A Convenient Husband (2 page)

‘I can see that for myself.'

‘Why am I getting the distinct impression you'd have preferred it if I was sporting the odd broken bone or three?' he mused wryly. ‘If this is the sort of welcome your guests usually receive, I'm surprised you get any.'

‘I might be happier if I didn't,' she snarled.

‘Thinking of becoming a recluse, are we?'

‘You may be lord of the manor and the product of generations of in-breeding, but isn't the royal
we
a bit over the top, even for you?'

‘I wasn't actually referring to myself.' He flexed his shoulders and rotated his head slowly to ease the tension in his neck. ‘But what's a bit of poetic licence between friends?' Another shrug. ‘And that was a
great
line.'

This drew a rueful laugh from Tess. ‘It was, wasn't it?'

‘Before you fling any more stones, try and remember, angel, that beneath this strong, manly
inbred
exterior there lurks a sensitive soul.' He took Tess's hand and planted it with a slap against his chest. ‘See, I'm flesh and blood.'

Tess couldn't feel any evidence of a soul, but she could feel his body heat and the slow, steady beat of his heart. She stared at her own fingers splayed out against his shirt for what seemed like a long time; it was a strangely enervating experience to stand there like that. The distant buzzing in her head got closer. Feeling slightly dizzy, even a little confused, she lifted her eyes to his face…it swam dizzily out of focus.

Rafe looked down into her wide-spaced jewel-bright eyes and he hastily removed his fingers from around her wrist. Her hand fell bonelessly to her side.

He cleared his throat. ‘And, incidentally, you may not be aware of the difference, but there is a big one between class and flash.'

‘Toys for boys.' I really should have eaten something, she decided, lifting a worried hand to her gently spinning head.

‘Insult my car, insult me.'

She gave a relieved sigh and grinned; she was no longer seeing him through soft focus. ‘I'd prefer to insult you.'

‘I thought you were.'

Tess gave a concessionary shrug—he was actually taking her nastiness pretty well, which made her feel even more guilty than she already did. She knew perfectly well that it was Chloe she wanted to yell at…only she wasn't here and Rafe was…Just as well he had a broad back—very broad, as it happened, she mused, her eyes sliding briefly to the impressive muscular solidity of his powerful shoulders. Her empty stomach squirmed uncomfortably.

‘Well, Baggins doesn't seem to be holding a grudge,' she admitted. The undiscriminating animal's juvenile performance was obviously for Rafe's benefit, not her own. ‘You naughty, naughty boy,' she clucked lovingly.

Rafe didn't make the mistake of thinking her affectionate scolding was meant for him. ‘You always did have a novel approach to discipline, Tess,' he observed drily.

Tess sniffed. ‘I'm glad
I'm
not a blustering bully,' she retaliated. ‘I saw you being incredibly horrid to that poor man last night.'

‘I thought you didn't have a telly. Not in keeping with your green, eco-friendly, lentil-eating, brown-rice lifestyle…?'

His amused scorn really got under her skin. How dared he look down his autocratic nose at her? It obviously hadn't occurred to him that she might actually miss the odd trip to a concert or the theatre that had once been an important part of her life.

‘
Gran
didn't have a telly, I have a small portable, and just because I grow vegetables I resent the implication I've turned into one,' she told him tartly. ‘Besides, you've room to talk. At least when I do things it's out of personal conviction.' Or in this case a desire to cut down on the grocery bill—fresh organic vegetables cost the earth to buy!

‘Meaning I don't…?'

‘Well, you didn't show much interest in saving the planet before
Nicola
.' Nicola, the environmental activist, had been one of Rafe's first serious girlfriends. Along with strong convictions Nicola had possessed—in common with all the girlfriends who had followed her—endless legs, a great body and long, flowing blonde hair. ‘You haven't forgotten her, have you?'

Nicola had been a long time ago and in point of fact his recall was a little hazy.

‘A man doesn't forget a girl like Nicola.' He gave a lecherous grin just in case she'd missed the point—Tess hadn't.

‘That girl had boundless enthusiasm.'

Not to mention a D cup had she chosen to wear a bra, Tess recalled cynically. ‘Some might call it fanaticism.'

She was distracted from her theme when at that moment Baggins' tail caught a pile of plates and sent the top one spinning towards the floor. Rafe neatly caught it just before impact.

‘This dog's a liability,' he grunted.

‘Insult me, insult my dog,' she responded, mimicking his earlier retort. ‘Perhaps,' she fretted anxiously, ‘I should call the vet just to be absolutely sure…?' She ran an exploratory hand over the dog's back.

‘If he was a horse he'd be dog meat.'

‘Not if he was my horse.'

‘You sentimental old thing, you.'

‘That's rich coming from someone who has his first childhood pony munching happily away in the lap of luxury.'

‘Reasonable comfort,' he modified. There was a twinkle in Rafe's eyes as he acknowledged her pot-shot with a rueful grin. ‘If you're really worried about the mutt, I'm sure the worthy Andrew would be happy to make a house call.'

Rafe wasn't up to speed with the status of their romance, but it was well known locally that the middle-aged veterinarian had been sniffing after Tess since he'd bought into the local practice. Even though his acquaintance with that individual had been brief, Rafe didn't doubt that his estimation of the man as dull, pompous and self-righteous was essentially correct.

Tess flushed at the snide comment and her spine grew defensively rigid. ‘Didn't you know, Andrew sold the practice? He's moved up north.' She knew what Rafe, like everyone else, thought. If he
dared
offer her any false sympathy…

Why did everyone automatically assume that because she was single, female and just about on the right side of thirty she had to be gagging for the romantic attentions of any half-decent male in the vicinity? Admittedly, half-decent males were thin on the ground, and Andrew had been pleasant company, but even though the only thing they'd shared had been the odd meal the entire neighbourhood, if sly comments and knowing looks were anything to go by, had assumed Tess had been sharing a lot more with him.

