by Penny Jordan
His courtesy as he helped her out of the car was something which surprised her, until she reminded herself that his excellent manners were probably an automatic reflex of which he was possibly unaware. The hotel was imposing, the red brick facade faintly awe-inspiring. A flight of shallow stone steps led upwards to the entrance, and as they stepped into the cool tiled foyer. Genista looked around the elegant high-ceilinged room appreciatively.
'It was originally a country house,' Luke told her informatively. 'The scene of many a weekend party, or so I should imagine, but after the war it was turned into a hotel.'
The head waiter materialised in front of them, and obviously recognised Luke. They were shown to a small table overlooking the gardens with a deference that Genista found enlightening. She had thought of Luke only in context with herself, and now it was brought home to her that she was marrying a very important man; and certainly an exceedingly wealthy one.
She was handed a menu which she studied absently.
'If you're not feeling particularly hungry, I suggest you start with the river trout,' Luke said quietly. 'They're a speciality of the hotel.'
Genista did as he suggested, and as he had promised the fish was delicious. She had ordered fillet steak for her main meal with a side salad, and although the steak was beautifully tender she was unable to eat more than a couple of mouthfuls. Seated opposite Luke in the elegant surroundings of the restaurant with its thick pile carpet and gliding waiters, she felt the enormity of her situation suddenly come home to her. She all but choked on her steak, pushing her plate away, as she stared blindly into space. What had she agreed to? She wouldn't marry Luke. She couldn't marry him! She stole a glance at his imperious profile. He appeared absorbed in his food. Her eyes rested on the strong male features of his face, trying to relax her taut nerves. Luke beckoned the wine waiter and murmured something to him, and for a moment the man's impassive features relaxed into a smile. He disappeared, returning several minutes later with an ice bucket containing a green bottle, and two champagne glasses.
'Drink it,' Luke commanded when the frothing liquid had been poured. 'It will help calm your nerves.'
'So would a cup of Horlicks,' Genista murmured irreverently. It seemed wrong to be drinking champagne—a drink she had always associated with happy celebrations—before this forced wedding.
'Horlicks is a bedtime drink,' Luke said softly. 'Do you have trouble getting to sleep, Genista? I'm not surprised, with all that you must have on your conscience. They do say that healthy exercise is an excellent cure.'"
Her cheeks burned, as much at the implication of his last words as at the earlier insult. Tears burned against the back of her throat, and all at once she felt unable to fight any longer. A terrible feeling of misery engulfed her, a lassitude so foreign to her nature that she couldn't understand why she should be experiencing it. It was as though her mind was at last acknowledging that there was nothing more she could do to escape and it was trying to teach her body acceptance.
Luke had ordered strawberries and fresh cream for dessert. He himself had cheese and biscuits, and Genista pushed the fruit round her dish, until his muttered exasperation got through to her.
'I don't want it,' she told him defiantly. 'All I want is for everything to be over .. .'
'And for things to be as they were before,' Luke finished for her.
Self-pity welled up inside her.
'Things can never be as they were,' she told him fiercely, flinching a little at the inimical look in his eyes as they searched her flushed face.
'No, they can't, can they?' he agreed softly. 'And I warn you now, Genista, if I think for one moment that you're thinking of Bob when I make love to you, I'll makq you sorry you were ever born.'
'You already have,' Genista said recklessly. 'And you can't tell me what to think, Luke. My thoughts at least are still my own.'
She could feel the anger beating up inside him, and wondered shiveringly what would happen if he ever unleashed it. She hoped she never got to find out.
It was two o'clock when they left the hotel. They didn't return to the motorway, but drove through the dales, lonely, magnificent country dotted with sheep, and laced with ancient grey stone walls. Villages huddled in the valleys, single streets of tiny cottages by rivers, so clean and clear that Genista could see the river bed as they drove past. The sun shone sporadically, casting shadows which chased each other over the rolling hills as clouds drifted over the sun. In other circumstances the peace of her surroundings must surely have had a relaxing effect upon her, she reflected, but today she was too tense, too highly strung to appreciate the timeless beauty of the countryside.
