His Blackmailed Bride

by Sandra Marton

  ‘Off to Africa on photographic safari,’ it said. ‘Will be deep in the bush for weeks. Will get in touch when possible. Love…’

  By day’s end, she had a roof over her head. It wasn’t much, just a tiny garret bedsitter on a shabby street off Earl’s Court.

  ‘There’s a one-ring burner, luv, and you only have to share the bath with the gent down the hall.’

  Paige took it without hesitation. The room was dark and it smelled of damp, but it was cheap and clean. The landlady looked at her suspiciously when she said she had no luggage, but then her jaundiced gaze swept over her new tenant, lingering on the dark shadows beneath Paige’s eyes and the tremor in her lips, and she clucked her tongue.

  ‘I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea,’ she said. ‘You look as if you could use it.’

  Days turned into weeks. The holidays approached; everyone always talked about the old-fashioned beauty of a Dickensian Christmas and, even in the midst of her despair, Paige caught glimpses of the joy and excitement that swept London. Those moments were the worst of all, because they seemed to give a special and terrible emphasis to the pain that engulfed her. She was grateful when the holiday season finally ended, but her gratitude faded under the onslaught of a sudden January freeze. One bitter night, her landlady appeared at the door.

  ‘Thought you might like some extra blankets,’ she said. ‘And there’s this old electric kettle, if you can use it.’

  The last was just a bit of polite nonsense, and both women knew it. Paige had use for almost anything that came her way. Her rent was cheap, but there were other expenses. Food. Clothing. And, although she bought only the simplest and most inexpensive of both, her meagre supply of funds was fast dwindling. She’d emptied all her money from her bank account the day she’d first rented the garret room, as if by having the cash close at hand she could somehow make it grow. But, of course, she couldn’t.

  She was worried. She needed a job—that was obvious. But there were none—at least, none for which she was qualified. Her situation grew as grim as the weather, her despair as deep. And, all the time, there was a little voice whispering deep inside her.

  What are you doing here? it asked.

  At first, she had no answer. Memories had kept her here, but after a while the memories began to lose focus, like old photographs kept too long in a box.

  Why not go home? the voice whispered one night, while she slept. Paige blinked her eyes open and sat up in the dark room, shivering with cold.

  The answer came swiftly, carried on the moan of the wind and the lash of the rain.

  She couldn’t leave London. Quinn was here—and that meant she had to be here, too. She loved him still, despite what he’d done to her, and she would always love him. He had used her, debased her, hurt her more deeply than she’d dreamed possible, but nothing could change what she felt for him.

  She tossed aside the blankets and stumbled across the room, unmindful of the sharp cold. Her shoulder bag stood on a scuffed wooden table near the door. She picked it up and tumbled the contents out, searching among the tissues and coins and crumpled bills until her hand closed around her ruby ring. Her eyes shut as she remembered the terrible night in Quinn’s house when the stone had seemed to grow cold. The tears she’d so long kept inside her finally streamed down her cheeks. When at last she slept, it was with the ring clutched tightly in her hand, as if her chilled fingers might be warmed by the flame that had once burned within it.

  In the morning, Paige stood at a jewellery counter in Harrods, chin high, undeterred by the stares of those who had difficulty reconciling the young woman in the cheap coat and vinyl boots with the customer who politely insisted that yes, she did, indeed, want to buy that rather expensive gold chain. The cost of her purchase diminished her remaining funds considerably, but the heavy weight of the chain and the security of the clasp as she hung the ruby around her neck brought a smile to her lips.

  This chain wouldn’t break, she thought, touching her hand to the ring as it swung against her breasts. She vowed never to remove it again.

  When she returned to the rooming house, she knocked at her landlady’s door. It was time to pay the rent. The gold chain swung forward, the ruby catching the light, as she rummaged in her purse.

  ‘That’s a handsome bauble,’ her landlady said. ‘I could get you a nice bit of money for that, luv.’

