Chantal Webber could afford to be charitable, Cara thought dismally. Never before had she seen one woman endowed with so much beauty, and she was suddenly conscious of the fact that her own appearance left much to be desired. The breeze outside had whipped a strand of hair out of place, and there had not been time during the course of the afternoon to touch up her make-up. Her neat, pale blue suit had stamp pad ink smudged on the sleeve of the jacket, and her hands felt grubby after handling dusty filing cards and books.
'Chantal will' be staying the weekend,' Vince informed Cara with a smile on his lips which did not match the glacier coldness in his eyes.
'I'll tell the servants to prepare the guest room,' Cara replied stiffly, seeking a reason to escape.
'I have already instructed the servants to do so,' Chantal intervened. 'I have always done so in the past, and I didn't think you would object if I did so now.'
Oh, didn't you? Cara thought cynically, an icy anger slicing through her. Who the hell was in charge of this household; Vince's mistress, or his wife? Silly question. Cara was his wife for a year, but Chantal had been his mistress, and she would continue to be his mistress once their marriage was dissolved.
'I am pleased to see you are making yourself at home as I'm sure you have always done.' Cara's voice was cool but polite to the extreme. 'Excuse me, but I would like to go up and change.'
'I shall have a sherry waiting for you, liebchen, so don't be too long,' Vince warned.
She caught a look in his eyes when she passed his chair. Was it mockery, or anger? Whatever it was, it warned her that she would have to take more care not to make her feelings so obvious.
Cara bathed and changed into her favourite dress. It was a floral mixture of amber and golden brown, and it accentuated the creamy smoothness of her skin. The material was warm and gossamer soft to the touch, while the softly cowled neckline added an elegant finish to an otherwise plain style. She had brushed her hair and had coiled it into its usual knot, but for tonight she chose an ivory comb to hold it in place. Tiny diamond studs sparkled in her ears, and she paid a little more attention than usual to her make-up when she thought of the beautiful Chantal Webber in the living-room with Vince.
She felt slightly more confident when she joined them some minutes later, but she sipped her sherry in silence while they discussed incidents involving people Cara had no knowledge of. She felt like an unwelcome third intruding on a private conversation, but she was not going to scuttle off like a wounded rabbit to some corner of the house. Vince glanced at her during a lull in the conversation, and his eyes glittered strangely when they flicked over her. It was infuriating that she could never quite tell what he was thinking. Was he comparing her to that ravishing beauty who had held his attention for the past half hour? Cara glanced at Chantal, and something in those sparkling green eyes told her that this woman was not terribly thrilled with the idea that Vince had married someone else. Those heavily lashed eyes narrowed perceptibly to assess the enemy in preparation to do battle, and Cara almost laughed out loud. If only Chantal knew.
Jackson came in to announce that dinner was to be served, and Cara breathed an inward sigh of relief. She knew that she looked calm and confident, but there was something about Chantal Webber which was decidedly unsettling at that precise moment.
CHAPTER SIX
Chantal sparkled at the dinner table. She succeeded in drawing Vince out from behind that barrier he had built around himself, and Cara was quite content to sit and watch his harsh features soften occasionally into a smile which she felt certain would never be directed at her. A searing stab of pain shot through her, but she chose to ignore it. There would be enough time later to wonder about it.
'Vince tells me you are a librarian,' Chantal directed her remark at Cara when they were having their dessert, and Cara was suddenly uncomfortable at having both Chantal and Vince's attention focused on herself.
'That's correct,' Cara managed stiffly.
'You find it interesting working among a lot of dusty old books?' Chantal questioned scornfully, and Cara felt her back stiffen defensively.
'Our books are neither old, nor dusty, and I have always thrived on literature of any kind.'
'You studied literature?'
Cara had no wish to discuss her achievements, but she could not avoid answering Chantal's pertinent questions. 'I have a university degree, yes.'
'How very clever you must be, Cara, but men do not always pay much attention to a woman's brain.' Chantal smiled with a galling sweetness as she tilted her head at Vince. 'It is the female anatomy men find so much more attractive, is that not so, Vince, darling?'
