And the Bride Wore Black

by Helen Brooks

  She had been wearing red, she remembered tiredly, a red velvet evening dress that had moulded itself to her figure like a second skin, sleeveless, backless and incredibly daring. It had been hired specially for the great night; it wasn’t often a working girl like her won tickets for a ball that people would kill for, and the women in the shop had urged her to take that particular dress in preference to the one she had chosen, a more subdued little number in pale green.

  She had only been in London four weeks and living in digs at the time, at a loss to understand the great city or its people, nervous, excited and wonderfully aware that every man’s eyes were being drawn to her that night, picking her out from the three other girls she had gone with in a manner that brought a flush to her cheeks and glitter to her eyes.

  Robin had noticed her in the first five minutes, appearing at her side with two glasses of champagne, his light blue eyes frankly appreciative and his smooth, almost white blond hair and unusual good looks bowling her over. He had turned on the charm and she had been lost, a little girl alone in the big city and the perfect pushover, she thought bitterly, her mouth hardening.

  Robin had been clever, she had to give him that. So caring, so gentle, so considerate at first. And then... ‘If you love me you’ll want us to be as one, darling,’ he had murmured night after night as they had kissed and fondled in his magnificently luxurious apartment or in the back of his white Rolls-Royce. ‘I love you so much, I want to know everything about you.’ He had wined and dined her, taking her to the best restaurants, the most exciting shows, dazzling and bewitching her, picking her up from work now and again, insisting that nothing was too much trouble for his ‘darling’.

  She had realised later, when it was far, far too late, that he had used his limitless wealth and influence like a drug, increasing the dosage little by little until she was completely hooked. It hadn’t mattered that he was twenty years older than her at the time. ‘Age means nothing to us, sweetheart,’ he had assured her over and over again and, loving him as she did, trusting him implicitly, unable to believe her luck that this caring, handsome, tender man actually loved her, she had agreed wholeheartedly. Indeed there were times when, exhausted from a grinding day at the office, the very bottom rung in a massively tall ladder, she had felt years older than him.

  He had assured her that the playboy image, the fact that he lived on the vast wealth he had inherited from his father without ever dirtying a finger in work, was all a figment of people’s imagination, and although, secretly, she had wondered at times, she had accepted that along with all the other lies.

  Three months after they had met, when he’d considered she was ripe, he had issued an ultimatum, his eyes full of pain and his face woebegone. ‘If you love me, darling, really love me, you can’t let anything separate us,’ he had said mournfully, shaking his head gently. ‘This is killing me, to love you, to hold you in my arms and then have you draw back at the last moment. I can’t take any more, Fabia. It has to be all or nothing.’ He had ridiculed her idea of keeping herself chaste until she was married. ‘We don’t need to wait for that, darling. You know I love you, that I’ll always love you.’ And she had believed him. Utterly, completely. It had been so wonderful to have someone tell her that she mattered after the long years of being moved from one home to another, never really belonging, never knowing if she dared presume to put down tentative roots.

  And so she had promised him. That weekend she would come to him. In his flat. She would stay the weekend, cook and care for him, and love him as he asked. Be everything he wanted.

  ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid...’ She groaned at the memory, rolling over into a tight little ball and putting her hands over her ears as though she could shut out the sounds of that woman’s screaming when she had discovered her and Robin in the huge bed with black silk sheets. And Robin’s rage. Rage that his mistress had come back from her trip to Paris too soon. Rage that he hadn’t consummated his affair with Fabia. Rage that he had been found out. Rage that his careful manipulating had gone wrong.

  ‘No more.’ She rose, pale and shaking, from the bed and, after stripping off her clothes, padded into the bathroom, standing under the hot shower with her head raised to the water and letting the cleansing flow wash over her until it turned cool. A twenty-five-year-old virgin in London. She smiled to herself soberly. There were probably more about than met the eye. She wasn’t unique.

