by Penny Jordan
‘And suffered a great deal more when you eventually discovered the truth,’ Luke hazarded shrewdly. ‘Who told you? An interfering gossip?’
‘No. The man I thought loved me,’ Genista heard herself saying to her horror. ‘Only of course he didn’t. How could he love me? I was illegitimate, unworthy. No, all he wanted was to sleep with me.’
She was unaware of the bitterness in her voice; tears forming in her eyes, which she blinked quickly away. It would never do to break down in front of Luke!
‘And did he?’
The question puzzled her. She looked up, the muscles of her throat tightening as she saw the look in his eyes.
‘Did he sleep with you, Genista?’ he pressed.
There was no way she could tell him the truth. She had told him too much already—things she had told no one else; secrets she had kept close to her heart all her life.
‘What do you think?’
A muscle jerked in his jaw, his hands tightening on the steering wheel until the knuckles gleamed whitely through the tanned skin.
‘You were a fool,’ he told her harshly. ‘You should have refused him.’
‘Why? So that you could be first?’ She could have bitten her tongue out the moment the words were uttered. She had no idea what had prompted her to utter them. Luke’s expression was savagely angry, and she was glad that the narrow road demanded his concentration. He looked as though he would have liked to strangle her, but she had no idea why. ‘I thought men didn’t go for virgins these days,’ she added, trying to make the words sound light. ‘Experience is all the vogue.’
‘You’re right, of course.’ Luke’s voice was completely impersonal. ‘Inexperience causes fear, which in turn lessens both parties’ pleasure.’ He shrugged, and Genista saw the powerful muscles beneath his shirt contract and expand. ‘Virginity in itself is nothing, but I suspect deep inside every man lurks the desire to teach the woman he loves to respond to him, and him alone.’
His words touched a chord deep inside her she had never known she possessed, causing her an aching pain which seemed to spread endlessly through her body in waves of anguish, and yet why, she did not know. She did not love Luke and he did not love her. But he would be the first man to make love to her, stealing from a man who might love her the right to teach her. She shrugged the thought away. She had never intended to marry, never believed in love, so what did it matter? This marriage was something that must be endured for Bob’s sake. A sudden thought struck her. Surely if he found her cold and unresponsive Luke would soon lose his desire for her, and wish their marriage over? And she wouldn’t need to act the part. Already she was dreading being alone with him, her body rigid with terror at the thought of having him touch her.
‘Hungry?’
She had been totally engrossed in her thoughts and realised that the Maserati had come to rest in the forecourt of a large Victorian hotel. She wasn’t really hungry, but it was obvious that Luke intended them to eat, and as she was fast beginning to learn, he wasn’t a man one could argue with and win.
His courtesy as he helped her out of the car was something which surprised her, until she reminded herself that his excellent manners were probably an automatic reflex of which he was possibly unaware. The hotel was imposing, the red brick façade faintly awe-inspiring. A flight of shallow stone steps led upwards to the entrance, and as they stepped into the cool tiled foyer. Genista looked around the elegant high-ceilinged room appreciatively.
‘It was originally a country house,’ Luke told her informatively. ‘The scene of many a weekend party, or so I should imagine, but after the war it was turned into a hotel.’
The head waiter materialised in front of them, and obviously recognised Luke. They were shown to a small table overlooking the gardens with a deference that Genista found enlightening. She had thought of Luke only in context with herself, and now it was brought home to her that she was marrying a very important man; and certainly an exceedingly wealthy one.
She was handed a menu which she studied absently.
‘If you’re not feeling particularly hungry, I suggest you start with the river trout,’ Luke said quietly. ‘They’re a speciality of the hotel.’
Genista did as he suggested, and as he had promised the fish was delicious. She had ordered fillet steak for her main meal with a side salad, and although the steak was beautifully tender she was unable to eat more than a couple of mouthfuls. Seated opposite Luke in the elegant surroundings of the restaurant with its thick pile carpet and gliding waiters, she felt the enormity of her situation suddenly come home to her. She all but choked on her steak, pushing her plate away, as she stared blindly into space. What had she agreed to? She wouldn’t marry Luke. She couldn’t marry him! She stole a glance at his imperious profile. He appeared absorbed in his food. Her eyes rested on the strong male features of his face, trying to relax her taut nerves. Luke beckoned the wine waiter and murmured something to him, and for a moment the man’s impassive features relaxed into a smile. He disappeared, returning several minutes later with an ice bucket containing a green bottle, and two champagne glasses.
