The Token Wife

by Sara Craven

  Yet she seemed to be surveying their antics benignly enough. Cliff Maidstone treated her with a combination of flirtatiousness and respect that she seemed to enjoy, and Della talked brightly about the celebrities she’d met during her modelling career.

  Louise was almost certain that Lady Perrin had no idea who most of them were, but she listened to Della’s revelations with an air of keen interest.

  ‘I do miss my career,’ the younger woman admitted eventually, with a sigh. She looked at Louise. ‘Do you have a job, Mrs Fabian?’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ Louise responded. ‘But I’m thinking of going into corporate catering,’ she added, avoiding Alex’s swift, narrow-eyed glance.

  Della’s blue eyes widened. ‘You mean complicated cooking and stuff.’ She shook her head. ‘I can burn boiled water, can’t I, Cliffy?’

  He laughed heartily. ‘You’re not that bad, sweet thing.’ He turned to Alex. ‘So your wife’s a great cook, is she?’

  ‘My wife does everything well,’ Alex returned silkily. ‘She manages to surprise me on a daily basis.’

  Louise selected a cucumber sandwich, and bit it—hard.

  ‘Of course, you two are still on your honeymoon,’ Della put in suddenly. ‘Did you have a wonderful, romantic wedding? I loved every minute of mine,’ she went on, fortunately not waiting for an answer, and launched herself into a detailed description, involving yards of tulle, number of layers on the wedding cake, average age of bridesmaids, multitude of guests in attendance, and the hilarious thing her sister’s child had said at the evening barbecue and dance which had rounded off the celebrations.

  Louise, brain reeling, met, unwisely, the glint of unholy amusement in Alex’s eyes, and was almost betrayed into a giggle.

  She was thankful when Della eventually ran out of steam, and the awkward meal came to an end. She found herself left to her own devices, Lady Perrin having stated imperiously that she wished a private word with Alex in the library, prompting the Maidstones to exchange uneasy glances.

  Louise made haste to escape to the garden. It was still slumberously warm, the bees industrious in the flower borders, bird-song muted with the approach of evening.

  This was what she needed, she told herself, drawing in lungfuls of fragrant air as she headed for the lake.

  The prospect of the night ahead was hanging over her like a deep shadow. Sleeping with him just across the hallway at the flat had been a disturbing enough experience. The thought of having to share a room, however platonically, was almost unbearable.

  But only to me, she thought. It clearly doesn’t worry him in the slightest. And if I needed proof of his total indifference to me, then I have it now.

  There were no visible marks, of course, but she was hurting—bleeding—just the same. And she would carry the hidden scars forever.

  As she reached the edge of the lake, a pair of swans emerged from the reeds and began to move slowly and gracefully across the sunlit water.

  She stood watching them for a while, shading her eyes with her hand. They mate for life, she thought, which is something I don’t need to contemplate right now. And she turned her back on them, and walked swiftly on.

  If tea had been difficult, dinner proved to be a nightmare. Louise found herself seated next to Cliff Maidstone, and had to endure some heavy-handed joshing on Alex’s reputation as a playboy—‘Let’s hope he’s reformed, eh?’—before he moved on to the subject of Rosshampton.

  ‘Of course, I regard the place as almost a second home now,’ he told her with open satisfaction. ‘Lady Perrin has been extremely gracious with her invitations, and I knew she’d take to my little Della right away. In fact,’ here he lowered his voice confidentially, ‘I have to say she’s treated us as if we were her guests of honour.’

  ‘So when are you planning to go back to South Africa?’ Louise asked coolly, as soon as he paused for breath.

  He gave her a smug grin. ‘Let’s just say my plans are—fluid at the moment. The old lady and my grandfather were pretty close at one time, and I guess I remind her of him.

  ‘The family didn’t want to know about him, of course. They were pushing her to marry another cousin—a Perrin, naturally. One of those convenient business mergers, and to hell with the bride’s feelings. Incredible, eh?’

  ‘Amazing,’ said Louise.

