by Kim Lawrence
‘No, I convinced Mum it was just a case of last-minute nerves. Apparently you were pretty unintelligible on the phone.’
‘I was. . . ’ She looked away avoiding his eyes.
‘Blubbing,’ he finished knowledgeably. ‘Mum mentioned that I know it bothers you that we’re not madly, passionately in love.’ Jo hardly noticed that it was his turn to look uncomfortable and avoid her eyes.
‘I. . . never imagined it this way,’ she admitted huskily. ‘Marriage, I mean.’
‘I intend to take my vows seriously, Jo. You’ll never have to worry about other women. I respect you too much.’
‘Respect.’ She clamped her lips together; suddenly she was spitting angry. ‘I don’t want respect, I want. . . ’ Hands clenched into fists, she pressed them to her mouth and closed her eyes.
‘What?’ His fingers touched the side of her cheek. ‘What do you want, Jo?’ There was a greedy urgency in his soft voice as he bent over her.
I want you to love me. For one heart-stopping second as their eyes met she thought she’d actually said it. Frightened by the suicidal desire she had to tell him the truth, she scrabbled to her feet.
‘Ouch, sorry,’ she gasped in dismay as he backed away, his hand clamped to the lower part of his face. When he moved his hand she saw the blood on his lip. ‘I didn’t mean to. . . Are you all right?’
‘Bruised, but not beaten. Am I?’
Her throat was too engorged with emotion to permit speech. When had Liam ever admitted defeat? she thought wearily. She couldn’t run away from him any more than she could run away from her own feelings. She knew at that moment that she would marry him the next day. She couldn’t consider the subject objectively—she was just responding to a deep gut instinct that told her it was something she needed to do.
‘If it’s Suzanna that’s bothering you I can explain—’
‘Don’t!’ She lowered her voice. ‘Please, I don’t want to know.’ Ignorance wasn’t bliss, but it was more bearable than the unvarnished truth.
He shrugged. ‘As you like,’ he said, his expression unusually guarded. ‘We can make it work.’
Jo believed he would never betray her, not in the physical sense. She respected that, but fidelity of the heart wasn’t something a person had control over, as she knew all too well. It was unbearable to think of him wanting someone else and being tied to her. She couldn’t lose his heart because it had never been hers.
‘I don’t like pretending.’
‘Then don’t.’
If only. A weak wave of longing swamped her, she was getting good at disguising such things. ‘It feels. . . awkward when you act as though we’re a couple in public.’
‘We are a couple.’
She shot him an exasperated look. ‘You know what I mean, the. . . touching and so forth.’ She fumbled awkwardly for words. ‘It’s really not necessary, when people are bound to realise we’re only getting married because of the baby.’
‘A lot of people get married because of a baby, but it’s not usual for them to act as if they’re strangers,’ he said, effortlessly tearing her tenuous logic to shreds. ‘When I touch you privately or publicly it isn’t to fulfil a role. I do it spontaneously because I want to. . . ’
‘Oh!’ she gasped, meeting his direct angry blue stare with wide-eyed confusion. Don’t read anything deep and meaningful into it, she told herself. Liam always had been a very tactile person. He’d always touched her—that hadn’t changed, it was her reaction to that touch which had undergone a transformation.
‘And because I thought you liked it,’ he continued softly. ‘Are you trying to tell me you don’t?’
The question made her start guiltily. ‘I. . . I just didn’t want you to feel obliged,’ she floundered. ‘To act a role.’
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘I’m not having any trouble acting normally. You’re the one who can’t relax. Nobody expects you to drool over me and hang onto my every word as if—’
‘I expect that’s what you’re used to, but I’ve no desire to ooze or drool,’ she grated from between clenched teeth.
‘Then what’s the problem? You’re just not the type. When you and Justin were pretty full on you never went in for extravagant displays of—’
‘I save my displays for behind closed doors.’
