“I’m not really your wife.”

“That can soon be fixed.” Ethan’s eyes flickered to her shocked face. “I think we’d both like that.” He reached out and touched Hannah’s cheek, his fingers leaving a trail of fire against her skin.

“You look as if I’ve made an improper suggestion.” Ethan continued. “We’re married, nothing could be more proper than for us to share a bed.”

Rubbing her cheek against his hand, she closed her eyes. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Circumstances change, situations alter. If you’re going to fall in love, it might as well be with me.”

KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in rural Anglesey, Wales. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing! It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons and the various stray animals which have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!

Wife By Agreement
Kim Lawrence

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

HANNAH slid the key very carefully into the lock. Inside the only sound was the ticking of the clock. Nobody was up, thank goodness. She leant back against the door and gave a slow sigh of relief—at last!

She didn’t bother switching on the light, but slipped thankfully out of the remains of her patent leather court shoes. Tucking them under her arm, she felt her way carefully past the big scrubbed table that had centre stage in the room. She thought with longing of a hot, cleansing shower. The sudden illumination made her freeze and blink like a startled animal.

‘Is all this subterfuge really necessary? There isn’t a curfew.’ Ethan had moved to sit at the table, a half-empty glass of brandy in front of him. The vaguely bored irony faded dramatically from his voice as he took in her bedraggled state. ‘What the hell has happened?’

The last thing Hannah felt like was reliving the past hour, and the last person she wanted to explain to was Ethan. Her hand went self-consciously to the torn material of her shirt lapel, but her attempts to hold the fabric together only drew his attention to the pale skin the rent exposed. What was he doing sitting in the dark anyway? She grimaced as she risked a swift glance down.

The unkind electric lights revealed it was even worse than she had thought. Her legs were covered with mud and her fine denier tights were in shreds; her velvet skirt was torn in several places and the pale skin of her shoulders and midriff showed through the gaping tears in her silk shirt.

‘It looks a lot worse than it is,’ she said soothingly. It didn’t feel it, though. The scratches on her cheek were beginning to sting as the warmth of the room thawed her cold body. There was a promise of winter in the autumn air tonight.

With an impatient gesture Ethan dismissed her weak attempt to pacify him. ‘Have you been in a car crash?’

‘Not exactly.’ You couldn’t call jumping out of a car moving at thirty miles an hour a crash, exactly. She had a pretty good idea what Ethan would call it—insanity, probably. He hadn’t been there, though. It had been— A deep shudder rippled through her body and she swayed as the whole room pitched.

Ethan reached out and touched her arm. ‘My God, you’re like ice.’ He took off his robe and wrapped it around her. ‘Sit down before you fall down.’ He pressed her into a chair.

The nausea passed and Hannah opened her eyes. ‘You’ll get cold,’ she protested. Under the robe Ethan was wearing a pair of dark blue pyjama trousers and nothing else. They’d taken the children to the South of France in June, and she noticed irrelevantly that his olive-toned skin was still tanned a deep golden brown.

‘Drink this.’ She tried to turn her head away as her nostrils flared against the scent of raw alcohol. ‘Do as I say.’

It was only under duress that she obeyed; brandy wasn’t a taste she’d ever acquired.

‘Now tell me exactly what happened.’

‘I want a shower,’ she fretted. A hand on her shoulders prevented her from rising.

‘After I’ve had my explanation. I was under the impression that you were going out for a meal with your fellow night-class members.’ His sceptical tone made it sound as though this was an elaborate lie.

Why would she need to lie to him? Did he think she led a double life or something? ‘I was…I did.’ She raised her eyes to his face and read implacability there. Best just get it over with. ‘Debbie and Alan took me.’ Ethan had met the young couple who were learning French with her and he nodded briefly. ‘Craig Finch, he only joined the class last month, offered to bring me home. He said it wasn’t out of his way and it would save Alan a detour.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Only Craig took a detour, and when I mentioned it he…he…’

‘What did he do?’ He spoke quietly, but Ethan Kemp’s grey eyes had narrowed to slits and a nerve throbbed erratically in his lean cheek.

‘He laughed.’ She felt sick just thinking about the expression in Craig’s eyes. She’d already been tense—some of the things he’d been saying had been particularly personal, and slimily coarse—but it had been that smile that had really set the alarm bells ringing.

‘Laughed?’ Ethan echoed incredulously. It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear.

‘You weren’t there!’ she shot back angrily. ‘He’d been…saying things.’ In a large group, Craig’s behaviour had been unexceptionable, but once he’d got Hannah alone his entire attitude had changed. Everything he’d said had been laced with grubby innuendo. Her frigid silence hadn’t put him off at all.

‘He hurt you?’ Looming over her, Ethan looked a lot more threatening than Craig had been. She felt guilty for making the comparison: Ethan had his faults, but he was a decent man, and no bully, despite the way he was interrogating her right now. Normally he didn’t interfere with her life at all.

‘No, this happened when I jumped out of the car.’

Some of the repressed violence that had been implicit in his tense stance faded as he stared at her, to be replaced by astonishment. Ethan Kemp wasn’t a man easily astonished. His big hands unfurled from the fists they had instinctively formed.

‘I don’t suppose it was stationary at the time?’

She shook her head and gave him an exasperated look. Ethan wasn’t usually so slow. ‘I was lucky he hadn’t thought to lock the door,’ she reflected soberly.

‘I can see why you might be thanking your lucky stars,’ he agreed drily.

‘I landed in brambles and my clothes got a bit ripped getting out,’ she explained in a matter-of-fact way. ‘I hid in a ditch for a while, just in case he’d followed me, then I walked home over the fields.’

‘Where did all this happen?’

‘The junction near the Tinkersdale Road.’

‘That has to be six miles away.’

‘It felt like more, but you’re probably right. Her smile was limp at best. ‘Don’t worry, nobody saw me. Her wide, smooth brow creased as she sought to reassure him. Ethan Kemp’s wife strolling through the market town where they lived in this state wouldn’t create the sort of image he would approve of, and Ethan cared about the image they presented to the world. Didn’t it occur to you to ring me—or the police for that matter?’

‘I didn’t think to grab my bag; I had no money—nothing. The police aren’t interested in crimes that didn’t happen. He didn’t actually touch me.’

‘You’re sure he was going to?’

This was an insinuation too far! Anger enabled her to nudge aside the incipient exhaustion that made her eyelids heavy.

‘It was one of those occasions when prevention seemed better than cure,’ she snapped crisply. The snap seemed to surprise him. Tough, she thought with uncharacteristic venom. Under the circumstances she thought she was being quite restrained. What did he expect her to do? Sit back and wait to be a crime statistic? ‘I don’t let my imagination run away with me, Ethan.’

This was unarguable: Hannah Smith was the most placid, practical female that he had, in his thirty-six years, ever met. He frowned—after a year’s marriage he still thought of her as Hannah Smith, not Kemp. If anyone had suggested to him this morning that she was capable of throwing herself from a moving vehicle he’d have laughed at the absurdity of such an idea.

Hannah was not exactly timid, although her reserved manner made people initially assume she was, but she was not the sort of woman calmly to wade through muddy fields and brambles after extricating herself from a dangerous situation. At least he hadn’t thought she was. Would she have told him about it at all if he hadn’t witnessed her return? Had she intended appearing at breakfast just as if nothing had happened?

‘We should contact the police.’

