Was it enough? Leslie wondered. She wanted desperately to believe it. Today she had learned the truth about herself—that she was in love with Rod—but though he was saying he wanted to make the marriage real, that he wanted to make love to her, she was acutely conscious of the fact that he had not said a single word about loving her in return.
It was a blatant omission, which meant one thing. It was intentional. Rod wanted to give their marriage a try because he had developed a certain amount of fondness for her, but he did not return her love and had enough integrity not to lie about it. But could she go through with it—giving herself to him knowing he did not share her love?
Her mouth felt dry and cottony and there was a tight little knot in the center of her stomach. After this morning, she had hoped for so much; and later, when she had admitted the truth to herself that she was in love with Rod, she had floated along on a high, rosy cloud, weaving daydreams that Rod would come home tonight and tell her he felt the same. It hadn't happened. He was ready to accept her into every area of his life… his home, his business, and now his bed, but the door to his heart stayed firmly locked.
"Rod, I…" Leslie chewed nervously on her bottom lip as her mind whirled, still seeking for an answer.
The doorbell rang, clanging loudly through the hushed expectancy between them. Rod dropped her hand and there was a frown between his brows. "Are we expecting company tonight?"
"Not that I know about," she said as she got to her feet. Relief at this unexpected reprieve shot through her like adrenaline, giving her sudden energy. She needed time to think and this interruption was heaven-sent. "Just relax," she added. "I'll get it."
Her footsteps echoed with cheerful patter as she crossed the marble foyer and pulled open the heavy door.
"Good evening," Estelle Parini greeted. A man stood just behind her, and with a slight wave of her hand she acknowledged him. "This is a friend of mine, Evan Wilbanks. We just thought we'd drop by and pay a little visit."
"I hope we haven't come at a bad time," Evan Wilbanks said quickly.
"Of… of course not." Leslie felt slightly dazed, and for an instant she merely stared at the two visitors, but then rational thinking returned and she pulled the door open wider and glued what she hoped was a cordial smile to her lips. "Do come in."
Estelle was smiling as she stepped into the foyer and Leslie was struck once more with her perfection. Her hair, swept back behind one ear and held there by a diamond clip, rippled in sun-kissed golden waves down to her shoulders. She was wearing a black velvet pants set that hugged her svelte figure, and on her feet were delicate sandals with heels so high Leslie wondered in awe how Estelle could manage to walk at all, much less move with such effortless grace.
"You know," Estelle said with a tiny laugh, "because of your wedding you cheated me of having a long visit with Rod when I returned from my stay overseas, so tonight I simply decided that I would be denied his company no longer. Where is he, anyway?" Leslie weakly gestured toward the living room and Estelle rushed forward, crying out, "Rod, darling, I just had to see you. I've missed you so much!"
Leslie was left to deal with Evan Wilbanks, and, remembering him, she slowly turned and asked, "Won't you come in and sit down, Mr. Wilbanks? Can I get you a drink?"
From the moment Estelle entered the house she had total control over the evening. She occupied Leslie's former position on the sofa beside Rod and her hands fluttered charmingly as she talked to him. Only occasionally did she seem to remember her escort's presence and then she would throw him a smile and a word or two. As for Leslie, Estelle ignored her completely, as though she simply did not even exist.
Mr. Wilbanks seemed ill-at-ease with the situation. He was a rather slender young man about Leslie's own age, and though the cut and texture of his suit denoted a monied background, he lacked maturity and sophistication and was plainly out of his depth with Estelle. Leslie could not help feeling sorry for him and she struggled to carry on a conversation with him that would get his mind off Estelle's rude behavior. It was hard going, however, because though he responded when she asked a question, soon his gaze would wander back to the sofa and the two who were so completely engrossed with one another.
At those moments, Leslie's own gaze was drawn there as well. Rod was clearly enjoying himself, and she was stunned at the change that had come over him. His eyes were bright and there was a tender little smile on his lips as he regarded Estelle that turned Leslie's heart cold. She was seeing for herself just exactly how much the other woman still meant to him. Although now and then he happened to glance across at Leslie or Evan Wilbanks, it was only for a brief instant, and then he would return his undivided attention to the beautiful creature who sat close beside him.