Liam couldn’t stop his mind placing Jo and Justin behind a closed door His jaw set hard. ‘What I’m saying is even if you were. . . ’
‘In love with you,’ she finished crisply. It was easier to throw scorn on the notion herself than hear him do it. ‘What insight, I’m impressed. And you’re the expert on the soft, drooly type of female, I assume. Speaking as the hard-boiled, unemotional variety myself I’d be really interested to hear more. For your information I was devastated when Justin left me.’
‘I recall,’ he said in an oddly expressionless voice. When her eyes collided with his he looked inexplicably angry. ‘I’m not saying you’re hard-boiled,’ he continued, ‘just. . . emotionally objective.’
‘If I hit you over the head with a blunt object it will comfort you no end to know I considered the alternatives objectively.’
‘This is much better,’ he approved.
‘What?’ she yelped, bosom heaving.
‘Be yourself,’ he advised her calmly. ‘I’m much more comfortable with you throwing insults, or even assorted missiles at me than being all jittery and polite.’
She mentally reviewed her behaviour and a frown developed over the bridge of her nose. ‘I haven’t been that bad. Have I?’ It was true—she did feel as though all her actions were under a microscope. Deceit always had made her uncomfortable and what had started off as a small lie had grown out of control. Not only did she have to act like a loving fiancée for the benefit of others, she had to disguise the true state of her feelings from Liam. A complicated double bluff like that was enough to make anyone jittery!
‘Worse,’ he confirmed. ‘Nobody expects you to undergo a personality transplant before marriage. Forget about the impression you’re giving. We’re comfortable with one another, Jo, that’s what people have often mistaken for intimacy. And now we are intimate .. Wouldn’t you have missed that if I’d let you run away?’
His long eyelashes left a dark, delicate tracery across the slant of his cheek-bones as his eyes dropped low to run slowly over her body. The husky sound of his voice had a debilitating effect on her nervous system, and he knew it, damn him!
‘Don’t push it, Liam, you’ve sold it. I’ll be at the church tomorrow.’
Liam was gracious in victory, he didn’t crow at all. He pushed her belongings back into her shoulder bag and handed it to her. ‘Let’s go, I can’t stand this place.’ For some reason he glared murderously at the closed door behind her.
‘I should leave a note for Justin, he’ll—’
‘We’ll send him a fax; you know how to do that.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WHAT was that, Niamh?’
The older woman smiled knowingly at the vacant, dreamy expression on the bride’s face. ‘I was asking if you’re still being sick?’
Jo gathered her drifting thoughts and smiled at Liam’s sister Her pregnancy, never a secret, now seemed to be the property of the world and his sister. She’d heard enough scare stories from mothers today to make her wonder why most of them had gone through this ordeal more than once in most cases.
I’m married, I’m really married It didn’t seem real somehow. She couldn’t dispel the impression that the entire day had actually been some elaborate surreal dream; any minute now she’d wake up.
‘It was terrible with Liam—it went on until I was seven months,’ the brunette confided ghoulishly. ‘Though it was better with Brendan.’
‘I’ve been fine the past few weeks, thank goodness. I’m a bit tired, though. Actually I thought I might just slip away and change. Do you think anyone will notice?’
‘I shouldn’t think this lot would notice an earthquake,’ Niamh ob
served, looking around the crowded marquee with an indulgent smile. She held up her wine glass. ‘And no wonder—every time I empty this some nice young man fills it up.’ She grinned with approval. ‘I think Liam’s already made a break for it. Are you two going away somewhere nice?’
‘Actually Liam’s got work commitments. This is all a bit of a rush job.’ Jo wished she could stop sounding so defensive every time someone asked her about their non-existent honeymoon.
‘Rush!’ Niamh’s uninhibited laughter rang out; the Raffertys were an uninhibited sort of family. ‘Most people think you and Liam have been pretty slow getting to the point. Still it’s a shame about the honeymoon,’ she commiserated. ‘What is it, sweetheart?’ she asked as a towheaded four-year-old clambered onto her knee.