‘Why? Nothing happened. I expect they’d write me off as a neurotic female.’ If Ethan could think it, why not total strangers? ‘I would like to get my bag back, though—my wallet’s in it.’

‘Wouldn’t you like to see that swine get his just deserts?’ he growled incredulously. He found it hard to identify with a turn-the-other-cheek philosophy.

‘Like?’ she said quietly. She raised her head and at first he didn’t realise the tears glistening in her hazel eyes were tears of rage. This only became obvious when she spoke and her voice shook with suppressed fury. ‘What I’d like to do is make him endure, just for five minutes, the sort of helplessness and terror I…’ She bit down hard on her lower lip to stop it trembling. ‘We rarely get what we like, Ethan.’

‘That’s a depressing philosophy.’ The depth of her passion shocked him; that she had any passion at all shocked him! More than shocked him—it made him uneasy. What other surprises lurked beneath the placid exterior?

‘It’s just an observation. Now, if you don’t mind I’d like to go to bed.’

He kept a hold on her elbow, as though he expected her to collapse at any moment. At the door of her bedroom she slipped the robe off her shoulders.

‘Thank you. Sorry if I got it grubby. Goodnight, Ethan.’ This polite, but firm, dismissal appeared to make him change his mind about what he was going to say. She smiled vaguely at him as she disappeared into her bedroom. A few seconds later she heard the sound of Ethan’s bedroom door slamming.

Her lip curled with distaste as she stripped. Even if she could have salvaged the clothes, she’d have put them out with the rubbish. As it was they hung off her like rags.

A glance in the full-length cheval-mirror shocked her. Her glossy brown hair had pulled loose of its neat French braid and was liberally anointed with mud. The long scratches along the right side of her face showed through the dirt. The streaks of mascara that gave her the look of a startled panda blended in with the general grime. The amount of flesh exposed through the gaping holes in her shirt was nothing short of indecent. No wonder Ethan had been shocked—she looked appalling!

It was a relief to stand under the hot spray of the shower and let the steamy water wash away some of her tension along with the dirt. It didn’t matter how hard she scrubbed, thinking about Craig made her feel grubby. How could a man who seemed so—well, normal act like that? Had she given the impression she would welcome such advances? She dismissed this horrifying notion swiftly. No, this hadn’t been her fault.

In her naïveté she had imagined that a ring on her finger gave a girl automatic protection from unwanted advances. She automatically glanced down at her finger—it looked oddly bare without the slim gold band. On her knees, she searched the floor of the shower cubicle. It wasn’t there. Panic out of proportion with the loss flooded through her.

She stepped out of the shower and hastily wrapped a towel sarong-wise about her body. She left a minor flood in the bathroom as she searched the floor there before retracing her footsteps into the bedroom. It was nowhere to be found.

‘I knocked,’ Ethan said as he appeared through the interconnecting door. It was the first time he’d used the door, and he knew it was ridiculous but he felt like an intruder in his own home. He didn’t see Hannah at first, and then he spotted her small figure crouched beside the dressing table, silent tears pouring down her cheeks. The obvious conclusion to draw from such grief was that she hadn’t told him everything that had happened. As he anticipated the worst his face darkened.

‘I’ve lost my ring!’ she wailed as she caught sight of him.

‘What ring?’ he asked blankly, moving to her side.

‘My wedding ring.’

He felt relief. ‘Is that all?’ he said dismissively.

She hardly seemed to hear him. ‘It might be in the kitchen, or on the stairs. I’ll go and check.’ She got rapidly to her feet—too rapidly, as it happened.

‘You’ll do nothing of the sort,’ he said, catching hold of her elbows from behind and half lifting her across the room as her knees folded.

With a soft grunt he transferred her into his arms. She was incredibly light. Was she naturally slender, or were there more surprises in store for him in the form of eating disorders? Nothing would surprise him after tonight!

‘The ring doesn’t matter; I can buy you a new one. You’re overwrought!’ The last sounded almost like an accusation.

Hannah sniffed as he placed her on her bed. Of course he could; why on earth had she reacted like that? Why should a ring that symbolised their marriage of convenience be precious to her? She must be more careful. He was probably suspecting he was married to a mad-woman, she surmised, fairly accurately.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered huskily.

‘You’ve had a bad night.’ Her tears made him uncomfortable. It occurred to him that he hadn’t seen this much of his wife before—even on the beach that summer she’d worn a baggy tee shirt over her swimming costume, and not even the children’s pleas could make her enter the water.

The towel she wore cut across the high swell of her small breasts and ended… Her legs were quite long in proportion to her diminutive frame. His wandering gaze encountered a pair of solemn hazel eyes, watching him watching, and he looked away abruptly.

‘I fetched this for the scratches.’ He held out a tube of antiseptic cream.

‘That’s kind of you, Ethan.’

‘Your back is badly scratched,’ he observed.

‘I can’t see.’

‘Or reach,’ he pointed out practically. ‘I expect you’ll feel it tomorrow—there are some nasty bruises coming out. Are you covered for tetanus?’

‘I think so.’

“‘Think so” isn’t sufficient; you must go to the surgery first thing in the morning for a booster. Turn around and I’ll put some cream on your back.’

His touch was impersonal, firm, but gentle. She felt warm and relaxed, and—for the first time since she’d leapt from the moving vehicle—safe.

‘You’ll have to loosen this,’ he said, pulling at the edge of the towel. The warm glow that had enveloped her was abruptly dispelled by a flurry of irrational anxiety.

‘No, that’s fine.’

‘I’ll probably be able to restrain myself at the sight of your flesh,’ he observed drily.

‘I didn’t think that…’ Her instinctive rejection of a more intimate touch had been no reflection on Ethan’s intentions and she was mortified at the conclusion he’d drawn. She knew he didn’t find her attractive. Even so, his next words did hurt.

‘You’re too thin.’

‘I know.’ In her teens she’d fantasised about waking up one morning and finding her awkward angles had been transformed into lissome curves. Now she knew better.

‘Do you eat?’

‘You know I do—’ She stopped. In actual fact, it was rare that they ate together, only socially on the occasions they dined out together or had guests. Normally she ate with the children and Ethan ate alone later. He commuted to the City, and being a successful barrister seemed to keep him away from home a lot. He was tipped to be the next head of chambers when Sir James retired next year—the youngest in the chambers’ long history.

Actually she didn’t mind these absences; she was a lot more comfortable when he wasn’t there—not that she found his company oppressive, exactly. She was always acutely conscious in his company of her deficiencies. When he looked at her she was always sure he was comparing her unfavourably with his first wife As always, the thought of the sainted Catherine made her wince.

‘Mrs Turner will confirm the fact I could probably eat you under the table.’ He wouldn’t consider the children impartial witnesses—they doted on her—but the housekeeper was another matter.

‘I’ve only ever seen you pick at your food. That’s it.’ He pulled up the towel. ‘They’re not deep; you won’t scar.’

Should she tell him she was usually so nervous of making a social faux pas on the occasions he referred to that she couldn’t stomach anything? On reflection she decided not to. Inadequacies—at least, hers—made Ethan impatient.

‘I think that under the circumstances these French classes aren’t such a good idea,’ he mused slowly.

His words filled her with deep dismay and the first stirrings of rebellion. ‘But Thursday is my night off, Ethan.’

‘Night off?’ he repeated coldly. ‘You’re not the nanny now, Hannah. You’re my wife.’