  Something had died in her that night. The humiliation and the aftermath had hurt too deeply, destroyed too many childish dreams of a knight on a white charger, for her ever to be the same again. She had lost all her self-respect for a long, long time but she had regained it now and nobody, nobody, would ever take it away again. She had had the odd boyfriend after a time but none of them had remotely stirred her dead heart. She viewed the whole male sex without rose-coloured glasses, seeing them as vain, selfish and shallow most of the time with the odd exception here and there proving the rule. And she would not be fooled again! Not by a tawny-eyed giant with a glib line in persuasion whose kisses were out of this world. She caught herself with a sense of shock. She didn’t need kisses and she didn’t need any complications in her life! She was a career girl who had got everything very nicely under control, thank you, and if, occasionally, in the dark of the night when sleep was a million miles away, she yearned for a different life, the cold harsh light of day soon put her to rights. White knights and white weddings were in story-books.

  A pale watery dawn was creeping into the small bedroom when at last her eyelids closed in sleep, and she slept soundly and deeply until the shrill ring of the doorbell brought her jerking awake.

  It had to be Brian, she thought furiously as she stumbled to the door, pulling a robe over the blue silk pyjamas she was wearing. Only Brian would be inconsiderate enough to ring the bell at eight o’clock on a Saturday morning.

  ‘Just returning the coffee.’ Brian’s face was a picture of innocence. ‘Didn’t get you up, did I?’

  ‘Yes!’ She was too tired to be polite, reaching out for the coffee jar as she spoke.

  ‘Sorry.’ He didn’t look it. ‘Who was that guy I saw you with last night? New boyfriend?’

  His tone was distinctly hostile and brought her fully awake with a little thud. What now? She really didn’t need this on top of everything else. ‘I think that’s my business, Brian, don’t you?’ She made no effort to soften her words. ‘Now I’d really like to get back to bed if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Don’t mind at all.’ He had pushed past her into the flat before she was aware of it and walked into the small lounge with swaggering steps. ‘Busy night, was it? Strenuous?’ His meaning was unmistakable, as was the leer on his face, and for a second she felt a stab of fear before hot anger rose to take its place.

  ‘Get out of my flat, Brian,’ she said coldly. ‘I don’t remember inviting you in.’

  ‘You never do, do you?’ he said softly, his thick lips wet as the small eyes ran over her body. ‘Got to have a Bentley or something first, eh? Like lover-boy?’

  ‘You followed us out into the street?’ The windows were on the other side of the flats so he couldn’t have seen Alex’s car from there. ‘Just who do you think you are?’

  ‘Someone who can give you a good time if you’d let me.’ He took a step towards her. ‘How about it?’

  ‘I suggest you leave now, Brian.’ She stood her ground and he shambled to a halt, picking nervously at his nails as he faced her.

  ‘Why?’ Again she felt that stab of fear but kept her voice cool and firm as she spoke.

  ‘Because my new boyfriend would be most upset to find you bothering me and, as you can imagine, he is rich enough to buy and sell you ten times over. He could make things very unpleasant for you, believe me; he knows people.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ The threat had worked, it was there in the reddening of his plump face.

  ‘Yes.’ She looked at him hard.

  ‘You mean you’re seeing him again?’ he said s
lowly.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she said quickly, too quickly; he caught the inflexion in her voice as she spoke the lie.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ He looked at her hard. ‘Men like him don’t bother with the likes of you once they’ve had their fun.’ She agreed perfectly with the sentiment but wasn’t about to let him know that.

  ‘As it happens I’m spending Christmas with him, OK?’ she said firmly. ‘And please get out, Brian, I’m getting cold standing here talking to you.’ The ease with which the lie had fallen from her lips plus her matter-of-fact tone seemed to defuse the situation and he glanced at her again before walking slowly to the open door.

  ‘Huh!’ What exactly the exclamation was meant to express she didn’t know and didn’t care as she shut the door quickly, sliding the bolt in place for extra comfort.

  What a creep! She found she was shaking slightly as she ran a shower, sleep being a million miles away now. The warm water did a lot to calm her and as she dressed slowly she began to berate herself for being panicked into telling such a ridiculous story. She wasn’t going anywhere with anyone—especially not Alexander Cade. Still, no one would be any the wiser, she thought comfortably after a time as she made herself tea and toast, and it had served a purpose. She had been looking for a way to get through to Brian for weeks and it looked as though it had been dropped in her lap. She ought to be grateful to Alex really.

