A Delicious Deception (20 page)

So what he was saying was that if she didn’t marry him, not only would she be denying her child the best possible start in life, but also jeopardizing her mother’s chances of a full recovery as well?

‘And if you’re thinking what I think you are,’ he said, surprisingly astute, ‘as things stand between us now, I doubt that she would even consider accepting any financial help from me, so I wouldn’t insult her by trying to persuade her to. But, as her son-in-law, I think she’d be more inclined to accept what I was offering—particularly if the persuading came from her newly wedded and supposedly blissfully happy only daughter, with the means to give her mother everything she needed. I’d have to insist, though, that we get married with no time to lose, since it’s imperative that she’s taken care of as quickly as possible.’

So, in short, if anything happened to her mother when she could have had the chance to prevent it, she’d have it on her conscience for the rest of her life.

‘Put like that, I don’t really have much choice, do I?’ she murmured, resigning herself to her fate of becoming King Clayborne’s wife. It was something she had once longed for and yet now, when faced with the reality of it happening, she was just left feeling numb and chilled by an aching regret. ‘As you say, there’s far more to consider in all this than simply
what either of us really wants, isn’t there?’ she uttered with a false show of bravado.

‘Yes, there is.’ His own regret was clear from the way his breath shivered through him. He was simply doing the right thing. Nothing more. ‘But not as I say, Rayne. As circumstances beyond our own desires, thoughts and feelings dictate.’

So he would be legitimising the Clayborne heir and seeing that all the treatment her mother needed from now on would be taken care of, which was a relief and a mercy, Rayne realised, beyond her wildest hopes. But King Clayborne was a high-flyer and used to associating with beautiful and celebrated women. Supposing he got bored with her and chose to end the marriage at some later date? What then?

Then he would have secured his rights to his child and ensured that he would always be a part of that child’s life, but what about her? Could she bear the pain of losing him when it felt as if her very reason for having been born was simply to love him? She had to, because he was offering her mother the chance she needed, and she knew that any amount of personal unhappiness that might follow would be worth it to see her mother well again. There was no question of that.

She only knew that while she and King were man and wife she would give it everything she had to make their marriage work—to try and make him love her. After all, if she could, she thought, and they had a lovely baby to focus on as well, would there ever be any reason for him to go?

T
HE
register office wedding had been booked for two weeks ahead, and it was to be a small private affair with just a handful of guests attending.

King had already been having discussions with a top consultant about Cynthia Hardwicke’s condition. Just as he had predicted, at first she had been strongly opposed to accepting any financial help.

But, after being told that she was going to be a grandmother—something she admitted to having guessed, despite Rayne’s secrecy about it—and then being told that King—whom she had also guessed was the father of her future grandchild—actually intended to marry her daughter, it wasn’t long before she finally gave in. Wooed, Rayne suspected, not only by the prospect of the coming baby, but also by King’s inimitable charm.

In the meantime, regarding her only daughter’s wedding, Cynthia Hardwicke was determined to offer all the maternal help and support she could.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Rayne asked her a couple of days later, when they were browsing together around the bridal department of the exclusive London store.

‘About you marrying a Clayborne?’ Her mother’s mouth tugged speculatively. ‘I want whatever you want for yourself, Lorrayne. I just wish you’d told me you were having his baby. Told me you were pregnant without my having to guess.’

‘I just didn’t want to say anything to upset you,’ Rayne told her ruefully. ‘You aren’t too disappointed in me, are you?’

‘I could never be disappointed in you, darling. Just as long as you’re happy,’ her mother emphasised.

‘I love him, if that’s what you mean.’

‘And does he love you?’

Rayne glanced away.

‘I see.’ Her mother’s softly spoken statement held a wealth of understanding. ‘Oh, darling …’

‘But he will,’ Rayne told her nonchalantly, feigning an interest in the billowing ivory satin yards of one of the extortionately priced wedding dresses she was fingering on the rail. ‘I’ve got enough love for both of us,’ she tagged on as determinedly as she could. ‘And the welfare of his baby means everything to him. We can’t fail to make it work,’ she stressed, trying to convince her mother, even if she couldn’t quite convince herself. And suddenly, from nowhere, the question sprang into her mind so that, before she knew it, she was asking, ‘Mum … were you always happy with Dad?’

