by Helen Brooks
'I knew it the first moment I saw you,' he continued after a long minute had ticked by in absolute silence, his mouth twisting a little at her patent horror. 'And the knowledge swept away all the principles of a lifetime. I used to be adamant that there was no such thing as love at first sight, but then it happened to me—me, Luke Hawkton, thirty-five-year-old cynic and man of the world. And I do love you, Josie. I love you more than—'
'Don't.' It was merely a whisper but it stopped him in his tracks when he saw the anguish in her face. 'Please don't.'
'Why?' He kept his voice cool with an effort that made his mouth white. 'You have to hear it as it is, just once. And don't say you feel nothing for me because I don't believe that; you aren't that good an actress. I've tried not to rush you, to keep my distance and give you time, but hell—' He took a deep, shuddering breath. 'I have to at least tell you how I feel, tell you that you're different.'
Oh, she was different all right. His words hit her full in the chest and he saw the impact of the blow in her eyes a second before she rose, with trembling, painful dignity, from the table.
'Luke, this is pointless.' she said shakily. 'I can't— I don't want to marry you or anyone else. I told you that. I told you.' The control slipped for a moment, and what he saw under the fragile exterior appalled him, but even as he reached out to her she drew back, her body rigid. 'Please take me home.'
'No.'
Her eyes shot to his face and she saw that he was shaking his head slowly, his silver eyes narrowed and intense on her face and his mouth a thin line in the hardness of his jaw. 'Luke—'
'I mean it, Josie,' he said grimly. 'You aren't leaving this place till I get some answers.'
'You've got no right—'
'Probably not, but that's never worried me before and I don't intend to let it start worrying me now.' The touch of arrogance helped, putting iron in her backbone and steadying her shaking legs. Luke the tender lover she had no defence against, but the forceful, ruthless tycoon the world knew was a different matter.
And then it came to her. The one way she could walk out of this house and his life for good. But could she do it? Could she bear him thinking—?
'I'm involved with someone else,' she said flatly, not giving herself a chance to think any more about what she was doing.
'I don't believe it.' His eyes raked her face, searching and intuitive. 'I've never seen or heard a thing to substantiate that—'
'You wouldn't have.' She could feel the blood thundering in her ears and willed herself to go through with it. 'He's married—very married. If his wife found out it would be the end of his career, his future, and then there's the children…'
'He's got children?' His voice was expressionless, strange, and she went deeper into the lie, willing her voice to sound ashamed, broken…
'Four, and all quite young. We didn't mean it to happen, for us to fall in love, but it was just one of those things—'
'One of those things?' Dark, furious colour seared the hard cheekbones savagely and his voice was rapier-sharp. 'What the hell do you mean, 'one of those things'? There is always a point where you know, where you can draw back…' Now his face was black with rage, his voice barely coherent. 'And I thought you were so straight, so virtuous compared to Charlotte Montgomery and the like. What a laugh you must have had about that! At least she and her kind make no secret of what they arc, but you—' a bitter disgust had turned his face grey '—you're the worst sort of liar there is.'
'You forced me to tell you.' The pain in her heart was physical, reaching every part of her, but she had to go through with it. Terrible though this was, it was the only way out. Because she couldn't tell him the truth, she couldn't, and if he believed this he would leave her alone, meet someone else, someone he could fulfil those dreams of a family with, someone—
'I could kill you, do you know that?' He had moved round the table to stand in front of her, and as she shrank from the bitter contempt and anger in his face he gave a short, hard bark of a laugh. 'But don't worry, I won't. And do you know why? Because you aren't worth it. You aren't worth soiling my hands on.' He stared at her for one more moment before stalking from the room, his face fiery.
'We'll forgo coffee,' he added over his shoulder as he reached the door. 'Arnold will take you home when you're ready.' And then the door closed. With a softness that was more chilling than any rage.
