Jake turned to look at her. It was a mistake. About the Author Title Page PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE EPILOGUE Copyright

Jake turned to look at her. It was a mistake.

Bella’s huge eyes were pleading, begging for his trust, and she was trying to blink back tears, biting down on her lip to still the trembling.

He abandoned his hard-won caution and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry! What I said was unforgivable,” he declared against her hair, gathering her closer.

Bella lifted her head from his shoulder to search his face, and the anguish in his eyes was unmistakable.

She opened her mouth to accept his apology and heard him groan, his head dipping as his lips stopped the words in her throat.

His kiss was raw passion. Bella returned it—because this was what she’d been born for. To be his love, and only his.

DIANA HAMILTON is a true romantic and fell in love with her husband at first sight. They still live in England, in the fairy-tale Tudor house where they raised their three children. Now the idyll is shared with eight rescued cats and a puppy. But despite an often chaotic life-style, ever since she learned to read and write Diana has had her nose in a book—either reading or writing one—and plans to go on doing just that for a very long time to come.

The Faithful Wife

Diana Hamilton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PROLOGUE

CHRISTMAS morning.

Bella leaned towards the mirror and stroked bright scarlet onto her lush mouth. A flag of defiance? Or an attempt to remind herself that she was still alive?

She recapped the lipstick and dropped it into her bag, then shrugged a soft leather jacket over the misty-heather sweater that matched her worn denims. She breathed irritably through her nostrils as her hair caught beneath the collar. Grabbing the long, silky black length of it in both hands, she secured it punitively in an elastic band.

It had once been her trademark—or one of her trademarks. Her silky jet hair, her lush scarlet mouth and the startling contrast of water-clear silver eyes had earned her the envied, yet oddly unenviable position of top photographic model of the decade.

A position of make-believe, of clever camera angles, exotic backdrops and the wizardry of the makeup artist—a position she’d gladly jettisoned when she’d married Jake. Preferring reality, as she’d perceived it then. The reality of being the wife of one of the most successful financial brains to work in the City, the sexiest, most charismatic, strong-minded man she had ever met. Jake Fox.

But the reality had been his, not hers. The real world had proved a hard place to live in when his reality had been his inability to give her what she wanted.

They had met and married in a breathtakingly short space of time. For him, she now knew, it had been lust at first sight. For her something different—so different that it meant a meeting point was impossible. She pushed that thought out of her head.

It was over. She had to keep that stark reality to the forefront of her mind.

She wouldn’t think about anything else—the might-have-beens or if-onlys. Not now. Not until she could begin to hope to cope with it.

Snatching up her hastily packed case, she walked from the bedroom where memories of their lost and glorious passion seemed to echo mockingly from the very walls. She dared not risk a backward glance because if she did she feared she might change her mind and stay until he decided to come home, then beg for the chance to try again, and resign herself to a life of shattered dreams.

But she had too much self-respect for that. He had proved himself incapable of giving her what was her due. She couldn’t allow herself to live with that.

Her chin lifted with stoic determination as she walked through to the elegant sitting room, avoiding the state-of-the-art kitchen where last night’s celebration meal was cold and congealing in delicate bone china serving dishes.

Her fingers were shaking as she took the note from her bag. She’d written it in the early hours, after he’d walked in unexpectedly on her and Guy; after that blisteringly savage word he’d thrown at her; after he’d walked out to heaven only knew where.

It was to have been their third wedding anniversary celebration, and it had turned into a wake.

When he’d phoned from the States four days ago she’d begged him to wrap up his business meetings and get home for their anniversary. A quiet celebration for two. She’d told him they had to talk and find a way through to each other. His tone had been gentler, more loving than she’d heard it in ages, when he’d assured her he’d be home in good time—as if he, too, knew they had to cement the cracks instead of blindly papering them over; as if he too needed to draw closer, reaffirm their vows.

But he hadn’t come. All day she’d waited, made preparations, planning the perfect menu, choosing his favourite wine, dressing herself at last in the little black silk creation he always said made her look sexy enough to short circuit his brain. All the time listening, ears straining for the sound of him walking through the door, her eyes flicking repeatedly to her tiny gold-banded wrist-watch, her pulse rate quickening with mounting anxiety.

By ten she’d just about given up hope, given up entirely on the spoiled meal. And when she’d heard the phone ring out half an hour later she’d picked it up, almost sobbing with relief. She’d been convinced it was Jake, letting her know he’d been delayed, apologising, letting her know he was on his way.

When it had turned out to be Guy Maclaine, business associate and long-time friend, calling to wish her merry Christmas and tell her his wonderful news, she’d gone to pieces, angry tears flooding down the phone lines because Jake had obviously forgotten his promise to be here. And because her relationship with Guy went back years, was very special, he’d come straight round. And half an hour later—wouldn’t you know it?—Jake had walked in.

By then, of course, it had been too late.

She propped the note against the empty wine bottle on one of the glass-topped tables where he would be sure to see it—if and when he returned. It, the bottle and the single glass were the only discordant notes in what was otherwise a perfect room. It took some doing, as much courage as she had, because that farewell letter was so final. It ended their marriage.

But she did it. She had no real choice. And took several moments to compose herself, standing by the great sweep of the windows that looked out over the Docklands development.

Everywhere, as far as the eye could see, amidst the sprawling tense unseen family gatherings, then a stiffening of her spine. This was the worst Christmas Day she had ever had to face. But she wouldn’t think about it.

Bella took up her case and walked out.

CHAPTER ONE

DECEMBER 23rd. Almost a year later.

‘It seems a long way to come for a few days’ break,’ Bella ventured, staring through the afternoon murk at the towering hillsides. Now she knew why this range went by the name of The Black Mountains!

‘Nearly there, so stop grumbling!’ Evie countered blithely, changing gear as they left the road for what looked like a sheer mountain track. ‘It’s going to be fun, I promise. Better than being cooped up in that London flat of ours for the entire holiday.’

Fun? It was a bitter reminder that the past year had been anything but. Just work and more work, taking her position as head of the agency’s New Accounts section so seriously that over one of their rare, leisurely lunches Guy had warned her, ‘Sweetheart—never mind everything else we’ve got going for us—I’m talking as your boss now, and I’m telling you to slow down.’

He’d taken her hand across the table, stroking it softly, his dark eyes concerned. ‘I know life can be a bitch, and things aren’t going your way right now. But working yourself to a standstill won’t help either of us. You’re in danger of pushing yourself into a physical breakdown.’

