His Wedding-Night Heir (19 page)

need you again this evening.'

‘Of course, sir. Thank you.' Frank Thurston was too well

trained to look either knowing or indulgent, but Cally guessed

he must have been sorely tempted.

She sat rigidly on the sofa, wailing for the tray to be brought

in, then responding quietly as he wished them both goodnight

and left.

There was a silence, then Nick said, 'Would you like some

brandy?'

Cally shook her head. 'Just coffee will be fine.' She poured

some of the richly fragrant brew into the cups and handed him

one. 'You still take it black, I presume?'

'Yes.' He spoke with cool civility. "Thank you.'

She sat sipping her coffee, glancing at him swiftly from under

her lashes as he sat opposite her. She struggled lo find the

right words and. deciding there were none, thought she might

as well be totally direct.

She replaced her cup on the tray and took a deep breath.

'Nick—there's something I need to say.'

'I'm listening.'

She kept her voice steady. 'I want you to know that I'm ready

to—to keep the terms of our bargain.'

His brows lifted. 'Now?' There was a note of quiet incredulity

in his voice. 'Tonight.'

She nodded convulsively.

There was another tingling silence. Nick got up, and went to

the drinks table, pouring himself a brandy. He said, 'Cally, a

couple of hours ago you were behaving as if I was the

Antichrist. These about-turns of yours are making my head

spin.'

She bit her lip. 'Yes, I—I'm sorry. I behaved rather badly, I

know. I suppose I didn't like the sensation of being trapped all

over again.'

He drank some brandy, the silvery eyes watching her over the

rim of the goblet. 'Trapped—as in marriage to me?'

‘Well—yes.' Cally managed a shrug. 'What can I say? I was

young and scared, and didn't realise what I was doing. Now I

just want to deal with my side of the bargain as soon as pos-

sible—get the whole thing over and done with—so I can be

free to proceed with my own life.' She paused. 'Unless you've

changed your mind, of course?'

'No,' he said slowly, his face and tone expressionless. 'I

haven't done that.'

"Then—what do you think?'

He gave her a swift, brilliant smile, and finished his brandy.

'Sure,' he said. 'Why not? In your own classic phrase, let's get

it over with.' He picked up the decanter. 'I'll join you pres-

ently, darling, after I've acquired a little more Dutch courage.'

She was taken aback. She'd expected some kind of reaction—

that he would at least come to her—kiss her. The recent

memory of being carried upstairs against his heart was still

hot within her. But not, it seemed, for him.

She lifted her chin. 'I wouldn't have thought you needed it.'

'Ah,' Nick said softly. 'But then, you don't know me very well,

do you, my sweet? At least, not yet. However, the night is

young.'

Her throat tightened. 'Yes.' She turned, head high, and walked

to the door, aware of his gaze following her.

‘Cally.' His voice halted her. She looked back, feeling her

heart quicken in something absurdly like hope.

'Don't have another change of heart and lock the door.' There

was steel below the even tone. 'Because I would not find that

amusing.'

'I've given my word.' She spoke curtly, fighting a disap-

pointment she hardly understood. 'I won't go back on it now.'

He nodded, and turned back to the brandy.

And Cally went up the wide stairs into the darkness alone.

The waiting seemed endless. As Cally paced restlessly up and

down the big room, its details seemed to become indelibly

printed on her mind.

Both sides of the bed had been turned down in readiness,

presumably by Mrs Thurston, and shaded lamps burned on the

night tables. The curtains moved softly in the faint breeze

from the half-open window behind them.

Another of Cally's trousseau nightgowns—a charming piece

of nonsense in flimsy white voile, with ribbon straps and a

tiny bodice had been fanned out. Cally wasn't at all used to all

this very personal service.

But then, as she swiftly reminded herself, she would have to.

The situation was strictly temporary.

And she hoped, too, that the gentle, rhythmic movement of

her hand and arm would help compose her. Because she badly

needed to appear calm and in control. A woman who'd made

an unwelcome but rational choice, and could deal with it.

Later, of course, as the might wore on, she could guarantee

nothing.

She was no longer the eager girl of a year ago, living in a

fool's paradise that promised her love and rapture in her hus-

band's arms.

But recent experience had taught her the havoc his lightest

touch could provoke in her senses. And Nick was well aware

of it too, so any pretence at resistance or indifference would

now be futile, she thought bleakly.

And tensed.

Because he was here. He had come into the room silently,

barefoot and bare-legged in a black silk robe belted loosely

round his waist, and was now standing behind her, watching

her in the mirror.

'Not cowering under the sheets?' His voice was cool—almost

derisive.

Cally shrugged. 'As you see,' she returned shortly.

'Are you planning to go to bed with your clothes on?'

She looked away. 'I—don't have any plans. I wasn't sure what

you expected...' Her voice tailed away.

Nick leaned down and took the brush from her hand. 'I

thought we agreed to get the whole tiresome business over

and done with,' he said levelly. 'I mention it only because, if

so, you can't spend the entire night, sitting there.'

'Of course not.' She hunched a shoulder again. 'I simply

thought I'd better wait—a while.'

'Wait for what?' He sounded faintly amused. 'Do you want me

to undress you? Because I'm more than willing.'

'No!' She sounded over-loud and defensive, she thought,

swallowing, aware of the sudden thud of her heart. 'God—no.'

