Olivia blinked, uncomprehending. ‘What step?’ she asked him, meeting cold, shuttered eyes.
He answered her baldly, ‘The divorce.’
‘Ah—the divorce. Of course.’ In spite of herself, a chill went through her.
‘In the circumstances, there’s no reason whatsoever for us to continue with this charade—which both of us, I think, are finding even more disagreeable than we could ever have believed.’
Olivia nodded. She could not deny that.
‘Good. I’m glad I have your approval.’ Matthew straightened as she glanced away. ‘I suggest you speak to your brother as soon as possible. I’d like to get this divorce on the road.’
Then, with stiff, uncompromising strides, he turned his back on the suddenly limp and desolate figure sitting hunched and bewildered in the velvet armchair, and, without a backward glance, went marching out through the sitting-room door.
CHAPTER NINE
Alone and sleepless in the spare room bed, Olivia stared bleakly into the night and tired to make some coherent order of the emotional jumble inside her head.
So Matthew wanted the divorce straight away—and surely she should be grateful for that? At least she would soon be delivered from this torment that marriage to him had become. But, illogically, gratitude was the last thing she felt. The harsh fact of the matter was that the very mention of the word divorce had been like a harpoon through her heart.
Their marriage had been no marriage at all, she was painfully aware of that, but somewhere in the midst of the upheaval it had wrought, something colossal and profound had happened to her heart. She had fought it, and then, when she could fight it no longer, had simply closed her eyes and denied it. But, finally, she was facing the truth. She had fallen in love with Matthew.
In the darkness she almost laughed out loud at the bitter irony. It had taken her a long time to come to terms with the reality that all the armour in the world couldn’t protect her from the fact that, in her soul, she was a woman. A woman with a woman’s needs. A woman who needed the love of a man. And the one man in the world who could give her that love was the very man she had taught to hate her.
She turned over miserably and stared at the wall, wondering in bitter remorse if things could ever have turned out differently. Perhaps if she had been less rigid, not rejecting him the way she had, they might have come to grow together and he might not be in such a hurry to offload her now. For something he had said tonight kept coming back to haunt her mind. ‘Maybe I just wanted to do you a favour. Or maybe I thought I was doing myself one.’ That had been his cryptic answer when she had demanded to know why he had married her. Was it remotely possible, she asked herself for the millionth time, that Matthew had actually felt something for her once upon a time?
Crazy as it sounded, what other explanation could there be? There had been no compulsion on him to marry her, and it had been his idea, after all, not hers. Whether he had hoped to do himself a favour, or her, there must have been some inkling of affection—or, at least, liking—behind the move. Surely a man like Matthew Jordan would not voluntarily seek marriage, even on a temporary basis, to a woman he cared nothing about?
Her body burning, Olivia tossed and turned. He had wanted her physically, she had always known that, just as, secretly, she had wanted him. But simple physical desire would not have been sufficient cause to catapult him into marriage. He was a man whose fundamental integrity ran much too deeply to permit such folly.
There must have been more, much more, she realised in grinding despair. And she, like the blind fool that she was, had thrown every kiss, every gesture of affection, right back in his face.
If only, if only… She jammed her fist into her mouth to stop herself from crying out at the bleak sense of waste and frustration she felt. Then a wild thought made her catch her breath. Maybe Matthew still cared just a little. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe she could still find a way to save their marriage and stop the divorce.
But she must act now—right away. There wasn’t a single moment to lose. Heart beating madly, she rose from her bed. She must demonstrate to him her change of heart. Prove to him once and for all that she was capable of being a real and loving wife.
On an impulse, she darted across to the wardrobe and took down from its shelf the lingerie box from Paris that Matthew had left on their bed that morning—and which she had never dared open since. Now, with trembling fingers, she lifted the lid and picked up the shimmering gossamer black nightie with its diaphanous matching négligé. Then, with a shiver of excitement, she slipped them on.
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, remembering how, when he had bought it, she had believed the gift was meant for Celine. And maybe it had been, originally, but he had given it to her. Now it was up to her to lay claim, not only to the nightdress, but to her husband as well. Too passively, she had allowed Celine to take over what was rightfully hers.
No more, she decided as she headed for the door. She must fight and try to win him back—and this might be the last chance she would ever have.
As she reached the bedroom at the end of the darkened corridor, she pushed the door open and slipped inside, trying to ignore the nerves that clutched at her throat like an iron claw. As she moved towards the bed, her eyes had adjusted to the half light and she could make out quite clearly the dark head resting against the snowy pillows, the tumbled bedclothes pushed back carelessly to expose a broad, sun-darkened chest.
At the bedside, she paused to gaze down at him, feeling her heart contract in her breast, her senses almost overwhelmed by the sheer exquisite male beauty of him. Almost reverently, holding her breath, she reached out one hand to touch the dark hair.
Instantly he was awake. With a groan he pulled himself upright and reached across to snap on the bedside-lamp. Bewildered dark eyes looked up at her. ‘Olivia? What are you doing here?’
