‘Oh, yes, you are,’ he said coolly, arching black brows. ‘And it’s got to stop. Particularly with me. But the first step is with your parents. They made you secretive, not me—and that’s where you’ve got to break the pattern. By telling them point-blank what you’re really doing with your life.’
‘Well, I…’ She broke off, staring at him, as his words struck home. It was true. She had always been secretive with her parents, because she had always known they wouldn’t understand anything she wanted to do. More than that—they weren’t really interested. After the first few rebuffs, she had simply shut off from them, guarding everything she did.
‘They never understood you, did they?’ Nick said softly, watching her. ‘You were like some exotic bird of paradise living in their calm, quiet country world. You didn’t even look like them, let alone think like them.’
Serena stared at him, her eyes pained. ‘How did you know?’ she asked huskily, then, ‘I mean—how did you guess?’
‘I always knew. It was just a question of letting you find out on your own.’ He opened the door. ‘Now come on. Time to break the spell and face the music.’
Serena walked to the door, prickling with awareness as she passed him.
‘By the way,’ Nick asked as they went downstairs, ‘where did you actually paint? It couldn’t have been at any of our homes, or I would have heard about it.’
‘I hired a studio,’ she confessed. ‘One in London, one in New York.’
‘And paid cash so I wouldn’t find out,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘You devious little minx! I shall have to teach you interesting lessons in bed about what happens when my wife tries to deceive me.’
Breathless, she looked away. ‘Is that all you think about?’
‘It is since you found that demure little dress…’ he mocked.
A second later they were downstairs, and Nick was opening the door and leading her in to find her mother sitting in an old armchair, the sun on her pale, powdery face, her ash-blonde hair pulled back in an untidy bun as she embroidered a cushion.
‘Hello, darling!’ Elizabeth, Countess Archallagen, rose in her slippered feet, looking just like a rambling old painting in her tweed skirt and cream twin set ‘Lovely to see you again. Must say, didn’t expect a visit, but you young people live such extraordinary lives.’
The dogs lolloped over towards Serena and Nick. There were dog hairs everywhere, covering every piece of furniture, and piles of old piano music slithering off the even older piano.
‘Oh, get down, you bad boys!’ The Countess swiped the muzzle of a fat retriever. ‘You’ll spoil Serena’s dress!’ She pushed a stray hair back into her untidy bun. ‘Where’s the tea?’ She walked to the door and opened it. ‘Mottram!’ she bellowed as though at a hunt. ‘Bring the damned tea!’
Nick strolled with cool arrogance across the room, leant against the fireplace, a thoughtful expression on his face. He looked as out of place as Serena felt, especially in that impeccable black suit, his air of sophistication and power so striking, every inch the ruthless tycoon with lethal sex appeal.
The Countess looked at him as though he were from Mars. ‘Don’t loom, Nick, please! You make me feel uncomfortable. Sit down—just push a dog off a chair and relax.’
‘Where’s Papa?’ Serena asked, studying her mother.
‘Pottering about somewhere.’ The Countess waved a hand and sank back into her armchair. ‘In the garden centre, I shouldn’t wonder. Well—to what do we owe this privilege, my dear?’
Serena looked at Nick. He arched black brows at her. She swallowed, turned to her mother. ‘Well, we came to England because I’ve sort of started a career, I suppose…’
‘A career?’ Her mother picked up her embroidery. ‘Oh, that’s nice, dear.’
Serena grew more confident. ‘I’ve been painting. I’m an artist now. Well, sort of…’ She told her mother briefly about the meeting with Sir Charles.
‘A garden party?’ the Countess said with a smile. ‘Oh, I must take one of my cheesecakes. Lady Warwick will like that’
The door opened and Mottram came in with a bob and a tea-tray.
