A Husband's Vendetta

by Sara Wood

  ‘All the time.’

  Surprise, delight and desire rushed through her at the force of his growled reply. All the time! She could hardly breathe for joy. ‘Then stay,’ she whispered, seized with an uncontrollable happiness. ‘Stay!’ she cried with a joyful laugh. ‘It’s been so long, Luc—’

  ‘No.’ He stepped back, leaving her with her arm outstretched in mid-air. His mouth twisted in a strange smile. ‘I learnt long ago as a child that I couldn’t have everything I wanted.’

  She nodded, her eyes solemn. ‘I know. But that was then. Now—’

  ‘Now I must also deny myself. I have an early start. I must go. I need some sleep.’

  ‘You can sleep here,’ she offered, longing for him to stay the night with her. ‘Lie with me,’ she murmured persuasively, allowing her eyes to tell him what pleasure that would give her.

  He shook his head, then leaned forwards and kissed her lingeringly on the mouth. ‘You don’t think we’d sleep, do you? You’re far too provocative,’ he whispered softly in her ear. ‘I’d be a wreck in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, Luc!’ she mumbled in disappointment.

  But she caressed the hard line of his jaw, a feeling of tenderness touching her heart when she discovered how hard he was clenching his teeth. He was alarmingly strong-willed. It was more than obvious he still wanted her. Taking pity on him, she deposited a kiss on his chin and flopped back on the bed, obligingly covering herself. There would be other days—many of them.

  ‘Go on, then!’ she said with an understanding smile.

  Averting his eyes, he scraped a hand through his hair in shaky relief. ‘Enjoy your day with Gemma,’ he said hoarsely, doing his best not to look at her. ‘Give her an early evening tea and I’ll be back to put her to bed.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to that.’ Out of the blue, her eyes began to swim with happy tears. ‘Luc, you can’t imagine what this has meant to me—’

  ‘I think I can,’ he rasped. Perhaps because he was trying not to weaken, he moved sharply away from the bed and strode across the room as if demons were after him. ‘Night. Sleep well,’ he added, clipping each word short. And let himself out.

  She smiled to herself, flattered that he’d found it hard to leave her. Luc had wanted her in every way, not just sexually. And their lovemaking had been mind-blowing. They were meant for one another—he couldn’t fail to realise that.

  With a sigh of deep contentment, she went to take a shower. Then, warm and glowing with happiness, she straightened the untidy bed and snuggled down, falling fast asleep within seconds of her head touching the downy pillow. She slept undisturbed the whole night through for the first time in years.

  Light filtered through a gap in the curtains, announcing that it was morning, but she lay still, enjoying the memories of the night before. And then her door opened. Blearily she rolled over to see Gemma’s small form in her teddy bear pyjamas.

  ‘Hello, there!’ Ellen said in sleepy delight.

  Before she had a chance to invite Gemma over for a hug, the child had spun around on her heel and disappeared. Shaken by this unexpected response, Ellen leapt out of bed and flung on the hotel towelling robe to discover that Gemma was in the sitting room, telephone in hand, calmly ordering breakfast to be brought to the suite.

  ‘Orange, yes. And toast. Thank you.’ She put the phone down.

  ‘How grown up you are! Have you ordered for me?’ Ellen asked warmly.

  Gemma didn’t falter on her way to her bedroom. ‘No.’

  Flinching, Ellen quickly rallied, grabbing the phone and putting in her own order before appearing casually at her daughter’s open door. ‘It’s lovely to see you,’ she said, coming forward and impulsively catching hold of Gemma’s small hand. It was snatched away and Ellen was treated to a black scowl so like her father’s that her heart lurched. ‘You…did want to stay with me, didn’t you?’ she asked nervously, fearing for a brief, disloyal moment that Luc might have been lying to her.

  Gemma was sullenly collecting clothes from various drawers. ‘I want my papà.’

  She smiled understandingly. Gemma had forgotten. ‘He’s gone to work, sweetheart. Remember? He did tell you last night,’ Ellen explained gently. ‘He said we could go shopping. Shall we get you something nice?’ She groaned inwardly at her stupidity. The child would hardly want something horrible!

