That evening she dressed with great care, and gazing at herself in the cheval mirror was more than satisfied with her appearance. One of the first results of her official recognition as Adrian's wife had been an enlargement of her wardrobe, and her protests at its luxuriousness had been quickly quenched by Mrs. Chesterton's statement that Adrian's wife could no longer look like a Rovnian refugee.
Well, no one could mistake her for a refugee tonight. The flowing skirt in amethyst silk gave height to her slender figure, encircling her waist tightly and then falling to the ground in deep pleats. With it she wore an organdy blouse of blush pink with a wide shawl collar and full sleeves. It was a look that suited her personality, being a combination of innocence and sexuality.
There was no one in the drawing room when she entered it and she wandered across to look at the garden. Almost at once she saw Adrian by the balustrade, but before she could draw back he turned and saw her.
"I'm glad you are down early. I want to talk to you." He walked in through the french windows, his blue eyes narrowing as he saw the lovely picture she made. "I like you in that dress. I haven't seen it before."
"Your mother bought it for me last week."
"You're the type for flowing skirts and graceful fabrics. You should never wear anything slinky."
"The slinky look is out of fashion anyway," she said, refusing to see his remark as a compliment.
"A beautiful woman can make her own fashion," he replied and, hands in the pockets of his dinner jacket, went on surveying her.
Resolutely Tanya refused to let herself be swayed by his regard. But though she kept her eyes focused on his face, she was intensely aware of everything about him; the wide shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist and lithe hips; the haughty tilt of his head that was belied by the sensitive curve of his mouth; the hard line of his cheek bone that was at direct variance with the tender way his narrow white hands—one of which had now come out to stroke the side of his face—had held and caressed her. But it was madness to see him so intimately and she wished she could as easily control her imagination as she was now able to control her tongue.
"It's about Diana's father," Adrian said, breaking into her thoughts. "He knows about you and me—"
"If you'd rather I didn't come with you, I won't mind."
"Of course you must come with me. You're my wife."
"Not really."
"That's another thing I want to talk about. I've tried not to say anything before but—"
Whatever it was he had tried not to say, Tanya was never to find out, for her mother-in-law sailed in regally, at full mast in ruby brocade, followed almost at once by Betty and Dick, bringing up the rear like a couple of frigates.
Ten minutes later Tanya found herself in Lord Bid- dell's home. It was a large Queen Anne house whose dignified exterior was echoed by its even more dignified furnishings. Looking around the somber paneled hall and the stiffly elegant drawing room, she began to understand a little of what went to make up Diana's character. How true it was that one never knew a. person until one had seen them in their own house or lived with them, she thought as the girl, elegant in black, came forward to greet them.
But Diana fitted into her background, her father did not, being stocky and broad, with a ruddy complexion and thick features that looked as though they had been hewn out of wood: teak at the very least. His eyes were the same color as his daughter's but had a much more piercing quality, and as they stared at Tanya, she felt as though they were looking right through her.
"I can see why Adrian married you," he grunted. ''You're a good-looking filly."
In the awkward silence that followed—during which he seemed the only person to be unembarrassed—he busied himself at a tray of drinks, muttering angrily when he could not find the ice.
"I swear I'll sack Tomkins if he doesn't mend his ways." He turned to his daughter. "Get some ice at once!"
Quickly Diana went from the room and Tanya looked at her host in amazement. Did he always speak to his daughter in that way and did she always comply so meekly? No one else seemed to notice anything strange and she wondered if she were being unduly sensitive. But as the evening continued, she decided she was not, for the man continually treated his daughter as if she was a child. Not only did he order her to do this and that as a matter of course, but he continually interrupted her when she was speaking and once, when she made as though to interrupt him, he raised a hand and ordered her to be quiet.
Inevitably the talk came around to the by-election.
"You've nothing to worry about, my boy," Lord Biddell said heartily. "The country people have still got enough sense to vote for you and not that bounder Poulton."
Quickly Tanya looked at Diana but the girl went on eating composedly.
But Tanya was made of sterner stuff and she put down her fork and addressed her host. "Why do you call Mr. Poulton a bounder?"
"Because he is. I'd like to boot him and his family out of the country."
Tanya lost her temper. "Have you forgotten that Roger's father fought for his country and died in Ireland—or do these things not count any more?"
"Of course they count." Lord Biddell went on cutting his meat imperturbably. "I didn't say the family were cowards. I merely said they should be turfed out."
"Because they don't hold the same views as you?"
Only then did Lord Biddell take note of her comments and he fixed her with a steely look. "You shouldn't go around defending your husband's opponent, my gel. Not good form, you know."
"In my Country it is not considered good form to run down a man when he is not present to defend himself!"
There was an audible gasp from Mrs. Chesterton and the two younger women kept their eyes fixed on their plates. Only Adrian stared directly at Tanya, the hand holding the stem of his wine glass so tightly clenched that the fingers were white. But when he spoke his voice was calm.
"Lord Biddell doesn't always mean precisely what he says. When you get to know him better you will realize that for yourself."
