His Wedding-Night Heir (Wedlocked!)

by Sara Craven

  It was another ten minutes before he turned the corner and walked up the street towards her, and by that time she’d managed to get a grip on her control and was sitting in the car again, waiting for him with a semblance of calm.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said as he joined her. ‘It took longer than I expected.’

  She didn’t look at him. ‘It’s not important.’

  ‘Ah,’ Nick said quietly. ‘But I think it is.’ He took a jeweller’s box from his pocket and opened it. She glanced at the contents and her eyes widened. She’d expected a ring, but the box contained a pair of them, in classic plain gold.

  She said, ‘Why two? In case I throw the first one away again?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘The other one’s for me.’

  ‘For you?’ She drew an uneven breath. ‘That is—rank hypocrisy.’

  Nick shook his head. ‘It’s a statement. Intended to make clear to any interested parties that our marriage is on again—and it’s real.’ He paused. ‘Give me your hand.’

  ‘I can put it on myself—if you insist that I must.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘We’ll do it my way.’ He reached for her left hand, grasping it firmly. He said softly, ‘I, Nicholas James Tempest, take you, Caroline Maria Maitland, for my wife.’

  Half of her hoped that he’d got the sizing wrong, but the gold circlet slid easily over her knuckle.

  He said, ‘Now it’s your turn.’

  ‘This is ridiculous…’

  ‘Cally.’ His tone was gentle, but there was iron underneath. ‘Say the words.’

  Biting her lip, she obeyed, her low voice stumbling a little as she pushed the ring on to his finger in turn.

  ‘Satisfied?’ she challenged. ‘I presume you don’t want to add anything about for as long as we both shall live?’

  His smile did not reach his eyes. He said quietly, ‘Let’s just say for as long as it’s necessary, shall we?’ He fitted the key into the ignition and started the engine. ‘And now, my sweet wife, I’ll take you home.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE nearer they got to the village, the more Cally’s inner tension increased. She found she was playing with the wedding ring, endlessly twisting it on her finger.

  She’d done that before, she thought, a year ago as she’d paced the empty house, hearing the echo of her own footsteps, a ridiculous figure, the bride left alone on her wedding day.

  And suddenly and terribly discovering why it should be so. Why Nick had chosen to leave her in solitude like that.

  At the same time telling herself desperately that it couldn’t be true. That Adele’s words, still burning in her brain, had been sheer malice and spite. Nothing more.

  That she couldn’t—wouldn’t take them seriously.

  Yet knowing all the time that it was impossible to leave it there. Finding herself faced with the brutal necessity of discovering if her marriage was a deception—if the vows she’d exchanged with Nick only a few hours ago were utterly meaningless.

  She made a small stifled noise in her throat, and was aware of Nick’s swift glance.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Fine,’ she lied. ‘I was just thinking—wondering…’ She paused, taking a deep breath. ‘Whether we could make a quick detour to the cottage. Just for a few minutes.’

  He was silent for a moment, then he said quietly, ‘If that’s really what you want.’ And signalled for the turn on to the bottom road past the village.

  He parked the car on the verge opposite the gate and Cally got out, trying not to look at the field beside them, which had once been Baz’s paddock.

  The shock of her grandfather’s stroke, which had brought her rushing back from her London job-hunt had been stressful enough. Baz’s departure had been a very different kind of agony.

  His stable at the rear of Oak Tree Cottage had already been demolished during her brief absence, and its timbers cut up for firewood. While the field where he’d grazed had been bought by a neighbouring farmer and ploughed for barley.

  She’d been here, on this same spot, leaning on the fence, staring at the dark furrows and crying when Nick had found her.

  ‘Cally.’ His hands had been gentle on her shoulders, turning her to face him. ‘What is it? Is your grandfather worse?’

  ‘No. The doctors say he’ll make a full recovery.’ Her face was blurred and swollen with tears. ‘But—he sold Baz while I was away. Got rid of him to some awful riding school in the North and never told me. He says that money’s tight and we have to make savings.’

