The Bride's Secret

by Helen Brooks

  He had drawn back a little, his eyes examining her face feature by feature. 'You were a virgin when we first met,' he said softly. 'Why was that?'

  'Why?' She stared at him as if he had gone mad. 'Because… because I'd never met anyone… ' Her voice trailed away. What was this? What was wrong? 'I don't understand,' she whispered shakily. 'What has that got to do with… with now?'

  'Anyone you loved?' he finished quietly, and now she knew there was something badly wrong. It was there in the darkly assessing power of his gaze, in the analytic scrutiny. Suddenly he was in lawyer mode, and it frightened her. 'Anyone you loved, Annie?'

  'I suppose so,' she said warily, pulling herself into a sitting position with the sheet tight in her clenched fists against her breastbone. 'Why? Does it matter?'

  'Yes, it matters.' He scanned her face with the laser eyes. 'And you're a virgin now, aren't you, Annie?' It was a statement, not a question, and she stared at him as her mind raced back and forth, a recollection—misty but becoming more substantial—causing her to freeze.

  She hadn't said those words, had she? That faint echo that was reverberating in her head? She couldn't have…

  'In the last two years you have seen no one, had no relationship of a personal nature at all. There have been those who tried—several—but you didn't want to know.' His voice sounded like a lawyer's now, his brain almost visibly putting two and two together and making… Making a number that spelled trouble.

  'How do you know?' She forced antagonism into the gap between her and disaster. 'I could have—'

  'Marjorie.' His voice was relentless. 'Marjorie told me.'

  'Oh, Marjorie!' She tried for a dismissive laugh, her voice derisive. 'You mean to say you listened to Marjorie?'

  'Yes, Marjorie. Who had no axe to grind, no reason to lie, who is in fact a gossip of the first order and would have been sure to repeat any tasty little titbit if there had been one. In fact you puzzled her, I could tell. She didn't know whether to admire you or feel sorry for you—'

  'I don't need anyone to feel sorry for me,' she bit back quickly, stung to the core. 'I manage perfectly well, thank you.'

  'We all need the warmth of human compassion at times, Annie,' Hudson said grimly. 'However much we try to hide the fact'

  'And that's what you think I'm doing? Hiding the fact?' She prevaricated swiftly. 'You've no right to assume that.'

  He didn't fall for the decoy ploy, going straight for the jugular instead. 'You said you loved me, just now, when you weren't thinking ten steps in advance.' The grey eyes had the consistency of liquid steel. 'You told me you loved me two years ago, and I believed it then too. I know it was the truth, here, where it counts.' He touched his chest, his eyes intent on her face.

  'Hudson—'

  'So if you loved me then and you love me now, and there's been no high life, no parties, no lovers… ' He paused, his eyes searching her face, which was the colour of lint. 'And no elusive fiancé either… ' he stated slowly, each word a revelation. 'There wasn't a man, was there, Annie? Hell, what a fool I've been. I wondered why I couldn't find him, why no one you'd been at college with had the faintest idea what I was talking about.'

  'You didn't see my college friends?' She stared at him, horrified. 'You had no right to do that'

  'I had all the right in the world both then and now,' he growled softly. 'You love me. I should have listened to my heart.'

  'No, you're wrong; everyone says that when they're… they're… '

  She went to twist out of the bed but his voice stopped her before she had barely moved. 'Stay still; stay right where you are, Annie, or so help me I won't be responsible for my actions.'

  'Are you threatening me?' she asked tightly.

  'Whatever it takes, sweetheart, whatever it takes.'

  'This is crazy, Hudson,' she whispered faintly. 'Let me go.'

  'No, it's me that's been crazy,' he said slowly. 'What a fool, what an incredibly blind fool I've been. I should have known you aren't capable of betraying me like that, but I let myself be persuaded. Me, of all people. Hell, I make my living going on gut instinct and fact, and I had neither in your case—merely words and more words. And the words didn't make sense even then.'

  'They did; you're just determined to make a mystery out of this.'

