His Wedding-Night Heir (Wedlocked!) Page 11

  Yet how wrong could anyone be? Because here she was, back at Wylstone—and on his terms, not hers.

  Living with him, sharing his bed, and ultimately giving him a child. Those were the requirements she had to fulfil. And she would need every scrap of icy indifference that she could conjure up merely to survive.

  Because, in spite of everything Nick had done, and all the reasons he’d given her to hate him, Cally was not sure, even now, that she could wholly trust herself where he was concerned.

  In fact, she realised that she could be on the verge of a totally catastrophic self-betrayal.

  From the moment they’d met she’d been aware of a dark, bewildered excitement stirring deep within her. Every time he’d looked at her, or smiled or spoken, it had seemed as if a silken thread was drawing her ever deeper into a maze of confused emotion she was too inexperienced to understand.

  And the terrible damning truth was that nothing had changed.

  It had been that day by the river when she’d first acknowledged his potential power over her. It had not, however, been the first time she was aware of it, but her consciousness had been submerged by all the sudden, overwhelming changes which had overtaken her.

  The shock of her grandfather’s death had been enough to cope with. And then she’d found herself knocked sideways with the news of the financial morass he’d left behind. She’d still been stunned and grieving when Nick had asked her to marry him—except that his quiet, contained words had been less a proposal than a statement of intent, which had told her there was no need to be frightened of the future, because he would look after her.

  She’d found herself longing with utter thankfulness to throw herself into his arms and feel them holding her in safety against the world. Just when everything seemed lost, all the dreams she’d ever had were coming true. She hadn’t been able to see further than that.

  She’d allowed him to take charge, making no demur when he suggested that in view of her recent bereavement they should have a completely private early-morning wedding, with the vicar’s wife and the verger as their only witnesses.

  No Adele, she’d thought, her heart lifting. Just the two of us.

  But, however quiet the ceremony, she’d still been determined to wear a special dress, and she’d found one in a Clayminster boutique, designed simply in plain ivory silk, short-sleeved, with a soft swirling skirt and a V-necked bodice fastened by a row of tiny-silk covered buttons.

  And Nick, in turn, had insisted on a traditional honeymoon, even if it meant working long hours to clear his desk in preparation.

  In the fortnight leading up to the wedding she’d hardly seen him at all, so it had been a major surprise when he’d arrived at the flat one sunlit afternoon, only a couple of days before the ceremony, and announced he was taking her on a picnic.

  It had occurred to her, as she changed into shorts and a white cotton shirt, that this was the first time since he’d proposed to her that they would be alone together for any length of time, and she’d felt her throat close in excitement and trepidation.

  He’d found them a sheltered spot under a tree, a few yards from the water’s edge, and spread out a rug and cushions. The food had been simple enough—cold chicken, crusty bread, cheese, fruit and a bottle of wine—but Cally had thought she’d never tasted anything so wonderful.

  Nick, stretched out beside her, had been relaxed and unalarming, his grey eyes warm with laughter as he chatted to her about everything and nothing, making her forget her shyness as she responded to him.

  ‘I think we should drink a toast,’ he said at last. He filled her glass with wine and handed it to her. ‘To us. Soon to be man and wife.’

  She tried to raise her glass with similar smiling insouciance, but suddenly the significance of what marriage to him was going to mean came home to her, and her hand jerked nervously, disastrously, sending most of the wine down the front of her shirt.

  ‘Oh God, I’m so clumsy.’ She grabbed at a napkin, but his hand took her wrist and held it. She saw his grey gaze turn smoky, and, glancing down, saw what he was seeing. The damp shirt was clinging to the delicate uplift of one rounded untrammelled breast, outlining the nipple—revealing her as if she were naked.

  ‘Cally.’ His whisper of her name was husky. He moved, taking the dripping glass from her hand, pulling her into his arms. His mouth brushed hers lightly and sweetly, the tip of his tongue exploring the curve of her lower lip, probing gently, while the long fingers encompassed her breast with a sensuous purpose that sparked an answering tremulous ache deep within her.

