Yesterday's Scars

by Carole Mortimer

  Hazel pressed herself against him, her fingers threaded in the dark thickness of the hair at his nape. ‘Then you shouldn’t have waited so long,’ she said encouragingly.

  His hands moved up to cradle each side of her face, bending to gently kiss the bruised side of her face, only a very light discolouration showing she had suffered any injury at all. ‘Does it still hurt?’ he asked her.

  ‘No.’ She was surprised by his concern. ‘But I looked a bit strange at the wedding today. I’m sure everyone thought you’d been beating me.’

  ‘But we both know I have a better way than that of punishing you.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Oh, I think you know.’

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘I intend to,’ he smiled.

  ‘Now.’

  His mouth moved over her with fierce possession now, evoking her response with single-minded determination. One of his hands pushed aside the thin material of her nightgown to explore the creamy softness of her breast, caressing the rosy peak to full pulsating life.

  ‘You’re beautiful, Hazel,’ he groaned. ‘And I want you very much.’

  But not enough, not yet. She wanted him trembling in her arms, wanted him to be aflame with desire for her before she told him she wouldn’t consummate their marriage now or at any other time.

  But it wasn’t easy controlling her own desire, the clamouring of the senses that cried out for her total surrender. She ached to give in to him, to know once again the full force of his lovemaking as she had known it only once before—but to do that she would have to forget her self-respect, and at the moment that was all she had left.

  ‘We’re wasting time out here,’ Rafe said throatily. ‘Why don’t you get into bed so that I can be closer to you?’

  It was a closeness she wanted too, a closeness she had to deny herself. ‘Oh, Rafe,’ she breathed close against his lips. ‘Kiss me.’

  His eyes darkened as she released the belt to his dressing gown, her arms passing about his waist to caress his back with fevered hands. He shuddered against her as only the thin material of her nightgown separated them, claiming her mouth with a groan.

  She moved against him, aroused and tempted him until she knew he couldn’t take any more. She felt only triumph as he lifted her into his arms, their mouths still fused. The bed gave beneath their combined weight, Rafe’s body covering hers in his consuming desire to possess her.

  She fought against her own feelings, forcing herself to reject this sort of relationship between them, this taking without love. ‘Shouldn’t you take off that robe?’ she said softly.

  His lips reluctantly left her throat. ‘Help me with it,’ he encouraged.

  ‘It’s caught underneath you,’ she whispered. ‘You’ll have to stand up.’

  His eyes never left her as he slowly stood up. ‘Shouldn’t you undress too?’

  She slowly stood up as if doing what he suggested before diving under the bedclothes. ‘I think I’ll have to go to sleep after all,’ she pretended to yawn. ‘I’m very tired.’

  She watched his face as he tried to take in what she had said, his eyes still glazed with passion, a sensuous curve to his lips. He shook his head as if to clear the fog from his brain. ‘What did you say?’ he asked softly.

  Hazel felt no embarrassment at his nakedness, but met his gaze unflinchingly. ‘I’m tired, Rafe,’ she repeated.

  ‘You’re tired?’ he echoed slowly, still not quite believing what he was hearing. He sat down on the bed, looming over her like an avenging angel. ‘What are you trying to do to me, Hazel?’ he rasped.

  She looked at him with wide innocent eyes. ‘Why, nothing. I’m just tired.’

  ‘So you said,’ he ground out, his hands moving out to grasp her shoulders painfully. ‘You did this on purpose,’ he accused angrily.

  There could be no doubt about the blackness of his mood, but she faced him bravely. ‘Did what on purpose?’

  He shook her hard. ‘You encouraged me, only to—’

  ‘You didn’t need much encouraging,’ she interrupted bitterly.

  ‘Must I remind you that I married you this morning?’

  She sat up, her eyes blazing. ‘And you think that gives you free licence with my body, don’t you?’ she sneered. ‘Well, I’m telling you now that as far as I’m concerned the ceremony we went through this morning doesn’t give you any rights at all.’

  ‘And if I have other ideas?’ His tone was steely.

