Jenna smiled sympathetically. They were always teasing him about her and she didn't know what to do about it. 'Have a good time,' she waved. 'I hope the Blue Jays win.'
With loud goodbyes and an ear-shattering blast of the horn, they disappeared down the drive.
'Well, Robbie, it's just you and me now. I wonder what your Uncle Peter's good news is?' She looked at her son and hugged him tightly. Peter had sent a letter from Mexico only last week, full of congratulations and best wishes for them and their newly adopted son. When Jenna had read it and looked at Royce with wary eyes, he explained coldly that he had written to him, telling him of their marriage and his adoption of her son. That way, he reasoned, he was warding off any unpleasant confrontations if and when Peter decided to come home again.
'No, I didn't tell him Robbie was his,' he said stiffly. 'I've adopted him. He'll stay mine.'
Jenna sighed and shifted Robbie in her arms. 'It's a good thing you've learned to walk. You're getting heavy!' She smiled at him and quickly went into the silent, empty house.
Only when Robbie had been settled for the night did she allow herself the luxury of going over every nuance of those last few minutes in the office with Royce. She had put it out of her mind all the way home, afraid to dwell too deeply on it. It had always been safer not to let herself feel anything where he was concerned. But now, everything returned sharp and clear and clamouring, and it only confused her more than ever.
If only she had more experience, more knowledge, maybe then she could understand this change in him. She could see it. She could feel it. But she didn't know what it meant. Royce looked like a man who had reached the end of his tether. For the first time in all these weeks of maintaining a polite, detached insouciance, she suddenly realised his face had become thinner, the slashing grooves more pronounced. His suits didn't fit him as well as they had before. Now they seemed to hang on his powerful frame. Only his eyes had retained their fire, and today she was sure they gleamed with desire for her.
But was that all it was? Was that all it could be? Her heart did a curious little somersault. Maybe… just maybe, he was falling in lover with her. So many times she had wished for it, achingly dreamed of it, only to waken and tell herself it was impossible.
She nervously twisted the wide gold ring on her finger and felt a shudder of apprehension slide down her spine. 'You're my wife,' Royce had said with such passion. Even now, the memory of it swept through her and made her heart pound. Oh, please, let it be love!
And yet the more practical side of her mind cautioned her to be wary and not read something into it that wasn't there. Sometimes he looked as if he despised her. And yet at other times, she was sure she saw an odd glint in his eyes, almost a yearning, a shattering tenderness that left her weak and breathless and trembling.
She had misjudged him before, but it was a hard habit to break. Why would he suddenly fall in love with her now? What had happened to make him change?
With a wrenched sigh, Jenna pulled herself together and ran a hot bath, telling herself all this speculation was getting her nowhere. She'd just have to wait and see. When Royce came home tonight, they'd talk it out and then she would know where she stood.
The time dragged endlessly before she heard his car on the drive. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, breathing deeply, telling herself to calm down. She nervously smoothed her hands over her loose flowing hair and ran them down the sides of the simple gown she had chosen to wear. Long and white, it made her look virginal. If she was going to be totally honest, she might as well look as innocent as she was, she thought nervously.
A stereo unit was softly murmuring Brahms in the background when she slowly descended the stairs. The crystal chandelier in the foyer had been dimmed and Jenna thought she heard a low murmur of voices and the decided clink of glass coming from the softly lamplit drawing room.
For a moment, she hesitated. Then she went to the doorway and stood stock still, the smile of anticipation in her eyes dying as all the blood swiftly drained out of her face. She would have turned or backed away, but her legs refused to move. She could only stand there, stunned, trying to steady her breathing, trying to hang on to her self-control, clenching a tight fist against her mouth to keep herself from screaming.
Royce was sitting on the sofa with a gorgeous dark-haired woman, a fluted champagne glass in his hand. She watched him smile deeply into the woman's eyes and hold his glass to her lips. Image after agonising image flashed in slow motion before her stricken eyes. Soft red lips sipped the golden wine, then Royce turned the glass from her and put his own lips on the same spot and drank deeply, sensuously.