  Paige’s reply was swift and heated. ‘Never,’ she said, touching her hand to the stone. ‘I’ll never part with this.’

  Was it her imagination, or did the ruby suddenly seem to pulse with heat again?

  As January slipped into February and February edged into March, something new was added to her despair, a lethargy that seemed to grow with each day that passed, until finally it was so intense that she found it difficult to get out of bed in the mornings. She told herself it was time to stop behaving so foolishly. People didn’t die of broken hearts, after all. Life didn’t stop for lack of love.

  But all her silent, middle-of-the-night talks with herself did no good. Her sense of exhaustion grew as did her depression. And there were other things: the sight of food nauseated her, which was all right, really, when she thought of how desperate she was to save her dwindling funds. But she felt a flash of concern when she noticed a faint tremor in her hands. What prospective employer would want to hire a typist whose hands shook? Her feet began to swell, especially after she’d spent hours marching the streets of London, trying to find work. Still, Paige would have ignored all of it—until that afternoon at the temporary employment agency.

  The smartly dressed young woman at the front desk smiled at her as she pushed open the door.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m glad to see you, Miss Gardiner.’

  Paige looked at her in surprise. ‘You remember me?’

  The woman nodded. ‘I thought of you just this morning. I have a new client—an American lady. She’s going to be here for a month or so, and she wants a secretary. She says she’d like someone who’d been to the States, and I thought of you.’ The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘See here, Miss Gardiner, are you ill?’

  Paige shook her head, although the motion sent a wave of nausea through her. ‘No, no, I’m fine. Really. I…’

  ‘Well, you don’t look it,’ the woman said briskly. ‘Are you sure it’s not the flu? Everyone’s down with it.’

  Paige managed a smile. ‘I’d better not be ill. I can’t afford it.’

  The woman looked at her. ‘If you’re ill, the job’s out, Miss Gardiner. I think you’d better stop at the clinic and have the doctors take a look at you.’

  ‘It’s not necessary, I assure you.’

  ‘I can’t send you on an interview with the flu.’

  The clerk’s voice was firm. Paige stared at her and then she sighed. When you balanced a job against half an hour spent being poked at by a doctor, the job was the clear winner.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll get a clean bill of health and be back.’

  What if it was the flu? she thought as she stepped into the street. The doctor would prescribe aspirin and fluids and bed rest. It was bed rest she couldn’t afford, she thought wryly. The job wouldn’t wait that long.

  But flu only took a week. And, at the end of it, she’d feel well again. Spring was coming; surely there would be other jobs. Her steps quickened. It would be a relief to find she had some simple thing that could be treated and cured. The flu would be an improvement over a broken heart.

  Later, Paige would wonder at her incredible stupidity.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ST JAMES’S PARK was all but deserted in the chill of late afternoon. An occasional walker hurried by, shoulders hunched against the wind, and once Paige heard the distant bark of a dog. Other than that, she was alone.

  How long had she been standing on the little bridge that crossed the dark water of the lake? One hour, two—perhaps an eternity. She didn’t even remember coming here, but she had, unconsciously retracing part of the route she
and Quinn had followed her first day in London, walking past the Houses of Parliament, past the Horse Guards, and into the park. But she’d seen none of what she’d passed. Her mind was in torment, posing questions that had no answers and offering answers that had no meaning.

  A gust of wind blew across the lake, and Paige shivered beneath its cold caress. It was cold here, and damp. But there was nowhere else to go. She couldn’t face her garret room and its aura of not-so-genteel poverty. And there was no sense in going back to the employment office. What could she say to the sympathetic clerk who’d found her a job?

  I went to see a doctor and you can stop worrying; I haven’t the flu.

  Perhaps she could make a joke of it. She could say, what I have isn’t catching at all. I’m just a little bit pregnant.

  A little bit pregnant. It was like the punchline to a bad joke, except there wasn’t anything funny about it. The doctor had examined her from head to toe, and then he’d called her into his office.

