Leigh felt agitated. He was right there, the cold-blooded, always-in-control man with a gift for manipulating people, the man she had married because she believed he’d never give a damn about her. Still, if she closed her eyes for only a few seconds and opened them again, she seemed to see another Brian: the father of her child, a man capable of sensitivity and understanding, iron-willed, but…human. In the candlelight she could see the dark circles under his eyes, the little lines of fatigue on his face.
“Brian, you look exhausted,” she said gently, as the wariness she’d been feeling faded somewhat.
His eyes flickered to hers, filled with annoyance. “I am.” It was obvious to Leigh that he didn’t appreciate her noticing the chink in his armor.
“Why don’t you relax in the living room for a few minutes, while I get the dishes done,” she suggested.
“Leigh, are you absolutely sure?” he asked abruptly. “It’s only been three weeks.”
“If the test had been negative, it wouldn’t have been positive this early. But since it was positive, it was positive!”
“I dare you to repeat that.”
She smiled. “I’m sure,” she said simply.
“You got what you wanted.”
Leigh nodded, seeing it in exactly those terms: She had everything she wanted. It seemed so much more than he could possibly get out of their bargain. “How’s Joan?” she asked idly, referring to the woman he’d been with in the newspaper photo that had upset Robert.
“Would you really like to know?” He poured himself a second cup of coffee and settled back into the chair at the head of the table.
“Not if you feel it’s prying. But yes, I would really like to know.” Particularly if that would erase the lines of exhaustion around his eyes. She didn’t care about him, of course, but it was odd, having pictured Brian as someone invincible, someone too damned hard and strong to be hurt, and then seeing that he had problems and tensions of his own.
“Four nights in a row I’ve been working late, on that college project I mentioned to you. Anyway, I didn’t get home last night until midnight, and when I got in, Joan was there. The daughter of the ‘dean to be,’” he added dryly. “The door was locked and she didn’t have a key, but she claimed the night watchman let her in. She had on a robe of mine, and nothing else. I know, because she took off the robe as soon as I got my coat off.”
Leigh leaned forward. “I get your point,” she said stiffly, “now kindly listen to mine. No, I really don’t care about your evening with Joan, or with Sue, Mary Jane, or whomever. But you looked tired as hell, Brian, and I was just trying to tell you that there’s no reason for you to worry if some woman’s name does slip out in conversation, that you don’t have to feel any awkwardness just because you’re leading your own life.” She sighed at his cryptic expression. He was impossible to read. “Look, if the arrangement doesn’t suit you, you’re not tied to it. Anytime you want out, we can get divorced.”
Abruptly, he stood up. “I don’t want out. And I don’t understand you, Red,” he said tersely.
For a moment, she felt wary again, catching a flash of anger on his face that was just as quickly masked. “That really doesn’t matter, does it?” she said swiftly.
“We’ll see.”
He left the kitchen, and Leigh turned back to the dishes. She spent a half hour puttering around cleaning up. When she finally went into the living room, she found the lights still off and the room empty. She found him in the library, and was amused to see that he had fallen asleep in the recliner chair. It was the room she’d expected he would lay claim to; with its dark paneling and books and large, overstuffed chairs, it was the most masculine room in the house.
For a moment she debated waking him, and then thought better of it. She could wake him in the morning, in time for him to go home and change clothes before work. She was always an early riser, and if he got up in the middle of the night he could certainly find his own way out. He’d already removed his shoes, and he didn’t so much as stir when she placed an afghan over him. She left a small light burning, because it didn’t seem right to let him waken suddenly in a strange room in the dark. And then she left him.
***
“Robert, would you just leave it alone? I feel perfectly wonderful today!” Absently, Leigh glanced out the dining-room window at a bleak November afternoon that threatened snow, thinking what a violent change in weather they’d undergone in the past month.
