His Wedding-Night Heir (24 page)

widow won't feel obliged to pay a visit while I'm here.'

'Unlikely,' Nick said expressionlessly. 'I gather she's off to the

South of France very shortly. I imagine her time up to then

will be occupied by shopping and packing.'

Cally looked up, startled. My God, she thought, is there any-

thing he can't manipulate? First Vanessa was due to disappear.

Now, more crucially, it's Adele's turn. Because she's the one

he needs to keep quiet, and I told him so.

She said steadily, 'Isn't that a rather sudden decision on

Adele's part?'

'Not really. She often goes down there.' His mouth curled

slightly. 'Regards St Tropez as some kind of spiritual home.'

'Nevertheless,' his mother said drily, 'she's still physically

occupying the Dower House, which is unfortunate.'

'Not for much longer, I hope,' Nick said. 'Once I make it

clear I have my own plans for the place. For a brief moment

Cally felt his gaze resting on her.

She swallowed some of the coffee she didn't really want, her

mind working furiously. Was that part of his ultimate plan for

her? she wondered bleakly. That she should move into the

Dower House? Access to the baby strictly on his terms—and

while she lived under his supervision? If so, it was an

appalling prospect, for all kinds of reasons.

But then, what other options were open to her? Because her

original plan—to walk away from the life that had been so

summarily imposed on her—was now unthinkable—impossi-

ble.

She had realised immediately, even when she'd only suspected

that she had conceived, that pregnancy in theory and practice

were going to be light years apart. That simply being some

kind of surrogate—Nick's temporary breeding machine— was

never going to work.

The baby was hers, growing inside her, dependent on her for

everything, and giving it up in order to establish a separate life

for herself was never going to happen, however bravely she

still spoke about the future.

She'd never suspected she could feel like this. That a few

weeks could alter her entire way of thinking. She only knew

that she could not ever let her baby go—see it brought up by

strangers. Especially if one of the strangers turned out to be

Vanessa Layton.

Would Nick be cruel enough to do that? she asked herself.

Could he? Yet she'd just had proof of how ruthlessly he was

prepared to move the pieces round the board in his own

private chess game. And soon it would be her turn.

I thought marriage was the trap, she told herself. But I knew

nothing. And now I'm caught and helpless.

'You're looking tired, Caroline,' her mother-in-law said qui-

etly. 'Nick, why don't you take your wife up to bed? I think we

could all do with an early night.'

'An excellent idea.' Nick held out his hand to Cally, who

reluctantly allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Her heart

was thudding awkwardly against her nbcage, protesting over

the confrontation that was bound to come.

Unless Nick had read the runes, and decided to stay away of

his own accord. But that didn't seem likely.

She said a shy goodnight to Dr Tempest, and was received

briefly into a lavender silk embrace spiced with some dry, so-

phisticated scent she hadn't encountered before.

'It's called Moi-Meme,' Nick told her in answer to her halting

query, as they went upstairs together. 'And I have to send

regular supplies of it to whatever far-flung hellhole Ma finds

herself in.' He grinned suddenly. 'She reckons it keeps the

snakes at bay. I've sometimes wished I was in advertising.

Wouldn't that make the basis of a great campaign?'

Cally had thought she was beyond being amused, yet found

herself surprised into laughter. 'Only if there's an outbreak of

cobras in Knightsbridge.'

And they arrived at her door in better accord than they'd been

for weeks, she thought, with sudden wistfulness. But she

couldn't let herself weaken now. It was a case of self-

preservation.

She'd expected him to leave her there, and go along to his own

quarters, but to her dismay he accompanied her into the

lamplit bedroom.

As always, everything was in readiness there, even down to

the fresh nightgown laid out across the bed.

Nick picked it up. 'I don't know why Margaret persists with

this charade,' he remarked. 'She must know by now that you

never wear any of them.'

Cally made herself shrug. 'But then what's one more charade

among so many? And she's offering me a choice, which I in-

tend to make in future.' She held out a hand. 'So, may I have

it—please?'

He gave her a surprised glance. 'If that's what you want.' His

smile was coaxing. Almost tender. 'Don't tell me you're

feeling self-conscious,' he added, as he discarded his jacket

and began unknotting his tie.

Cally stood beside the bed, clutching the drift of ivory voile

against her body.

She took a deep breath. 'What—what are you doing?'

The dark brows lifted. 'Getting undressed. I usually do at

bedtime, as you must have noticed by now.'

She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. 'Didn't Dr

Hanson—talk to you?'

'Yes.' Nick was unbuttoning his shirt. 'She suggested a spot of

abstinence on my part. Although I suspect it's a little late to

worry about that,' he added ruefully. 'However, I won't put the

baby in any more jeopardy, I promise.'

'Then why are you here?' She spoke more sharply than she'd

planned, and saw him pause, his attention entirely arrested.

He said quietly, 'You're my wife, Cally. This is our bed.

Where else should I be?'

'You mean to ignore the doctor?'

'Oh, for God's sake,' he said wearily. 'I was planning a cuddle,

not an orgy.'

'And I was counting on a little peace and quiet.' Even to her

own ears her voice sounded breathless. 'Now that you—

you've achieved your objective, you've no real reason to be

here. And I'd hoped my—my privacy might be restored to

me.'