Rod had married her supposedly as a shield against his susceptibility to Estelle's charms, but as she sat there watching them, Leslie realized how ridiculous it had all been, how hopeless from the very beginning. She was no competition for a woman like Estelle Parini; she was outclassed and she knew it. Estelle was very conveniently overlooking the fact that Rod was now a married man. Moreover, Rod did not show the slightest sign of distress at being in Estelle's company. On the contrary, he looked so happy that Leslie could scarcely bear to watch.
She could no longer watch when Estelle's hand went out and rested possessively on Rod's knee and Rod did nothing to remove it. Acute pain, such as she had never known before, spread through Leslie, and she closed her eyes to block out the sight.
After the pain came a swift current of anger. She would not sit still and helplessly watch. She would simply get up and walk out of the room and damn the consequences. She turned in her chair and happened to catch sight of Evan Wilbanks's face once more and knew she could not abandon him in such a cruel fashion.
"Are you interested in jade, Mr. Wilbanks?" she asked now with a polite smile. "There is a very interesting collection of jade in that cabinet. Some of the pieces are quite old and very valuable. Would you care to see it?"
Relief smoothed out the frown lines across his forehead. Apparently he was feeling an urgent need for physical action, too. "I'd love to, thank you." He rose to his feet.
"This collection belonged to Rod's mother," she explained as she unlocked the glass-fronted cabinet door and swung it open. "Many of these pieces were done in this century, but there are a few that are notable for their age as well as their beauty." She took out a small piece and placed it in Evan Wilbanks's hand. "This is a dragon amulet from the Chou dynasty period."
"Rod has the loveliest collection of jade I've ever seen outside of a museum," Estelle said. Leslie turned in surprise to find her standing behind them with Rod close beside her. "I've always been so envious of it. My favorite piece is this one." She reached past Leslie and pulled out an ornately carved vase in the palest green and then lifted her face and smiled up at Rod. "You wouldn't like to give this vase to me, would you, darling?" she asked. "In memory of what we once had together?"
For a moment there was a frozen silence as the four of them stood so close together. Leslie held her breath, unable to believe what she had heard, and she waited in tense expectancy for Rod's response.
Rod was looking at Estelle but he lifted his gaze and met Leslie's eyes for a brief instant before he answered, "I'm sorry, Estelle, but the vase is not mine to give."
"Not yours?" Estelle asked. A puzzled expression dilated her eyes. "I don't understand, darling. Of course it's yours. You're only teasing me because you know how much I want it."
Rod shook his head. "I'm not teasing you, my dear. The collection never has belonged to me. It went to my father upon my mother's death and Dad gave it to Leslie as a wedding gift. She's the one who owns it now."
"Leslie?" Estelle echoed faintly. She whirled around to Leslie and demanded suspiciously, "Is that true?"
Leslie nodded. "Yes," she said flatly, "it is."
"Rod's father gave you a fabulous gift like that?" she asked disbelievingly. "But that's senseless! What if the
re should be a divorce?"
There was another awkward silence and Rod's brows contracted into a quick frown. This time Estelle had gone too far, even for him, Leslie supposed. As for herself, she felt she had put up with quite enough for one evening from this grasping, impertinent woman.
Leslie smiled, her first genuine smile of the evening, and she reached out and took the vase from Estelle's hand with such swift determination that the other woman did not even resist. "Why, if there should be a divorce, I'd be set for life, wouldn't I?" she said cheekily. "In the meantime, though, I'm afraid you'll have to forgive me for not giving you this vase. I feel the collection should not be divided up—unless it becomes necessary later, of course. Which we're not anticipating at all, are we, darling?" She added with an affectionate glance at Rod. Scarlet splotches dotted Estelle's cheeks as Leslie watched with secret amusement.