‘So you’re an artist now, are you dear?’ The Countess poured the tea a moment later, a smile on her powdery face. ‘Well, you don’t surprise me. Nothing surprises me about you any more.’ She laughed. ‘In fact, you’ve been a surprise from start to finish really, haven’t you? We called you Serena because we thought you might bring some serenity into our middle and old age, but of course you didn’t.’ She sighed, her eyes affectionate as they flicked over her daughter’s vivid red hair, slanting green eyes and sophisticated, sensual body, her sex appeal blazing out as it always did, almost oozing through the pores of her skin. ‘You were always too powerful a personality to bring anyone serenity!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
LATER, the Earl came into the drawing-room, dressed in tweeds, pulling gardening gloves off his gnarled old hands, exclaiming heartily as he shook hands with Nick and kissed Serena with discomfort, staring at her pale cream silk shift dress in baffled admiration.
‘Absolutely first class to see you!’ he kept saying, standing by the fireplace, his moustache now quite white with age. ‘Absolutely first class!’
‘I see the garden centre’s doing a roaring trade,’ Nick drawled, his powerful presence the most dominant force in the room as he lounged coolly in the armchair next to Serena, his body like a jungle cat’s.
‘Yes, it is!’ the Earl agreed. ‘And the manor’s in an uproar over this latest charity bash!’
‘Charity bash?’ Nick frowned.
‘Didn’t we tell you?’ The Earl arched bushy silver brows. ‘Yes, the RSPCA are holding a vast banquet there tonight. Celebrities and other odd types, all flying in to attend and write out cheques while under the influence.’ He laughed gruffly, grey eyes alight. ‘Best if you attend, too, of course, but not necessary if you can’t face it.’
‘I wish you’d told me.’ Serena made a face. ‘I don’t think I packed anything suitable.’
‘I think you packed that green evening dress, darling,’ Nick said coolly beside her. ‘I remember seeing it on the bed this morning.’
Her gaze shot to his face. ‘Oh, yes!’ She had had no idea he watched her so closely, observed her movements, noted down even the clothes she packed.
After tea, Serena and Nick went for a stroll around the grounds. The peacocks on the lawn gave aristocratic cries, spread their colourful tails for the tourists to photograph, and strutted with a male vanity that Serena found singularly appealing.
‘A wise investment of mine,’ Nick drawled with satisfaction, looking up at the arched entrance of the manor with the twin crests blazing in the sun. ‘One of my rare long-term purchases.’
Serena looked at him through her lashes. ‘That’s how you see me, too, isn’t it, Nick?’ Her voice was tinged with bitterness. ‘A wise investment!’
He looked at her with a ruthless smile. ‘You’re part of the deal. You always were.’
She felt faintly sick, turning away, and thought, Why does he hurt me like this? Doesn’t he realise how insulting he is? As though I’m a company he’s been waiting to rearrange, turn around—instead of a woman with thoughts and feelings.
‘Just think,’ Nick drawled in those impeccable Bostonian tones, ‘my children will inherit this and my first son will one day sit in the House of Lords!’
Angrily, she broke away from him. ‘What children?’ she snapped, green eyes flaring. ‘There aren’t going to be any children, because I’m not going to let you anywhere near me!’
His hand shot out to catch her wrist. ‘Don’t start that again!’ he said tightly, staring at her. ‘It was a casual remark, nothing more!’
‘It sounded like ambition to me!’ she said, hating him. ‘But then you always were a ruthless, coldblooded shark, and I’m not going to let you get your teeth into me, Nick Colterne! Not if—’
‘I’m getting tired of your protests!’ he bit
out, holding her wrist with hard fingers. ‘I thought we’d finally reached an understanding!’
‘You thought you’d finally got me to agree to be a brood mare!’ she spat, trembling.
‘That’s not all there is to it!’ he said tightly. ‘You know damned well I want to make love to you. Sure, I want an heir, too. But that doesn’t mean I don’t fancy you like hell.’
‘But you wouldn’t have married me if I hadn’t been heiress to a title. Would you, Nick? You would just have tried to get me into bed, and if you’d failed, you would have shrugged and walked away.’ Bitter tears stung her eyes. ‘You don’t want to make love to me. You want to make love to my title!’
Breaking away from him, she ran blindly across the lawns, scattering peacocks and tourists as she went, her heart hammering loudly in her breast as she reached the door of the private apartments and went in, slamming it behind her.
As she ran up the stairs she felt the hot tears stinging her eyes, and when she reached her bedroom they began to fall, her hands trembling as she put them to her face, drawing harsh gulps of air into her lungs, pain shooting through her heart like fire.
