His Untamed Innocent (11 page)

‘Well, no,’ said Mrs Radley-Smith. ‘But then the kind of relationship you had with my son—a one-night stand, I believe it’s called—hardly invites confidences of that nature. Does it?’

There was a loaded silence, then Marin said quietly, ‘Please believe, Mrs Radley-Smith, that I cannot feel any more ashamed about what occurred than I already do.’

The older woman sighed abruptly. ‘And I’m ashamed too,’ she said. ‘I swore I wouldn’t do this. That I’d already said all that was necessary to my son. But it’s just that Jake is so very dear to me—and I’d hoped so much…’

As her voice incredibly faltered, Marin intervened hurriedly, ‘I’m sorry too—for everything.’ She shook her head. ‘But—twenty-four hours ago I thought I knew where my life was going. Now, it’s been—turned upside down. And I’m not coping very well.’

‘But you must have realised the risk you’d taken?’ Mrs Radley-Smith had herself in hand again, the blue eyes coolly questioning.

‘I went straight into a pretty demanding job,’ Marin said. ‘My mind got taken up with other things.’

Like trying not to be in love with Jake. Wanting to forget everything about that night in his arms. Coming to terms with a future that he would never be a part of.

And, in that last respect at least, nothing had changed. Except that now she would even be denied the mercy of never seeing him again, of finding some way to heal her heartache and start her life afresh without him.

And sleeping in another bed, another room, apart from him would be like trying to staunch a severed artery with a sticking plaster. Especially when he’d made it clear he would not be spending his own nights at home, or alone.

How can I bear this? she asked herself desperately. How can I bear any of it?

Mrs Radley-Smith gave a faint sigh, then pushed back her chair and rose. ‘Well, you’ll soon have an even more demanding occupation,’ she said. ‘When you become a wife and mother. And now I’ll take you to Sadie.’

‘A wife and mother,’ Marin repeated silently under her breath as she followed Elizabeth into the house.

She knew that the only real hope left to her was her ability to survive the rest of the day without betraying even for a second that she was weeping inside.

Thankfully, Sadie showed no inclination to begin the interrogation that Marin was dreading. She merely conducted her round the Manor with a pride that was almost tangible.

And with every reason, Marin admitted as she gazed around her. The downstairs rooms were spacious in spite of their low ceilings, and furnished with an emphasis on comfort rather than display, each with its own stone fireplace filled now with attractive arrangements of dried flowers for the summer. The ancient wooden floors were laid with Persian rugs, and almost every gleaming surface held a bowl of scented roses or
pot pourri
to mingle with the aroma of wax polish.

Beyond the deep, low windows, Marin glimpsed splashes of brilliant colour in the flower gardens at the rear of the house.

‘And we grow nearly all our own vegetables too,’ Sadie told her. ‘Mr Murtrie is very keen on the organics.’

Mr Murtrie, Marin reminded herself as she murmured an appreciative response, was the head gardener with two trainees to help him. The cook was Mrs Osborne; her daughter, Cherry, did the housework, with assistance from the village, and was married to Bob Fielding, who looked after the horses.

I should have brought a notebook, she thought grimly, and written it all down together with a family tree. Plus a map of the layout. Otherwise, I’m never going to remember any of it.

It occurred to her too that she was apparently carrying the heir to a dynasty of several hundred years, and this had to be why Jake was so insistent on marriage. He wants a son, she thought. Not a wife.

Yet for all that, and almost in spite of herself, she was beginning to relax, to feel a kind of peace stealing over her. As if, she realised with bewilderment, the house was reaching out to her, wrapping her in warmth and security.

Which was, of course, absurd. She was here, stupidly and quite unforgivably, because of an accident of nature. She would always be the outsider—the interloper—and anything else was fantasy.

Remember that, she advised herself grimly. And don’t let yourself hope—even for a moment—that your life could be different.

Because Diana Halsay’s contemptuous analogy of the starving kid looking in the baker’s window was proving horribly accurate.

One of the rooms she liked best was rather smaller than the others, and shabbily cosy.

‘It used to be called the Ladies’ Parlour,’ said Sadie. ‘Because it’s where they used to sit and do their sewing in the old days. But it’s more a family room now.’ She added, ‘When Mr James comes down at weekends, he likes to sit here in the evenings to play his music and read.’

