by Sara Craven
She moved stiffly to the other sofa and sat down. She said, ‘How did you discover—all this?’
‘The credit goes to my accountant, Jake Allenby. I don’t think he relished having to tell me that my wife was using the company as her own private piggy bank, but he did it anyway. He’s going to be heading a team investigating other more serious discrepancies as well.’
‘What sort of—discrepancies?’
‘You mean you don’t know?’ he derided. ‘The Harrington name for quality and integrity has been taking quite a beating lately. People have paid for top-of-the-range kitchens and bathrooms and had cheap imitations installed instead. On one site the central heating specifications were changed, which led to potentially dangerous fumes entering the houses. Elsewhere various inclusive items like landscaping and car ports have been charged as extras. Thieving has reached epidemic proportions right across the board. Need I go on?’
She kept her voice steady while her mind worked frantically. ‘And you’re holding me responsible for all this?’
He said wearily, ‘Don’t be absurd. But it’s all part of a general attitude that cheating’s fine and the company and its clients simply exist to be ripped off. And for the company also read Maitland Destry.’ He shook his head. ‘It can’t go on, Paige. I won’t allow it. And you’re the first casualty.’
All that money, she thought, being claimed each month on her behalf. But not by her. So who could it be?
A chilling image of Toby, here in this room only half an hour before, hangdog and panicking, rose in her mind. Toby—always short of cash to fund Denise’s latest extravagances.
Oh, no, she thought, swallowing back nausea. Dear God—no.
She picked up her whisky. Drank some to give herself a breathing space. Thinking time. And to dispel the ice clamped round her heart.
Nick was watching her, his eyes narrowed. He said, ‘What’s the matter, Paige. Did you think you wouldn’t be found out?’
She said quietly, ‘I don’t really know what I thought.’ She drew a deep breath, then forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘I’ll start looking for another job tomorrow. I still have contacts.’ She paused. ‘And if you promise not to take your investigations into this any further, I’ll pay you back every penny out of my future salary.’
‘Yes,’ Nick said softly. ‘It is indeed payback time. But there’s no need for you to go job-hunting because you already have a post waiting for you. As my wife. Starting at once. And this time there’ll be no excuses, or evasions, or running away.’
She’d been expecting it—dreading it. And now it was upon her.
‘Please.’ She looked at him pleadingly, desperation in her voice. ‘You can’t do this. It’s—obscene. Medieval. Punish me in some other way, but not this.’
‘You’re hardly flattering, darling,’ Nick drawled. ‘But it won’t be so bad. I can’t allow you unlimited access to my money, of course, but you’ll be paid an allowance, and all your bills will be sent to me.’ He paused, the dark eyes scanning her. ‘I’m prepared to be generous, Paige, but I expect my money’s worth, too. You won’t short-change me in bed.’
Her whole body winced. She thought of his hands touching her—his mouth—exacting his own dark retribution for her supposed sins. And somehow she would have to bear it. Because it was better for Nick to blame her than discover the real truth.
Toby was weak and a fool, and what he’d done was probably criminal too, but she couldn’t bear to see him publicly disgraced as he was bound to be—not for his own sake, but her father’s. The shock might trigger off another heart attack—and this one could be fatal.
On the other hand she couldn’t just passively accept the fate Nick had condemned her to either.
She said huskily, ‘Nick—we’ll only make each other wretched like this, and you know it. If you’ll let me go, I’ll work like a demon to repay the money. I swear it. And we can both be free to find happiness—properly.’ She bit her lip. ‘After all, there’s your blonde.’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said softly. ‘The gorgeous Michelle. She really needled you, didn’t she, darling? I wonder why.’
She said sharply, ‘You were practically wearing her—’ and stopped, cursing herself under her breath.
‘And how do you categorise your own cavortings with Brad Coulter?’ There was sudden danger in his voice.
‘Why, Nick.’ It was her turn to mock. ‘Don’t tell me you were jealous.’