It was a view shared by Evie. Not that she’d ever come right out with it, but it was there in her eyes. In the space of twelve months Bella had become a dedicated workaholic, using every spare minute, not allowing herself time to brood. Was that why Jake had worked so hard? To stop himself thinking about the way their marriage had been slowly unravelling, falling apart? Had he found their relationship unful-filling right from the day he’d woken up to discover his lust had been finally slaked and there was nothing else left?

Her breath caught. She swallowed the lump in her throat with ferocity. She wouldn’t let herself think about it. Or him. Ever.

It would be a long time before she would be strong enough to take out and examine just what she had lost—contemplate the disintegration of precious dreams, the slow and devastating demise of the expectations that had turned into a nightmare, without falling apart.

‘It will be different,’ she said. Her voice was soft as she glanced affectionately at her sister, watching the way those bright blue eyes narrowed as she concentrated on the increasingly steep and narrow track ahead, her dark curls clustering around her pretty, plump face.

This break—a week in a rented holiday cottage in the Welsh mountains—had been Evie’s surprise Christmas gift. Even if Bella would have preferred to pretend Christmas wasn’t happening and take enough work back to the flat she had shared with Evie since her marriage had fallen apart to keep her occupied until she could get back to the office early in the New Year, she wouldn’t have dreamed of saying so, of throwing Evie’s good intentions back in her face.

‘Look—’ She consciously brightened her voice, making herself take an interest. ‘There’s already snow on the mountain tops.’ Against a bright blue sky it was sparkling, festively pretty. ‘I hope you’ve brought a shovel. If this cottage we’re staying in gets buried in ten-foot drifts you’re going to need it!’

‘No worries!’ There was a hint of banked-down excitement in Evie’s voice. ‘The forecast on the telly promised clear skies and frosts for the entire holiday period. The only hard graft, big sister, will be building the fire up. Promise!’

She’d have to take her sister’s word for it. She rarely, if ever, watched the small screen herself. She’d tried to begin with, especially when Evie stayed in to watch something she said was unmissable. Unable to concentrate on the moving images, Bella had conjured up his face every time—Jake as she’d last seen him, the hard, handsome features stamped with bitterness and contempt.

‘Keeping the fires burning can be your holiday job, kiddo.’ She was doing her best to enter into the spirit of this unusual Christmas gift, to ignore the scaldingly angry pain that the mere thought of Jake sent through her. ‘I’ll cook the turkey—you did say everything was supplied?’

She didn’t need to ask. Evie had been bombarding her with every last detail ever since she’d sprung the surprise the evening before. But it gave her something to say, something to give the impression that she was looking forward to the break, taking an appreciative interest.

Strangely, her sibling seemed at a loss for words right now, clearing her throat before she pointed out, ‘According to the instructions, it should be just over the brow of this hill.’

‘You’re the driver.’ And thank heavens for that Bella knew she would never have found her way through this bleak landscape of winter-bare mountains and the network of rutted tracks without radar, yet Evie was driving her bright red Corsa as if she’d made the journey a thousand times before.

Sure enough, as they crested the brow the cup-shaped valley below cradled a slate-roofed stone cottage backed by a windscreen of spruce, bounded on three sides by a narrow mountain stream. In the summer it would be idyllic, a popular holiday let for people who valued solitude and simple pleasures. But in the heart of the winter?

Bella suppressed a shudder and turned on a smile. Little Evie, bless her, had done this for all the best reasons. She wasn’t to know that nothing, but nothing on God’s earth could stop her remembering that tomorrow would be her fourth wedding anniversary—and the day after that a whole empty, hateful year since she’d finally conceded her marriage was over.

She’d tried; heaven knew she’d tried to purge him and their ill-destined marriage from her mind, but had dismally failed. He had a way of sneaking inside her head when she was least expecting it. She hated it when that happened; it made her feel she had no control over her thoughts.

‘Looks cosy,’ she remarked, falsely bright, trying not to notice the sudden rush of agony to her heart. The little car bounced to a halt beside the narrow wooden footbridge that spanned the stream a few yards from the cottage. Small-paned windows were built into stout stone walls, and there was a door that looked solid enough to withstand a hurricane. Bella undid her seat belt and twisted round, reaching into the back for the two canvas bags, quickly packed last night.

‘We won’t need much,’ Evie had stated. ‘Jeans and sweaters and lots of woolly socks.’

Bella had both bags out and was shivering in the icy wind, but Evie looked glued to the drivers’ seat, her voice high and thin as she smacked a fist against her forehead theatrically and wailed, ‘Oh, I’m such a fool! You’re not going to believe this!’

‘You forgot the key,’ Bella sighed, resigned to footing the bill for whatever damage they did while breaking and entering. Despite her expensive secretarial training, and her recent promotion to a high-profile job, Evie’s brain sometimes took on decidedly birdlike qualities.

‘Nope.’ She threw the key and Bella fumbled to catch it with frozen fingers. ‘The milk, eggs, fresh veggies. And the turkey, would you believe? The non-perishables are here already, but I was supposed to collect the fresh stuff from the farm we passed back there.’ She restarted the engine, adding, ‘I clean forgot. Go on in, there’s a love. Get a fire going, huh?’

Bella shrugged, flexing her stiff body, pushing her long black hair away from her face with the back of a gloved hand. It seemed sensible, but... ‘How long will you be?’ She hadn’t noticed any sign of human habitation for what seemed like ages, and the weather forecasters had got it wrong again. Suddenly the sky was heavy with cloud, pressing against the mountain flanks, the short winter day drawing to a premature close.

‘Half an hour?’ Evie was releasing the handbrake. ‘Get inside before you freeze.’ And she was gone, circling the car on the sweep of short winter grass, narrowly missing the sturdy wooden picnic table that wouldn’t see any use until families came here in the warm summer weather.

Bella smiled wryly, watching the little red car disappear over the brow of the hill. Trust Evie to forget the perishables, drive right past the place where she was supposed to pick them up! At twenty-five, three years younger than Bella, and holding down a responsible job, Evie still hadn’t outgrown her occasional periods of scattiness, or the impulsiveness that was such an endearing part of her nature.

Bella shivered, glancing worriedly up at the sky. Snow was beginning to fall, shrouding the tops of the mountains. But if Evie had said she’d be back in half an hour then the farm couldn’t be far away. Funny—she’d seen no sign of one herself...

Jake Fox pulled the hired Range Rover to the side of the track and consulted Kitty’s scrawled instructions. For a schoolteacher his kid sister had appalling handwriting. And an unfortunate taste in men-friends if the current cry for help was anything to go on.