  ‘You can have ideas, Rafe, but anything else you can forget. You forced me into this marriage believing I wanted to marry you—well, now I’m telling you that marriage to you was the last thing I had in mind.’ Liar! ‘But you didn’t give me any choice, claiming that the only thing you would want from me would be my body occasionally.’

  ‘I think I said a lot,’ he said coldly.

  ‘All right, a lot,’ she agreed. ‘Well, I’ve decided that’s the one thing you can’t have. I won’t let you touch me,’ she told him vehemently.

  He pushed her away as if she burnt him. ‘I could always force you.’

  ‘You could, but I don’t think either of us would enjoy that. And you would want to enjoy it, wouldn’t you, Rafe?’ she taunted.

  ‘Oh God, Hazel,’ his look was agonised. ‘You can’t just turn off like this! I—I want you,’ he took a ragged breath. ‘I want you, Hazel!’

  ‘Then you can go on wanting, because you aren’t going to have me.’

  She watched with pleasure the agony on his face, the same suffering he had put her through the last week, suffering for a different reason but pain nevertheless.

  ‘You deliberately led me on so that you could do this to me, deliberately let me think that we would—you would—’

  ‘Let you make love to me,’ she finished mockingly. ‘Yes, I let you think that, because that’s the one thing it wouldn’t have been—making love! You don’t know the meaning of it.’

  ‘And I suppose you do?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she nodded, ‘I know.’

  Rafe stood up, pulling open one of the drawers to get out a pair of black pyjama trousers. Once clothed in these he turned on her again. ‘I suppose one of these others taught you all about it?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Except that there had been no other men, only Rafe, and three years ago he had truly made love to her. At the time she had believed he was in love with her, until the cold reality of morning when he had made it clear that the two of them couldn’t continue to live in the same house.

  ‘All right, Hazel,’ he said grimly. ‘If this is the way you want it.’ He got into the bed beside her, turning his back on her to turn out the light.

  She looked at the solid wall of his back for several long minutes, longing to reach out to him to tell him that she wanted him too, loved him. But that would only give him more power to hurt her, and he had hurt her enough already.

  ‘Goodnight, Rafe,’ she said tentatively.

  ‘I see nothing good about it,’ he snapped tersely.

  Neither did she, but she wouldn’t let him know that. She deliberately made her breathing sound on an even tenor so that he would think she had fallen asleep. And fiction soon became reality as weariness overtook her.

  She awoke to find herself alone, the only sign that Rafe had occupied the bed at all the indentation in the pillow beside her own. She rolled over with a groan, reliving the agony of being aroused by Rafe and then having to damp down these feelings as if she had been unmoved. The only consolation she had was that his disappointment had been ten times worse than her own.

  She took her time over her shower, dressing with care in a white sundress, the square neckline only hinting at the swell of her breasts, the smooth line of the dress clearly showing her narrow waist and slender hips to flare out over her sun-tanned legs. She knew she looked good in the dress and it was for this reason that she had chosen to wear it.

  Rafe was alone in the dining-room when she arrived downstairs, half a cup of black coffee i
n front of him and an ashtray full of cigar ends to one side of the table. There was a dark growth of beard on his chin and Hazel knew he had been down here for hours.

  He looked up at her with bleary eyes, the bloodshot look not due to lack of sleep. ‘Don’t for God’s sake say good morning,’ he growled. ‘I’m likely to get violent!’

  She could smell the whisky as she sat down opposite him at the table. ‘Is the coffee to sober you or wake you up?’ she asked scathingly.

  ‘Both,’ he snapped.

  She wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘Has Sara seen you in this state?’

  ‘Well, as she brought me the coffee it’s a natural assumption to make,’ he said nastily. ‘And don’t look so disapproving, it’s all your fault I’m like this.’

  She gave him an innocent look. ‘My fault? I can’t see how.’

  He stood up angrily, swaying unsteadily on his feet. ‘No, I don’t suppose you can see, as you were sleeping like a baby all night while I lay there watching you.’

  Hazel poured herself a cup of the coffee with a steady hand. ‘What a strange occupation, Rafe. Wouldn’t you have been better going to sleep?’

