Scandalous Bride

‘A splendid idea!’ the Spencers enthused as one.

‘You’ve really excelled yourself this time, Ma,’ Nathan said tonelessly. ‘Take your oar out, for God’s sake! Olivia and I are more than capable of sorting out our own future.’

Silence. Angela looked more surprised than stricken. It was probably the first time her adored son had slapped her down, Olivia thought. Whenever she’d tried to interfere in his life before he would have given her that lazy, stupendous smile and just got on with doing exactly what he wanted to do.

Nathan had no intention of settling down; she knew that now. There hadn’t been the time or the inclination during their brief, passionate courtship to think of their future. They had been too obsessed with each other.

She wished, with painful intensity, that her mother-in-law had kept her mouth shut. The relaxed persona Nathan had been acquiring throughout the evening had been wiped away by his mother’s artless interference.

But, even though she was shocked by his cold incisiveness, Angela wasn’t to be deflected. She was his mother, after all, and entitled to open her mouth when no one else would dare.

‘I’m sure you are, dear. But as The Grange is on the market it wouldn’t do any harm if you took Livvy to see over it, would it, now? You could walk across tomorrow morning, if that’s all right with Lester and Ruth.’

Whether or not it would be convenient no one would ever know, Olivia decided sinkingly as Nathan stated flatly, ‘Not possible. We’re leaving directly after breakfast Ten, at the latest.’

It was the first Olivia had heard of it. They’d planned to spend the whole weekend here, driving back to town late on Sunday evening, but there was no point in arguing about it. Nathan had made his mind up and nothing she said would change it. She recognised with an inward shudder that his dark mood had nothing to do with his mother’s well-meaning interference and everything to do with her.

And although the conversation was general for the remainder of the evening she sensed the undercurrent of his anger. She was sure everyone else was unaware; not even his parents, close as they were, could tune into his moods as instinctively as she could.

And much later, almost before he’d closed the bedroom door behind them, he drawled, ‘So that was what the cosy natter was all about this afternoon? The London house, handy for your job, but it would be nice to have a country place, to put down roots, tie us down.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ she told him levelly, not wanting to fight. Angela had done all the talking, explaining that Nathan had always had itchy feet, always off someplace else, doing deals, turning wheels. Seizing happily on the fact of his marriage as evidence that he was at long last willing to settle down. ‘The idea that we should consider buying The Grange came as a complete surprise to me, too.’

She walked out of her shoes and took the studs from her ears, searching for a way to put things right between them. ‘Your parents know I work—it’s only natural for them to look into the future, see me giving it up when we start a family, needing somewhere bigger. Everything set out in a nice predictable line.’

She had her back to him, putting the gold studs safely in their soft silk pouch, and only knew he was right behind her when his hands fastened on her shoulders, twisting her round to face him.

‘Did you tell her I’d begged you to hand in your resignation?’ He forced her chin up with his fingers. ‘Look at me. I want to see your eyes. I can tell if you’re lying. Did you?’

‘No.’ She held his gaze squarely, her violet eyes bruised. The lovely guest suite suddenly seemed an alien place. She didn’t want to be here. The matter of her resignation had nothing to do with anyone else. His fingers tightened on her chin, hurting her. She tried to twist away but he wouldn’t let her. She hated having him touch her in anger. It brought back sickening memories of Max.

‘Why not? Because you have no intention of doing what I asked?’ His voice was low, deadly. ‘The whole world is my workplace; you knew that before we married. You’re my wife; I want you with me. But you don’t see it that way—’

‘My career’s important too,’ she retorted, her teeth snapping. Why did men always think they and their needs were the most important things in a relationship? Why should women always be the ones who had to adapt?

‘I offered you another, remember? Helping me. Taking the place of the temps I hire in wherever I happen to be. What makes the job at Caldwell’s more exciting and challenging than that? More satisfying than being with me?’ He released her, his hands dropping to his sides. ‘If you loved me, you’d want to be with me,’ he said flatly. ‘Or was Big-Mouth telling the truth? Can’t you bear to leave James Caldwell?’

CHAPTER THREE

‘THIS is getting to be a habit.’ Nathan’s voice came softly in the thick, curtained darkness. He turned his head towards her. ‘Let’s say we kick it?’

Lying a rigid three feet away, in the intimate cave of the unfamiliar four-poster bed, Olivia wanted to slap him. The sultry, sexy tone of his voice told her he was perfectly happy to forget his temper, the hurtful things it had made him say. But she couldn’t.

They hadn’t made love for thirty-six hours so he was probably frustrated. His rampant male hormones were making him forget the way he’d accused her of refusing to walk away from her job because she was having an ongoing affair with her boss.

Well, she hadn’t forgotten and if he had the nerve to reach out and touch her she would scream—even if it did bring his parents to the guest suite at a run!

She held her breath, all tensed up inside, her eyes hurting from staring into the darkness while she waited for that sneaky hand, that strong, sinfully knowing, sneaky hand, to bridge the gap and begin to work that wicked magic, taking what he wanted...

Which was exactly what she wanted, too. Her body was already responding dramatically. It would be too easy to turn into his arms, pretend that that would resolve everything. The thought appalled her. She blinked her eyes rapidly and made herself breathe. It would be so easy...

