Dark Betrayal

by Patricia Lake

  She finished at seven, exhausted, glad to put her feet up with a cup of coffee.

  Around her, the furniture shone, everything spick and span, the faint smell of lavender polish in the air. She would have a bath, she thought, a long hot bath. Then perhaps she would make an omelette. Something light. She couldn't face the thought of a heavy meal, even though her stomach was empty.

  When the doorbell rang, she went to answer it without hesitation, expecting to see Oliver outside, her heart leaping into her throat as she saw Jake leaning indolently against the door jamb. She was instantly aware of what a mess she must look, her hair dragged back, no make-up and dirty old clothes.

  'Jake ...' she said stupidly, still in a state of shock.

  'Very observant.' His voice was very cool, his mouth a hard line.

  'What do you want?' His coldness sparked off defensive anger and she was sharp with him.

  'Let me in and I'll tell you,' he said mockingly, straightening away from the wall, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

  'We have nothing to say to each other,' she protested weakly, overwhelmed by the sight of him. She held the door half closed, blocking his entrance.

  'No?' The dark grey eyes held hers and an indefinable tension seemed to fill the air. 'Are you going to let me in?'

  He stepped forward, towering over her, and with a defeated shrug of her shoulders, she was forced to move back.

  In the lounge he turned to her, appraising her slowly from head to toe before his dark glance returned to her face.

  'Why have you come?' she asked, trembling. 'What do you want? I thought we'd said everything that needed to be said . . .'

  Jake's mouth hardened. 'As I recall, you said nothing. You just ran out on me.'

  'It was the only thing to do,' Deborah muttered, embarrassed colour pouring into her face. And when Jake was silent. 'The best thing to do, under the circumstances . . .'

  'Best for who?' he countered harshly.

  'For both of us.' She bit her lip. 'I didn't know what else . ..'

  'Aren't you going to offer me a drink?' He changed the subject abruptly, his eyes still brooding on her flushed face. Deborah frowned. 'I've only got tea or coffee—'

  'Coffee will be fine,' he replied politely.

  In the kitchen, her hands shook as she got the cups out of the cupboard. Why was he here, she wondered, looking at herself in the tiny mirror on the door, and noticing, with an inward groan, that her face was smeared with dirt. And why did she have to look such a sight?

  She smoothed back her hair and washed her face, before making up the tray. Surely he didn't know? There was no way that he could, she thought, her heart pounding. She had only found out herself that morning.

  She deliberately took her time, nerves fluttering in her stomach, but in the end she had to go back into the lounge.

  Jake was standing at the window, a tall powerful figure in jeans and a dark shirt. He turned as she came in, taking the tray from her shaking hands.

  'I can manage,' she protested, on the defensive immediately.

  'Can you?' His low voice was openly sceptical. He took in the sleepless shadows beneath her eyes, the lines of tension around her beautiful straight mouth. 'I doubt it, I doubt it very much.'

  Deborah bit back an acid retort. She was fully aware that in a battle of wits, she could not win.

  They drank the coffee in silence. Glancing at Jake from beneath her lashes, Deborah's heart constricted with anguish. She loved him so much.

  She allowed herself to dream for a moment, imagining that he returned her love. How beautifully simple it would be. She would tell him about the baby and he would be happy ... She dragged her thoughts back to the present, admonishing herself sternly. Foolish dreams like that could only hurt her.

  Oliver thought that Jake had a right to know about the child, but Deborah decided at that moment that she would not tell him. It was her own responsibility, she didn't want the help or the pity of a man who did not love her. As she carefully placed her empty coffee cup on the table, she looked at him, and found him staring back, a dark anger in his eyes.

  'Why have you been avoiding me?' he asked, holding her glance.

  'Have I?'

  'You know damn well you have.' The anger was still there, but also a mocking amusement.

  Deborah felt her temper boiling up. She didn't find the situation at all amusing. Her nerves were stretched to breaking point and her stomach was churning.