  But Gemma shot her a glance which indicated her interest had been caught. Her curls bounced as she nodded solemnly, and then she turned her back and began to dress.

  Ellen watched, feeling incredibly deflated. OK, perhaps she’d been over-optimistic in thinking that Gemma would rush into her arms with a cry of ‘Mother!’, but Luc had led her to believe that Gemma had had a change of heart. She’d imagined all kinds of things, from an exchange of shy glances to instant hugs. It seemed, however, that nothing had changed.

  Gemma turned, balancing her slender, strong little body skilfully as she stood on one leg and pulled on a pair of teddy bear knickers. Ellen gave a small gasp, her attention riveted by the yellowing bruise on Gemma’s lower back.

  In an instant she was kneeling beside her daughter in concern. ‘That looks awful! You poor darling! How did you do it?’ she murmured sympathetically. Ellen’s fingers lightly touched the discoloured area and her daughter suddenly went as stiff as a board. ‘It’s all right. I won’t hurt you,’ Ellen assured her hastily.

  But Gemma had begun to tremble with fear and all Ellen’s instincts told her that something was wrong. An icy coldness chased down her spine and her heart began to pump rapidly as she thought of several possibilities—then hastily dismissed them from her mind as too awful to contemplate.

  It was something simple. ‘What happened? A fall at school?’ she asked gently, managing to conceal her anxiety. Perhaps Gemma hadn’t understood. ‘La scuola?’ she prompted.

  Gemma’s face paled. ‘Sono caduto giù per le scale,’ she mumbled, doing a little mime.

  ‘You fell down the stairs?’ Ellen repeated in relief, feeling ridiculous for imagining anything more sinister. ‘Oh, that’s awful! It must have hurt.’ Ellen smiled tenderly at Gemma’s puzzled face and realised she needed to elaborate. ‘Ouch!’ she cried, rubbing her back ruefully. ‘Yes?’

  Ignoring her again, Gemma ran back into the sitting room. Ellen sighed and went to phone the supermarket to say that she wouldn’t be in that week.

  It was, she thought wryly, going to be quite a day.

  In fact, it turned out to be a mixed success. After a morning’s shopping—which they both enjoyed despite Gemma’s pretence to the contrary—they made a visit to the Children’s Costume Museum. The highlight was when Gemma joined a group of children trying on Victorian clothes.

  Here, Ellen was just one of the other mums, helping her child to struggle into one of the crinolines and watching in helpless laughter as Gemma practised sitting down without displaying the long lace pantaloons.

  And along with the other parents she watched with sentimental affection as her grandly dressed daughter swept into the hall later and took part in a pretend banquet, with ice cream and crisps as the unlikely staple diet.

  ‘Which is your kiddie?’ a mother beside her whispered.

  Ellen’s heart swelled. ‘The one in the green feathered hat telling that sweet little footman she wants some wine,’ she replied with a chuckle.

  ‘She’s lovely. I picked her out at once,’ the mother said. ‘And that sweet little footman’s my little toad of a son!’

  They chatted for a while. Ellen enjoyed every moment of the casual conversation. It was the first time she’d watched her child from the sidelines with other parents and she made the most of it.

  Gemma chatted excitedly afterwards, sometimes lapsing into Italian, which fascinated everybody till she said that her papà came from Napoli.

  ‘Naples,’ Ellen had explained.

  ‘Napoli,’ repeated Gemma, and everyone laughed.

  But Ellen had seen the set of her daughter’s stubborn
mouth and could have kicked herself for being so tactless. When she reached out her hand for Gemma to take, it was not only ignored—as it had been all day—but irritably brushed aside.

  ‘They’re so independent at that age, aren’t they?’ sighed the mother to whom she’d spoken earlier. ‘My Tom makes me walk a few steps behind him on the way to school!’

  Ellen laughed, but she felt tears prick her eyes. It took a while for common sense to reassert itself. She mustn’t expect miracles. They’d had a good day. That was the first step.

  And now they were both waiting impatiently for Luc to come home, peering out of the window in the hope they might see him arrive in the street far below. But the first inkling they had that he was on his way was when he flung open the door and stood there, looking immaculately groomed, despite his long day, and wonderfully, aggressively masculine in a perfectly tailored navy and chalk-striped suit.

