Innocent on Her Wedding Night (7 page)

She decided not to go downstairs again, but sought her own bedroom instead, curling up on her favourite window seat and leaning her forehead listlessly against the glass panes.

She kept seeing the way that girl’s hand had touched Daniel’s arm, the pink-tipped fingers stroking his tanned skin. How her body had seemed to curve into his, as if they were part of each other.

There’d been sex education at her school, and she wasn’t sure what she’d hated most—her form teacher’s brisk resumé of the physical facts, or the sniggering crudities exchanged in the playground by her classmates.

Suddenly she felt unhappily that those few awkward moments in the hall had taught her far more about what happened between a man and a woman—and that it was a lesson she could have well done without.

And, although she did not realise it until much later, that revelation marked the end of her childhood.

Not the marrying kind…Nine years further on, Simon’s prophetic words seemed to resound in her brain, and she shook her head impatiently, trying to block them out.

It was time she stopped tormenting herself like this, she thought. What point was there in going back to the past, when it was the present and the future that were going to cause her the real problems?

She stood, looking around the kitchen as if she’d never seen it before.

It was incredibly neat, and immaculately clean, with none of the cheerful clutter that a keen cook might accumulate. The only other change she noticed was the addition of a state-of-the-art coffee machine, which Daniel clearly must save for dinner party use, because she’d only rated a mug of instant.

Oh, get over yourself, she adjured herself impatiently, her mouth twisting.

You’re hungry. That’s what’s the matter with you, my girl. Your metabolism’s low, and your spirits are down to match.

You can get through this—but not by turning a drama into a tragedy.

You need to play it cool from now on. Make it clear that now you’ve recovered from the initial surprise of seeing him you can deal with it in a civilised way.

And that you are grown up.

Because none of it matters any more. It can’t be allowed to matter, if you’re to retain your grip on your sanity. And if you make too big a fuss you could give him the impression that you still care.

She shivered, her hands balling into fists at her side.

She said aloud, ‘Nothing lasts for ever, and this—situation, too, will pass.

It’s just a temporary thing.’

And maybe Jamie’s advice was sound, for once, and a small gesture of reconciliation was called for. So—she would prepare a meal for them both.

At the same time she wanted to prove to him, even in a small way, that she was not the lightweight he seemed to imagine, and that her time on the boat had not been a pleasure cruise, but hard graft.

If nothing else, at least she might gain a modicum of respect.

There was little enough in the freezer, but she retrieved a pack of chicken portions and defrosted them in the microwave. She found onions and garlic in the vegetable rack, and jars of capers and black olives, along with tinned tomatoes and dried pasta in the storage cupboard, and began her preparations.

This is what it might have been like, she thought suddenly, if we’d had a real marriage. I’d have been making dinner just like this, while I waited for him to come home.

Then jeered at herself for her own sentimentality. Their first home together would have been the penthouse in the glamorous apartment block which Daniel had already occupied, which had its own restaurant, with a delivery service. She wouldn’t have been expected to lift a finger. And when they’d eventually set up house, that would have come with a full complement of staff too. Something that would no doubt apply to the house he’d just bought.

She found herself wondering a little wistfully what had happened to the penthouse, recalling how she’d roamed around it open-mouthed the first and only time he’d taken her to see it.

She remembered the sofas like thistledown, the Persian rugs that gleamed like jewels from the vast expanse of polished floor in the living area. She thought of the gleaming bathroom, tiled in a magically misty sea-green, with its enormous tub and the equally spacious shower cabinet. Big enough, she’d told him rapturously, to hold a party in, and had seen his lips twitch.

And most of all she remembered the bedroom. How she’d stood in the doorway, not daring to venture further, and stared speechlessly at the huge bed with its gold silk cover, her mind going into overdrive as the actual implications of being Daniel’s wife came home to her as never before.

Because, up to then, physical contact between them during their brief engagement had been almost minimal, she’d realised with bewilderment. He’d held her after—after Simon, but that had been to comfort her. And he’d kissed her when she’d said she’d marry him. There’d been other kisses since—of course there had—but they’d invariably been light—even teasing. Yet she’d found them intensely disturbing nonetheless.

