by Sara Craven
Marius shook his head. ‘I felt as if I was living through some nightmare—that the world had dissolved into some Kafkaesque vision of insanity.’
He paused. ‘And then I saw the letter.’
‘Letter?’ Lydie felt stunned, her head reeling as she tried to make sense of what he was saying. Austin was a Puritan in many ways, she thought, but he was also a man of the world. Could the news that his nephew had seduced a local girl and made her pregnant really have driven him into such a mad rage? ‘What letter?’
‘The one I wrote to you.’ His voice was almost matter-of-fact. ‘Composed in the delirious aftermath of the night we’d spent together and intended, obviously, for no one’s eyes but yours. A letter from a man passionately in love to the object of his desire. And, with it, your own note.’ He quoted from memory, ‘“Mother, I think Austin should deal with this.”’
‘No.’ The denial was torn from her throat. ‘It’s not true—any of it...’
‘Don’t bother to lie,’ he flung back at her. ‘Do you think I don’t know your writing? And then, of course, it all came out—how I’d been making sexual advances to you for years, abusing you, destroying your childhood. How you’d stood it as long as you could, but then had found the courage to speak out because you’d discovered, to your horror, that you weren’t the only one—and that the other poor little bitch was now pregnant.’
His voice was raw, savage. ‘God, Lydie, you’re the real actress in the family—lying in my arms, pretending to make plans for us both, to share my life, when all the time you were conniving to be rid of me, to hand the mill—my inheritance—everything I’d worked for—even my uncle’s love, for God’s sake—on a platter to your brother Jon. And I fell for it. Signed my own death warrant by writing to you. That letter must have been like manna from heaven. You could twist it in any way you wanted. And, by heaven, you did.’
Lydie stood, numb with horror, as his words lashed her quivering senses.
This, then, was it, she thought, the answer to the enigma, the unspeakable secret at the centre of the maze. Like turning over a stone and finding unnamed horrors clinging to the hidden surface.
She felt nausea, acrid and bitter, rise in her throat, and fought it down.
She wanted to scream her denials at him—convince him that his letter—the passionate confirmation of everything they had shared in that sweet and secret night—had never reached her, had been intercepted somehow.
Only she couldn’t. Because she knew who was responsible—and why. And only an hour or so previously she had promised to protect her.
Now she could see only too well the reason for Debra’s terror, for her insistence that Marius had the power to destroy her.
She thought, But he doesn’t blame her—not yet. He blames me. And I’ll bear that somehow. I’ll have to. Because I can’t tell him what really happened. Not now. Not ever.
Because if the whole truth ever comes out it will end the marriage—finish her for ever. And—dear God—it could be the death of Austin too—if he finds out what she’s really capable of. Last time, it was touch-and-go. His heart couldn’t stand it.
Lydie was falling apart, but in the centre of her mind was a core of ice, telling her what she must do.
The love she and Marius had shared was gone for ever, trampled to death by her mother’s obsessive ambition for her son and Marius’s own callous betrayal. Whatever pitiful, pathetic hopes she might still have harboured of retrieving some of their past joy in each other, they had ended quite irrevocably. She knew that now. Marius had come back for vengeance, and nothing else.
And the fact that, in spite of everything he had done, she still loved him meant nothing. She had tried so hard to shut him out of her heart and mind in the past lonely years, only to be faced with the realisation that all her efforts had been meaningless.
It was as if she’d been existing in some kind of bleak vacuum, waiting for him to return. But now he was here, and she had to recognise that her long, painful vigil had been in vain.
Well, she thought, her spine straightening almost unconsciously, she could not save her love, but she could, perhaps, provide some salvation for Debra, little though she deserved it. Disgust twisted inside her at the contemplation of her mother’s machinations.
But Austin was a different matter. For his sake, if nothing else, she had to try.
If she had lost Marius for ever, what he thought of her no longer mattered. Nothing, she thought detachedly, mattered. Not any more.
