Fugitive Wife Read online

  He glanced at the tray. ‘Aren’t you eating?’

  ‘Yes. I thought you’d prefer to have yours in here.’

  ‘Then you thought wrong.’ he said. He got up from the table and stretched. ‘I need a break, anyway.’ She had no choice but to turn and retreat back to the living room, where she had laid a place for herself on the table by the window. Reluctantly, she set Logan’s knife and fork in the opposite place, then went to fetch the pie and the vegetables.

  She had been hungry, but having to sit at the same table with him destroyed her appetite. She merely picked at her small portion of pie, and hoped he would not notice. He himself ate heartily, she noticed rather crossly.

  As he took a second helping he said rather drily, ‘I’m sorry if my greed shocks you, Briony, but when I was on the run in Azabia I never knew where my next meal was coming from―or if there was even going to be a next meal.’

  She asked, ‘Exactly how did you get away, Logan?’

  He smiled at her. ‘I’ll give you a signed copy of the book when it comes out. You can read all about it.’

  ‘You’re writing about it, but you don’t want to discuss it?’ she asked wonderingly.

  ‘That’s right.’ He took an apple and cut it into quarters.

  ‘You can call the book an exorcism if you like. I hope it will drive my demons away, but I can’t be sure.’ She stared at him, taking her first good long look.

  Really seeing him for the first time since his return. He was thinner, but she’d noticed that before, and all his features seemed more sharply defined in some odd way, their lines harsher and more prominent, as if they had been recast in some deeper and-more bitter mould. He looks older, she thought, and bleaker, and yet I surely couldn’t have expected him to go through an experience like being on the run with a price on his head and emerge unscathed.

  ‘What are you doing? Seeing if the scars show?’ he asked, and she flushed.

  ‘I suppose so. You’ve―changed.’

  ‘No doubt you feel there was plenty of room for improvement.’ he murmured mockingly. ‘Do you want me to tell you that you’ve changed too?’

  She shrugged silently. She wasn’t sure she wanted him to tell her anything at all about herself. Personal subjects were best avoided in the circumstances, she thought.

  ‘You’re more beautiful, of course,’ he said. ‘But that was to be expected. You’d be lovelier still if you relaxed more. You have a wary, slightly hunted look about you.’

  ‘How strange,’ she said coolly. ‘I was thinking exactly the same about you.’

  ‘But I have every reason to look like that.’ He finished the last of his apple. ‘What’s your excuse?’

  She collected the dirty plates and took them into the kitchen. Logan followed, lounging in the doorway while she ran water into the sink and added washing up liquid. The water was hotter than she’d intended, and she winced slightly as she snatched at the steaming plates and put them in the drying rack.

  ‘You should wear gloves,’ Logan said abruptly. He came across to her side. ‘You’ll spoil your hands .’ His voice brok off and she saw that he was looking at the bareness of her left hand. Briony heard herself swallow.

  In the silence of the kitchen, it seemed a deafening sound.

  He took her hand and studied it. ‘You were wearing it,’ he said half to himself. ‘It was one of the first things I noticed as you came down the stairs that first night in London. And now you’re not. Why?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ She twisted out of his grasp, reaching for a towel to dry her hands, making sure there was several feet of space between them.

  ‘Of course it bloody matters! While you thought you were a widow you wore your ring. Now you know that you’re still a wife, you’ve taken it off. It makes no sense.’

  She shrugged again. ‘Perhaps I wore it out of respect ―or habit. I really can’t remember.’ But she’d been aware of it all the time, she thought, and more than aware of how much Christopher and her father hated seeing it on her hand. She had supposed that if she accepted Christopher’s proposal and his ring, then she would transfer Logan’s wedding ring to her other hand. ‘But wearing it now would be sheer hypocrisy,’ she went on, lifting her chin as she met his narrowed gaze. ‘I’m not your wife, Logan, and I never have been. We went through a ceremony together, that was all.’

  ‘Don’t you dare say that was all!’ The aquamarine eyes were blazing now. ‘I remember, even if you don’t, how it was with us as we drove here that day. God in heaven, Briony, you melted into my arms, and your mouth tasted like all the roses that have ever been since the beginning of time.’

  ‘Please stop it,’ she said sharply. There’s no point in talking like that. We were different people then.’

  He said quietly, ‘I don’t think the changes have been all that fundamental.’

  She read his intention in his face and tried to duck past him, out of the kitchen. She had some vague notion of locking herself into her room, but it was too late.

  Logan had been strong before, but now his muscles felt like whipcord as he dragged her into his arms.

  She gasped chokingly, imploringly, ‘No―you mustn’t. ’

  Then all further protests were wiped away as his mouth took hers. Bracing her hands against his chest, she tried with all her might to push him away, but it was useless, and all she achieved was a disturbing awareness of the warmth of his body through the wool sweater. His mouth teased subtly, sliding along her lips, coaxing them apart, then possessed, exploring the contours of her mouth with deliberate sensuality, drinking her sweetness, draining her until the kitchen seemed to swing in a dizzying arc, and she closed her eyes, lost to everything but Logan, the scent and the feel of him.