Nick was right behind her, slamming into her bedroom with demonic eyes. ‘More arguments. More refusals. And for what? You know damned well I’ll get you in the end, Serena. This is just a pointless waste of energy.’
‘It’s my energy,’ she said tightly. ‘I can do what I like with it.’
‘Come to bed with me and I’ll teach you a much better way to use it!’
‘Get out!’ she said in a clotted voice.
His mouth tightened. ‘Don’t order me out of your bedroom!’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘Because I’ve spent three years,’ he said in a taut voice, ‘driving myself round the bend to keep out of it!’
‘With all your mistresses!’ she said, eyes accusing.
‘Mistresses or not—you couldn’t have asked for a more patient husband!’
‘Husband?’ she spat contemptuously. ‘A man who bought me for my title and my inheritance?’
‘Yes, those are the facts, Serena. Are we going to run over them one more time, or shall we just take two paces backwards to that double bed behind you?’
‘They’re not facts!’ she said, feeling the whirlpool of long-buried resentments building up to fever pitch inside her. ‘They’re home truths, Nick, and if you had any decency at all you’d be ashamed of yourself for what you’re doing.’
He ran his hands through his black hair, drawling, ‘I hate to say this, but I’m going to lose my famous patience with you if you don’t stop this.’
‘Go ahead!’ she flung, tears slipping over her lashes. ‘How do you think I feel? Do you have any idea what you’ve done to my life? I was twenty when I met you! My life was just beginning. I could have done anything—I could even have fallen in love with a man who might have loved me. But you didn’t care about that, did you? You had to have me, didn’t you? You had to try and force me to go to bed with you, and why? Out of lust! Lust, avarice, and greed!’
‘All right, you little bitch!’ he said in a slurred voice, and strode towards her, taking her shoulders in a vicious grip, ruthless intent in his hard face. ‘It’s home truths time, is it? Well, I think it’s time I joined in, so let’s get the rock-bottom truth out between us, shall we? Let’s just—’
‘You think you can win every argument, don’t you, Nick?’ she said shakily. ‘But you can’t win this one. I’ve finally told you exactly what I think of you and you know it.’
‘Oh, have you?’ he asked softly, blue eyes insolent. ‘Want to take a bet on that?’
Hot colour flooded her face and she tried to jerk her gaze from his, but he caught her chin in a ruthless grip, his hard fingers hurting as he forced her to face him.
‘What did you marry me for, Serena?’ he bit out thickly. ‘Come on. Let’s have the truth on the table. The bed, I should say.’
‘I wanted to save the estate and my parents from—’
‘No,’ he said tightly, unsmiling. ‘Try again!’
‘It’s true!’ she almost whimpered, barely able to meet his ruthless eyes. ‘It was what I wanted and—’
‘And what else did you want, Serena?’ he asked under his breath, and deliberately let his blue gaze move with searing insolence to her mouth, then her breasts, invoking shivers of searing desire. ‘What else?’
‘I didn’t want that…!’
His teeth met. ‘My God, how much longer do I have to wait to hear you say it?’
‘To say what? What are you talking about?’
‘I’ll say it, then, shall I?’ he said bitingly. ‘Do you want it in gutter language or shall I stick to Latin?’
There was a tense silence. Serena stared at him, at his hard mouth and those ruthless eyes. He was right and they both knew it. But if she admitted it—she would be lost.
‘You’re beneath contempt,’ she whispered, her pulses throbbing.
‘I’m not beneath anything,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll stoop to any trick where you’re concerned.’
She stared hotly through her lashes. ‘You’re no gentleman…’
‘But you’re a lady, aren’t you?’ he said under his breath. ‘So elegant and demure. Three years ago you stood at the window in that ladylike little dress, staring at me like the siren you are…’ His eyes moved ruthlessly over her face. ‘You can’t hide it from me, Serena. I know exactly what you want.’
She did not fight as he pulled her arrogantly into his arms. Her heart was pounding too fast. Her hands were on his broad shoulders and she was staring at his hard mouth.
