His Wedding-Night Heir (Wedlocked!) Read online

  In physical terms she knew what to anticipate, of course, although it was all theory without practice. And while she might resent the idea of his body invading hers, it wasn’t particularly scaring. No, it was that extra emotional dimension that haunted her, made her curse her inexperience.

  Not passion, she thought sombrely. That was too much for him to ask and he must know that. But certainly he would want…acquiescence, at the very least, and there was no certainty she could achieve that.

  She sat down at the dressing table, drawing the brush through the silky tendrils of her hair before applying moisturiser to her skin and a touch of subtle colour to her mouth.

  Warpaint, she thought with self-derision, wishing she had some chainmail to go with it.

  She hesitated on the gallery leading to the stairs. All this part of the Hall was new to her. The room she’d occupied after the fire, while her grandfather had been kept in hospital, initially for observation, was at the other end of the house. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to find it again in the twists and turns of the passages. Or that she even wanted to…

  But she couldn’t halt the relentless pressure of her memories.

  On the night of the fire Adele’s welcome, she recalled with a grimace, had been sugared, but her eyes had been unsmiling. And there had been no warmth either from the housekeeper who’d showed her upstairs.

  It’s not my fault, Cally had wanted to tell them both. She’d actually reached the hospital exit before she was stopped dead in her tracks by the realisation that her home didn’t exist any more—or any of her belongings. That she had literally nowhere to go.

  Nick’s hand had closed on her arm. ‘You’re coming with me,’ he’d stated, in a tone that brooked no argument, and almost meekly she’d allowed him to lead her to the car.

  He must have telephoned ahead from Casualty, because the room had already been made up for her, and hot soup had been waiting on a table drawn up by the gas fire.

  And Cally, to her own surprise, had found she was ravenous.

  She’d just put down her spoon when Adele had appeared.

  ‘I’ve brought you a comb and a toothbrush,’ she announced, handing over two cellophane-wrapped packets. ‘And I suppose you’ll need a nightgown.’ She tossed something black and totally diaphanous on to the bed.

  ‘Thank you,’ Cally acknowledged woodenly, hiding her dismay. ‘I’m sorry to put you to all this trouble.’

  Adele shrugged. ‘It’s Nick’s house now. He gives the orders. And being homeless must be ghastly.’ She paused. ‘If you leave your clothes outside the door, they’ll be laundered ready for the morning. You can’t wear them again like that. They absolutely reek of smoke.’ She perched elegantly on the arm of the small fireside chair opposite. ‘I suppose tomorrow you’ll start looking for somewhere to rent, while all the financial stuff gets sorted?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I will,’ said Cally, who couldn’t look beyond the next five minutes. There’d be insurance, she thought. But could they afford to rebuild? Shouldn’t they be trying to down-size instead? And could she ever persuade Grandfather to agree?

  But she didn’t want to think about that now. Her eyes were stinging, her throat was dry, and her head felt as if it had been split with an axe. Unconsciously, she lifted a tired hand to rub her forehead.

  ‘Headache, my pet?’ Adele’s tone sparked with malice. ‘Well that’s a tried and tested excuse. But I doubt it will cut much ice with your gallant rescuer.’

  Cally looked at her wearily. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think I understand.’

  ‘No?’ Adele gave a light laugh. ‘Well, I’m sure it will all be made clear to you pretty soon. In the meantime, I recommend a couple of aspirin. You’ll find some in the bathroom cupboard.’

  She rose and walked to the door with studied grace, leaving Cally to stare after her.

  She shouldn’t waste time worrying over the things Adele said or did, she told herself as she sought out the bathroom and the aspirin. The older woman was pure bitch, from her painted toenails to the top of her expensively coiffured head, and always would be. She was only sorry she was obliged to share a roof with her, even for one night.

  The tablets swallowed, she ran herself a bath in the big old-fashioned tub, and sank with a sigh into clean hot water. She’d used nearly half a bar of lily-scented soap and a handful of shampoo before she began to feel human again.