‘I can’t forget what you accused me of that easily,’ she said, making her words clipped and precise so he wouldn’t guess how much she wanted to be held in his arms, to be physically assured of his love—wild passion absorbing all their senses, blanking out the frightening knowledge that he couldn’t love her at all if he didn’t trust her. ‘A quick grope won’t make everything all right.’

‘Is that what you think of our lovemaking?’ he came back at her immediately, his voice as cold and bleak as outer space. ‘A quick grope?’

Too late, Olivia wished she’d held her stupid, wilful tongue, done the dignified thing and simply exited the bed, walked out with her head in the air to make herself a nice cup of tea in Angela’s kitchen, as any sane woman would have done in the circumstances. Or looked for Edward’s brandy and poured herself an enormous dose, which was probably a much better idea...

Instead it was Nathan who swung out of bed, reached for his robe. She couldn’t see him but could hear his impatient movements. She wriggled up on one elbow, the fear that he was cutting himself off from her, somehow moving away from her, never, truly, to return—not in spirit, anyway—making her voice sharp.

‘Where are you going?’ If he mentioned tea or brandy, or even her most hated all of panaceas—cocoa—she would join him. Yes, she would, she decided, getting ready to scramble out of bed.

She sagged dejectedly back against the pillows when he drawled at her, ‘To make a couple of phone calls. You have the bed to yourself to sulk in. And don’t worry, wife of my heart, I won’t creep back for a furtive grope.’

Oh, what had made her say that? she thought with anguish as the door closed behind him with a quiet control that told her he’d gone far beyond mere anger.

Tears welled up and ran down her cheeks, slow and fat and born of self-disgust. She hated herself! Of course she didn’t equate the magic of their lovemaking with a quick grope—surely he knew that? Couldn’t he understand that she’d been getting her own back for what he had said earlier?

Flicking on the bedside light, she reached for a handful of tissues, blew her nose and scrubbed her wet cheeks. She had to put things right. Make him understand that she hadn’t meant what she’d said, that she hadn’t been rejecting him but the accusations he’d made.

It was more than time to find out if he really, or even partially, believed the things Hugh had said. They couldn’t get on with their future while he kept a question mark in his mind.

The satin of her robe was cold against her heated skin. She shivered, tying the sash around her waist, sudden indecision making her frown.

He was making a couple of phone calls, he’d said, so right now wouldn’t be the best time to attempt a reconciliation, would it? And at this time of night that could only mean he was contacting somewhere halfway round the world.

But that didn’t mean he was so annoyed with her he was planning on taking the next available flight out to wherever, did it?

The attempted reassurance didn’t work. She chewed on the corner of her lip and her legs began to shake. She sank back on the edge of the bed. She knew enough about his business life to admire the way he’d made himself an enviable fortune, travelling the world looking for investment opportunities, playing the stock market, building stakes in groups to sell on at a profit.

It would be possible, he’d once told her, to conduct most of his business from a well-equipped office, but he preferred the hands-on approach. Was he planning one of his extended foreign business trips to punish her?

Speculation was getting her nowhere. And he wouldn’t be on the phone all night. She crawled back into bed and propped herself up against the pillows, waiting for him.

As soon as he showed his face she’d make everything right between them again, she promised herself. Yes, she most definitely would. And it wouldn’t be too long now, just long enough for him to make those calls. She’d give him that much space; she owed him that. He wouldn’t stay away for the rest of the night.

But he had. Still in her robe, propped against the pillows, disorientated because she wasn’t in her own, familiar surroundings, Olivia woke from fretful dreams, deeply annoyed with herself. She had gone and fallen asleep before he’d come back to bed, and nothing had been put right.

Turning to remedy the unthinkable situation, her body tensed up. His side of the bed was well and truly empty. Had her seeming rejection, her refusal to behave as if nothing had happened, angered him to the point of refusing to be anywhere near her? She felt physically sick.

They met on the sweeping staircase, that much admired feature of Rye House. But she wasn’t up to admiring the Grinling Gibbons carvings right now. She’d showered and dressed quickly, intent on routing him out, dreading the possibility of discovering that their beautiful relationship had been damaged, vowing that she wouldn’t let it be.

‘Where were you?’ she demanded, refusing to flinch beneath those cold grey eyes. He was fully dressed and looked as if he hadn’t slept at all.

‘Working.’ He stopped on his loping way up. ‘I came up to shower and dress at six. You were dead to the world. I’ve been sent to fetch you down for breakfast.’

She didn’t want any. Her stomach was in knots. He was looking at her with a stranger’s eyes. It frightened her. But she wasn’t going to let it show.

‘Punishing me for denting your ego, you mean,’ she retorted, resisting the impulse to shout because one or other of his parents could put in an appearance at any time. But she was sickened by the obvious lie. If their marriage was to grow and flourish they had to be hon-est with each other. She hated evasions of any kind; she’d had enough of those from Max to last her a dozen lifetimes. She stared straight back at him. ‘Admit it. How could you possibly work? Here, in the middle of the night? You were sulking!’