‘Drink it,’ Luke commanded when the frothing liquid had been poured. ‘It will help calm your nerves.’
‘So would a cup of Horlicks,’ Genista murmured irreverently. It seemed wrong to be drinking champagne—a drink she had always associated with happy celebrations—before this forced wedding.
‘Horlicks is a bedtime drink,’ Luke said softly. ‘Do you have trouble getting to sleep, Genista? I’m not surprised, with all that you must have on your conscience. They do say that healthy exercise is an excellent cure.’
Her cheeks burned, as much at the implication of his last words as at the earlier insult. Tears burned against the back of her throat, and all at once she felt unable to fight any longer. A terrible feeling of misery engulfed her, a lassitude so foreign to her nature that she couldn’t understand why she should be experiencing it. It was as though her mind was at last acknowledging that there was nothing more she could do to escape and it was trying to teach her body acceptance.
Luke had ordered strawberries and fresh cream for dessert. He himself had cheese and biscuits, and Genista pushed the fruit round her dish, until his muttered exasperation got through to her.
‘I don’t want it,’ she told him defiantly. ‘All I want is for everything to be over…’
‘And for things to be as they were before,’ Luke finished for her.
Self-pity welled up inside her.
‘Things can never be as they were,’ she told him fiercely, flinching a little at the inimical look in his eyes as they searched her flushed face.
‘No, they can’t, can they?’ he agreed softly. ‘And I warn you now, Genista, if I think for one moment that you’re thinking of Bob when I make love to you, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born.’
‘You already have,’ Genista said recklessly. ‘And you can’t tell me what to think, Luke. My thoughts at least are still my own.’
She could feel the anger beating up inside him, and wondered shiveringly what would happen if he ever unleashed it. She hoped she never got to find out.
It was two o’clock when they left the hotel. They didn’t return to the motorway, but drove through the dales, lonely, magnificent country dotted with sheep, and laced with ancient grey stone walls. Villages huddled in the valleys, single streets of tiny cottages by rivers, so clean and clear that Genista could see the river bed as they drove past. The sun shone sporadically, casting shadows which chased each other over the rolling hills as clouds drifted over the sun. In other circumstances the peace of her surroundings must surely have had a relaxing effect upon her, she reflected, but today she was too tense, too highly strung to appreciate the timeless beauty of the countryside.
Kendal, with its limestone walls and houses, was busy. They drove straight through, Luke concentrating on his driving. In Windermere she gazed at the blue-grey expanse of the lake, her tension tightening into coils
of fear that slid agonisingly through her stomach. The road circled the lake before climbing steeply into hills so old and weathered by time that Genista caught her breath in awe.
The road seemed to wind for an eternity through woods which she suspected must be heartbreakingly lovely in the autumn before emerging among the hills. The faint baaing of the sheep was the only sound to disturb the stillness of the afternoon. High above in the sky Genista saw a bird hovering motionless.
‘A peregrine falcon,’ Luke told her, following her gaze. ‘There’s a place up here where they train them. There’s a huge export demand for the birds, especially in the Middle East. I suppose there’s something of the pagan in all men which responds to the ultimate primitive thrill of taming so much splendour.’
The knot of fear in Genista’s stomach tightened. It wasn’t hard to imagine one of those proud birds, wings outstretched, fierce claws digging into a leatherbound wrist as Luke fed it raw meat. There was something primitive about him, she thought uneasily; something that refused to be tamed by civilisation. The knowledge unnerved her, and if they hadn’t been on such a deserted stretch of road she might have contemplated trying to escape.
The road dipped suddenly. Below them she could see a small village, the church spire reaching up towards the clouds.
Half a dozen children were playing in the village square, and they scattered when Luke stopped the car, gazing at it with open-mouthed awe.
