The Unexpected Baby Page 9

  She turned again and walked down the path. Her spine was as straight as it could possibly go, but, boy, was it tingling! She half expected him to bounce up behind her and grab her, lock her in the attic, if that was what it took, and keep her there until a situation arose that demanded she be brought out and paraded—a new bride doll with a painted smile and a puppet master to pull her strings.

  But he did no such thing. Of course he didn’t. He let her go.

  The hotel she always used when she flew into London to see her publisher was comfortable and unpretentious. It suited her. Or had done.

  Tonight she couldn’t settle. Jed haunted her mind and filled her heart. Memories of the good times, those special, wonderful, loving times, kept coming back, resurfacing seconds after she’d thought she’d pushed them back into oblivion. The bad times, too, were ever present, tormenting her.

  Since arriving she’d made an appointment to meet with her editor tomorrow, and another to have lunch with her agent the day after that. The rest of the time would be spent shopping for that perfect dress, shoes to wear with it, maybe a new perfume.

  She’d get her hair trimmed. And what about a facial? Manicure? Browse through the bookshops. Why not? Anything to fill the hours, occupy her mind.

  But the nights—what was she to do about the nights? She frowned at the television set, talking to itself in a corner of the room, picked up the remote control and zapped it off. She took herself to bed and tried to read, but the words didn’t make any sense at all.

  She had shown Jed that she had a mind of her own, that she wasn’t prepared to dance to his mournful tune, live a lie into the foreseeable future. She’d made her stand and escaped an intolerable situation.

  This trip to London hadn’t been about buying new clothes, it had been about escape. But she could never escape, no matter how far she ran, not while he was still firmly in her heart.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ELENA fixed the diamond ear-studs with steady fingers. Set in ornate, chunky gold, they matched the bracelet around her slender wrist. Jed’s wedding gift to her. She’d leave these lovely things behind at Netherhaye when all this was over. She had only decided to wear them tonight because they were the perfect complement to her dress.

  She stood back, looking at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She’d do. No ballooning bulge in the tummy region yet, although during her check-up Greenway had assured her it wouldn’t be long before it appeared!

  But for now the champagne-coloured satin sheath lovingly caressed every softly rounded curve. Ending a few inches above her knees, it made her look very leggy, and the deeply scooped top, suspended only by the thinnest of shoestring straps, made her breasts look fuller than they were. Or maybe that was down to her condition?

  She’d left her hair loose tonight, a shimmering golden sweep curving down to her shoulders, and for once her make-up couldn’t be faulted. She looked, she decided dispassionately, like a sophisticated, sexy, mature professional woman. It was the look she had deliberately set out to achieve.

  And, thankfully, not a butterfly in sight.

  Jed was to accompany her to the awards ceremony. Even she had had to admit that it would look odd if he didn’t. There’d been a few qualms, though, when he’d told her that he’d booked a suite for the night in the up-market hotel where the ceremony was to be held, but he’d told her glacially, ‘I don’t suppose you’d want to travel up to town in your glad rags, or face the drive back in the small hours. The suite has two bedrooms and a sitting room, so we should be able to share it without coming to blows.’

  So she’d handle being here with him without the buffer of Catherine’s company and Edith’s to-ings and fro-ings. She felt calm enough right now to be sure of that.

  His perfunctory tap on the door of her bedroom told her it was time to go. She pushed her feet into pale bronze-coloured high heels and straightened her shoulders. She wasn’t looking forward to this evening, but she’d grit her teeth and get through it in style.

  He was ready and waiting in the ultra-modern, elegantly furnished but impersonal sitting room, and as his eyes swept over her body then back to her face she saw his hard jaw tighten.

  ‘You look very beautiful, Elena.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She took the clipped compliment as calmly as she could. He was simply being polite. And she could have said the same of him, but she’d bite her tongue out before she’d repay the compliment.

  He looked better than good whatever he wore, but in his black dinner suit he looked spectacular. Sizzlingly handsome yet challengingly remote. He could shatter her senses but she wouldn’t let him.

