Later, they were spread out on the table and Phil was enthusing over the plans for an exhibition. Serena had painted thirty paintings in the last six months—or, rather, completed thirty. She worked in a whirlwind of chaos, blasting raw images on to the canvases very quickly, then recovering with exhilarated exhaustion and a sense of achievement.
‘A shame you didn’t finish the others.’ Phil sighed, disappointed. ‘You must try to complete them in future, or you’ll waste time and money.’
She gave a wry smile. ‘I get interrupted, Phil. And once I’ve been interrupted, my mind is dislodged. I lose the painting.’
‘You lose the motivational force,’ Nick said flatly, watching her with narrowed eyes.
Serena nodded slowly, meeting his blue gaze. He looked so gorgeous, leaning on the table, his black jacket off, his black waistcoat tight and emphasising the lean power of his torso, his silk tie loosened, shirt undone at the neck to expose his strong, tanned throat.
Beside him, Phil looked young and thin and rather effeminate suddenly. Serena caught herself short with a fast-beating heart. Nick’s potent masculinity had always made her feel threatened—hadn’t it?
‘Well—’ Phil straightened suddenly, glancing at his watch ‘—I have to get back to the gallery. I’ve got a client interested in selling me a Picasso.’
‘How much for?’ Nick asked at once, interested.
‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ Phil demurred, smiling. ‘But I shall draw up the contract for you, Lady Serena, and—’
‘Would you like me to handle the legalities for you, darling?’ Nick put in coolly, shooting her a narrow-eyed look.
Her heart skipped a beat at that look. ‘Thank you,’ she heard herself say huskily, ‘that would be very kind of you.’
His mouth curved in a hard smile and he straightened, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his black trousers, towering a good six inches over Phil, his authority a potent force.
‘We’ll hear from you shortly, then?’ he drawled.
‘Of course.’ Phil nodded. ‘I’ll call round tonight, in fact, if that’s still convenient…?’
‘Tonight!’ Nick’s dark brows met sharply and his head swung to stare at Serena.
‘Well, yes…’ Phil said, looking from one to the other. ‘I’d arranged to take Lady Serena to the opera. Didn’t she tell you?’
‘No,’ Nick said under his breath, a dangerous note to his voice as his eyes narrowed on her face. ‘She did not.’
CHAPTER FOUR
SERENA quavered inwardly as she saw Phil to the door. Nick hadn’t taken it well at all. Obviously, he didn’t like the thought of his wife going to the opera with another man. But Phil wasn’t another man—he was just a friend of hers.
‘Are you sure it’ll be all right?’ Phil whispered, sotto voce, at the door. ‘He didn’t seem pleased to me.’
Serena lifted gold brows, saying softly, ‘I see him so rarely. I can’t believe he’ll make any real objections. After all, I am entitled to my own life.’
Phil looked down into her green eyes with a smile. ‘Yes…you’re entitled to more than that, Serena.’ Without warning he bent his head and kissed her mouth, then drew back. ‘See you at seven-thirty! Outside the Met…’
Serena stared, astonished by that kiss. Phil had become close to her over the last month. He had often kissed her hand, her cheek—but never her mouth.
Closing the door, she went back into the living-room to find Nick waiting for her like a dark, brooding presence. Her pulses skipped at the sight of him, his black head bent, eyes narrowed, hands thrust in black trouser-pockets.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ she asked carefully, anxious for the opportunity to escape from the prospect of discussing sex again. It had always been a secret fear. She had known he would one day blast back into her life and demand sex.
‘No,’ Nick said, looking at her with those steely eyes. ‘I don’t want some coffee. I want to know exactly what you think you’re playing at with Greyson.’
She leapt on to the new subject with overwhelming relief. ‘Well, I thought that was obvious. He’s arranging an exhibition for—’
‘I’m not talking about your business relationship,’ Nick clipped out harshly.
‘We have no other relationship.’ Serena stiffened at the implication in his words. ‘Obviously, he’s a friend of mine, but there’s no more to it than that.’
