'I believe this is the ladies' excuse-me,' she said with a smile to Sylvia, and slid neatly into Will's arms before he could protest.
The cast felt awkward against her back, but his fingertips could feel the subtle shift of her spine, and he cradled her right hand in his left against his chest, his thumb idly tracing the back of her fingers. Her breast chafed against the back of his hand, and he could feel the occasional brush of her thighs against his.
It felt good. Too good, really, but he wasn't stopping. It was a genuine reason to hold her, and he was going to make the best of it!
And then the best man commandeered the microphone, and announced that the Karaoke machine was now working and they wanted the bride and groom to kick off.
'I'm out of here,' Will muttered, and Lucie laughed and led him back to their table.
'It'll be a laugh. Just go with the flow.'
So he did, and, in fact, it wasn't as awful as he'd imagined. Lots of the guests had a go, and some of them were quite good, and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. Then, to his horror and amazement, Lucie was pounced on.
'Come on, you can sing, we've heard you,' the receptionists told her, and Will watched, transfixed, as she was towed, laughing, to the stage and presented with the microphone by the best man.
'So, ladies and gentlemen, here we go. It's Dr Lucie Compton singing Whitney Houston's song from The Bodyguard, "And I Will Always Love You". Let's hear it for Lucie!'
The crowd clapped and cheered, and then went quiet for the slow, haunting introduction. Lord, she was wonderful! Will felt his skin shiver, and then as she reached the first repeat of the title, her eyes found his, and he felt a huge lump in his throat.
There was no way she was singing it for him, but he could let himself dream, and then she hit the volume and he went cold all over with the power of her voice.
Lord, she was spectacular! He'd had no idea she was so good, and neither, by the look of them, had any of the others. She was really into it now, her voice mellow and yet pure, every note true, every word filled with meaning.
She finished, holding the last note until Will thought she'd die of lack of oxygen, but then she cut it and bowed, laughing, as the guests went wild.
'Encore!' 'Again!' 'More!' they yelled, and she turned to the best man and shrugged.
'OK. What have you got?'
'What can you do?'
She laughed. 'Anything. Try me.'
He did, and she was right. She knew them all, and hardly fluffed a note. Most of the time she didn't even glance at the monitor for the words, and Will was stunned. Finally, though, she surrendered the microphone to thunderous applause, and came back to the table.
'Sorry about that, I got hijacked,' she said with a chuckle, and pointed to his drink. 'Is that just mineral water?'
'Yes.'
'May I?'
He pushed it towards her, and she drained it, then set it down with a grin.
'I enjoyed that. I haven't done it for ages.'
'You were good,' he said gruffly. 'Very good.' Stunning.
She smiled a little shyly. 'Thanks,' she said, as if she really cared what he thought, and he wanted to hug her. Well, he wanted to do more than hug her, but it would be a good start.
'So how come you know them all?' he asked, trying to concentrate on something other than holding her in his arms, and she shrugged.
'I used to sing in a nightclub to earn money when I was at college,' she explained. 'The hours fitted, and the money was good, and I enjoyed it mostly, except for the smoke and the lechers.'
Will was feeling pretty much of a lecher himself just now, but he didn't want to think too much about that.
'I could kill a drink,' Lucie said, and he thought for a moment he was going to have to walk across the room in his state of heightened awareness, but he was saved by the best man descending on them and buying them both drinks to thank Lucie for her contribution to the evening.
The Karaoke had packed up after she'd sung. She was, as they said, a hard act to follow, and so they'd gone back to the disco music and everyone was dancing again.
They had a drink, and this time Will had a whisky. Well, he wasn't driving, and he needed something to act as anaesthetic if he was going to sleep that night!
'Are you ready to go?' he asked her a short while later, and she grinned and stuck her finger under his chin, tickling it.
'Is it past your bedtime, you poor old thing?' she crooned, and he nearly choked.