Jenna saw the manicured hand slide across his cheek, caress his ear, curl into the sensitive skin at the side of his neck, saw the provocative, inviting, voluptuous body in a startling black backless dress sway towards him.
A wrenching pain struck at Jenna's heart, slashing it to bruised and bleeding ribbons. Deep shudders racked her body as she stood there, unable to move. Her raw nerves twanged. Her body felt on fire and there were huge bright tears standing in her eyes. She couldn't breathe. The room seemed to rock and tilt and close in on her.
'… we shouldn't be doing this,' she heard the woman murmur huskily as Royce's hands ran compellingly over her back.
'I'm finally doing something I should have done long ago,' he answered, his voice thick and oddly ragged. 'Don't tell me it isn't right. I can't help myself where you're concerned. I want you all to myself, not just for tonight but for ever. I want to sleep with you and possess your body and your heart and your mind and your soul. You know you belong to me, Lydia. Say you'll stay. I'll get a divorce. That cold fish of a wife I've got will understand and let me go…'
An unbearable horror choked Jenna and the hand pressed against her mouth became as cold and stiff as ice. Her tears suddenly dried up and convulsive tremor ran through her, and then she was frighteningly still, pale, sweating, staring blindly, like a statue, at her husband's handsome profile in the dimness.
'… oh, yes, darling, yes!' The woman's beautiful face was flushed and radiant with sensuality. 'I love you! I love you!'
Everything ran together in a terrible blinding swirl before Jenna's stricken gaze. She felt herself swaying dizzily and all at once it became the most important thing in the world for her to keep her feet.
How many times had she longed to hear Royce say such things to her? And she wanted so much to tell him, I love you too! So much so, I could die with the pain of not having you return it. The words bubbled up harshly in her throat, but she swallowed them back with a wild thrill of panic. She'd never say it now. It wasn't her place to say such a thing. She had never been a real wife to him. She had treated him coldly. It might have been a protective reaction, but he'd never know that now.
He would divorce her and she would let him go with dignity, without a word of complaint, without clinging or begging or crying. Cold wet fingers ran up and down her stiffened spine and a sickening nausea boiled in her stomach. She didn't belong here. She had always known it. Robbie did, but she didn't.
Deep blue lines appeared at the sides of her white lips. Her eyes became glazed and bottomless with the sure knowledge of the agony ahead. She would let Royce go to this beautiful woman. If that would make him happy, that was all that mattered. She would let him go. Somehow, she would find the strength to do it.
A slight movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and slowly, steadfastly, the harsh rigidity left her. She turned.
'Jenna!' Royce closed the front door behind him and saw at once that something was terribly wrong. 'What is it? What's happened?'
Her mouth fell open on a soundless sob. Her stricken eyes widened, then swivelled back to the drawing room. Royce was still there with that gorgeous woman, wrapped up in her, oblivious to everything, everyone else.
But Royce was standing here in front of her now, gripping her arms, staring into her ashen face.
She put a dazed ha
nd to her eyes and blinked rapidly, swaying towards him, trembling all over like a thin reed in a high wind. 'Royce?' she croaked, feeling a sudden rush of salt water in her mouth. She swallowed convulsively and her icy fingers clutched at the front of his shirt. He was real, not some figment of her imagination. 'But— who—?' She turned back to the dim room and Royce followed her glazed look.
All at once his lips tightened and his face twisted. 'Peter,' he stated flatly.
Torment was stark in her eyes. 'I thought—Oh God, I thought—he was you—' All the icy barriers came crashing down. The high wall of stubborn pride and dignity crumbled to dust and she stood there in front of him, utterly defenceless and open and vulnerable.
'If it had been me sitting there instead of Peter, would you care?' he demanded with quiet incredulity. 'Would it make any difference to you?' His smouldering eyes examined every inch of her colourless face. 'Would it?'
Her eyes clung to his and she knew if she answered him, her life would never be the same again. She thought of all the cold and indifferent pretence that lay between them and shuddered. It had been her protection and now it was gone. He had to know just by looking at her how much she cared.