‘Really?’ he drawled with cynical mockery. ‘You may frequent the Met with business friends of the opposite sex, but I can assure you I don’t!’
Her green eyes flashed. ‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that, would I, Nick? Your entire life has always been a mystery to me. For all I know, you take your business friends to bed. Presumably that’s why you’re making such nasty remarks about Phil and me.’ Turning on her heel, she stormed into the kitchen.
He followed her at a long stride, his eyes angry. ‘I’ve been frank with you about my life from day one. I work, I travel, I make money and I take beautiful women to bed.’
‘Charming!’ she snapped, jealous fire in her eyes. ‘You talk like a machete—did you know that?’
‘Only when you bug me,’ he said flatly, standing in the doorway. ‘And who the hell are you to accuse me of keeping my life a mystery? I come back out of the blue and find you’re hiding secrets in every damned cupboard.’
‘Secrets!’ She shook her head. ‘Really, Nick. I’m just trying to live my own life. A life you’ve never been a part of.’
‘Well, I’m part of it now,’ he said with an arrogant lift of his brows. ‘So start spilling the beans. One: who exactly is this Greyson guy to you? Two: when did you turn into Van Gogh? Three: how many other little businessman friends are you hiding behind my back?’
She gave an angry laugh. ‘Have you ever heard the phrase, mind your own business?’
‘You insolent little bitch!’ he bit out under his breath, and strode towards her.
‘I’m sorry!’ she whispered, backing, hands up in self-defence.
He stopped just in front of her, bristling with aggression. Serena was trembling as she stared up at him, her heart banging against her breastbone.
‘It is my business, Serena,’ Nick said. ‘Everything you do is my business. So we’ll take it from the beginning, shall we? What exactly has been going on in your life over the last three years?’
She drew an unsteady breath. ‘Nothing much. I…I spent the first two years just drifting, really.’
‘Be more specific,’ he said flatly.
‘Well, that’s the funny thing about drifting,’ she said sarcastically. ‘It’s a most unspecific occupation.’
‘Don’t be clever. Just stick to the story.’
‘All right,’ she snapped. ‘The story—I drifted around in an empty marriage and an empty life.’ She studied him with resentment. ‘What was I supposed to do? You destroyed my life, Nick. You married me for my title, uprooted me from my house, and set me down in a strange world with no friends, no purpose and nothing whatever to do.’
The blue eyes narrowed. ‘You make it sound as though I deliberately isolated you, but that isn’t the case. You isolated yourself.’
‘Rubbish!’
‘It was your life,’ he said flatly. ‘Your responsibility. If you chose to do nothing but drift about from New York to Hong Kong, attending cocktail parties and feeling bored, that’s your problem.’
Her eyes burned with anger. ‘I didn’t know what else to do. I had no friends of my own and no job to do.’
‘That’s marriage for you,’ he said coolly. ‘Most women find themselves in a similar situation. What makes you so different?’
‘Most women have their husbands,’ she said bitterly.
‘And most wives go to bed with them,’ he bit out.
‘Only when they’ve married for love. You don’t even like me, Nick. You never contacted me, you never sent me a postcard.’ Her eyes blazed fiercely green. ‘You never even bothered to show
up except at Christmas.’
‘Why should I?’ he said flatly. ‘When I spend time with a woman I expect her to be beautiful, exciting and accommodating. Not someone who just stares at me in hostile silence, boiling over with resentment.’
‘If I boiled over with resentment it was because I was unhappy!’
‘What did you expect me to do? Wave a magic wand and send you to the ball?’ His mouth hardened. ‘That only happens in fairy-stories. In real life you build your own coach, make your own dress, and haul your own cookies to the ball.’
‘Well, it took me a long time to decide which ball I wanted to go to,’ she said furiously. ‘How does that grab you?’
He stared at her for a second, then started to laugh, blue eyes moving with lazy amusement over her angry face. ‘Since when did you start talking like me?’
She lifted her red head with proud hauteur. ‘Since I started living in your world, Nick.’
‘Good reply,’ he drawled, eyes narrowing. ‘But hardly accurate. You live in your own world now, Serena, and I want to know exactly what that world is.’