  'That night two years ago, when you agreed to marry me, you were happy—really happy. There was nothing, not a hint of anything being wrong. I should know—I've dissected that time often enough,' he added bitterly. 'And then, within hours, it'd all changed. What happened when you left me that night, Annie?' he asked softly. 'Because sure as hell something did. Something… catastrophic.' His eyes were boring into her soul.

  This was too close—he was getting too close.

  'And whatever it was it didn't stop you loving me.' There was a thread of something in the tightly controlled voice—joy? Relief?—that told her she had to finish this before it went any further. 'You loved me then and you love me now. Say it?'

  She opened her mouth to tell him she didn't love him, that he was wrong, quite, quite wrong in his arrogant assumptions, but she couldn't do it. She might have been able to bluff her way if his own tragic truth about his childhood hadn't seared her heart so badly, or if the picture of a bewildered child, with eyes the colour of stormy seas, wasn't etched indelibly on the screen of her mind, but as it was she just couldn't lie again. And so she stared at him, her mouth half-open and her eyes panic-stricken.

  'Annie?' He touched her face tenderly. 'I'm not your enemy.'

  It was the gentleness that did it, that made her realise she couldn't live with herself—let alone him—if she were the tool used to sully his reputation and destroy his credibility.

  'I don't want a relationship with you, Hudson, now or ever. And I want to go back to Tangier now, today,' she said shakily.

  'You haven't answered my question, Annie,' he said evenly.

  'I just did.' She forced her eyes not to flinch from his.

  'No, that was like everything else you've said since the day we met again—garbage!' The words shot out like bullets, and she shrank back against the bedhead, shocked by the sudden change in him. But she shouldn't have been; she should have been expecting it, she thought in the next instant. He was using every trick he'd learnt since he'd first stepped into a courtroom, and he was good—he was very, very good at what he did. It stiffened her resolve in a way that would have made him kick himself if he'd known.

  'Garbage maybe, fact definitely,' she said shortly.

  'I can stay here as long as it takes, Annie,' he warned softly.

  'You are the last man, the very last man in all the world I would get involved with, Hudson.'

  It had the unmistakable ring of truth to it, and she saw the words register in his eyes as his face went white.

  They sat for a full minute in a silence that was electric before he said, his voice toneless, 'You aren't denying you love me but you're saying you want nothing to do with me. Right?'

  'Yes.' The one word said it all; she did not need to elaborate.

  She stared down at her hands, tightly clasped together on the sheet, and swallowed painfully. This was terrible, worse than she ever could have imagined. And it was all her fault.

  'Yes.' He repeated the word grimly, but as she glanced up at him again his face was blank, devoid of emotion. 'And you expect me to accept that?' he said slowly. 'After all we meant to each other, the plans we made, you really think I would be content to let you go back to your new life without any explanation?'

  What could she say? She stared at him wide-eyed until she couldn't bear to look at him any longer, and dropped her gaze to her hands again, her nerves twisted and taut 'You have no choice,' she stated as firmly as she could, considering her heart was thundering in her ears so loudly it was deafening. 'It's what I want'

  'And what about what I want?' he bit back angrily. 'Don't you think that comes into the equation at all? You don't think you're perhaps being a teeny bit selfish, Ann
ie?' The last carried such icy sarcasm that she felt herself shrivel up and die. 'I have needs, emotions too; I'm not made of stone, damn it'

  'Yes, I know.' She desperately tried to keep all trace of the pain that was tearing her apart from showing. 'And I'm sorry.'

  'Oh, sure,' he bit out savagely. 'I can see that'

  'But I have to be true to myself, to what I want,' she carried on, trembling. 'I want to have a career, to make my mark, and I couldn't do that if I was involved with… with anyone. That's why I decided not to date in London; I want to put all my energy and time into my work. Some women might be able to divide themselves in half a dozen different directions, but I'm not like that, and I know… I know what I want'

  'And to hell with the rest of the world?' He twisted away from her, moving to his side of the bed with his back to her as he raked his hands through his hair.

  'If… if you like,' she said numbly.

  'Funnily enough I don't like at all,' he said icily. 'You look so soft and sweet, Annie. How can that gentle exterior hide such ruthless purpose?'