So she would accept the guilt and act as scapegoat. Do anything she had to which would prevent him reexamining what had happened and, perhaps, asking questions which could only lead to disaster.
And maybe out of the evil some good might eventually come. Perhaps something could be salvaged from the wreckage of her precious, hopeless dreams.
‘Have you nothing to say?’ His face and voice were grim.
Lydie shrugged, as if in defiance. ‘You seem to have covered the subject pretty thoroughly.’ She kept her voice cool.
‘And last night? I presume you were attempting to set me up with Austin all over again.’
Her heart thudded. ‘Naturally,’ she returned.
‘So, why did you pull out at the last minute?’
She shrugged again. ‘I got cold feet. Maybe I was afraid he might not be quite so gullible the second time around.’
‘A quality,’ he said gently, ‘that he and I share.’
The first gust of rain touched her face like icy needles and she winced. ‘Well, there won’t be any more attempts,’ she said, dredging up a note of insouciance. ‘And you don’t have to plot to get rid of me. I’ll make arrangements to leave Greystones as soon as possible.’
‘I’m afraid not.’ His clipped tone was as cold as the rain.
‘What do you mean?’ She was glad of the sudden chill, the squall sweeping towards them. She could pretend that she was trembling from the cold.
‘You don’t escape as easily as that, Madonna Lily.’ His contempt cut into her. ‘Going into exile’s an easy option compared to what I’ve got planned for you.’
Lydie stiffened. She said, ‘I hope you don’t intend me to continue with this farcical engagement you invented.’
‘Oh, no. I’ve decided to dispense with that.’ His smile was tight-lipped, the grey eyes glacial. ‘Instead, I’m going along with Austin’s suggestion and putting the banns up straight away.’ He acknowledged her small gasp of shock with a grim nod. ‘Although we’ll make it a register-office wedding,’ he went on. ‘The idea of exchanging sacred vows in church with you, my treacherous angel, is a little too much to stomach.’
‘You don’t mean it,’ Lydie said desperately. ‘You can’t mean it. Not after all you’ve said...’
‘Why not?’ His tone was flatly and utterly cynical.
‘As far as Austin’s concerned, it will wipe the slate clean, remove any lingering doubts he may have about my probity. And as for you...’ He paused. ‘Well, for you, Madonna Lily, it will be the price of the silence I mentioned to you. I’ll keep quiet about the Hatton plot to remove me in return for your public respect and your private—compliance.’
His voice slowed to a drawl. ‘Physically, my sweet, you’re still everything a man could want. It was too much to hope that you’d have a soul to match. So—I’ll take what I can get. At least, unlike most bridegrooms, I won’t be starting off with any illusions.
‘And neither, my beautiful one, should you. By marrying you, Lydie, I keep you chained safely to my wrist, where I can keep an eye on you. If you and your family wish to hang onto your lifestyle, then that will depend very much on your good behaviour from now on.’
The damp rock under her fingers seemed the only reality in a world gone crazy.
‘You seem,’ she said thickly, ‘very sure I’ll agree to this—monstrous bargain.’
‘And you,’ he said, ‘seem to think you have a choice.’
‘I could always tell you to go to hell—do
your worst,’ she flung at him. ‘Your own record in all this is hardly unblemished.’
It was raining harder now, the droplets slanting at them on the rising wind. But Lydie was almost oblivious to the changing conditions, her whole concentration fixed tautly on the man confronting her.
His smile was unamused. ‘Compared with you, darling, I’m a plaster saint. And my worst could have a devastating effect on all the Hattons. Don’t forget that.’
‘You’re threatening me—my family...’
‘At least I’m making my intentions clear, and to your face,’ he returned harshly. ‘Your brother, for instance. He’s totally blown his job as sales director. He can either be moved sideways where he can do less harm or he can become another jobless statistic. That,’ he added silkily, ‘is entirely up to you.’
He paused. ‘And then there’s your little hobby at the gallery. If I called in the loan, could you pay it?’ His mouth twisted as he saw her stricken expression. ‘I thought not.’