‘Of course I still work for you, Ethan. I just call you Ethan, not Mr Kemp.’ And that had taken some getting used to! ‘The contract’s more permanent, and less flexible,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘That’s all.’

He couldn’t have looked more astounded if she’d popped him one on the nose. He breathed in sharply and the slab of his belly muscles became more noticeably concave. Hannah had heard girls on the beach in Nice commenting on his ‘great pecs’ these too were visible, because even though he’d slipped on a blue top that matched his trousers he hadn’t bothered to fasten it. She was no expert, but she didn’t think their enthusiasm for his body had been misplaced.

‘There is no need to think of yourself in that way,’ he said, his colour heightened.

‘Then as your wife I don’t necessarily have to take your…advice.’ Advice had a more tactful ring than order.

A combative light had entered his grey eyes. Possibly it was due to the unusual events of the evening, but Hannah found the circumstance more exhilarating than alarming.

‘Perhaps you should consider your track record in the decision-making arena before throwing my advice back in my face.’

‘Did you have a particular decision in mind?’

Despite the fact that she had remained meticulously polite, there was no mistaking the obstinate set of her rounded jaw. He viewed said jaw with serious misgivings.

‘Getting into a car with a perfect stranger? Only a complete idiot would do anything so grossly irresponsible,’ he said scornfully. ‘Emma, at seven, would have more sense.’

She’d been stupid to imagine she could win an argument with Ethan. ‘You wouldn’t say that if I was a man,’ she complained belligerently.

He blinked: she was pouting, actually pouting—Hannah! The sight of her rather full pink lips had the most unexpected effect on his body. ‘Well, you’re not a man,’ he snapped. ‘And in that outfit it’s patently obvious.’

Hannah went bright pink and, after a furtive glance down at her body, began to tug the towel higher, but the material would only stretch just so far.

‘I’m sorry if my skinny body offends you, but I didn’t invite you into my room.’ Even a fluffy bunny rabbit could get aggressive if you backed it into a corner, and she wasn’t actually as weak and pliable as Ethan thought.

Early on she’d decided confrontation wasn’t her style, but to survive ten years relatively unscathed after her spells in assorted foster homes, interspersed by the inevitable return to the children’s home, wasn’t the sign of a weak character. It wasn’t an advantage in life to be brought up in care, but Hannah had never allowed herself to grow bitter, just as she’d never allowed herself to be influenced by the less savoury influences she had been surrounded by.

‘I’ll keep that in mind in the future,’ he observed stiffly.

‘I didn’t mean…’ She gave a sigh of frustration. ‘The French classes mean a lot to me,’ she admitted.

‘Very obviously,’ he drawled. With growing dismay she observed the pinched look around his nostrils.

It had been a waste of time appealing to his softer nature! ‘I need to get away, be…I don’t know—me!’

‘Does that usually involve removing your wedding ring?’

Hannah could only stare at him in astonishment. He couldn’t actually believe… ‘I lost my ring.’ It had always been too big; if she hadn’t hated asking him for anything, she’d have told him so.

‘You seem awfully passionate about a night-class.’

His faint condescending sneer really made her see red. ‘Just a class to you!’ she yelled. ‘But then you have dozens of friends. You go out every day and meet people. I see the children—’ And, as much as she loved Emma and Tom, the children weren’t always enough. She broke off, breathing hard. Though one part of her felt appalled at her outburst, another part—a small part—felt relief.

‘We have an active social life. My friends…’

‘Your friends despise me. They only put up with me because I’m your appendage. Actually—’ she smiled briefly, amazed at her daring ‘—I don’t much like them, at least not most of them.’

The colour that suffused the pale, perfect oval of her small face was quite becoming. ‘Colourless’ was the adjective he most frequently associated with this girl he’d married—it sure as hell wasn’t applicable now!

‘Then why haven’t you seen fit to mention it before?’

‘I didn’t think it was relevant. I’m quite prepared to take the rough with the smooth.’ But I won’t give up the French classes. It wasn’t necessary to add this; Ethan wasn’t dense.

‘That’s very tolerant of you. Do you consider there to have been much that is rough for you to endure over the past year?’

‘Next you’ll be saying I was in the gutter when you found me,’ she cut in impatiently. She ignored his sharp inhalation of anger and continued firmly. ‘You can expect my loyalty, but not my unstinting gratitude, Ethan. If you remember, I did warn you I wouldn’t be the world’s best hostess, but I’m a good mother.’

‘Mother substitute.’ She flinched, and his expression seemed to indicate he regretted his hasty response. ‘The children love you.’ This was meant to soften his sharp correction but only served to bring a lump of emotion to Hannah’s throat. ‘Do you find me such an ungenerous husband?’

It wasn’t fair of him to bring affection into the discussion because affection, or rather the lack of it, had been implicit in their bargain.

‘I didn’t say that.’

Right from the outset he’d insisted that she spent money from the generous personal allowance that appeared in her bank account every month. Ethan Kemp’s wife couldn’t have a wardrobe that consisted of jeans and jumpers. When he’d discovered she couldn’t overcome her reluctance to spend money, he’d sought the help of the wife of one of his colleagues.

Hannah wasn’t sure whether Alice Chambers had genuinely awful taste or she just didn’t like her. Whichever was the truth, the clothes Hannah came home with from their joint shopping expedition did nothing whatever for her slight figure, and the colours made her appear washed out and insipid.

Some of the annoyance faded from Ethan’s expression as he took in the pale fragility of her unhappy face. With her glossy hair hanging softly about her face she looked incredibly young. She was incredibly young; he was apt to overlook the age gap sometimes. Usually she had the composure of someone much older.

‘No, you didn’t, but it is fairly obvious you’re discontented. I had no idea.’

‘How could you?’ The retort escaped before she could censor it. Some days they barely exchanged two words. ‘I’m not discontent, just tired,’ she said dully. The loneliness of her position rushed in on her and it was more than she could bear tonight. Just go, please go! she thought miserably.

As if he detected her passionate wish, he turned abruptly. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’

Now there’s something to look forward to, she thought, torn between tears and laughter as the door closed. In the privacy of her secret dreams she’d imagined him using that door. Usually he’d just woken up to the fact that he’d been unaccountably blind to her charms. In none of those meticulously constructed scenarios had she had a runny nose, scratches over half her body or hair flopping in her eyes.

Falling in love with Ethan Kemp was the only truly spontaneous thing she could recall doing in her life. You didn’t have to be a starry-eyed believer in love at first sight to have it happen to you; she was the living proof. Her prosaic soul had been set alight the instant she’d set eyes on him. He was tall, with an impressive athletic build, and one glance into those shrewd eyes had told her he had an intellect to match his muscles. Never one to respond to superficial beauty, she’d been inexplicably bowled over. None of these passionate cravings had been evident in her colourless replies as she’d sat through the interview. If they had she doubted she’d have got the job.

Worshipping him from afar had always made her particularly inarticulate in his presence, but, so long as the children were happy, Ethan’s interest in their nanny had been minimal. When he’d first started to show an interest in her lukewarm friendship with Matt Carter, a local primary school teacher, she had almost allowed herself to think he might have noticed her as a person.

