by Anne Herries
Chloe kept staring out of the window as she heard Pasha walk into the dressing room. Her eyes were burning with unshed tears, but she blinked them back as she started to change for dinner. She wasn’t going to let him see how upset she was. Besides, red eyes were always a giveaway, and she didn’t want Henry to guess she had been crying. There was no need for him to be dragged into all this.
He was so thrilled that Pasha had married, and that he could expect to see his great-grandchild within a few months. She couldn’t disillusion him immediately. She would have to find a way of letting him down gently, and of course he would want to see his great-grandchild.
Chloe felt a little shock of pleasure as she had time to sit and contemplate the idea that she was carrying a child. She had never thought very much about it before this, because she had always expected to work for some years before marrying, but now she discovered that she was thrilled by the prospect of being a mother.
She wasn’t sure what she was going to do about the future; the edges had become blurred by the idea that she might be having Pasha’s child. Whereas she had been determined to leave him at the first opportunity, she was now wondering if perhaps the compromise he had suggested would be a better alternative.
Especially if she could spend much of her time here at Meadowsweet House with Henry…
‘I shall look forward to seeing you again soon,’ Henry told her as she and Pasha took their leave a few days later. ‘Take care of yourself, my dear. I shall tell Dora your good news if I may? I know she will be as pleased as I am. You see, we are old-fashioned creatures, and one day Pasha’s son will inherit the title and most of what I have.’
‘Oh!’ Chloe glanced at her husband. ‘I didn’t realise…’
Sir Henry laughed. ‘Don’t imagine that amounts to very much, my dear. Pasha isn’t interested in titles, even if mine did come down from the Conqueror himself—and my estate is not particularly valuable. Your husband is a wealthy man, and he isn’t in the least bothered about anything I might leave, which is why it will go to his first son.’
‘I—I see,’ Chloe said. ‘I understand. That’s why you would like the child born here?’
‘If you would feel happy about that?’
‘May I think about it?’
‘Of course.’ He smiled at her. ‘You mustn’t feel pressured. It was merely an old man’s whim.’
‘I shall think about it,’ she promised, and kissed his cheek. ‘And I shall come to see you very soon.’
They had been driving for an hour or more, before Chloe told Pasha what was on her mind.
‘I’ve been thinking that I might like to spend most of my time at Henry’s.’
‘Have you?’ A tiny pulse flicked at Pasha’s temple, but he gave no sign of any other emotion. ‘It may be possible for you to spend some of your time there, but I shall want you with me in London when I am there. I attend quite a few social occasions, and it would look odd if you were never there.’
‘Oh…yes, of course. Well, I didn’t mean all the time.’
‘Didn’t you?’ He glanced at her, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. ‘I rather think you did, Chloe, but I’m afraid you made a bargain and you are going to have to stick to it—or I might break mine.’
‘You said you wouldn’t force me…’
‘There are other ways…’
Chloe swallowed as she heard the hard note in his voice. She had noticed him looking at her hungrily once or twice over the past couple of days, but so far he hadn’t attempted to do more than kiss her cheek—and that was in front of Henry. The first time he’d put his arm around her waist in a show of casual affection it had taken all her strength not to jerk away, but after a while she had got used to it.
She’d found herself wishing that they were really the happy couple he was trying to portray.
‘I don’t know if my father will be quite as happy about the situation as your grandfather,’ Chloe said, desperately changing the subject. ‘He might not be too pleased that I got married without consulting him.’
‘I asked if you were sure about having the wedding in Spain…’
‘Yes, I know. I agree it’s probably best to present him with a fait accompli,’ Chloe said. ‘But he expected me to use my college education, and he may think I’ve wasted it.’
‘Why? There is absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t go on with your work,’ Pasha said. ‘I might even be able to help you put material together for your book.’
‘Yes, I suppose you could,’ she said looking at him thoughtfully. ‘I’ve often wanted to translate something from the original.’ She looked at him as he drove. ‘I can’t help wondering…you seem such a mixture, Pasha. You live in the West and you talk of the wonders of the modern world—and yet you still believe in the old ways…’
‘I respect the views of others, that is all,’ Pasha said and a muscle in his cheek clenched, as he understood what she was saying. ‘And I am loyal to those I owe a duty to.’
‘Surely loyalty can be carried too far?’
‘You don’t know what you are talking about. You have no idea.’
‘That’s because I can only know what you choose to tell me.’
Chloe stared at him. For a moment she sensed there was a battle going on inside him, and she thought he might be going to tell her more. She hoped there was something he could tell her that would ease the sense of horror his revelations still caused her, but she couldn’t think of anything that would do that.
‘There is nothing I can tell you that will make you feel better,’ he said. ‘I did what I had to do, Chloe. Believe me, I wish I hadn’t told you.’
‘So do I,’ she said but it was in such a small voice that she doubted he had heard her, and then in a louder tone, ‘You turn right here. We are the last house at the end of the street.’
Her father’s house was an old-fashioned town house built on four floors, narrow and slightly shabby since he had lost most of his money in that unfortunate investment. She glanced at Pasha to see what he thought of it, but his face was not reflecting any emotion, his features carved out of stone.
