Innocent on Her Wedding Night (15 page)

For Daniel, she thought, it would be little more than a conditioned reflex, and

she shivered.

I can’t let him touch me, and I can’t touch him…Otherwise I’ll be lost for ever—his creature, existing on whatever kindness he chooses to show me. Having to make believe that we have a real marriage, a union of minds as well as bodies.

She unpacked and put away her things, leaving the letter in its hiding place.

She didn’t need to look at it again. Every bit of it was seared into her memory.

Downstairs, she drank her tea in the drawing room, and pretended to eat a scone, while Daniel, not pretending at all, read the financial pages of the daily paper with narrow-eyed attention.

Afterwards she went for a walk in the garden, Daniel having declined her stilted invitation to accompany her with equal politeness, and realised she was deliberately prolonging her stroll, lingering over every plant as if she was memorising it for an examination.

She also discovered the swimming pool, totally secluded in a high-walled garden, where espaliered fruit trees spread their branches over the elderly red brick.

It was a warm and sheltered place, the sun still high enough to make a swim seem enticing, and for a moment she wistfully considered going back to the house and changing into her bikini.

It occurred to her, too, that if this was a real honeymoon, and Dan and she had found the pool together, he would have dealt swiftly with the buttons on her dress, laughing away her protests, and swimming costumes would have become entirely superfluous for them both. She turned away, stifling a sigh.

‘Mrs Jackson suggests dinner at eight,’ Daniel said when she got back to the house. ‘Does that fit in with your plans?’

She looked at him, startled. ‘I—I have no plans.’

‘No?’ There was faint irony in his voice. ‘My mistake.’

She hesitated. ‘Do we—dress for dinner?’

His brows lifted. ‘Isn’t that a little formal—for just the two of us?’

‘Yes, of course. I—I wasn’t thinking.’

He sent her an enigmatic look. ‘How I wish that were true,’ he said, and returned to the newspaper, and the crossword he was completing.

Laine was hungry, but she had to force herself to eat the delicious food Mrs Jackson provided—smoked trout, followed by lamb cutlets with new potatoes and tiny broad beans, with a creamy mousse made from fresh strawberries for dessert.

The meal was conducted mainly in silence, although Laine made an effort to speak whenever the Jacksons were in the room. But it was making conversation, she realised, rather than talking, and to judge by his sardonic expression Dan knew it too.

Coffee was served in the drawing room, but Laine declined the brandy they were offered.

‘Would you like to listen to some music?’ Dan asked when they were alone again.

He nodded towards the shelves that flanked the fireplace. ‘There seems to be a fair selection.’

‘Thank you.’ She put down her empty cup. ‘But I’m tired. I think I’ll—go up.

That is, if you don’t mind?’

‘Why should I?’ He smiled at her. ‘The idea has much to recommend it. But I think I’ll stay down here for a while. Finish my drink. Listen to a CD, perhaps.’ He paused. ‘What shall I pick, Laine? A sonata—or a whole symphony?’

She hesitated by the door. ‘I don’t know. It’s your choice.’

‘Is it?’ He sent her a reflective glance. ‘I wonder.’

As she went up the stairs she heard the first sombre chords of Elgar’s cello concerto following her. It was a favourite of hers, and she should have been listening to it with him, curled into the curve of his arm, sharing brandy from the same glass. Not going to her room alone.

She went quietly through the rituals of preparation, as if she was a real bride.

Took a bath that was warm but not too hot. Rubbed her favourite lotion into her skin and applied a more intense version of its scent to her pulses, her throat and between her breasts. Brushed her hair until it hung to her shoulders like tawny silk. Put on the filmy high-waisted nightgown with its satin ribbon straps.

Then sat on the edge of the bed in the lamplight and waited to end her marriage.

She heard him come upstairs, and the breath caught in her throat, but he went into the other room, and it was twenty minutes before her own door finally opened and they confronted each other, husband and wife, in the shadowy room.

Dan closed the door quietly behind him and leaned back against its panels, looking at her in silence. He was barefoot, clearly wearing nothing but the white towelling robe, and for a moment everything she’d ever felt for him stormed into her consciousness, and she wanted him so badly that her resolve almost faltered. Almost, but not quite.

