She didn't turn. She couldn't. Why let him see the tears that were now flowing unstoppably? She swallowed hard. 'Thanks but I'd much prefer Manuel's company. Perhaps you could tell him I'll be ready to leave in twenty minutes.'
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Roman dismounted and handed the reins of his sweat-lathered horse to the groom who came hurrying from the stable block to meet him. Beneath the straight brim of his black, dust-covered Cordoban hat his features were scored with harsh lines.
The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the sweeping upland valley; a pair of eagles planed overhead in a cloudless sky that was deepening to amethyst.
His boots rang on the cobbles of the yard as he strode towards the main house, slapping the dust from the sleeves of his heavy-duty canvas jacket.
Nothing had worked during the month since Cassie had left. Not a damn thing. Not the long hours of unremitting physical hard work here on the estate, the endless cold showers, stern and lengthy lectures to himself on the advisability of cutting his losses, getting on with his life, etc, etc.
Something had died inside him when she'd walked out of their marriage for the second time. Only his ingrained pride had stopped him from going after her, up the sweeping staircase he never wanted to have to see again in the whole of his life, begging her to forgive him, pleading with her to stay.
The first time she'd left him had been hard. This time it was a whole lot tougher.
He'd given her the opportunity to leave, and against all his hopes she'd taken it. But what else, with honour, could he have done? To have put pressure on her to stay with him would have been unthinkable, given what he'd already done to her.
Initially, the idea of forcing her to stay with him had seemed logical. It would have given them the chance to get to know each other all over again, allow him to prove that he could be good husband material. Not the remote figure he'd turned into during the first two years of their marriage, too insensitive, or too damn proud to ask why she flinched and looked at him with frightened eyes whenever he came near her.
But later the idea of blackmail had left a sour taste in his mouth. He'd come to despise himself for using her natural concern for her brother against her. And, yes, if he was honest with himself, jealousy had come into it. Where and how had she learned to be so sexually responsive? And who with?
Now that side of it didn't seem to matter. Provided it was in the past.
As usual, Asuncion had left a cold supper on a tray in his study. Food had been the last thing on his mind these past weeks.
And, thankfully, the aunts had joined his mother in Jerez for the Sherry Harvest that had been celebrated earlier this month. He could do without the presence of chattering females and he guessed the icy tongue-lashing he'd doled out on the subject of their less than helpful treatment of Cass in the past had sent them scuttling for cover, staying at the house in Jerez for much longer than usual, hoping that time would improve his temper.
Time wouldn't alter a thing; he knew that. Only his wife's love could make him feel whole again.
Roy, too, had moved out to one of the self-contained cabanas on the estate, so that meant he was alone here and no one but himself had to suffer from his perpetual black mood.
If it weren't for his pride he might not have been alone. He might have had Cass. His wife. His adored wife. But he hadn't told her how beloved she was. He ground his teeth together, raging against himself. He'd been on the brink of it, willing himself to swallow his pride, tell her how he felt and put his future happiness in her hands—when two things had happened.
A sudden brain-boiling hatred for the man—or men—who had taught Cassie to enjoy sex, and an equally explosive reaction to the way he'd blackmailed her into agreeing to live with him.
Ignoring his supper, as he did more often than not, he tossed his hat onto a chair and reached for the phone.
Stiff-necked, arrogant pride.
It didn't warm his bed or fill his heart with joy. One thing was for sure: he had to see her one more time, swallow that wretched pride of his—go down on his knees if necessary and humbly ask if she would forget the idea of a divorce and spend the rest of her life with him. And if she would, he'd make sure she never regretted a single moment of their time together.
And if she didn't—well, he didn't want to think about that. But he'd be no worse off than he was now. What did loss of pride matter?
His face grimly determined, he punched in the numbers for Air Iberia.
Cassie stepped out of the bath and smothered her glowing body in the swamping towelling robe Guy had loaned her and felt marginally better.
The weather on this first day of October had turned wet and decidedly chilly, an unpleasant and unseasonal foretaste of winter. She'd got soaked to the skin as she'd walked back to the ground-floor flat from the antiquarian bookshop where she'd found part-time, temporary work.
Four days a week, from ten in the morning until four in the afternoon, Robert Greaves—the owner— had told her. The job would end in November, when his partner returned from visiting relatives in New Zealand.
It wasn't much but it was better than nothing and at least the pay packet meant she didn't have to dip into her savings account. Soon she would have to start looking for something else.
A sudden mental image of the cheque Roman had sent through Cindy flashed into her consciousness.
She blinked it rapidly away as she dragged a comb through her tangled wet hair.
As an allowance it had been more than generous. She wouldn't have had to find work to keep her and the baby growing inside her. But she hadn't even been tempted. She wanted nothing from him. He'd virtually accused her of marrying him in the first place for what she could get out of him, deliberately causing the breakdown of their relationship so that on their divorce she could take him to the cleaners.
Well, he could stuff his wretched money! She could manage without it!
'Send it straight back to him,' she'd instructed Cindy tersely, tearing the cheque to tiny pieces.