Kendal, with its limestone walls and houses, was busy. They drove straight through, Luke concentrating on his driving. In Windermere she gazed at the blue-grey expanse of the lake, her tension tightening into coils of fear that slid agonisingly through her stomach. The road circled the lake before climbing steeply into hills so old and weathered by time that Genista caught her breath in awe.
The road seemed to wind for an eternity through woods which she suspected must be heartbreakingly lovely in the autumn before emerging among the hills. The faint baaing of the sheep was the only sound to disturb the stillness of the afternoon. High above in the sky Genista saw a bird hovering motionless.
'A peregrine falcon,' Luke told her, following her gaze. 'There's a place up here where they train them. There's a huge export demand for the birds, especially in the Middle East. I suppose there's something of the pagan in all men which responds to the ultimate primitive thrill of taming so much splendour.'
The knot of fear in Genista's stomach tightened. It wasn't hard to imagine one of those proud birds, wings outstretched, fierce claws digging into a leatherbound wrist as Luke fed it raw meat. There was something primitive about him, she thought uneasily; something that refused to be tamed by civilisation. The knowledge unnerved her, and if they hadn't been on such a deserted stretch of road she might have contemplated trying to escape.
The road dipped suddenly. Below them she could see a small village, the church spire reaching up towards the clouds.
Half a dozen children were playing in the village square, and they scattered when Luke stopped the car, gazing at it with open-mouthed awe.
Despite the fact that the afternoon was mild, Genista felt goosebumps rise up under her skin as Luke helped her out of the car. In silence he led the way to the small vicarage set next to the church.
'The Vicar here was a close friend of my parents,' he told her quietly as he opened the garden gate. 'One wrong word, one glance to show that this marriage is not desired by both of us, and I'll make tonight something you'll want to blot out of your mind for the rest of your life.'
Genista shivered, pressing her hand to temples which had begun to ache badly. For some reason Luke seemed to sap all her normal resilience. In his presence she felt as capable as a small child faced with a domineering adult. Mindlessly she allowed him to propel her up the garden path. It was bordered by lavender which smelled heavenly, she noticed absently, and old-fashioned pink roses climbed over the Vicarage walls to mingle with the honeysuckle and clematis.
The door opened before they could reach it, and a plump woman with soft brown hair, touched with grey, and a delighted smile hurried towards them. She embraced Luke first, tilting back her head to stare up at him. She barely reached his shoulder, and there were tears in her eyes as she turned from him to Genista.
'Oh, Luke, she's lovely!' she said emotionally. 'When John told me you wanted to be married here, I was so thrilled. Luke's parents were married in this church,' she told Genista. 'But I expect you already know that. But you should have given us more warning, Luke.' Her smile robbed the words of any criticism, and Genista could see that she was very fond of Luke.
'Amy is my godmother,' he explained to Genista as their hostess turned away to open the front door. 'Since the death of my parents she and John are the nearest thing I've had to a fam
ily.'
The Vicarage hall was dark after the sunlit garden, and Genista stumbled over the step and would have fallen if Luke's arm hadn't caught her round the waist. Just for a second her body was pressed against the hard warmth of his, and a feeling not unlike panic swept over her. Amy turned, beaming at them both, and her fear subsided a little. Luke was unlikely to do anything to her in someone else's presence.
'Luke told me you both wanted to get changed before the ceremony. Luke's in his usual room, but I've put you in our daughter's. Where are you taking her for the honeymoon, Luke?' she asked her godson. 'Or is it a secret?'
It was impossible not to like the small, motherly woman. Genista felt drawn to her immediately, and in other circumstances—had she not been so obviously under Luke's spell—she might have risked confiding in her and begging for her help. However, it was simply not possible. It was obvious that she expected Genista to be over the moon with joy at the thought of marrying Luke, and moreover, believed that they were madly in love. Narrow twisting stairs led off the hall, and as she followed her hostess up them Genista heard Luke saying behind her, 'It's a secret, Amy. Unfortunately we've only got a long weekend.'