Way past, he thought, but not in the way she was implying! He glowered at her, and she just laughed and stood up. 'Come on, then, Cinderella, your carriage awaits.'
They said goodbye to their hosts, and twenty minutes later they were pulling up outside the house and she was going to go her way and he was going to have to go his, and he suddenly didn't want the evening to end.
God, however, was on his side. 'Coffee?' she said, and he sent up a silent word of thanks.
'That would be lovely.'
He followed her into the cottage and stood leaning on the old timber-stud wall in the kitchen while she put the kettle on. 'So, did you have fun?' she asked him, turning to face him and standing with one hand on her hip in an unconsciously provocative pose.
His libido leapt to life again. 'Yes, I had fun,' he confessed. 'You were wonderful, Lucie. You've got a beautiful voice.'
'Thanks.'
She met his eyes again, that shy smile playing over her lips, and he suddenly knew he'd die if he didn't kiss her.
He hadn't kissed her for weeks—three weeks, to be exact, not since Fergus had been down, and it had been far too long.
He held out his arms, and she moved into them without a murmur, pressing her body softly up against him as she turned her face up for his kiss.
A deep groan dragged itself up from the depths of his body, and his mouth found hers and relief poured through him.
Not for long, though. He shifted against her, aching for her, and with a tiny moan she pressed herself harder against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her fingers tunnelled through his hair, her body wriggled against him and then finally she lifted her head, undid the top buttons of his shirt and laid her lips against his skin.
Heat exploded in him, and he gave a deep groan. 'Lucie, in the name of God, what are you doing?' he asked in a strangled voice, and she laughed a little unsteadily.
'You need lessons?' she said, and her voice was deep and husky and unbelievably sexy.
'I don't need lessons. I thought I was the trainer.'
'Mmm,' she murmured, nuzzling the base of his throat. 'You are. How am I doing?'
'Just fine,' he croaked, and, putting his fingers under her chin, he tilted her face firmly up to face him. 'Don't tease me, Lucie.'
Her eyes lost their playful look and became intensely serious. 'I'm not teasing,' she vowed. 'I want to make love with you.'
Will closed his eyes and let his breath out in a rush. She wanted to make love with him, and had he thought of this in advance? Was he prepared?
He felt as if he'd won the lottery and lost the ticket.
'We can't,' he said. 'No protection.'
'Yes, we have,' Lucie said, and smiled a smile as old as time.
It had lost nothing of its power over the countless generations. He felt as if his knees were going to buckle, and when she moved away and held out her hand, he took it and followed her through to the bedroom.
She was incredible. She was gentle, teasing, earnest—she was a thousand different women, and he wanted them all. He wanted her, and he could think of nothing else.
It was only afterwards, when he lay spent beside her, his heart pounding and his body exhausted, that he remembered that she belonged to Fergus...
CHAPTER NINE
Lucie woke to a feeling of utter contentment. She'd never—never—been loved like that, and she felt whole as she'd never felt whole in her life before.
She opened her eyes, a smile forming on her lips, but Will was gone. She sa
t up, throwing off the quilt, not heeding her nakedness. 'Will?'
There was no reply, and the cottage was too quiet. Quiet with the silence of emptiness. She felt ice slide over her and, shivering, she pulled on her dressing-gown and went through to the sitting room. She knew he wasn't in the bathroom, because the door had been open and there was no sign of him.
Nor was he in the sitting room. She felt the kettle, and it was stone cold. When had he left? Just now, or earlier in the night?
She looked across at his house, but it was daylight and there would be no lights on anyway. She went back into the bedroom and felt the other side of the bed but, like the kettle, it was cold. He must have gone back to let the dog out, she realised, and stayed.
He was bound to be up, though, so she showered quickly, threw on her jeans and an old rugby shirt and some thick socks, and went over to the house. The back door was open, as usual, and she went in and found him sitting at the table, staring broodingly into a mug.
'Hi,' she said softly.
Will looked up, and to her surprise his eyes were unreadable. They certainly hadn't been unreadable last night, but today they were. Distant and remote and expressionless. 'Hi.'