‘Seductress,’ he whispered mockingly, and bent his dark head, his mouth moving over her naked throat.
Serena’s hands curled in his dark hair, her veins pulsing with excitement
‘Surrender,’ Nick said thickly, his mouth wickedly exciting against her throat. ‘Submit.’
She breathed faster, eyes partly closed. ‘No…’
‘I almost have you,’ he whispered tauntingly. ‘We’re days from it, Serena. Tonight…tomorrow night…sooner than you think. And I’ll savour every moment of it I’ll make you tell me, Serena, I’ll make you say it out loud as I take you…’
The cruel mockery of his words were her salvation. She gained control of herself again, breaking away from him with angry determination, green fire in her eyes.
‘No!’ she said in a low, shaking voice. ‘I’ll never let you beat me, Nick.’
‘You will, Serena,’ he said softly. ‘And you will tell me you want me.’ He moved coolly to the door, a mocking, cynical smile on his hard mouth. ‘But I’m not interested in forcing it I can wait I haven’t been dying of frustration for three years. I’m not the one who’s about to fall to their knees…you are.’ He closed the door behind him and his laughter mocked her.
Serena stumbled to the bed, shaking from head to foot The tension in her body was suddenly more than she could tolerate. It seemed to split her mind in two, one half refusing to listen to Nick’s echoing words, the other straining at the leash, desperate to run to him in freedom like a whippet chained up for years in a dusty backyard.
Later, she dressed for the charity party. The green evening dress was quite stunning, a slim-fitting sheath that slid over her sensual curves in shimmering beaded radiance. Her long red-gold hair blazed like fire against it.
But her green eyes seemed to shimmer with emotion, with passion, with dark, brooding hunger, and she had to look away, her heart thudding, from the provocative young woman in the mirror who almost blazed with sexual frustration.
He was waiting for her in the living-room. He turned his dark head when she came out, and his face tightened as he caught his breath, a similar look of dark brooding hunger in his own eyes.
Serena felt sick with fear and excitement, saying jerkily, ‘It starts at eight…’
His mouth hardened. ‘Yes.’ He strode to the door, wrenched it open, his eyes intent on her as she
walked past him, electricity crackling between them as she brushed his broad shoulders accidentally.
A glittering array of cars was parked in the public car park—limousines, flashy sports cars and stately saloons. Caterers’ vans littered the stable area by the café and a vast van in steel-grey was painted with the name of a popular jazz band.
A gorgon on the door demanded their charity tickets.
‘No ticket, no entry,’ she said, tight-lipped.
‘I’m Nick Colterne,’ Nick said with lazy charm, ‘and this is my wife, Lady Serena Flaxton. I’m sure you won’t refuse entry to—’
‘Oh, good heavens!’ stammered the gorgon. ‘Mr Colterne, forgive me! Your ladyship…oh, dear, how stupid of me!’
They went in to find the cavernous Flaxton hallway had been transformed into a vast banqueting area, very Tudor, with charity organisers gliding about in Tudor clothes. Serena noticed the women’s costumes all had the Boleyn hallmarks of long sleeves and French hoods, and was impressed by the attention to detail: Anne Boleyn had needed those sleeves to hide her sixth finger, the hood a remnant of her days at the French court.
Earl and Countess Archallagen were seated at the top table, looking faintly bemused by the whole affair. The other guests sat at the long table, drinking tankards of ale in their smart twentieth-century dinner-jackets, and the women glittered with diamonds.
‘My daughter, Lady Serena,’ the Earl introduced them to the other people at their table, ‘and her husband, Nick Colterne.’
Nick held Serena’s chair for her, pushing it in coolly as she sat down. He took his place beside her, one strong arm flung out with proprietorial authority against the back of her chair.
‘Good evening,’ he drawled coolly, studying the other guests through his hooded eyelids, and the respect they showed him as they replied made Serena’s heart jump erratically.
‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?’ Serena asked the handsome young blond man opposite her.
‘Possibly!’ The young man smiled, looking elegant and very debonair in his white dinner-jacket. ‘I’m the Viscount Hannon. But my friends call me Tony.’ He extended an aristocratic hand and shook hers, his blue eyes very young and admiring as he studied her.
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