  He had been holding her half-pinioned in his arms so mat she could not struggle or take flight. But now his hands moved, sliding down over the smooth rounded line of her hips, urging her body forward until it ground against his in yet another form of kiss.

  He said hoarsely against her mouth, ‘Touch me, Briony. For God’s sake, I need to feel your hands on me.’

  She slid her hands under his sweater. His body felt hard, the muscles taut across his chest and abdomen, but his skin was like silk and she caressed it with her fingertips, tracing out a teasing pathway of her own across his ribs, and up to his shoulders, then lightly across his shoulder blades and down the arch of his spinal column.

  He groaned softly, pleasurably, and kissed her again, long and lingeringly as if the softness of her lips was some previously unexplored terrain which he proposed to chart in full. His hands pushed the sweater away from the waistband of her jeans, and moved upwards, their sensuous progress impeded only for the second it took him to deal with the clip fastening of her bra. Free of their restraint, her breasts swelled, eager for his hands to cup them, his mouth to take whatever toll of her he wished.

  A sudden shudder ran through her as she realised exactly the path she was travelling with him so willingly.

  She forced her eyes open, as if she was waking from a drugged sleep.

  ‘No.’ she managed. She took a step backwards away from him. ‘Just stop right there!’

  Logan said huskily, ‘You don’t want to stop, Briony, any more than I do. The difference in us is the same as it’s always been. You’re female and I’m male.’ She took another step backwards and he watched, his brows drawing together angrily.

  He said, ‘Briony, you’re my wife, and I want you.’

  She said, forcing herself to calmness and control, t.’ I supposed to feel flattered?’ She shook her head. ‘ lf I was anyone’s wife, and we were stuck together in a cottage out in the wilds, you’d want me. I’m not the little innocent I was in such matters, Logan. I don t believe m the one man-one woman bit any more, for which I have you to thank.’

  ‘I suppose you know what you are talking about, because I’m damned if I do!’ His voice was harsh. He was fighting for his self-control and against his anger, she guessed.

/>   ‘It’s not important.’ She hesitated. ‘You wanted to know why I’m not wearing your ring. It’s because I’ve met someone else. I’m engaged to him.’ There was a long silence. It crackled along her nerve endings, and she stared down at the floor, not daring to look up and see what was in his face.

  At last he’d said, ‘I’d say the engagement was a little premature. You’re supposed to dispose of one husband before moving on to the next.’

  ‘That’s understood, of course.’ She moved her shoulders nervously. ‘1―1 wouldn’t actually announce anything until the divorce goes through in a year or so.’

  ‘Or more.’ he said coolly. ‘Depending whether or not I agree to it.’

  She did look up then, her eyes indignant. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You take a lot for granted, sweet wife.’ he said. ‘You mention divorce and assume my consent.’

  Her heart was thudding slow and heavy against her ribs. She said, ‘This is ridiculous! You must want to be free as much as I do.’

  ‘Eventually, maybe.’ He smiled, but not a pleasant smile, Her mouth went dry. ‘But please don’t bandy the word “free” about in my presence. I’ve learned only recently just how precious a commodity it is, and our views on it might not coincide.’

  ‘I see.’ Her growing nervousness made her reckless. ‘Well, perhaps I won’t bother about a divorce, after all. Perhaps I’ll go for an annulment, as I originally intended.’

  ‘On the grounds of non-consummation, I take it.’ His smile widened. ‘You do take a lot for granted, my sweet. As you reminded me. we’re a man and a woman stuck together in a cottage in the wilds, and I’ve already demonstrated the fact that I want you. So don’t rely on my latent chivalry to protect you. I’m guaranteeing nothing.’

  Briony drew a long shaking breath. ‘Well, at least we know where we stand,’ she said, and walked past him out of the kitchen.

  All the way across the living room, along the hall and up the stairs, she was listening, her nerves jumping in panic for the sound of him coming after her, but she was still alone when she reached her room,pushing the door closed behind her, and sagging in relief against its elderly panels, trying to steady her ragged breathing.

  Presently she reached down behind her, her fingers searching for the key. It would only provide her with a fragile barricade, but it was better than nothing, and it would give her sadly dented morale a boost. But all she found was an empty lock.

  She turned disbelievingly and stared at the door, but only to confirm the bad news her seeking fingers had already conveyed. The key had gone.

  But it had been there the night before, she knew it had.

  Logan, she thought, and her hand crept up to touch her cheek. He had been up here, probably while she was making that damned pie, and taken the key from the door.

  So everything which had happened between them in the kitchen had been carefully planned, she thought furiously, and the theft of the key was extra insurance just in case he hadn’t been able to instantly seduce his way into her room.