‘Hardly.’ He shrugged, his mouth hardening. ‘After all, I left you free to roam. I can’t really repine if you used that freedom to let some stud charm you into bed. But even if we divorced there’s no guarantee that Coulter would ever marry you. He prefers less formal arrangements, by all accounts.’
Paige lifted her chin. ‘Clearly you both have so much in common.’
He said lightly, ‘Then you’ll be able to compare notes, won’t you, darling?’
She bent her head. ‘Is this discussion over now?’ she asked flatly. ‘Because, if so, I’d rather like to be alone. I have a lot to think about.’
‘Then I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ he said, ‘but I’m not leaving. Our marriage begins here and now—tonight.’
‘But that’s not possible.’ She looked at him imploringly. ‘I—I need time.’
‘And I have needs, too,’ he said. ‘Rather more basic, but equally urgent, I promise you.’ He got to his feet. ‘Where are your keys?’
‘Why do you want them?’ Her brain seemed to be in meltdown. Nothing made sense any more.
‘I have some things to bring in from the car.’ He smiled at her. ‘And I would hate to find myself locked out and be forced to call in one of the Harrington carpenters to take the door off its hinges. I’m sure you wouldn’t care for it either,’ he added gently.
‘No,’ Paige said, and swallowed. ‘They—they’re on the hall table.’
‘Very wise,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’
She sat, huddled into the corner of the sofa, staring blindly into space. How could she do this? How could she yield herself to the demands of this totally cynical arrangement? Give herself to a man who neither loved nor respected her? Who actually thought she was some kind of minor embezzler—a freeloader of the worst kind?
Toby had asked her to use her influence, she recalled painfully, and she’d refused, secure in her position on the moral high ground. Now the earth was shaking under her, and all her certainties were gone.
The misdemeanours she was being blamed for were relatively minor compared with the others that Nick had mentioned. Those that were still being investigated.
Sick instinct warned her that Toby was probably involved up to his neck, and that next time she might not be able to save him. But she still had to try, she thought, a wave of desolation sweeping over her. Whatever the cost.
She heard Nick return, and straightened her shoulders instinctively.
‘Do I get the guided tour?’ He stood in the doorway, suitcase in hand. ‘Or must I find my own way?’
‘It’s the door to the right at the top of the stairs.’ She steadied her voice. Made it almost businesslike. ‘The bathroom’s opposite, and you’ll find spare towels in the airing cupboard.’
In a moment, she thought, astonished, I’ll be offering him a wake-up call and asking if he wants to order a newspaper.
He nodded, unfazed. ‘There’s a hamper of food in the kitchen. You might want to unpack it.’
‘Food?’ Paige echoed in disbelief.
‘Of course. Second rule of marriage, darling. Regular meals.’ He gave her a mocking grin. ‘Want to know what the first rule is?’
‘I can guess,’ she said shortly. ‘But I’ll get you something to eat, if that’s what you want.’
‘It will do,’ he said. ‘To begin with.’ And a moment later she heard him going up the stairs.
It was a large hamper, bearing the label of a famous London shop. Investigating the contents, Paige found a cold roasted duck, various salads, bread, che
ese, a wonderful tarte tatin and a bottle of good claret. In a separate container she discovered smoked bacon and half a dozen free-range eggs.
For the man who plans to stay for breakfast, she thought, biting her lip.
She set the food out on to plates, and was shocked to find her mouth watering. She’d originally planned to set just one place at the table in her tiny dining room, but the aroma of the duck was too appealing for pride. And besides, starving herself would solve nothing.
She used her favourite embroidered linen placemats with the best silver and crystal and tall candles in elegant wooden holders. She put the duck on a carving platter and uncorked the wine to let it breathe.
She was in the kitchen, making her own dressing for the salad, when she heard Nick descend the stairs. Earlier she’d heard the water running, and guessed he was having a bath.
She’d planned to do that, she thought, back in some other lifetime, when her most serious problem had been a difficult board meeting in the morning.