“Just answer my question, then I’ll leave you alone,” Robert retorted. He had a deck of cards on the dining table, spread out for a game of solitaire. Leigh could tell from the way he stopped every so often that his arthritis was bothering him today, but there was no point in suggesting he put an end to the game. Robert invariably whiled away the hour before dinner with cards, and it was a habit he rarely broke.
“You’re cheating,” she pointed out.
“The card slipped,” corrected Robert, giving her an injured look.
She chuckled, knowing very well that the “slip” had been intentional.
“Well?” he continued. “Are you having the nightmares again? Is that why I hear you pacing at night?”
“No, I am not having nightmares. Would you please stop worrying about me, Robert!”
“Are you sick with the baby then? Or are you pacing the floor because Brian’s out so much? You know, Leigh, I don’t think much of these modern marriages, when the couples just seem to go their own ways. Brian’s been living here a month, but you hardly see him any more than I do. I’m not one to criticize…”
“Since when?” teased Leigh.
He harumphed in exasperation, set his mouth tightly and turned his attention back to the cards. Guiltily, Leigh sighed. “Honestly, Robert, I’m perfectly okay. It’s just a little bout of insomnia, nothing at all to worry about.”
“For a man in his eighties, insomnia is nothing to worry about,” Robert answered stubbornly.
But he left it at that, for which Leigh was grateful. Nausea engulfed her again, forcing her to lean against the counter momentarily. This day was the worst she’d had in a long time, compounded by several nights of unrelieved nausea and sleeplessness. The idea of eating dinner was appalling, but at least Brian wouldn’t be there. And Robert was just as pleased as she was to have a light supper of soup and scrambled eggs; simple meals seemed to suit his digestion best.
Later Leigh made a fire in the living-room fireplace, all for herself to savor and enjoy. Over the past month, she had removed her mother’s formal French Provincial furniture to the attic, and had redecorated the room in a style of her own choosing. Two massive burnt-orange couches in a tufted corduroy velvet now occupied the middle of it. A massive oak trunk stood between them, a treasure Leigh had unearthed from an antique shop to refinish and use as a coffee table. In front of the fireplace were two nut-brown chairs sufficiently large for Leigh to curl up in, and comfortable enough to elicit an automatic sigh of relaxation from Brian when he sank down in one, on one of the rare evenings he was home. The richly stuccoed walls had been freshly painted in cream.
With the exception of this room, nothing seemed to be working out quite as she had expected. She had anticipated a delightful nine months of being pregnant. After all, she was healthy, happy and more secure than she had ever been in her life. Yet here she was, less than two months into the pregnancy, and it was not going well. Morning sickness—only it didn’t hit her just in the morning. Sometimes, yes, but more often the nausea would attack her at night, waking her from a sound sleep. She couldn’t seem to keep anything down. She craved food, devoured huge meals as if she were starving, and then just as quickly lost them. She’d had to take a leave of absence from her job, so she could sleep during the day after a restless night.
The marriage, on the other hand, was going a lot better than she could ever have imagined. Brian was so rarely around, for one thing. A few nights a week he would call to say he would make it home for dinner, and those meals inevitab
ly passed pleasantly. Of course Robert was always there. But Brian also had a dry sense of humor that she’d discovered she liked; in a very quiet way, he made her feel appreciated when she put extra effort into a dinner, and he made very few demands of any kind on the household. The evenings he was home he invariably shut himself up in the library with his work, and Leigh was left entirely in peace. Brian actually seemed to seek from marriage exactly those things he’d said he wanted—peace and quiet—a haven of sorts for a very busy man. Not to mention an escape hatch from any overly ardent lady friends.
Leigh heard the ticking of the chime clock and closed her eyes, delighted that for once her stomach was calm. She rose after a time and stoked the fire, adding a few more cherry logs. Sparks splashed the brick walls of the fireplace, and tufts of smoke soared up the chimney. When the flames simmered down again, she settled back in the deep cushions of the fireside chair and drew her feet up under her.