‘Well, unless you’re deaf,’ she said coolly, ‘you already know, because Phil told you practically everything over lunch.’
‘And you didn’t like that, did you?’ he challenged with an arch of black brows. ‘I could see you desperately trying to shut him up. Not very discreet, is he? Unless he was deliberately trying to cause trouble…’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said flatly. ‘Besides—why shouldn’t I want you to know that I’m now an artist?’
‘You tell me.’
She moistened her lips, darting her gaze from him. There was a little silence. The kitchen was filled with sunlight, and her back was against the wall.
‘When did you start painting?’ Nick asked point-blank.
She gave an irritable sigh. ‘Oh, I forget.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he drawled, laughing under his breath. ‘I’ll bet you remember the day, the hour, the minute. So come on—out with it. When did the muse strike you?’
Her lips tightened. She folded her arms, resenting him.
‘Hell!’ Nick said tightly, watching her. ‘It’s like trying to get blood out of the proverbial stone.’ His hand touched her chin, forcing her to look at him as he said with hard mockery, ‘You’re not leaving this room until you tell me what I want to know.’
‘You can’t pry my head open,’ she said angrily, glaring at him.
‘No, but I can cut your ear off and make you paint a self-portrait,’ he drawled.
She smiled against her will. Her green eyes flashed to his face, considering him for a moment. He was obviously determined. However much she resented him for prying into her life like this, she could see he wasn’t going to give up until he had extracted at least enough information to satisfy him—for the moment.
‘All right,’ she said slowly, prickling with resentment. ‘I started painting in September. The gypsy was my first painting. I kept it hidden, but I added to it. Just couldn’t stop painting. By Christmas, I had about fifteen canvases. I decided I might be able to sell them, so I started haunting galleries.’
‘And met Greyson,’ he said, eyes narrowing. ‘Are there any others like him?’
‘What do you mean—others like him?’
‘Men who want to take you out for little business chats,’ he drawled unpleasantly.
Her face flamed. ‘No, there are not. Phil is setting up an exhibition for me—nothing more. Besides—why should you be remotely interested in all this? You’re going to disappear out of my life again—don’t tell me you’re not. You always do.’
‘Not this time, Serena,’ he said softly, and slid his hand down to caress her naked throat, invoking shivers. ‘I’m back to close this deal—remember?’
Bitterness flashed in her eyes. ‘By making me go to bed with you until I give you your precious heir? Wonderful! I can hardly wait!’
‘Glad to hear it,’ he drawled softly. ‘Because I’ve come back into your life with one goal in mind—the bedroom door. It’s time I kicked it open, Serena. You can fight all you want, but I’m the strongest and, as we all know—the strongest always wins.’
She shuddered convulsively, staring. ‘You don’t need me…you have mistresses…plenty of willing women, you said.’
‘You’re right. I don’t need you. But I do need children.’
‘I’m not ready…’
‘Yes, you are.’
She gave a fragile laugh, green eyes stricken. ‘From the way you’re talking, I suppose I’ll have to be. You’re obviously serious about forcing children on me.’
‘Forcing?’ he asked, ruthless mouth hardening. ‘Don’t you want them?’
‘Yes,’ she said without thinking, her voice oddly husky. ‘I want them very much.’ It didn’t occur to her to question that statement or where it had come from. ‘But not from you, Nick. I’d rather die than bring a son of yours into the world.’
His teeth met. ‘Don’t ever say that to me again, you little—’
‘Why not?’ she demanded fiercely. ‘It’s how I feel. You ruined my life once, and now that I’ve rebuilt it you’re going to smash it all to pieces! I feel powerless to stop you!’ Her mouth shook. ‘And I hate feeling that way!’
His blue eyes gleamed with malice. ‘Poor little helpless aristocrat!’
Rage shot through her. Her hand moved to slap his hard, mocking face and he laughed at her, catching her wrist in strong fingers, amused by her puny struggles.
‘Well, well, well!’ he drawled, laughing. ‘The future Countess of Archallagen doing something most dishonourable.’
