'Why use the German word anyway,' she argued, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment, and then the most extraordinary thing happened.
Vince's face hardened, and he released her at once. He swung his legs off the bed and sat up to reach for his robe on the floor, but, instead of putting it on, he flung it on to the chair in the corner. 'My father was German, didn't you know?'
'No, I didn't,' she confessed quietly, her wary eyes on his broad, muscled back. 'And your mother?'
'My mother was a South African,' he answered abruptly, his hands gripping the side of the bed.
'Why do you speak of them in the past tense?'
The muscles rippled in his back when he moved his shoulders in something like a careless shrug. 'They are both dead.'
'Oh.' She shivered and pulled the sheet up to cover her body. 'I'm sorry.'
'Are you?' he questioned cynically, turning his head to look at her with shuttered eyes.
'You sounded so bitter,' she explained lamely, wishing suddenly that she had not questioned him about his parents.
'You have said that you hate me, and yet you are concerned that I should sound bitter about the death of my parents.' He shook his head as if in confusion, and eyed her mockingly. 'You surprise me and intrigue me more and more, Cara, liebchen.'
Annoyed that he should mock her sincerity, she turned sharply on to her side so that she faced away from him. 'I am not insensitive to the things which hurt people, and hating you doesn't change that.'
'They say hatred is akin to love, Cara. Take care that you don't love me, liebchen, because that will never do.'
'I could never love you,' she spat out the words as she sat up to face him furiously. 'You are everything that I despise in a man, and you might as well know it. No honourable man would have forced a woman into a marriage she did not want, and no man with a sense of decency would have done what you did to me tonight.'
Their eyes locked for several electrifying seconds. She was alarmingly certain she had gone too far, but he turned towards her with apparent calmness, and leaned over her in a way that made her draw a quick nervous breath as she fell back against the pillows. The width of his shoulders blotted out the light, but she was being scorched and blinded by that devilish gleam in his eyes, and she wished suddenly that she had had the sense to keep her mouth shut.
'It was inevitable that I should hurt you a little,' he mocked her, 'but it was not so terrible in the end, was it?'
Her body still tingled with the memory of his caresses, and her colour deepened at the mere thought of the intimacies they had shared. She tried to sustain his probing glance, but fear of what he might see made her lower her eyes hastily to his wide chest where the short, golden hair curled tightly against his deeply tanned skin. Vince was not a callow youth she could deceive with a denial. He was an experienced lover who must have known women intimately, and he was fully aware of how she had reacted physically. He was determined to make her admit the pleasure he had given her, but she was equally determined not to give him that satisfaction even though he was aware of the truth. He was using her to hurt her father, and she had to remember that.
'You're a man of experience so I will not account for my physical response, but mentally I hated every moment of it,' she cried with a fierceness which was aroused out of loyalty to her father, and her anger increased when Vince's silent laughter shook the bed. 'Don't laugh, because I mean it!'
'Yes, Cara, I am sure you mean it,' he mocked her and, flicking the switch of the bedside light, he plunged the room into darkness. 'Goodnight, liebchen.'
'Goodnight.' Her lips felt stiff, and her body was quiveringly taut when she felt him slide between the sheets. 'And don't call me liebchen,' she added coldly.
Vince did not reply, and moments later his shallow, deep breathing told her that he was asleep. It was incredible! Her anger alone had robbed her of the desire to sleep, but it was obvious that nothing prevented Vince from going to sleep when he wished to do so.
Cara lay awake wrestling with her thoughts for some time, and there was also the unfamiliarity of sleeping with a man in the bed beside her. Fear had kept her awake the night before, but this time it was anger and several other things which she would not even admit to herself. Exhaustion finally claimed her, and she slept as if she had taken a sleeping draught.
At one time during the night she had surfaced from her deep sleep to find herself lying in Vince's arms with her head pillowed on his shoulder. Their bodies were close and their legs entwined, but she was asleep again before she could devise a plan to move away from him without waking him.
Something woke Cara on the Sunday morning; a sound perhaps, and she opened her eyes to find the sun streaming into the bedroom through the lace curtains at the window. She was momentarily confused by the unfamilarity of her surroundings, but reality was thrust upon her at the sight of Vince placing a tray on the bedside cupboard next to her. The material of his brown slacks pulled tautly across his muscular thighs, and a shirt of a matching colour was unbuttoned at the collar to expose his strong throat. She had noticed the previous night that his fair, sun-bleached hair had a tendency to curl, but this morning it was brushed back severely to accentuate the broadness of his forehead.
'Good morning, Cara,' he broke the silence between them, his thumbs hooked into the wide snake-skin belt hugging his hips, and his eyes flicking over her with keen interest. 'You have beautiful breasts, liebchen, and they are a temptation to get back into bed with you.'
Only then did Cara realise that the sheet had slipped down to her waist, and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment as she hastily pulled the sheet up to below her chin.
'You're hateful!' she accused, flashing him a dark, angry glance, but the mockery in his eyes told her that her anger had left him untouched.
