But she couldn't get too accustomed to this life. One day she was going to have to leave. After all, her marriage was not a real one and might end at any time.
So she started reading the job advertisements in the local paper, getting some idea of the sort of work available. There were few good jobs on offer; this was a largely rural area. Any good office job meant a long drive to a nearby town.
There was some seasonal work as Christmas approached, but none of it was secretarial. Maybe in the New Year there would be more work around? she thought, turning over in bed, since she couldn't hear a sound from the nursery.
Mal was already living in a routine, waking, eating and sleeping regularly so that one could plan one's day mote easily. Last night Susan had been to a party and had returned in the early hours, so she would be sleeping late, and Leonie was looking after Mal herself until midday, when Susan would take over.
She would get up in another five minutes and see to him, but first she stretched and yawned, her body warm and at ease under the covers.
She was wearing a gift Giles had given her while she was in hospital—a boxed set of exquisite nightwear, all matching: a nightdress, tiny bed-jacket, pyjamas and robe in pure silk, white, but with the monogram 'K' embroidered on them in black, and they had the simplicity of sheer elegance. They were designer-made, the label inside them carried a Paris name recognisable all over the world, and they must have cost a fortune.
He had handed the silver-wrapped box to her while one of the nurses watched, fascinated. Her hands rather shaky with surprise and nerves, Leonie had unwrapped the present, and stammered her thank-you, blushing.
'I look forward to seeing you wearing them,' Giles had drawled in that light, mocking tone which always made her so edgy with him.
The nurse watching them had giggled, but Leonie had kept her head down, pretending to admire the cut of the nightdress, but all the time fiercely aware of Giles watching her.
She had put the box away unopened when she had returned from the hospital, never intending to wear any of the contents, but the housekeeper, Marjorie, had come across the box and put all the lovely garments into a chest of drawers.
'They'll be ruined if you leave them in that box!' she had told Leonie, who had been glad Marjorie had not mentioned it in front of Giles.
Last night, coming to bed, she had found the nightdress laid out on her bed. She had stared down at it, grimacing. Marjorie strikes again! she had thought irritably, and had been inclined to put the nightdress away again, but that would have been to make it all seem too important, so she had worn it in bed last night.
A sudden sound made her jump and sit up again, the narrow straps of the nightdress sliding down over her shoulders, leaving them bate.
It was not Mal crying. It was someone opening her bedroom door.
She looked across the room, and through the half-light of the wintry dawn she saw Giles silhouetted in the doorway, and her nerves thudded in shock.
'Good, you're awake!' he said with what sounded to her like soft menace.
Leonie watched him in breathless suspension as he closed the door and began to walk towards her, his long, lean body shrouded in a black silk dressing-gown over matching pyjamas.
'What do you want?' she whispered, looking away from him because the way he was staring at her made her intensely conscious that her nightdress left most of her shoulders and breasts bare. She grabbed the sheet and pulled it up to hide herself.
He stopped beside the bed, and her eyes hurriedly flicked up to him in time to see his brows swooping upwards in mocking irony. 'It isn't so much what I want,' he drawled. 'Not just at the moment. It's what he wants.. '
For a second she didn't understand. She had been so busy trying not to look at him that she had not seen that he was carrying the baby in his arms.
She went scarlet. 'Oh… yes, of course,' she stammered.
Why had she been such a fool? Now Giles knew that she had jumped to that wild conclusion, had had the crazy idea that he had come into her room to make some sort of pass at her, when all he was doing was bringing the baby to her. She wished the earth would open up and swallow her!
'I imagine he wants his breakfast,' Giles said in that cool, mocking voice.
'Yes, of course,' she said again huskily, wishing he would just hand Mal to her and go away. 'Did he wake you up? Sorry… I didn't hear him crying.'
'He wasn't yelling, just gurgling to himself, and chewing his fingers in a hungry way, but I must have been more wide awake than you are,' Giles said, then amazed her by adding, 'I changed his nappy in the nursery, and washed and changed him.'