'You work far too hard,' she reproved him. 'You must make him slow down,' she told Genista. 'A long weekend! You're lucky she agreed to marry you, Luke. I would have insisted on a month— preferably on some gorgeous tropical island.'
'Haven't you noticed? Genista's a redhead. She'd be suffering from sunburn before the first day was out, and that's no good on a honeymoon.'
Amy tried to look disapproving and failed. Genista forced a smile, knowing that something was expected of her. She could have told them both that her skin didn't burn, but she sensed that to do so would bring Luke's anger down upon her hapless head, and she already had enough to cope with without that.
The room Amy showed her to was prettily feminine. Luke brought up her suitcase while Amy was still chatting about his childhood, and how delighted she and her husband were that they'd chosen to be married in his church.
'I've been down this morning and done the flowers. June is such a lovely month for a wedding, but we don't get many here, unfortunately. The young people move away to the towns looking for jobs, and marry there. John's in his study, if you want to have a word with him,' she told Luke as he placed Genista's case on the bed. 'We've arranged the ceremony for four, to give you time to get to wherever it is you're going afterwards.'
'I'll go down and have a word with him after I've showered and changed.'
He went, closing the door behind him, and fresh panic engulfed Genista. She turned blindly towards the window, unaware that Amy had caught a glimpse of her face until the older woman said softly,
'It's such a big step, isn't it? But you couldn't entrust your life to a better man. Luke's parents' marriage was exceptionally happy. His father had old-fashioned values and both Luke and Marina were brought up on them. I think that's why Marina took it so hard when her husband left her. For a while we thought Luke might never marry. It seemed to harden him, and then . . . Well, the fact that the girl Philip ran off with was Luke's girl-friend was an added complication. Marina blamed him for introducing Verity to Philip. She couldn't seem to see that Luke had been hurt as well.' Amy sighed. 'Forgive me, my dear, this isn't the time to bring up all that sad business again. I'm so glad Luke's found happiness. He deserves it, and I'm sure you'll make him very happy.' She patted Genista's hand and laughed. 'You probably think we're too old-fashioned to be aware of these things, but I can recognise love when I see it, and love for you is written all over Luke's face.'
Amy was mistaking love for sexual desire, Genista thought wearily as the door closed behind the older woman.
Alone, she showered quickly in the small en-suite bathroom attached to the bedroom, drying herself briskly on one of the large fluffy towels Amy had supplied, before slipping into the silky briefs she had pulled out of her case. Because of the camisole top to the suit it was impossible to wear a bra, but the sheer fabric was lined, and although the soft swell of her breasts was clearly visible beneath the fabric, there was nothing offensive about it. The hem on her skirt brushed her silk stockings, and she slid on fragile leather sandals in a toning shade of green before sitting down to apply her make-up.
Her skin glowed healthily from her holiday and she had no need to use foundation. The merest hint of soft lilac eyeshadow added depth to her amethyst eyes. She brushed her lashes sparingly with mascara, and added soft pink lipstick before brushing her hair until it crackled.
She was just spraying her skin with perfume when she heard the rap on the door, and she opened it nervously, blinking a little in surprise at the strange man standing there.
'I'm Jeff Stanley. Luke asked me to do the honours—I hope you don't mind? We used to play together when we were kids. I'm the local doctor here. My wife and I are going to act as your witnesses, and as Amy flatly refused to allow Luke to see you in your wedding finery, I was deputised to escort you to the church. An honour and a privilege,' he added with an admiring grin. 'Now I've seen you I know why Luke was so reluctant to leave you. I don't suppose he'd appreciate it if I took my best man's kiss in advance!'
He was obviously trying to help her to relax, but Genista felt as stiff as a poker as they walked along the lavender-bordered path to the small, grey country church. In other circumstances the simple service in the plain whitewashed church would have been her ideal. The flowers arranged by Amy made a soft pool of colour against the white background. Light streamed in through the stained glass windows—a gift to the church by a seventeenth-century inhabitant of the village, and obviously cherished.
