'You've loved him,' Faith said warmly, 'and as his mother I can only thank you.' She linked her arm with Hannah's and they walked out onto the terrace. "This view is the one thing I really miss about this house,' she confessed, inhaling the heavy fragrance of the autumn day. 'It's so English. It makes me feel quite nostalgic, but then it isn't raining. I find it hard to be nostalgic about rain.'
Hannah, who loved the smell of wet leaves under her feet, just smiled. 'Didn't you mind when your husband left the house to Ethan?' she asked curiously. The idea of leaving this house, even after the short time she'd lived here, was horrifying.
'Not in the slightest. Jordan knew I never felt the same way about this place as he did. We were two very different people, she reflected, a wistful expression drifting over her face. 'We both made a lot of concessions to make our marriage work. I certainly wouldn't have stayed in one place for thirty years for anyone other than Jordan. I doubt if he'd have gone trekking in the Himalayas for anyone but me.'
'And now you've met someone else,' Hannah said quietly. She was deeply touched by this glimpse of a profound love. It was the sort of love she'd always dreamt of.
'Ethan told you that, did he? Yes, I'm very lucky.'
'But it's not Drew, is it?' Her feminine instincts told her Ethan was wrong.
Faith threw back her head and laughed. 'Of course not.'
'Then why did you tell Ethan that it was? He's really upset about it.'
'I didn't tell Ethan; I just didn't correct him. My son, Hannah, has a tendency towards pomposity, and I feel it my maternal duty to pull him down to size occasionally.'
'Who is Drew?'
'Drew is soon to be Ethan's stepbrother.'
'You're marrying his father!' Hannah cried, unable to repress a chuckle at the joke. She suddenly let out a sharp cry as a red-hot needle of pain bit deep into her shoulder. 'Something stung me,' she explained, rubbing the area, which was already beginning to puff up.
'It looks like the sting is still in. We'd better do something about it immediately.'
Hannah was rather glad she'd weakly allowed herself to be flattered into purchasing several more outfits when she'd bought the red dress. This full-length cream slip dress, which her mother-in-law had heartily approved of, was made of soft, clinging silk. She hadn't expected an opportunity to wear it to present itself so soon.
When Hannah had worried about the puffy, discoloured area around her bee sting Faith had produced some antihistamine tablets, which had taken down the swelling miraculously.
Hannah touched the single string of luminous pearls that hung about her neck as she descended the sweeping staircase. Ethan's mother had dismissed Hannah's reluctance to wear them the way she steamrollered any obstacles.
'Beautiful.'
Pausing on the bottom step of the stairs, Hannah turned around with a smile. "They're Faith's.'
'I didn't mean the pearls,' Drew said, stepping through the library door. He was pulling at the folds of his tie with a dissatisfied frown. 'I meant the neck. Damn thing—-I should have left it the way it was.'
'Can I help?' she offered with an amused smile. Drew looked grateful.
'Help away.'
'Do you always carry a dinner jacket in your rucksack?' she teased, adjusting his tie and retreating up one step on the staircase to view her work. 'That's better,' she approved, stepping down the step again and flicking a speck of dust off his lapel.
'Faith arranged for someone to pick one up from my flat.'
'You live in London?'
'Split my time between London and New York.'
'Would I be wrong to assume your work normally involves wearing a tie?'
'I went into the family firm.'
'So what does that make you when you're not being a beach bum?'
'Would you believe a banker?'
His self-conscious grin was contagious, and Hannah found herself laughing back. "Then why the worn denims and rucksack?'
'Would you believe a woman?'
'It must have been serious,' she said sympathetically.
'She got cold feet the night before the wedding.'
'Ouch! Should I ask why?'
'I was too boring. She thought my suit would need to be surgically removed by the time I was forty and I lacked spontaneity. She did go into more detail than that, but I won't bore you.'
'So you turned your back on your suits.'
'I gave most of them to a charity shop, actually,' he recalled with a wry smile. "That was twelve months ago. I was backpacking across South America when my dad decided enough was enough. We were still discussing the issue, quite loudly as I recall, when Faith appeared. She took on the role of referee as one born to it.'
'And they fell in love. That's so romantic!' she breathed.
'Just how many people have you invited, Mother?'
Unconsciously Hannah's fingers tightened on Drew's jacket lapel as she heard Ethan's voice. 'I've hardly seen Ethan today,' she said, as her stomach began to perform painful contortions. She swallowed hard to relieve the sudden constriction in her throat.
'I suppose it depends on why you're trembling as to whether I'm envious of him or not.' Drew grimaced as she cast a reproachful look at him. 'Sorry,' he murmured pacifically. 'It's probably my fault—he's been shadowing me in case I pocket the silver.'
Hannah winced. 'Sorry,' she said softly. Ethan was going to be mad when he realised how far out his first impressions had been.
'Thirty or so of your closest friends! I thought this was going to be a quiet dinner party.'
'Don't fuss, Ethan. We only managed to contact fifteen of yours. Here's Hannah and Drew—what a charming picture they make. Don't you think so?'