  He was silent for a moment, then he said quietly, ‘If you want to ride, you can use one of my horses.’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s not that. You see, I’ve known Baz all my life—and he’s just—gone. I can’t believe it. I’m going to miss him so much.’

  He’d said nothing more, she remembered. Simply drawn her close and held her. It was the first time he’d ever taken her into his arms, and she’d sobbed all down the front of his shirt. A child needing comfort rather than the woman she’d wanted to be.

  She wondered suddenly if Nick remembered too, but knew she was being ridiculous. He was only interested in his own private vengeance. And besides, it all seemed such a long time ago.

  She crossed the lane and unlatched one of the wrought-iron gates. It opened with a screech of rust. The path to the house was barely visible amid the weeds and coarse grass that flanked it.

  And when she’d fought her way through the encroaching brambles there was little to see. Just the same sad pile of fire-blackened stones, from which she and her grandfather had escaped with nothing but their lives, she thought, shuddering.

  She turned abruptly to go, and nearly cannoned into Nick, who had come quietly up the path behind her.

  ‘Seen enough?’ His hands descended on her shoulders, steadying her.

  ‘It’s still a ruin.’ She freed herself, stepping backwards. ‘I—I thought the whole place would have been cleared by now.’

  ‘It’s your ruin, Cally. The site belongs to you, and it’s for you to say what should happen to it.’ He paused. ‘I thought you might want to rebuild. Provide yourself with a sanctuary for the future, when our marriage has finally ended.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she returned coolly. ‘I plan to be a long way off then.’ She glanced back at the fallen walls and gaping windowframes. ‘Too many bad memories here.’

  ‘And not just for you,’ he said abruptly, looking past her. ‘Thank God I was driving past that night, and realised what was happening.’

  ‘You took a terrible risk.’ Her voice shook slightly. ‘But I’d never have got my grandfather out without you.’

  ‘What woke you?’ he asked. ‘Did you ever remember?’

  She looked down at a broken flagstone. I wasn’t asleep. I was sitting on the window seat in my bedroom, thinking of you. Remembering how angry Grandfather had been when he saw you from his couch by the window, comforting me over Baz.

  ‘Like father, like son.’ He sounded so bitter. ‘Anything in a skirt. Keep out of his way, Cally, do you hear? He’s no good for you. No good at all.’

  And I said, ‘Yes, if that’s what you want,’ because I knew that anger was bad for him, and he needed to stay quiet and rest.

  Aloud, she said flippantly, ‘My guardian angel, I suppose. Who now seems to have deserted me.’

  It had all seemed totally surreal, she thought, standing outside in the darkness as the fire service had fought the flames. As if she was looking at a medieval painting of an inferno. She still couldn’t believe how quickly the fire had taken its hold. The heat had been intense, and the stench…

  There’d been a sickening roar as the roof collapsed, and Nick had turned her in his arms, pressing her face against his shoulder so that she couldn’t see how swift and overwhelming the destruction was.

  ‘The ambulance is just leaving with your grandfather,’ he’d whispered. ‘There’s nothing we can do here, so let me drive you to the hospital.’

/>   And she’d nodded numbly, and allowed him to lead her away.

  At the time she’d been too thankful to question what he’d been doing in the locality at that time of night. How he’d happened to be driving by. It was only much later that she’d realised Vanessa Layton’s cottage also lay on the bottom road.

  ‘A smoke detector might be more reliable than an angel another time.’ Nick’s dry tone forced Cally back into the painful present.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ She shook her head. ‘I suppose I always knew the wiring was old and needed attention, but I didn’t realise we were sitting on a time bomb.’ She paused. ‘Or that we had no insurance. It was quite a shock to find that we were homeless and penniless too.’

  ‘Your grandfather was getting old.’ Nick shrugged. ‘It’s easy to overlook these things.’

  Not, she thought, when the company had sent constant reminders, and the cottage was desperately overmortgaged. But what was one more demand among so many? In spite of her distress about Baz, she’d seen why her grandfather had needed to sell him—and the land—to provide an urgent injection of cash, to stall their creditors. If Oak Tree Cottage hadn’t burned down, they’d have only lost it in another way.