  She might not be too happy about being a guest at the Hall, but she was certainly going to be unhappy in luxury, she decided, looking at the deep pile of white fluffy towels awaiting her. She dried herself quickly, then wrapped a fresh bathsheet round her body, sarong-style, and covered her damp hair with a turban.

  She trailed back into her room, and paused with a small gasp—because Nick was there, standing by the bed, examining Adele’s nightdress with a sardonic expression.

  ‘Your choice?’ he enquired pleasantly, holding it up, making her acutely aware how sheer it was.

  ‘Oh, no.’ She was cross to find herself stammering slightly, and self-consciously readjusting her towel. ‘I don’t wear that kind of thing. I—I think Lady Tempest meant to be kind.’

  ‘But not necessarily to you,’ Nick said softly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ She was defensive.

  ‘Don’t be naïve, sweetheart,’ he drawled. ‘I imagine she thought you’d be wearing it for me.’ And he watched the betraying wave of colour wash her face.

  ‘But don’t worry about it,’ he added. ‘I’ll return it to her and try to find you something more appropriate. And tomorrow you can go shopping.’

  He paused. ‘However, what I really came to say is that the fire is now out, and the firemen have managed to salvage a big tin container from what’s left of the dining room.’

  ‘Oh—Grandfather’s strong box!’ She seized thankfully on the shift of focus. ‘That—that’s marvellous. It’s got all his private papers in it, plus our passports, our birth certificates, the insurance documents. Everything. He’ll be so relieved.’

  He nodded. ‘Now, try and get some sleep. It will all seem better in the morning.’

  ‘Nick,’ she said, as he reached the door. ‘About tonight—I don’t know how to thank you…’

  ‘Now, I can think of all kinds of ways,’ he said mockingly. He held up the nightdress. ‘Perhaps I should ask you to model this for me, after all. Except that you have a lot on your mind right now, and I’d prefer your undivided attention.’

  He watched her blush deepen angrily, and went off grinning.

  Alone, Cally removed the turban and towelled her hair almost savagely. Adele might be vile, she thought, but Nick was no better. At one moment he could be so kind. Almost caring. The next he’d be hateful and teasing, putting her at a disadvantage and enjoying her embarrassment.

  But perhaps it was safer that way, she told herself, biting her lip. Wasn’t that why she’d tried to move to London—because she’d let herself hope that he cared about her in all the ways that mattered, and had come perilously near to making a total fool of herself?

  She couldn’t let that happen again.

  Yet when a knock sounded at the door, some ten minutes later, she froze, wondering whether he’d stopped teasing and decided to return after all. And, if so, how she could best deal with it.

  Dry-mouthed, she called, ‘Come in…’

  But it was only Mrs Bridges, looking boot-faced. ‘I came for the dishes, miss,’ she said. ‘And Sir Nicholas sent you this.’ She held out the man’s white shirt that had been folded over her arm. ‘He told me to say that it only came from Jermyn Street yesterday, so it’s never been worn,’ she added coldly.

  ‘Oh.’ Cally said. She took the shirt. ‘Well—thank him for me, please.’

  When the housekeeper had gone, she unwound the towel and undid enough buttons to enable her to pull the shirt over her head, shivering a little as she felt the crisp fabric graze the tips of her breasts and brush her naked thighs.

  The slee
ves were covering her hands, so she rolled them back a little, then turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She saw a girl with a pale face and dishevelled hair. Whose long bare legs under the formal lines of the shirt presented a strangely erotic image.

  A girl whose shadowed eyes hid a secret she could not tell.

  For a moment she allowed herself to wish that the shirt wasn’t brand-new, but something Nick had worn. Something that might still bear the imprint of his body, or carry the scent of his skin in its fibres, so that for this one night she could pretend she was sleeping in his arms.

  But that, she told herself, would be the greatest foolishness of all.

  Sighing, she switched off the light and got into bed, and lay for a long time staring into a darkness that scared her by its loneliness.

  ‘Lady Tempest?’ Mrs Thurston’s quiet voice brought Cally back to the present with a start. She spun round to see the other woman standing a few feet away. Clearly she’d been too lost in her painful memories to hear her approach. ‘I’m sorry if I startled you, but I wanted to say that I’ve taken the tea into the drawing room.’

