Legally His Omnibus (23 page)

Despairingly she wondered how on earth she would be able to keep her part of the bargain and provide him with a child when she couldn’t even bear him to touch her!

You managed to bear it very well when he kissed you last night, a small inner voice told her, adding, And what about that dream? Then you weren’t just bearing it.

‘No,’ Imogen protested out loud, covering her ears with her hands.

‘What is it?’ Dracco demanded sharply. ‘Are you feeling ill again? I really do think you need to be checked out by Dr Armstrong. You could have picked up something on the flight.’

‘I’m fine,’ Imogen choked. She could see an office door ahead of them.

There was still time for her to change her mind. Still time for her to decide that she was not strong enough to make such a sacrifice and to fly straight back to Rio. All it would take was one sentence, but even whilst she longed to speak it, to tell Dracco that she had changed her mind, Imogen’s pride refused to allow her to do so. Her pride and the deep inner knowledge that she would never forgive herself for her selfishness if she did.

Dracco pushed open the office door, ushering her inside ahead of him. A smiling receptionist greeted them. It was obvious that she knew Dracco well and was more than a touch in awe of him.

‘David shouldn’t be long,’ she told Dracco, glancing at her watch. ‘He was called out to a meeting with a client. He didn’t want to go, really, knowing that you were coming in, but it was an urgent case.’

She seemed almost to be apologising, Imogen recognised as the other woman turned to smile a little uncertainly at her. She was about her own age, Imogen guessed, brunette with hazel eyes and very obviously pregnant.

Shakily Imogen averted her gaze from the other woman’s body. She was still saying something to Dracco, but then she stopped as the office door opened and a slightly thick-set young man with an open, honest face came in.

‘Oh, there you are, darling,’ she said with obvious relief. ‘I was just explaining to Dracco that you’d had to go out.’

As she reached up to kiss him briefly Imogen noticed the wedding ring she was wearing and guessed that they were husband and wife even before Dracco had introduced them to her as David and Charlotte Bryant.

‘Mrs Barrington.’ David Bryant smiled as he shook Imogen’s hand. ’I’ve heard an awful lot about you. My uncle Henry was a great fan of yours and of course he and your father were very close friends. He often used to talk to my mother about you. She was his sister. I know how much it would have meant to him to learn that you and Dracco are...have decided... That you are reconciled.’ He stopped, colouring up and looking slightly uncomfortable, whilst Imogen automatically asked him to call her by her Christian name. It irked her that Dracco had been so sure of her reaction that he had already told David Bryant that they were ‘reconciled’.

She must not allow herself to forget that Dracco was a master manipulator, she warned herself as she thanked Charlotte Bryant for the cup of coffee she had just made her.

‘Yes,’ the other woman was confirming quietly, ‘David’s mother often talks about her brother to us. I know she is particularly grateful to you, Dracco, for everything you did when he had his fatal heart attack, going with him to the hospital, staying with him.’

‘It was the least I could do,’ Imogen heard Dracco saying curtly, almost as though he didn’t want the subject to be discussed.

Imogen shivered. If Henry had not had his heart attack, would Dracco have come after her and stopped her from leaving? She had believed he had let her go out of indifference and relief, but now it seemed that she might have been wrong. Had she been wrong about anything else?

David and Charlotte Bryant obviously thought a lot of Dracco, but then they didn’t know him the way she did!

* * *

‘So what now? A celebratory glass of champagne? We aren’t too far from one of the city’s new hotels, and, since it’s time for lunch...’

Imogen stared at Dracco in disbelief as they stepped out of the office block and into the sunshine.

‘You might feel you have something to celebrate,’ she told him wildly, ‘but I most certainly don’t.’

‘No? I’ve just signed a legally binding document agreeing to give your charity over one million pounds. I should have thought that was sufficient cause for celebration,’ Dracco was telling her with deceptive mildness as he caught hold of her arm and drew her against his side.

Immediately Imogen tried to pull away, but Dracco refused to let go of her.

‘That might be—under different circumstances,’ Imogen retaliated, ‘but, since I’ve just sold the use of my body to you in return for it...’

She could see Dracco’s mouth thinning and see too the warning glint in his rapidly darkening eyes.

‘You loved your father, didn’t you, Imo?’ he asked her grimly.