  ‘Papà!’ squealed Gemma excitedly, launching herself in a flurry of crisp pink skirts towards the door. She flung herself into mid-air, where Luc caught her expertly and swung her around.

  ‘Ciao! How are you, my beautiful princess?’ he cried, laughing and kissing her heartily. ‘Oh, you look wonderful! This is a new dress!’ He put her down, beaming at her. ‘Turn around. Yes. Very nice.’

  Gemma began chattering in Italian. Luc crouched down adoringly, completely wrapped up in his daughter.

  Or…was he? Ellen, standing awkwardly, uncertainly, by the window, saw him shoot her a sidelong glance or two from his warm chocolate eyes. Emboldened, she came forwards, still in the hipster jeans and close-fitting white shirt she’d worn that day.

  ‘Hello, Luc. You must be tired,’ she said sympathetically, longing to fling herself into his arms too.

  He rose, almost warily. ‘Hello, Ellen,’ he said, with a rather strained enthusiasm. She felt herself flinch. More gently he added, ‘I am.’ For a moment he hesitated and then, to her confused delight, he leaned forwards and saluted her, Italian-style, with a triple kiss.

  Gemma’s chatter stopped abruptly, and they both looked down at her in amused surprise. She treated Ellen to a long and searching perusal, as though seeing her for the first time.

  Not knowing what to make of this, Ellen broke the tense silence. ‘We must tell your papà what we did today,’ she said lightly.

  ‘Ah, yes. You had a good day?’ Luc enquired, picking up the cue, his face immediately suffused with smiles.

  Gemma thought for a moment, finding the right words. ‘We went shopping,’ she announced, unable to hide her glee.

  He pretended to groan. ‘Then I have no money! You have taken all my money!’

  She giggled. He bent down again and she solemnly removed his jacket, taking it and hanging it carefully on the back of a chair. Then she undid his tie, slid it off and fumbled with his top shirt button, her face a study in concentration.

  Ellen’s heart turned over. This was a well-rehearsed ritual which had evolved over a long time. Her daughter had been doing this every evening, caring for her father and showing her love for him in the solemn, self-important manner in which she carried out her duties.

  But soon, Ellen promised herself, she would be part of these rituals. Luc and she would grow closer and Gemma would see how happy they were together and they would become a real family. Her eyes shone with happiness as she watched the two of them, a blissful smile on her ecstatic face.

  The shirt button successfully released, Luc proffered his cheek and received two smacking kisses. He hugged Gemma and swept her up in his arms, nuzzling her tummy and making her laugh while Ellen watched enviously.

  ‘Now,’ he said, sitting on the sofa and perching Gemma on his thigh. ‘Tell me—am I a poor man?’ he asked with an expression of exaggerated fear, his knees knocking together alarmingly.

  Trying to keep her balance, Gemma collapsed in fits of giggles as Luc acted the fool. He was a wonderful father, Ellen thought, bursting into laughter when he pretended to turn out his pockets only to find them empty. Gemma forced his fists open and pointed reprovingly to the coins he’d been concealing. The teasing went on.

  Ellen knew it wasn’t for her benefit. Sometimes he seemed to have forgotten her existence. Gemma certainly had, ignoring her as if she wasn’t even there. Ellen realised she’d have to tread very carefully and not intrude on their private little games.

  ‘She’s still excluding you,’ said Luc thoughtfully sometime later, when they both had showered and changed and were enjoying a simple supper in the suite.

  She hadn’t minded not eating out somewhere exotic; it meant they could be together in private. Dreamily she smiled, her eyes bright with pleasure.

  ‘When you’re around she sees no one else. But we had fun, even if she won’t admit it. At the museum, I think she liked being a maid and cleaning the silver best! You’re missing an employment opportunity there!’

  Luc smiled faintly, picked up her hand from where it rested on the table and kissed her fingers, his long lashes hiding the expression in his eyes.

  ‘I’m glad everything went to your satisfaction,’ he murmured.

  Turning her hand, he pressed his lips to the hollow of her palm and she gave a little gasp. It took only a glance or a touch from him and her whole body came alive, she thought in wonder. He looked up then, his eyebrow lifting in enquiry, as if he expected to have a more detailed account than the one she and Gemma had given him earlier.

