by Liz Fielding
Oh, Peter! Why on earth did you have to overreact so...? Lizzie gave a little sigh. He’d always been the same—inclined to drama when he couldn’t get his own way. He’d arrived at her father’s wedding with his new wife on his arm, determined that she should see what she had lost. Thanks to Noah he had been thwarted. And he clearly wasn’t happy with the thought that someone else had apparently got what he had never had.
She wasn’t sure whether she was angry with him or herself, for being able to see him so clearly. Love was supposed to be blind. She supposed it had been, but suddenly the rose-tinted glasses had become all too painfully clear.
Noah poured her a glass of wine, not bothering to contradict her. ‘Try this,’ he instructed. She sipped the pale golden liquid without comment. ‘Well?’
‘Oh, it’s fine, thank you.’ Then, after a moment, she added, ‘Did you see Olivia’s photograph in the newspaper this morning?’
‘Did you see yours?’ he countered. She pulled a face. ‘You didn’t like it? I thought it made you look very...sophisticated.’
‘Too sophisticated. I didn’t like the implication.’
‘And what implication was that?’ She didn’t answer, but her look spoke volumes. ‘Ah, the implication that you are, on the surface at least, a desirable young woman?’ He leaned forward and stroked the edge of his thumb along the line of her jaw before hooking it under her chin so that she was forced to meet his probing eyes. ‘The kind of woman that a man would want to take to his bed. Why should that worry you?’
‘You believe I should be flattered because it’s your bed I’m supposed to be occupying?’
‘I don’t suffer from that kind of conceit, Elizabeth.’
She swallowed hard. ‘That’s just as well, because it’s the implication that it’s your bed that bothers me most. And the fact that you must have told the newspaper—’
‘On the contrary, you told their columnist yourself when I introduced him—’ She started. ‘Yes, I can see that you recall him without difficulty,’ he said as she remembered the attractive young man they had spoken to in the foyer of the theatre.
‘Why on earth didn’t you warn me?’ she demanded.
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. Even without the caption...’ He shrugged. ‘A picture is worth a thousand words.’
‘And it suited your purpose admirably’ She was furious.
‘As you say... but since it isn’t true why should it worry you?’
‘Because other people will believe it. People I know.’
‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Why should they do that unless your behaviour in the past would lead them to suppose—’
‘My behaviour has nothing to do with it!’
‘—that you might leap into my bed, should I be inclined to invite you to share it?’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘Your father, for instance? Or Olivia? And all those good people back home who think you’re such a dear, sweet girl?’
‘No!’
‘No. Of course not. They will read the words and take them at face value because they know, or think they know—which amounts to the same thing—just what you are like. As for the rest—the thousands who might construe some other meaning—does it matter? They don’t know you and never will.’ He stretched a pair of seemingly endless long legs out in front of him. ‘There is a wise old saying, Elizabeth—Believe nothing that you read and only half of what you see. I commend it to you.’
‘And what you hear?’ She could have bitten out her tongue as his eyes narrowed sharply.
‘And just what have you heard?’ But before he could pursue this the waiter arrived with their lunch. By the time they had been served, Lizzie had gathered her wits and launched into a series of questions about the exhibition he was planning.
‘What would you like to do this afternoon?’ he asked later as they made their way back to the car.
‘Please don’t feel you have to entertain me.’
‘Unfortunately I do. Although it appears to be more a question of keeping you out of mischief than entertaining you. I thought we might drive down to Windsor.’
‘Did you indeed? And what do you plan to do for the rest of the week, while you’re working—shackle me to the bed?’
He raised his brows slightly at the challenge in her voice. ‘Don’t tempt me,’ he warned. ‘Or I just might.’
She backed off, swung around and, stuffing her hands hard into her blazer pockets, began to walk swiftly away from him. She had no idea where she was going—it didn’t matter just as long as it was far away from Noah. But his long stride easily overtook her, and before she could escape his arm was looped around her waist, pulling her close, forcing her to stop. ‘You’re going the wrong way,’ he informed her.