He said, very softly, ‘How incredibly lovely you look.’ And took a step towards her.

Immediately she raised a hand in negation, halting him. ‘No,’ she said.

‘No—don’t come any closer. Don’t come near me.’

‘Ah,’ he said, and there was a note almost of resignation in his voice.

When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. ‘Darling, it’s been obvious since we got here that you’ve been developing a problem about sleeping with me. But I promise you that keeping me at arm’s length won’t solve a thing.’

‘It’s not just sleeping with you,’ Laine said, the words stumbling over each other. ‘It’s more—much more than that. It’s everything. You see, I’ve made a terrible—an unforgivable mistake.’

He stared at her. ‘What mistake?’ he demanded roughly. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

She swallowed. ‘Marrying you. I should never have agreed—never have done it. But I was desperate—and then it was all such a rush—I didn’t have time to think properly—to consider what I was doing. You rushed me,’ she added almost wildly.

‘But as soon as I was alone with you I realised. It occurred to me for the first time what being on honeymoon with you would mean—and I knew that I couldn’t do it. That I couldn’t—be your wife. Not ever.

‘You asked me once if I liked you enough to marry you, but I don’t—I don’t. Only I never knew it before, and I’m sorry—I’m so sorry.’

Her voice broke, and she looked away from him. Looked at anything but him. His face, stark with shock in the lamplight.

Listened to the crackle of the silence between them.

Which he broke at last, his voice quiet. ‘I hardly think being sorry really covers the situation.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Laine, listen to me, darling—please. I was always afraid that it was too soon for this level of intimacy between us. Felt that I should have given you more time—maybe even courted you differently. I hardly know any more.

‘But you really don’t have to be nervous about sharing a bed with me,’ He added huskily. ‘I can be patient and I will, I promise you—on all I hold sacred. I’ll wait until you’re ready to give yourself however long it takes, and I’ll be so gentle.’

He took another step towards her. ‘But trust me now, sweetheart, and don’t turn me away from you tonight. Let me stay—even if it’s simply to hold you. I’ll be content with that. I swear it. I won’t ask for another thing.’

‘No.’ She got to her feet, trembling. ‘No—I can’t—I won’t.’

He said hoarsely, ‘Dear God, Laine, this is our wedding night. Do you want me to go on my knees and beg?’

‘No,’ she said again, almost violently. ‘You’re not listening to me. And you have to listen. You must understand that I—I can’t bear you to touch me or even be near me. That the thought of letting you do any of the things you’ll eventually want fills me with disgust. And that I’d rather die than sleep with you.

‘Because it’s over—over—do you hear me? I shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t have done this dreadful thing.’ Her voice rose wildly. ‘And you have to let me go. Let me go.’

As the words died into silence she watched his face harden in anger and distaste. Heard his voice reach her from some bitter ruined wasteland that she recognised from her own inner despair.

‘Don’t worry. You’re a cheat, a liar and a bitch. And I’ll let you go. Because I wouldn’t soil my hands on you now if you crawled to me over broken glass.’

Then he was gone, and she sank back on her empty marriage bed, her throat raw, her hands pressed to her burning eyes, too sick and unhappy even to cry.

And in all that pleading he’d never once said he loved her. She’d thought it then, during all those endless sleepless hours. She remembered it now, two years later.

And wasn’t that enough to justify the stand she’d taken? The sheer necessity not to be merely an obligation he’d acquired? To be a ‘burden’—that shaming, unendurable word which still had the power to flay the skin from her bones.

No real mention of passion either, she thought objectively. Just endless restraint and consideration, as there’d been throughout their engagement. Surely real desire couldn’t be so easily suppressed?

Because there’d been no attempt to change her mind by physical means either. No move to walk across and take her in his arms, whether she wanted it or not. No kissing her into submission before throwing her across the bed and dealing with her wisp of a nightgown in the way she’d originally planned, before he—he…

Before he—what?

Pathetically, she still only knew in theory, except that she was unswervingly certain that telling her he adored her and couldn’t live without her had to be part of it.

If he’d wanted her at all, she thought, surely he’d have—tried…?

She rolled over on the bed, burying her face in the pillow. Twenty years old, she jeered in self-derision, and still a virgin, a walking anachronism, without any temptation to be otherwise, while the only man she’d ever wanted continued to enjoy his resumption of bachelorhood with a varied selection of willing ladies.

