Dragon's Lair (16 page)

Now a sense of warm languor invaded her body at the sight of his

bare skin and the memory of how it had felt against her own, and

she gave a little gasp as the exact trend of her thoughts came home

to her.

She was attending to the final dishing-up as Gethyn walked into the

kitchen.

'Shall I open the wine?' He picked up the bottle and studied the

label. 'Very impressive.'

'I hope you like it.' She thought miserably that the tremor in her

voice must be as obvious to him as it was to her. 'I don't really

know your tastes ...' Her voice tailed away as she realised that was

not the most fortunate of comments under the circumstances, but he

did not seem concerned, turning away to hunt in a drawer for the

corkscrew.

It was easier somehow when the meal was served and they were

sitting at the table facing each other. She found he had switched off

the pendant light and his desk lamp, and that the room's only

illumination was the flickering candles. In a way she was glad of

this, although it had not been entirely what she intended. The

moving shadows afforded her a kind of privacy, concealing the

unwonted flush on her cheeks. Gethyn ate with appreciation, and

she was glad of it because her own plate remained relatively

untouched. She no longer felt sick—that, thankfully, had passed,

but the tension which had replaced it was in many ways worse.

For dessert, she served cheese and a bowl of ripe plums and grapes.

The fruit was cool and refreshing for her dry mouth, and she had

begun to relax slightly as she got up to make the coffee.

Gethyn's fingers fastened with unexpected firmness around her

wrist.

'Don't rush away,' he said lazily. She paused uncertainly.

'But the coffee ...'

'Can wait. Why don't we finish this wine instead?' He refilled her

glass.

'Oh,' she said rather blankly. 'I didn't intend to have any more. It

goes to my head.'

He shrugged as he poured the remainder into his own glass. 'Well,

don't worry about it. If you pass out, I promise not to tell anyone.'

Davina smiled weakly as she subsided into her chair. In a way, she

was glad she had the wine to blame for the sudden quiver in her

legs and the strange lightheadedness which was threatening to

overwhelm her.

'I have to thank you, Davina,' he went on after a slight pause. 'It was

a—memorable meal.'

'Thanks.' She swallowed. 'I—I enjoyed cooking it.'

'It means I'll have at least one pleasant memory to take away with

me tomorrow.' His mouth twisted wryly. 'Generous of you—in the

circumstances.'

She was silent, not knowing how to answer, reluctant to look inside

herself and acknowledge these strange new emotions that seemed to

be taking control of her. She tried to tell herself that she had known

the compulsion of these desires and longings before—before she

had married Gethyn, and reminded herself of how ephemeral they

had been in the cold hard light of reality, when she had woken from

her romantic dream and faced the demands that he had made of her.

All the evidence suggested that a similar disillusionment awaited

her if she allowed her feelings full rein once more.

She picked up her glass and swallowed some more wine. Her throat

felt dry and tight, and her voice sounded husky in her own ears as

she said, 'It's time I cleared away.'

'Leave it. I'll do it later.' His lips twisted at the surprised glance she

sent him. 'I am quite capable, you know. I did look after myself

here—not with the wholehearted efficiency you bring to the job, I

admit, but then I never felt I had to compensate for anything.'

'And you think that's what I'm doing.' Her voice shook slightly.

'Well, isn't it?' he enquired ironically. 'Someone told me once that

the ideal wife should be a blend of a good housekeeper and a good

mistress. Frankly, I'd assumed that your efforts to outrival Mrs

Beeton were motivated by a wish to prove you could satisfy some

of my requirements at least.'

'That's a foul thing to say,' she managed chokingly at last.

'Is it?' He raised his eyebrows. 'I didn't intend it to be so. I wasn't

decrying your efforts. I'm very grateful to you.' He gave a thin

smile. 'I simply didn't expect that gratitude was all there would be

after a few short weeks of marriage.' He pushed his chair back

unhurriedly and stood up, looking down at her flushed cheeks and

shadowed eyes with something approaching compassion. 'I'm sorry,

Davina. It's been a delightful evening and now I've spoiled it for

you. Get to bed, and I'll deal with the debris in here.'

She muttered something incoherent and fled. For a long time she sat

on the edge of her bed, her face buried in her hands, a prey to the

conflict that raged within her. She might writhe with resentment at

Gethyn's edged remarks, but at the same time she was forced to

acknowledge that they contained a certain amount of justice. Her

gesture in preparing the meal now seemed empty and shallow—a

refusal to face the facts of their relationship. What had she expected

him to think—to say? she asked herself miserably. Had she really

expected to cloak the rift between them by showing that she could

cook and knew about wines? They were the kind of superficial

details that she knew would count for very little with Gethyn. In the

weeks before their marriage, he had never even enquired if she

could boil an egg, she recalled with a wry twist of her lips. Nor had

she given much thought to the domestic side of their life together. It

was all part of the same strange excitement that encompassed their

entire relationship. It was the thought of living with him, of

belonging to him, that obsessed her to the exclusion of everything

else.