  His fist landed noisily on the table, making the cups rattle in their saucers. ‘Yes, I would have been better going to sleep!’ he shouted with barely controlled violence. ‘But you made that impossible, and we both know why. I came down here when I couldn’t stand to watch you squirm about any longer.’

  She gave a slight smile. ‘I thought you said I slept like a baby.’

  He gave a harsh shout of laughter. ‘A baby that moves and moans in its sleep. After what you put me through I nearly went insane lying there beside you, wanting you and knowing the only way I could have you would make you hate me more than ever. So I got out of that room before you pushed me too far.’

  ‘And got stinking drunk!’

  ‘I should get used to it, Hazel. You’re likely to see me like this a lot in the future.’

  They both looked up as Sara came into the room. ‘Can I get you any breakfast?’ she asked Hazel, her manner stilted.

  ‘I’ll have bacon and eggs, thank you, Sara,’ Hazel requested, more out of a desire to show normality than out of actual hunger.

  ‘Mr Rafe?’

  ‘Good God, no,’ he groaned, moving hurriedly to the door. ‘Excuse me,’ he opened the door. ‘I’m going to my bedroom.’

  Hazel looked at him coldly. ‘To sleep it off, I hope.’

  His mouth turned back in a sneer. ‘Probably. So just stay away from there. You know what will happen if you don’t.’

  ‘I’ll keep away,’ she assured him.

  His smile was bitter. ‘I thought you might.’ He slammed the door.

  Hazel was aware of Sara’s disapproving silence. ‘Yes, Sara?’ she enquired coolly.

  ‘Now there’s no need to be like that with me,’ the housekeeper reprimanded. ‘I’ve known you since you wore braces on your teeth, and I’ve known Mr Rafe even longer, and I don’t like what you’re doing to each other.’

  ‘You can’t understand the situation, Sara,’ Hazel choked.

  Sara picked up the full ashtray and used coffee cup. ‘I know that the two of you have been destroying each other the last few days, and that Mr Rafe isn’t acting like a newly married man. He was out cold on the sofa when I came in here at seven o’clock this morning. I took away a completely empty whisky bottle,’ she added for good measure.

  Hazel pushed back her chair to stand up. ‘I’ve changed my mind about the breakfast. I’m going down to the beach.’

  ‘And what shall I do about Mr Rafe?’

  ‘He said he was going to sleep it off, I should leave him to do that.’

  Hazel spent the whole day on the beach and at the cabin, making herself cups of coffee but not feeling in the least hungry. Rafe wasn’t present at dinner and she presumed he was still asleep, until Sara informed her otherwise.

  ‘Mr Rafe left the house about four o’clock.’

  ‘He did?’

  Sara nodded. ‘I have no idea where he went.’

  So Hazel was left wondering where he could be, although she had a fair idea. Janine Clarke had been very pleasant to her at the wedding, but then perhaps she had reason to be, perhaps she had known all the time that she wasn’t going to be losing her lover simply because he was married.

  She was already in bed pretending to be asleep when Rafe came into the bedroom, but she knew it was well after twelve o’clock, knew it because until a few seconds earlier she had been glancing at the clock every two or three minutes.

  She felt the bed give beside her, felt the warmth of Rafe’s body a few inches away from her own. And she could smell a woman’s perfume, a perfume she knew Janine Clarke wore. So he had been with the other woman tonight!

  ‘Hazel …’ Rafe’s hand moved caressingly up her arm. ‘Hazel, are you awake?’

  She shivered at his touch and hoped he wouldn’t know it was one of pleasure. ‘Yes,’ she answered softly.

  His thigh moved against her own and she could feel his nakedness. ‘Hazel,’ he groaned against her throat. ‘Let me love you. Oh God, let me love you!’

  She lay as cold as ice in his embrace, feeling none of the fire he usually put in her veins, conscious only of the faint smell of the other woman’s perfume. He had come straight to her bed from the other woman’s arms, and at the moment that was the only thing that seemed important.