  'It's the way I am.' Would he believe her? He had to.

  'So you are saying you would sacrifice anything we might have together without allowing me any opinion of my own?' he said grimly. 'You won't discuss why you left me two years ago and why you won't stay now? Right?'

  'Yes.' Her fists were pressed into the hollow between her breasts, the pain in her heart so excruciating it was stopping her breath.

  'To hell with it.' He stood up and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door violently behind him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Thanks to a wealthy friend of Hassan's who was pleased to put his private plane at their disposal, Marianne and Hudson were back in Tangier by early afternoon.

  Marianne was in agony, silent, excruciating agony that was made all the worse by having to maintain a cool, calm outward facade for the world in general and Hudson in particular. She talked, she ate, she drank, she moved her arms and legs, and had even managed the (Kid smile and spot of cheerful repartee when they'd taken their leave of Hassan and his family, but inside she was bleeding and raw and without hope.

  She didn't know how Hudson was feeling. Earlier that morning, when he had emerged from the bathroom clean-shaven and showered, she had immediately scuttled in with her clothes and make-up and hadn't emerged until she was groomed and ready to face him.

  She had expected… She hadn't really known what she expected, she reflected now as a taxi took them back to their original hotel where they had left most of their belongings, but it hadn't been this coldly pleasant, inscrutable stranger at the side of her. He had been cool and helpful when he had suggested he telephone the airport in Tangier and arrange a flight home to London for her before they had left Hassan's home, solicitous for her comfort during the journey—if remote—and calm and agreeable to the change of their plans at all times, and yet… She didn't have a clue as to how he was really feeling. The mask he wore so often in his chosen profession was very firmly in place.

  'May I have your address in London?' His voice was courteous and distant—the sort of voice one used when asking something which was expected by the other party, but not particularly desired by the one asking.

  And its very remoteness enabled Marianne to say, with an aplomb she was amazed at, 'I don't think so.'

  'As you will.' The taxi came to a halt outside the hotel as he spoke, and as Marianne stepped into the dull, hot, sluggish air she felt a sudden and violent longing for the inclement cool weather she had left behind in England. It had been hot in France when she had first met Hudson an eternity ago, and it was hot now. Suddenly the rain and fog of England took on a poignancy that was painful—spelling out refuge to her exhausted, weary mind.

  'Your flight is at six this evening and it's… ' he consulted the heavy gold watch on his wrist '… almost two now. Would you like me to arrange for a light meal to be served once you've freshened up?'

  'No, no, it's perfectly all right; I'm not hungry,' she said quickly. She couldn't have put into words what his cold courtesy was doing to her, but she knew if she didn't separate herself from him soon she would do or say something she'd regret for the rest of her life. 'I… Thank you very much for the trip.' She stuck out a small hand for him to shake, her face as white as a sheet and her back straight 'It was very good of you.'

  'Good of me?' He took her arm, his fingers absently massaging her wrist as his hand slid down her silky flesh. 'I don't think so,' he said softly as he walked her into Reception. 'Self-indulgent maybe, manipulative even, but not good.'

  She missed her step as her head shot up to see his face, but it was quite expressionless. 'Hudson—'

  'Your taxi will be here within the hour,' he continued evenly. 'So if you would like to use my room in the meantime I'll wait in the coffee lounge. Goodbye, Annie.'

  'Goodbye?' Suddenly the moment of separation was here and she couldn't handle it 'But… Aren't you going to be around? The key… ' She looked down at his room key which he had placed in her fingers moments before.

  'Leave it with Reception.' He bent forward, kissing her lightly and coolly on the forehead, before straightening and smiling as he said, 'Perhaps we'll meet again in another two years; who knows?'

  And then he turned, walking away quickly and decisively without a backward glance and taking her heart with him.

  Marianne showered and changed in the impersonal luxury of Hudson's suite, spending long minutes with her head uplifted to the cool, silky flow of water which erased the burning effect of her hot, salty tears, and was back down in Reception in time for the taxi which arrived promptly at three.