Steel-hard mockery glittered in his eyes when he directed his gaze at Cara's rigid features. 'The female body is there for the delight of men, and if the lady in question happens to be clever, then I imagine some men would consider that a bonus.'
The conversation was veering towards the personal, and Cara felt as if she was floundering in unfamiliar water, but her voice was cool and faintly sarcastic when she spoke. 'I can't imagine that you would consider that a bonus, Vince.'
'Quite frankly, I haven't given it much thought.' His eyes burned their way sensuously down towards the soft outline of her breasts, and they lingered there deliberately. 'Tomorrow we will have been married three weeks, and to this day it is still your body that interests me.'
Cara felt the sting of humiliation in her cheeks, and Chantal's tinkling laughter merely added insult to injury.
'Do not let him fool you, Cara, into believing he will ever find pleasure in the grey matter between your ears,' she explained unnecessarily. 'Vince is very much a man's man, and he considers that women serve only one purpose.'
Vince's eyebrows rose in sardonic amusement. 'Are you trying to frighten my wife into believing that I am a sex fiend, Chantal?'
'I am not trying to frighten her at all,' Chantal laughed coquettishly, placing her slender hand on his arm in a gesture of familiarity which Cara was beginning to dislike intensely. 'I was merely telling the truth, and you know it,' Chantal added with another little laugh.
Vince and Chantal smiled at each other as if they were sharing a personal joke, and that odd stab of pain shot through Cara once again.
'Could I offer you more dessert?' Cara broke the brief silence, and she placed the bowl of soufflé within Chantal's reach.
'How very tactfully your wife changes the subject,' Chantal smiled into Vince's eyes before she turned to Cara. 'No, thank you, I don't think I shall have more dessert, Cara. I must watch my figure, or a certain man I know will not be wanting to look at me again in future.'
Her green glance darted swiftly and meaningfully towards Vince, and Cara felt a little sick inside. 'Shall we have coffee in the living-room?'
'A good idea,' Vince agreed, placing his table napkin beside his plate and pushing back his chair.
The living-room had been warmed beautifully by the fire, and Jackson served their coffee the moment they had made themselves comfortable in the chairs arranged close to the fireplace.
Vince swallowed down a mouthful of black coffee and glanced from Chantal to Cara. 'Shall we go out to the cottage tomorrow and spend the day there?'
'What a wonderful idea, Vince,' Chantal replied before Cara could do so. 'I was hoping you would suggest it.'
Vince directed his questioning gaze at Cara. 'How do you feel about it, liebchen?'
'I'm afraid I'm on duty at the library tomorrow,' she answered stiffly, 'but please don't let that stop you from going out to the cottage.'
She was playing right into Chantal's hands, but she told herself that she did not care. Her excuse was legitimate, and it was up to Vince to decide what they would do.
'Is it imperative that you work tomorrow?' he demanded of Cara.
'I am on duty every alternate Saturday, if you remember.'
Vince's jaw hardened. 'I am sure that if you explained to Nancy she would be only too willing to accommodate you and work tomorrow.'
'There is nothing to stop me from asking Nancy to stand in for me, but that would be unfair,' Cara explained, her chin set with determination. 'Nancy has made her own arrangements for this weekend, and I have no intention of asking her to alter them at this stage.'
'You are being deliberately obstinate,' Vince accused with a harshness that made Cara wince inwardly, and at this point the vulture swooped down from her perch.
'Vince, darling, you are behaving like a dictator,' Chantal accused in a voice as sweet as treacle. 'If Cara has to work tomorrow, then there is nothing you can do about it and, if she does not mind, then why shouldn't you and I go out there to the cottage for the day.' That sparkling green gaze was once again directed at Cara. 'You really don't mind, do you, my dear?'
Cara felt her insides curl into a tight ball of displeasure. There was no sense of deluding herself; she hated the idea of Vince and Chantal spending the entire day alone at the cottage, but she hid her feelings behind a cool, tranquil mask.
