For The Babies' Sakes

‘Are you mad?’ she railed, feeling his strength sustaining her. His wonderfully lithe, powerful body, she thought. Then jealousy struck as she imagined his eyes looking at Celine with desire, his hands touching, arousing… She sucked in a tortured breath, unable to bear it. ‘Go away, Dan!’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t want to see you or hear you or think of you ever again!’

‘Don’t say that!’ His grip tightened. His eyes blazed. ‘Don’t ever say that, Helen! I’m not going anywhere—’

‘You’ll have to. You can’t possibly explain this away.’

Her eyes were dead. She thought she’d never smile again.

‘I can. I will. But first you must get into bed before you get pneumonia. You look—’

‘I know what I look like!’ she raged. ‘Plug ugly! My hair is a mess and I look worse than a typhus victim. Oh, sidle off to glamorous, voluptuous Celine and leave me to crawl into bed on my own!’

‘Poor love. What a hell you’re in,’ he rasped, stroking her plastered-down hair with a masterly semblance of affection.

And she almost succumbed. She wanted to be loved by him so badly, wanted to be held and cuddled and cosied up so much, that she stood there with her eyes closed, longing, wishing, adoring. Smelling his familiar and much-loved body smell. Feeling his warmth and energy. Hearing that seductively coaxing voice and finding her muscles relaxing in response.

‘Come on, darling.’

Her eyes snapped open at the husky coaxing. His fingers were unbuttoning her jacket! Shocked rigid, she knocked his hand away, stricken by the fact that he’d done the same to Celine only a short time ago.

‘You—you animal! Is that your solution? Is that all you can think about? A quick roll in the hay? Don’t you have any conscience, any moral values at all? Just…leave…me…alone!’ she wailed, beside herself with grief.

‘Calm down! That wasn’t my intention at all. I was trying to help,’ he said tautly. ‘Or are you intending to get into bed fully dressed?’

‘Right now I don’t care! Just…don’t…touch…me!’ she flared.

‘Fine. If that’s what you want…’

Taking her at her word, he let go and her legs gave way. She slid to the floor, weeping with frustration, racked with misery. A pathetic little heap, she thought. A ludicrous idiot wearing wellies. Oh, how he and Celine would sneer at her later!

‘Stupid, stubborn woman!’ Dan muttered under his breath.

Angrily he pulled her boots off before she could stop him, flinging them in the bath. She retaliated by curling up in a foetal position, her body shuddering with huge, uncontrollable sobs.

‘G-g-go ’way!’ she mumbled through her tears, desperate to be alone.

‘No.’

Dan ignored her flailing hands and feet and grimly removed her clothes. Once or twice she scored a direct hit on him, judging by his grunts, but he wasn’t deterred.

In a hostile silence they wrestled and thrashed around the slippery floor, though her resistance was feeble. When he’d peeled off her stockings and she was down to her bra and pants she gave up the struggle, too weak, too resigned to his determination to humiliate her.

He’d be comparing her body with Celine’s. Would be thinking that women should wear man-trap underwear with lace and fringes and holes and tassels, she thought miserably. Not neat-fitting, passion-killer cotton.

And he’d be secretly glad she’d discovered his affair because that would give him an excuse to leave her and get a decent replacement. Someone svelte and gorgeous who made pets of spiders and loved muddy countryside.

‘I feel sick,’ she muttered weakly, wondering how the elegant Celine fitted into that description of Dan’s perfect woman.

With an exasperated grunt, he tightened his towel around his narrow hips and raised her, wrapping her up in a warm bath sheet. Her shivering body sank gratefully into its soft folds as she held onto the edge of the basin again, wishing she could be sick and get it over and done with.

The nausea subsided and she turned away disconsolately. Dan took hold of her again, towelling her wet hair and then washing her horribly blotchy, tear-stained face. It was dangerously lovely, like being nurtured by her mother when she was a child, after she’d been ill with measles and had been allowed her first bath for a few days.

But her mother hadn’t picked her up, or carried her back, to bed and it was this that was almost her undoing. Clutched in the shelter of Dan’s strong arms, Helen fought to overcome a fierce urge to snuggle up to the glorious firmness of his naked chest and wrap her arms around his neck. This was her husband. It was the first time for months that they’d been physically close and her hormones were reacting accordingly.

Stone-faced, he undid her bra, his eyes lingering on her breasts. Her hopes rose. Perhaps he did find her attractive, despite everything…

Her spirits plummeted as, without comment, he pulled her sulkily compliant arms into a warm nightdress and tucked the bedclothes up around her neck.

It was then that she saw he was aroused. But was that, she wondered suspiciously, because he and Celine had been disturbed before…before…it had happened, and he was still unsatisfied?

Tormented by her thoughts, Helen turned her face away, her eyes tightly shut in a vain attempt to stop the tears from flowing again.

She wouldn’t cry. Her head had to be clear, her brain sharp. She had to make plans. Illness was making her act like a victim, but when she felt better she’d stand up for herself and fight for her rights.

The mattress shifted under Dan’s weight. His hand came up to brush dark strands of hair from her hot face.

‘I’m sorry you feel so rotten. What can I get you, sweetheart?’ he asked softly.

‘A divorce!’ she blurted out from the depths of her misery. ‘Now!’

CHAPTER THREE

THERE was a terrible silence. Helen didn’t breathe or move, appalled at the finality of what she’d said—and its inevitability. She could feel Dan’s shock like a seismic wave and sensed that his muscles were screwed up as tightly as hers.

And then he spoke, in a strangely halting and husky voice as if his heart was breaking, too.

‘I’ll get you a hot-water bottle and a thermometer. And a hot honey and lemon drink. When you’ve slept and you feel a little better, we’ll talk.’

‘Talk now! Before you have a chance to come up with some slippery explanation!’ she jerked.

He gazed at her with sad and unnervingly remote eyes.

‘Do you trust me so little?’ he asked quietly.

Helen felt bitterness scourging her insides. Trust? She would have staked her life on him. He had held her hopes and her love and her future in his hands. And he’d let her down.

She shuddered. It was as if she’d reached the depths of hell and suddenly she wanted to drag him there, too.

‘If you came home unexpectedly and found me half naked, surrounded by several pairs of boxer shorts and socks, riding boots, assorted spurs, scarlet jackets and a collection of plumed helmets,’ she retorted coldly, ‘wouldn’t you assume I’d jumped into bed with a Brigade of Guards?’

Dan went a sickly colour. His jaw worked as though his teeth were grinding together.

‘I’ll get that drink.’

He couldn’t get away fast enough, she thought, her face forlorn. Not only was she physically ugly to him, but she was showing a vicious, sarcastic side to herself she’d never known had existed. He’d always adored the funny slant she had on life. But now her tongue was turning to acid and burning her as well as him.

Was it any wonder, though, that she felt like lashing out? Miserably she burrowed deep into the bedclothes. She’d surrendered her heart to Dan and he’d rewarded her loyalty with the worst betrayal of all, just two years into their marriage. Of course, she thought glumly, it had been a farce for some time and she hadn’t even noticed.

All those late nights when he’d been supposedly expanding his already successful business, working with clients in the evenings and on weekends… He’d been with that woman. His exhaustion had been for other reasons than writing software, doing mega-buck deals and travelling around London till all hours of the night.