  The food was delicious but it was turning to ashes in her mouth, she reflected, watching Della bat her long eyelashes at Alex on the other side of the table.

  Most of Lady Perrin’s other guests were on the elderly side, so once coffee had been drunk in the drawing room they began to make their excuses and drift away home. Then the Maidstones, who’d been concealing their yawns for half an hour, said their goodnights and went upstairs.

  ‘You look tired too, child.’ Lady Perrin gave Louise a penetrating look. ‘Run off to bed. I promise I won’t keep your husband away from you for too long.’ She lifted a scented cheek. ‘You may kiss me, my dear.’

  Louise, obeying, realised that she had no choice but to accept her dismissal, and went reluctantly up to the Chinese Room.

  She had cornered Mrs Gillow earlier and asked for an extra blanket, much to the good woman’s surprise, and this was now lying neatly folded on the bed.

  Louise took the blanket, and one of the pillows, and transferred them to the chaise longue. She had considered sleeping fully dressed, but knew that this would merely subject her to derisive remarks from Alex, so she had no alternative other than to change into the nightdress in primrose voile which was the only night attire she’d brought with her.

  But at least she’d be wearing something, she thought, biting her lip.

  Her make-up removed and her hair brushed, she came back into the bedroom, eyeing her makeshift bed with misgivings. Perhaps some air would help her sleep, she thought, and went to the window. As she pushed the casement open she heard the sound of voices from the terrace below, and realised Alex must be walking there with his grandmother.

  At that moment, Lady Perrin’s precise tones came floating up to her with total clarity. ‘The Crosby woman, Alex. I trust that she belongs completely in the past.’

  There was a pause, then Alex’s voice, quiet, almost sombre, reached her too. He said, ‘I’m afraid, Gran, I’m not finding it quite that simple.’

  What was it they said about eavesdroppers? Louise thought desolately, closing the window noiselessly again. She would rather do without fresh air than listen to any further revelations about the woman Alex loved, and his inability to give her up. And she was astonished that he should be making them to his grandmother, anyway.

  Unless of course she’d guaranteed that Rosshampton would be his, and he’d decided he ought to be frank about the identity of its future mistress.

  She lay down on the chaise longue, wrapping the blanket awkwardly round her and trying to find a comfortable position. Alex, she thought, had not been joking about this horrid piece of furniture.

  She’d wanted very much to be asleep when he came to bed, but she was still wide awake when he came softly into the room half an hour later.

  True to his word, he switched off the lights, but Louise closed her eyes tightly just the same, and lay like a stone. The rest of her senses seemed curiously heightened in the darkness. She could hear, she realised, the rustle of his clothes as he removed them. Could remember the taste of his mouth on hers. Could feel the rougher texture of the blanket grazing her skin through the delicate fabric of her nightgown as if it did not exist, and the swift, involuntary hardening of her nipples in response.

  Her whole body seemed alive, stirring—curious.

  And suddenly he was there, beside her, standing over her in the shadows. The warm, clean scent of his skin was all around her, making the breath catch in her throat.

  Because she knew that he was waiting for some sign. That all she had to do was open her eyes—reach out a hand to touch him.

  No, she thought, I won’t—I can’t…

  Tiny spark
s danced behind her desperately closed lids. She made herself breathe slowly and evenly in a pretence of deep sleep.

  And heard him say quietly, ‘Goodnight, Louise.’

  Telling her plainly that she hadn’t fooled him for a second. Then he was gone, and she was aware, even from across the room, of the slight sound of the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

  And she turned over, dragging the recalcitrant blanket with her, and buried her burning face in the pillow.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LOUISE was aware, even before she opened her eyes the next morning, that something was wrong.

  That her body was no longer aching from the effort of trying to adapt to that unrelenting couch, or her skin being scratched by the blanket.

  That she was, in fact, almost blissfully comfortable. Even though she did not seem to be lying on a pillow.