  Deftly, she swept up her evening purse from the side table where she’d left it earlier. She caught the glimmer of gold from her wide wedding band and misery welled up inside her.

  For a moment it swamped her, but she resolutely stamped it down. And then Jed said, in a rough, tough voice she barely recognised, ‘Believe it or not, whichever way it goes tonight, I’m proud of your achievements.’

  Dipping her head in brief acknowledgement, she blinked furiously. It would be easier on her if he kept his mouth shut. She didn’t want his compliments or his praise. In this hateful situation they hurt far too much.

  And she would not cry! Wouldn’t let herself be that weak! He certainly knew how to get to her, twist the knife and bring her pain. Though, to give him his due, he probably hadn’t meant to.

  He didn’t realise how much he could hurt her, how desperately she wanted things to be as they had been, or how desperately she was trying not to want it.

  She bit her lip as she preceded him into the lift. And Jed chided gently, ‘Do that much longer and you won’t have any lipstick left’ He took her hand as the lift settled to a well-bred halt and the doors slid open. ‘There’s no need to be nervous. I’m rooting for you—whatever the panel of judges have decided. I admit I don’t read the genre, but I have read your work, and for my money I fail to see how anyone else can come near you!’

  If things had been different she’d have squeezed his hand, smiled up into his eyes and told him he was biased. And kissed him for his kindness.

  As it was her fingers lay coldly within his, any reply she might have made stuck in her throat. He had only taken her hand because they were now on public show and the pretence had to go on.

  She wasn’t nervous about tonight, but he thought she was and so had put his negative feelings for her behind him, trying to make her feel better, calm her down. But he was only making it worse, reminding her that at heart he was a good man, caring and compassionate.

  She had lost all that, and the loss was once again sharpening its claws on her heart. She was finding it impossible to bear.

  But tonight—whichever way the award went—she was on show. She couldn’t turn tail and head back to her room, no matter how desperately she wanted to do just that. She couldn’t let him down. The effort of getting through the evening was probably the last thing she would ever be able to do for him.

  ‘You look a star!’ Trish, her agent, cried excitedly.

  Paula, her more down-to-earth editor, stated, ‘Don’t worry about the competition, El. None of them hold a candle, I promise.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been telling her!’ Jed slipped an arm around her waist and tugged her against his side.

  Elena wanted to scream. Didn’t he know what he was doing to her? No, of course he didn’t. He thought he was giving her reassurance, and the way he was holding her was nothing but playing to the gallery.

  Straightening out her brain, she made the introductions, noticed the way the two women—and every other woman in the room—ate him up with their eyes, and wondered again how he could ever believe he could come second-best to any man.

  A lavish, pre-ceremony dinner was to be served in this glittering room, and the four of them were sharing a table. The food, so everyone said, was superb, and there seemed to be an endless supply of champagne. And Jed was being ultra-supportive, actin
g the part of the adoring husband, making her insides quiver with longing for the impossible, making it impossible for her to eat a thing.

  ‘I think, under the circumstances, one small glass of champagne would be permissible,’ he said softly, while their dinner companions had their heads together discussing publishing trends. He poured for her, and put the cool stern of the glass between her fingers.

  She didn’t want it. She’d stuck to spring water all evening, and wasn’t in a champagne mood in any case. He probably thought she needed the Dutch courage, because all attention was beginning to turn to the small raised dais where the guest speaker was taking up his place to present the awards.

  Elena didn’t listen to a word. At any other time during her writing career she would have been ecstatic to have had a work of hers short-listed for the prestigious Golden Gargoyle Award, given for the best horror novel published in the preceding year.

  Now it seemed monumentally unimportant. She had only agreed to attend tonight because to have stayed away would have been a snub. In the future she would need her career. She was determined that her fatherless child would have every possible advantage.

