by Sara Craven
‘You can’t make me go with you.’ Paige lifted her chin defiantly.
Nick sighed. ‘Let’s not start by arguing about what I can or cannot do. As things stand, I imagine your family would prefer you to be amenable.’
‘I’ve been amenable,’ she said. She lifted the hand with his ring on it. ‘And there’s the proof. But having you control my life is something else.’
‘What the hell did you think was going to happen?’ Nick demanded coldly. ‘That I’d simply wave you farewell at the church door? Get real, lady.’
‘But it’s not real.’ Paige brushed the fallen freesia petals from her dress with an impatient gesture. ‘None of it. And I’m not sure I can handle it.’
‘Then the next few days will give you plenty of opportunity to practise,’ Nick drawled. ‘When we come back you should be word-perfect. You can even start dropping hints that the honeymoon was less than blissful, if that will satisfy your thirst for truth,’ he added curtly. ‘Start preparing your acquaintances for the ultimate divorce. After all, we wouldn’t be the first couple to marry in haste and repent with equal speed.’
‘Yes, I suppose—’ She broke off, staring unseeingly at the fleeing countryside. ‘It’s just not the way I ever visualised beginning married life.’
‘Well, don’t take it to heart,’ Nick said as the car slowed for the turn into the Hall’s driveway. ‘Just think how much better it will be next time.’
‘First,’ she said, ‘I have to learn to survive this.’ She paused. ‘I presume your grandmother doesn’t know the truth. What on earth did you tell her?’
His smile was tight-lipped. ‘Why, that it was love at first sight, darling—what else? And that we couldn’t bear to wait for each other a second longer than we had to.’
‘And she believed that?’
Nick shrugged. ‘Who knows. Grandmère generally keeps her own counsel. Whatever, she’s offered us her house for the honeymoon. She’s going to stay in London and look up some old friends.’
‘Oh,’ Paige said numbly. If she had to spend some time in Nick’s company, she would prefer to do so in the impersonality of a hotel, she thought. It seemed almost treacherous to take advantage of his grandmother’s hospitality.
‘Don’t worry,’ Nick said softly as the car drew up at the front door and Mrs Nixon emerged smilingly to welcome them. ‘It’s a big house. With care, we might be able to avoid each other the whole time we’re there.’
‘It’s never too soon to begin,’ Paige said—and, head held high, she walked into the house.
They did not have time to linger at the reception. Toasts were drunk to them, to which Nick responded briefly and wittily, and the cake was cut. Then Paige found herself upstairs, trying to decide what to pack for a week in Normandy before they left to catch a plane to Dinard.
She’d had a short, rather stilted conversation with Madame de Charrier, to whom she’d been formally presented by Nick. He was clearly very fond of his grandmother, but also slightly in awe of her, which Paige found interesting. A hint of weakness, she thought.
Casting round for something to say, she’d thanked the older woman for the loan of her house.
‘I hope we haven’t driven you away,’ she’d added politely.
‘No, I spend time in London each year. I like to visit the theatre and shop.’ She had paused, her eyes fixed on Paige in shrewd assessment. ‘And I have you to thank also, mon enfant.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It is simple. For years I have been telling my grandson that it was time that he married, settled down, but always he made some excuse. Yet all it needed, it seems, was for him to see the woman of his dreams and voilà, the deed was done. And so fast, too. I did not know he was capable of such ardour.’ She had smiled thinly. ‘My felicitations.’
Paige could only hope that madame had attributed the heightened colour in her face to bridal shyness rather than guilt.
She threw mainly casual wear into her case—shorts, cotton trousers and tops, with a couple of informal dresses for evening. Madame had told her the house was not far from the sea, so she added a swimsuit, and some comfortable flat-heeled sandals so that she could explore the surrounding countryside on foot. Any excuse to get away from the house, she thought, her mouth twisting ruefully.