  'As far as I'm concerned, if there was ever anything between us, it's over,' she said coldly. 'If I have been avoiding you, it's because I have nothing to say to you.'

  Breaking the eye contact, she stood up, moving jerkily to the window.

  Jake moved too, swiftly and silently, fury in every line of his body. He caught her arm ungently, spinning her round to face him, his eyes burning into hers.

  'Over?' he repeated softly, a cold amusement curving his lips. 'You're carrying my child, Deborah. I'd say that made it far from over, wouldn't you?'

  Deborah froze beneath his hands. 'You ... you know! How do you know? How?' He had been playing games with her, and she hated him for that.

  'Your stepbrother came to see me this afternoon,' Jake revealed evenly.

  'Oliver?' She found it almost impossible to believe. 'Why should he tell you?'

  Jake released her abruptly, as though he couldn't bear to touch her any longer, turning away and lighting a cigarette. 'He thought I had a right to know. I agreed with him. God knows, I would have waited for ever for you to tell me.'

  'He had no right to tell you!' Deborah muttered, burning with the betrayal. She couldn't think of a single reason why Oliver should go behind her back to Jake. It was the last thing she would have suspected. He didn't even like Jake.

  'Rights?' Jake laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. 'You dare to talk of rights?'

  Something in his voice cut her to ribbons and she turned on him. 'I want you to go now. I . . . I'm tired and I...' The sentence trailed off as he moved towards her, silent and menacing.

  She watched the rise and fall of his deep chest as though hypnotised, backing away against the wall.

  His voice was quiet yet deadly, as he said, 'When your stepbrother came to see me this afternoon, my first thought was that it was some kind of trick. There's never been any love lost between us----'

  'He was only looking after me,' Deborah cut in, her voice shaking. 'There have been times when I've needed protection against you.'

  Jake smiled. 'Oh, I'd agree with that. You've always played a dirty game, Deborah, you even had me fooled for quite a while.'

  Deborah paled, her eyes burning feverishly. 'You bastard,' she whispered, terribly hurt. He could have invented the double standard, she thought bitterly, longing to hit him, to wipe the smile from his lean dark face, to pierce that thick skin, to get through to him somehow.

  She saw his mouth tautening into a cruel line. Perhaps she had hit her target after all, she thought with fearful satisfaction.

  'I thought that maybe you'd put him up to it,' Jake continued, as though she hadn't spoken. 'It certainly wouldn't have surprised me.'

  'Why would I do that?' Deborah asked angrily, smarting from his insults, his low opinon of her.

  'I don't know, I couldn't figure it out. I realise now, of course, that you had no damned intention of telling me.' There was a roughness in his voice that had she not known better, she might have interpreted as pain.

  'It's not your problem,' she said tiredly, worn out with fighting.

  'Don't be ridiculous.' He took her arm, pulling her round, his hand tilting up her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. 'It's my child.'

  His casual touch burned her, igniting fires beneath her skin. 'Oh, and what's your advice? Are you going to suggest I get rid of it?' She heard the hiss of his indrawn breath. 'Damn you,' he said harshly, controlling his temper with obvious difficulty.

  Their eyes met, hers defiant and fearful, his silvered with anger. The wh
ole room seemed to pulse with electric tension.

  'You really think that?' he demanded, expressionlessly.

  'Why not? I'm sure this isn't the first time you've had to deal with this ... this inconvenient situation.' The thought hurt. The thought of him with anyone else hurt like hell and she closed her eyes in case he could read what she was thinking.

  Jake let her go, his expression unrevealing. He stared at her downturned face for a moment, then said coolly. 'You have two choices, Deborah. Either you hand the child over to me, when it's born, or you marry me now.'

  It was a bombshell, a totally unexpected bombshell.

  Suddenly they weren't fighting any more. Jake was hard and cold and single-minded. He was giving her two options and that was all. He was leaving her no room for manoeuvre. Her eyes flew open, the green depths brilliant with shock. 'Marry you?' she whispered in horror.

  'That's what I said.' There was mockery in his cool voice.

