by Sara Craven
‘I’m not sure I can believe anything you say.’ He glared at her, raising his voice to override the noise of passing traffic. ‘Rumour has it that you’ve decided to opt for the Benedict money instead.’
‘Then you shouldn’t give too much credence to hearsay,’ Lydie said quietly, thanking Providence that she’d had the foresight to take off her ring. ‘But, whatever happens, I’m sure in my own heart, Hugh, that I’ve done you a favour, and you’ll see that too, one day. We wouldn’t have been happy together.’
‘And are you so sure Benedict’s the man to make you happy?’ His voice stung with bitter sarcasm. ‘Or don’t you mind if he plays the field as long as he pays the bills?’
Lydie drew a sharp breath. She said evenly, ‘I think you misjudge us both. And anyway, the question doesn’t arise.’
‘No? I called in at the Three Horseshoes for a drink this lunchtime, and who should be there but Marius and Nadine Winton? Very cosy in a corner of the bar, and far too engrossed in each other to notice me.’
So that was where he had been, Lydie thought with a pang. That was why he hadn’t noticed his wet clothes. Because of Nadine. He went from me to her. Oh, dear God...
The years fell away and she was a teenager again, confused and vulnerable, trying to come to terms with emotions she barely understood. With jealousy...
Oh, God, she wept inwardly. Even after everything that’s happened, I still care—still hurt. Will I never learn?
She made herself shrug with apparent insouciance. ‘They’re old friends. And Marius is a free agent,’ she added levelly. ‘He may do as he wants.’
‘He’s also a very lucky man,’ Hugh sneered. ‘A wife not only beautiful but discreetly prepared to look the other way. I never thought you were the long-suffering type, Lydie.’
Long suffering? she screamed at him silently. For five years I’ve been slowly dying inside, and no one knew. No one...
The smile she sent him was brittle. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘you’ve been listening to all the wrong rumours.’
‘I wish to God you’d listen to me.’ Before she could take evasive action he grabbed her, pulling her towards him, seeking her lips with a kind of desperation. ‘Oh, Lydie...’
She allowed him to kiss her, standing rigid and unmoving in his embrace, until reluctantly he let her go.
‘It’s no good, is it?’ he said miserably.
‘I can’t pretend.’ Her voice was gentle. ‘Not any more. Not about anything. But I wish we could part friends.’
He said stiffly, ‘I think that’s too much to expect.’
She sighed swiftly and sadly. ‘Yes, probably. Well, then—goodbye, Hugh, and good luck.’
She swung herself behind the wheel and drove off. In the mirror she could see his figure, shoulders hunched as if in defeat, watching her departure.
She thought remorsefully, Hugh, I’m sorry—I’m so sorry. I would have been safe with you, and peaceful.
But compassion wasn’t love, and nor was security. Instead she’d opted for danger and risk, and all she’d achieved was heartbreak.
She’d gone nearly a mile when she realised she’d turned right instead of left as she’d left the garage and was now driving away from Greystones as hard as she could go. She pressed her foot down on the accelerator. Freudian slip or not, it had served her well. She wasn’t ready to go back. Not yet. She needed some time to herself. She had to rethink her life. To plan a future that could only seem unbearably bleak and empty.
Where could she go, after all, and what could she do? But she mustn’t think like that, Lydie castigated herself sharply as she detected the strain of self-pity in her thinking. She had relied for too long on the support of the Benedict name and money. Now she had to jettison the soft option and strike out alone. She was young, healthy and intelligent, and she would survive.
Now, in the short term, she needed a bed for the night.
There was plenty of choice. Some of the more picturesque inns were offering accommodation and a number of large country houses locally had turned themselves into hotels, but Lydie passed them by, deciding instead on the comparative anonymity of a modern complex, set down like a concrete box in the middle of the countryside and frankly geared to the needs of company reps and conference trade.
She checked in using her credit card, and was directed to a square room with a double bed, and decor that managed to be bland and offensive at the same time.
The bathroom, on the other hand, was unexpectedly luxurious. The bath was almost big and deep enough to swim in, and it came with baskets of gift toiletries, piles of fluffy towels, and even a complimentary robe.