As it had turned out, he’d just been afraid history was about to repeat itself. Emma and Tom had had three nannies in the year before she’d arrived. Tom had been one, and he’d simply responded to anyone who’d offered him love and warmth. His sister had been a different proposition—five when Hannah had first arrived, and it had been an uphill battle for Hannah to win her trust. Her short life had taught Emma it was painful to love someone only to have them vanish. Hannah could identify with her suspicion, and slowly she’d won the child’s trust, until by the end of that first year she’d become an integral part of the children’s lives.

An indispensable part, as far as Ethan was concerned. They were now confident, happy children, and he’d been prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to provide them with continuing stability. He’d been shocked to recognise the possibility that Hannah might just follow the example of the previous three nannies and do something inconvenient like fall in love or get pregnant. He didn’t actually want a wife, and, just in case Hannah had any doubts on the subject, he’d told her so.

He’d known her history when he’d offered her a home and financial security. No doubt he’d considered the bait irresistible to someone who was completely alone in the world. She’d never have to budget her meagre resources again; she’d have the family she’d always dreamed of—in short it was a fairy tale. The but was inescapable: he would never view her as anything other than a paid employee, no matter what her title. The pre-nuptial agreement he’d had her sign prior to the wedding had only served to reinforce this fact.

He had probably congratulated himself on his subtle, but clever presentation of the package when she’d appeared the next morning, looking unusually pale and subdued, and said the all-important ‘yes’. He wouldn’t have looked so happy if he’d suspected that, no matter how tempting his offer might appear to a girl who longed for roots and stability, it was love that had been the vital ingredient in the equation. Love that had made her ignore the logical part of her brain that told her that such a union could only give her pain.

CHAPTER TWO

TOM usually woke Hannah by creeping into her bed, often before six in the morning. This morning there was no solid little body against hers when she awoke. A light sleeper, she didn’t normally need to set her alarm clock, but there had been nothing normal about the previous night! A whistle-stop, vaguely panicky tour revealed the children weren’t in their rooms.

‘Why didn’t anyone wake me?’ Hannah demanded breathlessly as she ran into the kitchen still tying the belt on her robe. ‘Ouf, sorry,’ she gasped as she rushed full tilt into her husband.

‘I told them not to,’ Ethan replied calmly.

She was conscious of the intimate contact of their bodies only for a few seconds before he solicitously steadied her and stepped away. It was enough to send her pulse-rate hammering. Although he didn’t douse himself in masculine cologne, she could have recognised his presence blindfolded in any room. Her nostrils automatically flared as she got a full dose of his signature male fragrance.

‘What are you doing here?’ She instantly wished the words unsaid. Ethan didn’t want or need her interest, and any suggestion of interrogation would be met with a sharp rebuttal. Now was the time to get their relationship back on its neatly designed unchallenging lines. Last night had been a blip in normality not a new chapter.

One dark brow quirked. ‘I live here, remember.’

His dry tone brought a flush to her cheeks. ‘Shouldn’t you be in work?’ There I go again.

As she spoke Hannah was conscious of the fact that they weren’t alone; despite appearances, at least one pair of ears was undoubtedly taking in every word. The housekeeper had never made any comment on her employer’s odd choice of bride, but she wouldn’t have been human if the situation hadn’t intrigued her.

Hannah sometimes wondered what she said about them to her husband when she returned home in the evenings. She’d been in situ when the first Mrs Kemp had been alive, and Hannah had half expected her to keep the sort of suspicious, unfriendly distance many of Ethan’s friends did. To her relief this hadn’t been the case. So long as Hannah didn’t trespass on her domestic territory, she seemed perfectly at ease with the arrangement.

Ethan didn’t normally participate in the usual morning chaos of dressing and feeding the children, then ferrying Emma to school. He was generally leaving the house as Hannah fetched the children downstairs. He appeared to start the day with nothing more substantial than a cup of strong black coffee, a practice Hannah privately had serious reservations about. She had never voiced her concerns, because Ethan’s welfare was one of those things that were out of bounds. She had no doubt that with a few well-chosen words he could and would subdue any pretensions she had in that direction.

‘Not this morning, Hannah. Dear God,’ he murmured, inspecting the streak of strawberry jam he’d just discovered down the sleeve of his dark jacket with a grimace. ‘How does he manage to spread it that far?’ he wondered, casting a fascinated look in the direction of his chubby-faced son, who smiled back with cherubic innocence from his highchair.

‘I want down!’ he announced, banging his spoon on the plastic table-top.

‘Soon, Tom,’ Hannah responded automatically. She pushed her hair behind her ears and tried to work out what Ethan was doing here. A devoted father he might be, but he’d never involved himself in the more mundane of parental duties. ‘You should have woken me. I’ll be late getting Emma to school.’

‘Daddy’s taking me, Mummy.’

The ‘Mummy’ was a new thing, and it still gave Hannah a glow of pleasure to hear it. Ethan had never commented on her promotion from ‘Hannah’ in his daughter’s eyes, but she was sure he didn’t like it. His restraint only reminded her that from his point of view her role within the household would always be one of necessity rather than desire.

‘You are?’ she gasped, unable to hide her surprise.

‘You consider the task too complex for me?’

‘You just sit down, my dear, and I’ll get you a nice cup of tea. Mr Kemp has told me about the nasty accident you were in. What you need is a rest,’ the housekeeper advised.

Hannah’s eyes flew to Ethan’s face as her hand went automatically to her scratched cheek. So that was to be the story, she thought philosophically. It certainly made her appear less foolish than the truth.

‘I feel fine—just a little stiff, Mrs Turner.’

‘I want out, now!’ Patience was uncharted territory for a three-year-old.

Hannah unclipped his harness and heaved his sleep-suit-clad body into her arms. His sturdy frame made her conscious of bruises she hadn’t known she had. She wasn’t able totally to subdue the wince.

‘Give him to me,’ Ethan said, holding his arms out.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Martyrdom is an overrated and tedious virtue,’ Ethan observed in a bored drawl.

Hannah handed over her charge with as much dignity as she could muster. Normally their parental duties were strictly, if unofficially, defined, and it was vaguely disorientating to have her role so thoroughly usurped.

Ethan might well regret his chivalry when he discovered that the wet kiss his beaming son had pressed somewhere east of his mouth had left a blob of porridge adhering to his freshly shaved cheek. A wicked impulse made her keep this information to herself.

‘Will you do my hair?’ Emma slid onto Hannah’s knee and solemnly passed her a comb and ribbons.

‘With your permission?’ She shot Ethan a challenging look. She sounded cranky and didn’t much care. She knew he was watching her again and it made her feel uncomfortable.

‘I’d say that constitutes light duties,’ he conceded. Whilst playing a tickling game, which Hannah thought might well result in his small son throwing up, he watched Hannah’s expert fingers twist Emma’s fluffy golden locks into the desired design. Emma was a beautiful child who looked remarkably like a miniature version of her mother. Hannah was sure Ethan didn’t need the constant reminder to keep Catherine’s memory fresh—several people had lost no time telling Hannah how passionately in love he’d been, how he’d worshipped her.

Hannah had been astounded the first time she’d seen Ethan with his children. Who would have guessed that behind the austere, rather daunting façade there lurked such a warm and humorous man? She’d thought his attitude towards her might bend a little over the months, but he’d never actually dropped the formality with her. She’d never been in any danger of forgetting her position in this household.