CHAPTER TEN
Josie existed in abject, black misery for the next few weeks, and the strain of keeping it hidden, of maintaining a bright, efficient image at work, brought her near to breaking point in the last week of October, when she was due to fly out to oversee the launch.
She hadn't seen or spoken to Luke since the night of her birthday; all their communication had been through faxes, letters and his iceberg of a secretary, although she had had the strangest feeling more than once that a pair of unseen eyes were watching her every movement. It was stupid, she knew it was stupid, but the sensation persisted right up till the day she flew out to France, alone.
She had reserved a room in a fairly mediocre hotel for the duration of her five-day stay, along with a hire car to be delivered to coincide with her arrival. The thought of staying at Luke's chateau was inconceivable, although his secretary had made it clear, on more than one occasion over the last few weeks, that it would be expected of her.
But no way, Josie thought grimly as the plane disgorged its passengers into the airport terminal. The next few days were going to be horrendous enough as it was. She felt the sickening lurch to her stomach that accompanied all thoughts of Luke, and took a few deep breaths, her face pale.
Before leaving the dining room that night six weeks ago she had taken off the necklace he had given her, leaving it carefully spread out on her white linen napkin whore it would be seen by Mrs Hodges, along with a short note on paper she had torn out of the notebook in her handbag. 'I'm sorry.'
Such inadequate words for the hurt she had inflicted, she thought miserably, but so much better than the nightmare of watching him realise the truth, seeing the budding knowledge in his face that he had made a terrible mistake, that she was incapable of fulfilling his plans and aspirations, that he couldn't marry her. Either that or he would go through with his declaration, make the supreme sacrifice, give up the possibility of the Hawkton heir, the children he had spoken of more than once. And either way she wouldn't be able to bear it. Not loving him as she did.
The formalities over and her suitcase and bags collected, she walked towards the massive glass doors, intending to pick up her hire car and go to her hotel, when a touch on her arm brought her head swinging round. 'Mademoiselle?' Louis, Luke's French chauffeur, smiled at her easily. 'I take the bags, eh?'
'Louis?' She stared at him in surprise before glancing hastily round her. 'What are you doing here? Are you waiting for someone?'
'You, mademoiselle.' He nodded towards the doors, his handsome face beneath the gold chauffeur's cap bland as he wrestled the suitcase and bags from her in one easy movement. 'The car is outside.'
'But—' She realised he was already moving away and had to move quickly to catch him up, trotting along at his side as she tried to get his attention. 'Louis? I'm not supposed to be met,' she protested breathlessly.
'Here we are, mademoiselle.' The Rolls was waiting in what looked suspiciously like a no parking area, and Louis had lifted the luggage into the back before she could stop him, opening the door for her as she stood hesitating on the pavement, her face troubled. 'Mademoiselle?' He gestured towards the interior of the car and she glanced at him one more time before sliding defeatedly into its luxurious depths. But she wasn't going to the chateau, if that was the plan. No way, no how.
Once they were out of the airport confines she slid the glass panel aside and spoke to the back of Louis's trim head. 'Do you want to know the name of my hotel?'
'No, mademoiselle,' he answered politely.
She tried again, her heart pounding with a mixture of panic, irrita
tion, excitement and something else she couldn't quite pin down. 'But I'm booked into the—'
'You are staying at the chateau, mademoiselle. Is all arranged. The 'otel has been cancelled, oui?'
'Cancelled?' she said weakly. 'But I don't understand. Is Mr Hawkton at the chateau?'
'No, mademoiselle, not till Thursday,' the level voice replied stoically.
'Oh…' She leant back against the seat for a moment. She recognised now what that other emotion was—hope— and she berated herself for it as she bit down the fierce surge of disappointment. What was the matter with her anyway? It was best that they saw as little of each other as they could until this whole miserable episode was over; that had been the whole point of her staying at the damn hotel in the first place.