"Adrian's right," the older man chuckled. "I always express my opinions strongly. It's the only thing I can be strong about!"
The awkward moment passed and Tanya vowed to guard her impetuousness.
Dinner over, the men remained at the table with their port while Mrs. Chesterton and Betty retired to powder their faces, leaving Diana and Tanya alone in the drawing room.
"I hope Father didn't upset you?" Diana murmured.
"I did not mind what he said," Tanya replied, "so much as I minded that you did not come to Roger's defense."
"Why should I? If you're still persisting in that ridiculous idea that I love him—"
"Let us leave love out of it. Let us remember only that you are his friend."
"I don't think Roger and I are friends any more," Diana said flatly.
"Is that why you allowed him to kiss you the day the car broke down? "
"I couldn't help it. He forced me. He's always doing things like that."
"So! He is always doing things like that! Yet you still pretend you do not know he loves you?"
For an instant Diana was lost for words, then her native intelligence came to her aid. "You said yourself that love has nothing to do with passion. And that's all Roger feels for me. Passion."
"And love,'' Tanya added.
"No! He's a virile man and if a girl appeals to him he-"
"What nonsense are you talking? You cannot believe Roger goes around kissing all the attractive women he sees? No matter what you say you are not so stupid as to think that! Or are you too much of a snob to admit what ; you feel for him?"
"I don't feel anything for him!" Diana jumped up from her chair and walked to the far end of the room, where she made a pretense of straightening some cushions. Without turning around she spoke. "I have no feelings toward Roger and I wish you would stop saying so. Otherwise I'll begin to think you're deliberately trying to create a romance between us in order to get Adrian for yo
urself!"
Tanya shrank back visibly but refused to concede she was wrong. "I would never do anything to win Adrian back and whatever I have said about Roger, I truly mean.
Maybe you do not love him—I will not argue about that any longer—but he loves you. Of that I am positive."
Diana's lips parted but before she could speak Mrs. Chesterton and Betty came in, followed by the men. Lord Biddell was in excellent humor and suggested a game of bridge.
He looked at Tanya. "Do you play?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Then Diana and I will take on Adrian and Mrs. Chesterton. Betty and Dick are only beginners.'' v
"I'd rather not play tonight," Diana intervened. "I have a headache."
" It will do you good to play."
"I don't want to."
Lord Biddell's hearty color deepened and Betty created a diversion by pulling the chairs into position around the bridge table and suggesting that she herself take Diana's place. "Do let me play," she said brightly. "My bridge has improved no end."
Soon a game was in progress, while Diana and Dick sat with Tanya on the far side of the room and tried to teach her how to play gin rummy. But Tanya could not keep her mind on the cards. She had not failed to notice Diana's attempt to stand up to her father and, weak though the rebellion had been, she wondered if there was some significance in it.
"Keep your mind on the game, Tanya," Dick said jovially. "You've been blitzed on two columns already."
Smiling her apology Tanya concentrated on her cards, but soon her thoughts wandered again, this time to Adrian. How well he fitted into this stately home. He treated Lord Biddell with exactly the right amount of deference and good humor, and would make him an admirable son-in-law; as Lord Biddell—with his immense wealth and illustrious name—would make him an admirable father-in-law. Yes, Adrian and Diana were destined to marry and neither she nor Roger would be able to stop it.
On this miserable thought she determinedly concentrated on the cards in her hand, marveling at her ability to pretend interest when all she wanted to do was to run away and hide.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was not often that Roger was irritated by his family. For as long as he could remember he had been used to working with people swarming around him and had learned not to allow them to affect his concentration. But tonight the ceaseless chatter of his brothers and sisters worked on his strung-up nerves until it was all he could do not to box Brian's ears, the noisiest and most energetic of them all.
Fortunately Mrs. Poulton could always tell when things were getting too much for her eldest son and with a few sharp words succeeded in getting the living room cleared. Then she lowered the volume on the radio, poured out another cup of tea and pushed it across the table.
"Drink it while it's hot," she advised. "It will do you good."
Roger smiled wryly and obeyed.
"Had a bad day, son?"
"I've known better. Adrian's putting up a good fight. It'll be touch and go."
"I still think you'll win."
"Spoken like a mother!" The doorbell rang and he groaned. "I don't want to see anyone tonight. Answer it for me and make some excuse, will you?"
Obediently she rose, but when she returned to the living room she was not alone and Roger, seeing the girl with her, jumped quickly to his feet.
"What are you doing here?" he said harshly.
"Roger!" Mrs. Poulton spoke before Diana could do so. "What a way to talk to a visitor." She looked at the girl. "Don't take any notice of him. He's tired."
"Don't find excuses for my ill humor, mother," Roger said sourly. "I'm sure Diana doesn't expect me to be polite."
Mrs. Poulton went out again, closing the door behind her, and Roger motioned Diana to a chair. "Mother's right," he said hesitantly. "I'm pretty vile-tempered when I've been overdoing it. Sorry."
"That's all right. As a matter of fact I'm the one who owes you an apology. That's why I came."
