The Virgin Bride (The Australians) (10 page)

‘I would never be unfaithful to you, Jason.'

‘Are you sure, Emma? Are you sure it won't eat into you that you can still have Ratchitt if you want to. I know human nature. I have an awful feeling that in the end you'll be compelled to turn your romantic fantasies into reality. After all, how would I ever know? There'd be no physical proof now, Emma, just as there wasn't any proof with me and Adele.'

She drew herself up straight, shooting him a proud, yet hurt look. ‘You'll just have to trust me, won't you? As I trusted you with that woman. I repeat, Jason, I married you, not Dean. I don't regret that. Not for a moment.'

‘Is that why you cried on our wedding night?' he flung at her. ‘Because you weren't regretting it was me in your bed and not Ratchitt?'

‘My crying that night had nothing to do with Dean.'

‘Then what did it have to do with?'

‘With you,' she said. ‘And me. With our being married and making love on our wedding night and not being in love. I thought that was rather…sad. I guess I
am
a silly romantic at heart. It took me a while to come to terms with the sort of marriage I'd agreed to. But I don't find it sad now, Jason. I think it's fine. Just fine.
More
than fine.'

She was trying to be conciliatory. But the word ‘fine' was lukewarm at best. Being the person she was, Emma would continue to try to be a good wife to him, but the reality of her emotions hadn't changed. She would never forget Ratchitt, and never fall in love with
him
.

Which meant she would always be vulnerable to Ratchitt's attentions. If the creep hung around long enough, it was inevitable that one day—perhaps when their marriage was going through a bad patch—she would surrender to her unrequited passion for him. Then where would that leave him?

‘Fine,' he bit out, and, whirling, stalked from the room.

He was in the shower when she came into the bath
room and stood outside the shower recess, staring at him through the glass.

‘I do not want Dean like I want
you
, Jason. Haven't I shown you that this last week?'

A type of fury ripped through him. A fury born of fear and frustration, a fury rooted in his male ego and sexuality, in everything that had gone before and everything he feared might happen in the future.

He shot back the shower glass and grabbed her nearest wrist, yanking her into the shower with him. The jets of hot water plastered the silk robe around her body, revealing every curve and dip in her body. He didn't remove it, just wrenched it apart, then gobbled in her wet nakedness till he was fully erect. She gasped when he pried her legs apart and pushed up into her where she stood.

He didn't know if she was ready for him or not. There was too much water streaming down over their bodies to tell. Perversely, he didn't want her to be ready, or to find pleasure in his body. He wanted to use her, as men once used their wives of old, without asking permission, without having to care about their satisfaction.

How much of what had happened this week had been real? he agonised as he pumped up into her. And how much was pretence? Since she didn't love him, then what did it matter either way, as long as she let him do what he wanted, whenever he wanted it? She'd made her bed and now she was going to have to lie in it.

Except when the place of copulation was a shower, he thought bitterly. Then she could stand. His eyes
flashed to hers and his thoughts were venomous. Why aren't you coming, wife? What's wrong with you this time? Not thinking of Ratchitt enough?

No sooner had this last thought intruded than she closed her eyes with a raw moan, sliding her arms up around his neck, reaching up on tiptoe and urging him on to a more powerful rhythm. Swearing, he hoisted her up off the floor, turning her and pressing her up against the tiles for better support. He hated her when her legs wrapped voluptuously around him, when her mouth gasped wide, when she came with the sort of violent contractions that could
not
have been faked.

It crossed his mind as he shuddered into her that
he
was the one being used here, not the other way around.

‘J
ASON
,'
she said sternly. ‘We
have
to talk.'

He looked up at her from where he'd been eating the mouth-watering casserole she'd served up to him fifteen minutes earlier and which he'd been eating in a brooding silence.

They'd been back at Tindley for ten days, and during that time their marriage had gone from bad to worse. He knew it was mostly his fault, but he couldn't seem to help it. His jealousy of Ratchitt was poisoning his love for her, making him surly and suspicious.