‘You know I did,’ Imogen responded immediately.

‘How do you think he would have reacted to being a grandfather, to knowing that his genes, your mother’s and your own were being passed on to a new generation?’

For a moment Imogen was too shaken by his question to answer, but when she did her voice trembled with the intensity of her feelings.

‘How dare you do this to me, Dracco?’ she demanded. ‘How dare you use my father to blackmail me?’

‘You keep throwing that accusation in my face. Be very careful that I don’t throw it back at you.’

‘By doing what?’ she challenged him recklessly.

But instead of answering her he said calmly, ‘Since you don’t want any lunch, we might as well head straight for Knightsbridge and get you kitted out with some new clothes.’

‘I don’t want any new clothes,’ Imogen started to say, but Dracco wasn’t listening to her, his attention concentrated on the taxi he was hailing.

He was still holding onto Imogen’s arm, his fingers curling firmly around it, and as a group of passers-by jostled against her she automatically moved closer to him. The cool wool of his suit jacket brushed against her bare arm. As she looked up she could see the faint shadow on his jaw where he had shaved earlier. There was a maleness about Dracco, she acknowledged with a faint inner tremor, a strong, dangerous sense of power that was like an unseen aura. Unseen but not unfelt. She could feel it now as he urged her into the stationary taxi. She could feel it and she was afraid of it—and of herself.

‘And just remember,’ Dracco was warning her as the taxi lurched into motion, ‘from tonight you and I will be sharing a bedroom. And a bed.’

Ignoring him, Imogen stared out of the taxi window, praying that she would get pregnant quickly—no, not just quickly but immediately, she amended hurriedly.

Straight away, the first time, so that it would be the only time. Would Dracco wait to see if...? Or would he...? Her mind shied away from the questions bubbling inside her head. She certainly had no fear of sex as such. These were not, after all, Victorian times, when a virgin bride was simply not told anything about what lay ahead of her. In Rio children well below the age of puberty sold themselves on the streets in order to eat and were shockingly graphic about what could be demanded of them. If providing Dracco with a child saved only one of those children...

Dracco’s child. Her child. Unable to stop herself, Imogen turned to look at him. Just as she had been, he was gazing out of the taxi window, his face averted from her. Imogen cleared her throat to speak but did not get the chance. The taxi was drawing up outside a department store.

* * *

‘No, that’s enough—more than enough,’ Imogen protested helplessly as she surveyed the full rail of clothes the store’s senior personal shopper had produced.

They—Dracco, herself, the shopper and a hovering alterationist—were all in the store’s elegant personal shopping suite, where Dracco and Imogen had been escorted following Dracco’s production of a discreetly logoed charge card and request for a selection of clothes for Imogen to choose from.

Initially dizzy from the mouth-watering variety of outfits the personal shopper had produced, Imogen was now beginning to feel slightly nauseous in a way that reminded her of how her teenage self had sometimes felt after the consumption of a mega-sized knickerbocker glory.

Tempting though the clothes were, Imogen’s conscience was causing her to experience a sense of disquiet. Just how many small stomachs would the cost of such luxurious clothes fill? And thinking of stomachs, small and otherwise, raised another consideration...

Yearningly Imogen looked at the trendy pair of designer jeans she had just tried on. The assistant had explained how they were cut to fit and flatter the female body, and they had hugged Imogen’s hips and bottom in a way that had made her reluctant to come out of the cubicle until the shopper had insisted. When she had done, she’d felt acutely self-conscious standing in front of Dracco wearing them, guessing what he must be thinking—that they were far too sexy for a woman like her!

‘They’re not really me,’ she said now, shaking her head, but Dracco, it seemed, had other ideas.

‘Why not?’ he asked her. ‘I like them.’ As he spoke Imogen was infuriatingly aware of the disparaging look he was giving the outfit she had put back on.

Lisa had always worn very fashionable, sexy clothes, and no doubt as he looked at her Dracco was mentally comparing her to his mistress.

Did he perhaps think that by dressing her in sexy clothes she would somehow become more desirable to him, more the kind of woman he wanted?

Imogen had never forgotten the disparaging comments Lisa had made to her on the morning of her marriage, and somehow since then she had favoured loose-fitting clothes that cloaked rather than emphasised her figure.