She got out of the car without waiting for him to open the door when they stopped, although she knew that he preferred her to wait. He liked to look after her and his manners were impeccable. Although she wouldn’t have admitted it, her heart was racing in anticipation of her father’s reception of Pasha. She had a feeling that he would not be as welcoming to her husband as Sir Henry had been to her.
The housekeeper answered the door, looking curiously at them both but showing no emotion whatsoever and Chloe’s heart sank. Her father must be very angry with her for them to be greeted this way.
He was standing by the long French windows at the rear of the house, his back towards them as they walked into the parlour. Chloe swallowed hard, and took a step forward.
‘Daddy…’ she faltered and then stopped as he turned to look at her coldly. ‘I want you to meet my husband, Pasha…’
‘So he married you, did he?’ Mr Randall’s expression was granite hard, his eyes registering both anger and disgust. ‘I wonder that either of you has the gall to come here. If you imagine I shall accept this marriage and welcome you home, Chloe, you are much mistaken. I do not know what kind of a ceremony you went through…’
Pasha stepped forward, his arm going about Chloe’s waist. ‘Chloe is my wife,’ he said in a clear controlled tone. ‘We were married by an English reverend in a Protestant church in Spain. It has been established there for many years, for the use of English people living in that part of the country.’
‘Indeed?’ The cold eyes turned on him. ‘And is that supposed to make everything all right?’
‘I can understand your being a little upset,’ Pasha began. ‘It was unconventional to go off the way we did, but we were in love…’
‘Love!’ Mr Randall snorted. ‘That’s rubbish! It was irresponsible and scandalous. Chloe didn’t know what she was doing, and it is my intention
to contest the marriage.’
‘You can’t do that, Daddy,’ Chloe said. She was trembling, glad of Pasha’s arm supporting her. ‘You know I didn’t need anyone’s permission to get married and you don’t understand. Pasha saved my life. I fell in love with him, and…’
‘Charles Hicks has already told me,’ her father said, cutting her off. ‘Can you imagine how I felt at hearing my daughter had behaved in such a disgraceful manner? I am ashamed of you! You have behaved foolishly all round, Chloe, wasting your education.’ His eyes looked over her with evident distaste for what he saw, and she knew he would prefer her still to be the slightly dowdy, obedient daughter she had been rather than the new, sophisticated, well-dressed woman Pasha had made her.
His words flicked her on the raw. She knew that he had intended them to hurt, and they did. He had never been a truly loving parent, especially since her mother’s death, but he had been proud of her achievements at college.
‘Yes, perhaps I was foolish to run off into the desert like that,’ Chloe agreed. ‘But I was lucky. If Pasha hadn’t found me I might have died…’
‘It might have been better if you had.’
‘That is a disgusting thing to say,’ Pasha put in before she could speak. ‘I must ask you to take that back, sir. You are speaking of my wife and I do not care to have her insulted.’
‘Then you should take her away,’ Mr Randall said. ‘And don’t bring her back while she remains your wife. I do not agree with mixed marriages. This is doomed to failure, Chloe.’ He turned his fierce glare on her once more. ‘Do not imagine you can come running back to me when he throws you over for another wife, or concubine or whatever he calls them.’
‘You are being unfair to Pasha, Daddy,’ Chloe said quietly. ‘Whatever you think of him, and whatever he may choose to do in the future—he would not behave so badly towards me.’
‘If that is your attitude, we have nothing more to say to each other,’ her father said. ‘I ask you both to leave my house, and I do not wish to see either of you again.’
‘As you wish, Daddy.’ Chloe blinked hard to hold back the tears. His contempt was hard to bear. She had sometimes suffered from his coldness in the past, but somehow she had not expected this bitter attack. ‘I am sorry if I hurt you.’
‘You let me down. I had high hopes for you, Chloe, and you let me down.’
Chloe turned to Pasha, her face white and strained. ‘We had better go,’ she said, feeling almost at breaking point. ‘I don’t think there is any point arguing with him.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Pasha glanced at her father. ‘I believe you will regret this,’ he said. ‘And that is not a threat—it is a prediction.’
Mr Randall made no reply. Pasha kept his arm about Chloe as he led her from the house. Outside on the pavement, he looked at her in concern. She was very pale, and trembling, obviously very upset. His mouth thinned, his anger against her father barely contained.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Do you feel faint?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ She put on a brave smile. ‘Well, that cuts off one avenue of escape, doesn’t it? You won’t have to worry that I might run home to Daddy.’
Pasha smiled oddly. ‘You may not believe this, but I would give much to have had a different reception for you, even if I did have to fetch you home every so often.’
Chloe laughed. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’
‘No. I shall never give up on you,’ he said and something in his eyes made her heart jerk as he looked at her. ‘I know you hate me now, Chloe…’
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t hate you. How could I hate the father of my child? But I don’t trust you, Pasha.’ She faltered as she saw the flash of pain in his eyes. ‘I know that hurts you and I’m sorry, but you lied to me, by omission if not in actual fact. I’m not sure if I can forgive that.’
‘At least you don’t hate me,’ he said, but his eyes were bleak. ‘That is something. I’ll try to win your trust back, Chloe—just give me a chance.’