  Very slowly and carefully she raised her eyelids, and paused, her body shuddering into shocked tension. Because the chaise longue was empty and abandoned on the other side of the room. And she was lying in the bed, in the curve of Alex’s arm, with her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she whispered in silent horror. ‘It can’t be true. It can’t. Did he come and take me, or did I go to him? Oh, God, why can’t I remember?’

  At any rate, she appeared to be still wearing her nightgown. And surely she’d know if—anything had happened between them?

  Alex seemed to be deeply, genuinely asleep, so she began to ease herself away from the compelling warmth of his body. To extricate herself from the situation while she could.

  Only to have him murmur a drowsy protest and scoop her back into his embrace.

  Louise decided she was finished with subtlety. She had to get out of this bed right now.

  She resolutely removed the hand that was clasping her hip with such dangerous intimacy, and was wriggling across to the edge of the bed when he lifted his head from the pillow and focused sleepy eyes on her.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, yawning. ‘I hope you slept well.’

  ‘Exactly what am I doing here?’ Her voice was husky.

  ‘You were crying out in your sleep,’ he said. ‘A bad dream, perhaps. And you’d kicked off the blanket, so you were freezing too. I thought you’d be better off sleeping with me.’

  He paused. ‘And sleep you did, my love.’

  ‘Do you really expect me to believe that you brought me here for my own good?’ Her voice shook.

  Alex propped himself on an elbow. He said levelly, ‘Louise, you were in trouble—even sobbing at one point. You seemed to need something—someone. And I was all there was.’

  ‘I need to know exactly what happened between us last night.’

  His smile glinted at her. ‘You were a tigress,’ he said softly. ‘A revelation.’

  For a heartbeat, she almost believed him, then she saw the smile slide into a grin of pure enjoyment.

  ‘Darling,’ he said, ‘if I’d made love to you last night, you’d have been well aware of the fact this morning. As it was, you curled up against me as if you belonged there.’

  ‘I had no idea what I was doing,’ she countered.

  ‘No?’ His brows lifted. ‘And yet when I was carrying you across the room, you said my name.’

  Louise’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I only have your word for that.’ She paused. ‘What happened next?’

  ‘We slept,’ Alex said. ‘Nothing more.’

  He stretched, powerfully, lazily, making her vividly aware of the strong play of muscle under the smooth skin. She found she was watching him as if mesmerised, her mouth suddenly dry.

  ‘Although that could always change,’ he added casually, ‘if you wanted. And right now,’ the green eyes met hers, ‘do you—want?’

  ‘No.’ She remembered, with a pang, the snatch of conversation she’d heard the night before. She bent her head. ‘I—I suppose that’s where men and women differ. A man can want sex even if he’s in love with someone else.’

  ‘What pigs we all are,’ Alex said cordially. ‘But you, of course, being female and therefore purer and nobler, could not compromise your principles. Tell me, is it lonely up there on the moral high ground, sweetheart?’

  Hurriedly, Louise began to push back the covers. ‘I must get up now.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not yet. It’s still very early, and there are a few matters we need to discuss.’

  ‘Then can we postpone the conversation until later, when we’re both dressed?’ she asked tautly.

  ‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘We can enjoy some pillow talk like other couples, even if a little recreational sex is out of the question. So don’t run away, Louise, because I’d only come after you, and who knows where that might lead?’ he added mockingly.

  She flushed mutinously, but remained where she was. It seemed safer that way, even though her whole body was still tingling in half-shamed excitement at the thought of having spent the night in his arms, and common sense suggested she should distance herself from him, and fast.

  She felt suddenly vulnerable in her flimsy nightdress, so she drew the coverlet over her body again. ‘What do you want to say?’

  ‘I need to apologise to you,’ he said. ‘So listen carefully, because it won’t happen often.’ He paused. ‘I made certain accusations yesterday about your behaviour. These were purely circumstantial, and obviously had no basis in fact. Because I know quite well that David Sanders is not, and never has been your lover.’ His mouth twisted ruefully. ‘But appearances can be deceptive, so I lost my temper, and I’m sorry.’

  ‘Then why did you?’ Louise looked down at her tightly clasped hands. ‘After all, why should you care what I do? It’s not part of the deal.’