Because, in spite of all his guarantees, there was no escaping the fact that she was about to spend a week with a man who was still a totally unknown quantity. And to remind herself that it was just the same for him was no comfort at all.
She wasn’t sure it was even true. Nick had seemed from the first to be able to predict her reactions and responses with infuriating accuracy. She felt she was being wrong-footed all the time, which did not make him easy company.
But—what the hell? The only company she should really be concerned about was Harringtons. That was why she was involved in this mess—to safeguard its future. And surely that was worth the sacrifice. Wasn’t it?
Biting her lip, she returned to her unwanted task.
If she’d been packing for a real honeymoon all kinds of filmy trifles would have gone into her luggage, with something white and decorously enticing for the coming night.
As it was, her choice of lingerie was strictly working-girl. Practical, she thought judiciously, and pretty too—but without a trace of seduction. Which was probably just as well under the circumstances.
Not that Nick would even see it, she made haste to remind herself. As he’d said, it was a big house, and she would choose a room as far from his as it was possible to get without actually burrowing into the walls.
She changed into a simple shirtwaister in blue chambray, and brushed her hair loose from its wedding style. A glance in the mirror told her that she looked much the same as always. Only the ring on her finger was there to remind her that her life had changed.
But not for long, she told herself with determination. And crossed her fingers too—just to be on the safe side.
Lying in the semi-darkness, listening to the howl of the wind, Paige found herself repeating the same superstitious gesture. Soon—soon the storm would blow away, and she’d be able to get back to England and sanity. That was what she had to keep telling herself. The kind of reassurance she so desperately needed.
Once she was home she would begin to see things rationally, in proportion again. And with every day that passed her freedom would draw a step nearer too.
Also, Nick would be so much easier to avoid on UK soil. After all, she’d turned keeping out of his way into a fine art over the past months. Now she had to dodge him mentally too.
So, she’d do what she always did. She’d stop thinking about him. Quite calmly and deliberately put him out of her mind. Close the door on the memories and turn the key.
It was her way of coping with what had happened between them, and so far it had worked perfectly. And she would make it work again—now. All it needed was a little will-power.
She closed her eyes and let her mind drift back over the last few days and weeks, thinking of Jack and Angela, and their happiness. The aura of completeness that seemed to surround them. Which was only how it should be, of course.
How, indeed, she’d assumed it would be for her—when the time came. When there was someone in her life.
She hadn’t allowed for the demands of expediency, as it forced its way into her life and took over…
She checked herself right there. Because that was a road she should not go down.
Think back, she told herself, to a time when you were genuinely happy. Focus on that instead.
But the ritual didn’t work its usual magic. There were too many other things interrupting—getting in the way. And her mind was tired, anyway, running in circles. Touching the edges of memory without settling.
Rest, she thought. Oh, God, I need to rest.
But how could she sleep with this wind shrieking, battering itself against the shutters, against the entire fabric of the building?
She thoug
ht, It can never happen. And slept.
She awoke slowly and unwillingly, and lay for a moment, wondering what had disturbed her after only—what? She looked at her watch. A couple of hours.
But a new note, it seemed, had entered the hurricane’s relentless threnody. It was raining hard, the insistent splash of water sounding so loud that it might almost have been coming from inside the room.
She glanced upwards, half expecting to see that the rain had penetrated the roof and was falling through the ceiling to the tiled floor beside the bed. But there was no ominous brown stain visible on the white plaster, and the floor was dry too.
Yet the sound of running water was louder than ever, Paige thought, propping herself, puzzled, on to an elbow. She looked across the room and saw that the bathroom door was standing ajar, and the light was on.
Odd, because she could have sworn that she’d closed it—and switched off the light.
Oh, what does that matter? she thought in impatient dismissal. I hardly knew what I was doing earlier. And the fact is that’s where the flood’s coming from. So I’ll have to investigate—see what the damage is. Although I don’t suppose there’ll be much they can do about it until the storm’s passed over.
