She began to tremble in his arms. ‘Don’t do this, Quinn. We made a deal…’
‘Yes. I said I’d protect your father if you married me.’
‘And I married you, Quinn. I…’
His hands moved on her body, slowly kindling a heat deep within her. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘You did. And now I want you in my bed.’
His touch was sure and knowing, and she began to tremble beneath it.
‘Let me go home, Quinn,’ she breathed. ‘I beg you…’
‘This is your home, Paige.’
‘Give me a divorce. An annulment…’
He laughed softly. ‘There won’t be any grounds for annulment—not after tonight.’
With her last bit of effort, Paige raised her head and looked into his eyes.
‘I hope you burn in hell,’ she said.
A light flickered and died in the sea-dark depths of his eyes.
‘Sometimes, sweet Juliet,’ he whispered, ‘I think I already am.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘MRS FOWLER? May I come in, ma’am?’
Paige turned from the mirror. ‘Yes, Norah. What is it?’
The door swung open and the housekeeper stepped into the room. ‘I thought I’d stop in before…’ She paused and put her hand to her mouth. ‘Don’t you look lovely in that dress, Mrs Fowler? Such a perfect colour for you.’
Paige glanced into the mirror again. The gown Quinn had bought her that afternoon was made of velvet. It was lovely, she thought—or it would have been, under other circumstances.
‘Yes,’ she said with a careless shrug, ‘I suppose it is.’
Norah touched a silk chemise that lay draped across the chair. ‘Everything’s so beautiful,’ she said, smiling at Paige. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to empty the rest of those boxes?’
Paige looked across the room at the stack of unopened boxes that still lay beside the wardrobe. ‘No, thank you, Norah. I’ll take care of it later.’
‘Oh, but I don’t know if you’ll have time.’ Norah’s face reddened. ‘I mean, Mr Fowler’s planned a lovely evening. He asked me to set the table in the library, and to chill some champagne.’
‘That’s all right,’ Paige said quickly. ‘I’ll… I’ll find the time. Was there anything else, Norah?’
The housekeeper shook her head. ‘I just wanted to let you know that I was off, ma’am.’ She put her hand on the doorknob and smiled at Paige. ‘I called my sister and told her I was coming for a surprise visit. She was delighted—and I told her about all the lovely things you gave me for my niece. I can’t thank you enough, Mrs Fowler. Such nice dresses and all—and new, most of them. Lila will be so pleased.’
‘Yes, I hope she is, Norah. If that’s all…’
The housekeeper tapped her finger against her mouth. ‘I think so,’ she mused. ‘The duck is in the chafing dish, and the bisque is ready. Mr Fowler said not to worry, that he’ll take care of things.’
Paige turned away quickly. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’m sure he will.’
‘Well, I’ll be on my way, then.’ She paused at the door. ‘You’re sure about the clothing, are you, ma’am? I couldn’t believe it when Mr Fowler said to toss it all away. I…’
Paige patted the woman’s arm. ‘I’m glad your niece can make use of it,’ she said quickly. ‘Tell her… tell her to enjoy everything.’
The woman smiled again as she pulled open the door. ‘Isn’t he something?’ Paige looked at her questioningly. ‘Mr Fowler, ma’am. Why on earth would he want you to throw away such a lovely trousseau?’
Because he’s a bastard… ‘I… I’m sure I don’t know, Norah.’
‘Well, goodnight, ma’am.’
‘Goodnight, Norah.’
Paige managed to keep smiling until the door swung shut, and then she sank down on the bed and glanced at the clock. Almost eight. Almost zero hour, she thought bitterly. Quinn had, indeed, taken care of things. Chilled champagne, the clinging, velvet dress she wore that he had selected and bought—he’d even thought of giving Norah the night off. Was he afraid Paige would cry out for help when he… when he took her to his bedroom?
She rose and paced across the room. He needn’t have worried, she thought grimly. She had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of any kind of response, not even a negative one. She would do what was demanded of her, just as she had all day, starting this morning when he’d calmly told her she was to dispose of her trousseau. Everything he’d done—and would do tonight—was meant to remind her that he owned her. She bore his name, she lived in his house. She was his.
