'I'm blocking the road and I'm not moving another inch without you.' And that should have given her fair warning of his intention to manhandle her into the passenger-seat, but she was still in shock while he walked round the front.
When he slid in beside her she managed huskily, 'I'm here on a job and I'm already late back,' which was a downright lie but one he seemed to swallow because he said, his deep voice silky smooth now with an underlying menace she had never heard from him before,
'So direct me. I'll take you there.'
And there was no way she was going to be able to get out of that. She could refuse point-blank and he would simply drive away with her. Anywhere, the mood he was in. She had never seen him this angry before.
Something inside her shivered and contracted as she glanced up at his stony profile, and she gave directions in a thin, sharp voice and wondered if he knew just what kind of hell he was putting her through.
She had just set her foot on the long, tough road back to some sort of acceptance of her ruined marriage and he had to appear to plunge her back to square one. And she was shaking inside as she said into the prickly silence, 'How did you know where I was?'
'Allie, who else?'
Of course. Who else? Beth and her best friend from schooldays had kept in close touch even after she'd married and left the Helpline Agency. She would have been the first person Charles would have asked.
'But why bother?' she asked dully, slowly, unconsciously, shaking her head.
He shot her a hard sideways look, a look that boded ill for her peace of mind, and his voice was grim as he told her, 'Did you think for one moment I'd simply let you walk away?'
CHAPTER THREE
Beth sagged in her seat, her eyes closing. Now why hadn't she thought of that? Of course he wouldn't allow her to simply walk away, to take that sort of initiative.
Charles Savage's middle name had to be determination. A tough character, he always had to be in control. He hated loose ends. He would have to know exactly what his estranged wife was doing, and where she was doing it. Besides, he would want a quick divorce, wouldn't he? He would need to keep tabs on her, know exactly where she was.
'Very cosy.' The biting edge of sarcasm as he braked the car made her eyes wing open. They were in the cobbled yard at the front of the old stone farmhouse, the tubs of geraniums around the walls making bright splashes of colour.
'Yes, isn't it?' She was giving as good as she got. He might have brought her down, but she wasn't out for the count—not as far as he was going to be allowed to see. 'I love it. I'm quite at home here already.'
Home. The very word cut through her like a blade. Home was where he was, and she would never be there again. Never was such a desolate word but she resolutely blinked back tears and shot him a bright, glittering look, ignoring the curl of anger on his mouth.
'Come along in, if you have something to say. You can't have come all this way just for a change of scenery.'
She let herself out of the car and swept over the yard ahead of him, willing herself to stay calm. So far she had avoided the agony of hearing him tell her he wanted a divorce, wanted to be free to marry Zanna and take her and their son to live with him.
She had run, but not far enough or fast enough, and he had caught up with her like Nemesis. And she was going to have to listen now, and not betray a thing.
If he knew how long she had loved him, how passionately, he would feel sorry for her. And that she could not, would not stand. The humiliation would be the final, deadly straw. Far better, for both of them, if he continued to believe that theirs had been a loveless marriage, on both sides, and that she had decided that that type of sterile relationship was no longer enough.
It was silent in the square, stone-flagged hall and he stood in the open doorway behind her, blocking out the sun, and his voice was ice as he remarked, 'Just the two of you, is it? You and the celebrated author? Quite an idyllic set-up.'
'As you say.' Her voice was brittle, hard. It had to be, because to deny what he was obviously thinking would be to reveal a tiny chink in her armour. No need to tell him that she slept in the annexe, as had her predecessor, had her own small private sitting-room with a tiny bathroom above, built into the roof, and only came into the main house to work, to take her meals. No need to let him know that, loving him, no other man really existed for her.
'Come through to the sitting-room,' she invited, her level tone belying the sickening race of her heartbeats. 'William's still in bed, but I'm sure he won't mind, in the circumstances.'
She went to move away, towards the door next to the study, but her wrist was caught in a grip of steel and his mouth was a bitter line as he snapped, hauling her against the hard, lean length of his body, 'Had a hard night, did he?'
'We both did!' Being so close, feeling his vital body warmth, the hard thrust of perfectly honed muscle and bone beneath the casual jeans and sweatshirt, was bitter-sweet torment and her taunt was in direct response, a defence mechanism she had no control over, and she put defiance into her eyes, to hide the anguish, meeting his, seeing the involuntary jerk of a muscle at the side of his jaw, feeling a tiny stab of triumph because he, after all, could be jealous.
But the triumph was hollow, short-lived. She was still his wife and, as such, his property. He had wedded and bedded her, and her body, for three short months, had carried his child. And then he had never made love to her again because, knowing the odds on her ever conceiving again were impossibly long, there had been no point. Yet, even so, he still regarded her as his possession; his masculine ego would snarl at the thought of her going to bed with any other man.
Her throat clogged with misery, she tried to drag herself away, but his grip merely tightened and his voice was thick as he stated, 'Beth, we have to talk. Don't you see that?' And for an insane moment she almost believed he cared, that there was still something left of their marriage, that something could be salvaged from the ruins. Slowly, she looked up at him from between her long dark lashes, felt a betraying tremor run through his body, and heard William say from the head of the stairs,
'Is everything all right, Beth?' His voice was roughly aggressive because it wasn't every day he came across a total stranger manhandling his secretary.