Again she reflected how very different Brian was from the man she’d originally thought him to be. It wasn’t that they hadn’t had a few…skirmishes, she recalled with amusement. She knew, for instance, without his ever having said a word, that he did not like whitefish, her hair up, his papers in the library touched, the color purple or cheese sauce on broccoli.
There had been a little verbal warfare in other arenas, too. When Robert had told him she was redoing the living room, Brian had hired an unasked-for and unwanted trio of painters. When Robert mentioned Leigh’s gardening chores, she suddenly found a man outside one day, raking leaves she was perfectly capable of raking herself. And when Robert tattled that Leigh had a woman come in once a week to do the heavy cleaning, that woman mysteriously began coming twice a week instead.
All of which had gone to prove, she thought wryly, that Robert was a terrible bearer of tales, and that Brian was not the self-absorbed egotist she’d once thought him. She didn’t like or appreciate his consideration—she didn’t want anything from Brian—but it was impossible not to admit that her trust in him had grown. He hadn’t touched her, beyond a casual kiss or two in front of Robert. And that wasn’t so awful, just simple affection. He was so strangely gentle with her…
She leaned her head back wearily, more content than she had felt in years.
***
Later, much later, she pulled the comforter off her bed and threw her pillow on top of it, dragging them to the carpeted floor of the bathroom. It was only eleven, but she had already been in bed for an hour, with a bone-tired weariness that she had been certain would overrule her stomach this night. But the room had started to spin and the nausea churn almost the minute her head touched the pillow. She was just so discouraged, and though the doctor had told her the nausea was normal and would disappear after the third month had passed, that meant there was still more than a month to go!
Another spasm of nausea wrenched through her and she leaned miserably over the basin, brushing her teeth thoroughly afterward and settling back on her makeshift pallet on the floor. There was no point in going back to bed; it was just as warm on the carpeted floor, or almost, and at least she wouldn’t have to keep dashing between bed and bathroom.
The next time, she was awakened from a sound sleep and had to lean both arms on the counter of the basin to support her weakened body. The awful retching just wouldn’t stop, though there was nothing left inside her stomach by that time. The dry heaves continued, horrible and exhausting. And then suddenly she felt a strong arm under her breasts, holding her up, startling her half out of her mind.
“Oh, God! Go away!” she cried to Brian. And still the nausea overwhelmed her, choking off her protest. Finally, it passed. Leigh was shaking so violently she could barely stand up. “Go away, please, Brian,” she pleaded, loath to have him see her like this. Tears welled in her eyes, tears of weakness and humiliation, and she combed his fingers from around her stomach, frantically pushing them away. Without a word, he picked up the comforter from the floor and cradled it around her while she brushed her teeth, and when she set the toothbrush down, he picked her up in one deft movement, comforter and all.
Tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks. “What are you doing here?” she said between sobs.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her onto his lap as if she were a child, crooning something incomprehensible to her, something soothing and soft. The flood of tears spilled all over his shirtfront. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she tried to say. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so miserable. The discouragement, the tiredness, the nausea, the humiliation—it was all too much.
“It’s all right, Leigh,” he soothed. Cradling her in his arms, he rocked her back and forth as he would rock a frightened child, one hand gently smoothing the tousled hair back from her forehead. For endless minutes he held her like that, until the sobs subsided and she took several deep breaths, fighting for control. In some dim corner of her mind she was aware of how strange it felt to have his arms around her. She hated and resented the feeling of dependence…but for just this moment, this single moment, the hard steel of his body did not seem at all threatening, and the sensual, gentle strength of his fingers reaching out to her was a luxury she simply couldn’t deny herself.
Finally she brought her hands to her face and wiped away the tears. “Lord, I’m sorry,” she repeated shakily. “I’m so embarrassed. It’s just that so much has been wrong lately.”
