by Sara Craven
After all, Alex had married her purely for convenience. Because he needed a token wife as a weapon in this private battle he was waging with his grandmother. It was a financial transaction, as he’d made clear. A solution to their mutual problems. A business deal, offered and accepted without emotion, or so she’d convinced herself.
Well, she’d been half right. Because the only emotion on his side was clearly regret. He’d married her in haste, and repented instantly.
He’d chosen her in the first place because she was not attractive to him, and therefore easily expendable when her usefulness to him was at an end.
His attempts to seduce her had never been wholly serious, she reminded herself painfully. Just another conditioned reflex from a man who was accustomed to having a girl in his bed, and because she was there—in his life, on the premises. A little enjoyable lust without commitment.
Most of it had simply been sexual teasing anyway, used solely to catch her off-balance—to flurry her into doing precisely what he wanted. And it had worked, she admitted ruefully, because she’d never been brave enough to call his bluff, and he knew it.
But even if he’d been genuinely tempted to amuse himself with her for a night or two, instinct would probably have warned him that she wasn’t the type for casual sex. That her lack of experience would soon pall. And that she might not want to ‘kiss and part’ when it was over.
That was why he chose me, she thought wretchedly. Because my demands were going to be financial, not emotional, and he could handle that. Because I wouldn’t make a nuisance of myself.
Looking back, she could see that perhaps her unguarded, ardent response to his kiss had set alarm bells ringing. Hinted that maybe she wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended. And this was why he’d avoided her so studiously ever since.
Louise drew a long, trembling sigh. She could hardly believe what was happening to her. What she was allowing to happen. Or what she was thinking. Because, on the face of it, Alex Fabian was the last man in the world she should ever want, and she knew it.
Her ideal man had always been someone quiet, rugged and totally dependable. Someone who was ready to settle down, in some quiet backwater, and be happy.
Someone like David…
That same David, she derided herself bitterly, who’d run off with her stepsister. Well, good thinking, Girl Wonder!
Whereas Alex, who lived his life unashamedly in the fast lane, and who found even the prospect of monogamy boring, was at least honest about it. Too honest at times, she thought, smearing away her tears with her fingers, as she recalled his coldness in the car, his anger at the pit he’d unthinkingly dug for himself, blinded by everything but his obsession with a house.
As the love of her life, he promised to be a complete disaster, she thought, an unwilling smile quivering on her lips.
But love, when it came, wasn’t sensible or realistic. Nor did it wait to be invited, as she’d so ruinously discovered. It took possession, mind, soul and body, and stretched you on the rack of your own senses and emotions.
With David, however mistakenly, she’d felt safe. But loving Alex was like falling from the high-wire without a net. The ultimate risk, as he’d once warned her himself.
And, as a result, she could well end up in pieces that would never mend.
If she allowed it to happen…
Because there was no need for him to feel trapped, she told herself. Contract or not, he could afford the best lawyers in the world to free him from this non-marriage which had so quickly turned sour. Surely they could arrange an equally speedy annulment?
But why hadn’t he spoken while they were standing in front of the registrar? she wondered. Just ‘I can’t do this’ would have been enough to stop the whole thing in its tracks. It would have been cruel, but kinder in the long term. And better than this terrible limbo where she now found herself.
She got up wearily, and went down the corridor to her bedroom. She paused for a moment, staring at her wan reflection in the long wall mirror. So different from the hopeful girl in the shimmering, floating silk who’d looked back at her that morning. Who, without realising why, had expected—longed for—her bridegroom’s approval.
It was one of the conventions that you cried at weddings, she thought, her mouth twisting ruefully, but not usually your own.
In fact, her primary instinct, fired by the blind rush of anger that had carried her up in the lift, had been to strip off her wedding dress and hack it to pieces with her nail scissors. Obliterate it, just as the marriage itself would eventually be erased.
Now she took it off and put it carefully on a hanger, placing it at the back of one of the fitted wardrobes where it would be lost among all the other clothes.
It was so lovely, but it hadn’t changed a thing, she thought, although that was hardly the dress’s fault. When she could bear to look at it again, she’d donate it to a charity shop.
She rescued her bouquet from the living room floor where she’d dropped it, gently unwiring the roses and placing them in a vase beside her bed. Because Alex had bought them for her. Stupid, she knew. Pathetic, but she couldn’t help herself.
Then she ran a bath scented with geranium oil, and sank down into it, emptying her mind, and letting the warm water do its healing, washing away the marks of her tears.
Recriminations were useless, she thought as she padded back into her room, wrapped in an enormous, fluffy bath sheet. After all, she knew the conditions. She’d walked into this situation with her eyes wide open, and now she had to deal with the consequences.
And, whatever else happened, Alex must never know that she loved him. She was heading for heartbreak as it was, so total humiliation might just be more than she could bear, she thought with irony.
Therefore, when Alex returned, all traces of the unwanted bride would have been removed, and cool practical Louise would be in place again, neutral in her jeans and T-shirt. The girl who made no demands, and invaded no space. Calm and casually friendly.