  'You must be joking.' She started to laugh, on the verge of hysteria, totally unaware of how insulting she was being. 'You don't want to marry me, any more than I want to marry you.'

  Jake smiled slightly. 'If I were you, I'd think very carefully before refusing.'

  'Why?' She still hadn't fully taken it in.

  'Because I want that child.' He didn't bother to hide his grim determination and Deborah felt her heart suddenly pounding with fear. She knew how ruthless he could be. He would go to any lengths to get what he wanted. She had seen that for herself.

  'I haven't said I'm going to have the baby,' she said wildly, knowing that he was trying to back her into a corner.

  Jake's eyes narrowed contemptuously on her face. 'Is that why you sent your stepbrother round to see me. Is it money you want? Money for an abortion?'

  'No! No, you know that's not true.' Her bravado dissolved beneath the cold cruelty of his words.

  'Why did you say it then? To make me suffer?'

  Deborah's green eyes widened. 'How could I make you suffer? You can't pretend that you care.'

  Jake was silent for a moment, watching her carefully. 'And if I do?' There was a deep timbre to his voice that was almost her undoing. She didn't understand what he meant.

  'It ... it was a mistake,' she said tautly, close to tears. 'We both know that, and I won't let you trap me. I can have the baby without you. You needn't be involved at all. Oliver should never have told you—I can manage on my own.'

  'Perhaps you can,' Jake said very coolly. 'But you won't. My child won't be born a bastard, like I was. You forget that I'm very well acquainted with that

  aspect of—shall we say—family life.'

  Deborah swallowed on the blockage of unshed tears in her throat. She had forgotten, and it made her realise the depths of his feelings. Perhaps as a child, he had longed for the father he had never known.

  'There's nothing you can do about it,' she said finally, her anger gone.

  'I can take you to court, and we can fight it out there,' he told her harshly.

  'You wouldn't have a chance of winning!' She was staggered by his heartlessness.

  He shrugged. 'Can you be one hundred per cent sure of that?' he queried softly. 'Attitudes and sympathies are changing. But even so, I'm sure such a case would warrant national publicity. I don't imagine Cole Sullivan would be over the moon about that, do you? And you'd need a job to support the child.'

  'That's blackmail,' Deborah murmured faintly, hating him. He was deliberately playing on her doubts and insecurities. He surely couldn't win in court. No judge would take her child away from her .. . But as her thoughts ran on, the slight nagging doubt made it impossible to contemplate. Jake was a powerful ruthless man, used to winning. It seemed to her then, that he could do anything he wanted.

  'Yes, I guess it is.' He was implacable, as cold as ice.

  'How can you do this?' she whispered, sure that he hated her.

  His jaw clenched. 'I want my child,' he muttered through his teeth. 'And I'll do anything I have to, I'm giving you fair warning of that, right now.'

  Deborah felt the wetness of tears on her face, unable to control them any longer. She heard Jake swearing under his breath, felt the tentacles of his anger reaching out to her. She moved across the room, her arms wrapped defensively around her body.

  'You don't leave me with any choice,' she choked, hardly able to contemplate the future.

  'You'll marry me?' His voice was quiet, blank.

  'I don't know why you're insisting on this! You don't want to marry me,' she prevaricated weakly, trying to control her tears.

  Jake shot her a long hard glance. 'No,' he replied at last. 'No, I don't want to marry you, but compared to the child that you're carrying, everything else is irrelevant.'

  His detachment made Deborah feel sick. Her mind ran in circles, trying to find an escape route. She loved him, but she would be marrying a man who hated her, a man who was offering marriage only because he wanted to legitimise his unborn child. She didn't think she would be able to bear it.

  'Jake, please ...' She swayed, feeling lightheaded, and he moved quickly, catching her, steadying her, holding her.

  'Are you all right?' His eyes were dark with concern, his voice suddenly gentle.

  Deborah rested her cheek against his wide shoulder, aching for his comfort, his tenderness, and felt his arms tightening around her.