Paige glanced at her reflection. Her face was pale, except for two spots of colour high on her cheekbones. She touched her damp palms to her face. Don’t let Quinn see how frightened you are. He had all the advantages as it was. As for passion—it was hard to remember she’d ever felt any for him. Being seduced was one thing; a command performance was quite another, and that’s what this was, after all. ‘Payment time,’ he’d said that morning. And the time was now.
Champagne. And candles, probably. Soft music. Quinn wasn’t a barbarian—if he could seduce her, he would. And if he couldn’t… A shudder ran through her. Nothing would stop him. He was a man who knew what he wanted and got it. Always. He’d spent the day proving that to her.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ His voice had cracked after her like a whip as she’d hurried from the library that morning.
‘To my room,’ she’d said defiantly.
She’d waited, half expecting him to remind her that she had no room to call her own, but he only shook his head.
‘We’re going out. Get your coat.’
‘Out? But…’
‘Get your coat,’ he’d repeated impatiently. ‘We have a great deal to do.’
In the car, he told her that she was to dispose of everything she’d brought with her.
‘Give it to Norah, if you like. She has a niece or a cousin or something…’
‘But… but all my things are new, Quinn. It doesn’t make any sense.’
The face he turned towards her was cold. ‘I’ve already told Norah she may take what she wishes. She said to tell you she was very grateful.’
Paige’s mouth trembled. ‘I’m sure she was,’ she said stiffly, and then she turned away and stared blindly out the window of the dark green Jaguar.
He’d given away her things without even consulting her. She had no difficulty figuring out the reasons—he was separating her from her former life and, at the same time, branding her as his possession. And she was helpless against him. The streets rolled by, colours blending one into the other as they took in the sights. Buckingham Palace, and the black busbies and red coats of the Grenadier Guards; Whitehall, and the black and silver of a Guard mounted on a horse so still it might have been carved of granite; the Union Jack, flapping red, white, and blue above the Houses of Parliament.
How could the day be so beautiful and her heart so filled with sorrow?
And yet, there had been quick flashes of something else. There had been the old man marching through Piccadilly Circus, back stiff, eyes straight ahead, carrying a sign that explained that a diet high in protein was the cause of all the sin in the world. It had seemed natural to laugh and turn to Quinn beside her, saying—before she could think—that surely the old man had a double in New York who put blame on the meat-eaters. Quinn had laughed, too, until their eyes had met, and then their laugher had died.
And there had been that moment when they had stood in a little boutique off Bond Street, Paige trying on the velvet dress she wore now. The sales clerk had bubbled with delight as Quinn pointed an imperious finger at half a dozen outfits among those she’d shown them.
‘We’ll take those,’ he said.
‘And the dress madam’s wearing?’ the clerk had asked. ‘It’s so perfect for her—that lavender’s the very colour of her eyes.’
‘No,’ Quinn said quickly, ‘no, it isn’t. Her eyes are darker—the colour of
violets.’
Paige’s heart stopped as she looked at him in the mirror. For a flash of eternity, they were alone, on a windswept beach. And then the clerk giggled knowingly. Quinn’s eyes narrowed and he let out his breath.
‘We’ll take the dress, too,’ he’d said roughly, and the fragile moment was gone for ever.
They had never recaptured it, not in any of the shops or boutiques, not in the urbane bustle of Harrods. In each, Quinn had pointed to whatever struck his fancy, and Paige had listlessly tried on a seemingly endless array of woollens and silks and cashmeres, dresses and skirts, sweaters and trousers, and all of it might as well have been made of sackcloth.
‘Tell me what you like,’ Quinn said.
Her answer was always the same. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
After a while, his answer became as predictable as hers. ‘We’ll take it all,’ he would say gruffly, and eventually the boxes stacked in the boot and back seat of the Jaguar overflowed and Quinn had to tell the wide-eyed sales clerks to arrange for delivery of the things he’d bought with such careless abandon.
The last thing he bought her was a wedding ring. Jewels gleamed against black velvet everywhere in the hushed shop to which he took her.
The jeweller seated them, then brought out trays of magnificent rings, all burning with the fires of diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires.