  ‘Some atavistic instinct, maybe,’ Alex drawled, ‘connected with the word “wife”. Or maybe I didn’t like to think of you wasting yourself on an idiot who didn’t have the wit to appreciate you the first time around. You could do better than David Sanders, Louise.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said, ‘for the future. Is that all? May I go now?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Unless, of course, there’s something you want to discuss with me?’

  She hesitated. ‘Has your grandmother given you any indication about the house? Her plans for it?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid the weasely Clifford is going to be disappointed.’

  ‘Good,’ Louise said with sudden fierceness, although her heart sank within her like a stone. Her usefulness, it seemed, was at an end.

  Alex grinned at her. ‘How unkind of you, darling, especially when he’s taken such trouble to ingratiate himself with you.’

  ‘Not to mention the number his wife was doing on you during dinner,’ Louise countered waspishly.

  He laughed. ‘Why, Mrs Fabian, are you implying the lady was up for it? You shock me.’

  She smiled reluctantly. ‘That will be the day. Now, I’d really better go and have my bath.’

  She slid from under the covers and walked to the bathroom, wishing that she’d chosen a less revealing nightgown, fully aware that Alex was lying back, watching her go with undisguised appreciation.

  Taking the usual unfair advantage, she thought bitterly.

  As she reached the bathroom he said her name, and she looked back at him, her brows lifting in cool enquiry. Inwardly steeling herself.

  ‘You’ve spent the night in my bed, and survived,’ he said softly. ‘So—was it really such an ordeal?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Against all the odds, Louise found her lips curving in sudden mischief. ‘Luckily, I slept right through it.’

  And she dodged, laughing, into the bathroom and slammed the door shut just as Alex’s pillow thudded into it.

  It had proved to be a day and a half, Louise thought wryly as she dressed for the party that evening.

  Alex had disappeared after breakfast, having been commanded by his grandmother to take Cliff Maidstone to play golf. Della spent most of the day i
n a deckchair under one of the trees on the lawn, endlessly filing her nails and reading fashion magazines.

  ‘And Louise can help me,’ Lady Perrin announced regally.

  This turned out to be no sinecure. Although all the arrangements for her birthday were in place, and had been for weeks, she kept having last-minute changes of plan, which Louise was detailed to relay to the staff.

  But she found them placidly inured to their employer’s vagaries.

  ‘Don’t worry, madam,’ Mrs Gillow assured her. ‘She’s always liked things just so, has her ladyship, but she’ll have thought again by this evening and want it all back as it was.’ She sighed. ‘Sad to think she’s giving up the house, and this is the last party she’ll have here.’

  ‘What will happen to you and your husband?’ Louise asked hesitantly. ‘Will you stay on afterwards?’

  ‘Bless you, no, madam,’ Mrs Gillow said comfortably. ‘Gillow and I are retiring, as planned, with a good pension that Mr Alex set up for us a while back. They’ve been good years here, but nothing lasts forever.’

  No indeed, Louise thought sadly.

  But Lady Perrin kept her too much on the run to allow time for too many recriminations or regrets.

  She enjoyed the buzz engendered by the caterers and florists when they arrived, and was fascinated to see how everything came together, but secretly she found it daunting, too, and was almost relieved to know she would not be called on to organise a similar occasion at Rosshampton. No doubt it was the kind of thing Cindy Crosby would take in her stride, she thought tautly.

  Alex had bathed and changed on his return from the golf course, to enable her to have all the privacy she could desire as she dressed for the party.

  A long, scented bath refreshed her, and she spent time applying nail polish to her toes and fingers in the same rich red as her dress, and making up her face with extra care. The design of the dress called for nothing but a pair of ivory silk briefs beneath it, and strappy high-heeled sandals, also in red, added an elegant touch.

  Louise took a deep breath, then slowly slipped the folds of gleaming taffeta over her head, and zipped them into place. Then she stood back and looked at herself in the long, old-fashioned mirror of the dressing table.