  'I'm fine,' she lied unsteadily. 'Just tired, I suppose.'

  The moments ticked by in silence. She felt his calm strength flowing into her veins, giving her life, as she rested against his body.

  'Ah, Deborah.' There was an intense weariness in his voice as he said her name. She felt his breath against her hair.

  'I didn't want anything from you,' she whispered brokenly.

  'You can't fight me for ever, and you can't manage on your own,' he said evenly.

  'You're being unreasonable.'

  'Maybe.' He was non-committal as he released her, wiping the tears from her face with his fingers. He looked into her eyes. 'We'll be married next week.'

  Panic rose in Deborah's throat. 'It's too soon,' she protested fiercely.

  'There's no point in putting it off. I'll get the licence tomorrow.' He moved indolently towards the door. 'You should rest,' he suggested with a smile.

  Deborah ignored that. 'I won't sleep with you,' she said fiercely. 'If you force me to marry you it will be in name only. I ... I couldn't bear anything more.'

  Jake looked at her, his eyes blank. 'I've told you, it's the child I'm interested in—not you.'

  'And when the baby is born, I shall want a divorce,' she told him sharply, his words hurting her more than she could have imagined, cutting straight to her heart.

  He nodded. 'As you wish,' he said calmly, making it clear that he couldn't care either way.

  'I won't change my mind about that,' Deborah almost shouted, but she was talking to herself. He had already gone.

  Alone, she sank down on to the sofa, her legs suddenly giving way under her. He was mad, she thought, as she went over their conversation. And he had won again.

  The thought of becoming his wife terrified her, and yet she was forced to admit to herself that it did hold certain attractions. How bad could eight months of anything be? She loved him and although she cursed her own weakness, the thought of living with him was not altogether unpleasant. Perhaps she had abandoned her pride altogether. Letting her hand rest on the flatness of her stomach, she couldn't believe that it was only a few hours since she had confided in Oliver that she might be pregnant. It seemed years ago.

  Jake wanted the child, not her, she would have to remember that. He'd agreed to a divorce after the birth. He would keep his word, she was sure. He had made it very clear where his interests lay. She felt tears blurring her vision again. He did not care for her. After eight months he would probably be glad to get rid of her. The outlook for the future was still grim, even though her life had changed so dramatically in the past hours. She felt confused and exhausted, yet
strangely more alive than she had felt for a very long time.

  It was only half an hour later when she heard the front door slam. Oliver, she thought, getting to her feet. He had some explaining to do. She went downstairs, not bothering to knock as she entered his flat. The place was cluttered as usual, very untidy. Oliver had knocked down the dividing wall between dining room and lounge, leaving a vast amount of space which he had turned into his studio. Canvasses lay everywhere, on easels, stacked on the floor, hung on the walls, and the smell of linseed and turpentine pervaded the air.

  He appeared from the kitchen with a coffee pot and a sandwich in his hands, as Deborah picked her way through the artist's debris.

  'I'll get another cup,' he said, before she could open her mouth, and disappeared back into the kitchen. She sat down on one of the old velvet chairs that surrounded the ornate iron fireplace. On the mantelpiece stood a beautiful glass lamp, by Galle, moulded in the shape of a giant mushroom. She stared at it, admiring it, as she always did. It was one of Oliver's prized possessions as a sometime collector of Art Nouveau glass.

  Her stepbrother appeared moments later with the extra cup and busied himself with the coffee.

  'How are you feeling?' he asked lightly, not meeting her eyes.

  'Why did you tell Jake?' she countered, getting straight to the point.

  'Has he been in touch?'

  'You haven't answered the question. Why did you tell him?' she asked again, exasperated.

  'Somebody had to,' Oliver smiled.

  'You? What gave you the right? You shouldn't have interfered.' Angrily she slammed her cup into the saucer.

  'Okay.' Oliver held up his hands in mock defeat. 'I'm sorry. I knew you'd be annoyed. I just felt that you couldn't manage on your own.'

  'I could have managed perfectly well without Jake Logan's help.'