She faltered, suddenly uncertain of her welcome and not knowing why. 'Is something wrong?' she asked with her usual directness, and he shrugged.
'I don't do the morning-after thing very well.'
She stared at him. 'I noticed,' she said wryly, and went over to the kettle. 'Mind if I have a cup of tea?'
'Help yourself. You usually do.'
Oh, lord. All that beautiful intimacy, the tenderness, the whispered endearments—all gone, wiped out with the dawn. She felt sick inside, cold and afraid.
'Have you had breakfast?' she asked, striving for normality, and he shook his head.
'Not yet.'
'Want some toast?'
'If you're making it.'
Well, he wasn't going to make it easy, that was for sure, but she wasn't giving up either.
She cut four slices of bread, stuck them in the toaster and sat down opposite him, so he couldn't avoid looking at her.
He did, though. He stared down into his tea as if his life depended on it, and when she reached out a hand and touched him, he all but recoiled.
'Have I done something wrong?' she asked gently.
He looked up then, his eyes piercing and remote. 'No. Ignore me. I'm always like this.'
'Might explain why you're still single at thirty-three, then,' she said lightly, and went to collect the toast.
They ate in silence, and when he'd finished he scraped his chair back and stood up. 'I'm taking the dog out.'
'Mind if I come?'
He shrugged. 'Please yourself. You usually do, but I'm going down by the river and your trainers will get ruined.'
'I've got boots. Give me a minute.'
She ran over to the cottage, dug out the wellies that hadn't seen the light of day for years and pulled them on, snagged a jacket off the hook by the door and went back out to find Will standing on the edge of the track, his hands rammed in his pockets, Bruno running in circles round the lawn barking impatiently.
As soon as he saw her, he turned and headed off, not waiting for her to catch up, and feeling sick inside she hurried after him, drawing level just in time to fall behind as the path narrowed.
And he wasn't hanging around for her or making any concessions, of course. Oh, no. That would be out of character. Whoever had made such beautiful love to her last night had been put firmly back in his place and the Will she knew—and loved?—was back with a vengeance.
She struggled down the path after him over the uneven ground, and finally, when she thought she'd die of exhaustion, they arrived at the river. Thank God, she thought, but that wasn't the end of it.
He turned sharply left and carried on along the path, striding out so that she almost had to run to catch up. Well, damn him, she wouldn't run! She slowed down, taking her time to enjoy the walk, looking out over the quiet beauty of the morning light on the water, and she thought she'd never seen anything quite so lovely in her life.
They were near the sea, and gulls were wheeling overhead, their keening cry reminding her of seaside holidays as a child. A wader was standing on one leg, and the water was so still she could see the ripples spreading out in the water around it, perfectly concentric rings interrupted only by the thin stalks of the reeds that broke the surface of the water in places.
It stabbed the mud with its beak, breaking the pattern, and she breathed again and moved on, following Will and wondering how anyone who loved this land as he so obviously did could be so changeable.
Maybe he loved it because it, too, constantly changed, continually affected by external influences.
Or was Will just bad-tempered and grumpy, and was she making too many allowances for him?
Probably, she acknowledged, looking ahead to where he was standing waiting for her, staring out over the river, his body utterly motionless.
Then he turned his head, and she told herself she imagined the pain in his eyes. Over that distance she could hardly make out his features, never mind read an expression!
Lucie hurried towards him, and this time he waited until she reached him.
'It's beautiful,' she said softly, and he nodded.
'I try and come down here every day. It's harder in the winter because it's dark so early, but I still try. Sometimes it freezes, and the birds skid about on the ice at the sides and Bruno tries to chase them. He always falls through, though. It never freezes that hard.'
She smiled, imagining it, and looked up at him.
His eyes tracked over her face, and she reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. 'You haven't kissed me this morning,' she said, and, going up on tiptoe, she brushed his lips with hers.