She swung herself off the bed and trod barefoot to the bathroom door, pushing it wider and taking a cautious step inside.
As she did so the rush of water stopped. The door of the shower cubicle opened and Nick stepped out, dark hair slicked to his head, moisture gleaming on every inch of naked skin as he reached for a towel.
Paige heard herself cry out, a small hoarse sound that she tried vainly to smother with her shaking hands.
He paused for a moment, brows lifting as he assimilated her presence, then he took the top towel from the stack—but not to cover himself, as she’d expected. Instead he began to dry himself, as if he was still alone.
She said in a voice she barely recognised. ‘How did you get in here? And what the hell do you think you’re doing?’
His tone was cool, clipped. ‘I used my key, and I should have thought it was obvious what I was doing.’ He paused, then added more gently, ‘However, I didn’t mean to wake you, and I’m sorry. I wanted to grab a shower before the water goes off.’
‘A key?’ Paige repeated. ‘You have a key—to this room?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘That’s how the system operates. You rent a room. They give you a key.’ He wound the damp towel round his hips and knotted it in place, taking another towel to dry his hair.
‘But this is my room,’ she said huskily. ‘Rented for me by—someone.’
Nick shook his head. ‘Wrong, my sweet. This is our room—rented for us by me.’ He threw her a mocking smile. ‘I was hoping you’d congratulate me on my foresight. It was the last one they had.’
‘You did it?’ She’d been so sure it was Brad. So grateful. And now—this living nightmare.
‘Then you can have it all to yourself.’ She backed into the bedroom, almost stumbling in her haste. ‘I’ll take my chances downstairs.’
‘I don’t advise it.’ He’d followed her and was leaning against the doorframe—hideously at ease, she noticed furiously, and that bloody towel barely adequate for the task. ‘Some of the local lowlife has arrived, and things could get ugly.’
‘Compared to remaining here,’ Paige said icily, ‘it sounds almost appealing.’
Nick grinned. ‘I guess that’s my cue to bow my head in shame and leave you in possession of the field, or, in this case, the bed. Only it’s not going to happen, darling. I’m staying right here. And so, incidentally, are you. Or I might be forced to fetch you back. And I’m sure you wouldn’t like that.’ He paused. ‘Do I make myself clear, my sweet wife?’
The silence between them seemed endless—stretched out to screaming point and beyond.
Then, from some far distance, Paige heard herself say, ‘Yes.’
CHAPTER SIX
‘A WISE decision,’ Nick applauded lazily.
Paige bit her lip hard. Everything about him was a torment, she thought stormily, from that faintly husky drawl to the expensively tanned skin he displayed without a hint of self-consciousness. Nature seemed to have designed him specially to set her nerve-endings jangling.
She said stonily, ‘I have yet to be convinced of that. In the meantime, maybe you’d do me the courtesy of putting on some clothes.’
His brows lifted mockingly. ‘Turned prude, darling? After all, you’ve seen me stripped before. Or had you forgotten?’
No she wanted to scream at him. I’ve forgotten nothing about that night. Every detail’s right there in my memory as if it had been branded there.
Instead she shrugged. ‘Not,’ she said, ‘a recollection I cherish.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I shall try to avoid offending your susceptibilities during the remainder of our time together.’ He looked her over. ‘You, on the other hand, appear to be overdressed.’
‘Not to my own taste,’ Paige said, silently thanking her stars that she hadn’t removed her ill-used trouser suit after all.
‘Just as you wish,’ Nick said courteously. ‘But I suspect you’re going to be very hot and even more crumpled by the time we get out of here, so I suggest you relax and change into something cooler for the sake of your own well-being.’ He paused. ‘Particularly relax.’
‘This is hardly a restful situation.’
‘It can be whatever we make it,’ Nick returned. ‘But maintaining your current attitude won’t help.’