He walked a few paces away to pick up her robe, and he flung it on to the bed within her reach. 'Put this on, and have your breakfast.'
She pulled her robe towards her and knew that there was no way she could put it on without exposing herself yet again. She knew instinctively that Vince would not turn his back on her, and any further display of modesty would simply evoke his hateful mockery, so she grit her teeth and allowed the sheet to fall to her waist while she quickly slipped her arms into the sleeves of her robe. She pulled it about her without bothering to fasten the belt, and she kept the lower half of her body covered with the sheet.
'Why am I being treated to such luxury?' she asked suspiciously, his aftershave lotion quivering in her nostrils when he placed the tray on her knees.
'Let's say I am in a generous mood this morning,' he smiled faintly, but the smile was gone almost before she had time to appreciate it. 'Have your breakfast and get dressed. I have something I want to show you.'
He walked out of the room and, despite his size, his movements were lithe like an athlete. When the door closed behind him her mind conjured up a vision of his naked, muscular body as she had seen it the night before. There was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his superbly proportioned frame, and the muscles she had seen rippling beneath his skin had indicated a physical fitness which she was certain did not come solely from hours spent in a gymnasium.
She thrust aside Vince's overpowering image of raw masculinity, and lifted the silver lid off the oval platter to discover that he had brought her bacon and eggs and two slices of toast with coffee. It was almost a nauseating sight for Cara who seldom had more than a cup of coffee for breakfast, but something warned her she might be heading for trouble if she did not at least make an attempt to eat the meal he had brought up to her.
Fifteen minutes later Cara could scarcely credit herself with what she had accomplished. She had emptied her plate, and she was having her second slice of toast with her coffee. She could not recall at first when was the last time she had had a decent meal, and then she remembered. She had scarcely touched her food the night before her wedding, and she had had no more than a cup of coffee for breakfast the previous morning.
For lunch she had taken a bite out of a sandwich, and last night she had spent her time rearranging the food on her plate rather than eating it. Taking everything into consideration, it was no wonder she had eaten so much this morning.
Cara leapt out of bed when she had finished her coffee, and dashed into the bathroom. She did not know Vince very well, but somehow he had not given her the impression that he enjoyed being kept waiting, and she wasted no time bathing and changing into beige slacks and an emerald green blouse with wide sleeves which were gathered into a lacy frill at the cuff. She pushed her feet into a pair of green sandals to match her blouse, and she coiled her hair into its familiar knot before she applied a little make-up to her face.
She studied herself critically when she had put on her lipstick, and she noticed first of all that the paleness of the day before had gone. She was not quite sure what she was looking for. Was she expecting to find some tell-tale sign of what had occurred between Vince and herself the previous night? The memory of the passion he had aroused in her made her blush like a teenager, but other than that she looked the same. She felt different, though. Maturer? Wiser? She could not say. At twenty-four she had not been totally ignorant of the sexual functions of the male and female body, but to actually experience such a physical union was a different matter completely to merely reading about it in books. She had never dreamed it could involve so much, and Vince had not been a very tender, loving teacher. He had been demanding in his desire for her, and near brutal in his possession. The flame of his passion had kindled an answering flame in her, and together they had fanned that flame into a roaring inferno.
Together. She shrank inwardly from the word, but she could not deny to herself that she had been aroused sufficiently to become a very willing participant.
Her face was hot, and her body was trembling with the memory of what had occurred, but Vince was waiting for her downstairs, and it took a gigantic effort to control herself to some degree before she could go down and face him.
'Who does this farm belong to?' Cara asked an hour later when Vince's white Mercedes was bounding and swaying along the uneven track between a ploughed field, and a grazing camp which was stocked with cattle.
'It belongs to me,' Vince surprised her. 'I naturally have a manager living on the premises to take care of everything.'
The road forked ahead of them and Vince took the one towards the right to where the trees grew densely along the river's edge. A cottage, newly built out of local stone, nestled amongst the trees close to the river, and Vince parked his car beneath the shelter against the side of the building.
It seemed unlikely to Cara that Vince would have installed a manager in a cottage of such small proportions, so she could only surmise that the cottage was Vince's private retreat, and her suspicions were confirmed when he produced a key and unlocked the door. The interior was small, but sufficient for the needs of one or two people, and it had been very simply built. Everything led off the lounge; the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen. The thick carpet on the floor, and the heavy floral curtains at the window were obviously new, but the furniture was dated. It looked as if Vince had picked up the various pieces at random and had had them renovated, but they were set out attractively around a stone fireplace.
Cara did not venture into the bedroom on her own, but she followed Vince into the tiny kitchen where a small table and two chairs had been thrust up against the one wall to allow for more space.
'Why have you brought me here?' she questioned Vince when her curiosity finally got the better of her.
'I had this little cottage erected some years ago, and this is where I stay when I need to escape from the big bad world of high-power business,' he explained mockingly, drawing the curtains aside at the window to let the sunlight in, and glancing at her briefly. 'Do you like it?'
'Am I supposed to?' she evaded his query antagonistically, and Vince turned away from her with a shrug to fill the kettle from the tap.