'Lucie,' he whispered, and then his arms went round her and his mouth found hers again and he kissed with a trembling hesitation that brought tears to her eyes.
Then Will lifted his head and stared out over the river again, and this time she saw the pain quite clearly, for the second it took him to gather his composure around him like a cloak.
'We shouldn't have made love last night,' he said, and his voice sounded rusty, as if he'd left it down by the river at the water's edge for the tide to wash over it and reclaim it.
Her knees threatened to buckle. Why? she wanted to cry, but she couldn't speak. Her throat had closed, clogged with tears, and it was as much as she could do to breathe.
She turned away before he could see the tears in her eyes, and headed back up to the house. She was damned if she'd let him see her cry!
She heard the drumming of hoofbeats, and in the distance she could make out Amanda and Henry, flying along the track that ran along the far side of the field beside her.
She felt a pang of envy. To feel the wind in your face and see the trees rushing past and feel so free— it must be wonderful. She brushed aside the tears and turned her attention back to the path, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
And then she heard the unearthly scream, and the hideous crash, and, looking up, she saw Henry struggling to his feet, unable to stand properly.
'Oh, my God,' she whispered. 'Oh, Amanda!'
She turned her head to call Will, but he'd seen and heard as well, and he was running up the field towards them, his long legs eating up the ground, Bruno streaking ahead.
She ran after him, her breath tearing in her throat, and adrenaline was surging through her, making her heart pound so hard she thought it would come out of her chest.
Will had reached Amanda now, and he was kneeling down when Lucie ran up, and his face was ashen.
'I think she's dead,' he said, and his voice was hollow and empty.
Lucie dropped to her knees beside him. 'She can't be. Let me feel.'
'She's not breathing, and I can't feel a pulse. I think her neck's broken, but I can't do anything with this bloody stupid hand...'
Lucie slipped
her fingers behind the back of Amanda's neck, but she could feel nothing displaced. 'Maybe not. She might just be winded. Run and get my bag, and call an ambulance. You can go faster than me, and I've got hands that work. Take the dog with you.'
He was gone before she'd finished speaking, and she quickly ran her fingers down under Amanda's spine, feeling for any irregularity. If there was one, it was undetectable. So why...?
'Come on, Amanda, you can't do this,' she said. Ripping open her shirt, she laid her head on Amanda's chest. Yes, there was a faint heartbeat, but she wasn't breathing. Her airway, Lucie thought, and, supporting the neck by sliding her hand under it, she lifted Amanda's chin.
Amanda gasped, and as Lucie continued to support her neck, her eyelids fluttered open and she dragged in another breath.
Lucie let hers out in a rush. 'You're all right. Just lie still, you'll be OK.'
'Hurt,' she whispered.
'I know. Lie still, Will's getting the ambulance. Where do you hurt?'
'Everywhere. Legs—back—don't know. Pelvis?'
Lucie nodded. Amanda's legs were lying at a very strange angle, and it was obvious that she was very seriously injured. The first thing she needed was a neck brace, just to be on the safe; side.
'You'll be OK,' she told her without any great faith, and prayed for Will to hurry. She wanted to get a line in, so that the ambulance crew could get some fluids into her as soon as possible to counteract the shock, because Lucie could tell that Amanda's blood pressure was going down, and goodness knows what internal injuries she might have sustained.
'Henry,' Amanda whispered a little breathlessly. 'Is he...?'
'He's over there, behind you. He's up.' On three legs, with the fourth dangling at a very strange angle, but Amanda didn't need to know that. 'Do you know what happened?'
'No. He—just seemed to—hit something—in the grass. Don't know what. Is he all right?'
'I don't know anything about horses,' Lucie said with perfect truth. 'Just keep very still, sweetheart. Try not to move.'
Amanda's eyes fluttered shut then, and Lucie had never felt more alone in her life. Come on, Will, she thought, and then he appeared, her medical bag in his left hand, a bundle of towels and sheets under his right arm.
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