It wouldn’t be long before Emma at least began to notice that her parents weren’t like other people’s: no hugs or teasing, no shared history of private jokes. Ethan didn’t appear to have taken this aspect into account in his calculations. Children were sharp; nothing much escaped their observant eyes. It would be interesting, and probably uncomfortable, Hannah reflected, to see how he dealt with the inevitable questions.

‘I’ll be back shortly,’ he said as he stood, the open doorway framing the sight of daughter and father hand in hand.

‘Work…?’ she faltered.

‘I’ve cancelled my appointments for this morning. Cal Morgan will see you at ten. I’ll take you to the surgery—for that tetanus jab,’ he added as she stared at him blankly.

‘Quite right, you can’t be too careful,’ the housekeeper observed approvingly. ‘Tom will be just fine with me. I’ll take him for his bath, won’t I, darling? Kiss for Mummy.’

When Hannah emerged from the grubby embrace Ethan had gone. This new personal interest in her welfare obviously stemmed from his opinion that she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. It was frustrating to realise that she had nobody to blame for the situation but herself. If only he hadn’t caught her last night. It had been an inconvenient time to discover the man she’d married was either an insomniac or a secret drinker, possibly both. The idea brought a whimsical smile to her lips. She couldn’t imagine Ethan indulging in weaknesses of any variety!

She’d just have to reestablish herself in his eyes as being more than capable of taking care of herself. Driving herself to the doctor’s surgery was step one of this process. He’d be glad to be relieved of this tedious chore.

That view took on a rapid sea change when she emerged from the surgery to find Ethan standing beside her Volvo. His long fingers were rapping an impatient tune on the bonnet. He appeared to be muttering under his breath at regular intervals. He straightened up at the sound of her feet crunching on the gravel. His dark brows met over the bridge of his nose as he recognised her.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’

Whilst his attitude to her lacked warmth, she couldn’t remember any occasion when his manner towards her hadn’t been faultlessly polite. The flash of anger in his grey eyes and the unmistakable message his whole body language was shouting threw her totally off balance. What had she done?

‘I’m not playing at anything, Ethan.’

‘Don’t waste that “butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth” look on me, Hannah Smith… It won’t wash any more.’

‘Kemp, I’m Hannah Kemp.’ He might like to pretend this weren’t true sometimes, but it was.

He rubbed a hand through his dark hair, disrupting the sleek silhouette. ‘You were less trouble as Smith,’ he reflected after a thoughtful pause. ‘I offered to drive you because you’re very obviously not fit to sit behind a wheel. What are you trying to do—smash the parts you missed last night?’

‘That’s a ridiculous overstatement!’ she protested. ‘And don’t think you’re the only one regretting this marriage,’ she yelled wildly.

His expression hardened into one of icy disdain as his cold glance whipped up and down her slender figure. Under the scrutiny she forced herself to straighten up, even though the ache in her ribs intensified.

‘Marriage to me is one of those decisions you’d better learn to live with.’ The unspoken ‘or else’ was clearly there in capital letters.

‘Save your intimidation for the courtroom,’ she told him with uncharacteristic steel.

‘I’d never make that mistake—strong-arm tactics with someone who looks as vulnerable and fragile as you do right now would lose me the jury’s sympathy.’

‘I didn’t mean to wound your professional pride.’

Her sarcastic murmur sent his dark brows towards his hairline. ‘Happily we’re not in the courtroom right now, so I’ll continue to behave like a bully—you’re obviously very at home with that image of me,’ he observed tautly. ‘Have you seen the way you’re moving, woman? It’s obvious every step hurts.’

She grimaced—that was almost exactly what Cal had said before he’d insisted on examining her. She gazed at her husband resentfully. ‘My ribs are bruised, not broken, and Cal has given me a prescription for some painkillers.’

‘Well, the next time you decide to get in a car with a maniac try and remember you’re a mother, not a bloody stunt woman!’

Anyone would think she’d done this for the sole purpose of inconveniencing him! Ethan could be mind-bogglingly selfish at times.

‘Don’t worry, I don’t need a nursemaid. You don’t have to waste your time at home for my sake.’

‘Nursemaid!’ he scoffed. ‘I’m beginning to think you need a minder. As for staying at home, I’m in court this afternoon. Alexa has agreed to pick Emma up from school.’

Hannah didn’t have time to hide her dismay from him.

‘I do think you might make a little bit more effort with Alexa—she is the children’s grandmother.’

Effort, me? thought Hannah. She grated her teeth at the sheer injustice of this criticism. Alexa Harding had been horrified when she’d learnt that the nanny was to take her daughter’s place. Having any woman take Catherine’s place would have been hard for her to accept, but the fact that Hannah was, in her eyes, menial household help made the situation unacceptable to the older woman.

At first Hannah had thought she might come round, if she saw the children were happy, but, if anything, the closer Hannah had become to the children, the more bitter their grandmother had become. She never missed an opportunity to belittle Hannah in front of Ethan—she was about as subtle as dripping acid. Hannah longed for Ethan to side with her—just once. Only he never did. He remained aloof from the petty squabbles.

‘It’s very kind of her,’ Hannah said in a expressionless voice. Anxiety crowded out the appearance of calm as she rushed on. ‘You didn’t tell her what actually happened, did you?’ Alexa would have a field-day with that sort of information.

‘Does it matter?’

Hannah grabbed his wrist, her fingers digging into his skin. ‘Yes, it does,’ she persisted urgently.

Ethan looked from her pale fingers to her flushed face with a quizzical expression. ‘I stuck to the accident story.’

Hannah heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you.’ Realising she was still clinging, she abruptly released her grip.

‘The truth isn’t the sort of story I’m likely to spread around.’

‘Are you trying to imply that by getting into his car I was inviting…?’

‘My God, don’t be so touchy!’ he exploded. ‘I’m not implying anything of the sort. Hopefully you’ve learnt something from the experience, but that might be asking too much.’

Didn’t he ever make a mistake? ‘I’ve learnt not to expect any sympathy from you.’ She flushed at the implication that she desired sympathy from him.

‘Not when you act like a naïve schoolgirl,’ he snapped back crisply. ‘Get in the car. Not this one—mine,’ he added as she reached for her car keys. ‘No, don’t put those away,’ he said, catching her hand. ‘You’d better lock it first. Do you make a habit of leaving a welcome card for car thieves?’

‘I thought I had locked it. I always lock it.’ His sceptical sneer made her want to scream.

Ethan drove a high-powered black BMW. He parked at the end of a tree-lined avenue and told her tersely he’d only be ten minutes. He didn’t explain where he was going, but then he never did. Whatever his business was, he looked pretty grim.

Ethan was always punctual, and it was barely ten minutes later that he returned. He opened the door and threw in her brown leather shoulder bag.

‘I thought you’d like this back. You’d better check everything is there,’ he advised, sliding into the driver’s seat. ‘It won’t bite; you take a look.’

‘Where did you get it?’ she asked hoarsely.

The engine purred into life. ‘Where do you think?’

‘How do you know where he lives? What did you do…?’

‘The college was very helpful when I explained good old Craig had left his wallet in my car last night. Shocking security,’ he observed mildly.

‘What did he say? Did he just hand it over?’

‘He said too much,’ Ethan observed curtly.

‘About me?’ she asked miserably. She could just imagine what sordid lies he’d wheeled out to justify his actions. She felt sick just imagining that Ethan had believed any of it. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

‘Don’t worry, he admitted the truth eventually.’