Rafe's upper lip curled. ‘I always thought he was slimy,' he drawled insultingly.

‘If it's any comfort, he didn't like you much either.'

Rafe patted the fawning animal. ‘He's new…?'

‘So are most things since you last honoured us with your presence.'

‘You're still the same.'

Tess wasn't flattered; she didn't think she was meant to be. ‘He's pretty second-hand, actually. He was Mr Pettifer's dog—you remember him…?'

Rafe nodded, dimly recalling a frail octogenarian.

‘Nobody wanted him.'

‘What a surprise!' He couldn't imagine there were many households that would be likely to welcome this ugly brute.

Exasperated, Tess pushed the heavy fringe of chestnut hair, which was overdue a trim, impatiently from her eyes and focused on Rafe's sternly handsome face.

‘He's got a lovely nature.'

‘And bad breath.'

‘Well, Ben loves him.' From the way she said it he could tell that, as far as she was concerned, there was no greater recommendation.

She might be wrong—she didn't see Rafe much these days—but there seemed to be something a bit different about him tonight. She couldn't quite put her finger on it…

‘Have you been drinking?' she speculated out loud.

‘Not yet,' he told her with a jarring, reckless kind of laugh. ‘Just the thing!' he announced, swooping on a dusty bottle from the wine rack. His dark eyes scanned the label.

‘Elderberry, my favourite. Corkscrew…?' he added imperiously, holding out his hand expectantly.

Gran's elderberry! She now knew for sure that something was up! In other circumstances it might have nagged him to tell her what it was. Only at that moment she didn't much care what was bothering him, she just wanted him out of her hair so she could think…not that that had got her anywhere so far, she was reluctantly forced to acknowledge.

‘
You're
not proposing to expose your discerning taste buds to gran's home-made wine?' she mocked.

‘Not alone.'

‘A tempting invitation, but it's three o'clock in the morning,' she reminded him, automatically consulting her bare wrist to confirm this statement and realising she wasn't wearing her wrist-watch. Come to think of it, she wasn't wearing much, she acknowledged uncomfortably, pulling fretfully at the hem of her washed-out cotton nightshirt.

She had a distinct recollection of waving her arms around wildly, revealing in the process God knew what! Still, it was only Rafe and it wasn't likely he'd turn a hair if he'd walked in to find her stark naked!

Three a.m. or not, Rafe, of course, was looking as tiresomely perfect as ever. It went without saying that his outfit was tasteful and expensive. It consisted of dark olive trousers and a lightweight knitted polo shirt—not that the details really mattered, not when you were at least six feet four, possessed an athletic, broad-shouldered, skinny-hipped, long-legged body, and went around projecting the sort of brooding sensuality that made females more than willing to overlook the fact you had a face that wasn't strictly pretty. Strong, attractive and interesting, yes…pretty…no.

‘I know what time it is, I was kind of wondering about you…' His gaze moved rather pointedly over the disarray in the room. ‘Do you often get the urge to spring-clean in the wee small hours, Tess?'

‘I couldn't sleep,' she explained defensively, peeling off the yellow rubber gloves and throwing them on the draining-board.

She didn't much care if Rafe thought her eccentric, bordering on loopy; she didn't much care what Rafe thought at all these days. In her opinion success had not changed Rafe for the better. He'd been a nice, if irritating kid when he'd been two years younger than her.

She supposed he still must be two years younger, time being what it was, only the intervening years seemed to have swallowed up the two-year gap and had deprived her of the comfortable feeling of superiority that a few extra months gave you as a child.

Superiority wasn't something people around Rafe were likely to feel, she mused. He was one of those rare people folk automatically turned to for leadership—not that she classed herself as one of those mesmerised sheep who hung on his every word.

Still, although she often teased him about his old family name, he wasn't like the rest of the Farrars who were a snooty lot, firmly rooted in the dark ages. Traditionally—they were
big
on tradition—the younger son entered the military and the elder worked his way up through the echelons of the merchant bank which had been founded by some long-dead Farrar.

His elder brother Alec had obligingly entered the bank, even though as far as Tess could see the only interest he'd had in money had been spending it. She didn't suppose that his family had been particularly surprised when Rafe hadn't meekly co-operated with their plans for him. Since he'd been expelled from the prestigious boarding-school that generations of Farrars had attended they'd expected the worst of him and he'd usually fulfilled their expectations.

He hadn't even obliged them and turned into a worthless bum as had been confidently predicted. He'd worked his way up, quite rapidly as it happened, on the payroll of a national daily. He'd made a favourable impression there, but it was working as the anchor of a prestigious current affairs programme that had really made his name.

The job was tailor-made for Rafe. He wasn't aggressive or hostile; he didn't need to be. Rafe had the rare ability of being able to charm honest answers from the wiliest of politicians. He made it look so easy that not everyone appreciated the skill of his technique, or realised how much grinding background research he did to back up those deceptively casual questions.

Such was his reputation that people in public life were virtually queuing up to be interviewed by him, all no doubt convinced that they were too sharp to be lulled into a false sense of security. Without decrying his undoubted abilities, Tess cynically suspected that being incredibly photogenic had something to do with him achieving an almost cult-like status overnight.

‘I think better when I keep busy,' she explained glibly. Tonight, it would seem, was the exception to that rule. Fresh panic clawed deep in her belly as she realised afresh that there was no magical solution to her dilemma.