Lydie stripped off her dress and slip, had a leisurely wash, then wrapped herself in the robe and stretched out on the bed, glancing through the big leather folder advertising the hotel’s amenities. There were several bars and three restaurants, she noted, wrinkling her nose dismissively as she turned instead to the room-service menu. The last thing she needed was to be targeted by some lonely-heart salesman trawling for company.
She ordered a pot of coffee and a steak sandwich, which were among the simplest items on offer. She had no real appetite but common sense told her that her inner turmoil would not be assuaged by fasting. Then she dialled reluctantly for an outside line. Her sense of duty dictated that Austin must not be worried by her non-return, but it was a relief when Mrs Arnthwaite answered.
She said quietly, ‘Please tell Mr Benedict that I won’t be in for dinner. In fact, I won’t be back tonight. I—I’m staying with a friend.’
It isn’t altogether a lie, she placated her conscience. I may well be the only friend I have.
‘Well, I don’t know, I’m sure, Miss Lydie.’ The housekeeper sounded positively affronted. ‘I thought—Mr Benedict said that tonight was going to be a special occasion.’ She paused. ‘Mr Marius has just come in. Perhaps you’d better have a word—’
‘I’m sorry,’ Lydie intervened desperately. ‘I really have to go.’ She replaced the receiver and sat back, her heart thudding unevenly. But at least she’d gained herself a slight respite.
Room service wasn’t fast but, rather to her surprise, the sandwich was excellent, the steak juicy and succulent in an enormous floury bun, and the accompanying coffee strong and fragrant. Contrary to expectation, she ate every scrap, and even poured herself a glass of red wine from the room’s mini-bar.
When the knock came at the door, she assumed that the waiter had come back for her empty tray.
No delay this time, she thought with a touch of irony as she swung herself off the bed, tightening the belt of her robe.
She carried the tray to the door, balancing it one-handed as she fumbled to turn the knob.
The door opened, and she recoiled with a little cry, the tray spinning from her grasp.
‘Bridal nerves, darling?’ Marius’s tone was harsh as he looked her over. ‘Or just a guilty conscience?’
He stepped into the room, pushing the door shut behind him, closing them in together with a kind of terrible finality.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘WHAT are you doing here?’ Lydie’s voice sounded hoarse, almost distorted to her own ears.
‘I warned you if you ran away I’d follow.’
‘But how did you find me?’ Her hands twisted together, painfully, betrayingly, before she thrust them into the pockets of the robe.
Marius shrugged. ‘It was simple. I just phoned to find the number of the last caller.’
‘Of course.’ Her tone was hollow.
She dropped to one knee, reaching almost numbly for the scattered crockery and cutlery.
‘Leave it.’ Marius knelt beside her, piling the used dishes back onto the tray. ‘No harm done,’ he added, his lip curling slightly. ‘The china’s thick and so is the carpet. Everything bounced.’
He rose without effort, depositing the tray on the night table, then reached down, lifting Lydie unceremoniously to her feet in turn.
‘An odd choice fo
r a romantic rendezvous,’ he commented as he glanced round him. ‘Or was it the best you could do at short notice?’
‘I wasn’t planning any kind of rendezvous.’ Lydie pulled herself free of his controlling hand. ‘I came here to be alone—to think. So I’d be glad if you’d go and leave me in peace.’
‘And that’s a singularly inappropriate word to choose, too.’ There was a steely note in his even tone. ‘Don’t ever write me off as a fool, Madonna Lily.’
‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘There are plenty of other names I’d use first.’
‘A game two can play,’ he came back grimly. He walked over to the bed and stretched out on it, folding his arms behind his head. ‘You don’t mind if I make myself comfortable while I wait?’
‘Wait for what?’ Lydie’s voice shook. ‘For Hotel Security to come and throw you out? Because that’s what will happen if you don’t leave now, I swear it.’
‘Really?’ Marius turned his head and studied her, his eyes contemptuous. ‘On what grounds?’
‘I’ve told you—I need to be alone.’
