by Liz Fielding
She screamed as he drove into her, but with triumph, not with pain. It was only afterwards that there was pain, and that had nothing to do with the rupture of a delicate membrane. It was wild and barbaric, and always, always she would know that it had been one of the most special moments in her life.
She came finally to rest on the Chinese rug in the centre of the room and lay there breathless, pinned beneath him. Then she began to laugh. It was euphoria, the sheer wonder of it. ‘Is it always like that?’ she wanted to know.
Noah raised himself upon one elbow and stared down at her. ‘No. It’s not always like that.’ Then his face closed and he rolled over and sat up. ‘Normally I make it to the bedroom.’ He stood up and threw his shirt to her. ‘Put this on; you’ll get cold.’
As he turned away to pull on his trousers Lizzie suddenly felt very naked. For a moment she had thought it was going to be all right, that he had felt the glory of it too. She tugged the shirt on and wrapped it about her. Clearly it had been nothing special for him.
‘You’d better go and get dressed, Elizabeth.’
The chill was back in his voice. For one crazy moment she had thought that he would carry her up to his bed and make love to her again—slowly this time, so that she could relish every moment. Crazy. Why would he do that? ‘Yes.’ And she shivered. ‘If you’ll excuse me.’
‘In one of your glamorous new dresses. We’re going out to dinner.’
She knew that Mrs Harper had been given the night off, but there was no need to go out. She didn’t want to go out. She wanted to curl up in her own bed in her childish grey and white striped pyjamas and try to pretend that nothing had happened. ‘I’ll cook something,’ she offered a little desperately.
‘What did you have in mind? A few oysters, perhaps, before you practise your seduction techniques again?’ He began to gather the rest of their clothes, giving her an unrestricted view of his athletic figure, his well-muscled back, marked by her raking fingers. Unconsciously she reached out to touch him, but he turned and saw her and she snapped her hand back as if caught trying to steal a child’s sweets. ‘I don’t think so. Besides, it’s a long-standing invitation.’
‘Invitation?’ He expected her to go to someone’s home and eat as if nothing had happened? ‘Then they won’t be expecting me,’ she said.
‘They’ll be expecting someone.’ Some glamorous woman—an actress or model. Not little Lizzie French, up from the country, she thought. ‘To take someone else two days before I marry you might look a little odd.’ He picked up her trousers. ‘I’m afraid I’ve ruined your new suit.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She wasn’t likely to wear it again. ‘I haven’t done your skin much good.’ She touched a scratch that zigzagged across his shoulder.
‘Don’t!’ He flinched away from her touch, his jaw clamped angrily. ‘I knew that cool act hid dynamite the moment I first set eyes on you. I can certainly understand why Hallam finds it difficult to tear himself away. That was some performance. And at least the reason for the hasty wedding is now fact, rather than fantasy.’
He hadn’t realised. In the white heat of their love-making it had never occurred to him that she had been a virgin. ‘Peter and I—’
‘It really doesn’t matter,’ he said, cutting across her before she could finish. Then he seemed to gather himself. ‘Virgins, my dear, are a dead bore. Whatever else you may be, you certainly aren’t that.’
‘Does that mean you’re considering an upgrade to my job description?’ she demanded, clutching her clothes in front of her.
‘It would certainly solve the problem of concealing our separate sleeping arrangements.’ He opened the door. ‘You’d better go and get in a warm bath. You’re shivering.’
But not with cold. ‘Would you care to join me?’ she offered, glowering at him.
He smiled a little grimly. ‘I’m sure you have an interesting line in bathtime games, but we’re due in Eaton Square in less than an hour.’
News of their impending marriage had preceded them. Although conversation buzzed around the table, Lizzie was aware that she was the focus of curious glances, speculation. She didn’t care. She felt utterly numb, responding to her neighbours’ chatter but instigating none. Hardly the ideal dinner guest, she thought.
As soon as there was movement away from the table and she could extricate herself from a conversation about a new play that she hadn’t seen and never wanted to, she excused herself and escaped to the dressing room set aside for the ladies. But others had had the same idea. The door was half-open, and as she put her hand on it to push it wide she heard voices.