  ‘Yes—yes, of course.’ Cally mustered her thoughts and managed a smile. ‘I was just trying to get my bearings—remember where I stayed when I first came here.’

  Mrs Thurston looked puzzled. ‘Excuse me, your ladyship, but I thought you lived in our flat.’

  ‘That was later.’ Cally led the way downstairs. ‘When it became clear that my grandfather wasn’t coming out of hospital.’ She paused. ‘I hope you find it as comfortable as I did.’

  The other woman’s face lit up. ‘We couldn’t be happier, your ladyship.’ She paused awkwardly. ‘But of course this has been a bachelor establishment up to now. You’ll naturally be wanting to make changes.’

  ‘Not for the foreseeable future,’ Cally said, and smiled at her.

  When she entered the drawing room, she discovered Adele was sitting alone, flicking through a magazine with undisguised boredom.

  Cally checked in dismay. She didn’t want to deal with the other woman alone. ‘Where’s Nick?’

  ‘He decided not to be entertaining after all. He went off to take some phone call in his study and hasn’t come back.’ Adele’s tone was short. ‘He seems out of temper, Caroline dear. Perhaps he’s finding this persistent virginity of yours a tad trying.’

  Don’t rise to the bait, Cally adjured herself, inspecting the tea table instead. There were tiny cucumber sandwiches, cut into triangles, plus a plate of scones, accompanied by dishes of jam and cream, and a tiered stand bearing a rich fruit cake, a Victoria sponge, and some shortbread.

  Mrs Thurston seemed to be a treasure indeed, she thought gratefully.

  She poured Adele’s tea, with a slice of the requested lemon, and added milk to her own cup, then sat back taking an appraising look around her.

  It was all entirely different. The heavy wallpaper had been replaced by a creamy paint, and large comfortable sofas, their linen covers the colour of sand, had superseded the old-fashioned dark leather suite. Pale drapes hung at the long windows, and instead of the dreary carpet there were stripped and polished floorboards and Persian rugs. It was as if there’d been an explosion of light.

  ‘Counting all the changes?’ Adele asked, taking a sandwich. ‘It’ll take a long time.’

  Cally shook her head almost wonderingly. ‘The room seems to have doubled in size.’

  ‘Well, at the Dower House I feel as if I’m living in a shoebox,’ Adele said shortly. ‘And I’ve had to fight tooth and nail for the place to be made even habitable. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I came up this afternoon—to ask Nick to send a carpenter round. Some of the upstairs window catches still don’t fit properly.’

  ‘I’ll tell him about it.’ Cally watched her. ‘So, what was the other reason for your visit?’

  Adele shrugged. ‘Vulgar curiosity, my pet. I simply couldn’t believe you’d swallowed your dubious pride and returned to Nick’s eager arms after all. Proof, if proof were needed, that money always talks. You look a little careworn,’ she continued. ‘So I suppose the long-delayed consummation is scheduled for tonight.’

  Her smile was cat-like. ‘But I wouldn’t worry too much. Your husband’s an incredibly successful businessman, sweetie. I’m sure he’s equally adept with women—especially nervous novices. You’re the kind of challenge he’ll enjoy—for a while. So I recommend you make the most of it,’ she added with bite.

  ‘Why, Adele—’ Cally managed a laugh ‘—I do believe you wanted Nick yourself.’

  But the older woman was unfazed. ‘It would have been—convenient. God knows, Ranald left me hardly anything to live on. It was all tied up in trusts and entails. Too boring for words.’ She shrugged again. ‘But I simply wasn’t prepared to ruin my figure providing Nicholas with the heir and the spare he clearly wanted. I’d already been through all that with Ranald. So he was forced to look around, and there you were.’

  ‘Yes,’ Cally said slowly. ‘So I was.’

  Adele gave a slight yawn. ‘You can hardly blame him, after all the money he had to shell out to pay off your grandfather’s creditors. He’s no doubt made it plain to you where your duty lies. He wants a return on his investment, and pretty damned soon. I’d really make sure he gets it. Because he can be pretty ruthless when he tries.’