  His passion was rising quickly, but as if sensing her complete coldness he looked down at her in the gloom. ‘Hazel?’ he said uncertainly. ‘Hazel, for God’s sake! Look, I’m sorry about earlier, sorry I got drunk. I just couldn’t take what you’d done to me.’ His hands caressed her shoulders. ‘Hazel, speak to me!’

  ‘Goodnight, Rafe,’ she said dully.

  His eyes glittered in the darkness. ‘Oh no, no, not again,’ he groaned achingly. ‘Not tonight too, Hazel. Please, not tonight!’

  She turned away from his searching lips. ‘And every other night. I told you how it would be.’

  She could hear his ragged breathing as he fought for control. ‘You hate me, Hazel. You have to if you can torment me like this.’

  ‘I already told you I did. Don’t ever touch me again!’ She turned away, sure that he had already had one woman tonight. How much of a sexual appetite did he have!

  CHAPTER TEN

  TODAY was Hazel’s twenty-first birthday and she had never felt so miserable in her entire life. It was four days since her marriage to Rafe, four days and nights of agony, when she had wondered which one of them she was punishing.

  She knew of Rafe’s suffering by his bad temper and the way he watched her every move when he thought she wasn’t aware of it. Each evening seemed to follow a pattern, with Rafe either disappearing into his study after dinner or going out completely, and coming back to their bedroom about midnight. Neither of them would speak as he moved about the bedroom preparing for bed, or when he got into the bed beside her.

  He had made one last effort on Monday night to try and get her enter into a more physical relationship, but last night he had merely turned his back on her and gone to sleep. Hazel had been the one left lying awake, sleep evading her into the small hours of the morning.

  The trouble with her plan for revenge on Rafe was that she seemed to be hurting herself more than anyone else. She was the one left wondering how often Rafe visited Janine Clarke, and what that relationship meant to him. She was the one who had to hold herself back from telling him of her love for him, of the need she had for his arms about her and his lips on hers.

  And now today was her birthday and Rafe hadn’t even bothered to send her a card. The breakfast table had been laden with cards and presents from friends and she had opened each one with growing excitement, until the last one had revealed that none of them was from Rafe.

  She wiped the tears away as the dining-room door opened. Rafe wandered in, his mind obviously on the letter in his hand. ‘Good morning,’ he said formally, sounding
preoccupied. ‘I have some mail I want you to deal with this morning.’

  ‘I’ve been doing the mail every day,’ she answered, on the defensive straight away.

  ‘I know that, but these arrived this morning.’ He looked up. ‘I also wanted to make sure you’re going to be in to dinner this evening.’

  Hope entered her eyes. ‘Of course I will be, if you want me to.’

  ‘I have some people coming in this evening, it would look strange if my wife wasn’t here as my hostess,’ he added callously.

  ‘Oh.’ She couldn’t hide her disappointment. Rafe didn’t give a damn about her birthday, he hadn’t even noticed the cards and presents in front of her. ‘Perhaps you would prefer Mrs Clarke to be your hostess.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he nodded agreement. ‘But as I said, I think it would look odd if you weren’t present.’

  Her mouth set in an angry line. ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Good.’ He turned to leave. ‘I’ll be in the study when you’re ready to do the mail.’

  ‘All right.’ She waited until he had left before she burst into tears. How could she continue to live in the same house as him, share his bed, and yet receive not one word of tenderness from him?

  She loved him, wanted him, and she couldn’t bear to be like this with him. But how could she show him she was sorry? There seemed only one way, and she wasn’t even sure he wanted her that way any more, not when he had the more than willing Janine.

  ‘Now then, Miss Hazel,’ Sara touched her gently on the shoulder. ‘This is no time for tears. Today is your birthday, you should be happy.’

  ‘How can I be happy when Rafe wishes he’d never married me?’ she cried, burying her face in Sara’s apron?

  ‘Now don’t take on so.’ Sara cradled her in her arms. ‘You know Mr Rafe cares for you.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Hazel said bitterly. ‘He cares for me, he cares so much that he doesn’t mind everyone knowing about his mistress!’

  She heard the housekeeper gasp. ‘Now you know that can’t be right! He would never do a thing like that to you.’