Marin, on the point of asking how many of his weekends Jake spent at the Manor, stopped herself just in time, realising this was information she was supposed to know already.

But it appeared there were often times when Jake stopped being the womanising workaholic of London legend, she thought ruefully. In fact, ‘Mr James’ was becoming more of a surprise package with every minute that passed.

She said, ‘If his name is James, why is he known as Jake?’

‘His grandfather wanted him christened Jacob, which is a family name,’ Sadie explained. ‘But Madam didn’t care for it, so she and her husband, Mr Philip, compromised on James. But the old gentleman, who always liked to get his own way, started calling him Jake, and it stuck.’ She added firmly, ‘However, I believe in baptismal names, so he’s always Mr James to me.’

And Jake to me, thought Marin as they started up the broad staircase, and clearly a chip off his grandfather’s block in his determination to obtain his own way. Or I would not be here.

‘Mr James suggested we should start with the master suite,’ Sadie went on, leading the way along the gallery. ‘He thought you might have some ideas about a change of decor.’

Marin hung back, her face warming. ‘I’m sure it’s all fine,’ she said. ‘I’d really rather not intrude on his privacy.’

Sadie gave her an indulgent if surprised glance. ‘Bless you, Mr James still sleeps in his old room. The master suite hasn’t been used since Mr Philip died and Madam moved down to the village, so it’s due for a bit of refurbishment. It will make a nice project for you both,’ she added, nodding.

And keep you out of mischief…

She didn’t have to say the words aloud; they were there, hovering in the air, Marin thought, biting her lip as she reluctantly followed Sadie into the room.

Her first thought was that it was like walking into sunlight, an impression enhanced by the gold brocade draperies at the windows, and the matching quilted coverlet on the wide bed.

She said softly, ‘Oh, how lovely.’

‘That’s as maybe, but I knew these curtains would fade.’ Sadie examined them, tutting with disapproval. ‘I told Madam so, but she only laughed and said that Mr Philip liked them, which was all that mattered.’ She sighed. ‘It was wrong for him to be taken from her like that, and them so devoted.’

‘What happened?’ Marin asked.

‘He’d been out looking at some new fruit trees that had just been planted, and he came in complaining of a bad headache. He took a couple of painkillers and said he’d lie down on the couch in his study for a little while. When Madam went to call him for tea, she found him unconscious, and he died on the way to hospital.’ She sighed again. ‘The doctors said it was a cerebral aneurism.’

Marin said huskily, ‘My father’s death was terribly sudden too, but in his case it was a heart attack.’

Sadie patted her arm. ‘It’s a hard thing for those left behind,’ she said gently. ‘But Madam has done her grieving, and now it’s time for some happiness to return to the house—with a new generation.’

She became practical again. ‘Now, that door over there is the bathroom, and next to it is the dressing room. So why don’t you have a look round on your own for a few minutes, see what you think?’

I think, Marin said under her breath, that I seem to be taking part in my own personal disaster movie, and I haven’t learned my lines yet.

She smiled and murmured something acquiescent. She tried not to look at the big, golden bed as she crossed first to the bathroom—its azure tiles setting off the big white tub, the separate shower cubicle and the twin basins—then walked into the adjoining dressing-room and went in, standing to stare around at its range of fitted wardrobes, cupboards and sets of drawers. And its single bed.

‘Enjoying the tour?’ Jake asked as she walked into the bedroom. He was lounging across the bed, propped up on one elbow, his smile crooked as he looked at her.

‘It’s—interesting.’ She glanced round the room, trying to avoid the memories that the casual positioning of his lean body seemed to be relentlessly evoking. Reminding her of him reaching for her, pulling her towards him. Under him.

She added, dry-mouthed, ‘Where’s Mrs Hubbard—Sadie?’

‘Don’t panic,’ he advised coolly. ‘She’s not far away. And I told you she was romantic at heart. So she’s left us alone in the bedroom she believes we’ll be sharing to allow us to contemplate the imminent joys of legalised sex.’ His tone bit. ‘I decided not to destroy her illusions quite yet.’