  ‘You’re about three months gone,’ he’d said without preamble.

  Paige had stared at him in disbelief. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re pregnant. And it’s a good thing you came in to see us when you did. Without proper care, you might have lost your baby.’

  He’d gone on and on, telling her the things she had to do, and she’d listened, even though a stubborn part of her had kept thinking that surely all this had nothing to do with her. How could she be pregnant? There had only been that one night with Quinn…

  … that one long night, when he’d turned what she felt for him against her.

  She couldn’t keep this baby. It would for ever be a reminder of what Quinn had done to her…

  … that one wonderful night, when he’d made love to her until the sky was streaked with tender rose and pale gold…

  A night she would never forget. Quinn had taken her to his bed in anger, but then the magic that had brought them into each other’s arms on a Connecticut beach had returned. Daylight had banished it, but that was the way magic was. It could only live with night hopes and moonlit dreams.

  But the fruit of that night would be real. Their child would be a reminder of the magic that had almost been.

  Paige had felt her heart fill with a fierce pride, and she’d heard herself assuring the doctor that she would do whatever had to be done to safeguard the child growing in her womb.

  She needed nutritious food, he’d said. Lots of it. She was too thin. Had she been eating too many carbohydrates and not enough protein? And she mustn’t exert herself. A couple of days in bed just now might be a good idea. She was to take long naps.

  The list went on and on, and Paige kept nodding in agreement. Reality hit only after she’d left the clinic. She stood on the pavement, shivering in her too-thin coat, and wondered how on earth she was going to manage. That was when she’d started walking, slowly, carefully, conscious of the life within her, until she’d found herself in the park, staring down at the dark water, her euphoria fast fading.

  She shivered again and looked up. Someone was coming; she could hear the steady sound of approaching footsteps. It was a bobby, and even at a distance she could see that he was watching her. Paige sighed and lifted her elbows from the railing. It was time to move on, anyway. There was nothing to be accomplished standing here.

  What she needed was money. That was what it came down to. Fruit, vegetables, milk, fish, eggs—all were far more expensive than the pasta she’d been living on. And she needed another coat: she’d bought a cheap one at an outdoor market at the start of winter, but it wasn’t heavy enough to keep her warm.

  The doctor had said no exertion. Was climbing the four flights of stairs to her garret room exertion? She hadn’t thought to ask, but it seemed logical that it would be.

  The street blurred suddenly, and Paige reached out to a nearby lamp post and grasped it for support. She knew, almost to the last tenpence, how much money remained in her wallet. It was barely enough to pay the rent for another couple of weeks and buy some proper groceries. There was no way she could afford any of the things she needed if she were to keep her baby.

  Quinn’s baby.

  Turning to him was, of course, out of the question. She knew no one else in London; she was alone. There was really no choice. She had to go home. There would be questions, but Paige knew her mother’s heart well. Janet Gardiner would kiss her and welcome her, and she would stay at her side through the months ahead.

  The Fowlers. How could she have forgotten them? What would happen when they learned she was pregnant? They would notify Quinn, and then the whole sordid story would come out. He would tell them why he’d thrown her out, he would tell them of her theft and her father’s theft. He might even refuse to acknowledge the legitimacy of the child she carried. The scandal would be unbearable in a town like Greenwich.

  Her hand went to her breast and she felt for the ring.

  ‘You could always sell that for a lot of money, luv.’

  She drew in a deep breath and walked quickly towards the Underground.

  She chose Bond Street by name and reputation. Surely there were shops there that bought and sold fine jewellery? She bypassed the first few, intimidated by their quiet elegance. But finally, on a narrow side street, Paige squared her shoulders and pushed open the door of a small shop. She stood still, savouring the most welcome warmth.

  ‘Yes, ma’am? May I help you?’

  The proprietor was elderly. He shuffled towards her from the back room, smiling politely, even when he was close enough to see that she was hardly dressed the way she was sure most of his clients did.