At no time, however, had there been any real pressure from him to change their relationship to a more intimate level. And, in spite of her happiness and longing, she’d been too shy of him, and too conscious of her own inexperience, to initiate any deeper involvement herself.

It had suddenly occurred to her that they were completely alone together, without fear of interruption, and she was sharply, achingly, aware of him standing just behind her.

Her body had tingled as she’d felt the warmth of his nearness, the stir of his breath on her neck, and she’d wished—desperately—crazily—that he’d turn her into his arms and kiss her with passion and desire, as he’d done so often in her imagination. And that he’d lift her and carry her over to the bed, silencing all her doubts and uncertainties for ever as he made love to her.

Maybe that was why he’d brought her there? Because he didn’t want to wait any longer. He wanted all of her. Everything she had to give.

And maybe he was only waiting for some sign from her.

She had half turned towards him when she realised just in time that he was moving, stepping backwards away from her. He’d said quietly, almost casually, as he glanced at his watch, ‘We should be going.’ He’d paused. ‘If there’s anything about the décor you want to change, you only have to say so.’

And, wrenched by something deeper than disappointment, she’d stammered something inane about the flat being beautiful—perfect. That she wouldn’t want to alter a thing.

She supposed he must have sold it at some point after their separation, but why hadn’t he acquired something similar—with its own gym, swimming pool and every other convenience known to the mind of man—instead of slumming it here?

So he didn’t want to be tied into a long lease? But Daniel Sinclair was a multimillionaire, and could surely dictate his own terms. It made no sense for him to opt merely for this fairly ordinary two-bedroomed job.

She bit her lip. But then Daniel’s motives for doing anything would always be a mystery. And she really had to remember that this was none of her business,

anyway.

He was here, and he obviously intended to stay, so her reluctant task was to establish some kind of working neutrality. And speculation would simply cloud the issue.

Besides, if she didn’t ask any questions she could free herself from any obligation to answer them either.

And maybe the whole wretched subject of the marriage that never was could be finally laid to rest.

Maybe.

Could it really—ever—be that simple? she wondered. And told herself that her eyes were suddenly blurred because she was chopping onions. No other reason could be permitted—or even be possible.

It wasn’t an expensive wine. Neither Jamie nor she had aspired to acquiring a vintage collection, even if they could have afforded it. But it was chilled and crisp, and it soothed the dryness of her throat as Laine, curled up in a corner of the sofa, waited for Daniel’s return.

He’d said two hours, but it was now over three. That was, of course, if he planned to return at all. Because it had occurred to her that maybe he’d decided that sharing a roof with her wasn’t worth the hassle, and that he was, even at that moment, arranging alternative accommodation somewhere as far away from her as possible.

Which, in the short term, would solve some of her problems, but inevitably create others in their place.

Practically, she could not afford to occupy the flat alone—unlike Jamie, who’d always earned a much larger salary than she’d done, or at least while he’d still been working at Cowper Dymond.

And right now she couldn’t actually afford to live in the place at all, she reminded herself unhappily. Thankfully, there was no mortgage to pay, but there were plenty of other bills looming large on the horizon, and if she didn’t start earning at once she was going to find herself in real difficulty.

She sighed. As she’d headed home the flat had seemed like a safe refuge. But then investing in Andy’s boat had also appeared to be a good deal.

And there had even been a time when the prospect of becoming Daniel’s wife had been the answer to her prayers—the fulfilment of her most treasured hopes and dreams.

Oh, God, she thought with sudden anguish, the muscles tightening in her throat.

How wrong is it possible to be in one short lifetime?

The sound of his key in the door brought her sharply back to the here and now.

She leaned back against the cushions, trying to look perfectly relaxed, but realised at the same time that she was clinging to the stem of her glass as if it was a lifeline.

‘Hi.’ She forced a smile as he came in, attempting the nonchalant approach, as if she was quite accustomed to his returning from the office for dinner. As she would have been, of course, if their marriage had ever become a reality…

Don’t think like that—even for a moment. Don’t go there.