With a smile Jo made her escape as Niamh’s attention switched to her young son. The hem of her long gown gathered in one hand, she reached the covered walkway that had been constructed between the marquee and the house having only been stopped by well-wishers five times. She welcomed the coolness as the canopy above her head billowed and flapped in the breeze as she hurried along.
She hadn’t expected to enjoy the day but surprisingly she had. From the moment her father had woken her with a cup of tea she’d felt as if she were on the outside watching, and this sense of detachment still hadn’t diminished. It was some stranger who had calmly recited her vows and posed for the interminable photographs.
The jury was still out on whether she’d lost a friend to gain a lover, but one fact was unalterable: she’d definitely gained a husband. That realisation ought to have been enough to give substance to the day’s events, but it wasn’t.
The study door wasn’t closed as she passed, and hearing the sound of voices she automatically slowed down. Despite the fact a medium had once authoritatively told her all the females in her family were blessed, or cursed, with strong psychic ability, Jo didn’t feel even a prickle of precognition as she paused long enough to hear the sound of Pat Rafferty’s deep voice.
‘I’m not sure I expected it to go this far, son. I mean, I wasn’t thinking too straight when your mother was ill.’
‘There’s no need for you to feel guilty, Dad.’
At the sound of Liam’s voice Jo began to unashamedly eavesdrop. She let go of the banister and took a step backwards, straining to catch the rest of the conversation.
‘I connived with you to blackmail that girl into marrying you. I’d say that’s something to feel guilty about! Pass me one of those cigars and don’t tell your mother I’ve had one. She thinks I’ve quit.’
‘I doubt, Dad, that Mum thinks anything of the sort.’ Jo heard the clink of glasses. ‘Shouldn’t we call it a day, Dad? Too much of this stuff has a tendency to make you maudlin.’
‘True enough, your mother’s got eyes in the back of her head, but it’s a little game we play. She pretends she doesn’t know about my crafty drags and I pretend I don’t know she knows.’ Pat’s soft brogue thickened as his voice broke emotionally. ‘You traded on that girl’s love of this family, boy.’
‘Jo walked up the aisle today of her own free will.’ Liam’s deep, steady tone was confidently strong. ‘I’m not saying the fake engagement didn’t give her an opportunity to get used to the idea.’
‘I care about Jo, Liam. I agree it’s a bad thing when the law gives an unmarried father so little say in how his child is brought up. I understand your anger and concern.’
‘The scales are certainly weighted in favour of the mother,’ she heard Liam agree. ‘But, Dad, that’s—’
‘Of course I wanted you to marry Jo. Secretly I think your mother’s always hoped it would happen. . . ’
‘Possibly that’s why it never did. Mum’s not that subtle.’
‘That’s as maybe, but marriage is a pretty drastic step to take just to ensure you have a legal say in your child’s future.’
‘Hold it there, Dad. . . ’
Her hands were clamped over her ears as she pressed her back to the wall for support. She couldn’t move until the waves of nausea and shock passed.
Part of Jo’s brain was furiously denying what she was hearing even as another part was meticulously weighing all the damning evidence that said it was the truth. All along Liam had made no secret of his repugnance at the idea of the man of her choice bringing up his child. If she thought about it logically, what other reason could explain his complete about-face on the subject of marriage? One minute he came out in a rash at the very suggestion and the next he’d embarked on a relentless campaign to get her up the aisle.
She knew he wasn’t in love with her, she’d told herself she could cope with that—but this? Was all this to gain legal, unarguable rights over this unborn child? All that talk of security and a stable environment had been a smokescreen for his real grand plan. She placed a protective hand over her belly. He’d been preparing the way for when they weren’t together.
There was something so cold and calculating about the way he’d set about achieving his goal, and deceitful! If nothing else, she had always implicitly believed in Liam’s honesty. The knowledge her trust had been terribly misplaced cut deeply. She felt betrayed and humiliated.