‘Eventually?’ She looked at his grim, hard-edged profile and realised she was being pretty slow. Ethan wasn’t the sort of man people intimidated, but he was more than capable of doing the intimidating if he felt the situation justified it. His next words confirmed her dawning suspicions.

‘Craig is now personally acquainted with fear. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it? I forget how long you had in mind, but I always think it’s quality not quantity that counts.’

His thin-lipped smile made her shudder. This wasn’t the indulgent father; this was a ruthless man—a dangerous man. She’d never actually appreciated before just how daunting Ethan could be.

‘You didn’t…didn’t hit him, did you?’

His charcoal-grey suit was pristine and his silk tie lay smoothly against the white background of his shirt. He didn’t look like a man who’d just been brawling. Her eyes went to his knuckles as his hands lay lightly on the steering wheel—no tell-tale marks.

‘Nothing so crude. I just told him what I’d do to him if he ever touched you or any other woman again.’

‘And that scared him?’

‘You had to be there.’ His smile was savagely silky. It made Hannah shudder. It made her realise how little she knew this man she’d married.

‘Are lawyers supposed to behave like that?’ she asked doubtfully.

‘I didn’t go in there wearing my wig, Hannah. I went in there as your husband. I didn’t lay a finger on him—of course, if he’d tried…’ He shook his head rather regretfully. ‘I knew he’d cave in. I’ve seen his type often enough—inadequate bullies.’ His grey eyes were filled with contempt as he flicked her a sideways glance. Happily the contempt was intended for the loathsome Craig.

She looked away and pretended to go through the contents of her bag. ‘It’s all here,’ she said, not actually registering what was before her eyes. The words ‘as your husband’ kept going through her mind. The warm glow was a ludicrous response; she knew he hadn’t meant anything by it. All the same…

‘Aren’t you stopping for lunch?’ she asked, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. She’d had a lot of experience; she could hear what sounded like authentic lack of interest in her voice.

‘I’m meeting Miranda. She’s assisting me this afternoon.’

Miranda, the newest recruit to Ethan’s chambers, was everything Hannah would have liked to be. Not only was she beautiful, she had brains which had earned her respect in a male-dominated world.

Hannah often wondered if Miranda was the reason Ethan didn’t get home until so late—suspiciously late on Friday nights. It wasn’t really reasonable to suppose he remained celibate; he was a virile, attractive—very attractive—man. Even if he was still hopelessly in love with Catherine, he was still human. She knew he’d always be discreet; it wasn’t in his nature to humiliate her by flaunting his affairs. All the same, the thought of him with the beautiful redhead tortured her.

‘That’s nice.’

‘Is it?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said in an exasperated tone. ‘I was just being polite.’ She tried to slip back into their old relationship, and the only thanks she got were his snide comments. There was no pleasing some people.

‘Now I know why I married you—for your lovely manners.’

What she’d done to deserve his mockery she didn’t know. She’d grown accustomed to his indifference over the past year, his occasional irritation, but he actually looked as though he disliked her this morning.

‘No, you married me because you wanted a low-maintenance wife who would make as little impact as possible on your life!’ The resentment bubbled up and overflowed into these unwise observations before she could stop it.

He flinched as the accuracy of her husky accusation hit him. ‘Well, I’d hardly call your antics over the last twenty-four hours low maintenance.’ The unvarnished truth sliced uncomfortably through his rationalisations, and, not unnaturally, made him as mad as hell.

Ethan had managed to convince himself that his motives in marrying Hannah, whilst not being totally altruistic, hadn’t been completely selfish. She’d had so little and he’d been offering her a standard of living that she could never have aspired to. It was a sound business arrangement. She’d always given the impression of being content. Her affection for the children was indisputable, as was theirs for her.

Until he’d been faced with the prospect of losing her, he hadn’t realised how much this quiet girl had become part of the household. The part that had given it the first breath of normality and stability in a long time. It was incredible how someone so unobtrusive could make such a difference. Unobtrusive? Looking at the angry belligerence that tightened the soft contours of her face, he decided the label seemed singularly inappropriate.

‘If I’d had my way you wouldn’t have known at all about last night. It’s your fault for being an insomniac!’

‘Wouldn’t have known!’ He seized on the words as if they were a guilty admission. ‘I thought as much—how many other secrets do you keep from me?’

‘Secrets, me?’ The idea was laughable. ‘If I told you everything I do in a day I’d bore your socks off.’ Not like the lovely Miranda, she thought. I bet he hangs on her every syllable.

The guilt he felt at the most unexpected moments came rushing in and his voice was harsh. ‘So your life’s drudgery, is it?’

‘Luxurious drudgery,’ she corrected sarcastically, her outstretched arms encompassing the elegant surroundings of the period-furnished drawing room. A room that was a tribute to the good taste of her predecessor. ‘What more could a girl ask for? And you accuse me of being touchy!’ she snorted.

He regarded her delicately flushed face, flashing eyes and mutinously set mouth with an odd expression. His stillness made Hannah lick her lips nervously.

Unexpectedly, he caught her chin in one hand. ‘What’s happened to you? You’re not the same person.’ Everything had been going so well. Why the hell did she have to start acting like a woman all of a sudden? And, even worse, why was he thinking of her as a woman?

‘Perhaps you’ve confused silence with lack of feelings, Ethan. I do feel.’

‘And what feelings arouse your passions?’ he wondered out loud. His eyes dropped to the rapid rise and fall of her small, high breasts, and a look she’d never seen before slid into his eyes.

‘Things,’ she replied huskily.

‘Like French classes.’ A trace of discontent had entered his voice.

‘Like French classes,’ she agreed.

‘Perhaps it would be safer for you to look closer to home to satisfy your passions.’ His thumb moved in a circular motion over the small, rounded chin.

‘Do you speak French, Ethan?’

‘It wasn’t the search for intellectual stimulation that made you do a dangerous thing like get in that car last night. The man turned out to be an idiot, but what if he’d had a more subtle approach? Would a furtive kiss in the dark have been so unacceptable to you, Hannah? Isn’t that what you secretly wanted?’

She tore her face from his grip. ‘The only person I’d like less to be touched by than Craig…is you!’ The insulting picture of herself as some sexually frustrated female desperate for male attention made her blood boil. Ironically, the only male attention she craved was his. At least he couldn’t taunt her with the truth.

‘Brave words.’

A logical assessment later would tell her she’d backed his male ego into a corner and the outcome had been a foregone conclusion. Logic didn’t come to her assistance at the time.

It was nothing like her imaginary kisses. Imagination didn’t have texture and warmth and taste. ‘Melting’ had been a word before; now it was a reality as her body dissolved in a rush of mind-numbing sensual delight. Her lips automatically parted under the imprint of his mouth. The taste of him glutted her senses.

When it stopped her disorientation was total. She felt numb and strangely dizzy. She touched the back of her hand to her parted, slightly swollen lips. The eyes she raised to his face were still clouded with a misty languor. It afforded Hannah a tiny measure of satisfaction that Ethan looked to be equally stunned by his actions.

Over the years Hannah had formulated a vague theory that for women it was easy to stop kissing—it was only men who were driven beyond sense and reason by such an essentially innocent pastime.

Innocent! Oh, dear, it looked as if she’d have to reevaluate her hypothesis. Limited research was obviously to blame for her inaccurate conclusions.

‘That was childish of me.’ He was slipping back into his cool professional persona with insulting ease. An adjustment to his gold cufflinks, a judicious twitch of the tasteful tie.