  The horror of the fire had forced on her the discovery that they were broke. Not that her grandfather had ever been willing to discuss the situation, but she’d known she should have realised that all the signs were there, becoming more serious with every day that passed.

  She said abruptly, ‘I’ve seen enough, thanks. It—it was a mistake to come here.’

  ‘Not altogether.’ Nick opened the gate, allowing her to precede him. ‘At some point you’ll need to make a decision about the place.’

  ‘At some point, yes.’ She didn’t look at him. ‘Just now I have other things to worry about.’

  It felt strange to drive through the village again. It seemed to her that she’d been away for a thousand years, yet nothing had changed. There weren’t many people about, but she knew that the car had been spotted, and her presence noted. It wouldn’t take long for word to get about that she’d returned.

  Another nine-day wonder for the gossips to pick over, she thought wearily. And when she and Nick finally parted there’d be a feast for the wagging tongues.

  Wylstone Hall stood in its own extensive grounds, and Cally could see instantly that a lot of work had been done there. Sir Ranald, in his latter years, had let the maintenance of the gardens slide, and Adele had taken no interest in it either.

  But then she’d probably had other plans for what remained of her elderly husband’s money, Cally thought with distaste.

  Yet now the lawns had been cut and the trees pruned, while the formal flowerbeds had been replanted and were coming into bloom. Even the old fountain that stood in the middle of the broad gravelled sweep in front of the Hall’s main entrance had been coaxed to work once more, and its showering droplets gleamed in the sunlight.

  Wylstone Hall was a big, rambling place, more imposing than beautiful, combining a number of architectural styles from medieval to Victorian.

  Cally had never found it particularly warm or welcoming, but was ready to concede this had probably been down to Adele and her hatchet-faced housekeeper.

  The woman who now emerged to greet them as they got out of the car was a very different proposition, in her middle thirties, slim, and pleasant-faced.

  ‘We’re home, Margaret.’ Nick drew Cally forward. ‘Darling, this is Mrs Thurston, who’ll help you all she can.’

  ‘It will be a pleasure, sir, and welcome back. How do you do, your ladyship?’ Her smile was anxious. ‘There’s something I should mention…’

  ‘Later,’ Nick said. ‘And tell Frank to leave the bags for a while, too.’ He looked down at Cally, said softly, ‘I have an omission to repair. I broke with tradition the first time round, and failed to carry my bride over the threshold. Clearly a mistake.’

  Before Cally could protest, or take any evasive action, he’d lifted her into his arms and started towards the entrance.

  After the sunlight, the big hall felt cool and shadowy, and there was a scent of lavender in the air.

  Cally realised that he was carrying her towards the sweep of the staircase. She said breathlessly, ‘Nick—put me down.’

  ‘In my own good time.’ There was a note of amusement in his voice—and something else, infinitely more dangerous.

  ‘Asserting your marital rights already, darling?’ It was a woman’s voice, low-pitched, drawling, and instantly unpleasantly familiar. ‘And it’s only just teatime. No wonder the poor child looks stunned.’

  There was a frozen silence, then, slowly and carefully, Nick lowered Cally to the ground and turned.

  ‘Adele,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘What an unexpected pleasure. I really thought you were in Paris.’

  Adele Tempest remained where she was, framed in the doorway to the drawing room. She was wearing a close-fitting white skirt and a wrap-around top in a deep violet shade. Her red-gold hair was piled on top of her head, with a few artless tendrils allowed to escape around her face and the nape of her neck. She was smiling.

  ‘Oh, but I was,’ she said. ‘Then a little bird told me you were returning with the prodigal bride, and I thought at least one person should be here to welcome her. Apart from the servants, that is.’ She looked Cally over, her smile widening. ‘Nick’s powers of persuasion must be overwhelming, my pet. Or was it his money that you couldn’t resist—yet again? After all, you’ve been living rough for a year now, and a fate worse than death probably seems marginally preferable to no fate at all.’

  Cally kept her voice steady somehow. ‘It’s good to see you, too, Adele. And nice to know you haven’t changed.’