But how would he use that knowledge? Would he take the only thing she had to offer him and throw it back in her face as an unworthy gift? He had so many other women, so many who were beautiful and accomplished and experienced, so many who knew how to please him, what to say, how to—
'Tell me,' he said in a tortured voice, 'do you care at all about me? Or is it Peter? Do you think of him every time you look at me? When you look at your son, do you remember how it was with him?'
She stared at him helplessly, trembling all over, her heart in her eyes. 'Oh, Royce, it was never Peter! Never—ever—Peter!'
Her voice must have risen on the choked sound of his name, for Peter looked up just then and slowly got to his feet, clearing his throat selfconsciously.
'Well, hello, Royce.' He came between them like a blast of icy wind. 'And you must be Jenna.'
For the life of her, Jenna couldn't utter a sound. A deep shudder ran through her as Royce's face changed and his arm came right round her, pulling her close against his side in a sudden protective gesture that made her weak.
As Peter came closer, she looked from him to Royce, back and forth, her head moving as if in denial. He only loosely resembled Royce. Tall and lean, Peter had the same thick black hair and straight nose, but under the light of the chandelier, she could see his skin was more swarthy and tanned and lined. He had the same grooves slashing the sides of his face, but they were not as pronounced as Royce's. He was much younger and not nearly as handsome. He wore a dark suit, much the same style that Royce favoured, but it didn't fit Peter half as well. His chest was not as broad, not as powerful, not as inviting.
Peter's face coloured at her unconsciously delving scrutiny. He ran his fingers through his hair and smiled faintly. 'You look surprised to see me. Didn't the kids tell you I was flying in this afternoon?'
She swallowed and somehow found her voice. 'There wasn't time. I was late getting home and they had to leave in a hurry.'
'They never change,' he said in mock exasperation. 'Always rushing off somewhere. They probably didn't tell you my good news, either. Our good news,' he corrected himself, motioning to the woman hesitating awkwardly in the doorway to come forward. 'Without you, my darling, I'd never have been made General Coordinator of Tenochtitlan's Great Temple dig. Lydia Melendez,' he proudly introduced her, 'this is my brother Royce and—and you are Jenna, aren't you?'
She nodded, breathing shallowly before glancing up at Royce.
Although he had greeted Peter and Lydia first, as politeness demanded, his eyes went straight to Jenna. Then, warily, he turned again to Peter, squaring his shoulders, unconsciously bracing himself, his eyes dark with suspicion. 'Has she changed so much? It almost sounds as though you've never met Jenna before tonight.'
'I never had the pleasure. She was always out when I visited Meg.'
'But you used to talk about her—' Royce bit off the rest of the sentence and looked at his brother with a silent question.
Peter was discomfited. Something was going on here, but he didn't have the faintest idea what it was. 'I'm sorry, Royce. Meg always told me Jenna was as pretty as a mud fence and I'm afraid, in those days, with my youthful arrogance, I merely repeated her descriptions. I was shocked when I heard you'd married her.' He smiled an apology at Jenna. 'I should have known you were beautiful too. Meg could never stand any competition!'
Something flared in Royce's eyes. 'Excuse us, Peter, Lydia.' He urged Jenna towards the stairway. 'I haven't checked on my son yet tonight…' His voice trailed away as he took the stairs two at a time, pulling a breathless Jenna after him.
He didn't stop until he reached her bedroom, practically dragging her inside. He firmly closed the heavy door behind him and locked it before leaning back against it, shaking, his arms folded across his broad chest, his eyes darkly grey and burning. 'Now, Jenna, start talking.'
Her lips trembled as she nervously twisted her hands together in front of her. She had to have time—time to gather her scattered wits, to regain her composure, to figure out how best to even begin to explain. Breathing deeply, she tried to drag her eyes away from his, but he moved suddenly and grasped her shoulders, stiffly holding her at arm's length with hands that became tight iron talons.
'Oh no, you don't! Not this time. You're not retreating behind that damned great wall of ice now. I've got to know. Tonight you saw Peter with his girl-friend and you thought it was me. Your face was as white as death. Does that mean you care?'
'You were very rude just now—' she began, trying to twist out of his grasp, but his crushing grip tightened.
'Rudeness be damned! I want you to tell me. Do you care at all about me?' He began to shake her unmercifully.