"An apology for what?"
"For—for smacking your face the other day."
Roger was momentarily taken aback, then he smiled. "I think I asked for it."
"I know you did," she said coldly. "But one ill-advised action doesn't deserve another."
"Did you say you'd come here to apologize?" he asked with gentle sarcasm.
"Yes. But you always rub me up the wrong way and make me lose my temper again."
"At least it shows you're human." He swung a chair around and sat astride it, facing her. "Until you hit me the other day, I'd always thought of you as being as calm as the sphinx."
"Is it wrong to be calm?"
"Only if there's a danger of it becoming stagnation."
She caught her breath. "You don't mince your words, do you?"
"That's my trouble. I speak before I think."
"It's a habit you should learn to control. Otherwise it will affect your career."
"How right you are," he mocked. "Maybe I need a wife who can cure me of my bad habits and turn me into a gentleman. Would you care to take on the job?''
"I'd fail at it," she answered. "One has to have the potential to work on."
"You don't mince words either," he remarked, rocking backward and forward on his chair. "That blow was very much below the belt."
"I don't think either of us worry where we aim our blows. All our conversations degenerate into slanging matches."
"It's as much my fault as yours," he said magnanimously. "Stay a bit longer and have a cup of tea—just to prove we can talk without riling each other.''
"I can't stay. Father's expecting me back for a drink before dinner."
Roger's eyebrows rose and his temper with it. "Ever thought of disobeying him? Or are you too scared?"
"Scared of what?"
"Standing on your own two feet?"
"If I wanted to stand on my own, I could do so. But it so happens I prefer to give in to my father."
"Why?"
"Because I owe it to him."
"Owe it to him?" Roger was perplexed. "What do you owe him?"
"Obedience and—" she hesitated. "Obedience and love. I'm all he has," she went on. "If there'd been other children… if he'd had a son…"
"My God, you sound like a psychologist's casebook." Roger's tone was disbelieving. "Don't tell me you've got a guilt complex because you weren't born a man?"
"Is that so hard for you to understand? Can't you imagine how he felt when he learned my mother couldn't have any more children after I was born? He was desperate for a son—to have his own child inherit the title."
"The title won't die out," Roger said, still looking bemused. "I can't get over you feeling like this. It's so—so anachronistic."
"Because you've been brought up to a different sort of life—but to me it seems logical."
"Not logical," he corrected. "Emotional."
"At least you admit I'm capable of having emotions."
His eyes rested on her mouth and she knew instantly that he was remembering the way she had responded to his kisses. For a brief moment she looked at him, seeing how tired he was, how pale and lined his face. Had his hair always been so unruly—that wild mop of red through which she longed to run her fingers?
Abruptly she checked her thoughts, regretting the impulse that had brought her here. It was Tanya's fault. Tanya who was trying to make her fall in love with someone other than Adrian. Yet she had never loved Adrian. He had never been able to arouse her the way Roger did. Her heart was pounding and she was afraid he would see the pulse that throbbed in her throat.
"I must go," she whispered.
Silently he went to her car. "Haven't you ever wanted to fight for something you believed in?" he asked as she got into the front seat.
"Not until now."
"That sounds interesting. Care to tell me what it is?"
"My own freedom!" she replied slowly. "The right to do exactly as I want.''
There was such sadness in her eyes that Roger knew a strong urge to p
ull her out of the car and into his arms. The effort not to do so made his voice harsh with strain.
"If you really wanted your freedom, you would get it."
"Regardless of how one hurts others? "
"You can't make an omelet without breaking eggs."
"I hate omelets," she cried, and viciously pressed the starter and drove away.
With a sense of futility—an attitude that rarely afflicted him—Roger went to his bedroom; the one place where he knew he would be undisturbed. Seeing Diana was becoming more and more of a torment to him and he rued the day when he had first kissed her. Even now he did not know what had prompted him to do it. But seeing her walking toward him in the woods, slender and cool as the young spring trees burgeoning into life around her, he had been overwhelmed by the selfsame emotions she had aroused in him when he had been in his late teens. How surprised she would be to know that even when a youth he had been head over heels in love with her.
"But not now," he muttered aloud. "I've better things to do than waste my life wanting a woman who's scared to admit she even likes me!"
Flinging back his shoulders in a fighting gesture which his political agent would have been delighted to see, he strode down to his office. There was work to be done, and in his work he would find peace.
Tanya was on her way to the village the next morning when she saw Roger coming out of the post office. They had not met since the night she had called at his house to tell him her identity had been discovered, and she was wondering whether to avoid him when he caught sight of her and came over. Close up he looked tired; his face set in lines of worry, his hands restlessly fidgeting with the sheaf of papers in his hands.
"Long time no see," he said.
"I've been very busy.'' "Making sure Adrian wins?" She colored and he touched her arm. "Sorry, Tanya. I didn't mean that. Come and have a coffee with me?"
"Do you think we should be seen together?"
"What the hell? Friends are more important than politics!"
Rachel Lindsay - Unwanted Wife Page 11