Authors: Sara Craven
fighting for her self-control. Would she never learn? she lashed
herself angrily. Was she some sort of masochist that she kept
deliberately recalling this pain— this anguish? Surely she had
suffered enough at the time. She didn't want to relive it all again.
Nothing would change any of it, no matter how many times she beat
herself with these memories.
She had to face the fact that however rapturous she had found that
time in Gethyn's arms, for him it had been merely another sexual
experience. She had known from the start that he was no novice
where making love was concerned, and had suffered small agonies
of jealousy before their marriage imagining him with other women.
Looking back, she could see that his masculine pride would have
been affronted by her unexpected frigidity. Her aloofness and
indifference to him would have been tantalising. But once she had
yielded to him, she had become just another woman—and one that
he had been forced to marry in order to win her. Now that he had
won at last, what further allure did she have for him? She bit her lip
savagely. Besides, her total inexperience had probably bored him.
He was used to women who knew how to respond to a man, to
arouse as well as be aroused. And in this, she had been signally
lacking. Which accounted, she told herself painfully, for his cynical
disappearance from her life just when, it transpired, she needed him
most—not merely as a lover, though she was forced to
acknowledge the multitude of nights when she had lain awake,
aching for his caresses, but as someone to give her comfort and
support during the ensuing loss of her child. Someone to alleviate
the tragedy with his tenderness, to give her compassion as well as
passion.
But in this, Gethyn too had been lacking. And this was why she had
to make herself remember all the heaven and the hell she had
known with him, to ensure that the incredible attraction he had
always had for her did not seduce her into making a pitiful fool of
herself for a second time.
It was all very well to tell herself bracingly that it could not happen,
that she was free of him for ever. She had to admit that her
awareness of him as a man was as potent as ever. Not even his
callous treatment of her, and the fact that he had found another girl
to share his future with him, could detract from it, and she was
frightened.
With all her heart, she wished she had stayed in London and simply
let the legal process run its course, no matter how long it took.
Gethyn at a distance was easier to hate than Gethyn close at hand.
Apart from anything else, he was the only lover who had ever
possessed her, and that was, inevitably, a chain to bind her to him
no matter how often she might tell herself that all fetters were
broken.
Wasn't that why she had taken the drastic step of cutting off her
beautiful hair—to prove to him that any physical claims he had on
her were strictly in the past? She gave a slight shiver as she caught
a glimpse of herself in a shop window. She looked like a
stranger—and a nervous stranger at that. She couldn't escape the
fact that Gethyn would be angry when he found out what she had
done. And she couldn't forget the last time she had made him
angry— on their wedding night, and the cool, utterly calculated
revenge he had taken then.
She moistened her lips with a feeling of desperation. Well, the
deed, was done now, and she would simply have to face the
consequences. She lifted her chin slightly, telling herself the worst
he could do would be to deny her the divorce, and she doubted
whether he would be prepared to take that step. After all, it was as
important to him as it was to her.
Nevertheless, before she made her way back to where the car was
parked, she went into a gift shop and hastily purchased a headscarf,
which she tied over her shorn head. Her lips quirked slightly as she
studied her reflection in the mirror provided by the assistant. As a
cover-up, it was effective enough, but she couldn't hope to conceal
what she had done under selected views of Welsh castles
indefinitely. Sooner or later she would have to take the scarf off,
but at least she had given herself a breathing space.
There was no sign of Gethyn when she found the car again, and she
sighed in irritation. Then she noticed that a piece of paper had been
tucked in under one of the windscreen wipers. For a moment she
hoped vindictively it might be a parking ticket, but she knew there
was little hope of that as the car was parked perfectly correctly, so
she retrieved the paper and unfolded it. It was short and succinct.
'Meet me at twelve in the Black Swan. G.'
Davina almost ground her teeth as she crushed the paper in her
hand. So that imperious summons was enough, was it, to ensure
that she trailed meekly after him? She would see him in hell first!
She took a firmer grip on her slipping parcels and stared around her.
Common sense was telling her that it would be foolish to simply
defy Gethyn for the sake of it and lunch elsewhere alone. She had
to meet up with him sooner or later in order to get back to Plas
Gwyn, and it might as well be sooner as later. She put up a hand
and gave a nervous twitch at her scarf. Or might it?
She turned and began to walk rather aimlessly back in the direction
she had just come from. As she went, she began defiantly to justify
herself in her own mind. After all, Gethyn couldn't be sure she had
even received his beastly little note. It could have blown away, or
been taken by someone else—or anything! And she had not the
least idea where the Black Swan might be. She had seen various
hotels on her wanderings, but she couldn't remember whether the
Black Swan had been one of them.
She adjusted her parcels for the umpteenth time, cursing them
silently under her breath. She had not bargained for having to
wander the streets of Dolgellau laden like a pack mule when she
had set out that morning. In fact, she wasn't at all sure just what she
had bargained for. A chance to be alone with Gethyn, away from
other eyes and ears in order to get their respective futures ironed
out, she supposed. Well, in that case, the day had been a disaster.