Chloe didn’t answer. How could she? How could anything change what Pasha was—what he had done?
Chloe looked around the bedroom of Pasha’s apartment. She had thought his house in Spain beautiful, but this was the height of luxury, the furniture in the Art Deco style, expensive and the functional fittings extremely modern. The apartment didn’t have quite the charm of Sir Henry’s house, but it was a very pleasant place to live in town, and looked out over one of the city’s central parks.
‘We have four bedrooms,’ Pasha told her. ‘You may take your choice. I hope you are going to be comfortable here, Chloe? I can’t say happy, because I know there’s little chance of that.’
Chloe thought that she could have been very happy had things been otherwise between them, but then she would have been happy anywhere with him had he not told her the unthinkable—that he was a political assassin. She believed him when he told her that he acted out of a sense of loyalty and duty, but it still didn’t help.
‘I shall be very comfortable here,’ she told him. ‘I wish things were different, but I have been thinking, Pasha. I was determined to leave you the moment I got the chance…’ She saw the gleam in his eyes, but her head tilted as she faced him bravely. ‘I know you might have come to fetch me back, but I would have gone again and in the end you might have decided to let me go…’
‘But?’ His eyes were intent on her face. ‘You are telling me this for a reason.’
‘I think I must accept things, at least until after the child is born. I have been sick several times in the mornings and I am almost sure that you were right. I intend to see the doctor that Henry recommended tomorrow, and if he confirms our suspicions, then I promise I shan’t try to leave you until after the birth.’
‘I have no intention of letting you leave me ever, Chloe. Nothing has changed and it never will. Even if you never let me near you again, I intend that you shall remain my wife. My only wife. I didn’t just marry you in the Christian church to please you. It happens to be my own belief and I do not agree with divorce. You accused me of being a mixture of old values and new and in this case you are right. I believe in one man and one woman for life.’
Chloe wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. When he looked at her that way it was as if her heart was being tugged in two. She knew that her body was aroused, and that she wanted him. She wanted him to be the way they had been in Spain, wanted him to scoop her up in his arms and carry her to their bed and make love to her until she begged for release.
How could she feel that way, knowing what he was? How could she love a man who was prepared to order a murder—perhaps more than one?
It was impossible. She couldn’t live with herself if she condoned his actions. She couldn’t bring herself to do that—and to give him what he wanted would be condoning what he did.
‘Then we shall just have to stick to our bargain, shan’t we?’ she said. ‘You say nothing has changed for you, Pasha, well, I feel the same way.’
He inclined his head, accepting her words though his eyes glittered with denial. She knew that he was holding himself on a thin thread and wondered how long he would continue to humour her.
If he decided to make her back down, he could do it. Chloe knew that she would not be able to resist him for long…but if he forced her surrender she would despise herself and hate him.
Did he understand that? Sometimes when he looked at her she thought she saw sadness in his eyes, as if he bitterly regretted the breach between them, but at others he could be so hard, so determined to have his way.
He was two very different men, she decided. The modern, sophisticated gentleman who lived in the West and believed in the technological revolution of the twentieth century—and the man whose ancestors had roamed the caravan routes of the desert, fighting and killing their enemies to preserve what was theirs. She had no doubt that only the strongest and fittest had survived in that harsh environment, and that the instinct for survival must be a powe
rful force in him.
Which man was the real one? Or was he simply a mixture of the two?
Chloe could not be sure. Nor was she sure that she loved either one in isolation, but in her heart she knew that she did still love him, whoever he was. She loved him, but she could never live as his wife again.
‘When are you going away?’ she asked, turning aside from him so that he should not see the conflict going on inside her.
‘Not for another two weeks,’ he said and his voice sounded so close that it made her jump. She felt the touch of his hands on her shoulders and the desire to have him kiss her spiralled through her. ‘Chloe, try to understand. I didn’t want to do this…’
‘Then why did you?’ she asked. ‘Why throw the truth at me the way you did?’
‘That was pride,’ he admitted. ‘I was angry that you should doubt me. Hurt that you should think me capable of murder. Abdullah deserves to die, Chloe. It isn’t murder, it’s justice.’
‘I’m not sure that I believe in the death penalty even in a court of law,’ she replied, her eyes wide and thoughtful. ‘But an assassination! That makes you as bad as the man who killed your father.’
Pasha’s hands tightened on her shoulders for a moment. ‘He is the man who killed my father,’ he said. ‘And I do believe that he should die.’
Chloe stood as if turned to stone as his hands left her shoulders. She felt icy cold all over, shocked by the bitterness of his voice.
‘Why didn’t you tell me that before?’ she asked after a moment. ‘It makes a difference…’
There was no reply and she turned to discover that the room was empty. Pasha had left her alone, and she shuddered as she realised that she had made the breach between them worse.
Why hadn’t Pasha told her that the man he had ordered killed was the same one who had assassinated his father? She wasn’t sure why it made a difference, but it did. She felt that it was still wrong, but now she understood his motives for doing it. He wasn’t acting as a political assassin for gain or anything else—he was answering the call of his heart, seeking revenge for what had been done to him.