‘Hardly believe it! The mighty Noah Jordan finally hooked.’
‘I can understand why. She is lovely...so fresh.’
‘A bit quiet, I thought.’
‘He was quiet too. They both seemed a little shell-shocked. Did you notice the way they’re so careful not to meet each other’s eyes? I guarantee they came straight from bed—’
‘And are going right back there. I heard Noah tell Mark he had to leave early because he’s flying to New York...’ There was indulgent laughter.
Lizzie fled back to the drawing room before they could discover that they had been overheard, and, sure enough, very shortly afterwards Noah made their excuses and they left.
‘How could you do that?’ she said angrily as they drove the short distance home.
‘Do what, Elizabeth?’
‘Leave before anyone else. Everyone in that room will think we can’t wait to get back into bed.’
‘They thought that anyway. And you looked...fragile. I didn’t think you could take much more.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said tightly. ‘What with one thing and another it’s been one hell of a day.’ And she stared out of the windows until he pulled into the mews.
She waited while he locked the car away and then allowed him to take her arm and escort her back across the garden and into the house. Once there, however, she left him to deal with the burglar alarm, making her way swiftly through the kitchen, determined to get to her own room and lock the door.
‘Elizabeth, wait...’ He caught her arm as she began to run. ‘Wait,’ he demanded.
‘What do you want, Noah?’ To her horror she realised that her voice was shaking, her legs were like jelly.
‘I want to tell you that I’m—’
Lizzie winced, shrank away from him. ‘Don’t!’ She ignored the concern that lined his face. ‘Don’t you dare tell me that you’re sorry!’ She wrenched her arm free. ‘Do you hear me?’
‘I hear you, Elizabeth.’ He took a step back, raked his fingers through his hair. ‘I just wanted you to know that I’m going to New York tomorrow. I won’t see you until Thursday. That’s... all.’
For a moment Lizzie remained rooted to the spot. Then she turned and fled up the elegant curve of the stair, not pausing to see whether she was pursued, locking the door to her room. Then she collapsed against it, knowing that it was all pointless. She hadn’t locked the door to her heart, and it was too late now to slam the bolt home.
‘Lizzie?’ She opened her eyes slowly, knowing that there was some good reason not to face the day.
‘Lizzie, wake up, darling.’
She turned, blinked. ‘Olivia? What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Noah rang some time around dawn and asked me to come up. You’re going to come and stay with me at the flat until Thursday.’
She shifted, and the heavy ache of her thighs, the soreness made her wince. ‘There’s no need,’ she said. ‘Dad needs you.’
‘He’s coming up this afternoon. Here, I’ve brought you a cup of tea. Drink it while I go and get some salt for your bath.’ Lizzie blushed furiously, and as she stood up Olivia touched her cheek. ‘I told him to be gentle. But innocents like you are so few and far between these days...’
‘He didn’t know.’
‘Didn’t know? How could he have ever doubted?’ She shook her head. ‘Men are suc
h idiots. Do you want me to tell him?’
‘No,’ Lizzie said quickly, lifting her shoulders in an unconsciously helpless gesture. ‘He said virgins were a dead bore.’
‘Did he now?’ Olivia laughed. ‘And did he think you were boring?’ she teased.
‘He said I was a lot of things, but not boring.’
‘Then he shows some sense. Oh, darling, you cannot imagine how happy I am. I just knew you were made for each other.’
‘You knew—?’
‘Oh, yes. I knew you were the perfect wife for Noah the moment I set eyes on you. Although I have to admit I thought it would take him a little longer to realise that fact for himself. Men are usually so slow, don’t you find?’
‘Some men,’ Lizzie replied, with a flicker of anger as she remembered what this woman was doing to her father.
‘You’re cross with me.’ She stood up and paced towards the window, turning back with that beautifully judged movement, the restrained use of gesture that was her trademark. ‘You’ve every right to be. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but since there’s no harm done... Oh, Lizzie, it’s just so perfect.’ And to Lizzie’s astonishment she saw a tear brighten the other woman’s eye. It was a quite stunning performance.
