His Wedding-Night Heir (15 page)

There was a corrosive note in his voice that frightened Cally.

This was a dynamite situation, she realised, and she hadn't

handled it well.

'And now I'll respect your wishes and leave you in peace, to

enjoy your own company.' He got to his feet. 'As usual, there's

some work I should do. After all, I need to work harder, don't

I, darling? Earn more money now that I have a wife to support

and the prospect of a child.'

'Nick,' she said, her voice shaking. 'Nick—please.'

At the door, he turned. 'Having regrets, sweetheart?' His tone

was ice. 'Save them for bedtime. You might just need them.'

Alone, Cally sat for an endless moment, staring at die closed

door. She could still feel his anger in the room—an almost

tangible bitterness, making the walls close in on her. Making

it suddenly difficult to breathe.'

She rose and ran across the room, half stumbling in her haste,

to die French windows and out on to the terrace, where she

paused, gasping.

How dared he treat her like this—speak to her in that way?

she demanded silently as she leaned against the stone balus-

trade, trying desperately to compose herself. She'd run from

him on an impulse triggered by shock and grief, because her

Life had suddenly become unbearable, but he was the cause of

that. It was his fault, not hers. She'd been forced to go. She'd

had no other choice.

And even if she'd stayed—forced a confrontation—it would

have led to the same result in the end.

Had he really believed he could keep his mistress a secret

from her? she wondered. True, Southwood Cottage was in a

sufficiently isolated spot to provide a discreet rendezvous. But

even if Adele hadn't told her about the affair there'd have been

gossip—hints—eventually. In a small locality that was inevi-

table. And the longer their marriage had existed, the worse the

sense of betrayal would have become.

During lovemaking did he say the same things—do the same

things as he did with her? Those were things she would have

asked herself over and over again, torturing herself in the

knowledge that she would never find an answer that gave

either comfort or hope.

And did he draw comparisons between them?

Perhaps he'd thought she'd be so besotted with him by that

time—so dazzled and indulged with sex and money—that

she'd be unwilling or unable to give him up. That she'd be

prepared somehow to share him.

She might also—heaven help her—have been carrying his

child, which would have reduced her options still further.

But this was no longer a hypothetical situation, she thought,

shivering. It was going to happen, and she would have to find

some way to live with it. To endure...

Her fingers tightened convulsively on the stone ledge. 'Don't

go there,' she whispered to herself.

At least this time around limits had been imposed on her

unhappiness. And, as long as she could keep its root cause

hidden, she had a chance of emerging from the whole disaster

with her pride battered but intact, if nothing else.

There is something I have to tell you.

Not while I have breath, Cally thought fiercely. Confession

may be good for the soul, but not when my heart has to be

torn apart as a consequence. I don't need this belated honesty.

The bride's present to the groom—forgiveness and absolution.

Was that really what Nick was hoping for?

Or had he simply realised the impossibility of maintaining the

secrecy of his liaison for much longer? And was he crazy— or

just cruel—to think that bringing the issue into the open

would somehow make it easier to deal with? If so, how wrong

could anyone be?

'Her name's Vanessa Layton.' The image of Adele's slow

smile came back to haunt her as her mind went into free-fall.

The confrontation had taken place in the hall, and for some

strange reason Cally could remember a bowl of early roses

standing on a side table, and the soft whisper as one of them

shed its petals. There'd been a shaft of sunlight coming

through the open front door, hitting her as if she was a small

animal caught in the headlights of a car. Rendering her

transfixed— immobile.

'She was an interior decorator in London, and a good one, by

all accounts. Nick hired her to redo his flat, and that's when it

began. It must have been a pretty torrid affair for her to

abandon everything, and let him install her in a dead and alive

hole like Southwood Cottage,' she went on, her eyes

carelessly surveying the pale, stupefied face of the girl in front

of her. 'Clearly they can't bear to be apart. And she doesn't pay

rent like an ordinary tenant, besides which Nick picks up all

her bills.'

From some unsuspected well of courage Cally recovered the

power of speech. 'How do you know this?'

Adele shrugged. "The paperwork's all there in his desk, if you

don't believe me. I happened to see it months ago, when I was

looking for something else.'

'You were snooping.'

'Was I? Anyway, it's in the top right-hand drawer. Unless,

now he's married, he's decided to move the evidence to some-

where less accessible. After all, he won't want to upset the

apple cart.'

Cally said hoarsely, 'If it's all so wonderful, why hasn't he

married her?'

'Because there's already a husband, apparently, but no one

knows quite where. Maybe divorce isn't an option, for some

reason.' Adele shrugged again. 'But for many reasons Nick

needs a wife.' Her smile widened. 'And that, my pet, is where

you come in, of course. Young, free, and clearly besotted.

Central casting couldn't do better.'

There was a silence, then Cally said quietly, 'You utter bitch.'

Adele looked amused. 'I'm trying to be your friend here. After

all, she'll only be the first of many, so you'd better be

prepared. Nick's father was just the same,' she added

insouciantly. 'No woman was safe around him. He left a string

of broken hearts and marriages wherever he went, including

his own. Why do you think your mother-in-law resumed her

career so suddenly? Because she was sick of the endless

betrayals, and scandals, and everyone knew it.'