His brows drew together, making a forbidding, dark line above the bridge of his thin, arrogant nose. The UK was the last place he wanted to be over the festive season. He didn’t need reminders of the events of a year ago.

He was in the middle of a series of successful business meetings in Geneva and had intended to fly out to Sydney, book into a hotel and settle down to paperwork, readying himself for the raft of meetings scheduled for the New Year. No stranger to concentrated work, he now embraced it with what he himself could recognise as something amounting to obsession.

He thrust the underlying reasons for that out of his head, his frown deepening as he scanned the suddenly darkening sky, the thick, suspiciously storm-like shrouds hiding the tops of the mountains. If it hadn’t been for Kitty’s stricken desire for his time and attention he would have been heading for the sun...

But he’d been looking out for his sister ever since his father had brought the family to ruin, his addiction to gambling on the stockmarket losing them everything—the family-run business, the four-bedroomed house in the prosperous suburbs, the lot.

Even though Kitty was now twenty-six years old he still thought of her as the wild and troubled twelve-year-old he had held in his arms and tried to comfort when their father had taken his own life. Eight years her senior, he’d felt his responsibility keenly—especially when their mother, worn out with grief and worry, had succumbed to pneumonia six months after the shock of the death of her adored husband.

He’d never thought of himself as having a protective streak, he thought wryly. But perhaps he did, to have agreed to cancel flights, hotel rooms and drop everything when she’d put that call through to Geneva, catching him at his hotel before he left for one of his most important meetings.

‘I need you, Jake. Spend Christmas with me? I’ve got to have someone to talk to; there’s no one else I can turn to! And, yes, before you ask, it’s Harry.’

The panic in her voice caught his attention. He said heavily, ‘I thought you and he were settled.’ Of all the men Kitty had dated—and to his knowledge they came and went like the flowers in springtime—Harry had become a permanent fixture.

Jake liked Harry, and had guardedly learned to trust him. Steady, good-humoured, also a member of the teaching profession, his influence on Jake’s volatile sister had been gratifying. They’d set up home together two months ago. Kitty’s letters and phone calls had been full of joy, and he’d planned to pay off the mortgage on their roomy Victorian house as soon as the banns were called.

‘What went wrong?’ he asked.

‘I can’t talk about it over the phone. But it’s trouble with a capital T.’ Her normally bubbly tones were absent; she sounded at the end of her tether. ‘Look, a couple I know offered me the use of their holiday home in Wales. I need to get away and think, and talk everything over with you. Please say you’ll come, Jake, just for a day or two? Please?’

He mentally jettisoned his plans for a quiet working holiday in the sun. The thought of a cottage in the Principality, in the dead of winter, wasn’t going to make him expire from over-excitement, but it was far enough away from London. He rarely made more than flying visits to head office now. Since he had sold the Docklands apartment.

So Wales it would be, and at least he could do his best to sort out Kitty’s problems—something he seemed to remember having to do all through her teens and early twenties.

And she was saying, taking his silence for tacit consent, ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down, bruv. Look, I’ll post directions through to your London office. Drive up on the twenty-third. I’ll try and make sure I’m there ahead of you, but, in case I’m not, there’s a spare key in the woodshed at the back.’

And now, the final details of her written instructions committed to memory, he restarted the engine and drove on.

The whole package must have cost Evie a small fortune, Bella decided at the end of her tour of inspection. Two bedrooms were tucked under the eaves, small but cosy, with flowery wallpaper and high brass beds spread with top-of-the-range down duvets and patchwork covers. There was a sparklingly clean bathroom and farmhouse kitchen—pine and copper, with colourful rag rugs—complete with a real Christmas tree in a tub and a box of baubles waiting to be hung. The large living room was furnished with antique pine plus squashy chairs and a huge inglenook fireplace that promised long, cosy, relaxing evenings...

And, thinking of fires, it was time she got moving. It was the least she could do to have the place warm by the time Evie got back. And the best she could do was to forget her own unhappiness and put on a festive face, she told herself toughly as she wrapped the full-length, softly padded coat around her too-slender five feet nine inches and ran across the yard to the shed to look for fuel.

Ten minutes later she was squatting back on her heels, holding out her long-fingered hands to the dancing flames curling around the tinder-dry logs in the hearth, her ears straining for the sound of an engine that would let her know Evie was back.

She’d been gone over an hour now. A good half an hour longer than she’d predicted. Standing up, Bella switched off one of the table lamps and walked to the small-paned window, peering out into the near darkness. No need to worry. She forced her tight shoulder muscles to relax. Knowing Evie, she’d probably got into conversation with the farmer’s wife, accepted a welcome cup of tea and then another, oblivious to the passing of time. But it was snowing heavily now...

It was snowing heavily now, the wipers squeaking as they cleared the windscreen. Jake gritted his teeth in a humourless grin. Kitty had said she wanted peace and quiet, time to think. Well, she’d sure as hell get it, stuck out here. And if the snow fell at this rate for a couple of hours there’d be no getting away; she’d have more time than she’d bargained for.

If it didn’t stop in the next thirty minutes, he’d insist on driving her out. They could get to Abergavenny, find a hotel. He made his mind up quickly, with typical decisiveness, the deed as good as done. Then thanked his own foresight in hiring the sturdy four-wheel drive.

As the vehicle crested the brow of the hill the powerful headlights illuminated the isolated cottage. He breathed a sigh of relief. There was light shining from one of the downstairs windows. There was no sign of her car so she must have parked it at the rear. At least she’d arrived. The sense of relief told him how much he’d been worrying, wondering how she’d manage if she’d been late setting out, determined to make the rendezvous no matter what the conditions were like.

Bella saw the headlights and relaxed, smiling now. Evie.

Turning back to the fire, she fed it a couple more logs, dusted down her hands and went through to the kitchen, turning on lights and hanging up her coat on the peg behind the door.

She filled the electric kettle in readiness, taking two mugs down from the dresser. They would put the food away and discuss what to have for supper over a cup of tea. And later they’d open one of the bottles of wine that were lined up on one of the work surfaces. Really get in the festive mood—dress the tree. She owed it to Evie to do her damnedest to enjoy herself because her sister had obviously gone to a lot of trouble and expense to get this set-up organised.

She heard the clunk of the car door closing and hurried through. Evie would probably need a hand unloading. There was a smile on Bella’s sultry lips as she tugged at the heavy front door. She wouldn’t say ‘what kept you?’ or grumble about the length of time she’d been. She’d...