Their sex life had changed considerably since that last tempestuous time in the shower at Narooma. He still made love to her every night, but selfishly and savagely, uncaring if she came or not.

But she always did.

He began to hate her for that. He would have preferred her not to, so that he could imagine she was finding satisfaction elsewhere. His insecurities were beginning to feed upon themselves, and every day he wallowed in all sorts of disgusting scenarios where Ratchitt and his darling wife were concerned.

The worst had seemed to become concrete that very day when he'd gone into the bakery to get his lunch,
and Muriel had given him an almost pitying look, followed by a most uncustomary lack of conversation.

‘I don't know if should tell you this,' she'd finally said when she handed over his change, ‘but Dean's been droppin' in at the sweet shop every time you go out of town on your rounds. I'm not spyin' on Emma, mind, but it's hard not to hear that bike of Dean's. It's very noisy. I…I just thought you'd like to know, Dr Steel. I'm sorry.'

He'd thanked Muriel politely, saying not to worry, he'd handle Dean Ratchitt.

Muriel had still looked worried.

Jason looked at Emma now across the dining-room table and knew his face was closed and cold. He wondered sourly if she was about to come clean, to confess all. Somehow he doubted it. Adultery was much more fun when kept secret and hidden.

‘What's there to talk about?'

‘I'm not pregnant,' she said. ‘My period came today.'

His disappointment was fierce, as was his simmering fury. ‘So?'

She winced at the word. ‘I think it might be a good idea if I went on the pill for a while.'

‘Oh, you do, do you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I don't think I want to bring a baby into this marriage yet.'

‘Wise woman,' he said caustically. ‘Husbands have a natural aversion to supporting other men's children.'

She looked terribly hurt. ‘Oh, Jason… Don't…'

‘Don't what? Don't face the truth? You think I don't know about Ratchitt dropping into the shop all the time? Parks his bike out the front and bowls up whenever I'm out of town, so Muriel tells me.'

‘I didn't ask him to, Jason, if that's what you're thinking.'

‘You have no idea what I'm thinking,' he snapped.

‘I have a pretty good idea. But you're wrong. He only stays a few minutes. He just says the same old thing, then leaves.'

‘Which is?'

‘That he still loves me and he's there for me, when and if I ever need him.'

‘In that case, why didn't you tell me?'

‘I…I didn't want you thinking things,' she said wretchedly.

A memory shot out of the past, of his doing and saying exactly the same thing when he'd had that encounter with Adele. Emma had trusted him then, but he couldn't seem to find it in his heart to trust her. Perhaps because he loved her so much, and he knew she didn't love him back.

He put down his fork and pushed his plate away. ‘Sorry,' he bit out. ‘I don't feel hungry tonight. I think I'll go read a book. Don't wait up. I have a feeling I'll be very late to bed.'

‘Jason, please don't leave me alone tonight.'

‘Sorry, darling, no can do. You have your period, remember? Or were you think of offering me some other service in lieu of the real thing?'

‘Why are you doing this?' she cried.

‘What?'

‘Spoiling everything. I…I can't go on like this.'

‘Can't you? And what do you intend doing about it?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Let me know when you do.'

He whirled and walked out the room, beginning the worst week of his life. She didn't speak to him. Not once. Not a word. Every night she lay next to him in bed like a corpse, and he dared not even put his arm around her. Every morning she set out his breakfast before silently leaving to go to the shop. Every evening she cooked his meal, and even did the washing up, perhaps because she didn't want to ask him to.

And every other day Ratchitt called in at the sweet shop, according to Muriel.

The tension in the house grew till Jason knew he had to say something.

But she beat him to it.

‘I've decided what I'm going to do about it,' she said abruptly as the evening meal drew to its usual silent end. ‘I'm going to stay at the shop for a while. In my old room.'

He stared at her, his guts in instant turmoil. She was leaving him. Less than a month into their marriage and she was leaving him. A dark suspicion formed in his jealousy-ridden mind when he realised her period would have finished about now.

