His Wedding-Night Heir (10 page)

when it came, was irresistible. The pies arrived, golden-brown

in individual earthenware pots, accompanied by dishes of veg-

etables, and were served by the waitresses onto their plates.

As the crusts broke, spilling their fragrant contents across the

porcelain, the aroma literally made her mouth water.

There was no way she could refuse to eat. Nor would she

achieve anything by starving herself, she admitted resignedly.

She was expecting a sarcastic comment from Nick as she

reached for her cutlery, but he only permitted himself a swift,

ironic glance before applying himself to his own food.

'Dessert?' he asked, when she finally put down her knife and

fork.

She said stiltedly, 'Just coffee, please. Black, no sugar.'

'I'll have the same.' Nick offered a brief smile to the girl who'd

come to clear their plates, then bent to help retrieve the cutlery

she'd instantly and blushingly dropped on the grass.

'Poor girl,' Cally commented as the waitress retreated. 'You

seem to have a devastating effect on women.'

'Not often,' Nick returned silkily. 'And certainly not on you,

my sweet.'

Ah, but that's not true, she thought. Or how did you so easily

persuade me to marry you—against all my better judgement?

I wasn't proof against your smite either—or the way you

looked at me. Or the kisses and caresses that always left me

aching for more.

'You're attracting a lot of attention yourself,' Nick added,

breaking into her reverie. 'But that's hardly surprising. In that

dress, you look like part of the sunlight.'

Cally flushed and looked away self-consciously from the

sudden intensity of his gaze. 'Please—don't say things like

that'

'I'm not even allowed to pay you a mild compliment?'

'Not,' she said, 'in our kind of bargain.'

'Yet it's no more than the truth,' Nick said. 'Just look around

you if you don't believe me.'

She said tautly, 'If people are staring, it's only to wonder what

the hell someone like me is doing with someone like you, and

we both know it.'

'I know nothing of the kind.' There was a new harshness in his

tone. 'Why do you constantly denigrate yourself, Cally?'

'I think they actually call it being aware of one's limitations,'

she said. 'I learned it quite early in life.'

'From your grandfather, I suppose,' he said with faint grim-

ness.

'You can hardly blame him.' She shrugged. 'After all, he didn't

have the grandson he'd set his heart on, so the next best thing

was a replica of the daughter he'd lost—someone beautiful,

vibrant and glamorous, with real star appeal. I—fell a long

way short of his expectations.'

He said, slowly, 'My God.'

'It's understandable.' She took a breath. 'My mother was— a

very hard act to follow. She and my father worshipped each

other. In a way, it was a blessing the accident took them both,

because they'd never have survived alone.'

'They wouldn't have been alone.' His voice was very quiet.

'They had you.'

'As it was, I was left with Grandfather. In the aftermath of it

all we were both grieving, but we couldn't seem to comfort

each other. Still, I think—eventually—he came to love me—

in his way.' She paused. 'And he wanted me to be looked after

when he'd gone. To have the financial security that he hadn't

been able to provide himself at the end.' Her voice faltered

slightly.

'Which, of course, is where I came in.' Nick ironically sup-

plied her unspoken words.

'Grandfather's final act.' She forced a smile. 'To arrange my

future. Hand me one of the glittering prizes. He even managed

to make me believe, for a while, that it was what I wanted

too.'

'And then Cinderella tried on the slipper and found it was the

wrong size,' he said softly. 'Poor Cally.'

'What does it matter?' she said. 'I won't be wearing it for long.

So there's really no need to pity me. Whatever you force me to

do, I'll survive.'

She turned deliberately in her chair and stared at the river. Its

still waters were golden-green in the brightness, shading to

oily darkness in the overhang of the willows that fringed it. A

small group of ducks was quarrelling noisily over the bread

some diners had thrown for them, and from the opposite bank

a diminutive but stately moorhen emerged from the reeds, her

brood of chicks strung out behind her, all paddling frantically

to keep up.

In spite of herself, Cally found some of the tension seeping

out of her, her lips curving with pleasure.

She said, half to herself, 'It's just so beautiful here.'

'Would you like to stay the night?' Nick asked quietly. 'They

have rooms, and it's early in the season, so there are probably

vacancies.' His smile touched her skin, warming it in spite of

herself. 'We could have a mini-honey moon.'

Cally stiffened, her heart thudding. 'No,' she stated with cool

clarity. 'I don't want to stay. Thank you.'

'As you wish,' he said equably. 'I just wanted to demonstrate

that force isn't an essential element of our time together.'

There was an odd silence that Cally hastened to fill. 'Anyway,

I thought you were desperate to get back to Wylstone.'

'Not that desperate,' he said softly. 'After all, my love, you

seem to have an affinity with the banks of rivers that might be

worth exploiting.'

Her flush deepened. 'An isolated incident,' she said grittily,

'that I'd prefer to forget.'

'And one of my most treasured memories,' he murmured. 'I've

often thought since that I should have taken you then— when

I had the chance.'

Cally sent him a fulminating glance, and was relieved to turn

her attention to the arrival of their coffee.

As she filled their cups from the cafetiere, she said stiltedly,

'Is your mother well?'

'According to her last letter, she's bursting with health,' Nick

returned drily. 'She's also planning to pay us a visit.'

Cally digested this piece of news uneasily as she passed Nick

his coffee. She had never met Cecily Tempest, who was a dis-

tinguished

archaeologist,

whose

working

life

was

concentrated in the jungles of Central America. She'd thought

that she never would.