She froze, only her hands moving, going to cover her mouth as if to stern the cry of anguished outrage.

Jake. His tall, lithe body filled the doorframe, his broad shoulders made even hunkier by the sheepskin jacket he wore. Jake. The husband she’d parted from in a welter of anger and pain. The husband she’d never wanted to have to set eyes on ever again!

What in the name of sweet reason had brought him here? And how could she hope to forget him and all the pain and disillusionment, the shattered expectations of their marriage, when the cruellest reminder of all was standing in front of her, crucifying her with those cynical black eyes?

CHAPTER TWO

BELLA couldn’t speak. The shock of seeing Jake again had paralysed her, and for a long, intense moment he too was silent. But the clenching of his hard jaw, the bitter twist of his mouth, said enough. Said it all—that she was the last person he had expected or wanted to see, that she was too contemptible to waste his breath on.

Her mouth dried and her stomach clenched sickeningly when he broke the dark, silent punishment, looked beyond her into the shadowy little hallway and called out harshly, ‘Kitty!’

Clenching her hands at the sides of the soft warm leggings she’d chosen to travel in, Bella’s eyes went wide. She didn’t understand what was happening here, asked herself if the whole world had gone crazy, or if it was only her—or him. Then she met his accusing black stare as he switched his attention back to her.

The black glitter of his eyes was dangerous. Bella tried and signally failed to suppress a shudder. ‘Where is she?’ he demanded. ‘If you and my sister have set this up—’ He left the threat hanging on the air—heavy, implicit.

‘I haven’t seen your sister. Why should I?’ She could answer him now, now the shock was receding, her heartbeat gradually approaching normal. ‘I can’t imagine why you should think Kitty might be here.’

Her water-clear grey eyes glinted coolly, but the small satisfaction of showing an aloofness she was far from feeling, evaporated like a raindrop in the heat of the sun when he remarked icily, ‘Don’t play games with me. I endured them when we lived together. When you walked out on our marriage I no longer had to. I don’t intend to lose that freedom now.’

He strode in out of the dark, snowy evening, closing the door behind him while she flinched with pain.

She had never played games with him. Never. Not in the way he obviously meant. She had never told him lies. And it was he who had first walked out, not she. And although, as he’d stated, his freedom from their relationship was a relief, he was turning the tables, heaping all the blame for what had happened on her head. Did he actually enjoy hurting her? Couldn’t he see that part of the blame was his? That he had driven her to do what she had done?

For a brief, poignantly remembered time he had given her joy. Now he only gave her pain.

Her mouth trembled and her eyes brimmed with tears, turning them to shimmering, transparent silver. Barely giving her white features a glance, Jake strode into the living room, and after a moment she reluctantly followed, only to hear his steps pounding up the narrow wooden stairs that led from the kitchen to the floor above.

She’d told him Kitty wasn’t here and he didn’t believe her. She crossed to the brightly burning fire and wrapped her arms around her body, shivering; the combination of the chill of the hallway and the spiralling nervous tension made her whole body shake.

She could hear him opening and closing doors. For some obscure reason he thought she and his sister had set this meeting up. But why on earth should they do that? It didn’t make sense. Did he think she was angling for a reconciliation—tired of earning her own living, missing his wealth, the hedonistic, self-centred lifestyle that had been hers for the taking?

Whatever, his attitude left little room for believing that he would want any part of such an obviously untenable scenario!

She pressed her fingertips to her suddenly throbbing temples. Where the heck was Evie? What on earth could be keeping her? She should have been back ages ago. With her sister around for moral support she could tell Jake where to go, where to put his nasty suspicions. Evie would back her up. They hadn’t seen Kitty and didn’t expect to.

Hearing him descending the stairs, she resisted the impulse to blindly run and hide and stood straighter, pulling air deep into her lungs, the midnight-jet of her long silky hair heightening her pallor.

But he didn’t seem to see her as he walked straight through and out into the night, and she thought, Thank God, he’s leaving! and collapsed onto a chair and clasped her hands around her knees to stop them shaking. She let the fettered tears fall freely now because he was no longer here to see her weakness.

But he was. Within minutes he was back inside, snowflakes glittering on his thick dark hair. “There’s no sign of her car. Any car. She hasn’t arrived yet.’ His black brows bunched with concern. ‘And how did you get here?’

‘On my broomstick!’ His reappearance, his witnessing the hateful feebleness of her tears—the shock of seeing him here at all—made her tongue acid. But the level look he turned on her had her muttering defensively, ‘I came with Evie. She had to go back to the farm for provisions. We’re spending Christmas here.’

A Christmas break that was meant to take her mind off the traumatic events of a year ago—not bring her face to face with the man who had set those events in train, the husband who now obviously loathed and despised her, considered himself well rid of her!

Where are you, Evie? she agonised. She felt distraught, her sister’s inexplicable lateness adding to her distress. Her mind was painting pictures of the little car stuck on an icy incline, or toppled over one of the precipitous drops that seemed to cluster around each and every one of the hairpin bends that made the mountain tracks so picturesque.

She gritted her teeth. Picturesque she could do without. She wished Evie had never had the bright idea of arranging this holiday—and then her insides churned around. What if Evie had invited Kitty along, too? It was possible, given Jake’s conviction she’d be here.

She, Bella, had always got along well with Jake’s sister, but Kitty and Evie had struck up a firm friendship shortly after the wedding, where they’d met for the first time.

Jake was convinced his sister was due here—had she told him that much? Had he needed to get in touch with her for some vital reason or other and couldn’t, not without coming in person, because there wasn’t a phone?

Had he reluctantly driven up, swallowing his dislike of seeing his estranged wife again, because he had to talk to Kitty for some important reason?

If so, he would be desperately worried over her non-appearance, just as she was worrying over Evie. She took a deep breath and said, ‘Was Kitty supposed to be joining us?’

She would have thought it highly unlikely, given that her own sister had booked this break in order to take Bella’s mind off her broken marriage at this special and, for her at least, traumatic time of year. But, given his unshakable conviction, his very obvious concern...

Jake Fox dragged air deep into his lungs and exhaled it slowly, shudderingly, through gritted teeth.

She’d lost the small amount of weight she’d gained during their marriage, he noted bitterly—it had to be because of her return to her modelling career, he thought. But she was still the beautiful, sensuous woman who had drifted in and out of his dreams so maddeningly over the past twelve months. He could order his long waking hours with almost military precision, but he had found it impossible to regulate his dreams.

However, he was working on it.