  The accusation that she had flung at him that any woman would do under the circumstances had been deliberately aimed to hurt him, but it had rebounded on her. There was no other woman but herself, and he had made quite sure that he had uninterrupted access to her, and that she knew it.

  She went across to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, wrapping her arms defensively across her body.

  She had no other defences against him. He had proved that more than conclusively just now when she had been unable to hide the yearning that his kisses and caresses had woken in her body.

  And she knew that if he’d said he loved her, and not merely that he wanted her, she would have been his for the taking.

  It was twilight when she heard his footsteps on the stairs.

  She tensed involuntarily, hoping that he would walk past on his way to the bathroom. but her door opened, and Logan stood there, a dimly seen figure in the gathering darkness.

  He said, ‘This room’s like the interior of an iceberg. There’s a good fire and some supper waiting for you downstairs.’ There was a pause, then he said roughly, ‘Are you going to walk, or do I have to carry you?’

  Briony stood up, stretching her cramped limbs. ‘I can walk, thank you.’ she said coolly and distinctly.

  ‘Then do so.’ His tone matched hers.

  The living room had never appeared so cheerful. The curtains were drawn and the fire was roaring up the chimney. The lamps had been lit, but not the overhead light, which added to the intimacy of the atmosphere.

  ‘Egg and chips,’ Logan said briefly, and put them in front of her. ‘And you damned well eat them. I saw the way you picked at your lunch, and I’ve no wish to end up with a sick girl on my hands. I’m here to work, in case you’d forgotten.’

  In case she’d forgotten! She was stunned by the injustice of the remark, but her reply was hampered by a mouthful of chips. Logan went back to the kitchen and fetched his own plateful. She watched him covertly as she ate. The subdued lighting in the room heightened his already deep tan, making his face look dark and remote.

  He seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, and she could only hope that she was not the subject of them.

  She finished every scrap of the egg and chips, and followed them with two cups of coffee and three Chocolate biscuits. Logan lifted a sardonic eyebrow.

  ‘I’m pleased to see that you’re not concerned with dieting like most women,’ he remarked.

  Most women? Did Karen Wellesley have to watch the carbohydrates in order to preserve her elegant figure?

  Briony wondered, and felt her fingers curl into claws at the thought.

  She was going to wash the dishes, but Logan waved her away. ‘You did the lunch,’ he said. ‘We’ll share the chores and meal-getting. Do you want some more coffee?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It might keep me awake,’ she said, and could have bitten her tongue out. She’d intended to expunge even the remotest reference to bedtime from her conversation. Her face flamed, and Logan gave her a long, dry look before returning to the kitchen.

  She was huddled in her chair by the fire, watching the dancing flames rather unhappily when he returned.

  ‘Down to basics,’ he said. ‘Do you play chess?’

  She was startled. ‘I know the moves.’

  ‘That’s something,’ he approved. ‘Poker?’

  ‘No―I’ve never .’

  ‘I’ll teach you.’ He reached into one of the cupboards beside the hearth and brought out a chessboard and a box of pieces. He saw her faintly startled expression and sent her a sardonic smile. ‘Innocent diversions, my sweet, to help pass the long winter evenings. Unless you have other plans? No, I thought not.’ He handed her the white queen. ‘Rather appropriate, don’t you think?’

  He was a stern teacher, she discovered, with little patience for wandering concentration or ill-thought-out moves. She had played only rarely, largely because her father did not care for chess, but by the end of the evening something of the game’s fascination had begun to grip her.

  ‘I enjoyed that,’ she confessed as Logan packed the pieces away in the box.

  ‘We aim to please.’ He stood up. ‘Sure about that coffee?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  He nodded abruptly and went into the kitchen. Presently he returned, carrying a tumbler which he held out to her.

  ‘Warm milk,’ he said briefly. ‘The perfect soporific, or so I understand―with a dash of whisky to distinguish it from baby food. Make the most of it, because we’ll be down .to the powdered stuff before too long if this weather holds up.’

  ‘Is it still snowing.’ She took the tumbler and sipped appreciatively.

  ‘No, but it’s freezing hard.’ He took the chair on the opposite side of the hearth, stretching out his long legs to the fire. He looked weary, suddenly, and oddly grim too.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Briony asked.

  ‘About how hot it was in
Azabia,’ he said. ‘I never thought I’d see another English winter. Even this blizzard has seemed like a miracle after that hot, stinking, fly-encrusted hellhole.’ He gave a faint laugh.

  ‘Paradoxical, isn’t it? It’s a confirmation of freedom for me, and a prison for you. And talking of prisons―’

  he felt in his pocket and produced something which he tossed over to her. She found herself looking down at the key to her bedroom. ‘This is yours.’

  ‘But I thought—’ she began, then stopped.

  ‘You were meant to think,’ he said tiredly. ‘But what’s the point? You’ve found another man, and you were honest enough to tell me so. If I took you to bed, I’d be cheating him, and while that might give me some pleasure, I’d also be cheating myself at the same time. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?’