'Coffee?'
'Yes, please,' she replied automatically, glancing about her with veiled interest while Vince lit the gas stove and placed the kettle on it to boil. Not for anything in the world was she going to let him guess that there was something about this cottage which had attracted her from the moment she had seen it. 'Does Chantal Webber like this cottage?'
She was incredulous at her own temerity, and it looked for a moment as if her knowledge of Chantal's existence surprised him, but his surprise swiftly made way for stinging mockery. 'She adores it.'
'Has she been here often?' Cara wished she could explain to herself why she was asking questions about something which was actually no concern of hers.
'A couple of times,' Vince replied, leaning his hip against the cupboard and folding his arms across his wide chest so that his shirt pulled tightly across his shoulders. His stance was vaguely threatening, and his icy grey eyes told her she was venturing into forbidden territory, but there was something else she simply had to know.
'Did you explain to her about our marriage.'
'I don't have to account to anyone for my actions, liebchen,' he smiled mockingly.
'In other words, she doesn't know you're married to me,' she concluded from his remark, and for seemingly interminable seconds only the hiss of the gas stove could be heard.
'Why are you so concerned about someone you don't even know?' Vince questioned her with a hint of incredulity.
'Ever since you came to Murrayville everyone has known that Chantal Webber is your…' she faltered on her ill-chosen words when she looked up into eyes glittering like cold, hard steel.
'My what?' he prompted in an ominously quiet voice, and she felt a little sick inside when she realised that she had gone too far to turn back now.
'Your mistress, I imagine,' she gestured vaguely with her hands in an attempt at casualness before she turned from the stabbing scrutiny of his glance.
'Does that bother you?'
'No, of course not!' she answered coolly. 'I simply wouldn't want her to pounce on me and accuse me of stealing you away from her.'
That was clever, she decided in retrospect when she considered her hastily contrived excuse for her curiosity, but when she happened to glance at Vince she was not so sure that she had convinced him. His derisive smile made her heart bounce uncomfortably, and she cursed herself for that tell-tale warmth invading her cheeks.
'Chantal is a woman of the world, and she is very broad-minded,' he explained, turning his back on her to set out two coffee mugs and to remove the kettle from the stove when the water boiled.
The hiss of gas was silenced when he turned the switch, and Cara found herself staring incredulously at his broad back. 'Do you mean that when our marriage is over you will continue your relationship with her, and she will take you back without condemning you?'
'Exactly.'
'She must be a woman in a million.'
'She is,' Vince replied in his deep, abrupt voice, and Cara wondered at the stab of pain that tore through her as she pushed a mug along the cupboard towards her. 'Drink your coffee and then we will go for a walk.'
The hot liquid scalded her throat and brought tears to her eyes which she blinked away rapidly. They sat down in silence, but it was a silence she was becoming accustomed to. Vince's granite-hard expression gave away none of his thoughts, and she wished that she knew more about this man who had forced her into this unwanted marriage. He had a strong profile with the high-bridged nose, and square, jutting jaw. His features were rugged rather than good-looking, and this was what women found so appealing about him. He had nice hands, Cara admitted to herself, but she winced inwardly at the memory of their punishing strength.
Cara's thoughts became confused at this point. She had told herself that his touch would fill her with a shuddering revulsion, and yet he had aroused shudders of incredible pleasure. His cruel domination of her father had repelled her, but she had to admit there was something about Vince that drew her to him despite everything he had done. Sh
e ought to hate him, but she could not conjure up one fragment of hatred at that moment.
Her mind wandered beyond the immediate past, and she paused for the first time to analyse her feelings. She had lived a perfectly normal, tranquil life until Vince had appeared on the scene a year ago, and from that moment she had been both fascinated and wary of the powerful magnetism he exuded. His mere presence in a room had aroused feelings quite alien to her, and she Had shied from it in something close to shame. She had resented his blatantly sexual appraisal of her, and her resentment had become magnified when he had threatened her father and herself into complying with his demands.
Resentment. That was what she had felt last night as opposed to revulsion. She had resented the circumstances which had made of her merely an object of Vince's passion, and she had resented the fact that he was capable of arousing such a frightening response in her.
Cara jumped nervously when he thumped his empty mug on to the table, and she hastily swallowed down the last mouthful of coffee when he rose to his feet. His towering frame beside her made her feel threatened and intimidated simultaneously, and she got to her feet hastily to lessen that awe-inspiring feeling.
It took no more than three minutes to reach the river that followed a lazy path down to the ocean, and they walked some distance along the crest of the high, slanted embankment. It was a perfect day for being out in the country. The sun was warm on her skin, but there was a faint chill in the air that did not let her forget it was mid April. Leaves and twigs lay at their feet as if nature had spread out a carpet for them to walk on, and within a month the trees would be totally defrocked of their finery to face the winter with a bareness that made Cara shiver in sympathy.
'Why did you bring me here?' she asked again when they had walked for some distance in silence, and Vince paused in his stride to look out across the river with his thumbs hooked into the snake-skin belt about his waist.
The Devil's Pawn Page 5