She said unevenly, ‘But you wouldn’t just be hurting me. There’s Nell...’
‘I’m aware of that.’ His tone was clipped. ‘But every war has its casualties.’ There was a tense silence, then he went on briskly, ‘I’m sure I don’t have to list some of the other options open to me that you’d find equally unpalatable.’
She knew, without being told, that he meant Debra, and shook her head mutely.
He said sardonically, ‘I thought not. Then the bottom line is this, Lydie. You can fight me, and lose. Or you can surrender—on my terms.’
‘Marius,’ she whispered, ‘don’t do this—please...’
‘Begging?’ he asked mockingly. ‘It’s a bit late for that. Just remember, sweetheart, that only a few years ago I’d have given you everything, including my heart and soul as your toy. But you didn’t want that. You preferred to make a grab for the jackpot all by yourself. So be it.’ He shrugged. ‘This time around the offer is different. And I strongly advise you to save yourself a lot of grief and accept.’
‘How,’ she said, ‘could I possibly save myself from grief in the kind of relationship you’re suggesting?’
‘By fixing your mind firmly on the alternatives,’ he said. ‘Anyway, it’s hardly a big deal, Lydie. Women sell themselves for far less every day.’
He looked up at the sky and grimaced. ‘And now we’d better get under some shelter. I don’t want you to die of pneumonia before the deal goes through.’
Before she could draw back, he took her hand and plunged off down the slope towards her car. As they ran there was a sudden flash above them, followed by a crack of thunder, and the heavens opened.
Within seconds they were both drenched, running almost blindly through the downpour, their clothes plastered to their bodies.
Lydie found her sandals slipping on the wet turf and cried out in alarm as her feet slid from under her.
With one deft movement, Marius lifted her off the ground, his arm like steel round her waist, clamping her against his hip as he raced towards the car.
‘Key,’ he commanded breathlessly as they reached the gully where the Corsa waited. She dragged it from the soaking depths of her pocket and threw it to him. Within seconds the door was open and he’d pushed her inside then hurled himself into the seat beside her. He sat back, eyes closed, chest heaving.
He said hoarsely, ‘Ye gods.’
The rain was throwing itself at the car windows as if it was trying to batter its way in, drumming on the roof, pouring in rivulets down the windscreen.
Lydie thought, It’s like being trapped inside a waterfall.
She was wringing wet. Her pale blue trousers had darkened almost to navy and her shirt was like a second, unpleasantly damp skin. She glanced down at herself, and saw to her embarrassment how the saturated fabric had moulded itself to her breasts, its near transparency revealing the darker aureoles round her nipples, themselves hardened to unexpected prominence by the sudden chill.
She might as well have been naked.
She twisted round to look on the back seat for a sweater—anything with which to cover herself, and saw him staring at her as if mesmerised, his bottom lip caught in his teeth, his eyes fixed on the revealing shirt with a hunger he made no effort to disguise.
The silence between them was suddenly electric. Lydie was unsure whether the pounding she could hear was the thud of the rain against the car’s panels or her own frantic heartbeats.
She tried to say something—make a feeble joke about drying out the car’s upholstery—anything to lighten the tension between them, to break the enforced intimacy of their rain-washed prison—but Marius reached across, placing a silencing finger on her parted lips before gently tracing their cold, tremulous softness.
A sigh rose and quivered in her throat. She could feel the blood burning thick and hot in her veins, bringing a flush to her skin, as his hand moved, lifting the damp strands of hair away from the nape of her neck before stroking his fingertips down its smooth, vulnerable length.
She shivered, her throat arching in guilty, delicious pleasure at the caress.
His hand circled the base of her neck, sliding under the damp collar of her shirt, his thumb moving rhythmically over her collar-bone, his touch registering the betraying flurry of the tiny pulse that throbbed there.
Without haste, he smoothed along her shoulder, and down, his fingers coming to rest a tantalising inch from the heated, sensitised peak of her breast.