'Are you mad?' Cindy's blue eyes had gone wide. 'I don't know what went wrong this time—I've lost patience with the pair of you—but why scratch around for a living when Roman can afford to keep you in comfort?'
'Because I don't want his hand-outs.' She wanted his love, and because she knew she couldn't have it she was damned if she'd settle for anything less. Besides, regular contact, even if it was only through a monthly allowance cheque, would remind her of him, hamper her resolve to forget he'd ever existed.
'Then you return it,' Cindy had ordered, refusing to take the confetti-like scraps of paper. 'You do know his address! Besides, this not speaking to each other is childish. You could at least talk things over like rational human beings. Heaven knows, he can afford to keep you until you get back on your feet. Absolutely childish!' she'd repeated vehemently.
Perhaps. But the pain of what he had done to Cassie, using her body until he got bored then giving her her marching orders, was entirely adult and ferocious.
'You haven't told him where I am?' Cassie had asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
'Nope. He didn't ask. When he phoned he just said he'd be sending a cheque once a month and would I see you got it.'
Yet another savage stab of pain. He wasn't interested in her whereabouts, what she was doing. For all he knew or cared, she could have emigrated to Australia!
Though why that should hurt when she'd already decided that she had no interest in him either, she couldn't fathom. She'd drawn a decisive line beneath her ill-fated marriage to Roman Fernandez—hadn't she?
Cassie slammed the door firmly on memories that had anything at all to do with Roman—something, she reflected uneasily, she was having to do several times a day. She put the hairbrush down on the dressing table and walked out of the tiny spare bedroom, tightening the belt of her robe around her waist.
It was almost five o'clock and Guy would be home in an hour, from the high street tra
vel agency he managed, and since making use of his spare room she'd insisted on cooking supper. It was the least she could do.
She would put the remains of yesterday's casserole in the oven and then throw on a pair of jeans and a warm sweater. Then, while the casserole was heating through, she'd prepare a salad to go with it and cut up the crusty loaf she'd bought on her way home.
She was straightening up after sliding the heavy cast-iron pot into the oven when she caught the sound of a key in the door.
'You're back early,' she said, her breath snagging at the rapt expression in Guy's warm hazel eyes as he looked at her from the open kitchen doorway. She knew her face had to be flushed from the blast of heat she'd received from the oven, all mixed up with a tide of uneasy embarrassment. She'd meant to be dressed before he got back.
The robe was smothering enough in all conscience, but the implication was that she was naked beneath it, and the way Guy was looking at her told her he was fully aware of that fact.
The situation here was growing more awkward by the day.
Thankfully, it would soon be over.
'Yes. I decided to shut up shop early. There's no business around. Time of year, I guess. Plus, people appear to be organising their own holidays on the internet.'
Guy closed the door behind him, walking further into the room. The kitchen was doll's-house size and Cassie was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Cindy had told her how her brother felt about her, and Roman had suspected it. She should never have allowed herself to be pressured into staying here. He was a dear friend and hurting him was the last thing she wanted to do.
'I thought we might eat out this evening,' Guy said, removing his tie, his eyes never leaving her face. 'There's something I want to say to you.'
'Then say it here,' she responded lightly. But her throat tightened miserably. She hoped it wasn't what she thought it was. Ever since he'd found out about her pregnancy—she hadn't been able to keep it from him; her regular bouts of morning sickness would have alerted a fool—he had been different. More serious, more watchful—possessive, even.
'Bastard!' he'd said when she'd reluctantly admitted his suspicions were right, pressing him to promise to keep the knowledge to himself, at least until she'd sorted herself out. Because, much as she loved her friend, she couldn't absolutely trust Cindy not to pass the news on to Roman. 'If I could get my hands on him I'd throttle him for what he's done to you!' She reached a head of lettuce from the fridge.
'Supper's already on the way. I've been soaked through once, and so, by the looks of it, have you. I don't fancy a repeat performance. Why don't you change while I finish off? And, by the way—' she reached for a knife and began to shred the lettuce into a colander '—I'll be moving out at the end of the week. I found a bed-sit in Church Street today.' She turned on the tap—anything to break the sudden stinging silence. Then he said, 'There's no need for that. You know there isn't.'
'There's every need,' she responded seriously. 'I want to be independent. It was good of you to take me in—'
'Good!' His mouth twisted on the interruption. 'Don't go all mealy-mouthed on me! Cin and I had to practically twist your arm before you'd take up my offer. Mum and Dad were in the process of selling up and retiring to the Lakes and Cin had just moved in with her boyfriend. Staying here was the last and least-favoured option, so don't try to pretend it wasn't,' he challenged bitterly.
The only other option being a bed and breakfast place, as they'd both been at pains to point out. For the first few days back in the small Shropshire market town where she'd lived for most of her life she'd stayed in a run-down boarding house on the outskirts and had seen what a drain it could make on her modest savings.
Finding a job had been her first priority, and she'd only reluctantly agreed to accept Guy's offer of a roof over her head until she could find a place of her own.
What could she say? In the past she'd been thankful for his friendship, his help, looking on him as a brother—one more reliable than the one she had! It was only since learning how he really felt about her that she'd wanted as little to do with him as possible. She had first-hand knowledge of how it felt to love and not be loved in return. She didn't want to make him hurt any more than he already was.