Despite the fact that the afternoon was mild, Genista felt goosebumps rise up under her skin as Luke helped her out of the car. In silence he led the way to the small vicarage set next to the church.
‘The Vicar here was a close friend of my parents,’ he told her quietly as he opened the garden gate. ‘One wrong word, one glance to show that this marriage is not desired by both of us, and I’ll make tonight something you’ll want to blot out of your mind for the rest of your life.’
Genista shivered, pressing her hand to temples which had begun to ache badly. For some reason Luke seemed to sap all her normal resilience. In his presence she felt as capable as a small child faced with a domineering adult. Mindlessly she allowed him to propel her up the garden path. It was bordered by lavender which smelled heavenly, she noticed absently, and old-fashioned pink roses climbed over the Vicarage walls to mingle with the honeysuckle and clematis.
The door opened before they could reach it, and a plump woman with soft brown hair, touched with grey, and a delighted smile hurried towards them. She embraced Luke first, tilting back her head to stare up at him. She barely reached his shoulder, and there were tears in her eyes as she turned from him to Genista.
‘Oh, Luke, she’s lovely!’ she said emotionally. ‘When John told me you wanted to be married here, I was so thrilled. Luke’s parents were married in this church,’ she told Genista. ‘But I expect you already know that. But you should have given us more warning, Luke.’ Her smile robbed the words of any criticism, and Genista could see that she was very fond of Luke.
‘Amy is my godmother,’ he explained to Genista as their hostess turned away to open the front door. ‘Since the death of my parents she and John are the nearest thing I’ve had to a family.’
The Vicarage hall was dark after the sunlit garden, and Genista stumbled over the step and would have fallen if Luke’s arm hadn’t caught her round the waist. Just for a second her body was pressed against the hard warmth of his, and a feeling not unlike panic swept over her. Amy turned, beaming at them both, and her fear subsided a little. Luke was unlikely to do anything to her in someone else’s presence.
‘Luke told me you both wanted to get changed before the ceremony. Luke’s in his usual room, but I’ve put you in our daughter’s. Where are you taking her for the honeymoon, Luke?’ she asked her godson. ‘Or is it a secret?’
It was impossible not to like the small, motherly woman. Genista felt drawn to her immediately, and in other circumstances—had she not been so obviously under Luke’s spell—she might have risked confiding in her and begging for her help. However, it was simply not possible. It was obvious that she expected Genista to be over the moon with joy at the thought of marrying Luke, and moreover, believed that they were madly in love. Narrow twisting stairs led off the hall, and as she followed her hostess up them Genista heard Luke saying behind her, ‘It’s a secret, Amy. Unfortunately we’ve only got a long weekend.’
‘You work far too hard,’ she reproved him. ‘You must make him slow down,’ she told Genista. ‘A long weekend! You’re lucky she agreed to marry you, Luke. I would have insisted on a month—preferably on some gorgeous tropical island.’
‘Haven’t you noticed? Genista’s a redhead. She’d be suffering from sunburn before the first day was out, and that’s no good on a honeymoon.’
Amy tried to look disapproving and failed. Genista forced a smile, knowing that something was expected of her. She could have told them both that her skin didn’t burn, but she sensed that to do so would bring Luke’s anger down upon her hapless head, and she already had enough to cope with without that.
The room Amy showed her to was prettily feminine. Luke brought up her suitcase while Amy was still chatting about his childhood, and how delighted she and her husband were that they’d chosen to be married in his church.
‘I’ve been down this morning and done the flowers. June is such a lovely month for a wedding, but we don’t get many here, unfortunately. The young people move away to the towns looking for jobs, and marry there. John’s in his study, if you want to have a word with him,’ she told Luke as he placed Genista’s case on the bed. ‘We’ve arranged the ceremony for four, to give you time to get to wherever it is you’re going afterwards.’
‘I’ll go down and have a word with him after I’ve showered and changed.’