He took a step towards where she was sitting, defensively hunched in an armchair that dwarfed her delicate frame, his body moving without direction from his brain.

Something about the hunted look in those crystal eyes, the tremulous droop of the lush mouth that had been responsible for the birth of many a male fantasy, touched him despite himself.

That protective streak rearing its head again, he decided cynically.

‘We need to get the facts out in the open.’ Purposefully, he took the chair opposite hers. His heart was banging about under his ribcage but he’d sounded cool, in control, thank the Lord. He’d give up significantly more than his eye-teeth rather than let her know how she could still affect him and touch his heart.

He gave her a narrow-eyed stare. Her unbelievably long and heavy dark lashes had fallen, hiding her expression. The truth had always been there in her eyes if you looked long and hard enough to find it As he’d found it—had had it forcibly thrust upon him—when he’d walked in on her and that creep, Guy Maclaine.

Abruptly he shifted his mind from that often-replayed scenario, watching her closely.

‘You’re here to spend a quiet Christmas with Evie, and you claim you had no idea Kitty was expected,’ he stated levelly.

That was obviously what she meant him to believe. But he knew differently. Kitty, damn her, had used the ruse of needing to talk her problems over with him to get him here. She had needed peace and quiet, she’d said. Just the two of them. If her troubles had been as dire as she’d intimated she wouldn’t have wanted his estranged wife and her sister around to add to the jollity!

Kitty wouldn’t be turning up. That had never been her intention.

He watched Bella closely. Her confusion was very convincing. But to rise to the dizzy heights of top photographic model, internationally sought-after and universally fêted, she would have had to become a reasonably proficient actress. She could have set this whole thing up, drawing his own sister, and hers, into her web of deceit. Deceit had turned out to be her middle name.

She said nothing, merely nodded after considering his statement, the silky swathes of her hair falling forward, hiding her face.

‘And I’m here because my sister begged me to be. She’s in trouble, or so she said. She needed to talk and a friend had offered her the use of this place.’

The sardonic explanation of his presence brought her head jerking up, her silver eyes locking with his, clouded with more expertly portrayed confusion, her soft lips pouting with almost child-like perplexity. Over-acting, Jake decided, feeling his heart go hard—a not unusual occurrence these days. Her betrayal and subsequent defection had atrophied that particular organ.

‘The three of you set this up.’ A cold statement, spoken with concise deliberation. He could find no other explanation for the way he’d been tricked into coming here. ‘If you’d wanted a meeting you could have made an appointment with my secretary. There was no need to go to such ridiculous lengths.’

He glanced impatiently at his watch. He had no intention of prolonging this farce. She deserved to be left here to stew, but his conscience wouldn’t let him take that road.

He’d seen no sign of a phone when he’d investigated this place, so she couldn’t contact anyone for transport out of here, and the way the weather was looking she could be marooned in the mountains for weeks. He’d drop her off at the first hotel they happened across on his way to Kitty’s home in Chester. He’d rout his sister out of her cosy love-nest and give her the tongue-lashing of her lifetime for her part in this time-wasting piece of lunacy.

Bella pushed the hair off her face with the back of her hand. He was accusing her of conniving with their respective sisters to get him here. There could be only one reason why she would stoop to doing that—couldn’t there just? To ‘persuade’ him to take her back.

‘In your dreams!’ She answered his accusation rawly. As if she would! His conceit was beyond belief!

She snapped to her feet, anger drenching through her. He had always treated her like a mindless doll, with no needs of her own, no thoughts that weren’t his, without direction unless he pulled her strings. Simply a body to be seen on his arm, making him the envy of every red-blooded male around, and a gratifyingly willing body in his bed whenever he decided to remember to come home.

He wouldn’t be able to believe she could exist and prosper without him. Even though he didn’t want her anywhere near him, his conceit would make him believe she couldn’t carry on without him and would go to any lengths to get him back.

He was on his feet, too, and the sheer breadth and height of him swamped her, was in danger of sapping her will. But she wouldn’t let his masculinity intimidate her. She would not! Drawing breath to tell him to get out of here, now, she held it, ears straining as she caught the distant sound of an engine.

‘Evie!’ she breathed, her eyes glowing with vindication. And not before time! She would back her up, tell this arrogant beast that any conspiracy was all in his twisted mind. Why should she want him to take her back when he was unable to give her the one thing she craved?

‘Bravo!’ Black eyes glinted with sardonic applause, even a hint of humour. ‘Nice touch. But we both know your sister won’t be showing her face within a hundred miles of this place, don’t we?’

The story about Evie having popped down the road to pick up the groceries was thin, and that was putting it mildly. And Bella was still hamming it up, making a show of listening intently, so he, too, listened to the resounding silence, then snapped out an order.

‘Get your things together while I rake out what’s left of this fire. We’re leaving. I’ll drop you at a hotel.’

The faint sound of the engine had long since faded. A farmer making his way home along one of those tortuous mountain tracks, she decided tiredly. Disappointment hit her like a charging elephant. And then came the cruelly sharp anxiety. She stared at him, frowning, shaking her head.

‘No. I’m staying here, waiting for Evie.’ Didn’t he care that something must have happened? Her happy-go-lucky, impulsive little sister had set out over two hours ago now, promising to be back within thirty minutes. Despite all his faults, he had never been a heartless man. So why wasn’t he concerned?

Because he doesn’t believe you, a weary little voice inside her head confirmed. He thinks the three of you set this up. She couldn’t imagine why Kitty had been invited to share this break, or why she hadn’t arrived yet. And she couldn’t bother her head with it, not while she was so on edge, worrying herself silly over Evie’s whereabouts, fighting to contain the pain of seeing him again.

She wrapped her arms around her body tightly. It was the only way to hold herself together. ‘I’m staying. You go. Just get out of here.’

Stress made her voice tight and thin. He wasn’t going to help find Evie, that was obvious. He didn’t believe there was a thing to worry about, and was, as usual, too sure of himself and his opinions to be persuaded otherwise. But when he’d gone then maybe, with the trauma of actually seeing him again behind her, she could think of what to do.

He gave her a long, considering look, his jaw tight. Then shrugged the beginnings of misgivings away. They’d probably made adequate contingency plans. None of them were fools. Despite their plotting they must have allowed for the possibility of his abrupt removal from the set-up.

Without any doubt she’d have a mobile phone tucked away in her luggage, hidden amongst the filmy folds of the seductive nightwear she favoured, and as soon as he left she’d be using it to summon one or other of the girls to fetch her out of here.