So the moment was over, and she must have imagined that jealousy, and had to put it down to wishful thinking because Charles, when he answered for her, sounded almost bored, completely urbane, totally in control.
'Perfectly all right, Templeton. I was passing and decided to drop in on my wife.'
'Oh. I see.' He sounded wary, coming down the stairs slowly, and Beth sighed.
When she had first arrived she had told her employer that she was separated from her husband. A broken marriage was nothing unusual these days. And he had accepted that, and if he had jumped to the conclusion that the separation was of long duration, and amicable, she hadn't put him right.
She had been feeling too raw to go into any details. And now he probably imagined that he would come down each morning to find an irate husband on his doorstep.
That kind of complication she could do without! And if she wanted to keep her job she would have to convince him otherwise.
'Beth, would you ask Mariette to bring coffee to the study—you'll join us, Savage?' William faced the younger, much taller man, his expression faintly belligerent. He had obviously showered recently and changed into lightweight fawn trousers and a crisp white shirt, looking far more alert after his sleep, younger, tougher.
'Thank you.' Charles dipped his dark head, the tone of his voice almost contemptuous, his mouth grim, and Beth slipped away, the palms of her hands slicked with perspiration.
The two men were acting like adversaries, circling each other, ready to fight to the death for their territorial rights. She couldn't understand it. She might still be married to Charles but that state of affairs wouldn't last long because he wanted to be rid of her. And although William might be annoyed because his work
ing routine was being disrupted by an unwelcome visitor, he must know that it was a one-off, wouldn't happen again.
She would have to make that very clear as soon as Charles left. She needed this job and had every intention of keeping it, intending, once she had proved herself capable and reliable, to ask if he would employ her on a permanent footing.
Mariette wasn't in the kitchen so Beth made the coffee herself, glad of the respite. Seeing Charles again, so soon, had been a shock and she needed time to brace herself to act as if she didn't really care when he asked her for a divorce.
But she couldn't make the simple task last all morning and when she carried the tray into the study she was no nearer gaining total control over her emotions than she had been when Charles had appeared out of the blue, bundling her into his car.
And the atmosphere inside the small, book-lined room did nothing to help her equilibrium. William was behind his desk, his eyes glowering, and Charles was pacing the floor, like a caged tiger trying to break out.
'How long are you staying in the area?' William questioned abruptly.
Charles, his narrowed eyes watching every move Beth made as she poured coffee, answered silkily, 'As long as I need to,' his steely grey eyes hardening as she handed him his cup. 'Making yourself indispensable to yet another man?'
Although fiery colour washed her face Beth's body went icy cold. That had been a direct reference to the fact that, for six months before he had come out with his astonishing proposal of marriage, she had worked as a temporary housekeeper-cum-social-hostess at South Park.
Beth remembered, as if it were yesterday, the morning when Charles had walked into the Helpline Agency. Mrs Penny, he'd explained, had fallen and broken her hip and it would be months before she would be fit for work again. And everyone knew that, not long before, Zanna had walked out of his life, leaving him bereft. Her heart had ached for him, because she had known what it was like to love hopelessly. But at least Charles had known a spell of intense happiness with the woman everyone knew he was obsessed by.
'I need a miracle—a Jill of all trades,' he'd confessed, his austere features softening in a smile which looked rarely used these days. 'Someone to act as temporary housekeeper, occasional secretary and sometime hostess when I entertain business colleagues for working weekends. It would be for some months, certainly until Mrs Penny is fit to return. But by then I should have got something sorted out regarding the other duties.'
To this day, Beth didn't know just what madness had prompted her to offer. Heaven knew, she and Allie had been busy enough with administering the rapidly expanding agency, and her secret love for Charles Savage, that hopeless thing that had refused to die the death or go away, would merely be fanned into a raging conflagration if she were foolish enough to spend so much time with him.
But Charles had had no such qualms, of course. Why on earth should he? He'd been openly relieved, and even the brooding severity of those gunfighter's eyes—and everyone around had noticed just how much more brooding they had become since Zanna Hall had left him—had lightened to silvery pleasure as he'd told her,
'That would be ideal. Living in the village, you'd be able to go home each evening, and as I shall be working in the City for most of the week you'll have plenty of time to organise the weekend arrangements when I decide to entertain. And there is daily help with the cleaning and so on, so you won't find stepping into Mrs Penny's shoes as well too arduous.'
But, as it had happened, he had spent far less time away than he had led her to expect, and her stupid, hopeless love for him had been fanned, just as she had privately predicted…
And William was perceptive enough to pick up her distress now because when she judged her hand was steady enough to carry his coffee to him his kindly eyes looked directly into hers with compassion—and just the hint of a question. Then he turned to Charles, whose silence seemed to contain a threat.
'Where are you staying?'