Quinn’s eyes were expressionless as Paige stared at the gleaming display. ‘Pick whatever you like,’ he said, dismissing them with a glance.
A band set with rubies winked up at her, and she thought of the blood-red stone that lay between her breasts, hidden from the world beneath her blouse, and of the night Quinn had given it to her. A lump rose to her throat.
‘I don’t want any of these,’ she said to the jeweller. ‘Haven’t you something plain?’
The jeweller shrugged. ‘If madam really prefers…’
‘Have you something or not?’ Quinn snapped.
‘Yes, of course. But these…’
‘Get my wife what she asked for.’
When they stood outside the shop again, Quinn looked at her, a strangely guarded expression on his face.
‘Are you sure that’s the ring you want?’
Paige looked at the narrow gold band on her finger and nodded. ‘Yes. You’ve… you’ve bought me too much as it is.’
He put his hand on her arm. ‘You’re my wife,’ he answered, as if that explained everything.
Her eyes closed briefly. ‘I know what I am,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t have to dress me in your colours just to remind me.’
‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’
‘Why else would you do it?’ she said with a bitterness that surprised her, and before he could answer she pulled free of his hand and stepped off the kerb.
Everything happened at once. A horn blared, almost in her ear, Quinn’s arm closed around her and lifted her on to the pavement beside him, and a blur of red shot by—a bus, Paige saw with horror—moving swiftly over the place in the road where she’d just been standing.
‘You little fool!’ Quinn snarled, spinning her towards him. ‘You almost got yourself killed.’
‘I… I forgot about the traffic,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I… ’
Inexplicably, her eyes had filled with tears. ‘What is it?’ he demanded. ‘Paige…’
She looked up at him. His eyes were fierce, protective. You’re my wife. Her pulse tripped and she swayed against him.
His hands bit into her. ‘Let’s go home,’ he said thickly.
Reality returned with a rush. ‘You’ll get what you paid for tonight, Quinn. Can’t you wait another few hours?’
Lines cut into the skin beside his mouth. ‘Paige…’
‘And that house isn’t my home. It never will be.’
His mouth hardened. ‘Damned right it isn’t,’ he growled. Her heels clattered against the pavement as he tugged her towards his car. ‘I’ll see to that.’
They were silent as he raced the car through the London streets, charging forward at light changes and sliding through traffic with reckless abandon. By the time he pulled to a stop before a brick house on a quiet street, they were as remote from each other as they’d been during the flight on the Concorde.
‘I’ve asked my solicitor to draw up some papers,’ Quinn said in clipped tones. ‘This won’t take long.’
Quinn’s solicitor was polite, but obviously uncomfortable.
‘We do this all the time, Mrs Fowler,’ he said, shoving a long, legal document across his desk.
‘What is this?’ she asked, but it was Quinn who answered.
‘A nuptial contract. In the event I should divorce you, you’re entitled to your clothing and ten thousand pounds.’ His eyes raked her face. ‘Fair enough, all things considered. Don’t you agree, Paige?’
Her eyes had met his without flinching. ‘And if I divorce you?’
Quinn had smiled. ‘You won’t,’ he’d said softly. ‘Or have you forgotten your father?’
The sight of his solicitor’s pale, disbelieving face had given her the courage she needed. ‘I won’t sign this,’ she’d said, shoving the papers aside.
Quinn had laughed aloud. ‘Now we get down to basics, hmm?’
Her smile had been cool. ‘Absolute basics. All I want from you is the price of a one-way plane ticket to the States.’
The solicitor had cleared his throat. ‘Really, Mrs Fowler, that’s most irregular.’
Her husband’s smile had been as cool as hers. ‘What’s the game this time, darling?’ he’d asked softly.
Paige had lifted her chin. ‘What does it matter? As long as you’re the winner.’
‘Done,’ he’d said.
Now, looking into the mirror, the velvet dress Quinn had bought her soft on her shoulders, Paige realised that he owned her, and he could discard her at will. And he would. The agreement she’d signed with such bravado convinced her of it. When he was tired of her, when he’d had enough of venting his anger on her body, he would send her away. Passion had nothing to do with why he wanted her. Not that it mattered: anger, desire, passion—it turned out they all led to the same end.