Her pride wouldn’t let her go with him, and he could understand that. Leaving with him would be tantamount to confessing that the star role in this farcical conspiracy was hers.

Bella watched him stride to the door, then sprang after him urgently, catching him up as he was tugging the outer door open.

‘Phone the local police.’ She couldn’t use his name. ‘The first call box or house you come across. Let them know she’s missing. Promise!’

His heart missed a beat then thundered heavily on. He turned to her with warning reluctance, and for the first time he allowed himself to scan the face that had so relentlessly haunted his dreams over the past year. The lovely lines were taut with strain, the perfect skin white and transparent, terror lurking deep in those spellbinding eyes.

And for the first time very real misgivings flooded icily through him as he met his own fallibility. She’d been telling the truth—as she saw it. She wouldn’t involve the police, set an area search in motion simply to save her pride. And if she had a mobile she wouldn’t be asking him to do the phoning.

‘Tell them I’ll be here. I’ll wait.’ Her voice was ragged.

‘OK,’ he said roughly. He turned, then looked back at her. ‘I’ll contact them. And I’ll be back.’

He saw her sag with relief, tears starting in her eyes, and resisted the violent urge to take her in his arms, hold her for a moment and comfort her. He walked quickly into the darkness, his throat tight, dragging his mind away from her.

Thank God it had at least stopped snowing. Even so, there was a good inch of the treacherous stuff underfoot. Swinging into the Range Rover, he reached for the key he’d left in the ignition then put both hands on the wheel, thinking hard.

The events of the last few minutes told him that Bella was desperately worried over her sister’s non-appearance, that her story was true. She really believed that something dreadful must have happened. The shock of discovering that had driven Kitty’s involvement out of his head, while anxiety over Evie’s fate had never allowed it to enter Bella’s.

In all probability they were both the innocent victims of a cruel conspiracy. He’d get to the nearest phone and contact Kitty before he involved the police. If his gut feeling was right, there would be no need.

There was a torch on the passenger seat and he used it to have a look at the time. A few minutes after six. Too early for Kitty and Harry to have gone out for the evening. Too late for her to be shopping. He should catch her at home.

He turned the key in the ignition and nothing happened.

Bella knew she had to pull herself together. Somehow. She moved briskly round the lamplit room, tweaking curtains, plumping up cushions that didn’t need the attention, hoping the futile activities would settle her mind. A mind that was seething with all that was going on.

The shock of seeing Jake, here of all places. His cynical accusations. His cold admission that her absence from his life was a relief. Add Evie’s disappearance to that little lot and you got a brain that was on the brink of blowing.

Sucking in her breath, she flew to the dying fire and carefully placed a few small logs on the embers. If Evie came back the poor love would be cold—She caught the thought, altered it savagely. Not if—when.

The police would soon be out looking for her, and that was an enormous consolation. She was scatty enough to have run out of petrol. Nothing more disastrous than that. And Jake had promised to come back and report, to wait with her.

The thought was deeply comforting. Yet she didn’t want it to be! She wanted him out of her mind. It was the only way.

She turned from the replenished fire, satisfied that the fresh logs were beginning to flame, and Jake walked back in, his face black with temper.

As before, they faced each other wordlessly, until Bella found her voice and whispered, ‘Did you find a phone?’

He couldn’t have had time, surely? He’d only walked out a matter of minutes ago. She put a hand to her heart as if to still the suddenly violent pounding. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

He looked as if he wanted to shake her to within an inch of her life. His black eyes were ferocious, his jaw clenched, dark with the perpetual five o’clock shadow she had sometimes teased him about in former, happier, long-gone times, knowing he had to shave twice a day if he wasn’t to look like a hooligan with piratical tendencies.

‘Hardly.’ His voice was dry. Coming further into the room, he removed his coat, tossed it over the back of one chair and sprawled down in the other. The hard line of his mouth told her he was controlling his temper, but only just; her head was beginning to ache, and there was an insistent thrumming noise inside her ears.

Both hands flew up to either side of her head, as if to hold it on her shoulders, as she rasped out thinly, ‘What are you doing?’

Sprawled out in a chair while Evie was missing somewhere on the bleak, cold mountainside! Oh, how could he? Long legs in soft dark cords stretched out endlessly, only the tense, hard line of the hunky shoulders beneath the Aran sweater testifying that his pose wasn’t as relaxed as he was trying to pretend it was.

‘You tell me,’ he came back, talking through his teeth. ‘I’m in your hands. You win, for the moment.’ He gave her a thin, completely humourless smile. ‘Remove the distributor cap, take the rotor arm and no one’s going anywhere. Evie’s final chore before she high-tailed it back to civilisation? Neat. But not neat enough. I’m walking out of here at first light. You can do what you damn well like!’

CHAPTER THREE

‘I’LL go with you,’ Bella said in a tight, emphatic voice. She would begin the long walk right now; her need to get away from here, and him, was enormous. But she knew it would be madness. Better and far less hazardous to make the trek in daylight.

A strange calmness filled her. A kind of numbness. Everything began to slot into place, like the pieces of a hitherto exasperating jigsaw puzzle. She didn’t feel any pride in the achievement. On the contrary, she felt used, betrayed. A fool.

‘We’ve both been set up.’ Was he feeling the same way? she wondered with a stab of sympathy. But she would need to develop a far more inventive mind to imagine him feeling foolish. Or used. He was always very much in control. Of everything.

She glanced up at him, but his features told her nothing. Blank. So what was new? Hadn’t he always closed her out, guarding his emotions, keeping them to himself? Except when they’d been making love, she recalled unwillingly, feeling the colour come and go on her face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, her voice thick.

She didn’t know why she was apologising. His sister was just as much to blame as hers. She heaved another log onto the fire, for something to do with her hands. She didn’t know where to put herself; the sudden, swamping embarrassment at having been forced into this situation was intense.

He said nothing. Just stared at her. Bella verbalised her thoughts, putting everything in order, hoping that that would help her cope.

‘They’ve been friends ever since we married. But you know that, of course. They obviously hatched the idea of getting us back together.’ She smiled thinly, an acknowledgement of the vain futility of that forlorn hope. ‘Kitty was to get you here, on some pretext or other, while my devious sister drove me down and dumped me. It would have been Evie who hung around until she knew you’d arrived, then spiked your car.’

She saw one dark brow slowly rise at that, but didn’t grasp the significance—not then. She moved, heading for the kitchen. ‘I’ll make tea. But I warn you, there won’t be any milk.’ She was trying to be adult about this—this dreadful situation. They were in it together whether they liked it or not, until the morning anyway, and there was no point in behaving like a pair of squabbling children, sulking and not speaking to each other.