Olivia smiled back serenely, all her nerves miraculously vanished, suddenly quite certain of what she was doing. ‘I come here as your wife,’ she told him huskily, shrugging the black silk négligé from her shoulders and letting it fall with a soft swish to the floor.
Matthew was watching her, an unreadable expression in his narrowed eyes. But he made no move to intervene as she slipped the thin straps of the nightdress from her shoulders, so that the front slithered down to her waist, exposing her taut, excited breasts. Then, in a final fluid movement, she slid the silky fabric over her hips, stepping lightly aside to free herself of its confines and stand before him, naked and ripe.
‘I’m yours,’ she told him. ‘All yours.’ Then, with excitement throbbing through her veins, she waited for him to make the next move.
For a long, breathless moment he did not move, though she could almost feel the heat of the dark gaze that trailed lazily across her flesh. Then the ghost of a smile seemed to touch his lips as at last he leaned towards her, and, weak with wanting, trembling with anticipation, Olivia half closed her eyes and waited for the blissful moment when his hand would make searing contact with her flesh.
But that contact never came. In one movement he had reached down to scoop up her discarded garments from the floor. Then, with a harsh look, he flung them at her.
‘Get dressed, Olivia,’ he scorned. ‘And close the door behind you on your way out!’
That was her ultimate humiliation. It was also the end of the road. The thought of ever having to face Matthew again sent shivers of cold shame down Olivia’s spine.
With a resigned sigh she lifted her case from the cupboard and laid it open on the bed. She had had her answer. If he had ever cared for her, he no longer did now. Moving mechanically, she slid an armful of dresses from their hangers and proceeded to fold them and pack them away. It was the bitter morning after the night before, and she was preparing to leave St Albans for good.
As she bent to lift a pile of sweaters from a drawer, she swallowed on the hard, painful lump in her throat. Somehow the prospect of returning to her old life—a li
fe in which Matthew would play no part—filled her soul with an agony of despair. Once upon a time that barren existence had seemed enough for her, but she was no longer the same person that she had been then.
She dropped the pile of sweaters into the case and chewed remorsefully on her lower lip. Perhaps, in truth, she’d never really been that closed-in, cutoff creature of before, only it had taken a man like Matthew Jordan to break through her barriers and defences and liberate the warm-blooded woman underneath.
But too late, alas. Right to the bitter end she had clung to her well-worn prejudices and fears, allowing her obsessive dread of repeating her mother’s tragedy distort her entire view of life. And, particularly, her view of Matthew. Because he was ambitious and forceful like her father, she had labelled him unfeeling and insensitive too. Yet in spite of the way he had treated her last night, dishing out a taste of her own bitter medicine, she knew him all too well to be a warm and humorous, caring and gentle—if sometimes unpredictable —man. A man in a million, she realised now.
Pain washed through her, making her groan. If only she’d had the courage of her mother, and been prepared to take the risk that love involved! At least her mother, after years of miserable marriage, had had the guts to take a final shot at finding happiness. And had found it, Olivia felt sure. If Roland was a fraction of the man his nephew was, her tragically brief marriage had at least been a happy one. There was some consolation in knowing that.
But what had her craven daughter done when her own chance for happiness had been handed to her virtually on a plate? First she had rejected it and then she had destroyed it with her own hands. For her chance for happiness was gone now. Forever. And it would never come again. Only once in a lucky lifetime did a man like Matthew Jordan come along.
At the sound of a car on the gravel below, she stole an anxious glance at her watch. Surely it couldn’t be her taxi already? She had ordered it for eleven-thirty to get her to the station in plenty of time to catch the midday train to Chester, and it was only just after ten-thirty now.
Curious, she crossed to look out of the window—and felt her heart contract in sudden panic as she recognised the Rolls.
Her fingers clutched the windowsill as, rigid, she stood there, peering outside. Perhaps it was the delectable Celine come on some errand for her boss. In which case, since the housekeeper was out shopping and she personally had no intention of answering the door, the insufferable female could just turn right round and go back where she had come from. For the moment, at least. Once she was conveniently out of the way, Olivia reminded herself with a masochistic stab, the blonde girl would undoubtedly by given free run of the house, just as she had been given of the Regent’s Park flat.
But it was not Celine. As the big car came sweeping round in a sharp curve to park below, tyres spitting gravel as it came to a halt, Olivia could see all too clearly that it was Matthew at the wheel. A moment later the driver’s door sprang open and he stepped out, a tall, vigorous figure in a dark grey suit, long legs striding impatiently across the short distance to the front door.
Sudden, sharp panic biting in her bosom, Olivia jumped back from the window. What was he doing here at this time of day? Couldn’t he have delayed his appearance just for an hour, when she would already have been safely gone, leaving the brief note she had scribbled to explain her hurried disappearance?
She scurried to the bedroom door and closed it quietly, anxiously consoling herself that it was really unlikely in the extreme that his unscheduled reappearance had anything to do with her. If she just stayed put and kept out of his way, he could get on with whatever he had come for and be gone long before her taxi was due. Yet her breathing was ragged and uneasy as she fumbled with the last few bits and pieces from the drawers and dumped them unceremoniously into the case. Her heart was pumping so frantically now that the noise of it almost filled the room.