'Yes!' she choked, goaded into the admission. 'Yes, I care. I have feelings too. But you never knew that, did you?' Her bitterness reached out to him and he jerked his hands away from her as if she burned him.
Her words went on striking him like lifeless stones. 'Have you any idea how demoralising it is to sit here each evening, listening to your family sing your praises, while all the time I'm picturing you in the arms of some beautiful woman? I make their dinner reservations, send them roses, choose their jewellery—' Her voice sobbed. 'I'm your wife, yet I have no place in your affections. You're merely paying me to do a job. I knew the terms before you married me, and I've tried to accept them. I've tried to be your paragon.' Her voice was bitter but she lifted her head, unable to abandon her pride completely. 'But tonight, seeing Peter, thinking he was you, I—I—Oh God…!'
Royce's hands fell to his sides defeatedly and a peculiar grey colour ran over his face. 'All this time I thought you were comparing me to Peter and finding me wanting!'
She jerked her eyes to his. 'I'd never even met him before tonight.'
He became very still, not moving, not even breathing, his relentless delving gaze suddenly making the blood pound deafeningly in her ears.
'But I thought you had, that you and he—' His mouth twisted and his chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. 'Then who the hell is Robbie?' he demanded so softly the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
Her mouth was dry. 'He's Peter's son,' she said helplessly.
His head snapped back and a fine rage shuddered through him.
'But he's not mine,' Jenna gulped hurriedly.
His jaw clenched. 'Your name was on his birth certificate—I saw it!'
'Oh, Royce.' She pressed a shaking hand to her mouth. 'It was Meg—she put my name on it without my knowledge. It was her way of making me responsible because I'm the one who talked her out of an abortion. All the time she was pregnant, she kept saying she "had to get rid of it".' She shuddered. 'But I thought if she went ahead and had him, once she saw him, held him—' Tears began to sting her throat, choking her. 'But it didn't happen that way. She
meant it when she said she wanted no part of him.' Jenna's eyes became huge and stricken, pleading with him to understand. 'And then you came home with her that night—and—and— looked at me as if I was dirt under your feet. I didn't want you to think—I was so plain—that no man had ever looked at me.' Her throat closed up so tightly that she could barely squeeze the words out. 'So I said he was mine.'
All the colour left his face. Instead of his usual cold hauteur, it was filled with anguish and his breathing became ragged and torn, strangling in his throat. 'If only you'd told me! God, Jenna, you don't know how many times I've wished we could start all over again. I never meant to hurt you, but from that very first night, everything I did or said only put you farther out of my reach. No matter what I tried, you wouldn't let me get near you.'
'I was afraid. I didn't want to get hurt.'
'When I found out about Robbie, I went crazy,' he grated. 'All this time—I thought you and Peter—I kept seeing you with him, kept imagining you and him—' He drew a shuddering breath. 'I never had to compete with him for anything before. I didn't know how to begin.'
Jenna backed away abruptly, staring at him, her eyes wide and incredulous in her startled face. 'You mean you were jealous? Of your own brother?'
'I thought you loved him. When I heard he was coming home today, I—You're my wife. I couldn't let you go!'
She kept staring at him, unable to believe her ears. 'Are you saying you want me? Me?'
His face went stiff. 'I'm saying I love you, Jenna. I don't know how it happened or when. All I know is, there you were, in my office, and I kept saying the wrong things, doing the wrong things, and no matter what I tried, I couldn't reach you. All you did was give me those disdainful little smiles of yours.'
Icy shivers feathered down her spine. 'That was my only defence. Look at me, Royce. What right have I to expect a man like you to love me?' Her whisper was broken. 'The only women you ever look at are beautiful.'
'Oh, Jenna!' he muttered thickly, his arms helplessly held out to her. 'You've got a different kind of beauty I never knew existed—not until you got your hair cut and started wearing makeup. You looked like a lot of other women then, but I knew your beauty wasn't only on the surface like theirs. Yours goes all the way through. That's why I was so hateful to you and kept my distance. Every time I looked at you, I wanted to— But I thought you loved my brother.'
A Grand Illusion Page 14