Why was she being so illogical, so stupid? Luke clearly thought it was practical for her to be on hand at the chateau, and she had to admit it was. That was all there was to it. And if he was prepared to endure her presence for the sake of a successful launch she owed him that at least. 'Thank you, Louis,' she said flatly as she slid the panel closed.
The next two days flew by in an orderly chaos that had Josie working from dawn to dusk and then some. She fell into bed each night almost too exhausted to wash or brush her teeth, dragging herself up each morning to stand for long minutes under a cool shower and get her brain into express mode again. But by the Thursday morning, the day before the launch, everything had come together wonderfully.
The quaint old fair was established and working perfectly, the ice rink was finished, and looking far better than even Josie had expected, and all the little extras were completed and in place. Chestnut braziers, muffin stalls, hoops and kites for the children—they were all ready and standing to attention—even row upon row of neat white ice-skating boots, all the right size for each individual guest and labelled with their names.
The caterers were coming that afternoon to set up a marquee in the grounds for refreshments during the day, and also to prepare for the more traditional buffet meal in the beautiful ballroom on the launch night.
By lunchtime, when Luke was expected, there was little more for Josie to do. She always endeavoured to leave at least half a day's leeway at this stage of a project, having learnt from bitter experience that last-minute panics often filled it to the hilt, but this time everything had fitted together like clockwork. Even the Night Hawk, streamlined and beautiful, was waiting patiently, moored out at sea beyond the house, and the small boats that Luke had hired to bring her in amidst a veil of coloured smoke were bobbing closer to the water's edge before they all disappeared the following morning for their glorious return later in the afternoon as dusk fell.
It was nearly all finished… Josie bit her lip as she stood on the cool, powdery sand of Luke's private beach, gazing out over a grey-blue sea. And then this chapter of her life would be closed, for ever. And she would probably never see him again, never hear his voice, see those devastating silver eyes narrow…
She hugged her middle tight and bit back a moan of pain. She had chosen this way; she had chosen it and there was no going back now. Not that he would want her after what she had told him. And that had to be got through too-enduring the contempt and disgust in his face whenever he glanced her way, knowing she had brought his scorn and loathing on herself by her own decision—
'Beautiful, isn't it?' She froze, unable to breathe, to move, to make any sound at all as his breath touched her neck in a whisper-soft caress. 'Timeless, untouchable… The tides come in and go out, careless of anything but their God-ordained rhythm.'
His arms slipped round her waist, drawing her back against him so that his chin was resting on the top of her head as they both gazed out across the water, and but for the support of his body she would have fallen to the ground as her legs became too weak to hold her.
'You fooled me, you know.' His voice was soft, deep, almost expressionless. 'That night at my house, you fooled me completely…for a while. Until the bruised ego and wounded pride took a step backwards and I could see clearly again.'
She still didn't speak; she didn't date, besides which she wanted nothing more for the rest of her life than to be like this with him, and she knew it would end only too soon, and once it did—reality. The bottomless pit of reality and the rest of her life to be got through, somehow.
'And that note—'I'm sorry'. I don't know another woman in this world who would have left it at that. So I started digging. I hired a few private detectives.' He felt her flinch but his grip tightened as his calm, steady voice went on. 'And they dug and they dug. It took time, but yesterday I had the full facts and they had their bonus—'
'You think money can buy everything?' She swung round in his hold as he relaxed his arms just enough for her to be able to turn and face him. 'Is that what you think? Because—'
'Not everything.' And as his eyes locked with hers she knew. He had found out. Somehow he had found out. It was there in the intense silver-grey of his black-lashed eyes and in the compassionate tone of his voice. 'No, not everything, my love,' he said softly. 'Would that it could.'
'Why didn't you tell me, Josie? Why that cruel cock and bull story about a married man? That didn't make sense at first—not at first. You could easily have told me the truth when I said how I felt; you didn't have to try to make me hate you. And all the rest of it that my bloodhounds dug up—the lack of men in your life, your isolation—that didn't correspond with the way you responded in my arms—'
'Stop this—stop it!' She couldn't bear it that he knew; she couldn't bear it, she thought as she struggled wildly.