‘My attitude?’ Paige heard her voice rise. ‘My God, you barge in here while I’m asleep, wander around with no clothes on, and I’m supposed to just accept it?’
The dark eyes narrowed in amusement. He said softly, ‘I’d prefer you to welcome or even enjoy it, but I’ll settle for acceptance if that’s as good as it gets.’ He paused. ‘In deference to your wishes, I’ll dress, and then the bathroom’s all yours. I recommend you use the shower sooner rather than later, in case the water supply does go off. I gather it’s possible.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re just a goldmine of good advice today.’
‘Whereas you, darling, are a very different kind of mine—just waiting to explode.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Take a shower, Paige. It might calm you down. Unravel the kinks. Because in the present climate this room seems to be shrinking by the second, and we may be here for some time.’
She couldn’t argue about that. The wind was screaming round the building, tearing at its structure, making it creak and groan. She could hear, in the distance, interior doors banging, adding to the incessant rattle of the heavy window shutters, and it scared her.
She’d never liked extremes—in human behaviour as well as weather, she thought ruefully. She was strictly a middle-of-the-road girl. She liked to be in control of her environment and feelings, and now everything seemed to be spiralling dangerously away from her, and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it.
She lifted her chin. ‘Are you suggesting a temporary truce?’
‘If that’s the best you have to offer,’ he said. Once again she was aware of the drift of his eyes over her rigid body. ‘But you and I are going to have a serious talk at some point.’
Some inner alarm sounded, and she moved sharply in negation. ‘We both have firms of expensive lawyers to do that for us.’
‘But I prefer the direct approach.’ His tone was clipped. ‘So you’re going to have to steel yourself, my love.’
‘Oblige me by cutting out the endearments,’ Paige said curtly. ‘That is, if you want this truce to work.’
‘Oh, I do,’ Nick said softly. ‘And it’s in your own best interests too, believe me.’
He lounged across to his open suitcase, standing on the rack in the corner, and extracted briefs, pale blue cotton trousers and a white shirt.
‘I hope these are enough to spare your blushes,’ he murmured as he went back to the bathroom, the glance he cast her holding a faint glint of derisio
n.
She made no answer. As the bathroom door closed behind him she sank down on the edge of the bed, her hands convulsively gripping the covers in a vain effort to stop them shaking.
This was a nightmare, she thought, and she didn’t even have the comfort of knowing that she would soon wake from it.
She couldn’t even feel grateful that he’d provided her with a comfortable shelter from the storm, because experience warned her that he wasn’t doing it from the goodness of his heart. And she didn’t even want to guess at his real motives.
She felt as if a trap had been set for her, and she’d walked right into it.
I should have known, she thought bitterly. From the moment I saw him at the Waterfront Club I should have realised that I wasn’t going to walk away unscathed.
We were a collision waiting to happen, and if it hadn’t been Hurricane Minna it would have been something else. As it is, this damned storm has just played into his hands. Like everything else in his charmed life.
A sharp rap at the bedroom door brought her to her feet. Maybe it was someone come to tell her it was all a mistake, and that there was another room for her elsewhere.
But when she answered the knock she found only a nervous-looking waiter with a room service trolley which he pushed into the room.
‘Miz Destry?’ He held out a bill pad. ‘Sign, please.’
For a moment she stared at him, bewildered by his use of her married name. ‘I didn’t order anything…’
‘No, ma’am. Your husband did that.’
Your husband. I could do without the constant reminders, Paige thought as she signed the account. She reached for her bag to give the waiter a tip, but he was already scuttling to the door and gone.
Paige began to lift the lids on the various dishes. Chicken sandwiches, she saw, and shrimp in a rice salad, and tiny savoury flans that she knew from experience were hotly flavoured with chilli.
In addition there was a platter of sliced pineapple, a tall insulated pot of coffee and, for no good reason that she could imagine, champagne on ice. And beside the champagne, incongruously, a handful of candles and a box of matches.