He’d changed into cream chinos and a casual black polo shirt, she saw in the swift sideways glance which was all she allowed herself.
‘It all looks wonderful.’ He propped himself in the doorway. How could he seem so much at ease when she was like a coiled spring? Paige wondered desperately, feeling the drag of his attraction curling through her like a seventh wave. ‘Impressing me with your hostess skills, darling?’
She shrugged. ‘I enjoy entertaining,’ she returned coolly. ‘Although I prefer to choose my own guests.’
‘And make sure that they’re just passing through?’ He waited for her reluctant nod, his mouth twisting. ‘But I’m here to stay, Paige,’ he told her softly. ‘And the sooner you accustom yourself to that, the better.’ He paused. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes—yes, I understand.’ Paige concentrated her attention fiercely on the amount of wine vinegar she was adding to the fragrant green-gold olive oil in an attempt to subdue her fierce awareness of him.
And he’d seen her bedroom. He’d been in there, hanging his clothes in her wardrobe. Making room among her things for his own.
No doubt she could now expect some loaded comment about the fact that she’d been sleeping alone in a double bed.
Instead, he said quietly, ‘Can I get you a drink?’
More Dutch courage? she thought. Or anaesthetic?
She said, like a polite child, ‘Thank you—no.’
He stayed where he was, watching her. ‘It feels damp, and a bit chilly tonight,’ he went on. ‘Would you like me to light the fire in the sitting room?’
It was only what she’d intended to do herself, but she heard herself saying waspishly, ‘Please—make yourself at home.’
He smiled at her. ‘Thank you. I have every intention of doing so.’
He vanished, and presently she heard the murmur of the television.
The fact that he was here, in the cottage, invading her own private space and making it his, somehow made the whole bad situation even worse, Paige thought as she coated the salad leaves with dressing and carried the bowl to the dining room.
Nick responded immediately to her stilted announcement that the meal was ready.
‘I wanted us to have another picnic, but the weather’s too foul, so this seemed the next best thing,’ he said as he carved the duck. He slanted a swift smile at her. ‘Remember our day on the beach at Les Sables d’Or?’
‘Not really,’ Paige denied defensively.
He clicked his tongue reprovingly. ‘You shouldn’t fib, darling. Your eyes change colour—become much darker.’
She stifled a small gasp. ‘They do nothing of the kind.’
‘How would you know?’ Nick handed her a plate. ‘Have a look in a mirror next time you’re inclined to be economical with the actualité and you’ll see what I mean.’
Paige gave him a mutinous look and helped herself to new potatoes in a mayonnaise and chive dressing.
‘Maybe we should have a toast.’ He poured the deep red wine into her glass. ‘Can you suggest something appropriate?’
Paige shrugged. ‘Cheers?’ she offered coldly.
‘I don’t think so.’ He lifted his glass, and unwillingly she followed suit. ‘Here’s to life—and not being afraid of the dark.’
She felt her face warm, and took a hasty sip of the wine with an incoherent murmur. Why, she thought, did he have to remind her of those traumatic moments—and what they’d led to?
It was a largely silent meal. Paige searched desperately but vainly for some innocuous topic of conversation, and Nick seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts.
Perhaps this was what married couples did, she thought as she served the tarte tatin.
When they’d finished eating, Nick helped her clear the table.
‘No dishwasher?’ he asked, brows raised as Paige ran hot water into the sink and added washing up liquid.
She sent him a defiant glance. ‘I considered it, but decided not to push my luck.’ Or my savings account.
He gave her a meditative look. ‘Can I help put things away?’
‘No, thanks. This kitchen isn’t really big enough for two.’
And neither is this house, a voice inside her cried out wildly. Or this universe.
He looked at her for another long moment, then turned away without further comment.
She left the dishes to drain, then found a fresh packet of rich Colombian blend and filled the cafetière.
Nick was lounging on one of the sofas watching television when she carried in the tray and set it on the rosewood table. But as she moved to sit opposite him he reached out an imperative hand.