‘They’re very popular—and very sexy.’ The shopper was smiling encouragingly.

Until he had decided that he wanted a child with her Dracco had shown no sexual interest in her whatsoever. Before their marriage he had never even kissed her properly, and yet now he apparently wanted to buy her the kind of clothes that subtly enhanced a woman’s sexuality. Why? Because that would make her more acceptable to him in bed? More like Lisa?

‘No,’ she insisted, ignoring the jeans the shopper was still holding. ’They’re very expensive and I wouldn’t get much wear out of them.’

‘We’ll take them.’ Dracco was smiling as he spoke to the assistant. ‘If it’s that social conscience of yours that’s troubling you,’ he told Imogen as he turned towards her, ‘then let me remind you that it’s my money you’ll be spending, and...’

‘Your money?’ Immediately Imogen started to frown, anger taking the place of her earlier self-consciousness. ‘I can afford to buy my own clothes, Dracco,’ she told him fiercely. ‘I did have a salary for my work for the charity, albeit a small one!’

Discreetly the personal shopper had moved out of earshot.

‘I know you can,’ Dracco agreed, ‘but surely it’s a husband’s privilege to be allowed to indulge his wife?’

Thoroughly angry now, Imogen glared at him. ‘If you really want to “indulge me”, as you put it, there are other ways!’

To her disbelief, she could see that Dracco was actually starting to smile.

‘You haven’t really changed at all, have you, Imo?’ he challenged her ruefully. ‘I can remember how much it amused your father—and infuriated Lisa—when you insisted that you’d rather he bought some winter feed for the ponies tethered illegally on the village common than buy you a Christmas-party dress.’

To her own mortification, Imogen felt emotional tears start to prick the backs of her eyes.

Yes, she could remember that incident as well. Her father had been amused, and in the end she had not only got his agreement to provide winter feed for the ponies, but she had also, at Lisa’s furious insistence, got a new party dress as well. She had hated that dress, it had been babyish, pink, with frills and a big full skirt, not suitable for a teenager at all.

Lisa—was Dracco thinking of her now? Was he wishing that Lisa was here with him; that she was the one he was buying a new wardrobe for that she would wear for his delectation—both in bed and out of it? Imogen forced herself to take a deep, calming breath.

‘Anyway,’ she told Dracco, ‘there isn’t much point in you buying me these kind of clothes.’ When Dracco raised one eyebrow interrogatively she flushed a little as she was forced to explain huskily, ’They’re all very fitted, and I won’t... I shan’t... I shall probably soon be needing things with more room in them,’ she told him, unable to stop herself from giving him an indignant look when the enlightenment finally dawned in his eyes.

‘If you’re trying to say that you’ll soon be needing maternity outfits, then, yes, I agree,’ he said in obvious amusement. ‘But I think our reconciliation alone is going to cause enough speculation without us adding to it by you appearing in public in maternity gear.’ Giving her an oblique look, he added softly, ‘I must say, you’ve surprised me, Imo; I hadn’t realised you were so actively looking forward to the consummation of our agreement!’

‘That isn’t what I meant. I’m not!’ Imogen hissed in immediate denial. She couldn’t believe his sudden and unexpected lightheartedness. It was almost as though he was teasing her, and enjoying doing so as well. ‘I just don’t want to see money being wasted on clothes that—’

‘Will it make you feel better if I agree to match pound for pound everything I spend on you with an additional donation to the shelter?’ Dracco asked.

Imogen opened her mouth and then closed it again. She didn’t want to see him like this, to remember how wonderful and special she had once believed he was. To make up for her own foolish weakness she gave him a mutely hostile look before telling him frostily, ’That’s bribery.’

‘It’s your decision,’ Dracco replied. ‘Just remember that the less you spend on yourself, the less I give to the shelter.’

The personal shopper was moving determinedly back towards them, obviously having decided that they had had enough time to sort out their differences. Was there anything Dracco would not do to get his own way? Imogen wondered helplessly.

Whether it was because of Dracco’s comment, the personal shopper’s skilled salesmanship, or her own unexpected pleasure in the clothes she tried on, Imogen didn’t know, but when she finally left the suite she was the slightly guilty owner of a much larger new wardrobe than she had planned—and the shelter was in line to get a substantial extra ‘bonus’.