentle.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured.
With no more protest, Asher clung to his comfort and let her grief run its course.
It had grown dark and her body was weak. There were no more tears left in her. Ty’s arms were strong around her. Beneath her damp cheek she could hear the steady beat of his heart. Gently, almost absently, his fingers stroked the base of her neck.
***
She’d nearly told him. Asher closed her eyes, too weary to feel fear or regret. If she could have summoned up the energy, she would have been grateful for the tears that had prevented her confession.
I lost your baby. Would he be holding her now if those words had spilled out? What good would it do to tell him? she asked herself. Why make him grieve for something he had never known? And grieve he would, she knew, after the anger passed. It came to her suddenly that it wasn’t only fear that kept the secret locked inside her. She couldn’t bear to see Ty hurt as she had hurt.
How could she explain to him about Eric without dragging up old bitterness, opening old wounds? Ty hadn’t wanted her any longer—Jess had made that abundantly clear. But Eric had. It had been her pride that had turned to Eric, then her sense of duty that had kept her with him. Perhaps if she had been stronger after the accident she would never have made those promises to him. . . .
Asher had floated to consciousness on a wave of pain. What reason was there to wake up and hurt? she thought groggily. Sleep, sleep was so peaceful.
She remembered the shouting, the fall, the swimming darkness. The baby . . . Ty’s baby. Panic—the panic pierced by lethargy. Her eyelids seemed weighted with lead, but she forced them open even as she reached a protective hand to her stomach. Stern and cold, Eric’s face floated in front of her eyes.
“The baby,” she managed through dry lips.
“Dead.”
Tearing, burning grief replaced the pain. “No.” Moaning, she closed her eyes again. “Oh, God, no. My baby, not my baby. Ty—”
“Listen to me, Asher.” Eric spoke briskly. For three days he had waited while Asher drifted in and out of consciousness. She had lost the baby and a great deal of blood. Once she had nearly slipped away, but he had willed her to live. The love he had once felt had turned to resentment that bordered on hate. She had deceived him, made a fool of him. Now he would have his payment.
“My baby . . .”
“The baby’s dead,” he said flatly, then gripped her hand. “Look at me.” She obeyed with eyes glazed with sorrow. “You’re in a private clinic. The reason for your being here will never be known beyond the front doors. If you do what I say.”
“Eric . . .” A spark of hope flickered. With what strength she had, Asher tightened her fingers on his. “Are they sure? Couldn’t there be a mistake? Please—”
“You miscarried. The servants will be discreet. As far as anyone knows, we’ve slipped away for a few days.”
“I don’t understand.” She pressed her hand against her stomach as if to make the truth a lie. “The fall . . . I fell down the stairs. But—”
“An accident,” he stated, making the loss of the child sound like a broken glass.
Insidiously the pain slipped through. “Ty,” Asher moaned, shutting her eyes.
“You’re my wife, and will remain so until I say differently.” Eric waited until her eyes focused on him again. “Would you have me call your lover and tell him you married me while carrying his child?”
“No.” She could only whisper the word. Ty. She ached for him. He was lost to her—as lost as the child they’d made together.
“Then you’ll do as I say. You’ll retire from professional tennis. I won’t have the press speculating about the two of you and dragging my name through the mud. You’ll behave as I expect Lady Wickerton to behave. I will not touch you,” he continued with a trace of disgust. “Any physical desire I felt for you is gone. We will live in the manner I designate or your lover will hear from me about this game you played. Is this understood?”
What did it matter how she lived? Asher asked herself. She was already dead. “Yes. I’ll do whatever you want. Please, leave me alone now.”
“As you wish.” He rose. “When you’re stronger, you’ll give an official press release on your retirement. Your reason will be that you have no more time for tennis or any desire for a career that would take you away from your husband and your adopted country.”
“Do you think it matters to me?” she whispered. “Just leave me alone, let me sleep.”
“Your word, Asher.”
She gave him a long last look before she wearily closed her eyes. “My word, Eric.”
And she had kept it. She had tolerated Eric’s pleasure when her father had turned away from her. She had ignored his discreet but frequent affairs. For months she had lived like a zombie, doing as she was bid. When the layers of grief began to peel away, his hold remained through guilt and threats. When she had begun to come to life again, Asher had bargained for her freedom. Nothing was more important to Eric than his reputation. She held his many women in one hand, he held the knowledge of Ty’s child in the other. They’d made an uneasy agreement.
Now he was bac
k, Asher mused. Perhaps because she was making a success of her life again. Still, she felt he would keep his silence, if only to ensure a hold over her. Once he spoke, all ties were severed. Or if she spoke . . .
She remembered the look on Ty’s face when he had seen her with Eric. Explanations would never be accepted now. Perhaps the day would come when they fully trusted each other, when the memory of betrayal would be dimmed.
She’d been silent for some time. By the steadiness of her breathing she might have been sleeping. Ty knew she was awake and thinking. What secrets was she holding from him? he wondered. And how long would it be before the air between them was finally cleared? He wanted to demand, but her vulnerability prevented him. More than anything else, he didn’t want to risk her slipping behind the wall she could so easily erect.
“Better?” he murmured.
She sighed before he felt the faint movement of her head as she nodded. There was one thing she could settle between them, one