'In Boulogne.' He named one of the most prestigious hotels, his voice curt, and put his half-finished coffee down on the tray. 'But I haven't come here to exchange pleasantries. I'd like a word with Beth. In private.' He stalked to the door, as if he could no longer endure the confinement. And he cut through the beginning of the older man's expostulations with a grim, 'I realise she's your secretary, Templeton, but first and foremost she is my wife.'
In the tense, waiting silence, Beth heard the drumbeat of her own blood as she resisted the urge to scream. She felt like a bone being tugged between two snarling dogs, and didn't know why.
'Beth?' William's voice sounded indecisive. 'Is that what you want?'
She nodded mutely. Charles, in this mood, would get exactly what he wanted and wouldn't care about the methods he used. And as he was here they might as well get the unhappy discussion about their future out of the way. And when that was settled she could make her peace with her employer, reassure him that he wasn't about to be caught up in the middle of a nasty ongoing matrimonial drama. Once Charles had her agreement to a rapid divorce, he most certainly wouldn't want to set eyes on her again, much less waste his precious time in seeking her out and causing disruption at her place of work.
Charles was standing at the door, waiting, the dark line of his brow impatient, and Beth walked reluctantly towards him, her stomach lurching, her feet like lead. Hearing him put his request for a divorce into words was going to be one of the worst things that had ever happened to her.
But she would survive it, she told herself firmly as, her head held high, she walked through the door, refusing to meet his eyes.
'Here!'
She had walked out into the sun-drenched morning, making for the stone bench against one of the courtyard walls, instinctively knowing that she would need to be sitting down while she listened to what he had to say to her. Already her legs were shaking. But she turned at his barked command, saw he was holding the car door open for her, and sucked in a ragged breath.
'Don't treat me like a dog!' she snapped, forcing anger through her bloodstream. Better anger than helpless misery, far better. 'I don't come to heel at your command.'
'So I'm beginning to notice. Nevertheless, get in.'
'Whatever you have to say to me can be said here.' She stood her ground, digging her heels in. 'There's no one around, it's quite private.'
'I have no intention of staying on Templeton's property,' he told her grimly. 'So do you come willingly, or do I have to make you?'
Beth compressed her lips to trap a shuddering sigh. The warning in his ruthless gaze was unmistakable. Better to get into the car under her own steam than have him put her there. If he touched her again her body would betray her, demonstrate how much she still wanted, needed and loved him. And she couldn't think why he had taken such an instant dislike to the harmless William. He should be shaking the other man's hand, slapping him on the back because he had, after all, provided his unwanted wife with a job, a wage and living accommodation!
She shuddered violently as he slammed the car door behind her as soon as she'd settled in the passenger-seat, biting down on her lower lip as he stalked round to take his place. She had known he was capable of anger; she'd had enough confidential conversations with the wives of his employees and business colleagues who'd accompanied their husbands on those working weekends at South Park to learn that though he was always fair-minded, willing to listen to the other person's point of view, his icy anger when someone failed to live up to his exacting standards was something to be avoided at all costs.
But she, herself, had never experienced it until now. It made her feel small and vulnerable, threatened, as if she didn't know him at all, as if he had become a dangerous, menacing stranger.
While they were leaving the courtyard and heading for open country at what Beth considered to be a dangerous speed, she forced herself to stare grimly ahead, to display no emotion at all. She wasn't even going to ask where the hell he thought he was taking her. She couldn't trust h
er voice.
And he was silent, too, handling the fast car with steely concentration. Beth wasn't surprised. Since the accident the lines of communication between them had broken down.
Previously, they'd always been able to talk, about everything under the sun. And that was just one of the things that had further cemented her love for him when she had first gone to work for him at South Park.
Eventually, he braked the car at the foot of a forest track, the tyres spinning, scattering small stones, and Beth let herself out of the car, closing the door and leaning against it with weak relief.
The tension, the unspoken rage coming from him had been more than she could bear and she dragged in a deep breath of the slightly cooler air, scented by the forest trees, spiced by the faint tang of the ocean, and rubbed the beads of perspiration from her short upper lip with the back of a clenched hand.
And he was standing in front of her, a dark, silent presence whose soft-footed approach made her heart leap and twist inside her.
But there was something different now, as if the concentration needed to handle the fast car with safety had exorcised that coiling anger. And her unguarded eyes winged up to his, then dropped, veiled by heavy lids and the thick dark sweep of her lashes as she recognised the softening of his eyes, his features.
Compassion? Pity? She didn't need it. He had always treated her with kindliness and respect, even after she had lost the child he had set his heart on. He would be feeling sorry for her, knowing he was about to tell her exactly why Zanna had returned after all this time.
He wasn't a deliberately cruel man; he wouldn't want to cause her pain. But there was nothing he could do about it because Zanna, for him, had been an obsession. Still was. Always would be. Everyone had known that, which was why the people who really cared about her, her parents and Allie, had warned her against accepting his marriage proposal.
She should have listened to them. She'd been too sure of her ability to make him forget the other woman, learn to love her. She had been so sure he would, especially when she gave him the child he had told her he wanted.
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