Amy's husband, John Robson, was as homely and pleasant as his wife. His voice was the one which guided Genista through her responses—responses which were tying her irrevocably to the man at her side, giving him licence to do with her as he wished. At one point she thought her voice was going to desert her completely, and only the hard grip of Luke's fingers round her wrist jerked her back to awareness. And then at last it was over. The church bells pealed, and a small crowd had gathered outside to wish them well, and stare at the bride. Jeff Stanley did kiss her, but only lightly on the cheek before turning her back to Luke with a wide grin.
'She's all yours now, you lucky man. Barbara has prepared a buffet up at the house, but you aren't expected to stay long. We're still able to remember what it feels like to be newly married. I expect you can't wait to be on your own. Aren't you going to kiss the bride?' he added.
Genista shrank back as Luke's arm circled her waist. But it was too late. He was already drawing her towards him, his cool breath fanning the tendrils of hair at her temples, as his dark head bent towards her, blotting out the sun. It was that night in the alleyway all over again, and she tensed in fear, panic spreading through her body like fire. She was trembling so badly that she knew Luke must have felt it. His lips felt cool as they touched her own, his eyes night-dark as she looked up into them, pools of emptiness in which she could drown if she let herself. His body was shielding her from the onlookers, and to them they probably looked much like any other newly married couple, exchanging a brief embrace. Luke's lips didn't linger. The butterfly embrace was over almost before it had begun, leaving her feelings vaguely cheated, although she was at a loss to understand the reason for this strange emotion.
Jeff Stanley's wife was plump and pretty. They had been married two years and had a very active nine-month-old son.
'Luke's a real dreamboat, isn't he?' she commented to Genista when she had taken her upstairs to show her the baby. 'I used to have the most dreadful crush on him. How did you meet?'
'At a party,' Genista said truthfully. Even now she could not believe that they were actually married.
'Come on down, you two,' Jeff called. 'Luke's champing at the bit! I'd hurry if I were you, Genista,' he teased. 'He's not a patient man and I suspect he's longing to get you to himself.'
Genista hadn't changed
out of her suit; there seemed little point. She had no idea where Luke was taking her. He had cancelled the business meeting which had been the original purpose of their journey, she knew that.
Seated in the car, waiting for Luke to join her, she felt her stomach tensing nervously. She was on her honeymoon, the thought brought anxiety crawling along her nerves. She was just on the point of thrusting open the car door and screaming that she couldn't go through with it, when Luke slid in beside her, turning the key in the ignition.
'Come back soon!' Amy called as the Maserati slid out of the square. 'Have a good time!'
'Where are you taking me?'
She sounded like an abducted heroine, Genista thought crossly. The worst possible thing she could do was to show fear. She ought to be showing Luke that she felt completely in control of the situation. Tonight he fully expected that he would be sharing her bed, but she knew that she could not allow him to do so, and if she panicked she would have next to no chance of preventing him.
'It's a surprise,' was all he would say, but he said it in such a grim tone that Genista felt her nervousness increase. She should never have allowed herself to be manoeuvred into this position. She should have told him right from the start that he was completely wrong about her. A confession trembled on her lips, but she quickly realised that telling him the truth would serve no useful purpose. He would still desire her, perhaps even more when he knew that he would be her first lover. Her pulse rate quickened as she remembered what he had said at her apartment. 'Where are you taking me?' she demanded huskily.
'Frightened?' The mocking question sawed at her raw nerve ends. 'There's no need to be. After all, I won't be the first man to share your bed, but I intend to be the one you remember the longest, Genista.'
'Sure of yourself, aren't you?'
She could feel him watching her, the knowledge sending prickly warnings along her skin.
'No more than any other man with experience of your sex. The act of love is one which should be mutually enjoyable, and I believe that our body chemistry is such that it will be. You can't deny that you responded to me when I kissed you.'