'I don't mind at all,' she lied smoothly.
'There you are, then,' Chantal smiled triumphantly at Vince. 'Everything is settled without all the unnecessary fuss.'
Cara felt Vince's glacier glance resting on her, but she refused to look at him, and kept her eyes lowered to the cup of coffee in her hands. Chantal discussed her plans for the following day with enthusiasm, but Cara was no longer listening. She felt cold and miserable despite the warmth of the fire, and, when the clock on the mantelshelf struck nine, she swallowed down the last mouthful of coffee and rose to her feet.
'If you would excuse me, I've had an incredibly busy day, and I'd like to go to bed.'
'Of course we shall excuse you,' Chantal said at once, and her smile told Cara that this woman was anxious to be alone with Vince.
'I'll be up a little later,' Vince announced, his face an unfathomable mask, and Cara bid them both 'goodnight'.
Cara's head was pounding and her legs felt as if they had been stuffed with lead when she went up the stairs. She was tired, but that weightiness in her body was something new to her. In the bedroom she worked her way through her nightly ritual like an automaton, taking off her clothes and slipping into a silky nightgown. She took the diamond studs out of her earlobes and placed them neatly in their velvet-lined box before she creamed the make-up off her face. Her eyes in the mirror looked shadowed and suddenly much too large in her pale face. She looked twice her age and felt it too, she told herself, and her eyes smarted with those tears which came so easily lately. Cara dashed them away angrily with the back of her hand, and pulled the ivory comb from her hair to let it cascade down her back like a glossy black curtain. It had never been a chore to brush her hair each night before going to bed, but this was one night when she wished that her hair was shorter and easier to manage. Her arms felt heavy with a strange fatigue, and the brush had slipped twice from her fingers before she had finished brushing her hair.
Vince was downstairs in the living-room with Chantal. What were they doing? The images that flashed through her mind brought back that stab of pain, and still she refused to analyse it. 'Later… some other time… not now!' she told herself. She was too tired, and too tense to think straight.
One seemingly endless hour passed before Vince entered the bedroom. Cara heard him swearing in the darkness when he knocked his shin against a chair, but she hoped that he would think she was asleep. She supposed that she ought to feel flattered that he had come to her bedroom instead of Chantal's, but all she felt at that moment was resentment.
The bed sagged beneath his weight, and she felt a rush of cool air against her body before his arms reached for her. There was no longer any sense in pretending that she was asleep. Vince somehow always knew when she was feigning, and her body grew taut against the whipcord strength of his muscular frame.
'No!' she protested when his lips sought hers.
'Yes!' he laughed throatily, his hand sliding down to the hollow of her back and drawing her closer to the grinding hardness of his hips.
Her treacherous body responded with a leap of hot, clamouring emotions, but her mind was filled with cold rejection. 'Do you have to pester me every night?'
'You are my wife, or have you forgotten?'
'I wish to hell I wasn't your wife!' she snapped.
'Come now, liebchen,' his deep voice mocked her. 'You know you enjoy our little bedtime romp together.'
Cara blessed the darkness when a fiery heat swept into her face. 'You're the most conceitedly arrogant man I have ever had the misfortune to meet. You disgust me, and I wish you would leave me alone.'
'Would you rather I spend the night with our lovely guest?' he mocked her, his warm mouth against her throat kindling exquisite fires, and his hand sliding upwards beneath the silky garment to caress her smooth, shapely thigh.
Oh God! Why did she have to feel so weak… so wanton! Her body was clearly begging him to fill that aching void inside her, but her mind coldly dictated the words that spilled from her lips.
'I couldn't care less whether you spent the night with Chantal, or elsewhere, just as long as it isn't here with me,' she croaked, and his hand ceased its arousing caress to bite cruelly into her hip.
'I will give you five seconds to deny that statement,' he warned, raising his head so that she could see the glittering hardness in his eyes in the moonlight filtering in through the window. 'One… two…'
'You may count yourself into hell for all I care!' she cried out determinedly, but something inside her was shouting a dire warning which she was to agitated to heed. 'Three… four…'
'You're wasting your breath.'