And if he’d decided in the meantime that he still wanted to go on with this charade, and needed her to play the role he had assigned to her, then she would adhere strictly to the script from now on. In particular, the lines for his grandmother’s party, which would take place next weekend.
Louise winced. That would prove an overwhelming test for their fragile bargain, she thought apprehensively. And if Alex was still in resentful mourning for his lost bachelor status then they wouldn’t deceive a child of three. This was just one of the points she needed to raise with him when he returned.
When he returned…
Louise said the words aloud, and sighed, knowing that she had never felt so entirely alone in the whole of her life.
The hours dragged slowly past. At some point in the evening Louise went into the kitchen and cooked the seafood risotto she’d planned originally as a celebration dinner, in the forlorn hope that Alex would be there to share it with her.
And how sad is that? she asked herself impatiently, pouring herself a glass of the crisp white wine she’d chosen to accompany the meal.
When they’d first met, he’d praised her cooking. He’d even suggested she was good enough to be a professional. Yet, since she’d been living with him, the only thing she’d been allowed to prepare was coffee.
But, as the doors of Trentham Osborne were closed to her, she could always try to get a job in catering—providing corporate lunches, perhaps, like the efficient, smiling girls in the smart blue uniforms who’d served the meal at Perrins that day.
It was something to consider anyway. Because she couldn’t spend her life cooped up in the lap of luxury. For one thing, it would give her too much time to think.
She ate her risotto with due appreciation, glad that she did not appear to be losing her touch. She allowed herself two glasses of wine only with her meal, because she needed to keep a clear head, as never before. There were matters she needed to settle with Alex, and the sooner the better. Preferably tonight.
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Dishes washed, and the kitchen tidied, she went back into the living room and watched some television, only half concentrating on the images in front of her, more concerned about what she would say to Alex—when he returned. And how she was going to be able to hide her true feelings for him.
It was only when her eyelids drooped and she began to doze that she realised how late it was. That midnight had come and gone, and there was still no sign of him. Surely he’d be back soon, she thought, trying to soothe her own anxiety.
But when another hour had passed she finally admitted defeat, and went to bed.
But she couldn’t rest. Although she was tired, she was still listening for some sound that would tell her that Alex had come home at last.
And she could never be sure when she made herself face the fact that he probably hadn’t been whisked to hospital with a mystery virus, or knocked down by a bus.
No, the truth was undoubtedly far simpler, she thought, her heart thudding painfully against her rib cage. Because she had to accept that Alex was almost certainly celebrating the first night of his marriage in the arms of some other woman.
A little moan rose to her lips, and she turned over, burying her face in the pillow to muffle the sound and blot out the troubling—the unbearable—images invading her mind.
And when she eventually fell asleep she dreamed she was running through a wild and rocky world, endlessly calling his name, but receiving no reply.
She awoke the next morning feeling jaded, a faint, nagging ache lodged above her eyebrows.
I need coffee, she told herself, wearily reaching for her dressing gown.
On her way to the kitchen, she paused by Alex’s bedroom. The door was open, and one glance showed the wide bed still unused and pristine. He had truly been gone all night, she thought, her heart dropping like a stone.
She filled the cafetière, and carried it into the living room. She’d filled her beaker, and taken her first cautious sip, when she heard the front door open and close. She stood very still, the colour draining from her face, and a moment later Alex appeared.
His tie was missing, his waistcoat unbuttoned and his shirt open at the neck, but he was still in the same clothes he’d worn for the wedding. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was a shadow of stubble on his chin.
He looked, she thought, as if he had been drinking, too.
She said quietly, ‘You’re home.’
‘Is that how you think of this place?’ Alex glanced around him, his brows lifted cynically. ‘How quaint.’
Louise decided it would be better to ignore that.
She said, ‘You—didn’t come back last night.’
‘Obviously,’ he said coolly. ‘I thought you’d probably be glad to be spared my presence—it being our wedding night.’
His smile did not reach his eyes as he registered the sudden defensive stiffening of her slim figure.
‘Such an evocative phrase, that, don’t you think, darling?’ he drawled derisively. ‘So full of—resonances. Only I really wasn’t in the mood to deal with them. Or not in any way that you would have wished for anyway,’ he added.
Louise looked down at the floor. She said in a low voice, ‘I was—worried. I didn’t know where you were.’
‘Do you really want the details?’ he asked mockingly. ‘Of where I spent the night? In what bed?’
Her immediate impulse was to wrap her arms round her body in self-protection. But that would be instant self-betrayal—letting him see that he had the power to hurt her. And she was in agony, even though he’d merely confirmed her own worst suspicions.
Instead, she lifted her chin, facing him again.
She said crisply. ‘It’s really none of my concern. In future, I’ll simply take it for granted that you’ll be staying elsewhere.’
His mouth twisted. ‘You are gracious beyond my desserts.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Just indifferent.’ She paused. ‘So what happens now? Am I supposed to make you a free man again by divorcing you? If that’s the plan, I imagine your tabloid friend will have a field-day, and you’ll lose any remaining chance of claiming Rosshampton.’ She shrugged. ‘But it’s your choice.’
‘How could I possibly want to rid myself of such an understanding wife?’ There was a faint jeering note in his voice. ‘No, my sweet, we’ll let the marriage stand.’