  She drank the rest of the tea and put her cup on the table. ‘And now I really mustn’t intrude on this romantic idyll any longer.’

  She rose and strolled towards the French windows. Then turned.

  ‘By the way,’ she added negligently, ‘I understand Nick’s—other interest has gone away for a week or two. Very diplomatic to absent herself while the reconciliation takes its course, don’t you think? But don’t hope for too much, because I warn you now—she’ll be back. So you’ll just have to learn to turn a blind eye, sweetie. Won’t you? Because running away clearly hasn’t worked.’

  And with a last smile she was gone.

  CHAPTER SIX

  CALLY sat very still, staring in front of her. She was aware of a number of things—birdsong from the garden, the faint scent of the lilac that grew on the terrace, the clock ticking quietly on the mantelpiece—and yet at the same time she felt numb.

  She looked down at her bare arms, almost surprised to find the skin unblemished. She’d half expected to see marks, scored into the flesh from Adele’s talons.

  Last time her own nails had etched crescents into the palms of her clenched hands as she’d stood listening, unable to speak or move away. She’d felt like some ancient city she’d heard of in history, which had been destroyed stone by stone and its earth sown with salt so that it would remain a barren waste.

  But she’d been through that and survived—somehow. So why should she be remotely upset now at Adele’s taunting remarks? After all, they were no surprise. She might have known Adele would not wait to put the boot in.

  She shook her head. Could she possibly have been praying in some pathetic, hidden corner of her mind that Nick’s affair might have ended during her absence? And that Vanessa Layton might even be gone—from the cottage, from the locality, from her life—never to trouble her again?

  No, she thought, swallowing the lump in her throat. That had always been too much to hope for. And while Vanessa remained, she would always have priority with Nick, as Cally had learned in one bleak, agonising lesson on her wedding day. Even for twenty-four hours he’d been unable to pretend that his young bride took precedence over his mistress.

  Vanessa had beckoned, and he’d gone running to her side, unable to keep away.

  So now I’m the one who has to pretend, thought Cally, pain lancing her. I’m the one who must learn not to ask who was on the phone, or where he’s been, or what time he’ll be home. Because they’re all no-go areas.

  A year ago I ran, because I couldn’t bear it. Because I knew the only way to survive was to learn to live without him. But now I don’t have that choice any more.

&nbs
p; She tensed as the drawing room door opened.

  ‘I can’t believe it—you’ve managed to get rid of the Black Widow,’ Nick commented, sounding faintly amused. He came slowly across the room and dropped on to the sofa opposite, lounging against the cushions. ‘Did you murder her? If so, remember to put a stake through her heart before the burial.’ He looked at Cally, his eyes narrowing. ‘What the hell did she want, anyway?’

  ‘A carpenter,’ Cally said quietly. ‘Something about window catches.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Of course. With Adele there’s always something.’ He paused. ‘Was that all?’

  ‘What else should there be?’ Cally enquired coolly. She indicated the table. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘I did have other plans,’ he said silkily. ‘But they can wait.’ He paused, waiting while she poured and then mutely handed him his tea. ‘So, what do you think of the house?’

  ‘Unrecognisable.’ She looked around her. ‘Also terrific. What prompted such a total makeover?’

  ‘Because it was like living in a mausoleum,’ he said. He gave her a level look. ‘I also thought seriously about selling it, but I was persuaded this was the better option. I suppose time will tell.’

  There was another silence, then, ‘Did you like the bedroom?’ he asked suddenly. ‘I seem to recall you once told me that blue was your favourite colour.’

  ‘Yes.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m surprised you remember.’ Or even care…

  He shrugged. ‘I’ve had damned little else to do,’ he returned. ‘And you’ve just given me strong tea with no sugar, so your memory’s working equally well.’ He smiled at her. ‘You’re clearly going to be the perfect wife.’

  ‘But only,’ she said clearly, ‘for as long as it takes.’

  His smile of acknowledgement was ironic. He reached for a sandwich. ‘Was that really all Adele wanted?’ he probed, after a pause. ‘She pushed the knife in when we arrived, so I’m surprised she didn’t decide to—twist it a little.’