'Oh,' she said, stunned. 'Oh, thank you, that… that's very kind.'
'I enjoyed looking after him,' Giles said gravely. 'Well, now all you have to do is feed him.'
On cue, Mal began to cry, screwing his little black head round to glare accusingly at her, and Giles laughed.
'And I don't think he's in a mood to wait much longer.'
To her horror, he promptly sat down on the side of her bed and handed Mal to her.
She looked down as the baby turned into her body, hunting for her nipple, nuzzling the smooth silk of her nightgown. At once, the milk began to rise, her breasts rounding, full and aching in readiness for that little mouth.
Giles watched her hesitate, and his mouth twisted ironically. 'I saw him at your breast the day he was born, remember?' he mocked, then, leaning over, he deftly undid the two buttons on the front of her nightdress.
Leonie was too shocked to move; she could scarcely breathe. His hand slid inside and she shuddered as she felt his fingers curl round her full breast, pushing back the silk still partially covering it.
She could hear him breathing audibly, thickly; he was staring down at her naked breast, face flushed, his grey eyes brilliant, the pupils glittering like jet, while his fingers were moving rhythmically, stroking the warm flesh, the hard nipple. Leonie closed her eyes, trembling, feeling deep inside her body a convulsive clutch of erotic excitement. It was so long since a man had touched her like that. She couldn't help the wild shiver of pleasure, the heat and ache of aroused desire between her thighs.
Then Mal began to cry again, louder this time, and the spell was broken. Leonie's eyes flew open, and she tensed, burning with shame.
Oh, God, what had she been about to do? What had he been about to do?
Giles laughed shortly, his hand falling from her breast. 'You'd better feed him before he screams the house down!' He got up and walked out so fast that she barely had tome to realise he had gone before the door slammed. like an automaton, Leonie put Mal to the breast, and felt him begin to suck hungrily.
She sat there while the baby fed, staring at nothing, stunned by a sudden realisation. She had wanted Giles badly just now; so badly that she was still shuddering with that need, but that was not what had shocked her.
I'm in love with him! she thought incredulously, and closed her eyes, a groan wrenched out of her. It couldn't be true! She had been ready to admit, for some time now, that she was attracted to him, even though her common sense told her it would be madness to let Giles suspect that, because he was more than capable of taking advantage of the way she felt, but love…no, she couldn't be in love with him!
It was too late, though, to tell herself that. From the instant that she first admitted her feelings, they began to grow, raging through her like a forest fire running out of control, devouring everything in its path.
How had it happened, though? When had it happened? How long had she felt life this? When had she stopped loving Malcolm and begun to feel like this about Giles?
She tried to conjure up Malcolm's face, to remember how much she had loved him. But Malcolm had been fading from her day by day for months now, withdrawing gently into a past which seemed ever more distant. It would soon be a year since he'd died, and she no longer felt the stab of pain or of passion. Malcolm was someone whose memory she would always cherish, he was the father of her child, but
she no longer mourned bitterly for him. She had gradually stopped thinking about him; for her he had gone forever. There was a gulf between them now—she was on one side, alive, and Malcolm was on the other side of that abyss, and no longer in the same world as herself.
She would never forget him entirely, of course; she had loved him too much for that, but her love had become a gentle affection and her grief had become a quiet sadness, a resigned acceptance. She was alive, and she was a passionate woman; she needed an answering passion.
Oh, but from Giles, of all people? she thought, her face burning. Until this moment she had never felt an emotion she could not handle. She had never felt threatened by her own feelings, driven and torn in all directions. Her thoughts swirled like the dark centre of a maelstrom. She could not drag herself out of that chaos, back to safety.
She kept remembering the sensuality of his hands, the tormenting promise of his mouth, and she was dry-mouthed from the intensity of her own excitement.
She didn't want to admit it, but the truth kept forcing itself on her. If Mal hadn't been between them, if Mal hadn't begun to cry when he did, they would have made love.