  Helplessly, she felt her nipple rise and harden under the stroke of his thumb, and her head fell back against his supporting arm, allowing his lips to travel down the line of her throat to the opening of her shirt. Tantalisingly, he allowed them to hover there for a long moment, the warmth of his tongue caressing the cleft between her breasts as if he was sipping the spilled wine from her skin.

  Then he moved back, to put his mouth to hers, parting her lips with pleasurable mastery. His kiss was deep and unashamedly sensual, and her body arched against his in involuntary response, her breast thrusting avidly against the subtle play of his fingers.

  Still kissing her, he slid his hand down to her bent leg, caressing her bare knee then sliding upwards with aching slowness over her thigh to the edge of her brief shorts, where he paused. She felt the breath catch in her throat as the moment became endless—unendurable. As her ungiven body clenched suddenly in a need she’d never experienced before.

  ‘Darling.’ He raised his head to look down at her. There was a note in his voice she’d never heard before either. A look in his eyes she’d never seen, making her weak—molten with longing. ‘My beautiful girl…’

  He bent to kiss her again, then tensed, turning his head sharply and listening. And Cally heard it too—in the distance, but fast approaching—the high-pitched barking of a dog.

  Nick sat up, pushing the dishevelled hair back from his forehead, then lifting Cally so that her back was against the trunk of the tree. He handed her back her glass. ‘We seem to have a visitor,’ he said, his voice laconic.

  The dog, a Jack Russell terrier, came bundling across the grass towards them, his stump of a tail wagging furiously. He paused a few feet away, still yapping excitedly, then sat up, waving his paws in the air.

  Cally could hear voices calling, and someone whistled, but the dog stayed where he was, bright eyes fixed on the remains of the picnic.

  ‘So you have to be paid to go away, is that it?’ Nick sounded amused. He tore off a piece of chicken and tossed it to the dog, who wolfed it down eagerly. ‘Now clear off,’ he added. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you appalling mutt.’

  The dog gave the food another long, regretful look, before deciding to reluctantly obey the increasingly agitated whistling and trotting off.

  Silence returned, but it had changed to a different kind of quietude. The bark of the tree felt rough through Cally’s thin shirt as she leaned against it, eyes closed, attempting to control her breathing. And to hide, she realised, her sick disappointment. Because the moment had passed, and she knew it with a pang of utter desolation.

  As if in unspoken confirmation, Nick’s hand touched her cheek lightly, fleetingly. He said gently, ‘I think it’s time I took you home.’

  ‘Yes.’ She forced a smile, brightness into her voice. ‘It—it’s getting late.’ She knelt, helping to pack the hamper, avoiding looking at him directly.

  When they reached the Hall, Nick accompanied her across the courtyard to the door of her flat, and she felt herself tense as she lifted the latch, wondering whether he would ask to come in. And, if so, whether he would stay…

  But she was soon disabused of that notion.

  ‘I’ll say au revoir,’ he told her almost abruptly. ‘I’m driving up to London this evening. I have a few loose ends to tie up.’ He took her hand, brushing its knuckles in a swift kiss, even the gesture seeming to distance him. ‘So—see you i
n church.’

  She smiled, and nodded, and went inside, closing the door. Deep within her she was still shaking, her body an ache of yearning. She leaned back against the heavy panels of the door and closed her eyes.

  ‘Two days,’ she whispered, touching her fingertips to the sensitised fullness of her lower lip. ‘Only two days…’

  Oh, God, Cally thought now, with sudden violence. How many more times must I remember? Nick—my almost lover.

  And how cruel that those few hours were her most vivid memory, every detail as sharp-cut in her mind as if it had happened minutes rather than months before.

  But perhaps in this instance she needed total recall, she thought. Needed to remind herself how quickly she’d fallen under his spell, and how easily he could have seduced her.

  Something Nick might well have thought of, too. And this time he’d make sure they weren’t interrupted.

  Shivering, Cally moved away from the balustrade and descended the steps to the lawn.