'Do you care for me, Josie, even a little?' His hands were bruising the soft flesh of her arms now, but neither of them was aware of it. 'Do you! I want the truth.'
'No, no…' She turned her head this way and that, escaping the rapier light of his eyes.
'Look at me.' He shook her, snapping her head back. 'You will look at me, Josie, now. I've been to hell and back a million times a day these last few weeks; the least you can do is tell me if there's any chance—'
Any chance? Her heart was thundering in her ears and she felt something break inside, the last of her control shattering as she screamed at him at the top of her voice, 'What are you talking about? Any chance! Don't you realise what I am? What it would mean if you married me? I'm barren! Barren! Empty—no good! You'd never have your heir or those little girls you talked about, not from me—'
'Stop it, Josie.' His face had gone grey under its tan but she couldn't have stopped if her life had depended on it, the pain of years flowing out in a scalding river of anguish and grief.
'Luke, there would be no hope, no possibility of ever having children with me,' she cried desperately. 'Don't you understand that? The price of having me for your wife would be too high. You would never see your child born, hear its first cry, hold it in your arms. Never search a tiny face, seeking to find a little bit of me, a little bit of you. Never be able to say 'my son'—'
'I know. I know all that.' If he skirted the issue now he would lose her for ever; he knew that. Just as he had known, the moment she lost control, that she loved him. But he might still lose her, and that wasn't to be borne.
'No, you don't, not really.' She was gasping now, her body shaking in his arms, and as he lowered her to the ground he came with her, to sit with bra: on the beach, facing her with his hands cupping her face as tears streamed down her cheeks.
'I do, Josie. I understand. I've been to the hospital. I've even spoken with consultants, medical people—'
'Then why are you putting us both through this?' she asked desperately, closing her eyes to block out his face. 'You want a wife who can share everything with you, and I can't even begin to do that.'
'That's cruel, my love, cruel and untrue,' he said steadily, knowing that what he said and did in the next few minutes would influence whether he merely existed for the rest of his life or lived. 'And I'm going to ask you again—do you love me, even a little?'
&nbs
p; 'I—' She opened her eyes to deny it, but the storm had taken something out of her and she couldn't say the words.
'Do you?' he persisted grimly.
'It makes no difference how I feel,' she whispered brokenly. 'How could I marry you when I can't give you the desire of your heart? What sort of love is that?'
'You are the desire of my heart,' he said emphatically. 'Just you. I can't give you back what that accident took from you, but if it hadn't happened you might never have come into my life, and I would never have known what it is to love. I've known many women throughout my life, had many liaisons, but I have never loved one of them.'
'But you would meet someone,' she protested, her voice quieter now.
'No, I never would,' he said steadily. 'There can only be you.'
'But your heir? You want children, you know you do, and your mother—'
'Will love you as I do; I promise you that. She is not a monster, merely an Italian mamma with much of the old culture in her.'
'And you're half-Italian,' she sobbed as a fresh rush of tears blinded her. 'Oh, Luke, see it how it is. Look at it clearly.'
'I am. For the first time in my life I can see things crystal-clear. Being the man I am, I don't want second-test, so if I can't have you, if you walk away from me, I'll never have anyone.' He pulled her tight against him as he spoke, his arms crushing her against his chest.
'I mean it, Josie. We can adopt children, foster— whatever. We can do all sorts of things if we're together, but alone—' He pushed her slightly from him his face damp. 'I don't want to be alone any more, my love; the world isn't anything without you. The thought of you living and breathing without me, or you perhaps being in the same city as me and not knowing…' He shook his head. 'Perhaps even loving someone else…'
'I wouldn't.' Second-best. He had said anyone else would be second-best, but she was that. Wasn't she? 'But you might see things differently in a few years. You could have any woman you wanted, children of your own—'