  Paige nodded. ‘I hope so,’ she said nervously. Her hands trembled as she unbuttoned her coat and the heavy sweater beneath, then reached to the nape of her neck. ‘I… I want to sell something…’

  The old man smiled politely. ‘I’m afraid we don’t buy jewellery, my dear.’

  Paige’s head rose. ‘But your sign says…’

  He nodded. ‘We buy estate pieces. Heirlooms, antiques, things that have a special value…’

  She heard the rasp of his breath as she unclasped the gold chain and drew the ruby ring from beneath her bodice.

  ‘This has special value,’ she said softly.

  The old man’s bushy white eyebrows rose. ‘A family heirloom, hmm?’

  Paige swallowed. ‘Not… not really. It…’

  The shop owner plucked the ring from her hand. ‘Very handsome,’ he said, but his eyes were on her face, not on the ruby. ‘And very valuable.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, I… it probably was. I…’

  Her words fell into silence. The ruby lay in the old man’s hand, the dark fire in its heart burning fiercely. She thought of the night Quinn had given it to her.

  ‘When you look into the stone,’ he’d said, ‘think of me. Think of how it will be between us.’

  She reached out quickly and took the ring from the shop owner’s hand. ‘The ring isn’t for sale.’

  His eyebrows rose even higher. ‘But you said…’

  ‘I want to sell the chain.’ Paige’s voice was steady. ‘It’s of very fine quality, as you can see.’ She slipped the ring free and pushed the chain across the counter to him. ‘Go on, take a look.’

  ‘Where did you get that, young woman?’

  ‘Harrods. But I’m sure they won’t take it back. I don’t have my receipt, or the box it came in, and…’

  ‘Not the chain,’ he said impatiently. ‘The ring. Where did you get it?’

  She swallowed. ‘It… it was a gift,’ she said. ‘Look, if you’re not interested in buying the chain…’

  ‘Let me see the ruby.’

  Reluctantly, she opened her hand and held the ring out to him. He took it and held it to the light. Then he took a loupe from his pocket and put it to his eye. At last, he pursed his lips and his flat gaze met hers.

  ‘A gift, hmm?’

  Paige nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you don’t want to sell i
t.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Just the chain. I…’

  ‘All right,’ he said, and he named a sum that was barely half what she’d paid.

  ‘That’s no good,’ she said quickly, scooping up the chain. ‘I need much more than that. I…’

  The old man’s eyes fixed on her. ‘Yes, I’m sure you do,’ he said, and she felt herself flush as he looked her over slowly.

  ‘That’s right, I do.’ She stood her ground, knowing all too well how she looked. ‘So, if that’s your best offer…’

  ‘Five thousand.’

  She stared at him in stunned amazement. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll give you five thousand pounds for the ring.’

  ‘I told you, it’s not for sale. I…’

  He shrugged. ‘Ten.’

  ‘Ten thousand pou…’ She blinked. ‘Are you joking?’

  The old man smiled. ‘All right. Twenty.’

  Paige grasped the edge of the counter. ‘You’re crazy,’ she whispered.

  ‘Twenty-five, then. You’ll just have to wait while I make a quick phone call…’

  ‘You are crazy!’

  ‘I have to call my bank. I don’t keep that kind of money lying around.’ He peered at her and then he sighed. ‘Thirty thousand, and that’s absolutely my final offer.’

  She tore her eyes from his and stared at the ruby lying like a burning coal in her hand. Thirty thousand pounds. It was incredible. She had never seen that much money at one time in her life. If you added up what she’d earned during all the years she’d worked, you still wouldn’t reach that much.

  Conversions from pounds sterling to dollars and back again flashed through her head. Dear heaven, how far such an amount would go! She could rest, eat properly, have her baby, take her time about finding the right job after the child was old enough to leave with a sitter…

  ‘No.’ The word burst from her, and she closed her hand around the stone.

  The old man’s eyebrows rose. ‘No?’