‘Leave me alone,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘I’ve done nothing to deserve this.’
“Then why did Peter Hallam slip a note into your handbag last night?’
‘Why don’t you ask him? I have absolutely no desire to see him. You’re the one who keeps throwing us together.’
‘I don’t believe you, Elizabeth, but for the next three days you have your desire.’ She stared at him. ‘Francesca expressed a wish to go to Stratford. I’ve arranged it for them. They won’t be back until late on Wednesday evening.’
‘Why?’ She was puzzled, really puzzled as to why he should take such a personal interest. ‘You scarcely know them.’
‘Should you only do good turns for friends? Besides, Francesca...’ He shrugged. ‘She deserves a break.’
‘Does she? Why?’ Lizzie was almost certain that he had been going to say something else, but he didn’t respond to her probing. ‘She’s tougher than she looks, Noah. Besides, Peter chose her. Married her. I’m the one who should be throwing hysterics.’
‘That, Elizabeth, has been bothering me. Why aren’t you?’
‘Because...’ She didn’t know. ‘Because I haven’t had ten seconds to think about it, that’s why,’ she said crossly. ‘Windsor, you said? Shall we go?’ And she shook him off and headed swiftly back to the car.
What he planned to do in Windsor, she didn’t ask. She expected nothing more exciting than a walk along by the river, or to wander around the castle. But he took her to Smith’s Lawn in Windsor Great Park to watch a polo match, and they were quickly absorbed into a crowd of noisy spectators who welcomed Noah enthusiastically, accepting Lizzie without question as part of their charmed circle.
It was fast and thrilling, and Lizzie was swept along by the excitement, so that when they headed back on the motorway into London she found herself thanking Noah without any hesitation for the afternoon’s entertainment. Until she saw the grim set of his jaw. After that she kept quiet.
The telephone was ringing in the hall as she walked through the front door. Noah had driven the car straight round to the garage, and for a moment Lizzie stared at the phone, wondering whether or not she should answer it. Then, since there was no one else to do it, she picked it up.
‘Hello?’
‘Lizzie! I’ve been waiting for you to ring me all day. Didn’t you find my note?’
‘Hello, Peter,’ she said evenly, not betraying by the slightest tremor the way her spirits had sunk at the sound of his voice. ‘What note?’ she asked.
‘The note... Oh, never mind. Look, I’ve got to see you.’
‘Peter...please,’ she begged.
‘I want to know what the hell you’re doing living with a man like Noah Jordan. Have you gone completely insane? The man’s a heartbreaker, for heaven’s sake; everybody knows that. You never let me so much... And now you’re shacked up with—’
She put the phone down, and, dragging in a long, shuddering breath, turned to run for the sanctuary of her room, to stand under a hard shower and wash those words away. She blundered blindly into Noah instead. He caught her arms, steadied her.
‘Good God, I can’t leave you for a moment, can I?’ Then, as he saw how pale she was, he swore very sof
tly. ‘Come on.’ He pushed her into the drawing room and, without letting go of her for a moment, poured her a brandy. ‘Drink this.’ She didn’t want it—the fumes caught at her throat, choking her—but he was adamant. Reluctantly she took a sip and the spirit heated her, jolted her back to life.
‘I’m sorry, Noah. He was just so... angry.’
‘Are you surprised? You must have been crazy to ring him at his hotel.’
‘No!’ She jerked free.
‘Don’t make it worse by lying, Elizabeth. He’s married to someone else, and the sooner you accept it the better. You’ll get over it eventually.’
Over it? She was halfway there already. It had been bad enough when he refused to understand why she couldn’t marry him at the drop of a hat and go back to New York with him. He had known that she loved him and that should have been enough. She had waited for him long enough. But that he had been selfishly prepared to risk another girl’s happiness... Still was...