‘Let’s try a spot of honesty, Lydie,’ he suggested tersely. ‘We both know you’re expecting company. Unless, of course, he’s already here, hiding somewhere.’
There was a moment’s stunned silence.
‘Company?’ Lydie repeated slowly. ‘Hiding? What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I had to go out too this afternoon, as it happens, and on the way back I decided to get some petrol. I was just in time to witness your touching scene with Wingate.’ He heard her swift intake of breath and smiled harshly. ‘Unlucky for you, darling, and against all the laws of probability, but there it is.’
‘I know what you think you saw.’ Her words seemed to tumble over themselves. ‘But it wasn’t like that...’
‘Oh, do me a favour, Lydie. The man was kissing you. And you weren’t fighting him off either.’
She was about to retort that she hadn’t wanted an unpleasant scene to deteriorate even further when it struck her like a bolt of lightning that this could be her way out, her means of escape from an impossible situation.
She hunched a shoulder almost negligently. ‘All right—maybe it’s true,’ she countered. ‘Perhaps the last forty-eight hours of blackmail and emotional bullying have made me see Hugh in a new and favourable light.’
Marius sat up, his dark face forged in steel. ‘I hope you’re not serious,’ he said softly.
‘Why not?’ she flung back defiantly.
‘Because you belong to me, Madonna Lily. Body and soul.’
The words sent a tremor through her flesh. ‘You can’t own another person,’ she denied huskily. ‘Slavery was abolished long ago.’
‘I’m talking about a different kind of enslavement,’ he said quietly. ‘One where you find yourself bound by chains of sexuality—of emotion. Chains you can’t break, however hard you try—however deeply you despise them.’
Her heart thudded with sudden pain. ‘Even when one’s real obligation is to someone else?’ she asked in a low voice.
He shook his head. ‘You can’t pretend that, Lydie. You turned Wingate down in front of an audience.’
‘I wasn’t talking about myself.’ Her voice was taut as she remembered Darrell Corbin—the overt aggression concealing pain and hurt, her protectiveness towards her child.
Your child, she thought. Oh, Marius...
‘But perhaps you’re not the only one prepared to overlook my bad behaviour.’ Aware of his questioning look, she forced a light tone. ‘At least Hugh isn’t motivated by revenge. Believe it or not, he wants me for myself.’
‘Oh, I believe it,’ he returned grittily. ‘You’re an intensely desirable creature, Madonna Lily, whatever your moral failings.’
‘How dare you say that to me?’ Her voice shook. ‘Your own morality wouldn’t bear close scrutiny, Marius. Or did you think I wouldn’t find out?’
‘Wingate has been busy,’ he said harshly. ‘But you’re barking up the wrong tree, Lydie. There’s nothing between Nadine and myself. That was all over long ago.’
She’d assumed that he would realise her reference was to Darrell Corbin, and had to rally herself swiftly. ‘Am I supposed to take your word for that?’
‘It happens to be the truth.’ He swung himself off the bed and walked towards her. ‘Pay me the same compliment, Lydie. Are you expecting Wingate to join you in this—down-market love-nest?’
She hesitated only fractionally. ‘And what if I am?’ she challenged.
‘Then he’s doomed to disappointment.’ The silkiness of his tone didn’t deceive her for an instant. He was deeply, powerfully angry. ‘But he’ll be used to that by now. You can’t play straight with any man, my devious angel.’
She shrugged. ‘If Hugh’s prepared to take the chance, why not let me go to him?’
‘Not to him,’ he said softly. ‘Not to any other man. Not while I live.’
‘Oh, please,’ Lydie said scornfully. ‘Spare me the melodramatics. Why can’t you just accept that too much has happened in the past for us ever to have a future? That by punishing me you’re simply imposing a life sentence on yourself?’
Her voice broke slightly. ‘You don’t have to break your chains, Marius. I’m giving you the key. Unlock them and walk away.’
‘You’re being very eloquent,’ he derided. ‘You must be getting scared.’
‘It’s more disgust than fear,’ she hit back at him. ‘Now, will you please get out, or do I have to get help?’