"How about a refill on that drink?" Rod asked Even Wilbanks in a tone that showed unmistakably his desire to get back onto less provocative ground.
"No, thank you," The young man cast a hasty eye on his wristwatch. "It's really getting late. I think we should be going, Estelle."
To Leslie's relief Estelle agreed, and a few minutes later she and Rod stood side by side, bidding their guests goodbye. As the door closed behind them, Leslie was aware of a tension headache throbbing at her temples, and she lifted one hand and began massaging the side of her head. She wanted only to be alone now and she turned immediately toward the stairs.
"Did you mean it?" Rod asked just as her foot touched the bottom step.
She turned to find grave, dark eyes brooding upon her. "Mean what?" she asked in confusion.
His jaw tightened. "That if we divorced you would sell off the collection."
Leslie stiffened. "It's none of your business, is it?" she snapped as all the frustration of the evening returned to press down upon her. "The collection belongs to me, just as you pointed out to Estelle."
Rod strode forward and roughly grasped her arm. "You wouldn't dare!" he gritted through clenched teeth.
"What is it, Rod?" Leslie taunted as she attempted to twist her arm free of his hold. "Do you want me to hand it over to Estelle as her wedding gift when you marry her?"
"Don't be ridiculous," he growled. "I'm married to you, remember?"
"Oh, yes." Leslie's laugh was harsh. "I remember very well, but after the way you behaved this evening, I'm not so sure you do."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked with exasperation.
Suddenly Leslie was tired of the whole, distasteful scene. "You know exactly what I mean, Rod," she said quietly and with a strange calm. "So I don't intend to stand here all night discussing it. I have a dreadful headache and I'm going to bed. Good night." She gave one last twist of her arm and, surprisingly, he released her without an argument.
Fifteen minutes later, Leslie crawled between the sheets of her bed and flicked off the lamp. Her lashes were heavy with the tears she had been blinking back ever since she had reached the privacy of her room, but even in the concealing darkness, she fought to keep them from falling. Her throat was hot and it, too, ached from the pressure of unshed tears, but she told herself fiercely that she would not give in to them. It was unfortunate, yes, that she had been unable to stop herself from falling in love with her own husband, but given time she was bound to recover from it, and then this horrible pain that was racking her body would end.
Chapter Six
Slowly, Leslie floated to the surface of consciousness from the depths of sleep. The alarm clock was jangling with aggravating persistence. She groaned and flipped over in order to turn off the noise.
Her hand fumbled in the darkness for the clock and found it, but when she pressed against the switch the noisy ringing still continued. Suddenly her sleep-fogged brain registered the fact that it had not been the alarm clock but the telephone.
Now her hand moved up and she turned on the lamp. Her eyes blinked and finally focused on the clock. Three-thirty. It was three-thirty in the morning and the telephone was ringing! Instantly she became wide awake and alert. Something was wrong. Nobody telephoned at such an hour without good cause.
As she grabbed for her robe, the ringing abruptly stopped. She frowned and glanced uncertainly toward the door that connected with Rod's room, and as she did she could hear the low murmuring of his voice.
Leslie hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to go into his room or not; but curiosity won. She had to know who was calling at such an ungodly hour and why.
Quietly, she opened the door into Rod's room, tying her robe as she went. Rod was sitting on the edge of his bed, his legs covered by pajama bottoms, his broad chest bare. His face was colorless and grim and his eyes had a dark, pained expression in them as he looked at her.
"How bad is it?" he was asking into the telephone. "Tell me the truth. Is he going to live?" There was a short silence while he listened to the person on the other end of the line and then he said decisively, "I'll be there on the first available flight. Yes, I'll call you back and tell you after I've made arrangements."
He cradled the telephone and then buried his face in his hands. There was a helpless droop to his dark golden shoulders.
Leslie felt anxiety clutch at her heart and her mouth went dry. She moved toward the bed. "What's happened, Rod?"
"It's Dad." Rod's voice was gruff as he removed his hands from his face and knotted them on his knees. "He's just suffered a heart attack and it's bad. Aunt Lucy says they're afraid he might not make it."