‘Try the fridge,’ he offered drily. He’d followed her through. She wished he hadn’t. It was easier to act normally if there was space between them.

Bella plugged in the kettle she’d filled earlier. It felt more like a hundred years than a couple of hours ago since she’d heard the car arrive and had confidently expected Evie to come in out of the cold, needing a hot cup of tea.

She shook her head slightly at his suggestion, even managing a small, condescending smile. There would be no fresh provisions; she already knew that. But she crossed to the fridge and opened it, simply to humour him.

No one could have crammed another item in, even with a shoehorn. Her wretched sister’s doing! She’d been nothing if not thorough! She’d been out all day yesterday—Christmas shopping, she’d said. When in reality she must have come up here, stocked the fridge, made sure everything was ready.

‘I can’t believe it,’ she said thinly.

Jake standing beside her now, murmured, ‘No?’

Bella closed her eyes. Her head spun as the warm, intimate male scent of him overpowered her, forcing her to remember how it had once been for them: the deep, endlessly intense need, the hopes, the dreams, the loving—oh, the loving...

‘Aren’t you going to read it?’

The laid-back taunt made her eyes flip open, erotic memories thankfully slipping away, extinguished by his obvious and habitual disbelief in her which released her to enquire breathlessly, ‘Read what?’

‘Oh, come on, honey!’ He reached for the stainless steel handle and reopened the door.

Bella bit her lip. Why dredge up that old endearment? Why employ that tone—half-amused, half-exasperated? The tone he’d used when he’d continually brushed aside every last argument she’d ever produced whenever she’d tried to make him see things her way.

‘This is the next step in the game, I imagine.’ He indicated a rolled up piece of paper tied to a leg of the fresh turkey with a festive bow of scarlet ribbon. He removed it, closed the door with his foot and handed her the paper, his eyes coldly mocking. ‘Your cue to straighten things out, I guess. Exonerate yourself and put me in the picture—just in case I’ve lost the wits I was born with and am still staring into space, wondering why you’re here and Kitty isn’t.’

She dropped the paper as if it were contaminated. She was going to scream, have hysterics—she knew she was; she could feel the pressure building up inside her!

Turkey legs tied up with red ribbon! Cryptic notes he seemed to know all about! His attitude—oh, his attitude! Pitying yet contemptuous...

The paper was back in her hand almost before she knew it, his steely fingers closing over her own. ‘Read it,’ he demanded, his voice hard, intolerant of argument.

Hand on hand, fingers on fingers. The slight contact immediately became the core of her very existence. Every atom of her body, every beat of her pulse, was centred on his touch, the abrasive warmth of his skin, the underlying steel of sinew and bone.

A whole year, and nothing had changed—not for her. She only had to look at him to need him, and his touch—ah, his touch...

Her breath quivered in her lungs, fighting against the sudden, biting constriction of throat muscles, and his hand moved abruptly away, leaving her cold with a creeping coldness that invaded every part of her.

‘Well?’ he prompted cuttingly. ‘Don’t you want to know what it says? Or perhaps you already know? Dictated it, did you?’

Her eyes moved to his, locking with the black, glittering depths until she could no longer stand the pain. A deep shudder raked through her, and her fingers were shaking as she unfurled the note.

Despite everything, he still believed she was the prime mover, that she’d set this thing up. Well, he would, wouldn’t he? When had he ever believed a word she said?

It was the final straw, she thought, her eyes blurring as Evie’s distinctive scrawl danced around on the paper. Her hands flew to her face, hiding the scalding outpouring of silent, unstoppable tears, the paper fluttering to the floor again. And through the storm of her emotions she heard Jake move, heard him drawl, reading aloud, every word a bitter punishment.

‘You’ll forgive us eventually, I promise! But it’s all your own faults. Yes, really! You won’t see each other, talk to each other, even though you’re still crazy about each other. Yes, you are! So marooning you together was the only answer. We were driven to it! So work things out, for pity’s sake. Happy Christmas! E.’

And then silence. A long, hateful silence while the sobs built up inside her, threatening to pull her to shreds. How could Evie have done this to her? Dumped her in this hatefully embarrassing, hurtful situation?

They’d always been so close, looked out for each other since they were children—and now this, this shattering betrayal. Oh, how could she?

She’d accepted that something like this must have happened, but she hadn’t taken it in—not properly. Not until now.

The sheer awfulness of the situation hit her—Jake plainly believing she’d masterminded the entire thing, the gut-wrenching pain of seeing him, feeling his contempt, the deep anxiety she’d gone through when her sister hadn’t returned, her imagination working overtime, dreaming up worst-case scenarios!

Reaction set in, releasing a crescendo of weeping, her whole body shaking with the force of it. Then the shock of feeling his hands on her shoulders, turning her gently to face him, made it worse. So much worse.

She would die if he offered her the comfort of his arms, and she’d die if he didn’t!

He didn’t.

He wanted to hold her, but he didn’t. Hell, if he took her in his arms he’d be a lost man! Common sense, the self-discipline of a rational human being, the primary human urge towards self-protection—all down the drain.

His hands dropped to his sides. ‘Calm down. You’ll make yourself ill.’

His shoulders rigid, he turned to make that forgotten pot of tea. Her sobs were a little less frenzied now, he noted. The Bella he had known had never cried. She’d had, in his experience, a pragmatic approach to problems. Yet she was clearly distressed now—deeply distressed—and all he could do was offer her tea?

She was distressed because he’d seen through the charade, because he’d realised she had to be the instigator, he reminded himself cynically. Had she really imagined he wouldn’t. The whole thing smacked of complicity.

Pouring tea, he recalled how she’d drawn his attention to the distant sound of an engine. He hadn’t caught it himself, but she’d obviously been waiting, ears straining, for the sound that would tell her the job had been done, and that Evie was triumphantly driving out of this winter wilderness with the rotor arm in her pocket.

She hadn’t been able to hide her pleasure so she’d dressed it up as relief at the return of her so-called missing sister. And then, and only then, had she thrown herself into the anxiety act, begging him to contact the police, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Not tonight, at least. Tomorrow he’d be out of here, even if he walked the soles clean off his shoes! Although she’d said she’d go with him, he recognised that as sheer bravado. She could stay here and play the reconciliation scene to an empty house!

He turned, put two cups of tea on the central table. She was standing where he’d left her. Not weeping now, not doing anything. Her ashen face and the anguished twist of her mouth wrenched at his guts.

