His Wedding-Night Heir (14 page)

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 diplo-

matic 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.

Cat t y 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 local-

ity, 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.

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 in-

dicated 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.'

Cally drank some tea. What could she tell him that he'd

believe, without mentioning Vanessa?

She said quietly, 'She referred to Grandfather's debts. The

implication was that you'd brought me back in order to exact

your own brand of repayment.' She replaced her cup and

saucer on the table. 'I could hardly deny it' She lifted her chin.

'She's also worked out that I'm here to supply the next

generation. I couldn't argue about that either.'

'I'm sorry,' Nick said abruptly.

'Why?' She shrugged. 'I should be used to her by now.'

'I'm sorry because I should have made sure she was out of the

Hall well before our wedding.' His mouth twisted. 'But she

wasn't easily dislodged. She even fought like a tigress to get

me to appoint her as some kind of project manager. Boasted

she'd have turned the place into a palace years ago if Ranald

had given her the money. She'd even had plans drawn up for

an indoor swimming pool at the rear, complete with a sauna

and a Jacuzzi—and that was just for starters.

'Eventually I made it clear to her that I knew exactly the kind

of background I wanted, and her creative input wouldn't be

needed,' he added reflectively. 'Instead I turned her loose on

the unfortunate Dower House.'

Cally took another look round, her brows lifting. 'You mean

you did all this yourself?'

'I had help.' He hesitated. 'A—friend of mine used to be an

interior designer.'

A friend of mine? A half-forgotten detail from Adele's story

clawed suddenly at Cally's memory, telling her the friend's

identity—as if she couldn't have guessed. My bedroom, she

thought savagely. Oh, God, that beautiful room. Did she—did

Vanessa Layton suggest the decor for that? If so, it was cyni-

cism carried to the ultimate degree—to prepare a place for her

lover to sleep with his wife.

"The problem with Adele is that I can hardly evict her.' She

became aware that Nick was speaking, his brows drawn to-

gether in a frown. 'As Ranald's widow, she's probably entitled

to live at the Dower House for as long as she wants.' His

frown deepened. 'I thought—I hoped—that once she stopped

being lady of the manor she'd get bored out of her skull and

move on. But no such luck.'

Cally pulled herself together, looking down at the golden

gleam of her wedding ring. 'I gather she's strapped for cash.'

'She always was.' His mouth twisted. 'Maybe I should make

her an offer she can't refuse.'

'Why not?' Cally went on staring at her ring, aware of its alien

presence. 'It worked with me.'

His mouth twisted. 'With Adele, I lack quite the same le-

verage.' He'd finished his tea and was leaning back, long legs

crossed. Completely at ease, it seemed. While she was in this

unbelievable pain.

He said, 'I wondered, you see, after you'd gone, whether she

could be part of the cause. If she'd said or done something to

upset you. After all, there was no love lost between you. And

I knew you were vulnerable—'

'Oh, spare me, please,' Cally broke in, her colour heightened

hectically. 'Grandfather's death was hardly unexpected. The

doctors warned us that the smoke inhalation—the stress of the

fire—would probably lead to another stroke—and that it

would be fatal.'

'Whether or not...' He paused. 'Cally, I know I shouldn't have

left you alone like that, so soon after the wedding, but it was

an emergency. Mrs Bridges was supposed to tell you that—to

explain that I had to go out. I had no choice in the matter.'

Don't lie to me, she begged silently. It's too late for that.

Because I know where you were. I went there. I heard you.

Dear God, I saw you. With her.

'Cally.' Nick was leaning forward, his face serious. 'You're a

million miles away. Please listen to me, because there's

something I have to tell you. I—owe you an explanation.'

'No.' The word exploded out of her, and she saw the shock in

his face, 'I mean—there's absolutely no need to say anything,'

she went on, her tone hard and bright. "Then or now. As they

say—never apologise, never explain. And it's all fine—really.

In fact, it was a blessing. As I said, it gave me a breathing

space—a chance to reconsider what I'd done.' She gave a little

laugh. 'Rather like being reprieved from a life sentence. So

you did me a favour.'

His mouth hardened. 'Only now the shackles are once again in

place. Is that what you're saying?'

'Your words,' she said. 'Not mine.'

'And you really don't want to hear what I have to say?'

'If I'd cared,' she said, with a shrug. 'I'd have been here when

you got back.'

'Oh God,' he said with a kind of savage weariness. 'Cally, can

we stop this and start behaving sanely.'

"This is hardly a rational situation.'

"Then let's make it one,' he said with sudden urgency. 'Let's

wipe out the past twelve months as if they never existed.

We're here—together—and we're married. Can't that be all

that matters?' He paused. 'Besides, I have a wedding present

for you.'

'A wedding present?' she echoed derisively. 'At the risk of

sounding ungracious, I think I'll pass.'

He was very still. "The bridegroom's gift to the bride,' he said

slowly. 'It's a tradition.'

She lifted her chin defiantly. 'You're big on those, suddenly.

But it makes no difference. Your generosity tends to come

with too high a price tag, Sir Nicholas.'

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. He said

quietly, 'You don't even want to know what it is—my gift?

You've no wish to see it?'

'None.' She took a swift breath. 'Can't you see I want nothing

from you? Don't you understand that the only thing of value

you could give me is my freedom—and the absolute certainty

that I'll never have to see you again? But I doubt that's on

offer.'

'Not immediately.' His voice was harsh. 'However, I can

probably arrange matters so that we only meet in bed. Perhaps

that might make your sentence easier to bear. Although we

will have to share occasional meals,' he went on. 'Starting

with dinner tonight, which I've arranged for eight-thirty. And

you, my sweet wife, will sit at my dining table and pretend to

enjoy the special food that Margaret is preparing. And, to

enter fully into the spirit of the occasion, you will wear your

wedding dress, which you'll find with the rest of your things

upstairs in the dressing room.

'And that's not a request,' he added swiftly, as her lips parted

in protest. 'It's an order.'