‘Childish isn’t the first word that springs to my mind,’ she returned huskily. The destructive friction of his skilful lips and wicked tongue had filled her with an entirely adult ache. It began low in the pit of her belly, but spread just about everywhere.

‘I suppose you expect me to apologise.’ From the stubborn, closed expression on his face, she concluded this was unlikely.

‘Why? I liked it.’

‘Dear God!’ he grated, his stance growing more rigid as he discovered she was examining his lips with dreamy curiosity.

The sharp exclamation brought Hannah belatedly to her senses. She bit hard on her criminally indiscreet tongue and felt the hot colour wash up her neck until her face was aflame.

‘I mean, a kiss is just…’

‘A kiss?’ he suggested.

‘Exactly,’ she said, relief making her go a bit overboard on the enthusiasm. ‘I don’t think we should mention…’

‘You liked it.’

Hannah frowned, not trusting his suddenly innocent expression. ‘Your loss of control.’

‘That’s very generous of you.’ Perversely, he found himself vaguely dissatisfied that she was suggesting what he had wanted only seconds before.

When the doorbell rang later that afternoon Hannah squared her shoulders and steeled herself for a dose of Alexa. She glanced at the clock on the mantel and frowned—she was early. Hannah was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, playing with Tom, and she smiled wryly as she pulled the child onto her lap, aware she was using him almost as a shield against the battery of criticism she knew was about to be lobbed at her head.

‘Mrs Kemp, it’s a Mr Dubois.’

‘Jean-Paul!’ Hannah exclaimed in pleasure as the figure behind Mrs Turner stepped forward.

‘Hannah, forgive the intrusion.’

‘It’s no intrusion—come in. Would you like tea, coffee?’

‘Coffee would be nice.’

‘Would you mind, Mrs Turner?’ She smiled at the housekeeper. ‘Sit down, please.’ She couldn’t understand what her night-class tutor was doing here, but, having stealed herself to face the dreaded Alexa, it was marvellous to see a friendly face. You’re a coward, Hannah, she told herself angrily. Show a bit more backbone!

Jean-Paul Dubois settled himself in an armchair and looked admiringly around the room. Hannah saw his glance dwell on a framed picture of Ethan with Catherine: two beautiful people, the perfect couple. He was too polite to comment.

‘You have a lovely home.’ He pushed his wire-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. They were the only vaguely intellectual thing about the young Frenchman’s appearance. He looked more like a male model than a university lecturer, which was his daytime job.

‘Home’ had an optimistically permanent ring to it. ‘It’s been in my husband’s family for a long time.’ Ethan had inherited the place years ago from his father, and though his mother had first stayed on in her marital home she had left shortly after Ethan’s first marriage. Hannah had only met Faith Kemp once, at their own wedding, and the lady hadn’t bothered hiding her disapproval of the match. Hannah had heard with her own ears Faith read a scalding lecture to her son on the subject.

‘He is a beautiful bébé,’ Jean-Paul, said, laughing as Tom lobbed a pink elephant at his head.

‘Thank you.’

Jean-Paul nodded at the question in her eyes. ‘You are wondering why I am here?’

‘It’s very nice to see you.’

‘You are a very talented student. Some people have a natural talent for languages—you are one of them.’

Hannah flushed with pleasure. She’d certainly enjoyed the classes, but she hadn’t thought she was anything special. ‘I’ve had a good teacher.’

‘That’s why I wish you’d reconsider your decision to leave the class. I know there are many pressures when you have a family… The unfortunate accident—’

‘Stop right there,’ Hannah said, holding up her hand. Tom wriggled off her knee and went over to Jean-Paul, who took the theft of his spectacles in good part. ‘What makes you think I’m leaving the class? How did you know I’d had an…accident?’ She flushed a little as she said this.

‘Your husband spoke to me earlier,’ he explained.

Hannah drew a wrathful breath. ‘He did, did he?’ she said quietly, with a brilliantly false smile.

‘I did tell him how sorry I would be to see you go. I know our classes are light-hearted, but I was hoping you could go further.’

‘Further?’ she said, startled for a moment from her contemplation of a suitable punishment for her over-bearing husband. So long as she made the children happy, he had no right to interfere so blatantly in her life. One night a week to herself wasn’t too much to ask for.

‘Have you ever thought of doing a degree?’

‘Me?’ Hannah shook her head. ‘I couldn’t do that— I’ve no formal schooling to speak of. I left school at sixteen.’ That was when the State had stopped being responsible for her, and she’d woken up to the fact that taking care of herself and being in full-time education weren’t compatible.

‘Your family did not mind?’

‘I had no family,’ Hannah explained briefly. Her mouth tightened at the sympathetic light she saw in his eyes. She hated pity! ‘I trained as a nursery nurse.’ A job that gave her both an income and a roof over her head had seemed a practical compromise.

‘I know you are very young, Hannah.’

‘Twenty-three.’

‘But you would still be classed as a mature candidate for university entrance. There is quite a lot of flexibility for the right candidates.’

‘And you think I’m the right candidate?’

Jean-Paul smiled as he heard the hint of wistfulness creep into her voice. ‘The perfect candidate. Some mature students find the finances a drain, but you…’ His Gallic gesture took in the undoubted affluence of the surroundings.

‘I don’t know what to say.’ Could she? Ethan would never agree. All the same, the idea did take hold. Over the years she’d seen people much less able than herself go to university. It had been something that had seemed always tantalisingly out of reach.

‘Say yes, chérie.’ Satisfied he’d presented his case, he didn’t labour the point. ‘Where, bébé, are my glasses? You must lead me by the hand, Hannah. I am blind.’

Laughing, Hannah reached under the sofa and retrieved the spectacles. Still on her knees at the foot of Jean-Paul’s chair, she slid them obligingly back onto his nose.

At this point the door opened and the housekeeper returned, bearing a tray laden with coffee and scones. ‘I put plenty on for everyone. I know how hungry Emma is when she comes home.’

‘Can I have one now?’ Emma skipped into the room beside the upright figure of her grandmother, whose pale blue eyes swept over the room with a look of malicious triumph. ‘Can I, Mummy?’

‘Get changed out of your uniform first,’ Hannah said, pushing back the wing of silky hair that had flopped in her eyes. ‘Hello, Alexa. It was good of you to pick Emma up.’

‘Hannah, what a delightful surprise—I half expected you to be bed-bound, from the way Ethan was talking. You look glowing, my dear. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?’

Determined not to rise to the bait, Hannah simply nodded in Jean-Paul’s direction. ‘This is Jean-Paul Dubois, my French tutor. Jean-Paul, this is Alexa…’

Jean-Paul got to his feet and, clasping the older woman’s hand lightly, raised it to his lips. ‘Madame. No, Hannah, do not get up—you are busy with your family. Will you think about what I said?’

Hannah couldn’t help wincing as she got to her feet. The painkillers had improved the situation, but she was still stiff and sore. Gallant to his fingertips, Jean-Paul solicitously took her elbow.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured gratefully as she straightened up. ‘It was good of you to call. Goodbye.’

‘Au revoir,’ he corrected.

‘Does Ethan know you entertain your men whilst he is out working?’ Alexa settled herself into the chair Jean-Paul had vacated. She was a handsome woman who had kept a youthful figure. The permanent lines of bitterness around her mouth robbed her of what otherwise would have been beauty.