  She’d asked herself a thousand times why he’d even bothered. He’d already been involved with a beautiful, experienced woman, so her innocence could hardly have constituted a turn-on for him.

  But perhaps he’d planned the whole incident to test her capacity for arousal, she thought. To discover how much pleasure he could expect from his enforced nights with his brand-new wife.

  That afternoon by the river, she would have given herself to him with total completeness, holding nothing back. And he knew that, she told herself, biting her lip.

  I should have taken you while I had the chance. His own cynical words. And he would soon find out how right he’d been.

  Because now she had to make some plans of her own. To make him understand in the bleakest terms that she wasn’t the same person any more, and he was no longer her hero, riding to her rescue.

  She had to reject the kisses and caresses that belonged to someone else and fight him, tooth and nail, to maintain her integrity.

  All he would possess was the shell of the girl she’d once been. Nothing more.

  And somehow, somewhere, she would hide all traces of the long, lonely hunger for him that still burned within her.

  However he used her, that was something that Nick Tempest could never be allowed to know. And she shivered at the prospect of all the long nights ahead of her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IN SPITE of her inner turmoil, Cally was unable to ignore the beauty of her surroundings for long. She had to admit that the grounds were looking at their best, poised on the verge of summer, and the scent of the grass and newly turned earth brought a kind of peace.

  But only for a while. As she wandered restlessly across the lawns, the sun warm on her back, she found herself imagining that the past months had rolled away as if they’d never existed, and Nick was walking beside her, his fingers laced with hers, talking softly, his mouth and eyes smiling as sometimes he paused to kiss her. The way she’d once dreamed it might be.

  Crazy, she thought, giving herself a mental shake. I’m going completely crazy. Living in never-never land.

  As she reached the formal garden she saw that an elderly man was working with a hoe on one of the borders, and he straightened, beaming, as she approached. ‘Good to see you, Miss Caroline. Beg pardon—Lady Tempest, I should say,’ he added hastily.

  Cally smiled back. ‘Miss Caroline is just fine, Mr Robins. I can’t get used to anything else. But I didn’t know you were working at Wylstone.’

  He looked faintly embarrassed. ‘Six months or more now, your ladyship, and I’ve two lads to train as well. Things move on, you know, and a lot of the people I used to work for, like your grandpa, aren’t here any more, so I’m glad of the security.’ He nodded. ‘He’s a good man to work for, Sir Nicholas.’ He paused. ‘On your way to the stables, I dare say?’

  ‘Oh—er—yes,’ said Cally, her mind on other things. A good man to work for… Was that a way of surviving the months to come? she wondered wryly. To regard herself somehow as just another employee of a generous boss?

  Maybe it was—if she could only keep her wayward and futile dreams safely under control, she thought, suppressing an unhappy sigh.

  She said goodbye, and found herself turning towards the stables. She’d not planned a visit there, but it was either that or return to the house. And she wasn’t ready for that. Or not yet.

  There was no one about in the yard, and she followed the worn track down to the paddock, shading her eyes against the sun, which was sinking towards the treetops now.

  There were three horses turned out in the field. Two were grazing quietly together, and the third stood alone in the far corner, head down, tail swishing wearily against marauding flies.

  Cally, resting her arms on the fence rail, stared across at the solitary horse. There was something about him, she thought with bewilderment—his stance, maybe, or his colour—that was strangely familiar.

  As if aware of her scrutiny, he lifted his head and began to move towards her across the paddock, his speed increasing as he approached, whickering softly. And, she’d swear, joyfully.

  Which was when she knew for certain. And the world blurred.

  ‘Baz,’ she whispered chokingly. ‘Baz, my beauty—my wonderful old boy.’

  As she climbed the fence to get to him, her dress caught on a splinter and she wrenched it free, uncaring. She stood beside him, her wet face buried in his neck, one hand stroking his muzzle as he lovingly nosed her shoulder and arm, waiting for the expected treats as if it was only yesterday that they’d parted.

  ‘I’ve nothing with me.’ She was laughing through her tears. ‘No carrot, no apple. Because I—didn’t know.’