‘More advice, Noah?’ She turned and handed him the crystal goblet, the brandy scarcely touched, but her attempt at a smile was undermined by the tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘You should write an agony column; you’re certainly a major pain...’ And this time when she hurried from the room he made no attempt to stop her.
She fled almost by instinct to the kitchen. But it was a strange kitchen—clinical and efficient—nothing like the warm, inviting kitchen at Dove Court. There was no comfort to be found there, but rather than retreat to her room and risk running into Noah once more she went out into the garden, and curled up on an old seat hidden from the house by a tangle of rambling roses. It was quiet there. She would hardly have known that she was in London except for the occasional distant sound of a siren or car horn intruding above the bird-song.
For a while she tried to sort out her disordered thoughts. But she was too angry to think straight—angry with Peter. He had hurt her. Gone out of his way to hurt her. He could have written and told her the situation, but to turn up at her father’s wedding without any warning... What his poor mother must have thought, being put in a position of having to welcome this unexpected daughter-in-law publicly at the biggest social event in the village since... She gave a little sigh. It didn’t matter any more.
But her anger with Noah was a different thing. Other people found her straightforward, easy to get on with. At the polo match she had made friends with several of the girls; one had even offered to help her with flat-hunting and promised to ring her in the week. Noah had seemed to resent this. What had he called her? ‘Miss Sweetness’. She pulled a face. Whatever he had meant, it certainly hadn’t been a compliment. He’d acted as if she’d had two heads and he had been the only one who could see it.
The cat found her, jumping up beside her on the seat and making a fuss. ‘You’re an unlikely resident of this house, mog,’ Lizzie said, stroking the battered head. ‘You should be something rare and exotic—an elegant Siamese, perhaps.’
‘He isn’t a resident at all. He lives next door. The trouble is he doesn’t appear to know that.’
She hadn’t heard Noah’s approach across the grass, but now she looked up. ‘You seem to be plagued by unwanted guests.’
‘Nothing is allowed to plague me, Elizabeth.’ He scooped up the cat and dumped him on the lawn, stretching out beside her on the seat.
‘It was never my intention to impose upon you, Noah,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’ll start flat-hunting in earnest tomorrow.’
‘If you insist. I’ll get my secretary onto it first thing.’
‘There’s no need, really.’
‘Indulge me, Elizabeth. I promised your father I would look after you.’
‘You have my assurance that it’s not a life sentence,’ she said, and received a chilling glance for her pains. ‘Why do you insist on calling me Elizabeth?’ she asked.
‘You’d like me to call you Lizzie? Or even “little” Lizzie, perhaps. Like Peter Hallam?’ She didn’t answer. He was being deliberately insulting. ‘Well?’
‘Not like that.’
‘Not any way, Elizabeth. It’s time you grew up and stopped hiding behind a little girl’s name.’
She regarded him with astonishment. ‘What on earth do you think I’m hiding from?’
‘Life in general. I can see why it suited your father to keep you at home as an unpaid housekeeper when your contemporaries were out in the world enjoying the temptations and hardships of life. What I can’t understand is why you would put up with it. Waiting around in the hopes that Peter would come home and carry you off is hardly sufficient excuse.’
‘I wasn’t hanging around for anything. Peter asked me to marry him when he was at home at Christmas.’
If she had hoped to make his jaw drop she was disappointed. ‘You weren’t wearing a ring.’ He didn’t believe her.
‘No,’ she said, hoping that he would leave it at that, but he made an impatient gesture. ‘We... quarrelled.’
‘So you sent him an invitation to the wedding as an olive branch.’ He stood up, walked a few feet then swung round, his eyes like slate in the gathering dusk. ‘And he came.’ He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. ‘My God, he came. You must be quite a performer under that virginal exterior. Have you no feelings to spare for Francesca?’
‘She’ll be all right, Noah; I—’ Lizzie squealed as he grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet.
‘You callous little bitch, I know exactly what you’ve got in mind. I heard you pleading with him to come back to you.’