Reminded of him, she looked down at his flushed face and dark head. He had finished feeding and was half asleep, head heavy against her arm.
She smiled involuntarily. He was so sweet when he was like this—sated, content, angelic.
She did up her nightdress with slow and careful fingers, so as not to disturb him, and lay back, keeping his small body in the crook of her arm, while she wondered how on earth she was going to face Giles after this.
He must know how close she had come to giving in to him, and he was an opportunist. She shuddered to think what he might be planning next. It had been understood between them that their marriage was not a real one; merely a legal fiction meant to ensure the Kent family's rights over her son. Giles needed not imagine that he had any rights over her, too!
It was another hour before she went downstairs, leaving baby Mal fast asleep in his swinging crib in the white-painted nursery. Leonie had dressed casually, in jeans and a fine blue cashmere sweater, her blonde hair tied up with blue ribbon and swinging in a pony-tail behind her head.
Giles was reading a newspaper over the breakfast table, although he had finished his breakfast. He was casually dressed, too, because this was a Sunday and he was not going to work. He wore a jade-green shirt, and over that a black sweater, with black denims, but managed to look as if dressed by a top French designer, which she suspected he might have been! His casual wear was often designer fashion; when he dressed for the City he wore classic, expensive English tailoring.
When she walked into the room he lowered the paper and studied her wryly, his brows lifting.
'You look about fifteen! Retreating into your teens, Leonie?' he drawled. 'It won't do you any good, you know. You can't escape from life; it has a nasty habit of catching up with you sooner or later.'
'You're being too clever for me!' she said coldly, sitting down at the table opposite him and pouring herself coffee.
He laughed. 'Oh, I think you know what I'm talking about. You'd like life to be as simple as ABC, wouldn't you? Malcolm was simple—he was glamorous and charming and he made you feel like a princess in a fairy-story. You're only happy thinking in stereotypes, so you cast me as the wicked brother because I was too blunt in saying that I didn't think you and Malcolm would be happy together. I was just the tyrant who was trying to stop your marriage to Malcolm, and you still see me the same way, don't you?'
She was not going to be dragged into a discussion on those lines, so she got up without answering him, without even giving him as much as a look, and made herself some toast in the electric toaster standing on the sideboard.
Still silent, she went back to the table, spread the toast with a thin layer of butter and marmalade and bit into it, although she was not at all hungry.
Watching her, Giles drily murmured, 'From your expression, I gather you're in a bad mood this morning! Feeling guilty, by any chance?'
She felt her cheeks burn. 'I have nothing to feel guilty about!'
He laughed. 'Oh, I agree—but you don't, do you? You're still trying to stay faithful to Malcolm's memory, but this morning in your bedroom you forgot all about him for a minute—'
'Shut up!' She got up, very flushed and angry, her chair falling over. 'I'm not staying here to listen to this!'
Giles got to his feet, too, flinging down his paper. 'Oh, sit down again and eat your breakfast. I'm going—you can stop trembling and looking so stricken.'
He walked to the door and she slowly sat down again, her hand shaking as she reached for her coffee-cup. Giles paused, glancing over his shoulder, his face impassive once more.
'Oh, by the way, we're going to a Christmas party tonight, given by my godfather, Lord Cairnmore. It won't be a large party, but everyone there will know me, so I want you to make a good impression. Wear something special.'
She resented the peremptory tone.
'Don't you give me orders!' she threw back at him, glaring across the room. 'I'm not one of your possessions, or a servant—and I'm not dressing to please you, or impress your friends! I'm not going to this party with you.'
He turned glittering eyes on her. 'You will go!'
Her dark blue eyes were spitting fire. 'You can't make me!'
'Can't I?' He laughed and his tone was light, but it was still a challenge and she faced it, her chin up, very flushed and defiant. He wasn't taking her seriously, and it was time he did.
'No, you can't!'
'Do you want to bet?' he mocked.
'I mean it, Giles!' she said angrily.
