Being brutally honest with herself, she knew deep down inside that she had recognised that Justin held some part of himself back, but had refused to face the knowledge until now. She had masked it by telling herself that it was solely a cultural difference. She had spent her formative years used to the easy friendship and the exuberant, extrovert types of people who had made up her parents' circle of friends. Justin's attitude was simply very British and nothing to worry about—the stiff upper lip, and all that, not the most tactile of people.
She raised her head and shivered; the water running from her hair was freezing her tender flesh, but she welcomed the numbness. She heard a sound and glanced at the door to Justin's room—the handle was moving. She thanked God that she had locked the door; she could not face him—not tonight. She hadn't the strength. She had a terrible suspicion that if he took her in his arms and kissed her she would be the same spineless pushover she had always been where he was concerned.
Sadly she realised her own weakness. Every night in Justin's arms was her idea of heaven. She could have forgiven him the steely control, the separate beds, even his ambition and conniving with Uncle Bertie to marry her. But what she could not forgive—could not live with!—was Janet Ord's last revelation.
No man who had any respect at all for his prospective bride—never mind love—would ever spend the eve of his wedding making love to another woman. To Zoe it was far worse than an unfaithful husband. If a married man went astray one presumed that he had at least tried to honour his commitment. Justin had not even tried; he had betrayed her on the eve—no, not the eve but the morning of her wedding, if Janet was to be believed . . . and Zoe did believe her.
"Invino Veritas,'" Zoe sighed, getting to her feet, her mind made up. Nigel had been right when he'd called Justin 'the Master'. Justin, except for one brief mistake three years ago, had masterminded her whole life for virtually the last seven years.
But no more. . . Her rose-coloured spectacles were smashed to smithereens, and she could see Justin for what he was—a ruthlessly ambitious, mature male who had taken one look at a shy fourteen-year-old girl and deliberately used her schoolgirl crush to bind her to him in matrimony and further his career in the process. She could not blame him for her uncle's heart attack, but he had certainly used it to his own advantage.
It had forced her back into his sphere of influence and it had been Justin who'd suggested that she give up her fledgling career in advertising immediately after he had made love to her on Valentine's night. She could not believe how stupid she had been. How corny can you get? she thought cynically. Justin had seduced her with red roses and soft words, the Ritz, romance and champagne, and she had swallowed the whole fantasy, believing in the omens of love. . .
Well, they said life went in seven-year cycles, she thought fatalistically. It was certainly true for her. At seven, boarding-school in Maine; at fourteen, England and Justin. Now, at twenty-one. . . back to America. . .
Who knew? she mused. Perhaps her subconscious mind had accepted the end of her marriage and had been working out the solution within minutes of Janet Ord opening her mouth, maybe even earlier—when Sara Blacket had planted the first seeds of doubt in her heart.
With stark clarity she saw her impulsive declaration to Wayne—that she would see him in the States in a matter of days—as the best and only solution.
Tightening the towel around her breasts, and flicking her wet hair from her eyes, she moved like an old woman to the door and into her room.
CHAPTER FOUR
Zoe clutched at the door-frame with one hand and her towel with the other. Her heart almost stopped beating, and her eyes widened in angry shock at the sight before her.
In the dim glow of the bedside light Justin was sprawled across her bed. The pillows bunched behind his back to keep him semi-upright, he had a glass of champagne in his hand, a wicked light in his deep brown eyes, his only concession to modesty a pair of black silk boxer shorts. 'Short' being the operative word. . .
'I thought the black dress was a turn-on,' he drawled throatily, 'but that towel takes some beating.' Playfully crooking a finger, a sensual smile curving his wide mouth, he added, 'Come to bed, birthday girl. Let's celebrate.'
A few hours ago she would have been overjoyed at such a blatant statement of intent from her restrained husband, but with Janet's revelation in the forefront of her mind all she felt was a furious rage.