She bit her lip. ‘Very well.’ She surveyed him stonily. ‘You look terrible.’
‘Thank you,’ he returned courteously. ‘But a bath and a shave will soon restore me. And no one is going to be surprised if I look as if I didn’t sleep much last night.’ His smile glinted. ‘Under the circumstances, they’ll expect it.’
To her fury, Louise felt her face warm. Worse still, she was aware of the sudden bitterness of tears in her throat.
With a superhuman effort, she kept her voice steady. ‘Please help yourself to coffee. You look as if you need it.’
She picked up her beaker and started towards the door, desperate to get to the sanctuary of her room.
As she passed him, Alex put a detaining hand on her arm. ‘Louise—listen…’
Coffee splashed onto the floor as she shook him off, her eyes blazing. ‘You don’t touch me when we’re alone, remember?’ she said hoarsely. ‘Not now, or ever. And in public only when strictly necessary. That’s the deal, Alex, and if you break it I will go. I swear it.’ She drew a swift, uneven breath, wanting to hurt him in turn. ‘Don’t you understand? You make me feel—contaminated.’
He was very pale suddenly, his mouth taut. ‘And, of course, we can’t have that, my little plaster saint.’ There was icy bitterness in his voice. ‘I just hope you won’t get too lonely up there on your self-righteous pedestal.’
She gasped, anger surging up inside her, overwhelming the pain, the bewilderment, and the aching, desperate need. Before she could think, her hand swung back, and the remains of her coffee were sent showering over him.
For a second she stood transfixed, watching his expression change from astonishment and disbelief to something altogether more dangerous. Then she dropped the empty beaker and fled to her room, slamming the door and turning the key in the lock with clumsy fingers.
She leaned against the panels, listening tensely, half expecting him to come after her, but after a moment or two she heard him go into his own room, and close the door.
And later still she heard him leave, presumably for the bank.
It was weak and self-indulgent to feel relief, but she did. She sank down to the carpet, her back against the door, her clenched fist pressed to her quivering mouth.
A small sound between a laugh and a sob escaped her. So much for calm, she thought, not to mention casually friendly.
‘And welcome to married life,’ she whispered, staring dry-eyed and unseeing into space.
The flowers arrived during the afternoon. More roses—deep crimson this time—and carnations and lilies in an exquisite, heady arrangement, filling the room with their scent. The card said simply ‘Alex’.
A peace-offering, Louise wondered as she placed them on the coffee table, or a wreath?
Even more surprisingly, he arrived himself not long after six p.m. Louise had been curled up on the sofa, watching the television news, prepared for another solitary evening, if not an action for assault.
As he came in she pressed the mute button on the remote control and got to her feet, eyeing him apprehensively.
But his face was cool, unreadable. ‘I see you got the flowers.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I thought they might be wired to a bomb.’
‘And I expected to find them splattered all over the pavement.’ He propped a shoulder against the door frame, watching her.
‘Why did you send them?’
His mouth twisted wryly. ‘I felt some gesture was called for. But I’m not into grovelling. And I thought the thing with the coffee wouldn’t work so well a second time,’ he added, deadpan.
Louise flushed. ‘No.’ She sw
allowed. ‘I—I don’t usually do things like that.’
‘You mean like losing your self-control,’ he said. ‘I’ve noticed.’
Wiser not to respond to that, she decided.
Instead, she said, ‘I hope I didn’t ruin your beautiful suit.’
‘The dry-cleaners tell me it will live.’
She lifted her chin. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why? I asked for it.’ He studied her for a moment. ‘I didn’t even tell you how lovely you looked yesterday,’ he added unexpectedly. ‘I was the envy of every man at the Savoy.’
Lovely, she thought, but not lovely enough…
‘I doubt that very much,’ she said. ‘But—thank you, anyway. I know how appearances matter,’ she added stiltedly.
Alex reached behind him and produced a carrier bag. ‘To make further amends, I’ve brought food. I thought we might have dinner together.’
‘Dinner?’ Louise echoed, stunned. ‘You want me to cook you dinner?’
‘I hoped we could make some kind of fresh start.’ He shrugged. ‘But if you’d prefer not to, I shall understand. It’s nothing too outrageous—just a couple of fillet steaks and some salad. I could probably manage that myself.’
In spite of herself, she found her mouth trembling into a smile. ‘I bet you didn’t go out and buy all that yourself. I bet you sent Andie.’
His own face relaxed too. ‘Considering we live as strangers,’ he drawled, ‘you’re getting to know me too damned well.’ He paused. ‘Do you want me to cook dinner?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ll do that, and you can pour the wine. That sounds like a fair division of labour.’
That was friendly and casual enough for anyone, she thought as she went into the kitchen. But calm was nowhere within reach. Her heart was going like a triphammer, and there was an odd trembling in the pit of her stomach.
She had spent a wretched day, trying and failing to dismiss from her mind the unwanted images of Alex with some unknown woman that kept constantly invading her consciousness, and tormenting her. It was, she thought, like mistakenly finding herself at the showing of some erotic movie, and being unable to leave.