‘No.’ His voice was quiet, but very definite. ‘Come here.’
She swallowed nervously, then obeyed, sinking into the soft cushion beside him. He put an arm round her shoulders, drawing her against him.
‘Relax,’ he suggested softly. ‘You’re so brittle you could break.’
‘I can’t deal with this,’ Paige whispered. She shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘You have to sit with me and watch a wildlife documentary.’ There was faint amusement in his voice. ‘That’s not so difficult.’
‘That,’ she said, ‘isn’t what I mean.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘But it’s enough for now.’
His hand moved on her shoulder and arm, stroking them gently, rhythmically—as if, Paige thought, she was a nervous animal he had to soothe. And, oddly, it was calming. Her heartbeat had slowed to a normal level and the iron band gripping her throat had gone too.
The rain was lashing against the window, but inside the room was golden in the crackling firelight. As if we were caught in amber, Paige thought dreamily.
Even when she moved to pour their coffee it seemed natural, even essential, to return to his embrace afterwards, settling against the curve of his lean body as if she belonged there.
She thought, ‘I don’t understand,’ and realised when she felt him smile against her hair that she’d spoken the thought aloud.
‘We’re having a quiet evening at home,’ he told her quietly. ‘Probably just as you’d planned to do on your own.’
She said without thinking, ‘Actually, I was going to have a bath and an early night,’ and could have bitten out her tongue.
‘That,’ he said softly, taking her coffee cup and putting it back on the table, ‘is an even better plan.’ He smiled down into her startled eyes. ‘Don’t you agree?’
She’d told him she needed more time, but what she really needed was his mouth on hers, she realised as his free hand cupped her face, tilting it upwards for his kiss.
His lips were warm and seductively gentle as they parted hers. His fingers caressed the nape of her neck and the vulnerable curve of her throat, and her whole body sighed with pleasure.
He was lighting slow fires in her veins. She could feel her breathing quicken, and stars dance behind her closed and heavy eyelids.
She moved closer to him, pressing
herself against him, feeling the tips of her breasts graze his chest as the dark witchery of sexual desire began to awaken inside her.
They clung together, their mouths aching and burning in an ever-increasing hunger.
When at last he lifted his head, Paige stared up at him with dazed eyes.
He touched her face with light fingers—her cheekbones, her reddened mouth. Then he got to his feet, pulling her up after him.
He said softly, ‘It’s time you went to bed, Mrs Destry.’
And she went with him, hand in hand, up the stairs into the friendly darkness.
At the door, he halted. ‘I’ll run your bath for you.’ He hesitated. ‘And there’s something I should tell you. I’ve decided to sleep in the spare room tonight, after all.’
Her eyes searched his face incredulously, disappointment twisting like a claw inside her. ‘But why?’ She bit her lip, forcing out the reluctant words. ‘Don’t—don’t you want me?’
‘Yes,’ he said with sudden harshness. ‘I want you. But that isn’t the point. I realised earlier that this isn’t the ideal time for us.’ He shook his head. ‘There’s too much background stuff—too many unanswered questions hanging over us. Besides, you were right. You do need time. Time to get used to the idea of having me around. And I—I’m not sure I’m capable tonight of being as patient as you deserve.’
He drew a deep breath. ‘Believe me, it’s better this way.’ He dropped a swift, rough kiss on her hair. ‘Now have your bath and get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a tough day.’
She went slowly into her bedroom and closed the door. In the lamplight the big bed with its single pillow arranged chastely in the middle seemed to be mocking her.
But tonight there was something else on the bed as well. A square flat box, striped in blue and silver with long silver ribbons, was lying on the coverlet.
She sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled the box towards her. She untied the ribbons, lifted the lid, and parted the folds of tissue. It was a nightgown, she realised, white chiffon layered over silk, the narrow straps made of silk flowers and the same decoration edging the demure bodice. A filmy, exquisite thing. And the accompanying card said simply, ‘From Nick.’