'And so do I,' he said through his teeth. 'Now, stop being silly, Leonie. This party is being given for us. My godfather wants to meet you, he wants to introduce you to our friends. Our wedding was very private, none of them were invited; they're curious. Good heavens, Leonie—every one of them will expect my wife to be there!'
'Stop calling me your wife!' she muttered, wildness in her veins. She knew she was provoking another scene and it was folly, but she couldn't stop.
'That's what you are!' Giles snarled as his temper flared higher. 'You're my wife. My wife, Leonie! Start believing it, because it's a fact!'
His face was darkening with anger, and she was glad. She hoped he would lose his temper. Why should he stay in control of himself when she had lost all command of herself and her emotions?
He took a long, threatening stride back towards her, and she leapt to her feet again and faced him, bristling.
'I'm not really your wife, this isn't a real marriage, it's just a legal fiction for Mal's sake.'
'Never mind Mai—leave him out of this,' Giles said curtly.
'How can I? He's the only reason I let you talk me into that phoney wedding, and why you insisted on marrying me, too!'
'Oh, there were other reasons, believe me, Leonie!' he said mockingly, and was suddenly too close for comfort, his grey eyes glittering down at her.
'What other reasons?' she whispered breathlessly, and then could have bitten her tongue out. How could she have been such a fool as to ask that? This was a game Giles Kent had played often in the past, but she was a clumsy newcomer to sophistication; he was running rings around her.
His smile taunted, gleaming with amusement. 'Do you want me to show you again? Come back upstairs and I'll be glad to.'
She slapped his face as hard as she could, and felt him rock on his heels in shock. He looked at her in icy fury, mouth tight, a white line around it, jaw set, eyes violent.
'Don't ever strike me again, Leonie. Next time, I might hit you back!'
'That would be better than having you kiss me!' she flung at him, and saw the rage in his face with a sense of reckless satisfaction in having got under his skin. He wasn't quite so cool now!
For a moment she didn't know what he would do next—he looked so angry that she felt her heart beating in her very throat—but then they both heard Mar
jorie coming towards the door, her footsteps echoing on the wood-block flooring in the hall.
Giles glanced at the door and stiffened, a cold mask coming down over his face again. 'Listen,' he said harshly, 'you had better be ready for this party tonight, or I will personally come up to your room and dress you, and then carry you downstairs over my shoulder if I have to! And don't think I don't mean it. Because, I assure you, I do. You are my wife and not in name only. If you want to force a showdown between us that's up to you, but, I promise you, you won't enjoy what happens.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
All that day Leonie swung between one mood and another: one moment determined to defy him, the next deciding that discretion might be the better part of valour. She stayed close to her mother-in-law as much as she could to keep Giles at bay, but it did not stop him watching her, those grey eyes of his gleaming with mockery and warning. He had meant it, she could be sure of that.
At half-past six, after they had all watched the TV news, he glanced at his watch and got up. 'Time to take a shower and get dressed for the party, Leonie,' he drawled.
His mother smiled, her fingers busily knitting a sweater for the baby. 'Of course, I'd forgotten Cairnmore's party. 'I'm sure you'll enjoy that, Leonie. He's such a kind man.'
'Are you coming?' Leonie asked hopefully, but her mother-in-law shook her head.
'No, my dear, I was invited, but I'd rather have an early night.'
'Come along, Leonie,' Giles murmured, his fingers curling round her arm and fastening into an iron bracelet.
She couldn't struggle, not in front of his mother. She had to let him steer her out of the room, but when the door shut behind them and they were at the foot of the stairs she tugged free, glaring.
'Don't manhandle me!'
'I wouldn't need to if you didn't keep arguing!'
Marjorie appeared, carrying a tray towards the dining-room to lay the dinner table for Mrs Kent. She gave them a puzzled, surprised look. Leonie forced a stiff smile, and walked up the stairs with Giles behind her. She couldn't fight him with Marjorie watching them.
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