The businesslike talk she had envisaged had developed into
something dangerously personal, and that must not be allowed to
happen again. And really, there was very little to discuss. She
would have to make it clear that she was not making any financial
demands on him at all, and that all she sought was his consent.
She was so deep in thought that she almost screamed out loud when
a hand descended bruisingly on her arm. She gave a violent start
and her packages went cascading to the pavement. She looked up
furiously into Gethyn's cool eyes.
'Look what you've made me do!'
He raised his eyebrows. 'I thought I was merely preventing you
from getting lost. You're walking in the opposite direction from the
Black Swan.' His voice was bland, but she was not deceived for a
moment. He knew that she had not had the slightest intention of
seeking him out. He had probably been standing somewhere
watching her, and had seen her read his note and crumple it up.
She swallowed her rage, and allowed her gaze to become limpid.
'It's very muddling when you're in a strange town,' she
acknowledged. 'And there are all these Welsh street names to cope
with as well.'
'Poor Davina!' There was a marked satirical note now. 'And you
with no tongue in your head to ask, of course. It was lucky I found
you.'
'Yes, wasn't it?' she agreed radiantly, subduing an impulse to throw
her remaining parcels at him.
He squatted down on the damp pavement, gathering up the articles
she had dropped, his mouth twisting as the nature of her purchases
became clear through the torn wrappings.
'Griselda mentioned that she hadn't seen you,' he commented as he
stood up.
She bit her lip. 'I don't require a
couture
wardrobe,' she informed
him stiffly. 'Just a few oddments to get me through the next day or
two.'
He gave the assortment he had rescued a sardonic look. 'Oddments
would seem to be the right word.' His glance went to the scarf she
was wearing and he gave a perceptible wince. 'I see you've taken
the role of tourist to heart. I had no idea you had such a devotion to
castles. Remind me to take you to Caenarfon one day. It looks
much better in stone, I promise you.'
'I doubt if I shall be here that long,' she said between her teeth.
'I'm sorry to hear that,' he said in a voice of total indifference. 'I
hope you'll delay your departure for long enough to have lunch with
me. I'm starving.'
He set off along the pavement with his long easy stride, leaving her
to follow in his wake at an undignified trot. She was seething when
she caught him up at the car.
T think we'll dump these here,' he remarked, his tone suggesting he
could suggest an even more appropriate repository. 'Unless you
want to eat, swathed in denim and cheesecloth.' He unlocked the
door and tossed the parcels on to the seat. Davina made no attempt
to argue. She was glad to see the back of them.
A few tables had been set on the pavement outside the Black Swan,
and these were already occupied by hardy souls, enjoying the pale
sunlight. Gethyn swept her past them and into the hotel's main
entrance. A glass door on the right admitted them to a small
cocktail bar, and beyond Davina could see the restaurant.
He gave her an interrogative glance. 'Is it still Campari and soda?'
'Yes,' she said, and could not resist adding, 'You have a good
memory for details.'
He gave her a thin smile, 'Not merely for details, Davina,' he told
her before turning to the barman to give their order. There was a
leather-bound menu lying on the bar and he handed it to her.
'I can recommend the steak and kidney pie,' he commented.
She ran an indifferent glance down the list of food. 'I'll have chicken
salad.'
He tutted mockingly. 'You won't change those angles of yours back
to curves on a salad diet,
cariad.'
'Please don't call me that,' she said tautly. 'And I think my figure is
my own concern.'
His smile widened. 'I doubt if anyone else would be much interested
in it at the moment,' he said gently and unforgivably. Davina dug
her nails into the palms of her hands, refusing to let herself rise to
his baiting. After all, she reminded herself, the last thing she wanted
was for him to become interested in her physical appearance.
She sipped at her drink, glancing around her. There were few other
people in the bar apart from themselves, and she was far too aware
of the tall man at her side to be able to take much interest in anyone
else. With a pang, she remembered the game they had played in
bars and hotels during their courtship, making absurd guesses about
the identities and occupations of other guests, revelling in each
other's laughter. Whereas now ... Her hand shook suddenly and she
put her glass down hurriedly on the bar, aware that some of the
dark pink liquid had splashed on to her dress.
'Oh, damn!' She scrubbed at the offending mark with her
handkerchief.
Gethyn's hand closed over hers. 'Relax, Davina,' he advised softly.
'You're behaving as if you're strung up on wires. People are
watching us.'
'I'm sorry.' She thrust the handkerchief back into her bag. 'But this is
hardly a normal situation; is it? And I'm surprised you're so
sensitive about being under public scrutiny. There was a time when
you weren't so concerned with personal privacy.'
'Perhaps because I was too concerned with other things.' His tone
was edged. 'But that no longer applies. If you want a scene, I'll
oblige you. But not here. The owner happens to be a friend of
mine.'
She sent him a glittering smile. 'You're very protective about your
friends, Gethyn. Is this a new trait?'
'One of many.' His eyes were like chips of green ice. 'But I haven't
changed in one thing, Davina. I still believe that a lot of women
would be improved by a bloody good hiding, and you'd come top of
the list.'