‘Man, Alexa,’ Hannah corrected calmly. ‘And I feel sure I can rely on you to tell Ethan.’ She was well aware that it wouldn’t occur to Ethan that a man like Jean-Paul would find her attractive—that was part of the reason he’d married her.

The older woman looked a little taken aback by her composure. ‘I expect you’ve been playing up a couple of scratches for all it’s worth. Catherine never let personal discomfort stop her doing what she wanted. She wasn’t afraid of anything!’

Which was why she wasn’t here now! Hannah repressed this unworthy observation. Tom had been barely a month old when Catherine had decided to ride in a point-to-point. When her horse had gone lame she had taken on a mount whose rider had been injured, even though the animal was renowned for an unpredictable temper. She had to have known the risk she was taking when she’d ignored advice—it was only because of her pregnancy that she’d missed out on a place in the British Olympic team. Hannah wasn’t in a position to speculate about what drove someone like that; perhaps it was irrelevant. Whatever the motivation, the outcome had been tragic.

‘I’m not Catherine.’

Alexa’s laugh was shrill. ‘And I’m sure Ethan remembers what he lost every time he looks at you,’ she sneered. ‘Thomas, put that down!’ she cried as the little boy lifted a porcelain figure off the lower shelf of a display case.

‘Give it to Mummy, Tom,’ Hannah said quietly, so as not to alarm the child. ‘Good boy,’ she praised as he handed it over. She placed the delicate ornament on a higher shelf. Alexa’s words wouldn’t have hurt so much if she hadn’t known they were true. She could never hope to compete with the vital, glowing creature Ethan had loved.

‘That was one of Catherine’s favourites.’

It would be, of course, Hannah thought philosophically. ‘Well, it’s safe now.’

‘I don’t know why you allow the children in this room. They ruin everything.’

Hannah sighed; they’d been through this before. ‘This is a family home, Alexa, not a showcase. It’s meant to be lived in.’ The whole place was in danger of becoming a shrine. It was bad enough that almost every room was filled with photos of its late mistress; the trophies of her sporting achievements remained as a memorial to her talent and sense of adventure. Not only had she been a top-class horsewoman, she’d been an accomplished yachtswoman, and somewhere along the way she’d managed to pack in a spot of rock-climbing. She had obviously been one of those people who found danger attractive, even addictive. Her talent hadn’t been limited to competing in the sporting world—she had founded and run a small manufacturing business which specialised in high-class sporting gear.

Hannah might not be able to alter the tastefully coordinated decor to suit her own taste, but she had been able to smuggle the odd toy box gradually into the drawing room and pin Emma’s early attempts at art on the kitchen wall, despite Alexa’s objections. A minor victory, but for Hannah a triumph. Children didn’t need the stifling atmosphere of a museum.

‘The place is looking positively shabby. I know Ethan doesn’t like to entertain much now Catherine is gone, but…’ Alexa’s aristocratic nose wrinkled in disgust.

This was a patent untruth—all the main reception rooms had been redecorated a couple of months previously. The interior decorators had duplicated all the existing decor down to the smallest detail.

Emma’s explosive return into the room spared Hannah Alexa’s more obvious displays of dislike. She knew it went deeper than dislike. It sometimes felt as if the woman had made Hannah the focus for all her grief and anger over her daughter’s death.

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER a year of marriage Ethan came knocking on Hannah’s bedroom door for the second time in as many days. This time she heard him. It was Friday night and he was home late, as usual.

‘This is getting to be habit-forming,’ she said as he stepped into the room in response to her crisp invitation.

It was a line she’d been working on all evening, and she was quite pleased with her delivery. She might have been flustered to see him if Alexa’s actions hadn’t been so predictable. She’d known he’d appear at some point, demanding an explanation.

‘You getting into trouble?’ Elbow against the wall, he loosened his tie and looked at her in a distinctly unfriendly fashion.

In her innocence she’d imagined that with love off the menu she might settle for the closeness of a special friendship. Being ignored had been a lot easier to bear than his open dislike.

‘Am I?’ She didn’t appear too bothered at the possibility, which she could see surprised him. She’d discovered a perverse pleasure in surprising him over the past day or so. It was satisfying, shaking him out of his iron certitude. It was only natural, she decided, to resent the person you loved when he didn’t even notice you existed—at least not in that way.

‘I suppose you’ve received reports of me inviting my hordes of lovers to cavort on the Aubusson carpet in the drawing room.’ The mental image of bacchanalia brought a tiny smile to her lips.

‘You don’t seem to be taking this very seriously.’ He ran a hand over the dark growth of stubble that shadowed his angular jaw.

‘I’m only amazed that you are,’ she fired back wearily. ‘No, actually I’m not, because you don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you, Ethan?’

She’d worked so damned hard to be what he wanted, but that had counted for nothing when she’d disrupted the smooth running of his life. One little slip, and he was looking at her as though she had something contagious. So her little slip had been spectacular—she hadn’t asked him to get involved personally.

‘You’ve always done what I’ve asked of you,’ he observed noncommittally. Despite his words, she didn’t detect any wholehearted endorsement in his slightly uncomfortable stance. He looked as though his wife’s bedroom was the last place in the world he wanted to be. Anger was her best response to the pain this knowledge brought.

‘You’re just wondering what else I’ve done besides.’

‘When the woman I married starts behaving like a teenager rebelling for the hell of it, I do start wondering—yes!’ he agreed in a driven voice. ‘You’re acting completely out of character.’

‘And you’d know all about my character?’

Her mockery brought an angry gleam to his narrowed eyes. ‘I’m sorry if you didn’t have the opportunity to get the rebellion out of your system when most of us do, but I’ve no desire whatever to become the focal point for your childish aggression. I don’t feel even vaguely paternal towards you.’ His lips twisted into a grimace of distaste.

‘I wasn’t looking for a father-figure when I married you!’ Please, God, don’t let him ask what I was looking for, she prayed, as she recognised the opening she’d given him. She needn’t have been concerned—Ethan thought he knew all about her motivation.

‘No, you were looking for security, which is understandable. Only now you’re discovering that there’s more to life than comfort. There’s excitement.’ Her fragile poise deserted her completely as his grey eyes raked her face. ‘And sex.’

Her chest felt so tight she could hardly breathe. ‘How dare you talk like that to me?’

‘I dare because our lives here only work because we accept certain limitations,’ he said brutally. ‘It’s a very delicate balance, and when you start flirting with French studs…’

‘I expect Jean-Paul would find the stereotyping very flattering,’ she breathed, furious that he could calmly taint an innocent friendship—God, it wasn’t even that!—with his nasty innuendo! ‘If you hadn’t tried to run my life for me, Ethan, Jean-Paul wouldn’t even have come here. You’ll be relieved to hear it wasn’t my body he was after,’ she hissed sarcastically. ‘But then I’m sure you didn’t think that. You played safe when you picked me, didn’t you?’ she accused bitterly. ‘You picked the plainest female you could find in the knowledge that, no matter how much you ignored me, there wasn’t going to be anyone else queuing up to show me a good time!’

‘If Jean-Paul wasn’t here to show you “a good time”—’ her face flamed as he quoted her heated words ‘—why did he come?’

‘He wants me to do a degree—in French.’

He gave a short, hard laugh. ‘It’s more original than wanting to show you his etchings,’ he conceded.

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