  She spent a lazy day at home doing a hundred and one jobs she had been putting off for weeks, ringing Joanie in the evening and putting her mind at rest before falling into bed at the ridiculously early time of nine o’clock, tired out.

  She had been invited to spend the Sunday with a married colleague from work whose husband was in Saudi Arabia and meet her children, and she was glad now that she had accepted. They had a wonderful day, lighting a bonfire in the garden in the afternoon after a huge dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and then taking the family dog, a comical little mongrel called Rambo—’You’d know why if you lived with him,’ her friend said wryly—to Hyde Park for a long walk before muffins and tea in front of the fire.

  She arrived home late, tired but glowing from a day in the fresh air, to find Alex leaning lazily against the door of her flat as she stepped out of the lift.

  ‘Good evening, Fabia.’ His voice stopped her in her tracks and as she met the cool gold eyes she was aware of Brian’s door being slightly ajar. ‘I’ve just been having a little chat with your neighbour. Seedy individual, isn’t he?’ The door closed with a definite click and she glanced at Alex’s face to see he was smiling wryly. ‘I’ve warned him off in no uncertain terms. I’m afraid he won’t dare speak to you again. Right or wrong?’

  ‘Dead right and long overdue.’ She looked at him carefully. ‘What has he been saying?’

  ‘I’ve no intention of having a conversation in the middle of this corridor,’ he said coolly. ‘Shall we...?’ He indicated her front door with a wave of his hand and she had no choice but to step past him and unlock it. ‘Now...’ He looked at her tightly as she shut the front door. ‘I understand I shall have the pleasure of your company at Christmas? A delightful prospect.’ His eyes were speculative as they met her shocked blue gaze, narrowing slightly in silent enquiry at the stunned expression on her face. ‘That is what you told love’s young dream next door?’ She had forgotten how devastatingly handsome he was.

  ‘Yes, no; I didn’t mean...’ Her voice trailed away helplessly. ‘I just...’ She stopped again.

  ‘Yes?’ She couldn’t read anything from his bland face and as her mind searched for a way out of what had turned into a monstrous parody she finally decided she would have to tell him the truth. There was absolutely no way she was going to spend Christmas as his leading lady in some macabre play so the only alternative was to explain things properly and throw herself on his mercy. Mercy? She shut her eyes briefly and then took courage and glanced at him carefully under her eyelashes. He had been relatively reasonable up to now considering the circumstances of their first encounter, and he had left the choice of whether she accompany him to Cumbria or not up to her, so it should be all right. Shouldn’t it?

  Just for a moment, as she looked directly at him, there was something quite ruthless in the brilliant golden-brown eyes that made her shiver, but when she looked again his face appeared quite bland, even pleasant, and she gave herself a little admonitory shake. You’re getting paranoid, she told herself firmly, and it’s got to stop.

  ‘Fabia? Shall we be seated?’ He settled himself comfortably into an easy-chair as he spoke, crossing one leg over his knee as his hands stretched along the back of the chair. For some reason the action seemed intimidating, perhaps because it highlighted the strong muscular shoulders, broad chest and long powerful legs. She gulped silently.

  She had never met a man whose masculinity was worn so powerfully before; it was almost tangible, virile and dangerous, and she didn’t like the tremors that snaked down her spine, she didn’t like them at all. She didn’t want to respond to the message his body was sending to her femininity. He was the enemy—all his type were. ‘Well?’ he said softly when she still didn’t speak. ‘Let’s have it.’

  ‘What?’ She stared at him in consternation. ‘What do you mean?’ Was he psychic as well?

  ‘That’s for you to tell me,’ he said quietly. ‘You’ve been like a cat on a hot tin roof since you came in. What’s wrong?’ He smiled slowly. ‘Or is it my animal magnetism?’