She gave a bitter sigh as she began to undress. What use was it

remembering how it had been once? It was the present she had to

concentrate on, and all its unassuaged bitterness. She slipped her

nightgown over her head and walked across to the dressing chest to

brush her hair, viewing herself with disfavour. Her cheekbones

looked unwontedly prominent, and her eyes were as wide as a cat's.

Her face seemed to be getting thinner in some odd way, even

though she was acquiring extra weight she didn't want around her

waist and hips. She bit her lip as she laid down her hairbrush. Didn't

they say that putting on weight was the sign of a contented life?

How wrong could anyone be? There was nothing even approaching

contentment in her present existence, and when Gethyn left for the

States tomorrow she would be totally desolate.

She lifted her hand to her mouth in a child's frightened gesture as

she realised just what she was admitting,' and all her incipient

regrets returned in a flood to assail her. She could no longer banish

the longing deep inside her to know if there was anything left

between Gethyn and herself. She tried not to think about his overt

avoidance of contact with her, but fixed her thoughts instead of the

times she had glanced up and surprised him watching her. He had

always veiled his eyes the moment he sensed her awareness, but

even so ... The breath caught momentarily in her throat and a long

shiver went through her as she remembered what she had so briefly

glimpsed in his regard.

She took a swift, impulsive step towards the door, then made

herself stop. It was very quiet in the living room. The clatter of

dishes and the movement of furniture had stopped some time

before. She had been waiting, she realised, almost subconsciously

for the sound of the typewriter to start again—her nightly lullaby,

she thought half-hysterically.

She stood motionless while her instincts fought a battle with her

reason. Once before she had allowed her uncertainties to acquire

domination over her, and as a result their entire relationship had

been poisoned. Could she allow the same thing to happen again?

She pressed her hand against her breast, trying to calm her hurried

breathing.

Whatever else, she told herself, she owed it to them both to try at

least. Her legs were shaking so much she was afraid they wouldn't

carry her to the door.

Only the desk lamp illuminated the room beyond. For a

heart-stopping moment she thought he might have gone out again,

then she saw him. He wasn't asleep, as she had also feared. He

hadn't even begun to undress. He was simply sitting on the edge of

the sofa, his head bent. As the light from the bedroom flooded into

the room, his head came round sharply and he looked at her,

outlined in the doorway, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. There was

a small electric silence, then he said, his voice harsh and ragged,

'For God's sake, Davina, go and cover yourself.'

She took a quick, faltering step forward. 'Is—is that what you

want?'

'What I want doesn't enter into it.' He sounded unutterably weary.

'Let's just say I've learned to live with the situation—up to

now—but that doesn't mean I'm totally devoid of the normal human

responses. Now, for God's sake go and leave me in peace before

they get the better of me.'

Her hands shook slightly as she raised them to the nape of her neck,

lifting the deep cloud of her hair slightly and allowing it to subside

again on to her bare shoulders.

'That's what I'm counting on.' Her little laugh broke in the middle.

He was on his feet. Two quick strides brought him to her side, and

the green eyes were blazing down into hers.

'You'd better mean that, Davina,' he warned huskily, then his mouth

closed on hers with a devastating hunger. Just for a moment she

was afraid again—afraid that she might not be able to satisfy the

passion she had roused in him, then all thinking ceased and

sensation took over.

Every inch of her body was awakening to vibrant, throbbing life

under his seeking hands. When at last he lifted her and carried her

to the bed, she was all eagerness, all desire. None of her wildest

dreams had ever prepared her for a surrender so complete, or a

pleasure so overwhelming. Just before she drowned in delight, she

heard him groan something that might have been her name. Her

own breathless moan of rapture was the only reply she could make.

Afterwards he lay for a long time without speaking, holding her

closely against him, his face buried in the tangled mass of her hair.

Eventually he roused himself, propping himself up on one elbow

while he looked down into her face for an endless moment. Then he

bent and kissed her eyelids very gently.

'Sleep now,
cariad,'
he whispered.

Submissively, she cradled her cheek against the warm

sweat-dampened skin of his chest and closed her eyes. But sleep

was not so easily 'summoned. The memory of the joy he had

created for her filled her being, and she felt her throat constrict and

two slow happy tears squeeze out from beneath her lids. She

brushed them away with her fists like a child might do, refusing to

let this delicious, languorous melancholy that was threatening to

invade her take possession.

She let herself drift, savouring her contentment. And tomorrow, she

thought drowsily, tomorrow she would open her eyes and Gethyn

would be beside her, and they would talk it all out, and there would

be no shadows between them again.

But when she eventually opened dazed eyes, it was late into the

morning and the bed beside her was cold and empty. And the brief

note propped against one of the new candlesticks on the dining

table had been no consolation. None at all.

'Excuse me, but are you having lunch or is this table free?'

Davina came out of her reverie with a start and glanced up into the

exasperated face of a woman standing beside her. Behind her, her

husband and two small children waited patiently.

'I'm so sorry.' Blushing furiously, humiliatingly aware that there

were tears in her eyes, Davina scooped together her various parcels

and carriers and got to her feet. The cafe had begun to fill up

without her noticing, and a small queue was forming.

'The idea!' she heard the woman mutter to her husband as she

hurried to the door. 'No consideration, some people!'

When she gained the street outside, Davina paused for a moment,