Cynthia Hardwicke’s interest in the fabric her daughter was holding seemed to be as distracted, Rayne thought, as her own. ‘We had our ups and downs.’

‘But wasn’t there ever a time when … when you thought it just wasn’t going to work out?’ She deliberately kept her attention on the dress but out of the corner of her eye saw the way Cynthia Hardwicke’s forehead creased.

‘Why all these questions?’ Her mother sounded, Rayne thought, just like she did when she used to pat her on the head and tell her brightly that everything was going to be all right when she didn’t really know if it would be. ‘Are you really so unsure of King?’

‘No.’ Because how could she doubt the package that he’d laid out for her in black and white? She knew exactly how he felt—and where she stood. ‘I just wanted to be certain that you’re all right with what I’m doing because …’ she couldn’t
look at her mother at all now as she said ‘… because you and Dad were so happy. And because you thought, like I did, that King had supported Mitch in stealing Dad’s ideas from him and—’

‘Which is why you went over to see Mitch Clayborne when I was away. Which is why, had I known, I’d have stopped you getting involved in what happened. For a start, Lorrayne, I’ve never held anything against King.’

‘You haven’t?’ Now it was Rayne’s turn to frown.

‘Your father signed something which, on paper, gave us no legal right to pursue any claim for that software. Mitch and your father had agreed to launch it in their joint names but there were reasons why King’s father didn’t honour his promise. I don’t know if I should be telling you this or any good way to say it, but Mitchell’s wife and your father …’

As Cynthia hesitated, Rayne looked at her quickly now, clarity dawning in her wide, shocked eyes.

‘You
knew
about that?’ she said.

‘Yes, darling, I did. And I gather that you now know about it too.’

‘Oh, Mum!’ Emotion welled into Rayne’s eyes as she hugged her mother, regardless of who might be watching, not that there were more than one or two other customers browsing around the spectacularly designed gowns. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I didn’t want to hurt you, darling. Or do anything to destroy the picture you had of your father. I know how much you loved him—and how much he loved you. And apart from that one foolish indiscretion, he was a good man.’

‘You should have told me,’ Rayne remonstrated softly, releasing her, wishing her mother hadn’t had to bear the brunt of her heartache alone.

‘Just as you should have told me when you first suspected you were pregnant,’ Cynthia scolded gently, tenderly cupping Rayne’s cheek. ‘I suppose that makes us both a pair of stubborn,
independent women—and both far stronger than each of us have given the other credit for being.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Rayne breathed, comforted by that maternal strength that made her realise just how precious her mother was to her. ‘I thought you were totally blinded by love and would have cracked up if you’d ever found out what Dad had done. Oh, Mum! Why did you stay?’

‘I stayed because he needed me—and to hold our home together,’ Cynthia told her philosophically. ‘Without that, our little family, which meant everything to me, would simply have fallen apart.’

And she’d thought her mother was the shrinking violet of her two parents! The one who had needed all the help and support and protection from any emotional stress when, in fact, it had been the other way around.

She only hoped that she would have the same kind of strength to support her husband and her child or children whenever they needed her as her mother had done throughout those difficult years, and she thanked her lucky stars that Cynthia Hardwicke would be given the chance to enjoy having grandchildren.

And that surely had to compensate for the fact that had she not gone to Monaco—which she wouldn’t have done, Rayne decided painfully, had she known the truth—she wouldn’t now be suffering agonies of doubt about marrying the man she loved, a man who was only marrying her because she was carrying his child.

It was proposed that after they were married they would live in King’s country home, which was within commuting distance of London. The house took Rayne’s breath away the day King first took her there.