Without any hesitation or thought, Leslie sat down beside him and put her arms around his shoulders. Rod's strong arms clamped around her waist, pulling her close against his naked chest, and she could feel his body quivering with emotion.
After a moment, Leslie drew back. "I'll call the airport about a reservation for you and then I'll pack your bag."
Before she could move out of his arms, however, Rod clutched her more tightly and his voice was thick as he asked, "Will you come with me, Leslie?"
"Of course I will," she responded swiftly. The hurt and anger of the previous night were entirely forgotten by both of them. Leslie was conscious of only one thing—the fact that Rod needed her. Always so decisive and commanding in his job, this was a situation in which he felt himself powerless, and he needed all the support and encouragement he could receive.
The next few hours were frantically busy. They made flight arrangements for late morning and then there was the packing to do. Rod called Carl Davis at home, rousing him from his sleep, to leave business instructions for the next few days. Leslie went into the kitchen and made breakfast, and when she had a spare moment while it was cooking, wrote a note for Benny.
By the time they were finally buckled into their seats on the plane, Leslie felt exhausted. Although Rod was being very tight-lipped and quietly controlled, she sensed how deeply shaken he was about his father's condition, and she was almost as worried about him as about his father.
Leslie leaned back against the cushioned seat and wearily closed her eyes. It seemed unfair somehow that Rod had lost so many people in his life—his real mother, about whom there was something of a mystery; his step-mother, whom he had adored; then Estelle, the one woman he truly loved; and now perhaps his father, and after having seen them together, she was aware of the close bond between the two of them. Yet she, on the other hand, had never lost anyone dear to her in all her life. Certainly she could not compare the loss of Joel in any way to Rod's loss of Estelle, her thoughts trooped on relentlessly. Her attraction to Joel had died an abrupt and unlamented death when she had found out what he really was, but Rod's love for Estelle had been plainly obvious last night.
Leslie stirred restlessly in her seat. Now that she was a widow, Estelle wanted Rod back, and he had made no pretense about enjoying her company last evening.
Did he want his freedom to return to her after all, now that he had had time for reflection? Was he already regretting rushing into a loveless marriag
e as a defense against her? Leslie wished she knew. Her own position as Rod's wife seemed precarious at best, and she had a horrible instinct that she was headed for a fall.
She should have had better sense than to fall in love with Rod, she told herself bitterly. It was the stupidest thing she had ever done—worse even than going to Joel's room. Then Rod had been able to bail her out of her difficulties; this time he was the cause, and she could see no easy solution.
During the long flight, they berth slept and when Leslie awoke it was to discover that her head had fallen against Rod's shoulder. She could only see the lower half of his face because his head was cushioned against the top of hers. She had a fascinating angle from which to study his chiseled lips, his rock-hewn chin, and she ached to be able to lift her hand and trace them with her fingers, but she lacked the courage. Yesterday she had hoped for so much, had believed that Rod would make love to her and claim her as a real wife, but then Estelle had come. Now she was back to square one—loving him, wanting him, but not daring to show it in the slightest way.
Rod awoke and moved his head so that their eyes met. His were heavy-lidded with drowsiness and, because they were shielded, unreadable.
"Did you sleep?" he asked finally, after a lengthy pause.
"Some. Did you?"
"A little," he admitted. There was another awkward little silence as they continued to gaze at each other, their faces only scant inches apart. Unexpectedly, Rod reached out and covered her hand with his. "Thanks," he said softly.
"For what?" Leslie whispered. She was mesmerized by his nearness and a strange, paralyzing warmth held her immobile.
His shoulders lifted and fell in a tiny shrug. "Just for being here."
Leslie flashed him a brilliant smile as some of the heavy weight lifted from her heart, and boldly she turned her palm upward, laced her fingers through his, and gave his hand a squeeze.
Rod's strong fingers returned the pressure and then he withdrew his hand, straightened up in his seat, and glanced at his wristwatch. "We should be there in another forty minutes or so," he observed in a normal voice.
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