Marriage On Trial

Her prayer was answered.

With a slight shrug, he set his cup down on the oval coffee table, and looking around the low-ceilinged room with its white plaster walls, black beams and polished oak floorboards, commented, ‘This is a real gem of a place. How long have you been living here?’

‘About nine months.’

‘You struck lucky. It isn’t often something like this comes up for rent.’

‘It isn’t rented.’

‘Ah!’ Softly he observed, ‘If one’s romantically inclined, it must make an ideal love-nest.’

‘If you’re implying that Richard comes here—’ Realising that she was playing into his hands, she broke off abruptly.

‘Doesn’t he?’

‘Certainly not! Except to pick me up occasionally.’

Raising a dark brow, Quinn pursued, ‘But he did set you up here?’

‘He did no such thing!’

Quinn made no attempt to hide his scepticism. ‘I wouldn’t have expected anyone on a secretary’s salary, even if it’s an exceptionally good one, to be able to buy a place like this.’

‘I didn’t buy it. Emily Henderson, the writer I’d worked for for several years, asked me to take care of it…’

After living in a cramped and dingy bedsit above a seedy video shop, having the opportunity to move into Cantle Cottage had seemed like a miracle.

‘She’s gone to Australia for a year to stay with her son and his family,’ Elizabeth added flatly, and wondered why she was taking the trouble to explain.

But she knew only too well why. It was a hangover from the past, when Quinn had so badly misjudged her. Well, the past was long gone, she reminded herself briskly, and she no longer had to justify anything.

Frowning, as though he could read her thoughts, he harked back, ‘So where do you and Beaumont meet when you have your…shall we say…trysts? Obviously not his apartment… And I can’t see the family home being at all suitable.’

Losing her temper, she snapped, ‘And I can’t see what makes where we meet any of your business.’

‘Then you do sleep with him…’ Though the words themselves were triumphant, there was a kind of weary acceptance in the low-pitched voice, rather than satisfaction. ‘And he wants the Van Hamel as a carrot to keep you where he—’

‘You’re quite wrong,’ she broke in furiously. ‘Richard wants the Van Hamel for its own sake… And whether or not I sleep with him is entirely my affair.’

A look that seemed to hold both anger and pain crossed Quinn’s dark face, but a split second later it was gone, and Elizabeth knew she must have imagined it.

After a moment, his expression thoughtful, he pursued, ‘Though you clearly weren’t at home in the apartment, I got the distinct impression that you were intending to stay the night?’

‘What if I was?’ She tried to sound offhand.

‘Yet you seemed to be unprepared, not even a sponge bag, which leads me to believe that it hadn’t been planned in advance…

‘It’s my guess that he only proposed to you this evening, perhaps on the way to the sale, and that he asked you then to go back with him.’

Her expression telling him more clearly than words that he was right, he smiled sardonically.

When she remained determinedly silent, he went on, ‘He was certainly expecting you to stay, and though he did his best to act like a gentleman he was furious when he realized you really were going to leave…’

Then, like a cobra striking, he asked, ‘Why did you change your mind? Was it because of me?’

‘Why on earth should it be?’ She made an effort to sound dismissive.

‘You tell me.’

‘It was nothing to do with you,’ she lied hardily.

‘Then why?’

‘I had a headache. Now, I really would like to go to bed, so if you could finish your coffee…?’

Picking up his cup, he drained it, before remarking, ‘My, but you seem uncommonly eager to be rid of me.’

When she made no effort to refute that statement, he turned to look at her, his green eyes gleaming. ‘Bearing in mind that I still have the Van Hamel, I’m surprised you can’t bring yourself to be a little more gracious.’

It was a threat, however subtly worded.

‘I don’t care a damn about the Van Hamel.’ The retort was out before she could prevent it.

‘You may not, but your fiancé certainly does. In fact, judging by the amount I was able to push him to tonight, I’d say he’s set his heart on having it…’

Once again Quinn was one hundred per cent accurate.

‘So if you don’t want to see him disappointed…’

She didn’t.

Possibly because of his nature and privileged upbringing, Richard wasn’t a good loser. Like a spoilt child, he was unable to forget a failure. Losing the Van Hamel now would rankle, and could end up souring their whole engagement.

No matter what other precious stone he chose for her ring, Elizabeth knew quite well that, in his eyes at least, it would always be second best, and every time he looked at it he would feel angry and dissatisfied.

Gritting her teeth, she made an effort to be civil. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been ungracious…’

‘That’s better,’ Quinn murmured encouragingly. ‘Now perhaps you could make me some supper and another cup of coffee? Oh, and please do join me. I dislike eating alone.’

Though politely framed it was undoubtedly an order.

Knowing only too well that he was playing with her, deliberately provoking her, she felt a fierce desire to smack his mocking face and tell him to get out.

Instead, she rose to her feet without a word, and, picking up his empty cup, carried it through to the kitchen.

This time she got out the cafetière and warmed it, before taking a wholegrain loaf from the bread bin, and ham and cheese from the fridge.

She was cutting bread, when a movement in the doorway distracted her and the knife slipped and nicked her finger, making her gasp.