Under the ferocity of her husband's regard, Hannah realised she was still clutching at Drew's lapel. Her hand fell away self-consciously.
'Charming,' Ethan drawled. 'Where have you been hiding today?'
Hannah's temper rose at the accusatory note in his voice. 'I could ask you the same question, except I already know. Drew has told me. Do yourself a favour and reduce the surveillance, Ethan, he's not marrying your mother. You may be a great legal mind, but right now you're just in danger of looking rather silly.' Ignoring the shocked look of outrage on his face, she sailed past him, head held high.
The guests, as was often the case, arrived in a deluge, rather than drips, and Hannah was saved from listening to the scorching response to her reckless words that she was certain Ethan had composed.
He'd deserved it, she decided, flicking a covert glance to the opposite end of the room where he was laughing at something Miranda had said. She'd obviously been ready to drop everything at short notice in order to make Ethan laugh. Laugh—I'd like to make him plead for mercy, she thought viciously, draining her glass of wine.
Bringing his mistress into this house, flaunting her under my nose, she silently fumed, ignoring the fact that Ethan was a very reluctant host. How dare he humiliate me?
'Are you feeling all right?' a voice at her elbow enquired.
She turned to find Drew regarding her overbright eyes and flushed cheeks with a doubtful frown. 'You're a man.'
Drew agreed nervously with this accusation. In his experience, conversations that began like this were apt to get uncomfortable.
'Do you think she's beautiful?' Hannah demanded. She tossed her head in the direction of the tall redhead. 'Of course she is,' she replied, without waiting to hear his opinion.
'So are you.'
'You're such a nice man,' she said, regarding him affectionately. 'You'd never invite your mistress to a party at your wife's home, would you? No, of course not, you're far too consid.-.conside...thoughtful.'
'I think there's a possibility you're jumping to conclusions here,' he murmured, removing the empty glass from her limp grasp. 'Just how much have you had to drink?'
'Not enough!' she informed him darkly. 'Can you dance? I can't. You could teach me...' she announced, smiling at this ins
pired idea. She swayed closer and wound her arms around his neck.
I'm more than capable of teaching my wife anything she needs to know.'
Hannah pulled in the opposite direction as she was pulled from one pair of masculine arms to another. 'I prefer to dance with Drew,' she said haughtily, pushing her hands against Ethan's chest.
'Will you lower your voice?' Ethan said from between clenched teeth as he favoured her with a furious look. 'People are staring.'
As Ethan stepped into the slowly moving throng, Hannah felt the inevitable magic of his touch taking over. She wanted to be angry, she wanted to hate him, but how could she when her whole body was gently throbbing? The strength of his big body, the musky, warm scent of him overlaid by the elusive fragrance he sparingly wore—it all conspired to bewitch her senses.
Throwing her head back, she saw the muscles clench beside his stern mouth as she deliberately plastered herself against the hard length of his body. Well, what did he expect? Was she supposed to stand back calmly and watch him flirt so outrageously with that woman? No, it was about time she asserted herself, and if he didn't like it—tough!
'What do you think you're doing?' he asked hoarsely as she reached up and wound her fingers in dark strands of his hair.
She pouted consideringly and regarded him through half-closed eyes. 'I haven't decided yet. Doesn't Miranda dance?'
'You're drunk!' he accused.
'As a matter of fact I've only had two glasses of wine.
I do feel a bit odd, though,' she confessed as she noticed the room beginning to spin faster than she was.
'We should get out of here.'
'You're ashamed of me!' she accused, standing stock-still. She put a hand to her head. 'I feel a bit...' She swallowed as beads of sweat broke out over her upper lip.
'Ethan, dear,' Faith said a little nervously as she appeared at his elbow, 'Drew said Hannah was feeling a little unwell.'
'I'm not drunk, Faith. Tell Ethan I'm not drunk.'
'The thing is, I think this might be my fault.'
'I hardly think so, Mother, unless you've slipped her a Mickey,' Ethan said tersely.
'Not exactly, but I did give her one of my antihista-mine tablets for that bee sting she had this afternoon, and I forgot to mention they don't mix too well with alcohol.'
Ethan closed his eyes and swore softly but comprehensively under his breath.
'You can't talk to your mother like that, Ethan,' Hannah protested.
'I think we should get you out of here.'
'Unilateral decisions!' Hannah said, wagging her finger admonishingly in his face. She took him off guard as she pulled free of his supporting arms. 'Oh, dear,' she whispered as her knees began to buckle. Just before Ethan caught her, she asked the question that was uppermost in her mind.
'Is Miranda your Friday night, Ethan?' Call it acoustics or bad luck, but her voice carried clear as a bell from one end of the room to the other.
CHAPTER SIX
'How are you feeling now?'
'If you ignore the headache and the fact a sip of water makes me feel sick, I feel great. Who took my clothes off?' Hannah felt the bed give as Ethan sat down on it.
'Me.'
