Wedding Fever

by Lee Wilkinson

  Snapping off the painful memory like a dry twig, she fought the urge to follow him and tell him she hadn’t meant it. Clearly, at the moment, he didn’t want her near him, nor did he want to hear anything she had to say.

  With so much burning in her mind Raine didn’t expect to sleep, but, within seconds of taking off her blouse and skirt and climbing into bed, she went out like a light.

  She awakened to find that Finn had returned. He and Nick were sitting by the stove talking in undertones while they ate the picnic Nick had prepared that morning.

  The bedside clock showed that it was early afternoon; she’d slept for over two hours. Feeling suddenly ravenous, she pulled on her clothes and went to join them.

  Both men glanced up at her approach, and something in their expressions made her heart stand still and then begin to hammer with alarm.

  Nick’s face was set and stony, while Finn’s wore a look of dismay and perplexity.

  A pricking in her thumbs warned her to play it cool.

  Nick was sitting on the settee, and, careful not to jolt him, she took a seat by his side. There were several drink cans in front of him, and the food, still in its wrappers, was spread out on the small coffee-table.

  ‘May I?’ Raine helped herself to a thick round slice of the brown malted fruit bread that came in a tin. She was reaching for a chunk of ham when Finn half rose. ‘Shall I get you a fork?’

  ‘It’s supposed to be a picnic, isn’t it?’ she asked lightly.

  ‘Sure is,’ he agreed.

  ‘Then I’ll eat with my fingers the same as everyone else.’

  There was an awkward silence before Finn asked, ‘Had a good rest?’

  ‘I’ve been sound asleep for ages... Did you have any trouble finding Mrs Doody’s horses?’

  ‘None at all. I told her about the accident and she sends her commiserations. Says to go over for a meal one day soon and—’ Finn broke off abruptly.

  Knowing something was wrong, Raine took a deep breath. ‘That’s very nice of her,’ she said evenly, and then to Nick, ‘Perhaps when your shoulder is better we could—’

  ‘We won’t be staying,’ he told her brusquely. ‘At least you won’t.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A GIANT fist seemed to close around her heart. So that was it. He had decided to let her go. And she knew with great certainty that if she went everything they had shared—the humour, the passion, the stimulating companionship—would all be lost, and their brief marriage would be over.

  But why was he letting her go? Not because he didn’t want her any longer, she was sure, but because he was finally convinced she hated him.

  Shaking her head, she began, ‘Nick, I—’

  ‘If you’ll excuse me a minute.’ Finn rose to his feet. ‘I just want to take a look at the weather.’

  When the door had closed behind the other man, Nick went on, his eyes bleak, ‘As soon as you’ve had something to eat and packed your things, Finn will take you back to Bangor and see you on a plane for Boston.’

  Briefly she wondered how much Finn knew. Not the whole truth; she would stake her life on that. He would be merely carrying out instructions. Instructions that had clearly surprised and dismayed him.

  Keeping her voice steady with an effort, she said, ‘That’s very kind of him. But what about you?’

  ‘I’ll stay on for a day or so and drive back when my shoulder’s up to it... Of course, if you’d prefer it, Finn’s happy to travel all the way to Boston with you.’

  That gave her the opening she needed. Knowing now how she was going to play it, she asked in dulcet tones, ‘Was that his suggestion or yours?’

  Casting her a rapier-sharp glance, Nick answered briefly, ‘Mine.’

  ‘Good!’ Her green eyes flashed. ‘Then as your wife I can tell you exactly what I think of it, and of you. It’s the most insulting suggestion I’ve ever heard! And you are a domineering, arrogant, dictatorial, overbearing, despotic male chauvinist!

  ‘Do you imagine you’ve married some kind of cretin? If I did want to go back to Boston I’m quite capable of travelling there on my own. I do not need a keeper.

  ‘But as it happens I don’t want to go back to Boston. In fact I’ve no intention of going back to Boston—either alone or accompanied. I’m staying here, where I belong. Wild horses wouldn’t drag me away!’