Obviously she had not hidden her distress as well as she had thought. Justin had picked up on it, she told herself with a new cynical awareness that she had not realised she possessed. Or why else would he, for the first time ever, be lying in wait for her? Except to get her in his arms and mindless as usual.
Her gaze slid slowly over him. He lay there, a sophisticated male animal, all rippling muscle and confident virile charm, expecting her to fall gratefully into his arms.
Well, the manipulative swine was in for a rude awakening.
'Celebrate? I think not,' she bit out, her lashes flickering over wild blue eyes to hide her fury. She deliberately turned, proceeded across the room to the dressing-table, and sat down on the softly padded stool, her glance resting on the key she had thrown down earlier.
'How did you get in?' She had locked the door, she knew she had. . .
'I know you didn't intend to lock me out, darling, and I also know all the locks in the master suite are the same. Open with the same key. Et voild! Here I am.'
'I'm not in the mood for you or French, so please leave.'
'Zoe, what's wrong?' Justin swung his feet to the floor and in a couple of lithe strides was standing behind her.
'I'm tired. I want to sleep,' she said curtly, his towering presence at her back causing her stomach to knot with tension. If he touched her she'd scream. . .
'Funny—half an hour ago, you were almost begging Nigel and his friends to stay longer,' he reminded her silkily. 'A more suspicious husband might have cause for alarm.
His hands curved over her naked shoulders, and she stiffened. She looked up, her gaze colliding is the mirror with dark, piercing eyes.
She had thought that every ounce of feeling for Justin had been destroyed by the knowledge she had gained this evening, but she was horrified to discover that, despite knowing that he had never loved her, that he had married her for ambition and at her uncle's request, his closeness and the touch of his hand could still arouse an aching longing inside her. She despised her own weakness, and in a fury of hurt and humiliation she jumped to her feet and swung away from him.
'A more suspicious wife might wonder why a new husband would prefer his own bed to his wife's,' she shot back scathingly.
An unfathomable expression flickered in his eyes; as she watched his mouth tightened. 'I didn't prefer my own bed tonight, but it doesn't seem to have done me much good,' he opined drily, an odd grating in his usually deep, modulated tone.
'About as much good as it does me, knowing you married me at my uncle Bertie's request, and simply to further your overriding ambition in law.' Not bothering to hide the bitterness in her voice, she spun to face him, head high. Her blue eyes shooting flames, she instantly dismissed his shocked expression as simply more playacting.
'That is a ridiculous notion and patently untrue,' he denied harshly.
At one time Zoe might have believed him, but not any more. 'No?' One brow arched derisively. 'You mean Uncle Bertie never suggested to you that marrying me would please him?' If Zoe had any lingering doubts they vanished as Justin's glance seemed to waver, a dull flush streaking his high cheekbones.
'Zoe, I don't know what you have heard or who has been gossiping but it wasn't like that and you know it.'
'Oh, sure I know it! Next you'll be telling me you love me—something you have studiously avoided saying, and I was too stupid to see it.'
The one time she had asked him if he loved her—the day of the funeral—he had answered with, 'Of course I do, silly girl; I married you, didn't I?' At the time she had been reassure
d; now she saw it for the evasion it was.
'Zoe, what is going on here? It's not like you to deliberately try and start an argument.'
'You're right, it isn't, and I'm not about to argue with you now.' He was standing before her, all aggrieved, near- naked male, and she didn't trust herself not to reach out and stroke the muscular chest, to give in weakly to his overwhelming sex appeal. 'Just go,' she said sadly, tearing her eyes away from his powerful body.
'That's it!' The words exploded into the air like gunfire, and she stepped back in shocked surprise.
But Justin moved in on her. 'I don't know who has been filling your pretty little head with nonsense, but you and I are going to have a talk,' he grated between clenched teeth, and, taking her arm in a tight grip, marched her across to the bed.
'Let go of me!' she snapped angrily, trying to break free. But his fingers merely tightened on her tender flesh and she had to bite her lip to prevent a cry of pain.
'Sit down,' Justin ordered, pushing her down on the bed.