'I suppose you were there when I was sick too.' Could this humiliation get any worse? she wondered glumly.
'Yes.'
'Oh, God!' she moaned 'I want to die.'
'You mentioned that too. Life will probably look more appealing after you've slept some more.'
Hannah didn't reply, because she knew it wouldn't. Once she was better she'd have to face the full force of his anger and contempt. Selective amnesia would have been nice, but she could recall in horrifying detail every syllable and every sultry pout her lips had formed. There was a strong possibility she could never appear in public again without a brown paper bag over her head. The story of Ethan Kemp's mad, drunken wife would probably become legendary in the rarefied legal circles that Ethan inhabited.
Just thinking about it brought her out; in a cold sweat. She'd humiliated and embarrassed him in front of his colleagues and friends. How he must regret the day he'd married her. Tears seeped from under her closed eyelids and ran slowly down the curve of her cheek. She could taste the saltiness as they touched her dry lips...
When she woke again, Hannah did feel a lot better.
Her head felt muzzy and her stomach a little delicate, but other than that things were back to normal. She sat up and gasped. Not quite normal—Ethan didn't normally sleep in her bedroom armchair.
He was sound asleep. His head was thrown back, one of his hands brushed the floor and one knee was hooked over the armrest. The chair was much too small to accommodate his bulk.
Holding her breath, she tiptoed across the carpet. She almost tripped over his crumpled jacket and tie. Through his white shirt she could see the shadow of dark body hair. Sleep softened the lines of his strongly sculpted features; he looked younger—not exactly vulnerable, but softer. She clasped her hands together to resist the impulse to stroke back the hank of dark hair that flopped in his eyes.
He shifted slightly and she held her breath. She became suddenly conscious of the fact she was wearing only a pair of silky pants. If he woke up now and she was caught in all her voyeuristic glory...! With one last covetous look at his sleeping figure, she crept away. Taking great care not to make a sound, she closed the bathroom door-silently behind her.
By the time the room was filled by warm steam she was starting to feel more human. She might even be able to take his justified anger. Yelling at a semi-comatose victim couldn't compare with the pleasure of telling a conscious culprit exactly what he thought of her. Not being able to shout at her last night had probably only concentrated his sense of outrage, she concluded gloomily.
If only her lowered inhibitions hadn't brought her submerged jealously so visibly and audibly to the surface. The last thing she could remember before she'd passed out was Ethan's face, white with fury. He didn't flaunt his emotions for the public, and he hadn't needed to spell out the fact that he expected her to emulate his flawless public behaviour. Ethan Kemp's wife did not dance on table-tops and definitely didn't accuse her husband of infidelity!
She still revolved under the warm spray when some sixth sense told her she was no longer alone. It was only a hand across her lips that stopped her screaming. His face wasn't furious this time, more broodingly angry. Anger wasn't the only emotion revealed as the water streamed over his face. She contemplated the hungry, restless look in his eyes with breathless shock.
'I didn't want you to bring Lancelot in here with your screams,' he said, removing his hand from her lips. 'You appear to arouse the chivalrous instinct in my soon to be stepbrother. I suppose you were in on that little secret?'
Obviously I don't have the same effect on you, Hannah thought. She wanted to back away but she was rooted to the spot as firmly as a rabbit caught in the headlights of a car, her fate just as inevitable as that creature's. As Ethan's glance dropped insolently over her slim body, it was almost as if he was daring her to object to his presence.
'I don't think it was meant to be a secret, exactly.'
'I recognise the hallmarks of my mother's twisted sense of humour.'
'Well, at least she has one.' Oops, that had just sort of slipped out. 'You'll get wet if you stand there,' she added shakily. The rolled-up cuffs of his white shirt were already damp, his tanned forearms gleamed with moisture and the steamy heat clung to his hair as tiny, silvery water droplets. 'If you thought I'd scream, why did you creep up on me?' I hope his watch is waterproof, she thought, fretting over this irrelevant detail.
My God, he was impressive enough to take the most objective observer's breath away, and she was a long way from objective! She knew there wasn't an ounce of surplus flesh on his taut, lightly tanned body. Long and lean, with just the right degree of muscle definition, he was the closest thing to male perfection she'd ever seen. If he weren't dressed, what would i
t feel like to run her hands over his slick skin? She could imagine the sharp contraction of those strong belly muscles and the deep quiver of his thighs. The water ran into her open mouth and she nearly choked.
He observed the minor convulsions with a disturbing smile. 'You want exclusive rights in the surprise department, do you? Isn't that just a bit unreasonable?' He found great difficulty in tearing his eyes from the way the water reached the uptilted peak of her small breasts and then cascaded down the sharply defined valley in between.
Hannah watched in confusion as he closed his eyes and slowly shook his head from side to side. She gasped as, with his eyes still shut, he stepped fully clothed into the cubicle and closed the door behind him. He threw back his head and let the water run over his face. As she watched, the white material of his shirt became transparent, and she could see the clear outline of his muscled torso and the curling shadow of his dark body hair.
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