He was frighteningly still. He said slowly, 'So—for absti-

nence, substitute total banishment? Is that it?'

Somehow she lifted her chin. 'Unless you have any objec-

tions.'

'So many that it would probably take something like the

Domesday Book to list them all,' Nick said icily. 'But I doubt

that any of them would do any good, and I'm damned if I'll

plead for the right to sleep with you, Cally.'

He picked up his clothing and walked across to the com-

municating door. 'Would you like me to have a bolt fitted—in

case I should forget and stray on to forbidden ground?'

She shook her head, her mouth so dry she felt as if she'd been

chewing ashes. 'I'm sure that—won't be necessary.'

His sudden smile seemed to scrape her skin. 'Good guess,' he

said softly. And now—goodnight, my little ice angel. Enjoy

your dreams—if you can.'

The door closed behind him. Cally sank down on the edge of

the bed, staring at the panels, wishing she didn't feel so lost.

It was just the first step, she tried to tell herself. The initial

move towards the inevitable, irrevocable separation between

them once the baby was born.

Just one of so many difficult decisions ahead of her, she

thought achingly.

And the most important of those was to try and find some

way, even now, to stop loving him.

Cally gave her pillows a last ineffectual punch, then sat bolt

upright, glaring into the darkness. She said aloud, 'Oh, this is

ridiculous.'

She was tired to the bone, so why, then, couldn't she sleep? At

one moment she'd felt too hot, so she'd kicked off the covers.

The next she was dragging them back because she was cold,

which was ludicrous on a warm summer night.

She'd turned so restlessly and so constantly from one side to

the other that her nightgown had become twisted around her.

imprisoning her like a straitjacket, and the damned pillows felt

as if they were filled with lead instead of feathers.

She'd closed her eyes so tightly that they ached, but it was

useless. She was still wide awake, and she knew why.

Because with Nick gone, the big bed seemed a vast empty

wasteland. Subconsciously, she realised, she was reaching for

him, and finding only loneliness. And it was no good telling

herself that it was something she had to get accustomed to,

when she might as well be lying on razorblades.

I can't go on like this, she told herself, wriggling to the edge

of the tumbled bed. She freed herself with difficulty from the

stranglehold of her nightdress, shaking out its folds, then

reached into the drawer of the night table for the torch that

was kept there in case of power cuts. After all, she didn't want

to attract too much attention by putting on main lights, she

thought as she trod silently across the room to the communi-

cating door.

She paused in the passageway, listening, but there was no

sound from the room at the far end, and it seemed safe to slip

into the bathroom.

She hadn't investigated all the mirrored cupboards too

minutely, but she knew one of them held first aid materials, so

surely there had to be some kind of medication that might

help her. Somehow she had to get some rest, she told herself

through gritted teeth as she switched on the torch and began

her search. But, apart from some basic painkillers, there was

nothing. Not even a cold remedy.

Nick, it seemed, didn't suffer from the ordinary human ail-

ments—and certainly not insomnia.

Cursing under her breath, she pushed the tubes of antiseptic

and packets of plasters to one side, so that she could reach the

back of the glass shelf, only to find them spilling out on to the

tiled surface beneath, knocking over various jars and bottles

on their way and sending Nick's aftershave crashing into the

basin.

In the stillness of the night, the noise seemed like a thun-

derclap, Cally thought frantically. She made a grab to stop

other containers rolling on to the floor and dropped the torch,

which promptly went out.

'Oh, no,' she wailed under her breath, as she went down on her

knees, feeling for it in the darkness.

Only to find, almost before she could draw another breath, the

bathroom flooded with sudden light and Nick's astonished

voice saying. 'What the hell...?'

She looked round defensively as she retrieved the torch. 'I'm

sorry. I was trying to be quiet.'

'Heaven forbid you ever try to be noisy.' His tone was caustic.

He walked forward, tightening the sash of his robe, and

inspected the broken bottle of aftershave in the basin. 'Pretty

drastic measures,' he commented. 'I didn't realise you disliked

it so much. I can't say I care for it much at this strength.'

'It was an accident,' she muttered, scrambling to her feet. 'I

was just looking for something to help me sleep.'

'Were you indeed?' Nick said, too pleasantly. 'I'm afraid you

won't find it, and even if you did you're taking nothing that

hasn't been prescribed for you, because I won't let you. Do I

make myself clear?' He waited while she nodded reluctantly.

'Now, go back to bed,' he directed, 'while I clean up this mess.

He walked past her and opened the bathroom window.

'What's the point of going to bed when I can't sleep?' Cally

said rebelliously.

Nick looked at her, sighing faintly. 'Maybe you should keep

off coffee after dinner,’ he said. 'Would hot milk help? Shall I

fetch some for you?'

'I—I don't know.' She hesitated. 'I've already caused you

enough trouble.'

He said curtly, 'You don't know the half of it.' He came over

to her, and before she could stop him picked her up in his

arms and started back with her to her room.

'My God,' he said, halting as he surveyed the rumpled bed. 'It

looks like a disaster area.' He put her into a chair and began

straightening the sheets with brisk efficiency. She watched

him as he plumped the pillows and folded back the tangled

cover into inviting neatness.

Treating her like a child, she thought, when she needed so

desperately to be a woman. His woman.

'There you are, Lady Tempest.' He glanced at her with faint