She said, 'I thought she was in Guatemala.'

'It seems the present excavations need a new injection of

funding. She's coming back to do a series of lectures, and

raise some more cash.' He paused. 'And, at some point, meet

her new daughter-in-law.'

'I see,' Cally said slowly. 'Yet another reason for you to need

my urgent return.' She swallowed some hot coffee. 'Have you

told her that we've been living apart?'

'I decided against that. After all, I'd only just told her that we

were getting married. The news that I was a bachelor again so

soon might have aroused her latent maternal instinct and

brought her hurrying home to investigate, so I thought it best

not to burden her.'

'Of course.' Her voice was tight. 'And now there's no necessity

for embarrassing explanations. Because I'm back.' She paused.

'I presume I'm required to play the part of the loving and

dutiful wife?'

'I certainly hope so,' he said silkily. 'But she's not arriving

immediately, so you'll have plenty of time to rehearse. And

you'll need it. When it comes to digging, my mother isn't

solely interested in Mayan artefacts.'

Cally bit her lip. 'You certainly have everything worked out in

advance.'

'If I had,' Nick said tersely, 'I would not have spent my

wedding night alone last year.'

'I've only your word for it that you did,' Cally fired back

without thinking, and paused, appalled at her own

indiscretion. Remembering too late that she'd forbidden

herself any reference to Nick's infidelity with Vanessa Layton.

Oh, God, she groaned inwardly. I've just broken my own

taboo. Now he's going to ask what I mean—and I don't know

what to say. How to find an explanation that doesn't make me

sound like some pathetic, jealous idiot.

'Are you crazy?' The grey eyes were like steel. 'My attention

was fully occupied in looking for you, darling, not choosing a

substitute bedmate. Besides, you're going to atone fully for

any previous disappointment you caused me,' he added

harshly.

Cally drank the rest of her coffee and put down the cup. She

said, 'I—really don't need any further reminders.'

His smile was as hard as his gaze. 'In that case, shall we be

leaving?'

As he pushed back his chair and rose she said bitterly, 'And

let's not pretend I have a choice.'

She was aware of the envious glances following her as she

walked at his side back to the inn to pay the bill.

She thought if you knew—if you only knew... And could have

wept.

They travelled in silence. Cally sat with her hands folded in

her lap, staring sightlessly through the windscreen, her

thoughts caught on the same weary treadmill.

The car was her cage. The motorway her path to her own

personal hell. And there was nothing more she could do. No

argument—no appeal she could offer—carried any weight

with him, as he'd made mockingly clear from the beginning.

Nick had bought her, and now he expected to see a return on

his investment—however temporary.

She leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes, listening to the

smooth hum of the motor, images from the past dissolving

and reforming as the edges of her consciousness started to

blur.

‘I suppose you know that you're trespassing?'

And her own reply, made defensive by guilt, as she stared

down from the back of her horse at the tall young man

confronting her on the path. I was just taking a shortcut across

the edge of the wood. Sir Ranald never objected.'

'Unfortunately Sir Ranald's no longer around to express an

opinion either way,' he said. 'But I am, and I came out after

pigeon.' He indicated the gun he was carrying. 'Supposing I'd

accidentally winged you instead? Or your horse? In future,

sweetheart, take the long way round.' The strange silver-grey

eyes flickered over her, absorbing the damp cotton shirt out-

lining her small breasts, her slender denim-clad thighs. He

added quietly, 'You'll find it safer.'

And with another long, considering look he turned and van-

ished as abruptly as he 'd appeared, leaving Cally to lean for-

ward on Baz's neck, gasping as if she'd been winded after a

gallop, instead of merely taking a gentle hack across someone

else's land as she 'd done so often before.

But never again, she swore as she clicked her tongue to Baz

and they set off again. In future she'd give the Wylstone

estate, and its new owner, a very wide berth.

And she'd meant it, Cally thought. From then on she'd scru-

pulously avoided any diversions through the dappled shade of

the Home Wood.

And then she'd come in from shopping one day to find her

grandfather entertaining a visitor in the drawing room.

'Ah, come in, my dear,' Robert Naylor had hailed her. 'Tem-

pest, I don't think you've met my granddaughter, Caroline.

Cally—this is poor Ranald's cousin. Sir Nicholas Tempest. He

plans to live at Wylstone, so the rumours were wrong. We're

going to have neighbours after all.'

'No, we haven't been formally introduced.' Nicholas Tempest's

mouth was solemn as he shook hands with her, but the grey

eyes were sparking with amusement. 'I came to ask your

grandfather to dine with me next week,' he went on, his

fingers still holding hers. 'I hope you'll be able to accompany

him.'

'Of course she will,' Robert said robustly. 'She must find life

damned slow down here, spending her time with an old fellow

like me.'

Nicholas Tempest's brows lifted. 'Then we shall have to find

some means of keeping her entertained,' he said softly.

Cally freed herself hastily, murmured something about un-

packing the groceries, and escaped. But even as she busied

herself, stowing things away in the larder and the big old-

fashioned refrigerator, she found herself assailed by the mem-

ory of the touch of his hand on hers. And scared by it too, in a

way that was both unfamiliar and totally unwelcome.

And that, she thought tiredly, was how it had begun. Meeting

him socially at dinners and parties in the locality, and when he