‘Good evening.’ He halted for a moment, studying her, his brows raised sardonically. ‘I was quite expecting to find you’d barricaded yourself in during my absence.’

She shrugged, pretending ruefulness. ‘The furniture was just too heavy for me to move.’ She paused. ‘Besides, I talked to Jamie. Found out what had happened.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe he could be such an utter fool.’

‘Isn’t that rather naïve of you—considering his past record?’ Daniel tossed the jacket he was carrying over the back of a chair and loosened his tie, before walking over to one of the shelved alcoves which flanked the fireplace and pouring himself a whisky from the tray of decanters which stood there.

He came back, dropping loose-limbed onto the sofa opposite, and for one sharp, unwary moment she felt the breath catch in her throat.

Hurriedly, she pulled herself together. ‘Well—perhaps. But I thought he’d outgrown that—unruly phase. Got his act together.’

‘Well, he now has a chance to do exactly that,’ he said. ‘Perhaps this girl of his can keep him straight. If not, he’s on his own next time.’

‘You think there’ll be one—after this?’

It was his turn to shrug. ‘Who knows? Maybe it isn’t simply a phase, as you put it, but an extra helping of the Sinclair wild streak and impossible to remove, even with surgery.’

She stared at him. ‘What are you talking about? What—streak?’

‘This overweening impulse to go looking for danger.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Simon

had it too, remember?’

‘I remember nothing of the kind,’ Laine said curtly.

‘No? Then what took him back to those bloody mountains time after time, constantly pushing himself to go higher—faster—than anyone else?’ His voice was harsh. ‘And what the hell possessed him to go on that last trip—when everyone tried to talk him out of it?’

She stared down at the pale gold of her wine, her throat tightening. ‘I don’t know,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’ve never known.’

‘Exactly,’ he said.

Her gaze met his with swift defiance. ‘Well, please don’t include me in this absurd generalisation about my family. I certainly don’t go looking for trouble.’

‘But you seem to find it, all the same,’ he said unanswerably. ‘How’s the ankle?’

‘Better,’ she returned. ‘I found some more bandages in the bathroom cupboard and strapped it up again, all ready for my trek to the job centre tomorrow.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Daniel said smoothly. ‘And you appear to have been busy in other ways.’ He glanced towards the kitchen. ‘Something smells good.’

‘You cleared Jamie’s room for me, so I’ve cooked dinner for you.’ She paused.

‘Chicken puttanesca. I hope you like it.’

‘Thank you, but sadly we’ll never know.’ There was no trace of regret in his tone. ‘I’m going out tonight. I merely came back to change.’

‘Hot date?’ She kept her voice light, faintly amused, ignoring the ludicrous, unreasoning disappointment that speared her.

‘Is there any other kind?’

‘Serious?’

He swallowed some of his whisky, watching her steadily. ‘Is that really any of your business?’

‘Well, yes, in a way,’ Laine countered. ‘I just wonder—if the pair of you are an item—why you don’t move in with the lady instead of living here? It would seem to make more sense—that’s all.’

His glance was cynical. ‘It’s not that serious.’

‘Poor girl.’

‘She can take care of herself,’ he returned curtly. ‘Speaking of which, this could be a good time to get something straight. Put some guidelines in place.

Because we’re not playing happy families here, Laine. You’re not Si’s little sister any more. And I’m not your surrogate brother.’

He added icily, ‘Also, in case you’ve forgotten, you lost any right you ever had to enquire into my private life two years ago.’

He allowed her a moment to digest that, then went on, ‘We share this flat, but we maintain our own space at all times. So, if I intend to be here for a meal I’ll let you know, and we’ll make some arrangement about the use of the kitchen.

But we both cook for ourselves, and there’ll be no cosying-up round the stove.

Understood?’

‘Of course,’ she said tautly, aware that her face had warmed. ‘Although cosy is never a word I’d associate with you. And I’ll make very sure that I repay you for the food I’ve used this evening.’