'Five…' The ominous silence following that last count was filled suddenly with the hard, anxious beat of her heart before he released her and got out of the bed to put on his robe. 'You will regret this, Cara, and don't say I didn't warn you.'
His words hovered in the air like a sinister threat as he strode out of the room and closed the door behind him. She felt as if she had turned to stone for a moment, then she leapt out of bed, and she was shivering inexplicably when she reached the door. Every instinct within her dictated that she should call him back to her side, and she opened the door with a fumbling hand, but the words that surged into her throat remained locked there at the sound of Vince knocking loudly on the guest-room door.
Cara froze. She could not believe this was actually happening, and she was still standing there in an incredulous stupor when Chantal's voice reached her ears. 'Vince, darling, I did not expect you to come to me when your lovely wife—'
Chantal's exclamation of surprise was stifled, and Cara could imagine in what way. The sound of the guest-room door being closed ripped through Cara like a knife tearing into her flesh, and she closed her own door hastily. A wailing siren had been set off in her mind and she pressed her palms against her throbbing temples. Oh, God, what have I done!
Her breath was coming in choking sobs, but her eyes were dry as that searing, stabbing pain pierced her to her very soul. She could not ignore it now; it was sheer unadulterated jealousy, and everything inside her seemed to split wide open. The naked truth was thrust upon her with a force that left her numb and shaken. She was in love with Vince, and she knew now that she had loved him almost from the first moment she had seen him. Instinct had warned that he was a threat to her peaceful existence, and antagonism had been the barrier behind which she had sought protection. To help her father out of his financial difficulties, and to save the home her mother loved, she had been forced to marry Vince, but the callousness of his demands had strengthened the protective armour she had erected about her heart.
Cara recognised at last the feelings she had hidden so well that even she had not suspected, but the truth had taken too long in revealing itself. It was too late! Much too late!
She stumbled across the room a
nd fell on to the bed to bury her face in the pillow with an anguished cry on her lips. Only then did the tears come; hot, stinging tears that brought no relief to her soul while her mind conjured up cruel visions of Vince and Chantal locked in a passionate embrace.
The house was silent when Cara went down to breakfast the following morning. Instead of her usual bacon and eggs she settled for toast and coffee, and if Jackson thought it strange, then he did not comment on it. The skilful appliance of make-up hid the outward signs of her long, turbulent night, but inwardly she felt crushed and bruised. Last night Vince had warned that she would regret her actions, but she had never dreamed that he would actually go from her bed to Chantal's. Only Vince could have devised such a cruel punishment, and she knew that the pain of it was something she would have to bear for the rest of her life.
She bit into a slice of toast. It was warm and crisp, but when she tried to swallow it, it felt like a piece of lead lodged in her throat. She washed it down with a mouthful of coffee, and she left the rest of her toast untouched.
'Good morning, Cara.' Vince had come in so silently that she had not heard him, and she found herself staring at him as if she had never seen him before. His black slacks and sweater were a perfect foil for his sun-bleached hair and tanned features, and those icy-grey eyes seemed to take in every detail of her appearance even as she was taking in his. He pulled out a chair, and the expensive material of his slacks strained across his thigh muscles when he sat down close to her. She wanted to hate him for looking so calm and for behaving as if nothing had happened, but instead she found herself loving him with every fibre of her being. He placed an empty cup in front of him, and gestured towards the coffee pot. 'Is that coffee still warm?'
The scent of his aftershave lotion tantalised her senses, but she pulled herself together sharply. 'It's warm enough.'
He poured himself a cup of coffee and drank it without adding milk or sugar. Did he spend the entire night with Chantal, or did he leave her after he had had his fill of her? Oh, God, why did she have to torture herself with these agonising thoughts? Vince could not care less about her. She was standing in as security for her father's loan, and even in marriage she was the pawn Harriet had spoken of; the pawn in his ruthless game of revenge.
The Devil's Pawn Page 9