  Nick’s face was cold and hard, the chiselled outlines stark. He appeared unmoved by Raine’s outburst, except that a little tic jumped betrayingly in his jaw.

  Getting her second wind and well into her stride, she went on with scarcely a pause, ‘It was you who insisted on a honeymoon, and now because of a few cracked ribs you’re afraid your macho image might be tarnished and you’re trying to chicken out. Well, a wife’s place is by her husband’s side...’ With deliberate provocation, she added, ‘Even if he is virtually useless....’

  An instant later the latch clicked and Finn was back. ‘Take-off conditions seem to be fine.’ He spoke cheerily, but Raine noted that his glance was wary.

  Jumping in with both feet, she announced firmly, ‘I won’t be leaving with you, after all.’ Then, apologetically, ‘I’m afraid waiting for me must have held you up.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ Finn said, then added with a grin, ‘I told the silly so-and-so you wouldn’t want to leave. But after such a trauma he thought you would prefer to go.’

  Looking Nick in the eye, her very glance a challenge, Raine said shortly, ‘Well, I wouldn’t.’

  He put his good arm around her shoulders. ‘So be it, my darling. I just hope you don’t change your mind after Finn has gone.’

  Though shaken by the subtle but unmistakable threat, she said serenely, ‘I’m sure I won’t.’

  ‘In that case—’ Finn picked up his grip ‘—I’ll be getting on my way.’

  Suddenly scared, Raine asked, ‘Can’t you stay the night?’

  ‘God forbid,’ he said piously. ‘Two’s company, three’s a crowd. Especially on honeymoon. But when you’re back in England I may drop in for a visit, if you’ll have me.’

  ‘We’ll be delighted,’ Raine assured him with genuine warmth. And thought, Oh, lucky Margo, as she jumped up to give him an impulsive hug.

  ‘Perhaps you could help your decrepit husband up?’ Nick suggested, with a glint in his eye that showed his male ego had been wounded by her earlier provocative remark.

  She gave him her hand and helped to haul him to his feet.

  He wrung Finn’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘We’ll look forward to seeing you as soon as you can make it.’

  They walked outside and, with Nick’s arm around her waist, stood together in the afternoon sunlight to wave Finn off.

  By the time the small plane had disappeared over the trees Raine felt chilled through and through, but only part of it was due to the crisp air.

  Beneath Nick’s cool veneer she could feel the build-up of white-hot anger waiting to erupt, and knew that when they got inside she was going to have to pay for her rebellion. She began to shiver.

  Feeling the uncontrollable tremors, Nick glanced down at her. ‘Cold?’ he asked, with mock solicitude. ‘Well, let’s go in and see what we can do to warm you.’

  She looked up at him quickly. His expression was bland, his eyes half closed as though in contemplation, only the steely glitter from behind the thick gold-tipped lashes giving clear warning of the retribution to come.

  Having ushered her inside, he closed the door and with deliberation pushed home the bolt.

  ‘Why are you bolting the door in the middle of the afternoon?’ Despite all her efforts, she was aware that she sounded scared, breathless.

  ‘Just to ensure our privacy.’

  ‘Not to keep me in?’

  His smile mocking, he said, ‘I doubt if a single bolt could do that. You’ve shown yourself to be extremely resourceful, my darling. In any case, you chose to stay, remember? ’

  Grasping her arm, his fingers cruel, he propelled he
r towards the big settee. With a swift movement she was unprepared for he pushed her onto it so that she was half lying against the cushions and then sat on the edge, effectively trapping her there.

  His good hand cupped the nape of her neck, his fingers massaging gently at first. Suddenly they tangled in the silky black hair, dragging her head back so he could see into her face. The pain made her eyes fill with water. As though the sight of her tears affected him strongly, he began to kiss her.

  There was no caring in his kiss, no passion, even, but with a deliberate use of male strength to subdue female his mouth ravaged hers without tenderness or mercy until she was dazed and gasping for breath.

  A moment later he had freed her mouth and pulled the cushions from behind her so that she was lying almost flat.