'Resorting to violence now, you hypocritical swine?' she accused scathingly.
'Be quiet,' he barked, and the leashed fury in his tone made her shiver inwardly as he stood towering menacingly over her. 'At the beginning of this evening everything between us was fine; in fact, it was only lack of time that prevented you and me sharing this bed earlier— you were aching for me.' An arrogant, knowing smile played across his mouth.
'I---- ' She tried to deny it, but he cut her off.
'Don't bother to lie,' he said curtly. 'I'm a man, Zoe; I know when a woman's responding to me. Just tell me what happened between then and now that you should accuse me of some ulterior motive for marrying you and deliberately give me the brush-off as if I had some antisocial disease, damn it!'
She looked up, her gaze slanting over his broad chest and on to his hard face and the dark, probing eyes which looked as if they could read her mind. His anger was genuine, but probably simply because she had found him out, she thought cynically.
'Do you deny you discussed marrying me with Uncle Bertie?' she asked, and, without giving him time to answer, carried on, 'Or that our marriage helped you become head of chambers?' She did not see his brown eyes leap with rage; she was too engrossed with her own, furious pain. 'Or that you kept your mistress—lover- call her what you like—right up to our wedding and probably beyond?'
'Stop right there!' Justin snarled. He leaned over her, his hands on either side of her on the bed, imprisoning her, forcing her to lean back with her hands behind her for support. He was so close that she could see the beginnings of dark stubble on his chin.
'Janet—that's what this is all about. She has been spreading her poison, and you, my trusting little wife, believed her,' he drawled in a dangerously quiet voice. 'Such loyalty! I think you owe me an apology and an explanation.'
He was actually serious! She could see that. The nerve of the beast. 'Try the "tiger in bed" for starters,' she spat back.
Her throat ached from the prolonged effort of holding back the tears, and her pulse raced as she fought to retain her composure. She was helplessly aware of her own embarrassing position—naked except for a towel—and Justin—much the same, with his keen eyes surveying her insolently from head to breast and lower. She felt the heat ignite in her stomach and silently cursed her body's unwelcome response to him.
'I don't believe it! You're jealous,' he marvelled. 'That's what all this is about.'
'In your dreams!' she cried furiously. 'I don't give a damn if you spend the rest of your life with the woman. I never want to see you again.'
The colour drained from his face. 'Zoe, you don't know what you're saying.' He looked at her seriously. 'You're my wife; I love you. . .' And that was the un-kindest cut of all for Zoe—his declaration of love had come too late and sounded like the excuse it was.
'Since when?' she snorted. 'Since I found out the truth about you, you manipulative, chauvinistic pig?' She struggled to sit up, pushing at his chest. Surprisingly he moved and sat alongside her on the bed; she saw him clench and unclench his hands as if weighing up the prospect of putting them around her neck.
'Not the best response to a declaration of love,' he drawled, and smiled, not very pleasantly. '"Underwhelmed" would be an accurate description, though I think I can understand. Knowing Janet, she can be a very persuasive if poisonous lady.'
'You should know—you're the expert on the woman,' she cried. She could not stand much more. What was the point? she thought morosely, and made to stand up but Justin's arm fell around her shoulders, his hand gripping her upper arm tightly, as if by the pressure of his fingers he could convince her.
'I promise you, Zoe, Janet means nothing to me. I'm thirty-five; there have been other women in my life I admit, but not as many as you seem to think, and certainly nothing serious.' He sounded very calm and controlled and it only served to infuriate her further.
'Says you,' she spat.
The brown eyes narrowed angrily, but his voice remained cool and reasonable as he continued, 'I had an affair with Janet—if one could call it that. Two adults sharing an evening out and sex occasionally, that was all it was, and it was finished long before you and I married.'
She tilted her head to the side and stared at him, eyes wide and wild. 'You swine!' she hissed, her face alive with hatred.