Her smile widened. 'Jungles with wild animals and poisonous

snakes must have seemed a soft option compared with Nick

Tempest senior.'

Like father, like son. Her grandfather had said that. Had he

known—heard gossip that Nick was involved with a married

woman? Was that why he'd tried to warn her off?

'Besides,' Adele continued, 'I feel so sorry for you, moping

round the house, waiting for Nick to come back and relieve

you of your virginity. Especially when he's off consoling his

bit on the side. Reassuring her mat it's just a marriage of con-

venience, and it's business as usual as far as she's concerned.'

'And you're also unforgivably vulgar,' said Cally, and went

past her, through that open door and out of the house. She was

shaking so much she thought she might fall in pieces, but she

made herself keep moving.

Somehow she made her way to the flat in the courtyard which,

until that day, had been her home. The rooms were already

empty, as blank as if they'd never been occupied. The bed in

her room had been stripped, and only a few clothes remained

in the cupboards and drawers. But her bag was still there, with

her wallet and her bank book. She'd been intending

to come and collect it, but then she'd been intercepted by

Adele. She glanced inside, checking the car keys were there,

too. That she had what she needed. Except she had no real

idea of where she was going, or what she would do when she

arrived.

She thought, Whatever happens, I have to know. Have to...

She unbuttoned the ivory silk dress she was still wearing from

the morning's ceremony and stepped out of it, discarding the

pretty lacy undies beneath as well. She found a cotton bra and

briefs, that she'd considered far too workaday for her new life,

and covered them with a denim skirt and a white T-shirt,

sliding her feet into a pair of elderly sandals.

The bride was gone, and only a girl with a white face and

burning eyes was left.

She'd only had the car for a week—a sleek, sporty Alfa

Romeo that had been Nick's gift to her. She knew where

Southwood Cottage was, of course. She could remember once

catching a fleeting glimpse of its occupant, too. A dark-haired

woman, she recalled, with one of those serene Madonna-like

faces, working in the garden. Proving that appearances could

be deceptive.

A saint in the kitchen, but a whore in the bedroom, she

thought as she slid into the driving seat. Wasn't that supposed

to be every man's idea of the perfect woman? She found she

wanted to laugh hysterically, and sat for a moment regaining

her self-control before starting the car.

When she reached the lane where the cottage was situated, she

parked at its top and walked the rest of the way.

As she'd driven, she'd prayed that it wasn't true. That Adele

was playing some kind of obscene joke on her. But Nick's car

was there, under the shelter of some trees. There could be no

mistake.

Cally moved quietly along the verge. As she reached the

corner of the white-painted fence she heard voices. Hating

herself, trembling violently, she crouched, looking through the

branches of a tall shrub, and saw her worst fears confirmed.

Nick was there, in the garden, standing with Vanessa Layton

in his arms. She was clinging to him and crying, and he was

stroking her hair.

'It's going to be all right.' He spoke quietly, but his voice

carried easily to where Cally was hiding. 'Darling, I'll always

be there for you.'

Cally couldn't hear her reply, but she watched Nick glance

swiftly at his watch and nod. Together, they walked to the

front door and went inside, closing it behind them.

Cally got shakily to her feet, then froze as Nick appeared at

what was obviously an upstairs bedroom window.

Don't let him see me, she begged silently. She shrank into the

shelter of a tall tree which was throwing a grotesque shadow

on the road. Don't let him find me spying on him. Haven't I

been humiliated enough without that?

Then she saw his hand move, realised he was drawing the

curtains. Closing them in together. And that her concern was

wasted, because he was clearly oblivious to everything but the

woman going back into his arms in the shadowy room.

Suddenly she was aching inside, as if she'd been knocked

down and kicked. Only bruises would heal eventually. Her

wound was deep enough to be mortal, and she had to get away

before she bled to death.

Uncaring whether she was seen or not, she stumbled back to

her car. Her throat was dry and her eyes were burning, but she

couldn't cry. That would come later, at a point she couldn't

even envisage yet.

She only knew that her life was sick, cold and empty, and that

there was nothing left for her here. That her betrayal was as

cruel as it was complete.

I can't face him, she thought. I can't let him see what he's done

to me. I can never do that. It would destroy me.

Young, Adele had said, and besotted. She'd failed to mention

abysmally, unforgivably stupid, although the implication had

probably been there.

And now, somehow, she had to save herself from further

folly. And that meant distancing herself from Nick, as far and

as fast as she could. Hiding out somewhere until enough time

had passed for her to demand that the marriage be legally and

immediately terminated.

And I did it, Cally thought now, lifting her face to the sun. I

ran away. First to London, to cover my tracks and empty my

account of any money there was. Thereafter by dint of

sticking a pin in a map.

She'd been so sure he'd want to be rid of her as quickly and

quietly as possible, without further damage to his male pride,

and he'd agree to anything she asked when they finally caught

up with each other.

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 con-