Wasn’t that why she’d headed for Florida, hoping that out of sight might eventually mean out of mind? Except that it patently hadn’t worked.

She could only hope and pray she wasn’t destined to be a one-man woman, unable to make a new life for herself or dispel this nightmare of loneliness and need that had haunted her since that night.

That night. She’d slept at last, somewhere near dawn, if memory served, forced into it by sheer exhaustion of body and spirit.

And had woken to a room full of sunlight and the awareness of someone knocking at the door. Stomach churning with apprehension, Laine had sat up, pulling the covers around her, and called ‘Come in.’

Mrs Jackson had entered briskly with a tray. ‘Good morning, madam. Your tea. And Mr Flynn asks if you will join him for breakfast at nine-thirty,’ she added, her placid face not betraying a glimmer of curiosity about these extraordinary newlyweds.

‘Yes,’ Laine said numbly. ‘Yes, of course.’

She was white-faced and hollow-eyed when she ventured downstairs, dreading his anger, his bitterness.

Instead, he was sitting at the breakfast table, calmly drinking his coffee. He rose politely when he saw her, his face expressionless.

‘Good morning.’ A cool, formal greeting. ‘The toast is fresh, but if you prefer something cooked just ring the bell.’

‘Toast is fine.’ Her voice was a croak as she sank into the seat opposite.

‘Then we shan’t be disturbed.’ He paused. ‘I’ve given the matter some thought, and I’ve decided it would be better to stay here for the next two weeks, as arranged.’

‘Is that really necessary?’ Laine couldn’t hide her dismay.

Dan shrugged. ‘Anything else would cause the kind of comment and speculation that neither of us will appreciate,’ he countered. ‘But we’ll continue to live in total separation.’

His mouth curled. ‘And you certainly need have no fear that I’ll ever enter your bedroom again.’ He poured himself some more coffee.

‘As for your unfortunate “mistake” in marrying me,’ he went on. ‘That can be quite easily rectified. Tell your family and friends whatever story you please, but in reality we can have the whole thing discreetly annulled on the grounds of non-consummation. I’ll tell my lawyers to contact yours.’

‘The slate wiped clean,’ she commented huskily.

‘As you say.’ His smile grazed her skin. ‘Meanwhile I’ll relieve you of my presence here as much as possible, though we’ll have to meet at dinner. We can hardly expect Mrs Jackson to serve us at different times.’

He added, ‘This is an attractive part of the world, and I looked forward to doing some sightseeing while we were here. I’ll still do so—but alone, naturally. You, darling, will have to amuse yourself as best you can.’

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze insolent. ‘Not the idyll I had planned—exploring the countryside by day and each other at night—but, hey, you can’t have everything.’

She winced. ‘Dan—don’t, please.’

‘Don’t what? Upset you with a passing reference to my former carnal intentions?’ His voice had the edge of a scalpel. ‘Believe me, my girl, you’ve got off lightly.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Whether I believe you or not, the lock on my bedroom door has no key. I’d like it found.’

‘Tough,’ he said curtly. ‘My room, however, has a lock and a key, and last night I used them.’

‘You did?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Why?’

‘Because I have a pretty foul temper at times,’ He said brutally. ‘And for a time there I was seriously tempted to walk back into your room and treat you in a way I’d probably have regretted for the rest of my life.

‘But not any more.’ He pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘And on that thought I’ll leave you in whatever peace you feel you deserve.’

Peace, Laine thought, being translated into fourteen days and nights of unalleviated misery—on her part at least.

It was on the last evening that they finally exchanged more than a few words.

‘We have to consider what arrangements to make when we go back to London tomorrow,’ Dan said, halting her on her way upstairs for one of the early nights that had become her norm. ‘Abbotsbrook will be empty by now, and your mother has probably already left for Spain, so I suggest you use my apartment as a temporary base and I’ll move out.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t live there.’ She swallowed, remembering her visit—how she’d visualised their life together. ‘Not possible. Besides, I have somewhere to go,’ she added quickly. ‘Jamie’s moving into the flat in Marrion Place, and as half of it’s mine I’ll join him.’