‘You’re dishonourable,’ she spat, struggling furiously. ‘You!’
‘Am I, Serena?’ he bit out, blue eyes like steel. ‘I never welshed on a deal in my life.’
She fell silent, flushing hotly, staring at him through her lashes. What could she do or say? He was right. But at the same time so wrong, so horribly wrong.
Nick released her suddenly, his mouth hard. ‘Make that coffee. I’ll be in the living-room.’
Mutinously, she rubbed her wrist, staring after him as he strode out of the kitchen. The truth was coming out between them now. And it was vile. This was the reality of their marriage. Nick had bought her for her title and he wanted an heir to one day sit in the House of Lords. That was all there was to it.
Nick was on the phone when she went into the living-room. Carrying his coffee to his side, she placed it on the telephone table, her eyes enquiring.
He was sitting like a man in the grip of sexual attraction, his chest thrown out, one arm along the back of the couch. He smiled, his voice lazily charming, and occasionally ran a hand through his dark hair.
A woman, she thought, tensing. He’s talking to a woman. Jealousy hit her like a knife. Trembling, she moved to an armchair and sank down in it, hating him, hating herself. Why should she feel jealousy? She hated Nick, wanted nothing more than for him to turn to other women, keep all his mistresses, make love to them instead of her…
Yet the thought of his making love to another woman was suddenly like bitter poison to her…
‘Seven-thirty, then?’ he was drawling into the telephone, a sardonic smile on his hard mouth. ‘Right…OK…bye!’ He replaced the receiver and looked at her with a glitter of satisfaction in his eyes.
‘Going out tonight?’ she asked tightly, hating him.
‘Mmm,’ he murmured. ‘With Monique.’
Her hand shook as she raised her coffee-cup to her mouth and drank. When she had a hold on herself again, she said, ‘So where are you going with Monique?’
‘The opera,’ he said softly, and his blue eyes glinted with sardonic mockery as he watched the slow flush rise up her face.
‘You can’t be serious!’ she said rawly, putting her cup down.
‘Why not?’ he drawled, smiling. ‘After all—I don’t want the whole of New York to realise the extent of our open marriage.’
�
��Open…!’
‘That is what you’ve told Greyson, isn’t it?’ he cut in harshly, arching dark brows.
Her eyes flashed. ‘I haven’t told Phil anything at all!’
‘Then why is he happy to make blatant advances to my wife in front of me?’ he bit out, his mouth hardening.
‘What?’ Serena stared at him, her lips parting. ‘Phil…make advances to me…?’
He gave a harsh laugh. ‘He invited you on a date right in front of me!’ The blue eyes blazed with hard anger. ‘What did you tell him, Serena? That I didn’t give a damn what you did in your private life? That I had plenty of mistresses and wouldn’t bat an eyelid if you had an affair yourself?’
She sucked in her breath. ‘Just because you live in that kind of world, it doesn’t mean everybody does!’ she burst out hoarsely. ‘Phil would never dream of—’
‘Oh, he’d dream it all right!’ Nick bit out, getting to his feet, his eyes fierce. ‘In fact, he spent the whole four hours he was here dreaming of it! Right under my nose!’ He strode towards her, his mouth shaking suddenly as he towered over her, bristling with aggression. ‘The impertinent little bastard! I had to practically bite my knuckles to stop myself punching his face through the back of his—’
‘No!’ Serena stood up too, green eyes flaring as she faced him. ‘Phil is a friend! Nothing more! He’s never at any time—’
‘The hell he hasn’t,’ Nick bit out thickly. ‘I saw the way he was looking at you. He couldn’t take his damned eyes off you. And he kept touching you. Endless intimate little gestures.’
‘You’re imagining it!’ she said fiercely. ‘It’s that filthy mind of yours, Nick. It ties you up in knots because it’s the way you think, and you imagine every other man thinks the same way.’
‘They do when they look at you!’ he said hoarsely, dark colour invading his face as his breathing grew ragged and the atmosphere tilted to that dark sexual landscape which terrified her so much as she stared up at him, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.
Ruthless Lover Page 6