  His face cold and calculating, his fingers purposeful, he slowly unfastened the buttons on her blouse and pulled it free of her skirt. When he’d released the front clip of her low-cut bra he pushed both garments aside to expose her creamy breasts to his gaze.

  He didn’t touch her, but his smile was cruel, as though he was planning what he might do to her.

  It was, she realised, a calculated attempt to intimidate her, and her heart began to race at suffocating speed.

  With the same care he unfastened her skirt and, grasping the hem, pulled both it and her half-slip off in one swift, ruthless movement, leaving her clad only in her dainty panties.

  A single finger followed the slight dip over her flat stomach and the high-cut legs, before it began to mark the lacy pattern. She lay quite still, scarcely breathing during that leisurely, sensual tracing of every curve and contour.

  When he pulled the panties down over her long slim legs and discarded them, she still made no move.

  Slowly, analytically, he began to explore the flesh he’d laid bare. Repelled by his coldly impersonal examination, frightened by her own helpless reaction to it, she tried to push his hand away. His response was instant and brutal, making her freeze.

  Softly, he warned, ‘Yes, you’d better lie quite still, my darling. Unless you want me to hurt you.’

  All at once she was terrified of his cold, sadistic anger. Turning her face away, she whispered, ‘Please, Nick, don’t do this to me...’

  He wrenched her chin round and looked into her eyes, a searching, penetrating assessment. ‘Are you sorry you didn’t leave with Finn?’

  Instinctively she knew that if she would admit she was sorry, admit she hated him, he would let her go.

  She fought her fear and won. ‘No, I’m not sorry,’ she said through swollen lips. ‘I wanted to stay.’

  His sudden move made her flinch away, but instead of striking her, as she’d half expected, he tore off his sling and threw it aside.

  ‘Oh, don’t! Don’t!’ she cried, terrified that he’d hurt himself more than her. ‘I won’t struggle... I’ll do what you want... Anything you want...’

  His face becoming a taut mask, he said with a kind of savage self-contempt, ‘Because you’re frightened to death of me.’

  She wanted to say, Because I love you. But, knowing this wasn’t the right time, she said instead, ‘Because I’m your wife, and I want to make love with you.’

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t find it too degrading?’ he demanded bitterly, and walked away.

  There was a jingle and then the noise of metal skittering across wood. A moment later she heard the bolt pulled back and the door bang shut behind him.

  Hands shaking so much they could hardly complete their task, she began to pull on her clothes.

  She was heading for the kitchen to make herself some coffee when she noticed the Cherokee’s keys and a forest map lying by the remains of the picnic.

  A second chance, she thought wryly, and left them there. She was going to stay and fight for some happiness, however brief.

  When she’d drunk her coffee and tidied things away, with determination, but not without qualms, she went through to the bedroom and stripped the bed, thrusting pillows, duvet and all into a cupboard before starting to make preparations for the evening meal.

  Trying not to worry when it began to get dark, she told herself sturdily that Nick knew this area like the back of his hand, and wouldn’t come to any harm.

  All the same, because of his injuries, her anxieties persisted, and it was a great relief when she finally heard his steps on the porch.

  Curled in an armchair in front of the stove, she hadn’t bothered to light any of the lamps, and he came into the shadowy firelit room with some urgency, calling, ‘Raine?’

  When she answered, he muttered something half under his breath that sounded like, ‘Thank God,’ before demanding, ‘Why the devil are you sitting in the dark?’

  ‘I like looking into the fire.’

  She heard the rattle of a matchbox and a moment later the first of the gas-lights banished the rosy glow of the stove. As he moved to light the others she saw that he looked upset.

  It took her a moment to realise that because there’d been no lights, and the Cherokee was still there, he thought something had happened to her.

  Mildly, she remarked, ‘I told you I wasn’t suicidal.’ Then, before he could make any response, ’There’s a casserole in the oven if you’re ready to eat.’