'You're being childish, Zoe-- '
'Long before we were married?' she cut in incredulously. 'You take me for a child, a complete idiot!' Her temper ran out of control and her voice shook. 'Maybe, if I was crazy enough about you, I could forget your cosy-cosy arrangement with my uncle; maybe live with the fact that you never loved me as I loved you. But as for the rest. . .' The words came out harsh with pent-up emotion. 'To have a woman tell me that my husband is a "three-times-a-night man" and more! This same husband who cannot bear to spend a night in the same bed as me. You make me sick. . .'
Zoe shook her head; she tried to go on, but her voice seemed to have dried up. Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt physically sick. But what did it matter? What more was there to say? Except that she was leaving him, and that much must be self-evident to Justin. But to her amazement he threw back his head and laughed out loud.
'You are jealous, sexually jealous, you silly girl. You have no need to be. Janet was obviously just trying to upset you and you fell for it.'
She couldn't believe the man; he was a lawyer, supposedly intelligent, and he actually thought it was a huge joke, even to the extent that there was smug satisfaction in his grinning countenance. A red haze blurred her vision and she struck out at his face with a wildly swinging hand. 'Well, fall for this, buster!' she yelled. 'I'm leaving you. You're the lawyer. . . Fix the divorce. . .'
Suddenly his hand tightened around her shoulders. 'This has gone far enough,' he muttered savagely. 'If you won't listen to reason, I'll have to convince you another way.' His other hand captured her chin and forced her head up and his mouth swooped on hers, prising her lips apart, savaging her soft mouth.
With her bent back over his arm, his hand sliding from her chin to tangle in her long hair, he held her fast as he ground his mouth over hers with ruthless passion. She lashed out at him with her fists and tried to drag her head away, a low moan escaping her at the pain he was inflicting.
Justin laughed, a harsh, guttural sound in the silence of the room. 'And I thought I was being considerate.' His tone was ironic, but the blazing fury in his eyes as he stared at her belied his cool voice.
'Considerate? Don't make me laugh,' she yelled hysterically, and struggled to escape, her arms flailing wildly, but he was far too quick and, catching her arms at the wrist, with a swivel of his hard body she was pinned back against the bed, her hands forced above her head in one of his.
She cried out, but his mouth swallowed the sound, his teeth biting into her lips while his other hand tore the towel from her body. She felt his long fingers close around her breast and shuddered.
His dark head lifte
d as he stared down at the pale skin laid bare to his hot eyes. His strong fingers moved slowly, squeezing the soft flesh; his thumb brushed the hardening tip, and his eyes flicked to her face.
'No, no.' She tremblingly shook her head and tried to fight him, her body bucking against him. She would not let him do this to her—never again, she vowed, even as her traitorous flesh cried out for his familiar touch.
'Yes, my love,' he drawled sardonically in a strangely thickened voice. 'You say you're leaving. You implied I never wanted you. Our lovemaking was less than perfect for you.' He straddled her thighs, his long, near-naked body poised over her. 'I intend to prove you wrong.'
And his head came down to take the place of his fingers at her breast.
'No. I don't want you.' She thought bitterly of Janet even as her heart thudded in her breast. 'Try Janet. I'm sure. . .' She ended on a groan, hurting with the intolerable pressure of trying to resist him when a slow- burning fire was licking through her body.
He flashed a glance at her wildly shaking head and she arched again, trying to throw him off, but only succeeded in prolonging the agony as her breasts brushed against the hard wall of his chest. He drew a harsh breath, forcing her head back to the bed with the pressure of his mouth, and when he finally freed her swollen lips she was shaking all over.
'Anyone can have Janet, but only I have you,' he snarled close to her ear. 'And that's the way it's going to stay.'
'No, no, no. . .' she breathed raggedly.
'Yes, yes, yes,' he mocked harshly as his body shifted to crush her deeply in the bed.
There was no doubt that Justin wanted her. Zoe, twisting and struggling beneath him, trying to dislodge the hardening weight of his body, recognised that fact even before he responded by thrusting one of his legs between hers. But she also knew that whatever his reasons, it wasn't love.
The Valentine Child Page 6