  Tumultuous applause forced her into an awareness that the evening was coming to its end, at least as far as the awards were concerned. And then Jed put his hands on either side of her waist and helped her to her feet. Smiling into her bemused eyes, he murmured, ‘Congratulations! Go get it, sweetheart. I hope you rehearsed your speech!’

  Only then did it sink in that At the Rising of the Moon had won her the coveted award. Walking towards the dais, she wondered why she couldn’t feel even the tiniest flicker of elation, the smallest smidgen of professional pride. And then she told herself she knew damn well why she didn’t, and hoped to goodness the bleak knowledge didn’t show in her face. Professional achievement was nothing compared to Jed’s love.

  She had one, but she had lost the other.

  Somehow she managed to smile and say a few words. Weaving her way back through the body of the room, she was waylaid by people who wanted to congratulate her so often she was beginning to think she’d never make it back to their table before breakfast!

  When she finally made it Jed was waiting, watching her with pride. She had to admit it looked genuine, but then he’d been putting on a remarkably polished performance all evening.

  Trisha and Paula gave her enormous hugs, and Paula said, ‘Trish and I are now going to circulate—give you two some time on your own. You are still on your honeymoon, after all!’

  They melted away, glasses firmly in hand, and Jed said tonelessly, ‘Shall we do the rounds? I’m sure there are still people who’d like to congratulate you.’

  Mutely, Elena shook her head. She wanted out. Wanted the whole charade over and done with. Tears suddenly misted her eyes. She stared down at the glittering trophy clasped in her hands so that he wouldn’t see how emotional she had suddenly and infuriatingly become.

  There had been times, just recently, when she’d believed she had come to terms with losing this man. This wasn’t one of them. The evening had taken its toll, and heaven only knew what would happen if they stayed on, proud, adoring husband, ecstatically happy wife, on display for public consumption. She’d probably go to pieces and make an utter fool of herself. She’d had as much of this cruel fantasy as she could take.

  ‘I’d rather go to bed,’ she confessed wearily, not meeting his eyes. ‘Pull the sheets over my head and wake up feeling halfway normal.’

  ‘Fine.’ He put a hand under her elbow and led her from the room. He’d sounded drained, too.

  They rode the lift in silence, the tension almost strident as they entered the suite. The distance across the pale sage-green carpeting to her bedroom suddenly seemed immense. Elena didn’t know if her shaky legs would carry her that far. Lack of food, she supposed, and thrust her fingers through her hair.

  The trophy fell to the floor and bounced on the carpet, and Jed turned, frowning darkly. ‘Are you all right?’

  The last thing she wanted was him fussing over her, pretending to care. There’d been enough pretence this evening to last her several lifetimes.

  She looked at him through tangled dark lashes, her lids too heavy to open wide, and tried to tell him she was fine. But she couldn’t get the words out. She swallowed hard, then moistened her glossy lips to see if that would help, and watched him watch the convulsive movement of her throat, then lift narrowed eyes to her mouth and fasten them on her own.

  She saw the slow burn begin deep in the smoky irises and drew in her breath sharply, totally and stingingly aware of him, of this silent seclusion. He wanted her. It was there in his eyes, in the tightness of the line of his mouth. He wanted her and she needed him...

  ‘Get to bed,’ he said roughly. ‘You look done in.’ He turned, retrieved the trophy and put it down on a coffee table. Elena swayed on her feet.

  The split second of danger was over. He’d successfully fought it off. But she could still feel the dark sting of it pulsing through her veins. All the wanting, all the need, had practically solidified into something she could reach out and touch. Emotion powered through her as she faced the acres of carpet, the bedroom door that seemed to shimmer and shift, recede even further into the distance.

  She swayed dizzily, and strong hands grasped her shoulders, steadying her, holding her. ‘You’re ill?’ he demanded, using one hand to lift her chin and read the truth in her eyes.

  ‘No,’ she whispered threadily, deploring the weak rush of tears to her eyes, the way her lips parted helplessly as he gently brushed the moisture away with the ball of his thumb.