  I have a wedding present for you…

  The one gift that Nick knew she could not refuse. Dear God, but he was clever, she thought shakily.

  She climbed on to the middle rung of the fence and swung herself on to Baz’s back, holding his mane as she encouraged him to amble gently round the perimeter of the paddock.

  The circuit was almost completed when Cally saw a girl standing at the gate, watching anxiously.

  ‘Lady Tempest?’ she asked as Cally brought Baz to a halt and slid to the ground. ‘I’m Lorna Barton, the groom. I’m so sorry. I should have been here, but I thought you weren’t coming after all, so I went up to the house for a cup of tea.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t planned. As you see, I’m hardly dressed for riding.’ Cally indicated her torn dress with a faint grimace. ‘It was more of a happy reunion.’

  Lorna’s face relaxed. ‘He’s a grand old lad, isn’t he? But never exciting enough for that riding school.’ She shook her head. ‘A couple of lessons and they all thought they were three-day eventers and wanted rides to match. So poor old Baz was surplus to requirements. I don’t know what would have happened if Sir Nicholas hadn’t found him, because no one was bothering with him.’

  Cally hesitated. ‘When was that, exactly?’

  ‘About a year ago, and Sir Nicholas hired me to come with him.’ Her rosy face acquired a deeper hue. ‘He bought Baz for you, Lady Tempest, or so I understood. Only…’

  ‘Only I wasn’t here,’ Cally supplied calmly. ‘However, I’m back now, and I’ll be exercising him regularly.’ She paused. ‘I presume he’s up to it?’ she added cautiously. ‘He looks so much older.’

  ‘He had a bad time in Yorkshire,’ the other girl said sadly. ‘And the vet’s not totally happy about him even now. But he likes to be ridden, as long as it’s not too far or too fast.’

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ Cally nodded. ‘And I’ll see you tomorrow.’ She ran a caressing hand down Baz’s neck. ‘Both of you.’

  And now, she thought as she walked away, the breath catching in her throat, she would have to find Nick and thank him. She could do nothing else.

  His study was at the back of the house. Cally knocked at the door, and waited until she was told to enter.

  Nick was sitting behind a large oak desk, operating a laptop with frowni
ng concentration. His tie was gone, and his white shirt was open at the neck, the sleeves turned back over his tanned forearms. He did not look up and his voice held a touch of impatience. ‘Yes?’

  She said, ‘I just took delivery of my wedding present.’

  His head lifted sharply. His grey gaze scanned her, taking in the flushed cheeks, the brilliance of excitement in her eyes, lingering over the ripped skirt.

  He said, after a pause, ‘You said you weren’t interested.’

  She shook her head. ‘I just never dreamed…’ Her voice thickened, and she swallowed. ‘It’s so wonderful to see Baz again, and Lorna says you pretty much saved his life. How—how did you find him?’

  ‘You asked me to go through your grandfather’s papers after his death. I found the bill of sale amongst them.’

  ‘And you didn’t say a word?’

  He shrugged. ‘No, but I remembered how upset you were, and I wanted to surprise you—make you happy.’ He gave her a level look. ‘But, as you know, I was the one destined for the surprise.’

  She thought of the way he’d held her that day beside the empty field—comforted her—and, in spite of herself—felt her skin warm.

  She bit her lip. ‘Yes—well. I—I don’t know how to thank you.’

  Nick pushed back his chair and stood up, walking round the desk.

  His voice slowed to a drawl. ‘Now, I can think of any number of ways.’ He leaned back casually against the edge of the desk and held out a hand. ‘Come here.’

  She supposed she should have expected it, but, stupidly, she hadn’t.

  Sudden nervousness knotted in the pit of her stomach. She said too quickly, ‘You’re busy. I—I shouldn’t have interrupted.’

  ‘There’s nothing that can’t wait.’ He waited too, then sighed. ‘Cally, don’t make me fetch you.’

  Reluctantly, she crossed the room and stood in front of him, looking down at the carpet. Nick reached out and took the hand she didn’t offer, and then the other, drawing her towards him between his legs until their bodies touched.