She’d thought they had a common aim—to make this marriage work. When in reality it was just a means to an end as far as he was concerned! Her dreams had been recklessly creative and until this moment she hadn’t known how strongly she’d come to believe that something stronger would grow from their warm friendship. Like an idiot she’d staked everything on this foolish, irrational belief.
She wasn’t aware of the despairing cry that emerged from her throat as she picked up her skirts in both hands and ran up the stairs.
‘Jo!’
She ignored the sound of Liam’s voice and just concentrated on reaching the bedroom door. The thundering sound of her own blood pounded in her ears. She could hear the sound of his footsteps behind her getting closer and closer.
‘Stop it! What are you doing?’ Liam pushed his foot in the doorway as, panting, she tried to close the door in his face. He set his shoulder to the door and she felt herself being pushed steadily backwards. To resist him physically was pointless, she knew this, but obstinately she gritted her teeth and refused to give up. For some reason even her token resistance was important.
The door was wide open and Liam was in the room before she gave up. ‘Go away!’
‘Are you trying to kill yourself?’
‘Your concern is touching,’ she spat sarcastically.
She looked at him directly for the first time and Liam visibly recoiled from the animosity in her luminous eyes. ‘I don’t know what you heard. . . ’ he began cautiously.
‘How inconvenient.’
‘This is. . . I thought you’d realised.’ His fingers closed over a hank of his freshly trimmed hair and left it standing up spikily above his brow before he began to rub his chin against the palm of his hand. ‘I wanted to tell you, but I wasn’t sure how you’d react.’
‘Well, now you know.’ Hands on her hips, she faced him, her bosom straining at the ivory lace.
‘It was a shock?’ A grey tinge had spread over his healthily tanned skin which pulled taut over his strong bones, making it look as though he’d suffered a shock himself.
‘Silly me, hey! For some strange reason I thought I meant more to you than a. . . a. . . walking incubator!’
His big body froze and his dark brows drew together abruptly in a straight line. ‘What?’
‘I told you I never intended denying you a full part in bringing up the baby. As far as I was concerned it was always going to be a fifty-fifty split—in those days I thought you were the sort of man who any child would benefit from having as a father.’ She gave a scornful laugh and swallowed a sob of self-pity that welled in her throat. ‘But my word was obviously not good enough for you. You wanted it all legal and binding and you didn’t care how you did it. Well, I swallowed it hook line and sinker. . . I actually thought you genuinely b
elieved we could make a go of it.’
‘My God, that’s what you heard.’ Bizarrely he laughed.
‘You mean there was worse?’
‘I suspect that depends on your viewpoint,’ he said, his lips twisting into a thin smile full of self-mockery.
Jo didn’t understand his peculiar expression; she just knew she was hurting. If he looked a bit as if he’d been run over by a runaway truck, it was just because her discovery of his true motivation was an inconvenience—he’d already got what he wanted, she told herself bitterly!
‘It’s not what you think, Jo.’
‘Now why,’ she sneered sarcastically, ‘aren’t I surprised to hear you say that?’
A flicker of anger passed over his face. ‘How long do you intend indulging in this orgy of self-pity?’
Jo let out a startled squeak of outrage. ‘Don’t try and turn this around, Liam Rafferty. I’m not the one who—’
‘I am not trying to turn anything around,’ he interrupted in a harsh, impatient tone. ‘I’m just trying to get you to shut up and listen to me for one minute.’
‘Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ She’d done enough listening to Liam to last her several lifetimes. ‘Save your breath, Liam, nothing you can say can alter what you’ve done.’
‘What exactly have I done?’ There was deliberate provocation in his tight-lipped smile. The spark of anger in his eyes was beginning to show signs of smouldering.
‘You can ask that?’ she choked in disgust.
‘Quite the drama queen, aren’t we?’ His expression hardened. ‘I’m not about to act the guilty party for your benefit, Jo.’
‘I know what I heard,’ she said stubbornly.
‘Part of a conversation. . . ’
‘Which only got worse, by your own admission.’