At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, she clenched her fists and held her breath. He must be going to collect something from his room. She closed her eyes and swallowed drily and waited for the footsteps to continue down the corridor.
But they did not. Olivia felt her heart cringe inside her breast as the door clicked open behind her and she heard him step into the room.
There was a short silence, during which she was painfully aware of him standing there behind her, eyes boring into her back. Numbly she forced her hands to go through the motions of arranging the clothes in her case, hesitating only for a fraction of a second as Matthew suddenly demanded in a rough voice, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘Packing. What does it look like?’ Her voice seemed to come from a long way away.
‘I can see that.’ Another pause. ‘What I want to know is why you’re packing. Where do you think you’re going?’
‘Home.’ The word brought the sting of tears to her eyes and a cruelly desolate lump to her throat. Why was he doing this to her? Couldn’t he just leave her to make a dignified retreat? With an effort she elaborated calmly, ‘I spoke to Richard on the phone this morning, and he’s in favour of sticking with Roland’s plan. So you see,’ she pointed out, snapping shut the lid of her case and fumbling with the zip, ‘there’s no reason for me to stay on here.’
A moment later her heart shrank inside her as she heard the bedroom door click shut and she could feel the raw male warmth of him as he came to stand just a few steps behind her. ‘Were you planning on just walking out without saying a word?’ he demanded harshly.
‘I was going to leave a note.’ Misery and frustration welled up in her eyes as she continued to struggle with the zip. Why was he so intent on making this so hard for her? Hadn’t he already had his revenge?
‘A note?’ His tone was contemptuous.
What more did he expect? As the zip closed at last, Olivia swung the case from the bed. ‘I think it’s best for both of us that I leave here without delay.’
She felt, as much as heard, him sigh, and every muscle in her body tensed as he took a step towards her and touched her arm. ‘Look, Olivia,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry about what happened last night.’
At the total unexpectedness of the gesture and the sudden gentleness in his voice, the tears in her eyes were threatening to spill. She blinked them back and stared at the floor. ‘I had it coming,’ she said.
Matthew sighed again and clasped her arm more firmly. ‘No, I don’t think you did. No one could really blame you for the unfortunate way that things have turned out. I’m the one who had it coming. I’m the one who screwed things up.’
It was decent of him to take the blame—proof, if she needed it, of the man he was. She took a deep breath and reassured him, ‘It doesn’t really matter who’s to blame. What’s done is done—and best forgotten, don’t you agree?’
As she said it, she turned at last to look at him—and immediately wished she hadn’t. At the sight of him standing there, so close, watching her through those long-lashed dark eyes, her entire being was suddenly filled with an agonising sense of loss. So near and yet so far. He was the man she had first lost and then learned to love.
As he shook his dark head, a wry smile touched his lips. ‘Maybe you’re right, it should just be forgotten, but I’d like you to hear my side of things first. Maybe then, at least, we can still be friends.’
She would have stopped him if she could. To be his friend was no longer what she wanted. Almost better to part in anger and bury all thoughts of what might have been. But there was no stopping him as he caught her other arm and drew her round, holding her lightly captive before him as he went on in a low, earnest voice. ‘As I told you yesterday, that marriage clause of old Uncle Julius’s was removed from Jordan’s charter a long time ago.’ A slight frown appeared between the dark brows. ‘The only reason I married you, Olivia, was because I wanted to.’
She couldn’t bear to hear it. So she had been right. In pain, she turned away. But Matthew was merciless as he went on, ‘What’s more, I never intended our marria
ge to be temporary. It was my hope that it would be for life. You see, I was foolish enough to believe that I might be able to make you fall in love with me. Perhaps that’s why I pushed myself on you a little bit at the start. I guess I was trying just a bit too hard.’ He shrugged in apparent resignation. ‘At any rate, as we both know, all my efforts backfired in my face. All I succeeded in doing was to make you hate me even more than you did at the start.’
How blind could he be? The real truth, as only Olivia knew, was a million light years away from that. He had succeeded absolutely in making her fall in love with him, but, sadly, only after he had fallen out love with her. Helplessly she looked at him, bleak emotion clogging her throat. ‘I don’t hate you,’ she managed to protest.
‘Then we can be friends?’
How she hated that word! She nodded, avoiding his gaze. ‘Of course we can.’
‘Well, at least that’s something.’ Matthew leaned down and kissed her chastely on the cheek, making her bones melt and the blood turn to fire in her veins. It took every sinew of her considerable will-power to resist flinging her arms around his neck.
Then he stepped back, releasing her, one dark eyebrow raised as he enquired, ‘Why did you come to me last night?’ He smiled sympathetically. ‘A brainstorm? Had I really disorientated you that much?’
It would have been so easy just to say yes, to make some flippant, dismissive remark. But there was something in his eyes that told her she owed him better than that. He had been honest with her; she should be honest with him. ‘I came because I was hoping I might be able to save our marriage.’ Pain rushed through her at the hopelessness of her words. She dropped her gaze. ‘But I was too late.’
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