  ‘Alex...’ She leant forward imploringly, her hair glowing like liquid gold in the shadowed room and her blue eyes enormous. ‘It’s all a mistake, about me coming to Cumbria with you, I mean. I never meant you to know, I only told Brian—’ She paused helplessly. She wasn’t making a very good job of this, she thought miserably, searching her mind for a way to explain things that wouldn’t make a bad situation ten times worse.

  ‘I think you’d better start at the beginning.’ In her anxiety she didn’t notice the coldness in his soft voice or the way the teasing glow had died from his eyes, leaving them two hard chips of yellow glass. ‘Let’s have it all.’

  So she told him, stumbling a little and keeping her eyes on her hands clenched into fists and when at last she ground to a halt she waited a moment before raising her face to meet his gaze. What she saw there made her blood run cold. If she had thought he was angry that first night it was mere irritation compared to the black rage that had his whole body in a tight grip now. He was furiously, violently angry.

  ‘You really are priceless.’ The words were ground out slowly through gritted teeth, a savagery in his voice that made her breath catch nervously in her throat. ‘An absolute twenty-four-carat winner.’ She shrank back in her chair as he came to crouch over her, his face twisted into a black satanic mask and his eyes flashing fire. ‘What do you think I am? First you attempt to make me the laughing stock of London with that cute little trick you pulled, losing me a great deal of money in the process, and then you duck out and vanish into thin air, leaving me with the proverbial egg on my face! Not content with that you now propose to use me in some duplicitous plan of your own without even informing me I’m bailing you out. I can’t believe you, I really can’t believe what I’ve just heard.’

  ‘I told you, Brian—’

  ‘Forget Brian,’ he snarled savagely. ‘I’ve made it clear to that scum that you are strictly out of bounds. Just concentrate on me for now.’ He straightened slowly, staring at her from eyes that were slanted into narrow gold slits. ‘Brian is the least of your problems, angel-face, believe me.’

  She remained frozen in her chair, her face upturned to his, hardly daring to breathe.

  ‘No one has ever been foolish enough to treat me like this before and I’m going to make damn sure you never make that mistake again. I don’t know what’s gone on in your life and at this moment in time I don’t care, but you are going to be brought to heel, my girl, severely to heel.’

  ‘Alex—’

  ‘Don’t Alex me.
’ His voice was soft now with a quiet deadliness that chilled her blood. ‘From now on we play the game my way, understand? I’ve tried the softly-softly approach but you don’t understand normal reasonable behaviour, do you?’ His eyes glittered furiously. ‘No matter, angel-face, we’ll communicate on your terms. You will come with me to my grandmother’s home for Christmas whether it fits into your plans or not, and you will do exactly as I tell you. Is that clear?’ His eyes raked her ferociously as he spoke.

  ‘I will not!’ She had been too stunned by his unexpected rage to react before but now an anger to match his had her in its grip. ‘You can’t make me! With all your money you can’t make me!’ She made to rise but he pushed her down violently.

  ‘Don’t make me show you what I can or can’t do,’ he said slowly, the authority in his voice intimidating her even as she tried to fight it. ‘You’ll regret it, bitterly, if you do. I won’t be taken for a ride by you or anyone else.’

  ‘I wasn’t—’

  Her voice strangled in her throat as he reached out a hand and grasped a handful of hair, drawing her up to him slowly. ‘How can anyone who looks so...fragile be so hard?’

  ‘I’m not hard!’ Her body was pressed into his now and her head tilted to look up into his dark face.

  ‘No?’ His mouth twisted in the semblance of a smile. ‘You mean there’s another side I haven’t been privileged enough to glimpse yet?’ His fingers loosened in her hair, slowly moving across her head to the back of her neck as his breathing thickened. ‘I don’t know why the hell I’m bothering with you at all except that maybe I believe that other side is there after all.’ She stood absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe. The look on his face and the stirring in the hard male body pressed against hers told her more clearly than words of his arousal and she had never felt more vulnerable in her life, more threatened. Not so much because of his rage or passion, she was honest enough to admit to herself, but more because she couldn’t trust herself not to respond.