  ‘Don’t! I can’t bear to see you cry,’ he said rawly. ‘Tonight you looked so beautiful, so assured. I want you to stay that way. Believe it or not, I don’t want you to be unhappy.’ He folded his arms around her, holding her just a little away from him, as if he wanted to make sure that their bodies didn’t actually touch. ‘I thought I did, but now I know I can’t hate you that much.’

  A primitive spurt of anger made her pull in a ragged breath. She felt humiliated. His emotions where she was concerned weren’t powerful enough to even let him hate her properly! Had his former so-called love for her been similarly lukewarm? Was that the reason he’d been able to shut her out of his heart so damned easily? Had refusing to believe the truth about her baby’s conception been the easy way out for him?

  She felt weak and shaken, but she balled her hands into fists and pushed feebly at his chest. He ignored her childishly ineffectual blows and scooped her up off her feet. ‘You’re physically and emotionally exhausted,’ he told her in a matter-of-fact near monotone as he carried her towards the door to her bedroom. ‘I’ll see you into bed and ask Room Service for warm milk and toast. That should help you sleep. You were far too hyped up to eat anything at dinner.’

  She didn’t want his spurious kindness, his warm milk, or his dratted attention to what he would see as his precious duty! She wanted... She needed...

  A fierce rush of adrenalin pushed all caution to the winds. She squirmed hectically against him, struggling to get back on her own two feet, shrieking, ‘Let go of me! Stop being such an odious holier than thou, pompous, prattish little gentleman!’

  She squirmed more furiously, wriggling and pushing against him, her narrow skirt riding high on her thighs, her face scarlet with temper, outrage and frustration, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, unaware until it was too late—far too late—of the fine tremors that shook his lean, hard frame, of the dangerous glitter of fiery intent in eyes that were suddenly narrowed, black with savage emotion.

  ‘I can be as ungentlemanly as you like, sweetheart, believe me!’

  His hands tightened on her body as he shouldered open the bedroom door and strode to the bed. He tumbled her onto the covers, one hand fastening her wrists together above her head, his darkly glittering eyes making a quick inventory of her body, sweeping up the length of her silk panty-hose-clad legs to the scrumple of champagne satin
around her hips and on to the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, their swollen peaks thrusting against the slithery satin that barely contained them now.

  And back down again, more slowly. Much more slowly. Caressing her. Elena shuddered helplessly as desire made a pool of liquid heat inside her. She stopped breathing as she followed the journey his eyes were making, her flesh quivering in mindless anticipation because each slow stroke of his eyes was like the physical touch of his lean, sensual fingers.

  She could feel the tension in him, almost feel the tremors that shook his taut frame, smell the raw, hot male scent of him. Slowly he released her wrists, and her body conquered what was left of her mind and moved luxuriously, sensuously, beneath the burning drift of his eyes, drugged eyes, that swept slowly up to lock with hers.

  ‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘Now.’ He removed his jacket and tossed it carelessly aside, ripping away his shirt to reveal muscles clenched with need, a need that raged tempestuously through her, too. A need she understood, found impossible to deny, a need she answered as she lifted her arms to him in silent invitation.

  With boneless grace he joined her, taking her hands and winding them around his neck, groaning deeply as her fingers stroked his nape. Lovingly, they feathered down his throat, down to the hectic pulse-beat at the base.

  She loved him, always would. Her body craved him with a hunger that was out of control. With a tiny mew of rapture she wriggled closer, pressing her breasts against his naked chest, feeling the race of his heartbeats as he slid one tiny strap away from her shoulder and then the other.

  Yes! She needed skin to skin, flesh to burning flesh. And, as ever, he knew what she wanted because that was what he wanted, too.

  He closed the tiny gap between their mouths and she opened for him, inviting the raging hunger of his kiss, shuddering all over. Her fingers were digging into his back as he slid a hand up the length of her thigh and tugged impatiently at the waist of her panty-hose, sliding the silk away from her body, his breath catching as his touch revealed she was wearing nothing else beneath her dress.