‘Noah,’ she begged, ‘please listen; I didn’t—’
‘No, you listen to me,’ he demanded, overriding her, refusing to hear her out. ‘I thought you had accepted the situation. You seemed to be making an effort. Despite everything Olivia had told me about you, I was still taken in by that innocent expression,’ he said, oceans deep in self-disgust.
He took a deep breath in an effort to control his anger, and when he spoke again his voice dripped ice. ‘Peter Hallam might be regretting his hasty marriage, but impending fatherhood will concentrate his mind, providing you do nothing to distract him—’
‘How do you know Francesca’s pregnant?’
He didn’t answer. ‘What a pair you are.’ His disgust was palpable. ‘Frankly I think you deserve each other, but Francesca and her baby must come first. He is going to have to live with the results of his actions and so are you. But, since it is now clear that I can’t trust you to behave with honour, I’ll have to do something about it myself.’
‘What are you going to do?’ she demanded, tugging vainly at her wrist in an attempt to free herself from his grasp. ‘I warn you, Noah, your make-believe affair has gone far enough—’
‘Then we’ll have to stop playing at make-believe, won’t we?’ He was very still. ‘And start playing it for real.’
‘What...?’ Without apparent effort he began to draw her closer, until she could feel the heat of his body through the soft linen of his shirt, the steady beat of his heart under her fingers as she tried to hold him at bay. Then his free hand was at her back, pinning her against him, and she knew with the most ominous certainty that he was going to make love to her.
Except that there would be no love. What he was doing was cold-blooded, utterly calculating, because he believed that no matter how much she protested in the end she would succumb more than willingly to his embrace. He had demonstrated that power when he’d kissed her in the theatre and briefly she had been swept away. And he thought that she and Peter had been lovers. Was that what was in his mind—to overwrite her memories ... make her forget?
She gasped as the reality of what was happening struck home, knowing just how easy it would be simply to surrender to this man and let him obliterate Peter from her memory. How easy... Already be was more real than Peter had ever been...
With a cry like a small, trapped animal Lizzie began a fierce and silent struggle, and he indulged her, allowing her to rage against him, her fists raining impotentl
y against his broad chest and shoulders—a demonstration of the futility of her opposition to his will.
And all the time he held her close, so that the sensitive tips of her breasts brushed against his chest, her abdomen pressed against the frightening, tormenting, thrilling arousal of his loins, and her denim-clad legs met the solid resistance of a pair of hard thighs, forcing her to confront the memory of her reaction to his kiss.
When she was quite out of breath, shaking and weak in his arms and beyond further resistance, he released her.
Taken utterly by surprise, she staggered back and almost fell into the garden seat. She made no effort to move, to run, to escape. She was shaking so violently that she couldn’t have taken a step without collapsing. But he was pitiless. No brandy this time. Instead he regarded her with total dislike.
‘Relax, Elizabeth,’ he drawled. ‘I have no intention of taking you to my bed, willingly or unwillingly.’
‘Not the action of a gentleman?’ she demanded, but her voice shook so much that the bitter sarcasm was lost. ‘Especially when you’ve promised Dad you’ll take care of me,’ she added.
His lips were compressed into a hard, straight line. ‘Someone has to. And I’m it. And since I have no desire to invite witnesses to a bedroom farce I am left with only one alternative—I shall have to marry you.’
CHAPTER FIVE
LIZZIE stared at him in astonishment for a moment, then somewhat weakly she laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
He didn’t seem to hear. ‘Wednesday is the first day possible. We’ll have to go to the register office tomorrow morning to make the arrangements.’
‘Noah, you’re not listening to me. I have absolutely no intention of marrying you on Wednesday or—’
‘Thursday might be better,’ he agreed, with absolute seriousness.
‘Or any other day,’ she insisted.
‘I’ve got an appointment first thing, but after that I’m free until the evening,’ he continued, disregarding her objection.