'Then you do it,' he said softly. 'And I'll watch.' He tossed the

brush on to the dressing table and walked over to the bed.

lounging across it with the air of a man preparing to enjoy

himself. 'In your own time, of course.'

She got to her feet, her hands going mechanically to the

buttons on the front of her dress, trying to fumble them free

with fingers that shook.

I was fantasising about undoing them all—with my teeth.

Was it really only last night he'd said that? Or several life-

times ago?

And did he really expect her to stand here and strip in front of

him? Couldn't he realise that she'd never been even semi-

naked in front of anyone before, least of all him, and this was

a real ordeal for her? Or didn't he care that shyness and un-

certainty were crucifying her?

'What's the matter, Cally?' he asked mockingly, as she hes-

itated. 'Not feeling quite so brave any more?'

She didn't look at him. 'No.' The word was little more than a

breath.

There was a touch of impatience in his own sigh. He patted

the bed beside him. 'Come here.'

She went slowly, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, her

body rigid. Nick began to release the buttons from their loops,

his fingers deft and oddly dispassionate, as if he was taking

care not to touch the bare skin he was uncovering. When he'd

finished, he reached for the nightgown and draped it over her

arm.

'Get changed in the bathroom,' he directed quietly, to her utter

astonishment. 'Longer than five minutes and I come to find

you.'

Cally fled, hugging the flimsy folds in front of her like a

shield. Which, of course, it wasn't, she realised, as soon as she

slid it over her head, a few flurried moments later. The

bodice's tiny ribbon-edged cups barely veiled her small

breasts, and the long skirt was sheer when she was still,

transparent when she moved.

But she'd bought it. Along with all the other pretty sexy things

in her lingerie drawers that she'd hoped would please him.

Because she'd wanted him. Wanted to turn him on.

She thought painfully, And, so help me, I still do...

She turned off the light and went back to the bedroom on

reluctant bare feet.

Nick was in bed, his robe a pool of darkness on the floor.

Propped on one elbow, he watched her cross the room and

slide nervously under the covers beside him.

'Admirably punctual,' he said softly.

Her throat was dry. 'Nick—please don't make fun of me.'

'I wasn't planning to.' He reached for her, drawing her to him,

holding her close against the warmth of his body, her head

pillowed on his shoulder. He said, 'Now, go to sleep.'

There was a short, amazed pause, then Cally said, 'I—I don't

understand.'

'I hardly understand myself.' His mouth twisted. 'Except that

it's been one hell of a bloody day, and hardly conducive to the

fulfilment of passion, however one-sided,' he added with a

touch of harshness. 'So, accustom yourself to sleeping with

me, Cally, if nothing else. Get used to the idea of my arms

being round you, because from now on that's how it's going to

be.'

He switched off the lamp and the night enclosed them. Cally

could feel the strong beat of his heart, the texture of his skin

under her cheek, and felt longing stir within her.

In a way, this was her sweetest dream come true. In another,

her worst nightmare, because wrapped in his arms like this

she felt safe, and that was just another illusion to be discarded

with the rest. Because with Nick there could be no safety—no

comfort or lasting joy. It was all—ephemeral. And it was

dangerous too, because when it ended it would be that much

harder for her to detach herself and walk away.

When Cally opened her eyes, the room was just beginning to

fill with pale grey light. She moved slowly, languidly, stretch-

ing a little, wondering what had woken her. She turned her

head and saw Nick lying on his side, watching her.

He said, 'Good morning.'

'Is it?' She tried to see the small porcelain clock on the night

table. 'It still seems very early.'

'It's dawn,' he said.

'Dawn?' Cally echoed incredulously. 'But I'm never awake this

soon.'

He smiled at her. 'You can blame me for that. I decided to

wake you—like this. He bent over her, brushing her lips

gently with his. 'Do you have any objection?'

'No.' Her mouth framed the word but no sound would come.

'Good.' He pulled her into the curve of his body, his hand

cupping her breast almost casually, as if he'd kissed her awake

a thousand times before.

'It's the beginning of a new day,' he whispered, as she gasped.

'A perfect time to put everything in the past behind us, don't

you think? To make a fresh start?'

He looked down into her widening eyes, then kissed her

again, more deeply, coaxing her lips to part for him, allowing

his tongue to tease hers delicately and sensuously.

In that moment she knew that the past couldn't simply be

swept away as easily as he suggested. That it would always

haunt her. Always have the power to hurt her. And the fact

that his relationship with Vanessa Layton was by no means

over would eventually inflict more pain upon her than she

could stand.

She owed it to herself to fight him, she told herself desper-

ately. To succumb without protest was a shameful thing.

At the same time she realised that it was not Nick she had to

fight, but herself. She might be ashamed of her hunger for

him, but she couldn't deny it, or hide it. And during their

months apart it had grown into a famine.

Impossible, now. to resist the magic of his mouth moving on

hers, inciting her to response. A little sigh rose in her throat as

she yielded fully to the warm, persuasive pressure of his lips,

holding nothing back, her hands going up to clasp his naked

shoulders.

'Darling.' His voice was husky as he stroked the hair back

from her face and trailed his fingers down the curve of her

cheek and jaw to the vulnerable line of her throat. She felt her

pulse leap uncontrollably as he caressed her. Felt a sharp,

heated excitement uncoiling deep within her.

He kissed her again as his hands lingered, sliding under the

ribbon straps of her gown and hooking them slowly down