‘You’re bluffing, darling,’ he drawled. ‘I hardly think the hotel would be prepared to exclude your fiancé over a—premarital tiff, shall we say?’
‘You can say what you please. It will be my word against yours anyway,’ Lydie said shortly. ‘And I’m going to make sure I’m believed.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Our so-called engagement’s over, Marius. See?’ She spread bare hands for his inspection.
‘Indeed I do,’ he said slowly. She saw a muscle flicker at the corner of his mouth. ‘So, what did you do with your ring, Lydie—throw it away?’
‘Hardly.’ She retrieved her bag, fumbling with the zip as she delved for the ring. It felt cold and heavy in her hand. ‘One piece of hardware, only slightly used.’ She tossed it to him, but he made no attempt to catch it, and it fell to the carpet at his feet.
She went on brightly, ‘I’m sure Mr Foxton will give you a full refund. Or you can always save it for a more worthy recipient.’
His eyes never left her face. ‘What makes you think I’m prepared to let you go?’
‘You have no choice.’ She made herself challenge his glittering gaze. ‘And no hold over me either. Not any more.’
‘We’ll see about that.’ The words were quiet, with a steely undertow.
In spite of herself, Lydie found that she was taking a step backwards. Her hands balled into fists in the skirts of the robe as she fought for self-command.
‘I won’t be threatened,’ she said clearly and icily. ‘And I won’t be emotionally blackmailed. What accusations you’ve made about me pale into insignificance beside your own behaviour, so come off the moral high ground, Marius. It doesn’t suit you.’
She took another swift, uneven breath. ‘And, no matter what you say, I don’t flatter myself that losing me will cause anything more than a momentary hitch in your single-minded progress.’ She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. ‘You’ve turned you back before and walked away—from other people. Try and deny it.’
‘No.’ He looked her over with unsmiling scorn. ‘Let’s remember it how it was, Lydie. I was driven away by a tissue of lies, slander and innuendo, in which you played a full part and continue to do so even to this day.’
He took one long, inexorable stride towards her. ‘And that’s something you can’t deny,’ he said roughly as he dragged her into his arms. ‘Any more than you can deny this.’ And he bent his head.
At the first touch of his lips, she recoile
d. ‘No.’
‘You don’t have a choice, my sweet.’ He was smiling without amusement as he pulled her back to him. ‘If this is to be our final parting, I intend to make the most of it.’
His mouth was on hers, sensuous, cynically possessive as he imposed his will on her. In spite of herself, Lydie found herself caught up in the drugging heat of the kiss, felt the raging force inside her, fuelled by anger, spiral passionately out of control.
And even as she began to fight him, beating on his chest with her hands, twisting and turning in his arms, some deeper instinct told her that the battle was over before it had begun. Because she was really fighting herself.
Some profound thrill of consciousness reminded her that this was her man. This was the lover who had sealed his possession of her for good or ill, and for all eternity. The touch, the taste, the scent of him invaded her reeling senses, rendering her oblivious to all but her own burning need. A need that had to be satisfied—at all costs.
Her lips parted slowly beneath his in a silent sigh of acquiescence, and the angry fists slowly uncurled into soft palms that smoothed a path, delicate as swansdown, over his torso to the hard muscularity of his shoulders. She felt the hurried thud of his heartbeat echoing her own as she pressed herself against him.
In instant response to her capitulation, his kiss gentled, deepened into a new and sensual persuasion. One hand cradled the back of her head as his lips began to explore with pulsating urgency the slender line of her throat. His other hand slid to her waist to find the sash of her robe and release it.
She felt breathless, dizzy, every nerve-ending tingling with anticipation as he touched her, his hand moulding her hip in a gesture of male domination, of total ownership. His fingers on her skin, moving slowly upwards across the supple flatness of her stomach to her ribcage, left a trail of flame dancing in their wake.
He cupped her breast, his splayed fingers stroking its fullness, seeking her nipple through the delicate covering of lace as he deliberately used the friction of the material to tantalise the rosy peak and bring it to soaring, aching arousal.