An exclusively designed and totally modern building constructed mainly of glass, the faultless architecture of its various storeys seemed to grow out of the hillside, rising up with
the trees that gave it its privacy and seclusion. The garden wrapped itself around the house, a garden filled with nooks and secret pathways, which would be a dream, Rayne decided, for children to explore, while a terrace at the back gave onto manicured lawns which tumbled down to the River Thames and a private mooring where King kept his boat.

‘How the other half live,’ she remarked dryly, with a grimace, because she couldn’t imagine herself ever living in such a stupendous place, let alone as King Clayborne’s wife.

‘No. How
we’re
going to live,’ he corrected her, with his arm going around her as he guided her to the front door. ‘You’re going to be my other half, Rayne. We’re going to be a unit. A family.’

‘Based on accidental pregnancy and physical attraction?’ she reminded him pointedly, with her head cocked at an angle.

‘Based on two people pulling together to do what’s best.’

And that was that, she realised with a little shiver of longing, wishing she could have taken more pleasure in the luxury of her surroundings. The type of pleasure any bride-to-be who loved with the knowledge of how much her future husband loved her would have taken in being told that this was going to be her future home, she thought. But even so, she still couldn’t help being bowled over by the immediate impact of wealth combined with exquisite taste as he let her into the house.

This place had it all, from the touches of ebony and Italian marble to the exclusive antiques, body-sinking sofas and the Chinese silks that hung from the endless windows, which allowed one to feel part of the great outdoors while maximising the use of light. There was even a white baby grand piano standing in its own acres of floor space, enhanced by a couple of the many large and luxuriant plants that were growing about the place, obviously thriving because of all the light.

‘I didn’t know you played!’ she exclaimed gleefully, moving
over to the piano, considering then how little she did know about him. ‘I don’t.’

The lid was open, exposing the keys, and she’d started running her fingers lightly over them. But, realising what he’d just said, she looked up at him quickly, her gaze questioning as he came and stood beside her.

‘Then why …’

But it had already dawned and her heart skipped a beat when she saw the almost amused twist to his lips.

She remembered telling him that day on the yacht that she’d learned to play the piano as a child, and that her parents had sold theirs when she’d lost interest. She hadn’t told him that it had been sold to help pay off their debts, but she had said that she intended to take up the instrument again as soon as she could. One day. One day when she had saved up enough money to afford one that wasn’t too expensive, but she hadn’t told him that either. And now …

‘I can’t believe you’ve done this,’ she breathed, standing there with tears in her eyes.

‘Then believe this.’

Suddenly his arm was around her waist and he was pulling her against him.

Every nerve leaped in answering response.

As always, when they started to kiss, it was never enough and hungrily, drowning in the scent and touch and feel of each other, they started ripping one another’s clothes off, Rayne’s chequered tie-blouse and jeans, King’s jacket and shirt and tie strewn over the floor leading from the opulent sitting room to the foot of the huge round bed two storeys up, where they made love as if it was the first time for each of them.

Afterwards, lying there in the crook of King’s arm amongst navy-blue satin sheets and cushions and watching the sun dappling the trees which seemed as much a part of the magnificent bedroom as its coved ceiling and windows,
Rayne thought of all King was offering her besides marriage. Security for her child. Help for her mother. He had even put in a bid for a beautifully restored cottage nearby so that she wouldn’t have to worry about being too far from her mother. And on top of everything else—the piano.

Even if he could never give her his love, Rayne mused, silently anxious, it was obvious he would be generous with everything else. And whatever else was lacking in their marriage, she wasn’t in any doubt that he wanted her physically at least. She only hoped that she could be content to let that be enough.

King flew up to Edinburgh the next day for a couple of days, while Rayne carried on with plans for the forthcoming wedding.

She put a deposit on a gown—something simple with a lacy bodice and an A-line skirt that needed a bit of adjustment on the waist to take account of her pregnancy—and which she had arranged to collect at the beginning of the next week. Then she spent a couple of hours wandering around shelves of cuddly toys and wallowing in aisles of miniature jumpers and dresses and smart little dungarees, wishing that, while she was looking forward to this coming baby with so much love and expectation, the thought of her imminent wedding wasn’t churning her up so much inside.