  But she wanted to hear him speak, to listen to his honeyed tones and let his voice seep through her pores to her very bones. ‘I’m making progress,’ she assured him, her lips parting in response to the movement of his thumb on the silken skin of her wrist.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Yes. I’m determined to get where I want,’ she told him, deliciously aware that his dark eyes were fixed on the deep cleft between her breasts. ‘How about your day?’ she asked huskily. ‘Good meeting?’

  ‘Fine. You look particularly lovely tonight, Ellen. Your dress is very flattering,’ he replied with a smooth and practised charm.

  She beamed and admired it too. It was of a beautifully cut buttermilk silk and slid over her figure as if it had been poured on. The neckline was a little daring, but flattered her shoulders and exposed the soft swell of her breasts. Which his gaze returned to with flattering regularity.

  She had taken care not to buy too much, choosing only sufficient clothes not to embarrass Luc while she was staying at the hotel. But she thought she’d tease him, Gemma-style.

  ‘Glad you like it. You paid a fortune for it!’ she said with an impudent little chuckle.

  He smiled lazily and put his napkin on the table. ‘Bedtime, I think.’

  A quiver ran through her. He studied her flushed face and then let his gaze drift down to the rise and fall of her breasts. The message was clear. Blatant desire showed more forcibly with every breath he took. Drawn to him like a magnet, she rose and went over to him.

  Her hands rested briefly on his broad shoulders, feeling the strength of him beneath the fine cloth. Then she took his face in the cradle of her two palms and bent to kiss him lingeringly on the mouth.

  He tasted sweet. Starved of him for a whole day, she crushed his mouth with hers and found herself in his arms. Her kisses grew more passionate as his hands radiated heat where they rested on her back and waist.

  She wanted him to touch her breasts but he stayed almost impassive, accepting her kisses, holding her and breathing heavily, but otherwise making no other response. Recognising this as a sex game they’d played long ago, she took up the challenge and went for the full seduction she knew he adored.

  ‘Kiss me,’ she urged, teasing the beautiful V of his mouth with her tongue. ‘Kiss me!’ she whispered, writhing her body against his. Hooking up a questing finger, she slid one strap of her dress from her shoulder. ‘Touch me.’ She took his hand from her waist and raised it so that it rested on her half-naked breast. ‘Touch me there.’ Her tongue slid between his teeth and tent
atively explored the moistness of his mouth while her hand crept beneath his shirt.

  Luc drew back from her intimate kiss, breathing heavily. ‘Bed,’ he rasped.

  She let a slow and sensual smile light her drugged eyes. ‘Whatever you want,’ she whispered, intoxicated by her success.

  ‘So you don’t mind?’ he asked huskily, pushing his chair back and standing up so that she was forced to scrabble for her balance.

  Now she was confused. ‘Mind?’ she said, blinking stupidly. Of course she didn’t mind!

  ‘If I go to bed,’ he said. ‘I’m absolutely whacked.’

  Ellen gaped and felt the rise of colour settle on her burning cheeks as if she’d been scalded. For a moment she wanted to crawl under the table in shame.

  ‘Not at all!’ she lied over-energetically, appalled at how badly she’d misread his needs.

  She could have sworn he’d given her a come-on signal. Oh, this was terrible! All she could do was bluff it out. Seeing his eyes flicker down, she hastily grabbed her strap and pulled it back into place.

  He seemed amused, and she cringed when he drawled, ‘I enjoyed the after-dinner entertainment. I can’t wait to know what you’ve laid on for me tomorrow night.’

  She had to say something light and amusing. Plucking from the ether the first thing that occurred to her, she presented him with a high-wattage smile and decided on a joke.

  ‘Tomorrow you get a can-can. This evening I thought I ought to thank you nicely for your cash gift in the time-honoured way,’ she returned, with a jauntiness she didn’t feel.

  Luc’s hot dark eyes gleamed with sardonic amusement. ‘I accept your performance as a down payment,’ he murmured drolly. ‘Goodnight, Ellen.’

  He was going! She wanted a moment longer…a little more of his time… ‘Will I—we—see you in the morning?’ she asked, her voice high and far too casual to be believed.