‘How convenient for Ratchitt.'

His snarled remark brought a look of despair. ‘You
once said I'd be miserable married to Dean,' she told him bleakly. ‘You promised to make me happy. I'm not happy, Jason. I'm more miserable than I've ever been in all my life.'

‘I see.'

‘Oh, no, Jason. You don't see at all, but I'm not about to explain. You'll only say more nasty things. You have a cruel streak in you, you know. And there I was, when I married you, thinking you were perfect.'

She stood up, and looked him straight in the eye. ‘The washing up's yours tonight. And so is everything else till you come to your senses, Jason. I'm not leaving you. Not permanently. I take my marriage vows seriously. But you have to know I won't put up with this. Think about things, and when you want to talk— I mean
really
talk, not throw around useless accusations—then I'll come back. Meanwhile, you can abuse yourself instead of abusing me! As for food, I'm sure Muriel can always provide you with something to eat at night. Or Nancy, or any of the other women in town who still think the sun shines out of your bum! I know better!'

She spun on her heels and walked out on him. He just sat there for a long while, thinking about what she'd said, guilt consuming him over his abominable treatment of her. He knew in his heart she hadn't been unfaithful to him. Emma would not do that. If she was going to go with Ratchitt, she'd say so first. But that didn't mean the creep wasn't waiting in the wings, watching for his chance.

And he was about to get a big fat one, with Emma having moved out.

Finally, he jumped to his feet. What in hell was wrong with him? What was he doing letting someone like Ratchitt ruin his marriage? He should be fighting for his woman, not giving another man every chance to steal her away from him.

And ‘fighting' was the operative word! Men like Ratchitt didn't understand polite conversation. They needed to have a fist shoved down their throats before they took any notice. Jason hadn't been brought up in the outer Western suburbs of Sydney for nothing. He might
seem
like a civilised man on the surface, with an educated voice and fancy clothes, but underneath he was still the same streetwise kid who'd had to stand up for himself with his fists more times than he could count.

Time for action. Time to bring things down to Ratchitt's level. Snatching up his car keys, he stormed from the house, slamming the door behind him.

Jason knew where he lived. He'd paid a house call to his cantankerous old man.

In took ten minutes to cover the distance from Tindley to the run-down old farmhouse which housed the Ratchitt men. Despite it being nearly eight o'clock by the time he turned into the rutted driveway, it was still light. With daylight saving, the sun was only just setting. A dark-haired man was tinkering with a motorbike parked in the front yard. A vicious-looking black dog was barking insanely and jumping up and down on the end of a chain nearby.

As Jason drove up, Ratchitt unfolded himself from his hunched-down position, snarled at the dog to shut up, then turned to face his visitor.

Jason eyed his competition as objectively as possible. He wasn't handsome. Muriel was right about that. But he had those dark, bad-boy looks women seemed to go for in a big way. Long black hair which fell in rakish waves to his shoulders. Deep-set black eyes. And almost feminine lips. He wasn't overly tall, but his physique was all macho perfection, displayed overtly in tight stone-washed jeans and a chest-hugging black T-shirt. Jason could see without looking too hard that he was well built everywhere.

Ratchitt eyed him back as he climbed out of the car, a smug smile pulling at his full lips.

Jason wanted to wipe that smile from here to Broken Hill. But he wasn't a fool. He suddenly saw what might happen if he smashed the cocky creep's teeth in. Emma might not be impressed at all. She might tag
him
as a violent man, and run to Ratchitt's side, offering sympathy and solace.

Ratchitt's increasingly triumphant smirk told its own tale, and Jason suddenly realised he'd made a mistake in coming here. He'd fallen right into this devious fellow's hands. But it was too late now. No way was he going to back down and go off with his tail between his legs.

‘The good Dr Steel, I presume?' Ratchitt drawled as Jason walked up to him.

‘And the not so good Dean Ratchitt,' Jason countered drily.