“Tell me,” he suggested. She lifted her eyes, suddenly aware of how close his face was to hers. She was conscious of the smooth texture of his mouth and his emotive black eyes, the sensual smell of him, the power she felt in his thighs beneath hers. A stark burst of sheer sexuality flamed inside her, immediately accompanied by a quelling panic. She tried to get up from his lap, and his arms encircled her like iron. “Just tell me first,” he said.
“It’s all so foolish,” she admitted unhappily, staring at the damp folds of his shirt where she had cried so easily. Confused, she confessed to him all that had been happening: She couldn’t get anything done because she was so tired during the day; she was tired during the day because she was ill at night; she couldn’t keep any food down; she had no energy, and she had always had so much energy; and she cried for no reason at all…and she never cried. “I don’t have any reason to cry. I’ve never been so happy, Brian, and everything is perfectly wonderful. None of it makes any sense.”
“Of course it does, sweetheart. You’re pregnant,” Brian said gently. “Now will you be all right if I leave you for a few minutes?” Still he cradled her in his arms as he got up, and then propped the pillow against the headboard and laid her head on it. Startled, she watched his right hand as if it were some strange independent being, the fingers tugged down the nightgown that had ridden to her thighs, pulled the sheet back up to her waist and folded it just under her breasts. His palm rested momentarily on her ribs, warm and firm, then slid down her stomach, hovered a moment on her covered thigh. “I’ll be right back.” His black eyes seared hers. “Anything wrong, Red?”
“No.” She closed her eyes, unwilling to reveal how much his touch disturbed her. A few minutes later, Brian returned with a tray. She almost laughed when she saw it. Ginger ale and soda crackers. “I couldn’t, Brian, honestly. Really, you don’t have to bother anymore. I’m all right now.”
He brought back the second pillow from the bathroom and, placing it next to hers on the double bed, settled himself down beside her. It was crazy. He was still dressed in his suit pants and his white and now thoroughly rumpled shirt; she wore a long cream-colored flannel nightgown…together, next to each other on the bed. She closed her eyes, willing her childish panic to evaporate. It just wasn’t that kind of moment; the scene he’d just witnessed could not possibly evoke desire. She was safe with him, had felt safe for a month.
“It is rather wicked, isn’t it?” he said devilishly, and when her eyes widened he said calmly, “Eating crackers in bed. You’ll probably toss on crumbs for the rest of the night.”
She chuckled. The crackers tasted absolutely delicious. The sense of weakness passed with each bite. “Robert tattled, didn’t he?” she asked sharply.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Obviously because I didn’t want you to know,” she said frankly. “The pregnancy isn’t your problem, Brian. I mean, our arrangement’s been going very well, don’t you think? I have no intention of bothering you again—I’m not normally that sick.”
“It bothers the devil out of you to have to admit you might actually need someone, doesn’t it? It bothers you so much that you won’t admit it, even now!”
“I don’t need anyone,” Leigh said stiffly. “I told you I was perfectly capable of coping on my own.”
“The hell you are! Sleeping on the bathroom floor, overextending yourself with massive projects like painting rooms, gorging yourself one minute and starving the next! You’ve been coping just splendidly!” His arms folded behind his head in a relaxed manner, Brian managed to convey amusement as well as sternness. “Lady, you’re about to be taken in hand.”
He was deliberately confusing her. She was outraged that he should even imply that he had a right to influence her lifestyle, and amazed that he would want to. Although her pregnancy hadn’t been going well, she had at least thought their marriage had been—that their relationship suited him as well as it did her. “I don’t need anyone to hold my hand and I never will,” she snapped furiously. “And I don’t know what you’re thinking of, Brian, but you can’t very well stay home nights. Whatever women you’re seeing are hardly going to just sit at home doing needlework while you babysit a pregnant wife!”
“My horde of mistresses you comfort yourself with?” he asked dryly. “Would you like a legal pad full of names, Leigh? Would that make you feel nice and safe?”
A Daring Proposition Page 7