She gave him what she hoped was a pacifying smile and turned back to the sink. 'I have been grateful, truly. But it's time to move on. It never was a permanent arrangement; you know that. Besides— think about it—you don't want a divorcee plus child cluttering up your space. It would seriously cramp your style. From what I've heard—' she injected a note of wry humour to let him know she wasn't being judgemental or the least bit envious, was merely stating a fact '—you've accumulated a fair few notches on your bedpost in the past.'
She heard Guy approach. Felt his hand on her shoulder, tightening just briefly, heard the complacency in his voice as he said, 'If that's all that's bothering you, we don't have a problem. We'll sort this out over supper.'
He walked out of the room and she knew she'd blown it. He had misread her—believed she'd been fishing for reassurance about her place in his life, his intentions.
Roman paid off the taxi as the clock on the church tower struck five and turned up the collar of his leather jacket against the cold driving rain. The brightly lit windows of the boutique reflected splashes of orange and gold on the wet pavements. The sign on the glass door said 'closed', but he could see Cindy's blonde head bent over some paperwork on the desk at the back of the bright little shop.
His stride was as confident as ever, his knuckle-rap on the glass of the door imperious. But inside his heart he was terrified.
He had little doubt that he could persuade his distant cousin to tell him how to find his runaway wife. But would Cassie agree to come back to him? Could she ever learn to love him again? Once, she had loved him—she'd told him as much. But had the precious magic gone for ever?
Cindy's pretty face was wreathed in smiles as she unlocked the door and held it open. 'You've come for Cass,' she stated. 'About time, too.'
He followed her in, the warm, cheerful atmosphere barely impinging, and Cindy said, 'Come through to the back before you drip all over those silk blouses.' Carefully negotiating the racks of colourful garments, he sank into a chair opposite the one she'd been using, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black denims, his long legs outstretched and his booted feet crossed at the ankles.
'I take it she hasn't sworn you to secrecy on the subject of her whereabouts?' he divined from her opening remarks.
'Of course she has!' Cindy answered blithely, turning to the small counter behind her to switch on an electric kettle. 'But, like the first time she did a runner, I'm prepared to break my word for the good of all concerned. One thing I do promise, though, I'll never tell her that I reported regularly to you, that you persuaded me to give her a job here when Kelly left to have her baby, or that you paid the rent on the flat that was supposed to be one of the perks.'
She spooned coffee granules into two heavy earthenware mugs. 'Cass grew wonderfully in self-confidence during that year. It would knock her back if she knew you'd been keeping a watching brief. She's such an innocent in a lot of ways. She never questioned why her job with me was so well paid-thanks to your top-up cheques. I don't think she'd be all that happy to know you've been there behind the scenes, helping her. I thought I should warn you against letting that cat out of the bag!'
'Thanks.' He managed a smile but his face felt stiff with tension. Cindy had a point. It had been a joy to see Cassie's new aura of self-assurance, to see her reach her full potential as a woman.
When she'd left him that first time he'd been frantic, stunned by the realisation of how much she meant to him. Despite the seeming failure of their marriage, the bitter knowledge that he hadn't done enough to try and make it work had made him hate himself.
His first instinct had been to follow her, do something positive about the situation. Sober reflection had stopped him. Only the
n had he been able to see clearly. All her life she'd been dominated, one way or another. She'd never had the chance to find out who she really was or what she was capable of. Time on her own, without a father, a husband or a clutch of in-laws to tell her what to do and how to do it, would only help her.
With him keeping an eye on her through Cindy, giving an unseen helping hand. And one day, when the time was right, when he judged she would believe herself to be his equal, he would ask her to come back to him.
But fate, in the shape of her brother's criminal activities, had intervened. And he'd made an unholy mess of it.
One day, though, when their marriage was firm, her love for him as strong and enduring as his was for her, then he would tell her how carefully he'd watched over her well-being. There were to be no secrets between them.
'Drink that. You look as if you need it.' Cindy put a mug of steaming coffee in front of him, breaking into his teeming thoughts. 'You look as if you haven't eaten or slept for weeks.'
It was too near the truth to bother arguing with. He took a gulp of the scalding brew, watching intently as she found a piece of paper, her pen flying as she scrawled an address.
'I don't know what went wrong; she didn't tell me. I was really sure the two of you would make a go of it this time, but when she arrived back here she looked as if her world had fallen apart.'
'My fault,' he admitted tightly, his heart beating with sudden hope. If he'd been no more than a stud to her, a way of satisfying her new-found sexuality while she'd been blackmailed into staying with him;_ if she'd been happy to see the back of him—as her headlong flight had suggested—then she wouldn't have appeared to be so shattered, would she?
Cindy pushed the scrap of paper over the desk, her eyes narrowing as she debated the wisdom of telling him or not that his wife was temporarily staying with her brother.
Not, she decided. Roman's pride was legendary. He might turn round and go straight back to Spain if he knew Cassie was sharing a roof with another man.
Claiming His Wife Page 10