His mouth went dry, his throat muscles clenching. Had she wanted a reconciliation that badly? Badly enough to make her dream up this last-ditch farce?

Not allowing himself to even think of that, he said tersely, ‘Drink this; you look as if you need it.’ He went to the work surface where the bottles were lined up like an invitation to a week-long bacchanalia. He selected a brandy, noting the expense she had been prepared to go to, and poured two generous measures into glasses that he unearthed from one of the cupboards.

Bella watched him from heavy eyes. The hard, lean body was full of grace, despite all that sharply honed power. She knew that body as well as she knew her own. Better. She had never tired of watching him, of drowning in the effect he had on her—an effect that was threatening to swamp her all over again with its full and shattering force.

Her stomach twisted with unwanted excitement, her pulses going into overdrive, blood throbbing thickly through her veins. She whimpered, angry with herself, with the wretched body that couldn’t accept that their marriage, their love—everything—was over.

She wanted to walk out of this room but couldn’t move. There was potent chemistry here, keeping her immobile, a subtle kind of magic holding her against her will. She watched him turn. He was holding what looked like two huge doses of brandy in his elegant, capable hands.

‘Sit,’ he commanded tersely. ‘Tea and then a shot of brandy could help.’

‘I don’t want it.’ She dragged her eyes from the heart-stopping wonder of him, fixing them on the floor, not caring if she looked and sounded like a sulky child.

She was no longer his wife, not in any real sense, so she didn’t have to let him pull her strings, tell her what to do and when to do it. Not any more.

Besottedly in love with him, she’d never made a fuss when things hadn’t worked out the way she wanted them to. She’d taken it for granted that, because he loved her, the decisions he made regarding the present and the future were the best for them. She’d believed he had some grand plan, the details of which had been a mystery to her.

Love had made her turn herself into a doormat She now knew he had never loved her—couldn’t have done—so was it any wonder he’d thought nothing at all of walking all over her?

Thrusting the disturbing revelation aside, she lifted her head and gave him a defiant look. ‘I’m going to bed. I’ve had as much of today as I can stomach.’ She was doing the dictating now, and in some perverse way was almost enjoying it. ‘You said you’d be making tracks in the morning. Don’t go without me.’ She stared at him from glass-clear, challenging eyes. ‘My sense of direction is nil, as you might remember. So take it as self-preservation on my part, not a warped desire for your company.’

Let him chew that over! Engineered this unlikely set-up, had she? Conceited brute!

She was at the foot of the wooden staircase when his terse voice stopped her in her tracks.

‘Have you eaten today? You won’t get far on what will probably turn out to be a ten-mile hike to get to anything remotely approaching civilisation on a diet of vinegary spleen.’ His tone wasn’t remotely humorous, nor even a touch compassionate. It was totally judgemental. ‘Was losing weight part of your job requirements? Stick insects still high fashion, are they?’

She ignored the lash of anger in his voice. What did he care, anyway? She could get thin enough to disappear with the bathwater and he wouldn’t blink an eye. It would save him the trouble of divorcing her.

But he was right about one thing—she should at least try to eat something. The walk out of here tomorrow would be exhausting, and the single slice of toast she’d had at breakfast was nothing more than a distant memory.

Much as she now hated to do anything he suggested—a backlash from the days when she’d practically turned herself inside out to please him—she turned back, and would have rooted around for the bread and some cheese and taken it through to eat by the probably dying fire, but he got in before her.

‘I’ll fix something. There appears to be enough food laid on to provision a garrison so it shouldn’t be difficult. Why don’t you drink that tea?’

No anger now, merely a smooth, impersonal politeness. It reminded her of her former attempts to be adult about the situation. So she’d play it his way—forget being bolshie, drink her tea like the man said.

It was tepid, but she got through half of it and ignored the brandy. He was sipping his as he moved around. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him. He was good in a kitchen, and she’d never known it.

She’d always been there, waiting for him to fit in a visit home between his tight work schedules. So pleased to see him, so eager for the time he could spare her—had condescended to spare her!—that she’d practically fallen over herself to make their time together as smoothly memorable as possible. After all, she’d had little else to do until she’d taken the initiative and gone back to work. He’d hated that!

The helping of grilled Cumberland sausages and tomato halves he quickly and efficiently produced was enormous enough to make her groan inwardly, and the mug of milky cocoa made her eyes go wide.

Had he secretly yearned for nursery food while she’d dished up sophisticated delicacies—potted shrimps, navarin of lamb, home-made sorbets so delicious they brought tears to the eye? All exquisitely served on the finest bone china—accompanied by superb wines, of course.

All the effort and dedicated planning that had gone into every meal she had ever produced for him, when all the time he might well have preferred a plate of sausages and a mug of cocoa!

Now she would never know. She most certainly wouldn’t ask.

The forced intimacy of the situation frayed her nerve-endings, while the heart-clenching nearness of him on the opposite side of the small table brought the sensations she’d been battling to forget for a whole year burgeoning back to life. Which didn’t help her appetite.

And she couldn’t make an attempt at light, relaxing conversation. Relaxation didn’t get a look in while he was around. And they didn’t have a single thing to say to each other that didn’t reek of contention.

Even the small sound of cutlery on earthenware platters became too much to bear. She stood up, pushing back her chair more sharply and clumsily than she’d intended.

‘Thank you.’ She meant for the food she had barely touched, the cocoa she hadn’t touched at all. ‘But I think I’ll turn in. One way or another, it’s been an extremely unpleasant day.’

She made it to the stairs before he had time to respond. She truly hadn’t meant to snap, but hadn’t been able to keep the acid out of her voice.

Her hair prickling on the back of her neck, she bounded up the staircase. She felt like a rabbit with a fox on its heels. Jacob Charles Fox by name, and foxy by nature, she thought half-hysterically as she breathlessly gained the room she’d earmarked for herself long hours ago when she’d innocently believed she’d be sharing the isolated cottage with Evie.

But he didn’t follow her, as she feared he might, to drag her down and force her to eat the food he’d cooked. Of course he didn’t.

Why the heck should he want to bother? she reminded herself tiredly as she sagged back against the door, one hand at her breast as if to still the wild beating of her heart. Secure in her room, with no sound of following footsteps or angry commands from below, she couldn’t imagine why she’d panicked.

He had done what he would have considered to be his duty. Reminded her that she had to eat, produced the food. It was up to her whether she ate it or not. He couldn’t care either way. So the absence of a lock on the door was no problem either, was it? He wouldn’t try to claim his conjugal rights.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.