He went, closing the door behind him, and fresh panic engulfed Genista. She turned blindly towards the window, unaware that Amy had caught a glimpse of her face until the older woman said softly,
‘It’s such a big step, isn’t it? But you couldn’t entrust your life to a better man. Luke’s parents’ marriage was exceptionally happy. His father had old-fashioned values and both Luke and Marina were brought up on them. I think that’s why Marina took it so hard when her husband left her. For a while we thought Luke might never marry. It seemed to harden him, and then…Well, the fact that the girl Philip ran off with was Luke’s girl-friend was an added complication. Marina blamed him for introducing Verity to Philip. She couldn’t seem to see that Luke had been hurt as well.’ Amy sighed. ‘Forgive me, my dear, this isn’t the time to bring up all that sad business again. I’m so glad Luke’s found happiness. He deserves it, and I’m sure you’ll make him very happy.’ She patted Genista’s hand and laughed. ‘You probably think we’re too old-fashioned to be aware of these things, but I can recognise love when I see it, and love for you is written all over Luke’s face.’
Amy was mistaking love for sexual desire, Genista thought wearily as the door closed behind the older woman.
Alone, she showered quickly in the small en-suite bathroom attached to the bedroom, drying herself briskly on one of the large fluffy towels Amy had supplied, before slipping into the silky briefs she had pulled out of her case. Because of the camisole top to the suit it was impossible to wear a bra, but the sheer fabric was lined, and although the soft swell of her breasts was clearly visible beneath the fabric, there was nothing offensive about it. The hem on her skirt brushed her silk stockings, and she slid on fragile leather sandals in a toning shade of green before sitting down to apply her make-up.
Her skin glowed healthily from her holiday and she had no need to use foundation. The merest hint of soft lilac eyeshadow added depth to her amethyst eyes. She brushed her lashes sparingly with mascara, and added soft pink lipstick before brushing her hair until it crackled.
She was just spraying her skin with perfume when she heard the rap on the door, and she opened it nervously, blinking a little in surprise at the strange man standing there.
‘I’m Jeff Stanley. Luke asked me to do the honours—I hope you don’t mind? We used to play together when we were kids. I’m the local doctor here. My wife and I are going to act as your witnesses, and as Amy flatly refused to allow Luke to see you in your wedding finery, I was deputised to escort you to the church. An honour and a privilege,’ he added with an admiring grin. ‘Now I’ve seen you I know why Luke was so reluctant to leave you. I don’t suppose he’d appreciate it if I took my best man’s kiss in advance!’
He was obviously trying to help her to relax, but Genista felt as stiff as a poker as they walked along the lavender-bordered path to the small, grey country church. In other circumstances the simple service in the plain whitewashed church would have been her ideal. The flowers arranged by Amy made a soft pool of colour against the white background. Light streamed in through the stained glass windows—a gift to the church by a seventeenth-century inhabitant of the village, and obviously cherished.
Amy’s husband, John Robson, was as homely and pleasant as his wife. His voice was the one which guided Genista through her responses—responses which were tying her irrevocably to the man at her side, giving him licence to do with her as he wished. At one point she thought her voice was going to desert her completely, and only the hard grip of Luke’s fingers round her wrist jerked her back to awareness. And then at last it was over. The church bells pealed, and a small crowd had gathered outside to wish them well, and stare at the bride. Jeff Stanley did kiss her, but only lightly on the cheek before turning her back to Luke with a wide grin.
‘She’s all yours now, you lucky man. Barbara has prepared a buffet up at the house, but you aren’t expected to stay long. We’re still able to remember what it feels like to be newly married. I expect you can’t wait to be on your own. Aren’t you going to kiss the bride?’ he added.
Genista shrank back as Luke’s arm circled her waist. But it was too late. He was already drawing her towards him, his cool breath fanning the tendrils of hair at her temples, as his dark head bent towards her, blotting out the sun. It was that night in the alleyway all over again, and she tensed in fear, panic spreading through her body like fire. She was trembling so badly that she knew Luke must have felt it. His lips felt cool as they touched her own, his eyes night-dark as she looked up into them, pools of emptiness in which she could drown if she let herself. His body was shielding her from the onlookers, and to them they probably looked much like any other newly married couple, exchanging a brief embrace. Luke’s lips didn’t linger. The butterfly embrace was over almost before it had begun, leaving her feelings vaguely cheated, although she was at a loss to understand the reason for this strange emotion.