The clock chimed eight. Zero hour. Time for the dinner performance. Her hand reached to the light switch and she plunged the room into darkness.
Alan had tried to tell her that sex had nothing to do with love or happiness. It was just too bad she hadn’t believed him.
* * *
Quinn was waiting for her in the library, as he had been that morning. She paused, watching him from the doorway. The table by the French doors was formally set, complete with flowers, Paige noted with a touch of bitterness. There were two fluted glasses and a wine-bucket on Quinn’s desk. The lights were low, and yes, as she’d expected, there was music—a Rachmaninov concerto, playing softly in the background. The perfect seduction scene, she told herself… and then Quinn rose to his feet and turned to face her.
Her heart rose to her throat. How could she hate him and still feel this way when she saw him? He was dressed as he’d been when they’d met, in a dinner suit and ruffled shirt. His eyes blazed as they swept over her. He was so beautiful… like a lion in his prime.
A quick smile tilted at his mouth. ‘Good evening,’ he said softly.
‘Good evening.’ She looked at him again, her eyes lingering on his, and she flushed. ‘I’m sorry I took so long, but…’
‘It was worth the waiting. You look beautiful, Paige.’
The flush deepened. ‘Thank you. But it’s not me, it’s this dress you bought.’
‘Would you like some champagne?’
‘No. I mean, yes, thank you, I would.’
Champagne would make what would happen next easier, she thought, watching as he opened the bottle with expert ease. Wasn’t wine supposed to make you giddy and dull your senses? She took the glass he held out to her, smiling stiffly.
‘Norah’s left us quite a feast. It’s all waiting for us. Whenever you’re re
ady…’
Whenever you’re ready. ‘Not yet,’ she said quickly. Too quickly. Quinn looked at her, one eyebrow raised appraisingly. ‘I… I’d like some more champagne first,’ she said, tilting the glass to her lips and draining the pale gold liquid. ‘It’s very good.’
He smiled as he refilled her glass. ‘You’re supposed to sip it,’ he said.
‘Does it matter? Just so long as…’
His face darkened. ‘Ah,’ he said softly, ‘now I understand. Just so long as you get drunk, hmm?’
‘Look, Quinn… what do you think you’re doing?’
‘Taking the champagne from you. I don’t want you sick to your stomach, Paige. We’ll have dinner, and…’
‘No, of course you don’t want me sick,’ she said bitterly. ‘Not tonight.’
Quinn’s arm slid lightly around her waist. ‘Not any night,’ he said mildly, as he led her to the table. ‘The last time I helped someone who was drunk I didn’t do much of a job of it.’
‘The mighty Quinn Fowler, not good at something?’ Paige laughed sharply as he served her. ‘I can hardly believe my ears. Whoever told you that must have been lying.’
He smiled. ‘Alan’s the one who said it. It was years ago, just before I left home. We were both—well, let’s say we weren’t feeling any pain. Alan was twelve, and he’d drunk the best part of a six-pack…’ He shook his head at the memory. ‘Damn, but he was plastered.’
Paige’s eyes flashed indignation. ‘No wonder your parents tossed you out,’ she said. ‘Getting a twelve-year-old boy drunk on beer, and then laughing about it…’
‘Sorry, but I can’t take credit for it. Little brother got bombed all on his own. He was out with some buddies of his, and he came sneaking in just after I got back from a friend’s wedding.’ He glanced at her. ‘Didn’t he ever tell you this story?’
Paige shook her head. ‘No,’ she said slowly, thinking of how little Alan and she had ever really shared with each other. ‘No, he didn’t.’
Quinn nodded. ‘Probably too embarrassed,’ he said with a smile. ‘Not that it was so awful—he was just a kid, experimenting, wanting to be an adult before he knew that adults just want to be kids. We shared a bathroom and—well, let’s just say I heard him being ill. Of course, I went to help him.’ He grinned at the memory. ‘Trouble was, my stomach wasn’t any too solid at that moment. So when I saw what was happening to Alan…’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘When my mother found us, she was furious.’
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