She wanted him to touch her. Wanted him to open her shirt and take first one, then the other naked, engorged bud into his mouth. Wanted to feel the benison of his lips and tongue on her fevered flesh.
She had never, she thought dazedly, ever wanted anything quite so much in the whole of her life. She had never desired anyone so much. Her being—her womanhood seemed to have been created for this one man—this one moment.
He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, his cool lips brushing hers in little more than a sensuous whisper of a caress. At the same time his fingertips feathered lightly over her straining nipples, sending frissons of erotic delight and longing shivering through her entire body.
Only it wasn’t enough. She craved everything he had to give with all that she had to offer.
With a faint moan, she seized his other hand and pulled it against her body, pressing it to the moist, scalding core of her female being, mutely pleading for whatever release he could provide.
He said quietly, against her mouth, ‘I think not.’ And sat back in his seat.
She lifted her heavy lids and looked at him; he was remote, suddenly, and distant, a million miles away from her in the cramped confines of the car. She saw his mouth twisting faintly as he met her bewildered gaze.
‘I don’t—understand.’ Her voice sounded dazed, hoarse.
He shrugged. ‘I stopped making love in cars during adolescence. Besides—’ the half-smile became a sneer ‘—I want nothing to spoil the magic and beauty of our wedding night, Madonna Lily. I think—under the circumstances—a special licence, don’t you?’
‘Damn you,’ she whispered rawly. ‘Damn you to hell.’
‘When I go,’ he said softly, ‘I’ll take you with me.’
He rubbed his sleeve over the misted windscreen. ‘And the storm seems to be passing,’ he added conversationally. ‘I’ll go and pick up my car.’
All the heat had drained from her and she felt bitterly, achingly cold.
Marius put a hand under her chin and tilted up her face. He drawled, ‘Don’t look so desolate, darling. At least our unpromising marriage has one plus going for it. And no lie or pretence can change that.’
He kissed her again, briefly, searingly, and was gone.
Huddled behind the steering wheel, she watched his tall figure stride briskly down the road and out of sight.
This, she realised, shaking, was a foretaste of what he intended their relationship to be. Sex without love. Passion without tenderness. A fever—a sickness without a remedy.
And it was only the beginning. Ahead of her, in the future, Lydie could see only bleakness, and a loneliness as deep and cold as a winter ocean.
CHAPTER NINE
LYDIE could never remember afterwards how she managed to get back to the house, yet somehow she found its reassuring bulk rearing up in front of her.
Some sixth sense warned her to park in her usual place, as she would do on any normal homecoming, and this she did, although she knew that nothing would or could ever be normal again.
Then she ran indoors, head bent, through the slackening rain, and straight upstairs, making grimly for Debra’s room.
All the way home her mind had been in utter turmoil, trying desperately to come to terms with the appalling accusations that Marius had levelled at her, making the kind of connections her spirit shrank from.
Her suspicion that her mother had by no means confessed the whole truth that morning had been proved disastrously correct. In fact, Lydie could hardly believe the depths of deceit which Debra had sunk to.
And for what? she thought, sickened. So that Jon could have Marius’s place in the sun. Did she really think she was going to get away with it?
But, of course, she had got away with it—for nearly five years, unchallenged and apparently unassailable until now. Now that Marius, against all the odds, against belief, had returned...
And this is where it ends, she thought, her heart like a stone. She can’t expect me to act as scapegoat for her lies, to pay this monstrous price simply to keep her safe.
Mother will have to talk to Marius, she told herself. Persuade him that the truth can only damage Austin—whom we all love. Surely, knowing that, he’ll be prepared to make allowances?
She bit her lip. That prospect was uncertain to say the least. Maybe the most Debra could hope for was to throw herself on Marius’s mercy.
Whatever, Lydie did not relish having to break the news to her.
But when she reached her mother’s room the door was open, and its sole occupant was Mrs Arnthwaite, who was grimly remaking the bed with clean linen.