  The tears had alleviated none of the grinding misery that was gripping her throat in a stranglehold, merely increasing the thumping pressure of the headache she had had since first thing that morning. She looked for Hudson in Reception—she couldn't help it—but there was no tall, dark, forbidding man with eyes the colour of stone, just the pretty little receptionist and smiling, pock-marked taxi driver who had already loaded her suitcases into his vehicle. Hudson had finally washed his hands of her—it was over.

  She wanted to cry all the way to the airport but she didn't, gazing out of the grimy taxi window at the bright, sun-drenched changing view beyond, and wondering how on earth she was going to get through the rest of the day—let alone the rest of her life.

  And then, as she stepped into the terminal, he was there in front of her, his grey eyes meeting hers calmly. 'Hudson?' For a second her defences were down and he read everything she felt in her unguarded gaze, before the shutters slammed into place. 'What are you doing here?' She took a deep breath but it was no good; her voice didn't belong to her. 'We… we said goodbye.'

  'I need to talk to you.' He took the cases from her unresisting hands before she had time to pull herself together, marching her over to a quiet corner and sitting her down on a hard plastic bench. 'And I want you to listen to me.'

  'I've got to check in—'

  'You've plenty of time.' He cut through her shaky protest too quickly, his abruptness revealing he wasn't as cool as he appeared. 'It won't take long.'

  'But I thought… You said at the hotel… ' And then she understood. A tactic. Another tactic. He was using everything he had ever learnt to wear her down, and it had nearly succeeded. She hadn't been able to believe the blinding sense of joy when she had seen his face after thinking she would never see him again, and he had planned it, used his knowledge of human weakness, manipulated her again as he'd confessed he'd done before. But somehow, as she met his level gaze, she couldn't be angry. He loved her. It was there in his face. And he was fighting in the only way he knew how—ruthlessly. He would never know how she wished he could succeed.

  'You don't want to hear this but I'm going to say it anyway,' he said flatly. 'Even though I'm probably making a fool of myself for the second time in my life. I don't understand why you left me before and I don't understand why you're leaving me now, but I have never st
opped loving you for one hour, one minute, one second.'

  He took a deep breath, his eyes wretched. 'Now, I thought at one time you didn't care, that it had all been a lie, but I don't think that now. You care, damn it.'

  'Hudson, this will do no good for either of us.' She went to rise but he wouldn't let her, his hands shooting out to take her arms, his grip bruising.

  'Oh, yes, it will, for me at least,' he said grimly. 'There has never been anyone else but you, Annie. Oh, I've had other relationships in the past, some good and some not so good, but none of them touched the core of me. I couldn't believe—' He stopped abruptly, taking a shuddering breath before he continued, 'I couldn't believe how you made me feel, in here.' He touched his chest softly. 'like a kid again, a young boy. I wanted to shout and brag and do ridiculous things to impress you—me, Hudson de Sance, cynical and worldly-wise sceptic that I was. And then you left.' He shook his head slowly, his eyes stormy.

  'I told you, in the letter,' she whispered tremulously, the shaking deep inside her stomach so bad it was making her nauseous. 'I couldn't fit in with what you wanted—'

  He swore, softly but with an intentness that shocked her, before he said, 'No more lies, Annie. If you can't tell me the truth say nothing at all, but no more lies. I don't know what happened that night you promised to marry me, but, whether it was demons from the past or something that occurred then, we can fight it together if you let me in. Damn it, you're not happy, I'm not happy—what have you got to lose?' he asked urgently.

  Me? Nothing. You—everything you've worked for all your life. But she couldn't say it.

  'You'll find someone else.' She stared at him, her eyes huge. 'Like… like Jasmine.' It was unreasonable, wickedly unreasonable, in the circumstances, but the redhead's presence in his life still had the power to unnerve her.

  'Jasmine?' He shook his head slowly. 'Annie, Jasmine is the wife of Idris's cousin, and even if she wasn't I wouldn't touch her with a bargepole. The relationship is, as they say, purely platonic' He eyed her soberly. 'I came to Morocco to see you and you only after I discovered your whereabouts. There was no business trip or planned holiday; I just dropped everything and got my tail out here.'