He paused. ‘What did you think of the doghouse?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘My father’s name for the dressing room,’ Jake explained. ‘He said it used to be a place of exile for husbands who’d committed some sin or were simply surplus to requirements.’ He paused. ‘As I seem to fit both descriptions, I’d better prepare to move in—at the same time scoring points for being so considerate about my bride’s delicate state,’ he added silkily.

Marin’s face warmed, but she lifted her chin. ‘Actually, I plan to sleep there myself.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Jake shook his head. ‘In a few months you’re going to find a single bed rather less than comfortable. And I shall only be here at weekends, anyway, so what the hell?’

Marin said sharply, ‘Don’t you mean—
we
will be here?’

‘No,’ Jake said coolly. ‘I do not. After the wedding, you’ll be based down here, not London.’

Her voice shook. ‘You think I’m going to be left here—alone?’

His brows lifted. ‘It’s hardly solitary confinement. You’ll be well taken care of. Even cherished.’

‘I’m not an invalid,’ she said stormily. ‘And I have a job I like and wish to continue. I do not plan to become—a vegetable.’

‘What were you thinking of?’ he enquired with polite interest. ‘A Jerusalem artichoke, perhaps, or a cauliflower?’

‘Don’t you dare laugh about this.’ Her eyes blazed at him. ‘It’s my whole life I’m talking about.’

Jake swung himself lithely off the bed and took a step towards her. Marin gasped and took a corresponding step backwards, a move that again was not lost on him.

He halted, his mouth hardening. He said crisply, ‘Your life has changed, sweetheart, and so has your job description. You’re about to become my wife, and I prefer not to have you disappearing in your condition to God knows where and for weeks on end.

‘However,’he went on. ‘I also get the distinct impression that the less we see of each other the better. Or am I wrong?’

‘No.’ She stared down at the gleaming floorboards. ‘You’re not wrong. So couldn’t we at least reconsider my moving to Chelsea?’

‘Nice try, darling, but the arrangement stands.’ His smile was pure winter. ‘We have a busy time ahead of us. Even the simplest wedding takes a measure of organisation, and this will be more conveniently achieved if we’re under the same roof. But I’ll make sure that our togetherness is kept to a minimum. Console yourself with that.’

‘And how do you plan to console your mother?’ Marin asked tautly. ‘How is she going to feel seeing someone like me living here, trying to take her place?’

‘Firstly, you’ll be creating your own place,’ Jake said quietly. ‘Not filling someone else’s shoes.

‘Secondly, I think Ma’s concerns are rather different.’ He paused. ‘She and my father were very much in love, and she’s always hoped that when I married it would be for the same reason.’

‘Then why didn’t you do that?’ She flung back her head. ‘You must have had enough adoring women hanging round you.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘But the adoration has to be mutual. You see the problem?’

She said in a stifled voice, ‘Yes, I see it.’

‘Then consider this too,’ he said. ‘As it’s supremely obvious that you and I have been on terms of intimacy at some point, maybe you could stop reeling back in alarm each time I approach you. Unless, of course, you wish to give the impression that I raped you.’

She looked at him, her eyes stricken. ‘No,’ she got out. ‘You can’t possibly think—’

‘I’m trying very hard not to think at all,’ he cut across her abruptly. ‘Not with any great success. But the fact remains that there are going to be times when we shall have to touch each other, however reluctantly. Beginning with this unavoidable formality.’ He reached into his shirt pocket and produced something that danced and glittered in the sunlight.

He said, ‘Give me your hand.’ Then sighed. ‘Marin—your left hand, please.’

She looked down speechlessly at the ring he was putting on her finger. At the exquisite pigeon’s-blood ruby flanked by the pure brilliance of diamonds.

At last, she said unevenly, ‘I can’t possibly accept this. It’s not right.’

‘It was my grandmother’s ring,’ he said. ‘Left to me for precisely this moment.’

‘But not this girl.’ The look she sent him was almost desperate. ‘I’d be wearing it under false pretences.’

‘There’s no pretence,’ Jake told her. ‘You are now officially my fiancée. Very shortly you’ll become my wife. To the outside world, we’re lovers, and the rings you wear will demonstrate this.’

He was still clasping her hand, Marin realised, looking down at the blaze of the gemstones as if they mesmerised him. The room seemed oddly hushed, and for one aching moment as they stood, enclosed in sunlight, she thought he was going to lift her fingers to his lips. She knew that she should not—must not—allow this…