She scrambled out of bed, ignoring her aches as she pulled her dressing gown over her pyjamas. ‘Olivia, what have you done?’ she demanded.
‘Told a rather large white lie.’ She looked so repentant that if she hadn’t known her stepmother better Lizzie would have laughed. ‘I had to. Noah is too well acquainted with my penchant for matchmaking.’ Lizzie took a step back. ‘Oh, Lizzie! Don’t look so disapproving. It’s time he was married or he’ll end up like our father—marrying someone far too young, far too late—’
‘Tell me what you’ve done, Olivia,’ Lizzie demanded. She knew, but she wanted the other woman to say it out loud. To admit it.
‘Does it matter now?’
‘Unless you tell me, I shan’t know,’ she insisted.
Olivia shrugged. Not an ordinary shrug like anyone else, but a delicate, diffident little movement of her shoulders. ‘I told him that you were being... difficult.’
‘“Difficult”?’
‘Well, I may have put it a bit stronger than that, but when I first suggested that he might have you stay for a week or two after we came back from honeymoon he was so-o-o suspicious—’
‘Difficult about what, Olivia?’
‘About my marriage to your father. I felt so guilty about that, because you were truly wonderful, made me so welcome.’
‘I just want Dad to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. He’s had a bad time—’ She stopped a little awkwardly, not knowing how much Olivia knew.
‘I know all about his depression after your mother was killed in that accident—all that guilt because she was dead and he was alive...’
‘I wasn’t sure if he had told you. He’s very sensitive about it. People can be so cruel...’
‘There’s no place for secrets when you love someone. James knows how much he owes to you, Lizzie—how much you’ve given up for him.’
No, he didn’t. He didn’t know about the times Peter had begged her to go away with him, the times he had asked her to marry him. ‘I...couldn’t bear him to be hurt again, Olivia.’
‘Well, he’s got two of us to bolster him out of his black moods now.’ She touched her waist with a little smile. ‘Three soon. And Noah.’
Noah. ‘You were telling me what you said to Noah,’ Lizzie said quickly, swallowing hard.
‘Do I have to?’
Lizzie didn’t answer.
‘Yes, I suppose I do. Right. Well, I told him that you resented having to surrender Dove Court to me, kept interfering whenever I spoke to one of the staff—that sort of thing. The wretch wasn’t in the least impressed with that. Not a jot of sympathy did I get. He said he was sure that I would think of some way to handle it so as not to hurt your feelings. Your feelings, you notice. So...’ She took a deep breath.
‘Well, I sighed a little. You know—one of those if-only-you-knew-the-half-of-it sighs.’ A gentle ripple of laughter escaped her lips. ‘I deserve an Academy award for my performance—truly, Lizzie. Lord, but I was reluctance itself. So understanding about the way you must be feeling. I made him coax it from me word by word—the way you spied on me, listened to my phone calls, tried to blacken my character with your father, anything to stop me marrying him.’
Lizzie paled.
‘Oh, my dear, don’t look so tragic. If I had told him I’d found him the perfect wife he would have run a mile. Noah is—was—the world’s most dedicated bachelor.’
The woman was either totally innocent or the most consummate actress ever. And she had a sideboard groaning with awards for her performances on the stage.
‘The final touch was when I expressed grave doubts about his marrying you. Men can always be relied upon to do the opposite of what they’re told. Now, don’t you think I was clever?’
‘Very clever, Olivia. I think you’re probably the cleverest woman I’ve ever met,’ Lizzie said.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LIZZIE didn’t see Noah again before the wedding. Olivia bore her away to her apartment, fussed over her, took her shopping to all her favourite boutiques and, clutching James French’s credit cards, swept aside Lizzie’s desperate protestation that she really didn’t need a dream outfit for a quiet wedding with just a few witnesses present.
‘The wedding dress isn’t for the guests, my sweet, it’s for Noah. It should be special. He deserves it.’