Ratchitt grinned. ‘The one and the same. To what do I owe the honour of this call?'

‘I want you to keep away from Emma.'

‘I imagine you do. But what you want and what I want are two different things, Doc.'

Jason didn't doubt it. ‘She doesn't want you any more.'

He laughed. ‘Is that what she told you?'

‘In a word…yes.'

‘Emma's always had trouble admitting what she wants.'

Jason was having trouble keeping his temper. ‘I think you've lost touch with what Emma wants.'

‘I don't think so, man. Her mouth
says
one thing but it
tells
you a different story. She's a good little kisser, isn't she? I taught her how. I'd have taught her a hell of a lot more if she'd let me. But that's beside the point. The point is what Emma wants.'

Jason was beginning to realise Ratchitt wasn't as dumb as he'd thought he'd be. He was a very street-smart and cunning fellow.

‘You think I haven't always known what was going on in her life?' Ratchitt scoffed. ‘I have eyes and ears all over Tindley. I know she never went out with anyone in all the months I was away. She was waiting for me to come back. And she'd have said yes, lickety-split, the next time I asked her to marry me. I was just biding my time. But then you came along, Doc, and cruelled all my plans. I made the mistake of not contacting home for a couple of months and what happened? She upped and got engaged, without so much
as a single date beforehand. I'd like to know how you managed that, Doc?'

‘I'll bet you would. For the record, though, I was her aunt's doctor during Ivy's last months, and a regular visitor to Emma's home. We got to know each other
very
well during that time.' And he could read into that whatever he liked!

‘Oh, yes,' he sneered. ‘Dear old Aunt Ivy. The stupid old bag, filling Emma with all that nonsense about no sex before marriage. She must have been out of the Dark Ages. If it hadn't been for her, Emma would have been
my
wife now, and I'd be living in clover.'

Jason frowned. In clover? What on earth was he talking about? He could not possibly think living in the back of the sweet shop would be living in clover. Or maybe he could, he rethought, glancing around at the dump he was living in.

When his gaze moved back to Ratchitt he saw that he himself was on the end of a wry appraisal.

‘You know, when I first found out about you, I wondered what a fancy-pants doctor from Sydney wanted with my Emma. It couldn't be her stunning beauty, I told myself. She's a pretty little thing, but can't hold a candle to that brunette chick you used to live with.'

Jason gaped at him, and Ratchitt grinned with malicious pleasure.

‘Yeah, Doc, I checked you out while you were away on your honeymoon. I checked
her
out as well. Thought it only fair. Now there's a top sort, and bloody good in the cot, even if I say so myself. Hardly
had to do a thing. She told me a lot about you, too. How ambitious you were. How much money means to you. That's when it all clicked. I dare say old Aunt Ivy told you about Emma's trust fund while she was dying. It was from her parents' estate. It comes to her when she turns twenty-five, or when she gets married. Which ever happens first. Look, I don't blame you, Doc. Really I don't. But you should never poach on another man's property.'

Jason could not hide his shock. Not about Adele. He didn't give a damn about her. But about this trust fund. Emma had never mentioned it.

Any shock quickly gave way to a startling realisation.

‘Good Lord! You were going to marry Emma for
money
,' he said.

Ratchitt looked taken aback by his attitude. ‘Yeah, sure. Why else would anyone marry a silly little bitch like her? You didn't think I was in love with her, did you? I'm just like you, Doc. Love doesn't come into it. But I don't even have to marry her now, thanks to you. The money's there for the taking. She won't be able to deny me a thing, not once she lets me give her a bit of the old Ratchitt magic.'

Jason felt his hands begin to ball into fists.

‘I hope you've done a good job in my place,' Ratchitt taunted. ‘Virgins are notoriously easy to spoil, you know. They're a bit like a new bike,' he drawled, stroking the shiny black metal side as though it were a woman. ‘You have to run 'em in kinda slow,
or they're just never any good. Have to keep 'em well oiled too, or you're in for a bumpy ride.'