  ‘Raine, I—’ he began heavily.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ she broke in, deliberately making her tone brisk and bright, ‘but I’m ravenous.’ She knew instinctively that she’d thrown him. Whatever he’d expected, it hadn’t been this cheerful normality.

  He looked tired and somehow defeated, she thought, with lines of strain and bitterness etched sharply on his face. With a pang she realised that she wasn’t the only one who had suffered. He’d had his share of grief and pain. The woman he loved had died, and the woman he wanted had almost killed them both in her efforts to leave him.

  They ate in silence, Raine’s attempts at light conversation ending in failure.

  As soon as the coffee was finished, he said shortly, ‘I think we could both use an early night. If you want to shower first...?’

  Disappointed, because she had hoped they would sit by the fire and she’d have a chance to talk to him, she collected her night things and went into the bathroom.

  When she emerged, tightening the sash of her dressing gown, he was standing staring morosely into the flames, unconsciously nursing his elbow as though his injured shoulder hurt him.

  Resisting the urge to go over and put her arms around him, she said brightly, ‘Your turn,’ and watched him disappear without a word.

  Instead of getting into bed, she went to sit by the stove, curling her slippered feet beneath her.

  He returned some ten minutes later wearing one of the towelling robes, his thick blond hair still damp, his feet bare.

  Turning off the main lights, leaving only the one closest to the bed, he padded over to the door and bolted it before asking curtly, ‘Do you want me to make up the stove?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not tired. I’d like to sit here a bit longer.’

  Instead of joining her, he headed for the bedroom door and closed it behind him. It opened again almost immediately and he came out, his mouth a tight line. Grimly, he demanded, ‘Are you trying to see how far you can push me?’

  She lifted innocent green eyes. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Well, you’re certainly asking for trouble.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m only asking for a chance to show you how I feel.’

  His teeth snapped. ‘I can do without gratitude.’

  ‘That’s good, because you’re not going to get any. You saved my life but I returned the favour, so as far as I’m concerned, we’re even. I don’t owe you a thing... And what’s so wrong with wanting to sleep with my own husband? ’

  ‘Just forty-eight hours ago you said that being my wife would degrade you... Are you trying to tell me the creek incident has nothing to do with your volte-face?’

  ‘No,’ she said slowly, �
�it has quite a lot to do with it. It’s made me realise that life’s too short to waste, that I need to seize what happiness I can, while I can. You want me, and I—’

  ‘You’re wrong. I don’t want you.’ The words were like slivers of ice.

  For a moment she was shaken, then she challenged boldly, ‘I don’t believe you. If you didn’t want me, why did you force me to marry you?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s time I showed you this.’ He crossed to the wardrobe and returned with the sealed envelope she’d found in his pocket.

  Her fingers suddenly unsteady, she tore it open and, unfolding the pages, recognised with surprise her father’s sprawling lopsided scrawl.

  My dear girl,

  Now you know the truth—Nick promised he would tell you everything when the time was right. I hope you don’t blame me too much for forcing your hand.

  Sorry I left things so late. I kept hoping against hope that you would see what Kevin was really like, and break the engagement of your own accord. When you didn’t, I started to rack my brains to find some way of ending it. I was scared stiff that too much open opposition would only serve to strengthen your determination. You can be pretty stubborn.

  The action Nick and I finally agreed on was drastic, and could have misfired. But by that time I was desperate. I would never have forgiven myself if I’d let you ruin your life by marrying a man you didn’t love.

  I insisted on Nick bringing this letter so I could make it clear that the idea was mine, and he was a reluctant participant. Though he wanted the end result, he didn’t like the means. I think he was afraid it would make you hate him.

  Some time ago he told me what happened last autumn. He also told me other things, which I’m sure he’s since told you...

  I would have explained about Tina myself, only Nick forbade me to. He wanted you to trust him, and your refusal to even listen to him tore him apart.

  He has his own kind of stubborn pride, and he’s not a man to beg. I always knew that if you loved him it would have to be you who surrendered. But I was sure that if he’d managed to seduce you, you must love him.