  Adele laughed. ‘Oh, Nick’s the one for alterations. You won’t recognise the place since your last brief visit. I gather he’s transformed that gothic horror of a master bedroom that Ranald was so stubborn about into a real love nest. Of course, I had no idea it was intended for you.’

  ‘Well, life’s just full of surprises,’ Cally said lightly. She turned to the housekeeper, who was standing behind them, looking faintly agonised. ‘Perhaps you’ll show me this amazing transformation upstairs, Mrs Thurston? I’d like to tidy myself after the journey. And then we’ll all have tea in the drawing room.’ She smiled up into Nick’s icy face. ‘Please entertain our guest for me, darling. I won’t be long.’

  Without hurrying, she began to climb the stairs, following the housekeeper along the gallery at the top until they reached a pair of double doors, which Mrs Thurston threw open.

  ‘This is the master suite, Lady Tempest. I do hope you’ll be comfortable.’

  Cally found herself in a large bedroom with pale walls and a low ceiling. There was a pretty Edwardian dressing table, with a satin stool, and apart from that the major piece of furniture was a four-poster bed, canopied in a rich dark blue edged with cream, with a matching quilted cover. The large windows were hung with the same fabric.

  Cally forced a smile. ‘It’s—absolutely lovely.’

  Mrs Thurston permitted herself a pleased smile, then hurried to open a door on the other side of the room, revealing a short passage, with more doors on either side.

  ‘There’s another bedroom at the end, which Sir Nicholas has been using up to now,’ she announced. ‘The dressing room, which is shared, is on the left, and the bathroom is directly opposite. If there’s anything you need, you have only to ring.’

  ‘I’m sure you haven’t forgotten a thing,’ Cally assured her.

  The other woman hesitated. ‘If I may say something, your ladyship? I—I’m really sorry about what happened downstairs just now. I knew Sir Nicholas wouldn’t want any kind of intrusion today, but I didn’t realise Lady Tempest was in the house.’

  She shook her head. ‘It was such a beautiful day, I opened the French windows in the drawing room. I suppose she walked across the garden from the Dower House and simply came up the terrace steps. I cou
ldn’t believe my eyes when I went in with the flowers and found her sitting on the sofa.’

  Mrs Thurston paused. ‘And, of course, she used to live here…’

  ‘Which makes it doubly difficult to ask her to leave,’ Cally supplied wryly. ‘Please don’t worry, Mrs Thurston. I’m sure my husband will deal with the situation.’ She pulled a face. ‘I suspect he’s used to it.’

  Mrs Thurston smiled dutifully, but she still seemed troubled as she left the room.

  And why shouldn’t she be? Cally asked herself, tossing her handbag on to the bed. I’m pretty troubled myself. Things are bad enough without Adele aiming her poison darts at every available target.

  To find her waiting was turning the clock back with a vengeance.

  She found her way to the bathroom, and washed her face and hands in cool water. It was the height of luxury, she thought, eyeing the creamy marble that tiled the walls and floor with reluctant appreciation. She was less certain about the big sunken bath and enormous shower cabinet, both of which looked as if they’d been deliberately designed for dual occupation.

  What would she do if Nick insisted on those kind of intimacies? she wondered, her throat dry. What could she do?

  When she emerged, she paused, then walked the few yards to the other bedroom and peeped round the door. With its double bed, in a fitted olive-green coverlet, and matching oak tallboys, it was a much plainer room, its ambience uncompromisingly masculine.

  This was where Nick had been sleeping—when he slept at home. And maybe he would still choose to spend some of his nights here.

  Her senses seemed to pick up the faint fragrance of the cologne he used, making his presence suddenly and formidably real, and she retreated hastily back to the master bedroom, feeling like Bluebeard’s wife.

  While she’d been in the bathroom their overnight bags had been brought up, and as she rummaged in her case for her brush and comb she saw the nightdress she’d worn the previous night was lying on top of the other things. She lifted it out, shaking the creases out of its folds, wondering whether or not she would be permitted to wear it tonight. Asking herself too, her stomach cramping nervously, exactly what Nick would expect from her.