And what on earth could Lizzie say to that? So she submitted to the gentle bullying, and even she had to admit that the pencil-slim skirt and tiny jacket of the suit that Olivia finally declared exquisite was just that, the old ivory of the silk perfect against her peachy complexion. The matching hat—a delicate confection of silk leaves—completed the outfit to Olivia’s total satisfaction.
They moved on relentlessly—underwear, a more expensive wardrobe of day clothes than Lizzie had ever thought possible, and evening clothes to dream about. And everywhere they were treated like stars. It should have been heaven. Her stepmother was clearly having the time of her life, and Lizzie made a valiant effort to match her enthusiasm. But Olivia could hardly fail to notice how pale she was.
‘Come along,’ she said finally, cutting short a visit to her favourite shoe shop. ‘I’m taking you home to put your feet up, or you’ll look washed out tomorrow.’
‘It’s you who should be putting your feet up,’ Lizzie protested guiltily. Olivia had been so kind, so obviously thrilled about the wedding, that it had seemed impossible that she could be the same terrible creature Lizzie had overheard on the telephone. Maybe her father had been right after all. Maybe it had all been a dreadful misunderstanding. She really wished it could be so.
Olivia smoothed her hand over her waistline. ‘The baby is fine, I promise.’
Mention of the baby sent Lizzie’s thoughts winging to Francesca, wondering if she had yet told Peter the good news. Then her forehead creased in a perplexed frown. How had Noah known that she was pregnant? He had referred to Peter’s impending fatherhood with such certainty...
It was a relief to be back at the flat, and while Harper carried up the endless parcels Olivia insisted that Lizzie put her feet up on the sofa while she went to organise some tea. Noah had probably just put two and two together, she thought, closing her eyes. He was good at that.
‘Look, Lizzie, Noah sent flowers for you. They came while we were out.’ She opened her eyes slowly and Olivia handed her a spray of red roses. For a moment her heart leapt as she slipped the card out of its envelope. ‘Thursday, Noah.’ That was all—a reminder, or a warning, wrapped up in the kind of gesture that his sister would expect. After all, you wouldn’t expect Prince Charming to overlook anything as basic as flowers during even the briefest parting from his love.
She pushed the card back into the envelope with a little gasp.
&n
bsp; ‘Lizzie? Whatever is the matter?’
‘Nothing,’ Lizzie said desperately. ‘It’s nothing. Nerves, perhaps.’ How could she begin to explain that to have married Noah when she didn’t love him would have been bearable. Just. A simple contract that meant nothing. Marrying him after that all too brief moment of ecstasy in his arms was more than flesh and blood could stand.
‘Oh, Lord, come here, child.’ And Olivia put her arms about her and let her weep.
Time, always a fickle friend, that lagged before the most eagerly awaited treats, flew swiftly to Thursday morning.
It was only when the hairdresser had left and Olivia had applied an extra touch of blusher to her pale cheeks that Lizzie had a moment for quiet contemplation of the step she was taking.
She stared at the mirror. She saw a perfectly ordinary girl who had thought she was in love with a perfectly ordinary man. A man she had known for years, ever since he’d rescued her from the village pond, and whom she had subjected to the kind of hero-worship that few boys were capable of resisting.
She had never considered that what she had felt for Peter might have been anything other than love. And in a way it had been love—the love of an impressionable little girl. Never, not even in her wildest imagination, could she conceive of responding to him with the raw passion that Noah had evoked.
It was so obvious now that the spark had always been missing, the fuse, the dynamite. And because she had stayed at home to look after her father, never met anyone to compare him with, she had never discovered that what she’d felt for Peter had been simply loving friendship.
‘Lizzie, I’m just leaving...’ Olivia paused in the doorway, then came into the bedroom. ‘Shall I fix your hat for you before I go?’
Lizzie started, came back to reality. ‘Thank you. I seem to be all fingers and thumbs.’
‘Well, I dare say Noah will give you hand with the hooks and eyes later, if you ask him nicely,’ Olivia replied, with a teasing smile as she set the creation of silk leaves on Lizzie’s upswept hair. ‘Oh, my dear,’ she murmured, ‘you are so beautiful I could weep. Please don’t ever break my poor brother’s heart.’